give the means of living in a better society.  In such a state, it is evident that no spirit of permanent improvement is likely to spring up.  Profits will not be invested with a distant view of benefiting posterity.  Roads and canals will hardly be built; schools will not be founded; colleges will not be endowed.  There will be few fixtures in society; no principles of utility or of elegance, planted now, with the hope of being developed and expanded hereafter.  Profit, immediate profit, must be the principal active spring in the social system.  There may be many particular exceptions to these general remarks, but the outline of the whole is such as is here drawn.

Another most important consequence of such a state of things is, that no idea of independence of the parent country is likely to arise; unless, indeed, it should spring up in a form that would threaten universal desolation.  The inhabitants have no strong attachment to the place which they inhabit.  The hope of a great portion of them is to leave it; and their great desire, to leave it soon.  However useful they may be to the parent state, how much soever they may add to the conveniences and luxuries of life, these colonies are not favored spots for the expansion of the human mind, for the progress of permanent improvement, or for sowing the seeds of future independent empire.

Different, indeed, most widely different, from all these instances of emigration and plantation, were the condition, the purposes, and the prospects of our fathers, when they established their infant colony upon this spot.  They came hither to a land from which they were never to return.  Hither they had brought, and here they were to fix, their hopes, their attachments, and their objects in life.  Some natural tears they shed, as they left the pleasant abodes of their fathers, and some emotions they suppressed, when the white cliffs of their native country, now seen for the last time, grew dim to their sight.  They were acting, however, upon a resolution not to be daunted.  With whatever stifled regrets, with whatever occasional hesitation, with whatever appalling apprehensions, which might sometimes arise with force to shake the firmest purpose, they had yet committed themselves to Heaven and the elements; and a thousand leagues of water soon interposed to separate them for ever from the region which gave them birth.  A new existence awaited them here; and when they saw these shores, rough, cold, barbarous, and barren, as then they were, they beheld their country.  That mixed and strong feeling, which we call love of country, and which is, in general, never extinguished in the heart of man, grasped and embraced its proper object here.  Whatever constitutes country, except the earth and the sun, all the moral causes of affection and attachment which operate upon the heart, they had brought with them to their new abode.  Here were now their families and friends, their homes, and their property.  Before they reached the shore,