other.  It is a force springing out of the summit of the brain, the angel of its noblest sentiment, going forth with no less an aim than to construct a whole new social status from ideas.  And the token of its superiority is this, that it builds its new outward life only from the most ancient incorruptible material, out of the eternal granite of Moral Law.  Sweeping social schemes prevail in France.  But American Reform is not a scheme; it is the service of an idea.  It is made conservative by that which also makes it radical, by working in the interest of the moral sentiment.

The Literature of the New World is also worthy of the New Man.  We are quite aware that a large portion of this literature is trash.  So was a large part in Shakspeare’s, in Cervantes’s, in Plato’s age and place.  But we admit even that the comparison does not hold,—­that an especial accusation may be brought against the issues of the press in this country.  Wise men should have anticipated this, and, instead of reasoning from the size of our lakes, prairies, and mountains, and demanding epics and philosophies of us before we are fairly out of our primitive woods, the critics should have hastened to say,—­A colony must have time to strike root, and to draw up therefrom a new life, before it can arrive at valuable and genuine literary expression.  The Life must come before the Thought.  Nothing could be more absurd than the expectation that American literature should spring away into the air from the top of European performance.  Our first literature was colonial,—­that is, imitative, written for the approbation of European critics,—­of course, having somewhat the empty correctness of good school-boy composition.  Next followed what we may call fire-weed literature,—­the first rank, raw product of new lands.  Under these two heads a vast number of books must of course be reckoned.  But beyond these American literature has already passed, and now can point to books that spring out of the pure genius of the New Man.  And having only these in mind, we hesitate not to say that there is now sounding upon these shores a deeper, subtler, and more universal note than is heard in any other land touched by the Atlantic Sea.  We have now writings in several departments of literature, and in both prose and verse, which are characterized by a breadth and largeness of suggestion, by a spirituality and a prophetic adherence to the moral sentiment, which justify all that has here been affirmed or reasoned.  And our deepest thought finds a popular reception which proves it not foreign or exceptional.  Wilkinson’s “Human Body,” the largest piece of speculative construction which England has produced in two centuries, has not yet, after some eight years, we believe, exhausted its first edition.  Emerson’s Poems, still less adapted, one would say, than the work just mentioned, to the taste of populaces, had reached its fourth edition in about the same period.  Learned works have, of course, a superior reception in the mother-country; works of pure thought in the daughter.  Said to us, during the past season, the subtilest thinker of Great Britain,—­“I must send to America whatever I wish to put in print, unless I pay for its publication from my own pocket.”