"Nothing, certainly, could be more conclusive," he replied; " and the very tax you mention is ordained in our charter, which prescribes, 'that every Frenchman shall contribute in proportion to his fortune to the expenses of the state.' Yet this clause remains a dead letter; and were we to point to its efficacy in England, our protectionists would tell us, that she was no guide for France, and make their usual appeal to national prejudices. It is idle to enlarge on this subject. On every side the absurdity and cruelties of our tariff outrage reason, and shock the dullest sensibility. Of the former may be cited, an army of forty thousand custom-house officers, who cannot prevent, if they do not connive at, an enormous contraband trade; and of the latter, I may refer to the duties which have ruthlessly cut off the importation of cattle. It is stated, that out of our population of 35 millions, something like 24 millions, rarely, if ever, eat meat. Innumerable facts like these should stimulate every lover of the popular cause to put forth all his energies; and I am sure every triumph of ours over the heartless selfishness we have to contend against, will be hailed with exaltation by your generous-hearted people. In fine, let me indulge the hope, that your commercial country will be on its guard against the specious pretexts that would direct her legislation to the support of class interests. Your manufacturers can have nothing to fear from competition with any nation, but least of all, with France. I cannot believe that a sordid love of gain has already so deadened their patriotic love of the national welfare, as to unite them in a sullen opposition to a close commercial union with their old ally, who, of all European nations, is the only one that regards your growth without jealousy, and rejoices heartily in the promise of your future greatness.'

Frequent opportunities occurred after this, of meeting this estimable man, and on all occasions he gave expression, with even more warmth, to similar opinions. There can be no doubt, that so much good sense and correct feeling will be sincerely appreciated whenever his sentiments may be read. The popular feeling of our country run deep and strongly in favor of France, and the efforts of our government, no matter of what party, to improve our commercial and friendly connection with the nation, whose right arm so promptly supported us in our first great struggle, would meet with universal favor. Above all, no unjust recrimination should be expressed at the want of reciprocity on the part of France; for look at the real condition of that unhappy country? The government is controlled by a class of protectionists, who, like the nobles and priests of yore, divide amongst themselves the profits of their system, and heap their shameless expenditures on the aching backs of the people, who, bound hand and foot, with no voice in the laws, and without means to make their sufferings known, are forced to perish in silence, or driven to the sanguinary remedy of Revolution.†

All honor to the Duke of Harcourt, who, regardless of his interests, and braving the prejudices of his order, gives the weight of his name, position, and fortune, to the propagation of those sound doctrines of commercial

*I should remind the reader that, in translating into English, and writing from recollection, I do a double injustice to the finely-expressed sentiments of the noble Duke.

The revolution of February last, proves how little availed the anxious efforts of the Free Trade Society to save the Dynasty and prevent the frightful tumults that have occurred. It is better for the people that it should be so, for they have now obtained a power over their oppressors in the right of universal suffrage, that it will be their own fault if they fail to employ to their own advantage.

equality, in which he rightly beholds the preservation of order, and the redemption of the masses.

I can hardly close this article more gracefully, or with more advantage to your readers, Mr. Editor, than by adding letter I had the honour to receive from the Duke of Harcourt, and which I afterwards begged his permission to publish. It displays, in the fullest light, not only his rare intelligence, his eloquence, but his ardent disposition to labour at all times, and in every way for the benefit of France, and the happiness of mankind.

Paris, 13th April, 1847.

I thank you, sir, for the journal you were so good as to send me.* The article alluded to, I like very much; first, because it speaks well of you, and next, because it presents a very just appreciation of the actual state of the nations of Europe. I think with you that commercial interests are every where destined to play a grand part, and to supercede the selfish and deceitful diplomacy of the old dynasties.

The treaties of commerce that have been made up to this time, have almost always been a game, where the most skilful got the advantage, and where the party duped was always seeking to escape. Commercial liberty, on the contrary, profits both sides, and at this day has become a prime necessity. The general desire of our improved condition and augmented wealth, has every where given an enormous impulsion to production, which is every day increasing, and nations sinking under the weight of their products, feel that their greatest want is in markets. It is not to treaties that they can look to find them-the base is too fragile, and good faith too rarely accompanies them. It is to freedom of exchanges that they must finally turn, for there only will be discovered a foundation sufficiently stable and real, which equalizes the production to the demand, which establishes relations of equality and complete confidence between all countries, and thus permanently guarantees the peace of the world.

In contributing his best efforts to this end, each one of us, on our different sides of the ocean, I believe, serves the cause of humanity. I shall always be happy to talk with you on these great subjects; and you will find me every day, from 12 to 1 o'clock, at my residence, or it will give me great pleasure to call on you.

