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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 18G0, by 


In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Kartell! 
District of Pennsylvania. 


The great extent and variety of English and American litera- 
ture, is a sufficient warrant for publishing a new book of extracts 
from their valuable stores. 

Add to this the importance which literature has attained in this 
age ) the new authors of merit and genius who are almost daily 
appearing, and the correspondent increase in our standard litera- 
ture, and what was before simply warrantable, becomes almost a 

Without disparagement of many excellent books already pub- 
lished, it must be said that we have delayed too long upon the 
hackneyed though beautiful periods of a few favorite orators or 
authors ; and that those acquainted with the wants of academies 
and colleges, know how difficult it is, in any such work, to 
find what young speakers, and their hearers, alike crave, — some- 
thing new. 

Such is the experience of the compiler of this volume, an 
experience of years in the suggestion and selection of pieces for 
declamation by students : and this has prompted the publication 
of the present volume. 

To meet these wants, he offers the following as among the claims 
of " The Select Academic Speaker": — 

The selections are with few exceptions new: they have not 



appeared before in books of this character. A very small number 
of old favorites have been admitted, which from their sterling 
merits seemed to demand this recognition. 

While care has been taken to bring new pieces together, they 
have been selected not for this quality alone, but also for their real 
merits, — the finest efforts of oratory and the varied enunciation 
of true poetry are here collated, with the hope that their study and 
recitation will instruct and refine the student's heart. 

Another aim has been to present short pieces : the time allotted 
to the individual speaker in seminaries where there are many 
students, is but small; and, besides, the complaint of those who 
have many studies to carry on connectedly, is, that the pieces 
ordinarily selected are too long to be easily learned during the 
pressure of other lessons. 

On account of the brevity of the extracts, and the small but clear 
type in which the book is printed, a greater number of pieces, and 
a more numerous collection of authors, have been presented than in 
any similar book. Care has been taken to do justice to the great 
minds of all parts of our country, and as far as possible, by 
avoiding all sectional and sectarian bias, to fit the book for the 
great popular wants of education throughout the Union. 

With the earnest hope that he has succeeded in his honest 
attempt, the compiler places his book in the hands of the instruct- 
ors and students of the United States. 

H. C. 

University of Pennsylvania, June 1860. 





The Orator's Art, John Qttincy Adams. 

The Orator's Gift, Abbe Baittain, . . 

The Wonders of the Dawn, Edward Everett, . 

The Duties of the Historian, Mitchell King, . . 

Popular Government in America, Daniel "Webster, 

Language and Poetry, Joseph R. Ingersoll, 

The Glory of Athens, Joseph R. Ingersoll, 

The True Inspiration of the Orator, .... Abbe Baittain, . . 

The Statesman's Panoply, John Qtjincy Adams, 

Mount Ebal and Mount Gerizim, John Qtjincy Adams, 

Early Astronomy, Lord Macattlay, 

Installation Speech at Glasgow, Lord Macattlay, 

The Influence of Byron, Lord Macattlay, 

The Miracles of Mature, Thomas Carlyle, 

Mysteries, Thomas Carlyle, 

The Origin of Universities, Thomas Carlyle, 

Atheism Absurd, Thomas Carlyle, 

Theism and its Tenets, Thomas Carlyle, 

Kings' Desires, Lord Bacon, 

Studies, Lord Bacon, 

Beauty and Utility, Wieland, 

English Valor, Dr. Johnson, 

Truth, Lord Bacon, 

Mental and Moral Greatness, Dr. Stevens, 

Pacific Railroad, Calvin Colton 

The Exile's Hope, Victor Hugo, 

Golden Grain, Edward Everett, 

The Xew Olympiad, Morton McMichael 

The Preservation of the Union, Edward Everett, 

The Sons of Georgia, Bishop Elliott, . 

The Sculptor's Art, Henry Reed, . . 

The Great Mountains, John Rttskin, 

The Student's Duties, James Walker, D.D., 

Calvert and the Maryland Charter, .... William George Reed 

The Finite and the Infinite, R. C. Winthrop, 

Florence and its Treasures, Edward Everett, 

Tolerant Christianity the Law of the Laud, . Daniel Webster, 

The Obstacles to Christianity, Stephen Colwell, 

Christian Courage, William C. Rives, 

1* (5) 




The Demon of Speculation, 

The Influence of the Classics, 

Modern Authorship, 

The Demeanor of Books, 

National Vigor, 

England and America, 

Degrees of Imagination, 

The Cataract of Niagara, 


The' New World and the Old, 

Vathek in the II all of Eblis, 

The Dramatic Age, 

Culture of the English Language, . . . . 

Byron's Tomb, 

Address of Nicias to his Troops, 

Common Things Important, 

The Physician's Duty and Responsibility, . . 

The Smithsonian Institute, 

The First Predicted Eclipse, 

Kepler's Discovery of the Third Law, . . . 

The Treaty of Shackamaxon, 

The Settlement of Pennsylvania, 

Canova's Triumph, 

Devotion to Science, 

European Names in America, 

The Progress of Civilization, 

The Pilgrims of New England, 

The Value of the Union, 

English Opinions of France, 

Napoleon's Tomb, 

Man's Immortality, 

The Stone Age, 

Penn and Lycurgus, 

The Spread of Knowledge, 

The Heavens Proclaim the Deity, 

The Franks, 

The House of Refuge, 

The Dutch Republic, 

The Use of Knowledge, 

English Prisons, 

Ireland and Grattan, 

Rapid Progress in Agriculture, 

The Wonders of the Deep, 

Aspects of the Ocean, 

Farewell to the Army at Fontainebleau, 1814, 


Proclamation to the Army of Italy, . . . . 


Inauguration of the Monument to Henry Clay, 

The Great Merits of Henry Clay, 

English Culture, 

The Egotistical Talker, 

The Sense of Beauty, 

Books, • 

Dn. Bo LIU) MAN, 

Joseph Story, 

Joseph Stout, 

John Milton, . . . 60 

John Milton, .... 60 

G eorge 1'. Marsh, . 61 

Leigh Hint 61 

Ch \ i i. IlUbbiand, ... 03 

Hor ice iiiNMv Wallace, 63 

Arnold Ghyot, . . . 64 

William Beckford, . 66 

Henry Rbbi 66 

Henry Reed, .... or 

W lshington Crying, . 69 

Thdcydides G ( J 

II. C. Winthrop, . . . N 

Dr. J. W. Francis, . . 70 

Joel R. Poinsett, . . 71 

0. M. MlT< BEL, ... 71 
0. M. MlTCHEL, ... 73 

Henry J). Gilpin, . . 7-1 

Henry D. Gilpin, . . 74 

Cardinal Wiseman, . 75 

Augustin Thierry, . 70 

Adgustin Thierry, . 70 

Guizot, 77 

S. S. Prentiss, ... 78 

S. S. Prentiss, ... 7'J 

Dr. Dubbin, .... 80 

Dr. Durbin, .... SO 

William Proht, . . 81 

Walter Scott, . . . 82 

Gulian C. Verrlanck . 83 

W. E. Channing, . . 84 

0. M. MlTCHEL, ... 80 

Augustin Thierry, . 80 
John Sergeant, . . 
Gulian C. Verplanck 
Cardinal Wiseman, 
Sydney Smith, 
Sydney Smith, 
W. M. Meredith, 
Anonymous, . , 
Napoleon Bonaparte, 
Montesquieu, . . 
Napoleon Bonaparte, 
Charles Phillips, 
John Tyler, . . . 
John Tyler, . . . 
Lord John Russell, 
J. B. Owen, . . . 
W. E. Channing, 
W. E. Channing, 



Impressment of American Sailors, Henry Clay, 

Abuse of Napoleon, Henry Clay, . 

Reply to John Randolph, Henry Clay, . 

The Building of National Roads, Henry Clay, . 

Address to Lafayette, Henry Clay, . 

The Juryman's Duty, Daniel Webster, 

The Murderer's Self-Betrayal, Daniel Webster, 

The Murderer's Plan, Daniel Webster, 

The Bunker Hill Monument, Daniel Webster, 

England and America, J. C. Calhoun, 

Federal Government, J. C. Calhoun, 

The Roman System, J. C. Calhoun, 

The Roman System — Continued, J. C. Calhoun, 

Reply to the Charge of iEschines, Demosthenes, 

The Commonwealth and its Ambassadors, . . Demosthenes, 

Religious Liberty, William Gaston, 

False Philanthropy, R. Y. Hayne, . 

South Carolina in the Revolution, . . . . R. Y. Hayne, . 

Laws Concerning the Slave Trade, .... James M. Wayne, 

Friendship with England, Rufus King, . . 

American Influence, . H. W. Hilliard, 

Hamilton, Gouverneur Morris, 

On the Distribution Bill, Thomas H. Benton, 

To the Noblesse of Provence, Mirabeau, .... 

Monomania, David Paul Brown, 

Actions and Motives, David Paul Brown, 

An Independent Judiciary, James A. Bayard, . 

Switzerland, an Example, Patrick Henry, . . 

Amendments to the Constitution, Patrick Henry, . . 

James II. and George III William H. Drayton, 

American Rights, Joseph Warren, 

The Southern Campaign, John Rutledge, . . 

English Presumption, James Madison, . . 

Faction and Tyranny, Alexander Hamilton, 

The Achievers of our Liberty, John Hancock, . . 

Inaugural Address, George Washington, 

The Rule of American Conduct, George Washington, 

The Appeal to Arms, John Dickinson, . . 

The Necessity of Independence, Samuel Adams, . . 

Call to Americans, Josiah Quincy, Jr., 

Address to a Jury, Josiah Quincy, Jr., 

A Stable Government for America, .... Benjamin Rush, . . 

Washington, Henry Lee, . . . 

Acknowledgments to England, John Randolph, . . 

The Injuries of England, John Randolph, . . 

The Character of Lafayette, John Quincy Adams, 

The Future Glory of America, David Ramsay, . . 

Capital Punishment, Edward Livingston, 

Judges among Men, Tristram Burges, . 

The Congress of 1776, William Wirt, . . 

Address to a Jury, David Paul Brown, 

The Banner of Union, Franklin Pierce, . 

American Policy, De Witt Clinton, 


Tho "Value of a Navy, James A. Bayard, 

War in Self-Dcfence, John Randolph, 

The Excise System, John Randolph, 

Tho Excise System Impossible in America, . John Randolph, 

American Valor, Lewis Cass, 

Barbarous Warfare, Lord Chatham, 

England and her Children, Edmund Burkb, 

Milton and " The Age of Reason," .... T. Erskine, 

The East Indian Government, Edmund Burke, 

French Legitimacy, Charles Phillips, 

Lafayette in America, Thomas II. Benton 

The Ceded Lands, John M. Berrien, 

The Protective System, George McDuffie : 

The Charter of Runnymede, Lord Chatham, . 

The French Revolution, Sir James McIntosh, 

American Petitions, Lord Chatham, . . 

The Exile's Fate, Richard Lalor Sheh», 

Religious Charity, Richard Lalor Sheil, 

Defence of John O'Connell, Richard Lalor Sheil, 

Iron Links, Rufus Choate, . . 

The Learning for a Judge, Rufus Choate, . . 

The Incorruptible Judge, Rufus Choate, . . 

States Protected by the General Government, T. F. Marshall, 

Modern Toleration, T. F. Marshall, . . 

State Laws, • . . Alexander Hamilton, 

The Constitution a Bill of Rights, .... Alexander Hamilton, 

The Power of the Constitution, James Madison, 

Eulogy on Franklin, Abbe Fauchet, . . 

The American Motive to War, Charles James Fox, 

The Reign of Terror, Lord Brougham, 

Denunciation of Lord Castlereagh, .... Lord Brougham, 

The Valor of the Irish Aliens, Richard Lalor Sheil, 

Retirement from the Senate, Henry Clay, . . . 

The Deeds of General Taylor, Jefferson Davis, . 

Constitutional Responsibility, Stephen A. Douglas, 

The French War, J. J. Crittenden, 

Jewish Disability, Lord John Russell, 

Aid to Hungary, Louis Kossuth, . . 

The Limit of Intervention, Judge Duer, . . . 

The Cause of Hungary, R. M. T. Hunter, 

Catiline Denounced, Cicero, 

Expunging Resolution, J. C. Calhoun, . . 


History Properly Written, Lord Macaulay, . 

Civil and Religious Liberty, William Smyth, 

England and America, William Smyth, 

Addison's Hymns, W. M. Thackeray, 

Fielding's Fame, W. M. Thackeray, 

John Locke and William Penn, George Bancroft, 

Milton and Dryden, Lord Macaulay, 

Wonders of English Rule in India, .... Lord Mahon, 

The Black Hole of Calcutta, Lord Mahon, 

Macaulay's Oratory, Neio York Daily Times, 


The Wounded After a Battle, 

Architecture in Venice, 

The Execution of Andre, 

The Hospital at Sebastopol, 

Byron and Burns, 

The Assault on the Malakoff, 

The Struggle in the Redan, 

Napoleon and Josephine, 

The Oratory of Pitt, 

The Character of Fox, ....... 

The Eloquence of Burke, 

Lord North's Policy, 

The Administration of Pitt (Lord Chatham), 

The Handwriting of Junius, 

The Oratory of Canning, 

R,elics at Abbotsford, 



The Court of Charles II., 

The Character of James I., 

The Policy of Queen Elizabeth, .... 

The Cathedral at Rouen, 

Art in Antwerp, 

Domestic Comfort in the Fifteenth Century, 

Tacitus as a Historian, 


Eulogy on Calhoun, 

Murder of Thomas a Becket, 

The Cosmos, 

La Valetta at Malta, 

The Mahometan Corsair, 

Dr. Arnold at Rugby, 

The Death of Major Hodson at Lucknow, . 

Washington's Presence, 

Washington's Moral Character, .... 

The Fate of Andre, 

West Point, 

The Impossible, 

Havelock's Highlanders, 

The News from Lexington, 

Allen's Capture of Ticonderoga, .... 

The Downfall of Napoleon, 

Isabella of Spain and Elizabeth of England, 



Scandinavian Amazons, 

Christmas in St. Peter's, 

Washington at Oermantown, 

Manhattan in the Olden Time, .... 
Fashionable Parties in New Netherlands, . 

Sheridan's Classical Powers, 

Irving's Washington, 

Common Conversation, 

The Counsel of Queen Caroline, .... 

London Times, 
John Ruskin, 
Harper's Magazine, 
London Times, 
Thomas Caklyle, 
London Times, 
London Times, 
Fraser's Magazine, 
Lord Brougham, 
Lord Brougham, 
Lord Brougham, 
Lord Brougham, 
Lord Brougham, 
Lord Brougham, 
Lord Brougham, 
Washington Irving 
Lord Macaulay, 
Lord Brougham, 
Lord John Russell 
Sanford, . . 
Lord Macaulay, 
Dr. Durbin, . 
Dr. Durbin, . 
Hallam, . 
Lord Macaulay, 
William Wirt, 
Daniel Webster 
A. Thierry, . 
Bayard Taylor, 
Hughes, . . . 
Hughes, . 
Sparks, . . . 

C. J. BlDDLE, 
LOSSING, . . • 

Robert Dale Owen 
W. Brock, . . 


George Bancroft, 
Thomas Arnold, D 
Prescott, . . 
G-. S. Hileard, . 
H. Wheaton, 
G. S. Hillard, . 
Sidney G. Fisher, 
Washington Irving, 
Washington Irving, 
Anonymous, . . . 
G. W. Greene, . 
Bulwer, . . . . 
Dr. Doran, . 




The Voice of the Preacher, .... 
The Queen of England at her Accession, 

The Office of a Judge, 

The Abuse of Conscience, 



Suffering enhances Virtue, .... 

The Great Assize, 

Modern Infidelity, 

The Ministry of the Sciences, .... 

Man Justified, 

Safety of God's Children, 

Heavenly Glory, 

The Few Chosen, 

The King's Power, 

The King's Power — Continued, . . . 

Moral Courage, 

The Influence of Literature, .... 

Bishop White, 

Penn's Motive, 

Life is an Education, 

The Sophistry of Infidels, 

Righteousness exalteth a Nation, 

The Glory of Christianity, 

The Hour and the Event of All Time, . 
The Expulsive Power of a New Affection, 

The Voice of Scripture, 

The Voice of Scripture — Continued, 

David's Sin, 

Belief in God's Existence, .... 

The Gospel for the Poor, 

The Society of Heaven, 

Influence of Heavenly Glimpses, 

The Important Truth, 

Christianity in America, 

Science and Religion, 

Man's Love to God, 



The Cheerfulness of Piety, .... 

Duty and Praise, 

The Confirmation of Faith, .... 

The Beauty of Goodness, 

The Resurrection, 

The Purposes of Christianity, . . . 

Christian Motives, 

Songs in the Night, 

The Danger of Delay, 

The Universal Empire of Death, 

National Error, 

The Great Price, 

The Millennium, 

Patriotism a Christian Virtue, 

Kind Listeners, 

The Desire of Death, 

John Quincy Adams, 
Sydney Smith, . 
Sydney Smith, . 
Laurence Sterne, 
Colkridge, . • 
Archbishop Leigiiton, 
Barrow, . . 
John Wesley, 
Robert Hall, 
Dr. Stevens, 
Martin Luther, 
A. Carson, . . 




John Baptist Massillon, 248 
John Knox, . . • . 219 
John Knox, .... 250 
Dr. Boardman, . . 250 
Alonzo Potter, D.D., . 251 
Alonzo Potter, D.D., . 252 
Alonzo Potter, D.D., . 252 
F. W. Robertson, . . 253 
Robert Hall, . . . 254 
Dr. Stevens, . . . 254 
John McLaurin, . . 256 
Hugh Blair, ... 256 
Thomas Chalmers, . 257 
Edward Irving, . . 258 
Edward Irving, . . 259 
Bishop White, . . . 200 
Jonathan Maxey, . . 260 
John M. Mason, . . 261 
Gregory T. Bedell, . 262 
II. Melvill, .... 263 
II. Melvill, . . . 263 
R. J. Breckenridge, . 264 
M. Hopkins, .... 265 
J. McClintock, ... 266 
F. D. Huntington, . . 267 
Eliphalet Nott, . . 268 
Dr. Durbin, .... 269 
J. B. Kerfoot, ... 270 
Bishop White, . . . 271 
J. B. Kerfoot, . . . 272 
Bishop McIlvaine, . 273 
F. Wayland, ... 274 
George F. Pierce, . 275 

C. H. Spurgeon, . 275 
J. C. Young, .... 276 

D. S. Doggett, . . . 277 
T. P. Akers, ... 278 
J. H. Newman, . . . 278 
Archbishop Whately, 280 
Huntington, .... 281 
F. W. Faber, . . . 281 
F. W. Faber. . . . 2.«2 





Human Life, J. R. Lowell, 

Changes of Home, W. G. Simms, 

The Skies, Mary E. Lee, 

"Westminster Abhey, Thomas Miller 

Don Garzia, Rogers, 

Requiem, Julia R. McMasters, 

Address to Light, Milton, . . . 

Eternal Truth, Cowper, . . . 

Country and Town, , Cowper, . 

The Bull-Eight, Lord Byron, 

The Coliseum, Lord Byron, 

The Destiny of America, Bryant, . . . 

Religion, Young, . . . 

To the Past, Bryant, . . . 

Adonais, . Shelley, . . . 

The Occultation of Orion, Longfellow, 

The Builders, Longfellow, 

Sand of the Desert in an Hour-glass, . . . Longfellow, 

The Temptation of Christ, Milton, . . . 

The Minstrel's Earewell to his Harp, . . . Sir Walter Scott, 

The Highland Chase, Sir "Walter Scott, 

The Cloud, Shelley, . . 

Speed the Prow, "... Montgomery, 

The Field of the World, Montgomery, 

An Incident at Ratishon, Browning, 

Ginevra, Rogers, 

The Four Eras, Rogers, 

To-Night, Shelley, . . 

Better Moments, • N. P. Willis, 

Death of General Harrison, N. P. Willis, 

Hymn to the Flowers, Horace Smith, 

The Mummy, Horace Smith, 

Song of the Stars, Bryant, . . 

Small Things, Charles Mackay, 

Forgive and Forget, Charles Swain, 

The First Prayer, Charles Swain, 

The Deep, Brainard, 

The Old Man's Carousal, Paulding, 

Children of Light, Bernard Barton, 

The Fourth of July, Pierpont, 

The True Glory of America, G. Mellen, . 

The Suppliant, Dean Trench, 

Weary of Life, Boker, 

The Celestial Army, T. B. Read, . 

Napoleon's Exile, Mrs. Browning. 

Southern Autumn, W. H. Timrod, 

Evening in Winter, T. B. Read, . 


To Time, " The Old Traveller," W. H. Timrod, . . . 338 

The Mystery of Song, Anonymous, .... 339 

The Banner of the Cross, Anonymous, .... 340 

Ode to Duty, Wordsworth, . . . 342 

I give my Soldier Boy a Blade, Maginn, 343 

The Influence of Fame, Joanna Baillie, . . :: I I 

The Last Man, Campbell, .... 341 

Napoleon's Final Return, Mrs. Browning, . . 345 

My Father, H.R.Jackson, ... 340 

The Closing Year, George D. Prentice, . 349 

The Village Schoolmaster, Goldsmith, .... 350 

The Traveller's Eyrie, Goldsmith, .... :;.">l 

Washington, Eliza Cook, .... 351 

The Pauper's Death-Bed, Mrs. Soutiiey, . . . 353 

The Settler, A. B. Street, ... 354 

The Coral Grove, Percival, .... :w>j 

Apostrophe to the Sun, Percival, .... 

" Let there be Light !" Mrs. F. H. Cooke, . . 307 

All's for the Best, M. F. Tipper, ... 358 

Echo and Silence, Sir Egerton Brydges, 359 

The Four-Leaved Shamrock, Lover, 359 

The Blest of Earth, J. Gilboiini: Lyons. . 360 

The Homes of England, Mrs. Hemans, . . . 360 

The Magnetic Telegraph, J. Gilborne Lyons, . 362 

Matin Bells, A. C. Coxe, .... 362 

Light, W. P. Palmer, ... 364 

The Worship of Nature, Whittier, .... 365 

Fingal at Carric-Thura, Ossian, 366 

Forgiveness, • . . . Anonymous, .... 368 

Sonnet, Dean Trench, . . . 369 

The Execution, Bariiam, 370 

The British Bow, Bisnop Heber, . . . 371 

Morning, Keble, 372 

Evening, Keble, 373 

The Haunted Palace, E. A. Poe, .... 375 

Stand like an Anvil, Bishop Doane, . . . 376 

Life in the Autumn Woods, P. Pendleton Cooke, . 377 

Night Study, Dr. Bethune, ... 379 

Columbus, B. Simmons, .... 380 

Address to the Sun, Ossian, 382 

The Power of Poetry, Holmes, 383 

The Sleep, Mrs. Browning, . . 383 

The Seraph and Poet, Mrs. Browning, . . 385 

Milton on his Blindness, Elizabeth Lloyd, . . 385 

The Live-Oak, H. R. Jackson, ... 387 

The Famine, Longfellow, . . . 388 

Heaven's Sunrise to Earthly Blindness, . . Mrs. Browning, . . 390 


National Songs, Anonymous, .... 391 

The American Flag, Joseph Rodman Drake, 391 

The Star-Spangled Banner, Francis Scott Key, . 393 

The Charge at Waterloo, Sir Walter Scott, . . 394 

The Battle March, Gerald Massey, . . 395 


Laissez Aller ! . 

My Fatherland, 

The Soldier's Cloak, 


The German's Native Land, 

Gustavus's Battle-Song, 

The Song of the Sea-King, 

Ye Mariners of England, 

Battle of the Baltic, 

War Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light 


The Charge of the Light Brigade, 

Soldier, Wake ! the Day is Peeping, .... 
There came from the Wars on a Jet-Black 


The Norman Battle Song, 

The Battle of Ivry, 

Magyar Hussar Song, 

Song of the Greeks, 

War Song of the Greeks, 

Moorish Song : Abdallah's Battle Call, . . . 
Hamet arousing the Citizens of Granada, . . 

Spanish National Air, 

Hymn of the Moravian Nuns at Bethlehem, at 

the Consecration of Pulaski's Banner, . . 

The Death-Song of Outalissi, 

The Tenth Avatar, 


Hugo before his Father, 

The Fall of Corinth, 

The Death of the Brave, 

Flodden Field, 

The Battle of Buena Vista, 

The Battle of Cerro Gordo, 

" Bois Ton Sang, Beaumanoir," 

The Lamentation of Don Roderick, . . . . 

The Lord of Butrago, 

The Cavaliers' March to London, 

The Combat of Herminius and Mamilius, . . 
Attila on the Battle-Field of Chalons, . . . 

The Bended Bow, 

The Lyre and Sword, 

The Cavalier's Song, 

Rio Bravo. A Mexican Lament, 

The Origin of the Marseillaise, 

" Qui Vive !" 

England's Dead, 

The Death of General Worth, 




The Brigade of Fontenoy, 

The Grasp of the Dead, 

Image of War, 

Franklin Lushington, 



Croly, . . 




Campbell, . 

Campbell, . 

Sir Walter Scott, 

Alfred Tennyson, 
Sir Walter Scott, 

Anonymous, . . 

Anonymous, . . 
Lord Macaulay, 
Gabriel Dobrentci 
Campbell, . . . 
Barry Cornwall, 

Longfellow, . 

Campbell, . . 
Campbell, . . 
Lord Byron, . 
Lord Byron, . 
Lord Byron, . 
William Collins, 
D. M. Moir, . 
Albert Pike, 
Mrs. Osgood, . 
J. G. Lockhart, 
J. G. Lockhart, 
Lord Macaulay, 
Lord Macaulay, 
W. Herbert, . . 
Mrs. Hemans, 
George Lunt, 
Wm. Motherwell, 
C F. Hoffman, . 
Holmes, . . . 
Holmes, . . . 
Mrs. Hemans, 
G. W. Cutter, 
Dean Trench, 
Dean Trench, 
C. F. Hoffman, . 
Bartholomew Dowling, 
L. E. Landon, 
Lord Byron, 




The Height of the Ridiculous, Holmes, 11!* 

Nux Postcoenatica, Holmes, 461 

American Genius, Pierpont, 

Fashion, Saxe 459 

No! Thomas Hood, . . . l.t 

The Donkey and his Panniers, Thomas Moore, . . . 151 

Cardinal Wolsey, Anonymous, . . . . Aji) 

School and School-Fellows, Praed, iJ-7 

The Rush of the Train, Anonymous, .... 459 

Saying not Meaning, W.B.Wake, .... 460 

An Echo, Anonymous, .... 462 

On Factotum Ned, Thomas Moore, . . . 462 

The Lobsters, Punch, 464 

The Bandit's Fate, Pmu-h, :.; I 

Boys, Saxe 

The Railway Traveller's Farewell, .... Punch, 

The Rich Man and the Poor Man, .... KHEMNITZER, .... 467 

The Vicar, Praed, 

The March to Moscow, Robert SOUTHRY, . . 470 

The Chameleon, MERRICK !7I 

Derniot O'Dowd, Lover, !70 

My only Client, Punch, 

The Last Stanzas of Yankee Doodle, . . . Punch, 

The Song of Hiawatha, Punch, 480 

Rhyme of the Rail, Saxe, 

A Serenade, Thomas Hood, . . . 

Morning Meditations, Thomas Hood, . . . 485 

The Season, Thomas Hood, . . . 

Spring, Thomas Hood, . . . 487 

The Music Grinders, HoLHES, 488 

A Parental Ode to my Son, aged three years | Thqmas h . . . 4 9l" 

and five months, J 

Provincial Speech, Holmes, 492 

A Rhymed Lesson, . Holmes, 493 



Manfred. The Invocation, Lord Byron, .... 495 

Macbeth's Soliloquy, Shakspeare, .... 490 

Beleses' Address to the Sun, Lord Byron, .... 496 

The Two Kings, Shakspeare, .... 497 

Falstaff's Soldiers, Shakspeare, .... 498 

Polonius to Laertes, Shakspeare, .... 499 

The Lady in Comus, Melton, 500 

The Student's Reverie, Longfellow, .... 500 

Jaques' Fool, Shakspeare, .... 502 

Cassius to Brutus Shakspeare 503 



Earth's Regeneration, Bailey, . 

Norman's Description to Violet, Bulwer, 

Tell's Refusal of Homage to Gesler's Cap, . . Knowles, 

Richelieu's Soliloquy, Bulwer, 

Music by Moonlight, Shakspeare, 

Bolingbroke's Triumph, Shakspeare, 

Prologue to Addison's Cato, Pope, . . 

Nothing to Wear, "W. A. Butler, 



The Cardinal's Exculpation, Bulwer, . . . 

The Seaman's Pride, Bulwer, . . . 

Conscience Triumphant, G-. Lillo, . . . 

An Incorruptible Farmer, Thomas Morton, 

Justice to the Lowly, Thomas Morgan, 

The Spanish Student, Longfellow, . . 

The Trial of Anne Boleyn, Boker, .... 

Literary Stratagem, S. Eoote, . . . 

The Hypocrite Unmasked, Goldsmith, . . 

Jones at the Barber's Shop, Punch, ..." 

Scene from Bombastes Furioso, Anonymous, . . 

Conjugal Quarrels, R. B. Sheridan, . 

Awkward Servants, Goldsmith, . . 

The Enthusiasm of the Huntress. D. L. Bourcicault, 

Family Obstinacy, Sheridan, . . 

Scene from Pizarro, Kotzebue, . . 

The Country Squire, Charles Dance, 

The Serenade, Longfellow, . 

The Murder of Clytus, Nathaniel Lee, 

Caudle and Mrs. Caudle, E. Stirling, 

The Quarrel Adjusted, Sheridan, . . 

The Death of Cardinal Beaufort, Shakspeare, . 

King Lear's returning Sanity, Shakspeare, . 

The Enlistment, George Farquhai 

Consultation of Physicians in Paris, .... Moliere, . . . 




Adams, John Quincy, 27, 33, 34, 140, 

Adams, Samuel, 134. 
Akers, T. P., 278. 
Altenburg, 402. 
Anonymous, 93, 235, 339, 340, 368, 391, 

399, 402, 409, 410, 415, 416, 417, 427, 

456, 459, 462. 
Arnold, Thomas, D.D., 225. 

Bacon, Loud, 41, 42. 

Bailey, 503. 

Baillie, Joanna, 344. 

Bancroft, George, 184, 223, 224. 

B Alt II am, 370. 

Barrow, 243. 

Barton, Bernard, 329. 

Bautain, Abbe, 28, 32. 

Bayard, Jambs A., 124, 147. 

Bedell, Gregory T., 262. 

Beckpord, William, 66. 

Benton, Thomas II., 121, 155. 

Bethune, Dr. George W., 379. 

Biddle, Charles J., 219. 

Blair, Hugh, 256. 

Boardman, Dr. Henry A., 57, 250. 

Boker, George H, 334, 527. 

Bonaparte, Napoleon, 94, 95. 

Bourcicault, Dion L., 543. 

Bhainard, 327. 

Breckenridge, Robert J., 264. 

Brock, W., 223. 

Brougham, Lord, 195, 196, 197, 198, 

199, 201, 167, 16S. 
Brown, David Paul, 123, 144. 
Browning, Mrs., 312, 336, 345, 383, 

3S5, 390. 
Bryant, William C, 297, 298, 324. 
Brydges, Sir Egerton, 359. 
Bulwer, Edward Lytton, 236, 504, 

506, 513, 515. 
Burges, Tristram, 143. 
Burke, Edmund, 152, 153. 
Butler, W. A., 512. 
Byron, Lord, 294, 296, 421, 422, 423, 

448, 495, 496. 

Calhoun, John C, 111, 112, 113. 
Campbell, Thomas, 344, 403, 404, 413, 

419, 420. 
CARLYLE, Thomas, 37, 38, 39, 40, 192. 
Carson, A., 247. 
Cass, Lewis, 150. 
Ohalmbrs, Thomas, 257. 
Channino, W. E., SI, 101, 102. 
Chateaubriand, 63. 
Chatham. Lord, 151, 157, 15S. 
Choate, Rupos, 161, 162. 
Cicero. 179. 

Clay, Hbnbt, 103, 104, 105, 107, 170. 
Clinton, De Witt, 146. 

ridge, Samuel S., 242 
Collins, William, 124. 
Colton, Calvin, 46. 
Colwell, Stephen, 56. 
Cooke. Eliza, 351. 
Cooke, Mrs. F. II., 357. 
Cookk, P. Pendleton, 377. 
Cornwall, Barry, 414. 
Cowper, Willtam, 292, 293. 
Cone, A. B., 362. 
Crittenden, John J., 173. 
Croly, George, 400. 
Cutter, G. W., 442. 

Dance, Charles, 550. 
Davis, Jefferson, 171. 
Demosthenes, 114. 
Dickinson, John, 134. 
Doane, Bishop, 376. 
Dobrentci, Gabriel, 412. 
Doggett, D. S., 277. 
Doran, Dr., 238. 
Douglas, Stephen A., 172. 
Dowltng, Bartholomew, 445. 
Drake. James Rodman, 391. 
Drayton, William H., 127. 
Duer, Judge, 176. 
Dubbin, Dr., SO, 204, 269. 

Elltott, Bishop, 50. 
Erskine, Thomas, 152. 
Everett, Edward, 28, 48, 49, 55. 




Faber, F. W., 281, 232. 
Farquhar, George, 569. 
Fauchet, Abbe, 166. 
Fisher, Sidney G., 231. 
Foote, Samuel, 529. 
Fox, Charles James, 167. 
Francis, Dr. J. W., 70. 
Fraser's Magazine, 194. 

Gaston, William, 115. 

Gilpin, Henry D., 74. 

Goldsmith, Oliver, 350, 351, 532, 541. 

Greene, G. W., 235. 

Guizot, 77. 

Guyot, Arnold, 64. 

Hall, Robert, 244, 254. 

Hallam, 205. 

Hamilton, Alexander, 130, 164. 

Hancock, John, 131. 

Harper's Magazine, 190. 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 228. 

Hayne, Robert Y., 116, 117. 

Heber, Bishop, 371. 

Hemans, F. D., 360, 435, 440. 

Henry, Patrick, 125, 126. 

Herbert, W"., 434. 

Hillard, George S., 227, 229. 

Hilliard, H. W„ 119. 

Hood, Thomas, 454, 4S4, 4S5, 486, 4S7, 

Hoffman. Charles F., 438, 444. 
Holmes, Oliver W.. 383, 449, 450, 48S, 

492, 493, 439. 
Hopkins, M., 265. 
Hughes, 214, 216. 
Hugo, Victor, 47. 
Hunt, Leigh, 61. 
Hunter, R, M. T.. 173. 
Huntington, F. D., 267, 281. 

Ingersoll, Joseph R., 31, 32. 

Irving, Edward, 258, 259. 

Irving, Washington, 68, 199, 232, 233. 

Jackson, H. R., 346, 387. 
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 44, 45. 

Keble, John, 372, 373. 

Kerfoot, J. B., 270, 272. 

Key, Francis Scott, 393. 

Khemnitzer, 467. 

King, Mitchell, 29. 

King, Rufus, 118. 

Knowles, James Sheridan, 505. 

Knox, John, 249, 250. 

Kcerner, 39S. 

Kossuth, Louis, 175. 

Kotzebue, 54S. 

Landon, L. E., 447. 
Lee, Henry, 138. 

2* : 

Lee, Mary E., 285. 
Lee, Nathaniel. 556. 
Leighton, Archbishop, 242. 
Lillo, G., 517. 
Livingston, Edward, 142. 
Lloyd, Elizabeth, 385. 
Lockhart, J. G., 429, 430. 
London Times, 1S8, 191, 193. 
Longfellow, Henry W., 301, 303, 3SS, 

418, 500, 524, 554. 
Lossing, B. J., 220. 
Lover, Samuel, 359, 476. 
Lowell, J. R., 283. 
Lunt, George, 436. 
Lushington, Franklin, 397. 
Luther, Martin, 246. 
Lyons, J. Gilborne, 360, 362. 

Macaulay, Lord, 35, 36, 1S1, 185, 200, 

203, 411, 431, 432. 
Mackay, Chales, 325. 
Madison, James, 129, 165. 
Maginn, William, 343. 
Mahon, Lord, 1S6. 
Marsh, George P., 61. 
Marshall, Thomas F., 163. 
Mason, John M., 261. 
Massey, Gerald, 395. 
Massillon, John Baptist, 248. 
Maxey, Jonathan, 260. 
McClintock, J., 266. 
McDuffie, George, 156. 
McIlvaine, Bishop, 273. 
McLntosh, Sir James, 157. 
McLaurin, John, 256. 
McMasters, Julia R., 290. 
McMichael, Morton, 49, 206. 
Melancthon, 247. 
Mellon, G., 331. 
Melvill, H., 263. 
Meredith, William M., 92. 
Merrick, 474. 
Miller, Thomas, 2S7. 
Milton, John. 60, 291, 305, 500. 

MlRABEAU, 122. 

Mitchel, O. M., 71, 73, 85. 
Moir, D. M., 425. 

MOL1ERE, 570. 

Montesquieu, 95. 
Montgomery, W. W., 311, 312. 
Moore, Thomas, 462, 454. 
Morgan, Thomas, 522. 
Morris, Gouverneur, 120. 
Morton, Thomas, 520. 
Motherwell, William, 437. 

Newman, T. H., 278. 

New York Daily Times, 18S. 

Nott, Eliphalut, 268. 

Owen, J. B., 100. 
Owen, Robert Dale, 21 


Osgood, Mrs. F. S., 428. 
Ossian, 366, 382. 

Palmer, W. P., 364. 
Paulding, James K., 328. 
Percival, James G., 355, 356. 
Phillips, Charles, 96, 154. 
Pierce, Fhanklin, 145. 
Pierce, George F., 275. 
Pierpont. John, 330, 452. 
Pike, Albert, 426. 
Poe, Edgar A., 375. 
Poinsett, Joel 11., 71. 
Pope, Alexander, 510. 
Potter, Alonzo, 251, 252. 
Praed, W. M., 457, 468. 
Prentice, George D., 349. 
Prentiss, S. S., 78, 79. 
Prescott, William II., 213, 226. 
Prout, AVilliam, 81. 
Punch, 461, 466, 477, 479, 4S0, 535. 

Quincy, Josiah, Jr., 135, 136. 

Ramsay, David, 141. 
Randolph, John, 139, 148, 149. 
Read, Thomas B., 335, 338. 
Reed, Henry, 51, 66, 67. 
Reed, William George, 53. 
Rives, William C, 57. 
Robertson, F W.. 253. 
Rogers, Samuel, 314, 31G, 2SS. 
Rush, Benjamin, 137. 
Ruskin, John, 51, 189. 
Russell, Lord John, 99, 174, 202. 
Rutledge, John, 129. 

Sanford, 202. 

Saxe, John G., 453, 465, 482. 

Scott, Sir Walter, 82, 306, 307, 394, 

406, 408. 
Sergeant, John, 88. 
Shakspeare, William, 496, 497, 498, 

499, 502, 503, 507, 508, 565, 566. 
Sheil, Richard Lalor, 159, 160, 168. 
Shelley, Percy B., 300, 308, 317. 
Sheridan, R. B., 539, 545, 562. 
Simmons, B., 380. 
Simms, W. G, 284. 
Smith, Horace. 320, 322. 

Smith, Sydney, 90, 91, 239, 240. 

Smyth, William, 1S2. 

Southey, Mrs., 353. 

Southey, Robert, 470. 

Sparks, Jared, 217,218. 

Spurgeon, Charles H., 275. 

Sterne, La r rente, 241. 

Stevens, Dr. Wieliam B., 45, 245, 251. 

Stirling, E., 560. 

Story, Dr. Joseph, 58, 59. 

Street, A. B., 354. 

Swain, Charles, 326, 327. 

Taylor, Bayard, 212. 
Tennyson, Alered, 407. 
Tiiackaray, W. M., 183. 
Thierry, Augustin, 76, 86, 210. 
Thucydides, 69. 
Timrod, W. II., 337. 338. 
Trench, Dean, 333, 369, 443, 4 11. 
Tri-i-ER, Martin F., 358. 
Tyler, John, 97, 98. 

I'llEAN'I), 401. 

Veri-lanck, G ELIAN C, 83, S8. 

Wake, W. B., 460. 
Walker, James, D.D., 52. 
Wallace, Horace Binney, 63. 
Warren, Joseph, 128. 
Washington, George, 132, 133. 
Wayland, Francis, 271. 
Wayne, James M., 1 18. 
Webster, Daniel, 30, 55, 107, 108, 109, 

110, 208. 
Wesley, John, 244. 
Wiiately, Archbishop, 2S0. 
Wheaton, II., 228. 
White, Bishop, 260, 271. 
Wuittier, J. G., 365. 

WlELAND, 43. 

Wintiirop, Robert C, 54, 69. 
Willis, N. P. 318, 319. 
Wirt, William, 207, 144. 
Wiseman, Cardinal, 75, 89. 
Wordsworth, W. W., 342. 

Young, Edward, 297. 
Young, J. C, 276. 


It is not the intention of the author, to do more, in this brief 
introduction, than to offer a few practical remarks on the subject of 
Elocution, and to give a few directions to students, to guide them in 
the choice and declamation of the pieces contained in this volume. 

Within the space allotted to such an introduction, it would be 
difficult to present a system of elocution, or even a concise set of 
rules to compass the whole subject. This is the duty and province 
of the professed elocutionist; and it is hoped this book may fall 
into the hands of many such, in order that it may meet with 
proper illustration and use. Such instructors agree, however, in 
asserting and in teaching, that nature is the basis of true elocution, 
and that she only needs the guiding and controlling hand of art to 
mature her powers. And here let it be observed, that, as good 
habits and gentle manners in life are obtained by long culture, 
beginning in our earliest youth, so elocution, which is the appli- 
cation of good manners to the delivery of discourse, should be 
commenced early in life, and made the subject of constant practice 
in schools and institutions of learning. 

I. The first direction offered to the student is, to select his piece 
according to a fair estimate of his own powers. Do not attempt 
a difficult piece at first; begin with the simplest, and pass gradually 
to those which demand more thought, action, and culture. 

When chosen, let the piece be read with great care, before the 
effort is made to memorize it. Put yourself, as far as possible, 
into the position of the orator or author, and attain to the spirit 
which animated him. By this means you find the natural emphasis, 
that which the thought requires, and the first great lesson which the 
declamation was designed to teach is already learned. With many 



students the first step is to learn, parrot-like, the words of the speech, 
with as little regard to its meaning as though it had none, leaving 
the understanding and due expression of it for after consideration. 
This is inverting the true order, and makes it difficult to invest the 
unintelligible words with their real meaning afterwards. 

II. It seems almost unnecessary to say that the next important step 
is to learn it thoroughly. But this is no truism. Leaving out of the 
account those who break down, when called upon the platform, in 
the middle of the speech, how many there are who betray painfully 
to the audience, by their lack-last re eye. and hesitating manner, 
that their thoughts are not addressed to them, but are busy 
drawing up from the wells of memory something which Deeds the 
constant effort, and is resistant of it at the end of every period. 
The appearance of this should he avoided, by so thorough a memo- 
rizing as to make the matter of the speech your own. 

It has becu said, put yourself into the orator's place : By this is 
meant only to think and feel as he must have done; and then to 
render his thought yourself, not as he rendered it, but as it ought 
to be rendered. It cannot be doubted that many a school-boy does 
more oratorical justice to Burke or Macaulay than those speakers 
did to themselves. 

III. Having thoroughly prepared, and intelligently appreciated 
the piece, the next and the true objective part of the elocution, is 
its delivery. In this comprehensive term arc included the manage- 
ment of the voice; the use of the hands, the eyes, and the person, 
all which are included in the word gesture. 

Of the Voice. — The general discussion of this subject is based 
upon a division of voice according to its quality and its power. By 
quality is meant the character of the voice itself — as smooth or 
rough, as harsh or melodious, as guttural or nasal. By power is 
meant its ability to give greater or less volume of sound, as loud or 
soft. Little need be said of the qualify in this connection; by 
constant practice and training much may be done to correct the 
unpleasant characteristics — to make a harsh voice smooth, and a 
rough one melodious. 

In speaking of the power of the voice, it is observed that it is 
of great importance to give a sufficient volume of voice to fill the 
hall in which the declamation is made, to be heard by the audience, 
without requiring an intensity of listening attention, as where the 
sound is barely loud enough to be heard with effort. 


Articulation, or Enunciation. — By articulation is meant the 
clear utterance of every part of each word, so that if the sound be 
heard, the word will he also heard and understood. This is not 
unfrequently called clear enunciation. Many persons have quite 
enough volume of voice, but, by reason of their want of proper 
enunciation, especially of final consonants, they make a jumble of 
sounds quite as indistinct as those which are almost inaudible. 
Sometimes this proceeds from what is called mouthing : from 
opening the mouth too wide in speaking, and from a want of 
vigor and exactness in the use of the lips and tongue, as in sound- 
ing p and b, d and t, and making the distinction between them 
respectively. A clear enunciation frequently makes a speaker 
heard without much power of voice : an adjustment should be 
made between the two, so as not to exert the voice more than is 
evidently required. 

Another direction is as to the modulation of the voice. By 
this something more is meant than an adaptation of the sound to 
the character of the thought in different sentences or clauses. As 
a matter of practice it is found that some persons find it very diffi- 
cult to get out of a continued monotone, one dead level of voice, 
like a song all on one note \ or with a slight cadence of intonation 
which recurs at the end of every sentence, or alternate sentence, 
until it becomes extremely painful to the ear, and mars the thought 
entirely. Others begin on a medium note, and in a long paragraph 
find themselves falling lower and lower, until they fall below the 
compass of their voice into an impracticable bass. Others, still, with 
fine voices, seem to lose control over them, and they run up and down 
the oratorical gamut like the singular sounds of a wind harp. 

It must rest with professed elocutionists, with copious vocal 
illustrations, to teach the proper modulation of the voice, as it 
must necessarily vary with each piece to be declaimed. 

In the consideration of the voice are also included the subjects 
of accent, emphasis, and inflection, which can only be thoroughly 
taught by an elocutionist. Nature, however, which dictates our 
emphasis and inflection in ordinary conversation, or in the earnest, 
unaffected speech of the common people, is the foundation of this 
instruction. By accent is meant the stress laid upon one or more 
syllables of a word. By emphasis is meant the increase of force 
given to a word by a louder sound, or by a pause upon it, to mark 
it as the principal word in the sentence. Sometimes there are 


more emphatic words than one in a sentence, and differences of 
emphasis, which should be distinctly marked. 

There is such a thing as toe much emphasis; there are certain 
speakers who dwell upon more than half the words in a sentence, 
giving a sort of hammering and joking sound, peculiarly disagree- 
able. It is greatly better to have too little than too much, for in 
the clear and well-enunciated utterance, the hearer will supply his 
own emphasis; but there is a just medium, which, by marking the 
few words of decided importance, gives great force and vigor to the 

By inflection is meant the rise or fall of the voice on a parti- 
cular word, to give a certain effect. It is usual to express inflection 
by the grave and acute accent, thus : v and / . Thus, a direct 
question ends with the rising inflection ; and the direct answer 
usually with the falling : " Where have you Lccn''! I have been in 
the count)-i/ y ." But this is not universal. The nature of the 
question and answer, and of the circumstances, must decide the 
character of the inflection. A false inflection frequently alters the 
meaning of a sentence entirely; delicate adaptations and changes 
of inflection give great variety and interest to speech. 

It is chiefly in poetry that young speakers are led into false em- 
phasis and inflection, by reason of the rhythm and the rhyme, which 
seem to demand a sort of invariableness of emphasis, as at the cacsu- 
ral pauses, and of inflection, with the rhyme. This is wrong; we 
should not neglect the rhythm or the recurring cadence entirely, nor 
should we be so bound by it as to spoil the connection and the sense. 

IV. The next important topic is gesture, and here the most 
deplorable diffidence often seizes the young declaimer. Gesture 
should speak to the eye what the words do to the ear, and conse- 
quently the action of the body must harmonize with the thought 
which is uttered. Gesture, in its widest compass, subsidizes the 
whole body to give force and expression to the speech. It is not 
the arms and hands alone which the orator should use, but he 
should make the head, the eye, the muscles of the face, the 
shoulders, the chest, the attitude, the feet, do their important part 
in acting out and illustrating the spoken thought. A toss of the 
head betrays indifference ; a contracted brow denotes displeasure ; 
a dilated eye tells of astonishment; a distension of the nostrils 
evinces alarm; a curled lip betokens disdain; a compressed mouth 
indicates firmness; a shrug of the shoulders expresses doubt; the 


chest thrown forward shows manliness; an erect bearing evinces 
dignity; a well-planted foot marks strength of purpose; and a 
frequent change of position betrays restlessness and irresolution. 
These, in all their possible varieties and combinations, in connec- 
tion with the arms, the great levers of oratory, should be cultivated 
by the student who would learn the art of gesture. The errors to 
be avoided, are, too much action, constrained action, inappropriate 
action, forced action, untimely action ; and the points to be culti- 
vated, are, graceful action, illustrative action, variety, freedom, and 
naturalness of action : thus we should judiciously adapt the sign- 
language of gesture to the word-language of the lips. 

The student cannot be too earnestly advised, after all that has 
been said, to cultivate a deliberate and poised manner. Most 
beginners find themselves hurrying over the pieces, with a con- 
stantly increasing momentum, which threatens destruction to all 
understanding of the piece. This can be avoided by deliberation. 

Most of what has been said has particular reference to the decla- 
mation of prose pieces really addressed — as are the efforts of the 
rostrum, the pulpit, and the bar — to the persons of the hearers. 

Poetry, notwithstanding its divorce from music, addresses itself 
to the heart of every reader ; but has an indefiniteness of aim, and 
an impersonality, when recited before an audience. The words in 
a certain sense are not directly addressed by the speaker to the 
audience, but cast forth like a melody upon the air, and designed, 
like music, to claim for itself, and not him who pronounces it, the 
meed of praise and admiration. 

Poetry requires, therefore, a less personal, less direct utterance ; 
it should be recited, and not declaimed ; the general rules of 
expression are, however, the same; but the tone of the voice is 
more nearly akin to music than ordinary speech. Let the prosody 
be carefully observed ; give every line its proper part in the melody, 
but do not spoil the sense by a sing-song cadence, too commonly 
indulged in by beginners. 

To the drama, the directions already given refer : but there is 
one important difference. In oratory, we immediately address and 
are concerned about the audience before us ; what we say is entirely 
for them and to them;^ the orator is in the closest personal com- 
munication with those before him; and in poetry, the beautiful 
thoughts uttered in musical speech are for the behoof of the 
hearers ; but in the drama, by a fiction of the play, each speaker is 


to act uu consciously of an audience ; the other speakers are his 
audience, and he a part of theirs : the true aim, then, in dialogue, 
should be to act for your fellow actors, and neither by look or 
innuendo to appear to be acting at or to the audience. This is the 
secret of success; and to him who bears his part in the drama most 
naturally, supposing it to be a real scene, is awarded the applause 
and praise of the audience. 

And now let it be observed, that all our practice in declamation 
and recitation, as important as it is, is so because it is preparatory 
to another step of far greater importance in the drama of life. Its 
object is to prepare the youth to write and speak his own speeches, 
and to enable him to rise and make extemporaneous addresses, in 
his own sphere, upon topics of great and manifold interest. No 
educated American, in the nineteenth century, should be " unac- 
customed to public speaking," or should be called on ' : unex- 
pectedly/' when the interests of his country, of education, of 
philanthropy, are at stake. 

The spirit of a free people is the true spirit of oratory ; because 
it is natural, fearless, and earnest. American natural orators are 
everywhere renowned, and even the Indians, our unfortunate pre- 
decessors in this goodly land, give us, without the excellent culture 
of the schools, matchless models of eloquence, subsidizing nature, 
inventing rhetoric, and extorting our praise. This brings us to the 
point from which we started, viz. : that nature is the true source 
of the best oratory, and that art is only its handmaid and adorner. 
The Latin poet knew the value of this naturalness when he wrote — 

Si vis me flere, dolendum est 

Primum ipsi tibi;" 

fbr that naturalness is the earnest of human sympathy, and true 
sympathy makes all oratory interesting and attractive. 

If to this we add that culture which, based upon nature and 
sympathy, is only intended to develop the powers of nature to the 
utmost; to detract nothing from its reality, but to give it new 
avenues of power and beauty, we shall do proper homage to the 
most expressive of the arts, at once useful and aesthetic, Elocution. 

In closing these introductory remarks on the subject of elocu- 
tion, the compiler desires to explain the divisions which he has 


made in classifying and arranging his selections. The classifica- 
tion is based upon general rhetorical principles. It is as follows : — 
I. Declamations in Prose. 
II. Recitations in Poetry. 
III. The Drama. 

I. Declamations in Prose. 

Under the general head of Declamations in Prose are included 
extracts from all kinds of public discourse, as the subdivision will 
show. The first part of this subdivision is 

1. Academic and Popular. — In this part are included such 
efforts as are found in special orations, in seminaries and colleges, 
before literary societies, in addresses on great anniversaries, in 
speeches before public meetings on issues other than political ; in a 
word, this part comprises a very varied selection from occasional 
discourses of literary or popular interest. To these are added 
eloquent extracts from certain written works of the same general 
character, and specially adapted to be spoken to an audience. 

2. Judicial, Forensic, and Parliamentary. — This part easily 
explains itself, as containing extracts from the charges of judges 
on the bench, the speeches of lawyers at the bar, and addresses in 
houses of legislation, such as the English Parliament, our own Con- 
gress, and our state legislatures. 

3. Historical, Biographical, and Descriptive. — In this subdivi- 
sion will be found extracts from historical and biographical lectures, 
and from written histories and biographies, with a few descriptive 
sketches from books of travel and cognate works. The custom so 
prevalent in our day of lecturing in public on such themes, offers, 
it is evident, a new avenue for the teacher of elocution and the 
compiler of such books as this volume. This subdivision has been 
virtually neglected in other books of this description, and has been 
monopolized heretofore by the Readers or Reading Class-Books. 

4. Religious, Moral, and Didactic. — In most books of extracts 
for reading and speaking, this part is entirely neglected, or most 
inadequately supplied. The truth is, there is in amount more 
eloquence and rhetorical power from the pulpit than from all the 
other sources of oratory combined. It has been deemed proper to 
collect here a fair representation of pulpit orators, and as varied as 
possible, including numerous denominations of Christians. 


II. Recitations in Poetry. 
It was unnecessary under this grand division to designate many 
varieties. They are all included under three heads, for the sake 
of convenience of reference. 

1. Epic, Lyric, and Descriptive. — This is a large and varied 
department, in which will be found many new pieces, unhackneyed 
by that constant repetition which has robbed some of the finest 
English pieces of their original charm. 

2. National Odes and Battle Pieces. — This subdivision of stirring 
and patriotic selections, gives some idea of the enthusiasm of the 
human heart in all countries when called out to defend its father- 
land. The author feels sure that it will be generally regarded as an 
interesting and distinguishing feature of this book. 

3. Wit and Humor in Verse. — Under this title have been 
grouped many entirely new pieces, containing unforced wit and 
true humor. With two or three exceptions, the author has aimed 
to present what the student will not find in similar works. 

III. The Drama. 
Although the Drama must be written in prose or poetry, and 
might fairly come under one of the two principal heads already 
mentioned in a rhetorical arrangement, for convenience and dis- 
tinction it has been classified as separate from either. It has also 
two subdivisions. 

1. Soliloquies and Monologues. — All the best dramas abound in 
passages of this nature, which, when extracted, make excellent 
separate speeches; but which, in such portion of the drama itself 
as could be placed in a work of this compass, would be too # long 
and tedious in colloquy. 

2. Dialogues and Colloquies. — Varied extracts from dramas, old 
and new, tragic and comic, are included in this part, and complete 
the volume. They have been chosen with great care, and with 
special regard to eliminating that license and immorality which 
have so infected the stage drama in our day. It is hoped they will 
give ease of colloquy to students, while at the same time they offer 
them a new and extensive selection from the works of English and 
American dramatists. 






John Quinct Adams. 
The eloquence of the college is like the discipline of a review. The 
art of war, we are all sensible, does not consist in manoeuvres on a 
training-day ; nor the steadfastness of the soldier in the hour of 
battle, in the drilling of his orderly sergeant. Yet the superior excel- 
lence of the veteran army is exemplified in nothing more forcibly than 
in the perfection of its discipline. It is in the heat of action, upon 
the field of blood, that the fortune of the day may be decided by the 
exactness of manual exercise ; and the art of displaying a column, or 
directing a charge, may turn the balance of victory, and change the 
history of the world. The application of these observations is as direct 
to the art of oratory as to that of war. The exercises to which you are 
here accustomed are not intended merely for the display of the talents 
you have acquired. They are instruments put into your hands for 
future use. Their object is not barely to prepare you for the composi- 
tion and delivery of an oration to amuse an idle hour on some public 
anniversary. It is to give you a clue for the labyrinth of legislation 
in the public councils; a spear for the conflict of judicial war in the 
public tribunals ; a sword for the field of religious and moral victory 
in the pulpit. 

From " Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory," delivered at Harvard, 1808. 




Abbe Bautaot. 

Art may develop and perfect the talent of a speaker, but cannot 
produce it. The exercises of grammar and of rhetoric will teach a 
person how to speak correctly and elegantly; but nothing can teach 
him to be eloquent, or give that eloquence which conies from the heart 
and goes to the heart. All the precepts and artifices on earth can but 
form the appearances or semblance of it. Now this true and natural 
eloquence which moves, persuades and transports, consists of a soul 
and a body, like man, whose image, glory, and word it is. 

The soul of eloquence is the centre of the human soul itself, which, 
enlightened by the rays of an idea, or warmed and stirred by an 
impression, flashes or bursts forth to manifest, by some sign or other, 
what it feels or sees. This it is which gives movement and life to a 
discourse; it is like a kindled torch, or a shuddering and vibrating 

The body of eloquence is the language which it requires in order to 
speak, and which must harmoniously clothe what it thinks or feels, as 
a fine shape harmonizes with the spirit which it contains. The material 
part of language is learnt instinctively, and practice makes us feel and 
seize its delicacies and shades. The understanding then, which sees 
rightly and conceives clearly, and the heart which feels keenly, find 
naturally, and without effort, the words and the arrangement of words 
most analogous to what is to be expressed. Hence the innate talent 
of eloquence, which results alike from certain intellectual and moral 
aptitudes, and from the physical constitution, especially from that of 
the senses and of the organs of the voice. 

From " The Art of Extempore Speaking." 


Edward Everett. 
Much as we are indebted to our observatories for elevating our con- 
ceptions of the heavenly bodies, they present even to the unaided sight 
scenes of glory which words are too feeble to describe. I had occasion, 
a few weeks since, to take the early train from Providence to Boston ; 
and for this purpose rose at two o'clock in the morning. Everything 
around was wrapt in darkness and hushed in silence, broken only by 
what seemed at that hour the unearthly clank and rush of the train. 
It was a mild, serene, midsummer's night, — the sky was without a 
cloud, — the winds were whist. The moon, then in the last quarter, 
had just risen, and the stars shone with a spectral lustre but little 
affected by her presence. Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald of 


the day ; the Pleiades just above the horizon shed their sweet influence 
in the east ; Lyra sparkled near the zenith ; Andromeda veiled her 
newly-discovered glories from the naked eye in the south ; the steady 
pointers far beneath the pole looked meekly up from the depths of the 
north to their sovereign. 

Such -was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As we pro- 
ceeded, the timid approach of twilight become more perceptible ; the 
intense blue of the sky began to soften ; the smaller stars, like little 
children, went first to rest ; the sister-beams of the Pleiades soon 
melted together ; but the bright constellations of the west and north 
remained unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. 
Hands of angels hidden from mortal eyes shifted the scenery of the 
heavens ; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. 
The blue sky now turned more softly gray ; the great watch-stars shut 
up their holy eyes ; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple 
soon blushed along the sky ; the whole celestial concave was filled with 
the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down 
from above in one great ocean of radiance ; till at length, as we reached 
the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, 
and turned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and 
diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning 
were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too 
severe for the gaze of man, began his state. 

From " Address at the Inauguration of the Dudley Observatory" 1856. 


Mitchell King. 
The first duty of the man, who contemplates the arduous task of 
writing a history, would seem to be, to estimate his own strength, and 
ascertain how far he is, or can make himself, competent for the under- 
taking. To know one's self, is perhaps the most difficult part of human 
knowledge. Few, very few, have attained that yvcodc aeaorov — Know 
thyself — which the satirist says, E ccelo descendit — came down from 
heaven, and was inscribed in golden letters on the portals of the temple 
of Delphos. It is necessary for the historian, as well as the poet, to 
ascertain — 

quid ferre recusent, 
Quid valeant humeri ; 

and not to take up a load which he is unable to carry. If he err greatly 
in this estimate, he may look in vain for success. 

An accurate and comprehensive acquaintance with the events of the 
times of which he undertakes to write, and with the characters of H-" 


men who acted in them, is indispensable to the historian. No pains 
can be too great, no research too persevering, to acquire this informa- 
tion. Without it, correct history cannot be written. It must be sought 
in every quarter in which it can be obtained ; in the public archives of 
a people — in the repositories of individuals — in the ephemeral, in the 
enduring literature of the day — in the private letters— in the monu- 
ments of the age. Herodotus visited himself the places which he 
describes; and examined the records of the people of whom he writes, 
whenever they were accessible to him ; and when he relates anything 
which he had not himself seen, or learned, from what he considered 
sufficient authority, he generally qualifies his narrative with an "it is 
said," or " they say/' and leaves the reader to form his own conclusion. 
Thucydides lived, we know, in the midst of the interesting events which 
he so admirably commemorates — mingled largely in them — heard, per- 
haps, the very speeches which he puts in the mouths of Pericles, and 
of others of his contemporaries; and possessed ample means — of which 
he has well availed himself— for obtaining the information which he 
required. Polybius travelled through Gaul and Spain — followed Scipio 
into Africa — was present with him at the taking of Carthage — by his 
assistance had access to all the archives of Rome ; and was indefatigable 
in collecting materials for the composition of that history, which, 
mutilated as it is, deserves to be more read and studied. Examples 
similar to these might be accumulated almost without end ; but these 
may serve to show the care and industry required in collecting the 
information necessary for the historian. 

From " A Discourse before tlie Georgia Historical Society." 


Daniel Webster. 

When the battle of Bunker Hill was fought, the existence of South 
America was scarcely felt in the civilized world. The thirteen little 
colonies of North America habitually called themselves the " Conti- 
nent." Borne down by.colonial subjugation, monopoly, and bigotry, 
those vast regions of the south were hardly visible above the horizon. 
But, in our day, there hath been, as it were, a new creation. The 
southern hemisphere emerges from the sea. Its lofty mountains begin 
to lift themselves into the light of heaven ; its broad and fertile plains 
stretch out in beauty to the eye of civilized man, and, at the mighty 
being of the voice of political liberty, the waters of darkness retire. 

We are not propagandists. Wherever other systems are preferred, 
either as being thought better in themselves, or as better suited to exist- 
ing condition, we leave the preference to be enjoyed. Our history 


hitherto proves, however, that the popular form is practicable, and that, 
with wisdom and knowledge, men may govern themselves ; and the 
duty incumbent on us is, to preserve the consistency of this cheering 
example, and take care that nothing may weaken its authority with the 
world. If, in our case, the representative system ultimately fail, popu- 
lar governments must be pronounced impossible. No combination of 
circumstances more favorable to the experiment can ever be expected 
to occur. The last hopes of mankind, therefore, rest with us ; and if it 
should be proclaimed, that our example had become an argument 
against the experiment, the knell of popular liberty would be sounded 
throughout the earth. 

These are excitements to duty ; but they are not suggestions of 
doubt. Our history and our condition, all that is gone before us, and 
all that surrounds us, authorize the belief, that popular governments, 
though subject to occasional variations, perhaps not always for' the 
better, in form, may yet, in their general character, be as durable and 
permanent as other systems. "We know, indeed, that, in our country, 
any other is impossible. The principle of free governments adheres to 
the American soil. It is bedded in it — immovable as its mountains. 

From " Oration at the Laying of the Comer Stone of the Bunl:er Hill Monument." 


J. R. Ingersoll. 

What has so much adorned and characterized an age as its poetic 
fame ? Look back through the annals of every nation that has been 
distinguished by the various properties of greatness, and the eye will 
rest with its intensest interest on those periods which the historian has 
been delighted to describe as the days when language was pure, and 
when poets were honored and renowned — the days of Pericles, of 
Augustus, of Elizabeth, of Louis XIV. You are familiar with the 
observation of Kennett, that it was a common saying, that if all arts 
and sciences were lost, they might be found in Virgil. His knowledge 
and his verse were not the less amiable for the absence of rhyme, which 
marked not his writings only, but those of all the classic poets. The 
classic language of Rome was coeval with Roman glory, which faded 
with the pollution of its vigorous and expressive dialect. Rome ceased 
to be the Mistress of the world only when she forgot to speak the Latin 

" Obliti sunt Romao loqui lingua Latina." 

History is not wanting in other proofs, equally authentic and memo- 
rable, of the association between the inspired efforts of poetry and 
national greatness, or even the essential spirit of liberty. Edward the 


First ordered the Welsh Bards to be murdered, and braved the penalty 


" Cambria's curse and Cambria's tears ;" 

as the most effectual method of extinguishing the national spirit. 

From "All Address delii-ucl at Athens, Ga., n 1847. 


J. EL Ingersoll. 

It is with unfeigned pleasure that I exchange congratulations with 
yourselves, gentlemen, and with all this assembly, upon our being in 
the midst of Athens. Not personally in that Alliens which was the 
light of Greece, but in another classic residence, adopting for wise pur- 
poses of emulation and resemblance a name which was once a signal 
for everything brilliant in arts, glorious in arms, successful in com- 
merce, accomplished in manners, and distinguished in wit, wisdom, and 
elegant literature. Egypt yielded her supremacy to this, the bright 
inheritrix of her learning. Imperial Home, awaking from the rugged 
sway of military habit and authority, sent to the schools of Athenian 
philosophy her favorite sons, who brought back the elements of an 
Augustan age. All the world did homage to the light which shone 
from the temple of Minerva on the top of the Acropolis. The source 
of it has been long since extinguished ; but the influences of it have not 
ceased to radiate during the interval of two thousand years. An example 
sufficiently obvious for distinct examination, connected with much that 
might be unbecoming, or ill adapted to the uses of modern times, affords 
an interesting study for the scholar, who, without the evils, may profit 
by many advantages in the history of the ancient metropolis. Works 
of art remain in imperishable grandeur for the instruction and admira- 
tion of mankind. Pagan religion and false philosophy have passed 
away. Objects which served in their proud supremacy to adorn them, 
still present in venerable ruin monuments of exploded error, and models 
of taste and elegance. A people, among whom deities were to be found 
scarcely less readily than men — who, having exhausted the fabulous 
calendar of the skies, erected an altar to the unknown God — have given 
to a remote posterity the mutilated but beautiful memorials of a delu- 
sive worship for the uses of a better faith. 

From "An Address delivered at Athens, Ga." 1847. 


Abbe Bautain. 
He who feels the importance and the danger of speaking, who has 
any notion of what the orator ought to be, any notion of all that ho 


needs to accomplish his task, the obstacles he must surmount, the diffi- 
culties he must overcome, and, on the other hand, how slight a matter 
suffices to overthrow or paralyze him, — he who understands all this, 
can well conceive also that he requires to he breathed upon from on 
high in order to receive the inspiration, the light, fire, which shall 
make his discourse living and efficacious. For all life comes from Him 
who is life itself life infinite, life eternal, inexhaustible, and the life 
of minds more still than of bodies, since God is spirit. It is but just, 
therefore, to pay Him homage for what He has vouchsafed to give us, 
and to refer to Him at the earliest moment the fruit or glory of what 
we have received. This is the more fitting, because there is nothing 
more intoxicating than the successes of eloquence ; and in the elation 
which its power gives, owing to a consciousness of strength, and the 
visible influence -which one is exercising over one's fellow-creatures, 
one is naturally prone to exalt oneself in one's own conceit, and to 
ascribe to oneself, directly or indirectly, wholly or partially, the effect 
produced. One should beware of these temptations of pride, these 
illusions of vanity, which are invariably fatal to true talent. 

From " The Art of Extempore Speaking." 


t J. Q. Adams. 

Would it be an unlicensed trespass of the imagination to conceive, 
that on the night preceding the day of which you now commemorate 
the fiftieth anniversary — on the night preceding that thirtieth of April, 
one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, when from the balcony 
of your city hall, the chancellor of the state of New York administered 
to George Washington the solemn oath, faithfully to execute the office 
of President of the United States, and to the best of his ability, to 
preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States — 
that in the visions of the night, the guardian angel of the Father of our 
country had appeared before him, in the venerated form of his mother, 
and, to cheer and encourage him in the performance of the momentous 
and solemn duties that he was about to assume, had delivered to him a 
suit of celestial armor — a helmet, consisting of the principles of piety, 
of justice, of honor, of benevolence, with which from his earliest infancy 
he had hitherto walked through life, in the presence of all his brethren 
— a spear, studded with the self-evident truths of the Declaration of 
Independence — a sword, the same with which he had led the armies 
of his country through the war of freedom, to the summit of the tri- 
umphal arch of independence — a corselet and cuishes of long experience 
and habitual intercourse in peace and war with the world of mankind, 



his cotemporarics of the human race, in all their stages of civilization — 
and last of all, the Constitution of the United States, a shield embossed 
by heavenly hands, with the future history of his country. 

Yes, gentlemen! on that shield, the Constitution of the United 
States, was sculptured (by forms unseen, and in characters then 
invisible to mortal eye) the predestined and prophetic history of the 
one confederated people of the North American Union. 

From " The Jubilee of the Constitution," 1839. 


J. Q. Adams. 

When the children of Israel, after forty years of wanderings in the 
wilderness, were about to enter upon the promised land, their leader, 
Moses, who was not permitted to cross the Jordan with them, just 
before his removal from among them, commanded that when the Lord 
their God should have brought them into the land, they should put the 
curse upon Mount Ebal, and the blessing upon Mount Gerizim. This 
injunction was faithfully fulfilled by his successor Joshua. Immedi- 
ately after they had taken possession of the land, Joshua built an altar 
to the Lord, of whole stones, upon Mount Ebal. And there he wrote 
upon the stones a copy of the law of Moses, which he had written in 
the presence of the children of Israel : and all Israel, and their elders 
and officers, and their judges, stood on the two sides of the ark of the 
covenant, borne by the priests and Levites, six tribes over against 
Mount Gerizim, and six over against Mount Ebal. And he read all 
the words of the law, the blessings and cursings, according to all that 
was written in the book of the law. 

Fellow-citizens, the ark of your covenant is the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence. Your Mount Ebal is the confederacy of separate state 
sovereignties, and your Mount Gerizim is the Constitution of the United 
States. In that scene of tremendous and awful solemnity, narrated in 
the Holy Scriptures, there is not a curse pronounced against the people 
upon Mount Ebal, not a blessing promised them upon Mount Gerizim, 
which your posterity may not suffer or enjoy, from your and their 
adherence to, or departure from, the principles of the Declaration of 
Independence, practically interwoven in the Constitution of the United 
States. Lay up these principles, then, in your hearts, and in your 
souls — bind them for signs upon your hands, that they may be as 
frontlets between your eyes — teach them to your children, speaking of 
them when sitting in your houses, when walking by the way, when 
lying down and when rising up — write them upon the doorplates of 
your houses, and upon your gates- 


life — adhere to them as to the cords of your eternal salvation. So may 
your children's children at the next return of this day of jubilee, after 
a full century of experience under your national Constitution, celebrate 
it again in the full enjoyment of all the blessings recognised by you in 
the commemoration of this day, and of all the blessings promised to the 
children of Israel upon Mount Gerizim, as the reward of obedience to 
the law of God. 

From " Tlie Jubilee of the Constitution," 1839. 


Lord Macaulat. 

Astronomy was one of the sciences which Plato exhorted his disciples 
to learn, but for reasons far removed from common habits of thinking. 
" Shall we set down astronomy," says Socrates, "among the subjects 
of study ?" " I think so," answers his young friend Glaucon : " to 
know something about the seasons, about the months and the years, is 
of use for military purposes, as well as for agriculture and navigation." 
"It amuses me," says Socrates, "to see how afraid you are lest the 
common herd of people should accuse you of recommending useless 
studies." He then proceeds in that pure and magnificent diction, 
which, as Cicero said, Jupiter would use if Jupiter spoke Greek, to 
explain, that the use of astronomy is not to add to the vulgar comforts 
of life, but to assist in raising the mind to the contemplation of things 
which are to be perceived by the pure intellect alone. The knowledge 
of the actual motions of the heavenly bodies he considers as of little 
value. The appearances which make the sky beautiful at night are, 
he tells us, like the figures which a geometrician draws on the sand, 
mere examples, mere helps to feeble minds. We must get beyond 
them ; we must neglect them ; we must attain to an astronomy which 
is as independent of the actual stars as geometrical truth is independent 
of the lines of an ill-drawn diagram. This is, we imagine, very nearly, 
if not exactly, the astronomy which Bacon compared to the ox of Pro- 
metheus — a sleek, well-shaped hide, stuffed with rubbish, goodly to look 
at, but containing nothing to eat. He complained that astronomy had, 
to its great injury, been separated from natural philosophy, of which 
it was one of the noblest provinces, and annexed to the domain of 
mathematics. The world stood in need, he said, of a very different 
astronomy — of a living astronomy, of an astronomy which should set 
forth the nature, the motion, and the influences of the heavenly bodies, 
as they really are. 

From " Critical and Miscdlanemts Essays." 



Loud BIacaulat. 

I trust, that when a hundred years more have run out, this ancient 
college will still continue to deserve well of our country and of man- 
kind. I trust that the installation of 1949 will be attended by a still 
greater assembly of students than I have the happiness now to see 
before me. The assemblage indeed may not meet in the place where 
we have met. These venerable halls may have disappeared. My suc- 
cessor may speak to your successors in a more stately edifice, in an 
edifice which, even among the magnificent buildings of the future 
Glasgow, will still be admired as a fine specimen of architecture which 
flourished in the days of the good Queen Victoria. But though the site 
and the walls may be new, the spirit of the institution will, I hope, be 
still the same. My successor will, I hope, be able to boast that the 
fifth century of the University has been even more glorious than the 
fourth. He will be able to vindicate that boast, by citing a long list 
of eminent men, great masters of experimental science, of ancient 
learning, of our native eloquence, ornaments of the senate, the pulpit, 
and the bar. 

He will, I hope, mention with high honor some of my young friends 
who now hear me ; and he will, I also hope, be able to add that their 
talents and learning were not wasted on selfish or ignoble objects, but 
were employed to promote the physical and moral good of their species, 
to extend the empire of man over the material world, to defend the 
cause of civil and religious liberty against tyrants and bigots, and to 
defend the cause of virtue and order against the enemies of all divine 
and human laws. I have now given utterance to a part, and a part 
only, of the recollections and anticipations of which on this solemn 
occasion my mind is full. I again thank you for the honor which you 
have bestowed on me ; and I assure you that while I live I shall 
never cease to take a deep interest in the welfare and fame of the body 
with which, by your kindness, I have this day become connected. 

From " Critical and Miscellaneous Essays." 


Lord Macatjlat. 

Among that large class of young persons whose reading is almost 

entirely confined to works of imagination, the popularity of Lord Byron 

was unbounded. They bought pictures of him, they treasured up the 

smallest relics of him ; they learned his poems by heart, and did their 

best to write like him, and to look like him. Many of them practised 

at the glass, in the hope of catching the curl of the upper lip, and the 


scowl of the brow, which appear in some of his portraits. A few dis- 
carded their neckcloths, in imitation of their great leader. For some 
years, the Minerva press sent forth no novel without a mysterious, 
unhappy, Lara-like peer. The number of hopeful under-graduates and 
medical students who became things of dark imaginings, on whom the 
freshness of the heart ceased to fall like dew, whose passions had con- 
sumed themselves to dust, and to whom the relief of tears was denied, 
passes all calculation. This was not the worst. There was created in 
the minds of many of these enthusiasts a pernicious and absurd asso- 
ciation between intellectual power and moral depravity. 

This affectation has passed away ; and a few more years will destroy 
whatever yet remains of that magical potency which once belonged to 
the name of Byron. To us he is still a man, young, noble, and un- 
happy. To our children he will be merely a writer ; and their 
impartial judgment will appoint his place among writers, without 
regard to his rank or to his private history. That his poetry will 
undergo a severe sifting ; that much of what has been admired by his 
contemporaries will be rejected as worthless, we have little doubt. But 
we have as little doubt, that, after the closest scrutiny, there will still 
remain much that can only perish with the English language. 

From " Review of Moore's Life of Byron" 


Thomas Caklyle. 

Ton remember that fancy of Aristotle's, of a man who had grown to 

maturity in some dark distance, and was brought on a sudden into 

the upper air to see the sun rise. What would his wonder be, says 

the Philosopher, his rapt astonishment, at the sight we daily witness 

with indifference ! With the free open sense of a child, yet with the 

ripe faculty of a man, his whole heart would be kindled by that sight, 

he would discern it well to be Godlike, his soul would fall down in 

worship before it. Now, just such a childlike greatness was in the 

primitive nations. The first Pagan Thinker among rude men, the first 

man that began to think, was precisely the child-man of Aristotle. 

Simple, open as a child, yet with the depth and strength of a man. 

Nature had as yet no name to him ; he had not yet united under a 

name the infinite variety of sights, sounds, shapes, and motions, which 

we now collectively name Universe, Nature, or the like, — and so with 

a name dismiss it from us. To the wild deep-hearted man all was yet 

new, not veiled under names or formulas ; it stood naked, flashing in 

on him there, beautiful, awful, unspeakable. Nature was to this man, 

what to the Thinker and Prophet it for ever is, preternatural. This 

green flowery rock-built earth, the trees, the mountains, rivers, many- 



sounding seas ; that great deep sea of azure that swims overhead ; the 
winds sweeping through it ; the black cloud fashioning itself together, 
now pouring out fire, now hail and rain : what is it? Ay, what? At 
bottom we do not yet know ; we can never know at all. It is not by 
our superior insight that we escape the difficulty ; it is by our superior 
levity, our inattention, our want of insight. It is by not thinking that 
we cease to wonder at it. Hardened round us, encasing wholly every 
notion we form, is a wrappage of traditions, hearsays, mere words. 
We call that fire of the black thunder-cloud " electricity," and lecture 
learnedly about it, and grind the like of it out of glass and silk ; but 
what is it? What made it? Whence comes it? Whither goes it? 
Science has done much for us ; but it is a poor science that would hide 
from us the great deep sacred infinitude of Nescience, whither we can 
never penetrate, on which all science swims as a mere superficial film. 
This world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle ; won- 
derful, inscrutable, magical and more, to whosoever will think of it. 

From " Heroes and Hero Worship." 


Thomas Carlyle. 

That great mystery of Time, were there no other; the illimitable, 
silent, never-resting thing called Time, rolling, rushing on, swift, silent, 
like an all-embracing ocean-tide, on which we and all the Universe 
swim like exhalations, like apparitions which are, and then are not : this 
is for ever very literally a miracle ; a thing to strike us dumb, — for we 
have no word to speak about it. This Universe, ah me ! — what could the 
wild man know of it ; what can we yet know? That it is a Force, and 
thousandfold Complexity of Forces ; a Force which is not we. That is 
all ; it is not we, it is altogether different from us. Force, Force, every- 
where Force ; we ourselves a mysterious Force in the centre of that. 
" There is not a leaf rotting on the highway but has Force in it : how 
else could it rot?" Nay surely, to the Atheistic Thinker, if such a one 
were possible, it must be a miracle too, this huge illimitable whirlwind 
of Force, which envelops us here ; never-resting whirlwind, high as 
Immensity, old as Eternity. What is it? God's Creation, the religious 
people answer ; it is the Almighty God's ! Atheistic science babbles 
poorly at it, with scientific nomenclatures, experiments and what not, 
as if it were a poor dead thing, to be bottled up in Leyden jars, and 
sold over counters ; but the natural sense of man, in all times, if he 
will honestly apply his sense, proclaims it to be a living thing, — ah, an 
unspeakable, godlike thing; towards which the best attitude for us 
after never so much science, is awe, devout prostration and humility 
of soul ; worship if not in words, then in silence. 

From '•' Heroes and Hero Worship." 



Thomas Carlyle. 

Universities are a notable, respectable product of the modern ages. 
Their existence, too, is modified, to the very basis of it, by the exist- 
ence of books. Universities arose while there were yet no books pro- 
curable ; while a man, for a single book, had to give an estate of land. 
That, in those circumstances, when a man had some knowledge to 
communicate, he should do it by gathering the learners round him, 
face to face, was a necessity for him. If you wanted to know what 
Abelard knew, you must go and listen to Abelard. Thousands, as 
many as thirty thousand, went to hear Abelard and that metaphysi- 
cal theology of -his. And now for any other teacher who had also 
something of his own to teach, there was a great convenience opened : 
so many thousands eager to learn were already assembled yonder ; of 
all places the best place for him was that. For any third teacher it was 
better still; and grew ever the better, the more teachers there came. 
It only needed now that the king took notice of this new phenomenon ; 
combined or agglomerated the various schools into one school ; gave it 
edifices, privileges, encouragements, and named it universitas, or school 
of all sciences : the University of Paris, in its essential characters, was 
there. The model of all subsequent universities ; which, down even to 
these days, for six centuries now, have gone on to found themselves. 
Such, I conceive, was the origin of universities. 

From " Heroes and Hero Worship." 


Thomas Carlyle. 

Diderot was an Atheist, then ; stranger still, a proselytizing Atheist, 
who esteemed the creed worth earnest reiterated preaching, and en- 
forcement with all vigor ! The unhappy man had " sailed through 
the Universe of Worlds and found no Maker thereof; had descended 
to the abysses where Being no longer casts its shadow, and felt only 
the rain-drops trickle down ; and seen only the glimmering rainbow of 
Creation which originated from no Sun ; and heard only the everlasting 
storm which no one governs ; and looked upwards for the Divine Eye, 
and beheld only the black, bottomless, glaring Death's Eye-Socket :" 
such, with all his wide voyages, was the philosophic fortune he had 

Sad enough, horrible enough : yet, instead of shrieking over it, or 
howling and Ernulphus'-cursing over it, let us, as the more profitable 
method, keep our composure, and inquire a little, What possibly it may 
mean? The whole phenomenon, as seems to us, will explain itself 


from the fact above insisted on, that Diderot was a Polemic of decided 
character in the Mechanical Age. "With great expenditure of words 
and froth, in arguments as waste, wild-weltering, delirious-dismal as 
the chaos they would demonstrate — which arguments one now knows 
not whether to laugh at or to weep at, and almost docs both, — have 
Diderot and his sect perhaps made this apparent to all who examine it: 
That in the French System of thought (called also the Scotch, and still 
familiar enough everywhere, which, for want of a better title, we have 
named the Mechanical), there is no room for a Divinity; that to him 
for whom "intellect, or the power of knowing and believing, is still sy- 
nonymous with logic, or the mere power of arranging and communicat- 
ing," there is absolutely no proof discoverable of a Divinity ; and such 
a man has nothing for it but either (if he be of half spirit, as is the 
frequent case) to trim despicably all his days between two opinions; 
or else (if he be of whole spirit) to anchor on the rock or quagmire of 
Atheism, — and further, should he see fit, proclaim to others that there 
is good riding there. So much may Diderot have demonstrated: a con- 
clusion at which we nowise turn pale. "Was it much to know that 
Metaphysical Speculation, by nature, whirls round in endless Mael- 
stroms, " both creating and swallowing — itself?" For so wonderful a 
self-swallowing product of the Spirit of Time, could any result to arrive 
at be fitter than this of the Eterxal No? We thank Heaven that the 
result is finally arrived at; and so now we can look out for something 
other and further. But, above all things, proof of a God ? A probable 
God ! The smallest of Finites struggling to prove to itself (that is to 
say, if we consider it, to picture out and arrange as diagram, and in- 
clude within itself) the Highest Infinite ; in which, by hypothesis, it 
lives, and moves, and has its being! This, Ave conjecture, will one day 
seem a much more miraculous miracle than that negative result it has 
arrived at, — or any other result a still absurder chance might have led 
it to. He who, in some singular Time of the World's History, were 
reduced to wander about, in stooping posture, with painfully con- 
structed sulphur-match and farthing rushlight (as Gowkthrapple 
Naigeon), or smoky tar-link (as Denis Diderot), searching for the Sun, 
and did not find it ; were he wonderful and his failure ; or the singular 
Time, and its having put him on that search ? 

From " Essay on Diderot." 


Thomas Carlyle. 

The second consequence seems to be that this whole current hypo- 
thesis of the Universe being " a Machine," and then of an Architect, 


who constructed it, sitting, as it were, apart, and guiding it, and seeing 
it go, — may turn out an inanity and nonentity; not much longer tena- 
ble : with which result likewise we shall, in the quietest manner, recon- 
cile ourselves. " Think ye," says Goethe, " that God made the Uni- 
verse, and then let it run round his finger (am Finger aufen liessef") 
On the whole, that Metaphysical hurly-burly (of our poor, jarring, 
self-listening Time) ought at length to compose itself: that seeking for 
a God there, and not here; everywhere outwardly in physical Nature, 
and not inwardly in our own Soul, where alone he is to be found by 
us, — begins to get wearisome. Above all, that " faint possible Theism" 
which now forms our common English creed, cannot be too soon swept 
out of the world. What is the nature of that individual, who, with 
hysterical violence, theoretically asserts a God, perhaps a revealed 
Symbol and Worship of God ; and, for the rest, in thought, word, and 
conduct, meet with him where you will, is found living as if his theory 
were some polite figure of speech, and his theoretical God a mere dis- 
tant Simulacrum, with whom he, for his part, had nothing further to 
do ? Fool ! The Eternal is no Simulacrum ; God is not only There, 
but Here, or nowhere, in that life-breath of thine, in that act and 
thought of thine, — and thou wert wise to look to it. If there is no 
God, as the fool hath said in his heart, then live on with thy decencies, 
and lip-homages, and inward Greed, and falsehood, and all the hollow 
cunningly-devised halfness that recommends thee to the Mammon of 
this world : if there is a God, we say, look to it ! But, in either case, 
what art thou ? The Atheist is false ; yet is there, as we see, a fraction 
of truth in him : he is true compared with thee ; thou, unhappy mortal, 
livest wholly in a lie, art wholly a lie. 

From " Essay on Diderot," 

kings' desires. 

Lord Bacon. 
It is a miserable state of mind to have few things to desire, and 
many things to fear ; and yet that commonly is the case with kings, 
who being at the highest, want matter of desire, which makes their 
minds more languishing, and have many representations of perils and 
shadows, which make their minds the less clear : and this is one reason 
also of that effect which the Scripture speaketh of, " That the king's 
heart is inscrutable ;" for multitude of jealousies, and lack of some 
predominant desire, that should marshal and put in order all the rest, 
maketh any man's heart hard to find or sound. Hence it comes like- 
wise, that princes many times make themselves desires, and set their 
hearts upon toys ; sometimes upon a building ; sometimes upon erect- 


ing of an Order; sometimes upon the advancing of a person; some- 
times upon obtaining excellency in some art, or feat of the hand — as 
Nero for playing on the harp ; Domitian for certainty of the hand with 
the arrow; Commodus for playing at fence; Caracalla for driving 
chariots; and the like. This seemeth incredible unto those that know 
not the principle, that the mind of man is more cheered and refreshed 
by profiting in small things, than by standing at a stay in great. We 
see also that kings that have been fortunate conquerors in their first 
years, it being not possible for them to go forward infinitely, but that 
they must have some check or arrest in their fortunes, turn in their 
latter years to be superstitious and melancholy; as did Alexander the 
Great, Dioclesian, and in our memory Charles V., and others; for he 
that is used to go forward, and findeth a stop, falleth out of his own 

favor, and is not the thing he was. 

From " Essays," 


Lord Bacox. 

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief 
use for delight is in privateness, and retiring ; for ornament, is in dis- 
course ; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business ; 
for, expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by 
one ; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, 
come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in 
studies, is sloth ; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation ; to 
make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar ; they 
perfect nature, and are perfected by experience — for natural abilities 
are like natural plants, that need pruning by study ; and studies them- 
selves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded 
in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire 
them, and wise men use them, for they teach not their own use ; but 
that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. 
Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, 
nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books 
are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed 
and digested : that is, some books are to be read only in parts ; others 
to be read, but not curiously ; and some few to be read wholly, and 
with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, 
and extracts made of them by others ; but that would be only in the 
less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books ; else distilled 
books are, like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh 
a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man ; and, 
therefore, if a man write little, he had need of a great memory; if he 


confer little, he had need have a present wit ; and if he read little, he 
had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not. His- 
tories make men wise ; poets witty ; the mathematics subtle ; natural 
philosophy deep ; moral, grave ; logic and rhetoric, able to contend. 

From " Essays." 



Socrates exhorts the painter and the sculptor to unite the beautiful 
and the agreeable with the useful ; as he encourages the pantomimic 
dancer to ennoble the pleasure that his heart may be capable of giving, 
and to delight the heart at the same time with the senses. According 
to the same principle, he must desire every laborer who occupies him- 
self about something necessary, to unite the useful as much as possible 
with the beautiful. But to allow no value for beauty, except where it 
is useful, is a confusion of ideas. 

Beauty and grace are undoubtedly united by nature itself with the 
useful ; but they are not, therefore, desirable because they are useful ; 
but because, from the nature of man, he enjoys a pure pleasure in their 
contemplation — a pleasure precisely similar to that which the contem- 
plation of virtue gives ; a necessity as imperative for man as a reason- 
able being, as food, clothing, and a habitation are for him as an animal. 

I say for him as an animal, because he has much in common with 
all or most other animals. But neither these animal wants, nor the 
capability and desire to satisfy them, make him a man. While he 
procures his food, builds himself a nest, takes to himself a mate, leads 
his young, fights with any other who would deprive him of his food, or 
take possession of his nest ; in all this he acts, so far as it is merely 
corporal, as an animal. Merely through the skill and manner in which, 
as a man, he performs all these animal-like acts (where not reduced to 
and retained in an animal state by external compulsory causes), does 
he distinguish and elevate himself above all other animals, and evince 
his human nature. For this animal that calls itself man, and this only, 
has an inborn feeling for beauty and order, has a heart disposed to 
social communication, to compassion and sympathy, and to an infinite 
variety of pleasing and beautiful feelings; has a strong tendency to 
imitate and create, and labors incessantly to improve whatever it has 
invented or formed. 

All these peculiarities together separate him essentially from the 
other animals, render him their lord and master, place earth and ocean 
in his power, and lead him step by step so high through the nearly 
illimitable elevation of his capacity for art, that he is at length in a 


condition to remodel nature itself, and from the materials it affords him 
to create a new, and, for his peculiar purpose, a more perfectly adjusted 

From " Criticism upon Bulzort.' 1 


Dr. Johhboh. 

By those who have compared the military genius of the English with 
that of the French nation, it is remarked, that the French officers will 
always lead, if the soldiers will follow; and that the English soldiers 
will always follow, if their officers will lead. 

In all pointed sentences, some degree of accuracy must be sacrificed 
to conciseness: and, in this comparison, our officers seem to lose what 
our soldiers gain. I know not any reason for supposing that the 
English officers are less willing than the French to lead ; hut it is, I 
think, universally allowed that the English soldiers are more willing to 
follow. Our nation may boast, beyond any other people in the world, 
of a kind of epidemic bravery, diffused equally through all its ranks. 
We can show a peasantry of heroes, and fill our armies with clowns, 
whose courage may vie with that of their general. 

Whence then is the courage of the English vulgar? It proceeds, in 
my opinion, from that dissolution of dependence, which obliges every 
man to regard his own character. While every man is fed by his own 
hands, he has no need of any servile arts ; he may always have wages 
for his labor ; and is no less necessary to his employer than his employer 
is to him. While he looks for no protection from others, he is naturally 
roused to be his own protector ; and having nothing to abate his esteem 
of himself, he consequently aspires to the esteem of others. Thus every 
man that crowds our streets is a man of honor, disdainful of obligation, 
impatient of reproach, and desirous of extending his reputation among 
those of his own rank ; and as courage is in most frequent use, the fame 
of courage is most eagerly pursued. From this neglect of subordina- 
tion I do not deny that some inconveniences may from time to time 
proceed : the power of the law does not always sufficiently supply the 
want of reverence, or maintain the proper distinction behveen different 
ranks ; but good and evil will grow up in this world together ; and they 
who complain in peace of the insolence of the populace, must remember 
that their insolence in peace is bravery in war. 

From " Political Tracts.'" 



Lord Bacon. 

The first creature of God, in the works of the days, was the light of 
the sense, the last was the light of reason, and his Sabbath work, ever 
since, is the illumination of his Spirit. First he breathed light upon 
the face of the matter, or chaos, then he breathed light into the face of 
man ; and still he breatheth and inspireth light into the face of his 
chosen. The poet, that beautified the sect, that was otherwise inferior 
to the rest, saith yet excellently well, " It is a pleasure to stand upon 
the shore, and to see ships tost upon the sea ; a pleasure to stand in 
the window of a castle, and to see a battle, and the adventures thereof 
below ; but no pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the vantage- 
ground of truth (a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is 
always clear and serene), and to see the errors, and wanderings, and 
mists, and tempests, in the vale below; "so always that this prospect be 
with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Certainly it is heaven upon 
earth to have a man's mind move in charity, rest in providence, and 
turn upon the poles of truth. 

To pass from theological and philosophical truth to the truth of civil 
business, it will be acknowledged, even by those that practise it not, 
that clear and round dealing is the honor of man's nature, and that 
mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin of gold or silver, which may 
make the metal work the better, but it embaseth it ; for these winding 
and crooked courses are the goings of the serpent, which goeth basely 
upon the belly, and not upon the feet. There is no vice that doth so 
cover a man with shame as to be found false and perfidious ; and there- 
fore Montaigne saith prettily, when he inquired the reason why the 
word of the lie should be such a disgrace, and such an odious charge, 
" If it be well weighed, to say, that a man lieth, is as much as to say 
that he is brave towards God, and a coward towards man ; for a lie 
faces God, and shrinks from man.-" Surely the wickedness of falsehood 
and breach of faith cannot possibly be so highly expressed as in that it 
shall be the last peal to call the judgments of God upon the generations 
of men: it being foretold, that when "Christ cometh," he shall not 
" find faith upon earth." 

From " Essays." 


Dr. Stevens. 

Behind the high altar, in the cathedral of Cologne, is a costly shrine, 
in which are placed the silver-gilt coffins of three kings. The skulls 
of these kings are crowned with golden diadems, studded with jewels, 


and inscribed with their names written in rubies. This is political 
greatness — a skull crowned with gold — a name written in rubies. 
Touching comment on the mock greatness and the fleeting glory of 
kings and statesmen ! 

And is not moral greatness superior to this? Is not a crown of glory 
around brows that never die better than a diadem of gold upon a flesh- 
less skull? Is not a name, written with the finger of God in the book 
of life, better than a name written over the shrine of our bones with 
rubies? Yet, with all this contest, sense wrestles with faith — and the 
flesh generally gains the mastery over the spirit, forgetting " that the 
things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen 
are eternal. " 

Mental greatness is nobler than martial or political greatness. There 
is something sublime in beholding the struggles and achievements of a 
great mind. To see it silently gather to itself new energies — new 
forces — and with these to make new onsets in the dominion of thought, 
seeking to rule, an intellectual king, over its realms. These sights 
are grand, whether we behold them in the philosopher, fathoming the 
depths of mind — in the geologist, quarrying out science from the rock 
and the fossil — or in the chemist, deducing the laws of life and 
death from the crucible and the laboratory ; whether we sec them 
in the artist, busied in the magnificent creations of the chisel and the 
pencil — in the poet, entering into the treasure-houses of imagination, 
and stringing those rosaries of thought, the jewelled epic and the spark- 
ling song — or in the astronomer, soaring to the planets, measuring their 
paths — weighing their masses, and calling them by their names. But 
after all, what is it? A few systems — a few poems — a few discoveries 
— the writing of a few names in rubies — and that is all of mental 
greatness ! 

From " Discourse on Washington's Birth-Day ," 1846. 


Calvin Colton. 

The social and political results of such a road, such a universal 

path, will be as important and notable as any yet recorded in history. 

The people of Asia and of Europe will thus be introduced to each 

other, and made neighbors and friends ; whereas now they are almost 

total strangers. Universal liberty will receive a new stimulus from 

this great construction. America, the land of the free, will then be in 

the centre of the world ; and it will diffuse the blessings of freedom to 

the continents and nations that gird it round. It will teach them the 

lessons which it has learned. It will inspire them to greater things by 

its example. It will control the universal public opinion of the world 


by its superior intelligence. Such is to be the future of America. It 
is to rise in importance in the eyes of the nations. It will be the 
greatest of empires. Upon us the ends of the world will come. Eng- 
land will no longer be the first maritime power of the world. The old 
Queen of the Atlantic will be surpassed in beauty, freshness, and 
power, by her young daughter, who is soon to be crowned Queen of the 
greater Pacific. The star of empire, which takes its way westward, is 
about to stand still over the great and vigorous young republic, which 
the American citizen is proud to call his native land. 

From " Disccrurse before tJie American Geographical Society" 1855. 

Victor Hugo. 
You are wrung with grief, but you have courage and faith. You do 
well, my friends. Courage, then ! Courage ! more than ever ! As I 
have already said, it grows more evident, from day to day, that, at this 
instant,. France and England have left to them but one path, one outlet 
of safety — the emancipation of the peoples — the insurrection in mass 
of the prostrate nationalities — the Revolution ! Sublime alternative ! 
It is grand that safety has become identified with justice. It is in this 
that Providence breaks forth in splendor. Ay, have courage, more 
than ever. In the hour of utmost peril Danton exclaimed, " Daring ! 
daring! and yet more daring!" In adversity we should cry out, 
" Hope ! hope ! and still more hope !" Friends and brothers ! the great 
republic, the democratic, social, and free republic, will, ere long, blaze 
out in magnificence again ; for it is the office of the empire to give it a 
new birth, as it is the office of the night to usher in the day. These 
men of tyranny and misery will disappear. Their time to stay is now 
counted by quick minutes. They are backing to the edge of the abyss, 
and we, who are already in the gulf, can see their heels that quiver 
already beyond the borders of the precipice. Oh, exiles ! I call forth 
in testimony the hemlock the Socrates have drank ; the Golgothas the 
Christs have climbed ; the Jerichos the Joshuas have caused to crumble. 
I summon up in testimony the baths of blood taken by the Thraseas ; 
the faggots whence John Huss, and those of this world like him, have 
cried, the swan will yet be born ! I summon in testimony these seas 
that beat around us, and which the Columbuses have passed beyond ; 
I call upon yonder stars which shine above us, and which the Galileos 
have questioned, to bear witness, exiles and brethren, that liberty can 
never die : she is immortal, and, exiles, Truth is eternal ! 

Progress is the very stride of God. 

Then let those who weep be comforted ! and those who tremble, if 


any such there be among us, be assured. Humanity ignores self- 
murder, and God lays not aside his omnipotent control. 

No, the peoples shall not for ever grope in darkness, knowing not 
what hour has been reached in science, what hour in philosophy, what 
hour in art, what hour in human mind, and, with their eyes fixed upon 
despotism, that black dial of gloom on which the double needle, at 
once sword and sceptre, for ever motionless, for ever marks Midnight. 
From " Speech on tlte Anniversary of the French Revolution,*' 1848. 


Edward Everett. 

Gold, while it is gold, is good for little or nothing. You can neither 
eat it, nor drink it, nor smoke it. You can neither wear it, nor burn 
it as fuel, nor build a house with it ; it is really useless till you exchange 
it for consumable, perishable goods; and the more plentiful it is the 
less its exchangeable value. Far different the case with our Atlantic 
gold ; it does not perish when consumed, but, by a nobler alchemy 
than that of Paracelsus, is transmuted in consumption to a higher life. 
"Perish in consumption, " did the old miser say? "Thou fool, that 
which thou sowest is not quickened except it die." The burning pen 
of inspiration, ranging heaven and earth for a similitude, to convey to 
our poor minds some not inadequate idea of the mighty doctrine of the 
resurrection, can find no symbol so expressive as "bare grain, it may 
chance of wheat or some other grain." To-day a senseless plant, to- 
morrow it is human bone and muscle, vein and artery, sinew and 
nerve ; beating pulse, heaving lungs, toiling, ah, sometimes, overtoiling 
brain. Last June, it sucked from the cold breast of the earth the 
watery nourishment of its distending sap-vessels ; and now it clothes 
the manly form with warm, cordial flesh ; quivers and thrills with the 
five-fold mystery of sense ; purveys and ministers to the higher mystery 
of thought. Heaped up in your granaries this week, the next it will 
strike in the stalwart arm, and glow in the blushing cheek, and flash 
in the beaming eye ; till we learn at last to realize that the slender 
stalk, which we have seen shaken by the summer breeze, bending in 
the corn-field under the yellow burden of harvest, is indeed the " staff 
of life," which, since the world began, has supported the toiling and 
struggling myriads of humanity on the mighty pilgrimage of being. 
From " Speech before U. S. Agricultural Society" 1854. 



Morton McMichael. 

But, Mr. President, on a new continent, under a new dispensation, 
and a new polity — professors of a purer creed, possessors of a surer 
heritage — we have to-day commemorated a new Olympiad. From all 
parts of a republic, mightier in its infancy than Athens in its prime, 
there have crowded earnest candidates for the honors, valiant strugglers 
for the prizes you have had to bestow. Nor have the statue and temple 
been wanting. Beneath the dome of your capitol we have marked the 
placid dignity of our Pater Patriae, whose deeds and whose virtues shall 
survive in the affections of distant generations, when the old mythology, 
father-god and all, with all its vanities and vices, has sunk into utter 
oblivion. From the foot of a neighboring eminence, we have gazed on 
the simple column which crowns the spot consecrated by the blood of 
the primitive martyrs of American freedom — a column which, simple 
though it be, is dearer in the associations which cluster around it, than 
any hoary pile, no matter how venerable in its antiquity, nobler than 
any modern trophy, 

"Built with the riches of a spoiled world." 

