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debtors, creditors nor pecuniary obligants. They, if any such there be, would not have suffered: but with this exception, and with it only, every person would have been ruined, who, as I said before, could not have afforded to lose precisely onehalf of his entire property."


The singular blindness here manifest, must excite surprise. The corn being assayed and measured, is called a “quarter” or a "bushel,” according to the measure. The gold, after a similar process, is called “ half sovereign," if weighing 66.3 grains,-a "whole sovereign,” if weighing 123.3 grains. A Troy pound weight of a quality of 22 carats, is called £4676. In neither case is price fixed, but merely a name given. If mercantile transactions ran in the name of wheat, and notes promised to pay 20

qrs. of wheat, would the giving the name quarter” to a certain measure be " fixing its price?” Nevertheless, because mercantile transactions run in the name of the precious metals, the giving a name to a certain quantity is called "fixing its price.” As well might it be said that calling 16 ounces of silver, or as much soap, a pound, is "fixing its price." This appears so plain, as to make explanation ridiculous. Nevertheless, the idea that the price of gold is fixed by coinage, is the basis of innumerable theories of currency, of which that of our author is one and not the least absurd, that are widely circulated in England. The illustration of his error, by the case of corn, is so singularly perverse, as to excite a smile. It is precisely because the crop of gold is not likely to fail like that of corn—that the community promises to pay gold in preference. It is the commodity of which the supply is the most uniform and regular, not subject to be cut off, nor to be consumed in annual quantities, and therefore that which it is the most safe to promise to deliver at a future time. To promise to deliver any other commodity at a future time is so hazardous as to be considered of a highly speculative character. Even in government stocks such promises are so unsafe as to partake of a gambling character, and in New York are made illegal. It is no doubt the case, that if the debtors of England, last year, had all been under obligation to deliver corn instead of gold, they would all have been ruined. As it was, all property was depreciated in value because the usual consumers both in Europe and in Great Britain, through the loss of grain crops, were unable to pay for the usual quantities; that is to say, their production having failed, the demand also perished. The resulting over supply, not from over production but from non-consumption, diminished the value of goods in proportion to gold, of which the supply remained nearly the same, and consequently those who had promised gold were obliged to give more of the proceeds of labor for it ihan they had expected when they promised to give it.

Notwithstanding the singular notions of this lecturers in relation to money, his views in relation to production and the necessity of freedom of interchange are very correct, as follows :

“ Now in the absence of the power of erchanging, what is the value of a superfluity ? or of fifty superfluities? or of an aggregate superfluity of everything upon the face of the earth ? The obvious answer is, of no value at all! A man, for example, may be possessed of a coal-mine; but beyond the quantity of coals which he himself may require to consume, all that remain upon his estate, are him utterly destitute of value, if he be not able to erchange them for other things. And so it is with commodities of every kind. To use, consume, or to exchange, is the object of all production ; and, consequently, if we be placed in circumstances wherein we can use only or consume, it is quite possible for us lo be a nation of

artificial paupers, whilst we might at any time be converted into a nation of comparatively wealthy men, merely by the opening a home market amongst ourselves.

It is onvious, however, that the uggregate market must ever be over-supplied, so long as our ability to prorluce shall continue to be greater than our ability to exchange; or, in other words, so long as it shall continue to be a more difficult thing to sell goods at a fair profit than it is to buy them at a fair price : whilst it is equally clear, ibat if, on the contrary, goods of all kinds could be sold as readily as they can be made, then all the capital and labor that are now seeking for profitable employment, would at once obtain it; because in this case, production would be truly the cause of demand."


This is certainly very plain ; but in order to effect exchange, it becomes necessary, 1st,—that other parties want that which we have in superfluity. The mere fact that they can sell their own products, does not make them demand another product for which they have no 2dly,- That they have other articles for which we want to give our surplus. 3dly,—Tliat the government does not throw obstacles in the way of exchange, in order to please a privileged class; and 4thly,—That it does not take from us, in the shape of taxes, our surplus to support aristocrats, soidiers, and other idlers, without giving us anything in return. In relation to cual, Pennsylvania is possessed, as estimated by survey, of a quantity equal to 11,000,000, tons per annum for 2,000 years ! say a quantity of 22,848,000,000* tons. This it will be admitted is a superfuity.

