know what they do with civil and religious liberty. [Cheers.] * * * * Nor do we interfere with nations by our example only. We are interfering by the propagation of our ideas. We do propagate our ideas; we do it on purpose; not by our literature only, but by our diplomacy, bad as our diplomacy is (and few think worse of it than I), nevertheless it is not possible for diplomacy to go out of the United States without conveying, more or less, the impression of Liberty, any more than for a person to go out of a room where odors are and not carry some of the perfume in his garments. It is not possible to convey messages, to write them on paper, that are not more or less testimonials to the nations of the world. This is not all. There is a worse conspiracy than that. Why there are revolutionary societies on this continent, who have their emissaries in France, Italy and Prussia, and almost every part of the European continent. There is the Bible Society, one of the most revolutionary societies on the globe. There is the Foreign Missionary Society. Do not think I mean to play on words. The sum total of all Revolutions is contained in the New Testament. It contains the greatest magazine of bomb-shells, torpedoes and rockets, and other devastating elements of all other books put together; and that man that does send the Bible, and a Protestant Minister to preach the doctrines of the Bible (it is no figure of speech to say it), is just as surely preparing them for civil and religious liberty, as the sun is preparing the tree for its blossoms and fruits, when in the spring it begins to warm the roots, and swell the buds and bring them out.

"Now, having interfered thus far, shall we begin to talk about backing out, when there is required a little pluck—as the English call it? [Cheers.] So long as it is safe, you can fight, but the moment it is not quite so safe, you are a little addicted to peace principles. [Laughter.] So long as it is safe, you are willing to send your missionaries, and all our pious men may read to our audiences, and our most conservative men may wipe their eyes and cry, "Blessed be God!" [Loud cheering.] Gentlemen, I'm a little like a river, so that if you stop me by cheers, it dams me up, and I don't want to be damned! [Great laughter.] Therefore I hope you will not cheer. [Cries of' go on,' 'go on.'] I say that while we rejoice-even the most conservative of us-in all this early interference, which I believe God directs and prospers, will you shrink when the tug of war appears? Have not the husbandmen gone out and sown the seed broadcast, and has not the seed sprung up and flourished, and grown green, and from green to yellow, and will you not now come and aid to reap the harvest? If men are ashamed to reap they should be ashamed to sow. Either stop praying 'thy Kingdom come,' or else when it does come, recognise it. [Laughter and cheers.] For my own part, gentlemen, I have no sympathy whatever with those who believe that it is our chief duty to talk bravely, but take good care when the time comes not to do anything.

"I have but a word inore to say. [Cries of 'go on,' 'go on.'] It seems to me that if the history of the world had been ransacked to find an occasion where we might, with propriety, bring our doctrines to the test, no better time could be found

than that which is now come. I think that above all lands Hungary is the land, and above all other men, Louis Kossuth is the man. Stop one moment and think of Hungary, with more than twelve millions of united people standing centrally almost between occidental Europe and Asia, standing in a position, fitted above all others, to make it the land of liberty for all the world. It seems as if God for a long while had had his eye upon Hungary, and he has given her what he has not given to Italy or France. He has given her sound families, purity of religion, and institutions which prepare the people for selfgovernment. They They are all ready-there never was a nation so well prepared. If we begin in France, many, many as are her excellencies, there is a primary work to be done in the education of the lower classes of the people. But in Hungary, of all other lands over which God looks, he says to us:"Take possession of that land in the name of Liberty!'"

ABBOTT LAWRENCE.

THE first time the writer saw ABBOTT LAWRENCE, the great cotton-lord, was in Brattle Square church. He was standing in the broad aisle, conversing with a negro, who is a brother member of the same religious society to which the subject of this sketch belongs. While the beauty and fashion, the wealth and wisdom, the virtue and piety of that church were pressing homewards, the distinguished man who is now at the Court of St James, was holding a brief tête-à-tête with his black brother, and I had a fine opportunity to take his portrait.

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Mr. Lawrence is a tall, portly, noble and dignified-looking man, about sixty years of age. His head is bald, and shines as though it came fresh from the hands of a skilful varnisher and polisher; and it is quite evident that the shining qualities of the head are not confined to the exterior of the skull, but seem rather to result from something brilliant within. He has a calm, pleasant face, indicating, to the minutest line, that he is not afraid to see the sheriff or the clamorous creditor. He wore, on this occasion, a thin cravat, light vest and a dress coat (I think) of olive green.

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I saw him again at a mass meeting" in Faneuil Hall, the very time when he said his breeches-pocket contained the

evidence that Gen. Taylor was a Whig!

The old "Cradle of

Liberty" was packed with people. It was no easy task for those who came late to gain admittance, but, being accustomed to crowds, and determined to see and hear the speakers, I pushed my way through to the front gallery, where I obtained a seat and a view of the platform. Our subject was in the chair, and in more senses than one he filled it well. He was surrounded by men well known to fame. Some of them were acquainted with him when he was a poor, awkward boy, employed as a clerk in a store in the city of Boston. One of them told the writer that when Mr. Lawrence left his native town of Groton, he came to the capital of Massachusetts with a pair of buckskin gloves on his hands. It was during the Summer season, and some of the city gents laughed at the verdancy of the country lad. That he afterwards pulled off his gloves, the "cities of spindles" he has erected, bear the most unequivocal testimony.

At the proper time he arose and made a speech. It contained humor, pathos, and logic enough to be interesting. He is more of a business. than a literary man; a better financier than statesman, and would never have been more than a moderate statesman if he had not been a first-rate financier. He is indebted to his brains for his money, and to his money for his honors. He went through the mill first, then graduated at the counting-house, and recently journeyed to London as minister-plenipotentiary.

Mr. Lawrence is a magnificent man. He does everything by wholesale and nothing in the retail line. Not satisfied