And, Mr. President, whatever of pride the cultivated Greek may 
have felt in contemplating the master-piece of Grecian skill — whatever 
of reverence the pious Greek may have felt in contemplating the master 
deity of the Grecian Pantheon — we, who are now assembled from the 
north and the south, from the east and the west, have felt a loftier pride ? 
a holier reverence than ever Olympian statue or Olympian temple 
inspired, as, filled with the solemn memories of the past, and jubilant 
hopes of the future, we have stood before the marble form of our own 
Washington, or beside the granite monument that records the story of 
Bunker Hill. 

From " Speech at Boston, before IT. S. Agricultural Society" 1854. 


Edward Everett. 
Shall we permit this curiously compacted body politic, the nicest 
adjustment of human wisdom, to go to pieces? Will we blast this 
beautiful symmetric form ; paralyze this powerful arm of public 
strength ; smite with imbecility this great National Intellect ? Where, 
sir, where, will be the flag of the United States ? Where our rapidly, 
increasing influence in the family of nations ? Already they are 
rejoicing in our divisions. The last foreign journal which I have 
read, dwells upon our political condition as something that " will 
5 P 


compel us to keep the pence with the powers of Europe," and that 
means, to take the law from them in our international relations. 

I meant to have spoken of the wreck of that magnificent and mutu- 
ally-beneficial commercial intercourse which now exists between the 
producing and manufacturing states ; — of the hostile tariffs in time of 
peace and the habitually-recurring border Avars, by which it will be 
annihilated. I meant to have said a word of the Navy of the United 
States; and the rich inheritance of its common glories. Shall we give 
up this ? The memory of our Fathers — of those happy days when the 
men of the North and South stood together for the country, on hard- 
fought fields ; when the South sent her Washington to Massachusetts, 
and New England sent her Greene to Carolina — is all this forgotten ? 
" Is all the counsel that we two have shared ;" all the joint labors to 
found this great Republic ; — is this "all forgot?" and will we permit 
this last great experiment of Confederate Republicanism, to become a 
proverb and a by-word to the Nations ? No, fellow-citizens — no, a 
thousand times no ! This glorious Union shall not perish ! Precious 
legacy of our Fathers, it shall go down, honored and cherished, to our 
children. Generations unborn shall enjoy its privileges as we have 
done ; and if we leave them poor in all besides, we will transmit to 
them the boundless wealth of its blossings ! 

From " Speech at Faneuil Hall," 1859. 


Bi3nop Elliot. 

For the first time in her history, may Georgia now look for a native 
'population — a population born upon her soil and loving her because 
they call her mother. Not that those who have emigrated into her do 
not love her — many of her most faithful and devoted public servants 
come within this category — but nothing can replace the peculiar feeling 
which man sucks in with his mother's milk for the spot where first he 
breathed the air of Heaven. Those who have come into her may feel 
themselves identified with her, so that her interest is their interest, but, 
strive as they may, they cannot acquire that enthusiastic love — made 
up of moral sentiment and youthful association — which springs out of 
an identity as well of lineage, as of pursuit. The Greeks expressed 
this feeling when they gloried in being " auro^Oo^sq," sons of the soil, 
and felt that a stain upon their country was a stain upon a mother's 
reputation, and a reproach to her an insult that went to their hearts as 
to the hearts of children. This is what Georgia, for years to come, 
should especially cultivate — this feeling of homebred affection — the say- 
ing of her sons, "This is my own, my native land," and not only say- 


ing it, bat living it in thought and word and action. It has been 
impossible for her hitherto to have possessed it in her length and 
breadth, but now she may, and now she will, and it must give her an 
impulse that shall show her sister States that she is " as a giant awak- 
ing out of sleep." Let her sons but lock their shields together, and 
nothing can impede her progress to greatness ! 

From a Address be/are the Georgia Historical Society" 1844. 

ItEJsTtY Reed. 
What has been done by one branch of art for the memory of 
"Washington, is shown by the standard portrait of him by Stuart, but 
for the purest sublimities which art can teach, we turn to the more 
ideal and imaginative work of the sculptor. I remember having seen 
Greenough's statue of Washington, as it is placed facing the Capitol, 
for the first time in the early morn of a bright spring day. There was 
no trivial noise — no intrusive criticism to disturb the solemn impression 
it is fitted to give. The eye seemed to reject all sensations save what 
came from the unclouded sky and from the spotless marble — a harmony 
rather than a contrast, and the things of earth had no part in it. In 
that ideal portraiture the moral of the character — the history of the 
life in its marvellous integrity and with its perfect consummation, was 
visible — the one hand laying down, as if at his country's feet, the 
sheathed sword, and the other pointing to the sky. There was nothing 
between the finger of that uplifted arm and the highest heavens ; and 
as the imagination of the spectator was thus carried upward, you could 
not but feel that no cloud of mortal passion had ever dimmed the glory 
of the character here idealized in marble, and that that soul had risen 
above the strife of self-will and the tumult of human frailties, into the 
serene atmosphere of duty and of Christian heroism. Thus is it that 
the sculptor's genius has its triumph ; and casting away the self-hurtful 
temper of narrow and disputatious criticism, we may render thoughtful 
gratitude to the moral beauty and power of art. 

From "Address before Philadelphia Art Union," 1849. 


John Rcskej. 

Inferior hills ordinarily interrupt, in some degree, the richness of 
the valleys at their feet ; the gray downs of southern England, and 
treeless coteaux of central France, and gray swells of Scottish moor, 
whatever peculiar charm they may possess in themselves, are at least 


destitute of those which belong to the woods and fields of the Lowlands. 
But the great mountains lift the lowlands on their sides. Let the 
reader imagine, first, the appearance of the most varied plain of some 
richly cultivated country ; let him imagine it dark with graceful woods, 
and soft with deepest pastures ; let him fill the space of it, to the utmost 
horizon, with innumerable and changeful incidents of scenery and life ; 
leading pleasant streamlets through its meadows, strewing clusters of 
cottages beside their banks, tracing sweet footpaths through its avenues, 
and animating its fields with happy flocks, and slow wandering spots 
of cattle ; and when he has wearied himself with endless imagining, 
and left no space without some loveliness of its own, let him conceive all 
this great plain, with its infinite treasures of natural beauty and happy 
human life, gathered up in God's hands from one edge of the horizon 
to the other, like a woven garment ; and shaken into deep falling folds, 
as the robes droop from a king's shoulders ; all its bright rivers leaping 
into cataracts along the hollows of its fall, and all its forests roaring 
themselves aslant against its slopes, as a rider rears himself back when 
his horse plunges ; and all its villages nestling themselves into the new 
windings of its glens ; and all its pastures thrown into steep waves of 
greensward, dashed with dew along the edges of their folds, and sweep- 
ing down into endless slopes, with a cloud here and there lying quietly, 
half on the grass, half in the air ; and he will have as yet, in all this 
lifted world, only the foundation of one of the great Alps. And what- 
ever is lovely in the lowland scenery becomes lovelier in this change : 
the trees which grew heavily and stiffly from the level line of plain 
assume strange curves of strength and grace as they bend themselves 
against the mountain side ; they breathe more freely, and toss their 
branches more carelessly as each climbs higher, looking to the clear 
light above the topmost leaves of its brother tree ; the flowers which on 
the arable plain fell before the plough, now find out for themselves 
unapproachable places, where year by year they gather into happier 
fellowship, and fear no evil ; and the streams which in the level land 
crept in dark eddies by unwholesome banks, now move in showers of 
silver, and are clothed with rainbows, and bring health and life wher- 
ever the glance of their waves can reach. 

From •'' Modern Painters." 


James Walker, D. D. 

The spirits of the sainted dead, who consecrated this school of the 
prophets to Christ and the Church, hover over us now. In that pre- 
sence remember what you owe to your parents and friends, whose affec- 
tions and pride, whose very life, are bound up with the hope of your 


well-doing. Remember -what you owe to your country. If there is 
not wisdom enough, if there is not moderation enough, in the educated 
classes, to restrain the heats of party, — the violence, the inconsidera- 
fcion, the injustice on all sides, — our best hopes are in imminent peril. 
"What is wanted is, not that a man should be indifferent to the evils in 
the country, but that he should deal with them in the spirit of one who 
loves his country. Remember what you owe to God. All the distinc- 
tions of birth, and wealth, and intellect will pass away : what will 
endure for ever of your labors here, is the earnest purpose to fulfil the 
high vocation of the Christian scholar. " This also we humbly and 
earnestly beg, that human things may not prejudice such as are divine ; 
neither that from the unlocking of the gates of sense, and the kindling 
of a greater natural light, anything of incredulity, or intellectual night, 
may arise in our minds towards divine mysteries. But rather, that by 
our mind, thoroughly cleansed and purged from fancy and vanities, 
and yet subject and perfectly given up to the Divine Oracles, there may 
be given unto faith the things that are faith's." 

From " Inaugural Address at Harvard." 


William George Read. 
From Jamestown, Calvert turned towards the unoccupied territory, 
which borders the majestic Chesapeake, to the north of the Potomac. 
The enterprise of Smith and others had already partially explored it, 
and disclosed its extent, fertility, and beauty. No European settlement 
had as yet been established there ; and the rights of the British crown, 
as recognised in the international law of Europe, to countries occupied 
only by savages, had been revested by the cancelling of the old Vir- 
ginia charter. State policy, therefore, as well as regard for Calvert, 
whose moderation and sincerity seem to have conciliated universal 
esteem, dictated compliance with his petition for a grant ; of which the 
terms were left to be adjusted by himself. The charter of Maryland, 
the undoubted production of his pen, is the fair and lasting monument 
of his wisdom and his virtues. His military exploit may be lost in the 
blinding blaze of England's martial glory ; his sacrifices to conviction 
may be merged in those of her myriad martyrs ; but his charter shall 
endure on our statute book, so long as the blue firmament of the Ame- 
rican flag shall sparkle with the brilliant beams of the Maryland star ! 

From " An Oration on the Anniversary of the Settlement of Maryland" 1842. 




Robert C. Wintiirop. 

Let men lift their vast reflectors or refractors to the skies, and detect 
new planets in their hiding-places. Let them waylay the fugitive 
comets in their flight, and compel them to disclose the precise period 
of their orbits, and to give bonds for their punctual return. Let them 
drag out reluctant satellites from " their habitual concealments.-" Let 
them resolve the unresolvable nebula? of Orion or Andromeda. They 
need not fear. The sky will not fall, nor a single star be shaken from 
its sphere. 

Let them perfect and elaborate their marvellous processes for making 
the light and the lightning their ministers, for putting " a pencil of 
rays" into the hand of art, and providing tongues of fire for the com- 
munication of intelligence. Let them foretell the path of the whirl- 
wind, and calculate the orbit of the storm. Let them hang out their 
gigantic pendulums, and make the earth do the work of describing 
and measuring her own motions. Let them annihilate human pain, 
and literally "charm ache with air, and agony with ether." The 
blessing of God will attend all their toils, and the gratitude of man will 
await all their triumphs. 

Let them dig down into the bowels of the earth. Let them rive 
asunder the massive rocks, and unfold the history of creation as it lies 
written on the pages of their piled-up strata. Let them gather up the 
fossil fragments of a lost Fauna, reproducing the ancient forms which 
inhabited the land or the seas, bringing them together, bone to his 
bone, till Leviathan and Behemoth stand before us in bodily presence 
and in their full proportions, and we almost tremble lest these dry 
bones should live again ! Let them put nature to the rack, and tor- 
ture her, in all her forms, to the betrayal of her inmost secrets and 
confidences. They need not forbear. The foundations of the round 
world have been laid so strong that they cannot be moved. 

But let them not think by searching to find out God. Let them not 

dream of understanding the Almighty to perfection. Let them not 

dare to apply their tests and solvents, their modes of analysis or their 

terms of definition, to the secrets of the spiritual kingdom. Let them 

spare the foundations of faith. Let them be satisfied with what is 

revealed of the mysteries of the Divine Nature. Let them not break 

through the bounds to gaze after the Invisible. — lest the day come 

when they shall be ready to cry to the mountains, Fall on us, and to 

the hills, Cover us ! 

From "Address be/ore the Alumni of Harvard," 1852. 



Edward Everett. 

There is much, in every way, in the city of Florence to excite the 
curiosity, to kindle the imagination, and to gratify the taste. Sheltered 
on the north by the vine-clad hills of Fiesole, whose Cyclopean walls 
carry back the antiquary to ages before the Roman, before the Etruscan 
power, the flowery city (Fiorenza) covers the sunny banks of the Arno 
with its stately palaces. Dark and frowning piles of mediaeval struc- 
tures, a majestic dome the prototype of St. Peter's, basilicas which 
enshrine the ashes of some of the mightiest of the dead, the stone 
where Dante stood to gaze on the campanile, the house of Michael 
Angelo still occupied by a descendant of his lineage and name ; his 
hammer, his chisel, his dividers, his manuscript poems, all as if he had 
left them but yesterday ; airy bridges which seem not so much to rest 
on the earth as to hover over the waters they span ; the loveliest crea- 
tions of ancient art, rescued from the grave of ages again to " enchant 
the world ;" the breathing marbles of Michael Angelo, the glowing 
canvas of Raphael and Titian ; museums filled with medals and coins 
of every age from Cyrus the Younger, and gems and amulets and 
vases from the sepulchres of Egyptian Pharaohs coeval with Joseph, 
and Etruscan Lucumons that swayed Italy before the Romans ; libraries 
stored with the choicest texts of ancient literature ; gardens of rose and 
orange and pomegranate and myrtle ; the very air you breathe languid 
with music and perfume — such is Florence. 

But among all its fascinations addressed to the sense, the memory, 

and the heart, there was none to which I more frequently gave a 

meditative hour during a year's residence, than to the spot where 

Galileo Galilei sleeps beneath the marble floor of Santa Croce ; no 

building on which I gazed with greater reverence, than I did upon the 

modest mansion at Arcetri, villa at once and prison, in which that 

venerable sage, by command of the Inquisition, passed the sad closing 

years of his life. 

From " Discourse at Albany," 1856. 


Daniel Webster.. 
General principles and public policy are sometimes established by 
constitutional provisions, sometimes by legislative enactments, some- 
times by judicial decisions, and sometimes by general consent. But 
how, or when it may be established, there is nothing that we look for 
with more certainty than this general principle, that Christianity is 
part of the law of the land. This was the case among the Puritans of 


England, the Episcopalians of the Southern States, the Pennsylvania 
Quakers, the Baptists, the mass of the followers of Whitfield and 
Wesley, and the Presbyterians — all — all brought and all adopted this 
great truth — and all have sustained it. And where there is any reli- 
gious sentiment amongst men at all, this sentiment incorporates itself 
with the law. Everything declares it! The massive Cathedral of the 
Catholic ; the Episcopalian Church, with its lofty spire pointing heaven- 
ward ; the plain temple of the Quaker ; the log church of the hardy 
pioneer of the wilderness ; the mementos and memorials around and 
about us — the graveyards — their tombstones and epitaphs — their 
silent vaults — their mouldering contents — all attest it. The dead prove 
it as well as the living ! The generation that is gone before speak to it, ' 
and pronounce it from the tomb ! We feel it ! All, all, proclaim that 
Christianity — general, tolerant Christianity — Christianity independent 
of sects and parties — that Christianity to which the sword and the 
faggot are unknown — general, tolerant Christianity, is the law of the 

From "An Argument in favor of Rcliyious Instruction" 1844. 


Stephen Colwell. 

We believe that the outward manifestations of Christianity do not 
keep up -with the circumstances of the age in which we live, nor with 
its intelligence ; and, above all, they do not correspond to the oppor- 
tunities and privileges of the land in which we live. In every age 
since the Christian era, and in every country, there have been circum- 
stances, external or internal, in the condition of the people, which have 
prevented the free expansion and proper growth of Christianity. Some- 
times it has been a defective ecclesiastical system, sometimes the 
repressive character of the temporal governments and the superstition 
or improper education of the people ; but now at this day and in this 
country, the Christian — whether statesman, man of science, or philoso- 
pher — may look in what direction and pursue what line of inquiry, 
religious or social, he pleases, when he is considering how he can most 
promote the interests of Christianity and the temporal well-being of 
his fellow-men. 

From " The Position of Christianity in the United Stales." 



William C. Rives. 

Courage, gentlemen, exerted in a good cause and sustained by right 
principles, is one of the noblest attributes of humanity. The adver- 
saries of Christianity, from Celsus down to Hume, have sought to assail 
it by imputing to it a want of courage as a necessary consequence of 
its doctrines of humility and forbearance. Strange that one of its 
champions, and in other respects one of its ablest champions, should 
sanction the unjust reproach by exhibiting the same misconceived view 
of the holy cause he defends ! Humility before God is the highest 
boldness towards man. Christ himself, while inculcating the fear of 
God, solemnly warns his disciples, whom again he calls friends, to dis- 
card all fear of man : " I say unto you, my friends, be not afraid of them 
that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do ; but 
I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear : Fear Him which, after he 
hath killed, hath power to cast into hell ; yea, I say unto you, fear 
him." A religion which teaches its followers to regard all temporal 
possessions, even the most cherished, as of but little worth compared 
with the great interests of eternity — to " count life itself as not dear, 
so that they may finish their course with joy" — which holds out its 
high rewards in another and never-ending life — which enjoins every- 
thing to be done and suffered for conscience' sake : such a religion must 
needs be the parent and nurse of the loftiest courage in whatever cause 
is sanctified by a sense of duty. 

From "Discourse before tlie Young Men's Christian Association at Richmond," 1855. 


Dr. Boardman. 

The demon of speculation has seized not upon the mercantile, but 
the railroad interest of the country ; and found or made willing instru- 
ments for the achievement of his purposes. When the probe came to 
be applied, one corporation after another was discovered to be a 
stupendous engine of fraud. Moving 

" In perfect phalanx, to the Dorian mood 
Of flutes and soft recorders/' 

they had carried on a scheme of swindling which astonished by its 
vastness, as much as it shocked by its atrocity. Individuals were 
swindled. Banks were swindled. Municipal corporations were swin- 
dled. Lies were spoken with the same complacency as though they 
had been truth. Spurious certificates of stock ; fictitious vouchers ; 


made-up schedules of liabilities and assets; statements which, however 
true in one sense, were false in the sense in which it was known they 
would be understood ; oaths emasculated by mental reservations ; the 
whole machinery of which these things form a part, was put in requisi- 
tion, and plied with consummate tact and vigor. And when at length 
the bubbles burst, and the gulfs were laid open into which deluded 
capitalists and helpless widows had been casting their money, all confi- 
dence was at an end. Credit, the most sensitive of all creations in the 
realm of commerce, locked up its coffers and double-bolted them. The 
funds which you, gentlemen, should have had for your legitimate traffic, 
had been usurped by others for reckless speculation or were now placed 
beyond your reach for safe-keeping. And the whole force of this 
Titanic villany came down with a terrific crash upon your ranks, who 
had had so little agency in nurturing it. What wonder if some should 
have been swept away by the avalanche ! The only marvel is, that its 
ravages have been. so restricted. 

From " Address before the MercJiants' Fund," 1855. 


Joseph Story. 

A language may be built up without the aid of any foreign mate- 
rials, and be at once flexible for speech and graceful for composition ; 
the literature of a nation may be splendid and instructive, full of 
interest and beauty in thought and in diction, which has no kindred 
with classical learning; in the vast stream of time, it may run its own 
current unstained by the admixture of surrounding languages ; it may 
realize the ancient fable, " Doris amara suam non intermisceat undam;" 
it may retain its own flavor, and its own bitter saltness, too. But I do 
deny that such a national literature does in fact exist, in modern Europe, 
in that community of nations of which we form a part, and to whose 
fortunes and pursuits in literature and arts we are bound by all our 
habits, and feelings, and interests. There is not a single nation from 
the north to the south of Europe, from the bleak shores of the Baltic 
to the bright plains of immortal Italy, whose literature is not imbedded 
in the very elements of classical learning. The literature of England 
is, in an emphatic sense, the production of her scholars, — of men who 
have cultivated letters in her universities, and colleges, and grammar- 
schools, — of men who thought any life too short, chiefly because it left 
some relic of antiquity unmastered, and any other fame humble, 
because it faded in the presence of Roman and Grecian genius. He 
who studies English literature without the lights of classical learning, 
loses half the charms of its sentiments and style, of its force and feel- 


ings, of its delicate touches, of its delightful allusions, of its illustra- 
tive associations. Who that reads the poetry of Gray does not feel 
that it is the refinement of classical taste which gives such inexpressi- 
ble vividness and transparency to his diction ? Who that reads the 
concentrated sense and melodious versification of Dryden and Pope, 
does not perceive in them the disciples of the old school, whose genius 
was inflamed by the heroic verse, the terse satire, and the playful wit 
of antiquity ? Who that meditates over the strains of Milton does not 
feel that he drank deep 

■ At " Siloa's brook, that flowed 

Fast by the oracle of God ;" 

that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by coals from 
ancient altars ? 

From " Address at Harvard," 1826. 


Joseph Story. 

Authors no longer depend upon the smiles of a favored few. The 
patronage of the great is no longer submissively entreated or exultingly 
proclaimed. Their patrons are the public : their readers are the civil- 
ized world. They address themselves not to the present generation 
alone, but aspire to instruct posterity. No blushing dedications seek 
an easy passport to fame, or flatter the perilous condescension of pride. 
No illuminated letters flourish on the silky page, asking admission to 
the courtly drawing-room. Authors are no longer the humble com- 
panions or dependants of the nobility ; but they constitute the chosen 
ornaments of society, and are welcomed to the gay circles of fashion 
and the palaces of princes. Theirs is no longer an unthrifty vocation, 
closely allied to penury; but an elevated profession, maintaining its 
thousands in lucrative pursuits. It is not with them as it was in the 
days of Milton, whose immortal " Paradise Lost" drew five sterling- 
pounds, with a contingent of five more, from the reluctant bookseller. 

My lord Coke would hardly find good authority, in our day, for his 
provoking commentary on the memorable statute of the fourth Henry, 
which declares that " none henceforth shall use to multiply gold or 
silver, or use the craft of multiplication ;" in which he gravely enu- 
merates five classes of beggars, ending the catalogue, in his own quaint 
phraseology, with " poetasters," and repeating, for the benefit of young 
apprentices of the law, the sad admonition, 

" Ssepe pater dixit, Studium, quid inutile tentas ? 
Maeonides nullas ipse reliquit opes." 

From « Address at Harvard" 1826. 



Jonx Miltox. 

It is of greatest concernment in the church and commonwealth, to 
have a vigilant eye how books demean themselves, as well as men ; 
and thereafter to confine, imprison, and do sharpest justice on them 
as malefactors; for books are not absolutely dead things, but do con- 
tain a progeny of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose 
progeny they are ; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy 
and extraction of that living intellect that bred them. I know they 
are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous dragons' 
teeth: and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed 
men. And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good 
almost kill a man as kill a good book : who kills a man kills a reason- 
able cjeature, God's image ; but he who destroys a good book, kills 
reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye. Many a 
man lives a burden to the earth : but a good book is the precious life- 
blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a 
life beyond life. It is true, no age can restore a life, whereof perhaps 
there is no great loss ; and revolutions of ages do not oft recover the 
loss of a rejected truth, for the want of which whole nations fare the 
worse. We should be wary, therefore, what persecution we raise 
against the living labors of public men, how we spill that seasoned life 
of man, preserved and stored up in books ; since we see a kind of 
homicide may be thus committed, sometimes a martyrdom ; and if it 
extend to the whole impression, a kind of massacre, whereof the execu- 
tion ends not in the slaying of an elemental life, but strikes at the 
ethereal and fifth essence, the breath of reason itself; slays an immor- 
tality rather than a life. 

From " Areopagitica." 



As in a body when the blood is fresh, the spirits pure and vigorous, 
not only to vital, but to rational faculties, and those in the acutest and 
the pertest operations of wit and subtlety, it argues in what good plight 
and constitution the body is ; so when the cheerfulness of the people 
is so sprightly up, as that it has not only wherewith to guard well its 
own freedom and safety, but to spare, and to bestow upon the solidest 
and sublimest points of controversy and new invention, it betokens us 
not degenerated, nor drooping to a fatal decay, by casting off the old 
and wrinkled skin of corruption to outlive these pangs, and wax young 
again, entering the glorious ways of truth and prosperous virtue, des- 


tined to become great and honorable in these latter ages. Methinks I 
see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a 
strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks : methinks I 
see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her un- 
dazzled eyes at the full midday beam ; purging and unsealing her 
long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance ; while 
the whole noise of timorous and nocking birds, with those also that 
love the twilight, nutter about, amazed at what she means, and in their 
envious gabble would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms. 

From " Areopagilica." 


George P. Marsh. 

Of all countries known in history, the North American republic is 
most conspicuously marked by the fusion, or rather the absence of rank 
and social distinctions, by community of interests, by incessant and 
all-pervading intercommunication, by the universal diffusion of educa- 
tion, and the abundant facilities of access, not only to the periodical 
conduits, but to the permanent reservoirs of knowledge. The condition 
of England is in all these respects closely assimilated to that of the 
United States ; and not only the methods, but the instruments, of popu- 
lar instruction are fast becoming the same in both ; and there is a 
growing conviction among the wise of the two great empires, that the 
highest interests of both will be promoted by reciprocal good-will and 
unrestricted intercourse, perilled by jealousies and estrangement. 

Favored, then, by the mighty elective affinities, the powerful harmonic 
attractions, which subsist between the Americans and the Englishmen 
as brothers of one blood, one speech, one faith, we may reasonably 
hope that the Anglican tongue on both sides of the Atlantic, as it 
grows in flexibility, comprehensiveness, expression, wealth, will also 
more and more clearly manifest the organic unity of its branches, and 
that national jealousies, material rivalries, narrow interests, will not 
disjoin and shatter that great instrument of social advancement, which 
God made one, as he made one the spirit of the nations that use it. 

From a Lectures an trie English Language" 


Leigh Hunt. 

There are different kinds and degrees of imagination, some of them 
necessary to the formation of every true poet, and all of them possessed 
by the greatest. Perhaps they may be enumerated as follows : — First, 


that which presents to the mind any object or circumstance in every- 
day life; as -when we imagine a man holding a sword, or looking out 
of a window ; — second, that which presents real, but not cvery-day cir- 
cumstances ; as King Alfred tending the loaves, or Sir Philip Sidney 
giving up the water to the dying soldier ; — third, that which combines 
character, and events directly imitated from real life, with imitative 
realities of its own invention ; as the probable parts of the histories of 
Priam and Macbeth, or what may be called natural fiction as distin- 
guished from supernatural ; — fourth, that which conjures up things and 
events not to be found in nature ; as Homer's gods, and Shakspeare's 
witches, enchanted horses and spears, Ariosto's hippogriff, A:c. ; — fifth, 
that which, in order to illustrate or aggravate one image, introduces 
another; sometimes in simile, as when Homer compares Apollo descend- 
ing in his wrath at noon-day to the coming of night-time ; sometimes 
in metaphor, or simile comprised in a word, as in Milton's " motes that 
people the sunbeams ;" sometimes in concentrating into a word the main 
history of any person or thing, past or even future, as in the " starry 
Galileo'' of Byron, and that ghastly foregone conclusion of the epithet 
" murdered" applied to the yet living victim in Keats's story from 
Boccaccio — 

So the two brothers and their murdered man 
Rode towards fair Florenoe ; — 

sometimes in the attribution of a certain representative quality which 
makes one circumstance stand for others ; as in Milton's grey-fiy wind- 
ing its "sultry horn," which epithet contains the heat of a summer's 
day ; — sixth, that which reverses this process, and makes a variety of 
circumstances take color from one, like nature seen with jaundiced or 
glad eyes, or under the influence of storm or sunshine ; as when in 
Lycidas, or the Greek pastoral poets, the flowers and the flocks are 
made to sympathize with a man's death ; or, in the Italian poet, the 
river flowing by the sleeping Angelica seems talking of love — 

Parea che l'erba le fiorisse intorno, 
E d'amor ragionasse quella riva ! — 

Orlando Innamorato, Canto iii. 

or in the voluptuous homage paid to the sleeping Imogen by the very 
light in the chamber, and the reaction of her own beauty upon itself; 
or in the " witch element" of the tragedy of Macbeth and the May-day 
night of Faust; — seventh, and last, that which by a single expression, 
apparently of the vaguest kind, not only meets but surpasses in its 
effect the extremest force of the most particular description. 

From '•' Imagination and Fancy." 



We arrived at the brink of the cataract, which had before announced 
itself by a terrible roar. It is formed by the river Niagara, which 
unites Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. The height of the fall is one 
hundred and forty-four feet ; from Lake Erie to the precipice the descent 
is quite rapid ; and at the moment of the fall, it is less a river than a 
sea, whose whelming torrents press together as if into the hungry 
mouth of a great gulf. The cataract is divided into two branches, and 
is bent like a horse-shoe. Between the two falls is a small island, 
which hangs with all its trees over the chaos of waters. The volume 
of the river which is precipitated at the south, is rounded into a vast 
cylinder, and then unrolls itself into a sheet of snow, shining in the 
sunlight with every variety of color. That which falls at the east de- 
scends in a frightful shadow ; one might fancy a column of water from 
the ancient deluge. A thousand rainbows curve and mingle in the 
abyss. The wave, as it strikes the quivering rock, is thrown back in 
whirlwinds of foam, which rise higher than the forest, like the smoke 
of a vast furnace. Pines, chestnuts, rocks cut into fantastic forms, are 
the decorations of the scene. Eagles, borne along by the current of 
air, descend whirling into the bottom of the gulf; where also are often 
found the broken carcases of elks and bears. 

Translated from " Le Gtnie du Chiistianisme." 


Horace Binn"et Wallace. 

An era is it in the history of any man, when for the first time he 
crosses the Alps. A sympathy is touched and developed, that shall 
vibrate and expand for ever. Upon that soil, we learn that Imagination 
and Sentiment are the Italian elements of our nature. All things seem 
ideal, poetic, visionary. Splendors that the northern world knows only 
by half-heavenly flashes that fade before they can be felt, here are 
natural and permanent. From the valleys and plains of Italy the lustre 
of summer is never wholly withdrawn, and winter seems but a tardier 
spring. Elsewhere we have glimpses of her life in conservatories, and 
when we enter the guarded retreats where orange-trees and olives and 
myrtles are garnered up as creating around them a kind of sacred soul- 
life, we say, " This is like Italy." Its atmosphere is fragrance, its soil 
is beauty, its canopy a glory unimaginable. Its air is a prism to turn 
the common light into enchantment. What melodies of color, — violet, 
rose, purple, — roll along its steeps ! Yet the true fascination of Italy 


is of the soul ; and the features of the scene enjoy our devotion on 
account of the Spirit that looks out from them, and which they typify. 

It is the clime of Art, — the temple of the sacrament of the material 
transfigured into the spiritual, — of the perpetual marriage of the formal 
with the divine. Life, thought, passion, manners, all things, partake 
of an a3sthetic quality. An ethereal stream of ideal sentiment seems 
to float over the land and refract all perceptions, feelings, and objects 
into beautiful outlines and hues. 

It is the land of Antiquity, the school of History, the home of the 
Past. No time is recorded when Italy stood not foremost in the annals ; 
a scene where great things were thought and wrought. Etruscan, Hu- 
man, Pontifical, these civilizations have succeeded one another, and no 
later one has effaced the vestiges of that which preceded it. All now 
dwell together ; and the face of the land is as a self-registering chronicle 
of all that has been felt and done upon its surface. Here, under the 
calm, grave eye of the Venerable Past, the Present moves modestly, 
and with self-distrust. Here you may stand in the religious presence 
of the Older Day, and imbibe a temper which is more than wisdom. 
The active, the striving, the destructive, we leave behind when we cross 
the mountains. Existence here is moral, consultative, intellectual. It 
seems like an Elysium, where life is fancied, and interests notional ; 
the blissful future state of an existence gone by, where shadowy forms 
rehearse in silent show the deeds that once resounded, or elsewhere re- 
sound. It is a land where all is ruin ; but where ruin itself is more 
splendid, more permanent, and more vital than the freshest perfections 

of other countries. 

From "Art, Scenery, and Philosophy in Europe." 


Arnold Gctot. 

The comparison we have made between the Old "World and the New, 
and the detailed study of the first, have enabled us, I think, to deter- 
mine its true character, the character assigned to it by its physical 
nature. The character it owes to its more oceanic position, to the abun- 
dance of the waters, to a more tropical situation, to a more fertile soil, 
is the marked preponderance of vegetable life over animal life. A vig- 
orous vegetation, abundant rather than delicate, immense forests, a soil 
everywhere irrigated, everywhere productive — these are the wealth of 
America. Nature has given her all the raw materials with liberality ; 
has lavished upon her all useful gifts. 

But our globe would be incomplete, if this element were alone repre- 
sented, if this were the only world that existed. One of the two worlds 


is by no means a repetition of the other ; for the Author of all things is 
too rich in his conceptions ever to repeat himself in his works. 

We know already a good number of the physical characteristics of 
the Old World, an unknown world to us no more. Nevertheless, it is 
well to recall them here, in order to group them in a single picture, 
and to deduce from them the essential and characteristic feature which 
distinguishes it from America. 

The number of the continents, double that of the New World, their 
grouping in a more compact and solid mass, make it already and pre- 
eminently the continental world. It is a mighty oak, with stout and 
sturdy trunk, while America is the slender and flexible palm-tree, so 
dear to this continent. The Old World — if it is allowable to employ 
here comparisons of this nature — calls to mind the square and solid 
figure of man ; America the lithe shape and delicate form of woman. 

If America is distinguished by the simplicity of its interior structure, 
and by the consequent unity of character, the Old World, on the contrary, 
presents the variety of structure carried to its utmost limits. While 
America, as we have seen, is constructed upon one and the same plan 
in the two continents, the Old World has at least three, as many as its 
separate masses ; one for Asia and Europe, one for Africa, a third for 
Australia ; for, in spite of their resemblance in certain general features, 
common to them, as the law of the reliefs has taught us, each of these 
three continents has none the less its special structure, which is not the 
same in Australia as in Africa, nor in Africa as in Asia-Europe. 

The great mass of Asia-Europe, which may be well called a single 
continent, of a triangular form, whose western point is Europe — Asia- 
Europe, by itself, forms already the pendant of the two Americas. Like 
the New World, it is divided into two parts by a long ridge of heights, 
of mountain chains, and of table lands, forming a line of the highest 
elevations, and the axis of this continent ; the Himmalaya, the Hindo- 
Khu, the Caucasus, the Alps, the Pyrenees, are analogous to the long 
American Cordilleras. 

This ridge also divides the Old World into two unequal parts, but is 
not placed on one of the edges of the continents, as in America. It is 
only a little out of the centre, so that it divides the whole surface into 
two opposite slopes, unequal certainly, but the narrower is nevertheless 
considerable. The northern slope is more vast : it contains all the great 
plains of the north, but it is less favored by the climate, and by the 
forms of the soil. The southern slope is less extended, but it enjoys a 
more beautiful climate ; nature is richer there ; it is more indented, 
more variously moulded ; it possesses all those fine peninsulas, the two 
Indies, Arabia, Asia Minor, Greece, Italy, Spain, which form the wealth 
of Asia and Europe. Figure to yourselves the coasts of the Pacific, 
furnished with a series of peninsulas of this description, and you will 
6* E 


have an idea of the augmentation of wealth that would result to Ame- 
rica from such an addition. 

From " The Earth and Man." 


William Beckfoiid. 

A voice announced to the caliph, Nouronihar, the four princes, and 
the princess, the awful and irrevocable decree. Their hearts imme- 
diately took fire, and they, at once, lost the most precious gift of 
heaven — hope. These unhappy beings recoiled, with looks of the 
most furious distraction. Vathek beheld in the eyes of Nouronihar 
nothing but rage and vengeance; nor could she discern aught in his, 
but aversion and despair. The two princes who were friends, and, till 
that moment, had preserved their attachment, shrunk back, gnashing 
their teeth with mutual and unchangeable hatred. Kalilah and his 
sister made reciprocal gestures of imprecation ; all testified their horror 
for each other by the most ghastly convulsions, and screams that could 
not be smothered. All severally plunged themselves into the accursed 
multitude, there to wander in an eternity of unabating anguish. 

Such was, and such should be, the punishment of unrestrained 
passions and atrocious deeds ! Such shall be the chastisement of that 
blind curiosity, which would transgress those bounds the wisdom of 
the Creator has prescribed to human knowledge ; and such the dread- 
ful disappointment of that restless ambition, which, aiming at discove- 
ries reserved for beings of a supernatural order, perceives not, through 
its infatuated pride, that the condition of man upon earth is to be — 
humble and ignorant. 

Thus the caliph Vathek, who, for the sake of empty pomp and for- 
bidden power, had sullied himself with a thousand crimes, became a 
prey to grief without end, and remorse without mitigation ; whilst the 
humble, the despised Gulchenrouz passed whole ages in undisturbed 

tranquillity, and in the pure happiness of childhood. 

From "VatheJc" 


Henry Reed. 

The large luminary of Spenser's imagination had scarce mounted 
high enough above the horizon to kindle all it touched, when there 
arose the still more glorious shape of Shakspeare's genius, radiant like 
Milton's seraph — " another morn risen on mid-noon." This was the 
wonderful dramatic era in English letters. Within about fifty years, 
beginning in the latter part of the sixteenth century, there was a con- 


course of dramatic authors, the like of which is seen nowhere else in 
literary history. The central figure is Shakspeare, towering above 
them all; but there were there Ben Jonson, and Beaumont, and 
Fletcher, and Ford, and a multitude of whom a poet has said, — 

" They stood, around 
The throne of Shakspeare, sturdy, but unclean." 

It is scarce possible, it seems to me, to mistake that this abundant 
development of dramatic poetry was characteristic of times distin- 
guished by the admirable union of action and contemplation in many 
of the illustrious men who flourished then ; for instance, Sir Philip 
Sydney devoting himself to the effort of raising English poetry to its 
true estate, kindling his heart with the old ballads, or drawing the 
gentle Spenser forth from the hermitage of his modesty ; at the same 
time sharing in affairs of state, in knights' deeds of arms, and on the 
field of battle meeting an early death, memorable with its last deed of 
charity, when, putting away the cup of water from his own lips, burn- 
ing with the thirst of a bleeding death, he gave it to a wounded soldier 
with the words, " Thy necessity is yet greater than mine :" or Raleigh 
preserving his love of letters throughout his whole varied career, at 
court, in camp, or tempest-tost in his adventures on the ocean. It 
seems to me that an age thus characterized by the combination of 
thought and deed in its representative men, had its most congenial 
literature in the drama — that form of poetry which Lord Bacon has 
described as "history made visible/ 7 

From "English Literature?' 


Henry Reed. 
We are living at a period when the language has attained a high 
degree of excellence, both in prose and verse, — when it has developed 
largely, for all the uses of language, its power and its beauty. It is 
one of the noblest languages that the earth has ever sounded with ; it 
is our endowment, our inheritance, our trust. It associates us with the 
wise and good of olden times, and it couples us with the kindred peo- 
ples of many distant regions. It is our duty, therefore, to cultivate, to 
cherish, and to keep it from corruption. Especially is this a otuty for 
us, who are spreading that language over such vast territory ; and not 
only that, but having such growing facilities of intercommunication, 
that the language is perpetually speeding from one portion of the land 
to another with wondrous rapidity, equally favorable to the diffusion 
of either purity or corruption of speech, but, certainly, calculated to 
break down narrow and false provincialisms of speech. 


In the culture and preservation of a language, there are two princi- 
ples, deep-seated in the philosophy of language, which should be borne 
in mind. One is, that every living language has a power of growth, 
of expansion, of development ; in other words, its life — that which 
makes it a living language, having within itself a power to supply the 
growing wants and improvements of a living people that uses it. If, 
by any system of rules, restraint is put on this genuine and healthful 
freedom, on this genial movement, the native vigor of the language is 

From " English Literature." 


Washington Irving. 

Byron's tomb is in an old gray country church, venerable with the 
lapse of centuries. lie lies buried beneath the pavement, at one end of 
the principal aisle. A light falls on the spot through the stained glass 
of a gothic window, and a tablet on the adjacent wall announces the 
family vault of the Byrons. It had been the wayward intention of the 
poet to be entombed, with his faithful dog, in the monument erected by 
him in the garden of Newstead Abbey. His executors showed better 
judgment and feeling, in consigning his ashes to the family sepulchre, 
to mingle with those of his mother and his kindred. Here, 

"After life's fitful fever, be sleeps well. 
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing 
Can touch him further !" 

How nearly did his dying hour realizesthe wish made by him but a 
few years previously in one of his fitful moods of melancholy and mis- 
anthropy : — 

" When time, or soon or late, shall bring 
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, 

Oblivion ! may thy languid wing 
Wave gently o'er my dying bed ! 

No band of friends or heirs be there, 

To weep or wish the coming blow : 
No maiden with dishevelled hair, 

To feel, or feign decorous woe. 

But silent let me sink to earth, 

With no officious mourners near; 
I would not mar one hour of mirth, 

Nor startle friendship with a fear." 


He died among strangers ; in a foreign land, without a kindred hand 
to close his eyes, yet he did not die unwept. With all his faults, and 
errors, and passions, and caprices, he had the gift of attaching his 
humble dependants warmly to him. One of them, a poor Greek, 
accompanied his remains to England, and followed them to the grave. 
I am told that, during the ceremony, he stood holding on by a pew in 
an agony of grief, and, when all was over, seemed as if he would have 
gone down into the tomb with the body of his master. A nature that 
could inspire such attachments must have been generous and beneficent. 

From " Newstead Abbey." 



Athenians, I must remind you that you left behind you no more such 
ships in your docks, nor so fine a body of heavy-armed troops ; and that, 
if anything else befall you but victory, your enemies here will imme- 
diately sail thither, and those of our countrymen who are left behind 
there will be unable to defend themselves against both their opponents 
on the spot and those who will join them ; and thus, at the same time, 
you who are here will be at the mercy of the Syracusans (and you know 
with what feelings you came against them), and those who are there at 
home at that of the Lacedemonians. Being brought then to this one 
struggle for both parties, fight bravely now, if you ever did ; and 
reflect, both individually and collectively, that those of you who will 
now be on board your ships represent both the army and the navy of 
the Athenians, all that is left of your country, and the great name of 
Athens : in behalf of which, whatever be the point in which one man 
excels another, either in science or courage, on no other occasion could 
he better display it, so as both to benefit himself and to contribute to 

the preservation of all. 

From " The Peloponnesian War." 


Robert C. Wixtheop. 
Scholars must condescend to deal with common thoughts, with com- 
mon words, with common topics ; — or rather, they must learn to con- 
sider nothing as common or unclean which may contribute to the 
welfare of man, the safety of the republic, or the glory of God. It is 
theirs, by their efforts in the pulpit or at the bar, in the lecture-room, 
or the legislative hall, at the meetings of select societies, or at the 
grander gatherings of popular masses, in the columns of daily papers, 


in the pages of periodical reviews or magazines, or through the scat- 
tered leaves of the occasional tract or pamphlet, to keep a strong, 
steady current of sound, rational, enlightened sentiment always in 
singulation through the community. Let them remember that false 
doctrines will not wait to be corrected by ponderous folios or cum- 
brous quartos. The thin pamphlet, the meagre tract, the occasional 
address, the weekly sermon, the daily leader, — these are the great 
instruments of shaping and moulding the destinies of our country. 
In them, the scholarship of the country must manifest itself. In them, 
the patriotism of the country must exhibit itself. In them, the 
morality and religion of the country must assert itself. " The word 
in season/' — that word of which Solomon understood the beauty and 
the value, when he likened it to apples of gold in pictures of silver, 
— it is that which is to arrest error, rebuke falsehood, confirm faith, 
kindle patriotism, commend morality and religion, purify public opinion, 
and preserve the State. 

From "Address before the Alumni of Harvard," 1852. 


Dr. J. W. Francis. 
"Who that has kept vigils at the couch of genius, and marked the 
wayward flickerings of its sacred fire, made yet more ethereal by 
disease, or seen beauty grow almost supernatural in the embrace of 
pain, has not felt his mission to be holy as well as responsible? 
And when a voice that has thrilled millions is hushed, or a mind upon 
which rest the cares of a nation is prostrated, who has not realized how 
intimately the healing art is knit into the vast and complex web of 
human society ? Let not that be thought a light office which summons 
us to minister, as apostles of science, to the greatest exigencies of life ; 
to cheer the soul under the acute sufferings of maternity, and alleviate 
the decay of nature ; to watch over the glimmering dawn and the fading 
twilight of existence; to stand beside the mother, whose sobs are hushed 
that the departure of her first-born may be undisturbed ; and be oracles 
at the bedside of the revered minister of holy truth, the halo of whose 
piety softens, on his brow, the lines of mortal agony. What a mastery 
of self, what requisites, mental and corporeal, are demanded in him 
who is the observer of scenes like these, whose sympathies are awakened 
to services such as are befitting the mighty crisis, and whose talents 
are efficiently enlisted for the triumphant accomplishment of his devout 
trust ! The advent of such an ambassador, when his calling is duly 
understood, must awaken the heart to its profoundest depths, and can- 
not be inoperative upon minds of intellectual and moral culture. 

From "Discourse before the New York Academy of Medicine." 



Joel R. Poinsett. 
A liberal and enlightened Englishman, foreseeing the benefits 
which would result to science throughout the world, by its successful 
cultivation in the vast and extensive field offered by these states and 
territories, with enlarged views and praiseworthy philanthropy, has 
bequeathed a fund to be employed for the sacred purposes of increas- 
ing and diffusing knowledge among men. This bequest will enable 
the government to afford all necessary protection to the promotion of 
science and the useful arts, without the exercise of any doubtful power, 
by the application of the annual interest of this fund to the establish- 
ment of an observatory, the erection of suitable buildings to contain 
the collections, and for lecture-rooms, the purchase of books and in- 
struments, and the salaries of professors and curators. Specimens of 
natural history are rapidly accumulating. The exploring expedition 
has already sent home a large collection, which remains packed away 
in boxes in a room belonging to the Philadelphia Museum, generously 
loaned by the company for that purpose ; and we may anticipate from 
the ability and well-known zeal of the naturalists who accompanied it 
by order of government, that the squadron itself, shortly expected, will 
return richly freighted with objects of natural history. 

From " A Discourse at Washington" 1840. 


0. M. MlTCHEl. 

To predict an eclipse of the sun, the astronomer must sweep forward, 
from new moon to new moon, until he finds some new moon which 
should occur, while the moon was in the act of crossing from one side 
to the other of the sun's track. This certainly was possible. He knew 
the exact period from new moon to new moon, and from one crossing 
of the ecliptic to another. With eager eye he seizes the moon's place 
in the heavens, and her age, and rapidly computes where she will be 
at her next change. He finds the new moon occurring far from the 
sun's track ; he runs round another revolution ; the place of the new 
moon falls closer to the sun's path, and the next yet closer, until, reach- 
ing forward with piercing intellectual vigor, he at last finds a new 
moon which occurs precisely at the computed time of her passage 
across the sun's track. Here he makes his stand, and on the day of 
the occurrence of that new moon, he announces to the startled inhabit- 
ants of the world that the sun shall expire in dark eclipse. Bold pre- 
diction ! — Mysterious prophet ! with what scorn must the unthinking 
world have received this solemn declaration ! How slowly do the moons 


roll away, and with what intense anxiety does the stern philosopher 
await the coming of that day which should crown him with victory, or 
dash him to the ground in ruin and disgrace ! Time to him moves on 
leaden wings ; day after day, and at last hour after hour, roll heavily 
away. The last night is gone— the moon has disappeared from his 
eagle gaze in her approach to the sun, and the dawn of the eventful 
day breaks in beauty on a slumbering world. 

This daring man, stern in his faith, climbs alone to his rocky home, 
and greets the sun as he rises and mounts the heavens, scattering 
brightness and glory in his path. Beneath him is spread out the popu- 
lous city, already teeming with life and activity. The busy morning 
hum rises on the still air, and reaches the watching place of the solitary 
astronomer. The thousands below him, unconscious of his intense 
anxiety, buoyant with life, joyously pursue their rounds of business, 
their cycles of amusement. The sun slowly climbs the heavens, round 
and bright and full-orbed. The lone tenant of the mountain-top 
almost begins to waver in the sternness of his faith, as the morning 
hours roll away. But the time of his triumph, long delayed, at length 
begins to dawn ; a pale and sickly hue creeps over the face of nature. 
The sun has reached his highest point, but his splendor is dimmed, his 
light is feeble. At last it comes !-^Blackness is eating away his round 
disc, — onward with slow but steady pace the dark veil moves, blacker 
than a thousand nights, — the gloom deepens, — the ghastly hue of death 
covers the universe, — the last ray is gone, and horror reigns. A wail 
of terror fills the murky air, — the clangor of brazen trumpets resounds, — 
an agony of despair dashes the stricken millions to the ground, while 
that lone man, erect on his rocky summit, with arms outstretched to 
heaven, pours forth the grateful gushings of his heart to God who had 
crowned his efforts with triumphant victory. Search the records of our 
race, and point me, if you can, to a scene more grand, more beautiful. 
It is to me the proudest victory that genius ever won. It was the con- 
quering of nature, of ignorance, of superstition, of terror, all at a single 
blow, and that blow struck by a single arm. And now do you demand 
the name of this wonderful man ? Alas ! what a lesson of the insta- 
bility of earthly fame are we taught in this simple recital. He who 
had raised himself immeasurably above his race, — who must have been 
regarded by his fellows as little less than a god, who had inscribed his 
fame on the very heavens, and had written it in the sun, with a " pen 
of iron, and the point of a diamond," even this one has perished from 
the earth — name, age, country, are all swept into oblivion, but his 
proud achievement stands. The monument reared to his honor stands, 
and although the touch of time has effaced the lettering of his name, 
it is powerless, and cannot destroy the fruits of his victory. 

From " Planetary and Stdlar Worlds." 



0. M. MlTCHEL. 

Guided by some kind angel or spirit whose sympathy had been 
touched by the unwearied zeal of the mortal, Kepler returned to his 
former computations, and, with a heaving breast and throbbing heart, 
he detects the numerical error in his work, and commences anew. The 
square of Jupiter's period is to the square of Saturn's period as the 
cube of Jupiter's distance is to some fourth term, which Kepler hoped 
and prayed might prove to be the cube of Saturn's distance. With 
trembling hand, he sweeps through the maze of figures ; the fourth 
term is obtained ; he compares it with the cube of Saturn's distance. 
They are the same ! — He could scarcely believe his own senses. He 
feared some demon mocked him. He ran over the work again and 
again — he tried the proportion, the square of Jupiter's period to the 
square of Mars' period as the cube of Jupiter's distance to a fourth 
term, which he found to be the cube of the distance of Mars — till 
finally full conviction burst upon his mind : he had won the goal, the 
struggle of seventeen long years was ended, God was vindicated, and 
the philosopher, in the wild excitement of his glorious triumph, 
exclaims : — 

" Nothing holds me. I will indulge my sacred fury ! If you forgive 
me, I rejoice ; if you are angry, I can bear it. The die is cast. The 
book is written, to be read either now, or by posterity, I care not which. 
It may well wait a century for a reader, since God has waited six 
thousand years for an observer !" 

More than two hundred years have rolled away since Kepler 
announced his great discoveries. Science has marched forward with 
swift and resistless energy. The secrets of the universe have been 
yielded up under the inquisitorial investigations of god-like intellect. 
The domain of the mind has been extended wider and wider. One 
planet after another has been added to our system ; even the profound 
abyss which separates us from the fixed stars has been passed, and 
thousands of rolling suns have been descried swiftly flying or majesti- 
cally sweeping through the thronged regions of space. But the laws of 
Kepler bind them all : — satellite and primary — planet and sun — sun 
and system, — all with one accord proclaim, in silent majesty, the 
triumph of the hero philosopher. 

From " Planetary and Stellar Worlds.'" 



Henry D. Gilpin. 

The treaty of Shackamaxon — " the treaty not sworn to and never 
broken" — is the beacon-spot in the history of Pennsylvania, most con- 
spicuous in her early annals. At the dawn of every people's history, 
there seems to be some characteristic incident for ever remembered 
and cherished. The legend of Athens never ceased to keep in lively 
remembrance the promise of protection, given by the Goddess of wis- 
dom, intelligence and courage, on the rude rock beneath which the 
future city was to grow, and the olive-tree that she planted there, as 
the token of her promise, was guarded and encircled with monuments 
of art, taste, and beauty, which still, even in their ruins, win the 
admiration of the world. The laws inspired by Egeria at her seques- 
tered fountain, which were to form from a band of robbers the mighty 
Roman race ; the league framed by the three bold spirits of Switzerland, 
in the sequestered xVlpine meadow of Grutli ; the charter of liberty 
extorted from their perfidious sovereign, by the armed barons of Eng- 
land, on the island of Runnymede, are events of national story that 
have loomed out more largely as time has rolled on ; and, with us, the 
first memorable treaty of Penn has become more reverenced with each 
succeeding year, as having founded the government under which we 
live, on the corner-stones of justice and peace. 

From " Address before Vie Pennsylvania Historical Society," 1857. 


Hexrt D. Gilpin. 

If the foundation and settlement of Pennsylvania were planned and 
accomplished upon a system so benignant and just, alike to the red 
man and the emigrant, as to elicit the praise and wonder of the age, to 
what was it due but to his promises, made in advance and never swerved 
from, of just and gentle dealings towards the one, and, to the other, 
that they should "be governed by laws of their own making, so that 
they might be a free, and, if they would, a sober and industrious 
people," possessing " all that good and free men could reasonably desire 
for the security and improvement of their own happiness" ? " Let the 
Lord," he said, "guide me by His wisdom to honor His name, and to 
serve His truth and people, so that an example and a standard may be 
set up to the nations." 

If the constitution of our state, now and always, has declared that 
no right of conscience, and no form or mode of religious worship, shall 
be controlled or interfered with, and requires, in offices of the highest 
trust, no religious qualification but a belief in the existence of the 


Supreme Being, and His power to punish or reward our actions, we 
proudly remember that this glorious principle is foremost in the earliest 
of our laws, voluntarily proclaimed by Penn before he left the shores 
of England ; and that he, among all legislators, was the first to gua- 
rantee, by the enactments of his civil code, the full enjoyment of this 
Christian liberty to every one living in his province, " who should con- 
fess and acknowledge one Almighty God to be the creator, upholder, 
and ruler of the world." 

From "Address before the Pennsylvania Historical Society," 1857. 

canova's tkiumph. 

Cardinal Wiseman. 

Some years ago the entire Church of St. Peter's was lighted up on 
Thursday and Friday evenings of Holy Week, by one huge brazen 
cross, studded with lamps, and hung below the dome. 

The play of light and shadow, in bold masses, edged bluffly one by 
another, through the aisles, was splendid beyond description. Now it 
is certain that Canova designed the beautiful monument of Rezzonico 
(Clement XIII.), its fine lions and reclining genius, with an eye, most 
particularly, to the effect upon it of this religious illumination. He 
had it carefully covered till the first of these evenings, and exposed it 
to view under the influence of this unusual light. I well remember its 
splendid effect under such circumstances ; and can imagine the general 
delight upon its first exhibition. Indeed, so anxious was Canova him- 
self to try the experiment fairly, that he employed his friend, Cav. 
D'Este, from whom I have the account, to procure for him a disguise. 
" My friends," he observed, " are sure to praise the monument ; and 
my enemies are sure to find fault with it. I will go among the people 
and hear their opinions." After vain attempts to dissuade him, the 
costume of a very poor priest was procured, and he was soon so dis- 
guised as to defy detection. D'Este saw him thread his way through 
the admiring crowd, and listen to the judgment of every little knot, 
till he stood by the group in which the senator Rezzonico, nephew to 
the Pope, was asking, " Where is Canova, that we may congratulate 
with him," eyeing, at the same time, askance, the dilapidated sacristan, 
as he thought him, who was almost intruding upon them. But Canova 
was not discovered, and returned home satisfied, having received sen- 
tence of approval from an unpacked and unprejudiced jury. 

From " Lectures at Rome." 




If, as I delight in thinking, the interest of science is counted in the 
number of great national interests, I have given my country all that 
the soldier, mutilated on the field of battle, gives her. "Whatever may 
be the fate of my labors, this example, I hope, will not be lost. I 
would wish it to serve to combat the species of moral weakness which 
is the disease of our present generation ; to bring back into the straight 
road of life some of those enervated souls that complain of wanting 
faith, that know not what to do, and seek everywhere, without finding 
it, an object of worship and admiration. Why say, with so much bit- 
terness, that in the world, constituted as it is, there is no air for all 
lungs, no employment for all mind3? Is not calm and serious study 
there? And is not that a refuge, a hope, a field within the reach of all 
of us? With it, evil days are passed over without their weight being 
felt; every one can make his own destiny ; every one employ his life 
nobly. This is what I have done, and would do again, if I had to 
recommence my career ; I would choose that which has brought me 
where I am. Blind, and suffering without hope, and almost without 
intermission, I may give this testimony, which from me will not appear 
suspicious: there is something in the world better than sensual enjoy- 
ments, better than fortune, better than health itself; it is devotion to 


From " Autobiographical Preface." 


AVOVBTVH Thierry. 

The District of Columbia is the seat of the chief congress, and 
contains the palace in which the members of the congress assemble. 
This palace has been called by the ancient name of the Capitol. It is 
not, like the Capitol of Rome, built on an immovable rock ; but its 
destiny is far more certain. Liberty presides over it, instead of the 
fickle god of war; and the tide of the vengeance of the people will 
never need to rise against it. 

We cannot see, without emotion, on the map of that free country, 
the names of cities borrowed from all the countries of Europe, the 
names of Paris, Home, Lisbon, and even that of Athens. All European 
countries have furnished their share to that happy population, as if to 
prove to the world that liberty belongs to all, and is the peculiar pro- 
perty of none. The exiles of each country have, like the fugitives of 
Troy, attached the beloved name of the home of their childhood to the 
name of their old age. America is the common asylum of us all. 
From whatever part of the Old World we steer, we shall not be strangers 


in the New ; we shall there meet with our language, our fellow-coun- 
trymen, and our brethren. If, what destiny will doubtless not permit 
to occur, the barbarism of ancient times prevailed against modern 
Europe ; if those who gave the communes the name of execrable, and 
who still threaten war against us in the names of their ancestors, the 
enemies of ours, were to triumph over reason and us, we should have a 
redress which our ancestors had not ; the sea is free, and there is a free 
world beyond it. We should breathe there with ease, we should brace 
up our minds there, and we should rally there our strength. 

Nos manet Oceanus circumvagus ; arva beata 
Petamus arva 

From " Essays." 


Civilization is still in its infancy. How distant is the human mind 
from the perfection to which it may attain — from the perfection for 
which it was created ! How incapable are we of grasping the whole 
future destiny of man ! Let any one even descend into his own mind 
— let him picture there the highest point of perfection to which man, 
to which society may attain, that he can conceive, that he can hope ; — 
let him then contrast this picture with the present state of the world, 
and he will feel assured that society and civilization are still in their 
childhood : that however great the distance they have advanced, that 
which they have before them is incomparably, is infinitely greater. 
This, however, should not lessen the pleasure with which we contem- 
plate our present condition. When you have run over with me the 
great epochs of civilization during the last fifteen centuries, you will 
see, up to our time, how painful, how stormy, has been the condition 
of man ; how hard has been his lot, not only outwardly as regards 
society, but internally, as regards the intellectual man. For fifteen 
centuries the human mind has suffered as much as the human race. 
You will see that it is only lately that the human mind, perhaps for the 
first time, has arrived, imperfect though its condition still be, to a state 
where some peace, some harmony, some freedom is found. The same 
holds with regard to society — its immense progress is evident — the con- 
dition of man, compared with what it has been, is easy and just. In 
thinking of our ancestors we may almost apply to ourselves the verses 
of Lucretius : — 

" Suave mari magno, turbantibus sequora ventis, 
E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem." 

Without any great degree of pride we may, as Sthenelas is made 



to do in Homer, IJ;is.iz to) icarepatv psy OLfietvove^ eu^ofieff eivav, " Ke- 
turn thanks to God that we are innuitely better than our fathers." 

From " History of Civilization.'" 


B. 8, Prentiss. 

How proudly can we compare their conduct with that of the adven- 
turers of other nations who preceded them ! How did the Spaniard 
colonize? Let Mexico, Peru, and llispaniola answer. lie followed in 
the train of the great Discoverer, like a devouring pestilence. His cry 
was gold ! gold ! ! gold ! ! ! Never in the history of the world had the 
sacra fames auri exhibited itself with such fearful intensity. His 
imagination maddened with visions of sudden and boundless wealth, 
clad in mail, he leaped upon the New World, an armed robber. In 
greedy haste he grasped the sparkling sand, then cast it down with 
curses, when he found the glittering grains were not of gold. 

Pitiless as the blood-hound by his side, he plunged into the primeval 
forests, crossed rivers, lakes, and mountains, and penetrated to the 
very heart of the continent. No region, however rich in soil, delicious 
in climate, or luxuriant in production, could tempt his stay. In vain 
the soft breeze of the tropics, laden with aromatic fragrance, wooed 
him to rest ; in vain the smiling valleys, covered with spontaneous 
fruits and flowers, invited him to peaceful quiet. His search was still 
for gold: the accursed hunger could not be appeased. The simple 
natives gazed upon him in superstitious wonder, and worshipped him 
as a god ; and he proved to them a god, but an infernal one — terrible, 
cruel, and remorseless. With bloody hands he tore the ornaments from 
their persons, and the shrines from their altars: he tortured them to 
discover hidden treasure, and slew them that he might search, even in 
their wretched throats, for concealed gold. Well might the miserable 
Indians imagine that a race of evil deities had come among them, more 
bloody and relentless than those who presided over their own san- 
guinary rites. 

Now let us turn to the pilgrims. They, too, were tempted ; and 
had they yielded to the temptation, how different might have been the 
destinies of this continent — how different must have been our own ! 
Previous to their undertaking, the Old World was filled with strange 
and wonderful accounts of the new. The unbounded wealth, drawn 
by the Spaniards from Mexico and South America, seemed to afford 
rational support for the wildest assertions. Each succeeding adven- 
turer, returning from his voyage, added to the Arabian tales a still 
more extravagant story. At length Sir Walter Raleigh, the most 


accomplished and distinguished of all those "bold voyagers, announced 
to the world his discovery of the province of Guiana, and its magnifi- 
cent capital, the far-famed city of El Dorado. We smile now at his 
account of the "great and golden city," and "the mighty, rich, and 
beautiful empire." We can hardly imagine that any one could have 
believed, for a moment, in their existence. At that day, however, the 
whole matter was received with the most implicit faith. 

The pilgrims were urged, in leaving Holland, to seek this charming 
country, and plant their colony among its Arcadian bowers. Well 
might the poor wanderers cast a longing glance towards its happy val- 
leys, which seemed to invite to pious contemplation and peaceful labor. 
Well might the green grass, the pleasant groves, the tame deer, and 
the singing birds allure them to that smiling land beneath the equinoc- 
tial line. But while they doubted not the existence of this wondrous 
region, they resisted its tempting charms. They had resolved to vindi- 
cate, at the same time, their patriotism and their principles — to add 
dominion to their native land, and to demonstrate to the world the 
practicability of civil and religious liberty. After full discussion and 
mature deliberation, they determined that their great objects could be 
best accomplished by a settlement on some portion of the northern con- 
tinent, which would hold out no temptation to cupidity — no inducement 
to persecution. Putting aside, then, all considerations of wealth and 
ease, they addressed themselves with high resolution to the accomplish- 
ment of their noble purpose. In the language of the historian, " trusting 
to God and themselves," they embarked upon their perilous enterprise. 

From " Address at lS T eiv Orleans." 


S. S. Prentiss. 

We cannot do with less than the whole Union ; to us it admits of no 
division. In the veins of our children flows northern and southern 
blood ; how shall it be separated ; who shall put asunder the best affec- 
tions of the heart, the noblest instincts of our nature ? We love the 
land of our adoption, so do we that of our birth. Let us ever be true 
to both ; and always exert ourselves in maintaining the unity of our 
country, the integrity of the Kepublic. 

Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden cord of 
Union ; thrice accursed the traitorous lips, whether of northern fanatic 
or southern demagogue, which shall propose its severance. But no ! 
the Union cannot be dissolved ; its fortunes are too brilliant to be 
marred : its destinies too powerful to be resisted. Here will be their 
greatest triumph, their most mighty development. And when, a cen- 


tury hence, this Crescent City shall have filled her golden horns ; when, 
within her broad-armed port, shall be gathered the products of the in- 
dustry of a hundred millions of freemen ; when galleries of art and 
halls of learning shall have made classic this mart of trade ; then may 
the sons of the Pilgrims, still wandering from the bleak hills of the 
north, stand upon the banks of the great river, and exclaim with 
mingled pride and wonder, Lo ! this is our country: when did the 
world ever witness so rich and magnificent a city — so great and glori- 
ous a llepublic ! 

From "Address at JVcw Orleans." 


Dr. Drnm.v. 

In forming an opinion of the moral state of France, we should first 
endeavor to divest ourselves of any unreasonable prejudice imbibed 
from English statements. Knowing, as we do, how steadily and system- 
atically the character and institutions of America are misrepresented 
by English travellers, and how readily their extravagant statements 
are credited by their countrymen, we should be the more inclined to 
distrust their observations in regard to France, their ancient rival and 
hereditary enemy. English travellers, in general, can do justice to no 
country ; least of all to France. For ages the English feeling towards 
France has fluctuated between fear and contempt ; but for the last half 
century her politics have been regarded with dread and her irreligion 
with horror by the islanders. Accordingly, their pictures of the moral 
condition of France are, in general, deeply shaded. True, the violence 
and crime of the Revolution warranted the darkest coloring ; but France 
under the Revolution and France under Louis Philippe are two differ- 
ent states of society. The demoralizing effects of the Revolution are, 
to be sure, yet visible ; the society of France may be said as yet to be 
only in its forming state ; but yet he must be blind indeed who cannot 
see in the vast increase of trade and manufactures, in the increased 
attention to agriculture and the arts of peace, new elements at work to 
purify the moral atmosphere. Within a certain limit, such will be 
their tendency ; and that tendency is already perceptible. 

From " Observations in Europe." 

napoleon's tomb. 

Dr. Durbin. 
The crowning interest of this magnificent establishment (The Inva- 
lides) is the tomb of Napoleon, in the chapel of St. Jerome. In reach- 
ing the chapel, we had to cross the body of the church, under the dome. 


Some of us forgot to take off our hats on entering the rotunda, until 

two of the old warriors, standing as sentinels at the tomb, a hundred 

and fifty feet off, reminded us of our negligence in a quick, loud tone. 

Of course, we obeyed. Hastening across to the chapel, we approached 

the iron grating that cuts off access to the sarcophagus, and stood 

within a few feet of the ashes of the hero. I felt a sensation of awe 

such as I had never before experienced in presence of the living, or 

among the remains of the dead. Upon the marble lay his crown, his 

sword, and the hat which had pressed his manly brows at Eylau. On 

the top of a marble pyramid, at the head of the tomb, some fifteen feet 

in height, is the majestic eagle of France, with wings outspread, as if 

looking for the resurrection of the mighty man beneath. The chapel 

of the tomb is richly hung in velvet, and a dim, cold light comes 

through the ground-glass windows above. We held our voices in the 

great man's resting-place. Many came while we were there, but none 

who did not gaze with reverence on the tomb of him who had broken 

up the despotic institutions of a thousand years, and changed the face 

of Europe and the world. 

From " Observations in Europe." 

man's immortality. 

William Peout. 
What is to become of man ? Is the being who, surveying nature, 
recognises to a certain extent, the great scheme of the universe ; but 
who sees infinitely more which he does not comprehend, and which he 
ardently desires to know ; — is he to perish like a mere brute — all his 
knowledge useless ; all his most earnest wishes ungratified ? How are 
we to reconcile such a fate with the wisdom — the goodness — the im- 
partial justice — so strikingly displayed throughout the world by its 
Creator ? Is it consistent with any one of these attributes, thus to raise 
hopes in a dependent being, which are never to be realized ? thus to 
lift, as it were, a corner of the veil — to show this being a glimpse of the 
splendor beyond — and after all to annihilate him ? With the character 
and attributes of the benevolent Author of the universe, as deduced 
from His works, such conceptions are absolutely incompatible. The 
question then recurs — What is to become of man ? That he is mortal, 
like his fellow-creatures, sad experience teaches him ; but does he, like 
them, die entirely ? Is there no part of him, that, surviving the general 
wreck, is reserved for a higher destiny ? Can that, within man, which 
reasons like his immortal Creator — which sees and acknowledges His 
wisdom, and approves of His designs, be mortal like the rest? Is it- 
probable, nay, is it possible, that what can thus comprehend the opera- 
tions of an immortal Agent, Is not itself immortal ? 



Thus has reasoned man in all ages ; and his desires and his feelings, 
his hopes and his fears, have all conspired with his reason, to strengthen 
the conviction, that there is something within him which cannot die: 
that he is destined, in short, for a future state of existence, where his 
nature will be exalted, and his knowledge perfected ; and where the 
great design of his Creator, commenced and left imperfect here below, 


From " Bridgewukr Treatises." 


Walter Scott. 

The most important memorials of the stone age are the graves, 
called Cromlechs and Giants' Chambers. The former vary much in 
size and shape, the long cromlechs being generally from sixty to a 
hundred, but sometimes reaching even four hundred feet in length, by 
from sixteen to forty feet in breadth, while the circular cromlechs arc 
much smaller. All, however, have the same character, as they appear 
to have had the same destination. Each cromlech consists of several 
large flat stones arranged edgewise on a mound of earth, and capped 
by a huge fragment of rock, often from thirty to forty feet in circum- 
ference, thus forming a sepulchral chamber, wherein the bodies of the 
dead were placed, mostly in a sitting posture, with their backs to the 

The giants' chamber differs from the cromlech in being somewhat 
larger, in having a long passage of stone leading to the interior, and 
from the whole being covered with a mound of earth forming a 
tumulus. Some of these tumuli also contain two chambers with 
separate entrances. 

Skeletons of unburnt bodies, implements of stone and flint, amber 
beads, various ornaments, and earthenware vases, have been found in 
all these tombs ; which are not only interesting, as showing the degree 
of civilization attained by the people, but from indicating that they 
possessed ideas of a future state, as they buried by the warrior's side 
weapons and various articles thought necessary to him in another 
existence. This custom is general amongst savage tribes even at the 
present day, while in all parts of the world nations in an unenlight- 
ened and barbarous condition have been found to sacrifice the friends 
or servants of their deceased chiefs, in order that they might be pro- 
perly attended on their entrance into the next world. Such might 
have been the case in Scandinavia, and would at once account satisfac- 
torily for the fact of the cromlechs and giants' chambers containing 
several skeletons. 

The ornaments of the stone period, seen in the museum, are of the 


simplest kind ; the most precious amongst them consisting of pieces of 
amber pierced, and doubtless worn as beads ; some of these are rough, 
others formed like hammer-heads or axes. 

The people of the " stone age" were not confined to Southern Scan- 
dinavia, for cromlechs are found along the north-west and west coasts 
of Europe, the southern shores of the Baltic, in Ireland and Britain, 
all having similar contents to those of Denmark. But in Norway and 
the north of Sweden, this kind of tomb does not exist, although imple- 
ments and weapons of stone are found in those countries, as well as in 
Southern Europe, and even in the tumuli of the Mississippi valley in 
North America. Some of the implements discovered in the latter, 
especially the flint knives, bear an exact resemblance to those of Den- 
mark ; but we cannot infer from this circumstance alone, that the same 
race inhabited these widely-separated countries ; for nations the 
farthest removed from each other, with the same wants, and their 
faculties in a like state of development, arrive at similar results in 
their first feeble essays at art, of which the close similarity between 
the Scandinavian and New Zealand productions in stone afford another 
striking example. It may, however, be reasonably presumed that the 
southern coast of the Baltic, Hanover, the north of Holland, England, 
and Ireland, where the cromlechs are found, were inhabited by the 
same race as that of the stone age in Denmark. 


G. C. Verplanck. 

Penn arrived in Pennsylvania, in October, 1682. As he was wont, 
according to the taste of the age and of his sect, to allegorize natural 
occurrences, he might have found in the soft serenity of the season in 
which he landed, an apt emblem of those happy and useful days he 
was to pass in America. The rest of his life, like the other parts of 
the year in this climate, was vexed with many fierce and sudden varie- 
ties of change, but the period of his administration in America, was 
destined to be, like the American autumn, mild, calm, bright, and 
abounding in rich fruits. 

Here, his genius seemed to expand, as if to fit itself for a grander 
scene of action ; while his benevolence grew warmer amid " the sweet 
quiet of these parts," to use his own beautiful language, " freed from 
the troublesome and anxious solicitations, hurries, and perplexities of 
woful Europe." In all outward things he was well satisfied, and he 
had no desire left, but that of doing good. "The land," said he, "is 
rich, the air clear and sweet, the springs plentiful, and provisions good 


iitid easy to come at: in fine, here is what an Abraham, Isaac, and 
Jacob would be well contented with ; and service enough for God, for 
the fields are here white for harvest." 

The history of man does not furnish any more interesting scene, nor 
one calling up finer associations or more generous sympathies, than the 
first conference of William Penn and his followers with the savage 
chiefs ; when, to recur again to his own inimitable words, " they met 
on the broad pathway of good faith and good-will, so that no advantage 
was taken on either side, but all was openness, brotherhood, and love." 

Montesquieu, with his usual brilliant and ambitious originality, has 
styled Penn the modern Lycurgus. Paradoxical as this strange asso- 
ciation of names may at first appear, there is one marked point of 
resemblance between the Spartan and the Pennsylvanian legislator ; 
widely as they differed in the character of their institutions, and the 
ultimate ends of their ambition. 

It is the peculiar glory of these two, above all the other legislators of 
mankind, to have possessed that self-balanced and confident energy of 
mind, which could enable them to disregard all considerations of tem- 
porary expediency and private interest, and to make every part of their 
system harmonize in perfect unison with those leading principles which 
were to pervade, animate, and govern every portion of the state. 

From " Address before New York Historical Society" 



Books are now placed within reach of all. Works, once too costly 
except for the opulent, are now to be found on the laborer's shelf. 
Genius sends its light into cottages. The great names of literature 
have become household words among the crowd. Every party, reli- 
gious or political, scatters its sheets on all the winds. We may 
lament, and too justly, the small comparative benefit as yet accom- 
plished by this agency ; but this ought not to surprise or discourage 
us. In our present state of improvement, books of little worth, 
deficient in taste and judgment, and ministering to men's prejudices 
and passions, will almost certainly be circulated too freely. Men are 
never very wise and select in the exercise of a new power. Mistake, 
error, is the discipline through which we advance. It is an undoubted 
fact, that, silently, books of a higher order are taking place of the 
worthless. Happily, the instability of the human mind works some- 
times for good as well as evil ; men grow tired at length even of 

The remarks now made on literature might be extended to the fine 


arts. In these we see, too, the tendency to universality. It is said 
that the spirit of the great artists has died out ; but the taste for their 
works is spreading. By the improvements of engraving, and the 
invention of easts, the genius of the great masters is going abroad. 
Their conceptions are no longer pent up in galleries open to but few, 
but meet us in our homes, and are the household pleasures of millions. 
Works, designed for the halls and eyes of emperors, popes, and 
nobles, find their way, in no poor representations, into humble dwell- 
ings, and sometimes give a consciousness of kindred powers to the 
child of poverty. The art of drawing, which lies at the foundation of 
most of the fine arts, and is the best education of the eye for nature, is 
becoming a branch of common education. 

Thus we see, in the intellectual movements of our times, the ten- 
dency to expansion, to universality ; and this must continue. It is not 
an accident, or an inexplicable result, or a violence on nature ; it is 
founded in eternal truth. Every mind was made for growth, for 
knowledge ; and its nature is sinned against when it is doomed to 
ignorance. Every being is intended to acquaint himself with God 
and his works, and to perform wisely and disinterestedly the duties of 
life. Accordingly, when we see the multitude of men beginning to 
thirst for knowledge, for intellectual action, for something more than 
animal life, we see the great design of Nature about to be accom- 
plished ; and society, having received this impulse, will never rest till 
it shall have taken such a form as will place within every man's reach 
the means of intellectual culture. This is the revolution to which we 
are tending : and without this, all outward political changes would be 
but children's play, leaving the great work of society yet to be done. 

From " Essays." 


0. M. MlTCHEL. 

Would you gather some idea of the eternity past of God's existence, 
go to the astronomer, and bid him lead you with him in one of his 
walks through space ; and, as he sweeps outward from object to object, 
from universe to universe, remember that the light from those filmy 
stains on the deep pure blue of heaven, now falling on your eye, has 
been traversing space for a million of years. Would you gather some 
knowledge of the omnipotence of God, weigh the earth on which we 
dwell, then count the millions of its inhabitants that have come and 
gone for the last six thousand years. Unite their strength into one 
arm, and test its power in an effort to move this earth. It could not 
stir it a single foot in a thousand years ; and yet under the omnipotent 


hand of God, not a minute passes that it does not fly for more than a 
thousand miles. But this is a mere atom; — the most insignificant 
point among his innumerable worlds. At his bidding, every planet, 
and satellite, and comet, and the sun himself, fly onward in their 
appointed courses. His single arm guides the millions of sweeping 
suns, and around His throne circles the great constellation of unnum- 
bered universes. 

"Would you comprehend the idea of the omniscience of God, remem- 
ber that the highest pinnacle of knowledge reached by the whole human 
race, by the combined efforts of its brightest intell(Mt. has enabled the 
astronomer to compute approximately the perturbations of the planetary 
worlds. lie has predicted roughly the return of half a score of comets. 
But God has computed the mutual perturbations of millions of suns, 
and planets, and comets, and worlds, without number, through the ages 
that are passed, and throughout the ages which are yet to come, not 
approximately, but with perfect and absolute precision. The universe 
is in motion, — system rising above system, cluster above cluster, nebula 
above nebula, — all majestically sweeping around under the providence 
of God, who alone knows the end from the beginning, and before 
whose glory and power all intelligent beings, whether in heaven or on 
earth, should bow with humility and awe. 

Would you gain some idea of the wisdom of God, look to the admi- 
rable adjustments of the magnificent retinue of planets and satellites 
which sweep around the sun. Every globe has been weighed and 
poised, every orbit has been measured and bent to its beautiful form. 
All is changing, but the laws fixed by the wisdom of God, though they 
permit the rocking to and fro of the system, never introduce disorder, 
or lead to destruction. All is perfect and harmonious, and the music 
of the spheres that burn and roll around our sun is echoed by thafcof 
ten millions of moving worlds, that sing and shine around the bright 
suns that reign above. 

From "Planetary and Stellar Worlds.'" 


Augustin Thierry. 
In 1810, I was finishing my studies at the College of Blois, when a 
copy of " Les Martyrs" brought from without, circulated through the 
college. It was a great event for those amongst us who already felt a 
love of the beautiful and of glory. We quarrelled for the book ; it was 
arranged that each one should have it by turns, and mine fell on a 
holiday, at the hour of going out walking. That day I pretended to 
have hurt my foot, and remained alone at home. I read, or rather 
devoured the pages, seated before my desk in a vaulted room, which 


was our school-room, and the aspect of -which appeared to rac grand 
and imposing. I at first felt a vague delight, my imagination was 
dazzled ; but when I came to the recital of Eudore, that living history 
of the declining empire, a more active and reflecting interest attached 
me to the picture of the Eternal City, of the court of a Roman emperor, 
the march of a Roman army in the marshes of Batavia, and its encoun- 
ter with an army of Franks. 

I had read in the history of France, used by the scholars of the 
military college, and our classical book, " The Franks, or French, 
already masters of Tournay, and the banks of the Escaut, had extended 
their conquests as far as Somme. . . . Clovis, son of King Childeric, 
ascended the throne 481, and by his victories strengthened the founda- 
tions of the French monarchy." All my archseology of the middle 
ages consisted in these sentences, and some others of the same kind, 
which I had learned by heart. French, throne, monarchy, were to me 
the beginning and end, the groundwork and the form of our na- 
tional history. Nothing had given me any notion of M. de Chateau- 
briand's terrible Franks, clothed in the skins of bears, seals, and wild 
boars, and of the camp guarded by leathern boats, and chariots drawn by 
huge oxen, of the army placed in the form of a triangle, in which could, 
be distinguished nothing but a forest of javelins, of wild beasts' shins, and, 
half naked bodies." As the dramatic contrast between the savage war- 
rior and the civilized soldier gradually developed itself, I was more and 
more deeply struck ; the impression made on me by the war-song of 
the Franks was something electrical. I left the place w r here I was 
seated, and marching from one end of the room to the other, repeated 
aloud, and making my steps ring on the pavement : — 

" Pharamond ! Pharamond ! we have fought with the sword. 

" We have hurled the battle-axe with two blades ; sweat ran from 
the brow of the warriors, and trickled down their arms. The eagles 
and birds with yellow feet uttered screams of joy ; the crows swam in 
the blood of the dead ; all ocean was but a wound. The virgins have 
long wept. 

" Pharamond ! Pharamond ! we have fought with the sword. 

" Our fathers fell in battle, all the vultures moaned at it: our fathers 
satiated them with carnage. Let us choose wives whose milk shall be 
blood, and shall fill with valor the hearts of our sons. Pharamond, the 
song of the bard is ended, the hours of life are passing away ; we will 
smile when we must die. 

" Thus sang forty thousand barbarians. The riders raised and low- 
ered their white shields in cadence ; and at each burden, they struck 
their iron-clad chests with the iron of their javelins." 

From " Preface to Eecit des Temps Merovingicns." 




The philanthropist and the statesman may here concur. lie who 
desires the welfare of all mankind, and he who only seeks to arrange 
the movement of a community so as to produce security and peace, 
will equally find his purpose promoted. And even the most rigid eco- 
nomist, looking only to the pecuniary cost (if any such there be), will have 
nothing to object. The expense of maintaining a refuge is not greater 
than the expense of maintaining a jail. The amount required to sup- 
port its inmates is less than the cost of an equal number in prison. 
And if, enlarging his view, he recollects, that those who begin their 
days in a jail, most commonly become a burden for life, subsisted by 
the public while in, and by plunder when out; whereas the refuge, 
working a reform, enables them to support themselves, and to con- 
tribute something to the general expenses of society ; that the one 
enlarges the sources of crime, and swells the streams that flow from it, 
and the other seeks to diminish the fountain of iniquity, and dry up its 
noxious issues \ he will be convinced that a just economy walks hand 
in hand with charity and policy. 

If at this moment you should see a destitute and helpless child 
approaching the brink of a precipice, and know that its ignorant steps 
would in a few moments lead it to destruction, would you not reach 
forth your hand to save it? Many are on their way to that yawning 
monster, a jail, which devours all that is sound and healthful in their 
nature, and fills the vacant space with corruption. Will you not, from 
your abundance, give something to save them from imminent ruin, and 
yourselves from the infliction you must suffer from them, or will you 
allow the mischief to spread and grow till some other hand shall 
check it ? 

It was said of an eminent heathen sage, that he brought philosophy 
from the clouds, and fixed her abode among men. The Christian's 
philosophy comes from heaven, brought by no mortal hands, but freely 
given to man for his own benefit and guidance. It teaches us that 
charity is like unto the duty enjoined by the "first and great com- 

From. '•' Address in PhiladdpJiia," 1828. 


G. C. Yerplanck. 
After having beaten down and broken for ever the colossal power 
of the Spanish monarchy, the Dutch republic continued, for nearly a 
century, to hold the balance of European j olitics with a strong and 


steady hand ; and when the rest of the continent crouched under the 
menaces, and the English court was bought by the gold of France, she 
stood alone and undaunted, defending the liberties of the world with a 
perseverance and self-devotion never surpassed by any nation. During 
the same period she had served the cause of freedom and reason, in 
another and much more effectual manner, by breaking down the old 
aristocratic contempt for the mercantile character; and her merchants, 
while they amazed the world by an exhibition of the wonderful effects 
of capital and credit, directed by sagacity and enterprise, and operating 
on a vaster scale, than had ever before been seen, shamed the poor 
prejudices of their age out of countenance by a high-minded and punc- 
tilious honesty, before which, the more lax commercial morality of their 
degenerate descendants in this country should stand rebuked. 

It was about this same remarkable period of her history, that Hol- 
land produced many of the most illustrious men of modern Europe. 
There are no greater names, in politics and arms, than Barneveldt and 
Dewitt, than Tromp and De Ruyter, than Prince Maurice and the Wil- 
liams of Oraneg — none more conspicuous in letters and philosophy than 
those of Erasmus, Grotius, and Boerhave. In physical and mathematical 
science, with the single exception of the discoveries of Newton, nearly 
as much was done in Holland as in all the rest of Europe besides. It 
was there that were invented the most important and useful instru- 
ments of Natural Philosophy ; the telescope, by Jansen ; the microscope 
and the thermometer, by Drebell ; the pendulum, in its application to 
clocks and as a standard of measure, by Huyghens ; and the Leyden 
Phial, by Cuneus and Muschenbroek. The Medical School of Leyden, in 
the time of Boerhave and his immediate successors, was what that of 
Edinburgh has since become. In ancient literature, the scholars of 
Holland effected all that learning and industry could accomplish, and 
prepared the way for that very ingenious and philosophical investiga- 
tion of the principles of language which has since been so successfully 
cultivated in the Dutch Universities. Her jurists were the expounders 
of public and of civil law to the continent, and the theologians of the 
whole protestant world entered into the controversies of the Dutch 
divines, and had ranked themselves, on either side, under the banners 
of Gomar and Arminius. 

From " Address before New York Historical Society." 


Cardinal Wiseman. 

Whosoever shall try to cultivate a wider field, and follow, from 

day to day, as humbly we have striven here to do, the constant progress 

of every science, careful ever to note the influence which it exercises on 



his more sacred knowledge, shall have therein such pure joy, and such 
growing comfort, as the disappointing eagerness of mere human learn- 
ing may not supply. Such a one I know not unto whom to liken, Bave 
to one who unites an enthusiastic love of Nature's charms, to a suffi- 
cient acquaintance with her laws, and spends his days in a garden of 
the choicest hloom. And here he seeth one gorgeous flower, that has 
unclasped all its beauty to the glorious sun ; and there another is just 
about to disclose its modester blossom, not yet fully unfolded ; and 
beside them, there is one only in the hand-stem, giving but slender 
promise of much display : and yet he waiteth patiently, well knowing 
that the law is fixed whereby it too shall pay, in due season, its tribute 
to the light and heat that feed it. Even so, the other doth likewise 
behold one science after the other, when its appointed hour is come, 
and its ripening influences have prevailed, unclose some form which 
shall add to the varied harmony of universal truth, which shall recom- 
pense, to the full, the genial power that hath given it life, and, how- 
ever barren it may have seemed at first, produce something that may 
adorn the temple and altar of God's worship. 

And if he carefully register his own convictions, and add them to the 
collections already formed, ot various, converging proofs, he assuredly 
will have accomplished the noblest end for which man may live and 
acquire learning, his own improvement, and the benefit of his kind. 
For, as an old and wise poet has written, after a wiser saint: — 

" The chief use then in man of that he knowes, 

Is his paines-taking for the good of all, 

Not fleshly weeping for our own made woes, 

Not laughing from a melancholy gall, 

Not hating from a soul that overflowes 

With bitterness breathed out from inward thrall ; 
But sweetly rather to ease, loose : or bindc, 
As need requires, this fraile fallen human kinde." 

From "Lectures on Science and Eeligvsn" 


Stdxet Smith 
In this age of charity and of prison improvement, there is one aid to 
prisoners which appears to be wholly overlooked ; and that is, the means 
of regulating their defence, and providing them witnesses for their 
trial. A man is tried for murder, or for house-breaking, or robbery, 
without a single shilling in his pocket. The nonsensical and capricious 
institutions of the English law, prevent him from engaging counsel to 
speak in his defence, if he had the wealth of Croesus ; but he has no 
money to employ even an attorney, or to procure a single witness, or to 


take out a subpoena. The judge, we are told, is his counsel ;— this is 
sufficiently absurd ; but it is not pretended that the judge is his wit- 
ness. He solemnly declares that he has three or four witnesses who 
could give a completely different color to the transaction ; — but they are 
sixty or seventy miles distant, working for their daily bread, and have 
no money for such a journey, nor for the expense of a residence of some 
days in an assize town. 'They do not know even the time of the assize, 
nor the modes of tendering their evidence if they could come. When 
everything is so well marshalled against him on the opposite side, it 
would be singular if an innocent man, with such an absence of all 
means of defending himself, should not occasionally be hanged or trans- 
ported : and accordingly we believe that such things have happened. 
Let any man, immediately previous to the assizes, visit the prisoners 
for trial, and see the many wretches who are to answer to the most 
serious accusations, without one penny to defend themselves. If it 
appeared probable, upon inquiry, that these poor creatures had impor- 
tant evidence, which they could not bring into court for want of money, 
would it not be a wise application of compassionate funds to give them 
this fair chance of establishing their innocence ? — It seems to us no bad 
finale of the pious labors of those who guard the poor from ill-treat- 
ment during their imprisonment, to take care that they are not unjustly 
hanged at the expiration of the term. 

From "Bevievjs," 1821. 


Sydney Smith. 

Thank God that all is not profligacy and corruption in the history 
of that devoted people — and that the name of Irishman does not always 
carry with it the idea of the oppressor or the oppressed — the plunderer 
or the plundered — the tyrant or the slave. Great men hallow a whole 
people, and lift up all who live in their time. What Irishman does not 
feel proud that he has lived in the days of Grattan ? who has not 
turned to him for comfort, from the false friends and open enemies of 
Ireland ? who did not remember him in the days of its burnings and 
wastings and murders ? No government ever dismayed him — the world 
could not bribe him— he thought only of Ireland — lived for no other 
object — dedicated to her his beautiful fancy, his elegant wit, his manly 
courage, and all the splendor of his astonishing eloquence. He was so 
born and so gifted, that poetry, forensic skill, elegant literature, and 
all the highest attainments of human genius, were within his reach ; 
but he thought the noblest occupation of a man was to make other men 
happy and free ; and in that straight line he went on for fifty years, 
without one side-look, without one yielding thought, without one motive 


in his heart which he might not have laid open to the view of God and 
man. He is gone ! — but there is not a single day of his honest life of 
which every good Irishman would not be more proud, than of the whole 
political existence of his countrymen — the annual deserters and betray- 
ers of their native land. 

From "Reviews," 1821. 


W. M. Ukrbdith. 

The advance is going on. We shall step from improvement to im- 
provement, until agriculture, like the other sciences, will necessarily 

have had its day. A little explanation will make this obvious. Our 
chemists have analyzed both the plants, and the animals, and the 
earth. We are no longer in the dark. For instance, we will suj 
there is some individual whose backbone wants a little stiffening — an 
uncommon case in this quarter, sir. Chemistry tells him that he 
wants a particular quantity of phosphate of lime, I think. How does 
he get it? Why, sir, you have to take that phosphate of lime and put 
it in the earth ; then you sow the wheat ; then you take it out of the 
earth, and it must pass through a variety of processes — reaping, thresh- 
ing, grinding, &C. ; you have your machines working away at it by 
steam — (I acknowledge that you have reduced already all the peasantry 
of your country to one engineer, and a stoker for each farm, so that a 
man with his eyes shut cannot tell whether he is on a farm or a steam- 
boat) — you must put the phosphate of lime in the ground and coax it 
out with wheat, and reap it, and thresh it, and grind it, knead it, bake 
it, and then cut it into slices and put in your mouth. 

The next great inventor, — I hope it may not be you, sir, because I 
think immortality of that kind is not what you desire — will look to 
saving all these intermediate processes of labor, and putting the phos- 
phate of lime right into the man's mouth. Like Columbus with the 
egg, the simplicity of the thing will be so great, that everybody will 
wonder that it was not thought of sooner. In medicine we have acted 
upon this principle for centuries. When the doctor wants to administer 
a little mineral of some sort, some calomel, or magnesia, or anything 
of that kind, he does not go about planting seed, and reaping a crop, 
and then making it into bread, but he gives it to you at once ; he pops 
it right down your throat ; he thrusts the magnesia right into your 
gullet, and it will do what it was intended to do. Now, sir, they will 
apply that to food. I am rather conservative ; I do not enter into 
these questions of progress ; I go for things as they are, and I am con- 
tent to be fed as we have been. Therefore, I hope it will be some 


remote successor of yours who will preside at a banquet of this kind. 
The first course will be a phosphate of lime and carbonate of magnesia ; 
there will be a side dish of super-phosphate of iron, and a sort of omelette 
souflt of gluten. 

From '•' Speech before United States Agricultural Society," 



Who ever gazed upon the broad sea without emotion ? whether seen 
in stern majesty, hoary with the tempest, rolling its giant waves upon 
the rocks, and dashing with resistless fury some gallant bark on an iron- 
bound coast ; or sleeping beneath the silver moon, its broad bosom 
broken but by a gentle ripple, just enough to reflect a long line of 
light, a path of gold upon a pavement of sapphire ; who has looked 
upon the sea without feeling that it has power? Perhaps there is 
no earthly object, not even the cloud-cleaving mountains of an alpine 
country, so sublime as the sea in its severe and marked simplicity. 
Standing on some promontory, whence the eye roams far out from the 
unbounded ocean, the soul expands, and we conceive a nobler idea of 
the majesty of that God, who holdeth " the waters in the hollow of his 
hand." But it is only when on a long voyage, climbing, day after 
day. to the giddy elevation of the masthead, one still discerns nothing 
in the wide circumference but the same boundless wastes of waters, 
that the mind grasps anything approaching an adequate idea of the 
grandeur of the ocean. 

Mailed and glittering creatures of strange form suddenly appear, 
play a moment in our sight, and, with the velocity of thought, vanish 
into the boundless depths. The very birds that we see in the wide 
wastes are mysterious ; we wonder whence they come, whither they 
go, how they sleep, homeless and shelterless as they seem to be. The 
freeze, so fickle in its visitings, rises and dies away; " but thou knowest 
not whence it cometh and whither it goeth ;" the night wind moaning 
by, soothes the watchful helmsman with gentle sounds, that suggest to 
him the whisperings of unseen spirits ; or the tempest, shrieking and 
groaning among the cordage, turns him pale with the anticipation of a 
watery grave. 



The ocean is never perfectly at rest ; even between the tropics, in 
what are called the calm latitudes, where the impatient seaman, for 
weeks together, looks wistfully but vainly for the welcome breeze to 


waft his vessel onwards, which, like that of the " Ancient Mariner/ 1 is 
almost as 

" idle as a painted ship, 
Upon a painted ocean ;" 

even here the smooth and glittering surface is not entirely at rest ; for 
long gentle undulations, which cause the taper mast to describe lines 
and angles upon the sky, arc sufficiently perceptible to tantalize the 
mariner with the thought that the breeze, which mocks his desires, is 
blowing freshly and gallantly elsewhere. 

The ocean is the highway of commerce. God seems wisely and 
graciously to have ordained that man should not be independent, but 
under perpetual obligation to his fellow-man, and that distant countries 
should ever maintain a mutually beneficial dependence on each other. 
He might have made every land produce every necessary and comfort 
of life in ample supply for its own population ; the result of the separa- 
tion has been, generally, an easy means of exchanging home for foreign 
productions, which constitutes commerce. 

It is lamentably true that the evil passions of men have often per- 
verted the facilities of communication for purposes of destruction, yet 
the sober verdict of mankind has for the most part been, that the 
substantial blessings of friendly commerce are preferable to martial 
glory. And the transport of goods of considerable bulk and weight, 
or of such as are of a very perishable nature, would be so difficult by 
land as very materially to increase their cost ; while land communica- 
tion between countries, tens of thousands of miles apart, would be 
attended with difficulties so great as to be practicably insurmountable. 


Napoleon- Boxaparte. 

Soldiers ! receive my adieu. During twenty years that we havt 
lived together, I am satisfied with you. I have always found you in the 
paths of glory. All the powers of Europe have armed against me. 
Some of my generals have betrayed their trust and France. My 
country herself has wished another destiny : with you, and the other 
brave men who have remained true to me, I could have maintained a 
civil war : but France would have been unhappy. 

Be faithful to your new king. Be submissive to your new generals ; 
and do not abandon our dear country. Mourn not my fortunes. I 
shall be happy while I am sure of your happiness. I might have died ; 
but if I have consented to live, it is still to serve your glory ; I shall 
record now the great deeds which we have done together. 


Bring me the eagle standard ; let me press it to my heart. Farewell, 
my children ; my hearty wishes go with you. Preserve me in your 



Charlemagne made such an adjustment in the orders of the state, 
that they were fairly counterbalanced, and that he remained master. 
They were all united by the power of his genius. The empire was sus- 
tained by the greatness of its chief; the prince was great, but the man 
greater. He made admirable laws. He did more : he caused them to 
be carried out. One sees, in the laws of this prince, a spirit of fore- 
sight which understands everything, and a power which leads every- 
thing in its train ; all pretexts for eluding duty are done away, all 
negligences punished, abuses reformed or prevented. He knew how 
to punish ; he knew better how to pardon. Vast in his plans, simple 
in execution, no one has ever had more completely the art of doing 
the greater things with ease, the most difficult with promptness. 

Unceasingly he travelled over his vast empire, aiding with his pow- 
erful hand its weaker parts. He played with dangers, and especially 
those which almost always try great conquerors, — I mean conspiracies. 
He was extremely frugal and temperate ; his disposition was mild, his 
manners simple ; he loved to mix in the society of his court : if he had 
his besetting sins, a prince who always governs alone, and who passes 
his life in the severe toils of government, may, for these reasons, find 

some palliation for his faults. 

Original Translation. 


Napoleon Bonaparte. 

Soldiers : You have, in fifteen days, gained six victories, taken twenty 
standards, fifty pieces of cannon, numerous strongholds, and conquered 
the richest part of Piedmont; you have made fifteen thousand prison- 
ers ; and killed or wounded more than ten thousand men. 

But, I must not dissemble with you ; you have as yet done nothing, 
since there remains still much to be done. Neither Turin nor Milan 
are yours. 

You were stripped of everything at the beginning of the campaign ; 
you are to-day abundantly provided. The magazines taken from our 
enemies are numerous. The artillery has arrived. The country has a 
right to expect great things of you. Will you justify its expectation? 
The greatest obstacles doubtless have already been surmounted; but 


you have yet battles to fight, towns to take, rivers to cross. Is there 
among you one whose courage begins to fail? is there one who would 
prefer to return upon the summits of the Alps and Apennines, to 
bear patiently the insults of a slavish soldiery? No! there is none 
such among the victors of Montenotte, Millesimo, Diego, and Mondovi. 
You are all fired with the wish to bear afar the glory of the French 
people ; you all desire to humiliate those proud kings who dared to 
think of putting us in fetters ; you all wish to dictate a glorious peace 
which shall indemnify France for the immense sacrifices she has made. 
You all wish, on going back to your village homes, to be able to say 
with pride: " I was of the conquering army of Italy ." 


Charles Phillips. 
It is the custom of your board, and a noble one it is, to deck the 
cup of the gay with the garland of the great; and surely, even in the 
eyes of its deity, his grape is not the less lovely when glowing beneath 
the foliage of the palm-tree and the myrtle. — Allow me to add one 
flower to the chaplet, which, though it sprang in America, is no exotic. 
Virtue planted it, and it is naturalized everywhere. I see you antici- 
pate me — I see you concur with me, that it matters very little what 
immediate spot may be the birth-place of such a man as Washington. 
No people can claim, no country can appropriate him ; the boon of 
Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence 
creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of 
our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. 
If the heavens thundered and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm 
passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared ; how bright in the 
brow of the firmament was the planet which it revealed to us ! In the 
production of Washington, it does really appear as if nature was 
endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the 
ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of 
the new. Individual instances no doubt there were ; splendid exem- 
plifications of some single qualification. Caesar was merciful, Scipio 
was continent, Hannibal was patient ; but it was reserved for Wash- 
ington to blend them all in one, and like the lovely chefd'eeuvre of the 
Grecian artist, to exhibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride 
of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he 
marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the 
absence of experience ; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the 
cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage ; and 
such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, 


that to the soldier and the statesman he almost added the character of 
the sage ! a conqueror, he was untainted with the crime of blood ; a 
revolutionist, he was free from any stain of treason ; for aggression 
commenced the contest, and his country called him to the command. — 
Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it. 
If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to 
assign him, whether at the head of her citizens or her soldiers, her 
heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career, 
and banishes all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after having 
emancipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred the retire- 
ment of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost 
said to have created ? 

"How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, 
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage ; 
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, 
Far less than all thou hast foreborne to be I" 

Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of partiality in 

his estimate of America. Happy, proud America ! the lightnings of 

heaven yielded to your philosophy! The temptations of earth could 

not seduce your patriotism ! 

From " Speech at Dinas Island." 


John Tyler. 

I frankly confess that I did not anticipate the call you have made 
upon me. I came prepared, if opportunity was given, to say a few 
words of the distinguished man whose memory you have, as far as 
marble could do it, immortalized ; but, in speaking of him, I shall, of 
necessity, speak of the Union. I came up to witness the proceedings 
of to-day. It is a great spectacle, that of inaugurating the statue of 
one who has passed away from earth ; it is the eternizing his name as 
far as marble can accomplish it ; it is the rescuing from the tomb those 
features which were immovable in their day and generation. To do 
this on those grounds, and under the shadow of your Capitol, which is 
halloAved by great events and great names — and this, too, in advance 
of similar tributes to the heroes and statesmen of other days, who drew 
their sustenance from Virginia's maternal breast, and made their 
names illustrious — is no ordinary event ; and yet it is right. It is 
right to reclaim the resemblance, while it may be done, of one of Vir- 
ginia's sons, who in early life left the old homestead for a new one in 
the West, under the nursing care of her eldest daughter. It may be 
9 G 


said, after tlic manner of the inscription on the tomb of the Mantuan 
Swain, Virginia gave him birth ; Kentucky gave him a grave ; the 
United States furnished him a theatre for his labors. I trust the day 
is not distant when those public grounds will exhibit to our admiring 
people the risen features of a grand host of departed patriots, each 
after its own way, to be a silent but forcible monitor of that immortal- 
ity of form which succeeds a life of high and honorable action. 

