compacting the fabric of government. And it is, to a great degree, a wise tendency; for it is a perilous sea on which to embark,—that of nationality; and all along its course one sees strewn, everywhere, the wrecks of nations. And, therefore, an infant state needs, and should seek light as
"It goes sounding
On its dim and perilous way."
And this light comes, to a great degree, from the past,—the light of national experience. Hence we must read history, and the philosophy of history, and laws, and the genius and spirit of laws. But are we ever to be bound by these? Are they ever to hold the spirit, and the brain, and the healthful instincts of cultivated and civilized humanity, in this day of the world's high advancement,—hold them ever in check and close restraint? Must we, in order to be a nation, imitate all the crudities and blunders which statesmanship has gravely handed down in history as rule and authority? I trust not; for no thoughtful man can look into the history of states without perceiving many national forms and established customs which even now have mastery, but which are nothing more nor less than empty gewgaws. I do not lack, by any means, reverence for the sage wisdom of ages; neither do I despise the ancient forms of older states, which often are the clothes-garments of noble truths. But he must be blind who does not see that the formal precedents and the hollow forms which, for ages, have held and bound the souls of vast empires and mighty kingdoms, are now vanishing be-