Yet not until 1825 was it of the smallest value. Previous to that year the whole consụmption of the U. S. was 33,000+ tons per annum, of imported coals. The consumption is now 3,000,000 tons Pennsylvania coal, I and 147,000+ tons imported coal, because production has created demand. The coal of Pennsylvania, which was valueless before 1825, is now worth $12,000,000 per annum, and that sum represents an increase in her demand for the products of other states, giving a spur to manufacturing industry. In a similar manner the capacity of the western country to produce breadstuffs is limitless, and has at the same time been ralueless for want of demand, because the government has sought to limit the demand to the few who in this country produce other commodities, and who can buy little coro for which whiskey-drinkers have been the best customers. Last year the demand was so urgent as to break through the barriers to exchange, and a value of $60,000,000+ was carried out of the country, in the year ending June, 1847, and through the enhanced price an equal value was added 10 that sold at home. This $120,000,000 added to the means of the farmers, represented the increase of the demand for goods. Of this $25,000,000 + was supplied from abroad, and $95,000,000 by U. States' producers. An unexampled state of prosperity resulted, enabling the country to supply the government with $60,000,000 to conduct an expensive war, and to sustain serious losses through European convulsions without inconvenience. This state of affairs has, however, not satisfied the privileged classes, because labor has to a greater extent than usual retained its proceeds. The idlers, the speculators, the capitalists and schemers, have been enabled to obtain less of the wealth produced by others without equivalents, and they are dissatisfied. They now seek to restore the machinery by which England, France, and Ireland have been reduced to beggary for the benefit of the few.

Professor Silliman's Report.

† Report of U. S. Secretary of the Treasury. I Coal ('ompany Returns.




(Concluded.) ACT V.-SCENE I.

Scene. The same.

Marinelli. The PRINCE. Marinelli. Here, gracious sir, from this window you can see him. He walks up and down the arcade. Now he comes this way. No, he turns back again.—He is not wholly determined. But he is very happy about some great thing—at least he appears so.

All the same to us! of course ! Will he dare disclose what both these women have put into his head ?As Battista overheard, his wife is to send out to him a carriage inmediately, for he came on horseback. Take notice, when he appears before you, he will, in the most humble manner, thank your highness for the kind protection his family found here, after so melancholy a catastrophe; will commend himself and his daughter to further favor; will take her quietly back to the city, and will await, in the most profound submission, what interest your highness will hereafter be pleased to take in the unfortunate, lovely maiden.

Prince. But now, if he should not take it so calmly? And scarcely, scarcely will he. I know him too well.—He may, indeed, stifle his suspicion and suppress his anger; yet if, instead of carrying Emilia to the city, he should take her home with him and keep her there ? or, perhaps, shut her up in a cloister? What then ?

Marinelli. Love-apprehension of danger, sees a great distance. Really !_But he certainly will not.

Prince. But if he should ! What then ? What will it avail us, that the unhappy Count has lost his life?

Marinelli. Wherefore this sorrowful side-glance ? Forward ! says the conqueror, whether friend or foe fall at his side. And if also- Even if he, the old grumbler, should wish to do this which you fear, Prince(Considering.) - This will do! I have it !-Farther than a wish, he shall not be able to bring it. Surely not! But let us not lose sight of him.(Steps again to the window.) A moment more, and he would have taken us by surprise! He comes ! -Let us avoid him just now, Prince, and you shall hear what we will do iu regard to the chance which you fear.

Prince (threatening.) But, Marinelli-
Marinelli. The most innocent in the world!

Scene II.-Opoardo GALOTTI. Odoardo. Still no one here ?-Well; I shall become more collected. It is my good fortune. There is nothing more contemptible than the fiery ardor of youth with gray

hairs ! I have often said so to myself. And yet



I allow myself to be overcome with passion—and by whom? By a woman jealous-jealous almost to insanity. What has afflicted virtue to do with the revenge of crime? Only to deliver the former is my work. And thy cause—my son! my son !-I cannot weep; and will not now first learn. Thy cause will quite another make his own! Enough for me, if the murderer enjoy not the fruit of his crime.—This will trouble him more than the crime itself. When, hereafter, he shall be driven by satiety and disgust from one indulgence to another, the remembrance of this one pleasure, which was denied to him, will embitter the enjoyment of all the others' In every dream, the bloody bridegroom will bring to his couch the bride; and when he reaches forih bis voluptuous arms to receive her, he will suddenly hear the scornful laughter of hell, and will awake.