From "Speech at Wchmond on the inauguration iff Clay Monvmanh" 


John Tyler. 

The details of Mr. Clay's life have been eloquently given by the 
accomplished orator of the day. It is not because I admired him as a 
man, as a leader in debate, as an orator of immense powers, that I am 
here to-day. No, it is I- icause in my heart I believe that he has a title 
to a monument for an act of broad and unselfish patriotism in the 
course of his career which, standing by itself, I have not hesitated at 
all times, and in all places when it was suitable to say, entitled him 
not only to a monument of brass or marble, but to one in the hearts of 
his countrymen. The brow of the Roman citizen who had saved the 
life of another in battle, was encircled by an oaken wreath. What 
badge of distinction is proud enough for him who saves his country 
from civil war? Ask the parent who enfolds his little children and the 
companion of all his hopes and trials and triumphs in life, in his arms, 
at the horrible spectre of civil broil which threatens Avith grim aspect 
to enter his heretofore peaceful dwelling — ask the lone and widowed 
mother as she flies to the rock and desert with her infant strained to 
her breast and concealed from view by the tresses of her streaming 
hair — ask brave and stalwart men as they take their position in oppos- 
ing ranks to shed each other's blood — ask one, ask all, what monument 
he deserves who drives away this horrible spectre of civil war, and 
restores his country to peace and confidence. Nay, more — ask the 
lovers of freedom all over the world what is the measure of gratitude 
for the man who saves that glorious banner, without a star shorn of its 
dazzling lustre — the herald, if so preserved, of ultimate freedom to 
mankind, from being torn and destroyed in the bloody arena of strife 
and battle. It was because, in my innermost heart, I believe Henry 
Clay did this, that I am here to-day. 

From " Speech at Richmond on the inauguration of Clay Monument:' 



Lord John Russell. 
Before many years are passed, there will be in Great Britain and 
the United States of America, sixty, seventy, or eighty millions of free 
people. May we not hope that these kindred nations — each speaking 
the English language — each deriving its pedigree of liberty from a 
common ancestry — each inheriting the English Bible — each reading 
Shakspeare and Milton — each divided into many denominations of 
Christians, but each allowing complete liberty of worship — will unite 
in the glorious task of peaceful conquest and bloodless victory ? At 
least let us indulge in this high hope. If we do not arrive at, or even 
approximate to, perfection, we may look at least to uninterrupted pro- 
gress towards a far better social organization than any we have yet 
enjoyed. I have spoken to you of those times of civilization when 
either the Christian religion was unknown ; or being known, it was 
contemned, cast aside, and neglected. Let us hope that there is a 
period arriving when we may see realized those beautiful and powerful 
words of a great poet : — 

" Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars 
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers, 
Is reason to the soul ; and as on high, 
Those rolling fires discover but the sky, 
Not light us here, so reason's glimmering ray 
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, 
But guide us upward to a better day. 
And as those nightly tapers disappear 
"When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere, 
So pale grows reason at religion's sight, 
So dies and so dissolves in supernatural light." 

To each, one of us — to you, young men of the united kingdom more 
especially — belongs a portion of the noble task of speeding our country 
on her great and glorious way, by walking steadfastly in the full light 
of such truths as we already possess, and by hastening the noonday 
brightness of such as are only dawning. Let it not be the reproach 
of any one of us, that, born in a land where the laws acknowledge 
that thought and speech are free, we have yet ever lent the helping 
hand of custom, folly, or intolerance to extinguish one spark of that 
Divine flame which we call the soul, or ever turned away from a right- 
eous and peaceable endeavor to loosen the fetters that still bind it 
throughout the world. 

From "Lecture before the Young Hen's Cliristian Association of London." 



J. B. Owen. 

The egotist is an Alexander Selkirk without the solitude. The ety- 
mology of an egotist may be rendered thus : "One of those gluttonous 
parts of speech that gulp clown every substantive in the social gram- 
mar into its personal pronoun, condensing all the tenses, moods, and 
voices of other people's verbs, into a first person singular of its own. 
Example; 'I myself saw it with my own eyes, and nobody else but 
me, I say/ " 

He whoso staple conversation is his own panegyric, forgets that 
everybody isn't as interested as himself in his alleged achievements. 
Society resents as a trespass upon its common rights, the inflated eulo- 
gy which seems to think no topic so attractive as itself; and retaliates 
by a reprisal couched in the familiar formula : "We would buy him at 
our price, and sell him at his own." 

He has made a gross blunder somewhere (perhaps is always at it) 
who provokes such a "quotation." This vanity of "mihi guidem vide- 
tur" is sometimes, as with Cicero, associated with a genius too con- 
scious of its own gifts to be sufficiently sensible of others. His inven- 
tions won't always bear testing. His great acquaintances, whose cards 
cover his table, thick as medals on the breast of Wellington, commem- 
orative of so many social conquests, are not all genuine deposits of 
their owners. Eggs are not always laid in the nest where they arc 

" I was to dine with the Admiral," said such a one, to a brother offi- 
cer, as they met in the street ; " but I've so many cards for to-night, I 
can't go." 

" I received the same invitation," said his friend; "and I'll apolo- 
gize for you." 

"Don't trouble yourself; pray don't " 

" I must, if you don't come ; for the admiral's invitation, you know, 
is like royalty's — a command." 

" Don't mention my name." 

"I certainly must," said his friend, as they shook hands to separate. 

"I say," at length stammered out the hero of a hundred cards, 
" don't say a word about me ; I — I had a hint to stay away." 

" A hint; how so?" 

" 1 wasn't invited." 

" No !" said his friend, " not invited ! Well, I said I had received 
the same invitation, for neither was I; but I wanted to see how it lay 
between us." 

From " Lecture before the Young Men's Christian Association." 



"VV. E. Channing. 
Beauty is an all-pervading presence. It unfolds in the numberless 
flowers of the spring. It waves in the branches of the trees and the 
green blades of grass. It haunts the depths of the earth and sea, and 
gleams out in the hues of the shell and the precious stone. And not 
only these minute objects, but the ocean, the mountains, the clouds, the 
heavens, the stars, the rising and setting sun, all overflow with beauty. 
The universe is its temple ; and those men who are alive to it, cannot 
lift their eyes without feeling themselves encompassed with it on every 
side. Now this beauty is so precious, the enjoyments it gives are so 
refined and pure, so congenial with our tenderest and noble feelings, 
and so akin to worship, that it is painful to think of the multitude of 
men as living in the midst of it, and living almost as blind to it as if, 
instead of this fair earth and glorious sky, they were tenants of a dun- 
geon. An infinite joy is lost to the world by the want of culture of 
this spiritual endowment. Suppose that I were to visit a cottage, and 
to see its walls lined with the choicest pictures of Raphael, and every 
spare nook filled with statues of the most exquisite workmanship, and 
that I were to learn that neither man, woman, nor child ever cast an 
eye at these miracles of art, how should I feel their privation ; how 
should I want to open their eyes, and to help them to comprehend and 
feel the loveliness and grandeur which in vain courted their notice ! 
But every husbandman is living in sight of the works of* a diviner 
Artist ; and how much would his existence be elevated, could he see 
the glory which shines forth in their forms, hues, proportions, and 
moral expression ! I have spoken only of the beauty of nature, but 
how much of this mysterious charm is found in the elegant arts, and 
especially in literature? The best books have most beauty. The 
greatest truths are wronged if not linked with beauty, and they win 
their way most surely and deeply into the soul when arrayed in this 
their natural and fit attire. Now no man receives the true culture of 
a man, in whom the sensibility to the beautiful is not cherished ; and I 
know of no condition in life from which it should be excluded. Of all 
luxuries this is the cheapest and most at hand ; and it seems to me to 
be most important to those conditions, where coarse labor tends to give 
a grossness to the mind. From the diflFusion of the sense of beauty in 
ancient Greece, and of the taste for music in modern Germany, we learn 
that the people at large may partake of refined gratifications, which 
have hitherto been thought to be necessarily restricted to a few. 

From " Self-culture." 





It is chiefly through books that we enjoy intercourse with superior 

minds, and these invaluable means of communication are in the reach 
of all. In the best books great men talk to us, give us their most pre- 
cious thoughts, and pour their souls into ours. God be thanked for 
books. They are the voices of the distant and the dead, and make us 
heirs of the spiritual Life of past ages. Books are the true levellers. 
They give to all, who will faithfully use them, the society, the spiritual 
presence of the best and greatest of our race. No matter how poor I 
am. No matter though the prosperous of my own time will not enter 
my obscure dwelling. If the Sacred Writers will enter and take up 
their abode under my roof, if Milton will cross my threshold to sing to 
me of Paradise, and Shakspeare to open to me the worlds of imagina- 
tion and the workings of the human heart, and Franklin to enrich me 
with his practical wisdom, I shall not pine for want of intellectual 
companionship, and I may become a cultivated man though excluded 
from what is called the best society in the place where I live. 

From " Self-culture." 



Henry Clay. 
If Great Britain desires a mark, by which she can know her own 
subjects, let her give them an ear-mark. The colors that float from 
the mast-head should be the credentials of our seamen. There is no 
safety to us, and the gentlemen have shown it, but in the rule that all 
who sail under the flag (not being enemies), are protected by the flag. 
It is impossible that this country should ever abandon the gallant tars, 
who have won for us such splendid trophies. Let me suppose that the 
Genius of Columbia should visit one of them in his oppressor's prison, and 
attempt to reconcile him to his forlorn and wretched condition. She 
would say to him, in the language of gentlemen on the other side : 
" Great Britain intends you no harm ; she did not mean- to impress 
you, but one of her own subjects ; having taken you by mistake, I will 
remonstrate, and try to prevail upon her, by peaceable means, to release 
you, but I cannot, my son, fight for you." If he did not consider this 
mere mockery, the poor tar would address her judgment and say, " You 
owe me, my country, protection ; I owe you, in return, obedience. I 
am no British subject, I am a native of old Massachusetts, where live 
my aged father, my wife, my children. I have faithfully discharged my 
duty. Will you refuse to do yours V Appealing to her passions, he 
would continue : " I lost this eye in fighting under Truxtun, with the 
Insurgente ; I got this scar before Tripoli ; I broke this leg on board 
the Constitution, when the Guerriere struck." If she remained still 
unmoved, he would break out, in the accents of mingled distress and 
despair : — 

Hard, hard is my fate ! once I freedom enjoyed, 

Was as happy as happy could he ! 

Oh ! how hard is my fate, how galling these chains ! 

I will not imagine the dreadful catastrophe to which he would be driven 
by an abandonment of him to his oppressor. It will not be, it cannot 
be, that his country will refuse him protection. 

From " Speech on Xeiv Army Bill." 




1 1 i:\hv Clat. 

Throughout the period I have been speaking of, the opposition hafl 
Loon distinguished, amidst all its veerings and changes, by another in- 
flexible feature, the application to Bonaparte of every vile and oppro- 
brious epithet, our language, copious as it is in terms of vituperation, 
affords. He has been compared to every hideous monster and beast, 
from that mentioned in the Revelations, down to the most insignificant 
quadruped. He has been called the scourge of mankind, the destroyer 
of Europe, and the great robber, the infidel, the modern Attila, and 
heaven knows by what other names. Ucally, gentlemen remind me of 
an obscure lady, in a city not very far off, who also took it into her 
head, in conversation with an accomplished French gentleman, to talk 
of the affairs of Europe. She too spoke of the destruction of the 
balance of power, stormed and raged about the insatiable ambition of 
the emperor ; called him the curse of mankind, the destroyer of Europe. 
The Frenchman listened to her with perfect patience, and when she 
had ceased, said to her, with ineffable politeness: "Madam, it would 
give my master, the emperor, infinite pain, if he knew how hardly you 
thought of him/' Sir, gentlemen appear to me to forget that they 
stand on American soil ; that they are not in the British House of 
Commons, but in the chamber of the House of Representatives of the 
United States ; that we have nothing to do with the affairs of Europe, 
the partition of territory and sovereignty there, except so far as these 
things affect the interests of our own country. Gentlemen transform 
themselves into the Burkes, Chathams, and Pitts of another country, 
and forgetting from honest zeal the interests of America, engage with 
European sensibility in the discussion of European interests. If gen- 
tlemen ask me, whether I do not view with regret and horror the con- 
centration of such vast power in the hands of Bonaparte — I reply that 
I do. I regret to see the emperor of China holding such immense sway 
over the fortunes of millions of our species. I regret to see Great 
Britain possessing so uncontrolled a command over all the waters of 
our globe. If I had the ability to distribute among the nations of 
Europe their several portions of power and of sovereignty, I would say 
that Holland should be resuscitated, and given the weight she enjoyed 
in the days of her De Witts. I would confine France within her natu- 
ral boundaries, the Alps, Pyrenees, and the Rhine, and make her a 
secondary naval power only. I would abridge the British maritime 
power, raise Prussia and Austria to their original condition, and pre- 
serve the integrity of the Empire of Russia. But these are specula- 
tions. I look at the political transactions of Europe, with the single 
exception of their possible bearing upon us, as I do at the history of 
other countries, or other times. I do not survey them with half the 


interest that I do the movements in South America. Our political re- 
lation with them is much less important than it is supposed to be. I 
have no fears of French or English subjugation. If we are united, we 
are too poAverful for the mightiest nation in Europe, or all Europe com- 
bined. If we are separated and torn asunder, we shall become an easy- 
prey to the weakest of them. In the latter dreadful contingency, our 
country will not be worth preserving. 

From " Speech on New Army Bill." 


Henry Clay. 
Sik, I am growing old. I have had some little measure of experi- 
ence in public life, and the result of that experience has brought me to 
this conclusion, that when business, of whatever nature, is to be trans- 
acted in a deliberative assembly, or in private life, courtesy, forbearance, 
and moderation, are best calculated to bring it to a successful conclu- 
sion. Sir, my age admonishes me to abstain from involving myself 
in personal difficulties ; would to God that I could say, I am also 
restrained by higher motives. I certainly never sought any collision 
with the gentleman from Virginia. My situation at this time is pecu- 
liar, if it be nothing else, and might, I should think, dissuade, at least, 
a generous heart from any wish to draw me into circumstances of per- 
sonal altercation. I have experienced this magnanimity from some 
quarters of the House. But I regret, that from others it appears to 
have no such consideration. The gentleman from Virginia was pleased 
to say, that in one point at least he coincided with me — in an humble 
estimate of my grammatical and philological acquirements. I know 
my deficiencies. I was born to no proud patrimonial estate ; from my 
father I inherited only infancy, ignorance, and indigence. I feel my 
defects ; but, so far as my situation in early life is concerned, I may, 
without presumption, say they are more my misfortune than my fault. 
But, however I regret my want of ability to furnish to the gentleman 
a better specimen of powers of verbal criticism, I will venture to say, 
it is not greater than the disappointment of this committee as to the 

strength of his argument. 

From " Speech in the House of Representatives," 1824. 


Henry Clay. 
Of all the powers bestowed on this government, I think none are 
more clearly vested than that to regulate the distribution of the intel- 
ligence, private and official, of the country ; to regulate the distribution 


of its commerce ; and to regulate the distribution of the physical force 
of the Union. In the execution of the high and solemn tru-t which 
these beneficial powers imply, we must look to the great ends which 
the framers of our admirable constitution had in view. We must reject, 
as wholly incompatible with their enlightened and beneficent intentions, 
that construction of these powers which would resuscitate all the debi- 
lity and inefficiency of the ancient confederacy. In the vicissitad< 
human affairs, who can foresee all the possible cases in which it may be 
necessary to apply the public force, within or without the Onion '! This 
government is charged with the use of it to repel invasions, to suppress 
insurrections, to enforce the laws of the Union ; in short, for all the 
unknown and undefiuable purposes of war, foreign or intestine, wher- 
ever and however it may rage. During its existence may not govern- 
ment, for its effectual prosecution, order a road to be made, or a canal 
to be cut, to relieve, for example, an exposed point of the Union ? If, 
when the emergency comes, there is a power to provide for it, that 
power must exist in the constitution, and not in the emergency. A 
wise, precautionary, and parental policy, anticipating danger, will 
beforehand provide for the hour of need. Roads and canals are in the 
nature of fortifications, since, if not the deposits of military resources, 
they enable you to bring into rapid action the military resources of the 
country, whatever they may be. They are better than any fortificati 
because they serve the double purposes of peace and war. They dis- 
pense, in a great degree, with fortifications, since they have all the 
effect of that concentration at which fortifications aim. I appeal from 
the precepts of the President to the practice of the President. While 
he denies to Congress the power in question, he does not scruple, upon 
his sole authority, as numerous instances in the statute book will 
testify, to order, at pleasure, the opening of roads by the military, and 
then come here to ask us to pay for them. Nay, more, sir ; a sub- 
ordinate, but highly respectable officer of the executive government, I 
believe, would not hesitate to provide a boat or cause a bridge to be 
erected over an inconsiderable stream, to insure the regular transporta- 
tion of the mail. And it happens to be within my personal knowledge 
that the head of the post-office department, as a prompt and vigilant 
officer should do, has recently despatched an agent to ascertain the 
causes of the late frequent vexatious failures of the great northern 
mail, and to inquire if a provision of a boat or bridge over certain small 
streams in Maryland, which have produced them, would not prevent 
their recurrence. 

From "Speech in the House of Representatives," 1824. 



Henry Clay. 

During all the recent convulsions of Europe, amid, as after the dis- 
persion of, every political storm, the people of the United States have 
beheld you, true to your old principles, firm and erect, cheering and 
animating with your well-known voice, the votaries of liberty, its faith- 
ful and fearless champion, ready to shed the last drop of that blood 
which here you so freely and nobly spilled, in the same holy cause. 

The vain wish has been sometimes indulged, that Providence would 
allow the patriot, after death, to return to his country, and to contem- 
plate the intermediate changes which had taken place ; to view the 
forests felled, the cities built, the mountains levelled, the canals cut, 
the highways constructed, the progress of the arts, the advancement 
of learning, and the increase of population. General, your present 
visit to the United States is a realization of the consoling object of that 
wish. You are in the midst of posterity. Everywhere, you must 
have been struck with the great changes, physical and moral, which 
have occurred since you left us. Even this very city, bearing a vene- 
rated name, alike endeared to you and to us, has since emerged from 
the forest which then covered its site. In one respect you behold us 
unaltered, and this is in the sentiment of continued devotion to liberty, 
and of ardent affection and profound gratitude to your departed friend, 
the Father of his country, and to you, and to your illustrious associates 
in the field and in the cabinet, for the multiplied blessings which sur- 
round us, and for the very privilege of addressing you which I now 
exercise. This sentiment, now fondly cherished by more than ten mil- 
lions of people, will be transmitted, with unabated vigor, down the tide 
of time, through the countless millions who are destined to inhabit this 
continent, to the latest posterity. 

From " Speech in the House of Representatives" 1824. 

• Daniel Webster. 
Gentlemen, — Your whole concern should be to do your duty, and 
leave consequences to take care of themselves. You will receive the 
law from the court. Your verdict, it is true, may endanger the pri- 
soner's life ; but then, it is to save other lives. If the prisoner's guilt 
has been shown and proved, beyond all reasonable doubt, you will 
convict him. If such reasonable doubts of guilt still remain, you will 
acquit him. You are the judges of the whole case. You owe a duty 
to the public, as well as to the prisoner at the bar. You cannot pre- 
sume to be wiser than the law. Your duty is a plain, straightforward 


one. Doubtless, we would all judge him in mercy. Towards him, as 
an individual, the law inculcates n»> hostility ; but towards him, if 
proved to be a murderer, the law, and the oaths you have taken, and 
public justice, demand that you do your duty. 

With consciences satisfied with the discharge of duty, no conse- 
quences can harm you. There is no evil that we cannot either face or 
fly from, but the consciousness of duty disregarded. 

A sense of duty pursues us ever. It is omnipresent, like the Deity. 
If we take to ourselves the wings of the morning and dwell in the 
utmost parts of the seas, duty performed, or duty violated, is still with 
US, for our happiness, or our misery, [f we say the darkness shall 
cover us, in the darkness as in the light our obligations are yet with 
us. We cannot escape their power, nor fly from their presence. They 
are with us in this life, will be with us at its elosc ; and in that scene 
of inconceivable solemnity, which lies yet farther onward — we shall 
still find ourselves surrounded by the consciousness of duty, to pain us 
wherever it has been violated, and to console us so far as God may have 
given us grace to perform it. 

From "Argument in /./ 77/ Trial," 1830. 

Daniel Wf.bsteu. 
Ah ! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be 
safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner 
where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that 
eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds everything as in 
the splendor of noon — such secrets of guilt are never safe from detec- 
tion, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that "murder will 
out." True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern 
things, that those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding 
man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a 
case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will 
come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every 
man, every thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and 
place ; a thousand ears catch every whisper ; a thousand excited minds 
intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to 
kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime, 
the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself; or 
rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself. 
It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. 
The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. 
It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge 
to God nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy 


or assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret which the mur- 
derer possesses soon comes to possess him ; and, like the evil spirits of 
which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. 
He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding 
disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in 
his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his 
thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it 
breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions, 
from without, begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to 
entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to 
burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed, there is no 
refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession. 

From " Argument in Knapp's Trial" 1830. 


Daniel Webster. 

Let me ask your attention, then, in the first place, to those appear- 
ances on the morning after the murder, which have a tendency to show, 
that it was done in pursuance of a preconcerted plan of operation. 
What are they ? A man was found murdered in his bed. No stranger 
had done the deed — no one unacquainted with the house had done it. 
It was apparent, that somebody from within had opened, and somebody 
from without had entered. There had been there, obviously and cer- 
tainly, concert and co-operation. The inmates of the house were not 
alarmed when the murder was perpetrated. The assassin had entered, 
without any riot, or any violence. He had found the way prepared 
before him. The house had been previously opened. The window was 
unbarred, from within, and its fastening unscrewed. There was a lock 
on the door of the chamber, in which Mr. White slept, but the key was 
gone. It had been taken away, and secreted. The footsteps of the 
murderer were visible, out-doors, tending toward the window. The 
plank by which he entered the window, still remained. The road he 
pursued had been thus prepared for him. The victim was slain, and 
the murderer had escaped. Everything indicated that somebody from 
within had co-operated with somebody from without. Everything pro- 
claimed that some of the inmates, or somebody having access to the 
house, had had a hand in the murder. On the face of the circumstances, 
it was apparent, therefore, that this was a premeditated, concerted, 
conspired murder. Who, then, were the conspirators? If not now 
found out, we are still groping in the dark, and the whole tragedy is 
still a mystery. 

From "Argument in Knapp's Trial," 1830. 





We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actii us is most safely 
deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. We know that 

if we could cause this structure to ascend, not only till it reached the 
skies, but till it pierced them, its broad surfaces could still contain but 

part of that, which, in an age of knowledge, hath Already been spread 
over the earth, and which history charges itself with making known to 
all future times. We know that no inscription on entablatures less 
broad than the earth itself, can carry information of the events we 
commemorate, where it has not already gone; and that no structure, 
which shall not outlive the duration of letters and knowledge among 
men, can prolong the memorial. But our object is. by this edifice to 
show our own deep sense of the value and importance of the achieve- 
ments of our ancestors; and, by presenting this work of gratitude to 
the eye, to keep alive similar sentiments, and to foster a constant 
regard for the principles of the Revolution. Human beings are com- 
posed not of reason only, but of imagination also, and sentiment; ami 
that is neither wasted nor misapplied which is appropriated to the 
purpose of giving right direction to sentiments, and opening proper 
springs of feeling in the heart. Let it not be supposed that our object 
is to perpetuate national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military 
spirit. It is higher, purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the 
spirit of national independence, and we wish that the light of peace 
may rest upon it for ever. We rear a memorial of our conviction of 
that unmeasured benefit, which has been conferred on our own land, 
and of the happy influences which have been produced, by the same 
events, on the general interests of mankind. We come, as Americans, 
to mark a spot which must for ever be dear to us and our posterity. 
We wish, that whosoever, in all coming time, shall turn his eye hither, 
may behold that the place is not undistinguished where the first great 
battle of the Revolution was fought. We wish that this structure 
may proclaim the magnitude and importance of that event, to even- 
class and every age. We wish that infancy may learn the purpose of 
its erection from maternal lips, and that weary and withered age may 
behold it. and be solaced by the recollections which it suggests. We 
wish that labor may look up here, and be proud, in the midst of its 
toil. We wish that, in those days of disaster, which, as they come on 
all nations, must be expected to come on us also, desponding patriotism 
may turn its eyes hitherward, and be assured that the foundations of 
our national power still stand strong. We wish that this column, 
rising towards heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples 
dedicated to God, may contribute also to produce, in all minds, a pious 
feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last 


object on the sight of him -who leaves his native shore, and the first to 
gladden his who revisits it, may be something which shall remind him 
of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise, till it meet the 
sun in his coming ; let the earliest light of the morning gild it, and 
parting day linger and play on its summit. 

From "Address at Laying of Corner-stone of Burilcer Hill Monument," 1825. 


John C. Calhoun. 
The gentleman from Virginia is at a loss to account for what he calls 
our hatred to England. He asks how can we hate the country of 
Locke, of Newton, Hampden, and Chatham ; a country having the 
same language and customs with ourselves, and descending from a 
common ancestry. Sir, the laws of human affections are steady and 
uniform. If we have so much to attach us to that country, potent 
indeed must be the cause which has overpowered it. Yes, there is a 
cause strong enough ; not in that occult courtly affection which he has 
supposed to be entertained for France ; but it is to be found in continued 
and unprovoked insult and injury — a cause so manifest, that the gentle- 
man from Virginia had to exert much ingenuity to overlook it. But 
the gentleman, in his eager admiration of that country, has not been 
sufficiently guarded in his argument. Has he reflected on the cause of 
that admiration? Has he examined the reasons of our high regard for 
her Chatham ? It is his ardent patriotism, the heroic courage of his 
mind, that could not brook the least insult or injury offered to his 
country, but thought that her interest and honor ought to be vindicated 
at every hazard and expense. I hope, when we are called upon to 
admire, we shall also be asked to imitate. I hope the gentleman does 
not wish a monopoly of those great virtues for England. 

From " Speech in the House of Bepresentatives," 1811. 


John C. Calhoun. 
In reviewing the ground over which I have passed, it will be appa- 
rent that the question in controversy involves that most deeply impor- 
tant of all political questions, whether ours is a federal or a consoli- 
dated government ; — a question, on the decision of which depend, as I 
solemnly believe, the liberty of the people, their happiness, and the 
place which we are destined to hold in the moral and intellectual scale 
of nations. Never was there a controversy in which more important 
consequences were involved ; not excepting that between Persia and 
Greece, decided by the battles of Marathon, Platea, and Salamis — 


which gave ascendancy to the genius of Europe over that of Asia— and 
which, in its consequences, has continued to affect the destiny of so 
large a portion of the world even to this day. There are often close 
analogies between events apparently very remote, which are strikingly 
illustrated in this case. In the great contest between Greece and 
Persia, between European and Asiatic polity and civilization, the very 
question between the federal and consolidated form of government was 
involved. The Asiatic governments, from the remotest time, with some 
exceptions on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean, have been based 
on the principle of consolidation, which considers the whole community 
as but a unit, and consolidates its powers in a central point. The 
opposite principle has prevailed in Europe — Greece, throughout all her 
states, was based on a federal system. All were united in one common 
but loose bond, and the governments of the several states partook, for 
the most part, of a complex organization, which distributed political 
power among different members of the community. The same princi- 
ples prevailed in ancient Italy ; and, if we turn to the Teutonic race, 
our great ancestors — the race which occupies the first place in power, 
civilization, and science, and which possesses the largest and the fairest, 
part of Europe — we shall find that their governments were based on 
federal organization. 

From " Speech on the Fvrce Bill," 1833. 


Joiin C. Caliioun. 
It is a well-known fact, that, from the expulsion of the Tarquins to 
the time of the establishment of the tribunitian power, the government 
fell into a state of the greatest disorder and distraction, and, I may 
add, corruption. How did this happen? The explanation will throw 
important light on the subject under consideration. The community 
was divided into two parts — the Patricians and the Plebeians ; with the 
power of the state principally in the hands of the former, without ade- 
quate checks to protect the rights of the latter. The result was as 
might be expected. The patricians converted the powers of the 
government into the means of making money, to enrich themselves and 
their dependants. They, in a word, had their American system, grow- 
ing out of the peculiar character of the government and condition of 
the country. This requires explanation. At that period, according to 
the laws of nations, when one nation conquered another, the lands of 
the vanquished belonged to the victor ; and, according to the Roman law, 
the lands thus acquired were divided into two parts — one allotted to 
the poorer class of the people, and the other assigned to the use of the 
treasury — of which the patricians had the distribution and administra- 


tion. The patricians abused their power by withholding from the ple- 
beians that which ought to have been allotted to them, and by convert- 
ing to their own use that which ought to have gone to the treasury. In 
a word, they took to themselves the entire spoils of victory, and had 
thus the most powerful motive to keep the state perpetually involved 
in war, to the utter impoverishment and oppression of the plebeians. 
After resisting the abuse of power by all peaceable means, and the 
oppression becoming intolerable, the plebeians, at last, withdrew from 
the city — they, in a word, seceded ; and to induce them to reunite, the 
patricians conceded to them, as the means of protecting their separate 
interests, the very power which I contend is necessary to protect the 
rights of the States, but which is now represented as necessarily lead- 
ing to disunion. 

From " Speech on the Force Bill," 1833. 


John C. Calhoun. 
The patricians granted to the plebeians the right of choosing three 
tribunes from among themselves, whose persons should be sacred, and 
who should have the right of interposing their veto, not only against 
the passage of laws, but even against their execution — a power which 
those who take a shallow insight into human nature would pronounce 
inconsistent with the strength and unity of the state, if not utterly 
impracticable ; yet so far from this being the effect, from that day the 
genius of Rome became ascendant, and victory followed her steps till 
she had established an almost universal dominion. How can a result 
so contrary to all anticipation be explained ? The explanation appears 
to me to be simple. No measure or movement could be adopted with- 
out the concurring assent of both the patricians and plebeians, and 
each thus became dependent on the other ; and, of consequence, the 
desire and objects of neither could be effected without the concurrence 
of the other. To obtain this concurrence, each was compelled to con- 
sult the good-will of the other, and to elevate to office, not those only 
who might have the confidence of the order to which they belonged, 
but also that of the other. The result was, that men possessing those 
qualities which would naturally command confidence — moderation, 
wisdom, justice, and patriotism — were elevated to office ; and the 
weight of their authority and the prudence of their counsel, combined 
with that spirit of unanimity necessarily resulting from the concurring 
assent of the two orders, furnish the real explanation of the power of 
the Roman state, and of that extraordinary wisdom, moderation, and 
firmness which in so remarkable a degree characterized her public men. 
I might illustrate the truth of the position which I have laid down by 
10* II 


a reference to the history of all free states, ancient and modern, dis- 
tinguished for their power and patriotism, and conclusively Bhow, not 
only that there was not one which had not some contrivance, under 
some form, by which the concurring assent of the different portions of 
the community was made necessary in the action of government, bat 
also that the virtue, patriotism, and strength of the state were in direct 
proportion to the perfection of the means of securing such assent. 

From "Speech on the Farce Bill," 1833. 



Had iEschines confined his chargo to the subject of the prosecution, 
I too would have proceeded at once to my justification of the decree. 
But since he has wasted no fewer words in the discussion of other mat- 
ters, in most of them calumniating me, I deem it both necessary and 
just, men of Athens, to begin by shortly adverting to these points, that 
none of you may be induced by extraneous arguments to shut your 
ears against my defence to the indictment. 

To all his scandalous abuse of my private life, observe my plain and 
honest answer. If you know me to be such as he alleged — for I have 
lived nowhere else but among you — let not my voice be heard, however 
transcendent my statesmanship! Rise up this instant and condemn 
me! Hut if, in your opinion and judgment, I am far better and of 
better descent than my adversary; if (to speak without offence) I am 
not inferior, I or mine, to any respectable citizen ; then give no credit 
to him for his other statements — it is plain they were all equally fic- 
tions — but to me let the same good-will, which you have uniformly 
exhibited upon many former trials, be manifested now. With all your 
malice, iEschines, it was very simple to suppose that I should turn 
from the discussion of measures and policy to notice your scandal. I 
will do no such thing : I am not so crazed. Your lies and calumnies 
about my political life I will examine forthwith ; for that loose ribaldry 
I shall have a word hereafter, if the jury desire to hear it. 

From " Oration on the Crown." 



Now let me contrast what the Athenian commonwealth has gained 
by the peace, and what the Athenian ambassadors ; and see if the com- 
monwealth and these men themselves have fared alike. To the com- 


nionwealth the result has been, that she has relinquished all her pos- 
sessions and all her allies, and has sworn to Philip, that should any 
one else interfere ever to preserve them, you will prevent it, and will 
regard the person who wishes to restore them to you as an adversary 
and a foe, the person who has deprived you of them as an ally and a 
friend. These are the terms which iEschines the defendant supported, 
and his coadjutor Philocrates proposed ; and when I prevailed on the 
first day and had persuaded you to confirm the resolution of your allies, 
and to summon Philip's ambassadors, the defendant drove it off to the 
following day, and persuaded you to adopt the decree of Philocrates, 
in which these clauses, and many others yet more shameful, are con- 
tained. To the state then such consequences have resulted from the 
peace : — consequences more disgraceful could not easily be found: but 
what to the ambassadors who caused them ? I pass by all the other 
matters which you have seen — houses — timber — grain ; but in the ter- 
ritory of our ruined allies they have estates and farms of large extent, 
bringing in to Philocrates an income of a talent, to iEschines here thirty 
minas. Is it not shocking and dreadful, Athenians, that the misfor- 
tunes of your allies have become a source of revenue to your ambassa- 
dors ; that the same peace has to the country which sent them proved 
to be destruction of allies, cession of dominions, disgrace instead of 
honor, while to the ambassadors, who wrought these mischiefs to the 
country, it has produced revenues, resources, estates, riches, in exchange 
for extreme indigence ? To prove the truth of my statements, call me 
the Olynthian witnesses. 

From " Oration on the Embassy." 


William Gaston. 
Sir, — I am opposed, out and out, to any interference of the state with 
the opinions of its citizens, and more especially with their opinions on 
religious subjects. Law is the proper judge of action, and reward or 
punishment its proper sanction. Reason is the proper umpire of opinion, 
and argument and discussion its only fit advocates. To denounce opin- 
ions by law is as silly, and unfortunately much more tyrannical, as it 
would be to punish crime by logic. Law calls out the force of the com- 
munity to compel obedience to its mandates. To operate on opinion by 
law, is to enslave the intellect and oppress the soul — to reverse the order 
of nature, and make reason subservient to force. But of all the attempts 
to arrogate unjust dominion, none is so pernicious as the efforts of 
tyrannical men to rule over the human conscience. Religion is exclu- 
sively an affair between man and his God. If there be any subject 
upon which the interference of human 'power is more forbidden than 


on all others, it is on religion. Born of Faith — nurtured by Hope — 
invigorated by Charity — looking for its rewards in a world beyond the 
g rave — it is of Heaven, heavenly. The evidence upon which it is 
founded, and the sanctions by which it is upheld, are addressed solely 
to the understanding and the purified affections. Even He, from whom 
cometh every pure and perfect gift, and to whom religion is directed ;is 
its author, its end, and its exceedingly great reward, imposes no coer- 
cion on His children. They believe, or doubt, or reject, according to 
the impressions which the testimony of revealed truth makes upon 
their minds. He causes His sun to shine alike on the believer and the 
unbeliever, and His dews to fertilize equally the soil of the orthodox 
and the heretic. No earthly gains or temporal privations are to influ- 
ence their judgment here, and it is reserved until the hist day for the 
just Judge of all the earth to declare who have criminally refused to 
examine or to credit the evidences which were laid before them, lint 
civil rulers thrust themselves in, and become God's avengers. Under 
a pretended zeal for the honor of His house, and the propagation of 
His Revelation, — 

Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod ; 
Rejudge His justice — are the God of God ; 

define faith by edicts, statutes, and constitutions; deal out largesses to 
accelerate conviction, and refute unbelief and heresy by the unanswer- 
able logic of pains and penalties. Let not religion be abused for this 
impious tyranny — religion has nothing to do with it. Nothing can be 
conceived more abhorrent from the spirit of true religion than the 
hypocritical pretensions of kings, princes, rulers, and magistrates, to 
uphold her holy cause by their unholy violence. 

From " Speech in Vie X. C. Convention to amend the Stale Constitution" 


There is a spirit which, like the father of evil, is constantly " walk- 
ing to and fro about the earth, seeking whom it may devour:" it is the 
spirit of false philanthropy. The persons whom it possesses do not 
indeed throw themselves into the flames, but they are employed in 
lighting up the torches of discord throughout the community. Their 
first principle of action is to leave their own affairs, and neglect their 
own duties, to regulate the affairs and duties of others. Theirs is the 
task to feed the hungry and clothe the naked of other lands, while 
they thrust the naked, famished, and shivering beggar from their own 
doors; — to instruct the heathen, while their own children want the 


bread of life. When this spirit infuses itself into the bosom of a states- 
man (if one so possessed can be called a statesman), it converts him at 
once into a visionary enthusiast. Then it is that he indulges in golden 
dreams of national greatness and prosperity. He discovers that " liberty 
is power," and, not content with vast schemes of improvement at home, 
which it would bankrupt the treasury of the world to execute, he flies 
to foreign lands, to fulfil obligations to " the human race," by inculca- 
ting the principles of " political and religious liberty," and promoting 
the " general welfare" of the whole human race. It is this spirit 
which has filled the land with thousands of wild and visionary 
projects, which can have no effect but to waste the energies and 
dissipate the resources of the country. It is the spirit of which the 
aspiring politician dexterously avails himself, when, by inscribing on 
his banner the magical words, Liberty and Philanthropy, he draws to 
his support that class of persons who are ready to bow down at the 
very name of their idols. 

From " Speech on Foote's Resolution," 1830. 


What, sir, was the conduct of the south during the Revolution ? Sir, 
I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But 
great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think, at least equal 
honor is due to the south. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren, 
with a generous zeal, which did not suffer them to stop to calculate 
their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother country, possessed 
of neither ships nor seamen to create a commerical rivalship, they might 
have found in their situation a guarantee that their trade would be for 
ever fostered and protected by Great Britain. But trampling on all 
considerations either of interest or of safety, they rushed into the con- 
flict, and fighting for principle, perilled all, in the sacred cause of 
freedom. Never was there exhibited in the history of the world higher 
examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than 
by the whigs of Carolina, during the Revolution. The whole state, from 
the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the 
enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they were 
produced, or were consumed by the foe. The " plains of Carolina" 
drank up the most precious blood of her citizens ! Black and smoking 
ruins marked the places which had been the habitations of her children ! 
Driven from their homes, into the gloomy and almost impenetrable 
swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, and South Carolina 
(sustained by the example of her Sumters and her Marions) proved, 
by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her 
people was invincible. 

From " Speech on Footc's Resolution," 1830. 



m. Wxm. 

Vessels of war cruising on the coast of Africa, under our Act of 
1819, have been directed to search our own vessels, to arrest fcbe vio- 
lators of the law, to bring in the ships for condemnation and the men 
for punishment. At this time the government is not unmindful of this 
treaty obligation, for our next squadron fur the coast of Africa will 
consist, I believe, of four steamers and as many sloops-of-war, and four 
steam-ships will probably cruise off Cuba, to intercept slavers that may 
escape the ships on the African coast. Mr. Calhoun voted for the 
ratification of the treaty, and expressed his clear conviction " that the 
policy of closing the markets of the world was both right and expe- 
dient in every point of view, that we were deeply committed against 
the traffic, both by legislation and treaty. The influence and the efforts 
of the civilized world were directed against it, and that, too, under our 
lead at the commencement." 

Still later, in 1855, the House of Representatives, by a vote nearly 
unanimous, decided that it was not expedient to repeal the laws for the 
suppression of the slave trade. 

The leading points in the legislative history of the laws under dis- 
cussion have been referred to, to show upon what solid foundations of 
authority and consent, on the part of the executive and legislative 
departments of the government, the laws for the suppression of the 
slave trade rest. No doubt has been entertained by the long succes- 
sion of jurists and statesmen who have been concerned in their discus- 
sion and enactment, of the constitutional power of Congress to pass 
them. There is no question of public morality which has been more 
clearly and solemnly maintained than that on which this legislation 
reposes. It would be a retrograde movement of more than a century 
to consent to abate one line of the condemnation of this trade, or to 
relax any effort for its extirpation. Many of the clauses of these laws 
have come before the judiciary department of the United States for 
interpretation ; property has been sentenced to confiscation, and men 
have been tried and some condemned for the violation of them. Not a 
question has been decided in the Circuit or in the Supreme Court which 
in any manner impugns their validity as constitutional enactments. 

From " Cliarge to the Grand Jury in Savannah," 1859. 


Rufus KlXG. 

The bill before the Senate, is in nothing unfriendly towards England ; 
-it is merely a commercial regulation, to which we are even invited ; 


a measure strictly of self-defence, and intended to protect the legitimate 
resources of our own country from being any longer made use of, not 
as they should be, for our benefit, but to increase and strengthen the 
resources and power of a foreign nation. The time is propitious. 
Causes that formerly prevented the union of opinions in favor of this 
measure, no longer exist; the old world is at peace, and every nation 
is busily employed in repairing the waste of war, by cultivating the 
arts, and extending the blessings of peace ; — England has come out of 
the most portentous war that Europe has ever suffered, not only unbro- 
ken, but with increased power. Her agriculture, manufactures, and 
commerce were cherished ; were without interruption, and increased, 
while those of neighboring nations were suspended, interrupted, or de- 
stroyed. Her colonies and dependent territories have been greatly 
enlarged, at the expense of her enemies ; and regions, with which we 
and others once had trade and intercourse, having fallen under her 
power, are now closed against us. We have no other questions de- 
pending with her, except those concerning impressment and the fish- 
eries, and their settlement can, in no manner, be affected by the passing 
of this act. 

England is a great and illustrious nation, having attained to this 
pre-eminence by generous and successful efforts, in breaking down the 
civil and religious bondage of former ages. Her patriots, her scholars, 
and her statesmen have adorned her history, and offer models for the 
imitation of others. We are the powerful descendants of England, 
desiring perpetual friendship, and the uninterrupted interchange of 
kind offices and reciprocal benefits with her. We have demonstrated, 
in circumstances the most critical, constant and persevering evidence 
of this disposition. We still desire the impartial adjustment of our 
mutual intercourse, and the establishment of some equitable regula- 
tions, by which our personal and maritime rights may be secure from 
arbitrary violation : A settlement that, instead of endless collision and 
dispute, may be productive of concord, good humor, and friendship : 
and it depends on her, whether such is to be the relation between us. 

From " Speech on the Navigation Act" 1818. 



One of England's own writers has said, " The possible destiny of the 
United States of America, as a nation of one hundred millions of free- 
men, stretching from the Atlantic to the Pacific, living under the laws 
of Alfred, and speaking the language of Shakspeare and Milton, is an 
august conception/' 

It is an august conception, finely embodied ; and I trust in God that 


it will, at no distant time, become a reality. I trust that the world will 
see, through all time, our people living, not only under the laws of 
Alfred, but that they will be heard to speak throughout our wide-spread 
borders the language of Shakspeare and Milton. Above all is it my 
prayer that, as long as our posterity shall continue to inhabit these 
mountains and plains, and hills and valleys, they may be found living 
under the sacred institutions of Christianity. Put these things toge- 
ther, and what a picture do they present to the mental eye ! Civiliza- 
tion and intelligence started in the East; they have travelled, and are 
still travelling, westward ; but when they shall have completed the 
circuit of the earth, and reached the extremest verge of the Pacific 
shores, then, unlike the fabled god of the ancients, who dipped his 
glowing axle in the western wave, they will take up their permanent 

Then shall we enjoy the sublime destiny of returning these blessings 
to their ancient seat ; then will it be ours to give the priceless benefits 
of our free institutions, and the pure and healthful light of the gospel, 
back to the dark family which has so long lost both truth and freedom ; 
then may Christianity plant herself there, and while with one hand 
she points to the Polynesian isles, rejoicing in the late-recovered trea- 
sure of revealed truth, with the other present the Bible to the Chinese. 
It is our duty to aid in this great work. I trust we shall esteem it as 
much our honor as our duty. Let us not, like some of the British mis- 
sionaries, give them the Bible in one hand and opium in the other, but 
bless them only with the pure word of truth. 



Brethren of the Cincinnati — there lies our chief! Let him still be 
our model. Like him, after long and faithful public services, let us 
cheerfully perform the social duties of private life. Oh ! he was mild 
and gentle. In him there was no offence ; no guile. His generous 
hand and heart were open to all. 

Gentlemen of the bar — you have lost your brightest ornament. 
Cherish and imitate his example. "While, like him, with justifiable 
and with laudable zeal, you pursue the interests of your clients, re- 
member, like him, the eternal principle of justice. 

Fellow-citizens — you have long witnessed his professional conduct, 
and felt his unrivalled eloquence. You know how well he performed 
the duties of a citizen — you know that he never courted your favor by 
adulation or the sacrifice of his own judgment. You have seen him 
contending against you, and saving your dearest interests, as it were, 


in spite of yourselves. And you now feel and enjoy the benefits result- 
ing from the firm energy of his conduct. Bear this testimony to the 
memory of my departed friend. I charge you to protect his fame. It 
is all he has left — all that these poor orphan children will inherit from 
their father. But, my countrymen, that fame may be a rich treasure 
to you also. Let it be the test by which to examine those who solicit 
your favor. Disregarding professions, view their conduct, and on a 
doubtful occasion ask, Would Hamilton have done this thing ? 

You all know how he perished. On this last scene I cannot, I must 
not dwell. It might excite emotions too strong for your better judg- 
ment. Suffer not your indignation to lead to any act which might 
again offend the insulted majesty of the laws. On his part, as from his 
lips, though with my voice — for his voice you will hear no more — let 
me entreat you to respect yourselves. 

And now, ye ministers of the everlasting God, perform your holy 
office, and commit these ashes of our departed brother to the bosom of 
the grave. 

From "Address to the Cincinnati," 1804. 


Thomas II. Benton. 
I scorn the bill. I scout its vaunted popularity. I detest it. Nor 
can I conceive of an object more pitiable and contemptible than that of 
the demagogue haranguing for votes, and exhibiting his tables of dollars 
and acres, in order to show each voter or each state, how much money 
they will be able to obtain from the treasury if the land bill passes. 
Such haranguing, and such exhibition, is the address of impudence and 
knavery to supposed ignorance, meanness, and folly. It is treating the 
people as if they were penny wise and pound foolish, and still more 
mean than foolish. Why, the land revenue, after deducting the ex- 
penses, if fairly divided among the people, would not exceed nine-pence 
a head per annum ; if fairly divided among the states, and applied to 
their debts, it would not supersede above nine-pence per annum of 
taxation upon the units of the population. The day for land sales has 
gone by. The sales of this year do not exceed a million and a half of 
dollars, which would not leave more than a million for distribution, 
which, among sixteen millions of people, would be exactly four-pence 
half-penny, Virginia money, per head ; a fip in New York, and a 
picaillon in Louisiana. At two millions, it would be nine-pence a head 
in Virginia, equivalent to a levy in New York, and a bit in Louisiana ; 
precisely the amount which, in specie times, a gentleman gives to a 
negro boy for holding his horse a minute at the door. And for this 
miserable doit — this insignificant subdivision of a shilling — a York 


shilling — can the demagogue suppose that the people are base enough 
to violate their Constitution — mean enough to surrender the defence of 
their country, and stupid enough to be taxed in their coffee, tea, salt, 
sugar, coats, hats, blankets, shoes, shirts, and every article of comfort, 
decency, or necessity, which they eat, drink, or wear, or on which they 
stand, sit, sleep, or lie ? 

From " Speech in the Senate," 1841. 



What have I done that was so criminal? I have wished that my 
Order were wise enough to give to-day what will infallibly be wrested 
from it to-morrow ; that it should receive the merits and glory of sanc- 
tioning the assemblage of the Three Orders, which all Provence loudly 
demands. This is the crime of your "enemy of peace \" Or rather I 
have ventured to believe that the people might be in the right. Ah, 
doubtless, a patrician soiled with such a thought deserves vengeance ! 
But I am still guiltier than you think ; for it is my belief that the 
people which complains is always in the right; that its indefatigable 
patience invariably waits the uttermost excesses of oppression, before it 
can determine on resisting ; that it never resists long enough to obtain 
complete redress ; and does not sufficiently know that to strike its 
enemies into terror and submission, it has only to stand still, that the 
most innocent as the most invincible of all powers is the power of 
refusing to do. I believe after this manner : punish the enemy of 
peace ! 

But you, ministers of a God of peace, who are ordained to bless and 
not to curse, and yet have launched your anathema on me, without 
even the attempt at enlightening me, at reasoning with me ! And you, 
"friends of peace," who denounce to the people, with all vehemence 
of hatred, the one defender it has yet found, out of its own ranks ; — 
who, to bring about concord, are filling capital and province with 
placards calculated to arm the rural districts against the towns, if your 
deeds did not refute your writings ; — who, to prepare ways of concilia- 
tion, protest against the royal Regulation for convoking the States- 
General, because it grants the people as many deputies as both the 
other orders, and against all that the coming National Assembly shall 
do, unless its laws secure the triumph of your pretensions, the eternity 
of your privileges ! Disinterested " friends of peace !" I have appealed 
to your honor, and summon you to state what expressions of mine have 
offended against either the respect we owe to the royal authority or to 
the nation's right? Nobles of Provence, Europe is attentive; weigh 
well your answer. Men of God, beware ; God hears you ! 



David Paul Brown. 
So fearfully and -wonderfully are -we made, that by the excessive in- 
dulgence of an unrestrained, morbid passion, or by an insurmountable 
obstacle suddenly checking that indulgence, insanity is equally likely 
to ensue. A check to the ruling passion of pride, of lore, of hope, of 
patriotism, of ambition, an utter check, when those passions are at 
their highest tide, -will cause them, to use a strong figure, to overflo-w 
the banks of reason and spread around them destruction and desola- 
tion ! This is what is called monomania — and is characterized by the 
ruling or despotic propensity. Why did Lord Castlereigh destroy him- 
self? Why did Mr. Whitbread destroy himself? both prime ministers 
of England — because they were so ensnared by political wiles as to be 
defeated in the objects of their ambition ; they became mad ; and suicide 
was the result. Why did Sir Samuel Komilly take his own life ? a 
man of the highest intellect and the warmest heart — who was at once 
a public and a private example — while revelling upon the very summit 
of distinction, and professional honor ; he was bereft of the partner of 
his bosom. His ruling passion was resisted, life became no longer of 
any value, and he terminated it with his own hand. The coroner's 
inquest placed all these deaths to the account of insanity. 

From " A Forensic Argument," Philadelphia, 1859. 


David Paul Brown. 
I am now speaking of the criminal character of conspiracy. It is 
not necessary that an act should be done at all. Nay, if the act be a 
felony, the conspiracy is lost utterly, for, being but a misdemeanor, it 
is merged in the graver offence. It is the agreement to do the act which 
constitutes the crime. Your honor will perceive the beautiful philo- 
sophy of the law. Not like the metaphysical moonshine that is intro- 
duced here. The whole law, and especially the criminal law, consists 
of a system of checks and safeguards. It is the protection of the com- 
munity against vice — and subserves the divine law in forming, guarding, 
and inducing virtue in man. That is the basis of it — built upon that — 
the object is not to punish; the object is to prevent, or reform. What 
does it do ? As long as man keeps his design within his heart — within 
his breast, though it be of demoniac gloom and blackness — of course 
human tribunals cannot suspect it, and cannot affect it. He is left to 
the punishment of the Omnipotent ; " for darkness and light are both 


[dike to Him." He alone can pry into the deep recesses of the sinner's 
bosom ; drag forth the secret motive from its hiding-place, and expose 
it to the reproaches of an affrighted and horror-stricken world. What 
can man do in such a case? I can tell 3-011 what he can do, and what 
he does do. The moment that by the slightest whisper the inward 
workings and purposes of the culprit's mind are communicated to the 
officers of justice, he becomes amenable to justice. Beautiful system ! 
Here is a man who intends to take the life of another ; his motive and 
his purpose arc known only to that Power that can fathom the ocean. 
The motive there is equal to the act — it is the act itself. The motive 
here is nothing, till it be accompanied by the act, because it cannot be 

From " A Forensic Argument," Philadelphia, 1859. 


James A. IMyard. 

No power is so sensibly felt by society, as that of the judiciary. 
The life and property of every man is liable to be in the hands of the 
judges. Is it not our great interest to place our judges upon such 
high ground that no fear can intimidate, no hope seduce them? The 
present measure humbles them in the dust, it prostrates them at the 
feet of faction, it renders them the tools of every dominant party. It 
is this effect which I deprecate, it is this consequence which I deeply 
deplore. What does reason, what does argument avail, when party 
spirit presides? Subject your bench to the influence of this spirit, and 
justice bids a final adieu to your tribunals. We are asked, sir, if the 
judges are to be independent of the people? The question presents a 
false and delusive view. We are all the people. We are, and as long 
as we enjoy our freedom, we shall be divided into parties. The true 
question is, shall the judiciary be permanent, or fluctuate with the 
tide of public opinion? I beg, I implore gentlemen to consider the 
magnitude and value of the principle w T hich they are about to annihi- 
late. If your judges are independent of political changes, they may 
have their preferences, but they will not enter into the spirit of party. 
But let their existence depend upon the support of the power of a 
certain set of men, and they cannot be impartial. Justice will be 
trodden under foot. Your courts will lose all public confidence and 

The judges will be supported by their partisans, who, in their turn, 
will expect impunity for the wrongs and violence they commit. The 


spirit of party will be inflamed to madness ; and the moment is not far 
off, when this fair country is to be desolated by a civil war. 

Do not say that you render the judges dependent only on the people. 
You make them dependent on your President. This is his measure. 
The same tide of public opinion which changes a President, will change 
the majorities in the branches of the legislature. The legislature will 
be the instrument of his ambition, and he will have the courts as the 
instruments of his vengeance. He uses the legislature to remove the 
judges, that he may appoint creatures of his own. In effect, the powers 
of the government will be concentrated in the hands of one man, who 
will dare to act with more boldness, because he will be sheltered from 
responsibility. The independence of the judiciary was the felicity of 
our constitution. It was this principle which was to curb the fury of 
party on sudden changes. The first movements of power gained by a 
struggle, are the most vindictive and intemperate. Raised above the 
storm, it was the judiciary which was to control the fiery zeal, and to 
quell the fierce passions of a victorious faction. 

We are standing on the brink of that revolutionary torrent, which 
deluged in blood one of the fairest countries of Europe. 

France had her national assembly, more numerous and equally popu- 
lar with our own. She had her tribunals of justice, and her juries. 
But the legislature and her courts were but the instruments of her 
destruction. Acts of proscription and sentences of banishment and 
death were passed in the cabinet of a tyrant. Prostrate your judges at 
the feet of party, and you break down the mounds which defend you 
from this torrent. 

From " Speech on the Judiciary," 1802. 

Patrick Henry. 

Switzerland consists of thirteen cantons expressly confederated for 
national defence. They have stood the shock of four hundred years : 
that country has enjoyed internal tranquillity most of that long period. 
Their dissensions have been, comparatively to those of other countries, 
very few. What has passed in the neighboring countries ? wars, dis- 
sensions, and intrigues — Germany involved in the most deplorable civil 
war thirty years successively, continually convulsed with intestine 
divisions, and harassed by foreign wars — France with her mighty 
monarchy perpetually at war. Compare the peasants of Switzerland 
with those of any other mighty nation ; you will find them far more 
happy : for one civil war among them, there have been five or six among 
other nations : their attachment to their country, and to freedom, their 


if .lute intrepidity in their defence, the consequent security and liappi- 
which they have enjoyed, and the respect and awe which these 
things produce in their bordering nations, have signalized those repub- 
licans. Their valor, sir, has heen active ; everything that sets in 
motion the springs of the human heart, engaged them to the protection 
of their inestimable privileges. They have not only secured their own 
liberty, but have been the arbiters of the fate of other people. lien-, 
sir, contemplate the triumph of republican governments over the pride 
of monarchy. I acknowledge, sir, that the necessity of national defence 
has prevailed in invigorating their councils and arms, and lias been, in 
a considerable degree, the means of keeping these honest people together. 
But, sir, they have had wisdom enough to keep together and render 
themselves formidable. Their heroism is proverbial. They would 
heroically fight for their government, and their laws. One of the 
illumined sons of these times would not fight for those objects. Ti 
virtuous and simple people have not a mighty and splendid president, 
nor enormously expensive navies and armies to support. No, sir, those 
brave republicans have acquired their reputation no less by their un- 
daunted intrepidity, than by the wisdom of their frugal and economical 
policy. Let us follow their example, and be equally happy. The 
honorable member advises us to adopt a measure which will destroy 
our bill of rights: for, after hearing his picture of nations, and his rea- 
sons for abandoning all the powers retained to the states by the con- 
federation, I am more firmly persuaded of the impropriety of adopting 
this new plan in its present shape. 

From " Speech on the Federal Gmstitulion," 1788. 


Patrick Hexkt. 
I am constrained to make a few remarks on the absurdity of adopting 
this system, and relying on the chance of getting it amended after- 
wards. When it is confessed to be replete with defects, is it not offer- 
ing to insult your understandings, to attempt to reason you out of the 
propriety of rejecting it, till it be amended? Does it not insult your 
judgments to tell you — adopt first, and then amend? Is your rage for 
novelty so great, that you are first to sign and seal, and then to retract ? 
Is it possible to conceive a greater solecism ? I am at a loss what to 
say. You agree to bind yourselves hand and foot — for the sake of what ? 
Of being unbound. You go into a dungeon — for what ? To get out. 
Is there no danger when you go in, that the bolts of federal authority 
shall shut you in ? Human nature never will part from power. Look 
for an example of a voluntary relinquishment of power, from one end 
of the globe to another — you will find none. Nine-tenths of our fellow- 


men have been, and are now, depressed by the most intolerable slavery, 
in the differents parts of the world ; because the strong hand of power 
has bolted them in the dungeon of despotism. Review the present 
situation of the nations of Europe, which is pretended to be the freest 
quarter of the globe. Cast your eyes on the countries called free there. 
Look at the country from which we are descended, I beseech you ; and 
although we are separated by everlasting, insuperable partitions, yet 
there are some virtuous people there who are friends to human nature 
and liberty. Look at Britain ; see there the bolts and bars of power ; 
see bribery and corruption defiling the fairest fabric that ever human 
nature reared. Can a gentleman, who is an Englishman, or who is 
acquainted with the English history, desire to prove these evils ? See 
the efforts of a man descended from a friend of America ; see the efforts 
of that man, assisted even by the king, to make reforms. But you find 
the faults too strong to be amended. Nothing but bloody war can 
alter them. See Ireland: that country groaning from century to cen- 
tury, without getting their government amended. Previous adoption 
was the fashion there. They sent for amendments from time to time, 
but never obtained them, though pressed by the severest oppression, till 
eighty thousand volunteers demanded them sword in hand — till the 
power of Britain was prostrate ; when the American resistance was 
crowned with success. Shall we do so? If you judge by the expe- 
rience of Ireland, you must obtain the amendments as early as possible. 
But, I ask you again, where is the example that a government was 
amended by those who instituted it? Where is the instance of the 
errors of a government rectified by those who adopted them ? 

From " Speech on the Federal Constitution," 1788. 


William H. Drayton. 
King James broke the original contract by not affording due protec- 
tion to his subjects, although he was not charged with having seized 
their towns, and with having held them against the people — or with 
having laid them in ruins by his arms — or with having seized their 
vessels — or with having pursued the people with fire and sword — or 
with having declared them rebels for resisting his arms levelled to 
destroy their lives, liberties, and properties — but George the Third hath 
done all those things against America ; and it is therefore undeniable, 
that he hath not afforded due protection to the people. Wherefore, if 
James the Second broke the original contract, it is undeniable that 
George the Third has also broken the original contract between king 
and people ; and that he made use of the most violent measures by 


which it could be done — violences, of which Jambs was quili 
Measures, carrying conflagration, massacre, and open war amidst a 
people, whose subjection to the king of Great Britain, the law holds 
to be due only as a return for protection. And so tenacious and clear 
is the law upon this very principle, that it is laid down, subjection is 
not due even to a king de jure, or of right, unless he be also king de 
facto, or in possession of the executive powers dispensing protection. 

From " Charge to the Grand Jury," 1776. 


Joseph Warren. 

Pardon me, my fellow-citizens, I know you want not zeal or forti- 
tude. You will maintain your rights, or perish in the generous 
Btruggle. However difficult the combat, you never will decline it when 
freedom is the prize. An independence of Great Britain is not our 
aim. No, our wish is, that Britain and the colonies may, like the oak 
and ivy, grow and increase in strength together. But whilst the 
infatuated plan of making one part of the empire slaves to the other is 
persisted in, the interests and safety of Britain, as well as the colonies, 
require that the wise measures, recommended by the honorable the 
Continental Congress, be steadily pursued ; whereby the unnatural 
contest between a parent honored and a child beloved, may probably 
be brought to such an issue, as that the peace and happiness of both 
may be established upon a lasting basis. But if these pacific measures 
are ineffectual, and it appears that the only way to safety is through 
fields of blood, I know you will not turn your faces from your foes, but 
will, undauntedly, press forward, until tyranny is trodden under foot, 
and you have fixed your adored goddess liberty, fast by a Brunswick's 
side, on the American throne. 

You, then, who have nobly espoused your country's cause, who 
generously have sacrificed wealth and ease ; who have despised the 
pomp and show of tinselled greatness ; refused the summons to the 
festive board ; been deaf to the alluring calls of luxury and mirth ; 
who have forsaken the downy pillow, to keep your vigils by the mid- 
night lamp for the salvation of your invaded country, that you might 
break the fowler's snare, and disappoiut the vulture of his prey — you 
then will reap that harvest of renown which you so justly have 
deserved. Your country shall pay her grateful tribute of applause. 
Even the children of your most inveterate enemies, ashamed to tell 
from whom they sprang, while they, in secret, curse their stupid, cruel 
parents, shall join the general voice of gratitude to those who broke 
the fetters which their fathers forged. 


Having redeemed your country, and secured the blessing to future 
generations, who, fired by youv example, shall emulate your virtues, 
and learn from you the heavenly art of making millions happy; with 
heartfelt joy, with transports all your own, you cry, The glorious work 
is done ; then drop the mantle to some young Elisha, and take your 
seats with kindred spirits in your native skies ! 

From " Oration on the Boston Massacre," 1770. 


John Rutledge. 
I also most heartily congratulate you on the glorious victory obtained 
by the combined forces of America and France, over their common 
enemy : when the very general who was second in command at the 
reduction of Charleston, and to whose boasted prowess and highly- 
extolled abilities the conquest of no less than three states had been 
arrogantly committed, was speedily compelled to accept of the same 
mortifying terms which had been imposed on that brave but unfortunate 
garrison : to surrender an army of many thousand regulars, and to 
abandon his wretched followers, whom he had artfully seduced from 
their allegiance by specious promises of protection, which he could 
never have hoped to fulfil, to the justice or mercy of their country, on 
the naval superiority established by the illustrious ally of the United 
States — a superiority in itself so decided, and in its consequences so 
extensive, as must inevitably soon oblige the enemy to yield to us the 
only post which they occupy in this state : and on the reiterated proofs 
of the sincerest friendship, and on the great support which America 
has received from that powerful monarch — a monarch whose magna- 
nimity is universally acknowledged and admired, and on whose royal 
word we may confidently rely for every necessary assistance: on the per- 
fect harmony which subsists between France and America: on the 
stability which her independence has acquired, and the certainty that 
it is too deeply rooted ever to be shaken ; for animated as they are by 
national honor, and united by one common interest, it must and will be 

From " Speech to the General Assembly of South Carolina," 1782. 


James Madison. 
By the treaty between the United States and his most Christian 
majesty, among other things it is stipulated, that the great principle 
on which the armed neutrality in Europe was founded, should prevail 



in case of future wars. The principle is this, that free ships shall 
make free goods, and that vessels and goods shall be both free from 
condemnation. Great Britain did not recognise it. 'While all Europe 
was against her, she held out without acceding to it. It has been con- 
sidered for some time past, that the flames of war, already kindled, 
would spread, and that France and England were likely to draw those 
swords which were so recently put up. This is judged probable. "We 
should not be surprised, in a short time, if we found ourselves as a 
neutral nation — France being on one side, and Great Britain on tin; 
other. Then, what would be the situation of America ? She is remote 
from Europe, and ought not to engage in her politics or wars. The 
American vessels, if they can do it with advantage, may carry on the 
commerce of the contending nations. It is a source of wealth which 
we ought not to deny to our citizens. But, sir, is there not infinite 
danger, that in despite of all our caution, we shall be drawn into the 
war? If American vessels have French property on board, Great 
Britain will seize them. By this means, we shall be obliged to relin- 
quish the advantage of a neutral nation, or be engaged in a war. A 
neutral nation ought to be respectable, or else it will be insulted and 
attacked. America, in her present impotent situation, would run the 
risk of being drawn in, as a party in the war, and lose the advantage 
of being neutral. Should it happen, that the British fleet should be 
superior, have we not reason to conclude, from the spirit displayed by 
that nation to us and to all the world, that we should be insulted in 
our own ports, and our vessels seized? But if we be in a respectable 
situation ; if it be known that our government can command the whole 
resources of the Union, we shall be suffered to enjoy the great advan- 
tages of carrying on the commerce of the nations at war ; for none of 
them would be willing to add us to the number of their enemies. I 
shall say no more on this point, there being others which merit your 

From " Speech on the Federal Constitution," 1788. 


Alexander Hamilton. 
We should guard against a spirit of faction, that great bane to com- 
munity, that mortal poison to our land. It is considered by all great 
men as the natural disease of our form of government, and therefore we 
ought to be careful to restrain that spirit. We have been careful that 
when one party comes in it shall not be able to break down and bear 
away the others. If this be not so, in vain have we made constitutions ; 
for if it be not so, then we must go into anarchy, and from thence to 


despotism and to a master. Against this I know there is an almost 
insurmountable obstacle in the spirit of the people. They would not 
submit to be thus enslaved. Every tongue, every arm would be uplifted 
against it ; they would resist, and resist, and resist, till they hurled 
from their seats those who dared make the attempt. To watch the 
progress of such endeavors is the office of a free press ; to give us early 
alarm, and put us on our guard against the encroachments of power. 
This, then, is a right of the utmost importance ; one for which, instead 
of yielding it up, we ought rather to spill our blood. 

Never can tyranny be introduced into this country by arms ; these 
can never get rid of a popular spirit of inquiry ; the only way to crush 
it down is by a servile tribunal. It is only by the abuse of the forms 
of justice that we can be enslaved. An army never can do it. For 
ages it can never be attempted. The spirit of the country, with arms 
in their hands, and disciplined as a militia, would render it impossible. 
Every pretence that liberty can be thus invaded is idle declamation. It 
is not to be endangered by a few thousands of miserable, pitiful mili- 
tary. It is not thus that the liberty of this country is to be destroyed. 
It is to be subverted only by a pretence of adhering to all the forms of 
law, and yet, by breaking down the substance of our liberties ; by 
devoting a wretched but honest man as the victim of a nominal trial. 
It is not by murder, by an open and public execution, that he would be 
taken off. The sight of this, of a fellow-citizen's blood, would at first 
beget sympathy ; this would rouse into action, and the people, in the 
madness of their revenge, would break, on the heads of their oppressors, 
the chains they had destined for others. 

From " Speech in the case of Harry CrosweU," 1804:. 


John Hancock. 
I thank God, that America abounds in men who are superior to 
all temptation, whom nothing can divert from a steady pursuit of the 
interest of their country ; who are at once its ornament and safeguard. 
And sure I am, I should not incur your displeasure, if I paid a respect, 
so justly due to their much-honored characters, in this place. But 
when I name an Adams, such a numerous host of fellow-patriots rush 
upon my mind, that I fear it would take up too much of your time, 
should I attempt to call over the illustrious roll. But your grateful 
hearts will point you to the men ; and their revered names, in all suc- 
ceeding times, shall grace the annals of America. From them let us, 
my friends, take example ; from them let us catch the divine enthu- 
siasm ; and feel, each for himself, the godlike pleasure of diffusing 


happiness on all around us; of delivering the oppressed from the iron 
grasp of tyranny ; of changing the hoarse complaints and bitter moans 
of wretched slaves into those cheerful songs, which freedom and c m- 
tentment must inspire. There is a heartfelt satisfaction in reflecting 
on our exertions for the public weal, which all the sufferings an enraged 
tyrant can inflict, will never take away ; which the ingratitude and 
reproaches of those whom we have saved from ruin, cannot rob us of. 
The virtuous assertcr of the rights of mankind merits a reward, which 
even a want of success in his endeavors to save his country, the heaviest 
misfortune which can befall a genuine patriot, cannot entirely prevent 
him from receiving. 

I have the most animating confidence that the present noble struggle 
for liberty will terminate gloriously for America. And let ns play the 
man for our God, and for the cities of our God ; while we are using the 
means in our power, let us humbly commit our righteous cause to the 
great Lord of the universe, who lovcth righteousness and hateth 
iniquity. And having secured the approbation of our hearts, by a 
faithful and unwearied discharge of our duty to our country, let us 
joyfully leave our concerns in the hands of Him who raiseth up and 
pulleth down the empires and kingdoms of the world as he plea 
and with cheerful submission to his sovereign will, devoutly say, — 
" Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the 
vines ; the labor of the olive shall fail, and the field shall yield no meat ; 
the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in 
the stalls ; yet we will rejoice in the Lord, we will joy in the God of our 

From " Speech on Vie Anniversary of Ike Boston Massacre," 1774. 


George Washington. 
Among the vicissitudes incident to life, no event could have filled me 
with greater anxieties, than that of which the notification was trans- 
mitted by your order, and received on the fourteenth day of the present 
month. On the one hand, I was summoned by my country, whose 
voice I can never hear but with veneration and love, from a retreat 
which I had chosen with the fondest predilection, and in my flattering 
hopes with an immutable decision as the asylum of my declining years ; 
a retreat which was rendered every day more necessary, as well as 
more dear to me, by the addition of habit to inclination, and of frequent 
interruptions in my health to the gradual waste committed on it by 
time. On the other hand, the magnitude and difficulty of the trust, to 
which the voice of my country called me, being sufficient to awaken in 
the wisest ana most experienced of her citizens a distrustful scrutiny 


into his qualifications, could not but overwhelm with despondence, one, 
who inheriting inferior endowments from nature, and unpractised in 
the duties of civil administration, ought to be peculiarly conscious of 
his own deficiencies. In this conflict of emotions, all I dare aver, is, 
that it has been my faithful study to collect my duty from a just 
appreciation of every circumstance by which it might be affected. Ail 
I dare hope is, that if in executing this task, I have been too much 
swayed by a grateful remembrance of former instances, or by an 
affectionate sensibility to this transcendent proof of the confidence of 
my fellow-citizens, and have thence too little consulted my incapacity 
as well as disinclination for the weighty and untried cares before me, 
my error will be palliated by the motives which misled me, and its 
consequences be judged by my country, with some share of the partiality 
in which they originated. 

From " The Inaugural Address," 1789. 


Georgb Washington. 

The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign nations, is, in 
extending our commercial relations, to have with them as little political 
connection as possible. So far as we have already formed engagements, 
let them be fulfilled with perfect good faith. Here let us stop. 

Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have none, or a 
very remote relation. Hence she must be engaged in frequent contro- 
versies, the causes of which are essentially foreign to our concerns. 
Hence, therefore, it must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves, by 
artificial ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or the ordinary 
combinations and collisions of her friendships and enmities. 

Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us to pursue 
a different course. If we remain one people, under an efficient govern- 
ment, the period is not far off when we may defy material injury from 
external annoyance ; when we may take such an attitude as will cause 
the neutrality we may at any time resolve upon, to be scrupulously 
respected ; when belligerent nations, under the impossibility of making 
acquisitions upon us, will not lightly hazard the giving us provocation ; 
when we may choose peace or war, as our interest, guided by justice, 

shall counsel. 

From " Farewell Address," 1796. 




John Dickinson. 

Our cause is just. Our union is perfect. Our internal resource! 
are great, and, if nccessar}', foreign assistance is undoubtedly attain- 
able. We gratefully acknowledge, as signal instances of Divine favor 
towards us, that his providence would not permit us to be called into 
this severe controversy, until we were grown up to our present strength, 
had been previously exercised in warlike operations, and possessed the 
means of defending ourselves. With hearts fortified by these animat- 
ing reflections, we most solemnly, before God and the world, Declabz, 
that, exerting the utmost energy of those powers which our beneficent 
Creator has graciously bestowed upon us, the arms we have been com- 
pelled by our enemies to assume, we will, in defiance of every hazard, 
with unabating firmness and perseverance, employ for the preservation 
of our liberties; being with one mind resolved to die freemen rather 
than to live slaves. 

Lest this declaration should disquiet the minds of our friends and 
fellow-subjects in any part of the empire, "we assure them that we mean 
not to dissolve that union which has so long and so happily subsisted 
between us, and which we sincerely wish to see restored. Necessity 
has not yet driven us into that desperate measure, or induced us to 
excite any other nation to war against them. We have not raised 
armies with ambitious designs of separating from Great Britain, and 
establishing independent states. We fight not for glory or for conquest. 
We exhibit to mankind the remarkable spectacle of a people attacked 
by unprovoked enemies, without any imputation or even suspicion of 
offence. They boast of their privileges and civilization, and yet proffer 
no milder conditions than servitude or death. 

In our own native land, in defence of the freedom that is our birth- 
right, and which we ever enjoyed till the late violation of it — for the 
protection of our property, acquired solely by the honest industry of 
our forefathers and ourselves, against violence actually offered, we have 
taken up arms. We shall lay them down when hostilities shall cease 
on the part of the aggressors, and all danger of their being renewed 
shall be removed, and not before. 

From " Declaration on Talcing up Arms" 1775. 


Samcel Adams. 
From the day on which an accommodation takes place between Eng- 
land and America, on any other terms than as independent states, I 
shall date the ruin of this country. A politic minister will study to 


lull us into security, by granting us the full extent of our petitions. 
The warm sunshine of influence would melt down the virtue which 
the violence of the storm rendered more firm and unyielding. In a 
state of tranquillity, wealth, and luxury, our descendants would forget 
the arts of war, and the noble activity and zeal which made their 
ancestors invincible. Every art of corruption would be employed to 
'loosen the bond of union which renders our resistance formidable. 
When the spirit of liberty which now animates our hearts and gives 
success to our arms is extinct, our numbers will accelerate our ruin, 
and render us easier victims to tyranny. Ye abandoned minions of an 
infatuated ministry, if peradventure any should yet remain among us ! — 
remember that a Warren and Montgomery are numbered among the 
dead. Contemplate the mangled bodies of your countrymen, and then 
say what should be the reward of such sacrifices ? Bid us and our 
posterity bow the knee, supplicate the friendship, and plough, and sow, 
and reap, to glut the avarice of the men who have let loose on us the 
dogs of war to riot in our blood, and hunt us from the face of the earth ? 
If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquillity of servitude than 
the animating contest of freedom — go from us in peace. We ask not 
your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed 
you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget 
that ye were our countrymen. 

From " Address in Philadelphia," 1776. 


Josiah Quinct, Jr. 

By the sweat of our brow we earn the little we possess : from nature 
we derive the common rights of man — and by charter we claim the 
liberties of Britons ! Shall we, dare we pusillanimously surrender our 
birthright? Is the obligation to our fathers discharged — is the debt 
we owe posterity paid ? Answer me, thou coward, who hidest thyself 
in the hour of trial. If there is no reward in this life, no prize of 
glory in the next, capable of animating thy dastard soul ; think and 
tremble, thou miscreant, at the whips and stripes thy master shall lash 
thee with on earth — and the flames and scorpions thy second master 
shall torment thee with hereafter ! 

Oh, my countrymen ! what will our children say when they read the 
history of these times, should they find we tamely gave away, without 
one noble struggle, the most invaluable of earthly blessings? As they 
drag the galling chain, will they not execrate us ? If we have any 
respect for things sacred ; any regard to the dearest treasure on earth — 
if we have one tender sentiment for posterity ; if we would not be 


despised by tho whole world — let us, in the most open, solemn manner, 
and with determined fortitude, swear wc will die, if we cannot live 
freemen ! 

Be not lulled, my countrymen, with vain imaginations, or idle fancies. 
To hope for the protection of Heaven, without doing our duty, and 
exerting ourselves as becomes men, is to mock the Deity. Wherefore 
had man his reason, if it were not to direct him? Wherefore his 
strength, if it be not his protection? To banish folly and luxury, cor- 
rect vice and immorality, and stand immovable in the freedom in which 
we are free indeed, is eminently the duty of each individual, at this 
day. When this is done, we may rationally hope for an answer to our 
prayers ; for the whole counsel of God, and the invincible armor of the 

However righteous our cause, we cannot, in this period of the world, 
expect a miraculous salvation. Heaven will undoubtedly assist us, if 
Ave act like men ; but to expect protection from above, while we are 
enervated by luxury, and slothful in the exertion of those abilities with 
which we are endued, is an expectation vain and foolish. With the smiles 
of Heaven, virtue, unanimity, and firmness will insure success. AVhile 
we have equity, justice, and God on our side, tyranny, spiritual or tem- 
poral, shall never ride triumphant in a land inhabited by Englishmen. 

From " Boston Gazctk" 1708. 


Josiah Qcincy, Jr. 

Gentlemen of the Jury : — This cause has taken up much of your 
time, and is likely to take up so much more, that I must hasten to a 
close. Indeed, I should not have troubled you, by being thus lengthy, 
but from a sense of duty to the prisoners ; they, who, in some sense, 
may be said to have put their lives in my hands ; they, whose situation 
was so peculiar, that we have necessarily taken up more time than ordi- 
nary cases require. They, under all these circumstances, placed a 
confidence it was my duty not to disappoint; and which I have aimed 
at discharging with fidelity. I trust you, gentlemen, will do the like ; 
that you will examine and judge with a becoming temper of mind; 
remembering that they who are under oath to declare the whole truth, 
think and act very differently from by-standers, who, being under no 
ties of this kind, take a latitude, which is by no means admissible in a 
court of law. 

I cannot close this cause better, than by desiring you to consider 
well the genius and spirit of the law, which will be laid down, and to 
govern yourselves by this great standard of truth. To some purposes, 
you may be said, gentlemen, to be ministers of justice; and " ministers, " 


says a learned judge, " appointed for the ends of public justice, should 
have written on their hearts the solemn engagements of his majesty, 
at his coronation, to cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in 
all his judgments." 

" The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven — 

It is twice blessed ; 
It blesses him that gives, and him that takes." 

I leave you, gentlemen, hoping you will be directed in your inquiry 
and judgment, to a right discharge of your duty. We shall all of us, 
gentlemen, have an hour of cool reflection ; when the feelings and 
agitations of the day shall have subsided ; when we shall view things 
through a different and a much juster medium. It is then we all wish 
an absolving conscience. May you, gentlemen, now act such a part, as 
will hereafter insure it ; such a part as may occasion the prisoners to 
rejoice. May the blessing of those who were in jeopardy of life come 
upon you — may the blessing of Him who is " not faulty to die," descend 
and rest upon you and your posterity. 

From " Defence of the Soldiers in the Boston Massacre," 1770. 


Benjamin Rush. 

Look at the steps by which governments have been changed, or 
rendered stable in Europe. Read the history of Great Britain. Her 
boasted government has risen out of wars, and rebellions, that lasted 
above six hundred years. The United States are travelling peaceably 
into order and good government. They know no strife — but what 
arises from the collision of opinions ; and, in three years, they have 
advanced further in the road to stability and happiness than most of 
the nations in Europe have done in as many centuries. 

There is but one path that can lead the United States to destruction ; 
and that is, their extent of territory. It was probably to effect this 
that Great Britain ceded to us so much waste land. But even this path 
may be avoided. Let but one new state be exposed to sale at a time ; 
and let the land office be shut up till every part of this new state be 

I am extremely sorry to find a passion for retirement so universal 
among the patriots and heroes of the war. They resemble skilful 
mariners, who, after exerting themselves to preserve a ship from sink- 
ing in a storm, in the middle of the ocean, drop asleep, as soon as the 
waves subside, and leave the care of their lives and property, during 
the remainder of the voyage, to sailors, without knowledge or expe- 


rionce. Every man in a republic is public property. His time and 
talents — his youth — his manhood — his old age — nay more, his life, his 
all, belong to his country. 

Patriots of 1774, 1775, 177G— heroes of 1778, 1779, 1780! come for- 
ward! your country demands your services! Philosophers and friends 
to mankind, come forward ! your country demand- your studies and 
speculations! Lovers of peace and order, who declined taking part in 
the late war, come forward! your country forgives your timidity, and 
demands your influence and advice! Hear her proclaiming, in sighs 
and groans, in her governments, in her finances, in her trade, in her 
manufactures, in her morals, and in her manners — "the REVOLUTION 


From •• Address to the People," 1787. 


. Lee. 

First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen, 
he was second to none in the humble and endearing scenes of private 
life. Pious, just, humane, temperate, and sincere; uniform, dignified, 
and commanding, his example was as edifying to all around him as 
were the effects of that example lasting. 

To his equals he was condescending ; to his inferiors kind ; and to 
the dear object of his affections exemplarily tender. Correct through- 
out, vice shuddered in his presence, and virtue always felt his fostering 
hand; the purity of his private character gave effulgence to his public 

His last scene comported with the whole tenor of his life: although 
in extreme pain, not a sigh, not a groan escaped him ; and with undis- 
turbed serenity he closed his well-spent life. Such was the man 
America has lost! Such was the man for whom our nation mourns ! 

Methinks I see his august image, and hear, falling from his venerable 
lips, these deep-sinking words : 

" Cease, sons of America, lamenting our separation : go on, and con- 
firm by your wisdom the fruits of our joint counsels, joint efforts, and 
common dangers. Reverence religion ; diffuse knowledge throughout 
your land; patronize the arts and sciences; let liberty and order be 
inseparable companions ; control party spirit, the bane of free govern- 
ment ; observe good faith to, and cultivate peace with all nations ; shut 
up every avenue to foreign influence ; contract rather than extend 
national connection ; rely on yourselves only ; be American in thought 
and deed. Thus will you give immortality to that Union, which was 
the constant object of my terrestrial labors. Thus will you preserve, 
undisturbed to the latest posterity, the felicity of a people to me most 


dear : and thus will you supply (if my happiness is now aught to you) 
the only vacancy in the round of pure bliss high Heaven bestows." 

From " Eulogy on Washington," 1799. 


John Randolph. 
I acknowledge the influence of a Shakspeare and a Milton upon my 
imagination, of a Locke upon my understanding, of a Sidney upon my 
political principles, of a Chatham upon qualities which, would to God, 
I possessed in common with that illustrious man ! of a Tillotson, a 
Sherlock, and a Porteus upon my religion. This is a British influence 
which I can never shake off. I allow much to the just and honest 
prejudices growing out of the Revolution. But by whom have they 
been suppressed, when they ran counter to the interests of my country ? 
By Washington. By whom, would you listen to them, are they most 
keenly felt? By felons escaped from the jails of Paris, Newgate, and 
Kilmainham, since the breaking out of the French revolution ; who, in 
this abused and insulted country, have set up for political teachers, and 
whose disciples give no other proof of their progress in republicanism, 
except a blind devotion to the most ruthless military despotism that the 
world ever saw. These are the patriots who scruple not to brand with 
the epithet of tory, the men (looking towards the seat of Col. Stewart) 
by whose blood your liberties have been cemented. These are they, who 
hold in such keen remembrance the outrages of the British armies, from 
which many of them are deserters. Ask these self-styled patriots where 
they were during the American war (for they are, for the most part, 
old enough to have borne arms), and you strike them dumb ; their lips 
are closed in eternal silence. If it were allowable to entertain partiali- 
ties, every consideration of blood, language, religion, and interest, would 
incline us towards England ; and yet, shall they be alone extended to 
France and her ruler, whom we are bound to believe a chastening God 
suffers as the scourge of a guilty world ! On all other nations he tram- 
ples ; he holds them in contempt ; England alone he hates ; he would, 
but he cannot despise her ; fear cannot despise ; and shall we disparage 
our ancestors ? 

From "Speech on the Increase of the Army," 1811. 


John Randolph. 
But the outrages and injuries of England — bred up in the principles 
of the revolution, I can never palliate, much less defend them. I well 
remember flying with my mother, and her new-born child, from Arnold 


and Phillips — and we -were driven by Tarleton and other British I'an- 
dours from pillar to post, while her busband was fighting the battles 
of his country. The impression is indelible on my memory ; and yet 
(like my worthy old neighbor, who added seven buckshot to every cart- 
ridge at the battle of Guilford, and drew a fine sight at his man), 1 
must be content to be called a tory by a patriot of the last importation. 
Let us not get rid of one evil (supposing it possible), at the expense of 
a greater: "mutatis mutandis,'' suppose France in possession of the 
British naval power — and to her the trident must pass, should England 
be unable to wield it — what would be your condition ''. What would he 
the situation of your seaports, and their seafaring inhabitants] Ask 
Hamburg, Lubec ! Ask Savannah! What! sir, when their privateers 
are pent up in our harbors by the British bull-dogs, when they receive 
at our hands every rite of hospitality, from which their enemy is 
excluded ; when they capture in our own waters, interdicted to British 
armed ships, American vessels ; when such is their deportment towards 
you, under such circumstances ; what could you expect if they were 
the uncontrolled lords of the ocean ? Had those privateers at Savannah 
borne British commissions ; or had your shipments of cotton, tobacco, 
ashes and what not, to London and Liverpool, been confiscated, and the 
proceeds poured into the English Exchequer — my life upon it, you 
would never have listened to any miserable wire-drawn distinctions 
bctweeu " orders and decrees affecting our neutral rights," and " muni- 
cipal decrees," confiscating in mass your whole property: you would 
have had instant war ! The whole land would have blazed out in war. 

From u Sjiccch on the Increase of the Army" 1811. 


John Qcikcy Adams. 
Lafayette discovered no new principle of politics or of morals. He 
invented nothing in science. He disclosed no new phenomenon in the 
laws of nature. Born and educated in the highest order of feudal 
nobility, under the most absolute monarchy of Europe, in possession 
of an affluent fortune, and master of himself and of all his capabilities 
at the moment of attaining manhood, the principle of republican justice 
and of social equality took possession of his heart and mind, as if by 
inspiration from above. He devoted himself, his life, his fortune, his 
hereditary honors, his towering ambition, his splendid hopes, all to the 
cause of liberty. He came to another hemisphere to defend her. He 
became one of the most effective champions of our Independence ; but, 
that once achieved, he returned to his own country, and thenceforward 
took no part in the controversies which have divided us. In the events 


of our Kevolution, and in the forms of policy which we have adopted 
for the establishment and perpetuation of our freedom, Lafayette found 
the most perfect form of government. He wished to add nothing to it. 
He would gladly have abstracted nothing from it. Instead of the 
imaginary Republic of Plato, or the Utopia of Sir Thomas More, he 
took a practical existing model, in actual operation here, and never 
attempted or wished more than to apply it faithfully to his own country. 
It was not given to Moses to enter the promised land ; but he saw it 
from the summit of Pisgah. It was not given to Lafayette to witness 
the consummation of his wishes in the establishment of a Republic, and 
the extinction of all hereditary rule in France. His principles were in 
advance of the age and hemisphere in which he lived. A Bourbon still 
reigns on the throne of France, and it is not for us to scrutinize the 
title by which he reigns. The principles of elective and hereditary 
power, blended in reluctant union in his person, like the red and white 
roses of York and Lancaster, may postpone to aftertime the last conflict 
to which they must ultimately come. The life of the Patriarch was 
not long enough for the development of his whole political system. Its 
final accomplishment is in the womb of time. 

From " Address before Congress," 1834. 


David Ramsat. 

When I anticipate in imagination the future glory of my country, 
and the illustrious figure it will soon make on the theatre of the world, 
my heart distends with generous pride for being an American. What 
a substratum for empire ! compared with which, the foundation of the 
Macedonian, the Roman, and the British sink into insignificance. 
Some of our large states have territory superior to the island of Great 
Britain, whilst the whole together are little inferior to Europe itself. 
Our independence will people this extent of country with freemen, and 
will stimulate the innumerable inhabitants thereof, by every motive, to 
perfect the acts of government, and to extend human happiness. 

I congratulate you on our glorious prospects. Having for three long 
years weathered the storms of adversity, we are at length arrived in 
view of the calm haven of peace and security. We have laid the foun- 
dations of a new empire, which promises to enlarge itself to vast 
dimensions, and to give happiness to a great continent. It is now our 
turn to figure on the face of the earth, and in the annals of the world. 
The arts and sciences are planted among us, and, fostered by the auspi- 
cious influence of equal governments, are growing up to maturity, 
while truth and freedom flourish by their sides. Liberty, both civil 


and religious, in her noontide blaze, shines forth with unclouded Lustre 
on all ranks and denominations of men. 

Ever since the flood, true religion, literature, arts, empire, and riches 
have taken a slow and gradual course from east to west, and are now 
about fixing their long and favorite abode in this new western world. 
Our sun of political happiness is already risen, and hath lifted its head 
over the mountains, illuminating our hemisphere with liberty, light, 
and polished life. Our independence will redeem one quarter of the 
globe from tyranny and oppression, and consecrate it to the ohosen 
seat of truth, justice, freedom, learning, and religion. "NVc are laying 
the foundation of happiness for countless millions. Generations yet 
unborn will bless us for the blood-bought inheritance we are about to 
bequeath them. Oh happy times! Oh glorious days! Oh kind, 
indulgent, bountiful Providence, that we live in this highly-favored 
period, and have the honor of helping forward these great events, and 
of suffering in a cause of such infinite importance! 

From " Fourth of July Address," 1778. 


Edwako Livingston. 

History presents to us the magic glass on which, by looking at past, 
we may discern future events. It is folly not to read ; it is perversity 
not to follow its lessons. If the hemlock had not been brewed for 
felons in Athens, would the fatal cup have been drained by Socrates? 
If the people had not been familiarized to scenes of judicial homicide, 
would France or England have been disgraced by the useless murder 
of Louis or of Charles? If the punishment of death had not been 
sanctioned by the ordinary laws of those kingdoms, would the one have 
been deluged with the blood of innocence, of worth, of patriotism, and 
of science, in her revolution ? Would the best and noblest lives of the 
other have been lost on the scaffold in her civil broils? AVould her 
lovely and calumniated queen, the virtuous Malesherbes, the learned 
Condorcet — would religion, personified in the pious ministers of the 
altar, courage and honor, in the host of high-minded nobles, and 
science, in its worthy representative, Lavoisier — would the daily heca- 
tomb of loyalty and worth, — would all have been immolated by the 
stroke of the guillotine ; or Russell and Sidney, and the long succession 
of victims of party and tyranny, by the axe? The fires of Smithfield 
would not have blazed, nor, after the lapse of ages, should we yet 
shudder at the name of St. Bartholomew, if the ordinary ecclesiastical 
law had not usurped the attributes of divine veDgeance, and, by the 
sacrilegious and absurd doctrine, that offences against the Deity were 
to be punished with death, given a pretext to these atrocities. Nor, in 


the awful and mysterious scene on Mount Calvary, would that agony 
have been inflicted, if by the daily sight of the cross, as an instrument 
of justice, the Jews had not been prepared to make it one of their 
sacrilegious rage. But there is no end of the examples which crowd 
upon the memory, to show the length to which the exercise of this 
power, by the law, has carried the dreadful abuse of it, under the 
semblance of justice. Every nation has wept over the graves of patriots, 
heroes, and martyrs, sacrificed by its own fury. Every age has had 
its annals of blood. 


Tristam Btoges. 
Judges, we are told, sir, are to learn by travel. Whither, how, and 
addressing themselves to whom ? Not to visit law schools, or colleges 
of civilians ; not as the Solons or Platos of antiquity travelled, to consult 
the Initiati of Sais, the Sanhedrim of Palestine, or the disciples of the 
Persian Zoroaster. They must, however, have the benefit of travel ; 
and, if so, in the common method in coaches, wagons, solos, gigs, 
carryalls ; in steamboats, packet-boats, and ferry-boats ; receiving the 
full benefit in eating-houses, taverns, boarding-houses, and bar-rooms, 
of the conversation of learned tapsters, stewards, and stage-coach 
drivers. No man, I must own, who travels in the ordinary method— 
and judges can hardly afford to travel in different style — will lose any 
portion of these several sorts of accommodation and instruction. Judges 
will, in serious truth it is said, by travel, mingle with the people, and 
often come in contact with them. Will they mingle with the poor, the 
ordinary ? With mechanical men ; with middling interest men ; with 
the great community of toil, and sinew, and production? No, sir, they 
can do no such thing. Let them have the humility of Lazarus, and 
the versatile affability of Alcibiades, and they can do no such thing. 
There is to such men, as it was once said of a learned judge — than 
whom no man ever bore his honors more meekly — there is, I say, to the 
feelings of such men, around a judge, a kind of repulsive atmosphere. 
They stand aloof, and give him large room. They bow, not, indeed, 
with servility, but with profound respect; and look towards him with 
a kind of hallowed reverence, as one set apart, and consecrated to the 
service, and surrounded by the ritual of justice. With all these men, 
the judge can hold no tangible communion. The assurance of wealth, 
the confidence of rank, office, power, will press through this medium, 
and come hand to hand with him. Do the gentlemen, sir, mean to say 
that, for such purposes, judges should mingle with the people? 

From " Speech in the Senate on the Judiciary," 1825. 



"William Wirt. 

What was the state of things under which the Congress of 1776 
assembled, when Adams and Jefferson again met? It was, as you 
know, in this Congress, that the question of American Independence 
came, for the first time, to be discussed ; and never, certainly, has a 
more momentous question been discussed, in any age or in any country, 
for it was fraught, not only with the destinies of this wide-extended 
continent, but, as the event has shown, and is still showing, with the 
destinies of man all over the world. 

How fearful that question then was, no one can tell but those who, 
forgetting all that has since past, can transport themselves back to the 
time, and plant their feet on the ground which those patriots then 
occupied. " Shadows, clouds, and darkness" then covered all the 
future, and the present was full only of danger and terror. A more 
unequal contest never was proposed. It was, indeed, as it was then 
said to be, the shepherd boy of Israel going forth to battle against the 
giant of Gath ; and there were yet among us, enough to tremble when 
they heard that giant say, " Come to me, and I will give thy flesh to 
the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field." But there were those 
who never trembled — who knew that there was a God in Israel, and 
who were willing to commit their cause "to his even-handed justice/ 7 
and his almighty power. That their great trust was in Him, is mani- 
fest from the remarks that were continually breaking from the lips of 
the patriots. Thus, the patriot Hawley, when pressed upon the ine- 
quality of the contest, could only answer, "We must put to sea — 
Providence will bring us into port ;" and Patrick Henry, when urged 
upon the same topic, exclaimed, " True, true ; but there is a God above, 
who rules and overrules the destinies of nations." 

From " Eulogy on Jefferson and Adams," 1826. 


David Paul Browx. 

The prisoner is in your hands, I ask no mercy for him. I had almost 
said I disdain it: — but be merciful to yourselves. By his conviction, it 
is true you abridge his sufferings, but may you not promote and aggra- 
vate your own. Can you reflect upon such a verdict, without being 
hereafter haunted by the " compunctious visitings of conscience." If 
you think you can, why strike at once his unit out of the sum of life. 
And when, after your labors are terminated, you return again to your 
firesides to enjoy the charms of your domestic circle — the blessings of 
your household gods, then tell your anxious wives and children, who 


assemble around you, while you relate the lamentable history of this 
trial — tell them of " one who loved not wisely — but too well ;" tell 
them of the pollution of female innocence — the betrayal of confiding 
friendship — tell them of the prisoner's blighted hopes — his wounded 
honor — his ruined fortunes and his shattered reason — tell them how he 
trusted, and how he was deceived ; and when your hearers, with tear- 
ful eyes and trembling lips, earnestly inquire what relief you afforded 
for all these monstrous and most unheard of wrongs — tell them — if you 
dare, that, to requite him for all these sufferings, for these shames, you ! 
you ! ! — consigned him to a felon's ignominious grave. 

From "A Forensic Argument," Philadelphia, 1S59. 


Franklin Pierce. 

If we are true to ourselves ; if we revere the memory, or appreciate 
the services of our fathers, we shall forget, in the exigency of this 
crisis, that there is, or ever has been, such thing as party, in the ordi- 
nary acceptation of the term. At all events, we will forget it, until, 
through our steady, united efforts, we see the authority of the Constitu- 
tion vindicated, and the Union reposing again securely upon its old 

You are right in assuming that this is no time for hesitancy ; no time 
for doubting, halting, half-way professions, or, indeed, for mere profes- 
sions of any kind. It is a time for resolute purpose, to be followed by 
decisive, consistent action. 

Shall the fundamental law of the land be obeyed, not with evasive 
reluctance, but in good fidelity ? Have we the power to enforce obedi- 
ence to it, and will we exercise that power ? If so, then may we con- 
tinue to enjoy the multiplied and multiplying blessings of the peerless 
inheritance which has been transmitted to us. If otherwise, fanaticism 
has not mistaken the significance of its emblem, — the national flag with 
"the union doivn." That flag has waved through three foreign wars, 
with the union up, cheering the hearts of brave men, on sea and land, 
wherever its folds have unrolled in the smoke of battle ! How many 
of our countrymen, as they have seen it floating from the mast-head in 
a foreign port, or giving its ample sweep to the breeze over a consular- 
office, have proudly and exultingly exclaimed: "I am an American 
citizen, and there is the ensign which commands for me respect and 
security, wherever throughout the wide world I may roam, or wherever 
I may choose temporarily to dwell!" How one would shut his eyes, 
and cover his face in shame and sorrow, if he believed he were destined 
to see the day when that flag will float no more ! And yet if agitators 
13 R 


and conspirators can have their way, it must go cIowji in darkness and 
blood. In a republic like ours, law alone upholds it; and when that 
loses its power, all human power to save is lost. If such overwhelm- 
ing disaster to humanity is to overtake us, I, for one, will not try to 
peer through the darkness and blackness, or to foreknow the end. 

From " Letter read at Faneuil Hall Meeting," 1859. 


De Witt Clinto.v. 

If I were called upon to prescribe a course of policy most important 

for this country to pursue, it would be to avoid European connections 

and wars. The time must arrive when we will have to contend with 

some of the great powers of Europe, but let that period be put off as 

long as possible. It is our interest and our duty to cultivate peace, 

with sincerity and good faith. As a young nation, pursuing industry 

in every channel, and adventuring commerce in every sea, it is highly 

important that wo should not only have a pacific character, but that 

we should really deserve it. If we manifest an unwarrantable ambition, 

and a rage for conquest, we unite all the great powers of Europe against 

us. The security of all the European possessions in our vicinity, will 

eternally depend, not upon their strength, but upon our moderation 

and justice. Look at the Canadas ; at the Spanish territories to the 

south ; at the British, Spanish, French, Danish, and Dutch West India 

Islands, at the vast countries to the west, as far as where the Pacific 

rolls its waves. Consider well the eventful consequences that would 

result, if we were possessed by a spirit of conquest. Consider well the 

impression which a manifestation of that spirit will make upon those 

who would be affected by it. If we are to rush at once into the territory 

of a neighboring nation, with fire and sword, for the misconduct of a 

subordinate officer, will not our national character be greatly injured ? 

Will we not be classed with the robbers and destroyers of mankind? 

Will not the nations of Europe perceive in this conduct the germ of a 

lofty spirit, and an enterprising ambition, which will level them to the 

earth, when age has matured our strength, and expanded our powers 

of annoyance, unless they combine to cripple us in our infancy? May 

not the consequences be, that we must look out for a naval force to 

protect our commerce, that a close alliance will result, that we will be 

thrown at once into the ocean of European politics, where every wave 

that rolls, and every wind that blows, will agitate our bark ? Is this a 

desirable state of things? Will the people of this country be seduced 

into it by all the colorings of rhetoric, and all the arts of sophistry — by 

vehement appeals to their pride, and artful addresses to their cupidity? 

No, sir. Three-fourths of the American people, I assert it boldly and 


without fear of contradiction, are opposed to this measure. And would 
you take up arms with a mill-stone hanging round your neck ? How 
would you bear up, not only against the force of the enemy, but against 
the irresistible current of public opinion ? The thing, sir, is impossible ; 
the measure is worse than madness ; it is wicked, beyond the powers 
of description. 

From "Speech on the Navigation of the Mississippi," 1803. 


James A. Bayard. 

God has decided that the people of this country should be a commer- 
cial people. You read that decree in the sea-coast of seventeen hundred 
miles which he has given you ; in the numerous navigable waters which 
penetrate the interior of the country ; in the various ports and harbors 
scattered along your shores ; in your fisheries ; in the redundant pro- 
ductions of your soil ; and more than all, in the enterprising and 
adventurous spirit of your people. It is no more a question whether 
the people of this country shall be allowed to plough the ocean, than it is 
whether they shall be permitted to plough the land. It is not in the 
power of this government, nor would it be if it were as strong as the 
most despotic upon the earth, to subdue the commercial spirit, or to 
destroy the commercial habits of the country. 

Young as we are, our tonnage and commerce surpass those of every 
nation upon the globe but one, and if not wasted by the deprivations to 
which they were exposed by their defenceless situation, and the more 
ruinous restrictions to which this government subjected them, it would 
require not many more years to have made them the greatest in the 
world. Is this immense wealth always to be exposed as a prey to the 
rapacity of freebooters ? Why will you protect your citizens and their 
property upon land, and leave them defenceless upon the ocean ? As 
your mercantile property increases, the prize becomes more tempting 
to the cupidity of foreign nations. In the course of things, the ruins 
and aggressions which you have experienced will multiply, nor will 
they be restrained while we have no appearance of a naval force. 

