fact already perfectly well.

"Oh, no--far from it--but we don't speak of this publicly, it being a sort
of disgrace in New York, you know, not to be thought worth at least
half a million. I dare say your Pa is worth as much as that?"

"I have not the least idea he is worth a fourth of it, though I do not
pretend to know. To me half a million of dollars seems a great deal of
money, and I know my father considers himself poor--poor, at least, for
one of his station. But what were you about to say of political
economy? I am curious to hear how THAT can have any thing to do
with your handkerchief."

"Why, my dear, in this manner. You know a distribution of labor is the
source of all civilization--that trade is an exchange of equivalents--that
custom-houses fetter these equivalents--that nothing which is fettered is
free--"

"My dear Eudosia, what IS your tongue running on?"

"You will not deny, Clara, that any thing which is fettered is not free?
And that freedom is the greatest blessing of this happy country; and that
trade ought to be as free as any thing else?"

All this was gibberish to Clara Caverly, who understood the phrases,
notwithstanding, quite as well as the friend who was using them. Political
economy is especially a science of terms; and free trade, as a branch of
it is called, is just the portion of it which is indebted to them the most.
But Clara had not patience to hear any more of the unintelligible jargon
which has got possession of the world to-day, much as Mr. Pitt's