If they do not actually say this to him, this is what they will think; and that is, as to the effect, precisely the same thing. It is childishness to suppose that any nation will act from a desire of _serving all other nations_, or _any one other nation_, as _well as itself_. It will make, unless compelled, no compact by which it does not think itself _a gainer_; and amongst its gains, it must, and always does, reckon the injury to its rivals. It is a stupid idea that _all nations are to gain_ by anything. Whatever is the gain of one, must, in some way or other, be a loss to another. So that this new project of "free trade" and "mutual gain" is a pure humbug as that which the newspapers carried on during the "glorious days" of loans, when they told us, at every loan, that the bargain was "equally advantageous to the contractors and to the public!" The fact is the "free trade" project is clearly the effect of a _consciousness of our weakness_. As long as we felt _strong_, we felt _bold_, we had no thought of conciliating the world; we upheld a system of _exclusion_, which long experience proved to be founded in _sound policy_. But we now find that our debts and our loads of various sorts cripple us. We feel our incapacity for the _carrying of trade sword in hand_: and so we have given up all our old maxims, and are endeavouring to persuade the world that we are anxious to enjoy no advantages that are not enjoyed also by our neighbours. Alas! the world sees very clearly the cause of all this; and the world _laughs at us_ for our imaginary cunning. My old doggrel, that used to make me and my friends laugh in Long Island, is precisely put to this case. When his man was stuffed with paper, How John Bull did prance and caper! How he foam'd and how he roared: How his neighbours all he gored. How he scrap'd the ground and hurled Dirt and filth on all the world! But John Bull of paper empty, Though in midst of peace and plenty, Is modest grown as worn-out sinner, As Scottish laird that wants a dinner; As Wilberforce, become content A rotten borough to represent; As Blue and Buff, when, after hunting On Yankee coasts their "bits of bunting," Came softly back across the seas, And silent were as mice in cheese.