You must and will have a navy ; but it is not to be created in a day, 
nor is it to be expected, that in its infancy, it will be able to cope foot 
to foot with the full-grown vigor of the navy of England. But we are 
even now capable of maintaining a naval force formidable enough to 
threaten the British commerce, and to render this nation an object of 
more respect and consideration. 

From " Speech in the United States Senate," 1810. 



John Randolph. 

For my part, I never will go to war but in self-defence. I havo do 
desire for conquests — no ambition to possess. Nova Scotia — I hold the 
liberties of this people at a higher rate. Much more am 1 indisposed 
to Avar, when among the first means for carrying it on, I see gentlemen 
propose the confiscation of debts due by government to individuals. 
Does a bona fide creditor know who holds his paper? Dare any honest 
man ask himself the question? "lis hard to say whether such prin- 
ciples arc more detestably dishonest, than they are weak and foolish. 
What, sir ; will you go about with proposals for opening a loan in one 
hand, and a sponge for the national debt in the other? If, on a late 
occasion, you could not borrow at a less rate of interest than eight per 
cent., when the government avowed that they would pay to the last 
shilling of the public ability, at what price do you expect to raise 
money with an avowal of these nefarious opinions? — God help you ! if 
these are your ways and means for carrying on war — if your finances 
are in the hands of such a chancellor of the exchequer. Because a 
man can take an observation, and keep a log-book and a reckoning ; 
can navigate a cock-boat to the West Indies, or the East ; shall he 
aspire to navigate the great vessel of state — to stand at the helm of 
public councils ? " Ne sutor ultra crepidam." What are you going to 
war for? For the carrying trade. Already you possess seven-eighths 
of it. What is the object in dispute? The fair, honest trade, that 
exchanges the produce of our soil for foreign articles for home con- 
sumption ? Not at all. 

From ,; Speech in the House <>f Representatives," 1806. 


Joun Randolph. 
These taxes, however, it seems, are voluntary, " as being altogether 
upon consumption." By a recent speech on this subject, the greater 
part of which I was so fortunate as to hear, I learn that there have 
been only two hundred capital prosecutions in England, within a given 
time, for violations of the revenue laws. Are we ready, if one of us, 
too poor to own a saddle-horse, should borrow a saddle, and clap it on 
his plough-horse, to ride to church or court, or mill, or market, to be 
taxed for a surplus saddle-horse, and surcharged for having failed to 
list him as such ? Are gentlemen aware of the inquisitorial, dispens- 
ing, arbitrary, and almost papal power of the commissioners of excise? 
I shall not stop to go into a detail of them ; but I never did expect to 
hear it said, on this floor, and by a gentleman from Kentucky too, that 


the excise system was a mere scare-crow, a bug-bear ; that the sound 
of the words constituted all the difference between a system of excise 
and a system of customs ; that both meant the same thing : " Write 
them together ; yours is as fair a name ; sound them ; it doth become 
the mouth as well ;" here, sir, I must beg leave to differ ; I do not 
think it does : " Weigh them ; it is as heavy ;" that I grant — " conjure 
with them ;" — excise " will start a spirit as soon as" customs. This I 
verily believe, sir, and I wish, with all my heart, if this bill is to pass, 
if new and unnecessary burdens are to be wantonly imposed upon the 
people, that we were to return home with the blessed news of a tax or 
excise, not less by way of " minimum," than fifty cents per gallon upon 
whiskey. And here, if I did not consider an exciseman to bear, accord- 
ing to the language of the old law books, "caput lupinum," and that 
it was almost as meritorious to shoot such a hell-hound of tyranny, as 
to shoot a wolf or a mad-dog ; and if I did not know that anything like 
an excise in this country is in effect utterly impracticable, — I myself, 
feeling, seeing, blushing for my country, would gladly vote to lay an 
excise on this abominable liquor, the lavish consumption of which 
renders this the most drunken nation under the sun ; and yet we have 
refused to take the duties from wines, from cheap French wines par- 
ticularly, that might lure the dog from his vomit, and lay the founda- 
tion of a reformation of the public manners. 

From " Speech in the House of Representatives" 1824. 


John Randolph. 
Sir, an excise system can never be maintained in this country. 
I had as lief be a tithe proctor in Ireland, and met on a dark night 
in a narrow road by a dozen White-boys, or Peep-of-day Boys, or 
Hearts of Oak, or Hearts of Steel, as an excise man in the Alleghany 
Mountains, met in a lonely road, or by-place, by a backwoodsman, 
with a rifle in his hand. With regard to Ireland, the British chan- 
cellor of the exchequer has been obliged to reduce the excise in 
Ireland on distilled spirits, to comparatively nothing to what it was 
formerly, in consequence of the impossibility of collecting it in that 
country. Ireland is, not to speak with statistical accuracy, about 
the size of Pennsylvania, containing something like twenty-five thou- 
sand square miles of territory, with a population of six millions of 
inhabitants, nearly as great a number as the whole of the white popu- 
lation of the United States ; with a standing army of twenty thousand 
men ; with another standing army, composed of all those classes in 
civil life, who, through the instrumentality of that army, keep the 


wretched people in subjection: under all theso circumstances, even in 
Ireland, the excise cannot be collected. I venture to say that no army 
that the earth has ever seen; not such a one as that of Bonaparte, 
which inarched to the invasion of Russia, would be capable of collect- 
ing an excise in this country ; not Buch a one (if* you will allow me to 
give some delightful poetry in exchange for very wretched prose) as 
Milton has described — 

•• Snob forces m< I oot, aor so \\ ide a camp, 
When Agrioan, with all bis northern powers, 
Besieged Albraooa, m romances tell, 
The city of Calliphrone, ('nun vrhenoe to win 
The fairest of her Bex, Angelica, 
lli< daughter, Bought by many prowesl knights, 
Both Paynim and the peers of Charlemagne ;" 

not such a force, nor even the troops with which he compares them, 

which were no less than " the legend fiends of hell," could collect an 

excise hero. If any officer of our government were to take the field a 

still-hunting, as they call it in Ireland, among our southern or western 

forests and mountains, I should like to see the throwing off of the 

hounds. I have still SO much of the sportsman about me, that 1 should 

like to see the breaking cover, and, above all, I should like to be in at 

the death. 

From " Speed i in the House of Representatives," 1824. 


Lewis Cass. 

There is one point, sir, where we can all meet, and that is the gal- 
lantry and good conduct of our country. This is one of the high 
places to which we can come up together, and laying aside our party 
dissension, mingle our congratulations that our country has had such 
sons to go forth to battle, and that they have gathered such a harvest 
of renown in distant fields. The time has been, and there are those 
upon this floor who remember it well, when our national flag was said 
to be but striped bunting, and our armed vessels but fir-built frigates. 
The feats of our army and navy, in our last war with England, 
redeemed us from this reproach, the offspring of foreign jealousy ; and 
had they not, the events of the present war would have changed these 
epithets into terms of honor ; for our flag has become a victorious 
standard, borne by marching columns, over the hills and valleys, and 
through the cities, and towns, and fields of a powerful nation, in a 
career of success of which few examples can be found in ancient or 
modern warfare. 

The movement of our army from Puebla was one of the most roman- 


tic and remarkable events •which ever occurred in the military annals 
of any country. Our troops did not indeed burn their fleet, like the 
first conquerors of Mexico, for they needed not to gather courage from 
despair, nor to stimulate their resolution by destroying all hopes of 
escape. But they voluntarily cut off all means of communication with 
their own country, by throwing themselves among the armed thousands 
of another, and advancing with stout hearts but feeble numbers into 
the midst of a hostile country. The uncertainty which hung over the 
public mind, and the anxiety everywhere felt, when our gallant little 
army disappeared from our view, will not be forgotten during the pre- 
sent generation. There was universal pause of expectation — hoping, 
but still fearing ; and the eyes of twenty millions of people were 
anxiously fixed upon another country which a little band of its armed 
citizens had invaded. A veil concealed them from our view. They 
were lost to us for fifty days ; for that period elapsed from the time 
when we heard of their departure from Puebla till accounts reached 
us of the issue of the movement. The shroud which enveloped them 
gave way, and we discovered our glorious flag waving in the breezes of 
the capital, and the city itself invested by our army. 

From " Speech in the, Senate" 1848. 


Lord Chatham. 
But, my lords, who is the man, that in addition to these disgraces 
and mischiefs of our army, has dared to authorize and associate to our 
arms the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage? To call into 
civilized alliance, the wild and inhuman savage of the woods ; to dele- 
gate to the merciless Indian, the defence of disputed rights, and to 
wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren ? My 
lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment. Unless 
thoroughly done away, it will be a stain on the national character. It 
is a violation of the constitution. I believe it is against law. It is not 
the least of our national misfortunes, that the strength and character 
of our army are thus impaired. Infected with the mercenary spirit 
of robbery and rapine ; familiarized to the horrid scenes of savage 
cruelty, it can no longer boast of the noble and generous principles 
which dignify a soldier ; no longer sympathize with the dignity of the 
royal banner, nor feel the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious 
war, " that make ambition virtue !" What makes ambition virtue? — 
the sense of honor. But is the sense of honor consistent with a spirit 
of plunder, or the practice of murder? Can it flow from mercenary 
motives, or can it prompt to cruel deeds? Besides these murderers 


and plunderers, let me ask our ministers, what other allies have they 
acquired ? What other powers have they associated to their cause ? 
Have they entered into alliance with the king of the gypsies? Nothing, 
my lords, is too low or too ludicrous to be consistent with their coun- 

From Ci Speech on Address to the Throne." 


Edmund Burke. 

A noble lord, who spoke some time ago, is full of the fire of ingenu- 
ous youth ; and when he lias modelled the ideas of a lively imagination 
by further experience, he will be an ornament to his country in either 
house. He has said, that the Americans are our children, and how 
can they revolt against their parent? He says, that if they arc not 
free in their present state, England is not free ; because Manchester, 
and other considerable places, arc not represented. So, then, because 
some towns in England are not represented, America is to have no 
representative at all. They are "our children;" but when children 
ask for bread, we are not to give a stone. Is it because the natural 
resistance of things, and the various mutations of time, hinder our 
government, or any scheme of government, from being any more than 
a sort of approximation to the right, is it therefore that the colonies 
are to recede from it infinitely? When this child of ours wishes to 
assimilate to its parent, and to reflect with a true filial resemblance the 
beauteous countenance of British liberty ; are we to turn to them the 
shameful parts of our constitution ? are we to give them our weakness 
for their strength? our opprobrium for their glory ; and the slough of 
slavery, which we are not able to work off, to serve them for their 
freedom ? 

From '•' Speech on American Taxation." 


T. Eeskine. 

It is said by the author of the " Age of Reason/' that the Christian 

fable is but the tale of the more ancient superstitions of the world, and 

may be easily detected by a proper understanding of the mythologies 

of the heathens. — Did Milton understand those mythologies? — Was 

he less versed than Mr. Paine in the superstitions of the world? No, 

— they were the subject of his immortal song; and though shutout 

from all recurrence to them, he poured them forth from the stores of 

a memory rich Avith all that man ever knew, and laid them in their 


order as the illustration of real and exalted faith, the unquestionable 
source of that fervid genius which has cast a kind of shade upon all 
the other works of man — 

He passed the bounds of flaming space, 
Where angels tremble while they gaze — 
He saw, — till blasted with excess of light, 
He closed his eyes in endless night. 

But it was the light of the body only that was extinguished : " The 
celestial light shone inward, and enabled him to justify the ways 
of God to man." — The result of his thinking was nevertheless not quite 
the same as the author's before us. The mysterious incarnation of our 
blessed Saviour (which this work blasphemes in words so wholly unfit 
for the mouth of a Christian, or for the ear of a court of justice, that I 
dare not, and will not, give them utterance), Milton made the grand 
conclusion of his Paradise Lost, the rest from his finished labors, and 
the ultimate hope, expectation, and glory of the world. 

A Virgin is his Mother, but his Sire 

The power of the Most High ; — he shall ascend 

The throne hereditary, and bound his reign 

With earth's wide bounds, his glory with the heavens. 

From " Speech on the Age of Reason." 


Edmund Burke. 
In India, all the vices operate by which sudden fortune is acquired ; 
in England are often displayed by the same persons, the virtues which 
dispense hereditary wealth. Arrived in England, the destroyers of the 
nobility and gentry of a whole kingdom will find the best company in 
this nation, at a board of elegance and hospitality. Here the manufac- 
turer and husbandman will bless the just and punctual hand that in 
India has torn the cloth from the loom, or wrested the scanty portion 
of rice and salt from the peasant of Bengal, or wrung from him the 
very opium in which he forgot his oppressions and his oppressor. They 
marry into your families ; they enter into your senate ; they ease your 
estates by loans ; they raise their value by demands ; they cherish and 
protect your relations, which lie heavy on your patronage ; and there 
is scarcely a house in the kingdom that does not feel some concern and 
interest that makes all reform of our eastern government appear 
officious and disgusting ; and, on the whole, a most discouraging- 
attempt. In such an attempt you hurt those who are able to return 
kindness, or to resent injury. If you succeed, you save those who 
cannot so much as give you thanks. All these things show the diffi- 


culty of the work we have on hand : but they show its necessity too. 
Our Indian government is, in its best state, a grievance. It is aeoet- 
sary that the correctives should be uncommonly vigorous; and the 
work of men, sanguine, warm, and even impassioned in the cause. 
But it is an arduous thing to plead against abuses of a power which 
originates from your own country, and affects those whom we are used 
to consider as strangers. 

From " Speech on Mr. Fox's East India Bill." 


Charles Phillips. 

You have forced upon France a family to whom misfortune could 
teach no mercy, or experience wisdom ; vindictive in prosperity, servile 
in defeat, timid in the field, vacillating in the cabinet ; suspicion 
amongst themselves, discontent amongst their followers; their memories 
tenacious but of the punishments they had provoked ; their piety active 
but in subserviency to their priesthood ; and their power passive but 
in the subjugation of their people ! Such are the dynasties you have con- 
ferred on Europe. In the very act, that of enthroning three individuals 
of the same family, you have committed in politics a capital error. But 
Providence has countermined the ruin you were preparing; and whilst 
the impolicy prevents the chance, their impotency precludes the danger 
of a coalition. As to the rest of Europe, how has it been ameliorated ? 
What solitary benefit have the "deliverers" conferred? They have 
partitioned the states of the feeble to feed the rapacity of the powerful ; 
and after having alternately adored and deserted Napoleon, they have 
wreaked their vengeance on the noble, but unfortunate fidelity that 
spurned their example. Do you want proofs ; look to Saxony, look to 
Genoa, look to Norway, but, above all, to Poland ! that speaking monu- 
ment of regal murder and legitimate robbery: 

Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of time — 
Sarmatia fell — unwept — without a crime ! 

Here was an opportunity to recompense that brave, heroic, generous, 

martyred, and devoted people ; here was an opportunity to convince 

Jacobinism that crowns and crimes were not, of course, co-existent, and 

that the highway rapacity of one generation might be atoned by the 

penitential retribution of another ! 

From " Speech at Liverpool." 



T .: )MAS H. Bestos. 

The Puke of Orleans., a brave general in the republican armies, at 
the commencement of the Revolution. was handed to the throne by 
Lafayette, and became the " citizen king, surrounded by republican 
institutions." And in this Lafayette was consistent and sincere. He 
was a republican himself, but deemed a constitutional monarchy the 
proper government for France, and labored for that form in the person 
if Lc ais XVI. as well as in that of Louis Philippe. 

Loaded with honors, and with every feeling of his heart gratified in 
the noble reception he had met in the country of his adoption, Lafayette 
returned to the country of his birth the following summer, still as the 
guest of the United States, and under its flag. He was carried back in 
a national ship of war, the new frigate Brandywine — a delicate com- 
pliment (in the name and selection of the ship) from the new president, 
Mr. Adams. Lafayette having wet with his blood the sanguinary battle- 
field which takes its name from the little stream which gave it first to 
the field, and then to the frigate. Mr. Monroe, then a subaltern in the 
ice of the United States, was wounded at the same time. How 
honorable to themselves and to the American people, that nearly fifty 
ye its afterwards, they should again appear together, and in exalted 
station; one as president, inviting the other to the great republic, and 
signing the acts which testified a nation's gratitude; the other as a 
patriot hero, tried in the revolutions of two countries, and resplendent 
in the glory of virtuous and consistent fame. 

From. '■' Benton's Thirty Tears' flew." 


Joss M. Beeeisn. 

Whew, in obedience to the will of the legislature of Georgia, her 
chief magistrate had communicated to the president his determination 
:: survey the ceded territory, his right to do so was admitted. It vras 
declared by the president that the act would be " wholly" on the 
responsibility of the government of Georgia, and that '"the government 
of the United States would not be in any manner responsible for any 
consequences which might result from the measure." When his will- 
ingness to encounter this responsibility was announced, it was met by 
the declaration that the president would " not permit the survey to be 
made.'*' and he was referred to a major-general of the army of the United 
States, and one thousand regulars. 

The murder of Mcintosh — the defamation of the chief magistrate of 
Georgia — the menace . : military force to coerce her to submission — 
were followed by the traduction of two of her cherished citizens, em- 


ployed as the agents of the general government in negotiating the 
treatj — gentlemen whose integrity will not Bhrink from a comparison 
with that of the proudest and loftiest of their accusers. Then the 
sympathies of the people of the Union were excited in behalf of "the 
children of the forest," who were represented as indignantly spurning 
the gold which was ottered to entice them from the graves of their 
fathers, and resolutely determined never to abandon them. The inci- 
dents of the plot being thus prepared, the affair hasten to its con- 
Bummation. A new treaty is negotiated here — a pure and spottest 
treaty. The rights of Georgia and of Alabama arc sacrificed; the 
United States obtain a part of the land-, and pay double the amount 
Stipulated by the old treaty; and those poor and noble, and unsophis- 
ticated Bons of the forest, having succeeded in imposing on the simplicity 
of this government, next concert, under its eve, and with its knowL 
the means of defrauding their own constituents, the chiefs and warriors 

of the Creek nation. 

' </V Thirty )' 


Geoiig!: McDcffie. 
The days of Roman liberty were numbered when the people consented 
to receive bread from the public granaries. From that moment it was 
not the patriot who had shown the greatest capacity and made the 
greatest sacrifices to serve the republic, but the demagogue wdio would 
promise to distribute most profusely the spoils of the plundered 
vinces, that was elevated to office by a degenerate and mercenary 
populace. Everything became venal, even in the country of Fabricius, 
until finally the empire itself was sold at public auction ! And what, 
sir, is the nature and tendency of the system we are discussing? It 
bears an analogy, but too lamentably striking, to that which corrupted 
the republican purity of the Roman people. God forbid that it should 
consummate its triumph over the public liberty, by a similar catastrophe, 
though even that is an event by no means improbable, if we continue 
to legislate periodically in this way, and to connect the election of our 
chief magistrate with the question of dividing out the spoils of certain 
states — degraded into Roman provinces — among the influential capi- 
talists of the other states of this Union ! Sir, when I consider that, by 
a single act like the present, from five to ten millions of dollars may be 
transferred annually from one part of the community to another ; when 
I consider the disguise of disinterested patriotism under which the 
basest and most profligate ambition may perpetrate such an act of 
injustice and political prostitution, I cannot hesitate, for a moment, to 
pronounce this very system of indirect bounties the most stupendous 
instrument of corruption ever placed in the hands of public functionaries. 

From '• Benton's Thirty T^ar.<' FSpw." 



Lord Chatham. 

My lords, I have better hopes of the constitution, and a firmer con- 
fidence in the wisdom and constitutional authority of this house. It 
is to your ancestors, my lords, it is to the English barons, that we are 
indebted for the laws and constitution we possess. Their Yirtues were 
rude and uncultivated, but they were great and sincere. Their under- 
standings were as little polished as their manners, but they had hearts 
to distinguish right from wrong ; they had heads to distinguish truth 
from falsehood ; they understood the rights of humanity, and they had 
spirit to maintain them. 

My lords, I think that history has not done justice to their conduct, 
when they obtained from their sovereign, that great acknowledgment of 
national rights contained in Magna Charta : they did not confine it to 
themselves alone, but delivered it as a common blessing to the whole 
people. They did not say, these are the rights of the great barons, or 
these are the rights of the great prelates : — No, my lords ; they said, in 
the simple Latin of the times, nullus liber homo, and provided as care- 
fully for the meanest subject as for the greatest. These are uncouth 
words, and sound but poorly in the ears of scholars ; neither are they 
addressed to the criticism of scholars, but to the hearts of free men. 
These three words, nullus liber homo, have a meaning which interests 
us all : they deserve to be remembered — they deserve to be inculcated 
in our minds — they are worth all the classics. Let us not, then, 
degenerate from the glorious example of our ancestors. Those iron 
barons (for so I may call them when compared with the silken barons 
of modern days) were the guardians of the people ; yet their virtues, 
my lords, were never engaged in a question of such importance as the 
present. A breach has been made in the constitution — the battlements 
are dismantled — the citadel is open to the first invader — the walls 
totter — the constitution is not tenable. What remains, then, but for 
us to stand foremost in the breach, to repair it, or perish in it? 

From '''Speech on the Address to the Throne," 1770. 


Sir James IIcIxtosh. 
The French revolution began with great and fatal errors. These 
errors produced atrocious crimes. A mild and feeble monarchy was 
succeeded by bloody anarchy, which very shortly gave birth to military 
despotism. France, in a few years, described the whole circle of human 

All this was in the order of nature. When every principle of autho- 


rity and civil discipline, when every principle which enables some men 
to command and disposes others to obey, was extirpated from the mind 
by atrocious theories, and still more atrocious examples ; when every 
old institution was trampled down with contumely, and every new 
institution covered in its cradle with blood; when the principle of 
property itself, the sheet-anchor of society, was annihilated ; when in 
the persons of the new possessors, whom the poverty of language 
obliges us to call proprietors, it was contaminated in its source by 
robbery and murder, and it became separated from that education and 
those manners, from that general presumption of superior knowledge 
and more scrupulous probity which form its only liberal titles to 
respect; when the people were taught to despise everything old, and 
compelled to detest everything new ; there remained only one principle 
strong enough to hold society together, a principle utterly incompati- 
ble, indeed, with liberty, and unfriendly to civilization itself, a tyran- 
nical and barbarous principle; but, in that miserable condition of 
human affairs, a refuge from still more intolerable evils. I mean the 
principle of military power, which gains strength from that confusion 
and bloodshed in which all the other elements of society are dissolved, 
and which, in thc<e terrible extremities, is the cement that preserves it 
from total destruction. 

From " Speech on the Trial of Peltier.'' 


Lord Chatham. 
WnEx your lordships look at the papers transmitted us from 
America ; when you consider their decency, firmness, and wisdom, 
you cannot but respect their cause and wish to make it your own. For 
myself, I must declare and avow, that in all my reading and observa- 
tion — and it has been my favorite study — I have read Thucydides, and 
have studied and admired the master states of the world — that for 
solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion, 
under such a complication of difficult circumstances, no nation, or body 
of men, can stand in preference to the General Congress at Philadel- 
phia. I trust it is obvious to your lordships, that all attempts to 
impose servitude upon such men, to establish despotism over such a 
mighty continental nation, must be vain, must be fatal. We shall be 
forced ultimately to retract ; let us retract while we can, not when we 
must. I say we must necessarily undo these violent oppressive acts ; 
they must be repealed — you will repeal them ; I pledge myself for it, 
that you will in the end repeal them ; I stake my reputation on it — I 
will consent to be taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed. 
Avoid, then, this humiliating, disgraceful necessity. With a dignity 


becoming your exalted situation, make the first advances to concord, to 
peace and happiness ; for that is your true dignity, to act with pru- 
dence and justice. That you should first concede, is obvious, from 
sound and rational policy. Concession comes with better grace and 
more salutary effect from superior power. It reconciles superiority of 
power with the feelings of men, and establishes solid confidence on the 
foundations of affection and gratitude. 

From " Speech on Removing the Troops from Boston" 1770. 



The prison of this town will present, on Monday next, a very afflicting 
spectacle. Before the prisoner ascends the vehicle which is to convey 
him for transportation to Cork, he will be allowed to take leave of his 
wife and children. She will cling to his bosom; and while her arms are 
folded round his neck — while she sobs, in the agony of anguish, on his 
breast — his children, who used to climb his knees in playful emulation 
for his caresses *__*_*_—*** I will not go on with this dis- 
tressing picture — your own emotions will complete it. The pains of 
this poor man will not end at the threshold of his prison. He will be 
conveyed in a vessel, freighted with affliction, across the ocean, and 
will be set on the lonely and distant land from which he will depart no 
more : the thoughts of home will haunt him, and adhere with a deadly 
tenacity to his heart. He will mope about in a deep and settled sor- 
row — he will have no incentive to exertion, for he will have bidden fare- 
well to hope. The instruments of labor will hang idly in his hands — 
he will go through his task without a consciousness of what he is doing. 
Thus every day will go by, and at its close, his sad consolation will be 
to stand on the shore, and, fixing his eyes in that direction in which he 
will have been taught that his country lies, if not in the language, he 
will, at least, exclaim, in the sentiments which have been so simply and 
so pathetically expressed in the song of exile : — 

" Erin, my country, though sad and forsaken, 

In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; 
But, alas ! in far foreign lands I awaken, 

And sigh for the friends that can meet me no more. 
"Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood, 

Sisters and sire, did you weep for its fall, 
Where is the mother that looked on my childhood, 

And where is the bosom-friend dearer than all ?" 

From " Speech at the Clonmel Aggregate Meeting," 1829. 



Riciiard L.u.on Srinit. 

Let there be an end to national animosities AS well as to sectarian 
detestations. Perish the bad theology, which, with an impious con- 
e, makes God according to man's image, and with infernal passions 
tills the heart of man ! Perish the had, the narrow, the pemicions 
sentiments, which, for the genuine love of country, institutes a feeling 
of despotic domination upon your part, and of provincial turbulence 
upon ours; — and while upon pseudo-religion and pseudo-patriotism I 
pronounce my denunciation, live (let me be permitted to pray) the 
spirit of philanthropic, forbearing, forgiving Christianity amongst us! 
and, combined with it, live the lofty love of country, which associates 
the welfare of both islands with the glory of this majestic empire — 
which, superior to the small passions that ought to be as ephemeral as 
the incidents of which they were born, acts in conformity with the 
imperial policy of William Pitt, and the marvellous disc ivery of James 
Watt — sees the legislation of the one ratified by the science of the 
other, and, of the project of the son of Chatham, in the invention of 
the mighty mechanist, beholds the consummation. 

From " Speech on the Irish Reform Bill," 1836. 


Richard Lalor Sheil. 
You will not consign him to the spot to which the attorney-general 
invites you to surrender him. When the spring shall have come again, 
and the winter shall have passed — when the spring shall have come 
again, it is not through the windows of a prison-house that the father 
of such a son, and the son of such a father, shall look upon those green 
hills on which the eyes of many a captive have gazed so wistfully in 
vain, but in their own mountain home again they shall listen to the 
murmurs of the great Atlantic ; they shall go forth and inhale the 
freshness of the morning air together ; " they shall be free of mountain 
solitudes ;" they will be encompassed with the loftiest images of liberty 
upon every side ; and if time shall have stolen its suppleness from the 
father's knee, or impaired the firmness of his tread, he shall lean on 
the child of her that watches over him from heaven, and shall look out 
from some high place far and wide into the island whose greatness and 
whose glory shall be for ever associated with his name. In your love 
of justice — in your love of Ireland — in your love of honesty and fair 
play — I place my confidence. I ask you for an acquittal, not only for 
the sake of your country, but for your own. Upon the day when this 
trial shall have been brought to a termination, when, amidst the hush 


of public expectancy, in answer to the solemn interrogatory which 
shall be put to you by the officer of the court, you shall answer, " Not 
guilty," with what a transport will that glorious negative be welcomed ! 
How will you be blest, adored, worshipped ; and when retiring from 
this scene of excitement and of passion, you shall return to your own 
tranquil homes, how pleasurably will you look upon your children, in 
the consciousness that you will have left them a patrimony of peace by 
impressing upon the British cabinet, that some other measure besides 
a state prosecution is necessary for the pacification of your country ! 

From " Speech in the, Court of Queen's Bench," 1843. 


Rufus Choate. 
One splendid effort has been made to lay hold of the West and 
North-west. One more may be undertaken, and there is no more 
afterwards to be made. Sir, if the East, if Maine, if that large but 
desert territory away up under the North Star, her coast iron bound, 
her soil sterile, her winters cold — if Maine needs two ocean communi- 
cations, do you think that the Great West will not pay for two only ? 
Yet two are all that can be considered practicable. And the last of 
these two is to be accomplished by you, or not at all. These are the 
opportunities that make me regret my want of participation in public 

" Non equidem invideo, miror magis." 

You remember that passage in which a great English statesman, on 
the verge of the grave, so pertinently expressed himself, that he " would 
not give a peck of refuse wheat for all that there is of fame or honor 
in this world." That sentiment may be a true one. But to connect 
ourselves with an act of public utility, to do an act that shall stand out 
clear and distinct among all the aggregate of acts that have made 
Massachusetts what she has become, to rivet one more chain that 
shall bind the East to the free North-west for ever, to contribute to a 
policy that shall make it quite certain that if the great Central Con- 
stellation is to be placed over the sky, New England shall claim its 
share in the brightness — this is worth far more than all for which 
ambition has ever sighed ; and this, Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, is 
permitted to-day to you. 

From " Speech in a Railroad Case," 1850. 

14* L 




The good judge should be profoundly learned in all the learning of 
the law, and he must know h<>\\ to use that Learning. Will any one 
stand up here to deny this? In this day, boastful, glorious lor its 
advancing popular, professional, scientific, and all education, will any 
one disgrace himself by doubting the necessity of deep and continued 

studies, and various and thorough attainments, to tin- bench? II' 1 i- 

to know not merely the law which yon make and the Legislature ma 
not constitutional and statute law alone, but that other, ampler, that 
boundless jurisprudence, the common law. which tin' successive gene- 
rations of the state have silently built up; that old code of freedom 
which we brought with us in the Mayflower and Arabella, but which 
in the progress of centuries we have ameliorated and enriched and 
adapted wisely to the necessities of a busy, prosperous, and wealthy 
community, — that he must know. And where to find it'.' In volumes 
which you must count by hundreds, by thousands; filling Libraries; 
exacting long Labors; the labors of a lifetime, abstracted from busi- 
ness, from politics; but assisted by taking part in an active judicial 
administration ; Buch labors a- produced the wisdom and won the fame 
of Parsons, and Marshall, ami Kent, and Story, and Holt, and .Man- 
field. If your system of appointment and tenure does not present a 
motive, a help for such labors and such learning; it" it discourage-, if 
it disparages them, in so far it is a failure. 

From ' (ton." 


Hit us Cuoate. 
Ix the next place, he must be a man, not merely upright, not merely 
honest and well-intentioned — this of course— but a man who will not 
respect persons in judgment. And does not every one here agree to 
this also ? Dismissing, for a moment, all theories about the mode of 
appointing him, or the time for which he shall hold office, sure I am, 
we all demand, that as far as human virtue, assisted by the best con- 
trivances of human wisdom, can attain to it, he shall not respect persons 
in judgment. He shall know nothing about the parties, everything about 
the ease. He shall do everything for justice, nothing for himself, nothing 
for his friend, nothing for his patron, nothing for his sovereign. If on 
the one side is the executive power, and the legislature, and the people — 
the sources of his honors, the givers of his daily bread — and on the other, 
an individual nameless and odious, his eye is to see neither great nor 
small : attending only to the " trepidations of the balance. " If a law 


is passed by a unanimous legislature, clamored for by the general voice 
of the public, and a cause is before him on it in which the whole com- 
munity is on one side, and an individual nameless or odious on the 
other, and he believes it to be against the Constitution, he must so 
declare it, or there is no judge. If Athens comes there to demand that 
the cup of hemlock be put to the lips of the wisest of men, and he 
believes that he has not corrupted the youth, nor omitted to worship the 
gods of the city, nor introduced new divinities of his own, he must deliver 
him, though the thunder light on the unterrified brow. 

From " Speech in Massachusetts Convention.'' 


T. F. Marshall, 

The exterior states are the bulwarks of her safety — the impregnable 
fortresses which break the storm of war, and keep far distant from her 
borders its ravage and its horrors. She views them as such, and regards 
their rights, their safety, and their liberty as her own. She is one of a 
system of nerves which vibrate at the least touch from without from the 
remotest extremity to the centre. The frontier of New York is her 
frontier ; the Atlantic seaboard is her seaboard ; and the millions ex- 
pended in fortifying the one or the other, she regards as expended for 
her defence. A blow aimed at New York is a blow aimed at herself; an 
indignity or an outrage inflicted upon any state in this Union, is inflicted 
upon the whole and upon each. To submit to such were to sacrifice 
her independence and her freedom — to make all other blessings value- 
less, all other property insecure. Not all the unsettled domain of the 
Union, in full property and jurisdiction, could bribe her to such a 
sacrifice. The blood she has shed on the snows of Canada and in the 
swamps of Louisiana, give ample testimony to her readiness to meet 
danger at a distance. She seeks no separate destiny ; she feels no 
interest alien from the common country. She wants this money to 
strengthen herself, and, by strengthening herself, to make the whole 
country stronger and better able to maintain any future conflict in 
which its interests or its safety may involve it. 

From '•' Speech on the Land Bffl ; " 1841. 


T. F. Marshall. 
Men have been known to fight for their religion and their franchises. 
John Huss was an obscure professor in a German university. The 
Emperor Sigismund, when he burnt him at Constance, little dreamed 


that from the ashes of the friendless martyr there would rise the flamea 
of a war in Bohemia which would shake the Austrian power, and deso- 
late Germany through long years of suffering and of blood. If the 
persecuting temper of the sixteenth century is to be renewed here, if 
American Protestantism so far forgets its genius and its mission, u to 
aid in rekindling the religious wars of that terrible period in quest of 
vengeance for the gone centuries of wrong, religion will suffer most. 
True Christianity will veil her face and seek the shade, till better 
times. Men will be divided between a sullen and sordid fanaticism 
on the one side, and a scoffing infidelity on the other. Our national 
characteristics will be lost. American civilization will have changed 
its character. Our Federal Union will have sacrificed its distinctive 
traits, and we shall have exhibited a failure in the principles with 
which our government commenced its career, at which hell itself might 
exult in triumph. 

From".tye>< . A'y," 1855. 


Alexander Hamilton. 
There is one transcendent advantage belonging to the province of 
state governments, which alone suffices to place the matter in a clear 
and satisfactory light — I mean the ordinary administration of criminal 
and civil justice. This, of all others, is the most powerful, most uni- 
versal, and most attractive source of popular obedience and attachment. 
It is this, which, being the immediate and visible guardian of life and 
property ; having its benefits and its terrors in constant activity before 
the public eye ; regulating all those personal interests, and familiar 
concerns, to which the sensibility of individuals is more immediately 
awake ; contributes, more than any other circumstance, to impress upon 
the minds of the people affection, esteem, and reverence towards the 
government. This great cement of society, which will diffuse itself 
almost wholly through the channels of the particular governments, 
independent of all other causes of influence, would insure them so 
decided an empire over their respective citizens, as to render them at 
all times a complete counterpoise, and not unfrequent dangerous rivals 
to the power of the union. 

From " Tfte Federalist." 


Alexander Hamilton. 
The constitution is itself, in every rational sense, and to every useful 
purpose, a bill of rights. The several bills of rights in Great Britain, 


form its constitution, and conversely the constitution of each state is its 
bill of rights. In like manner the proposed constitution, if adopted, 
will be the bill of rights of the Union. Is it one object of a bill of 
rights to declare and specify the political privileges of the citizens in the 
structure and administration of the government? This is done in the 
most ample and precise manner in the plan of the convention ; com- 
prehending various precautions for the public security, which are not to 
be found in any of the state constitutions. Is another object of a bill 
of rights to define certain immunities and modes of proceeding, which 
are relative to personal and private concerns ? This we have seen has 
also been attended to, in a variety of cases, in the same plan. Advert- 
ing therefore to the substantial meaning of a bill of rights, it is absurd 
to allege that it is not to be found in the work of the convention. It 
may be said that it does not go far enough, though it will not be easy 
to make this appear ; but it can with no propriety be contended that 
there is no such thing. It certainly must be immaterial what mode is 
observed as to the order of declaring the rights of the citizens, if they 
are provided for in any part of the instrument which establishes the 
government : whenco it must be apparent, that much of what has been 
said on this subject rests merely on verbal and nominal distinctions, 

entirely foreign to the substance of the thing. 

From " The Federalist." 


James Madison. 
If the new constitution be examined with accuracy and candor, it 
will be found that the change which it proposes, consists much less in 
the addition of new powers to the Union than in the invigoration of its 
original powers. The regulation of commerce, it is true, is a new 
power ; but that seems to be an addition which few oppose, and from 
which no apprehensions are entertained. The powers relating to war 
and peace, armies and fleets, treaties and finance, with the other more 
considerable powers, are all vested in the existing Congress by the Arti- 
cles of Confederation. The proposed change does not enlarge these 
powers ; it only substitutes a more effectual mode of administering 
them. The change relating to taxation may be regarded as the most 
important ; and yet the present Congress have as complete authority to 
require of the states indefinite supplies of money for the common 
defence and general welfare, as the future Congress will have to require 
them of individual citizens ; and the latter will be no more bound than 
the states themselves have been, to pay the quotas respectively taxed on 
them. Had the states complied punctually with the Articles of Confed- 
eration, or could their compliance have been enforced by as peaceable 


means as may bo used with Bucoess towards single persons, <>ur past 
experience is very far from countenancing an opinion, thai the state 
governments would have lost their constitutional powers, and have 
gradually undergone an entire consolidation. To maintain thai such 

an event would have ensued, would be, to say at once, thai the existence 
of the state governments is incompatible with any Bystem whatever, that 

accomplishes the essential purposes of the Union. 

From " The FedcraUttr 


Abb£ Facchet. 

Franklin did not omit any of the means of being useful to men, or 
serviceable to society. He spoke to all conditions, to both sexes, to 
every age. This amiable moralist descended, in his writings, to tin- 
most artless details ; to the most ingenuous familiarities; to the first 
ideas of a rural, a commercial, and a civil life; to the dialogues of old 
men and children ; full at once of all the verdure and all the maturity 
of wisdom. In short, the prudent lessons arising from the exposition 
of those obscure happy, easy virtues, which form BO many links in the 
chain of a good man's life, derived immense weight from that reputa- 
tion for genius which he had acquired, by being one of the first natural- 
ists and greatest philosophers in the universe. 

At one and the same time, he governed nature in the heavens and in 
the hearts of men. Amidst the tempests of the atmosphere, he directed 
the thunder ; amidst the storms of society, he directed the passions. 
Think, gentlemen, with what attentive docility, with what religious 
respect, one must hear the voice of a simple man, who preached up 
human happiness, when it was recollected that it was the powerful 
voice of the same man who regulated the lightning. 

He electrified the consciences, in order to extract the destructive fire 
of vice, exactly in the same manner as he electrified the heavens, in 
order peaceably to invite from them the terrible fire of the elements. 

Venerable old man ! august philosopher ! legislator of the felicity of 
thy country, prophet of the fraternity of the human race, what ecstatic 
happiness embellished the end of thy career ! From thy fortunate 
asylum, and in the midst of thy brothers who enjoyed in tranquillity 
the fruit of thy virtues, and the success of thy genius, thou hast sung 
songs of deliverance. The last looks, which thou didst cast around 
thee, beheld America happy ; France, on the other side of the ocean, 
free, and a sure indication of the approaching freedom and happiness 
of the world. 

Pronounced in Paris, 1790. 



Charles James Fox, 

Every blow you strike in America is against yourselves ; it is against 
all idea of reconciliation, and against your own interest, though you 
should be able, as you never will be, to force them to submit. Every 
stroke against France is of advantage to you : America must be con- 
quered in France ; France never can be conquered in America. 

The war of the Americans is a war of passion ; it is of such a nature 
as to be supported by the most powerful virtues, love of liberty and of 
their country ; and, at the same time, by those passions in the human 
heart which give courage, strength, and perseverance to man ; the 
spirit of revenge for the injuries you have done them; of retaliation 
for the hardships you have inflicted on them ; and of opposition to the 
unjust powers you have exercised over them. Everything combines to 
animate them to this war, and such a war is without end ; for whatever 
obstinacy, enthusiasm ever inspired man with, you will now find in 
America. No matter what gives birth to that enthusiasm ; whether 
the name of religion or of liberty, the effects are the same ; it inspires 
a spirit which is unconquerable, and solicitous to undergo difficulty, 
danger, and hardship : and as long as there is a man in America, a 
being formed such as we are, you will have him present himself against 

you in the field. 

From " Speech in Parliament," 1778. 


Lord Brougham. 

The Reign of Terror, under which no life was secure for a day ; the 
wholesale butcheries, both of the prisoners in September, and by the 
daily executions that soon followed ; the violence of the conscription, 
which filled every family with orphans and widows ; the profligate des- 
potism and national disasters under the Directory ; the military tyranny 
of Napoleon ; the sacrifice of millions to slake his thirst of conquest ; 
the invasion of France by foreign troops — pandours, hussars, cossacks, 
twice revelling in the spoils of Paris ; the humiliating occupation of 
the country for five years by the allied armies, and her ransom by the 
payment of millions ; — these were the consequences, more or less re- 
mote, of the Reign of Terror, which so burnt into the memory of all 
Frenchmen the horrors of anarchy, as to make an aversion to change 
for a quarter of a century the prevailing characteristic of a people not 
the least fickle among the nations, and to render a continuance of any 
yoke bearable, compared with the perils of casting it off. All these 
evils were the price paid by the respectable classes of France, but espe- 


cially of Paris, for their unworthy dread of resisting the clubs and the 
mob in 1792. 

From " Eminent Statesmen." 



My lasting sorrow for the loss we have sustained is made deeper, by 
the regret that those lamented friends live DOt to witness the punish- 
ment of that foul conduct which they solemnly denounced. The petty 
tyrant, to whom the noble lord delivered over that ancient and gallant 
people, almost as soon as they had, at his call, joined the standard of 
national independence, has since subjected them to the most rigOTOQI 
provisions <>f his absurd code; a code directed especially against the 
commerce of this country, and actually less unfavorable to France. 

Thus, then, it appears that after all, in public as well as in private, 
in state affairs as well as in the concerns of the most humble indivi- 
duals, the old maxim cannot Bafely be forgotten, that "honesty i- the 
best policy." In vain did the noble lord ilatter himself that his sub- 
serviency to the unrighteous system of the Congress would secure him 
the adherence of the courts whom he made his idols. If he had aban- 
doned that false, foreign system, if he had acted upon the principles 
of the nation whom he represented, and stood forward as the advocate 
of the people, the people would have becu grateful. He preferred the 
interests and wishes of the courts; and by the courts he is treated with 
their wonted neglect. To his crimes against the people, all over Eu- 
rope ; to his invariable surrender of their cause; to his steady refusal 
of the protection which they had a right to expect, and which they did 
expect, from the manly and generous character of England, it is owing, 
that if at this moment you traverse the Continent, in any direction 
whatever, you may trace the noble lord's career in the curses of the 
nations whom he has betrayed, and the mockery of the courts who have 
inveigled him to be their dupe. 

From " Speech in Parliament." 


R. L. Sheil. 

There is, however, one man of great abilities, not a member of this 
house (Lord Lyndhurst), but whose talents and whose boldness have 
placed him in the topmost place in his party — who, disdaining all 
imposture, and thinking it the best course to appeal directly to the reli- 
gious and national antipathies of the people of this country — abandon- 


ing all reserve, and flinging off the slender veil by which his political 
associates affect to cover, although they cannot hide, their motives — 
distinctly and audaciously tells the Irish people that they are not enti- 
tled to the same privileges as Englishmen ; and prononnces them, in 
any particular which could enter his minute enumeration of the circum- 
stances by which fellow-citizenship is created, in race, identity, and 
religion — to be aliens — to be aliens in race — to be aliens in country — 
to be aliens in religion. Aliens! good God! was Arthur, Duke of 
"Wellington, in the House of Lords, and did he not start up and exclaim, 
" Hold ! I have seen the aliens do their duty" ? The Duke of Welling- 
ton is not a man of an excitable temperament. His mind is of a cast 
too martial to be easily moved ; but, notwithstanding his habitual 
inflexibility, I cannot help thinking that when he heard his Roman 
Catholic countrymen (for we are his countrymen) designated by a 
phrase as offensive as the abundant vocabulary of his eloquent con- 
federate could supply — I cannot help thinking that he ought to have 
recollected the many fields of fight in which we have been contributors 
to his renown. "The battles, sieges, fortunes that he has passed," 
ought to have come back upon him. He ought to have remembered that, 
from the earliest achievement in which he displayed that military 
genius which has placed him foremost in the annals of modern war- 
fare, down to that last and surpassing combat which has made his 
name imperishable — from Assaye to Waterloo — the Irish soldiers, with 
whom your armies are filled, were the inseparable auxiliaries to the 
glory with which his unparalleled successes have been crowned. Whose 
were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera through the pha- 
lanxes that never reeled in the shock of war before ? What desperate 
valor climbed the steeps and filled the moats at Badajos? All his 
victories should have rushed and crowded back upon his memory — 
Vimiera, Badajos, Salamanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and, last of all the 

greatest . Tell me, for you were there — I appeal to the gallant 

soldier before me (Sir Henry Hardinge,) from whose opinions I differ, 
but who bears, I know, a generous heart in an intrepid breast ; — tell 
me, for you must needs remember — on that day when the destinies of 
mankind were trembling in the balance — while death fell in showers 
— when the artillery of France was levelled with a precision of the 
most deadly science — when her legions, incited by the voice, and 
inspired by the example of their mighty leader, rushed again and 
again to the onset — tell me if, for an instant, when, to hesitate for an 
instant was to be lost, the " aliens" blenched ? And when at length 
the moment for the last and decisive movement had arrived, and the 
valor which had so long been wisely checked, was at last let loose — 
when, with words familiar, but immortal, the great captain com- 
manded the great assault — till me, if Catholic Ireland, with less heroic 


valor than the natives of this your own uiitry. pr< 

herself upon the foe? The 1.1 S land, and of Ireland, 

flowed in the & an, and drenched th< ■'• n the 

chill morning dawned, their dead lay oold an r ; — in x 1 i *- 

same deep pit their bodies were deposited — t! rn of sprii 

now breaking from their commingled <lu-t — the dew falls from hi 
upon their union in -the grave. Partakers in every peril — in the glory 
-hall we not be permitted to participate; and shall we he told, M ■ 
requital, that we are estranged from the noble country for whose salva- 
tion our life-blood was poured out'.' 

From " Speech on Vu. Irish Municipal Bill." 


Hexbt Clat. 

Allow me, Mr. President, to announce, formally and officially, 
my retirement from the Senate of the United State.-, and to pr 
the last motion which I shall ever make within this body; but, 
before making that motion, I trust I shall be pardoned for availing 
!f of this occasion to make a fa i my 

entry into this body, which took place in December, l v 1 r warded 
it, and still regard it, as a body which may be compared, without 
disadvantage, to any of a similar character which has exi.-ted in ancient 
or modern times ; whether we look at it in reference to its dignit 
powers, or the mode of its constitution ; and I will also add, whether 
it be regarded in reference to the amount of ability which I shall leave 
behind me when I retire from this chamber. In instituting a compa- 
rison between the Senate of the United States and similar political 
institutions, of other countries, of France and England, for example, 
I am sure the comparison might be made without disadvantage to 
the American Senate. In respect to the constitution of these bodies: 
in England, with only the exception of the peers from Ireland and 
Scotland, and in France with no exception, the component parts, the 
members of these bodies, hold their places by virtue of no delegated 
authority, but derive their powers from the crown, either by ancient 
creation of nobility transmitted by force of hereditary descent, or by 
new patents as occasion required an increase of their numbers. But 
here, Mr. President, we have the proud title of being the representa- 
tives of sovereign states or commonwealths. If we look at the powers 
of these bodies in France and England, and the powers of this Senate, 
we shall find that the latter are far greater than the former. In both 
those countries they have the legislative power, in both the judicial 
with some modifications, and in both perhaps a more extensive judicial 


power than is possessed by this Senate; but then the vast and unde- 
fined and undefinable power, the treaty-making power, or at least a 
participation in the conclusions of treaties with foreign powers, is 
possessed by this Senate, and is possessed by neither of the others. 
Another power, too, and one of infinite magnitude, that of distributing 
the patronage of a great nation, which is shared by this Senate with 
the executive magistrate. In both these respects we stand upon ground 
different from that occupied by the Houses of Peers of England and 
of France. And I repeat, that with respect to the dignity which 
ordinarily prevails in this body, and with respect to the ability of its 
members during the long period of my acquaintance with it, without 
arrogance or presumption, we may say, in proportion to its numbers, 
the comparison would not be disadvantageous to us compared with any 
Senate either of ancient or modern times. 

From '■' Benton's Thirty Years' View." 


Jefferson Davis. 

Sir, it was not alone in the United States that the military move- 
ments and achievements on the Rio Grande were viewed with admira- 
tion. The greatest captain of the age, the Duke of Wellington, the 
moment he saw the positions taken and the combinations made upon 
the Rio Grande, — the moment he saw the communication opened 
between the depot at Point Isabel and the garrison at Fort Brown, by 
that masterly movement of which the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca 
de la Palma were a part, — exclaimed, that General Taylor is a general 
indeed. And yet, sir, all history is to be rewritten, all the rapture and 
pride of the country at the achievements upon those bloody fields are 
to disappear, and the light of science to pale before the criticism of that 
senator by whom we are told that a little band of mounted riflemen 
could have done that which cost so many American lives and hecatombs 
of Mexicans. 

I have spoken thus as a simple duty, not from any unkindness to the 
senator, but that I might do justice to many of my comrades, whose 
dust now mingles with the earth upon which they fought — that I might 
not leave unredressed the wrongs of the buried dead. I have endeavored 
to suppress all personal feeling, though the character of the attack upon 
my friend and general might have pardoned its indulgence. It is true 
that sorrow sharpens memory, and that many deeds of noblest self- 
sacrifice, many tender associations, rise now vividly before me. I 
remember the purity of his character, his vast and varied resources ; 
and I remember how the good and great qualities of his heart were 


equally and jointly exhibited when he took the immense responsibility 
under which he acted at the battle of Baena Vista, foughl after he had 
been recommended by his to Monterey. 

Arouud him stood those whose lives were in his charge, whose 
mothers, fathers, wives, and children would look to him for their 
return: those were there who had shared his fortunes on other fields ; 
Home who, never having seen a battle, were eager for the combat, 
without knowing how direful it would be; immediately about him 
those loving and beloved, and reposing Buch confidence in their com- 
mander that they hut waited his heck and will to do and dare. On 
him, and on him alone, rested the responsibility. It was in his power 
to avoid it by retiring to Monterey, there to he invested and captured, 
and then justify himself under his instructions. He would not do it. 
but cast all upon the die, resolved to maintain his country's honor, and 
save his country's flag from trailing in the dust of the enemy he had 90 
often beaten, or close the conqueror's career as became the soldier. His 
purpose never wavered, hie determination never faltered: his country's 
honor to be untarnished, his country's Hag to triumph, or for himself 
to find an honorable grave, was the only alternative he considi 
Under these circumstances, on the morning of the 213(1 of February, 
that glorious but bloody conflict commenced. It won for him a chaplet 
that it would be a disgrace for an American to mutilate, and which it 
were an idle attempt to adorn. I leave it to a grateful country, which 
i> conscious of his services, and possesses a discrimination that is not 
to be confounded by the assertions of any, however high their position. 

From '• Speech in the & note." 


Stephex A. Douglas. 
All officers and magistrates, under the federal and state govern- 
ments, — executive, legislative, judicial, and ministerial, — arc required 
to take an oath to support the constitution, before they can enter upon 
the performance of their respective duties. Every person born under 
the constitution owes allegiance to it ; and every naturalized citizen 
takes an oath to support it. Fidelity to the constitution is the only 
passport to the enjoyment of rights under it. When a senator elect 
presents his credentials, he is not allowed to take his seat until he 
places his hand upon the holy evangelists, and appeals to his God for 
the sincerity of his vow to support the constitution. He who does this 
with a mental reservation, or secret intention to disregard any provi- 
sion of the constitution, commits a double crime — is morally guilty of 
perfidy to his God and treason to his country. 


If the constitution of the United States is to be repudiated upon the 
ground that it is repugnant to the divine law, where are the friends of 
freedom and Christianity to look for another and a better ? Who is to 
be the prophet to reveal trie will of God and establish a theocracy 
for us ? 

I will not venture to inquire what are to be the form and principles 
of the new government, or to whom is to be intrusted the execution of 
its sacred functions ; for, when we decide that the wisdom of our revo- 
lutionary fathers was foolishness, and their piety wickedness, and 
destroy the only system of self-government that has ever realized the 
hopes of the friends of freedom, and commanded the respect of man- 
kind, it becomes us to wait patiently until the purposes of the latter 
day saints shall be revealed unto us. 

For my part, I am prepared to maintain and preserve inviolate the 
constitution as it is, with all its compromises ; to stand or fall by the 
American Union, clinging with the tenacity of life to all its glorious 
memories of the past and precious hopes of the future. 

From " Original Sermons." 


J. J. Crittenden. 

Thank God, the danger of this war has passed by, and we have, as 
I believe, an almost certain assurance of reconciliation and peace with 
France. Such an issue of this controversy cannot be regarded other- 
wise than as a matter of public congratulation. If war had been its 
result, I should have contributed all that was in my humble power to 
render my country successful in that war. War of itself would have 
been a sufficient reason for me to take my country's side, without 
reference to its cause. But, sir, I must confess that I should have been 
most loth to witness any such war as that with which we have been 

A war with whom, and for what ? A war with France, our first, our 
ancient ally, whose blood flowed for us, and with our own, in the great 
struggle that gave us our freedom and made us a nation. A war for 
money ! a petty, paltry sum of money ! I know of no instance, cer- 
tainly none among the civilized nations of modern times, of a war 
waged for such an object; and if it be among the legitimate causes of 
war, it is surely the most inglorious of them all. It can afford but 
little of that generous inspiration which in a noble cause gives to war 
its magnanimity and its glory. War for money must ever be an igno- 
ble strife. On its barren fields the laurel cannot flourish. In the sordid 
contest but little honor can be won, and Victory herself is almost 
despoiled of her triumph. 


If we should attempt by war to compel France to pay the money in 

question, none who know the two n;iii OS ran doubt but the <• 

would be fierce, bloody, and obstinate. Suppose, however, thai our 
success is such as finally to enable us to*dictate terms to France, and 
to oblige her to pay the money. Imagine, Mr. President, that the 
little purse, the prise of war and carnage, is at Last obtained. There it 
r, stained with the blond of Americans, and of Frenchmen, their 
ancient friends. Could you, sir, behold or pocket that bloodrstained 
purse without some emotions of pain and 


You say that the legislature ought to be a Christian legislature j 

that the parliament ought to be a Christian parliament; but do you 
not say that the nation is a Christian nation, and that the British 
people arc a Christian people? Why, in the same sense in which you 
Bay that the nation te a Christian nation, though there may be thirty 
thousand .Jews among them, you might say that the parliament was a 
Christian parliament, although, among the six hundred and fifr. 
members of the House of Commons, there might be si - pro- 

ng the Jewish religion. I therefore wish that this ground of 
argument were not taken by those whose object it is to prevent the 
Jews entering into parliament ; because the general character of the 
parliament must depend, now, as in former times, on the sentiments 
of the people at large, and on the sentiments of those who represent 
them ; and it is not by inserting seven words in an act of parliament, — 
it is not by a mechanical contrivance of this kind, — that you can secure 
religious obligation. 

If I am asked what are the prevailing reasons for the motion that I 
propose, I appeal, in the first place, to the constitution of these realms ; 
I appeal to that constitution which is intended to give to every man 
those rewards, that honor, that estimation to which his character and 
talents may entitle him. I appeal to that constitution which is the 
enemy of restriction or disqualification ; to that constitution which, by 
the abrogation of the laws existing a few years ago, has put an end 
even to those cases of exception which our ancestors thought, upon the 
ground of imminent danger to the state and church, they were justified 
in imposing. I ask you, in the name of that constitution, to take away 
this last remnant of religious persecution, to show that you are not 
influenced by the numbers or terrors that might make that which was 
an act of political justice, an act of political necessity. I ask you, in 
the name of that constitution, to admit the Jews to all the privileges, 
to all the rights, of which those who are not excluded from them, are 


so justly proud ; and, let me tell you, that you cannot judge of the 
feelings of those who are excluded, by the number of those who might 
wish for seats in parliament, or who might aspire to hold office under 
the crown. Many a man who would not seek for either, would be 
content to pass his days in obscurity, and would wish for no other 
advantages than those of private life ; but he feels the galling degra- 
dation, the brand that is imposed upon him, when he is told that men 
of all other classes, men of the Established Church, Protestant dissent- 
ers and Roman Catholics, may all enter within these walls, may all 
enjoy those advantages; but that he belongs to a sect which, by the 
law and constitution, is proscribed and degraded. 

But I would make a still higher appeal. I would make an appeal to 
the principles of that Christianity which has so long been the law of 
the land. I appeal to you, then, in the name of that religion which is 
a religion of charity and love, "to do unto others as you would they 
should do unto you." — I ask you why it is, that, when we are taught 
by examples and parables, that we ought to love our neighbors, it is 
not priests or Levites who are singled out as instances for our approba- 
tion and admiration ; but it is one of a proscribed sect, — one who 
belonged to what was then the refuse of all nations ? I ask why is it 
that we are taught that all men are brothers, — that there is no part of 
the human race, however divided from us by feelings or color, that 
ought to be separated from us ? but that all belong to the family of 
man, and ought to be loved as brothers. I ask you, therefore, in the 
name of that constitution which is the constitution of freedom, of 
liberty, and of justice, — I ask you in the name of that religion which 
is the religion of peace and good will towards men, — to agree to the 
motion which I have the honor to make, " That the House should 
resolve itself into a committee on the removal of the civil and political 
disabilities affecting her Majesty's Jewish subjects.-" 

From " Speech in Parliament." 



I believe there is the hand of God in history. You assigned a 
place in this hall of freedom to the memory of Chatham, for having 
been just to America, by opposing the stamp act, which awoke your 
nation to resistance. 

Now the people of England thinks as once Pitt, the elder, thought, 
and honors, with deep reverence, the memory of your Washington. 

But suppose the England of Lord Chatham's time had thought as 
Chatham did: and his burning words had moved the English aristoc- 


racy to be jus! towards the colonies; those four men there, bad not 
signed your country's independence; Washington were perhaps ;i 
name ''unknown, anhonored, and unsung;" and this proud constella- 
tion of your glorious stars, had perhaps not yet risen on mankind's 
sky, — instead of being now about b the sun of freedom. Ii is 

thus Providence 

Let me hope. Bir, that Hungary's unmerited fate was necessary in 
order that your stars Bhould become such B sun. 

Sir, I stand, perhaps, upon the very spot where your Washington 
i. — a Becond Cincinnatus, consummating the greatest act of his 
life. The walls which now listen to my humble words, Listened 
to the words of his republican virtue, immortal by their very mo I 
Let me, upon this .-acred spot, express my confident belief that if he 
stood here now, he would tell you that his prophecy is fulfilled; that 
you are mighty enough to defy any p *wer on earth, in a just cause ; 

and he w old tell you that there never was, and never will be, a cause 

more just than the cause of Bungary, being, as it is, the causi 
Oppressed humanity. 

Sir. I thank the Senate of -Maryland, in my country's name, for t!.'' 
honor of your generous welcome. Sir, I entreat the Senate kindly to 
remember my downtrodden fatherland. Sir, I bid you farewell, feeling 
heart and soul purified, and the resolution of my desires strengthened, 
by the very air of this ancient city. 



There are special reasons why we should unite in praise and honor 
to our illustrious guest. All who have studied his actions and his 
speeches, and who have formed a right estimate of his character, will 
concede this to be true. This estimate must not be founded on a partial 
view. All his titles to approbation must be united. He must not 
simply be regarded as the bold and wise asserter of his country's 
freedom. Neither his affection, nor his hopes, are limited to his own 
country. He is devoted to the cause of the people against their op- 
pressors, — deeply impressed with the necessity of raising his people 
politically and socially. He is a republican ; and even in England, he 
frankly avowed himself to be such. His speeches and proclamations 
at home, — and, above all, his magnificent discourses delivered in 
England, conclusively prove that he is endowed with all the attributes 
of an orator and a statesman. He is fitted by his knowledge, and his 
wisdom, to sway the councils and rule the destinies of a nation. 

Nor is this all. These all prove that he is, in the best sense of the 
word, a conservative statesman, — that he is resolved to maintain those 


time-hallowed institutions on which the peace of society depends. He 
is a republican: — but he is not a Jacobin, — not a socialist. He is a 
republican of the true color. — the color of our boundless skies and a 
protecting heaven, — not of the red of France, reminding us of a Marat, 
a Danton, or a Robespierre. He sees and he condemns the abuses that 
exist under the old monarchies of Europe ; and he must know that, 
until these forms be changed, those abuses must still exist. He is 
equally a foe to those insane theories which seek to destroy the institu- 
tions of society, — property, marriage, and all the relations of home. 
His principles are not those of socialism ; — and it is a calumny to say 
they are. I have studied his actions and his speeches ; and if there is 
truth in man, his mind is not only very profoundly philosophical, but 
deeply religious. The assertions to the contrary ought to be repelled, 
as the vilest calumny. 

The freedom he seeks to establish is that which we enjoy, — the 
freedom of a well-balanced representative democracy. In short, the 
freedom that he values is that which it is the paramount duty of your 
judges to watch over and preserve. Here it is proper their voices 
should be heard in the national chorus of applause that has greeted 
his arrival, — a chorus that, I hope, each hour will contribute to swell. 
It is the voice of a nation that has welcomed him to our shores. It has 
been a chorus of perfect unanimity ; for the exceptions had been too 
few to deserve a notice. — The moderation he has shown, the construc- 
tive wisdom, as well as the ardor he has displayed, and the admirable 
sentiments of his discourse, — it is these that have impressed on the 
minds of the people a deep conviction of his moral elements and his 
intellectual power. 

I feel bound to say, however, to prevent misconstruction on my own 
behalf as well as that of a large number of my brethren of the bench 
and the bar, — that I must not be understood as assenting, or wish to 
be understood as assenting, to the sentiments our guest has submitted 
in regard to the policy of our government. Nothing has struck me 
with so much admiration as his noble frankness. I feel that the same 
frankness is due in return. I venture to say, that, if I cannot be heard, 
mischief has been already done, and Americans could not be listened 
to. It is not my purpose to enter upon any discussion of debatable 
questions. I wish only to say that the questions which the sentiments 
of our guest suggest, are regarded by many as the most deeply in- 
teresting of any that have ever been raised since the foundation of our 
government. And many of us doubt whether it is safe that such 
propositions should be first submitted to popular assemblies, — when 
reasons only on one side are heard. They involve a sudden and a 
violent departure from the settled policy of our government, — a policy 
not founded on a temporary expediency, but on the principles of our 



v , m 

constitution. Such propositions ought not to be adopted iffptil-myler- 
stood in all their consequences, — until subjected to a thorough diacus- 

From "Speech at the Dinner given by the Bar to Kossuth."'' 


K. M. T. IIl/NTER. 

When I first heard, sir, that the Hungarian patriots had been forced 

to take refuge with the Turk, and seek at his hands tin- charity <>!' an 
asylum which Christendom refused them, 1 could but recall the day 
when that country was the bulwark of Christendom against the [nfidel, 

and Hunniades made good its title to that debatable land between the 
Crescent and tfa When 1 saw who the oppressor was, whose 

foot was upon the neck of bleeding Hungary, I could but recur to the 
time when a noble ancestress of his, who to the loveliness of woman 
added the soul of a Caesar, threw herself upon those people for succor 
and protection. The scene arose before me, as it appears on the pic- 
tured page of Macaulay, in which she is represented upon horseback, 
weak from recent suffering, yet strong in will, flushed under the weight 
of St. Stephen's iron crown, and after a fashion of her race, which 
would have been deemed extravagant by any but an Oriental imagina- 
tion, waving the sword of state to the four quarters of the heavens, 
and bidding defiance to the earth. 

But hard as has been the lesson taught the Hungarian in his recent 
struggles, it would do no good for foreign powers to interpose in his 
favor, and give him armed assistance; still less would it be of any avail 
to offer him such a resolution of sympathy as this. There is not, sir, 
on the page of history, an instance of a nation which has maintained 
its liberty by foreign aid ; for the moment the protecting hand is with- 
drawn, it must fall, unless it has some internal resources — some means 
within itself of maintaining its independence, and for self-defence. I 
have said, sir, that this resolution of sympathy will do the Hungarian 
cause no good. But is that enough to say? Is there no danger that it 
may do that brave but unfortunate people some harm ? It has been 
said, by wise and observing men, that the final catastrophe of Poland 
was probably hastened by imprudent speeches made in the British 
House of Commons and the French Chamber of Deputies. It is said 
that those imprudent but sympathizing speeches awakened false hopes 
in Poland, and led to unwise movements there. 

Is there no danger that such a course of action as is proposed here 
might give rise to unfounded hopes in Hungary, or increase, perhaps, 
their sufferings by irritating those who govern them ? But, sir, be that 
as it may with regard to Hungary, I am not prepared to take this step 


from considerations of what is due to my own country. I give Hungary 
rny best wishes, my earnest sympathy ; but I prefer my own country 
to "any other, and I cannot sacrifice its interests fo* those of another. 
I was sent here to legislate, not for foreign nations, but my own. I 
will not abandon my own duties in the attempt to discharge those of 
another. It would doubtless be pleasing to any generous mind to 
indulge the demands of sympathy ; yet, sir, truth and justice are of 
higher obligation, and ought to be of higher consideration still. 

From "Speech in the Senate." 



You see this day, Romans, the republic, and all your lives, your 
goods, your fortunes, your wives and children, this home of most illus- 
trious empire, this most fortunate and beautiful city, by the great love 
of the immortal gods for you, by my labors and counsels and dangers, 
snatched from fire and sword, and almost from the very jaws of fate, 
and preserved and restored to you. 

And if those days on which we are preserved are not less pleasant 
to us, or less illustrious, than those on which we are born, because the 
joy of being saved is certain, the good fortune of being born uncertain, 
and because we are born without feeling it, but we are preserved with 
great delight; ay, since we have, by our affection and by our good 
report, raised to the immortal gods that Romulus who built this city, 
he, too, who has preserved this city, built by him, and embellished as 
you see it, ought to be held in honor by you and your posterity ; for we 
have extinguished flames which were almost laid under and placed 
around the temples and shrines, and houses and walls of the whole 
city ; we have turned the edge of swords drawn against the republic, 
and have turned aside their points from your throats. And since all 
this has been displayed in the senate, and made manifest, and detected 
by me, I will now explain it briefly, that you, citizens, that are as 
yet ignorant of it, and are in suspense, may be able to see how great 
the danger was, how evident and by what means it was detected and 
arrested. First of all, since Catiline, a few days ago, burst out of the 
city, when he had left behind the companions of his wickedness, the 
active leaders of this infamous war, I have continually watched and 
taken care, Romans, of the means by which we might be safe amid 
such great and such carefully concealed treachery. 

From " Third Oration against Catiline." 




Talk to me of the voice of the people! No, sir. It is the combi- 
nation of patronage and power to coerce this body into a gross and 

palpable violation of the constitution. Some individuals, I perceive, 
think to escape through the particular form in which this act is to he 
perpetrated, They tell us that the resolution on your reoords is not to 
be expunged, hut is only to be endorsed "Expunged." Really, sir, I 
do not know how to argue against such contemptible sophistry. The 
occasion is too solemn lor an argument of this sort. Sou an- going to 
violate the constitution, and you get rid of the infamy by a falsehood. 
You yourselves say that the resolution is expunged by your order. Yet 
you Bay it is not expunged. You pui your act in express words. You 
record it, and turn round ami deny it. 

But why do 1 waste my breath? I know it is all utterly vain. The 
day is gone; night approaches, and night is suitable to the dark deed 
we meditate. There is a sort of destiny in this thing. The act must 
be performed ; and it is an act which will tell on the political history 
of this country for ever. Other preceding violations of the constitution 
(and they have been many and great) filled my bosom with indigna- 
tion, but this tills it only with grief. Others were done in the heat of 
party. Power was, as it were, compelled to support itself by seizing 
upon new instruments of influence and patronage; and there were 
ambitious and able men to direct the process. Such was the removal 
of the deposits, which the president seized upon by a new and unpre- 
cedented act of arbitrary power ; an act which gave him ample means 
of rewarding friends and punishing enemies. Something may, perhaps, 
be pardoned to him in this matter, on the old apology of tyrants — the 
plea of necessity. But here there can be no such apology. Here no 
necessity can so much as be pretended. This act originates in pure, 
unmixed, personal idolatry. It is the melancholy evidence of a broken 
spirit, ready to bow at the feet of power. The former act was such a 
one as might have been perpetrated in the days of Pompey or Caesar; 
but an act like this could never have been consummated by a Romau 
Senate until the times of Caligula and Nero. 

From " Speech in the Senate on the Expunging Resolutions:' 



Lord Macaotay. 

The instruction derived from history properly written would be of a 
vivid and practical character. It would be received by the imagination 
as well as by the reason. It would be not merely traced on the mind, 
but branded into it. Many truths, too, would be learned, which can be 
learned in no other manner. As the history of states is generally writ- 
ten, the greatest and most momentous revolutions seem to come upon 
them like supernatural inflictions, without warning or cause. But the 
fact is, that such revolutions are almost always the consequence of 
moral changes, which have gradually passed on the mass of the com- 
munity, and which ordinarily proceed far before their progress is indi- 
cated by any public measure. An intimate knowledge of the domestic 
history of nations is therefore absolutely necessary to the prognosis of 
political events. A narrative defective in this respect is as useless as a 
medical treatise which should pass by all the symptoms attendant on 
the early stage of a disease, and mention only what occurs when the 
patient is beyond the reach of remedies. 

An historian, such as we have been attempting to describe, would 
indeed be an intellectual prodigy. In his mind, powers, scarcely com- 
patible with each other, must be tempered into an exquisite harmony. 
We shall sooner see another Shakspeare, or another Homer. The 
highest excellence to which any single faculty can be brought would 
be less surprising than such a happy and delicate combination of 
qualities. Yet the contemplation of imaginary models is not an un- 
pleasant or useless employment of the mind. It cannot indeed produce 
perfection, but it produces improvement, and nourishes that generous 
and liberal fastidiousness, which is not inconsistent with the strongest 
sensibility to merit, and which, while it exalts our conceptions of the 
art, does not render us unjust to the artist. 

From ■'•' Essay on History." 

16 (181) 



William Smyth. 
Mark the difference between Europe and Asia. What U it, what 
has it ever been? Slavery in the one, and freedom in the other. Take 
another view, more modern and more domestic. Mi<t is in the valley, 
and sterility is on the mountain of the Highlander ; his land is the land 
of tempest and of gloom, but there is intelligence in his looks and glad- 
ness in his song. On the contrary, incense is in the gale, and the 
laughing light of Nature is in the landscape of the Grecian island ; but 

" Why <1" ite tuneful echoes Languish, 
Mute but to the roioe of anguish V 

Yet where was it that once flourished the heroes, the sages, and the 
orators of antiquity? What is there of sublimity and beauty in our 
moral feelings, or in our works of art, that is not stamped with the 
impression of their genius? 

(live civil and religious liberty, you give everything, — knowledge 
and science, heroism and honor, virtue and power. Deny them, and 
you deny everything: in vain are the gifts of nature: there is no 
harvest in the fertility of the soil ; there is no cheerfulness in the radi- 
ance of the sky ; there is no thought in the understanding of man ; and 
there is in his heart no hope : the human animal sinks and withers; 
abused, disinherited, stripped of the attributes of his kind, and no 
longer formed after the image of his God. 

From " Historical Lectures at Cambridge." 


William Smvth. 

I know not how any friend to his species, much less any English- 
man, can cease to wish with the most earnest anxiety for the success 
of the great experiment to which I have alluded, for the success of the 
constitution of America. I see not, in like manner, how any friend to 
his species, much less any American, can forbear for a moment to wish 
for a continuance of the constitution of England, — that the Revolution 
of 1688 should for ever answer all its important purposes for England, 
as the Revolution of 1776 has hitherto done for America. What efforts 
can be made for the government of mankind so reasonable as these, — a 
limited monarchy and a limited republic ? Add to this that the success 
of the cause of liberty in the two countries cannot but be of the greatest 
advantage to each, — a limited monarchy and a limited republic being 
well fitted, by their comparison and separate happiness, each to correct 
the peculiar tendencies to evil which must necessarily be found in the 


other. Successful, therefore, be both, and while the records of history- 
last, be they both, successful ! that they may eternally hold up to man- 
kind the lessons of practical freedom, and explain to them the only 
secret that exists of all national prosperity and happiness, the sum and 
substance of which, must for ever consist in mild government and tole- 
rant religion, — that is, rationally understood, in civil and religious 


From " Historical Lectures at Cambridge." 

addison's hymns. 

W. M. Thackeray. 

When - Addison looks from the world whose weaknesses he describes 
so benevolently, up to the heaven which shines over us all, I can 
hardly fancy a human face lighted up with a more serene rapture : a 
human intellect thrilling with a purer love and adoration than Joseph 

It seems to me his verses shine like the stars. They shine out of a 
great deep calm. When he turns to heaven, a Sabbath comes over 
that man's mind : and his face lights up from it with a glory of thanks 
and prayer. His sense of religion stirs through his whole being. In 
the fields, in the town : looking at the birds in the trees : at the children 
in the streets : in the morning or in the moonlight : over his books in 
his own room : in a happy party at a country merry-making or a toAvn 
assembly, good-will and peace to God's creatures, and love and awe of 
Him who made them, fill his pure heart and shine from his kind face. 
If Swift's life was the most wretched, I think Addison's was one of the 
most enviable. A life prosperous and beautiful — a calm death — an 
immense fame and affection afterwards for his happy and spotless 


From "English Humorists. 


W. M. Thackeray. 
Richardson's sickening antipathy for Harry Fielding is quite as 
natural as the other's laughter and contempt at the sentimentalist. I 
have not learned that these likings and dislikings have ceased in the 
present day: and every author must lay his account not only to mis- 
representation, but to honest enmity among critics, and to being hated 
and abused for good as well as for bad reasons. Richardson disliked 
Fielding's works quite honestly : Walpole quite honestly spoke of them 
as vulgar and stupid. Their squeamish stomachs sickened at the 


rough fare and the rough guests assembled at Fielding's jolly rarel. 
Indeed the cloth might have been cleaner: and the dinner and the 
pany were Bcaroe Bueb as Buited a dandy. The kind and wise old 
Johnson would not -it down with him. But a greater Bcholar than 
Johnson oould afford to admire that astonishing genius of Harry 
Fielding: and we all know the lofty panegyric which Cribbon wrote of 
him, and which remains a towering monument to the great novelist's 
memory. "Our immortal Fielding," Gibbon writes. " was of the 
younger branch of the Marls of Denbigh, who drew their origin from 
the Counts of Bapsburgh. The successors of Charles V. may disdain 

their hrethren of England: but the romance of 'Tom -Jones,' that 
exquisite picture of human manners, will outlive the palace of the 
Escurial and the Imperial Eagle of Austria." There can be no gain- 
Baying the Bentenoe of this great judge. To have your name mentioned 
by Gibbon, is like having it written on the dome of St. Peter's. Pil- 
grims from all the world admire and behold it. 

From "H rittl." 


(iEor.fiE Bancroft. 
Locke says plainly, that, but for rewards and punishments beyond 
the grave, " it is certainly right to eat and drink, and to enjoy what we 
delight in ;" Penn, like Plato and Fenelon, maintained the doctrine so 
terrible to despots, that God is to be loved for his own sake, and virtue 
practised for its intrinsic loveliness. Locke derives the idea of infinity 
from the senses, describes it as purely negative, and attributes it to 
nothing but space, duration, and number; Penn derived the idea from 
the soul, and ascribed it to truth, and virtue, and God. Locke declares 
immortality a matter with which reason has nothing to do, and that 
revealed truth must be sustained by outward signs and visible acts of 
power ; Penn saw truth by its own light, and summoned the soul to 
bear witness to its own glory. Locke believed "not so many men in 
wrong opinions as is commonly supposed, because the greatest part have 
no opinions at all, and do not know what they contend for ;" Penn like- 
wise vindicated the many, but it was truth was the common inheritance 
of the race. Locke, in his love of tolerance, inveighed against the 
methods of persecution as " Popish practices ;" Penn censured no sect, 
but condemned bigotry of all sorts as inhuman. Locke, as an American 
lawgiver, dreaded a too numerous democracy, and reserved all power to 
wealth and the feudal proprietors ; Penn believed that God is in every 
conscience, his light in every soul ; and, therefore, stretching out his 
arms, he built — such are his own words — " a free colony for all man- 
kind." This is the praise of William Penn, that, in an age which had 


seen a popular revolution shipwreck popular liberty among selfish 
factions ; which had seen Hugh Peters and Henry Vane perish by the 
hangman's cord and the axe ; in an age when Sidney nourished the 
pride of patriotism rather than the sentiment of philanthropy, when 
Kussell stood for the liberties of his order, and not for new enfranchise- 
ments, when Harrington, and Shaftesbury, and Locke, thought govern- 
ment should rest on property, — Penn did not despair of humanity, and, 
though all history and experience denied the sovereignty of the people, 
dared to cherish the noble idea of man's capacity for self-government. 
Conscious that there was no room for its exercise in England, the pure 
enthusiast, like- Calvin and Descartes, a voluntary exile, was come to 
the banks of the Delaware to institute " the Holy Experiment." 

From " History of the United States." 


Lord Macaulay. 
"We are, on the whole, inclined to regret that Dryden did not accom- 
plish his purpose of writing an epic poem. It certainly would not 
have been a work of the highest rank. It would not have rivalled the 
Iliad, the Odyssey, or the Paradise Lost ; but it would have been 
superior to the productions of Apollonius, Lucan, or Statius, and not 
inferior to the Jerusalem Delivered. It would probably have been a 
vigorous narrative, animated with something of the spirit of the old 
romances, enriched with much splendid description, and interspersed 
with fine declamations and disquisitions. The danger of Dryden would 
have been from aiming too high ; from dwelling too much, for example, 
on his angels of kingdoms, and attempting a competition with that 
great writer, who in his own time had so incomparably succeeded in 
representing to us the sights and sounds of another world. To Milton, 
and to Milton alone belonged the secrets of the great deep, the beach 
of sulphur, the ocean of fire ; the palaces of the fallen dominations, 
glimmering through the everlasting shade, the silent wilderness of 
verdure and fragrance where armed angels kept watch over the sleep 
of the first lovers, the portico of diamond, the sea of jasper, the 
sapphire pavement empurpled with celestial roses, and the infinite 
ranks of the Cherubim, blazing with adamant and gold. The council, 
the tournament, the procession, the crowded cathedral, the camp, the 
guard-room, the chaise, were the proper scenes for Dryden. 

From " Essay on Dryden." 




If in some fairy tale or supernatural legend we were to read of an 
island, Beated far in the northern seas, so ungenial in its climate and 
BO barren to its BOil that no richer fruits than sloes or blackber 
its aboriginal growth, — whose tribes of paint 
dwell in huts of sedge, or, at best, pile together altars of n 

ffcer other nations widely 
achieved wondrous works "f sculpture and design, the j rock- 

templee of Ellora, the Btoried obelisks of Thebes, or the lion-cret 
- : Mj sense; if it were added, that this island had after* 
bj skill and industry attained the highest degree of artificial fertility, 
and combined in its luxury the fruits of every clime, that the 

. 1 of remaining it- barrier, had become almost a part <>f it< empire, 
that its inhabitants were DOW amongst the : f the earth in 

lerce and in freedom, in arts and in arms, that their indomitable 
_v had subdued, across fit'- land miles of ocean, a land ten 

time- more extensive than their own, that in this territory they now 
igned over one hundred and twenty millions of snbjecl 
lant-, — the race of the builders of Ellora, and the heirs of the 
Great Mogul! — If, further still, we were told that in this it the 

rule of all other conquests had been reversed; that the reign of the 
strangers, alien in blood, in language, and in faith, had been h> 
any other in that region fraught with blessings, that humanity and 
justice, the security of life and property, tie f improvement 

and instruction, were far greater under the worst of the f 
vernors than under the best of the native princes; — with what - 
might we not be tempted to fling down the lying scroll, — exclaiming 
that even in fiction there should be some decent bounds of probability 
observed ; that even in the Arabian Nights no such prodigies are 
wrought by spells or talismans, — by the lamp of Aladdin or the seal of 
Solomon ! 

From '• Histrrry of England." 


Lord Mahox. 
The prisoners had been left at the disposal of the officers of the guard, 
who determined to secure them for the night in the common dungeon 
of the fort, a dungeon known to the English by the name of " the Black 
Hole," — its size only eighteen feet by fourteen ; its airholes only two 
small windows, and these overhung by a low veranda. Into this cell, 
hitherto designed and employed for the confinement of some half dozen 


malefactors at a time, was it now resolved to thrust an hundred and 
forty-five European men and one Englishwoman, some of them suffer- 
ing from recent wounds, and this in the night of the Indian summer 
solstice, when the fiercest heat was raging ! Into this cell accordingly 
the unhappy prisoners, in spite of their expostulations, were driven at 
the point of the sabre; the last, from the throng and narrow space, being 
pressed in with considerable difficulty, and the doors being then by 
main force closed and locked behind them. 

Of the doleful night that succeeded, narratives have been given by 
two of the survivors, Mr. Holwell and Mr. Cooke. The former, who 
even in this extremity was still in some degree obeyed as chief, placed 
himself at a window, called for silence, and appealed to one of the 
Nabob's officers, an old man, who had shown more humanity than the 
rest, promising him a thousand rupees in the morning if he would find 
means to separate the prisoners into two chambers. The old man went 
to try, but returned in a few minutes with the fatal sentence that no 
change could be made without orders from the Nabob, — that the Nabob 
was asleep, — and that no one dared to disturb him. 

Meanwhile within the dungeon the heat and stench had become 
intolerable. It was clear to the sufferers themselves that, without a 
change, feiv, if any, amongst them would see the light of another day. 
Some attempted to burst open the door; others, as unavailingly, again 
besought the soldiers to unclose it. As their dire thirst increased, 
amidst their struggles and their screams, "Water! Water!" became the 
general cry. The officer, to whose compassion Mr. Holwell had lately 
appealed, desired some skins of water to be brought to the window ; 
but they proved too large to pass through the iron bars, and the sight 
of this relief, so near and yet withheld, served only to infuriate and 
well-nigh madden the miserable captives; they began to fight and 
trample one another down, striving for a nearer place to the windows, 
and for a few drops of the water. These dreadful conflicts, far from 
exciting the pity of the guards, rather moved their mirth; and they 
held up lights to the bars, with fiendish glee, to discern the amusing 
sight more clearly. On the other hand, several of the English, frantic 
with pain, were now endeavoring by every term of insult and invective 
to provoke these soldiers to put an end to their agony by firing into the 
dungeon. "Some of our company," says Mr. Cooke, "expired very 
soon after being put in ; others grew mad, and, having lost their senses, 
died in a high delirium." At length, and by degrees, these various 
outcries sunk into silence — but it was the silence of death. When the 
morning broke, and the Nabob's order came to unlock the door, it 
became necessary first to clear a lane, by drawing out the corpses, and 
piling them in heaps on each side, when, walking one by one through 
the narrow outlet, of the one hundred and forty-six persons who had 


entered the cell the evening before, only twenty-three came forth; the 
ghastliest forms, says Mr. Orme, that were ever seen alive. 

from •• Hillary <>/ England." 

macaulay's oratory. 

Mr. M.u.u i.w's delivery waa always awkward, and bia appearance 

remarkably strange. Usually dreaaed in a green frock coat, light waist- 
coat, and -lark trow* entered the House, unmindful 
of all around, ami made Btraight "r appeared to on uncon- 
sciously t«> his seat, between Lord John Russell and Mr. Labouchere. 
There, with his arma unfolded, and a Puritan determination of look, 
he sat, wrapped in abstraction. When be .~i^ke, which waa rarely, it 
waa generally — unlike the other prominent men, who never rise until 
a late huur at night — early in the evening, before dinner, with the 
object of preserving his memory fresh and his brain unclouded. Ho 
generally bolted Btraight to the table, and, without any exordium, 
plunged into the midst of his argument, pouring forth arguments and 
illustrations, and images, as if an engine was working inside, and 
throwing them up in profusion from some huge laboratory. His voice 
waa shrill, or rather hard, exhibiting no passion or feeling, and his 
intonation monotonous, rushing on like the sound of a rapid stream. 
His conversation had the same fault. lie had no winningness of man- 
ner, and no graceful ease of direction or deference to others, but poured 
out sentence upon sentence, until you were gorged and sickened with 
their riches. His conversation at Brookes' every evening at four 
o'clock, was an essay, not conversation. Men gathered round to listen, 
as they do here to a lecture, and those not present always asked in the 
evening, " Well, what did Macaulay speak about to-day Y* As Sydney 
Smith wittily remarked, " How charming Macaulay would be if be 
had but a few brilliant flashes of silence !" 

From '•' New York Daily Timet," 1856. 


It was agonizing to see the wounded men who were lying there 
under a broiling sun, parched with excruciating thirst, racked with 
fever, and agonized with pain — to behold them waving their caps 
faintly or making signals towards our lines, over which they could see 
the white flag waving, and not to be able to help them. They lay 
where they fell, or had scrambled into the holes formed by shells ; and 


there they had been for thirty hours — oh ! how long and how dreadful 
in their weariness ! An officer told me that one soldier who was close 
to the abatis, when he saw a few men come out of an embrasure, raised 
himself on his elbow, and, fearing he should be unnoticed and passed 
by, raised his cap on a stick and waved it till he fell back exhausted. 
Again he rose, and managed to tear off his shirt, which he agitated in 
the air till his strength failed him. His face could be seen through a 
glass, and my friend said he never could forget the expression of resig- 
nation and despair with which the poor fellow at last abandoned his 
useless efforts, and folded his shirt under his head to await the mercy 
of Heaven. Whether he was alive or not when our men went out, I 
cannot say ; but five hours of thirst, fever, and pain under a fierce sun, 
would make awful odds against him. The red-coats lay sadly thick 
over the broken ground in front of the abatis of the Redan, and blue 
and gray coats were scattered about or lay in piles in the rain-courses 
before the Malakoff. 

From "London Times. 


John Rusrin. 

When sensuality and idolatry had done their work, and the religion 
of the empire was laid asleep in a glittering sepulchre, the living light 
rose upon both horizons, and the fierce swords of the Lombard and 
Arab were shaken over its golden paralysis. 

The work of the Lombard was to give hardihood and system to the 
enervated body and enfeebled mind of Christendom ; that of the Arab 
was to punish idolatry, and to proclaim the spirituality of worship. 
The Lombard covered every church which he built with the sculptured 
representations of bodily exercises, hunting and war. The Arab 
banished all imagination of creature from his temples, and proclaimed 
from their minarets, " There is no God but God." Opposite in their 
character and mission, alike in their magnificence of energy, they came 
from the north and from the south, the glacier torrent and the lava 
stream ; they met and contended over the wreck of the Roman Empire ; 
and the very centre of the struggle, the point of pause of both, the dead 
water of the opposite eddies, charged with embayed fragments of the 
Roman wreck, is Venice. 

The Ducal Palace of Venice contains the three elements in exactly 
equal proportions — the Roman, Lombard, and Arab. It is the central 
building of the world. 

From " The Stones of Venice." 



The procession wound slowly up a moderately-rising ground, about 

a quarter of a mile to the west. On the top was a field without any 
enclosure; and on this was a very high gallows, made by Betting up 
two poles or crotchets, and laying a pole on the top. 

The wagon that contained the coffin was drawn directly under the 
gallows. In a short time Andre stepped into the hind end of the 
wagon, then on his coffin, took off his hat, and laid it down; then 
placed his hands upon his hip-, and walked very uprightly back and 
forth, as far as the length of the wagon would permit, at the aame time 
casting his eyes up to the pole Over hifl head, and the whole scenery 
by which he was Burrounded. 

He \\a- dressed in a complete British uniform. His coat was of the 
brightest scarlet, faced and trimmed with the most beautiful green. 
His under-clothes, vest, and breeches were bright huff; he had a long 
and beautiful head of hair, which, agreeably to the fashion, was wound 
with a black ribbon, and hung down his back. 

Not many minutes after he took his stand upon the coffin, the execu- 
tioner stepped into the wagon with a halter in his hand, on one end of 
which was what the soldiers in those days called "a hangman's knot," 
which he attempted to put over the head and around the neck of Andre" ; 
but by a sudden movement of his hand this was prevented. 

Andr6 now took off the handkerchief from his neck, unpinned his 
shirt-collar, and deliberately took the cord of the halter, put it over his 
head, and placed the knot directly under his right ear, and drew it 
very snugly to his neck. He then took from his coat-pocket a hand- 
kerchief, and tied it before his eyes. This done, the officer who com- 
manded spoke in rather a loud voice, and said : 

" His arms must be tied." 

Andre at once pulled down the handkerchief which he had just tied 
over his eyes, and drew from his pocket a second one, which he gave to 
the executioner, and then replaced his handkerchief. 

His arms at this time were tied just above the elbow, and behind 
the back. 

The rope was then made fast to the pole overhead. The wagon was 
very suddenly drawn from under the gallows, which, together with the 
length of rope, gave him a most tremendous swing back and forth ; 
but in a few moments he hung entirely still. 

From " Harper's Magazine." 



Of all the pictures of the horrors of war which have ever been pre- 
sented to the world, the hospital of Sebastopol presents the most hor- 
rible, heart-rending, and revolting. It cannot be described, and the 
imagination of a Fuseli could not conceive anything at all unlike unto 
it. How the poor human body can be mutilated and yet hold its soul 
within, when every limb is shattered, and every vein and artery is 
pouring out the life-stream, one might study here at every step, and 
at the same time wonder how little will kill ! The building used as 
an hospital is one of the noble piles inside the dock-yard wall, and is 
situated in the centre of the row at right angles to the line of the 
Kedan. The whole row was peculiarly exposed to the action of shot 
and shell bounding over the Eedan, and to the missiles directed at the 
Barrack Battery, and it bears, in sides, roofs, windows, and doors, fre- 
quent and destructive proofs of the severity of the cannonade. 

Entering one of these doors, I beheld such a sight as few men, thank 
God, have ever witnessed ! In a long, low room, supported by square 
pillars, arched at the top, and dimly lighted through shattered and 
unglazed window-frames, lay the wounded Russians, who had been 
abandoned to our mercies by their general. The wounded, did I say ? 
No, but the dead, the rotten and festering corpses of the soldiers who 
were left to die in their extreme agony, untended, uncared for, packed 
as close as they could be stowed, some on the floor, others on wretched 
trestles and bedsteads, or pallets of straw, sopped and saturated with 
blood, which oozed and trickled through upon the floor, mingled with, 
the droppings of corruption. Many lay, yet alive, with maggots 
crawling about in their wounds. Many, nearly mad by the scenes 
around them, or seeking escape from it in their extremest agony, had 
rolled -away under the beds, and glared out on the heart-stricken spec- 
tators, oh! with such looks. Many, with legs and arms broken and 
twisted, the jagged splinters sticking through the raw flesh, implored 
aid, water, food, or pity, or, deprived of speech by the approach of 
death, or by dreadful injuries on the head or trunk, pointed to the 
lethal spot. Many seemed bent alone on making their peace with 
Heaven. The attitudes of some were so hideously fantastic as to 
appal and root one to the ground by a sort of dreadful fascination. 

Could that bloody mass of clothing and white bones ever have been a 
human being, or that burnt black mass of flesh have ever had a human 
soul? It was fearful to think what the answer must be. The bodies 
of numbers of men were swollen and bloated to an incredible degree, 
and the features distended to a gigantic size, with eyes protruding 
from the sockets, and the blackened tongue lolling out of the mouth, 
compressed tightly by the teeth which had set upon it in the death- 


rattle, made one shudder and reel round. In the midst of one of these 
"chambers of horror" — for there were many of them — were found 

some dead and some living English soldiers, and among them | r 

Captain Vaughan, of the 90th, who has since succumbed to his wounds. 
I confess, it was impossible for me to stand at the Bight which horri- 
fied our most experienced surgeons — the deadly, clammy stench, the 
6mell of the gangrened wounds, of corrupt blood, of rotting flesh, 
were intolerable and odious beyond endurance. But what must the 
wounded have felt who were obliged to endure all this, and who ps 
away without a hand to give them a cup of water, or a voice to say 
one kindly word to them ! 

From •• Tl« London Tinus." 


Thomas Caiilyle. 

The words of Milton are true in all times, and were never truer 
than in this: "He who would write heroic poems, must make hia 
whole life an heroic poem." If he cannot first so make his life, then 
let him hasten from this arena; for neither its lofty glories, nor its 
fearful perils, arc for him. Let him dwindle into a modish ballad- 
monger; let him worship and be-sing the idols of the time, and the 
time will not fail to reward him, — if, indeed, he can endure to live in 
that capacity ! 

Byron and Burns could not live as idol-priests, but the fire of their 
own hearts consumed them ; and better it was for them that they 
could not. For it is not in the favor of the great, or of the small, 
but in a life of truth, and in the inexpugnable citadel of his own 
soul, that a Byron's or a Burns's strength must lie. Let the great 
stand aloof from him, or know how to reverence him. Beautiful is 
the union of wealth with favor and furtherance for literature ; like 
the costliest flower-jar enclosing the loveliest amaranth. Yet let not 
the relation be mistaken. A true poet is not one whom they can hire 
by money or flattery to be a minister of their pleasures, their writer 
of occasional verses, their purveyor of table-wit ; he cannot be their 
menial, he cannot even be their partisan. At the peril of both parties, 
let no such union be attempted ! Will a Courser of the Sun work 
softly in the harness of a Dray-horse ? His hoofs are of fire, and his 
path is through the heavens, bringing light to all lands ; will he lum- 
ber on mud highways, dragging ale for earthly appetites, from door to 

From " Essay on Burns." 



At half past ten o'clock General Pelissier and his staff went up to 
the French Observatory, on the right. The French trenches were 
crowded with men as close as they could pack, and we could see our 
men through the breaks in the clouds of dust, which were most irri- 
tating, all ready in their trenches. The cannonade languished pur- 
posely towards noon; but the Russians, catching sight of the cavalry 
and troops in front, began to shell Cathcart's Hill and the Heights, and 
disturbed the equanimity of some of the spectators by their shells 
bursting with loud " thuds" right over their heads. 

A few minutes before twelve o'clock the French, like a swarm of bees, 
issued forth from their trenches close to the doomed Malakoff, swarmed 
up its face, and were through the embrasures in the twinkling of an eye. 
They crossed the seven metres of ground which separated them from the 
enemy at a few bounds — they drifted as lightly and quickly as autumn 
leaves before the wind, battalion after battalion, into the embrasures, 
and in a minute or two after the head of their column issued from the 
ditch, the tricolor was floating over the Korniloff bastion. The mus- 
ketry was very feeble at first — indeed, our allies took the Russians 
quite by surprise, and very few of the latter were in the Malakoff; but 
they soon recovered themselves, and, from twelve o'clock till past seven 
in the evening, the French had to meet and defeat the repeated attempts 
of the enemy to regain the work and the Little Redan, when, weary 
of the fearful slaughter of his men, who lay in thousands over the 
exterior of the works, the Muscovite general, despairing of success, 
withdrew his exhausted legions, and prepared, with admirable skill, to 
evacuate the place. 

From '■' The London Times," 1855. 


The struggle that took place was short, desperate, and bloody. Our 
soldiers, taken at every disadvantage, met the enemy with the bayonet, 
too, and isolated combats took place in which the brave fellows, who 
stood their ground, had to defend themselves against three or four 
adversaries at once. In this meUe, the officers, armed only with their 
swords, had little chance ; nor had those who carried pistols much 
opportunity of using them in such a rapid contest. 

They fell like heroes, and many a gallant soldier with them. The 

bodies of the English and Russians, inside the Redan, locked in an 

embrace which death could not relax, but had rather cemented all the 

closer, lay next day inside the Redan, as evidences of the terrible ani- 

17 N 


mosity of the struggle. But the solid weight of the advancing mass, 
urged on, and fed each moment from the rear by company after company, 
and battalion after battalion, prevailed at last against the isolated and 
disjointed band, who had abandoned the protection of unanimity of 
courage, and had Lost the advantages of discipline and obedience. 

As though some giant rock had advanced into the sea. and forced 
back the -waters that buffeted it, so did the Russian columns prei • 
down against the spray of soldiery which fretted their edge with fire 
and steel, and contended in vain against their weight. The struggling 
band was forced back by the enemy, who moved on, crushing friends 
and foe beneath their solid tramp, and, bleeding, panting, and ex- 
hausted, our men lay in heaps in the ditch beneath the parapet, 
sheltered themselves behind stands, and in bomb-craters in the slope 
of the work, or tried to pass back to our advanced parallel and cap, 
and had to run the gauntlet of a tremendous fire. 

From •• The London Times ," 1855. 


Napoleon's acquaintance with Josephine arose from the impre 

made on him by her son, Eugene Beauharnais, then a little boy. He 
came to request that his father's sword, which had been delivered up, 
might be restored to him. The boy's appearance, the earnestness with 
which he urged his request, and the tears which could not be stayed 
when he beheld the sword, interested Napoleon so much in his favor, 
that not only was the sword given to him, but he determined to become 
acquainted with the mother of the boy. He visited her, and soon his 
visits became frequent. He delighted to hear the details which she 
gave of the court of Louis. "Come," he would say, as he sat by her 
si(Je of an evening, " now let us talk of the old court — let us make a 
tour to Versailles.'" It was in these frequent and familiar interviews 
that the fascinations of Josephine won the heart of Napoleon. "She 
is," said he, "grace personified — everything she does is with a grace 
and delicacy peculiar to herself." 

The admiration and love of such a man could not fail to make 
an impression on a woman like Josephine. It has been said that 
it was impossible to be in Napoleon's company without being 
struck by his personal appearance ; not so much by the exquisite 
symmetry of his features, and the noble head and forehead, which 
have furnished the painter and the sculptor with one of their finest 
models ; nor even by the meditative look, so indicative of intellectual 
power ; but the magic charm was the varying expression of counte- 
nance, which changed with every passing thought, and glowed with 
every feeling. His smile, it is said, always inspired confidence. 


" It is difficult, if not impossible" — so the Duchess of Abrantes writes 
— "to describe the charm of his countenance when he smiled — his 
soul was upon his lips and in his eyes." The magic power of that 
expression at a later period is well known. The Emperor of Kussia 
experienced it when he said, " I never loved any one more than that 
man." He possessed, too, that greatest of all charms, an harmonious 
voice, whose tones, like his countenance, changing from emphatic 
impressiveness to caressing softness, found their way to every, heart. 

It may not have been those personal and mental gifts alone which won 
Josephine's heart ; the ready sympathy with which Napoleon entered 
into her feelings, may have been the greatest charm to an affectionate 
nature like hers. It was in the course of one of those confidential 
evenings, that, as they sat together, she read to him the last letter 
which she had received from her husband — it was a most touching 
farewell. Napoleon was deeply affected ; and it has been said that 
that letter, and Josephine's emotion, as she read it, had a powerful 
effect upon his feelings, already so much excited by admiration. 

From " Fraser's Magazine." 


Lord Brougham. 

Pitt is to be placed, without any doubt, in the highest class. With 
a sparing use of ornament, hardly indulging more in figures, or even 
in figurative expression, than the most severe examples of ancient 
chasteness allowed — with little variety of style, hardly any of the graces 
of manner — he no sooner rose than he carried away every hearer, and 
kept the attention fixed and unflagging till it pleased him to let it go ; 
and then 

" So charming left his voice, that we, awhile, 
Still thought him speaking ; still stood fixed to hear." 

This magical effect was produced by his unbroken flow, which never 
for a moment left the hearer in pain or doubt, and yet was not the 
mean fluency of mere relaxation, requiring no effort of the speaker, 
but imposing on the listener a heavy task; by his lucid arrangement, 
which made all parts of the most complicated subject quit their 
entanglement, and fall each into its place ; by the clearness of his 
statements, which presented at once a picture to the mind ; by the for- 
cible appeals to strict reason and strong feeling, which formed the great 
staple of the discourse; by the majesty of the diction ; by the depth 
and fulness of the most sonorous voice, and the unbending dignity of 
the manner, which ever reminded us that we were in the presence of 
more than an advocate or debater — that there stood before us a ruler 
of the people. Such were invariably the effects of this singular elo- 


quence ; and they were as certainly produced on ordinary occasions, as 
in those grander displays when he rose to the height of BOme 
argument; or indulged in vehement invective »me individual, 

and variegated his speech with that sarcasm of which he ws 
a master, and indeed so little sparing an employer ; although even here 
all was uniform and consistent ; nor did anything, in any hhk.i1 of mind, 
ever drop from him that was unsuited to the majestic frame of the whole, 
or could disturb the serenity of the full and copious Hood rolled along. 

Froi>! <<n." 


Loud Brougham. 
The foolish indulgence of a father, from whom he inherited his 
talents certainly, but little principle, put Mr. Fox, while yet a boy, in 
the possession of pecuniary resources which cannot safely be trusted to 
more advanced stages of youth; and the dissipated habits of the times 
drew him, before the age of manhood, into the whirlpool of fashionable 
excess. In the comparatively correct age in which our lot is cast, it 
would be almost as unjust to apply our more severe standard to him 
and his associates, as it would have been for the Ludlows and Hutchin- 
sons of the seventeenth century, in writing a history of the Roman 
Empire, to denounce the immoralities of Julius Caesar. Nor let it be 
forgotten, that the noble heart and sweet disposition of this great man 
passed unscathed through an ordeal which, in almost every other 
instance, is found to deaden all the kindly and generous affections. A 
life of gambling, and intrigue, and faction, left the nature of Charles 
Fox as little tainted with selfishness or falsehood, and his heart as little 
hardened, as if he had lived and died in a farm-house ; or rather as if 

he had not outlived his childish years. 

