sacrifice every thing to her, as the last and highest good, because it is that state of things which most corresponds to God's order of things, which promotes the freest development of thought and action; because man, made for thought and action, is most man if protected by her. Were it otherwise, liberty would be the most unnatural state, opposed to the highest calling of humanity. Let a nation for any length of time systematically cut off her best and loftiest characters, those of which she ought to be proud as finding her spirit and endeavors nobly represented and concentrated in them; let a community for a series of years reward her purest and most gifted fellow-citizens with ungrateful neglect and unworthy partiality for servile flatterers; let a monarchy adopt the policy of overlooking those upon whom public opinion bestows grateful honor, or a republic requite faithful and generous patriotism, civic wisdom and stanch justice with petty jealousy, or chill disrespect, and they will soon lose public dignity, morality and elevation, and sink into sordid and corroding egotism-the most unfailing of national dissolvents. (1) Rev. Dr. Channing. XLVII. Yet is it not true, that nations have as often sinned by way of gratitude as ingratitude? Have not free nations, in far the greater number of cases, lost their liberty because they were intoxicated with gratitude or admiration of real or imagined benefits received at the hands of the usurper? Is it not almost always the willingness with which the mass give up their liberties, nay sometimes press upon the usurper the surrender of freedom on their part? By what indeed are in most cases usurpers supported and emboldened, if not by the acclamation of the people? To destroy the rights or liberties of one part he must necessarily have the support of the other, if the question is of intestine revolutions and not of conquests by foreigners. In order to answer these questions correctly, and see the subject in all its bearings, it is necessary to make careful distinctions. In some cases the act of the usurper is but the final accomplishment and ratification of a radical change prepared and effected throughout a social system from a period long antecedent to that of the usurpation; and the existing system, bestowing franchises upon some, once salutary, has, by the change of circumstances and of the people's spirit, become galling or ruinous to the mass, or the people have become unable any longer to uphold the institutions of former liberty. Such was the case when Cæsar grasped the reins. Rome was no longer Rome. It is indeed no subject fit for the present occasion to inquire, whether Cæsar belonged in mind to the class of mean usurpers, who prefer the purple and an elevated throne in the hall of audience to a lofty place in history, and are willing to exchange for a regal title, which has graced the worst as well as the best, the proud name of a great citizen, but certain it is, that even if Cæsar had been one of the best, full of calmness of soul and love of justice like Washington, placed as he and the Roman commonwealth were, rotten as the whole scaffold of government and demoralized as the public spirit was, he would have been bound, with his power and insight, to consummate the fall of the old order of things and establish a new one. The constitution of Rome, grown out of a totally different state of things and calculated for it, had become a nuisance. Civil war and fermentation was the order of the day; the provinces were vast and powerful; the aristocracy factious, the democracy lawless and indolent, while both were rapacious. In a crisis of this serious import it is very natural that the people should willingly throw more power than he before had into the hands of a powerful man, and should even rejoice, by a natural instinct, if he assumes more and more, because they first of all desire protection against bloodshed and extortion. Whether we admire Napoleon or not, whether we consider his saying to Las Cases: "If I had aped Washington I should have been guilty of a mere silliness; all that I could strive for was to be a crowned Washington," as empty words or not, whether we believe that he criminally abused his power and neglected every opportunity of developing a civic spirit or sowing its seeds, the only means of strengthening, restoring and permanently healing France, there can be no manner of doubt that had he been as pure as Doria, (1) he still would have been called upon to break up the illjointed and injuriously-working machine of government that then existed, and popular applause would have been justly bestowed upon him. (1) Andrew Doria, whose name, the historian Rotteek says, calls up the name of Timoleon, as Timoleon that of Doria, was born at Genoa, in 1466, a period when his republic was rent by factions and northern Italy was the unceasing battle-field of the European continental powers. Genoa had lost her fairest dominions. Galeazzo Sforza, duke of Milan, ruled likewise over Genoa, once free and powerful. He had ordered to draw ropes where walls should be erected from the castle to the sea, as an additional means of security against the Genoese. The assembled multitude was gaping at this token of subjugation; when a bold 1 man, Lazaro Doria, stepped forward and severed the ropes in presence of Galeazzo's servants. The people were roused; but their excitement vanished; the best citizens emigrated, to avoid servitude. Columbus left Genoa at this time, and Andrew Doria, having served against the Turks, went to Urbino. Genoa revolted against Mantua, and acknowledged France. Doria took service under the king, Louis XII., but he never forgot his country. When Francis I. had succeeded Louis, had broken his oath taken to Charles V., and suddenly fallen upon Italy, and the troops of Charles fled to Naples, and every thing seemed to indicate the ascendancy of Francis, feared by all Europe, and Italy especially, Doria hoisted the imperial flag and turned the scale. He acted very differently from Bourbon; Doria was not subject to France, and Francis tyrannized over Genoa. She hoped for deliverance at the hands of this hero. He entered the city victoriously, and expelled the foreigners; the people, carried away by gratitude, greeted him as their prince. Doria might undoubtedly have established a dynasty, nor would he have founded it with blood. His fellow-citizens urged a crown upon him; but he was greater; he declined, although his family had been for centuries allied with emperors and kings. He exhorted his fellow-citizens to be united and virtuous, that they might be free, in a speech which ended: "With pride and emotion I call myself a free citizen of Genoa. This and your friend I desire to be, not your ruler, and may it never be said of Doria, that, when he served his country he had selfish ends in view." He used the favorable spirit of the people to establish with their coöperation a new constitution, by which the tyranny of the aristocracy and the lawlessness of the people, which had so often distracted Genoa, were avoided-a constitution which lasted three hundred years, until the great revolutions of Europe hurried away this with so many others, in their sweeping course. Doria died ninety-four years old, honored and loved as a very father by his republic. His tomb bears this inscription: Andreæ Auriæ, civi optimo, felicissimoque Vindici atque Authori publicæ Libertatis Senatus Populusque Genuensis posuit. XLVIII. Secondly we must not mistake popularity, of whatever sort, for public gratitude, which was designated above as a virtue of high importance in politics. Popularity is a subject of magnitude and it behoves us to examine it well. What is popularity? To speak plainly it is the being liked, cherished by many, the people; being acceptable to the people. A man, a measure, a tune, a color may thus be popular. The power of popularity therefore rests essentially in sympathy, the adaptation, assimilation or prominent development of the feelings and likings of the community, or set of people with whom we are popular. This leads us at once to two distinctions: The feelings from which this sympathy arises may be good or bad; a leader of robbers may be popular with his robbers by humoring or satisfying their bad feelings and propensities, as Doria was popular with the good by good measures; and popularity may be passing or lasting, suddenly excited by suddenly humoring a feeling, strongly excited at the moment; or well founded upon the esteem of some prominent quality which is valued as an important one in the people, and which they have reason to believe exists in an eminent degree in the popular person. The good citizen can of course cherish the popularity of the good only, as a welcome cheering on the path of duty and a power to do good. But how must he obtain it? Popularity is not an ultimate object; the ultimate object is to do right. We are not allowed therefore to obtain popularity by sacrificing right or duty. We must not seek popularity as an end, which may ultimately determine our actions, because thereby we should establish an arbitrary and extra-ethical standard for our actions. We must allow popularity to come to us, if it comes in consequence of our acting right, and |