Accept the assurance of my best sentiments.

HARCOURT.

*This refers to a copy of the Courier des Etats Uuis of New-York, in which its Editor, M. Gaillardet, commented with great ability on an article 1 published in the Democratic Review of June, 1846, in which I introduced a remarkable letter, addressed to me by the celebrated Richard Cobden, on the subject of our commercial relations with England.

THE WEDDING IN THE GATE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

THE Rocky Mountains are but the northern link and continuation of the great Andes chain-that matchless chain, which cuts the Equator, and bisects the globe. And nowhere throughout the entire length of this vast range, imbedded, as it is, in the bosom of every zone, does nature of fer to the eye any grander scenery than the hoary heights of our own Rocky Mountains, mailed in marble, and hooded with snow. In popular apprehension, these latter are commonly considered as one immense geological mass. This is the remote view, and correct only as a rude and sweeping generalization. A closer scrutiny immediately detects three extensive and characteristic divisions. First, there is the main eastern range, or Rocky Mountains proper, rising on a base three hundred miles broad, and running from the Sierra de los Mimbres, in New Mexico, to the blue ice of the Arctic Ocean, perhaps farther, to the extreme summit of the frozen pole. Then again, there is the middle, or Cascade range, which takes the name of "Nevada," in Alta California, and stretches from the Gulf of Pearls, once called "the Vermillion Sea," away into the snows of Russian America. Lastly, there is the coast range, low, but strong-the barrier that baffles the surges of the Pacific.

If we include in our survey the entire slopes of this amazing trifureated group, the transverse line through the whole plane of its base is more than two thousand miles in length. The curves of its surface, also, are remarkably contradistinguished from all other mountainous regions within the domain of geography; and could the totality of its features be daguerreotyped on a scale sufficiently large, the picture would astonish the world. On the eastern descent, we would see far-reaching rivers, winding like silver threads on the emerald borders of immeasurable prairies. There is the country of the Camanches, Pawnees, and valiant Sioux. To the west, we behold streams, which are torents, dashing with the roar of thunder through enormous caverns, or leaping in the white foam of cataracts down mural cliffs, whose lofty brows do battle with the clouds. Here, too, is the great basin, with its snow-bound rim of sky-piercing mountains, its mysterious lake, and mighty plains of sand and salt, and rivers, that send no tribute to the sea. Here the mirage of the desert revels in the splendor of optical illusion; and gigantic spectres dog the footsteps, and imitate the motions of the bewildered traveller from daylight till dark. This vast western declivity is the home of the Apaches, the Utahs, the brave Walla-wallas, the Snakes, and countless hordes of ferocious Diggers. In the centre, we see the principal wall of granite, with its soaring pinnacles, like Titanic bastions, bristling on high, or utterly lost from the view in the deep azure of the celestial vault. Beneath the beetling brows of these, icy lakes expand and fathomless canadas yawn, into which no beam of sun or stars shall find its way till the shock of doom. Here roam the ruthless Black feet and warlike Crows; while around the wandering hunter, the braves of tribes without a name skim the frozen crust, sliding on their snow-shoes, swift as the winged winds.

Everywhere, also, scattered at intervals, cresting the mountain, and shooting above the plain, the field of our picture presents those extraordi

nary buttes-unique, without a parallel in the topography of the world. Some display the outlines of old feudal castles, with turrets and spires glistening in the sun; others assume the shape of colossal columns, surmounted by domes of black basalt, or cupolas of snowy marble. The whole vista wears the appearance of enchantment, as if some poet's wild dream had been realized in the form of imperishable stone.

The range throughout is subject to the most appalling storms. At such times the thunder rattles from peak to peak, riving the cliff, and rending the avalanche; and the lightning blazes till the air seems like a burning sea, and heaven's canopy but a vast sheet of fire; while the howling hurricane sweeps onwards with the fury of a force, that rocks alone can resist. And yet these mountains boast their white, as well as red inhabitants. Yes, there, far as the footsteps of the buffalo and elk, and high as the flight of the harbinger bee, in spite of sterile nature and savage man, one thousand Anglo-Americans have chosen their permanent abode, where few birds dare to build. Avarice, misanthropy, romance, love, disappointment, and, perchance, crime, have poured this heterogeneous people of traders, trappers, and hunters, into such sublime solitudes. And more singular still, so intoxicating prove the charms of that wild-wood life, not an instance has occurred of its voluntary abandonment, or more than a transient return of the exile to civilized and social enjoyment. Yet this is the bloody ground, where hecatombs have fallen. Their unburied bones bleach on the desert, are flapped by the raven, and gnawed by the wolf. The wailing winds murmur, and lonely torrents talk of the dead. Sequestered gorges, and solemn rocks, even rivers, are named after the murdered. Each new name commemorates a death. But fresh recruits take the places of the perished; and the muster-roll of fearless wanderers always remains full! So sweet is the exhilarating gas of mountain ether!