From " Eminent Statesmen/' 


Lord Brouoiiam. 
It may justly be said, with the second of Attic orators, that sense 
is always more important than eloquence ; and no one can doubt that 
enlightened men in all ages will hang over the works of Mr. Burke, 
and dwell with delight even upon the speeches that failed to command 
the attention of those to whom they were addressed. Nor is it by 
their rhetorical beauties that they interest us. The extraordinary depth 
of his detached views, the penetrating sagacity which he occasionally 
applies to the affairs of men and their motives, and the curious felicity 
of expression with which he unfolds principles, and traces resemblances 


and relations, are separately the gift of few, and in their union probably 
without any example. This must be admitted on all hands ; it is pos- 
sibly the last of these observations which will obtain universal assent, 
as it is the last we have to offer before coming upon disputed ground, 
where the fierce contentions of politicians cross the more quiet path of 
the critic. 

Not content with the praise of his philosophic acuteness, which all 
are ready to allow, the less temperate admirers of this great writer have 
ascribed to him a gift of genius approaching to the power of divination, 
and have recognised him as in possession of a judgment so acute and 
so calm withal, that its decision might claim the authority of infallible 
decrees. His opinions upon French affairs have been viewed as always 
resulting from general principles deliberately applied to each emer- 
gency ; and they have been looked upon as forming a connected system 
of doctrines, by which his own sentiments and conduct were regulated, 
and from which after times may derive the lessons of practical wisdom. 

From " Eminent Statesmen." 

Lord Brougham. 

"When Lord North found that he could no longer approve the policy 
which he was required to pursue, and of course to defend, he was bound 
to quit the councils of his obstinate and unreasonable sovereign. Nor can 
there be a worse service, either to the prince or his people, than enabling 
a monarch to rule in his own person, dictating the commands of his own 
violence or caprice, through servants who disapprove of his measures, 
and yet suffer themselves to be made instruments for carrying them 
into execution. A bad king can desire nothing more than to be served 
by such persons, whose opinions he will as much disregard as their 
inclinations, but whom he will always find his tools in doing the work 
of mischief, because they become the more at the monarch's mercy in 
proportion as they have surrendered their principles and their will to his. 

Far, then, very far from vindicating the conduct of Lord North in 
this essential point, we hesitate not to affirm that the discrepancy 
between his sentiments and his measures is not even any extenuation 
of the disastrous policy which gave us, for the fruits of a long and dis- 
astrous war, the dismemberment of the empire. In truth, what other- 
wise might have been regarded as an error of judgment, became an 
offence, only palliated by considering those kindly feelings of a personal 
kind which governed him, but which every statesman, indeed every one 
who acts in any capacity as trustee for others, is imperatively called 
upon to disregard. 

From " Eminent Statesmen.'" 




Loan Bbooohuc. 

As soon as Mr. Pitt took the helm, the steadiness of the band that 
held it was instantly felt in every motion of the vessel. There was no 
more of wavering counsels, of torpid inaction, of listless expectancy, 
of abject despondency. His firmness gave confidence, his spirit roused 
courage, his vigilance secured exertion, in every department under his 
sway. Each man, from the first Lord of the Admiralty down to the 
most humble clerk in the Victualling Office — each soldier, from the 
Commander-in-Chief to the most obscure contractor or commissary — 
now felt assured that he was acting or was indolent under the eye of 
one who knew his duties and his means as well as his own, and who 
would very certainly make all defaulters, whether through misfeasance 
or through nonfeasance, accountable for whatever detriment the com- 
monwealth might sustain at their hands. 

Over his immediate coadjutors his influence swiftly obtained an 
ascendant which it ever after retained uninterrupted. Upon his first 
proposition for changing the conduct of the war, he stood single among 
his colleagues, and tendered his resignation should they persist in their 
dissent; they at once succumbed, and from that hour ceased to have an 
opinion of their own upon any branch of the public affairs. Xay, so 
absolutely was he determined to have the control of those measures, of 
which he knew the responsibility rested upon him alone, that he 
insisted upon the first Lord of the Admiralty not having the corre- 
spondence of his own department ; and no less eminent a naval 
character than Lord Anson, as well as his junior Lords, was obliged to 
sign the naval orders issued by Mr. Pitt, while the writing was covered 

over from their eyes ! 

From " Eminent Statesmen." 


Lord Bkotjgham. 
The comparison of Sir Philip Francis's ordinary hand, which was a 
remarkably fine one, with the studiously-feigned hand of Junius's 
Letters, and of all his private correspondence, seemed to present many 
points of resemblance. But a remarkable writing of Sir P. Francis 
was recovered by the late Mr. Daniel Giles, to whose sister he had 
many years before sent a copy of verses with a letter written in a 
feigned hand. Upon comparing this fiction with the fac-similes pub- 
lished by Woodfall of Junius's hand, the two were found to tally 
accurately enough. The authorship is certainly not proved by this 
resemblance, even if it were admitted to prove that Sir P. Francis had 


been employed to copy the letters. But the importance of the fact as a 
circumstance in the chain of evidence is undeniable. 

To this may be added the interest which he always took in the work. 
Upon his decease, the vellum-bound and gilt copies, which formed the 
only remuneration Junius would receive from the publisher, were 
sought for in vain among his books. But it is said that the present 
which he made his second wife on their marriage was a finely-bound 
copy of Junius. 

From " Eminent Statesmen." 


Lord Brougham. 
His declamation, though often powerful, always beautifully ornate, 
never deficient in admirable diction, was certainly not of the highest 
class. It wanted depth ; it came from the mouth, not from the heart; 
and it tickled or even filled the ear rather than penetrated the bosom 
of the listener. The orator never seemed to forget himself and be 
absorbed in his theme ; he was not carried away by his passions, and 
he carried not his audience along with him. An actor stood before us, 
a first-rate one, no doubt, but still an actor ; and we never forgot that 
it was a representation we were witnessing, not a real scene. The 
Grecian artist was of the second class only, at whose fruit the birds 
pecked ; while, on seeing Parrhasius's picture, men cried out to have 
the curtain drawn aside. Mr. Canning's declamation entertained his 
hearers, so artistry was it executed ; but only an inexperienced critic 
could mistake it for the highest reach of the rhetorical art. The truly 
great orator is he who carries away his hearer, or fixes his whole atten- 
tion on the subject — with the subject fills his whole soul — than the 
subject, will suffer him to think of no other thing — of the subject's 
existence alone will let him be conscious, while the vehement inspira- 
tion lasts on his own mind which he communicates to his hearer — and 
will only suffer him to reflect on the admirable execution of what he 
has heard after the burst is over, the whirlwind has passed away, and 
the excited feelings have in the succeeding lull sunk into repose. 

From " Eminent Statesnen." 


Washington Irving. 
After dinner we adjourned to the drawing-room, which served also 
for study and library. Against the wall on one side was a long writing- 
table, with drawers ; surmounted by a small cabinet of polished wood, 
with folding doors richly studded with brass ornaments, within which 


Soott kept his most valuable papers. Above the cabinet, in a kind of 
niche, was a complete corslet of glittering steel, with a closed helmet 
and flanked by gauntlets and battle-axes. Around were hung trophies 
and relics of various kinds: a cimeter of Tippoo Saib ; a Highland 
broadsword from Floddenficld ; a pair of Rippon spurs from Bannock- 
burn ; and above all, a gun which had belonged to Rob Roy, and bore 
his initials, R. M. G., an object of peculiar interest to me at the time, 
as it was understood Scott was actually engaged in printing a novel 
founded on the story of that famous outlaw. 

On each side of the cabinet were book-cases, well stored with works 
of romantic fiction in various languages, many of them rare and anti- 
quated. This, however, was merely his cottage library, the principal 
part of his books being at Edinburgh. 

From this little cabinet of curiosities, Scott drew forth a manuscript 

picked up on the field of Waterloo, containing copies of several - 

popular at the time in France. The paper was dabbled with blood — 

" The life blood, very possibly," said Scott, " of some gay young officer, 

who had cherished these songs as a keepsake from some lady love in 


From " Crayon Miscellany." 


Lokd Macaulay. 

Mac • lived long enough to see the commencement of the last 
struggle for Florentine liberty. Soon after his death, monarchy was 
finally established — not such a monarchy as that of which Cosmo had 
laid the foundations deep in the constitution and feelings of his country- 
men, and which Lorenzo had embellished with the trophies of every 
science and every art ; but a loathsome tyranny, proud and mean, 
cruel and feeble, bigoted and lascivious. The character of Machiavelli 
was hateful to the new masters of Italy ; and those parts of his theory 
which were in strict accordance with their own daily practice, afforded 
a pretext for blackening his memory. His works were misrepresented 
by the learned, misconstrued by the ignorant, censured by the church, 
abused, with all the rancor of simulated virtue, by the minions of a 
base despotism, and the priests of a baser superstition. The name of 
the man whose genius had illuminated all the dark places of policy, 
and to whose patriotic wisdom an oppressed people had owed their last 
chance of emancipation and revenge, passed into a proverb of infamy. 

For more than two hundred years his bones lay undistinguished. At 
length, an English nobleman paid the last honors to the greatest states- 
man of Florence. In the church of Santa Croce, a monument was 
erected to his memory, which is contemplated with reverence by all 


who can distinguish the virtues of a great mind through the corrup- 
tions of a degenerate age ; and which will "be approached with still 
deeper homage, when the object to which his public life was devoted 
shall be attained, when the foreign yoke shall be broken, when a second 
Proccita shall avenge the wrongs of Naples, when a happier Rienzi 
shall restore the good estate of Rome, when the streets of Florence and 
Bologna shall again resound with their ancient war-cry — Pojpolo ; po- 

polo ; muoiano i tiranni ! 

From " Essay on Machiavelli." 


Lord Brougham. 

Robespierre was, beyond most men that ever lived, hateful, selfish, 
unprincipled, cruel, unscrupulous. That he was not the worst of the 
Jacobin group may also be without hesitation affirmed. Collot d ; Her- 
bois was probably worse ; Billaud Varennes certainly, of whom it was 
said by Garat: " II fauche dans les tetes, comme un autre dans les 
pres" (he mows down heads as another would grass.) But neither of 
these men had the same fixity of purpose, and both were inferior to him 
in speech. Both, however, and indeed all the revolutionary chiefs, 
were his superiors in the one great quality of courage ; and while his 
want of boldness, his abject poverty of spirit, made him as despicable 
as he was odious, we are left in amazement at his achieving the place 
which he filled, without the requisite most essential to success in times 
of trouble, and to regard as his distinguishing but pitiful characteristic 
the circumstance which leaves the deepest impression upon those who 
contemplate his story, and in which he is to be separated from the com- 
mon herd of usurpers, that his cowardly nature did not prevent him 
from gaining the prize which, in all other instances, has been yielded 
to a daring spirit. 

Such was Robespierre — a name at which all men still shudder. 

Reader, think not that this spectacle has been exhibited by Providence 

for no purpose, and without any use ! It may serve as a warning against 

giving way to our scorn of creatures that seem harmless because of the 

disproportion between their mischievous propensities and their powers 

to injure, and against suffering them to breathe and to crawl till they 

begin to ascend into regions where they may be more noxious than in 

their congenial dunghill, or native dust ! 

From " Eminent Statesmen." 



Lord John Russell. 

The court of Charles II. carried the dissolution of morals to the 
greatest pitch. And the stage at that time united the profligacy of 
French with the coarseness of English manners. The king loved to 
practise, and was forward to encourage, the most unbounded license in 
conversation as well as in conduct. The loosest jest and the most 
indecent words were admitted into polished society, and even disgraced 
the literature of the day. Nor was it found possible to import the 
gallantry and dissipation of other climates without some mixture of 
the darker vices. Sir John Denham and Lord Chesterfield have both 
been accused of murdering their wives by poison, and the latter is s;iid 
to have added deeper horror to his crime by administering death in the 
cup of communion. These stories, whether true or false, could only 
have found belief in a profligate age. It seemed as if the domestic 
character of the nation was about to undergo an alarming change. 

But the mass of English gentry did not follow the example of their 
sovereign ; and he who examined beneath the surface would have found 
the soil rich in honor and virtue. The same age which produced the 
poetry of Rochester and the plays of Dryden, gave birth to the writings 
of South, Taylor, and Barrow. And whilst the wits of the court were 
ridiculing the epic poem of Milton, that sublime work was passing 
through the hands of thousands, and obtaining for its author that better 
sort of immortality which is gained by uniting the sentiments of a good 
man with the inspiration of a great poet. 



James has been called a " learned fool," and his lucubrations on 
government and royal authority, when we consider the position in 
which he was he was practically placed, certainly entitle him to the 
epithet. Royal despotism seems to have possessed for him all the 
attraction of forbidden fruit, and the mortifications which he was con- 
stantly compelled to undergo from insolent nobles and presuming 
preachers, appear to have had only the effect of impressing more 
strongly on his mind a sense of the theoretical irresponsibility of the 
crown. His chimerical design was no other than to subvert the con- 
stitution of England, and to establish in its place a despotic monarchy. 
A dissembler by nature and by long habit, he dissembled badly, 
and only succeeded in destroying all confidence in his most solemn 
assurances. With all his boasted state-craft, he was never able to con- 
ceal his projects until a favorable moment for their execution ; and by 


the pompous language with which he heralded them, called forth an 
opposition which stifled them in the birth. He was a coward, both 
morally and physically ; and this fact exercised a material influence 
on the character of the contest during his life. His vanity led him 
continually to assume to himself in words a sovereign power entirely 
inconsistent with the constitution, and accommodated to some theory of 
his own brain ; while the same love of seeming power induced him fre- 
quently to interfere with the privileges of the House of Commons, and 
when prompted by his necessities to have recourse to various illegal 
means of raising money : but, when called to account for this language 
and these proceedings, he gave way, not as Elizabeth, but in a manner 
congenial with his own spirit ; a great deal of bluster was always fol- 
lowed by an agony of terror and humiliation. 


Lord Macaulat. 

If such a man as Charles I. had been in the place of Queen Elizabeth 
when the whole nation was crying out against the monopolies, he would 
have refused all redress. He would have dissolved the Parliament, and 
imprisoned the most popular members. He would have called another 
Parliament. He would have given some vague and delusive promises 
of relief in return for subsidies. When entreated to fulfil his promises, 
he would have again dissolved the Parliament, and again imprisoned 
his leading opponents. The country would have become more agitated 
than before. The next House of Commons would have been more 
unmanageable than that which preceded it. The tyrant would have 
agreed to all that the nation demanded. He would have solemnly rati- 
fied an act abolishing monopolies for ever. He would have received 
a large supply in return for this concession ; and within half a year 
new patents, more oppressive than those which had been cancelled, 
would have been issued by scores. Such was the policy which brought 
the heir of a long line of kings, in early youth the darling of his coun- 
trymen, to a prison and a scaffold. 

Elizabeth, before the House of Commons could address her, took out 
of their mouths the words which they were about to utter in the name 
of the nation. Her promises went beyond their desires. Her perform- 
ance followed close upon her promise. She did not treat the nation as 
an adverse party, as a party which had an interest opposed to hers, as 
a party to which she was to grant as few advantages as possible, and 
from which she was to extort as much money as possible. Her benefits 
were given, not sold ; and, when once given, they were never with- 


drawn. She gave them, too, with a frankness, an effusion of heart, a 
princely dignity, a motherly tenderness, which enhanced their value. 
They were received by the sturdy country gentlemen who bad oome 
up to Westminster full of resentment, with tears of joy, and shouts of 
" God save the Queen \" Charles the First gave up half the preroga- 
tives of his crown to the Commons, and the Commons sent him in 

return the Grand Remonstrance. 

From •• History of England." 


Let us enter the gloomy Gothic pile. Our sensations are indescri- 
bable. It is not admiration — it is not the religious sentiment, but a 
strange astonishment, not unmingled with awe, yet certainly not akin 
to reverence. The long ranges of lofty pillars ; the countless sharp 
Gothic arches ; the numerous chapels on either side, adorned with pic- 
tures and statuary, frequently with candles burning before the image 
of the Virgin with the infant Jesus in her arms, all seen in a flood of 
Light poured into the church through more than a hundred windows, 
w I lose glass is stained with every shade of color, from fiery red to the 
soft tints fading into wdiite, until nave, and choir, and aisles seem ma- 
gically illuminated ; the silence that reigns in the vast space, broken 
only by the occasional footfall of a priest in his long black robe, flitting 
along the nave, or entering one of the numerous confessionals, followed 
by a penitent; with here and there the form of an aged and decrepit 
female kneeling in superstitious reverence before some favorite image ; 
all taken together, overpower the eye and the mind of the Protestant 
traveller, unaccustomed to such scenes, with strange impressions and 
oppressive, feelings, and he retires from his first visit confused and 

From " Observations in Europe." 


Dr. Durbin. 

If commerce and wealth have departed from Antwerp, she inherits 
an imperishable glory in the fame of her arts. The cradle of the 
Flemish school of painting, the home of Rubens, Vandyk, and Teniers, 
Antwerp is still the repository of their choicest works, which attract 
visiters from all parts of Europe, who are, indeed, the chief support 
of the place. Its steamboats, its hotels, its innumerable commission- 
ers and valets, all depend upon strangers for their employment. 

The Descent from the Cross, the master-piece of Rubens, hangs in 


the Cathedral of N6tre Dame, in which building are also preserved the 
Elevation oftJie Cross, the Assumption of the Virgin, and the Resurrec- 
tion, all by the same great master, and marked by the boldness of con* 
ception and strength of coloring that characterized his genius. The 
Descent from the Cross involves in the position of the prominent figures 
some of the greatest difficulties of the art, which are admirably sur- 
mounted by the painter. The head hanging languidly on the shoulder, 
and the sinking of the body on one side, are the impersonation of the 
heaviness of death. But the Crucifixion, by Vandyk, preserved in the 
Museum, struck me most forcibly ; I could not repress indignation, 
sorrow, even tears, as I gazed upon the image of the Crucified stooping 
meekly and yielding his bleeding back to the strokes of the scourge, 
while the blue marks of the thong verged into blackness, and the dark 
blood trickled from the fearful wounds. 

From " Observations in Europe." 


If the domestic buildings of the fifteenth century would not seem 
very spacious or convenient at present, far less would this luxurious 
generation be content with their internal accommodations. A gentle- 
man's house containing three or four beds was extraordinarily well 
provided ; few probably had more than two. The walls were com- 
monly bare, without wainscot, or even plaster, except that some great 
houses were furnished with hangings, and that, perhaps, hardly so 
soon as the reign of Edward IV. It is unnecessary to add, that neither 
libraries of books nor pictures could have found a place among furni- 
ture. Silver plate was very rare, and hardly used for the table. A 
few inventories of furniture that still remain, exhibit a miserable defi- 
ciency. And this was incomparably greater in private gentlemen's 
houses than among citizens, and especially foreign merchants. We 
have an inventory of the goods belonging to Contarini, a rich Venetian 
trader, at his house in St. Botolph's Lane, a. d. 1481. There appear to 
have been no less than ten beds, and glass-windows are specially 
noticed as movable furniture. No mention, however, is made of 
chairs, or looking-glasses. If we compare this account, however 
trifling in our estimation, with a similar inventory of furniture in 
Skipton Castle, the great honor of the earls of Cumberland, and among 
the most splendid mansions of the north, not at the same period, for I 
have not found, any inventory of a nobleman's furniture so ancient, but 
in 1572, after almost a century of continual improvement, we shall be 
astonished at the inferior provision of the baronial residence. There 
were not more than seven or eight beds in this great castle, nor had 


any of the chambers either chairs, glasses, or carpets. It is in this 
. probably, that we must understand /Eneas Sylvius, it' he meant 
anything more than to express a traveller 3 int, when he deol 

that the kings of Scotland would rejoice I i be as well Lodged a< the 
id class of citizens at Nuremberg. Pew burghers of that town had 
mansions, I presume, equal to the palaces of Dunfermline or Stirling, 
but it is not unlikely that they were better furnished. 

In the construction of farm-houses and cottag [ally the latter, 

there have probably been fewer changes; and those it would be mure 
difficult to follow. Cottages in England .seem to have generally con- 
sisted of a Bingle room, without division of stories. Chimneys were 
unknown in Buch dwellings till the early part of Elizabeth's reign, 
when a very rapid ami sensible improvement took place in tin: comforts 

of our yeomanry ami cottaj 

Prom " II ■;, .' "'■ M 


Lord Macaclat. 

In the delineation of character, Ta'-it u- i< unrivalled among histo- 
rians, ami has very few superiors among dramatists and novelists. By 
the delineation of character, we do not mean the practice of drawing 
up epigrammatic catalogues of good and had qualities, and appending 

them to the names of eminent men. No writer, indeed, has done this 
more skilfully than Tacitus: hut this is not his peculiar glory. All the 
persons who occupy a large space in his works have an individuality 
of character which seems to pervade all their words and actions. 
We know them as if we had lived with them. Claudius, Nero, Otho, 
both the Agrippinas, are masterpieces. But Tiberius is a still higher 
miracle of art. The historian undertook to make us intimately ac- 
quainted with a man singularly dark and inscrutable — with a man 
Avhose real disposition long remained swathed up in intricate folds of 
factitious virtues ; and over whose actions the hypocrisy of his youth, 
and the seclusion of his old age, threw a singular mystery. He was to 
exhibit the specious qualities of the tyrant in a light which might ren- 
der them transparent, and enable us at once to perceive the covering 
and the vices which it concealed. He was to trace the gradations by 
which the first magistrate of a republic, a senator, mingling freely in 
debate, a noble associating with his brother nobles, was transformed 
into an Asiatic sultan ; he was to exhibit a character distinguished by 
courage, self-command, and profound policy, yet defiled by all 

"tk' extravagancy 
And crazy ribaldry of fancy." 

He was to mark the gradual effect of advancing age and approaching 


tteath on this strange compound of strength and weakness; to exhibit 
the old sovereign of the -world sinking into a dotage which, though it 
rendered his appetites eccentric, and his temper savage, never impaired 
the powers of his stern and penetrating mind, conscious of failing 
strength, raging with capricious sensuality, yet to the last the keenest 
of observers, the most artful of dissemblers, and the most terrible of 
masters. The task was one of extreme difficulty. The execution is 
almost perfect. 

From " Essay on History." 


William Wirt. 

The mansion-house at Monticello was built and furnished in the 
days of Jefferson's prosperity. In its dimensions, its architecture, its 
arrangements, and ornaments, it is such a one as became the character 
and fortune of the man. It stands upon an elliptic plain, formed by 
cutting down the apex of a mountain ; and, on the west, stretching away 
to the north and the south, it commands a view of the Blue Ridge for 
a hundred and fifty miles, and brings under the eye one of the boldest 
and most beautiful horizons in the world : while, on the east, it pre- 
sents an extent of prospect, bounded only by the spherical form of the 
earth, in which nature seems to sleep in eternal repose, as if to form 
one of her finest contrasts with the rude and rolling grandeur on the 
west. In the wide prospect, and scattered to the north and south, are 
several detached mountains, which contribute to animate and diversify 
this enchanting landscape; and among them, to the south, Will iss' 
Mountain, which is so interestingly depicted in his Notes. From this 
summit, the Philosopher was wont to enjoy that spectacle, among the 
sublimest of nature's operations, the looming of the distant mountains ; 
and to watch the motions of the planets, and the greater revolution of 
the celestial sphere. From this summit, too, the Patriot could look 
down, with uninterrupted vision, upon the wide expanse of the world 
around, for which he considered himself born ; and upward, to the open 
and vaulted heavens, which he seemed to approach, as if to keep him 
continually in mind of his high responsibility. It is indeed a prospect 
in which you see and feel, at once, that nothing mean or little could 
live. It is a scene fit to nourish those great and high-souled principles 
which formed the elements of his character, and was a most noble and 
appropriate post for such a sentinel over the rights and liberties of 

Approaching the house on the east, the visitor instinctively paused, 
to cast around one thrilling glance at this magnificent panorama ; and 
then passed to the vestibule, where, if he had not been previously 


informed, he would immediately perceive that he was entering the 
house of DO common man. In the spacious and lofty hall which opens 
before him, he marks no tawdry and unmeaning ornaments ; but 
before, on the right, on the left, all around, the eye is struck and grati- 
fied with objects of science and taste, so classed and arranged as to 
produce their finest effect. On one side, specimens of sculpture set 
out, in such order, as to exhibit at a coup d'ccil the historical pro 
of that art, from the first rude attempts of the aborigines of our coun- 
try, up to that exquisite and finished bust of the great patriot himself, 
from the master hand of Caracci. On the other side, the visitor sees 
displayed a vast collection of specimens of Indian art, their paintings, 
weapons, ornaments, and manufactures; on another, an array of the 
fossil productions of our country, mineral and animal ; the polished 
remains of those colossal monsters that once trod our forests, and are 
no more; and a variegated display of the branching honors of those 
" monarchs of the waste," that still people the wilds of the American 

From this hall lie was ushered into a noble saloon, from which the 
glorious landscape of the west again bursts upon his view ; and which, 
within, is hung thick around with the finest productions of the pencil — 
historical paintings of the most striking subjects, from all countries, 
and all ages ; the portraits of distinguished men and patriots, both of 
Europe and America, and medallions and engravings in endless pro- 

From '• Eulogy on Jefferson and Adams" 1826. 


Daxiel Webster. 

We are of the same age : I made my first entrance into the House 
of Representatives in May, 1813, and there found Mr. Calhoun. lie 
had already been in that body for two or three years. I found him then 
an active and efficient member of the assembly to which he belonged, 
taking a decided part, and exercising a decided influence, in all its 

From that day to the day of his death, amidst all the strifes of party 
and politics, there has subsisted between us, always and without inter- 
ruption, a great degree of personal kindness. 

Differing widely on many great questions respecting the institutions 
and government of the country, those differences never interrupted our 
personal and social intercourse. I have been present at most of the 
distinguished instances of the exhibition of his talents in debate. I 
have always heard him with pleasure, often with much instruction, 
not unfrequently with the highest degree of admiration. 


Mr. Calhoun was calculated to be a leader in whatsoever association 
of political friends he was thrown. He was a man of undoubted 
genius, and of commanding talent. All the country and all the world 
admit that. His mind was both perceptive and vigorous. It was clear, 
quick, and strong. 

Sir, the eloquence of Mr. Calhoun, or the manner of his exhibition 
of his sentiments in public bodies, was part of his intellectual charac- 
ter. It grew out of the qualities of his mind. It was plain, strong, 
terse, condensed, concise ; sometimes impassioned — still always severe. 
Rejecting ornament, not often seeking far for illustration, his power 
consisted in the plainness of his propositions, in the closeness of his 
logic, and in the earnestness and energy of his manner. These are 
the qualities, as I think, which have enabled him, through such a long 
course of years, to speak often, and yet always command attention. 
His demeanor as a Senator is known to us all — is appreciated, vene- 
rated by us all. No man was more respectful to others ; no man 
carried himself with greater decorum, no man with superior dignity. 
I think there is not one of us but felt when he last addressed us from 
his seat in the Senate, his form still erect, with a voice by no means 
indicating such a degree of physical weakness as did, in fact, possess 
him, with clear tones, and an impressive, and, I may say, an imposing 
manner, who did not feel that he might imagine that we saw before us 
a Senator of Rome, when Rome survived. 

Sir, I have not in public nor in private life known a more assiduous 
person in the discharge of his appropriate duties. I have known no 
man who wasted less of life in what is called recreation, or employed 
less of it in any pursuits not connected with the immediate discharge 
of his duty. He seemed to have no recreation but the pleasure of con- 
versation with his friends. Out of the chambers of Congress, he was 
either devoting himself to the acquisition of knowledge pertaining to 
the immediate subject of the duty before him, or else he was indulging 
in those social interviews in which he so much delighted. 

My honorable friend from Kentucky has spoken in just terms of his 
colloquial talents. They certainly were singular and eminent. There 
was a charm in his conversation not often found. He delighted, espe- 
cially, in conversation and intercourse with young men. I suppose 
that there has been no man among us who had more winning manners, 
and such an intercourse and conversation, with men comparatively 
young, than Mr. Calhoun. I believe one great power of his character, 
in general, was his conversational talent. I believe it is that, as well 
as a consciousness of his high integrity, and the greatest reverence for 
his intellect and ability, that has made him so endeared an object to 
the people of the state to which he belonged. 

Mr. President, he had the basis, the indispensable basis, of all high 
18* O 


character; and that was unspotted integrity — unimpeaehed honor and 
character. If he had aspirations, they were high, and honorable, and 
noble. There was nothing grovelling, or low, or meanly selfish, that 

Came near the head or the heart of Mr. Calhoun. Finn in his DOT] 
perfectly patriotic and honest, as I am Bure he was in the principles 

that ho espoused, and in the measures that he defended, aside from 
that large regard for that Bpecies of distinction that conducted him to 
eminent stations for the benefit of the republic, I do not believe he had 
q Belfish motive, or selfish feeling. 

However, sir, he may have differed from others of us in his political 
opinions or his political principles, those principles and those opinions 
will now descend to posterity, under the sanction of :[ great name 
He has Lived long enough, he has done enough, and he has done it bo 
well, :o!ly. bo hi Qorably, as to o nnect himself for all time 

with the records of his country, lie i- now a historical character. 
Those of us who have known him here, will find that he has left upon 
our minds and our heart- a Btrong and lasting impression of his person, 
his character, and his public performances, which, while we live, will 
never 1-- obliterated. We Bhall hereafter, I am sure, indulge in it as a 
grateful recollection, that we have lived in his age ; that we have I 
his contemporaries, that we have seen him, and heard him, and known 
him. We shall delight to speak of him to those who are rising up to 
fill our places. And. when the time shall come wdien we ourselves 
shall go, one after another, in succession to our graves, we shall carry 
with us a deep sense of his genius and character, his honor and integ- 
rity, his amiable deportment in private life, and the purity of his 

exalted patriotism. 

From <; Speech in the Senate," 1850. 


A. Tmuir.Y. 

Thomas a Becket had just finished his morning repast, and his 
servitors were still at the table. He saluted the Normans upon their 
entrance, and demanded the object of their visit. After a few minutes 
of silence, Reginald Fitz-Urse spoke: — "We have come," said he, "on 
the part of the king, to demand that the excommunicated persons shall 
be absolved, that the suspended Bishops be re-established, and that 
you, yourself, explain your designs against the king." "It is not I," 
answered Thomas, "it is the sovereign pontiff himself who excommu- 
nicated the Archbishop of York, and who alone, in consequence, has 
the right to absolve him ; as for the rest, I will re-establish them, if they 
will make their submission to me." " From whom then do you hold 
your Archbishopric?" demanded Reginald ; " from the king, or from the 
Pope?" "I hold the spiritual rights from God and the Pope, and the 


temporal rights from the king." " What ! is it not the king who has 
given you everything?" " By no means," answered Becket. Here the 
Normans began to bite their gloves, and to express impatience. "I 
think you mean to threaten me," said the Primate, " but it is useless ; 
if all the swords in England were raised over my head, you would 
gain nothing from me." " Well, then, we will do better than threaten," 
cried out Fitz-Urse, rising suddenly ; the others followed him towards 
the door, crying out, To arms ! The door of the apartment was closed 
immediately behind them. Reginald armed himself in the court-yard, 
taking an axe from the hands of a carpenter who was working there. 
He struck against the door to open it or break it in ; the people of the 
house, hearing the blows of the axe, entreated the Archbishop to take 
refuge in the church, which communicated by a gallery with his apart- 
ment. He would not. They were going to drag him thither by force, 
when one of the assistants remarked that the vesper-bell was ringing. 
" Since it is the hour of my duty, I will go to the church," he said ; 
and causing them to bear before him the cross, he walked slowly 
through the gallery, and then towards the great altar. 

Scarcely were his feet upon the steps of the altar, when Reginald 
Fitz-Urse appeared at the other end of the church completely armed, 
carrying in his hand his two-edged sword, crying out, " Hither! hither! 
loyal servants of the king." The other conspirators followed him, 
armed cap-a-pie, brandishing their swords. One cried out, " Where is 
the traitor?" Becket did not answer. "Where is the Archbishop ?" 
"Here," replied Becket; " but there is no traitor here; what are you 
doing in the house of God in such armor? what is your purpose?" 
" To slay you ! 7; was the answer. " I am resigned," replied the Arch- 
bishop, "you will not see me fly from your swords; but, in the name 
of the Almighty God, I forbid you to touch one of my companions, 
clergy or lay, great or small." At that moment he received from 
behind a blow with the flat of the sword on his shoulder, and the person 
who struck it, said, "Fly, or you are a dead man." He did not move; 
the armed men undertook to drag him outside of the church, being 
scrupulous about killing him there ; he struggled with them, declaring 
that he would not go out ; that he would compel them to execute upon 
that very spot, their intentions or their orders. William de Tracy 
raised his sword, and at one blow cut off the hand of a Saxon monk 
named Edward Gryn, and wounded Becket on the head. A second 
blow, given by another Norman, threw him down with his face against 
the ground ; a third clove his skull, and was given with such violence, 
that the sword was broken against the pavement. William Mautrait 
then pushed the motionless body with his foot, saying, — " Thus perish 
the traitor who has disturbed the kingdom, and caused the English to 

Original translation from " Conquest of England," &c. 



\',\\ LED Tavlui:. 

In February, 1827, Humboldt removed from Paris. He did not 
proceed directly to Berlin, but joined bis brother's son-in-law, Count 
Bulow, who had just been appointed ambassador to England, on a 
journey to London. Humboldt's stay in England was short, for in 
May we find him permanently settled in Berlin. He found his brother 
in Berlin, for he had a residence there, as well as at Tcgcl, and 
of his old friends, among others Augustus Schlegel. The kin- received 
him with open arms, and conferred upoo him the title of privy 
councillor. lie might have been secretary of state, if he had chosen : 
indeed, there was no office too good for him, but he loved science too 
well to change it for politics. Never enamored of that artful, but 
powerful goddess, who, whatever her faults, is sure in the end to 
reward her worshippers, he was less likely to be won by her blandish- 
ments then, than at any other period of his life. He had a new and 
grand scheme on foot, — one that he had pondered over for years. He 
thought of it at Paris, in his study among his books and manuscript-, 
and in the salons of art and fashion, among the wise and the foolish. 
He thought of it in Mexico, as he groped his way in the darkix 
the mines, or wandered among the ruins of vanished nations. He 
thought of it in Peru, on the rugged sides of Chimborazo and Cotopaxi ; 
in the terrible pass of Quindiu ; in the dense forests of the Orinoco, and 
at Cumana among the earthquakes. He thought of it on the deck of 
the Pizarro in the midst of the sea, and on the crater of Teneriffe in 
the illimitable wilderness of air. lie thought of it everywhere, by day 
and at night, in his waking moments, and in his dreams. It was 
always with him. It was the one thought of his thoughts, his first and 
last conception, the most majestic statue of his house of life. It was 
" Kosmos." "Its undefined image," he wrote in 1844, "has floated 
before my mind for almost half a century." 

All the travels that he had undertaken, and all the books that he had 
written, related to this great work. It was not as a traveller that he 
had crossed the sea, and explored unknown lands : nor yet as a man 
of science : but as the traveller, the man of science. He aimed at no 
common fame. Indeed, he aimed at none. It was to a nobler object 
than " the bauble reputation" that he devoted his life ; it was a thirst 
for knowledge, a passion for wisdom, not in one thing, or many things, 
but in all things. To be a wise man was not enough ; he would be the 
wisest of men. His wisdom was universal, like the Universe to which 
it was directed, and which he understood, if ever man did, or can 
understand it. 

From " Life of Huinboldt.''' 




La Valette was one of those rare men whom Providence seems to 
raise up for special occasions, so wonderfully are their peculiar quali- 
ties suited to the emergency. To that attachment to his order which 
he had in common with his brethren, he united a strong religious 
sentiment, sincere and self-sacrificing, which shone through every act 
of his life. This gave him an absolute ascendency over his followers, 
which he had the capacity to turn to full account. He possessed many 
of the requisites for success in action ; great experience, a quick eye, 
a cool judgment. To these was united a fixedness of purpose not to 
be shaken by menace or entreaty ; and which was only to be redeemed 
from the imputation of obstinacy by the extraordinary character of the 
circumstances in which" he was placed. The reader will recall a 
memorable example, when La Valette insisted on defending St. Elmo 
to the last, in defiance not only of the remonstrance, but the resistance 
of its garrison. Another equally pertinent is his refusal, though in 
opposition to his council, to abandon the town and retire to St. Angelo. 
One can hardly doubt that on his decision, in both these cases, rested 
the fate of Malta. 

La Valette was of a serious turn, and, as it would seem, with a 

tendency to sadness in his temperament. In the portraits that remain 

of him, his noble features are touched with a shade of melancholy, 

which, taken in connection with his history, greatly heightens the 

interest of their expression. His was not the buoyant temper, the flow 

of animal spirits, which carries a man over every obstacle in his way. 

Yet he could comfort the sick, and cheer the desponding; not by 

making light of danger, but by encouraging them like brave men 

fearlessly to face it. He did not delude his followers by the promises 

— after he had himself found them to be delusive — of foreign succor. 

He taught them, instead, to rely on the succor of the Almighty, who 

would never desert those who were fighting in his cause. He infused 

into them the spirit of martyrs, — that brave spirit which, arming the 

soul with contempt of death, makes the weak man stronger than the 


Froia" Philip II." 



The corsair's life was full of maritime adventure. Many a tale of 
tragic interest was told of his exploits, and many a sad recital of the 
sufferings of the Christian captive, tugging at the oar, or pining in the 


dungeons of Tripoli and Algiers. Such tales formed the burden of the 
popular minstrelsy of the period, as well as of more elegant literature, 
— the drama, and romantic fiction. But fact was stranger than fiction, 
It would have been difficult to exaggerate the number of the Christian 
captives, or the amount of their sufferings. On the conquest of Tunis 
by Charles the Fifth, in 1535, ten thousand of these unhappy persons, 
as we are assured, walked forth from its dungeons, and knelt, with 
tears of gratitude and joy, at the feet of their liberator. Charitable 
associations were formed in Spain, for the sole purpose of raising 
funds to ransom the Barbary prisoners. But the ransom demanded 
was frequently exorbitant, and the efforts of these benevolent frater- 
nities made but a feeble impression on the whole number of captives. 

Thus the war between the Cross and the Crescent was still carried 
on along the shores of the Mediterranean, when the day of the Cru- 
sades was past in most of the other quarters of Christendom. The 
existence of the Spaniard — as I have often had occasion to remark — 
was one long crusade ; and in the sixteenth century he was still doing 
battle with the infidel, as stoutly as in the heroic days of the Cid. The 
furious contests with the petty pirates of Barbary engendered in his 
bosom feelings of even keener hostility than that which grew up in his 
contests with the Arabs, where there was no skulking, predatory foe, 
but army was openly arrayed against army, and they fought for the 
sovereignty of the Peninsula. The feeling of religious hatred rekindled 
by the Moors of Africa extended, in some degree, to the Morisco popu- 
lation, who still occupied those territories on the southern borders of 
the monarchy which had belonged to their ancestors, the Spanish 
Arabs. This feeling was increased by the suspicion, not altogether 
without foundation, of a secret correspondence between the Moriscos 
and their brethren on the Barbary coast. These mingled sentiments 
of hatred and suspicion sharpened the sword of persecution, and led 
to most disastrous consequences. 

From " Philip IIP 



More worthy pens than mine have described that scene. The oak 
pulpit standing out by itself, above the school seats. The tall gallant 
form, the kindling eye, the voice, now soft as the low notes of a flute, 
now clear and stirring as the call of the light infantry bugle, of him 
who stood there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing and pleading for his 
Lord, the King of righteousness and love and glory, with whose spirit 
he was filled, and in whose power he spoke. The long lines of young 
faces rising tier above tier down the whole length of the chapel, from 


the little boy's who had just left his mother to the young man's who 
was going out next week into the great world rejoicing in his strength. 
It was a great and solemn sight, and never more so than at this time 
of year, when the only lights in the chapel were in the pulpit and at 
the seats of the praepostors of the week, and the soft twilight stole 
over the rest of the chapel, deepening into darkness in the high gallery 
behind the organ. 

But what was it after all which seized and held these three hundred 
boys, dragging them out of themselves, willing or unwilling, for twenty 
minutes on Sunday afternoons ? True, there always were boys scat- 
tered up and down the school, who, in heart and head, were worthy to 
hear and able to carry away the deepest and wisest words then spoken. 
But these were a minority always, generally a very small one, often 
so small a one as to be countable on the fingers of your hand. What 
was it that moved and held us, the rest of the three hundred reckless 
childish boys, who feared the Doctor with all our hearts, and very 
little besides in heaven or earth ; who thought more of our sets in the 
school than of the church of Christ, and put the traditions of Rugby 
and the public opinion of boys in our daily life above the laws of God ? 
We couldn't enter into half that we heard ; we hadn't the knowledge 
of our own hearts or the knowledge of one another, and little enough 
of the faith, hope, and love needed to that end. But we listened, as all 
boys in their better moods will listen (ay, and man too for the matter 
of that), to a man whom we felt to be with all his heart and soul and 
strength striving against whatever was mean and unmanly and un- 
righteous in our little world. It was not the cold clear voice of one 
giving advice and warning from serene heights, to those who were 
struggling and sinning below, but the warm living voice of one who 
was fighting for us and by our sides, and calling on us to help him 
and ourselves and one another. And so, wearily and little by little, 
but surely and steadily on the whole, was brought home to the young 
boy, for the first time, the meaning of his life : that it was no fool's or 
sluggard's paradise into which he had wandered by chance, but a 
battle-field, ordained from of old, where there are no spectators, but 
the 3-oungest must take his side, and the stakes are life and death. 
And he who roused this consciousness in them, showed them at the 
same time, by every word he spoke in the pulpit, and by his whole 
daily life, how that battle was to be fought ; and stood there before 
them their fellow-soldier and the captain of their band. The true sort 
of captain too for a boys' army, one who had no misgivings and gave 
no uncertain word of command, and, let who would yield or make 
truce, would fight the fight out (so every boy felt) to the last gasp and 
the last drop of blood. Other sides of his character might take hold 
of and influence boys here and there, but it was this thoroughness and 


undaunted courage which more than anything else won his way to the 
hearts of the great mass of those on whom he left his mark, and made 
them believe first in him, and then in his Master. 

From " Tom Brown's School Days." 



For a week the siege had gone on, and work after work of the ene- 
my had fallen. On the 11th of March the Begum's Palace was to be 
assaulted. Hodson had orders to move his regiment nearer to the walls, 
and while choosing a spot for his camp heard firing, rode on, and found 
his friend Brigadier Napier directing the assault. He joined him, 
saying, "I am come to take care of you; you have no business to go 
to work without me to look after you." They entered the breach 
together, were separated in the mel6e, and in a few minutes Hodson 
was shot through the chest. The next morning the wound was declared 
to be mortal, and he sent for Napier to give his last instructions. 

" He lay on his bed of mortal agony," says this friend, " and met 
death with the same calm composure which so much distinguished him 
on the field of battle. He was quite conscious and peaceful, occasion- 
ally uttering a sentence, ' My poor wife,' ' My poor sisters/ ' I should 
have liked to have seen the end of the campaign and gone home to the 
dear ones once more, but it was so ordered.' 'It is hard to leave the 
world just now, when success is so near, but God's will be done/ 
'Bear witness for me that I have tried to do my duty to man. May 
God forgive my sins, for Christ's sake.' ' I go to my Father.' 'My 
love to my wife, — tell her my last thoughts were of her.' 'Lord receive 
my soul.' These were his last words, and without a sigh or struggle 
his pure and noble spirit took its flight." 

" It was so ordered." They were his own words ; and now that the 
first anguish of his loss is over, will not even those nearest and dearest 
to him acknowledge " it was ordered for the best?" For is there not 
something painful to us in calculating the petty rewards which we can 
bestow upon a man who has done any work of deliverance for his 
country ? Do we not almost dread — eagerly as we may desire his re- 
turn — to hear the vulgar, formal phrases which are all we can devise 
to commemorate the toils and sufferings that we think of with most 
gratitude and affection ? There is somewhat calming and soothing in 
the sadness which follows a brave man to his grave in the very place 
where his work was done, just when it was done. Alas! but it is a 
bitter lesson to learn, even to us his old schoolfellows, who have never 
seen him since we parted at his " leaving breakfast." May God make 


us all braver and truer workers at our own small tasks, and worthy to 
join him, the hard fighter, the glorious Christian soldier and English- 
man, when our time shall come. 

On March 13th, he was carried to a soldier's grave, in the presence 
of the head-quarters, staff, and of Sir Colin, his last chief, who writes 
thus to his widow : — 

" I followed your noble husband to the grave myself, in order to 
mark, in the most public manner, my regret and esteem for the most 
brilliant soldier under my command, and one whom I was proud to 
call my friend." 

What living Englishman can add one iota to such praise from such 
lips ? The man of whom the greatest of English soldiers could thus 
speak, needs no mark of official approbation, though it is a burning 
disgrace to the authorities that none such has been given. But the 
family which mourns its noblest son may be content with the rewards 
which his gallant life and glorious death have won for him and them, — 
we believe that he himself would desire no others. For his brothers- 
in-arms are erecting a monument to him in Lichfield Cathedral ; his 
schoolfellows are putting up a window to him, and the other Rugbasans 
who have fallen with him, in Rugby Chapel ; and the three regiments 
of Hodson's Horse will hand down his name on the scene of his work 
and of his death as long as Englishmen bear rule in India. And long 
after that rule has ceased, while England can honor brave deeds and 
be grateful to brave men, the heroes of the Indian mutiny will never 
be forgotten, and the hearts of our children's children will leap up at 
the names of Lawrence, Havelock, and Hodson. 


The person of Washington was commanding, graceful, and fitly pro- 
portioned ; his stature six feet, his chest broad and full, his limbs long 
and somewhat slender, but well shaped and muscular. His features 
were regular and symmetrical, his eyes of a light blue color, and his 
whole countenance, in its quiet state, was grave, placid, and benig- 
nant. When alone, or not engaged in conversation, he appeared sedate 
and thoughtful ; but, when his attention was excited, his eye kindled 
quickly and his face beamed with animation and intelligence. He 
was not fluent in speech, but what he said was apposite, and listened 
to with the more interest as being known to come from the heart. He 
seldom attempted sallies of wit or humor, but no man received more 
pleasure from an exhibition of them by others ; and, although con- 
tented in seclusion, he sought his chief happiness in society, and par- 


ticipated with delight in all its rational and innocent amusements. 
Without austerity on the one hand, or an appearance of condescending 
familiarity on the other, he was affable, courteous, and cheerful ; but 
it has often been remarked, that there was a dignity in his person and 
manner, not easy to be defined, which impressed every one that saw 
him for the first time with an instinctive deference and awe. This 
may have arisen in part from a conviction of his superiority, as well 
as from the effect produced by his external form and deportment. 

From " Life of Washington." 



His moral qualities were in perfect harmony with those of his intel- 
lect. Duty was the ruling principle of his conduct ; and the rare 
endowments of his understanding were not more constantly tasked to 
devise the best methods of effecting an object, than they were to guard 
the sanctity of conscience. No instance can be adduced, in which he 
was actuated by a sinister motive, or endeavored to attain an end by 
unworthy means. Truth, integrity, and justice were deeply rooted in 
his mind ; and nothing could rouse his indignation so soon, or so ut- 
terly destroy his confidence, as the discovery of the want of these 
virtues in any one whom he had trusted. Weaknesses, follies, indis- 
cretions, he could forgive ; but subterfuge and dishonesty he never 
forgot, rarely pardoned. He was candid and sincere, true to his 
friends, and faithful to all, neither practising dissimulation, descend- 
ing to artifice, nor holding out expectations which he did not intend 
should be realized. His passions were strong, and sometimes they 
broke out with vehemence, but he had the power of checking them in 
an instant. Perhaps self-control was the most remarkable trait of his 
character. It was in part the effect of discipline ; yet he seems by 
nature to have possessed this power to a degree which has been denied 
to other men. 

A Christian in faith and practice, he was habitually devout. His 
reverence for religion is seen in his example, his public communica- 
tions, and his private writings. He uniformly ascribed his successes 
to the beneficent agency of the Supreme Being. Charitable and hu- 
mane, he was liberal to the poor, and kind to those in distress. As a 
husband, son, and brother, he was tender and affectionate. Without 
vanity, ostentation, or pride, he never spoke of himself or his actions, 
unless required by circumstances which concerned the public interests. 
As he was free from envy, so he had the good fortune to escape the 
envy of others, by standing on an elevation which none could hope to 


attain. If he had one passion more strong than another, it was love 
of his country. The purity and ardor of his patriotism were commen- 
surate with the greatness of its object. Love of country in him was 
invested with the sacred obligation of a duty ; and from the faithful 
discharge of this duty he never swerved for a moment, either in 
thought or deed, through the whole period of his eventful career. 

From " Life, of Washington." 


C. J. BlDDLE. 

Few men have possessed in a higher degree the power of captivating 
the feelings of those around them. Young, with no family influence, 
and but lately entered from commercial business into military life, he 
had so ingratiated himself with his commander, that Clinton actually 
extorted from the British ministry the promotion which he desired for 
his favorite. The sense of obligation was deeply felt and warmly 
expressed by Andr6 ; and it no doubt stimulated his efforts to secure, 
at every personal hazard, the triumph that would have established the 
fortunes of his friend. Of Swiss parentage, and educated upon the 
continent of Europe, Andre possessed all the lighter accomplishments 
which, with his natural vivacity and graceful bearing, rendered him 
the delight of every society in which he moved. The protraction of 
individual lives so connects the past generation with the present, that 
I have, myself, heard one who knew him descant upon the charms of 
his conversation and the elegance of his manners, as exhibited in the 
social circles of this city. 

I conceive him to have been in temperament sanguine and mercurial 
— easily elated, easily depressed — and, though emulous of distinction, 
governed rather by impulse than reflection ; with some proneness — 
from circumstances and education rather than from nature — to arts of 
insinuation and intrigue, which brought him, through their slippery 
pathways, to a bitter expiation. In his brief captivity, he turned 
enemies into friends. The narrative of Hamilton perpetuates, in all 
their original freshness, the feelings of the hour, as they overflowed in 
the generous bosoms of the young American soldiers, whose ministra- 
tions of respect and love lightened to the ill-fated Andre the shame of 
an ignominious death. In the last disastrous days of his career, his 
mind was elevated by misfortune ; and his final hour displayed — what 
seldom graces a public exit from the scene of life — an unaffected 
courage, alike removed from weakness or bravado. 

Yet time will but confirm the judgment that the men of the Revolu- 
tion passed upon Andre. They condemned him, yet they pitied him — 


so we may do — without yielding to the morbid sensibility that can find 
a saint and martyr in " the amiable spy," and would sacrifice the fame 
of great and just men to his memory. 

" The Avarmest panegyrists of Washington," says Lord Mahon, 
"sometimes imply that his character was wholly faultless ;" they err 
then, — for to be faultless is to be more than human : yet in no other 
of the world's heroes is it so difficult to trace the common infirmities 
of nature. That, in the transaction here discussed, the " faulty point" 
of his character has been laid bare, through the acumen of the English 
historian, few will agree with him in thinking. For never was more 
manifest, than in the disposal of the case of Andr6, the constant, calm, 
and high devotion to duty, that made the life of Washington an example 
of as near approach to complete moral greatness as has yet exalted the 
dignity of man. 

From ' ; Contributions to American History." 



In the midst of wild mountain scenery, picturesque but not magni- 
ficent when compared with the White Mountains of New Hampshire, 
the Adirondack and Catskill range in New York, or the Alleghanies in 
Western Pennsylvania and Virginia, is a bold promontory called West 
Point, rising more than one hundred and fifty feet above the waters of 
the Hudson, its top a perfectly level and fertile plateau, and every rood 
hallowed by associations of the deepest interest. West Point! What 
a world of thrilling reminiscences has the utterance of that name brought 
to ten thousand memories in times past, now, alas! nearly all slum- 
bering in the dreamless sleep of the dead ! How does it awaken the 
generous emotions of patriotic reverence for the men, and things, and 
times of the Revolution, in the bosoms of the present generation ! Nor 
is it by the associations alone that the traveller is moved with strong 
emotions when approaching West Point ; the stranger, indifferent to 
our history and of all but the present, feels a glow of admiration as 
he courses along the sinuous channel of the river or climbs the rough 
hills that embosom it. The inspiration of nature then takes possession 
of his heart and mind, and 

" When he treads 
The rock-encumbered crest, and feels the strange 
And wild tumultuous throbbings of his heart, 
Its every chord vibrating with tbe touch 
Of the high power that reigns supreme o'er all, 
He well may deem that lips of angel-forms 
Have breathed to him the holy melody 
That fills his o'erfr aught heart." 


The high plain is reached by a carriage-way that winds up the bank 
from the landing; the visitor overlooking, in the passage, on the right, 
the little village of Camptown, which comprises the barracks of United 
States soldiers and a few dwellings of persons not immediately connected 
with the military works. On the left, near the summit, is " the Artillery 
Laboratory," and near by, upon a little hillock, is an obelisk erected 
to the memory of Lieutenant-colonel Wood. On the edge of the cliff, 
overlooking the steamboat landing, is a spacious hotel, where I booked 
myself as a boarder for a day or two. A more delightful spot, particularly 
in summer, for a weary traveller or a professed lounger, cannot easily be 
found, than the broad piazza of that public dwelling presents. Breezy 
in the hottest weather, and always enlivened by pleasant company, the 
sojourner need not step from beneath its shadow to view a most 
wonderful variety of pleasing objects in nature and art. Upon the 
grassy plain before him are buildings of the military establishment — 
the Academic Halls, the Philosophical and Library buildings, the 
Observatory, the Chapel, the Hospital, the Barracks and Mess Hall of 
the cadets, and the beautifully shaded dwellings of the officers and 
professors that skirt the western side of the plateau at the base of the 
hills. On the parade, the cadets, in neat uniform, exhibit their various 
exercises, and an excellent band of music delights the ear. Lifting the 
eyes to the westward, the lofty summit of Mount Independence, crested 
by the gray ruins of Fort Putnam, and beyond it the loftier apex of 
Redoubt Hill, are seen. Turning a little northward, Old Cro' Nest and 
Butter Hill break the horizon nearly half way to the zenith ; and 
directly north, over Martelaer's Rock or Constitution Island, through 
the magnificent cleft in the chain of hills through which the Hudson 
flows, is seen the bright waters of Newburgh Bay, the village glittering 
in the sunbeams, and the beautiful cultivated slopes of Dutchess and 
Orange. The scenery at the eastward is better comprehended and 
more extensive as seen from Fort Putnam, whither we shall presently 

From " Pictorial- Field Book of the Revolution." 


Robert Dale Owen. 
Returned as it were from the dead, survivor of a voyage overhung 
with preternatural horrors, his great problem, as in despite of man 
and nature, triumphantly resolved, Columbus, the visionary, was wel- 
comed as the conqueror ; the needy adventurer was recognised as 
Admiral of the Western Ocean and Viceroy of a New Continent ; was 
received, in solemn state, by the haughtiest sovereigns in the world, 
rising at his approach, and invited (Castilian punctilio overcome by 


intellectual power) to be seated before them. He told his wondrous 
story, and exhibited, as vouchers for its truth, the tawny savages and 
the barbaric gold. King, queen, and court sunk on their knees; and 
the Te Deum sounded, as for some glorious victory. 

That night, in the silence of his chamber, what thoughts may. have 
thronged on Columbus's mind ! What exultant emotions must have 
swelled his heart ! A past world had deemed the Eastern Hemisphere 
the entire habitable earth. Age had succeeded to age, century had 
passed away after century, and still the interdict had been acquiesced 
in, that westward beyond the mountain pillars it belonged not to man 
to explore. And yet he, the chosen of God to solve the greatest of 
terrestrial mysteries, affronting what even the hardy mariners of Palos 
had regarded as certain destruction, — he, the hopeful one where all 
but himself despaired, — had wrested from the Deep its mighty secret, 
— had accomplished what the united voice of the Past had declared to 
be an impossible achievement. 

But now, if, in the stillness of that night, to this man, enthusiast, 
dreamer, believer as he was, there had suddenly appeared some Nos- 
tradamus of the fifteenth century, of prophetic mind instinct with the 
future, and had declared to the ocean-compeller that not four centuries 
Avould elapse before that vast intervening gulf of waters — from the 
farther shore of which, through months of tempest, he had just groped 
back his weary way — should interpose no obstacle to the free commu- 
nication of human thought ; that a man standing on the western shore 
of Europe should, within three hundred and seventy years from that 
day, engage in conversation with his fellow standing on the eastern 
shore of the new-found world ; nay, — marvel of all marvels ! — that the 
same fearful bolt which, during his terrible voyage, had so often lighted 
up the waste of waters around him, should itself become the agent of 
communication across that storm-tossed ocean ; that mortal creatures, 
unaided by angel or demon, without intervention of heaven or pact 
with hell, should bring that lightning under domestic subjection, and 
employ it, as they might some menial or some carrier-dove, to bear 
their daily messages ; — to a prediction so wildly extravagant, so sur- 
passingly absurd, as that, what credence could even Columbus lend ? 
What answer to such a prophetic vision may we imagine that he, with 
all a life's experience of a man's short-sightedness, would have given ? 
Probably some reply like this : that, though in the future many strange 
things might be, such a tampering with Nature as that — short of a 
direct miracle from God — was impossible ! 

From "Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World." 



W. Brock. 
The Highlanders had never fought in that quarter of India before, 
and their character was unknown to the foe. Their advance has been 
described by spectators as a beautiful illustration of the power of 
discipline. With sloped arms and rapid tread, through the broken 
and heavy lands, and through the well-directed fire of artilllery and 
musketry, linked in their unfaltering lines they followed their mounted 
leaders, the mark for many rifles. They did not pause to fire — did not 
even cheer ; no sound from them was heard as that living wall came on 
and on, to conquer or to die. Now they are near the village ; but their 
enemies occupy every house, and from every point a galling fire is 
poured on them from the heavy guns. The men lie down till the iron 
storm passses over. It was but for a moment. The General gave the 
word, " Rise up ! Advance \" and wild cheers rung out from those brave 
lines — wilder even than their fatal fire within a hundred yards ; and the 
pipes sounded the martial pibroch, heard so often as earth's latest music 
by dying men. The men sprung up the hill covered by the smoke of 
their crushing volley, almost with the speed of their own bullets ; over, 
and through all obstacles, the gleaming bayonets advanced ; and then 
followed those moments of personal struggle, not often protracted, when 
the Mahratta learned, too late for life, the power of the Northern arm. 
The position was theirs. All that stood between them and the guns fled 
the field or was cut down. General Havelock was with his men. Excited 
by the scene, some letter-writers say that he exclaimed, " Well done, 
78th. You shall be my own regiment. Another charge like that 
will win the day." 

From '■•Life of Havelock." 


George Bancroft. 
Darkness closed upon the country and upon the town, but it was no 
night for sleep. Heralds on swift relays of horses transmitted the 
war-message from hand to hand, till village repeated it to village ; the 
sea to the backwoods ; the plains to the highlands ; and it was never 
suffered to droop, till it had been borne north, and south, and east, and 
west, throughout the land. It spread over the bays that receive the 
Saco and the Penobscot. Its loud reveille broke the rest of the trap- 
pers of New Hampshire, and ringing like bugle-notes from peak to 
peak, overleapt the Green Mountains, swept onward to Montreal, and 
descended the ocean river, till the responses were echoed from the cliffs 
of Quebec. The hills along the Hudson told to one another the tale. 
As the summons hurried to the south, it was one day at New York ; 


in one more at Philadelphia ; the next it lighted a watchfire at Balti- 
more ; thence it waked an answer at Annapolis. Crossing the Poto- 
mac near Mount Vernon, it was sent forward without a halt to Wil- 
liamsburg. It traversed the Dismal Swamp to Nanseruond, along the 
route of the first emigrants to North Carolina. It moved oiw 
still onwards, through boundless groves of evergreen, to Newborn and 
to Wilmington. '• For God's sake, forward it by night and by day," 
wrote Cornelius Harnett by the express which sped for Brunswick. 
Patriots of South Carolina caught up its tones at the border, and 
despatched it to Charleston, and through pines and palmettoes and 
moss-clad live-oaks, still further to the south, till it resounded among 
the New England settlements beyond the Savannah. Hillsborough 
and the Mecklenburg district of North Carolina rose in triumph, now 
that their wearisome uncertainty had its end. The Blue Ridge took 
up the voice and made it heard from one end to the other of the valley 
of Virginia. The Alleghanies, as they listened, opened their barriers 
that the " loud call" might pass through to the hardy riflemen on the 
Ilolston, the Watauga, and the French Broad. Ever renewin. 
strength, powerful enough even to create a commonwealth, it breathed 
its inspiring word to the first settlers of Kentucky ; so that hunters 
who made their halt in the matchless valley of the Elkhorn, commem- 
orated the nineteenth day of April by naming their encampment 

From " HiiU/ry of the. UniUd Slates/' 


Geoege Baxceoft. 

Tee men were at once drawn up in three ranks, and as the first 
beams of morning broke upon the mountain peaks, Allen addro 
them: " Friends and fellow-soldiers: We must this morning quit our 
pretensions to valor, or possess ourselves of this fortress ; and inasmuch 
as it is a desperate attempt, I do not urge it on. contrary to will. You 
that will undertake voluntarily, poise your firelock." 

At the word every firelock was poised. " Face to the right," cried 
Allen ; and placing himself at the head of the centre file. Arnold keep- 
ing emulously at his side, he marched to the gate. It was shut, but the 
wicket was open. The sentry snapped a fuzee at him. The Ameri- 
cans rushed into the fort, darted upon the guards, and raising the 
Indian war whoop, such as had not been heard there since the days of 
Montcalm, formed on the parade in hollow square, to face each of the 
barracks. One of the sentries, after wounding an officer, and being 
slightly wounded himself, cried out for quarter, and showed the way to 


the apartment of the commanding officer. " Come forth instantly, or 
I will sacrifice the whole garrison/ 7 cried Ethan Allen, as he reached 
the door. At this, Deiaplace, the commander, came out undressed, 
■with his breeches in his hand. " Deliver to me the fort instantly/' 
said Alien. " By what authority V asked Deiaplace. "In the name 
of the great Jehovah, and the Continental Congress!" answered Allen. 
Deiaplace began to speak again, but was peremptorily interrupted, and 
: sight of Allen's drawn sword near his head, he gave up the garrison, 
ordering his men to be paraded without arms. 

Thus was Ticonderoga taken in the gray of the morning of the tenth 
of May. What cost the British nation eight millions sterling, a suc- 
cession of campaigns and many lives, was won in ten minutes by a 
few undisciplined men, without the loss of life or limb. 

From " History of the United States." 


Thomas Arnold, D. D. 
In 1792 there broke out by far the most alarming danger of univer- 
sal dominion, which had ever threatened Europe. The most military 
people in Europe became engaged in a war for their very existence. 
Invasion on the frontiers, civil war and all imaginable horrors raging 
within, the ordinary relations of life went to wrack, and every French- 
man became a soldier. It was a multitude numerous as the host of 
Persia, but animated by the courage and skill and energy of the old 
Romans. One thing alone was wanting, that which Pyrrhus said the 
Romans wanted, to enable them to conquer the world, a general and a 
ruler like himself. There was wanted a master hand to restore and 
maintain peace at home, and to concentrate and direct the immense 
military resources of France against her foreign enemies. And such 
a one appeared in Napoleon. Pacifying La Vendee, receiving back 
the emigrants, restoring the church, remodelling the law, personally 
absolute, yet carefully preserving and maintaining all the great points 
which the nation had won at the revolution, Napoleon united in him- 
self not only the power but the whole will of France, and that power 
and will were guided by a genius for war such as Europe had never 
seen since Ciesar. The effect was absolutely magical. In November, 
1799, he was made First Consul; he found France humbled by defeats, 
his Italian conquests lost, his allies invaded, his own frontier threat- 
ened. He took the field in May, 1800, and in June the whole fortune 
of the war was changed, and Austria driven out of Lombardy by the 
victory of Marengo. Still the flood of the tide rose higher and higher, 
and every successive wave of its advance swept awav a kingdom. 



Earthly state has never reached a prouder pinnacle, than when Napo- 
leon in June, 1812, gathered his army at Dresden, that mighty host, 
unequalled in all time, of 450,000, not men merely, hut effective sol- 
diers, and there received the homage of subject kings. And now what 
was the principal adversary of this tremendous power? by whom was 
it checked, and resisted, and put down? By none, and by nothing, 
but the direct and manifest interposition of God. I know of no lan- 
guage so well fitted to describe that victorious advance to Moscow, and 
the utter humiliation of the retreat, as the language of the prophet 
with respect to the advance and subsequent destruction of the host of 
Sennacherib. " When they arose early in the morning, behold they 
were all dead corpses," applies almost literally to that memorable 
night of frost in which twenty thousand horses perished, and the 
strength of the French army was utterly broken. Human instruments 
no doubt were employed in the remainder of the work, nor would I 
deny to Germany and to Prussia the glories of that great year 1813, 
nor to England the honor of her victories in Spain, or of the crowning 
victory of Waterloo. But at the distance of thirty years, those who 
lived in the time of danger, and remember its magnitude, and now 
calmly review what there was in human strength to avert it, must 
acknowledge, I think, beyond all controversy, that the deliverance of 
Europe from the dominion of Napoleon was effected neither by Russia, 
nor by Germany, nor by England, but by the hand of God alone. 

From "Lectures on Modern Ilislory." 


The feature of bigotry, which has thrown a shade over Isabella's 
otherwise beautiful character, might lead to a disparagement of her 
intellectual power compared with that of the English queen. To esti- 
mate this aright, we must contemplate the results of their respective 
reigns. Elizabeth found all the materials of prosperity at hand, and 
availed herself of them most ably to build up a solid fabric of national 
grandeur. Isabella created these materials. She saw the faculties of 
her people locked up in a death-like lethargy, and she breathed into 
them the breath of life for those great and heroic enterprises which ter- 
minated in such glorious consequences to the monarchy. It is when 
viewed from the depressed position of her early days, that the achieve- 
ments of her reign seem scarcely less than miraculous. The masculine 
genius of the English queen stands out relieved beyond its natural 
dimensions by its separation from the softer qualities of her sex. 
While her rival's, like some vast, but symmetrical edifice, loses in 


appearance somewhat of its actual grandeur from the perfect harmony 
of its proportions. 

The circumstances of their deaths, which were somewhat similar, 
displayed the great dissimilarity of their characters. Both pined 
amidst their royal state, a prey to incurable despondency rather than 
any marked bodily distemper. In Elizabeth it sprung from wounded 
vanity, a sullen conviction that she had outlived the admiration on 
which she had so long fed, — and even the solace of friendship and the 
attachment of her subjects. Nor did she seek consolation, where alone 
it was to be found, in that sad hour. Isabella, on the other hand, sunk 
under a too acute sensibility to the sufferings of others. But, amidst 
the gloom which gathered around her, she looked with the eye of faith 
to the brighter prospects which unfolded of the future ; and when she 
resigned her last breath, it was amidst the tears and universal lamen- 
tations of her people. 

From " Ferdinand and Isabella" 


G-. S. HlIXARD. 

In external Venice there are but three things to be seen ; the sea, 
the sky, and architecture. There are no gardens, no wide spaces over 
which the eye may range ; no landscapes, properly so called. There 
are no slopes, no gradations, no blending of curved lines. What is not 
horizontal is perpendicular: where the plane of the sea ends, the 
plumb-line of the facade begins. It is only by climbing some tower or 
spire, and looking down, that we can see things massed and grouped 
together. The streets are such passages as would naturally be found 
in a city where there were no vehicles, and where every foot of earth is 
precious. They are like lateral shafts cut through a quarry of stone. 
In walking through them, the houses on either hand can be touched. 
The mode of life on the first floor is easily visible, and many agreeable 
domestic pictures may be observed by a not too fastidious eye. These 
streets, intersected by the smaller canals, are joined together by bridges 
of stone, and frequently expand into small courts, in the middle of 
which is generally found a well, with a parapet, or covering, of stone, 
often curiously carved. Here, at certain seasons of the day, the people 
of the neighborhood collect together to draw water, gossip, and make 
love ; and here the manners and life which are peculiar to Venice may 
be studied to advantage. Goethe complains of the dirt which he found 
in the streets. Time and the xiustrians have remedied that defect, and 
they are now quite clean. But nowhere else have I heard the human 
voice so loud. Whether this arises from the absence of all other sounds, 
or whether these high and narrow streets multiply and reverberate 


every tone, 1 cannot say, but everybody seems to be putting forth the 
utmost capacity of his lungs. I recall a sturdy seller of vegetables in 
Shylock's Rialto — which is not the bridge so called, but a square near 
it — whose voice was like the voice of three, aud who seemed to take as 
much pleasure in his explosive cries, as a boy in beating his first drum. 

From " Six Months in Italy." 


Thank Providence for Spring! The earth — and man himself, by 
sympathy with his birth-place — would be far other than wc find them, 
if life toiled wearily onward, without this periodical infusion of the 
primal spirit. Will the world ever be so decayed, that spring may not 
renew its greenness? Can man be so dismally age-stricken, that no 
faintest sunshine of his youth may revisit him once a year? It is im- 
possible. The moss on our time-worn mansion brightens into beauty ; 
the good old pastor, who once dwelt here, renewed his prime, regained 
his boyhood, in the genial breezes of his ninetieth spring. Alas for 
the worn and heavy soul, if, whether in youth or age, it have outlived 
its privilege of spring-time sprightliness ! From such a soul the world 
must hope no reformation of its evil — no sympathy with the lofty faith 
and gallant struggles of those who contend in its behalf. Summer 
works in the present, and thinks not of the future ; Autumn is a rich 
conservative ; Winter has utterly lost its faith, and clings tremulously 
to the remembrance of what has been ; but Spring, with its outgushing 
life, is the true type of the Movement ! 

From " Mosses from an Old Manse" 



Scandinavian women of illustrious birth sometimes became pirates 
and roved the seas. More frequently, however, they shared the toils 
and dangers of land-battles. These Amazons were called Skjold- 
meyar, or virgins of the shield. The romantic Sagas are filled with 
the most striking traits of their heroic bearing. In the Volsungasaga 
we have the romantic tale of Alfhilda, daughter of Sigurdr, king of 
the Ostrogoths, who was chaste, brave, and fair. She was always 
veiled from the gaze of vulgar curiosity, and lived in a secluded bower, 
where she was guarded b} T two champions of prodigious strength and 
valor. Sigurdr had proclaimed that whoever aspired to his daughter's 
hand, must vanquish the two gigantic champions, — his own life to be 
the forfeit if he failed in the perilous enterprise. Alf, a young sea- 


king, who had already signalized himself by his heroic exploits, en- 
countered and slew the two champions ; but Alf hilda herself was not 
disposed to surrender tamely. She boldly put to sea with her female 
companions, all clothed, like herself, in male attire, and completely 
armed for war. They fell in with a fleet of Vikingar, who, having just 
lost their chieftain, elected the intrepid heroine for his successor. She 
continued thus to rove the Baltic Sea, at the head of this band of 
pirates, until the wide-spread fame of her exploits came to the ear of 
Alf, her suitor, who gave chase to her squadron, and pursued it into 
the Gulf of Finland. The brave Alfhilda gave battle. Alf boarded 
the bark of the princess, who made a gallant and obstinate resistance, 
until her helmet being cloven open by one of his champions, disclosed 
to their astonished view the fair face and lovely locks of his coy mis- 
tress, who, being thus vanquished by her magnanimous lover, no 
longer refuses him the hand he had sought, whilst his gallant cham- 
pion espouses one of her fair companions. 

From :: History of the Northmen." 



At an early hour on that day I found the church already occupied by 
a great crowd. A double row of soldiers stretched from the entrance 
to the altar, around which the Pope's guards, in their fantastic uniform, 
looking like the knaves in a pack of cards, were stationed ; while a 
series of seats on either side were filled by ladies dressed in black and 
wearing veils. The foreign ambassadors were in a place appropriated 
to them in the tribune. Among the spectators were several in military 
uniforms. A handsome young Englishman, in a rich hussar dress, of 
scarlet and gold, attracted much attention. In a recess, above one of 
the great piers of the dome, a choir of male singers was stationed, 
whose voices, without any instrumental accompaniment, blended into 
complete harmony, and gave the most perfect expression to that difficult 
and complicated music which the church of Rome has consecrated to 
the use of its high festivals. We waited some time for the advent of 
the Pope, but, with such objects around us, were content to wait. The 
whole spectacle was one of animated interest and peculiar beauty. 
The very defects of the church — its gay, secular, and somewhat theatri- 
cal character — were, in this instance, embellishments which enhanced 
the splendor of the scene. The various uniforms, the rich dresses, the 
polished arms of the soldiery, were in unison with the marble, the 
stucco, the bronze, and the gilding. The impression left upon the mind 
was not that of sacredness ; that is, not upon a mind that had been 


formed under Protestant and Puritan influences ; but rather of a gorge- 
ous ceremonial belonging to some "gay religion, full of pomp and gold." 
But we travel to little purpose if we carry with us the standard which 
is formed at home, and expect the religious sentiment to manifest itself 

at all times, and in all places, in the same manner. The Scotch Cove- 
nanter upon the hillside, the New England Methodist at a camp-meet- 
ing, worship God in spirit and in truth ; but shall we presume to say 
that the Italian is a formalist and a hypocrite, because his devotion 
requires the aid of music, painting, and sculpture, and, without visible 
symbols, goes out like a flame without air ? 

In due season the Pope appeared, seated in the " sedia gestatoria," a 
sort of capacious arm-chair, borne upon men's shoulders, flanked on 
either side by the enormous fan of white peacock feathers. He was 
carried up the whole length of the nave, distributing his blessing with 
a peculiar motion of the hand upon the kneeling congregation. It 
seemed by no means a comfortable mode of transportation, and the 
expression of his countenance was that of a man ill at ease, and sensible 
of the awkwardness and want of dignity of his position. His dress 
was of white satin, richly embroidered with gold ; a costume too gaudy 
for daylight, and by no means so becoming as that of the cardinals, 
whose flowing robes of crimson and white produced the finest and 
richest effect. The chamberlains of the Pope, who attended on this 
occasion in considerable numbers, wear the dress of England in the 
time of Charles I., so well known in the portraits of Vandyke. It looks 
better in pictures than in the life, and shovrs so much of the person 
that it requires an imposing figure to carry it off. A commonplace 
man, in such a costume, looks like a knavish valet who has stolen his 
master's clothes. 

High mass was said by the Pope in person, and the responses were 
sung by the choir. He performed the service with an air and manner 
expressive of true devotion ; and, though I felt that there was a chasm 
between me and the rite which I witnessed, I followed his movements 
in the spirit of respect, and not of criticism. But one impressive and 
overpowering moment will never be forgotten. When the tinkling of 
the bell announced the elevation of the Host, the whole of the vast 
assemblage knelt or bowed their faces. The pavement was suddenly 
strewn with prostrate forms. A silence like that of death fell upon the 
church — as if some celestial vision had passed before the living eyes, 
and hushed into stillness every pulse of human feeling. After the 
pause of a few seconds, during which every man could have heard the 
beating of his own heart, a band of wind instruments near the entrance, 
of whose presence I had not been aware, poured forth a few sweet and 
solemn strains, which floated up the nave and overflowed the whole 
interior. The effect of this invisible music was beyond anything I have 


ever heard or ever expect to hear. The air seemed stirred with the 
trembling of angelic wings ; or, as if the gates of heaven had been 
opened, and a " wandering breath" from the songs of seraphs had been 
borne to the earth. How fearfully and wonderfully are we made ! A 
few sounds, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have been 
merely a passing luxury to the ear, heard at this moment, and beneath 
this dome, were like a purifying wave, which, for an instant, swept over 
the soul, bearing away with it all the soil and stains of earth, and 
leaving it pure as infancy. There was, it is true, a refluent tide ; and 
the world displaced by the solemn strain came back with the echo ; but 
though we " cannot keep the heights we are competent to gain/' we are 
the better for the too brief exaltation. 

From " Six Months in Italy." 


Sidney G. Fisher. 

In 1793, whilst the yellow fever was in Philadelphia, Washington 
resided in Germantown. He lived in the house on the south-west side 
of the main street below Schoolhouse Lane, then the property of Isaac 
Franks, now owned and occupied by the family of the late estimable 
and respected Samuel B. Morris. It is a large and comfortable man- 
sion, old-fashioned in its style of architecture, but in better taste than 
many modern houses of more pretension. There Washington dwelt ; 
and every day his stately and graceful form was seen in the street and 
lanes, on foot and on horseback, returning with grave courtesy the 
salutations of the people ; conversing with the humblest and the highest 
with unaffected kindness and simplicity, mingled with native dignity ; 
and inspiring in the hearts of all, veneration and love by his aspect 
and manner, as well as by his achievements and character. No man 
depended less for the respect of others upon the adventitious and the 
external. Not to what he had, of station or power or wealth, but to 
what he was, to what he did daily, to what he had done through life, 
was the spontaneous homage of men rendered, whenever he could be 
seen among them. There was nothing brilliant or dazzling in his 
character. He was not a genius, in the sense that implies great powers 
of original or subtle thought or creative imagination. He was neither 
a philosopher, a poet, nor an orator. Even in war, there are names 
whose Plutonian splendors eclipse his own. His mind was distin- 
guished by large, sound, practical good sense, inspired and elevated by 
noble sentiment. His sagacity was of that high kind that perceives 
intuitively the great laws that control the action of society, and could 
neither be deceived by visionary dreams of ideal good, nor degraded to 
serve the low interests of the passing hour. His views were broad and 


general, comprehending the necessities of the present and the hopes 
of the future; but they were attainable, and contemplated the actual 
government of human society, not Utopian republics of impossible hap- 
piness and virtue. His qualities in action were similar. Judgment, 
prudence, unwearied fortitude and perseverance, bold and prompt deci- 
sion, all directed tojust and moderate ends, and these gained, satisfied; 
not sighing for fresh fields of enterprise, and other worlds to conquer. 
No temptation could have made him cross a Rubicon ; no Moscow could 
lone allured him to empire or ruin. He had no selfish designs either 
of gain or glory ; no private purposes. The freed. mi and independ- 
ence of his country were the objects to which he devoted himself, 
and to these only because they Averc in themselves jusl and right. He 
had all 

u The king-becoming graces : 

As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, 

Bounty, perseverance, meroy, Lowliness, 

Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude." 

From " Address al Germantoum," 1860. 


W. Ir\ in i, 

In this dulcet period of my history, when the beauteous island of 
Mauna-hata presented a scene, the very counterpart of those glowing 
pictures drawn of the golden reign of Saturn, there was, as I have 
before observed, a happy ignorance, an honest simplicity prevalent 
among its inhabitants, which, were I even able to depict, would be but 
little understood by the degenerate age for which I am doomed to write. 
Even the female sex, those arch innovators upon the tranquillity, the 
honesty, and gray-beard customs of society, seemed for a while to con- 
duct themselves with incredible sobriety and comeliness. 

Their hair, untortured by the abominations of art, was scrupulously 
pomatumed back from their foreheads with a candle, and covered with 
a little cap of quilted calico, which fitted exactly to their heads. Their 
petticoats of linsey-woolsey were striped with a variety of gorgeous 
dyes — though I must confess these gallant garments were rather short, 
scarce reaching below the knee ; but then they made up in the number, 
which generally equalled that of the gentlemen's small clothes ; and 
what is still more praiseworthy, they were all of their own manufacture 
— of which circumstance, as may well be supposed, they were not a 
little vain. 

These were the honest days, in which every woman stayed at home, 
read the Bible, and wore pockets — ay, and that too of a goodly size, 
fashioned with patchwork into many curious devices, and ostentatiously 


worn on the outside. These, in fact, were convenient receptacles, where 
all good housewives carefully stored away such things as they wished 
to have at hand ; by which means they often came to be incredibly 
crammed — and I remember there was a story current when I was a 
boy, that the lady of Wouter Van Twiller once had occasion to empty 
her right pocket in search of a wooden ladle, when the contents filled 
a couple of corn baskets, and the utensil was discovered lying among 
some rubbish in one corner — but we must not give too much faith to all 
these stories ; the anecdotes of those remote periods being very subject 
to exaggeration. 

Besides these notable pockets, they likewise wore scissors and pin- 
cushions suspended from their girdles by red ribands, or among the 
more opulent and showy classes, by brass, and even silver chains — 
indubitable tokens of thrifty housewives and industrious spinsters. I 
cannot say much in vindication of the shortness of the petticoats ; it 
doubtless was introduced for the purpose of giving the stockings a 
chance to be seen, which were generally of blue worsted with magnifi- 
cent red clocks — or perhaps to display a well-turned ankle, and a neat, 
though serviceable foot, set off by a high-heeled leathern shoe, with a 
large and splendid silver buckle. Thus we find that the gentle sex in 
all ages have shown the same disposition to infringe a little upon the 
laws of decorum, in order to betray a lurking beauty, or gratify an 
innocent love of finery. 

From " Knickerbocker 's History of New York." 


W. Irving. 

In those happy days a well-regulated family always rose with the 
dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed at sunset. Dinner was inva- 
riably a private meal, and the fat old burghers showed incontestable 
signs of disapprobation and uneasiness at being surprised by a visit 
from a neighbor on such occasions. But though our worthy ancestors 
were thus singularly averse to giving dinners, yet they kept up the 
social bands of intimacy by occasional banquetings, called tea-parties. 

These fashionable parties were generally confined to the higher 
classes, or noblesse, that is to say, such as kept their own cows, and 
drove their own wagons. The company commonly assembled at three 
o'clock, and went away about six, unless it was in winter time, when 
the fashionable hours were a little earlier, that the ladies might get 
home before dark. The tea-table was crowned with a huge earthen 
dish, well stored with slices of fat pork, fried brown, cut up into morsels, 
and swimming in gravy. The company being seated round the genial 


board, and each furnished with a fork, evinced their dexterity in 
launching at the fattest pieces in this mighty dish — in much the same 
manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea, or our Indiana spear salmon 
in the lakes. Sometimes the table was graced with immense apple 
pies, or saucers full of preserved peaches and pears ; but it was always 
sure to boast an enormous dish of halls of sweetened dough, fried in 
hog's fat, and called doughnuts, or olykoeks — a delicious kind of cake, 
at present scarce known in this city, except in genuine Dutch families. 

The tea was served out of a majestic delft tea-pot, ornamented with 
paintings of fat little Dutch shepherds and shepherdesses tending pigs 
— with boats sailing in the air, and houses built in the clouds, and 
sundry other ingenious Hutch fantasies. The beaux distinguished 
themselves by their adroitness in replenishing this pot from a huge 
copper tea-kettle, which would have made the pigmy macaronies of 
these degenerate days sweat merely to look at it. To sweeten the 
beverage, a lump of sugar was laid beside each cup — and the company 
alternately nibbled and sipped with great decorum, until an improve- 
ment was introduced by a shrewd and economic old lady, which was to 
suspend a large lump directly over the tea-table, by a string from the 
ceiling, so that it could be swung from mouth to mouth — an ingenious 
expedient, which is still kept up by some families in Albany; but which 
prevails without exception in Communipaw, Bergen, Flatbush, and all 
our nncontaminated Dutch villages. 

At these primitive tea-parties the utmost propriety and dignity of 
deportment prevailed. Xo flirting nor coquetting — no gambling of old 
ladies nor hoyden chattering and romping of young ones — no self-satis- 
fied struttings of wealthy gentlemen, with their brains in their pockets 
— nor amusing conceits, and monkey divertisements, of smart young 
gentlemen, with no brains at all. On the contrary, the young ladies 
seated themselves demurely in their rush-bottomed chairs, and knit 
their own woollen stockings ; nor ever opened their lips excepting to 
say yah Mynheer, or yah ya Vromo, to any question that was asked 
them ; behaving, in all things, like decent, well-educated damsels. As 
to the gentlemen, each of them tranquilly smoked his pipe, and seemed 
lost in contemplation of the blue and white tiles with which the fire- 
places were decorated ; wherein sundry passages of Scripture were 
piously portrayed — Tobit and his dog figured to great advantage ; 
Ham an swung conspicuously on his gibbet, and Jonah appeared most 
manfully bouncing out of the whale, like Harlequin through a barrel 
of fire. 

The parties broke up without noise and without confusion. They 
were carried home by their own carriages, that is to say, by the vehicles 
nature had provided them, excepting such of the wealthy as could afford 
to keep a wagon. The gentlemen gallantly attended their fair ones to 


their respective abodes, and took leave of them with a hearty smack at 
the door : which, as it was an established piece of etiquette, done in 
perfect simplicity and honesty of heart, occasioned no scandal at that 
time, nor should it at the present — if our great-grandfathers approved 
of the custom, it would argue a great want of reverence in their de- 
scendants to say a word against it. 

From " Knickerbockfj-'s History of New TorkP 


Sheridax commanded the whole Anthology ; and was not always 
satisfied with that. On one occasion, his antagonist on the Treasury 
bench had made a quotation from a Greek dramatist that quite startled 
from its aptness. It was the end of a peroration, too, and the house 
was on the point of dividing, when Sheridan started up, with apparent 
warmth, and taxed the right honorable gentleman opposite with hav- 
ing uncandidly stopped short in his quotation ; for that, if he had con- 
tinued it to the close, he must have announced a principle and an 
illustration wholly subversive of the first proposition — a pernicious 
hypothesis, merely put forward in order to be demolished by the se- 
quel. He then delivered a number of Greek lines, without any 
apparent effort of memory ; and so perfectly in accordance with his 
assertion, that the minister admitted the application, and declared that 
he really had forgotten the solution which Mr. Sheridan supplied. 
This incident balked the expectation of the ministry on division ; and 
being questioned by some classical friend, who had vainly referred to 
his library for the lines, Sheridan confessed that he had improvisated 
the verses he professed to supply in continuation. 


G. W. Greene. 
We regard the brilliant success of these volumes as an occasion of 
joyful congratulation to the citizens of our republic. Irving' s Life of 
Washington is eminently a national work, upon which they can all 
look with unmingled pride. It has not merely enriched our literature 
with a production of rare beauty, but has given new force to those 
local associations which bind us, as with hallowed ties, to the spots 
where great men lived and great things were done. Few will now 
cross the Delaware without remembering that Christmas night of tem- 
pest and victory. Who can look upon the heights of Brooklyn without 


fancying that, as he gazes, the spires and streets fade from his view, 
while in their stead stern and anxious faces rise through the misty air, 
and amid them the majestic form of Washington, with a smile of tri- 
umph just lighting for a moment his care-worn features, at the thought 
of the prize he has snatched from the grasp of a proud and exulting 
enemy? And Princeton, and Valley Forge, and Monmouth, and the 
crowning glory of Yorktown, — how do they live anew for us! "With 
what perennial freshness will their names descend to posterity ! And 
those two noble streams that flow to the sea through alternations of 
pastoral beauty and rugged grandeur, — the lovely Potomac, the majes- 
tic Hudson, — how have they become blended by these magic pages in 
indissoluble association ! The one the cherished home of Washington, 
the scat of his domestic joys, his rural delights ; looked to with eager 
yearning from the din of camps anil battle-fields ; sighed for with 
-weary longing amid the pomp and pageantry of official greatness; to 
which he returned so gladly when his task had been accomplished ; 
and which, dying with the serenity of Christian resignation, he conse- 
crated by the holiest of all associations, the patriot's grave ; — the other 
the scene of cares and triumphs ; on whose banks he had passed slow 
days of hope deferred ; whose waters had borne him to and fro through 
checkered years of dubious fortune ; and had witnessed the touching 
sublimity of his farewell to his companions in arms, and the simple 
grandeur of his reception as first President of the country he had 
saved ! How meet was it that, while his ashes repose beside the waters 
of the Potomac, his life should have been written on the banks of the 
Hudson ! 

From " Biographical Studies." 



Hesitating, Humming, and Drawling, are the three Graces of our 

We are at dinner: a gentleman, — " a man about town," — is inform- 
ing us of a misfortune that has befallen his friend : " No — I assure 
you — now — er — er — that — er — it was the most shocking accident pos- 
sible — er — poor Chester was riding in the park — er — you know that 
gray — er — (substantive dropped, hand a little flourished instead), — of 
his — splendid creature ! — er — well, sir, and by Jove — er — the — er — 
(no substantive, — flourish again), — took fright, and — e — er" — here the 
gentleman throws up his chin and eyes, sinks back, exhausted, into his 
chair, and, after a pause, adds, " Well, they took him into — the shop 
— there — you know — with the mahogany sashes — just by the park — 
er — and the — er — man there — set his — what d'ye call it — er — collar 


bone; but he was — er — ter — ri — bly — terribly" — a full stop. The 
gentleman shakes his head; and the sentence is suspended to eternity. 

Another gentleman takes up the wondrous tale, thus, logically: 
" Ah ! shocking, shocking! — but poor Chester was a very agreeable — 
er" — full stop. 

" Oh ! very gentlemanlike fellow ! — quite shocking ! — quite — did you 
go into the — er — to-day?" 

" No, indeed ; the day was so un — er — May I take some wine with 
you ?" 

The ladies usually resort to some pet phrases that, after the fashion 
of short-hand, express as much as possible in a word: "What do you 
think of Lady 's last novel ?" 

" Oh ! they say 'tis not very natural. The characters, to be sure, 
are a little overdrawn ; and then the style — so — so — I don't know what 
— you understand me ; — but it's a dear book altogether ! Do you know 
Lady ?" 

" Oh dear ! yes ; nice creature she is I" 

" Very nice person, indeed." 

" What a dear little horse that is of poor Lord 's !" 

" He is very vicious." 

" Is he really ? — nice little thing !" 

"Ah ! you must not abuse poor Mrs. ; to be sure, she is very 

ill-natured, and they say she's so stingy ! but then she really is such a 
dear " 

" Nice" and " dear" are the great To Prepon and To Kalon of femi- 
nine conversational moralities. 

But, perhaps, the genius of our conversation is most shown in the 
art of explaining. 

" Were you in the House last night?" 

"Yes — er — Sir Robert Peel made a splendid speech !" 

" Ah ! and how did he justify his vote ? I've not seen the papers." 

" Oh, I can tell you exactly — ahem — he said, you see, that he dis- 
liked the ministers, and so forth — you understand — but that — er — in 
these times, and so forth, — and with this river of blood — oh ! he was 
very fine there ! — you must read it — well, sir ; and then he was very 
good against O'Connell — capital ! — and all this agitation going on — 
and murder, and so forth ; — and then, sir, he told a capital story about 
a man and his wife being murdered, and putting a child in the fire- 
place — you see — I forget now— »but it was capital : and then he wound 
up with — a — with — a — in his usual way, in short. Oh! he quite justi- 
fied himself — you understand — in short, you see, he could not do other- 

Caricatured as this may seem to others, it is a picture from actual 
life : the explainer, too, is reckoned a very sensible man ; and the 
listener saw nothing; inconclusive in the elucidation. 



Dr. ]» 

Mr. Brougham entered on the queen's defence in a speech "I" great 

boldness and power. The sentiments put forth in that oration would 
probably not be endorsed now by Lord Brougham. He declared, too, 
that nothing should prevent him from fulfilling his duty, and that 
he would recriminate upon the king if he found it necessary to do BO. 
The threat gave some uneasiness to ministers, but they trusted, never- 
theless, to the learned counsel's discretion. He would have born 
justified in the public mind if he had realized his promise. The 
popular opinion, however, hardly supported him in what followed, 
when he declared that an English advocate could look to nothing but 
the rights of his client, and that even if the country itself should 
suffer, his feelings as a patriot must give way to his professional obli- 
gations. This was oidy one of many instances of the abuse of the 
very extensively abused, and widely misunderstood maxim of Fiat 
justitia mat actum. 

Mr. Denman, the queen's solicitor-general, was not less legally 
audacious, if one may so speak, than his great leader. In a voice of 
thunder, and in presence of the assembled peerage of the realm, he 
denounced one of the king's brothers as a calumniator. Mr. Rush, 
who was present on the occasion, says, " the words were ' Come forth, 
thou slanderer !' — a denunciation," he goes on to say, " the more 
severe from the sarcasm with which it was done, and the turn of his 
eye towards its object." That object was the Duke of Clarence; and 
in reference to the exclamation, and the fierce spirit of the hour, 
generally, Mr. Rush says: — "Even after the whole trial had ended, 
Sir Francis Burdett, just out of prison for one libel, proclaimed aloud 
to his constituents, and had it printed in all the papers, that the minis- 
ters all deserved to be hanged. This tempest of abuse, incessantly 
directed against the king and all who stood by him, was borne during 
several months, without the slightest attempt to check or punish it ; 
and it is too prominent a fact to be left unnoticed, that the same advo- 
cate, who so fearlessly uttered the above denunciation, was made 
attorney-general when the prince of the blood who was the object of 
it, sat upon the throne ; and was subsequently raised to the still higher 

dignity of lord chief justice." 

From " Lives of the Queens of England." 



J. Q. Adams. 

Who is it that, with the voice of a Joshua, shall control the course 
of nature herself in the perverted heart, and arrest the luminaries of 
wisdom and virtue in their rapid revolutions round this little world of 
man? It is the genuine orator of heaven, with a heart sincere, up- 
right, and fervent ; a mind stored with universal knowledge required 
as the foundation of the art ; with a genius for the invention, a skill for 
the disposition, and a voice for the elocution of every argument to con- 
vince, and of every sentiment to persuade. If, then, we admit that 
the art of oratory qualifies the minister of the gospel to perform, in 
higher perfection, the duties of his station, we can no longer question 
whether it be proper for his cultivation. It is more than proper ; it is 
one of his most solemn and indispensable duties. 

From "Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory." 


Sydney Smith. 

A young queen, at that period of life which is commonly given up 
to frivolous amusement, sees at once the great principles by which she 
should be guided, and steps at once into the great duties of her station. 
The importance of educating the lower orders of the people is never 
absent from her mind ; she takes up this principle at the beginning of 
her life, and in all the change of servants, and in all the struggle of 
parties, looks to it as a source of permanent improvement. A great 
object of her affections is the preservation of peace ; she regards a state 
of war as the greatest of all human evils, thinks that the lust of con- 
quest is not a glory but a bad crime ; despises the folly and miscalcu- 
lations of war, and is willing to sacrifice everything to peace, but the 
clear honor of her land. 

The patriot queen, whom I am painting, reverences the national 
church — frequents its worship, and regulates her faith by its precepts ; 
but she withstands the encroachments, and keeps down the ambition 
natural to establishments, and, by rendering the privileges of the 



church compatible with the civil freedom of all sects, confers strength 
upon, and adds duration to, that wise and magnificent institution. 
And then this youthful monarch, profoundly but wisely religious, 
disdaining hypocrisy, and far above the childish follies of* false piety, 
casts herself upon God, and seeks from the gospel of his blessed Son a 
path for her steps and a comfort for her soul. Here is a picture which 
warms every English heart, and would bring all this congregation 
upon their bended "knees before Almighty God to pray it may be 
realized. What limits to the glory and happiness of our native land, 
if the Creator should, in his mercy, have placed in the heart of this 
royal woman the rudiments of wisdom and mercy; and if, giving them 
time to expand, and to bless our children's children with her goodness, 
He should grant to her a long sojourning upon earth, and leave her to 
reign over us till she is well stricken in years? AVlrat glory! what 
happiness! what joy! what bounty of God! I of course can only 
expect to see the beginning of such a splendid period ; but when I do 
see it, I shall exclaim with the Psalmist: " Lord, now lettest thou thy 
servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation. " 

From " Sermon on the Duties of the Qw< //.'' 


Syd.vey Smith. 
• He who takes the office of a judge, as it now exists in this country, 
takes in his hands a splendid gem, good and glorious, perfect and 
pure. Shall he give it up mutilated, shall he mar it, shall he darken 
it, shall it emit no light, shall it be valued at no price, shall it excite 
no wonder ? Shall he find it a diamond, shall he leave it a stone ? 
What shall we say to the man who would wilfully destroy with fire 
the magnificent temple of God, in which I am now preaching ? Far 
worse is he who ruins the moral edifices of the world, which time and 
toil, and many prayers to God, and many sufferings of men, have 
reared ; who puts out the light of the times in which he lives, and 
leaves us to wander amid the darkness of corruption and the desola- 
tion of sin. There may be, there probably is, in this church, some 
young man who may hereafter fill the office of an English judge, when 
the greater part of those who hear me are dead, and miDgled with the 
dust of the grave. Let him remember my words, and let them form 
and fashion his spirit ; he cannot tell in what dangerous and awful 
times he may be placed ; but as a mariner looks to his compass in the 
calm, and looks to his compass in the storm, and never keeps his eyes 
off his compass, so, in every vicissitude of a judicial life, deciding for 
the people, deciding against the people, protecting the just rights of 
kings, or restraining their unlawful ambition, let him ever cling to 


that pure, exalted, and Christian independence which towers over the 
little motives of life ; which no hope of favor can influence, which no 
effort of power can control. 

From K Sermon at the Assizes." 


Lauxexce Sterne. 

A max shall be vicious in his principles ; exceptionable in his conduct 
to the world : shall live shameless, — in the open commission of a sin 
which no reason nor pretence can justify ; — a sin, by which, contrary 
to all the workings of humanity within, he shall ruin for ever the 
deluded partner of his guilt ; — rob her of her best dowry ; — and not 
only cover her own head with dishonor, but involve a whole virtuous 
family in shame and sorrow for her sake. — Surely, — you'll think, con- 
science must lead such a man a troublesome life : — he can have no rest 
night nor day from its reproaches. 

xllas ! Conscience had something else to do all this time than break 
in upon him : as Elijah reproached the god Baal, this domestic god 
was either talking, or pursuing, or teas in a journey, or, per adventure, he 
slept, and could not be awoke. Perhaps he was gone out in company 
with Honor, to fight a duel ; — to pay off some debt at play ; — or dirty 
annuity, the bargain of his lust. — Perhaps Conscience all this time 
was engaged at home, talking aloud against petty larceny, and execu- 
ting vengeance upon some such puny crimes as his fortune and rank 
in life secured him against all temptation of committing: — so that he 
lives as merrily, — sleeps as soundly in his bed ; — and, at the last, meets 
death with as much unconcern, — perhaps much more so, than a much 
better man. 

A third is crafty and designing in his nature. — View his whole life, — 
'tis nothing else but a cunning contexture of dark arts and inequitable 
subterfuges, basely to defeat the true intent of all laws, plain dealing, 
and the safe enjoyment of our several properties. — You will see such a 
one working out a frame of little designs upon the ignorance and per- 
plexities of the poor and needy man : — shall raise a fortune upon the 
inexperience of a youth, — or the unsuspecting temper of his friend, 
who would have trusted him with his life. When old age comes on, 
and repentance calls him to look back upon this black account, and 
state it over again with his conscience — Conscience looks into the 
Statutes at Large, — finds perhaps no express laic broken by what he has 
done ; — perceives no penalty or forfeiture incurred : — sees no scourge 
waving over his head, — or prison opening its gate upon him. — What is 
there to affright his conscience ? — Conscience has got safely entrenched 
behind the letter of the law, sits there invulnerable, fortified with cases 
21 Q 


and reports so strongly on all sides — that 'tis not preaching can dis- 
possess it of its hold. 

From " Sermons." 



Header ! — You have been bred in a land abounding with men, able 
in arts, learning, and knowledges manifold, this man in one, this in 
another, few in many, none in all. But there is one art, of which 
every man should be master, the art of reflection. If you are not a 
thinking man, to what purpose are you a man at all? In like manner, 
there is one knowledge, which it is every man's interest and duty to 
acquire, namely, self-knowledge : or to what end was man alone, of 
all animals, indued by the Creator with the faculty of self-conscious- 
ness? Truly said the Pagan moralist, E ccelo descendi, Tviofti leaozov. 

But you are likewise born in a christian land : and Revelation has 
provided for you new subjects for reflection, and new treasures of 
knowledge, never to be unlocked by him who remains self-ignorant. 
.Self-knowledge is the key to this casket; and by reflection alone can 
it be obtained. Reflect on your own thoughts, actions, circumstances, 
and — which will be of especial aid to you in forming a habit of reflec- 
tion — accustom yourself to reflect on the words you use, hear, or read, 
their birth, derivation, and history. For if words are not things, they 
are living powers, by which the things of most importance to man- 
kind are actuated, combined, and humanized. Finally, by reflection 
you may draw from the fleeting facts of your worldly trade, art, or 
profession, a science permanent as your immortal soul ; and make 
even these subsidiary and preparative to the reception of spiritual 
truth, "doing as the dyers do, who, having first dipt their silks in 
colors of less value, then give them the last tincture of crimson in 

From Preface of " Aids to Reflection." 


ARCnBISHOP Leiguton. 

" We are always resolving to live, and yet never set about life in 
good earnest." Archimedes was not singular in his fate ; but a great 
part of mankind die unexpectedly, while they are poring upon the 
figures they have described in the sand. wretched mortals ! who, 
having condemned themselves, as it were, to the mines, seem to make 
it their chief study to prevent their ever regaining their liberty. 
Hence, new employments are assumed in the place of old ones ; and, 
as the Roman philosopher truly expresses it, " one hope succeeds 


another, one instance of ambition makes way for another ; and we 
never desire an end of our misery, but only that it may change its 
outward form." When we cease to be candidates, and to fatigue our- 
selves in soliciting interest, we begin to give our votes and interest to 
those who solicit us in their turn. When we are wearied of the trouble 
of prosecuting crimes at the bar, we commence judges ourselves ; and 
he who is grown old in the management of other men's affairs for 
money, is at last employed in improving his own wealth. At the age 
of fifty, says one, I will retire, and take my ease ; or, the sixtieth year 
of my life shall entirely disengage me from public offices and business. 
Fool ! art thou not ashamed to reserve to thyself the last remains and 
dregs of life ? Who will stand surety that thou shalt live so long ? 
And what immense folly is it, so far to forget mortality, as to think of 
beginning to live at that period of years, to which a few only attain ! 



