at the most confident and the most violent persons learn that here is
resistance on which both impudence and terror are wasted, namely faith
in a fact. The men who carry their points do not need to inquire of
their constituents what they should say, but are themselves the country
which they represent; nowhere are its emotions or opinions so instant
and true as in them; nowhere so pure from a selfish infusion. The
constituency at home hearkens to their words, watches the color of
their cheek, and therein, as in a glass, dresses its own. Our public
assemblies are pretty good tests of manly force. Our frank countrymen of
the west and south have a taste for character, and like to know whether
the New Englander is a substantial man, or whether the hand can pass
through him.
The same motive force appears in trade. There are geniuses in trade,
as well as in war, or the State, or letters; and the reason why this or
that man is fortunate is not to be told. It lies in the man; that is all
anybody can tell you about it. See him and you will know as easily why
he succeeds, as, if you see Napoleon, you would comprehend his fortune.
In the new objects we recognize the old game, the Habit of fronting the
fact, and not dealing with it at second hand, through the perceptions of
somebody else. Nature seems to authorize trade, as soon as you see the
natural merchant, who appears not so much a private agent as her factor
and Minister of Commerce. His natural probity combines with his insight
into the fabric of society to put him above tricks, and he communicates
to all his own faith that contracts are of no private interpretation.
The habit of his mind is a reference to standards of natural equity and
public advantage; and he inspires respect and the wish to deal with
him, both for the quiet spirit of honor which attends him, and for the
intellectual pastime which the spectacle of so much ability affords.
This immensely stretched trade, which makes the capes of the Southern
Ocean his wharves, and the Atlantic Sea his familiar port, centres in
his brain only; and nobody in the universe can make his place good. In
his parlor I see very well that he has been at hard work this morning,
with that knitted brow and that settled humor, which all his desire to
be courteous cannot shake off. I see plainly how many firm acts have
been done; how many valiant noes have this day been spoken, when others
would have uttered ruinous yeas. I see, with the p
|