The River Falls Journal

The Permanence of our Constitution and Union.—(From Mr. Seward's speech in the senate, Feb. 29).—Mr. President, we are perpetually forgetting this subtle and complex, yet obvious and mechanism of our constitution; and because we do forget it, we are continually wondering how it is that a confederacy of thirty and more states, covering regions so vast and regulating interests of so many millions of men, constituted and conditioned so diversely, works right on. We are continually looking to see it stop and stand still, or fall suddenly into pieces. But, in truth, it will not stop; it was made not to stop; but to keep in motion—in motion always, and without force. For my own part, as this wonderful machine, when it had newly come from the hands of its almost divine inventors, was the admiration of my earlier years, although it was then but imperfectly known abroad, so now, when it forms the central figure in the economy of the world's civilization, and the best sympathies of mankind favor its continuance, I expect that it will stand and work right on until men shall fear its failure no more than we now apprehend that the sun will cease to hold his eternal place in the heavens. Nevertheless, I do not expect to see this purely popular, though majestic, system always working on unattended by the presence and exhibition of human temper and human passions. That would be to expect to enjoy rewards, benefits and blessings, without labor, care and watchfulness, an expectation contrary to Divine appointment. These are the discipline of the American citizen, and he must inure himself to it. When, as now, a great policy fastened upon the country through its doubts and fears, confirmed by its habits, and strengthened by personal interests and ambitions, is to be relaxed and changed, in order that the nation may have its just and natural and free development, then, indeed, all the winds of controversy are let loose upon us from all points of the political compass, we see objects and men only through hazes, mists, and doubtful and lurid lights. The earth seems to be heaving under our feet, and the pillars of the noble fabric that protects us to be trembling before our eyes. But the appointed end of all this agitation comes at last, and always seasonably; the tumults of the people subside; the country becomes calm once more; and then we find that only our senses have been disturbed, and that they have betrayed us. The earth is firm as always before, and the wonderful structure for whose safety we have feared so anxiously, now more firmly fixed than ever, still stands unmoved, enduring, and immovable.