We might allege the suffrages of eminent philosophers, persons 
esteemed most wise by improvement of natural light, who have de- 
clared that perfection of virtue can hardly be produced or expressed 
otherwise than by undergoing most sharp afflictions and tortures ; and 
that God therefore, as a wise Father, is wont with them to exercise 
those whom He best loveth : we might also produce instances of divers 
persons, even among Pagans, most famous and honorable in the judg- 
ment of all posterity for their singular virtue and wisdom, who were 
tried in this furnace, and thereby shone most brightly ; their suffering, 
by the iniquity and ingratitude, by the envy and malignity of their 
times, in their reputation, liberty, and life ; their undergoing foul 
slanders, infamous punishments, and ignominious deaths, more than 
any other practices of their life, recommending them to the regard and 
admiration of future ages ; although none of them, as our Lord, did 
suffer of choice, or upon design to advance the interests of goodness, 
but upon constraint, and irresistible force put on them ; none of them 
did suffer in a manner so signal, with circumstances so rare, and with 
events so wonderful ; yet suffering as they did was their chief glory ; 
whence it seemeth that even according to the sincerest dictates of 
common wisdom this dispensation was not so unaccountable; nor ought 
the Greeks, in consistency with themselves, and in respect to their own 
admired philosophy, to have deemed our doctrine of the cross foolish, 
or unreasonable. 




How beautiful are the feet of those who arc sent by the wise and 
gracious providence of God, to execute justice on earth, to defend the 
injured and punish the wrong-doer ! Are they not the ministers of God 
to us for good, the grand supporters of the public tranquillity, the 
patrons of innocence and virtue, the security of all our temporal bless- 
ings? And does not every one of these represent not only an earthly 
prince, but the Judge of the earth'/ Him, whose "name is written 
upon His thigh; King of kings, and Lord of lords?" Oh that all these 
sons of the right hand of the Most High, may be holy as He is holy ! 
Wise with the wisdom that sitteth by His throne: like Him who is the 
eternal Wisdom of the Father ! No respecter of persons, as He is none ; 
but rendering to every man according to his works: like Him inflexibly, 
inexorably just, though pitiful and of tender-mercy! So shall they be 
terrible, indeed, to them that do evil, as not bearing the sword in vain. 
So shall the laws of our land have their full use and due honor, and the 
throne of our King be still established in righteousness. 

Ye truly honorable men whom God and the king have commissioned, 
in a lower degree, to administer justice, may not ye be compared to 
those ministering spirits who will attend the Judge coming in the 
clouds? May you not like them burn with love to God and man? 
May you not love righteousness and hate iniquity? May ye all minister 
in your several spheres (such honor hath God given you also !) to them 
that shall be heirs of salvation, and to the glory of your great Sove- 
reign ! May ye remain the establishes of peace, the blessing and 
ornaments of your country, the protectors of a guilty land, the guardian 
angels of all that are round about you ! 


Robert Hall. 

In those conjunctures which tempt avarice or inflame ambition, 
when a crime flatters with the prospect of impunity, and the certainty 
of immense advantage, what is to restrain an atheist from its commis- 
sion ? To say that remorse will deter him is absurd ; for remorse, as 
distinguished from pity, is the sole offspring of religious belief, the 
extinction of which is the great purpose of the infidel philosophy. 

The dread of punishment or infamy from his fellow-creatures will be 
an equally ineffectual barrier ; because crimes are only committed under 
such circumstances as suggest the hope of concealment ; not to say 
that crimes themselves will soon lose their infamy and their horror 
under the influence of that system which destroys the sanctity of virtue, 


by converting it into a low calculation of worldly interest. Here the 
sense of an ever-present Ruler, and of an avenging Judge, is of the 
most awful and indispensable necessity ; as it is that alone which 
impresses on all crimes the character of folly, shows that duty and 
interest in every instance coincide, and that the most prosperous career 
of vice, the most brilliant successes of criminality, are but an accumu- 
lation of wrath against the clay of 'wrath. 

The efforts of infidels to diffuse the principles of infidelity among 
the common people is another alarming symptom peculiar to the present 
time. Hume, Bolingbroke, and Gibbon, addressed themselves solely to 
the more polishecTclasses of the community, and would have thought 
their refined speculations debased by an attempt to enlist disciples from 
among the populace. Infidelity has lately grown condescending ; bred 
in the speculations of a daring philosophy, immured at first in the 
cloisters of the learned, and afterward nursed in the lap of voluptuous- 
ness and of courts ; having at length reached its full maturity, it boldly 
ventures to challenge the suffrages of the people, solicits the acquaint- 
ance of peasants and mechanics, and seeks to draw whole nations to its 

It is not difficult to account for this new state of things. While 
infidelity was rare, it was employed as the instrument of literary vanity; 
its wide diffusion having disqualified it for answering that purpose, it 
is now adopted as the organ of political convulsion. Literary distinc- 
tion is conferred by the approbation of a few ; but the total subversion 
and overthrow of society demands the concurrence of millions. 


W. B. Stevens, D. D. 
It is pleasant to know that the more perfect a science becomes the 
more it accords with the Bible. In the youth of every science there is 
a period when, like the prodigal in the parable, it leaves its father's 
house, and goes into a far country and wastes its substance in sceptical 
babbling : but ere long it tires of its husks and its exile, and growing 
wiser and more reflective, it comes back and asks to be received " as a 
hired servant" of the God of knowledge ; and the God of knowledge, 
honoring a science which honors him, puts upon it the tokens of a 
father's love, and permits it to minister before him. And though a 
surly scepticism, like an " elder son," shall become angry, and refuse 
to go into the house of wisdom, yet neither the taunts of infidelity nor 
the scoffs of the profane shall hush one note of that song of gladness 
which religion shall yet sing over every returning science as it conies 


back to its father's house : — " This my son was dead and is alive again 
was lust and is found." 

And what a beautiful ministry will that be, when the great sciences 
of earth shall eome like the twelve Apostles of nature, to worship and 
kneel before him " in whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and 
knowledge I" For come they assuredly will. Nothing is more clearly 
discerned by the observant eye than the fact that, every step which 
science takes in advance, is a step towards revelation ; and this must 
of necessity be so ; for as science is but knowledge, as all human know- 
ledge is confined to God's works, so must a deeper knowledge of God's 
works become more accordant with God's words, "For they have one 
author, — the God of truth. It is only a shallow science, that babbles 
because it is shallow, that talks with braggart tongue against the Bible. 
It is only a vain philosophy, puffed up with its own windiness, that 
rails at the religion of Jesus. It is only the would-be wise men, with 
a smattering of scientific terms upon their lips, and real ignorance in 
their minds, who lift up their vaunting voice in the exclamation of a 
heathen king, " Who is the Lord that I should serve him ; I know not 
the Lord, neither will I obey his voice." 

From "Sermon on flic Religious Teachings <>f Medical Science" 


Martin Luther. 
Here again comes forth reason, our reverend mistress, seeming to be 
marvellously wise, but who indeed is unwise and blind, gainsaying her 
God, and reproving Him of lying; being furnished with her follies and 
feeble honor, to wit, the light of nature, free will, the strength of 
nature ; also with the books of the heathen and the doctrines of men, 
contending that the works of a man not justified, are good works, and 
not like those of Cain, yea, and so good that he that worketh them is 
justified by them ; that God will have respect, first to the works, then 
to the worker. Such doctrine now bears the sway everywhere in 
schools, colleges, monasteries wherein no other saints than Cain was, 
have rule and authority. Now from this error comes another: they 
which attribute so much to works, and do not accordingly esteem the 
worker, and sound justification, go so far that they ascribe all merit 
and righteousness to works done before justification, making no account 
of faith, alleging that which James saith, that without works faith is 
dead. This sentence of the Apostle they do not rightly understand ; 
making but little account of faith, they always stick to works, whereby 
they think to merit exceedingly, and are persuaded that for their work's 
sake they shall obtain the favor of God : by this means they continually 


disagree with God, showing themselves to be the posterity of Cain. 
God hath respect unto man, these unto the works of man ; God alloweth 
the work for the sake of him that worketh, these require that for the 
work's sake the worker may be crowned. 



Our pains are best assuaged when something good and beneficial, 
especially some help toward a happy issue, presents itself. All other 
topics of consolation, such as men borrow from the unavoidableness of 
suffering, and the examples of others, bring us no great alleviation. 
But the Son of God, our Lord Jesus Christ, who was crucified for us 
and raised again, and now sits at the right hand of the Father, offers 
us help and deliverance, and has manifested this disposition in many 
declarations. I will now speak of the words, "No man shall pluck 
My sheep out of My hands." This expression has often raised me up 
out of the deepest-sorrow, and drawn me, as it were, out of hell. 

The wisest men in all times have bewailed the great amount of 
human misery which we see with our eyes before we pass into eternity 
— diseases, death, want, our own errors by which we bring harm and 
punishment on ourselves, hostile men, unfaithfulness on the part of 
those with whom we are closely connected, banishment, abuse, deser- 
tion, miserable children, public and domestic strife, wars, murder, and 
devastation. And since such things appear to befall good and bad 
without distinction, many wise men have inquired whether there were 
any Providence, or whether accident brings everything to pass inde- 
pendently of a Divine purpose. But we in the Church know that the 
first and principal cause of human woe is this, that on account of sin 
man is made subject to death and other calamity, which is so much 
more vehement in the Church, because the devil, from hatred toward 
God, makes fearful assaults on the Church and strives to destroy it 
utterly. Therefore it is written, "I will put enmity between the 
serpent and the seed of the woman." And Peter says, "Your adver- 
sary, the devil, goeth about as a roaring lion and seeketh whom he may 


A. Carson. 
Speak, ye thrones of this world, tell us the glory of your dignity. 
Is it comparable to that of the meanest saint in heaven ? Speak ye of 


being born of the mighty of many generations? No more ; the Chris- 
tian is a son and heir of God. Boast ye of your vast dominions and 
the power of your empires? Be silent; the Christian is to reign with 
Christ over all worlds. 

Ye conquerors, come forward with all your dazzling glories, that we 
may view your honors in contrast with those of the Christian. You 
have triumphed, and now inherit a deathless name. The history of the 
nations is the record of your exploits ; the children of all countries are 
familiar with your names; learning, and genius, and power unite in 
raising your temples, and burning incense on your altars. And what 
can the imagination conceive more glorious on earth ? Thrones and 
kingdoms could not purchase the glory of Wellington. Illustrious 
man ! When we speak of worldly glory, thou standest at the head of 
the human race. Compared with thine, the glory of kings is but a 
vulgar glory. Who would not rather enjoy the glories of thy name 
than sway the most powerful sceptre in the world ? Every age pro- 
duces a multitude of kings ; but ages pass away without conferring thy 
fame on an individual of the human race. Y r et all this honor is fading ; 
the glory of the most obscure of the children of God is infinitely to be 
preferred. The Christian conqueror is to sit down on the throne of 
Christ, as He has conquered and sat down upon the throne of His 


Joiix Baptist Massillon. 

Follow, from age to age, the history of the just ; and see if Lot con- 
formed himself to the habits of Sodom, or if nothing distinguished him 
from the other inhabitants ; if Abraham lived like the rest of his age ; 
if Job resembled the other princes of his nation ; if Esther conducted 
herself, in the court of Ahasuerus, like the other women of that prince ; 
if many widows in Israel resembled Judith ; if, among the children of 
the captivity, it is not said of Tobias alone that he copied not the con- 
duct of his brethren, and that he even fled from the danger of their 
commerce and society. See, if in those happy ages, when Christians 
were all saints, they did not shine like stars in the midst of the cor- 
rupted nations ; and if they served not as a spectacle to angels and 
men, by the singularity of their lives and manners. If the pagans did 
not reproach them for their retirement, and shunning of all public 
theatres, places, and pleasures. If they did not complain that the 
Christians affected to distinguish themselves in everything from their 
feilow-citizens ; to form a separate people in the midst of the people ; 
to have their particular laws and customs; and if a man from their 


side embraced the party of the Christians, they did not consider him as 
for ever lost to their pleasures, assemblies, and customs. In a word, 
see, if in all ages the saints whose lives and actions have been trans- 
mitted down to us, have resembled the rest of mankind. 

John Knox. 
As the skilful mariner (being master), having his ship tossed with 
a vehement tempest, and contrary winds, is compelled oft to traverse, 
lest that, either by too much resisting to the violence of the waves, his 
vessel might be overwhelmed ; or by too much liberty granted, might 
be carried whither the fury of the tempest would, so that his ship 
should be driven upon the shore, and make shipwreck ; even so doth 
our prophet Isaiah in this text, which now you have heard read. For 
he, foreseeing the great desolation that was decreed in the council of 
the Eternal, against Jerusalem and Judah, namely, that the whole 
people that bare the name of God should be dispersed ; that the holy 
city should be destroyed ; the temple wherein was the ark of the cove- 
nant, and where God had promised to give His own presence, should 
be burned with fire ; and the king taken, his sons in his own presence 
murdered, his own eyes immediately after be put out; the nobility, 
some cruelly murdered, some shamefully led away captives ; and finally 
the whole seed of Abraham rased, as it were, from the face of the earth 
— the prophet, I say, fearing these horrible calamities, doth, as it were, 
sometimes suffer himself, and the people committed to his charge, to be 
carried away with the violence of the tempest, without further resist- 
ance than by pouring forth his and their dolorous complaints before 
the majesty of God, as in the thirteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth 
verses of this present text we may read. At other times he valiantly 
resists the desperate tempest,, and pronounces the fearful destruction 
of all such as trouble the Church of God ; which he pronounces that 
God will multiply, even when it appears utterly to be exterminated. 
But because there is no final rest to the whole body till the Head return 
to judgment, He exhorts the afflicted to patience, and promises a visita- 
tion whereby the wickedness of the wicked shall be disclosed, and finally 
recompensed in their own bosoms. 


THE KING'S POWER Continued. 

JOHH Knox. 

Wouldst thou, Scotland ! have a king to reign over thee in justice, 
equity, and mercy? Subject thou thyself to the Lord thy God, obey 
His commandments, and magnify thou the Word that calleth unto thee, 
" This is the way, walk in it;" and if thou wilt not, flatter not thyself; 
the same justice remains this day in God to punish thee, Scotland, and 
thee Edinburgh especially, which before punished the land of Judab 
and the city of Jerusalem. Every realm or nation, saith the prophet 
Jeremiah, that likewise offendcth, shall bo likewise punished, but if 
thou shalt see impiety placed in the seat of justice above thee, so that 
in the throne of God (as Solomon complains) reigns nothing but fraud 
and violence, accuse thine own ingratitude and rebellion against God ; 
for that is the only cause why God takes away " the strong man and 
the man of war, the judge and the prophet, the prudent and the aged, 
the captain and the honorable, the counsellor and the cunning artificer ; 
and I will appoint, saith the Lord, children to be their princes, and 
babes shall rule over them. Children are extortioners of my people, 
and women have rule over them." 

If these calamities, I say, apprehend us, so that we see nothing but 
the oppression of good men and of all godliness, and that wicked men 
without God reign above us; let us accuse and condemn ourselves, as 
the only cause of our own miseries. For if we had heard the voice of 
the Lord our God, and given upright obedience unto the same, God 
would have multiplied our peace, and would have rewarded our obedi- 
ence before the eyes of the world. But now let us hear what the pro- 
phet saith further : " The dead shall not live," saith he, "neither shall 
the tyrants, nor the dead arise, because Thou hast visited and scattered 
them, and destroyed all their memory." 


Henry A. Boaedman, D.D. 

Moral courage dares to do its duty under all circumstances, and 
looks not to man but to God for its reward. Founded, as it is, upon 
Christian principle, it is, in its better manifestations, combined with 
the other Christian graces. When we hear of " courage/' we are apt 
to think of a character that is somewhat harsh and violent ; and these 
attributes may certainly coexist even with that admirable endowment 
of which I am speaking. But they are so far from being of its essen- 
tial elements, that they uniformly detract from its real worth. Nothing 
is more remarkable in the conduct of these three young Jews than 


their modesty. Their reply to the king is a model of blended humility 
and firmness. History presents no finer model. There is no bluster- 
ing, no ostentatious proclamation of their creed or their readiness to 
suffer for it, no effort either to awaken sympathy or to insult their 
royal persecutor. They announce in the simplest words, their deter- 
mination not to comply with the imperial edict. And this calm dignity 
is the proper concomitant of true heroism. " It vaunteth not itself, and 
is not puffed up." It is neither clamorous nor dictatorial. It is the 
little heroes who boast much ; great ones can afford to let their works 
praise them. The twittering swallow that skims the surface of the 
earth, and bolts the insects for his evening repast, makes far more ado 
over his achievements than the eagle who seizes a lamb with his huge 
talons and soars away with it on majestic wing to his lofty eyrie. Both 
have their archetypes. There are men whose twitter is as constant as 
the swallow's ; and over achievements perhaps of the same relative 
calibre ; men who are constantly crying with Jehu, " Come with me, 
and see my zeal for the Lord." And there are others whose lives are 
read, not in the jubilation of their own trumpets, but in the track of 
light which marks their footsteps. The image suggested by the 
spectacle of a truly great mind contending with difficulties in the meek 
and lofty spirit of these Jews, is that of a massive and polished ma- 
chine, which moves with tranquil dignity and strength, unimpeded by 
obstacles, and never swerving from its prescribed sphere. 

From " Sermon before the Young Men's Cliristian Asso. of Philadelphia." 


Aloxzo Potter, D.D. 
Our literature is wielding a mighty power alike over the many and 
over the few. It penetrates everywhere, under the guidance of the 
press, and of popular education ; and it speaks with a directness and 
force which have rarely been surpassed. It deals too with the most 
momentous social and political problems, and discusses them often 
with a reckless and ignorant audacity. Let us at the same time 
acknowledge, that, in its better forms, it breathes a spirit of more 
genial humanity, and manifests a truer reverence for the moral and 
spiritual capabilities of our race, than it once did. Even its poetry 
and fiction now plead for social amelioration. Its daily labors send 
light into the dark places of crime and immorality, and it causes its 
voice to be heard as it cries aloud in behalf of the poor and down-trod- 
den. Would that we could see in it a due appreciation of the origin 
and causes of those ills under which mankind still groan. Would 
that it dealt more wisely and anxiously with the reconstruction of 
institutions on which it draws a displeasure that may prove simply 


destructive; that it probed with searching hand the great spiritual 
disease that affects our whole race; and that it saw with earnest heart 
and taught with impressive power, the utter insufficiency of all social 
palliatives and all political reforms, which do not include as their 
ground and ultimate aim, repentance towards God and faith in our 
Lord Jesus Christ. 

From " Discourses, Addresses," &c. 


Alonzo Potter, D. D. 

No monument of stone or brass can worthily commemorate the ser- 
vices of Bishop White. No care, however pious or affectionate, can 
guard his memory or honor his services too well. Thanks then to the 
godly women who in all meekness, but with indomitable patience, have 
striven through five long years to provide here a lasting and mosl 
appropriate memorial. In a church, the scats of which are to be 
always free, and which is to open its doors alike to poor and rich, they 
would remember the destitute and needy, and they would remember 
him, too, who through all his useful life was distinguished by devotion 
to their wants. The sick, the indigent, the vicious, the ignorant and 
neglected, the prisoner in his cell, and those bereaved from birth of 
the most important organs and faculties, ever found in William White 
a frieud and benefactor. May the mantle of his benevolence and 
meek wisdom descend on those who survive or follow him. May the 
example of pious zeal and of gratitude to his memory, which our 
sisters have given us, be gladly imitated ; may we take shame to our- 
selves that this good work has been so long delayed, and may we 
resolve — would that this resolution could be adopted by every house- 
hold in our communion in this city, — may we resolve that we will each 
of us bear some part, however humble, in its early consummation. 

From " Discourses, Addresses," &c. 


Alonzo Potteb, D.D. 

That trust in God, that simple love of Jesus and of those for whom 

he died, which prompted William Penn to come out to this new land, 

that he might make what he calls "the holy experiment," setting "an 

example to the nations of a just and righteous government," that 

spirit of true and universal brotherhood which drew from him, as he 

stood unarmed and undefended under the great elm at Shakamaxon, 

and saw, "as far as his eyes could carry/' the painted and plumed 

children of the forest gazing upon him as a new and strange ruler ; 


that love to God and man, which then impelled his great heart to say 
to them, " I will not call you brothers or children, but you shall be to 
me and mine as half of the same body •" which two years later, when 
he left for England, prompted him to send to this city of brotherly 
love, which he had founded, the message, " And thou, Philadelphia, 
virgin of the province, my soul prays for thee, that faithful to the God 
of thy mercies in the life of righteousness, thou mayest be preserved 
unto the end :" — And again, when he wrote replying to the charge, 
that he had manifested, while here, restless ambition and lust of gain, 
and made this memorable prediction: "If friends here (i. e. in Penn- 
sylvania) keep to God, and in the justice, mercy, equity, and fear of 
the Lord, their enemies will be their footstool; if not, their heirs and 
my heirs too, will lose all." Brethren ! Has our course as a people, 
been thus loyal to God ? Has it been true to this, our beginning — 
faithful to justice, mercy, and the fear of the Lord ? If not, we may 
plume ourselves upon our wealth and enterprise, upon our far-reaching 
domain, upon our achievements in arts or in arms ; but we should 
tremble, when we remember with whom, as a nation, we are to reckon. 
We should tremble, when we consider that his retribution is unerring 
for nations as for individuals, and that, while in the case of indi- 
viduals, just punishment may wait to another life, in the case of 
nations it must fall here. 

From <• Discourses, Addresses '," &c. 



Life is an education. The object for which you educate your son is 
to give him strength of purpose, self-command, discipline of mental 
energies ; but you do not reveal to your son this aim of his education ; 
you tell him of his place in his class, of the prizes at the end of the 
year, of the honors to be given at college. 

These are not the true incentives to knowledge ; such incentives are 
not the highest — they are even mean, and partially injurious ; yet 
these mean incentives stimulate and lead on, from day to day, and 
from year to year, by a process the principle of which the boy himself 
is not aware of. So does God lead on, through life's unsatisfying and 
false reward, ever educating : Canaan first ; then the hope of a Re- 
deemer ; then the millennial glory. Now, what is remarkable in this 
is, that the delusion continued to the last ; they all died in faith, not 
having received the promises ; all were hoping up to the very last, and 
all died in faith — not in realization ; for thus God has constituted the 
human heart. It never will be believed that this world is unreal. 
God has mercifully so arranged it that the idea of delusion is incredible. 


You may tell the boy or girl, as you will, that life is a disappointment ; 
yet, however you may persuade them to adopt your tone, and catch the 
language of your sentiment, they are both looking forward to ■ 
bright distant hope — the rapture of the next vacation, or the unknown 
joys of the next season — and throwing into it an energy of expectation 
which a -whole eternity is only worth. You may tell the man who has 
received the heart-shock, from which in this world he will not recover, 
that life has nothing left; yet the Stubborn heart still hopes On, 6TW 
near the prize, — " wealthiest when most undone;" he has reaped the 
whirlwind, but he will go on still, till life is over, sowing the wind. 


Robert Hall. 
Tiie infidels of the present day are the first sophists who have 
presumed to innovate in the very substance of morals. The dispute 

moral questions hitherto agitated among philosophers have respected 
the grounds of duty, not the nature of duty itself; or they have been 
merely metaphysical, and related to the history of moral sentiments in 
the mind, the sources and principles from which they were most easily 
deduced; they never turned on the quality of those dispositions and 
actions which were to be denominated virtuous. In the firm persuasion 
that the love and fear of the Supreme Being, the sacred observation of 
promises and oaths, reverence to magistrates, obedience to parents, 
gratitude to benefactors, conjugal fidelity, and parental tenderness were 
primary virtues, and the chief support of every commonwealth, they 
were unanimous. The curse denounced upon such as remove ancient 
landmarks, upon those who call good evil, and evil good, put light for 
darkness, and darkness for light, who employ their faculties to subvert 
the eternal distinctions of right and wrong, and thus to poison the 
streams of virtue at their source, falls with accumulated Aveight on the 
advocates of modern infidelity, and on them alone. 


W. B. Stkysns, D. D. 

Young men, God has given you a good land, and has laid upon you 
responsibilities in connection with this land at once vast and solemn. 
The future of this land will be what the young men of this land shall 
make it. 

The Psalmist, in one of his magnificent passages, calls upon the 
pious Israelite to " walk about Zion and go round about her, tell the 
towers thereof, mark ye well her bulwarks, consider her palaces, that 


ye may tell it to the generation following, for this God is our God for 
ever and ever." So, young men, I call upon you to walk about our 
American Zion and go round about her, tell the towers of her strength, 
mark the bulwarks which support her freedom, consider the palaces of 
her glory: and were I called upon, on this day of our nation's Inde- 
pendence, to indicate the towers, the bulwarks, the palaces which 
give to our land strength, beauty, glory, I should not point to our pub- 
lic buildings, magnificent as they are ; nor to our army and navy, gal- 
lant and covered with laurels as they are ; nor to our territorial vast- 
ness, embracing as it does almost a continent ; nor to our commerce, 
our manufactures, our railroads, marvellous as these are, — but I would 
point you to the open Bible, the open door of the church, the open door 
of the school-house, the sacred ministry, the ordinances of grace, the 
wonderful power of the religious press, the banded associations of reli- 
gion and benevolence, the unfettered right of conscience, and the 
reverence which, as a people, we pay to the Christian Sabbath ; these 
are the towers, the bulwarks, the palaces which confer on us a strength, 
a glory, and an influence such as God has given to no other nation 
under the whole heaven. Would you preserve and exalt this nation, 
send abroad the Bible, build up the church of the living God, infuse 
the principles of divine truth into every school, academy, and univer- 
sity, sustain the institution of the ministry, scatter the products of your 
religious press as so many leaves from the tree of life, conduct with 
vigor the great schemes of associated benevolence, preserve intact the 
rights of conscience, and keep holy the Sabbath day. Do these things, 
and our nation will have a righteous government, a righteous system 
of education, a righteous judiciary, a righteous literature, a righteous 
commerce, and in the individual man, the family group, the social 
circle, the civic community, the state, and the nation, there will prevail 
truth, to the exclusion of falsehood and error ; peace, to the exclusion 
of „revenge, bloodshed, and war ; love, to the exclusion of personal and 
national animosities and strifes ; holiness, to the exclusion of every sin ; 
justice, to the exclusion of all oppression; the Christian graces, Faith, 
Hope, and Charity, more beautiful than the fabled graces of classic 
mythology ; and the Christian virtues, more lovely than the muses of 
Grecian song, would adorn each heart, beautify each face, beam out 
from each eye, Paradise would almost be restored to earth, and God 
would again come down in the cool of the day to walk with redeemed 
and sanctified men. 

From " The Trite Glory of a Nation.'" 



JOHH Ml I.vritiN. 

Christianity communicates a glory to all other objects, according 

as they have any relation to it. It adorns the universe; it give- B 
lustre to nature, and to Providence; it is the greatesl glory of this 
lower world, that its Creator was for awhile its inhabitant. A poor 
landlord thinks it a lasting honor to his cottage, that lie has i 
lodged a prince or emperor. With how much more reason may our 
poor cottage, this earth, be proud of it. that the Lord of glory w;i ■ 
tenant from His birth to His death I yea, that lie rejoice 1 in the habit- 
able parts of it before it had a beginning, even from everlasting] 

It is the glory of the world that He who formed it, dwelt on it ; of 
the air, that He breathed in it ; of the sun, that it shone on Him ; of 
the ground, that it bore Him ; of the sea, that He walked on it; of the 
elements, that they nourished Him ; of the waters, that they refreshed 
Him; of us men, that He lived and died among us, yea, that He lived 
and died for us; that he assumed our flesh ami blood, and carried it 
to the highest heavens, where it shines as the eternal ornament and 
wonder of the creation <>(' <!'>d. It gives also a lustre to Providence. 
It is the chief event that adorns the records of time, and enlivens the 
history of the universe. It is the glory of the various great lines of 
Providence, that they point at this as their centre; that they prepared 
the way for its coining ; that after its coming they are subservient to 
the ends of it, though in a way indeed to us at present mysterious and 
unsearchable. Thus we know that they either fulfil the promises of 
the crucified Jesus, or His threatenings ; and show either the happiness 
of receiving Him, or the misery of rejecting Him. 


Hugh Blair. 
Wiiat magnanimity in all His words and actions on this great occa- 
sion ! The court of Herod, the judgment-hall of Pilate, the hill of 
Calvary, were so many theatres prepared for His displaying all the 
virtues of a constant and patient mind. When led forth to suffer, the 
first voice which we hear from Him is a generous lamentation over the 
fate of His unfortunate though guilty country; and to the last moment 
of His life we behold him in possession of the same gentle and benevo- 
lent spirit. No upbraiding, no complaining expression escaped from 
His lips during the long and painful approaches of a cruel death. He 
betrayed no symptom of a weak or a vulgar, of a discomposed or impa- 
tient mind. With the utmost attention of filial tenderness He com- 
mitted His aged mother to the care of His beloved disciple. With all 


the dignity of a sovereign, He conferred pardon on a penitent fellow- 
sufferer. With a greatness of mind beyond example, He spent His 
last moments in apologies and prayers for those who were shedding 
His blood. 

By wonders in heaven, and wonders on earth, was this hour distin- 
guished. All nature seemed to feel it ; and the dead and the living 
bore witness of its importance. The veil of the temple was rent in 
twain. The earth shook. There was darkness over all the land. The 
graves were opened, and "many who slept arose, and went into the 
holy city." Nor were these the only prodigies of this awful hour. 
The most hardened hearts were subdued and changed. The judge 
who, in order to gratify the multitude, passed sentence against Him, 
publicly attested His innocence. The Roman centurion who presided 
at the execution, "glorified God," and acknowledged the Sufferer to be 
more than man. " After he saw the things which had passed, he said, 
Certainly this was a righteous person : truly this was the Son of God/' 
The Jewish malefactor who was crucified with Him addressed Him as 
a King, and implored His favor. Even the crowd of insensible spec- 
tators, who had come forth as to a common spectacle, and who began 
with clamors and insults, "returned home smiting their breasts." 
Look back on the heroes, the philosophers, the legislators of old. View 
them in their last moments. Recall every circumstance which distin- 
guished their departure from the world. Where can you find such an 
assemblage of high virtues, and of great events, as concurred at the 
death of Christ ? Where so many testimonials given to the dignity of 
the dying person by earth and by heaven ? 


Thomas Chalmers. 
Conceive a man to be standing on the margin of this green world, 
and that, when he looked toward it, he saw abundance smiling upon 
every field, and all the blessings which earth can afford, scattered in 
profusion throughout every family, and the light of the sun sweetly 
resting upon all the pleasant habitations, and the joys of human com- 
panionship brightening many a happy circle of society — conceive this 
to be the general character of the scene upon one side of his contem- 
plation, and that on the other, be} r ond the verge of the goodly planet 
on which he was situated, he could descry nothing but a dark and 
fathomless unknown. Think you that he would bid a voluntary adieu 
to all the brightness and all the beauty that were before him upon 
earth, and commit himself to the frightful solitude away from it? 
Would he leave its peopled dwelling-places, and become a solitary 
22* R 


wanderer through the fields of nonentity? If space offered him nothing 
but a wilderness, would he for it abandon the home-bred scenes of Life 
and of cheerfulness that lay so near, and exerted Buch u power of 
urgency to detain him? Would not he cling to the regions of - 
and of life, and of society? — and shrinking away from the desolation 
that was beyond it. would not he be glad to keep his firm footing on 
the territory of this world, and to take shelter under the silver canopy 
that was stretched over it? 

But if, during the time of his contemplation, some happy island "f 
the blest had floated by, and there had burst upon bis senses the light 
of its surpassing glories, and its Bounds of sweeter melody, and he 
clearly saw that there a purer beauty rested upon every field, ami a 
more heartfelt joy spread itself among all the families, and he could 
discern there a peace, and a piety, and a benevolence which put a 
moral gladness into every bosom, and united the whole society in one 
rejoicing sympathy with each other, and with the beneficent Father of 
them all. Could he further see that pain and mortality were there 
unknown, and above all, that signals of welcome were hung out, and 
an avenue of communication was made for him — perceive you not that 
what was before the wilderness, would become the land of invita- 
tion, and that now the world would be the wilderness? What unpeo- 
pled space could not do, can be done by space teeming with beatific 
scenes, and beatific society. And let the existing tendencies of the 
heart be what they may to the scene that is near and visible around 
as, —till if another stood revealed to the prospect of man, either through 
the channel of faith, or through the channel of his senses — then, with- 
out violence done to the constitution of his moral nature, may he die 
unto the present world, and live to the lovelier world that stands in the 
distance away from it. 


Edward Irving. 
Oh! if books had but tongues to speak their wrongs, then might 
this Book well exclaim — Hear, heavens ! and give ear, earth ! I 
came from the love and embrace of God, and mute Nature, to whom I 
brought no boon, did me rightful homage. To men I come, and my 
words were to the children of men. I disclosed to you the mysteries 
of hereafter, and the secrets of the throne of God. I set open to you 
the gates of salvation, and the way of eternal life, hitherto unknown. 
Nothing in heaven did I withhold from your hope and ambition ; and 
upon your earthly lot I poured the full horn of Divine providence and 
consolation. But ye requited me with no welcome, ye held no festivity 


on my arrival : ye sequester me from happiness and heroism, closeting 
me with sickness and infirmity : ye make not of me, nor use me for, 
your guide to wisdom and prudence, put me into a place in your last 
of duties, and withdraw me to a mere corner of your time ; and most 
of ye set me at naught and utterly disregard me. I come, the fulness 
of the knowledge of God ; angels delighted in my company, and desired 
to dive into my secrets. But ye, mortals, place masters over me, sub- 
jecting me to the discipline and dogmatism of men, and tutoring me in 
your schools of learning. I came not to be silent in your dwellings, 
but to speak welfare to you and to your children. I came to rule, and 
my throne to set up in the hearts of men. Mine ancient residence 
was the bosom of Gocl ; no residence will I have but the soul of an 
immortal; and if you had entertained me, I should have possessed you 
of the peace which I had with God, " when I was with Him and was 
daily His delight, rejoicing always before Him. Because I have called 
you and ye have refused, I have stretched out my hand and no man 
regarded ; but ye have set at naught all my counsel, and would none 
of my reproof; I also will laugh at your calamity, and mock when your 
fear cometh as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind, 
when distress and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they cry 
upon me, but I will not answer ; they shall seek me early, but they 
shall not find me." 


Edward Irving. 
Go visit a desolate widow with consolation, and help, and fatherhood 
of her orphan children — do it again and again, and your presence, the 
second of your approaching footstep, the soft utterance of your voice, 
the very mention of your name, shall come to dilate her heart with a 
fulness which defies her tongue to utter, but speaking by the tokens 
of a swimming eye, and clasped hands, and fervent ejaculations to 
Heaven upon your head ! No less copious acknowledgment of God, 
the Author of our well-being, and the Father of our better hopes, ought 
we to feel when His Word discloseth to us the excess of His love. 
Though a veil be now cast over the Majesty which speaks, it is the 
voice of the Eternal which we hear, coming in soft cadences to win our 
favor, yet omnipotent as the voice of the thunder, and overpowering as 
the rushing of many waters. And though the veil of the future inter- 
vene between our hand and the promised goods, still are they from 
His lips who speaks and it is done, who commands, and all things 
stand fast. With no less emotion, therefore, should this Book be 
opened, than if, like him in the Apocalypse, you saw the voice which 


spake ; or, like him in the trance, you were into the third heaven trans- 
lated, company and communing with the realities of glory which eye 
hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived. 


Bishop Whiti. 
It sometimes happens in a human government that, in the adminis- 
tration of its powers, there is expected to be kepi in view some proraii 
nent object, connected perhaps with local interests, or perhaps with a 
certain cast of national character, associated in idea with former events, 
and with reverence of the wisdom of former times. In estimating the 
merits of the chief ruler of such a country, we Bhould contemplate him 
with Borne reference to the peculiarities of his station, not to th< 
cusing of bim from the law of mural right, suited to all persons, and 
places, and times; but to the making of favorable allowances mi the 
Bcore of his sacred regard to the principles of the constitution. In the 
theocracy administered by David, the highest duty lying on him was 
tle> sustaining of the prerogative of the Great King under whose dele- 
gated authority he reigned. In either of the eases stated, our com- 
mendations of the ruler in his public acts are not to be tested exclu- 
sively by the rule of moral right, and without regard to the claim- of 
official character. It was on a different ground that he stood account- 
able at the bar of God. 


Never be tempted to disbelieve the existence of God, when every- 
thing around you proclaims it in a language too plain not to be under- 
stood. Never cast your eyes on creation without having your souls 
expanded with this sentiment," There is a God!" When you survey 
this globe of earth, with all its appendages — when you behold it in- 
habited by numberless ranks of creatures, all moving in their proper 
spheres, all verging to their proper ends, all animated by the same 
great source of life, all supported at the same great bounteous table; 
when you behold not only the earth, but the ocean and the air, swarm- 
ing with living creatures, all happy in their situation — when you behold 
yonder sun darting a vast blaze of glory over the heavens, garnishing 
mighty worlds, and waking ten thousand songs of praise — when you 
behold unnumbered systems diffused through vast immensity, clothed 
in splendor, and rolling in majesty — when you behold these things, 
your affections will rise above all the vanities of time, your full souls 
will struggle with ecstasy, and your reason, passions, and feelings, all 


united, will rush up to the skies, with a devout acknowledgment of the 
wisdom, existence, power, and goodness of God. Let us behold Him, 
let us wonder, praise, adore. These things will make us happy. They 
will wean us from vice, and attach us to virtue. 

As a belief of the existence of God is a fundamental point of salva- 
tion, he who denies it runs the greatest conceivable hazard. He resigns 
the satisfaction of a good conscience, quits the hope of a happy immor- 
tality, and exposes himself to destruction. All this for what? for the 
short-lived pleasure of a riotous, dissolute life. How wretched when 
he finds his atheistical confidence totally destroyed ! Instead of his 
beloved sleep and insensibility, with which he so fondly flattered him- 
self, he will find himself still existing after death, removed to a strange 
place ; he will then find there is a God, who will not suffer his rational 
beings to fall into annihilation as a refuge from the just punishment 
of their crimes ; he will find himself doomed to drag on a wretched 
train of existence in unavailing woe and lamentation. Alas ! how 
astonished will he be to find himself plunged into the abyss of ruin 
and desperation ! God forbid that any of us should act so unwisely as 
to disbelieve, when everything around us proclaims His existence ! 


John M. Mason. 
Frou the remotest antiquity there have been, in all civilized nations, 
men who devoted themselves to the increase of knowledge and happi- 
ness. Their speculations were subtile, their arguings acute, and many 
of their maxims respectable. But to whom were their instructions 
addressed ? To casual visiters, to selected friends, to admiring pupils, 
to privileged orders ! In some countries, and on certain occasions, 
when vanity was to be gratified by the acquisition of fame, their ap- 
pearances were more public. For example, one read a poem, another 
a history, and a third a play, before the crowd assembled at the Olympic 
games. To be crowned there, was, in the proudest period of Greece, 
the summit of glory and ambition. But what did this, what did the 
mysteries of pagan worship, or what the lectures of pagan philosophy, 
avail the people ? Sunk in ignorance, in poverty, in crime, they lay 
neglected. Age succeeded age, and school to school ; a thousand sects 
and systems rose, flourished, and fell ; but the degradation of the multi- 
tude remained. Not a beam of light found its way into their darkness, 
nor a drop of consolation into their cup. Indeed a plan of raising them 
to the dignity of rational enjoyment, and fortifying them against the 
disasters of life, was not to be expected : for as nothing can exceed the 
contempt in which they were held by the professors of wisdom ; so any 


human device, however captivating in theory, would have been worth- 
less in fact. The most sagacious heathen could Imagine do better 
means of improving them than the precepts of his philosophy. Now, 
supposing it to be ever so salutary, its benefits must have been confined 
to a very few; the notion that the bulk of mankind may become philo- 
sophers, being altogether extravagant. They ever have been, and, in 
the nature of things, ever must be, unlearned. Besides, the grovelling 
superstition and brutal manners of the heathen, presented insuperable 
obstacles. Had the plan of their cultivation 1 n even - , espe- 

cially if it comprehended the more abject of the species, it would have 
been universally derided, and would have merited derision, no less than 
the dreams of modern fully about the perfectibility of man. 


Orecjoky T. Bedell. 

What a glorious Bocietyl Innumerable company of angels, arch- 
angels, cherubim, Beraphim ! Thousands of thousands ministered unto 
Him, and ten thousand times ten thousand stoo I before Him. This is 
a part of the society. The spirits of just men made perfect; believers 
made perfect ; their labors finished ; their trials over : their race run ; 
the goal reached ; the prize obtained ; the crown won ; the general 
assembly and Church of the first-born. 

What a glorious society! Saints who have served the Lord during 
every successive period of the world, from righteous Abel to the very 
last of those who, when the Lord shall come a second time, shall be 
caught up to meet Him in the air, and so to be ever with the Lord. 
There is a degree of melancholy grandeur in the idea of a heathen of 
old, who, amid all the darkness, and ignorance, and superstition in 
which he lived, could compose his mind to death in the supposition 
that, in the Elysian fields of his mythology, he should meet with Plato, 
and with Socrates, and with Homer, and with Hesiod, and a host of 
other illustrious worthies, and spend his eternity with them in a philo- 
sophy refined from the grossness of earth. Miserable comfort ! his 
Elysian fields were fables, not even cunningly devised. " But we know 
that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a 
building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens ;" 
and in those mansions of eternal glory are to be found the martyred 
Abel ; that patriarch who walked with God, and was translated with- 
out tasting death ; that father of the faithful, Abraham, with Isaac and 
Jacob, Moses, Joshua, prophets, priests and kings, apostles, martyrs, 
and innumerable servants of the Lord less distinguished ; thousands of 
thousands, gathered out of every tribe, and kindred, and people, and 
from every age and generation of the world. 



H. Melvill. 
It were a strange thought, that a glimpse of heaven will make one 
less alive to the afflictions of earth. Shall the having gazed, though 
but for an instant, on what is pure, and peaceable, and bright, diminish 
his sensibility to the pollution and turmoil of the scene in which he 
still dwells ? Shall he, when he returns from his lofty flight, and comes 
down from his splendid excursion, to engage once more in the business 
of probation, and be again occupied with keeping under the body, and 
disciplining unruly passions — shall he, think you, feel less than before 
the irksomeness of the combat with corruption, or be more at home in 
the wilderness through which his path lies ? Oh, it is not the view of 
heaven which will lighten the burden laid on us by our sinfulness. I 
had almost said, it will increase that burden. Indeed, it is not possible 
that a believer should have gazed on the fair spreadings of the saint's 
home, and contemplated, however distantly, what God hath prepared 
for him as a member of his Son, and not have strengthened in the feel- 
ing, that heaven is worth all his strivings, and in the resolve, that he 
will wrestle for its happiness. But I cannot think that he will be 
more at ease than before in a world which will only seem drearier by 
contrast. I cannot think that the having listened to the harpings of 
angels will make the storm and the discord sound less offensively. I 
cannot think that because he has tasted the fresh waters of the river 
of life, he will find less bitterness in the wormwood which sin will yet 
infuse into his cup. I cannot think that, with the earnests in posses- 
sion, he will be other than more intense in his longings for the perfect 
fruition. And therefore do I believe that, the richer his anticipations 
of heaven, the deeper will be his cry, " that I had the wings of a 
dove ! for then would I flee away and be at rest." So that an apostle, 
and that apostle, St. Paul, who had actually trodden the firmament, 
and seen what saints enjoy, and heard what seraphs sing, was of all 
others the most likely to feel the pressure of spiritual anxieties, and to 
sigh for deliverance ; and who then shall wonder at his using language 
which shows that he included himself, and other true believers, in his 
description of a groaning and waiting creation, " The earnest expecta- 
tion of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God?" 

From " Sermons." 


H. Mel-^ll. 
If there be a cause of exultation, a motive for rejoicing, to a fallen 
creature, must it not be that he is still dear to his Maker, that notwith- 
standing all which he hath done to provoke Divine wrath, and make 


condemnation inevitable, he is regarded with unspeakable tenderness 
by the Almighty, watched over with a solicitude, and provided for at 
a cost, which could not he exceeded if he were the noblest and purest 
of the beings that throng the intelligent universe? Teach me this, 
and yon teaeh me everything. And this I learn from Christ crucified. 
I learn it indeed in a measure from the sun as he walks the firmament, 
and warms the earth into fertility. 1 learn it from tin- moon, ai 
gathers the stars into her train, and throws over creation her robe of -..ft 
light. I gather it from the various operations and provisions of nature, 
from the faculties of the mind, from the capacities of the BOul. Hut if 
1 am taught by these, the beaching after all is but imperfect and partial : 
they do indeed give testimony that man i- not forgotten of God; but 
the testimony would l.e equally given, were there the power of receiving 
it, to tin 1 brute creation, to the innumerable animated tribes which are 
to perish at death. It i> not a testimony, at least not a direct testimony, 

that we are cared for BS immortal being8, and can he pardoned as sinful. 

It is not a testimony that lie who is of purer eyes than to look upon 
iniquity, can receive into favor even the vilest of those who 
thrown oil' allegiance, and manifest such an exuberance of loving- 
kindness towards the guilty, as will not leave the worst case without 
hope and without succor. Show US what will give such testimony as 
this, and sun. and moon, and the granaries of nature, ami the workings 
of intellect, will drop, in comparison, their office of instructor. 

From " Sermons." 


R. J. Brfxkexridge. 

All the immense problems on whose solution the destiny of man 
depends — and chief among these, the nature, the position, and the 
efficacy of all religious institutions — are presented among us in a light 
altogether singular. Here, for the first time, religion is absolutely free; 
and having been corrupted everywhere else by its union with the civil 
power, or pressed everywhere else under the iron hand of persecution, 
its sublime mission among us is to make manifest its capacity to be at 
once free and efficacious in the bosom of a people at once great and 
free. Moreover, the people among whom this vast experiment is to 
have free scope, differ most remarkably from all others precisely in 
those respects in which religion might be supposed most capable of 
being affected for good or ill, by other absorbing interests of man. 
Here there is cast loose upon society — wholly disconnected with reli- 
gion, and, therefore, available against it as well as for it — a larger 
proportion of educated intellect has never before existed in any com- 


munity ; a greater mass which must needs be influenced, and, when 
influenced either way, correspondingly powerful ; a mass stimulated 
throughout every portion of it to a degree never witnessed before in 
any age of the world. Can the religion of Christ establish its dominion, 
by its own power, over such hearts ? Can it maintain supreme sway 
over such minds by its own simple and divine force? It is a singular 
proof of its wonderful hold upon the human soul, that, so far from being 
shaken loose, it has constantly augmented its influence throughout the 
terrific agitations of the human race during the whole career of our 
country. It has survived the midnight of the world ; and its last office 
is to preside over the noon of human grandeur. Let us do our part 
toward the accomplishment of this sublime destiny. 


M. Hopkins. 

That onward movement in the march of creation, how grand it is ! 
how mysterious in its origin ! How inscrutable, how utterly beyond 
the scope of science are its issues ! Only after the dethronement of 
chaos, and during the first epoch in which there were orderly arrange- 
ments and recurrent movements, was science possible. Then she might 
have pitched her tent, and polished her glasses, and built her labora- 
tory, and have begun her observations and her records. She might 
have counted every scale on the placoids, and every spot on the lichens, 
and every ring on the graptolites, and have analyzed the fog from every 
standing pool ; and so have gone on thousands of years, feeling all the 
time that her tent was a house with stable foundations, and her recur- 
ring movements an inheritance for ever. " Do you suppose," she might 
have said, "that this fixed order will be broken up?" "Do you not 
see that since the fathers fell asleep all things continue as they were V 
But that epoch came to its close. The placoids, and lichens, and grap- 
tolites, and all the science connected with them, were whelmed beneath 
the surface, to be known no more except as they might leave their 
record there. Then again, in the second period, science might have 
gone the same round, and fallen into the same infidelity. And, indeed, 
from her own stand-point alone, how could she do otherwise ? The 
circular movement cannot speak of that which is to end it. And so it 
has been through the epochs. 

According to its own records, the coming up of the creation out of 
the past eternity has been as the march of an army that should move 
on by separate stages with recruits of new races and orders at the 
opening of each encampment. During those long days of God there 
was scope for science, and for a new one in each. In each, science 


oould pitch the tent, and forage, and perfect the arrangement for the 
encampment j but she could not tell when the tents were to be struck, 
or where tin' army would march next. And so the movement has been 
onward till our epoch has come, and wc have Kc. mi called in as recruits. 
And now again science is busy with her fixed arrangements and recur- 
ring movements ; but knows just as little as before of the rectilinear 
movement — of the direction and termination of this mighty march. 
It is within thi* movement, and not in the 8pher< ofsciena (hat our great 
interest lies. Belonging to arrangements and movements in this world, 
science can do much for us in this world, hut she cannot regenerate the 
world, she cannot secure the interests which lie only in the rectilineal 
line of movement, and which are " the one thing needful." Of that 
movement we can know nothing except through faith. Through that 

we may know. Wc believe then: is one who has marshalled the hosts 
of this moving army, and who has the ordering of them, and that he 

has told us bo much of this onward movement as we need to know; 
and here it is that we find that sphere of faith which we say is distinct 
from science, but not opposed to it. 

man's love to god. 

J. McClintock. 

At every stage of life, man seeks for love. Yet he finds none that 
endures. What affections are not blasted by sin, by the world's sad 
changes, by the treachery of feeble natures, by the destroying forces 
of ambition or of avarice, — those, I say, that are proof against all 
these — and ! how Jew these are, the bitter experience of life has 
convinced us all — what becomes of them? Buried, too often, in the 
graves of those that gave and received them. Who among us has not 
felt his own love — that went forth warm and gushing — falling back in 
an Alpine torrent upon his heart, as he has seen the dull earth close 
upon remains dearer to him than life ! 

But has God given us these affections, and are they never to be satis- 
fied? Is there no object toward which they can be turned, that shall 
not change ? Here, brethren, it is that Religion offers to fill this deepest 
craving of our nature. She offers to us an object worthy of our highest, 
purest love in the infinite and unchangeable God. She offers to us the 
"One altogether lovely," and tells us that lie will accept our love, and 
treasure it up so that it shall never fail us. And she wooes us to 
bestow our affection thus, by showing us that God is not only so infinite 
in goodness as to be willing to receive our love, but that, in his 
unbounded condescension, he has sought us by pouring out the riches 
of his own infinite affection upon us ! And she tells us, that this 


supreme affection will not only have permanence in itself, but will also 
so sanctify and transfigure all our lower affections as to endow them 
with its own immortality, that our love for children, parents, husband, 
wife, or friend, need not perish with them, but may bloom for ever, in 
the paradise of God. In this sense, we may take as entirely true the 
beautiful language of Southey : 

" They sin, who tell us love can die ! 
With life all other passions fly, 
All others are but vanity. 
Earthly, these passions of the earth, 
They perish where they had their birth ; 
But love is indestructible, 
Its holy flame for ever burneth — 
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth." 


F. D. Huntington. 

You have seen the religionist of mere passion. That impulsive tem- 
perament is doubtless capable of good services to the master. But, to 
that end, the master must have the reforming of it. That unsteady 
purpose must be made steadfast through a thoughtful imitation of the 
constancy, that said, "Behold, I go up to Jerusalem to be crucified." 
That fluctuating wing of worship, must be poised by some influence 
from those hills, where whole nights were not too long for a Kedeemer's 
prayers. That inexpert swimmer in the sea of life, now rising, now 
sinking, and now noisily splashing the waters, must be schooled by 
sober experience to glide onward with a firmer and stiller stroke. 
Ardor must be matched with consistency. You are not to be carried to 
heaven by a fitful religion, periodically raised from the dead at seasons 
of social exhilaration ; not by a religion alive at church, but stagnant 
in the streets and in the market-places ; not by a religion kindling at 
some favored hour of sentimental meditation, only to sink and flicker 
in the drudgery of common work. It is to little purpose that we read, 
and circulate, and preach the Bible, except all our reading and all our 
living gain thereby a more biblical tone. And it is quite futile that 
our breasts glow with some fugitive feeling in the house of God, unless 
that feeling dedicates our common dwellings to be all houses of God. 

So have you seen the religious legalist. In business, in the street, in 
sanctuaries, at home, you have seen him. In business, measuring off 
his righteousness by some sealed measure of public usage, as mechani- 
cally as his merchandise, and making a label or a dye-stuff his cunning 
proxy to tell the lie that some judicial penalty had frightened from his 
tongue ; disowning no patent obligation, but cheating the customer, or 
oppressing the weak, in secret. In the street, wearing an outside of 


genial manners, with a frosty temper under it. or a cloak of pro] 
with a heart of Bin; in the sanctuary, purchasing, with formal profes- 
sions, one day, the privilege of an untroubled Belftseekii rsix, 
or possibly opening the p 1 the prayer-book here to-day, with 
ante hand that will wronj rrow; and at home, 
practising that reluctant virtue that would hardly ugad affec- 
tion but for the marriage-bond, and that, by I rted to another 
continent, would find a Parisian atmosphi . at of all it- scruple*. 
descending, al present, to the depth of depravity, be certainly 
never pure pietj . R Imirable traits 
you -ee in him, you miss that distinctive mark which i 
knowledge of as a spiritual consecration. 

Engraft, now. on that "wild olive" Btock, the sweet j I 'hri>- 

tian Love, drawn from their original Btocs in Bethlehem, "of th< 
of David and the root of Ji ften that hard integrity by Christian 

charity: in place of duty done from Bheer compulsion, put duty i 
from a willing, eager, and believing heart. I>» this, and thou -halt live. 


Eliphaux Xott. 
Absubd as duelling is, were it absurd only, though we might smile 
at the weakness and pity the folly of it* -. there would I 

riously attacking them. But, to what has been -aid, I 
add, that duelling is bash and presumptuous. Life is the gift of God, 

and it was never bestowed to be sported with. To each, the e ivereign 
of the has marked out a sphere to move in, and assigned a 
part to act. This part respects ourselves not only, but others also. 
Each lives for the benefit of all. As in the system of nature the sun 
shines, not to display its own brightness, and answer its own conve- 
nience, but to warm, enlighten, and bless the world ; so in the sy 
of animated beings, there is a dependence, a correspondence and a 
relation through an infinitely extended, dying, and reviving universe, 
in which no man livelh to himself, and no man dieth to himself. Friend 
is related to friend ; the father to his family ; the individual to com- 
munity. To every member of which, having fixed his station and 
assigned his duty, the God of nature says, " Keep this trust — defend 
this post." For whom? For thy friends — thy family — thy country. 
And having received such a charge, and for such a purpose, to desert it- 
is rashness and temerity. 

Since the opinions of men are as they are, do you ask, how you shall 
avoid the imputation of cowardice, if you do not fight Avhen you are 
injured ? Ask your family how you will avoid the imputation of cruelty 


—ask your conscience how you will avoid the imputation of guilt — ask 
God how you will avoid his malediction if you do. These are previous 
questions. Let these first be answered, and it will be easy to reply to 
any which may follow them. If you only accept a challenge, when you 
believe in your conscience that duelling is wrong, you act the coward. 
The dastardly fear of the world governs you. Awed by its menaces, 
you conceal your sentiments, appear in disguise, and act in guilty con- 
formity to principles not your own, and that, too, in the most solemn 
moment, and when engaged in an act which exposes you to death. 

But if it be rashness to accept, how passing rashness is it, in a sinner, 
to give a challenge ? Does it become him, whose life is measured out 
by crimes, to be extreme to mark, and punctilious to resent whatever is 
amiss in others? Must the duellist, who now, disdaining to forgive, so 
imperiously demands satisfaction to the uttermost — must this man, 
himself trembling at the recollection of his offences, presently appear a 
suppliant before the mercy-seat of God ? Imagine this, and the case is 
not imaginary, and you cannot conceive an instance of greater incon- 
sistency or of more presumptuous arrogance. Wherefore, avenge not 
yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath; for vengeance is mine, I will 
repay it, saith the Lord. 


Br, DtTRBis. 

The good man only is rationally and permanently cheerful. No 
cheerfulness but his is beyond the power of fortune, or the influence of 
earthly events. If prosperity smile on him, and he and his country are 
full to overflowing, he does not become proud and vain in his heart, and 
forget his God. His devotion becomes more intense and uniform by 
the addition of a large amount of gratitude ; and, instead of using the 
power which the abundance of his wealth gives him, to do harm, he 
uses it, and his wealth also, to diffuse relief and joy among the afflicted, 
and thus disposes a thousand hearts to rise up and bless him. 

Besides this, he has the pleasure of the consciousness of doing good, 
and being good — a pleasure, beyond a doubt, the purest and highest a 
human heart can feel on earth, except the pleasure of a consciousness 
of sin forgiven, and of the favor of God. Moreover, I may add, he is in 
haste to do all the good he can, during his prosperity, for he knows not 
but that he may be quickly deprived of the power to do good, by some 
sudden reverse of fortune. He seizes quickly the opportunity of 
" laying up for himself a good foundation against the time to come," 
that his Saviour may say to him, with others : " Come, ye blessed of my 
Father, inherit the kingdom ; for I was hungry, and ye fed me ; thirsty, 

270 TIM iC kDEMIC BPB u. 

and ye gave me drink; naked, and ye clothed me; sick, and in pi 
and ye visited me ; for, inasmuch b done ii unto one of the 

least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." With 
exalted end in view, he hastens to do all the good he can during 
prosperity . 

But Bhould he be a child of adversity, from Id- youth up. or should 
he experience the deepest reverses of fortune; do riches \ - and 

flyaway; do friends forsake; does health Tail: does In- stand like - 
blasted tree, on the bleak mountain peak, -tripped of all it- branches, 
and Scathed with the storms ami Lightning ; has the 

genius of det lation and Borrow taken him into captivity — under any 
or all those circumstances, he does not, like the ungodly man too fre- 
quently, throw away his life foolishly, in a lit of de-pair: hut with a 
firmness and resignation peculiar to a go »d man. he bows to the awful 
dispensations of his ( h>d, and repeats, with a chastened smile, "Thy 
will be done !" and though that will is awfully mysterious at the pn 
time, yet he IS sure its issues will he best. Of such an one, under 
Buch ciroumstfl may well say, with the poet: 

"Like some tall cliff, that lifts lii- awful form, 
Swells from the vale, ami midway leaves the storm; 
Though clouds and tempests round it- | read, 

oal sunshine settles on its hi 


J. B. Kerfoot. 

How much of any good deed has Bprung from love of praise, or how 
far it would have been changed if no such reward had been in view, is 
not an easy thing for any one to decide. How far virtue carries us, 
and where love of praise takes us up, would often be a wholes 
inquiry. Here is peril — all the greater from the fact, that it is right 
to desire the regards of the virtuous. God implants the desire in us as 
a help to duty : but it must not be the motive or the measure of duty. 
Conscience must be cultivated so as to be able to decide and impel 
without any such aid. Otherwise our virtue will become less real — 
more hollow every day. We will allow ourselves to receive more 
credit than is our due. We will gradually forget how little our due is. 
Weakening principle and growing vanity will be the result. A most 
subtle selfishness and cowardice will grow up. Appearances will be 
maintained, but reality will die out. An exterior, felt by us to be un- 
fair, will be more carefully regarded than that honest reality of prin- 
ciple within, which only can make us good men, useful men, and true 
men. The remed3 r is this. Let God and your own consciences be the 


judges to which you make your hourly appeals. Keep all other appeals 
in the background. Try yourselves more by your private life — that 
which no one else knows, than by that which others judge by. Bishop 
Jeremy Taylor says, truly — " He that does as well in private, between 
God and his own soul, as in public, in pulpits, in theatres and market- 
places, hath given himself a good testimony that his purposes are full 
of honesty, nobleness, and integrity." " The breath of the people," he 
adds, " is but air, and that not often wholesome." Nor is it — real 
virtue stifles and grows faint if it breathe it too much. It may exhilar- 
ate for a time, but it leaves afterwards the sickening sense of a hollow 
hypocrisy, for which the honest man will loathe himself in secret. 
Live, then, before your conscience. Let conscience people your area 
of action with the spectators whose applause you seek. The great 
philosopher as well as orator of Rome, may have felt the truth of his 
words all the more because of his own vanity, when he wrote " Nullum 
theatrum virtuti conscientia majus est" — "Virtue can have no theatre 
greater than conscience." I may add, that there is no theatre besides 
in which our deeds and words will not become too much the acting of a 
player's part. 

From " College, of St. James Commencement Addresses." 


Rt. Rev. Wm. White, D. D. 
In regard to the confirming of our faith, there is weighty evidence 
in this consent of prophecy and history, and of prophecies and events 
of different ages, in a long succession, respectively answering to one 
another. Here is an extraordinary series, which, like that of the for- 
tunes of the seed of Abraham, is addressed to all ages. Our Saviour, 
having read in a synagogue, from the Prophet Isaiah, a description of 
the character in which he was at that moment manifesting himself, 
made the appeal to their senses and to their understandings — " This 
day is this Scripture fulfilled in your ears." But in the present sub- 
ject, we have the detail of successive prophecies, which have been 
fulfilling through many ages ; which, in this, our day, are going on in 
their fulfilment, and which will continue to be fulfilled, in what 
remains of time. Balanced with this evidence, how light are difficul- 
ties lying on the face of detached parts of the Christian system ; the 
meaning of which we may have mistaken ; while this sentiment, per- 
vading it, may be made luminous to every understanding ! a senti- 
ment, which a succession of impostors would have found it impossible 
to sustain through a long tract of time, as it would also have been for 
them, had they so continued it, to have brought the state of the world, 
and the conduct, as well of enemies as of friends, to correspond with 


the extraordinary scheme, thus supposed to have been contrived. 
What then should be the result, but oat being rendered by it the hum- 
ble disciples of the blessed Person who once "tabernacled among men," 

ami who is now exulted far above "all principality and power, and 
might, and dominion, and every mime that U named, Dot only in this 
world, but also in that which i- to come." 

From '• Mi* vwu-ij S>:riwn." 


.'. li. Ki nrooT. 

I know do! bow 1 can better conclude this address to you all, young 
gentlemen— especially to you who have now i be our pupils — 

than by proposing as it^ title "in- of the most expressive words with 
which your Greek studies have familiarized you. I tried to think of 
Bome one w<>rd in our own language which would express my idea, but 
none occurr< d to me. I wished to impress the thought of virtue beau- 
tiful because of Us reality; lovely in appearance because real in its 
nature. Kalozayabta — beauty anl goodness inseparably united; spring- 
ing each from the other — the moral state and appearance of the upright 
man. KaXoxayaBia seems to me the very word needed, lie who 
exhibits virtue in a graceless form, beli arccly less than he 

who puts show in the place of reality. Goodness and loveliness belong 
together ; neither can exist apart from the other. Moral goodness must 
always be beautiful. Moral beauty can never clothe anything but 
moral goodness. Bend your efforts to the reality, and the loveliness 
which belongs to it will appear of itself. Desire to exhibit the loveli- 
ness of goodness, not for your own sake or praise, but for the sake of 
virtue and of her One Fountain, and you will avoid needless offences. 
But feel it to be a degradation to wish to appear, or to consent to 
appear, in any matter better than you are. Yet rebel not against the 
exactions of your place and circumstances. They require high virtue 
and its good name. Concentrate your thoughts upon the former; the 
latter, the good name, will not fail to come with it. Make yourself 
xa?MxayaOoq — xaXoq /.at o.yo.Ooc. Seek what I now earnestly com- 
mend to you all — y.aloy.aYo.O'.a — and do it, in the only true and sure 
way, by seeking till you find that which has so often been commended 
to you in a place and on occasions more sacred than this, and in the 
words of Divine origin — " The Beauty of Holiness I" 

From " College of St. James Commencement Addresses." 



Bishop McIlvaine. 

Already had the Disciples learned, by painful experience, that it 
was through much tribulation they were to share in his kingdom ; but 
such trials had not shaken their faith. Accustomed to behold him 
despised, persecuted, and rejected of men, their confidence was con- 
tinually sustained, as they heard him speak " as never man spake/' 
and with an authority that controlled the sea and raised the dead. 
But now, deep tribulation, such as they had not known before, had 
overtaken them. What darkness had come upon their faith ! He, who 
was once so mighty to give deliverance to the captive, had himself been 
taken captive and bound to the cross. He, who with a word raised the 
dead, had been violently, wickedly, put to an ignominious death. He, 
whom they expected to reign as King of kings, and to subdue all 
nations, had been brought under the dominion of his own nation, and 
shut up in the sepulchre, and all the people of Israel were now boast- 
fully confident that the death of the cross had proved him a deceiver. 
0, indeed, it was a season of great heaviness, and dismay, and trial, 
those days and nights in which their beloved Master was lying in death ! 
The great stone which his enemies had rolled to the door of the sepul- 
chre, lest his disciples should go by night and take away the body, was 
expressive of the cold, dead weight, which that death and burial had 
laid upon their hearts. That sepulchre seemed as the tomb of all their 
hopes. All was buried with Jesus. "For, as yet (it is written), they 
knew not the Scripture, that he must rise again from the dead." 
(John, xx. 9.) Had they understood what he had often told them, they 
would have known " that thus it behooved (the) Christ to suffer, and to 
rise from the dead the third day." 

The third day was now come. The Jewish Sabbath was over. The 
first day of the week was breaking. While it is yet dark, faithful women 
repair to the sepulchre with spices for the embalming. They find the 
stone rolled away. Wondering at this, they enter the tomb. The body 
is not there. Enemies have taken it away, is their first thought. Mary 
Magdalene hastens to say to Peter and John, "they have taken away 
the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid 
him." Angels appear to the women in their alarm, saying, " He is not 
here, but is risen." "With fear," and yet "with great joy," they ran 
"to bring his disciples word." But to the latter, " their words seemed 
as idle tales, and they believed them not." Peter and John had now 
reached "the place where the Lord lay," and entering in, they found 
the grave-clothes remaining, but otherwise an empty sepulchre. " They 
saw and believed." After a little, came Mary Magdalene to the other 
disciples, and " told them she had seen the Lord," and what things he 



had spoken unto her. Still, "they believed not." It seemed too good 
to be true. Bow was it that they did not remember hie words, which 
even the chief priests and Pharisees repeated to Pilate, as a reason for 
posting a guard around the tomb, "After three days, I will rise again." 
The terrible Bhock of the crucifixion must have bo stunned their faith, 
and distracted their thoughts, that what they afterward remembered 
so clearly, was either forgotten, or not comprehended. 


F. Wmjumv. 

Oi'R object will not have been accomplished till the tomahawk shall 
be buried forever, ami the tree of peace spread its broad branches from 
the Atlantic to the Pacific; until a thousand smiling villages shall be 
reflected from the waves of the Missouri, and the distant valleys of the 
West echo with the song of the reaper; till the wilderness and the 
solitary place shall have been glad for us, and the desert has rejoiced 
and blossomed afl the rose. Our labors are not to cease until Africa 
shall have been enlightened and redeemed, and Ethiopia, from the 
Mediterranean to the Cape, shall have stretched forth her hand unto 

How changed will then be the face of Asia! Brahmins, and sooders, 
and castes, and Bhasters, will have passed away, like the mist which 
rolls up the mountain's side before the rising glories of a summer's 
morning; while the land on which it rested, shining forth in all its 
loveliness, shall, from its numberless habitations, send forth the high 
praises of God and the Lamb. The Hindoo mother will gaze upon her 
infant with the same tenderness which throbs in the breast of any 
Christian mother ; and the Hindoo son will pour into the wounded 
bosom of his widowed parent the oil of peace and consolation. 

In a word, point us to the loveliest village that smiles upon a Scottish 
or New England landscape, and compare it with the filthiness and 
brutality of a Caffrarian kraal, and we tell you that our object is to 
render that Caffrarian kraal as happy and as gladsome as that Scottish 
or New England village. Point us to the spot on the face of the earth, 
where liberty is best understood and most perfectly enjoyed, where 
intellect shoots forth in its richest luxuriance, and where all the kind- 
lier feelings of the heart are constantly seen in their most graceful 
exercise ; point us to the loveliest and happiest neighborhood in the 
world on which we dwell ; and we tell you that our object is to render 
this whole earth, with all its nations, and kindreds, and tongues, and 
people, as happy, nay, happier than that neighborhood. 



George F. Pierce. 
The relative duties of life are performed not to gratify a native 
generosity, or eke out a dubious popularity, but as part of the service 
and homage due his Maker. Over the whole circumference of his 
engagements — in the bosom of his family — the busy marts of trade — 
the retirement of the closet — the worship of the sanctuary — the citizen- 
ship of the world — there presides a solemn recognition of the divine 
presence, his being and his empire, and every step is taken in reference 
to him as a witness and a judge. I know that many profess and seem 
to be religious on lower principles. Public opinion — consistency — ease 
of conscience, to shun hell, to gain heaven, all operate, and they super- 
sede and dethrone the higher law in the text. Not that these motives 
are illegitimate, but partial and inferior. They ought not to become 
principal and paramount ; and they cannot without a deleterious unhinge- 
ment of character, and a transfer of our duty from the ground of what 
is divine and authoritative, to that which is human and self-pleasing. 
•The motive in the text is comprehensive, embracing all lower ends — 
harmonizes all, yet subordinates them all to its own sovereign sway. 
Like a conqueror at the head of his battalions, it marches forth to 
subdue the insurgent elements that would dispute its dominion. It is 
the " stronger man" keeping his goods in peace. Without it, there can 
be no consecration, and with it no compromise of duty. The failure to 
recognise and adopt this great principle of morality, has fearfully 
diluted the experience of the church, and embarrassed every department 
of Christian service. " I will run in the way of thy commandments, 
when thou shalt enlarge my heart," said the Psalmist. No man can 
rise above the constraining considerations which spring from interest, 
feeling, safety, pleasure, in reference to all minor questions of duty, 
save as he resolves religion into some great general principles and 
purposes, from the decisions of which there is no appeal. 


C. H. Spurgeon. 
The world hath its night. It seemeth necessary that it should have 
one. The sun shineth by day, and men go forth to their labors ; but 
they grow weary, and nightfall cometh on, like a sweet boon from heaven. 
The darkness draweth the curtains, and shutteth out the light, which 
might prevent our eyes from slumber ; while the sweet, calm stillness 
of the night permits us to rest upon the lap of ease, and there forget 
awhile our cares, until the morning sun appeareth, and an angel puts 
his hand upon the curtain, and undraws it once again, touches our eye- 


lids, and bida us rise, and proceed to the labors of the day. Night is 
one of the greatest men enjoy; we have many reasoi 

thank God for it. Vet nigb.1 i- to manj a gloomy season. There is 
"the pestilence that walketh in darkness;" there is "the terror by 
night;" there is the dread of robbers and of fell disease, with all I 
fears that the timorous know, when they have no light wherewith they 

can discern object8. Ir i- then they fancy that spiritual creatures walk 
the earth; though, if they knew rightly, they would find it to he true, 


"Millions of spiritual creatures walk this earth, 
Unseen, both when we sleep, and when we wake/' 

and that at all times they arc round about us — not more by night than 
by day. Nighl i^ the Beason of terror and alarm to most men. Yet 
even night hath it- - DgS. Have you never stood by the seaside at 
night, and heard the pebbles Bing, and the waves chant God's glories t 

Or have you never risen from your couch, and thrown up the window 
of your chamber, and listened there? Listened to what? Silence — 
Bave now and then a murmuring sound, which seems sweet music then. 
And have you not fancied that you heard the harp of God playing in 
heaven? Did you not conceive, that yon stars, that those eye- of God, 
looking down on you, were also mouth- of gong — that every star was 
singing God's glory, singing, as it shone, its mighty .Maker, and his 
lawful, well-deserved praise? Night hath it- Bongs. We need not 
much poetry in our spirit, to catch the song of night, and hear the 
spheres as they chant praises which are loud to the heart, though they 
be silent to the ear — the praises of the mighty God, who hears np the 
unpillared arch of heaven, and moves the stars in their courses. 


J. C. Young. 
The danger of deferring the service of God is further evinced by the 
fact, that, the imjjressions produced upon you, by his truths, have a 
natural tendency to become weaker. They become weaker, in accordance 
with the general laws .of our nature. Thus we find, that impunity, in 
any course, produces in us insensibility to its danger. The young 
soldier, when, for the first time, he enters the field of battle, is almost 
always agitated and alarmed ; when he first hears the shock, the 
shout, the groans of war, his heart sinks within him. But each succes- 
sive conflict, from which he escapes unharmed, hardens his heart 
against fear ; and when he has become a veteran — when he has been 
long accustomed to such sights and sounds, the roar of artillery, the 
flash of sabres, and the clash of bayonets, cease to produce their former 


impressions upon his mind. Even so it is with the soul, in view of 
those truths which God presents before us in his word, to alarm us, and 
urge us to repentance. Their tendency to impress us and awe us from 
ways of sin, is diminished by each successive presentation, when that 
presentation fails to produce in us any amendment. Even in diseases 
of the body, we usually find, that the more frequently a remedy is 
applied to a disorder, without effecting a decided and favorable change, 
the less prospect there is of its ultimate success. The remedy seems to 
become weaker on each successive application. The system appears 
to gain, from every failure, a greater capacity of resisting its effects. 
Thus we find it to be with the soul, in its resistance to these truths, 
which are furnished to us, by God, as the remedies for the disease of 
sin. When they are often presented without producing a change of 
life, they become familiar, and cease to excite any emotion. Are they 
denunciations of the wrath of God against sin, or descriptions of the 
woes to be endured in the dungeons of despair ? They are heard, as 
we hear the howlings of a stormy blast, from which we apprehend no 
personal danger. Are they proclamations of mercy — invitations from 
our heavenly Father, to us wandering and needy prodigals, to return 
and enjoy the rich blessings he is ever ready to bestow ; or are they 
descriptions of the love, the sufferings, and the glory of our divine, yet 
condescending Redeemer? They are listened to, as we "listen to the 
song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and playeth well upon an instru- 
ment i" or perhaps the tale has been so often heard, that all its novelty 
and interest are gone, and it falls upon dull and listless ears. 

From " Sermon before the Judges." 



Contemplate for a moment the nature of that event which puts the 
limit to human life, whether conditionally or otherwise. And, here, we 
cannot forbear a reflection, upon the universality of this awful curse. 
It has smitten with blasting and mildew every earthly object. The 
whole assemblage of living beings, originally designed to luxuriate in 
the vigor, and to sparkle in the glories of uninterrupted existence, is 
doomed to die. The glow-worm must extinguish his little spark in the 
night of death. The myriads of insects that crawl upon the earth, or 
float upon the atmospheric wave, must die. Quadrupeds, fishes, fowls, 
must die. Vegetation must die. And, last of all, man himself must 
die: and the world, instead of being a living temple, animated and 
adorned with harmonious orders of rejoicing creatures, must become 
their common vortex, one vast sepulchre, the tomb of all that hath life. 


Sere, death reigns in dark and dismal dignity, from age to age, and 

from pole to pole. In all probability, ours is the only Bpot Over which 
his dread dominion extends. In other places, existence, beyond a 
doubt, yet glitters in primeval beauty. The angel of death has never 
visited their healthful abodes, to pour his vial on the air, to -cutter over 

them the seeds of consumption, and to wake from their happy popula- 
tion the wail of lamentation and of woe. Here we breathe the infected 
atmosphere of a loathsome hospital, and while we witness the havoc 
which appals us, we expire in our turn. 

From" A Sermon." 


T. P. Akers. 

Whatever may be the lot of those to whom error is an inheritance, 
woe be to the people by whom it is an adoption. If America, free 
above all nations, sustained amidst the trials which have covered the 
earth with burning and slaughter, and enlightened by the fullest know- 
ledge of the Divine will, refuse fidelity to the compact by which those 
matchless privileges have been given, her condemnation will neither 
be distant nor delayed. But, if she faithfully repel this deepest of all 
crimes, and refuse to place Popery, side by Bide, with Christianity, 
there may be no bound to the sacred magnificence of her preservation. 
The coming terrors and tribulations of the earth may but augment her 
glory. Even in the midst of thunderings and lightnings, which appal 
the tribes of earth, she may be led up, like the prophet, to the Mount, 
only to behold the Eternal Majesty ; and when the visitation has past, 
the world may see her coming forth from the cloud, her brow blazing, 
and her hands holding the " commandments' , of mankind. 


J. n. Newman. 
Christ died, not in order to exert a peremptory claim on the divine 
justice, if I may so speak, — as if He were bargaining in the market- 
place or pursuing a plea in a court of law, — but in a more loving, 
generous, munificent way, He shed that blood, which was worth ten 
thousand lives of men, worth more than the blood of all the sons of 
Adam heaped together, in accordance with His Father's will, who, for 
wise reasons unrevealed, exacted it as the condition of their pardon. 


Nor was this all ; — one drop of His blood had been sufficient to satisfy 
for our sins ; He might have offered His circumcision as an atonement, 
and it would have been sufficient ; one moment of His agony of blood, 
had been sufficient ; one stroke of the scourge might have wrought a 
sufficient satisfaction. But neither circumcision, agony, nor scourging 
was our redemption, because He did not offer them as such. The price 
He paid was nothing short of the whole treasure of His blood, poured 
forth to the last drop from His veins and sacred heart. He shed His 
whole life for us ; He left Himself empty of His all. He left His throne 
on high, He gave up His home on earth ; He parted with His Mother, 
He gave His strength and His toil, He gave His body and soul, He 
offered up His passion, His crucifixion, and His death, that man should 
not be bought for nothing. This is what the Apostle intimates in say- 
ing that we are " bought with a great price ;" and the Prophet, while he 
declares that " with the Lord there is mercy, and with Him a copious" 
or " plenteous redemption/' 

From " Newman's Sermons." 


J. H. Newman. 

Faith alone reaches to the end, faith only endures. Faith and prayer 
alone will endure in that last dark hour, when Satan urges all his 
powers and resources against the sinking soul. What will it avail us 
then to have devised some subtle argument, or to have led some bril- 
liant attack, or to have mapped out the field of history, or to have 
numbered and sorted the weapons of controversy, and to have the 
homage of friends and the respect of the world, for our successes, — 
what will it avail to have had a position, to have followed out a work, 
to have reanimated an idea, to have made a cause to triumph, if after 
all we have not the light of faith to guide us on from this world to the 
next ? how fain shall we be in that day to change our place with 
the humblest, and dullest, and most ignorant of the sons of men, rather 
than to stand before the judgment-seat in the lot of him who has received 
great gifts from God, and used them for self and for man, who has shut 
his eyes, who has trifled with truth, who has repressed his misgivings, 
who has been led on by God's grace, but stopped short of its scope, who 
has neared the land of promise, yet not gone forward to take possession 
of it! 

From " Newman's Sermcms." 



Arciii.. SHOP Wfl \tf:lt. 

It is a great consolation to as to look forward, as J think we are 
authorized to do, to a time when not only the knowledgt of the g< 
will be greatly extended, but also the influence of the gospel on 
Christians' hearts, and tempers, and lives — "the knowledge and love 
of God," and the "fruits of his Spirit," — will be still much more 
increased ; — when those who are Christians in name, Avill be much 
less disposed to content themselves with the name, — much more 
careful to be Christians in principle and in conduct, than the far 
greater part of them are now: — when Christians, generally, will not 
look, as they arc apt to do now, on the apostles and others of the early 
Church whom it is usual to distinguish by the title of saint, as possess- 
ing a degree and a kind of Christian excellence which it would be 
vain and presumptuous for ordinary Christians to think of equalling; 
but will consider and practically remember, that all Christians are 
" called [to be] Saints/' and endued with the Holy Spirit of God ; not 
indeed to inspire them with a new revelation, or to confer any miracu- 
lous gifts (which do not either prove, or make, the possessor the more 
acceptable in God's sight), but to enable them to purify their own 
hearts and lives. The wicked Balaam was a prophet ; and the traitor 
Judas worked miracles. These extraordinary powers, therefore, arc 
neither any proof of superior personal holiness, nor any substitute for 
it in God's sight. Nor is the absence of these miraculous gifts in our- 
selves, any argument that a less degree of Christian virtue will suffice 
for our salvation, than was required of the apostles. 

Let us hope that the time will come when Christian privileges and 
duties shall be generally viewed in this manner, and when such views 
shall be acted upon. Whether any of us shall live to see the begin- 
ning of such a change, is more than we can tell. Nay, we cannot tell 
whether each of us may not even be enabled, by his own example, and 
his own exertions in enlightening and improving others, to do some- 
thing towards bringing about this change. But this we do know most 
certainly ; that each of us is bound, in gratitude for Christ's redeeming 
mercy ; — in prudent care for his own immortal soul, — to labor earnestly 
for such a change in his own life and heart. We are, each of us, bound, 
at his own peril, to think, and live, and act, in such a manner, as would, 
if all Christians were to do the same, bring about, and indeed constitute, 
this Millennium of Christian zeal and holiness. And each of us who 
does this, whether others follow his example or not, " shall in no wise 
lose his own reward." 

From "A Vieiv of the Scripture Revelations concerning a Future Stale." 



Patriotism, that is, when it is a principle, and not a mere blind 
instinct of the blood, is an outgrowth and a part of the faith and honor 
of the Almighty. Analyze it, and you will see it so. For patriotism 
is only disinterested devotion to the justice, the power, the protection, 
the right, embodied, after a certain fashion and degree, in the state and 
its subjects. It is not attachment to the parchment of a constitution, 
to the letter of an instrument, to the visible insignia of authority, to a 
strip of painted cloth at a masthead, to a mass of legal precedents and 
traditions, nor always to the person of the sovereign. It is not a 
personal interest in the people of the nation, for the most of one's fellow- 
citizens are unknown, and the few that are met may awaken no special 
regard. Instituted ideas,— as justice, power, protection, — organized 
into a national government, and lifted up for the defence of the country, 
are what inspire an intelligent loyalty, and the same ideas have their 
perfect embodiment in the person of God. On the other hand, religion, 
veneration for the Creator, involves a consistent regard for the welfare 
of great bodies of his family. By the laws of the human nature he has 
fashioned, this will mount to enthusiasm, as our relations to any one 
body grow intimate, or look back to an antiquity, or own a history of 
common sufferings. Less elevated elements may intermix. But which- 
ever you take first, — the feeling for the state, or for the God of states, 
— the other clings to it, and comes logically with it. 


F. W. Faber. 
There is a grace of kind listening, as well as a grace of kind speak- 
ing. Some men listen with an abstracted air, which shows that their 
thoughts are elsewhere. Or they seem to listen, but, by wide answers 
and irrelevant questions, show that they have been occupied with their 
own thoughts, as being more interesting, at least in their own estima- 
tion, than what you have been saying. Some listen with a kind of 
importunate ferocity, which makes you feel that you are being put 
upon your trial, and that your auditor expects beforehand that you are 
going to tell him a lie, or to be inaccurate, or to say something which 
he will disapprove, and that you must mind your expressions. Some 
interrupt, and will not hear you to the end. Some hear you to the end, 
and then forthwith begin to talk to you about a similar experience 
which has befallen themselves, making your case only an illustration 
of their own. Some, meaning to be kind, listen \jith such a deter- 
mined, lively, violent attention that you are at once made uncomfort- 
able, and the charm of conversation is at an end. Many persons, 


-whoso manners will stand the test of speaking, break down under the 
trial of listening. But all these things should be brought under the 
sweet influences of religion. Kind listening is often an act of the most 
delicate interior mortification, and is a great assistance toward kind 
speaking. Those who govern others must take care to be kind listen- 
er-, or else they will soon offend God and fall into secret Bine. 


j- . w. I 

From the fear of death let us turn to the desire of it. What wo 
have said of the fear of death we may Bay also of the desire of death, 
only we should say it still more emphatically, that the desire which is 
part of holiness must he rather a desire of God than a desire of death. 
World-weariness is a blessed thingin its way, but it falls short of being 
a -race. To be weary of the world is very far from being detached 
from it. I am not sure that there i< not a weariness of the world 
which is itself a form of worldliness. World-wearied men often think 
and speak of death in a ] tical, voluptuous way, which is most un- 
godly. They talk as if the turf of the churchyard were a bed of down, 
as if the grassy ridge wore a pillow on which to lay our tired 1. 
and slumber, and as if the grave were a cradle in which we should be 
rocked to sleep as the earth swayed, and unconsciously 

through space, like a sleeping child in a ship at sea. None but athe- 
ists could speak thus of death, if those who so speak really weighed their 
words. Such men habitually regard death as an end, and not 
beginning. It has been observed of intellectual men, that such talk- 
ing of death is often a symptom of incipient mental aberration. It is 
certainly true that happy men more often desire death than unhappy 
men, and desire it more strongly, and that their desire is more truthful 
and more holy. An unhappy man desires death rather than God. He 
desires it with a kind of heathen despondency. He quotes the Od; 
and the JEneid. The pathetic imagery of those poems is more conge- 
nial to him than the straightforward realities of Christian theology. 
He fixes his eye morbidly on death ; but he is anxious it should not 
look over death and beyond it. Whereas a happy, light-hearted, sunny- 
spirited Christian man, who has no quarrel with life except its possi- 
bilities of sinning, somehow feels its burden more than the unhappy 
man, who clings to life with a sort of morose, sulky enjoyment. Yet, 
while the happy man feels its burden, his happiness inclines him to 
be eager for beginnings rather than to be impatient for conclusions. 
Thus death is to him less the end of life than the beginning of eter- 
nity. He desires God rather than death ; for it is the gift of a joyous 
heart to find short ways to God from the most unlikely places. 

From i: Spiritual Coherences." 





J. R. Lowell. 
Over his keys the musing organist, 

Beginning doubtfully and far away, 
First lets his fingers wander as they list, 

And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay : 
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument 

Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, 
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 

Along the wavering vista of his dream. 

Not only around our infancy 
Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ; 
Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, 
We Sinais climb and know it not. 

Over our manhood bend the skies ; 

Against our fallen and traitor lives 
The great winds utter prophecies ; 

With our faint hearts the mountain strives, 
Its arms outstretched, the druid wood 

Waits with its benedicite ; 
And to our age's drowsy blood 

Still shouts the inspiring sea. 
Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ; 

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, 
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, 

We bargain for the graves we lie in ; 
At the devil's booth are all things sold, 
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold ; 



I' or B cap and bells our lives we pay. 
Bubbles we buy with a whole'- tasking: 

'Tie heaven alone that is L r i\en away, 
'Tia only God may be had for the asking, 
\ ■ r on the lavish summer; 

June may be had by the poorest comer. 
And what is bo rare as a day in dune? 

Then, if ever, come perfect day--. 
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 

\ )fUy her warm car la\ - ; 

Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; 
Every clod feela a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towel 
And. groping blindly above it for light, 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; 
The flush of life may well be - 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green, 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace ; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 
And lets his illumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives ; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — 
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? 

From " The Vision of Sir Launfal." 


W. G. SIMM8. 

Well may we sing her beauties, this pleasant land of ours, 

Her sunny smiles, her golden fruits, and all her world of flowers ; 

The young birds of her forest-groves, the blue folds of her sky, 

And all those airs of gentleness, that never seem to fly ; 

They wind about our forms at noon, they woo us in the shade, 

When panting, from the summer's heats, the woodman seeks the glade 

They win us with a song of love, they cheer us with a dream, 

That gilds our passing thoughts of life, as sunlight does the stream; 


And well would they persuade us now, in moments all too dear, 
That, sinful though our hearts may be, we have our Eden here. 

Ah, well has lavish nature, from out her boundless store, 

Spread wealth and loveliness around, on river, rock, and shore : 

No sweeter stream than Ashley glides — and, what of southern France ? — 

She boasts no brighter fields - than ours, within her matron glance ; 

Our skies look down in tenderness from out their realms of blue, 

The fairest of Italian climes may claim no softer hue ; 

And let them sing of fruits of Spain, and let them boast the flowers, 

The Moors' own culture they may claim, no dearer sweet than ours — 

Perchance the dark-haired maiden is a glory in your eye, 

But the blue-eyed Carolinian rules, when all the rest are nigh. 

And none may say, it is not true, the burden of my lay, 

T is written, in the sight of all, in flower and fruit and ray ; 

Look on the scene around us now, and say if sung amiss, 

The song that pictures to your eye a spot so fair as this : 

Gay springs the merry mocking-bird around the cottage pale, — 

And. scarcely taught by hunter's aim, the rabbit down the vale ; 

Each boon of kindly nature, her buds, her blooms, her flowers, 

And, more than all, the maidens fair that fill this land of ours, 

Are still in rich perfection, as our fathers found them first, 

But our sons are gentle now no more, and all the land is cursed. 

Wild thoughts are in our bosoms and a savage discontent ; 

We love no more the life we led, the music, nor the scent ; 

The merry dance delights us not, as in that better time, 

When, glad, in happy bands we met, with spirits like our clime. 

And all the social loveliness, and all the smile is gone, 

That linked the spirits of our youth, and made our people one. 

They smile no more together, as in that earlier day, 

Our maidens sigh in loneliness, who once were always gay ; 

And though our skies are bright, and our sun looks down as then — 

Ah, me ! the thought is sad I feel, we shall never smile again. 


Maey E. Lee. 

The skies ! the festal skies 

Of a laughing summer's morn ! 

Some love the dazzling glory 
That with their lis;ht is born, 


And gaze, with ravished sense, upon 

The shadowless expanse, 
Where not one tissued cloud is seen 

To dim its radiance. 

While others joy to catch 

The fulness of its smile, 
When at his evening portal, 

The Day God restfi awhile, 
To tint with matchless coloring 

The ether's fluid tide, 
That round this prison sphere of ours 

Floods out on either Bide. 

And midnight's solemn sky, 

Like a blue curtain hung, 
And studded with bright star-gems, 

As diamonds yet unstrung, 
Is filled through its wide concave 

With echoes of the strain, 
Breathed out by hosts of worshippers 

From earth's extended fane. 

Each has its charm, but oh ! 

Not such, not such for me ; 
Morn's skies reveal a brightness 

That wakes too much of glee ; 
Eve's firmament too holy seems 

For unison with earth, 
And oft beneath still midnight's vault, 

Wild, startling thoughts have birth. 

Oh ! rather would I choose, 

If but the choice were mine, 
Those skies, where cloud and sunshine 

In fitfulness combine, 
Where midday's glare is softened, as 

By sudden phantom-wings, 
And through night's net-work veil, the stars 

Look down, like loving things. 

The heart ! the human heart ! 

How, everywhere, it turns 
To drink in blessed sympathy 

From nature's mystic urns ; 


And ah ! methinks no emblem 

Is fitter found for life, 
With all its changes, than a sky 

Where light and shade hold strife. 


Thomas Miller. 

Tread lightly here ! this spot is holy ground, 

And every footfall wakes the voice of ages : 
These are the mighty dead that hem thee round, 

Names that still cast a halo o'er our pages : 
Listen ! 'tis Fame's loud voice that now complains, 
" Here sleeps more sacred dust, than all the world contains." 

Thou mayst bend o'er each marble semblance now : 
That was a monarch, — see how mute he lies ! 

There was a day when, on his crumbling brow, 
The golden crown flashed awe on vulgar eyes ; 

That broken hand did then a sceptre sway, 

And thousands round him kneeled his mandates to obey, 

Turn to the time, when he thus low was laid 

Within this narrow house, in proud array ; 
Dirges were sung, and solemn masses said, 

And high-plumed helms bent o'er him as he lay ; 
Princes and peers were congregated here, 
And all the pomp of death assembled round his bier. 

Then did the mid-night torches flaming wave, 
And redly flashed athwart the vaulted gloom ; 

And white-robed boys sang requiems o'er his grave ; 
And muttering monks kneeled lowly round his tomb ; 

And lovely women did his loss deplore, 

And, with their gushing tears, bathed the cold marble floor. 

See ! at his head, a rude-carved lion stands, 
In the dark niche where never sunbeams beat ; 

And still he folds his supplicating hands : 
A watchful dragon crouches at his feet, — 

How oddly blended ! — He all humble lies, 

While they defiance cast from their fierce stony eyes. 


Here sleeps another, clothed in scaly mail ; 

Battle's red field was when- he loved to be; 
Oft ha- hi- banner rustled in the 

In all the pomp of blazing heraldry ! 

Where are his bowmen now, his shield, and spear, 
His steed, and battle axe, and all he one held dear? 

HI- banner wasted on the castle wall, 

His hd'ty turrets sunk bj slow decay ; 

His bowmen in the beaten field did fall, 

His plated annur, ru-t hath Bwepf away; 
Hi- plumes ail- scattered, and his helmet cleft, 
And this Blow-crumbling tomb is all he now hath left. 

Ami this is fame! Fur this he fought and hied ! 

See his reward! — \ > matter; let him rest; 
Vacant and dark is now his ancient bed, 

The dust of ages dims his marble breasi ; 

And, in that tomb, what thinkest thou remain-.'' 
Dust! 'tis tlie only glory, that on earth man gains. 

An 1 kings, and queens, here slumber, side by side, 
Their quarrels hushed in the embrace of death ; 

All feelings calmed of jealousy or pride, 

Once fanned to flame by Slander'.- burning breath ; 

Even the crowns they wear from cares are free, 

As those on children's heads, who play at royalty. 

And awful Silence here does ever linger ; 

Her dwelling is this many-pillared dome ; 
On her wan lip she plants her stony finger, 

And, breath-hushed, gazes on her voiceless home ; 
Listening, she stands, with half averted head, 
For echoes never heard among the mute-tongued dead. 

From "Friendship's Offering." 



Among those awful forms, in elder time 
Assembled, and through many an after-age 
Destined to stand as genii of the Place 
Where men most meet in Florence, may be seen 
His who first played the tyrant. Clad in mail, 
But with his helmet off — in kingly state, 


Aloft he sits upon his horse of brass ; 

And they, that read the legend underneath, 

Go and pronounce hirn happy. Yet, methinks, 

There is a chamber that, if walls could speak, 

Would turn their admiration into pity. 

Half of what passed died with him ; but the rest, 

All he discovered when the fit was on, 

All that, by those who listened, could be gleaned 

From broken sentences and starts in sleep, 

Is told, and by an honest chronicler. 

Two of his sons, Giovanni and Garzia, 
(The eldest had not seen his nineteenth summer,) 
Went to the chase ; but only one returned. 
Giovanni, when the huntsman blew his horn 
O'er the last stag that started from the brake, 
And in the heather turned to stand at bay, 
Appeared not, and at close of day was found 
Bathed in his innocent blood. Too well, alas ! 
The trembling Cosmo guessed the deed, the doer ; 
And, having caused the body to be borne 
In secret to that chamber, at an hour 
When all slept sound, save she who bore them both, 
Who little thought of what was yet to come, 
And lived but to be told — he bade Garzia 
Arise and follow him. Holding in one hand 
A winking lamp, and in the other a key, 
Massive and dungeon-like, thither he led ; 
And, having entered in, and locked the door, 
The father fixed his eyes upon the son, 
And closely questioned him. No change betrayed, 
Or guilt, or fear. Then Cosmo lifted up 
The bloody sheet. " Look there ! Look there I" he cried, 
" Blood calls for blood — and from a father's hand ! 
Unless thyself will save him that sad office. 
What \" he exclaimed, when, shuddering at the sight, 
The boy breathed out, "I stood but on my guard." 
"Darest thou then blacken one who never wronged thee, 
Who would not set his foot upon a worm ? 
Yes, thou must die, lest others fall by thee, 
And thou shouldst be the slayer of us all." 
Then from Garzia' s belt he drew the blade, 
That fatal one which spilt his brother's blood ; 
And, kneeling on the ground, " Great God \" he cried, 
" Grant me the strength to do an act of justice. 
25 T 


Thou knowest what it costs me; but, alas! 
How can I sparc myself, sparing none else? 
Grant mc the Btrengtb, the will — and oh ! forgive 
The sinful soul of a most wretched son. 
"Tis a most wretched father who implores it." 
Long on Garzia's neck be hong and wept, 
Long pressed bim to his bosom tenderly; 
And then, but while he held him by the arm, 
Thrusting him backward, turned away his face, 
And stabbed him t.> the heart. 

Well might a youth, 
Studious of men, anxious to ham and know, 
When in the train of some great embassy 
He came, a visitant, to Cosmo's court, 
Think on the pas! ; and. as he wandered through 
The ample spaces of an ancient house, 
Silent, deserted — stop awhile to dwell 
Upon two portraits there, drawn on the wall 
Together, as of Two in bonds of love, 
Those of the unhappy brothers, and conclude, 
From the sad looks of him who could have told 
The terrible truth. Well might he heave a sigh 
For poor humanity, when he beheld 
That very Cosmo shaking o'er his fire, 
Drowsy, and deaf, and inarticulate, 
Wrapped in his night-gown, o'er a sick man's mess, 
In the last stage — death-struck and deadly pale, 
His wife, another, not his Eleanor, 
At once his nurse and his interpreter. 


Julia R. McMasters. 
Lowly, shining head, where we lay thee down 
With the lowly dead, droop thy golden crown ! 

Meekly, marble palms, fold across the breast, 
Sculptured in white calms of unbreaking rest ! 

Softly, starry eyes, veil your darkened spheres, 
Nevermore to rise in summershine or tears ! 

Calmly, crescent lips, yield your dewy rose 
To the wan eclipse of this pale repose ! 


Slumber, aural shells ! No more dying Even 
Through your spiral cells weaveth gales of heaven. 

Stilly, slender feet, rest from rosy rhyme, 
With the ringing sweet of her silver clime ! 

Holy smile of God, spread the glory mild 
Underneath the sod on this little child ! 


Hail holy light ! offspring of heaven first-born ; 
Or of th' Eternal, co-eternal beam 
May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light. 
And never but in unapproached light 
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, 
Bright effluence of bright essence increate. 
Or hearest thou rather pure ethereal stream, 
Whose fountain who shall tell ? before the sun, 
Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 
The rising world of waters dark and deep, 
Won from the void and formless infinite. 
Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained 
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight 
Through utter and through middle darkness borne, 
With other notes, than to th' Orphean lyre, 
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night, 
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 
The dark descent, and up to reascend, 
Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe, 
And feel thy sov'reign vital lamp ; but thou 
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, 
Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more 
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt 
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief, 
Thee Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 
Nightly I visit ; nor sometimes forget 
Those other two equalled with me in fate, 


909 THE SELECT \> \ i: \ K i. i;. 

Sow I [nailed with them in renown, 
Blind Thamyris and blind M 
And ind Phineus prophets old. 

Then feed on tfa >ughts, that rolunts 
Harmonious aambers; as the wakeful bird 
Sings darkling, and in ahadieet coTert hid 
Tan turiKil note : thus with I 

return, but not to m< 
Day, or i : ; proach of even <>r mum, 

Or sight of vernal bloom, or sunn: 
Or flocks, or herd.-, or human face dirim 
Hut oloud instead, and erer-during dark 
Surrounds mo, from the cheerful men 

Tut off. and fa- the book of knowledge fair 
Presented with a anrrersal blank 
Of nature's works to me expunged and i 
And wisdom at cue entranos quite shut out 
So much the rather thou celestial I. 
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
Irradiate: there plant Byes, all mist from thence 
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
Of things invisible to mortal sight. 

From "I\iradi*t Lost: 



Ait, truth is from the sempiternal source 

Of Light Divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome 

Drew from the stream below. More favored, we 

Drink, when we choose it, at the fountain head. 

To them it flowed much mingled and defiled 

With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams 

Illusive of philosophy, so called, 

But falsely. Sages after sages strove 

In vain to filter off a crystal draught 

Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced 

The thirst than slaked it, and not seldom bred 

Intoxication and delirium wild. 

In vain they pushed inquiry to the birth 

And springtime of the world ; asked, "Whence is man ? 

Why formed at all? and wherefore as he is? 

Where must he find his Maker ? with what rites 

Adore him? Will he hear, accept, and bless? 


Or does he sit regardless of his works ? 

Has man within him an immortal seed ? 

Or does the tomb take all ? If he survive 

His ashes, where ? and in what weal or woe ? 

Knots worthy of solution, which alone 

A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague 

And all at random, fabulous and dark, 

Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life, 

Defective and unsanctioned, proved too weak 

To bind the roving appetite, and lead 

Blind nature to a God not yet revealed. 

'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts, 

Explains all mysteries, except her own, 

And so illuminates the path of life, 

That fools discover it, and stray no more. 

Xow tell me, dignified and sapient sir, 

My man of morals, nurtured in the shades 

Of Academus — is this false or true ? 

Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools ? 

If Christ, then why resort at every turn 

To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short 

Of man's occasions, when in him reside 

Grace, knowledge, comfort — an unfathomed store? 

How oft, when Paul has served us with a text, 

Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preached ! 

Men that, if now alive, would sit content 

And humble learners of a Saviour's worth, 

Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth, 

Their thirst of knowledge, and their candor too ! 



God made the country, and man made the town. 
What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts 
That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
That life holds out to all, should most abound 
And least be threatened in the fields and groves ? 
Possess ye. therefore, ye who, borne about 
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue 
But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
But such as art contrives, possess ye still 
Your element ; there only can ye shine ; 


There only minds 1 i k o yours can do no harm. 
Our groves were planted to console at noon ; 
The pensive wanderer in their Bhades. At eve 
The moonbeam, sliding softly in between 
The sleeping leaves, u all the light they wish, 
Birds warbling all the masio. We can spare 
The Bplendor of your lamps : they but Soli] 
Oar softer satellite. Your t and 

Our more harmonious i thrush departs 

1. and tli Le is mute. 

There is ;i public I your mirth; 

It plagues your country. Polly such as yours, 
Graced with a sword, and worthier of ■ fan, 
Has made, what enemies could ne'er have <lone, 
Our arch of empire, Bteadfast but for you, 
A mutilated structure, Boon to fall. 


Hi - , d ifi 1 1 • eds, 

With milk-whi ild-spnr, and 11. I lance, 

Four cavaliers prepare for venturoue deeds, 

And lowly bending to tlie lists advance; 
Rich are their scarfs, their chargers f'eatly prance: 
If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, 
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, 
Best prize of better acts, they bear away, 
And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay. 

In costly sheen and gaudy cloak arrayed, 
But all afoot, the light-limbed Matadore 
Stands in the centre, eager to invade 
The lord of lowing herds ; but not before 
The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, 
Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed : 
His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more 
Can man achieve without the friendly steed — 
Alas ! too oft condemned for him to bear and bleed. 