Scene III.-MARINELLI. ODOARDO Galotti. Marinelli. Where are you, sir ? Where do


remain ?
Odoardo. Was my daughter here?
Marinelli. She was not, but the Prince was.
Odoardo. He will pardon me. I have waited upon the Countess.
Marinelli. Now?
Odoardo. The good lady!
Marinelli. And your wife ?

Odoardo. Has gone with the Countess;-in order to send a carriage for us immediately. The Prince will, 1 hope, allow me to tarry here with my daughter until it comes.

Marinelli. Why all these formalities? Would it not have been a pleasure to the Prince to have taken both mother and daughter himself to the


Odoardo. The daughter, at least, must have declined this honor.
Marinelli. Why so ?
Odoardo. She will not return to Guastalla.
Marinelli. No? And why not?
Odoardo. The Count is dead.
Marineli. So much the more-
Odoardo. She will go home with me.
Marinelli. With you?

Odoardo. With me. I tell you, the Count is dead if you do no already know it. What has she to do in Guastalla now?-She will go home with me.

Marinelli. Of course, the future residence of the daughter will depend entirely upon the will of the father.

But at presente Odoardo. What at present !

Marinelli. You must perhaps allow, sir Colonel, that your daughter wil be brought to Guastalla.

Odoardo. My daughter? will be brought to liuastalla ? and wherefore ! Marinelli. Wherefore? If you will only consider.

Odoardo (warmly.) Consider? I consider, that here is nothing to consider.-She shall-she must return home.

Marinelli. O sir !—why need we get angry with each other about this! It may be, that I am mistaken; that what I thought necessary, is not so.The Prince will be the best judge. He will decide.- I will go and bring him hither.

Scene IV.-ODOARDO GALOTTI. How ?--Never-Dictate to me where she shall go? Withhold her from me? Who will do this ?— Who dares do it ?-He, who here dares everything which he wills ?— Well, well; he shall see also how much I will dare, if I have not before! Short-sighted tyrant !- With thee, perhaps, will I measure myself. He who regards no law, is even as strong as he who has no law !-Dost thou not know this ? Come on! come on.—But see !-Already again-already again is passion runuing away with reason,

What am I thicking ot? That is yet to take place, at which I am so enraged. What will not a courtier say? And why did I not let him talk on? Then I should have heard his pretext why she must go back to Guastallas ? so could I now have prepared myself with an answer. Certainly, how can one be wanting to ine? But should it be wanting-should it! Some one is coming.–Keep quiet, old boy, keep quiet !

Scene V.-The Prince. MARINELLI. ODOARDO GALOTTI. The Prince. Ah, my dear, excellent Galotti, -something important must happen, if I am to see you by me. Upon no ordinary occasion can I look for you. Still--no reproaches.

Odoardo. Gracious sir, I consider it, in all cases, unbecoming for one to intrude himself upon his Prince. Those whom he knows, he will call upon whenever he has occasion for their services. I now ask pardon

Prince. For how many others would I wish this proud humility !-But to business. You must be anxious to see your daughter; she is again in trouble on account of the sudden departure of her tender mother. And wherefore this departure? I waited only that the lovely Emilia might fully recover herself, in order that I might bring them both in triumph to the city. You have, in part, spoiled this triumph; but I will not allow myself to be wholly deprived of it.

Odoardo. This is too great a condescension !—You will permit me, Prince, to spare my unfortunate child all the varied mortifications which friend and foe, pity and malicious pleasure, hold ready for her at Guastalla.

Prince. It would be cruel to deprive her of all pity, and the sweet sympathy of friends. But the condolence of enemies and of envy shall not reach her; therefore, worthy Galotti, leave her to my care.

Odoardo. Prince, the paternal love does not willingly relinquish its object to the care of another. I think I know what is best for my daughter, in her present circumstances; separation from the world, a cloister,-as soon as possible.

Prince. A cloister ?
Odoardo. That she may there weep under the eyes of her father.

Prince. Shall so much beauty fade in a cloister ?-Need one disappointment make us thus irreconcilable with the world? Still, of course, no one has a right to oppose the will of the father. Carry your daughter whither you will, Galotti.

Odoardo. Now, my lord? (To Marinelli.)
Marinelli. If you indeed challenge me!-
Odoardo. (), by no means, by no means.
Prince. What! have you both-

Odoardo. Nothing, gracious sir, nothing. We were merely contending which of us had been mistaken in regard to you.

Prince. How so? Speak, Marinelli.

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