a single foot of the extensive surface of this planet?  No! urged by a variety of motives, here they came.  Every thing has tended to regenerate them; new laws, a new mode of living, a new social system; here they are become men:  in Europe they were as so many useless plants, wanting vegetative mould, and refreshing showers; they withered, and were mowed down by want, hunger, and war; but now by the power of transplantation, like all other plants they have taken root and flourished!  Formerly they were not numbered in any civil lists of their country, except in those of the poor; here they rank as citizens.  By what invisible power has this surprising metamorphosis been performed?  By that of the laws and that of their industry.  The laws, the indulgent laws, protect them as they arrive, stamping on them the symbol of adoption; they receive ample rewards for their labours; these accumulated rewards procure them lands; those lands confer on them the title of freemen, and to that title every benefit is affixed which men can possibly require.  This is the great operation daily performed by our laws.  From whence proceed these laws?  From our government.  Whence the government?  It is derived from the original genius and strong desire of the people ratified and confirmed by the crown.  This is the great chain which links us all, this is the picture which every province exhibits, Nova Scotia excepted.

There the crown has done all; either there were no people who had genius, or it was not much attended to:  the consequence is, that the province is very thinly inhabited indeed; the power of the crown in conjunction with the musketos has prevented men from settling there.  Yet some parts of it flourished once, and it contained a mild harmless set of people.  But for the fault of a few leaders, the whole were banished.  The greatest political error the crown ever committed in America, was to cut off men from a country which wanted nothing but men!

What attachment can a poor European emigrant have for a country where he had nothing?  The knowledge of the language, the love of a few kindred as poor as himself, were the only cords that tied him:  his country is now that which gives him land, bread, protection, and consequence:  Ubi panis ibi patria, is the motto of all emigrants.  What then is the American, this new man?  He is either an European, or the descendant of an European, hence that strange mixture of blood, which you will find in no other country.  I could point out to you a family whose grandfather was an Englishman, whose wife was Dutch, whose son married a French woman, and whose present four sons have now four wives of different nations.  He is an American, who, leaving behind him all his ancient prejudices and manners, receives new ones from the new mode of life he has embraced, the new government he obeys, and the new rank he holds.  He becomes an American by being received in the broad lap of our great Alma Mater.  Here individuals