Thrice sounds the clarion ; lo ! the signal falls, 
The den expands, and Expectation mute 
Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. 
Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute, 



And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot, 
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe ; 
Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit 
His first attack, wide waving to and fro 
His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. 

Sudden he stops ; his eye is fixed : away, 
Away, thou heedless boy ! prepare the spear : 
Now is thy time, to perish, or display 
The skill that yet may check his mad career. 
With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer ; 
On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ; 
Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear : 
He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes ; 
Dart follows dart ; lance, lance ; loud bellowings speak his woes. 

Again he comes ; nor dart nor lance avail, 
Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse ; 
Though man, and man's avenging arms assail, 
Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. 
One gallant steed is stretched a mangled corse ; 
Another, hideous sight ! unseamed appears, 
His gory chest unveils life's panting source ; 
Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears, 
Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharmed he bears. 

Foiled, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, 
Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, 
'Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast, 
And foes disabled in the brutal fray ; 
And now the Matadores around him play, 
Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand : 
Once more through all he bursts his thundering way : 
Vain rage ! the mantle quits the conynge hand, 
Wraps his fierce eye — 'tis past — he sinks upon the sand ! 

Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, 
Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. 
He stops — he starts — disdaining to decline : 
Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries, 
Without a groan, without a struggle, dies. 
The decorated car appears — on high 
The corse is piled — sweet sight for vulgar eyes — 
Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, 
Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by. 




A riin — yet what ruin! from its mass 
Walls, palaces, half-cities have been reared; 
Yet oft the enormou 

And marvel where the spoil could have appe 
Hath it indeed been plundered, or but oleare 
Alas ! developed, opens the d 
When th< rm i- near* 

It will not bear the brightness of the d 
Which Streams too much on all year-, man, have reft away. 

But when the rising moon begins to climb 
lt> topmost arch, and gently pauses there; 
When the Btars twinkle through the loops of time, 

And the low night-breeze waves along the air 
The garland-forest, which the gray wails wear, 
Like laurels on the bald first C;e»ar's head; 
When the tight -bines serene but doth not glare, 
Then in this magic circle raise the dead : 
Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. 

"While stands the Coliseum, Home shall stand ; 
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; 
And when Rome fall — the World.*'' From our own land 
Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall 
In Saxon times, which we arc wont to call 
Ancient ; and these three mortal things are still 
On their foundations, and unaltered all ; 
Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill, 
The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye will. 

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — 
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, 
From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time ; 
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods 
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods 
His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! 
Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrant's rods 
Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home 
Of art and Piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Rome ! 



Here th free j f mankind, at length, 

Throws its I $1 Fetters off; and who shall place 

A limit to the giant's unchained strength, 

Or curb his swiftness in the forward race ? 

I i like Hie : Hnefs way through infinite space. 

stehes the long untravelled path of light, 

Inf the lepths of ages: we may trace, 

K tant the hi i > b E ening glory of its flight, 

Till the receding rays are lost to human sight. 

Euro] 7 is given a prey to sterner fates, 

A d 1 writhes in shackles : strong the arms that chain 
I : earth fa a ata ailing multitude of states ; 
She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain 
Against Eh i : shake off the Tampyre train 

Thai 1 litem m her blood, and break their net. 
£ - ye shall look on brighter days, and gain 
The meed of worthier deeds ; the moment set 
_ i ! is in I raise up, draws near — but is not yet. 

But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall, 
Z if with Ehy children — thy maternal care, 
Ehy lavish Love, Ehy blessings showered on all — 
These are Ehy letters — ; eas and stormy air 

Aj :- Efae -ride barrier of thy borders, where 
Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well, 
Fhc i laugh's! at enemies: who shall then declare 
The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell 
How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell ? 

From " The Ages" 



Beligiox's all. Descending from the skies 
To wretched man, the goddess in her left 
Holds out this world, and in her right the next. 
B : . _:;n ! the sole voucher man is man ; 
Sup_: jrtei sole »f man above himself: 
Even in this night of frailty, change and death, 
She gives the soul a soul that acts a God. 
Relig::^ ! Providence! an after-state 


Here is firm footing ; here is solid rock; 
This can Bupport us; all is sea besides; 
Sinks under us ; bestorms, and then devours. 
His hand the good man fastens OD the skies, 
And bids earth roll, D.OT feels her idle whirl. 

Religion! thou the soul of bappini 
And groaning Calvary, of thee ! There shine 
The noblest truths ; ther motives sting; 

There, saered violenoe assaults the bouI ; 
There, nothing but compulsion IS forborne. 
Can love allure u-^ ? or can terror awe? 
He weeps! — the falling drops put out the sun: 
lie sighs! — the Bigh earth's deep foundation shakes. 
If, in his love, bo terrible, what then 
Bis wrath inflamed? his tenderness on fire; 
Like soft, smooth oil, outblazing other fires? 
Can prayer, ran praise avert it? — Thou, my all ! 
My theme ! my inspiration ! and my crown ! 
My strength in age ! my rise in low estate ! 
My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth ! — my world! 
My light in darkness ! and my life in death ! 
My boast through time! bliss through eternity! 
Eternity, too short to speak Thy praise ! 
Or fathom Thy profound of love to man ! 
To man, of men the meanest, even to me ; 
My Sacrifice ! my God ! — what things are these ! 

From "Night Thoughts: 


Thou unrelenting Past ! 
Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, 

And fetters, sure and fast, 
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 

Far in thy realm withdrawn 
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, 

And glorious ages gone, 
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 

Childhood, with all its mirth, 
Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground, 


And last, Man's Life on earth, 
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 

Thou hast my better years, 
Thou hast my earlier friends — the good — the kind, 

Yielded to thee with tears — 
The venerable form — the exalted mind. 

My spirit yearns to bring 
The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense, 

And struggles hard to wring 
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. 

In vain — thy gates deny 
All passage save to those who hence depart ; 

Nor to the streaming eye 
Thou givest them back — nor to the broken heart. 

In thy abysses hide 
Beauty and excellence unknown — to thee 

Earth's wonder and her pride 
Are gathered, as the waters to the sea. 

Labors of good to man, 
Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, — 

Love, that midst grief began, 
And grew with years, and faltered not in death. 

Full many a mighty name, 
Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered, 

With thee are silent fame, 
Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. 

Thine for a space are they — 
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last. 

Thy gates shall yet give way, 
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past ! 

All that of good and fair 
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, 

Shall then come forth, to wear 
The glory and the beauty of its prime. 

They have not perished — no ! 
Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, 


Smiles, radiant long 
And I'.'ininv-, the greai - >ul'a apparenf 

All Bhall come back, each tie 
Of pure affection shall be knit again ; 

Alone shall Evil die, 
And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reif 

And then shall I behold 
Him, by whose kind paternal Bide r sprung, 

And her, who still and cold, 
Fills the next grave— the beautiful and young. 

Here pause: kh an; all t u yet 

To have ontgrown the Borrow which 
Its charge to each ; and if the seal is B et, 
Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, 
k it not thon I too sorely shalt thou find 
Thine own well full, if thon return 
Of tears and gall. IV m the world's bitter wind 
Seek shelter in the Bhadow of the tomb. 
What Adonais is, why fear we to become? 

The One remains, the many change and pass ; 
Heaven's light for ever Bhines, Earth's shadows fly; 
Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, 
Stains the white radiance of Eternitv, 
Until Death tramples it to fragments.— Die, 
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek ! 
Follow where all is fled !— Rome's azure sky, 
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words are weak 
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. 

Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart ? 
Thy hopes are gone before : from all things here 
They have departed ; thou shouldst now depart ! 
A light is past from the revolving year, 
And man, and woman ; and what still is dear 
Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. 
The soft sky smiles,— the low wind whispers near : 
'Tis Adonais calls ! oh, hasten thither, 
No more let Life divide what Death can join together. 


That light whose smile kindles the Universe, 
That Beauty in which all things work and move, 
That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse 
Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love 
Which through the web of being blindly wove 
By man and beast and earth and air and sea, 
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of 
The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, 
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality. 

The breath whose might I have invoked in song 
Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven 
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng 
Whose sails were never to the tempest given ; 
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! 
I am borne darkly, fearfully afar ; 
Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, 
The soul of Adonais, like a star, 
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. 


I saw, as in a dream sublime. 
The balance in the hand of Time. 
O'er East and West its beam impended ; 
And day, with all its hours of light, 
Was slowly sinking out of sight, 
While, opposite, the scale of night 
Silently with the stars ascended. 

Like the astrologers of eld, 
In that bright vision I beheld 
Greater and deeper mysteries. 
I saw, with its celestial keys, 
Its chords of air, its frets of fire, 
The Samian's great iEolian lyre, 
Rising, through all its sevenfold bars, 
From earth unto the fixed stars. 
And through the dewy atmosphere, 
Not only could I see, but hear, 
Its wondrous and harmonious strings, 
In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere, 




Prom Dian's circle lighl And Dear, 
Onward to vaster and wider rings, 
Where, chanting through bis beard of snows, 
Majestic, mournful, Saturn g 
And d ro n tin' sunless realm - 
Reverberates the thunder of bis bass. 

Beneath the sky's triumphal arch 
This music sounded like a inarch, 
And with it- chum- seemed I 
Preluding tl tragedy, 

Sirius wae rising in the i 
And, slow ascending one bj 
The kindling c mstellations Bhone. 
irt with many a blazing star, 

Stood the ( • Algebar, 

Orion, hunter of the beasl I 

Hi- sword him- gleaming by hi- side. 

And, 0D his arm, the lion's hide 

midnight air 

The golden radiance of its hair. 

The moon was pallid, but not faint; 

A:. 1 beautiful as some fair saint, 
Serenely moving on her way 

In hours of trial ami dismay. 

As if she heard the voice of God, 

Unharmed with naked feet she trod 

Upon the hot and burning stars, 

As on the glowing coals and bars 

That were to prove her strength, and try 

Her holiness and her purity. 

Thus moving on, with silent pace, 
And triumph in her sweet pale face, 
She reached the station of Orion, 
Aghast he stood in strange alarm ! 
And suddenly from his outstretched arm 
Down fell the red skin of the lion 
Into the river at his feet. 
His mighty club no longer beat 
The forehead of the bull ; but he 
Reeled as of yore beside the sea, 
When, blinded by (Enopion, 
He sought the blacksmith at his forge, 


And, climbing up the mountain gorge, 
Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun. 

Then, through the silence overhead, 

An angel with a trumpet said, 

" For evermore, for evermore, 

The reign of violence is o'er I" 

And, like an instrument that flings 

Its music on another's strings, 

The trumpet of the angel cast 

Upon the heavenly lyre its blast, 

And on from sphere to sphere the words 

Re-echoed down the burning chords, — 

" For evermore, for evermore, 

The reign of violence is o'er ! 


All are architects of Fate, 

Working in these walls of Time ; 

Some with massive deeds and great, 
Some with ornaments of rhyme. 

Nothing useless is, or low ; 

Each thing in its place is best ; 
And what seems but idle show 

Strengthens and supports the rest. 

For the structure that we raise, 
Time is with materials filled ; 

Our to-days and yesterdays 

Are the blocks with which we build. 

Truly shape and fashion these ; 

Leave no yawning gaps between ; 
Think not, because no man sees, 

Such things will remain unseen. 

In the elder days of Art, 

Builder wrought with greatest care 
Each minute and unseen part ; 

For the Gods see everywhere. 



Let us Jo our work as well, 
Both the unseen and the 
Make the house, where Gods may dwell, 
utiful, entire, and clean. 

hit lives are incomplete, 
Standing in these walls of Time, 
Broken stairways, where the 
Stumble as they seek to climb. 

Build to-day, then, strong and sure, 
With a firm and ample 1 

And ascendii are 

Slmll to-morrow find it-* place. 

Thus alone can we attain 

those turrets, where the eye 
- the world as one vast plain, 

I one boundless reach of sky. 



A HANDFUL of red sand, from the hot clime 

I »: Arab deserts brought, 
Within this gls Lthe spy of Time, 

The minister of Thought. 

How many weary centuries has it been 

About those deserts blown ! 
How many strange vicissitudes has seen, 

How many histories known ! " 

Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite 

Trampled and passed it o'er, 
When into Egypt from the patriarch's sight 

His favorite son they bore. 

Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and bare, 

Crushed it beneath their tread ; 
Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the air 

Scattered it as they sped ; 

Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth 
Held close in her caress, 


Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and faith 
Illumed the wilderness ; 

Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's palms 

Pacing the Dead Sea beach, 
And singing slow their old Armenian psalms 

In half-articulate speech ; 

Or caravans, that from Bassora's gate 

With westward steps depart ; 
Or Mecca's pilgrims, confident of Fate, 

And resolute in heart ! 

These have passed over it, or may have passed ! 

Now in this crystal tower 
Imprisoned by some curious hand at last, 

It counts the passing hour. 

And as I gaze, these narrow walls expand ; 

Before my dreamy eye 
Stretches the desert with its shifting sand, 

Its unimpeded sky. 

And, borne aloft by the sustaining blast, 

This little golden thread 
Dilates into a column high and vast, 

A form of fear and dread. 

And onward, and across the setting sun, 

Across the boundless plain, 
The column and its broader shadow run, 

Till thought pursues in vain. 

The vision vanishes ! These walls again 

Shut out the lurid sun, 
Shut out the hot, immeasurable plain : 

The half-hour's sand is run ! 


Our Saviour lifting up his eyes beheld 
In ample space under the broadest shade 
A table richly spread, in regal mode, 
With dishes piled, and meats of noblest sort 
26* U 



And tsts of chase* or fowl of game, 

In pastry built, or from the spit, or 1 »< »i led, 
Grie-amber Bteamed ; all fish from s< a or shore, 
Freshet or purling bT hell or fin, 

And exquisites! name, for which was drained 
Pontus, and Lucrine bay, and Afric coast. 
Alas how simple, to the mpared, 

Was that crude apple that diverted I 
And at a stately Bide-board by the wine 
That fragranl smell diffused, in order stood 
Tall stripling youths rich clad, of fairer hue 
Than Ganymed or Hylas; distant more 
Under the trees now tripped, now BOlemn -tood 
ma's train, and Wii 

With fruits and flowers from Amalthea's horn, 

And ladies of the II' bj erides, that seemed 

Fairer than feigned of old, or fabled since 

Of fairy damsels met iii forest wide 

By knights of Log nes, 

Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore; 

And all the while harmonious airs were heard 

Of chiming Btrings or charming pipes, and winds 

Of gentlest gale Arabian odors fanned 

From their soft wings, and Flora's earliest smells. 

Such was the splendor, and the tempter now 

His invitation earnestly renewed. 

What doubts the Son of God to sit and eat? 
These are not fruits forbidden ; no interdict 
Defends the touching of these viands pure ; 
Their taste no knowledge works at least of evil, 
But life preserves, destroys life's enemy, 
Hunger, with sweet restorative delight. 
All these are spirits of air, and woods, and springs, 
Thy gentle ministers, who come to pay 
Thee homage, and acknowledge thee their lord : 
What doubt'st thou, Son of God? sit down and eat. 

From '• Paradise Regained." 


Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow dark, 
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 


In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark ; 

The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending. 
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending, 

And the wild breeze, thy wilder Minstrelsy ; 
Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending, 

With distant echo from the fold and lea, 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. 

Yet, once again, farewell, thou minstrel Harp ; 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, 
And little reck I of the censure sharp, 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 
Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 

Through secret woes the world has never known, 
When on the weary night dawned wearier day, 

And bitterer was the grief devoured alone. 
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress ! is thine own. 

Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire — 

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ; 
'Tis now a Seraph bold, with touch of fire, 

'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. 
Receding now, the dying numbers ring 

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, 
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 

A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — 
And now, 'tis silent all ! Enchantress, fare thee well ! 


The Stag at eve had drunk his fill, 
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, 
And deep his midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 
But, when the sun his beacon red 
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, 
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay 
Resounded up the rocky way, 
And faint, from further distance borne, 
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 

As chief who hears his warder call, 

(i To arms ! the foemen storm the wall," — 



The antlered monarch of the -waste 

Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 

Bat, e'er his fleet career he took, 

The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; 

Like crested leader proud and high, 

Tossed hie beamed frontlet to the sky; 

A moment gazed adowo the dale, 

A moment Bnnffed the tainted gale, 

A moment listened to the cry, 

That thickened as the ohase drew nigh ; 

Then, as the headmost foes appeared, 

With one brave bound the o >pse lie cleared, 

And, stretching forward free and far, 

Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Yar. 

Yelled on the view the opening pack, 
Ilock, glen and cavern paid them back; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awakened mountain gave response. 
A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, 
Clattered a hundred steeds along, 
Their peal the merry horns rung out, 
A hundred voices joined the shout: 
With hark and whoop, and wild halloo, 
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. 
Far from the tumult fled the roe, 
Close in her covert cowered the doe, 
The falcon, from her cairn on high, 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
Till far beyond her piercing ken 
The hurricane had swept the glen. 
Faint, and more faint, its failing din 
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn, 
And silence settled, wide and still, 
On the lone wood and mighty hill. 


I brixg fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 
From the seas and the streams ; 

I bear light shades for the leaves when laid 
In their noon-day dreams. 



From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 

The sweet buds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 

And whiten the green plains under, 
And then again I dissolve it in rain, 

And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 

And their great pines groan aghast ; 
And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, 

Lightning my pilot sits, 
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 

It struggles and howls at fits ; 
Over earth and ocean with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me, 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea ; 
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 

Over the lakes and the plains, 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 

The Spirit he loves remains ; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, 

Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, 

And his burning plumes outspread, 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 

When the morning star shines dead. 
As on the jag of a mountain crag, 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
An eagle alit one moment may sit 

In the light of its golden wings. 
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, 

Its ardors of rest and of love, 
And the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depth of heaven above, 
With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, 

As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, 
Whom mortals call the moon, 


Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, 

By the midnight breezes strewn ; 
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 

Which only the angels hear, 
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, 

The stars peep behind her and peer ; 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 

Like a swarm of golden bees, 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 

Till the calm rivers, hi! as, 

Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 

Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone, 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; 
The volcanoes arc dim, and tie; stars reel and swim, 

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 

Over a torrent sea, 
Sunbeam-proof, 1 hang like a roof, 

The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch through which I march, 

With hurricane, fire, and -now, 
When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, 

Is the million-colored bow ; 
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, 

While the moist earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of earth and water, 

And the nursling of the sky : 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; 

I change, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when with never a stain, 

The pavilion of heaven is bare, 
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, 

Build up the blue dome of air, 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 

And out of the caverns of rain, 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 

I arise and. unbuild it again. 



Not the ship that swiftest saileth, 

But which longest holds her way- 
Onward, onward, never faileth, 

Storm and calm, to win the day ; 
Earliest she the haven gains, 
"Which the hardest stress sustains. 

O'er life's ocean, wide and pathless, 
Thus would I with patience steer ; 

No vain hope of journeying scathless, 
No proud boast to face down fear ; 

Dark or bright his Providence, 

Trust in God be my defence. 

Time there was, — 't is so no longer, — 

When I crowded every sail, 
Battled with the waves, and stronger 

Grew, as stronger grew the gale ; 
But my strength sunk with the wind, 
And the sea lay dead behind. 

There my bark had foundered surely, 

But a power invisible 
Breathed upon me ; — then securely, 

Borne along the gradual swell, 
Helm and shrouds, and heart renewed, 
I my humbler course pursued. 

Now, though evening shadows blacken, 
And no star comes through the gloom, 

On I move, nor will I slacken 

Sail, though verging towards the tomb : 

Bright beyond, — on heaven's high strand, 

Lo, the lighthouse ! — land, land, land ! 

Cloud and sunshine, wind and weather, 
Sense and sight are fleeing fast ; 

Time and tide must fail together, 
Life and death will soon be past ; 

But where day's last spark declines, 

Glory everlasting shines. 




Sow in tlie morn thy seed, 
At eve hold not thine hand ; 

To doubt and fear give thou no heed, 
Broad-cast it o'er the land. 

Beside all waters sow, 
The highway furrows stock, 

Drop it where thorns and thistles grow, 
Scatter it on the rock. 

The good, the fruitful ground. 
Expect not here nor there ; 

O'er hill and dale, by plots, 't is found; 
Go forth, then, everywhere. 

Thou knowest not which may thrive, 
The late or early sown ; 

Grace keeps the precious germs alive, 
When and wherever strown. 

And duly shall appear, 

In verdure, beauty, btrength, 

The tender blade, the stalk, the ear, 
And the full corn at length. 

Thou canst not toil in vain ; 

Cold, heat, and moist and dry, 
Shall foster and mature the grain, 

For garners in the sky. 

Thence, when the glorious end, 
The day of God is come, 

The angel-reapers shall descend, 
And heaven cry — " Harvest home V 


You know we French stormed Ratisbon : 

A mile or so away 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming day ; 



With neck out-thrust, } r ou fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind, 
As if to balance the prone brow 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall 
Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall ;" 
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound. 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
Just by his horse's mane, a boy : 

You hardly could suspect — 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through,) 
You looked twice e'er you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

" Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace 

We've got you Ratisbon ! 
The marshal's in the market-place, 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 
Perched him." The chief's eye flashed ; his plans 

Soared up again like fire. 

The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother eagle's eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes : 
"You're wounded !" " Nay," his soldier's pride 

Touched to the quick, he said ; 
" I'm killed, sire !" And, his chief beside, 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 




Rd bus. 

If ever you should come to Modena, 

(Whore among other relies you may see 

Tassoni's bucket— but 'tis not the true one) 

Stop at a palace near the Reggio-gate, 

Dwelt in of old by one of the Donati. 

Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace, 

And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses, 

Will long detain you— but, before you go, 

Enter the house — forget it not, 1 pray you — 

And look awhile upon a picture there. 

"lis of a la lv in her earliest youth, 

The last of that illustrious family ; 

Done by Zampieri — but by whom I care not. 

lie who observes it — ere he passes on, 

Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again, 

That he may call it 141, when far away. 

She sits, inclining forward as to speak, 
Her lips half open, and her finger up, 
As though she said " Beware !" her vest of gold 
Broidered with flowers ami clasped from head to foot, 
An emerald stone in every golden clasp ; 
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster, 
A coronet of pearls. 

But then her face, 
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth, 
The overflowings of an innocent heart — 
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled, 
Like some wild melody ! 

Alone it hangs 
Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion, 
An oaken-chest, half-eaten by the worm, 
But richly carved by Antony of Trent, 
With scripture-stories from the Life of Christ ; 
A chest that came from Venice, and had held 
The ducal robes of some old ancestor — 
That, by the way — it may be true or false — 
But don't forget the picture ; and you will not, 
When you have heard the tale they told me there. 

She was an only child — her name Ginevra; 
The joy, the pride of an indulgent father; 
And in her fifteenth year became a bride, 


Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, 

Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. 

Just as she looks there in her bridal dress, 
She was all gentleness, all gayety, 
Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. 
But now the day was come, the day, the hour ; 
Now, frowning, smiling for the hundredth time, 
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum ; 
And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave 
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco. 

Great was the joy ; but at the nuptial feast, 
When all sate down, the bride herself was wanting. 
Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried, 
" ; Tis but to make a trial of our love \" 
And filled his glass to all ; but his hand shook, 
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 
'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco, 
Laughing and looking back and flying still, 
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. 
But now, alas ! she was not to be found ; 
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed. 
But that she was not ! 

Weary of his life, 
Francesco flew to Venice, and, embarking, 
Flung it away in battle with the Turk. 
Donati lived — and long might you have seen 
An old man wandering as in quest of something, 
Something he could not find — he knew not what.' 
When he was gone, the house remained awhile 
Silent and tenantless — then went to strangers. 

Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, 
When on an idle day, a clay of search 
Mid the old lumber in the gallery, 
That mouldering chest was noticed ; and 'twas said 
By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, 
" Why not remove it from its lurking-place?" 
'Twas done as soon as said ; but on the way 
It burst, it fell ; and lo, a skeleton, 
With here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone, 
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold. 
All else had perished — save a wedding-ring, 
And a small seal, her mother's legacy, 
Engraven with a name, the name of both, 
" Ginevra." 


There then had she found :i grave! 
Within that chest had she concealed herself, 
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy; 
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there, 
Fastened her down for ever ! 


The lark has sung his carol in the sky ; 

The bees have hummed their noontide harmony ; 

Still in the vale the village-bells ring round, 

Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound : 

For now the caudle-cup is circling there, 

Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer, 

And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire 

The babe, the sleeping image of his sire. 

A few short years — and then these sounds shall hail 
The day again, and gladness fill the vale ; 
So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, 
Eager to run the race his fathers ran. 
Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin ; 
The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine : 
And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze, 
Mid many a tale told of his boyish days, 
The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled, 
" 'Twas on these knees he sate so oft and smiled/' 

And soon again shall music swell the breeze ; 
Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees 
Vestures of nuptial white ; and hymns be sung, 
And violets scattered round ; and old and young, 
In every cottage porch, with garlands green, 
Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene ; 
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side 
Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride. 

And once, alas ! nor in a distant hour, 
Another voice shall come from yonder tower ; 
When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen, 
And weepings heard where only joy has been ; 
When by his children borne, and from his door 
Slowly departing to return no more, 
He rests in holy earth with them that went before. 




Swiftly walk over the western wave, 

Spirit of Night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave, 
"Where all the long and lone daylight, 
Thou wo vest dreams of joy and fear, 
Which make thee terrible and dear,— 

Swift be thy flight ! 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, 

Star-inwrought ! 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out, 
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 

Come, long-sought ! 

When I arose and saw the dawn, 

I sighed for thee ; 
When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, 
And the weary Day turned to his rest, 
Lingering like an unloved guest, 

I sighed for thee. 

Thy brother Death came, and cried, 

Wouldst thou me ? 
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 

Murmured like a noontide bee. 
Shall I nestle near thy side ? 
Wouldst thou me ? — and I replied, 

No, not thee ! 

Death will come when thou art dead, 

Soon, too soon — 
Sleep will come when thou art fled ; 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
I ask of thee, beloved Night — 
Swift be thine approaching flight, 

Come soon, soon ! 





My mother's voice ! how often creeps 
Its cadence on my lonely Imurs! 

Like healing sent on wings of sleep, 
Or dew to the unconscious flowers. 

I can forget her melting prayer 
While leaping pulses madly fly, 

But in the still, unbroken air, 

Her gentle tone e<>in<'~ Btealing by — 

And years, and sin, and manhood flee, 
And leave me at my mother's knee. 

I have been out at eventide 

Beneath a moonlight sky of spring, 
When earth was garnished like a bride, 

And night had on her silver wing — 
When bursting leaves, and diamond grass, 

And waters leaping to the light, 
And all that make the pulses pass 

With wilder llcetncss, thronged the night- 
When all was beaut}- — then have I 

With friends on whom my love is flung 
Like myrrh on winds of Araby, 

Gazed up where evening's lamp is hung, 
And when the beautiful spirit there 

.Flung over me its golden chain, 
My mother's voice came on the ear 

Like the light dropping of the rain — 
And resting on some silver star 

The spirit of a bended knee, 
I've poured out low and fervent prayer 

That our eternity might be 
To rise in heaven, like stars at night, 
And tread a living path of light. 

I have been on the dewy hills, 

When night was stealing from the dawn, 
And mist was on the waking rills, 

And tints were delicately drawn 
In the gray East — when birds were waking, 

With a low murmur in the trees, 

N. P. Willis. 


And melody by fits was breaking 

Upon the whisper of the breeze — 
And this when I was forth, perchance 
As a worn reveller from the dance — 

And when the sun sprang gloriously 
And freely up, and hill and river 

"Were catching upon wave and tree 
The arrows from his subtle quiver — 

I say a voice has thrilled me then, 
Heard on the still and rushing light, 

Or, creeping from the silent glen, 
Like words from the departing night, 

Hath stricken me, and I have pressed 
On the wet grass my fevered brow, 

And pouring forth the earliest 
First prayer, with which I learned to bow, 

Have felt my mother's spirit rush 
Upon me as in by-past years, 
And, yielding to the blessed gush 
Of my ungovernable tears, 

Have risen up — the gay, the wild — 

Subdued and humble as a child. 


N. P. Willis. 

Death ! Death in the White House ! Ah, never before, 

Trod his skeleton foot on the President's floor I 

He is looked for in hovel, and dreaded in hall — 

The king in his closet keeps hatchment and pall— 

The youth in his birth-place, the old man at home, 

Make clean from the door-stone the path to the tomb ;— 

But the lord of this mansion was cradled not here — 

In a churchyard far off stands his beckoning bier ! 

He is here as the wave-crest heaves flashing on high— 

As the arrow is stopped by its prize in the sky — 

The arrow to earth, and the foam to the shore — 

Death finds them when swiftness and sparkle are o'er — ■ 

But Harrison's death fills the climax of story — 

He went with his old stride — from glory to glory ! 

What more ? Shall we on, with his ashes ? Yet, stay ! 
He hath ruled the wide realm of a king in his day ! 


At his word, like ;i monarch's, went treasure and land — 
The bright gold of thousands has passed through his hand- 
la there nothing to show of his glittering hoard? 

No jewel to deck the rude hilt of his sword — 
No trappings — no horses? — what had he, but now? 
On ! — on with his ashes ! — he u i r bi p his ploi qh ! 
Brave old Cincinnatus! Qnwind ye his sheet ! 

Let him sleep as he lived — with his purse at Ins feet I 

Follow now, as ye li-^t! Tin- first mourner to-day 
Is the nation — whose father is taken away ! 
"Wife, children, and neighbor, may moan at his knell- 
He was '• lover and friend" to his country, as well ! 
For the stars on our banner, grown suddenly dim. 
Let us weep, in our darkness — hut weep not for him ! 
Not for him — who, departing, leaves millions in tear- 1 
Not for him — who has died full of honor and years I 
Not for him — who ascended Fame's ladder so high 
From the round at the top ho has stepped to the sky! 


HORACE .Smith. 

DaY-S1 LBS] that ope your eyes with man, to twinkle 

From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, 

And dew-drops on her holy altars sprinkle 

As a libation. 

Ye matin worshippers ! who bending lowly 
Before the uprisen sun, God's lidless eyel 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
Incense on high. 

Ye bright Mosaics ! that with storied, beauty 

The floor of nature's temple tesselate 
With numerous emblems of instructive beauty, 
Your forms create. 

'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth, 

And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 
A call to prayer. 

Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column 
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, 


But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, 
Which God hath planned ; 

To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, 

Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply ; 
Its choir the winds and waves — its organ thunder — 
Its dome the sky. 

There, as in solitude and shade I wander 

Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the sod, 
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 
The ways of God. 

Your voiceless lips, flowers ! are living preachers, 

Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book, 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
From loneliest nook. 

Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendor, 

" Weep without woe, and blush without a crime," 
Oh may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender 
Your lore sublime ! 

" Thou wert not, Solomon ! in all thy glory, 

Arrayed," the lilies cry, " in robes like ours ; 
How vain your grandeur ! ah, how transitory, 
Are human flowers !" 

In the sweet scented pictures, heavenly Artist ! 

With which thou paintest nature's wide-spread hall, 
What a delightful lesson thou impartest 
Of love to all ! 

Not useless are ye, flowers ! though made for pleasure, 

Blooming o'er field and wave by day and night, 
From every source your sanction bids me treasure 
Harmless delight. 

Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoary 

For such a world of thought could furnish scope ? 
Each fading calyx a memento mori, 
Yet fount of hope. 

Posthumous glories ! angel-like collection ! 

Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth, 
Ye are to me a type of resurrection, 
A second birth. 



"Were I, God ! in clmrchlcss lands remaining, 

Far from all voice of teachers or di 
My Bonl would find in flowers of thy ordaining, 
Priests, Bermons, Bhrinee '. 


And thou hast walked about— how strange a Btory ! 

In Thebes's Btreets, three thousand years :i 
When the Memnonium was in all its glory, 

And time had no1 I iverthrow 

I'h >se temples, palaces, and piles Btupend 
Of which the very ruins are tremendous ! 

Speak! — for thou Long enough hast artel dummy, 
Thou hast a tongue, — come — let us hear its tune ! 

'I'h m'rt Btanding on thy legs, above-ground, mummy ! 
Revi siting the glimpses of the moon, — 

Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, 

But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs and features! 

Tell us — for doubtless thou can t, — 

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame? — 

Was Cheops, or Oephrenes architect 

Of either pyramid that bears his name? — 

Is Pompey's pillar really a misnomer? — 

Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Ilorncr? 

Perhaps thou wert a mason, — and forbidden, 
By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy trade : 

Then say, what secret melody was hidden 
In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played? 

Perhaps thou wert a priest ; — if so, my struggles 

Are vain, — for priestcraft never owns its juggles ! 

Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat, 

Hath hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass, — 

Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat, — 
Or doffed thine own, to let Queen Dido pass, — 

Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, 

A torch, at the great temple's dedication ! 

I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, 
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled ? 


For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed, 
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled : — 
Antiquity appears to have begun 
Long after thy primeval race was run. 

Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue 
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, 

How the world looked when it was fresh and young, 
And the great deluge still had left it green ! — 

Or was it then so old that history's pages 

Contained no record of its early ages ? 

Still silent! — Incommunicative elf! 

Art sworn to secrecy ? Then keep thy vows ! 
But, prithee, tell us something of thyself, — 

Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house : — 
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered, 
What hast thou seen — what strange adventures numbered ? 

Since first thy form was in this box extended, 

We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations ; 

The Roman empire has begun and ended, — 

New worlds have risen, — we have lost old nations, — 

And countless kings have into dust been humbled, 

While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. 

Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, 

When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, 
Marched armies o'er thy tomb, with thundering tread, 

O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, — 
And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, 
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder? 

If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, 

The nature of thy private life unfold ! 
A heart hath throbbed beneath that leathern breast, 

And tears adown that dusty cheek have rolled : — 
Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face ? 
What was thy name and station, age and race ? 

Statue of flesh ! — Immortal of the dead ! 

Imperishable type of evanescence ! 
Posthumous man, — who quitt'st thy narrow bed, 

And standest undecayed within our presence ! 
Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning, 
When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning! 


Why Bhould this worthless tegument endare, 
If its undying -nest be lost for ever? 

Oh ! let us keep the Bonl embalme 1 Mid pure 
In living virtue, — that when both mast 

Although corruption may our frame consume, 
The immortal spirit in the Bkiefl may bl< 


I Jr. VAST. 

When the radiant morn of oreation broke, 

And the world in the smile of God awoke, 

Ami the empty realms of darkness and death 

Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath, 

And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame 

From the void abyss by myriads came, — 

In the joy of youth as they darted away, 

Through the widening wastes of space to play, 

Their silver voices in chorus rung, 

And this was the song the bright ones sung: 

" Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, — 

The fair blue fields that before us lie, — 

Bach sun, with the worlds that around him roll, 

Each planet, poised on her turning pole ; 

With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, 

And her waters that lie like fluid light. 

" For the Source of Glory uncovers his face, 
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space ; 
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides 
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides : 
Lo, yonder the living splendors play ; 
Away, on our joyous path, away ! 

" Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, 

In the infinite azure, star after star, 

How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass ! 

How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass ! 

And the path of the gentle winds is seen, 

Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean. 

" And see, where the brighter day-beams pour, 
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower ; 


Arid the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues, 
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews ; 
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, 
With her shadowy cone the night goes round ! 

"Away, away! in our blossoming bowers, 

In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours, 

In the seas and fountains that shine with morn, 

See, love is brooding, and life is born, 

And breathing myriads are breaking from night, 

To rejoice like us, in motion and light. 

" Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, 
To weave the dance that measures the years ; 
Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent, 
To the furthest wall of the firmament, — 
The boundless visible smile of Him, 
To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim. 


Charles Mackay. 
A traveller through a dusty road 

Strewed acorns on the lea, 
And one took root, and sprouted up, 

And grew into a tree. 
Love sought its shade at evening time, 

To breathe its early vows ; 
And age was pleased, in heats of noon, 

To bask beneath its boughs. 
The dormouse loved its dangling twig, 

The birds sweet music bore ; 
It stood, a glory in its place — 

A blessing evermore. 

A little spring had lost its way 

Amid the grass and fern — 
A passing stranger scooped a well, 

Where weary men might turn ; 
He walled it in, and hung with care 

A ladle at the brink — 
He thought not of the deed he did, 

But judged that toil might drink. 



He pat ■ i again ; and, lo! tin- well, 
1 i \ -Km.;; Iried, 

Had c ■ tie 1 ten tli msand parching I 
Ami saved :i life beside ! 

A dreamer dropped a random thou 

T vras old, and yet 't was new — 
imple fancy "1" tin' brain, 

Hut strong in being true ; 
It shone upon a genial mind, 

A., i. i i] \\ light bee isiic 
A lamp of life, a beacon ray, 

A monitory flame. 
The thought was small — its issues great, 

A watch-fire on a hill ; 
It sheds its radian sen, 

And 'ill. 

A nameless man, amid a crowd 

That thronged the daily mart, 
I. fall a word of hope and 1 

Dnstudie 1. from the heart ; 
A whi the tumult thrown — 

A transitory breath ; 
It raised a brother from the dust, 

It 8&\ ed a bouI from death. 
germ ! fount ! -word of love ! 

thought at random cast ! 
Ye were but little at the first, 

But mighty at the last. 


Charles Swaix. 
Forgive and forget ! why the world would be lonely, 

The garden a wilderness left to deform ; 
If the flowers but remembered the chilling winds only, 

And the fields gave no verdure for fear of the storm ! 
Oh, still in thy loveliness emblem the flower, 

Give the fragrance of feeling to sweeten life's sway ; 
And prolong not again the brief cloud of an hour, 

With tears that but darken the rest of the day ! 

Forgive and forget ! there's no breast so unfeeling 
But some gentle thoughts of affection there live ; 


And the best of us all require something concealing, 
Some heart that "with smiles can forget and forgive ! 

Then away with the cloud from those beautiful eyes, 
That brow was no home for such, frowns to have met ; 

Oh, how could our spirits e'er hope for the skies, 
If Heaven refused to Forgive and Forget? 


Tell me, ye stars of night — 

In the ages ye have seen, 
Aught more gentle, mild, and bright, 
Aught more dear to angels' sight, 

Hath there been ; 
Or more innocent and fair, 
Than an infant's earliest prayer? 

Tell me, ye flowers that meet 
By the valley, or the stream, 
Have ye incense half so sweet, — 
Fragrance in your rich retreat, — 

That ye deem 
Half so dear to Heaven's care, 
As an infant's quiet prayer? 

Speak, and tell me, thou, Time, 
From the coming of the Word, 
Aught more holy, more sublime, 
From the heart of any clime, 

Hast thou heard, 
Than the voice ascending there, 
Than that lowly infant's prayer ? 


Charles Swain. 


There's beauty in the deep : — 
The wave is bluer than the sky ; 
And, though the lights shine bright on high, 
More softly do the sea-gems glow, 
That sparkle in the depths below ; 


The rainbow'a tints are only faiade 
When on the waters they arc laid ; 
And Bun and moon most sweetly shine 

Upon the ocean's level brine. 
Thcn-'s beauty in the deep. 

There's music in the deep: — 
It is qoI in the surfs rough roar. 

\ ait ; - - • 1 • ^ 1 1 _- , shelly shore, — 

They are but earthly BOUnde, that tell 

How little <>f the sea-nymph's shell, 

That send- its loud, elear in .t <• abroad, 

Or winds it- softness through the flood, 
• ■- through groves, with ooral gay, 
And dies, on spongy banks, away. 

There's music in the deep. 

There's quiet in the deep : — 
Above, let tides and tempests rave, 
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave 
Above, let care and fear contend 
With sin and sorrow, to the end: 
Here, far beneath the tainted foam 
That frets above our peaceful home ; 
We dream in joy, and wake in love, 
Nor know the rage that yells above. 

There's quiet in the deep. 


Drink ! drink! to whom shall we drink? 
To friend or a mistress ? Come, let me think ! 
To those who are absent, or those who are here ? 
To the dead that we loved, or the living still dear ? 
Alas ! when I look, I find none of the last ! 
The present is barren — let's drink to the past. 

Come ! here's to the girl with a voice sweet and low, 
The eye all of fire and the bosom of snow, 
Who erewhile in the days of my youth that are fled, 
Once slept on my bosom, and pillowed my head ! 
Would you know where to find such a delicate prize ? 
Go seek in yon churchyard, for there she lies. 


And here's to the friend, the one friend of my youth, 
With a head full of genius, a heart full of truth, 
Who travelled with me in the sunshine of life, 
And stood by my side in its peace and its strife ! 
Would you know where to seek a blessing so rare ? 
Go drag the lone sea, you may find him there. 

And here's to a brace of twin cherubs of mine, 

With hearts like their mother's, as pure as this wine, 

Who came but to see the first act of the play, 

Grew tired of the scene, and then both went away. 

Would you know where this brace of bright cherubs have hied ? 

Go seek them in heaven, for there they abide. 

A bumper, my boys ! to a gray-headed pair, 
Who watched o'er my childhood with tenderest care, 
God bless them, and keep them, and may they look down, 
On the head of their son, without tear, sigh, or frown ! 
Would you know whom I drink to ? go seek mid the dead, 
You will find both their names on the stone at their head. 

And here's — but alas ! the good wine is no more, 

The bottle is emptied of all its bright store ; 

Like those we have toasted, its spirit is fled, 

And nothing is left of the light that it shed. 

Then, a bumper of tears, boys ! the banquet here ends, 

With a health to our dead, since we've no living friends. 


Bernard Barton. 
Walk in the light ! so shalt thou know 

That fellowship of love 
His Spirit only can bestow, 

Who reigns in light above. 
Walk in the light ! — and sin, abhorred, 

Shall ne'er defile again ; 
The blood of Jesus Christ the Lord 

Shall cleanse from every stain. 

Walk in the light ! — and thou shalt find 

Thy heart made truly His, 
Who dwells in cloudless light enshrined, 

In whom no darkness is. 


Walk in tin? light !— and thou shalt own 
Thy darkness passed an ay, 

Because that light hath on thee .-hone 
In w hioh is perfect day. 

Walk iii the li,u r lit! — and e'en the tomb 

No fearful -hade shall wear ; 
Glory shall ohase away it- gli 

For Christ hath conquered there ! 
Walk in the li^ht ! — and thou shalt be 

A path, though thorny, bright; 
For Gtod, by gra se, shall dweU in thee, 

And God himself is light ! 


Tier pont. 

l>w of glory! welcome day! 
Freedom's banners greet thy im 
See! how cheerfully they play 

With thy morning breeze, 
On the rocks where pilgrims kneeled, 
On the heights where squadrons wheeled, 
"When a tyrant's thunder pealed 

O'er the trembling seas. 

God of armies ! did thy " stars 
In their courses" smite his cars, 
Blast his arm, and wrest his bars 

From the heaving tide ? 
On our standard, lo ! they burn, 
And, when days like this return, 
Sparkle o'er the soldiers' urn 

"Who for freedom died. 

God of peace ! — whose spirit fills 
All the echoes of our hills, 
All the murmurs of our rills, 

Now the storm is o'er ; — 
0, let freemen be our sons ; 
And let future Washingtons 
Rise, to lead their valiant ones, 

Till there's war no more. 


By the patriot's hallowed rest, 
By the warrior's gory breast, — 
Never let our graves be pressed 

By a despot's throne ; 
By the pilgrims' toils and cares, 
By their battles and their prayers, 
By their ashes, — let our heirs 

Bow to thee alone. 


G. Mellen. 
Italia's vales and fountains, 

Though beautiful ye be, 
I love my soaring mountains 

And forests more than ye ; 
And though a dreamy greatness rise 

From out your cloudy years, 
Like hills on distant stormy skies, 

Seen dim through Nature's tears, 
Still, tell me not of years of old, 

Of ancient heart and clime ; 
Ours is the land and age of gold, 

And ours the hallowed time ! 

The jewelled crown and sceptre 

Of Greece have passed away ; 
And none, of all who wept her, 

Could bid her splendor stay. 
The world has shaken with the tread 

Of iron-sandalled crime — 
And lo ! o'ershadowing all the dead, 

The conqueror stalks sublime ! 
Then ask I not for crown and plume 

To nod above my land ; 
The victor's footsteps point to doom, 

Graves open round his hand ! 

Home ! with thy pillared palaces, 

And sculptured heroes all, 
Snatched, in their warm, triumphal 

To Art's high festival ; 
Koine ! with thy giant sons of power 

Whose pathway was on thrones, 


Who built their kingdoms of an hour 

On yet unburied bones, — 
I would not have my land like thee, 

So lofty — yet so cold ! 
Be hers a Lowlier majesty, 

In yet a nobler mould. 

Thy marbles — works of wonder! 

In thy victorious da 
Whose Lips did Beem to -under 

Before the eu tonishe 1 gaze ; 
When statue glared on Btatue there, 

The Living on the dead, — 
And men as silent pilgrims were 

Before Borne sainted head ! 
0, not for faultless marbles yet 

Would I the Light f 
That beams when other Lights have set, 

And Art herself lies low ! 

0, ours a holier hope shall bo 
Than conse (rated bast, 

Some loftier mean of memory 
To snatch us from the dust. 

And ours a sterner art than this, 
Shall fix our image here, — 

The spirit's mould of loveliness — 
A nobler Belvidere ! 

Then let them bind with bloomless flowers 

The busts and urns of old, — 
A fairer heritage be ours, 

A sacrifice less cold ! 
Give honor to the great and good, 

And wreathe the living brow, 
Kindling with Virtue's mantling blood, 

And pay the tribute now ! 

So, when the good and great go down, 

Their statues shall arise, 
To crowd those temples of our own, 

Our fadeless memories ! 
And when the sculptured marble falls, 

And Art goes in to die, 


Our forms shall live in holier halls, 
The Pantheon of the sky ! 


All night the lonely suppliant prayed, 
All night his earnest crying made ; 
Till, standing by his side at morn, 
The Tempter said in bitter scorn : — 
" Oh, peace ! — what profit do you gain 
From empty words and babblings vain ? 
' Come, Lord — oh, come V you cry alway ; 
You pour your heart out night and day ; 
Yet still no murmur of reply — 
No voice that answers, ' Here am I.' " 

Then sank that stricken heart in dust 
That word had withered all its trust ; 
No strength retained it now to pray, 
For Faith and Hope had fled away : 
And ill that mourner now had fared, 
Thus by the Tempter's art ensnared, 
But that at length beside his bed 
His sorrowing angel stood, and said: — 
" Doth it repent thee of thy love, 
That never now is heard above 
Thy prayer, that now not any more 
It knocks at heaven's gate as before ?" 

— " I am cast out — I find no place, 

No hearing at the throne of grace : 

4 Come, Lord — oh, come !' I cry alway ; 

I pour my heart out night and day ; 

Yet never until now have won 

The answer — ' Here am I, my son.' " 

— " Oh, dull of heart ! enclosed doth lie, 

In each ' Come, Lord/ a ' Here am 1/ 

Thy love, thy longing, are not thine, 

Reflections of a love divine : 

Thy very prayer to thee was given, 

Itself a messenger from heaven. 

Whom God rejects, they are not so ; 

Strong bands are round them in their woe 



Their hearts arc bound with Lands of I 
That sigh or crying cannot pass. 
All treasures did the Lord impart 
To Pharaoh, save a contrite heart : 
All other gifts unto his Iocs, 
He freely gives, nor grudging knows ; 

But Love's sweet smart, and costly pain, 
A treasure for hi-- friends remain." 


I sit beneath the Bun beams' glow, 
Their g ilden currents round me flow, 

Their mellow kisses warm my brow, 

But all the world is dreary. 
The vernal meadow round me blooms 
And flings to me its faint perfumes; 
Its breath is like an opening tomb's — 

I'm sick of life, I'm weary I 

The mountain brook skips down to me, 
Tossing it- silver tresses free, 
Humming like one in revery ; 

But, ah ! the sound is dreary. 
The trilling blue-birds o'er me sail, 
There's music in the faint-voiced gale; 
All sound to me a mourner's wail — 

I'm sick of life, I'm weary. 

The night leads forth her starry train, 
The glittering moonbeams fall like rain, 
There's not a shadow on the plain ; 

Yet all the scene is dreary. 
The sunshine is a mockery, 
The solemn moon stares moodily ; 
Alike is day or night to me — 

I'm sick of life, I'm weary. 

I know to some the world is fair, 
For them there's music in the air, 
And shapes of beauty everywhere ; 
But all to me is dreary. 



I know in me the sorrows lie 
That blunt ray ear and dim my eye ; 
I cannot weep, I fain would die — 
Fm sick of life, I'm weary. 


I stood by the open casement 

And looked upon the night, 
And saw the westward-going stars 

Pass slowly out of sight. 

Slowly the bright procession 
Went down the gleaming arch, 

And my soul discerned the music 
Of their long triumphal march ; 

Till the great celestial army, 
Stretching far beyond the poles, 

Became the eternal symbol 
Of the mighty march of souls. 

Onward, for ever onward, 

Red Mars led down his clan ; 
And the Moon, like a mailed maiden, 

Was riding in the van. 

And some were bright in beauty, 
And some were faint and small, 

But these might be in their great height 
The noblest of them all. 

Downward, for ever downward, 

Behind Earth's dusky shore 
They passed into the unknown night, 

They passed, and were no more. 

No more ! Oh, say not so ! 

And downward is not just ; 
For the sight is weak and the sense is dim 

That looks through heated dust. 

The stars and the mailed moon, 
Though they seem to fall and die, 

T. B. Read. 


Still sweep with their embattled lines 
An endless reach of sky. 

And though the hills of Death 
May hide the bright array. 

The marshalled brotherhood of souls 
Still keeps its upward way. 

Upward, for ever upward, 
I see their march sublime, 

And hear the glorious music 
Of the conquerors of Time. 

And long let me remember, 

Thai the palest, fainting one 
May to diviner vision be 
A bright and blazing sun. 


Napoleon ! 'twas a high name lifted high ! 
It met at last God's thunder sent to clear 
Our compassing and covering atmosphere, 
And open a clear sight, beyond the sky, 
Of supreme empire : this of earth's was done — 
And kings crept out again to feel the sun. 

The kings crept out — the peoples sat at home, 

And finding the long-invocated peace 

A pall embroidered with worn images 

Of rights divine, too scant to cover doom 

Such as they suffered, — cursed the corn that grew 

llankly, to bitter bread, on Waterloo. 

A deep gloom centered in the deep repose — 
The nations stood up mute to count their dead — 
And he who owned the Name which vibrated 
Through silence, — trusting to his noblest foes, 
When earth was all too gray for chivalry — 
Died of their mercies, ; mid the desert sea. 

wild St. Helen ! very still she kept him, 
With a green willow for all pyramid, — 
Which stirred a little if the low wind did, 



A little more, if pilgrims overwept him 
Disparting the lithe boughs to see the clay 
Which seemed to cover his for judgment-day. 

Nay ! not so long! — France kept her old affection, 

As deeply as the sepulchre the corse, 

Until dilated by such love's remorse 

To a new angel of the resurrection, 

She cried, " Behold, thou England ! I would have 

The dead whereof thou wottest, from that grave." 

And England answered in the courtesy 
Which, ancient foes turned lovers, may befit, — 
" Take back thy dead ! and when thou buriest it, 
Throw in all former strifes 'twixt thee and me." 
Amen, mine England ! 'tis a courteous claim — 
But ask a little room too . . . for thy shame ! 

Because it was not well, it was not well, 
Nor tuneful with thy lofty-chanted part 
Among the Oceanides, — that heart 
To bind and bare, and vex with vulture fell. 
I would, my noble England, men might seek 
All crimson stains upon thy breast — not cheek ! 



Sleeps the soft South — nursing its delicate breath, 

To fan the first buds of the early spring ; 
And summer sighing, mourns his faded wreath, 

Its many-colored glories withering. 
Beneath the kisses of the new-waked North, — 

Who yet in storms approaches not, but smiles 
On the departing season, and breathes forth 

A fragrance as of summer, — till, at whiles, 
All that is sweetest in the varying year, 

Seems softly blent in one delicious hour, 
Waking dim visions of some former sphere 

Where sorrows, such as earth owns, had no power 
To veil the changeless lustre of the skies, 

And mind and matter formed one paradise. 


T. K. Kkai.. 



Robed like an abbess the snowy earth lies, 
While the red Bundown fades out of the sk 

Up walks the evening veiled like a mm, 
Telling her starry beads one DJ 

Where like the billows the shadowy hills lie, 

Like a mast the great pine swings against the bright sky. 

Down in the valley the distant lights quiver, 
(Hiding the bard-frozen face of the river. 

When o'er the hilltops the moon pours her ray, 
Like sha lows the skaters skirr wildly away ; 

Whirling; and gliding, like summer-clouds fleet, 
They flash the white lightning from glittering feet. 

The icicles hang on the front of the falls, 
Like mute hums of silver on shadowy walls; 

Horns that the wild huntsman spring shall awake, 
Down flinging the loud blast toward river and lake! 


Wll. Ii. TlMROD. 

They slander thee, old Traveller, 

Who say that thy delight 
Is to scatter ruin far and wide, 

In thy wantonness of might ; 
For not a leaf that falleth 

Before thy restless wings 
But in thy flight thou changest, 

To a thousand brighter things. 

Thou passest o'er the battle-field 

Where the dead lie stiff and stark, 
Where nought is heard save the vulture's scream, 

And the gaunt wolf's famished bark ; 
But thou hast caused the grain to spring 

From the blood-enriched clay, 


And the waving corn-tops seem to dance 
To the rustic's merry lay : 

Thou hast strewn the lordly palace 

In ruin o'er the ground, 
And the dismal screech of the owl is heard 

Where the harp was wont to sound ; 
But the self-same spot thou coverest 

With the dwellings of the poor, 
And a thousand happy hearts enjoy 

What one usurped before. 

'T is true, thy progress layeth 

Full many a loved one low, 
And for the brave and beautiful 

Thou hast caused our tears to flow ; 
But always, near the couch of Death 

Nor thou, nor we can stay, 
And the breath of thy departing wing 

Dries all our tears away. 


Whence come ye, saddening chords ? 
Thou wailing melody, thou martial strain? 
Where is the fountain deep, too deep for words, 
Whence gush your ambient waters to the main ? 

Art thou a prince, Song ? 
Like to the wind-god, or the lightning-king? 
Of wayward gentleness, of fierceness strong — 
An infant's cry, a seraph's sweeping wing? 

Or art thou God's own voice, 
Echoing afar through Earth's majestic halls ; 
Now caught in whisperings low, when men rejoice, 
Now pealed in thunder-bolts and water-falls ? 

Poor instruments of Earth 
Catch the stray voices circling round the spheres, 
With scarce an echo of their heavenly birth ; 
And yet, how sadly sweet to mortal ears ! 



Hark ! distant swells of song 
Steal o'er the moon-lit waters to my ear ; 
And, as the rippling waves their notes prolong, 
They bear unto my spirit hope and fear. 

Hope, that, o'er moon-lit seas, 
Our inner life may catch sweet lingering strains : 
Vague fear, lest soul-heard melodies like these 
Die in our hearts while memory yet remains. 

Where fly ye, touching chords, 
Thus speaking tones of heavenly harmony';' 
Have ye some cloistered home which Earth affords, 
Or course ye back to far Infinity? 

Or haply are ye sent 
To sink and dwell in hearts of god-like mould? 
To give the bright imagination vent, 
To regions vast, of melody untold ? 

I call — but ye are gone ! 
A slight vibration moans along the sky, 
And seems to whisper, as it circles on, 

These saddening words : " Like all things else, we die 

Yet, stay ! Can Beauty die ? 
Can golden life from Purity be riven ? 
List ! list ! the answering strains come floating by : 
" The home of all sweet melody is Heaven I" 


In hoc eigno vinces. 

High above the conquering march, 

Where the Roman cohorts stride ; — 
High above triumphal arch, 

Under which crowned Caesars ride ; — 
Lo ! where once Rome's eagle flew, 

Cresting standard, spear and boss, 
Bathed in Heaven's own morning dew, 

Floats the Banner of the Cross ! 

Mystic sign, but mighty spell, 
Now thy blood-red gonfalon, 



Fluttering, sees the Infidel 

Hide in blood at Ascalon. 
Now it falters, — now it flies, — 

Now 'tis trailing on the sod, — 
Now again its glories rise 

O'er the sepulchre of God ! 

Far it shone, for see ! unfurled 

O'er the western surges free, 
Now it greets the new-found world — 

"Waiting islands of the sea" — 
Chanting priests are crowding round, 

Dusky forms in wonder stand, 
Brothers ! this is " holy ground," 

Given to the Saviour's hand. 

Rent by shot and torn by shell, 

On thy billows, Trafalgar, 
See its flutterings sink and swell, 

O'er the lurid clouds of war. 
Dark, in storm, it lowers too, 

Where the gathering nations met 
Him on whom at Waterloo, 

Victory's sun for ever set. 

Saviour ! in these latter days, 

Let no more thy banner fly 
Where the fires of battle blaze, 

Where the lust of power burns high. 
'Neath its folds bid passion cease, 

Hush the storms of wrath and fear, 
Be it now the flag of Peace — 

To the nations everywhere. 

And, oh Lord ! when here below, 

All our pilgrim work is done ; 
Let it lead thy children through 

To the Kingdom of thy Son. 
Then above that heavenly fane, 

Be its glorious station given, 
Where to praise "the Lamb once slain," 

Is the " banner cry" of heaven ! 





Sterx daughter of the voice of God I 

Duty! if that name thou love 
Who art a light to guide, a rod 

To check the erring, and reprove ; 
Thou, who art victory and law 
When empty terrors overawe ; 
From vain temptations d mi set free; 
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! 

There arc who ask not if thine eye 

Be on them ; who, in love and truth, 
Where no misgiving is, rely 

Upon the genial sense of youth : 
Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot ; 
Who do thy work and know it not ; 
Oh! if through confidence misplaced 
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast. 

Serene will he our days and bright, 

And happy will our nature be, 
When love is an unerring light, 

And joy its own security. 
And they a blissful course may hold 
Even now, who. not unwisely bold, 
Live in the spirit of this creed ; 
Yet find thy firm support, according to their need. 

I, loving freedom, and untried ; 

No sport of every random gust, 
Yet being to myself a guide, 

Too blindly have reposed my trust: 
And oft, when in my heart was heard 
Thy timely mandate, I deferred 
The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 

Through no disturbance of my soul, 

Or strong compunction in me wrought, 
I supplicate for thy control ; 

But in the quietness of thought : 
Me this unchartered freedom tires ; 
I feel the weight of chance-desires : 


My hopes no more must change their name, 
I long for a repose that ever is the same. 

Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 

The Godhead's most "benignant grace ; 
Nor know we anything so fair 

As is the smile upon thy face : 
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds ; 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ; 
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong. 

To humbler functions, awful Power ! 

I call thee : I myself commend 
Unto thy guidance from this hour ; 

Oh, let my weakness have an end ! 
Give unto me, made lowly wise, ' 
The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
The confidence of reason give ; 
And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live ! 



I give my soldier boy a blade, 

In fair Damascus fashioned well ; 
Who first the glittering falchion swayed, 

Who first beneath its fury fell, 
I know not, but I hope to know 

That for no mean or hireling trade, 
To guard no feeling base or low, 

I give my soldier boy a blade. 

Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood 

In which its tempering work was done, 
As calm, as clear, as cool of mood, 

Be thou whene'er it sees the sun ; 
For country's claim, at honor's call, 

For outraged friend, insulted maid, 
At mercy's voice to bid it fall, 

I give my soldier boy a blade. 


The eye which marked its peerless edge, 

The hand that weighed its balanced poise, 
Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge, 

Aiv gone with all their (lame and noise — 
And still the gleaming sword remains ; 

S i, when in dust 1 hnv am laid. 
Remember, by those heart-felt strains, 

I gave my Boldier boj a blade. 



(), who shall Lightly say that fame 
Is nothing but an empty name, 

"Whilst in that s;ound there is a charm, 
The nerves to brace, the heart to warm ; 
As. thinking of the mighty dead, 
The young, from slothful couch will start, 
And vow, with lifted hands outspread, 
Like them to act a noble part ? 

0, who shall lightly say that fame 
Is nothing but an empty n 
When, but for those, our mighty dead, 
All ages past a blank would be; 
Sunk in oblivion's murky bed — 
A desert bare — a shipless sea? 
They are the distant objects seen, 
The lofty marks of what hath been. 

0, who shall lightly say that fame 
Is nothing but an empty name, 
When memory of the mighty dead 
To earth-worn pilgrims' wistful eye 
The brightest rays of cheering shed, 
That point to immortality? 


All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, 
The Sun himself must die, 



Before this mortal shall assume 

Its immortality ! 
I saw a vision in my sleep, 
That gave my spirit strength to sweep 

Adown the gulf of Time ! 
I saw the last of human mould 
That shall Creation's death behold, 

As Adam saw her prime ! 

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare, 

The Earth with age was wan, 
The skeletons of nations were 

Around that lonely man ! 
Some had expired in fight, — the brands 
Still rusted in their bony hands ; 

In plague and famine some ! 
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread ; 
And ships were drifting with the dead 

To shores where all was dumb ! 

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, 

With dauntless words and high, 
That shook the sere leaves from the wood, 

As if a storm passed by, 
Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun ! 
Thy face is cold, thy race is run, 

; T is Mercy bids thee go: 
For thou ten thousand thousand years 
Hast seen the tide of human tears, 

That shall no longer flow. 

What though beneath thee man put forth 

His pomp, his pride, his skill ; 
And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, 

The vassals of his will ; — 
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, 
Thou dim discrowned king of day : 

For all those trophied arts 
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, 
Healed not a passion or a pang 

Entailed on human hearts. 

Go, let Oblivion's curtain fall 
Upon the stage of men, 


Nor with thy rising beams recall 

Life's tragedy again. 
Its piteous pageants bring not back, 
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack 

Of pain anew to writhe ; 
Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred, 
Or mown in battle by the sword, 

Like grass beneath the scythe. 

Even I am weary in yon skies 

To watch thy facing fire ; 
Test of all sumless agonies, 

Behold not me expire. 
My lips that speak thy dirge of death — 
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath 

To see thou shalt not boast. 
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, — ■ 
The majesty of darkness shall 

Receive my parting ghost ! 

This spirit shall return to Him 

Who gave its heavenly spark; 
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim 

When thou thyself art dark ! 
No! it shall live again, and shine 
In bliss unknown to beams of thine, 

By Him recalled to breath, 
Who captive led Captivity, 
Who robbed the grave of victory, — 

And took the sting from Death ! 

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up 

On Nature's awful waste 
To drink this last and bitter cup 

Of grief that man shall taste — 
Go, tell the Night that hides thy face, 
Thou sawest the last of Adam's race, 

On Earth's sepulchral clod, 
The darkening universe defy 
To quench his Immortality, 

Or shake his trust in God ! 



Mrs. Browning. 
Napoleon ! he hath come again — borne home 
Upon the popular ebbing heart, — a sea 
Which gathers its own wrecks perpetually, 
Majestically moaning. Give him room! — 
Boorn for the dead in Paris ! welcome solemn 
And grave deep, 'neath the cannon-moulded column I* 

There, weapon spent and warrior spent may rest 

From roar of fields : provided Jupiter 

Dare trust Saturnus to lie down so near 

His bolts ! — And this he may : For, dispossessed 

Of any godship, lies the god-like arm — 

The goat, Jove sucked, as likely to do harm. 

And yet . . . Napoleon ! — the recovered name 
Shakes the old casements of the world ! and we 
Look out upon the passing pageantry, 
Attesting that the Dead makes good his claim 
To a Gaul grave, — another kingdom won — 
The last — of few spans — by Napoleon. 

Blood fell like dew beneath his sunrise — sooth ! 

But glittered dew-like in the covenanted 

And high-rayed light. He was a despot — granted ! 

But the auro<; of his autocratic mouth 

Said yea i' the people's French : he magnified 

The image of the freedom he denied. 

And if they asked for rights, he made reply, 

" Ye have my glory !" — and so, drawing round them 

His ample purple, glorified and bound them 

In an embrace that seemed identity. 

He ruled them like a tyrant — true ! but none 

Were ruled like slaves ! Each felt Napoleon ! 

I do not praise this man : the man was flawed 

For Adam — much more, Christ! — his knee, unbent — 

His hand, unclean — his aspiration, pent 

Within a sword-sweep — pshaw ! — but since he had 

The genius to be loved, why let him have 

The justice to be honored in his grave. 

It was the first intention to bury him under the column. 


I think this nation's tears, poured thus together, 
Nobler than shouts: I think this funeral 
Grander than crownings, though a Pope bless all: 
I think this grave stronger than thrones: But whether 
The crowned Napoleon or the buried clay 
Be better, I discern not — Angels may. 


As die the embers on the hearth, 
And o'er the floor the Bhadows fall, 

And creeps the chirping cricket forth, 
And ticks the deathwatch in the wall, 

I see a form in yonder chair, 

That grows beneath the waning light ; 
There are the wan, sad features — there 

The pallid brow, and locks of white ! 

My father! when they laid thee down, 

And heaped the clay upon thy breast, 
And left thee sleeping all alone 

Upon thy narrow couch of rest — 
I know not why, I could not weep, 

The soothing drops refused to roll — 
And oh, that grief is wild and deep 

Which settles tearless on the soul ! 

But when I saw thy vacant chair — 

Thine idle hat upon the wall — 
Thy book — the pencilled passage where 

Thine eye had rested last of all — 
The tree beneath whose friendly shade 

Thy trembling feet had wandered forth- 
The very prints those feet had made, 

When last they feebly trod the earth — 

And thought, while countless ages fled, 

Thy vacant seat would vacant stand, 
Unworn thy hat, thy book unread, 

Effaced thy footsteps from the sand — 
And widowed in this cheerless world, 

The heart that gave its love to thee — 
Torn, like a vine whose tendrils curled 

More closely round the fallen tree ! — 

II. k. J 


Oh, father ! then for her and thee 

Gushed madly forth the scorching tears ; 
And oft, and long, and bitterly, 

Those tears have gushed in later years ; 
For as the world grows cold around, 

And things take on their real hue, 
'Tis sad to learn that love is found 

Alone above the stars, with you ! 


G. D. Prentice. 

The year 
Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng 
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, 
Its shadow in each heart. In its swift course, 
It waved its sceptre o'er the beautiful, 
And they are not. It laid its pallid hand 
Upon the strong man, and the haughty form 
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. 
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged 
The bright and joyous, and the tearful wail, 
Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song 
And reckless shout resounded. It passed o'er 
The battle-plain, where sword and spear and shield 
Flashed in the light of midday — and the strength 
Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass, 
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above 

- The crushed and mouldering skeleton. It came 
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve ; 
Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, 
It heralded its millions to their home 
In the dim land of dreams. Remorseless Time — 
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe — what power 
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt 
His iron heart to pity ? On, still on 
He presses, and for ever. The proud bird, 
The condor of the Andes, that can soar 
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave 
The fury of the northern hurricane, 
And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, 
Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks down 
To rest upon his mountain-crag, — but Time 
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, 



And night's deep darkn shain to bind 

Hi- rushing pinion. Rei oluti 

O'er earth, like troubled Vr the breast 

Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and -ink, 

Like bubbles on the water: fiery i 

Spring, blazing, from the ocean, and go back 

To their mysterious caverns; mountains rear 

To heaven their bald and blaokened cliffs, and DOW 

Their tall heads to the plain ; new empires rise, 

Gathering the strength of hoary centuri 

And rush down like tin' Alpine avalanohe, 

Startling tie- nations; and the eery sta 

Yon bright and burning blazonry of '! I. 

(Hitter a while in their eternal depth-;, 

And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, 

Shoot from their glorious Bpheres, and pass away, 

To darkle in the trackless void: — vet Time — 

Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, 

Dark, B$ern, all-pitiless, and ; 

Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, 

To sit and muse, like other conquerors, 

Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. 



Beside yon strangling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
There, in his noisy mansion skilled to rule, 
The village master taught his little school: 
A man severe he was, and stern to view, 
I knew him well, and every truant knew ; 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
Full well the busy whisper circling round, 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned : 
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, 
The love he bore to learning was in fault ; 
The village all declared how much he knew, 
; Twas certain he could write, and cipher too ; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
And even the story ran — that he could gauge : 


In arguing too, the parson owned his skill, 

For even though vanquished, he could argue still ; 

While words of learned length, and thundering sound, 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 


Even now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, 
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; 
And, placed on high above the storm's career, 
Look downward where an hundred realms appear ; 
Lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide, 
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. 

When thus Creation's charms around combine, 
Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine ? 
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain 
That good which makes each humbler bosom vain? 
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, 
These little things are great to little man ; 
And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind 
Exults in all the good of all mankind. 
Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crowned 
Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round ; 
Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale ; 
Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale ; 
For me your tributary stores combine : 
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine ! 


Eliza Cooke. 
Land of the west ! though passing brief the record of thine age, 
Thou hast a name that darkens all on history's wide page ! 
Let all the blasts of fame ring out — thine shall be loudest far : 
Let others boast their satellites — thou hast the planet star. 

Thou hast a name whose characters of light shall ne'er depart ; 
'Tis stamped upon the dullest brain, and warms the coldest heart ; 


A war-cry fit for any land where freedom's to be -won. 
Land of the west! it stands alone — it is thy Washington! 

Koine had ii- Caesar, great and brave; but stain was on his wreath : 
He lived the heartless conqueror, and died the tyrant's death. 
France had its eagle ; but his wings, though Lofty they might soar, 
Were spread in false ambition's flight, and dipped in murder's gore. 

Those hero-gods, whose mighty sway would fain have chained the 

wave — 
Who fleshed their blades with tiger zeal, to make a world of slaves — 
Who, though their kindred barred the path, still fiercely waded on — 
Oh, where shall be their '"glory" by the side of Washington? 

He fought, but not with love of strife ; he struck but to defend ; 
And ere he turned a people's foe, he sought to be a friend. 
lie strove to keep his country's right, by reason's gentle word, 
And sighed when fell injustice threw the challenge — sword to sword. 

He stood the firm, the calm, the wise, the patriot and sage ; 
He showed no deep, avenging hate — no burst of despot rage. 
He stood for liberty and truth, and dauntlessly led on, 
Till shouts of victory gave forth the name of Washington. 

No car of triumph bore him through a city filled with grief; 
No groaning captives at the wheels proclaimed him victor chief; 
He broke the gyves of slavery with strong and high disdain, 
And cast no sceptre from the links when he had crushed the chain. 

He saved his land, but did not lay his soldier trappings down 
To change them for the regal vest, and don a kingly crown. 
Fame was too earnest in her joy — too proud of such a son — 
To let a robe and title mask a noble Washington. 

England, my heart is truly thine — my loved, my native earth ! — 
The land that holds a mother's grave, and gave that mother birth ! 
Oh, keenly sad would be the fate that thrust me from thy shore, 
And faltering my breath, that sighed, "farewell for evermore I" 

But did I meet such adverse lot, I would not seek to dwell 
Where olden heroes wrought the deeds for Homer's song to tell. 
Away, thou gallant ship ! I'd cry, and bear me swiftly on : 
But bear me from my own fair land, to that of Washington ! 



Tread softly — bow the head-* 
In reverent silence bow — 

No passing bell doth toll — 

Yet an immortal soul 
Is passing now. 

Stranger ! however great, 
With lowly reverence bow ; 

There's one in that poor shed — 

One by that paltry bed — 
Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 
Lo ! death does keep his state ; 

Enter — no crowds attend — 

Enter — no guards defend 
This palace gate. 

That pavement, damp and cold, 

No smiling courtiers tread ; 
One silent woman stands, 
Lifting with meagre hands 
A dying head. 

No mingling voices sound — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob suppressed — agen 
That short, deep gasp, and then 

The parting groan. 

change ! — wondrous change !- 
Burst are the prison bars — 

This moment there, so low, 

So agonized, and now 
Beyond the stars ! 

change ! — stupendous change ! 

There lies the soulless clod ; 
The Sun eternal breaks — 
The new immortal wakes — 

Wakes with his God. 

Mrs. Southet. 




A. I: 
His echoing axe the settler swung 

Amid the se:i-like solitude, 
And, rushing, thundering, down were flung 

The Titans of the wood ; 
Loud shrieked the eagle, els he dashed 
Prom out his mossy nest, which crashed 

With its supporting bough, 
And the first Bunlight, Leaping, flashed 

On the wolf's haunt below. 

Rude was the garb, and strong the frame 

Of him who plied his > il ; 

To form that garb the wild-wood game 

Contributed their spoil ; 
The soul that warmed that frame disdained 
The fuisel, gaud, and glare, that reigned 

"Where men their crowds collect; 
The simple fur, untrimmed, unstained, 
This forest-tamer decked. 

The paths which wound mid gorgeous trees, 

The stream whose bright lips kissed their flowers, 
The winds that swelled their harmonies 

Through those sun-hiding bowers, 
The temple vast, the green arcade, 
The nestling vale, the grassy glade, 

Dark cave, and swampy lair: 
These scenes aud sounds majestic, made 

His world, his pleasures, there. 

His roof adorned a pleasant spot, 

Mid the black logs green glowed the grain, 
And herbs and plants the woods knew not, 

Throve in the sun and rain. 
The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell, 
The low, the bleat, the tinkling bell, 

All made a landscape strange, 
Which was the living chronicle 

Of deeds that wrought the change. 

The violet sprung at spring's first tinge, 
The rose of summer spread its glow, 


The maize hung out its autumn fringe, 

Kude winter brought his snow ; 
And still the lone one labored there, 
His shout and whistle broke the air, 

As cheerily he plied 
His garden-spade, or drove his share 

Along the hillock's side. 

He marked the fire-storm's blazing flood 

Roaring and crackling on its path, 
And scorching earth, and melting wood, 

Beneath its greedy wrath ; 
He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot, 
Trampling the pine tree with its foot, 

And darkening thick the day 
With streaming bough and severed root, 

Hurled whizzing on its way. 

His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed, 

The grim bear hushed his savage growl ; 
In blood and foam the panther gnashed 

His fangs, with dying howl ; 
The fleet deer ceased its flying bound, 
Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground, 

And, with its moaning cry, 
The beaver sank beneath the wound 

Its pond-built Venice by. 

Humble the lot, yet his the race, 

When Liberty sent forth her cry, 
Who thronged in conflict's deadliest place, 

To fight— to bleed—to die ! 
Who cumbered Bunker's height of red, 
By hope through weary years were led, 

And witnessed Yorktown's sun 
Blaze on a nation's banner spread, 

A nation's freedom won. 


Deep in the wave is a coral grove, 
Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove ; 
Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, 
That never are wet with falling dew, 



But in bright and changeful beauty shine, 

Far down in the green and glassy brine. 

The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, 

And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; 

From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; 

The water Ui calm and still below, 

For the winds and waves are absent there, 

And the sands are bright Bfl the Btare that glow 

In the motionless fields of upper air: 

There, with its waving blade of- green, 

The Bea-flag streams through the silent water, 

And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter: 

There, with a light and easy motion, 

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep sea; 

And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 

Are bending like corn on the upland lea: 

And life, in rare and beautiful forms, 

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 

And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms 

Has made the top of the wave his own: 

And when the ship from his fury flies, 

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 

When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 

And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 

Then, far below, in the peaceful sea, 

The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, 

Where the waters murmur tranquilly, 

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 



Centre of light and energy ! thy way 

Is through the unknown void ; thou hast thy throne, 
Morning, and evening, and at noon of day, 

Far in the blue, untended and alone : 

Ere the first-wakened airs of earth had blown, 
On thou didst march, triumphant in thy light ; 

Then thou didst send thy glance, which still hath flown 
Wide through the never-ending worlds of night, 
And yet thy full orb burns with flash as keen and bright. 


"We call thee Lord of Day, and thou dost give 

To earth the fire that animates her crust, 
And wakens all the forms that move and live, 

From the fine, viewless mould which lurks in dust, 

To him who looks to heaven, and on his bust 
Bears stamped the seal of God, who gathers there 

Lines of deep thought, high feeling, daring trust 
In his own centered powers, who aims to share 
In all his soul can frame of wide, and great, and fair. 

Thy path is high in heaven ; we cannot gaze 

On the intense of light that girds thy car ; 
There is a crown of glory in thy rays, 

"Which bears thy pure divinity afar, 

To mingle with the equal light of star, — 
For thou, so vast to us, art in the whole 

One of the sparks of night that fire the air, 
And, as around thy centre planets roll, 
So thou, too, iast thy path around the central soul. 

I am no fond idolater to thee, 

One of the countless multitude, who burn, 
As lamps, around the one Eternity, 

In whose contending forces systems turn 

Their circles round that seat of life, the urn 
"Where all must sleep, if matter ever dies : 

Sight fails me here, but fancy can discern 
"With the wide glance of her all-seeing eyes, 
"Where, in the heart of worlds, the ruling Spirit lies. 


Mrs. F. H. Cooke. 
God said, "Let there be light!" The glorious word 

Thrilled to the bosom of primeval Night, 
And hovering choirs of listening angels heard 
And echoed back the mandate with delight. 
They hailed the boon those simple words conferred, 
" Let there be light I" 

Still, though uncounted years have rolled away 
Since Earth first revelled in a gift so bright, 

Some lingering clouds obstruct the rising day, 
The powers of Darkness are not vanquished quite. 


Humanity hath often missed the way ; 
" Let there be light ! 

Light for the doomed one in his lonely cell, 
Waiting Conviction's last, most fearful rite: 

Light for the brother-bands that pealed bie knell, 
Claiming the Avenger's office to requite. 

Law-makers ! Jurors ! Judges ! where ye dwell 
"Let there be light!" 

Light for the poor down-trodden, as they toil 

Long hours, with weary limbs and aching sight: 

Light for the revellers in the costly spoil 

Torn from their brethren. On their foreheads write, 

" The Oak shuts not the Daisy from the soil." 
"Let there be light!" 

Light for the injured, whereso'er they dwell, 
And the sweet ties that suffering hearts unite : 

Light for the injurers, too, for none may tell 

How much their hearts have struggled for the Right. 

Guilt is mistake. Then bid the chorus swell, 
" Let there be light !" 


Martin F. TcrrER. 

All's for the best. Be sanguine and cheerful; 

Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise ; 
Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearful ; 

Courage for ever is happy and wise ; 
All for the best — if man would but know it ; 

Providence wishes us all to be blest ; 
There is no dream of the pundit or poet ; 

Heaven is gracious, and — all's for the best. 

All's for the best ! set this in your standard, 

Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love, 
Who to the shores of despair may have wandered, 

A way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove ; 
All's for the best ! — be man but confiding, 

Providence tenderly governs the rest, 
And the frail bark of His creature is guiding, 

"Wisely and warily, all for the best. 


All's for the best ! Then fling away terrors, 

Meet all your fears and your foes in the van, 
And in the midst of your dangers or errors, 

Trust like a child, while you strive like a man ; 
All's for the best ! — unbiassed, unbounded, 

Providence reigns from the east to the west ; 
And by both wisdom and mercy surrounded, 

Hope and be happy that all's for the best. 


Sir Eqerton Brydges. 
In eddying course when leaves began to fly, 

And Autumn in her lap the store to strew, 

As mid wild scenes I chanced the Muse to woo, 
Through glens untrod, and woods that frowned on high, 
Two sleeping nymphs with wonder mute I spy ! 

And, lo, she's gone ! — In robe of dark-green hue 

'Twas Echo from her sister Silence flew, 
For quick the hunter's horn resounded to the sky ! 
In shade affrighted Silence melts away. 

Not so her sister. — Hark ! for onward still, 
With far-heard step, she takes her listening way, 

Bounding from rock to rock, and hill to hill. 

Ah, mark the merry maid in mockful play 
With thousand mimic tones the laughing forest fill ! 


I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells, 
And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my spells! 
I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or gold, 
For treasure tires the weary sense — such triumph is but cold ; 
But I would play th' enchanter's part, in casting bliss around, — 
Oh ! not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found. 

To worth I would give honor ! — I'd dry the mourner's tears, 

And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years, 

And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had grown 

Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as of old ! 
Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around, 
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found ! 


The heart that had been mourning o'er vanished dreams of lovo, 
Should see them all returning, — like Xoah's faithful dove, 
And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's darkening sea, 
And Mis'ry's children have an Ark, and saved from sinking be ; 
Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around, 
And not a tear, nor achinjr heart, should in the world be found ! 


Thou sbalt not call him blest, 
Though born to high command, 

Who sees among his slaves 
The nobles of his land ; 
Though banners bear his name 
On many a shining fold, 
Though sparkling gems are his, 
And ruddy piles of gold. 

Thou sbalt not call him blest, 
In lofty wisdom sage, 
Whose searching eye has read 
Creation's boundless page ; — 
Who gathers round his hearth 
The wise of ancient days ; 
Whose words the learned and great 
Of other times shall praise. 

But thou shaft call him blest, 
Though all unknown to fame, 
Whose righteous works adorn 
The Christian's sacred name ; 
Who loves the toilsome path, 
That high Apostles trod ; 
Who keeps with humble faith 
The just decrees of God. 

J. (.iiLBOHNE Lyons. 


The stately homes of England, 
How beautiful they stand ! 

Amidst their tall ancestral trees, 
O'er all the pleasant land. 

Mrs. IIemans. 


The deer across their greensward bound 

Through shade and sunny gleam, 
And the swan glides past them with the sound 

Of some rejoicing stream. 

The merry homes of England ! 

Around their hearths by night, 
What gladsome looks of household love 

Meet in the ruddy light ! 
There woman's voice flows forth in song, 

Or childhood's tale is told ; 
Or lips move tunefully along 

Some glorious page of old. 

The blessed homes of England ! 

How softly on their bowers 
Is laid the holy quietness 

That breathes from Sabbath hours ! 
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime 

Floats through their woods at morn ; 
All other sounds, in that still time, 

Of breeze and leaf are born. 

The cottage homes of England ! 

By thousands on her plains, 
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, 

And round the hamlet-fanes. 
Through glowing orchards forth they peep, 

Each from its nook of leaves, 
And fearless there the lowly sleep, 

As the bird beneath their eaves. 

The free, fair homes of England ! 

Long, long, in hut and hall, 
May hearts of native proof be reared 

To guard each hallowed wall ! 
And green for ever be the groves, 

And bright the flowery so4, 
"Where first the child's glad spirit loves 

Its country and its God ! 





Along the smooth and Blender wires, 

The sleepless heralds run 
Fast as the clear and living rays 

Go streaming from the sun : 
No peals or flashes heard or seen 

Their wondrous flight betray, 
And yet their words are strongly felt 

In cities far away. 

Nor summer's heat, nor winter's hail 
Can check their rapid coarse; — 

They meet unmoved the fierce wind's rage, — 
The rough wave's sweeping force: — 

In the long night of rain and wrath, 
As in the blaze of day, 

They rush, with news of weal or woe, 
To thousands far away. 

But faster still than tidings borne 

On that electric cord, 
Rise the pure thoughts of him who loves 

The Christian's life and Lord, — 
Of him who, taught in smiles and tears 

With fervent lips to pray, 
Maintains high converse here below 

With bright worlds far away. 

Ay 1 though nor outward wish is breathed, 

Nor outward answer given, 
The sighing of that humble heart 

Is known and felt in Heaven : — 
Those long frail wires may bend and break, 

Those viewless heralds stray, 
But Faith's least word shall reach the throne 
Of God, though far away. 


A. C. Coxb. 
The Sun is up betimes, 

And the dappled East is blushing, 


And the merry matin-chimes, 

They are gushing — Christian — gushing ! 
They are tolling in the tower, 

For another day begun ; 
And to hail the rising hour 

Of a brighter, brighter Sun ! 
Rise — Christian — rise ! 

For a sunshine brighter far 
Is breaking o'er thine eyes, 

Than the bonny morning star ! 

The lark is in the sky, 

And his morning-note is pouring : 
He hath a wing to fly, 

So he's soaring — Christian — soaring ! 
His nest is on the ground, 

But only in the night ; 
For he loves the matin-sound, 

And the highest heaven's height. 
Hark — Christian — hark ! 

At heaven-door he sings ! 
And be thou like the lark, 

With thy soaring spirit-wings ! 

The merry matin-bells, 

In their watch-tower they are swinging ; 
For the day is o'er the dells, 

And they're singing — Christian — singing ! 
They have caught the morning beam 

Through their ivied turret's wreath, 
And the chancel-window's gleam 

Is glorious beneath : 
Go — C h ris tian — go, 

For the altar flameth there, 
And the snowy vestments glow, 

Of the presbyter at prayer ! 

There is morning incense flung 

From the child-like lily-flowers ; 
And their fragrant ceuser swung, 

Make it ours — Christian — ours ! 
And hark, the morning hymn, 

And the organ-peals we love ! 
They sound like cherubim 

At their orisons above ! 


Pray — Christian — pray, 
At the bonny peep of dawn, 

Ere the dew-drop and t: 
That christen it. are gone ! 


From the quickened womb of the primal gloom 

The ran rolled black and bare. 
Till I wove him a Teal for his Ethiop br«. 

Of the threads of my golden hair : 
And when the broad tent of the firmament 
N "ii its airy b\ 

I pencilled the hue of its matchless blue, 
And spangled it round with si 

I painted the flowers of the Eden bowers, 

And their leaves of living green, 
And mine were the dyes in the sinless eyes 

Of Eden's virgin queen ; 
And when the fiend's art, on her trustful heart, 

Had faste rtal spell, 

In the silvery sphere of the first-born tear 

To the trembling earth I fell. 

When the waves that burst o'er a world accursed 

Their work of wrath had sped, 
And the Ark's lone few, the tried and true, 

Came forth among the dead ; 
With the wondrous gleams of my braided beams 

I bade their terrors cease ; 
As I wrote on the roll of the storm's dark scroll 

God's covenant of peace. 

Like a pall at rest on a pulseless breast, 

Night's funeral shadow slept, 
Where shepherd swains on the Bethlehem plains 

Their lonely vigils kept ; 
When I flashed on their sight the heralds bright 

Of heaven's redeeming plan, 
As they chanted the morn of a Saviour born — 

Joy, joy to the outcast man ! 

W. I' l'ALMER. 


Equal favor I show to the lofty and low, 

On the just and unjust I descend ; 
E'en the blind, whose vain spheres roll in darkness and tears, 

Feel my smile the best smile of a friend : 
Nay, the flower of the waste by my love is embraced, 

As the rose in the garden of kings ; 
As the chrysalis bier of the worm I appear, 

And lo ! the gay butterfly's wings ! 

The desolate Morn, like a mourner forlorn, 

Conceals all the pride of her charms, 
Till I bid the bright Hours chase the Night from her bowers, 

And lead the young Day to her arms ; 
And when the gay rover seeks Eve for his lover, 

And sinks to her balmy repose, 
I wrap their soft rest by the zephyr-fanned west, 

In curtains of amber and rose. 

From my sentinel steep, by the night-brooded deep, 

I gaze with unslumbering eye, 
When the cynosure star of the mariner 

Is blotted from the sky ; 
And guided by me through the merciless sea, 

Though sped by the hurricane's wings, 
His compassless bark, lone, weltering, dark, 

To the haven-home safely he brings. 

I waken the flowers in their dew-spangled bowers, 

The birds in their chambers of green, 
And mountain and plain glow with beauty again, 

As they bask in my matinal sheen. 
Or, if such the glad worth of my presence to earth, 

Though fitful and fleeting the while, 
What glories must rest on the home of the blessed, 

Ever bright Avith the Deity's smile ! 


The ocean looketh up to heaven, 

As 'twere a living thing ; 
The homage of its waves is given 
In ceaseless worshipping. 


They kneel upon the sloping sand, 
As bends the human knee, 

A beautiful and tireless band, 
The priesthood of the sea ! 

They pour the glittering treasures out 
Which in the deep have birth, 

And chant their awful hymns about 
The watching hills of earth. 

The green earth send- it-^ incense up 
From every mountain-shrine, 

From every flower and dewy cup 
That greeteth the sunshine. 

The forest-tops are lowly cast 
O'er breezy hill and glen, 

As if a prayerful spirit passed 
On nature as on men. 

The clouds weep o'er the fallen world, 

E'en as repentant love ; 
Ere, to the blessed breeze unfurled, 
4 They fade in light above. 

The sky is as a temple's arch, 
The blue and wavy air 

Is glorious with the spirit-march 
Of messengers at prayer. 

The gentle moon, the kindling suu, 
The many stars are given 

As shrines to burn earth's incense on, 
The altar-fires of Heaven ! 



Morning rose in the east ; the blue waters rolled in light. Fingal 

bade his sails to rise ; the winds came rustling from their hills. Inis- 

tore rose to sight, and Carric-thura's mossy towers ! But the sign of 

distress was on their top : the warning flame edged with smoke. The 

king of Morven struck his breast: he assumed at once his spear. His 

darkened brow bends forward to the coast : he looks back to the lag- 


ging winds. His hair is disordered on his back. The silence of the 
king is terrible ! 

Night came down on the sea : Rotha's bay received the ship. A 
rock bends along the coast with all its echoing wood. On the top is 
the circle of Loda, the mossy stone of power ! A narrow plain spreads 
beneath, covered with grass and aged trees, which the midnight winds, 
in their wrath, had torn from their shaggy rock. The blue course of a 
stream is there ! the lonely blast of ocean pursues the thistle's beard. 
The flame of three oaks arose : the feast is spread round ; but the soul 
of the king is sad, for Carric-thura's chief distrest. 

The wan cold moon rose in the east. Sleep descended on the 
youths ! Their blue helmets glitter to the beam ; the fading fire 
decays. But sleep did not rest on the king : he rose in the midst of 
his arms, and slowly ascended the hill, to behold the flame of Sarno's 

The flame was dim and distant ; the moon hid her red face in the 
east. A blast came from the mountain, on its wings was the spirit of 
Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and shook his dusky spear. 
His eyes appear like flames in his dark face ; his voice is like distant 
thunder. Fingal advanced his spear in night, and raised his voice on 

Son of night, retire ; call thy winds, and fly ! Why dost thou come 
to my presence, with thy shadowy arms ? Do I fear thy gloomy form, 
spirit of dismal Loda ! Weak is thy shield of clouds ; feeble is that 
meteor, thy sword ! The blast rolls them together ; and thou thyself 
art lost. Fly from my presence, son of night ! call thy winds, and fly ! 

Dost thou force me from my place ? replied the hollow voice. The 
people bend before me. I turn the battle in the field of the brave. I 
look on the nations, and they vanish : my nostrils pour the blasts of 
death. I come abroad on the winds ; the tempests are before my face. 
But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds ; the fields of my rest are 

Dwell in thy pleasant fields, said the king : Let ComhaPs son be for- 
got. Do my steps ascend from my hills into thy peaceful plains ? Do 
I meet thee with a spear on thy cloud, spirit of dismal Loda ? Why 
then dost thou frown on me ? Why shake thine airy spear ? Thou 
frownest in vain : I never fled from the mighty in war. And shall the 
sons of the wind frighten the king of Morven ? No ! he knows the 
weakness of their arms ! 

Fly to thy land, replied the form : receive thy wind and fly ? The 
blasts are in the hollow of my hand ; the course of the storm is mine. 
The king of Sora is my son, he bends at the stone of my power. His 
battle is around Carric-thura ; and he will prevail ! Fly to thy land, 
son of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath. 


He lifted high his Bhadowy spear! B rward hie dreadful 

height. Fingal, advancing, drew bis Bword ; the blade of dark-brown 
Luno. The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy 
ghost. The form fell Bhapeless into the air, like a column of smoke, 
which the staff of the boy disturbs a df-extinguished 


The spirit of Loda shrieked, as, rolled into himself, lie rose on the 
wind. Inistore shook at the sound. The waves heard it on the deep. 
They stopped in their course with fearj the friends of FingaJ started 
at .nice, and took their 1. ITS. They missed the king: they 

rose in rage ; all their arms resound ! 



Man hath two attendant angels 

■ waiting at his side, 
With him whereso'er he wanders, 

Whereso'er his feet abide; 
One to warn him when he walketh 

An d rebuke him if he stray ; 
One to leave him to his nature, 

And so let him go his way. 

Two recording spirits, reading 

All his life's minutest part, 
Looking in his soul, and listening 

To the beatings of his heart ; 
Each, with pen of fire electric, 

"Writes the good or evil wrought — 
Writes with truth, that adds not, errs not, 

Purpose — action — word — and thought. 

One, the Teacher and Reprover, 

Marks each heaven-deserving deed: 
Graves it with the lightning's vigor, 

Seals it with the lightning's speed ; 
For the good that man achieveth — 

Good beyond an angel's doubt — 
Such remains for aye and ever, 

And cannot be blotted out. 

One (severe and silent Watcher !) 
Noteth every crime and guile, 


Writes it with a holy duty, 

Seals it not, but waits awhile ; 
If the evil doer cry not — 

" God forgive me !" ere he sleeps, 
Then the sad, stern spirit seals it, 

And the gentler spirit weeps. 

To the sinner, if Repentance 

Cometh soon, with healing wings, 
Then the dark account is cancelled, 

And each joyful angel sings; 
Whilst the erring one perceiveth — 

Now his troublous hour is o'er — 
Music, fragrance wafted to him 

From a yet untrodden shore ! 

Mild and mighty is Forgiveness, 

Meekly worn, if meekly won ; 
Let our hearts go forth to seek it 

Ere the setting of the sun ! 
Angels wait and long to hear us 

Ask it ere the time be flown ; 
Let us give it and receive it, 

Ere the midnight cometh down ! 


Ulysses, sailing by the Sirens' isle, 

Sealed first his comrades' ears, then bade them fast 

Bind him with many a fetter to the mast, 

Lest those sweet voices should their souls beguile, 

And to their ruin flatter them, the while 

Their homeward bark was sailing swiftly past ; 

And thus the peril they behind them cast, 

Though chased by those weird voices many a mile. 

But yet a nobler cunning Orpheus used : 

No fetter he put on, nor stopped his ear ; 

But ever, as he passed, sang high and clear 

The blisses of the gods, their holy joys, 

And with diviner melody confused 

And marred earth's sweetest music to a noise. 






The clock strike-. Four ! 

Round the debtor's door 
Are gathered a couple of thousands or more; 

As many await 

At the press-yard gate, 
Till slowly its folding-doors open ; and straight 
The dim!) divides; and between their ranks 
A wagon comes loaded with posts and with planks. 

The clock strikes Five ! 
The sheriffs arrive, 

And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive ; 
-* * * ¥■ * # 

Sweetly, oh ! sweetly, the morning breaks 

With roseate streaks, 
Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks; 
Seemed as that mild and clear blue sky 
Smiled upon all thing* far and nigh, — 
All, — save the wretch condemned to die! 
Alack ! that ever so fair a sun 
As that which its course has now begun, 
Should rise on Buch scenes of misery! 
Should gild with rays so light and free 
That dismal, dark-frowning gallows tree ! 

And hark ! — a sound comes big with fate, 

The clock from St. Sepulchre's tower strikes — Eight !- 

List to that low funeral bell : 

It is tolling, alas ! a living man's knell ! 

And see ! — from forth that opening door 

They come — he steps the threshold o'er 

Who never shall tread upon threshold more. — 

God ! 'tis a fearsome thing to see 

That pale man's mute agony, 

The glare of that wild despairing eye, 

Now T bent on the crowd, now turned to the sky, 

As though 'twere scanning, in doubt and in fear, 

The path of the spirit's unknown career ; 

Those pinioned arms, those hands that ne'er 

Shall be lifted again, — not even in prayer ; 

That heaving chest ! — Enough, 'tis done !— 


The bolt has fallen ! — The spirit is gone — 
For weal or for woe is known to but One ! — 
Oh ! 'twas a fearsome sight ! Ah me ! 
A deed to shudder at, — not to see. 


Ye spirits of our fathers, 

The hardy, bold, and free, 
Who chased o'er Oessy's gory field 

A fourfold enemy ! 
From us who love your sylvan game, 

To you the song shall flow, 
To the fame of your name 

Who so bravely bent the bow. 

'Twas merry then in England, 

(Our ancient records tell,) 
With Robin Hood and Little John - 

Who dwelt by down and dell ; 
And yet we love the bold outlaw 

Who braved a tyrant foe, 
Whose cheer was the deer, 

And his only friend the bow ! 

; Twas merry then in England 

In autumn's dewy morn, 
When echo started from her hill 

To hear the bugle-horn. 
And beauty, mirth, and warrior worth 

In garb of green did go 
The shade to invade 

With the arrow and the bow. 

Ye spirits of our fathers ! 

Extend to us your care, 
Among your children yet are found 

The valiant and the fair ! 
'Tis merry yet in Old England, 

Full well her archers know, 
And shame on their name 

Who despise the British bow. 

Bishop Hebeb. 



Ih bs of the rich unfolding morn, 
That, ere the glorious sun be born, 
By some soft touch invisible 
Around his path are taught to swell ; — 

Thou rustling breeze BO fresh and gay, 
That dancest forth at opening day, 
And brushing by with joyous wing, 
Wakenest each little leaf to sing; — 

Ye fragrant fluids of dewy Bteam, 

By which deep grove and tangled stream 

Pay. for BOft rains in BOaSOD given, 

Their tribute to the genial heaven ; — 

Why waste your treasures of delight 
Upon our thankless, joyless Bight ; 
Who day by day to sin awake, 
Seldom of Heaven and you partake? 

Oh! timely happy, timely wise, 
Hearts that with rising morn arise! 
Eyes that the beam celestial view, 
Which evermore makes all things new ! 

New every morning is the love 
Our wakening and uprising prove ; 
Through sleep and darkness safely brought, 
Restored to life, and power, and thought. 

New mercies, each returning day, 

Hover around us wdiile we pray ; 

New perils past, new sins forgiven, 

New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven. 

If on our daily course our mind 
Be set to hallow all we find, 
New treasures still, of countless price, 
God will provide for sacrifice. 

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be, 
As more of Heaven in each we see : 



Some softening gleam of love and prayer 
Shall dawn on every cross and care. 

As for some dear familiar strain 
Untired we ask, and ask again, 
Ever, in its melodious store, 
Finding a spell unheard before ; 

Such is the bliss of souls serene, 

When they have sworn, and steadfast mean, 

Counting the cost, in all t' espy 

Their God, in all themselves deny. 

could we learn that sacrifice, 
What lights would all around us rise ! 
How would our hearts with wisdom talk 
Along Life's dullest, dreariest walk ! 

We need not bid, for cloistered cell, 
Our neighbor and our work farewell, 
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high 
For sinful man beneath the sky : 

The trivial round, the common task, 
Would furnish all we ought to ask ; 
Room to deny ourselves ; a road 
To bring us, daily, nearer God. 

Seek we no more ; content with these, 
Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease, 
As Heaven shall bid them, come and go : — ■ 
The secret this of Rest below. 

Only, Lord, in Thy dear love 
Fit us for perfect Rest above ; 
And help us, this and every day, 
To live more nearly as we pray. 


; Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze, 
Fast fading from our wistful gaze ; 
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight 
The last faint pulse of quivering light. 




In darkness and in wearii 

The traveller on his way must pr< 
No gleam to watofa on tree or tower, 
Wniling away the Lonesome hum-. 

Sun of my -will! Thou Saviour dear, 
Is it not night if Thou he near: 
Oh ! may no earth-born cloud arise 
To hide Thee from Thy servant's i 

When ronnd Thy wondrous works below 
My searching rapturous glance 1 throw, 
Tracing out Wisd 'in. Power, and I. 

In earth 0/ sky, in stream or grove; — 

<»r by the light Thy w< rds disclose 
Watch Time's full river ;i - i: Hows, 
Scanning Thy gracious Pr vidence, 

"\\ here not too deep for mortal sense: — 

"When with dear friends sweet talk I hold, 
And all the dowers of life unfold; 
Let not my heart within me hum, 
Except in all 1 Thee discern. 

When the soft dews of kindly sleep 
My wearied eyelids gently steep, 
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest 
For ever on my Saviour's breast. 

Abide with me from morn till eve, 
For without Thee I cannot live : 
Abide with me when night is nigh, 
For without Thee I dare not die. 

Thou Framer of the light and dark, 
Steer through the tempest Thine own ark : 
Amid the howling wintry sea 
We are in port if we have Thee. 

The Rulers of this Christian land, 
'Twixt Thee and us ordained to stand, — 
Guide thou their course, Lord, aright, 
Let all do all as in Thy sight. 


Oh ! by Thine own sad burthen, borne 
So meekly up the hill of scorn, 
Teach Thou Thy Priests their daily cross 
To bear as Thine, nor count it loss ! 

If some poor wandering child of Thine 
Have spurned, to-day, the voice divine, 
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin ; 
Let him no more lie down in sin. 

Watch by the sick: enrich the poor 
With blessings from Thy boundless store : 
Be every mourner's sleep to-night 
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light. 

Come near and bless us when we wake, 
Ere through the world our way we take ; 
Till in the ocean of Thy love ' 
We lose ourselves in heaven above. 


In the greenest of our valleys, 

By good angels tenanted, 
Once a fair and stately palace 

(Snow-white palace) reared its head. 
In the monarch Thought's dominion 

It stood there ! 
Never seraph spread a pinion 

Over fabric half so fair. 

Banners, yellow, glorious, golden, 

On its roof did float and flow ; 
(This, all this, was in the olden 

Time, long ago.) 
And every gentle air that dallied, 

In that sweet day, 
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 

A winged odor went away. 

Wanderers in that happy valley 

Through two luminous windows saw 

E. A. Poe. 


Spirits moving musically, 
To a lute's well-tuned Low ; 

Round about a throne, where, sitting 

(I'orphyrogene !) 
In state his glory well-befitting, 

The ruler of the realm was seen. 

And all with pearl and ruby glowing 
Wat the fair palace-door, 

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, 

And sparkling evermore, 
A troop of echoes, whose sweet duty 

Was hut to sing, 
In '. beauty, 

The wit and wisdom of their king. 

But evil things, in robes of sorrow, 
Assailed the monarch's high estate ; 

(All ! let us mourn, for never morrow 
Shall dawn upon him. desolate!) 

And round about his home the glory- 
That blushed and bloomed, 

Is but a dini-remembered story 
Of the old time entombed. 

And travellers now within that valley, 

Through the red-litten windows see 
Vast forms, that move fantastically 

To a discordant melody ; 
While, like a rapid, ghastly river, 

Through the pale door, 
A hideous throng rush out for ever, 

And laugh — but smile no more. 


