Accordingly, in our American Man must be found, first, social largeness and susceptibility,—­whatsoever, in the breadth of a flexile and sympathetic nature, may contribute to the keeping of the Golden Rule.  But the broadest good-feeling will not alone suffice.  The great pledge of peace, fellowship, and profitable co-working among such a population as we anticipate must be sought in the deeper unity of moral principle.  For Right is one, and is every man’s interest.  Right is better than Charity; for Right meets, or even anticipates, normal wants, while Charity only mends failures.  Nothing, therefore, that we could discover in the New Man would be such a security for his future, nothing so fit him for his place, as a tendency to simple and universal principles of action.  In the absence of this, he will infallibly be compelled one day to enter Providence’s court of chancery, and come forth bankrupt.  But let him be, even by promise, a seer of those primary truths in which the interests of all are comprehended and made identical, and the virtue of his vision will become the assurance of his welfare.  Doubtless, sad men will say that our own eyes are clouded with some glittering dust of optimism, when we declare that this Man for the Continent is the very one whose advent we celebrate.  This might, indeed, seem a fatuitously dulcet song to sing just now, when a din of defection and recreancy is loud through all the land,—­now, when we have immediately in view, and on the largest scale, an open patronage of infamous wrong-doing, so brazen-fronted and blush-proof that only the spectacle itself makes its credibility;—­the prior possibility of it we should one and all hasten, for the honor of human nature, to deny.  Yet in the midst of all this are visible the victorious influences that mould the imported Teuton to the spiritual form which his appointed tasks imply.  These we now hasten to indicate.

And first, every breath of American air helps to make him the American Man.  The atmosphere of America was early noted as a wonder-worker.  Ten years subsequent to the landing at Plymouth, the Rev. Francis Higginson, an acute observer, wrote to the mother country,—­“A sup of New England air is better than a whole flagon of old English ale.”  Jean Paul says that the roots of humankind are the lungs, and that, being rooted in air,—­we are properly children of the aether.  Truly, children of the aether,—­and so, children of fire.  For the oxygen, upon which the lungs chiefly feed, is the fiery principle in Nature,—­all that we denominate fire and flame being but the manifestation of its action.  We are severe upon fire-eaters, Southern and other; yet here are we, cool Northerns, quaffing this very principle and essence of fire in large lung-draughts every moment, each of us carrying a perpetual furnace in his bosom.  Now it is doubtless true that we inhale more oxygen, or at least inhale it less drenched with damp, than the people of Europe, and are, therefore,