At first sight, the stupendous rocky chain strikes us as utterly impassable, Its arid wastes below, its towering peaks above, seem to interpose an eternal barrier against the westerly tide of emigration. What pioneer, in his rude wagon of wood, with his wife and children, may dare attempt to scale yonder Cyclopean wall, guarded, as it is, by whole nations of barbarians? Absurd and visionary as such a feat may appear in idea, it has been achieved by multitudes, annually, for more than a dozen years. Long before Captain Fremont and his party filled the mouth of fame with the rumor of their exploits, the bare feet of backwoods boys and girls had made tracks in the sand of the South Pass. For neither rocks, rivers, or seas, can stay the march of the army of American pioneers. The perils, privations, and hardships of these avant-guards of freedom were sufficient to dismay the most heroic hearts, but were powerless to chill the ardor, or check the progress of a people, who have expunged the words fear and retreat from the vocabulary of their land's language. Brave first pioneers, ye deserved a rich reward; and now, ye are rewarded. The first flash of the great gold mines is yours.

The incidents of the following story, related to the author by one of the actors in its thrilling scenes, present a brief but vivid picture of the dangers to which the earliest adventurers were usually exposed:

On the evening of the 4th of July, 1844, two families of emigrants might be seen tented for the night at "the Pacific Spring," on the main trail from Missouri to Oregon and Upper California. They had left Independence, the common point of departure, and then one thousand miles behind them, in company with a much more numerous band. But dissensions had oc

curred, as must always happen in the absence of government, or executive physical force, and the voluntary organization split into fragments, which latter, however, continued to roll onwards, like the broken pieces of a flying ball, under the impetus of their original projection. These two families, disgusted with the obstinacy and riotous spirit of their comrades, had determined to advance alone; and being provided with excellent teams, and many loose mules and oxen, so as to rest their animals by frequent changes in the wearing service of their journey, they had been enabled to reach the first fountain which mingles its waters with the western ocean-and hence called "the Pacific Spring," some ten days sooner than the remainder of the band. Thus they were in no danger of being surprised in the Sierra Nevada by the premature fall of autumnal snow, a most dreadful contingency, which pioneers are most anxious to avoid.

But the forward movement of so diminutive a party was hazardous in the extreme. In all, they numbered only a dozen persons; four of these were small children, and the rest adults of opposite sexes, in equal proportions. Their energy, prudence, and perseverance, in spite of the hostile and thievish savages that hovered around their way, had carried them safely thus far, half the distance of their route of two thousand miles, and would probably have borne them to the settlements of the Sacramento, had not a casualty intervened, as unexpected as it was impossible to foresee or resist.

In the mean time, the little band, not conscious of the impending danger, appeared to be in the happiest mood, cooked their frugal supper over a fire of "buffalo chips," amidst jokes, laughter, and scraps of forest song, and indulged the while in the brightest anticipations as to "the promised land" before them.

About sunset, a youth and maiden strolled from their camp, and ascended one of those tall elevations, which overlook and command the celebrated "South Pass." The view opened into indescribable grandeur and solemn desolation. Immense plains and measureless mountains extended wide as the circumference of sight, and the whole glittered in the red rays of evening, as if sprinkled with a baptism of burning gold. But the finest point in the glorious perspective was the noble Pass itself—that great gate in the mountain wall-so easy of ascent, that a railway might be run without excavation, to the very key of its gentle arch, and so exceedingly broad, that all the armies on the globe might deploy within its area, and neither wing of their mighty line would touch the edge of its enormous gap.

The lovers, (for such they were,) looked till they were lost in emotions of sublimity, and in blended ecstacy and devout awe pressed involuntarily closer to each other. Then their two hearts throbbed together as one, and the musical beats of their warm life-pulses became a chime and choral anthem, for they saw the name of nature's God sculptured on the mute marble of ten thousand rocks. What mattered it, that both were indigenous products of the far frontier, and clothed in smoke-tinted leather, and coarsethreaded home-spun? That did not bar them from love and worship, any more than from dew and sunshine. He was brave above fear, and she was beautiful beyond words. Hence their love was youth's necessity-as natural as the emission of odor from flowers, or as the coming of flowers at the call of May.

"What a grand church for our wedding!" whispered Henry, as they gazed down on their white canvass tents, beside "The Pacific Spring," whence arose the tinkling melody of mule-bells, and the ringing merriment of children's voices.