Bishop Doaxe. 

" Stand, like an anvil," when the stroke 

Of stalwart men falls fierce and fast : 
Storms but more deeply root the oak, 

"Whose brawny arms embrace the blast. 

' Stand, like an anvil," when the sparks 
Fly, far and wide a fiery shower ; 


Virtue and truth must still be marks, 
Where malice proves its want of power. 

" Stand, like an anvil/' when the bar 

Lies, red and glowing, on its breast : 
Duty shall be life's leading star, 

And conscious innocence its rest. 

" Stand, like an anvil," when the sound 

Of ponderous hammers pains the ear : 
Thine, but the still and stern rebound 

Of the great heart that cannot fear. 

" Stand, like an anvil ;" noise and heat 

Are born of earth, and die with time : 
The soul, like God, its source and seat, 

Is solemn, still, serene, sublime. 


P. Pendleton Cooke. 

Summer has gone, 
And fruitful autumn has advanced so far 
That there is warmth, not heat, in the broad sun, 
And you may look, with naked eye, upon 

The ardors of his car ; 
The stealthy frosts, whom his spent looks embolden, 

Are making the green leaves golden. 

What a brave splendor 
Is in the October air ! How rich, and clear, 
And bracing, and all-joyous ! we must render 
Love to the spring-time, with its sproutings tender, 

As to a child quite dear ; 
But autumn is a thing of perfect glory, 

A manhood not yet hoary. 

I love the woods, 
In this good season of the liberal year ; 
I love to seek their leafy solitudes, 
And give myself to melancholy moods, 

With no intruder near, 
And find strange lessons, as I sit and ponder, 

In every natural wonder. 


But not alone, 

As Shakspeare'a melanoholy courtier loved Ardennes, 

Love I the browning forest; and I own 

I would not oft have mused, as he, but flown 

To hunt with Amiens — 
And little thought, as up the buhl deer bounded, 

Of the sad creature wounded. 

What passionate 
And keen delight is in the proud swift chase! 
Go out what time the lark at heaven's red gate 
Soars joyously Binging — quite infuriate 

With the high pride of his place ; 
What time the unrisen sun arrays the morning 

In its first bright adorning. 

Hark ! the quick horn — 
As sweet to hear as any clarion — 
Piercing with silver call the ear of morn ; 
And mark the steeds, stout Curtal and Topthorne 

And Grreysteil and the Don — 
Each one of them his fiery mood displaying 

With pawing and with neighing. 

Urge your swift horse, 
After the crying hounds in this fresh hour, 
Vanquish high hills — stem perilous streams perforce, 
On the free plain give free wings to your course, 

And you will know the power 
Of the brave chase — and how of griefs the sorest 

A cure is in the forest. 

Or stalk the deer ; 
The same red lip of dawn has kissed the hills, 
• The gladdest sounds are crowding on your ear, 
There is a life in all the atmosphere : — 

Your very nature fills 
With the fresh hour, as up the hills aspiring 

You climb with limbs untiring. 

A strong joy fills 
(A joy beyond the tongue's expressive power) 
My heart in autumn weather — fills and thrills ! 
And I would rather stalk the breezy hills, 

Descending to mv bower 


Nightly, by the sweet spirit of Peace attended, 
Than pine where life is splendid. 


I am alone ; and yet 
In the still solitude there is a rush 

Around me, as were met 
A crowd of viewless wings ; I hear a gush 
Of uttered harmonies — heaven meeting earth, 
Making it to rejoice with holy mirth. 

Ye winged Mysteries, 
Sweeping before my spirit's conscious eye, 

Beckoning me to arise, 
And go forth from my very self, and fly 
"With you far in the unknown, unseen immense 
Of worlds beyond our sphere — What are ye ? Whence ? 

Ye eloquent voices, 
Now soft as breathings of a distant flute, 

Now strong as when rejoices, 
The trumpet in the victory and pursuit ; 
Strange are ye, yet familiar, as ye call 
My soul to wake from earth's sense and its thrall. 

I know you now — I see 
With more than natural light — ye are the good, 

The wise departed — ye 
Are come from heaven to claim your brotherhood 
With mortal brother, struggling in the strife 
And chains, which once were yours in this sad life. 

Ye hover o'er the page 
Ye traced in ancient days with glorious thought 

For many a distant age ; 
Ye love to watch the inspiration caught 
From your sublime examples, and so cheer 
The fainting student to your high career. 

Ye come to nerve the soul 
Like him who near the Atoner stood, when He, 

Trembling, saw round him roll 
The wrathful potents of Gethsemane, 


With courage strong: the promise ye have known 
And proved, rapt for me from the Eternal throne. 

Still keep ! 0, keep me near you, 
Compass me round with your immortal wings: 

Still let my glad sonl hear you 
Striking your triumphs from your golden strings, 
Until with you I mount, and join the Bong, 
An angel, like you, 'mid the white-robed throng. 


(On looking at a print after a picture by 1'armcggiano.) 

B. Pimm >ns. 

I"wi. Lovb, Ambition! what arc ye, 

With all your wasting passions' war. 
To the great strife that, like a sea, 
O'ei swept Ili^ soul tumultuously, 

Whose face gleams on me like a star — 
A star that gleams through murky clouds — 
As here begirt by struggling crowds 
A spell-bound loiterer I stand, 
Before a print-shop in the Strand? 
What are your eager hop^s and fears 
Whose minutes wither men like years — 
Your schemes defeated or fulfilled. 
To the emotions dread that thrilled 
His frame on that October night, 

When, watching by the lonely mast, 
He saw on shore the moving liyht, 
And felt, though darkness veiled the sight, 

The long-sought world was his at last? 

How Fancy's boldest glances fail, 

Contemplating each hurrying mood 
Of thought that to that aspect pale 

Sent up the heart's o'erboiling flood 
Through that vast vigil, while his eyes 
Watched till the slow reluctant skies 
Should kindle, and the vision dread, 
Of all his livelong years be read ! 
In youth, his faith-led spirit doomed 

Still to be baffled and betrayed, 


His manhood's vigorous noon consumed 

Ere Power bestowed its niggard aid ; 
That morn of summer, dawning gray, 
When, from Huelva's humble bay, 
He, full of hope, before the gale 
Turned on the hopeless world his sail, 
And steered for seas untracked, unknown, 
And westward still sailed on — sailed on — 
Sailed on till ocean seemed to be 
All shoreless as eternity, 
Till, from its long-loved star estranged, 
At last the constant needle changed, 
And fierce amid his murmuring crew 
Prone terror into treason grew ; 
While on his tortured spirit rose, 
More dire than portents, toils or foes, 
The awaiting world's loud jeers and scorn 
Yelled o'er his profitless Return ; 
No — none through that dark watch may trace 

The feelings wild beneath whose swell, 
As heaves the bark the billows' race, 

His Being rose and fell ! 
Yet over doubt, and pride, and pain, 
O'er all that flashed through breast and brain, 
As with those grand, immortal eyes 

He stood — his heart on fire to know 
When morning next illumed the skies, 

What wonders in its light should glow — 
O'er all one thought must, in that hour, 
Have swayed supreme — Power, conscious Power — ■ 
The lofty sense that Truths conceived 

And born of his own starry mind, 
And fostered into might, achieved 

A new creation for mankind ! 
And when from off that ocean calm 

The tropic's dusky curtain cleared, 
And those green shores and banks of balm, 

And rosy-tinted hills appeared 
Silent and bright as Eden, ere 
Earth's breezes shook one blossom there — 
Against that hour's proud tumult weighed, 
Love, Fame, Ambition, how ye fade ! 

Thou Luther of the darkened deep ! 
Nor less intrepid, too, than He 


Whose courage broke Earth's bigot sleep, 
Whilst thine unbarred the sea — 

Like his, 'twas thy predestined fate 
Against your grim ; I age, 

With nl 1 its fiends of Feu- and Hate, 

War, single-handed war. 

And live a conqneror, too, Like him, 

Till Time's expiring light grow dim I 

0, hero of my boyish heart ! 

Ere from thy pictured Looks I parr, 

My mind's matorer dow 

In thoughts of thankfulness would bow 
To the Omniscient will that sent 
Thee forth, its chosen instrument, 
To teach us hope, when sin and care, 

And the vile soilings thai degrade 
()nr dust, w«mld bid n< most despair — 

II ipe, from ea >h varied deed displayed 
Along thy hold and wondrous story, 

That shows how far one steadfast mind, 
Serene in Buffering as in ^lory, 

May go to deify our kind. 



My soul has been mournful for Carthon : he fell in the days of his 
youth ; and thou, Clessammor ! where is thy dwelling in the wind ? 
Has the youth forgot his wound ? Flies he on clouds with thee ? I 
feel the sun, Malvina ! leave me to my rest. Perhaps they may 
come to my dreams : I think I hear a feeble voice ! The beam of 
heaven delights to shine on the grave of Carthon: I feel it warm 

thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! 
Whence are thy beams, sun ! thy everlasting light ! Thou comest 
forth in thy awful beauty ; the stars hide themselves in the sky ; the 
moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave ; but thou thyself 
movest alone. "Who can be a companion of thy course ? The oaks of 
the mountains fall ; the mountains themselves decay with years ; the 
ocean shrinks and grows again ; the moon herself is lost in heaven : 
but thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. 
When the world is dark with tempests, when thunder rolls and light- 
ning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at 


the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain, for he beholds thy 
beams no more : whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, 
or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art, perhaps, 
like me, for a season ; thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep 
in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult then, 
Sun, in the strength of thy youth ! age is dark and unlovely ; it is like 
the glimmering light of the moon, when it shines through broken 
clouds, and the mist is on the hills : the blast of the north is on the 
plain, the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey. 


Immortal Art ! where'er the rounded sky 
Bends o'er the cradle where thy children lie, 
Their home is earth, their herald every tongue 
Whose accents echo to the voice that sung. 
One leap of Ocean scatters on the sand 
The quarried bulwarks of the loosening land ; 
One thrill of earth dissolves a century's toil, 
Strewed like the leaves that vanish in the soil ; 
One hill o'erflows, and cities sink below, 
Their marbles splintering in the lava's glow ; 
But one sweet tone, scarce whispered to the air, 
From shore to shore the blasts of ages bear ; 
One humble name, which oft, perchance, has borne 
The tyrant's mockery and the courtier's scorn, 
Towers o'er the dust of earth's forgotten graves, 
As once, emerging through the waste of waves, 
The rocky Titan, round whose shattered spear 
Coiled the last whirlpool of the drowning sphere J 



Mrs. Browning. 

Of all the thoughts of God that are 
Borne inward unto souls afar, 
Along the Psalmist's music deep, 
Now tell me if that any is, 
For gift or grace, surpassing this — 
" He giveth His beloved, sleep ?" 


What would we give to our belove 1 '.' 
The hero's heart, to be unmoved, 
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, 
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, 
The monarch's crown, to light the brows?- 
"lie giyeth His beloved, sleep." 

What do we give to our beloved ? 
A little faith, all undisproved, 

A little dust, to overweep, 
And bitter memories, to make 
The whole earth blasted for our sake. 
" He giveth His beloved, sleep." 

" Sleep soft, beloved !" we sometimes say, 

But have no tune to charm away 

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep 

But never doleful dream again 

Shall break the happy slumber, when 

" He giveth J lis beloved, sleep." 

earth, so full of dreary noises ! 
O men, with wailing in your voices ! 
delved gold, the wailers heap ! 

strife, curse, that o'er it fall ! 
God makes a silence through you all, 
And " giveth His beloved, sleep." 

His dews drop mutely on the hill, 
His cloud above it saileth still, 
Though on its slope men sow and reap. 
More softly than the dew is shed, 
Or cloud is floated overhead, 
" He giveth His beloved, sleep." 

Yea ! men may wonder while they scan 
A living, thinking, feeling man, 
Confirmed, in such a rest to keep ; 
But angels say — and through the word 

1 think their happy smile is heard — 
" He giveth his beloved, sleep." 

For me, my heart that erst did go 
Most like a tired child at a show, 


That sees through tears the jugglers leap, — 
Would now its wearied vision close, 
Would childlike on His love repose, 
Who "giveth His beloved, sleep !" 

And, friends, dear friends, — when it shall be 
That this low breath is gone from me, 
And round my bier ye come to weep, 
Let one, most loving of you all, 
Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall — 
He giveth His beloved, sleep." 


Mrs. Browning. 

The seraph sings before the manifest 
God-one, and in the burning of the Seven, 
And with the full life of consummate Heaven 
Heaving beneath him like a mother's breast 
Warm with her first-born's slumber in that nest, 
The poet sings upon the earth grave-riven ; 
Before the naughty world soon self-forgiven 
For wronging him ; and in the darkness prest 
From his own soul by worldly weights. Even so, 
Sing, seraph with the glory ! Heaven is high — 
Sing, poet with .the sorrow ! Earth is low. 
The universe's inward voices cry 
" Amen " to either song of joy and woe — 
Sing seraph, — poet, — sing on equally. 


Elizabeth Lloyd. 

I am old and blind ! 
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown : 
Afflicted and deserted of my kind, 

Yet am I not cast down. 

I am weak, yet strong : 
I murmur not, that I no longer see ; 
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, 

Father Supreme! to Thee. 
33 2B 


merciful One ! 

When men are farthest, then art Thou most near 
When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, 
Thy chariot I hear. 

Thy glorious face 
Is leaning toward me, and its holy light 
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place — 

And th'- 

( tan bendi 1 knee, 

Thy |.ir.-]> -••. el'-urly shown : 
My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see 
Thyself, Thyself alone. 

1 have caught io fear ; 

This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing; 
Beneath it I am almost sacred — here 
■ no evil thing. 

Oh ! I seem to stand 
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, 
Wrapped in the radiance from Thy sinless land, 

Which eye hath never seen. 

Visions come and go ; 
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng ; 
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow 

Of soft and holy song. 

It is nothing now, 
When heaven is opening on my sightless eye.-, 
When airs from Paradise refresh my brow, 

The earth in darkness lies. 

In a purer clime, 
My being fills with rapture — waves of thought 
Roll in upon my spirit — strains sublime 

Break over me unsought. 

Give me now my lyre ! 
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine : 
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire 

Lit by no skill of mine. 



H. R. Jackson. 
With his gnarled old arms, and his iron form, 

Majestic in the wood, 
From age to age, in the sun and storm, 

The live-oak long hath stood ; 
With his stately air, that grave old tree, 

He stands like a hooded monk, 
With the gray moss waving solemnly 

From his shaggy limbs and trunk. 

And the generations come and go, 

And still he stands upright, 
And he sternly looks on the wood below, 

As conscious of his might. 
But a mourner sad is the hoary tree, 

A mourner sad and lone, 
And is clothed in funeral drapery 

For the long since dead and gone. 

For the Indian hunter beneath his shade 

Has rested from the chase ; 
And he here has wooed his dusky maid — 

The dark-eyed of her race ; 
And the tree is red with the gushing gore 

As the wild deer panting dies : 
But the maid is gone, and the chase is o'er, 

And the old oak hoarsely sighs. 

In former days, when the battle's din 

Was loud amid the land, 
In his friendly shadow, few and thin, 

Have gathered Freedom's band ; 
And the stern old oak, how proud was he 

To shelter hearts so brave ! 
But they all are gone — the bold and free — 

And he moans above their grave. 

And the aged oak, with his locks of gray, 

Is ripe for the sacrifice ; 
For the worm and decay, no lingering prey, 

Shall he tower towards the skies ! 
He falls, he falls, to become our guard, 

The bulwark of the free. 


Ami his bosom of Bteel is proudly bared 
To brave the rn 

When the battle c unes, and the cannon's roar 

B in- o'er the Bhaddering di 
Then nobly he'll bear the bold hearts o'er 

The w:i\ es, with bounding leap. 
Oh I may those hearts be as firm and true, 

When the war-clouds gather don, 
As the glorious oak thai proudly grew 

Bi neath our Bonthern sun. 


(> in:, long and dreary Winter! 
the cold and cruel Winter ! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 

Froze the ice on lake and river, 

• deeper, deeper, deeper 
Foil the snow o'er all the landscape . 

Fell tin- covering -now. and drifted 
Through the forest, round the viUag 

Hardly From his hurled wigwam 
Could the hunter force a passage; 
With his mittens and his snow-shoi - 
Vainly walked he through the forest, 
Sought for bird or beast and found none, 
Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
In the snow beheld no footprints, 
In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
Fell, and could not rise from weakness, 
Perished there from cold and hunger. 

the famine and the fever ! 
the wasting of the famine ! 
the blasting of the fever ! 
the wailing of the children ! 
the anguish of the women ! 

All the earth was sick and famished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them ! 


Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guests, as silent 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, 
Waited not to be invited, 
Did not parley at the doorway, 
Sat there without word of welcome 
In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow 
At the face of Laughing Water. 

And the foremost said : " Behold me ! 
I am Famine, Bukadawin I" 
And the other said: "Behold me ! 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin I" 

And the lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon her, 
Shuddered at the words they uttered, 
Lay down on her bed in silence, 
Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
At the looks they cast upon, her, 
At the fearful words they uttered. 

Forth into the empty forest 
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; 
In his heart was deadly sorrow, 
In his face a stony firmness ; 
On his brow the sweat of anguish 
Started, but it froze and fell not. 

Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting, 
With his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
With his quiver full of arrows, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Into the vast and vacant forest 
On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 

" Gitche Manito, the Mighty !" 
Cried he with his face uplifted 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
" Give your children food, father ! 
Give us food, or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For my dying Minnehaha I" 

From •'•' Hiawatha" 



heaven's SUNRISE to eabthly blindness. 

Mas. BBOirmro. 
Tin: world waits 
For help. Beloved, let as love so well, 
Our work shall still be better for our love, 

And still our love be sweeter for our work, 

And both, commended, for the sake of each, 

By all true workers and true lovers, born. 

Now press the clarion on thy woman's lip 

(Love's holy kiss shall -till keep consecrate) 

And breathe the fine keen breath along the bra . 

And blow all class-walls level as Jericho's 

Past Jordan; crying from the bop of Bouls, 

To souls, that they assemble on earth's flats 

To get them to some purer eminence 

Than any hitherto beheld for clouds! 

What height we know not, — but the way we know, 

And how by mounting aye, we must attain, 

And so climb on. It is the hour for souls ; 

That bodies, leavened by the will and love, 

Be lightened to redemption. The world's old ; 

But the old world waits the hour to be renewed : 

Toward which, new hearts in individual growth 

.Must quicken, and increase to multitude 

In new dynasties of the race of men, — 

Developed whence, shall grow spontaneously 

New churches, new ceconomics, new laws 

Admitting freedom, new societies 

Excluding falsehood. He shall make all new. 

My Romney ! — lifting up my hand in his, 

xVs wheeled by Seeing spirits towards the east, 

He turned instinctively, — where, faint and fair, 

Along the tingling desert of the sky, 

Beyond the circle of the conscious hills, 

"Were laid in jasper-stone as clear as glass 

The first foundations of that new, near Day 

Which should be builded out of heaven, to God. 

He stood a moment with erected brows, 

In silence, as a creature might, who gazed : 

Stood calm, and fed his blind, majestic eyes 

Upon the thought of perfect noon. And when 

[ saw his soul saw, — " Jasper first," I said, 

" And second, sapphire ; third, chalcedony : 

The rest in order, . . last, an amethyst." 

Tr in ■• Aurora La 




Soxgs of our land, ye are with us for ever : 

The power and the splendor of thrones pass away ; 
But jours is the might of some deep-rolling river, 

Still flowing in freshness through things that decay. 
Ye treasure the voices of long-vanished ages ; 

Like our time-honored towers, in beauty ye stand ; 
Ye bring us the bright thoughts of poets and sages, 

And keep them among us, old songs of our land. 

The bards may go down to the place of their slumbers, 

The lyre of the charmer be hushed in the grave ; 
But far in the future the power of their numbers 

Shall kindle the hearts of our faithful and brave. 
It will waken an echo in souls deep and lonely, 

Like voices of reeds by the winter wind fanned ; 
It will call up a spirit of freedom, when only 

Her breathings are heard in the songs of our land. 

For they keep a record of those, the true-hearted, 

Who fell with the cause they had vowed to maintain ; 
They show us bright shadows of glory departed, 

Of love unrewarded, and hope that was vain ; 
The page may be lost, and the pen long-forsaken, 

And weeds may grow wild o'er the brave heart and hand ; 
But ye are still left when all else hath been taken, 

Like streams in the desert — sweet songs of our land ! 


Joseph Rodman Drake. 
When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 
And set the stars of glory there. 



She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of fch 
And striped its pure, celestial Avhite, 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then from his mansion in the sun 
She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty nana 1 

The symbol of her ch08en land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud, 

Who rear's! aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest trumpings loud 
And sec the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, 
And bid its blending- Bhine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbinger- of \ ici iry I 

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, 

The sign of hope and triumph high, 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 

And the long line comes gleaming on. 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 

To where thy sky-born glories burn ; 
And as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And when the cannon-mouthings loud 

Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall ; 

Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 
And cowering foes shall sink beneath 

Each gallant arm that strikes below 
That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 


When death, careering on the gale, 

Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 

Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 

By angel hands to valor given ; 
The stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
For ever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ? 


Francis Scott Key. 
0! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming; 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, 

O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming? 
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ; 
0! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? 

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, 
What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep 

As it fitfully blows, half-conceals, half discloses? 
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam ; 
Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream : 
'Tis the star-spangled banner, ! long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

And where is the band who so vauntingly swore, 
'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, 

A home and a country they'd leave us no more ? 

Their blood hath washed out their foul footsteps' pollution ; 


No refu : laye 

;ji the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; 
And thi led banner in triumph doth wave 

O'er tli«.> land of the free and the home of the brave. 

0! thus be it ever, when freemen -hall Btand 

Between our loved home and the war's desolation; 

Bless'd with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land 
Praise the power thai hath made and preserved us a nation ! 

Then conquer we must, for our cause it is ju-t, 

And this be our motto, " In God is our true! 

And the Btar-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 


Ox came the whirlwind — like the Is 
Hut fiercest sweep of tempest blast ; 

line tin- whirlwind— steel-gleams broke 
Like lightning through the rolling smoke; 

The war was waked am 
Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud, 
And from their throats, with flash and cloud, 

Their showers of iron threw. 
Beneath their fire, in full career, 
Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier, 
The lancer couched his ruthless spear, 
And, hurrying as to havoc near, 

The cohorts' eagles flew. 
In one dark torrent, broad and strong, 
The advancing onset rolled along, 
Forth harbingcred by fierce acclaim, 
That from the shroud of smoke and flame, 
Pealed wildly the imperial name. 
But on the British heart were lost 
The terrors of the charging host ; 
For not an eye the storm that viewed 
Changed its proud glance of fortitude ; 
Nor was one forward footstep stayed, 
As dropped the dying and the dead. 
Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, 
Fast they renewed each serried square ! 


And on the wounded and the slain 

Closed their diminished files again ; 

Ell from their lines scarce spears' lengths three, 

Emerging from the smoke they see 

Helmet, and plume, and panoply — 

Then waked their fire at once 1 
Each musketeer's revolving knell 
As fast, as regularly fell, 
As -rhen they practise to display 
Their discipline on festal day. 

Then down went helm and lance, 
Down rent the eagle-banners sent, 
Down reeling steeds and riders went. 
Corselets were pierced, and pennons rent : 

And to augment the fray. 
"Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, 
The English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced their resistless way: 
Then to the musket knell succeeds 
The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds : 
As plies the smith his clanging trade, 
Against the cuirass rang the blade ; 
And while amid their close array 
The well-served cannon rent their way. 
And while amid their scattered band 
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, 
Recoiled in common rout and fear 
Lancer, and guard, and cuirassier, 
Horsemen and foot, — a mingled host, 
Their leaders fallen, their standards lost. 


Gerald Masset. 

Xow glory to our England, 

As she rises, calm and grand, 
With the ancient spirit in her eyes, — 

The good Sword in her hand ! 
Our royal right on battle-ground, 

Was aye to bear the brunt : 
Ho ! brave heart ! for one passionate bound, 

And take thy place in front ! 


Now glory to our England, 
As she rises, calm and grand, 

With the ancient spirit in her eyes — 
The good Sword in her hand ! 

Who would not fight for England? 

Who would imt ding a life 
I' the ring, to moot a Tyrant's gage, 

And glory in tin- Btrife ''. 
Her stem is thorny, but doth burst 

A glorious Rose a-top ! 
And shall our dear Rose wither? First 

We'll drain life's dearest drop ! 
Who would not tight for England? 

Who would not fling a life 
I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage, 

And glory in the strife ? 

To battle goes our England, 

All as gallant and ae 
As Lover to the Altar, on 

A merry marriage-day. 
A weary night she stood to watch 

The battle-dawn up-rolled; 
And her spirit leaps within, to match 

The noble deeds of old. 
To battle goes our England, 

All as gallant and as gay 
As Lover to the Altar, on 

A merry marriage-day. 

Now, fair befall our England, 

On her proud and perilous road ; 
And woe and wail to those who make 

Her footprints red with blood ! 
Up with our red-cross banner — roll 

A thunder-peal of drums ! 
Fight on there, every valiant soul, 

And courage ! England comes ! 
Now, fair befall our England, 

On her proud and perilous road ; 
And woe and wail to those who make 

Her footprints red with blood ! 


Now, victory to our England ! 

And where'er she lifts her hand 
In Freedom's fight, to rescue Right, 

God bless the dear old land ! 
And when the storm has passed away, 

In glory and in calm, 
May she sit down i ; the green o' the day, 

And sing her peaceful psalm, 
Now, victory to our England ! 

And where'er she lifts her hand 
In Freedom's fight, to rescue Right, 

God bless the dear Old Land ! 


Franklin Lushington. 

No more words : 

Try it with your swords ! 
Try it with the arms of your bravest and your best, 
You are proud of your manhood, now put it to the test : 

Not another word : 

Try it by the sword. 

No more Notes : 

Try it by the throats 
Of the cannon that will roar till the earth and air be shaken, 
For they speak what they mean, and they cannot be mistaken 

No more doubt : 

Come — fight it out. 

No child's play ! 

Waste not a day : 
Serve out the deadliest weapons that you know, 
Let them pitilessly hail in the faces of the foe : 

No blind strife : 

Waste not one life. 

You that in the front 

Bear the battle's brunt — 
When the sun gleams at dawn on the bayonets abreast, 
Think of England still asleep beyond the curtain of the west : 

For love of all you guard, 

Stand, and strike hard. 


You that stay at home, 

Behind the wall of foam — 
Leave not a jot to chance, while you rest in quiei i 
Quick ! forge the bolts of death ; quick ! ship them o'er the seas 

If "War's feet are lame, 

Yours will be the blame. 

You, my lads, abroad, 

" Steady !" be your word : 
You at home, be the anchor of your boat across the wave, 
Spare no cost, none is lost, that may strengthen or may save: 

Sloth were sin and shame : 

Now, play out the game. 



Where is the minstrel's fatherland f 

Where noble spirits beam in light, 
Where love-wreaths bloom for beauty bright ; 
Where noble minds enraptured dream 
Of every high and hallowed theme. 
This was the minstrel's fatherland. 

How name ye the minstrel's fatherland? 
Now o'er the corses of children slain, 
She weeps a foreign tyrant's reign ; 
She once was the land of the good oak-tree, 
The German land — the land of the free. 
So named we once my fatherland ! 

Why weeps the minstrel' s fatherland ? 
She weeps, that for a tyrant still, 
Her princes check their people's will ; 
That her sacred words unheeded fly, 
And that none will list to her vengeful cry. 
Therefore weeps my fatherland ! 

Whom calls the minstrel's fatherland ? 
She calls upon the God of Heaven, 
In a voice which vengeance'-self hath given ; 
She calls on a free, devoted band; 
She calls for an avenging hand ; 
Thus calls the minstrel's fatherland ! 


What will she do, thy fatherland ? 

She will drive her tyrant foes away ; 
She will scare the blood-hound from his prey ; 
She will bear her son no more a slave, 
Or will yield him at least a freeman's grave ; 
Thus will she do, my fatherland ! 

And what are the hopes of thy fatherland f 
She hopes at length for a glorious prize ; 
She hopes her people will arise ; 
She hopes in the great award of Heaven, 
And she sees, at length, an avenger given ; 
And these are the hopes of my fatherland ! 


Full thirty years, old friend ! — for now, 

In sooth, thou'rt worn and old — 
Like brothers have we fared together, 
And I have braved both war and weather 
Beneath thy friendly fold. 

And many a live-long night we've lain 

Drenched in the wintry storm : 
With thee my heart each hope divided, 
Each secret care to thee confided, 
While thou didst wrap me warm. 

No babbler thou of thoughts revealed, 

But guardian safe and true : 
Be still the same, unmatched — though riven 
By dint of ball and blast of heaven, — 

Nor turn old friend to new. 

Think not I mock thy worth, nor deem 

My love an idle lay : 
Lo ! but for thee the cannon's thunder, 
That reft my faithful cloak asunder, 

Had marked me for its prey. 

And when the fated ball at last 
This loval heart hath found, 



Be thou my shroud — I crave no other — 
And share, as brother shares with brother, 
For grave the battle-ground. 

There, as enfolded close wo lie, 

From storm and stour at rest, 
The archangel's trump shall break our slumber, 
may that dread reveille number 

My garments with the blest ! 


Shout for the mighty men, 

Who died along this shore — 

Who died within this mountain's glen! 
For never nobler chieftain's head 
Was laid on Valor's crimson bed, 

Nor ever prouder gore 
Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day 
Upon thy strand, Thermopylae ! 

Shout for the mighty men, 

Who, on the Persian tents, 
Like lions from their midnight den 
Bounding on the slumbering deer, 
Rushed — a storm of sword and spear, — 

Like the roused elements, 
Let loose from an immortal hand, 
To chasten or to crush a land ! 

But there are none to hear ; 

Greece is a hopeless slave. 
Leonidas ! no hand is near 
To lift thy fiery falchion now • 
No warrior makes the warriorVs vow 

Upon thy sea-washed grave. 
The voice that should be raised by men, 
Must now be given by wave and glen. 


And it is given !-— -the surge — 

The tree — the rock — the sand — 
On Freedom's kneeling spirit urge, 
In sounds that speak but to the free, 
The memory of thine and thee ! 

The vision of thy band 
Still gleams within the glorious dell, 
Where their gore hallowed, as it fell ! 

And is thy grandeur done ? 

Mother of men like these ! 
Has not thy outcry gone, 
Where justice has an ear to hear? — 
Be holy ! God shall guide thy spear ; 

Till in thy crimsoned seas 
Are plunged the chain and scimitar, 
Greece shall be a new-born Star ! 


Know ye the land where, tall and green, 

The ancient forest-oaks are seen ? 

Where the old Rhine-waves sounding run r 

And glitter gayly in the sun. 

We know the lovely land full well : 

; Tis where the free-souled Germans dwell. 

Know ye the land where truth is told, 

Where the word of man is as good as gold? 

The honest land, where love and truth 

Bloom on in everlasting youth ? 

I know that honest land full well : 

; Tis where the free-souled Germans dwell. 

Know ye the land where each vile song 
Is banished from the jovial throng ? 
The sacred land, where, free from art, 
Religion sways the simple heart? 
We know that sacred land full well : 
; Tis where the free-souled Germans dwell. 
34* 2C 



Ai.tiivim BO, 

Sung by the whole Swedish army before the battle ofLUtzen, at which 
Ghnstavna Adolphus fell. 

Fear not, O little ilock, the i 
Who madly seeks your overthrow, 
Dread not his rage and power; 
What though your courage sometimes faints, 

His seeming triumph o'er Gtad'fl ^aint^ 
Lasts but a little hour. 

Be of good cheer, — your cause belongs 
To Him who can avenge your wrongs, 

Leave it to Him, our Lord. 
Though hidden yet from all our eyes, 
He sees the Gideon who shall rise 

To save us, and his word. 

As true as God's own word is true, 
Nor earth, nor hell, with all their crew, 

Against us shall prevail, — 
A jest and byword are they grown ; 
" God is with us,"* we are His own, 

Our victory cannot fail. 

Amen, Lord Jesus, grant our prayer ! 
Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare ; 

Fight for us once again ! 
So shall Thy saints and martyrs raise 
A mighty chorus to Thy praise, 

World without end. Amen. 


From the Scandinavian. 
Hark ! the storm-fiend of the deep 
Wakes on old Heimdallar's steep, 
Yelling out his mountain glee, 
Like a soul in agony. 
Rouse thee, then, my bark, to go 
Through the night, and the billowy ocean-snow ; 

* The watchword of the evangelical army on this occasion. 


Strong thy bones and huge thy form, 
Trampler of the howling storm — 

Horse of ocean ! 

Glorious is the eagle's eye ! 

He gazes afar o'er earth and sky ! 

He screams from the storm-cloud's misty womb, 

He swells his pride in the ocean-gloom ! 

Thine, my bark, is keener sight, 

Broader wing, and longer flight ; 

Freer thou, my bark, to roam — 

Ocean's thine, thy boundless home, 

Tempest eagle ! 

As a warrior in his might, 
Bears him in the wave of fight, 
Quell the waves that round thee dash, 
Round thy breast with thundering crash : 
Though their frown be black as night, 
Though their foamy plume be bright, 
Quell them, though their stroke be strong, 
Though their shout be loud and long, 

Warrior of storms ! 


Thomas Campbell. 
Ye mariners of England ! 
That guard our native seas ; 
Whose flag has braved a thousand years 

The battle and the breeze ! 
Your glorious standard launch again 
To match another foe ! 

And sweep through the deep, 
While the stormy tempests blow ; 
While the battle rages loud and long, 
And the stormy tempests blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave ! 
For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And ocean was their grave ; 
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 


As ye sweep through the deep, 
While the stormy tempests blow; 
While the battle rages loud and long, 
And the stormy tempests blow. 

Britannia needs no bulwark, 

No towers along the steep ; 
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, 

Her home is on the deep. 
With thunders from her native oak 

She quells the flood- below, 
As they roar 00 the shore, 
When the stormy tempests blow; 
When the battle rages loud and long, 
And the stormy tempests blow. 

The meteor flag of England 

Shall yet terrific burn ; 
Till danger's troubled night depart, 

And the star of peace return. 
Then, then, ye ocean warriors! 

Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame of your name, 
When the storm has ceased to blow ; 
When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
And the storm has ceased to blow ! 


Thomas Campbell. 

Of Nelson and the north 

Sing the glorious day's renown, 
When to battle fierce came forth 
All the might of Denmark's crown, 
And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; 
By each gun the lighted brand, 
In a bold determined hand, 
And the prince of all the land 
Led them on. 

Like leviathans afloat 

Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; 
While the sign of battle flew 

On the lofty British line : 


It was ten of April morn by the chime, 
As they drifted on their path, 
There was silence deep as death, 
And the boldest held his breath 
For a time. 

But the might of England flushed 

To anticipate the scene, 
And her van the fleeter rushed 
O'er the deadly space between. 
"Hearts of oak!" our captains cried: when each gun 
From its adamantine lips 
Spread a death-shade round the ships, 
Like the hurricane eclipse 
Of the sun. 

Again ! again ! again ! 

And the havoc did not slack 
Till a feeble cheer the Dane 
To our cheering sent us back : 
Their shots along the deep slowly boom : 
Then ceased and all is wail, 
As they strike the shattered sail ; 
Or, in conflagration pale, 
Light the gloom. 

Outspake the victor then, 

As he hailed them o'er the wave : 
" Ye are brothers, ye are men ! 
And we conquer but to save ; 
So peace instead of death let us bring. 
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, 
With the crews at England's feet, 
And make submission meet 
To our king." 

Then Denmark blessed our chief 

That he gave her wounds repose ; 
And the sounds of joy and grief 
From her people wildly rose ; 
As death withdrew his shades from the day, 
While the sun looked smiling bright 
O'er a wide and woful sight, 
Where the fires of funeral light 
Died away. 


Now joy Old England raise I 

For the tidings of thy might 
By the festal cities' Maze, 

While the wine-cup shines in light ; 
And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 
Let us think of them thai sleep 
Full many a fathom deep 
By thy wild and stormy steep, 
Elsinore ! 

Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride 

Once so faithful and so true, 
On the deck of fame that died 
With the gallant good Rioii : 
Soft sigh the winds <>f heaven o'er their grave ! 
While the billow mournful rolls, 
And the mermaid's song condoles, 
Singing glory to the souls 
Of the brave ! 

Written during the apprehension of an invasion by the French. 

Sir Walter Scott. 
To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies, 

The bugles sound the call ; 
The Gallic navy stems the seas, 
The voice of battle's on the breeze, 

Arouse ye, one and all ! 

From high Dunedin's towers we come, 

A band of brothers true ; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround, 
With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned ; 

We boast the red and blue. 

Though tamely couched to Gallia's frown 

Dull Holland's tardy train ; 
Their ravished toys though Eomans mourn ; 
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, 

And, foaming, gnaw the chain ; 

Oh ! had they marked the avenging call 
Their brethren's murder gave, 


Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
Nor patriot valor, desperate grown, 
Sought freedom in the grave ! 

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, 

In Freedom's temple born, 
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile, 
To hail a master in our isle, 

Or brook a victor's scorn ? 

No ! though destruction o'er the land 

Come pouring as a flood, 
The sun that sees our falling day, 
Shall mark our sabre's deadly sway, 

And set that night in blood. 

Then farewell home ! and farewell friends ! 

Adieu each tender tie ! 
Resolved, we mingle in the tide, 
Where charging squadrons furious ride, 

To conquer or to die. 

To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam ; 

High sounds our bugle-call ; 
Combined by honor's sacred tie, 
Our word is Laws and Liberty ! 

March forward one and all ! 


Alfred Tennyson. 
Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of death 

Rode the six hundred. 
"Charge!" was the captain's cry; 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs but to do and die, 
Into the valley of death 
Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them 
Volleyed and thundered ; 


Stormed at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well ; 
Into the jaws of death, 
Into the mouth of hell, 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all their Babree hare, 

Flashed all at once in air, 
Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wandered: 
Plunged in the battery smoke, 
Fiercely the line they broke; 
Strong was the Babre-etroke : 
Making an army reel 

Shaken and sundered. 
Then they rode back, but not, 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them 

Volleyed and thundered ; 
Stormed with shot and shell, 
They that had struck so well 
Rode through the jaws of death, 
Half a league back again, 
Up from the mouth of hell, 
All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 

Honor the brave and bold ! 
Long shall the tale be told, 
Yea, when our babes are old — 
How they rode onward. 


Sir Walter Scott. 
Soldier, wake ! the day is peeping, 
Honor ne'er was won in sleeping ; 
Never when the sunbeams still 
Lay unreflected on the hill. 


'Tis when they are glinted back, 
From axe and armor, spear and jack, 
That they promise future story, 
Many a page of deathless glory : 
Shields that are the foeman's terror, 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 

Arm, and up ! the morning beam 
Hath called the rustic to his team, 
Hath called the falc'ner to the lake, 
Hath called the huntsman to the brake. 
The early student ponders o'er 
The dusty tomes of ancient lore. 
Soldier, wake ! thy harvest fame ; 
Thy study conquest ; war thy game. 
Shield that should be a foeman's terror, 
Still should gleam the morning's mirror. 

Poor hire repays the rustic's pain, 

More paltry still the sportsman's gain, 

Vainest of all, the student's theme 

Ends in some metaphysic dream ; 

Yet each is up, and each has toiled, 

Since first the peep of dawn has smiled, 

And each is eagerer in his aim, 

Than he who barters life for fame. 

Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror, 

Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror ! 


There came from the wars on a jet-black steed 

A knight with a snowy plume : 

He flew o'er the heath like a captive freed 

From a dungeon's dreary gloom. 

And gayly he rode to his lordly home, 

But the towers were dark and dim, 
And he heard no reply when he called for some 

Who were dearer than life to him. 



The gate which \v:is hurled from its ancient place, 

Lay mouldering on the bare ground, 
.Vnd the knight rushed in, but saw not a trace 

Of a friend, as he gazed around. 

He flew to the grove where his mistress late 
Had charmed him with line's awi el tone ; 

But 'twas desolate now, and the strings wore mute, 
And she be adored was gone. 

The wreaths were all dead in Rosalie's bower, 
And Rosalie's dove was lost ; 

And the winter's wind had withered each flower 
On the myrtle she valued most. 

But a cypress grew where the myrtle's bloom 

Once scented the morning air; 
And under its shade was a marble tomb, 

And Rosalie's home was there ! 


Tin: exclamation, " Aux filfl des Preux !" was used to encourage young 
knights to emulate the glories of their ancestors, and to do nothing unworthy 
the noble title given them. In many instances it was attended with the most 
animating consequences. — See 3foiiatrelefa CItroniclcs. 

Aux fils des preux ! ye sons of fame ! 

Think of your fathers' ashes now; 
Fight ! for the honor of your name ; 

Fight ! for your valiant sires laid low ! 

Aux fils des preux ! red be your swords 

With many a crimson battle-stain ! 
Fight on ! ye noble knights and lords, 

Stay not to count the warlike slain ! 

Aux fils des preux ! from many a heart 

The silent prayer now is breathing, 
"Who with fond hopes saw ye depart ; 

Fair hands the victor's crown are wreathing! 

Aux fils des preux ! On ! soldiers on ! 

Your blades are keen, your courage strong ! 


Soon shall the conqueror's meed be won, 
And triumph swell our battle-song ! 
" Aux fils des preux !" 


Lord Macaulay. 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! 

And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre ! 

Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, 

Through thy corn-fields green and sunny vines, pleasant land of 

France ! 

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, 

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. 

As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, 

For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war ; 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre ! 

Oh, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ! 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; 
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 
To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. 

The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest ; 

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. 

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; 

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 

Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 

Down all our line, a deafening shout, " God save our lord the King!" 

" And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may — 

For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — 

Press where ye see my white plume shine amidst the ranks of war, 

And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre." 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! hark to the mingled din 
Of fife and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring culverin ! 
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, 
With all the hireling chivalry of Gueldres and Almayne. 


Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
Charge for the golden lilies now — upon them with the lance! 
A thousand Bpure are striking deep, a thousand Bpears in rest ; 
A thousand knights are pressing oow-white cresl ; 

Ami in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding Btar, 
Amidst the thickest carnage I Lazed the helmet of Navarre. 

( .od be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned his rein, 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain. 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; 
The field is heaped with bleeding Bteeds, and flags, and cloven mail. 
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, 
•• Remember Saint Bartholomew!" was passed from man to man ; 
But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frenchman is my foe ; 
Down, down, with every foreigner; hut l"t your brethren go!" 
Oh! was there ever such a knight in friendship or in war, 
As our sovereign lord King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! 

Ilo ! maidens of Vienna ; ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! 

Weep, weep, and rend your hair fur those who never shall return. 

Ilo! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls ! 

Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ! 

Ho ! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night ! 

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, 

And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave. 

Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories arc : 

And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre ! 


Gabriel Dukkkxtci. 
Mother, dost weep that thy boy's right hand 
Hath taken a sword for his fatherland ? 
Mother, where should the brave one be 
But in the ranks of bravery ? 

Mother, and was it not sad to leave 
Mine own sweet maiden alone to grieve ? 
Maiden ! where should the brave one be 
But in the ranks of bravery ? 

Mother ! if thou in death wert laid ; 
Maiden ! if thou wert a treacherous maid ; 


then it were well that the brave should be 
In the front ranks of bravery ! 

Mother ! the thought brings heavy tears, 
And I look round on my youth's compeers ; 
They have their griefs and loves like me, 
Touching the brave in their bravery. 

Mother ! my guardian ! be still ! 
Maiden ! let hope thy bosom fill ; 
King and country ! how sweet to be 
Battling for both in bravery ! 

Bravery ! ay, and victory's hand 
Shall wreath my cap with golden band ; 
And in the camp the shout shall be, 
Oh ! how he fought for liberty ! 


Thomas Campbell. 

Again to the battle, Achaians ! 

Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance ; 

Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree — 

It has been, and yet shall be the land of the free : 

For the cross of our faith is replanted, 

The pale dying crescent is daunted, 

And we march that the footprints of Mahomet's slaves 

May be washed out in blood from our forefathers' graves. 

Their spirits are hovering o'er us, 

And the sword shall to glory restore us. 

Ah ! what though no succor advances, 

Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances 

Are stretched in our aid — be the combat our own ! 

And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone ; 

For we've sworn by our country's assaulters, 

By the virgins they've dragged from our altars, 

By our massacred patriots, our children in chains, 

By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins, 

That living we shall be victorious, 

Or that dying our deaths shall be glorious. 

A breath of submission we breathe not ; 
The sword that we've drawn we will sheath not ! 


Its scabbard is lt-l't where our martyrs are laid, 
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade. 
Earth may hide — waves engulf — fire consume as, 
But they shall not to slavery doom us : 
If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves: 
But we've smote them already with lire on the waves, 
And new triumphs on land are before as : 
To the charge] — Heaven's banner i-« o'er u>. 

This day shall ye blush for its Btoi 

Or brighten your lives with its glory. 

Our women, oh, Bay, shall they Bhriek in despair, 

Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their hair? 

Accursed may his memory blacken, 

If a coward there be that would slacken, 

Till we trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth 

Being Bprung from and named for the god-like of earth. 

Strike home, and the world >hall revere us 

As heroes descended from heroes. 

Old Greeee lightens up with emotion 

Her islands, her isles of the ocean ; 

Fanes rebuilt and fair towers shall with jubilee ring, 

And the Nine shall new-hallow their Helicon's Bpring: 

Our hearths shall be kindled in gladne 

That were cold and extinguished in sadi. 

Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white-waving arm- 

Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms, 

When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens 

Shall have purpled the beaks of our ravens. 


A w.ske ! 'tis the terror of war ; 

The Crescent is tossed on the wind ; 
But our flag flics on high, like the perilous star 

Of the battle. Before and behind, 
Wherever it glitters, it darts 
Bright death into tyrannous hearts. 

Who are they that now bid us be slaves ? 
They are foes to the good and the free: 

Barbt Cornwall. 


Go bid them first fetter the might of the waves ; 

The sea may be conquered, — but we 
Have spirits untameable still, 
And the strength to be free, — and the will. 

The Helots are come : In their eyes 

Proud hate and fierce massacre burn, 
They hate us, — but shall they despise ? 

They are come ; shall they ever return ? 
God of the Greeks ! from thy throne 
Look down, and we'll conquer alone. 

Our fathers, — each man was a god, 

His will was a law, and the sound 
Of his voice, like a spirit's, was worshipped : he trode, 

And thousands fell worshippers round : 
From the gates of the West to the Sun 
He bade, and his bidding was done. 

And we — shall we die in our chains, 

Who once were as free as the wind ? 
Who is it that threatens, — who is it arraigns ? 

Are they princes of Europe or Ind ? 
Are they kings to the uttermost pole? 
They are dogs, with a taint on their soul. 


Brixg me my gleaming scimitar, 

My corselet of bright steel ! 
I hear the welcome shout of war, 

"Defiance to Castile!" 
By Muza's conquering sword led on, 
Soon shall the glorious strife be won ! 

Through serried ranks of lances fierce, 

Marshalled in dread array, 
Our Moorish falchions soon shall pierce, 

And piles of victims slay ! 
Bring me my gleaming scimitar, 
My soul is panting for the war ! 

With arching neck and kindling eye, 
My fiery Arab stands ; 


What joy ! in Br to By, 

And strike the invading bands ! 
Proud Ferdinand] thy heart shall quail 
lath "nr storm of arrowy hail. 

v \ islem chivalry 
Line ive* Bide, 

Fleet barba in battle panoply 

Are prancing id their pride! 
The shrill tambour and clarion's sound, 
O'er the Sierra's heights resound. 

The shock of Bteeds, the bard-won fight, 
Are dearer to my mind 

Than all the pleasures which delight, 

In royal courts combined. 
Move i 11 ! ye mailed cavaliers : 
I'm eager for the rush of spears. 

Now give our banners t- the wind! 
The Crescent emblem wa 

And let the Spanish tyrants find 

"We'll yield them only gr 
Bring me my gleaming scimitar] 
Thus spoke the king of Granada. 


An .NVM0D8. 

" Saw ye the banners of Castile displayed, 
The helmets glistening, and the line arrayed ! 
Heard ye the march of steel-clad hosts I" he cries ; 
" Children of conquerors ! in your strength arise ! 
Oh, high-born tribes ! Oh, names unstained by fear ! 
Azarques, Zegris, Almoradis, hear ! 
Be every feud forgotten, and your hands 
Dyed with no blood but that of hostile bands. 
Wake, princes of the land ! the hour is come, 
And the red sabre must decide your doom. 
Where is that spirit which prevailed of yore, 
When Tarik's bands o'erspread the western shore ? 
When the long combat raged on Xeres' plain, 
And Afric's tecbir swelled through yielding Spain ? 


Is the lance broken, is the shield decayed, 

The warrior's arm unstrung, his heart dismayed ? 

Shall no high spirit of ascendant worth 

Arise to lead the sons of Islam forth '? 

To guard the regions where our fathers' blood 

Hath bathed each plain, and mingled with each flood ; 

Where long their dust hath blended with the soil 

Won by their swords, made fertile by their toil ? 

"Oh, ye sierras of eternal snow ! 
Ye streams that by the tombs of heroes flow ; 
Woods, fountains, rocks of Spain ! ye saw their might 
In many a fierce and unforgotten fight — 
Shall ye behold their lost, degenerate race, 
Dwell 'midst your scenes in fetters and disgrace ? 
With each memorial of the past around, 
Each mighty monument of days renowned? 
May this indignant heart ere then be cold, 
This frame be gathered to its kindred mould ! 
And the last life-drop circling through my veins 
Have tinged a soil untainted yet by chains ! 

" And yet one struggle ere our doom is sealed, 
One mighty effort, one deciding field ! 
If vain each hope, we still have choice to be, 
In life the fettered, or in death the free 1" 



How wretched the fate of the fetter-bound slave ! 
How green and how holy the patriot's grave ! 
Let us rush to the field ! for the trump from afar 
Calls Spaniards to triumph, and heroes to war ! 
Our country in tears sends her sons to the plain 
To conquer, — to perish for freedom and Spain ! 

list to the summons ! the blood of our sires 
Boils high in our veins, — and 'tis vengeance inspires 
Who bows to the yoke ? who bends to the blow ? 
Xo hero will bend, and no Spaniard will bow ! 
Our country in tears sends her sons to the plain 
To conquer, — to perish for freedom and Spain ! 



My children farewell ! my beloved adi< 
My heart's blood shall flow in its torrents for yon : 
These arm- -hall be red with the gore of the slain, 
Ere they clasp thee, fond wife! to this bosom again] 
Our country in tear- Bends her sone bo the plain 
To conquer, — to perish for freedom and Spain ! 


\ the dying flame of day 

Through the chancel Bhot its ray, 

Far ihc glimmering tapers shed 

Faint Light on the cowled head ; 

And the censer burning swung, 

Where, before the altar, hung 

The blood-red banner, that with prayer 

Had been consecrated there. 
And th«' nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, 
Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. 

" Take thy banner ! may it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave ; 
When the battle's distant wail 
Breaks the Sabbath of our vale, 
When the clarion music's thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills, 
When the spear in conflict shakes, 
And the strong lance shivering breaks. 

" Take thy banner ! and, beneath 
The battle-cloud's encircling breath, 
Guard it ! till our homes are free ! 
Guard it ! God will prosper thee ! 
In the dark and dying hour, 
In the breaking forth of power, 
In the rush of steeds and men, 
His right hand will shield thee then. 

" Take thy banner ! but, when night 
Closes round the ghastly fight, 
If the vanquished warrior bow, 
Spare him ! by our holy vow, 


By our prayers and many tears, 

By the mercy that endears, 

Spare him ! he our love hath shared ! 

Spare him ! as thou wouldst be spared ! 

" Take thy banner ! and if e'er 
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, 
And the muffled drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feet, 
Then this crimson flag shall be 
Martial cloak and shroud for thee." 

The warrior took that banner proud, 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud ! 


Thomas Campbell. 

" And I could weep ;" — the Oneyda chief 

His descant wildly thus begun : 

" But that I may not stain with grief 

The death-song of my father's son, 

Or bow this head in woe ! 

For by my wrongs, and by my wrath ! 

To-morrow Areouski's breath 

(That fires yon heaven with storms of death) 

Shall light us to the foe : 

And we shall share, my Christian boy ! 

'The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy ! 

But thee, my flower, whose breath was given 

By milder genii o'er the deep, 

The spirits of the white man's heaven 

Forbid not thee to weep : — 

Nor will the Christian host, 

Nor will thy father's spirit grieve, 

To see thee, on the battle's eve, 

Lamenting, take a mournful leave 

Of her who loved thee most : 

She was the rainbow to thy sight ! 

Thy sun — thy heaven — of lost delight ! 

To-morrow let us do or die ! 

But when the bolt of death is hurled, 


Ah ! whither then with thee to fly, 

Shall Outalissi roam the world? 

Seek \vc thy once-loved home? 

The hand is gone that cropped its flowers : 

Unheard their clock repeats its hours ! 

Cold is the hearth within their bowers! 

And should we thither roam, 

Its echoes, and its empty tread, 

Would Bound like voices from the dead! 

Or shall we cross yon mountain blue, 
Whose streams my kindred nation quaffed, 
And by my side, in battle true, 
A thousand warriors drew the shaft? 

Ah! there, in desolation cold, 

The desert serpent dwells alone, 

"Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering hone, 

And stones themselves to ruin grown, 

Like me are death-like old. 

Then seek we not their camp, — for there — 

The silence dwells of my despair ! 

But hark, the trump! — to-morrow thou 
In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears : 
Even from the land of shadows now 
My father's awful ghost appears, 
Amidst the clouds that round us roll ; 
He bids my soul for battle thirst — 
He bids me dry the last — the first — 
The only tears that ever burst 
From Outalissi's soul ; 
Because I may not stain with grief 
The death-song of an Indian chief!" 

From " Gerlrwle of Wyoming} 


Thomas Campbell. 

But hark ! as bowed to earth the Bramin kneels, 
From heavenly climes propitious thunder peals ! 
Of India's fate her guardian spirits tell, 
Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell, 
And solemn sounds that awe the listening mind, 
Roll on the azure paths of every wind. 


Foes of mankind ! (her guardian spirits say), 
Revolving ages bring the bitter day, 
When heaven's unerring arm shall fall on you, 
And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew ; 
Nine times have Brama's wheels of lightning hurled 
His awful presence o'er the alarmed world ! 
Nine times hath Guilt, through all his giant frame, 
Convulsive trembled, as the Mighty came ; 
Nine times hath suffering Mercy spared in vain — 
But heaven shall burst her starry gates again ! 
He comes ! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky 
With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high, 
Heaven's fiery horse, beneath his warrior form, 
Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm ! 
Wide waves his flickering sword ; his bright arms glow 
Like summer suns, and light the world below ! 
Earth, and her trembling isles in Ocean's bed, 
Are shook ; and Nature rocks beneath his tread ! 

" To pour redress on India's injured realm, 
The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm ; 
To chase destruction from her plundered shore 
With arts and arms that triumphed once before, 
The tenth Avater comes ! at Heaven's command 
Shall Seriswattee wave her hallowed wand ! 
And Camdeo bright, and Ganesa sublime, 
Shall bless with joy their own propitious clime ! — 
Gome, Heavenly Powers ! primeval peace restore ! 
Love ! — Mercy ! — Wisdom ! — rule for evermore !" 

From " The Pleasures of HapzP 


Lord Byron. 
And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering" rose! 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instills 
The stirring memory of a thousand years, 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears ! 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 

Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass 



Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
Over the uAreturning brave, — alas ! 

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe, 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 
The midnight brought the Bignal-sound of strife, 
Tin' morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, 
The earth is covered thick with other clay, 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! 

From '• Cliilde Harold.' 


Axd here stern Azo hid his face — 
For on his brow the swelling vein 
Throbbed as if back upon his brain 
The hot blood ebbed and flowed again ; 
And therefore -bowed he for a space, 
And passed his shaking hand along 
His e} 7 e, to veil it from the throng ; 
"While Hugo raised his chained hands, 
And for a brief delay demands 
His father's ear : the silent sire 
Forbids not what his words require. 

" It is not that I dread the death — • 
For thou hast seen me by thy side 
All redly through the battle ride, 
And that not once a useless brand 
Thy slaves have wrested from my hand, 
Hath shed more blood in cause of thine, 
Than e'er can stain the axe of mine : 

" Yet, were a few short summers mine, 
My name should more than Este's shine 

Lord Byrox. 


With honors all my own. 

I had a sword — and have a breast 

That should have won as h aught a crest 

As ever waved along the line 

Of all these sovereign sires of thine. 

Not always knightly spurs are worn 

The brightest by the better born ; 

And mine have lanced my courser's flank 

Before proud chiefs of princely rank, 

When charging to the cheering cry 

Of ' Este and of Victory !' v 

From '• Parisina." 



Fearfully the yell arose 
Of his followers and his foes ; 
These in joy, in fury those ; 
Then again in conflict mixing, 
Clashing swords, and spears transfixin 
Interchanged the blow and thrust 
Hurling warriors in the dust. 
Street by street, and foot by foot, 
Still Minotti dares dispute 
The latest portion of the land 
Left beneath his high command ; 
With him, aiding heart and hand, 
The remnant of his gallant band. 
Still the church is tenable, 

Whence issued late the fated ball 
That half avenged the city's fall, 
When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell : 
Thither bending sternly back, 
They leave before a bloody track ; 
And, with their faces to the foe, 
Dealing wounds with every blow, 
The chief, and his retreating train, 
Join to those within the fane ; 
There they yet may breathe awhile, 
Sheltered by the massy pile. 

Brief breathing-time ! the turbaned host, 
With adding ranks and raging boast, 

Lord Byron. 



Press onwards with such strength and heat. 
Their numbers balk their own retreat ; 

narrow the way that led t«» the spot 
Where still the Christians yielded i 
And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try 
Through the massy column to turn and ily ; 
They perforce must do or die. 
They die ; but ere their eyes could close, 
Avengers o'er their b (dies i 
Fresh and furious, fast they till 
The ranks un thinned though slaughtered still; 
Ami faint the weary Christians wax 
Before the still renewed attar', 
And now the Othmans gain the gate ; 
Still resists its iron weight, 
And still, all deadly aimed and hot, 
From every crevice comes tie- shot; 
Irom every shattered window pour 
The volleys of the sulphurous shower: 
But the portal wavering grows and weak — 
The iron yields, the hinges creak — 
It bends — it falls — and all is o'er; 
Lost Corinth may resist no more ! 

From ' ; Chib.k Harold. 


How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes bless'd ! 
"When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

Wm. Collins. 

B}~ fairy hands their knell is rung; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
And Freedom shall awhile repair, 
To dwell a weeping hermit there ! 



D. M. Mom. 

Hark to the turmoil and the shout, 

The war-cry, and the cannon's boom ! 
Behold the struggle and the rout, 

The broken lance and draggled plume ! 
Borne to the earth, with deadly force, 
Comes down the horseman and his horse ; 
Round boils the battle like an ocean, 

While stripling blithe and veteran stern 

Pour forth their life-blood on the fern, 
Amid its fierce commotion ! 

Mown down like swathes of summer flowers, 

Yes ! on the cold earth there they lie, 
The lords of Scotland's bannered towers, 

The chosen of her chivalry ! 
Commingled with the vulgar dead, 
Perhaps lies many a mitred head ; 
And thou, the vanguard onwards leading, 

Who left the sceptre for the sword, 

For battle-field the festal board, 
Liest low amid the bleeding ! 

Yes ! here thy life-star knew decline, 
Though hope, that strove to be deceived, 

Shaped thy lone course to Palestine, 

And what it wished full oft believed : — 

An unhewn pillar on the plain 

Marks out the spot where thou wast slain ; 

There pondering as I stood, and gazing 
On its gray top, the linnet sang, 
And, o'er the slopes where conflict rang, 

The quiet sheep were grazing. 

And were the nameless dead unsung, 

The patriot and the peasant train, 
Who like a phalanx round thee clung, 

To find but death on Flodden Plain ? 
No ! many a mother's melting lay 
Mourned o'er the bright flowers wede away ; 
And many a maid, with tears of sorrow, 

Whose locks no more were seen to wave, 

Wept for the beauteous and the brave, 
Who came not on the morrow ! 

36 * 



Al.II! !., 

From the Rio Gfrrand6's waters to the Ley lakes of Maine. 

Let all exult! for we have met the enemy again — 

Beneath their stern old mountains, we have mel them in their pride, 

And rolled from Buena Vista back the battle's bloody tide; 

Where the enemy came surging, like the Mississippi's flood, 

And the reaper, Death, was busy with his sickle red with Mood. 

Santa Anna boasted loudly, that, before two hours were past, 
His lancers through Saltillo should pursue us thick and fast j 
On came his solid regiments, line marching after line; 

Lo, their great standards in the BUD like sheets of silver shine: 
With thousand- upon thousands, yea, with more than four to one, 
A forest of bright bayonets gleams fiercely in the sun. 

Upon them with your squadrons, May! — Out leaps the flaming steel; 

Before his serried column how the frightened lancers reel ! 

They llee amain. Now to the left, to stay their triumph there, 

Or else the day is surely lost in horror and despair ; 

For their hosts are pouring swiftly on, like a river in the spring: 

Our Hank is turned, and on our left their cannon thundering. 

Now. brave artillery ! bold dragoons! — Steady, my men, and calm ! 
Through rain, cold, hail, and thunder ; now nerve each gallant arm ! 
What though their shot falls round us here, still thicker than the hail ! 
We'll stand against them, as the rock stands firm against the gale. 
Lo ! their battery is silenced now : our iron hail still showers : 
They falter, halt, retreat ! Hurrah ! the glorious day is ours ! 

Now charge again, Santa Anna! or the day is surely lost; 

For back, like broken waves, along our left your hordes are tossed. 

Still louder roar two batteries — his strong reserve moves on ; — 

More work is there before you, men, ere the good fight is won ; 

Now for your wives and children stand ! steady, my braves, once more ! 

Now for your lives, your honor, fight ! as you never fought before. 

Ho ! Hardin breasts it bravely ! McKee and Bissell there 
Stand firm before the storm of balls that fills th' astonished air. 
The lancers are upon them, too ! — the foe swarms ten to one — 
Hardin is slain — McKee and Clay the last time see the sun ; 
And many another gallant heart, in that last desperate fray, 
Grew cold, its last thoughts turning to its loved ones far away. 


Still sullenly the cannon roared — but died away at last, 
And o'er the dead and dying came the evening shadows fast, 
And then above the mountains rose the cold moon's silver shield, 
And patiently and pityingly looked down upon the field ; 
And careless of his wounded, and neglectful of his dead, 
Despairingly and sullen, in the night, Santa Anna fled. 


Scarce the tropic dawn is glowing ; 

Scarce your eye can pierce the dark, 
When one voice breaks through the stillness: 

'T is our gallant leader—hark ! 

Forward ! — like the pealing thunder, 
Thousand voices swell the sound ! 

While mid groans, and smoke, and fire, 
Far it echoes round and round. 

Every eye is glaring wildly ; 

Every sabre swinging high ; 
Every musket at the shoulder, 

Ready all to do or die. 

All are doing, many dying ; 

God of mercy, how they fall S 
"Forward ever!" fast and fearless, 

Now we reach the outer wall. 

Here we halt to close together ; 

Here one " Anglo-Saxon yell/' 
And like surging billows breaking, 

Pour we on their citadel. 

Then thy palisadoed ravine, 

Plan del Rio, heard the cries ; 
Now the " Bravo Santiago," 

Now the shrill "hurrahs" that rise. 

Swords are dripping, bayonets bloody, 
Prayers and curses blending high ; 



"Three times three ! the fight is over ; 
Three times three fur victory I" 

On the "royal road" retreating, 
Like the hearings of the sea. 

O'er the fields like spray dispersing, 
Everywhere for life the)- flee. 

Scarce the battle-din is fainter, 

Still the wind brings back the shout, 

When like tigers from their coverts 
Our dragoons are on the route. 

" Spare, oh spare!" the hot blood boileth ; 

Still the sabres whirl in air; 
" Spare, oh spare \" the rich blood poureth 

" For God's holy Mother spare!" 

Now the smoky clouds are lifting ; 

Earth lies drunken, dark, and red ; 
Now, through dead and dying roaming, 

Woman comes to seek her dead. 

Cerro Gordo, Cerro Gordo! 

Thy rich slopes with men are sown ; 
At thy base the vulture flieth, 

Where his luscious prey is thrown. 

Cerro Gordo, on thy summit 
AVar with iron tramp hath trod: 

Yet how silent hath he left thee ! 
Silent till the day of God. 

When the mighty angel's trumping 
Heaven's eternal arch shall fill, 

Once again shall battle-thousands 
Stand on Cerro Gordo hill. 


Mrs. Osgood. 

Fierce raged the combat — the foemen pressed nigh, 

When from young Beaumanoir rose the wild cry, 


Beaumanoir, mid them all, bravest and first — 
'j Give me to drink, for I perish of thirst!" 
Hark ! at his side, in the deep tones of ire, 
" Bois ton sang. Beaumanoir I" shouted his sire. 

Deep had it pierced him — the foemen's swift sword, 
Deeper his soul felt the wound of that word : 
Back to the battle, with forehead all flushed, 
Stung to wild fury, the noble youth rushed ! 
Scorn in his dark eyes — his spirit on fire — 
Deeds were his answer that day to his sire. 
Still where triumphant the young hero came, 
Glory's bright garland encircled his name : 
But in her bower, to beauty a slave, 
Dearer the guerdon his lady-love gave, 
While on his shield, that no shame had defaced, 
"Bois ton sang, Beaumanoir!" proudly she traced. 



The hosts of Don Rodrigo were scattered in dismay, 
When lost was the eighth battle, nor heart nor hope had they ; 
He, when he saw that field was lest, and all his hope was flown, 
He turned him from his flying host, and took his way alone. 

His horse was bleeding, blind, and lame — he could no farther go ; 
Dismounted, without path or aim, the King stepped to and fro ; 
It was a sight of pity to look on Roderick, 
For, sore athirst and hungry, he staggered faint and sick. 

All stained and strewed with dust and blood, like to some smouldering 

Plucked from the flame, Rodrigo showed: his sword was in his hand, 
Bat it was hacked into a saw of dark and purple tint; 
His jewelled mail had many a flaw, his helmet many a dint. 

He climbed unto a hill-top, the highest he could see — 
Thence all about of that wide rout his last long look took he ; 
He saw his royal banners, where they lay drenched and torn, 
He heard the cry of victory, the Arab's shout of scorn. 

He looked for the brave captains that led the hosts of Spain, 
But all were fled except the dead, and who could count the slain ? 


"Where'er his eye could wander, all bloody was the plain, 

And, while thus he said, the tears he shed run down his cheeks like 

11 Last night T was the King of Spain — to-day no King am T ; 
Last night fair castles held my train — to-night where Bhall I lie? 
Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee, — 
To-night not one I call mine own: — not one pertains to me. 

"Oh, luckless, luckless was the hour, and cursed was the day, 
When I was horn to have the power of this great seniory ! 
Unhappy me that 1 should see the sun go down to-night ! 

Death, why now so slow art thou, why fearest thou to smite?" 



" Your horse is faint, my King — my Lord! your gallant horse is sick — 
His limhs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the tilm is thick ; 
Mount, mount on mine, oh, mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly ! 
Or in my arms I'll lift your grace — their trampling hoofs are nigh ! 

"My King — my King! you're wounded sore — the blood runs from 

your feet ; 
But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat: 
Mount, Juan, 'for they gather fast! — I hear their coming cry — 
Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy — I'll save you though I die ! 

" Stand, noble steed ! this hour of need — be gentle as a lamb : 
I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth — thy master dear I am — 
Mount, Juan, mount ! whate'er betide, away the bridle fling, 
And plunge the rowels in his side. — My horse shall save my King ! 

" Nay, never speak ; my sires, Lord King, received their land from 

And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine secures: 
If I should fly, and thou, my King, be found among the dead, 
How could I stand 'niong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head? 

" Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain, 
And say there's one that ran away when our good lords were slain ! — 
I leave Diego in your care — you'll fill his father's place : 
Strike, strike the spur, and never spare — God's blessing on your 
grace !" 


So spake the brave Montanez, Butrago's lord -was he ; 
And turned him to the coming host in steadfastness and glee ; 
He flung himself among them, as they came down the hill — 
He died, God wot ! but not before his sword had drunk its fill. 

Lord Macattlat. 
To horse ! to horse ! brave cavaliers ! 

To horse for church and crown ! 
Strike, strike your tents ! snatch up your spears ! 

And ho for London town ! 
The imperial harlot, doomed a prey 

To our avenging fires, 
Sends up the voice of her dismay 

From all her hundred spires. 

The Strand resounds with maidens' shrieks, 

The 'Change with merchants' sighs, 
And blushes stand on brazen cheeks, 

And tears in iron eyes ; 
And, pale with fasting and with fright, 

Each Puritan committee 
Hath summoned forth to prayer and fight 

The Roundheads of the city. 

And soon shall London's sentries hear 

The thunder of our drum, 
And London's dames, in wilder fear, 

Shall cry, Alack ! They come ! 
Fling the fascines ; — tear up the spikes ; 

And forward, one and all. 
Down, down vrith all their train-band pikes, 

Down wittrtheir mud-built wall. 

Quarter ? — Foul fall your whining noise, 

Ye recreant spawn of fraud ! 
No quarter ! Think on Strafford, boys. 

No quarter ! Think on Laud. 
What ho ! The craven slaves retire. 

On ! Trample them to mud. 
No quarter ! Charge. — No quarter ! 

No quarter ! Blood ! blood ! blood ! — 


Where next? In sooth there lacks no witch, 

Brave Lads, to tell us where, 
Sure London's sons be passing rich, 

Her daughters wondrous fair: 
Ami let that dastard be the theme 

Of many a hoard's derision, 
Who quails for sermon, cuff, or scream 

Of any sweet precisian. 

Their lean divines, of solemn Lrow, 

Sworn foes to throne and steeple, 
From an unwonted pulpit now 

Shall edify the people : 
Till the tired hangman, in despair, 

Shall curse his hlunted shears. 
And vainly pinch, and scrape, and tear, 

Around their leathern ears. 

We'll hang, above his own Guildhall, 

The city's grave Recorder, 
And on the den of thieves we'll fall. 

Though Pym should speak to order. 
In vain the lank-haired gang shall try 

To cheat our martial law ; 
In vain shall Lenthall tremhling cry 

That strangers must withdraw. 

Of bench and woolsack, tub and chair, 

We'll build a glorious pyre, 
And tons of rebel parchment there 

Shall crackle in the fire. 
With them shall perish, cheek by jowl, 

Petition, psalm, and libel, 
The colonel's canting muster-roll, 
The chaplain's dog-eared Bible. 

We'll tread a measure round the blaze 

Where England's pest expires. 
And lead along the dance's maze 

The beauties of the friars : 
Then smiles in every face shall shine, 

And joy in every soul. 
Bring forth, bring forth the oldest wine, 

And crown the largest bowl. 

And as with nod and laugh ye sip 
The goblet's rich carnation, 


Whose bursting bubbles seem to tip 

The wink of invitation ; 
Drink to those names, — those glorious names, — 

Those names no time shall sever, — 
Drink, in a draught as deep as Thames, 

Our church and king for ever ! 


Lord Macaulay. 
Right glad were all the Romans 

Who, in that hour of dread, 
Against great odds bare up the war 

Around Valerius dead, 
When from the south the cheering 

Rose with a mighty swell ; 
" Herminius comes, Herminius, 

Who kept the bridge so well !" 

Mamilius spied Herminius, 

And dashed across the way. 
" Herminius ! I have sought thee 

Through many a bloody day. 
One of us two, Herminius, 

Shall never more go home. 
I will lay on for Tusculum, 

And lay thou on for Rome I" 

All round them paused the battle, 

While met in mortal fray 
The Roman and the Tusculan, 

The horses black and gray. 
Herminius smote Mamilius 

Through breast-plate and through breast ; 
And fast flowed out the purple blood 

Over the purple vest. 
Mamilius smote Hermiuius 

Through head-piece and through head ; 
And side by side those chiefs of pride 

Together fell down dead. 
Down fell they dead together 

In a great lake of gore ; 
And still stood all who saw them fall 

While men might count a score. 

From " The Battle of the Lake Regfflus." 

37 2E 



W. I!. 

u\ (Hi every side 
Lay dead and dying, like red seed 

Cast by the husbandman, with oilier thoughts 
Of unstained harvest ; chariots overthrown, 

Shields cast behind, and wheels, and Bevered limbs, 

Rider and steed, and all the mercil' 

Of arrows barbed, Btrong shafts, and feathered darts 

Winged with dismay. As when id' Alpine snows 

The secret fount is opened, and dread b] 

That dwell in those crystalline solitudes 

Have loosed the avalanche whose deep-thundering moan, 

Predicting ruin, on his couch death-doomed 

The peasant hears ; waters on waters rush 

Uptearing all impediment, woods, rocks, 

Ice rifted from the deep cerulean glens, 

Herds striving with the stream, and bleating flocks, 

The dwellers of the dale, with all of life 

That made the cottage blithesome : hot ere long 

The floods o'erpass ; the ravaged valle;, 

Tranquil and mute in ruin. So confuf 

In awful stillness lay the battle's wreck. 

Here heaps of slain, as by an eddy 

And hands, which, stiff, still clenched the ruddy steel, 

Showed rallied strength, and life sold dearly. There 

Equal and mingled havoc, where the tide 

Doubtful had paused whether to ebb or flow. 

Some prone were cast, some headlong, some supine ; 

Others yet strove with death. The sallow cheek 

Of the slain Avar pressed the mangled limbs 

Of yellow-haired Sicambrian, whose blue eyes 

Still swum in agony ; Gelonic steed 

Lay panting on the cicatrized form 

Of his grim lord, whose painted brow convulsed 

Seemed a ferocious mockery. There, mixed 

The Getic archer with the savage Hun, 

And Dacian lancers lay, and sturdy Goths 

Pierced by Sarmatian pike. There, once his pride 

The Sueve's long-flowing hair with gore besprent, 

And Alans stout, in Roman tunic clad. 

Some of apparel stripped by coward bands 

That vulture-like upon the skirts of war 

Ever hang merciless ; their naked forms 


In death yet beauteous, though the eburnean limbs 
Blood had denied. There some, whom thirst all night 
Had parched, too feeble from that fellowship 
To drag their fevered heads, aroused at dawn 
From fearful dreaming to new hope' and life, 
Die rifled by the hands whose help they crave. 
Others lie maimed and torn, too strong to die, 
Imploring death. Oh, for some friendly aid 
To staunch their burning wounds and cool the lip 
Refreshed with water from an unstained spring ! 


There was heard the sound of a coming foe, 
There was sent through Britain a bended bow ; 
And a voice was poured on the free winds far, 
As the land rose up at the sign of war. 

" Heard you not the battle horn? — 
Reaper ! leave thy golden corn ! 
Leave it for the birds of heaven, 
Swords must flash, and spears be riven ! 
Leave it for the winds to shed — 
' Arm ! ere Britain's turf grow red !" 

And the reaper armed, like a freeman's son ; 
And the bended bow and the voice passed on. 

"Hunter ! leave the mountain chase ! 
Take the falchion from its place ! 
Let the wolf go free to-day, 
Leave him for a nobler prey ! 
Let the deer ungalled sweep by, — 
Arm thee ! Britain's foes are nig-h !" 

And the hunter armed ere the chase was done 
And the bended bow and the voice passed on. 

" Chieftain ! quit the joyous feast ! 
Stay not till the song hath ceased : 
Though the mead be foaming bright, 
Though the fire give ruddy light, 
Leave the hearth and leave the hall — 
Arm thee! Britain's foes must fall." 

'.Irs. IIemans. 


And the chieftain armed, and the horn was blown 

And the bended bow and the voice passed on. 

"Prince! thy father's deeds are told, 

In tin 1 bower and in the hold ! 

Where the goatherd's lay is sung, 
Where the minstrel's harp is strong] 

are on thy native sea — 

Give our hards a tale of thee!" 

And the prince came armed, like a leader's son ; 
And the bended bow and the voice passed on. 

••Mother: stay thon not thy boyl 
He must learn the battle' 
Sister! bring tie- sword and spear, 
Give thy brother words of cheer! 
Maiden ! bid thy lover part, 
Britain calls the strong in heart!" 

And the bended bow and the voice passed on ; 
And the bards made Bong for a battle won. 


The freeman's flittering sword be blest, — 

For ever blest the freeman's lyre, — 
That rings upon the tyrant's crest ; 

This stirs the heart like living fire: 
Well can he wield the shining brand, 
"Who battles for his native land ; 

But when his fingers sweep the chords, 
That summon heroes to the fray, 

They gather at the feat of swords, 
Like mountain-eagles to their prey! 

And mid the vales and swelling hills, 
That sweetly bloom in Freedom's land, 

A living spirit breathes and fills 

The freeman's heart and nerves his hand 

For the bright soil that gave him birth, 

The home of all he loves on earth, — 
For this when Freedom's trumpet calls, 
He waves on high his sword of fire. — 



For this, amidst his country's halls 
For ever strikes the freeman's lyre ! 

His burning heart he may not lend 

To serve a doting despot's sway, — 
A suppliant knee he will not bend, 

Before these things of " brass and clay:" 
When wrong and ruin call to war, 
He knows the summons from afar ; 

On high his glittering sword he waves, 
And myriads feel the freeman's fire, 

While he, around their father's graves, 
Strikes to old strains the freeman's lyre ! 


Wm. Motherwell. 

A steed, a steed of matchlesse speed ! 

A sword of metal keene ! 
All else to noble heartes is drosse, 

All else on earth is meane. 
The neighynge of the war-horse prowde, 

The rowlings of the drum, 
The clangor of the trumpet lowde, 

Be soundes from heaven that come ; 
And ! the thundering presse of knightes 

When as their war-cryes swell, 
May tole from heaven an angel bright, 

And rouse a fiend from hell. 

Then mounte ! then mounte ! brave gallants all, 

And don your helmes amaine : 
Deathe's couriers, fame and honor, call 

Us to the field againe. 
No shrewish teares shall fill our eye 

When the sword-hilt's in our hand, — 
Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sighe 

For the fayrest of the land ; 
Let piping swaine, and craven wight 

Thus weepe and puling crye, 
Our business is like men to fight, 

And hero-like to die ! 




I r Uownum. 
Rio Bravo! Rio Bravo! — aw men ever such a Bight 
Since the field of Roncesvalles sealed the fate of many a knight! 
Dark is Palo Alto's Btory— sad Resaca Palma'e rout— 
Ah mel upon those fields so gory how many a gallant life went out. 
There our best ami bravest lances shivered 'gainst the Northern steel, 
Left the valiant hearts that couched them 'neath the Northern char 

Bio Bravo! Rio Bravo! brave hearts ne'er mourned such a sight, 
Since the noblest lost their life-blood in the Roncesvalles fight 

There Arista, best and bravest— there Raguena, tried ami trie-. 
»>n the fatal field thou lavest, nobly did all men could do; 
Vainly there tho rally, Castile on Montezuma's shore, 

Vainly there shone Aztec valor brightly as it shone of yore. 
Rio Bravo! Bio Bravo! -aw men ever such a Bight, 
Since the dews of Roncesvalles wept for paladin ami knight. 

Heard ye not the wounded coursers Bhrieking on yon trampled hanks, 
As the Northern winged artillery thundered on our shattered ranks? 
On they cam* — those Northern horsemen — on lik toward the 

sun ; 
Followed then the Northern bayonet, and the field was lost and won. 

Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! minstrel ne'er sung such a fight, 

Since the lay of Roncesvalles sang the fame of martyred knight. 

RioBravo ! fatal river ! saw ye not, while red with gore, 

One cavalier all headless quiver, a nameless trunk upon thy shore? 

Other champions not less noted sleep beneath thy sullen wave: 

Sullen water, thou hast floated armies to an ocean grave. 

Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! lady ne'er wept such a sight, 

Since the moon of Roncesvalles kissed in death her own loved knight. 

Weepest thou, lorn Lady Inez, for thy lover mid the slain? 
Brave La Vega's trenchant sabre cleft his slayer to the brain — 
Brave La Yega, who, all lonely, by a host of foes beset, 
Yielded up his falchion only when his equal there he met. 
Oh, for Roland's horn to rally his paladins by that sad shore! 
Rio Bravo, Roncesvalles, ye are names linked evermore. 

Sullen river ! sullen river ! vultures drink thy gory wave, 
But. they blur not these loved features, which not Love himself could 


Rio Bravo, thou wilt name not that lone corse upon thy shore, 
But in prayer sad Inez names him — names him praying evermore. 
Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! lady ne'er mourned such a knight, 
Since the fondest hearts were broken by the Roncesvalles fight. 


0. W. Holmes. 
Scourge of mankind ! with all the dread array, 
That wraps in wrath thy desolating way, 
As the wild tempest wakes the slumbering sea, 
Thou only teachest all that man can be. 
Alike thy tocsin has the power to charm 
The toil-knit sinews of the rustic's arm, 
Or swell the pulses in the poet's veins, 
And bid the nations tremble at his strains. 

The city slept beneath the moonbeam's glance, 
Her white walls gleaming through the vines of France, 
And all was hushed, save where the footsteps fell, 
On some high tower, of midnight sentinel. 
But one still watched ; no self-encircled woes 
Chased from his lids the angel of repose ; 
He watched, he wept, for thoughts of bitter years 
Bowed his dark lashes, wet with burning tears ; 
His country's sufferings and her children's shame 
Streamed o'er his memory like a forest's flame, 
Each treasured insult, each remembered wrong, 
Rolled through his heart and kindled into song ; 
His taper faded ; and the morning gales 
Swept through the world the war-song of Marseilles ! 

From " Poetry, A Metrical Essay." 


0. W. Holmes. 
" Qui vive !" The sentry's musket rings, 

The channelled bayonet gleams ; 
High o'er him, like a raven's wings 
The broad tri-colored banner flings 
Its shadow, rustling as it swings 

Pale in the mooulight beams ; 


Pub "ii ! \\hilc steel-clad sentries keep 
Their vigil o'er the monarch's slei 
Thy ban-, unguarded bn 
3 not the unbroken, bristling zone 
Thai girds yen Bceptred trembler's throne 
Pass on, and take thy r> 

" Qui circ!" How oft the midnight air 

That Btartling cry has borne] 
How of! the evening ias fanned 

The banner of this haughty land, 
O'er mountain -now and desert sand, 

yet its folds were torn ! 
Through Jena's carnage flying red, 
Or tossing o'er Marengo's dead, 

< >r curling on the towers 
Where Austria's eagle quivers yet, 
And suns the ruffled plumage, wet 
With battle's crimson showers ! 

" Qui vive!" And is the sentry's cry, — 

The sleepless soldier's hand, — 
Are these, — the painted folds that fly 
And lift their emblems, printed high, 
On morning mist and sunset sky, — 

The guardians of a land ? 
No ! If the patriot's pulses sleep, 
How vain the watch that hirelings keep, — 

The idle flag that waves, 
When Conquest, with his iron heel, 
Treads down the standards and the steel 

That belt the soil of slaves ! 


Son of the ocean isle ! 
Where sleep your mighty dead? 
Show me what high and stately pile 
Is reared o'er Glory's bed. 

Go, stranger ! track the deep ! 
Free, free the white sail spread ! 
Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, 
Where rest not England's dead. 

Mrs. Uf.mans. 


On Egypt's burning plains, 
By the pyramid o'erswayed, 
With fearful power the noonday reigns, 
And the palm trees yield no shade. 

But let the angry sun 
From heaven look fiercely red, 
Unfelt by those whose task is done ! — 
There slumber England's dead. 

The hurricane hath might 
Along the Indian shore, 
And far by Ganges' banks at night, 
Is heard the tiger's roar. 

But let the sound roll on ! 
It hath no tone of dread, 
For those that from their toils are gone, — 
There slumber England's dead. 

Loud rush the torrent-floods 

The western wilds among, 

And free, in green Columbia's woods 

The hunter's bow is strung. 

But let the floods rush on ! 
Let the arrow's flight be sped ! 
Why should they reck whose task is done ? — 
There slumber England's dead ! 

The mountain-storms rise high 
In the snowy Pyrenees, 
And toss the pine boughs through the sky, 
Like rose leaves on the breeze. 

But let the storm rage on ! 
Let the fresh wreaths be shed ! 
For the Roncesvalles' field is won, — 
There slumber England's dead. 

On the frozen deeps repose 
'Tis a dark and dreadful hour, 
When round the ship the ice-fields close, 
And the northern night-clouds lower. 


But let the ice drift on ! 
Let the cold-blue deserl spread ! 
Their r.,\w^> ^ith mast and Bag i- done, — 
Even there sleeps England's dead. 

The warlike of the isles, 
The men of field and wave '. 
Are not the rocks their funeral piles, 
The ><m^ and Bhores their grave I 

Go, stranger] track the deep, 
Free, free the white sail spread ! 
Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, 
Where rest not England's dead. 


0. W. CYttek. 
Now let the solemn minute gun 
Arouse the morning ray, 

And only with the setting sun 

In echoes die away. 
The muffled drum, the wailing fife, 

Ah! let them murmur low, 
O'er him who was their breath of life, 

The solemn notes of woe ! 

At Chippewa and Lundy's Lane, 

On Polaklaba's field, 
Around him fell the crimson rain, 

The battle-thunder pealed ; 
But proudly did the soldier gaze 

Upon his daring form, 
When charging o'er the cannon's blaze 

Amid the sulphur storm. 

Upon the heights of Monterey 

Again his flag unrolled, 
And when the grape-shot rent away 

Its latest starry fold, 
His plumed cap above his head 

He waved upon the air, 
And cheered the gallant troops he led 

To glorious victory there. 


But ah ! the dreadful seal is broke — 

In darkness walks abroad 
The pestilence, whose silent stroke 

Is like the doom of God ! 
And the hero by its fell decree 

In death is sleeping now, 
With the laurel wreath of victory 

Still green upon his brow. 


Dean Trench. 
Many a deed of faithful daring may obtain no record here, 
Wrought where none could see or note it, save the one Almighty Seer. 

Many a deed awhile remembered, out of memory needs must fall, 
Covered, as the years roll onward, by oblivion's creeping pall : 

But there are which never, never to oblivion can give room, 
Till in flame earth's records perish, till the thunder-peal of doom. 

And of these through all the ages married to immortal fame, 
One is linked, and linked for ever, Balaklava, with thy name — 

With thine armies three that wondering stood at gaze and held their 

With thy fatal lists of honor, and thy tournament of death. 

our brothers that are sleeping, weary with your great day's strife, 
On that bleak Crimean headland, noble prodigals of life — 

Eyes which ne'er beheld you living, these have dearly mourned you 

All your squandered wealth of valor, all the lavish blood ye shed. 

And in our eyes tears are springing, but we bid them back again ; 
None shall say, to see us weeping, that we hold your offering vain : 

That for nothing, in our sentence, did that holocaust arise, 
With a battle-field for altar, and with you for sacrifice. 

Not for naught ; to more than warriors armed as you for mortal fray, 
Unto each that in life's battle waits his Captain's word ye say : — 

"What by duty's voice is bidden, there where duty's star may guide, 
Thither follow, that accomplish, whatsoever else betide." 

This ye taught ; and this your lesson solemnly in blood ye sealed : 
Heroes, martyrs, are the harvest Balaklava's heights shall yield. 


'if ta\, ii - i;iii TAN. 


"This, or on this!" — " Bring homo with thee this Bhield, 
Or be thou, dead, upon this Bhield brought home I" 
So spake the Spartan mother to the son 
Whom her own hands had armed. strong of heart! 

Yet know I of a fairer strength than this — 

S rength linked with weakness, steeped in tears and fears, 
And tenderness of trembling womanhood ; 
But true as hen to duty's perfect law, 

A.nd such is theirs who in our England now, 
Wive-. Bisters, mothers, watch by day, by night. 
In many a tely hall, 

For those dread p swift, thai baste 

O'er land and sea. thfi D14 >f doom ; 

Theirs, who ten thousand times would rather hear 
Of loved forms stretched upon the bloody sod, 
All cold and stark, but with the debt they owed 
To that dear land that bore them duly paid, 
Than look to enfold them in fond arms again, 
By aught in honor's or in peril's path 
Unduly shunned, reserved for that embrace. 



We were not many — we who stood 
Before the iron sleet that day — 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if he but could 
Have been with us at Monterey. 

Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round them wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on — still on our column kept 

Through walls of flame its withering way ; 
Where fell the dead, the living slept, 
Still charging on the guns that swept 

The slippery streets of Monterey. 


The foe himself recoiled aghast, 

When, striking where he strongest lay, 
We swooped his flanking batteries past, 
And braving full their murderous blast, 

Stormed home the towers of Monterey. 

Our banners on those turrets wave, 

And there our evening bugles play ; 
Where orange boughs above their grave 
Keep green the memory of the brave 

Who fought and fell at Monterey. 

We are not many — we who pressed 

Beside the brave who fell that day ; 
But who of us has not confessed 
He'd rather share their warrior rest, 

Than not have been at Monterey ? 


Baktholomew Dowling. 
By our camp fires rose a murmur, 

At the dawning of the day, 
And the tread of many footsteps 

Spoke the advent of the fray ; 
And as we took our places, 

Few and stern were our words, 
While some were tightening horse-girths, 

And some were girding swords. 

The trumpet blast has sounded 

Our footmen to array — 
The willing steed has bounded, 

Impatient for the fray — 
The green flag is unfolded, 

While rose the cry of joy — 
" Heaven speed dear Ireland's banner 

To-day at Fontenoy." 

We looked upon that banner, 

And the memory arose 
Of our homes and perished kindred, 

Where the Lee or Shannon flows ; 



We lo iked ap >n that banner, 

And high, 

To smite to-day th< might — 

aqner or to die. 

Loud swells the charging trnmpet — 

'Tis a voice from our own land — 
T battles — God of vengeance, 
Guide to-day the patriot's brand ; 
There are Btains to crash away — 

There are memories to dl 
In the best blood of the Briton 

To-day at Fun ten oy. 

Plunge deep the fiery rowels 
In a thousand reeking flanks — 

Down, chivalry of Ireland. 
d on the British ran' 
v >hall their Berried columns 
B meath our Babres reel — 
Through their ranks, then, wJlh the war-horse- 
Through their bosoms with the steel. 

AN' i tli one shout for good King Loui 

And the fair land of the vine, 
Like the wrathful Alpine tempest, 

"We swept upon their line — 
Then rang along the hattle-field 

Triumphant our hurrah, 
And we smote them down, still cheering 

"Erin, slaathagal go bragh." 

As prized as is the blessing 

From an aged father's lip — 
As welcome as the haven 

To the tempest-driven ship — 
As dear as to the lover 

The smile of gentle maid — 
Is this day of long-sought vengeance 

To the swords of the Brigade. 

See their shattered forces flying, 

A broken, routed line — 
See England, what brave laurels 

For your brow to-dav we twine. 


0, thrice blessed the hour that witnessed ^ 

The Briton turn to flee 
From the chivalry of Erin, 

And France's "fleur de Us." 

As we lay beside our camp-fires, 

When the sun had passed away, 
And thought upon onr brethren, 

Who had perished in the fray — 
We prayed to God to grant us, 

And then we'd die with joy, 4b ^ 
One day upon our own dear lana 

Like this of Fontenoy. 


L. E. Landon. 

7 Twas in the battle-field, and the cold pale moon 

Looked down on the dead and dying ; 
And the wind passed o'er with a dirge and a wail, 

Where the young and brave were lying. 

With his father's sword in his red right hand, 

And the hostile dead around him, 
Lay a youthful chief: but his bed was the ground, 

And the grave's icy sleep had bound him. 

A reckless 'rover, 'mid death and doom, 

Passed a soldier, his plunder seeking. 
Careless he stept, where friend and foe 

Lay alike in their life-blood reeking. 

Drawn by the shine of the warrior's sword, 

The soldier paused beside it : 
He wrenched the hand with a giant's stream 

But the grasp of the dead defied it. 

He loosed his hold, and his English heart 

Took part with the dead before him 
And he honored the brave who died sword in hand, 

As with softened brow he leant o'er him. 

" A soldier's death thou hast boldly died, 

A soldier's grave won by it: 
Before I would take that sword from thine hand, 

My own life's blood should dye it. 


ThoAlialt not be left for the carrion crow, 
OrTiic wolf to batten o'er thee; 

Or the coward insult the gallant dead, 
Who in life had trembled before thee." 

Then dug he a grave in the crimsoqfparth, 

Where his warrior foe was sleeping; 
And he laid him there in honor and rest, 
"With his sword in his own brave keeping! 


Lord Btron. 
Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? 
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? 
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ; 
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants' >la\es? — the fires of death, 
The bale-fires flash on high ; — from rock to rock 
Each volley tells that thousands cease bo breathe: 
# Death ride- up HO the sulphury Siroc, 
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. 

Lo ! where the giant on the mountain stands, 
His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun, 
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hand-, 
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon. * 
Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon 
Flashing afar — and at his iron feet 
Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done ; 
For on this morn three potent nations meet, 
To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. 

From " Chilh Harold." 



I wrote some lines once on a time 

In wondrous merry mood, 
And thought, as usual, men would say 

They were exceeding good. 

They were so queer, so very queer, 

I laughed as I would die ; 
Albeit, -in the general way, 

A sober man am I. 

I called my servant, and he came ; 

How kind it was of him, 
To mind a slender man like me, 

He of the mighty limb ! 

" These to the printer," I exclaimed, 

And, in my humorous way, 
I added, (as a trifling jest,) 

" There'll be the devil to pay." 

He took the paper, and I watched, 
And saw him peep within ; 

At the first line he read, his face 
Was all upon the grin. 


He read the next ; the grin grew br 

And shot from ear to ear ; 
He read the third ; a chuckling noise 

I now began to hear. 

The fourth ; he broke into a roar ; 

The fifth ; his waistband split ; 
The sixth ; he burst five buttons off, 

And tumbled in a fit. 
38* 2F (449) 


aTch days and nights, with sleepless eye, 
1 watched thai wretched man, 

And since, I never- dare to write 
As funny as I can. 



1 WAS Bitting with my mieroscope, BpOD my parlor nig, 

With a very heavy quftrto ami a very lively bug; 

The true bug had been o^anized with only two antenna, 

But the humbug in the copperplate would have them twice as many. 

And I thought, like Dr, FaustUB, of the emptiness of art, 
How we take a fragment for the whole, ami call the whole a part, 
When I heard a heavy footstep that was loud enough for two, 
And a man of forty entered, exclaiming, — " How d'ye do?" 

lie was 1 1 « ■ t a ghost, my miter, hut -olid flesh and hone; 

lie wore a Palo Alto hat. his weight was twenty stone; 

(It's odd how hat 8 expand their brims as riper years invade, 

As if when life had reached its noon, it wanted them for shade!) 

I lost my focus, — dropped my book, — the bug, who was a flea, 
At once exploded,, and commenced experiments on me. 
They have a certain heartiness that frequently appals, — 

Those mediaeval gentlemen in semilunar smalls! 

"My hoy/' he said — (colloquial ways, — the vast, hroad-hatted man,) 
' ; Come dine with us on Thursday next, — you must, you know you can 
We're going to have a roaring time, with lots of fun and noise, 
Distinguished guests, et cetera, the Judge, and all the boys." 

Not so, — I said, — my temporal bones are showing pretty clear 
It's time to stop^^ist look and see that hair above this ear; 
My golden da^HKnore than spent, — and, what is very strange, 
If these are re^^lver hairs, I'm getting lots of change. 

Besides — my prospects — don't you know that people won't employ 
A man that wrongs his manliness by laughing like a boy ? 
And suspect the azure blossom that unfolds upon a shoot, 
As if wisdom's old potato could not flourish at its root ! 

It's a very fine reflection, when you're etching out a smile 
On a copperplate of faces that would stretch at least a mile, 


That, what with sneers from enemies, and cheapening shrugs of friends, 
It will cost you all the earnings that a month of labor lends ! 

It's a vastly pleasing prospect, when you're screwing out a laugh 
That your very next year's income is diminished by a half, 
And a little boy trips barefoot that Pegasus may go, 
And the baby's milk is watered that your Helicon may flow ! 

No ; — the joke has been a good one, — but I'm getting fond of quiet, 
And I don't like deviations from my customary diet; 
So I think I will not go with you to hear the toasts and speeches, 
But stick to old Montgomery Place, and have some pig and peaches. 

The fat man answered: — Shut your mouth, and hear the genuine creed; 
The true essentials of a feast are only fun and feed ; 
The force that wheels the planets round delights in spinning tops, 
And that young earthquake t'other day was great at shaking props. 

I tell you what, philosopher, if all the longest heads 
That ever knocked their sinciputs in stretching on their beds 
Were round one great mahogany, I'd beat those fine old folks 
With twenty dishes, twenty fools, and twenty clever jokes ! 

Why, if Columbus should be there, the company would beg 
He'd show that little trick of his of balancing the egg ! 
Milton to Stilton would give in, and Solomon to Salmon, 
And Roger Bacon be a bore, and Francis Bacon gammon ! 

And as for all the " patronage" of all the clowns and boors 
That squint their little narrow eyes at any freak of yours, 
Do leave them to your prosier friends,— such fellows ought to die 
When rhubarb is so very scarce and ipecac so high ! 

And so I come, — like Lochinvar, to tread a single measure, 
To purchase with a loaf of bread a sugar-plum of pleasure, 
To enter for the cup of glass that's run for after dinner, 
Which yields a single sparkling draught, then ^eaks and cuts the 

Ah, that's the way delusion comes, — a glass of old Madeira, 
A pair of visual diaphragms revolved by Jane or Sarah, 
And down go vows and promises without the slightest question 
If eating words won't compromise the organs of digestion ! 

And yet, among my native shades, beside my nursing mother, 
Where every stranger seems a friend, and every friend a brother, 


I feel the old convivial glow (unaided) o'er nm stealing, — 
The warm, ohampaguy, old-particular, brandy-punchy feeling. 

We're all alike: — Vesuvius flings the scorisB from Ins fountain, 
But down they come in volleying rain back to the burning mountain; 
We leave, like those volcanic stones, our precious Alma Mater, 
But will keep dropping in again to see the dear old crater. 


The Eankee-boy, before he's sent to school, 
Well knows the mysteries of that magic tool, 

The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye 
Turns, while he hears his mother's lullaby; 
His li ard< 1 cents he gladly gives to get it, 
Then leave- no Btone unturned till he can whet it 
And, in the education of the lad. 
No little part that implement hath had — 
His pocket-knife t<> the young whittler brings 
A growing knowledge of material things. 

Projectile-, music, and the sculptor'.- art, 
His chestnut whistle, and his shingle dart, 
His elder pop-gun, with his hickory rod, 
Its sharp explosion and rebounding wad, 

His corn-stalk fiddle, and the deeper tone 

That murmurs from his pumpkin-stalk trombone, 

Conspire to teach the boy. To these succeed 

His bow, his arrow of a feathered reed, 

His wind-mill, raised the passing breeze to win, 

His water-wheel, that turns upon a pin ; 

Or, if his father lives upon the shore, 

YouTl see his ship, "beam-ends upon the floor," 

Full-rigged, with raking masts, and timbers staunch, 

And waiting, near the wash-tub, for a launch. 

Thus, by his genius and his jack-knife driven, 

Ere long he'll solve you any problem given ; 

Make any jim-crack, musical or mute. 

A plough, a coach, an organ, or a flute ; 

Make you a locomotive or a clock, 

Cut a canal, or build a floating-dock, 

Or lead forth Beauty from a marble-block ; 



Make any thing, in short, for sea or shore, 
From a child's rattle to a seventy-four ; 
Make it, said I ? — Ay, when he undertakes it, 
He'll make the thing and the machine that makes it. 

And when the thing is made, whether it be 
To move in earth, in air, or on the sea ; 
Whether on water, o'er the waves to glisten, 
Or upon land to roll, revolve, or slide ; 
Whether to whirl, or jar, to strike, or ring ; 
Whether it be a piston or a spring, 
Wheel, pully, tube sonorous, wood, or brass, 
The thing designed shall surely come to pass ; 
For, when his hand's upon it, you may know 
That there's go in it, and he'll make it go. 



In closest girdle, reluctant Muse, 
In scantiest skirts, and lightest-stepping shoes, 
Prepare to follow Fashion's gay advance, 
And thread the mazes of her motley dance ; 
And marking well each momentary hue, 
And transient form, that meets the wondering view, 
In kindred colors, gentle Muse, essay 
Her Protean phases fitly to portray. 
To-day she slowly drags a cumbrous trail, 
And " Tom" rejoices in its length of tail ; 
To-morrow, changing her capricious sport, 
She trims her flounces just as much too short ; 
To-day, right jauntily, a hat she wears 
That scarce affords a shelter to her ears ; 
To-morrow, haply, searching long in vain, 
You spy her features down a Leghorn lane ; 
To-day, she glides along with queenly grace, 
To-morrow, ambles in a mincing pace ; 
To-day, erect, she loves a martial air, 
And envious train-bands emulate the fair ; 
To-morrow, changing as her whim may serve, 
" She stoops to conquer" in a "Grecian curve ;" 
To-day, with careful negligence arrayed, 
In scanty folds of woven zephyrs made, 


She moves like l>ian in her WOOdy bowers, 

Or Flora Boating o'er a bed of (lowers; 
To-morrow, laden with a motley freight 
Of etartling bulk and formidable weight, 
She waddles forth, ambitious to amaze 
The vulgar crowd, who giggle as they gaze! 


TllOIUfl II" n. 

No sun — no moon ! 

No morn — no noon — 
No dawn — no dusk — no proper time of day — 

No sky — no earthly view — 

\" distance looking blue — 
No road — no street — no " t'other side the way"— 

No end to any Row — 

No indications where the Crescents go- 
No top bo any Bteeple — 
No recognitions of familiar people — 

\o courtesies for showing 'em — 

No knowing 'em ! 
No travelling at all — no locomotion, 
No inkling of the way — no notion — 

" No go" — by land or ocean — 

No mail — no post — 

No news from any foreign coast — 
No park — no ring — no afternoon gentility — 

No company — no nobility — 
No warmth, no chee