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THE 
 
 BOOK OF ORATORY: 
 
 A NEW COLLECTION OF EXTRACTS IN 
 
 PROSE, POETRY, AND DIALOGUE, 
 
 CONTAINING SELECTIONS FROM 
 
 PISTIKGUISIIED AMEEICAN AND ENGLISH OSATOES, 
 DIVINES, AND POETS ; 
 
 OF ■VTHICU 
 
 MANY ARE SPECIMENS OF THE ELOQUENCE OF STATESMEN OF TUB 
 PRESENT DAY. 
 
 'OR THE USE OF COLLEGES, ACADEMIES, AND SCHOOLS. 
 
 BY EDWARD C. MARSHALL, M. A. 
 
 ia.TE INSTRrCTOR IN A MILITARY SCHOOL AT "WEST POINT, IN GENEVA COLLEOB, 
 AND IN THE NEW YORK UNIVERSITY. 
 
 Nemo est orator, qui so Deniosthenia similem esse nolit. 
 
 CiCKRO, de Optimo genere Oratorunu 
 
 NEW YOPtK. 
 D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
 
 90, 92 & 9-4 GRAND STREET. 
 18T0. 
 

 EDUCATION DEPT. 
 
 according to Act of Ctongresa, in the year 1851, 
 
 3iY D. APPLETON & COMPANY 
 
 In the Oerk's Office of the District Court of the United Stales for the SouUiem 
 District of New York. 
 
TO 
 
 HO 11 AGE WEBSTEE, LL. D 
 
 THE ABLE HEAD OF 
 
 THE NEW YORK FREE ACADEMY, 
 
 WHO HAS BEEN, FOR MOKE THAN 
 
 A QUARTER OF A CENTURY 
 
 IDENTIFIED 
 
 WITH SOUND COLLEGIATE EDUCATION 
 IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK, 
 
 ®l)io bolitmc 
 
 iS BESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 
 
 MS084S8 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 An experience of eiglit years as an instructor of elocution, as 
 well as of otlier branches, in a military school at West Point, in 
 Geneva College, and in the discharge of duties, among which is 
 the teaching of oratory in the department of History and Belles- 
 Lettres of the New York Free Academy, having induced the 
 belief that the selections in the leading books upon this subject 
 are mostly too hackneyed to be used with great benefit in our 
 colleges and schools, the determination was formed to prepare a 
 collection of newer material, and the present volume is ofiFered 
 as the result of that undertaking. A great part of the selections 
 which are here submitted to the public, appear for the first time 
 in a book of this character ; and an important feature of the 
 work is to present specimens of the eloquence of the more recent 
 living as well as deceased statesmen from all parts of the Union, 
 which has not been attempted, it is believed, in any other siuii- 
 lar collection. 
 
 The compiler's experience in the use of otlier works has been, 
 also, that most of the articles arc too long for the wants of stu- 
 dents, and he has endeavored to digest the material here pre- 
 sented with great care, omitting all parts of the extracts which 
 are unnecessary to the development of their leading ideas, or 
 which would render them too prolix. Many of the best speci- 
 mens of our literature will therefore be found so abridged, with 
 special reference to their convenient length as exercises in ora- 
 tory in colleges and schools, and, it is believed, without essen- 
 tially marring their beauty. He trusts that his labor in select- 
 
6 PllEFACE. 
 
 ing, abbreviating, and arranging the extracts, will be appre- 
 ciated by instructors and students, as it is his own opinion that 
 brevity, adaptation, and variety are the main requisites in a 
 work like the present. 
 
 As to the amount of instruction in oratory which is generally 
 given in our seminaries of learning, there can be but little doubt 
 that the subject does not receive the attention which it merits. 
 Very much can be done, by careful teaching in youth, in culti- 
 vating the habit of expressing one's ideas well by the lips ; and 
 oratory is a more important branch of study, and more efl&cient 
 means of educational training, than it has of late been consid- 
 ered. The greatest masters of eloquence whom the world has 
 ever seen, flourished among the ancients, with whom education 
 consisted so much in the study and practice of oratory, that it 
 formed, in their schools, almost the main object of instruction. 
 Other studies, indeed, as philosophy, mathematics, science, and 
 history were pursued, but they were chiefly subordinate to ora- 
 tory. The most accurate division of labor prevailed in oratori- 
 cal instruction, one rhetorician giving his whole attention to 
 vocal force, another to modulation, and another to inflections. 
 No man could hope for distinction among them, in the camp or 
 forum, without oratorical skill. Their generals ruled as w^ell by 
 the rhetorical talent they had acquired in youth, as by militaty 
 sway. All their great men submitted to long and laborious 
 discipline to attain a mastery of this art. They practised fre- 
 quently before their equals, and before their teachers, who 
 criticised, reproved, rebuked, excited emulation, and left nothing 
 undone which perseverance could accomplish.* Cicero passed 
 nearly thirty years in the study of oratory under the chief mas- 
 ters of his time. The story of Demosthenes is well known ; 
 and Cicero, Quintilian, Isocrates, Aristotle, and others have left 
 treatises upon the best modes of oratorical instruction, which 
 give evidence of the attention bestowed upon it. 
 * See an article by William Wirt, p. 157. 
 
PliEFACE. 7 
 
 Such was the importance ascribed by the ancients to practice 
 in expressing their own thoughts in their mother tongue as a 
 means of education ; but, in later times, other subjects have 
 been cultivated at the expense of a proper attention to our own 
 language. The recent discussions, however, in the leading re- 
 views of England, and the popular demand in this country, 
 show that the study of the English language, in its origin, its 
 synonyms, and, above all, by practice in its use in writing and 
 speaking, is destined henceforth to become an important feature 
 in education. Such study will make practical, ready, and think- 
 ing men in a greater degree than is possible under other sys- 
 tems. Of this practice in the use of the English language, ora- 
 tory forms a valuable part. Exercises in oratory, under the 
 criticism of an instructor, tend even more than the study of 
 mathematics and the languages to discipline all the mental fac- 
 ulties in harmonious proportion. Such exercises impart powei 
 of thought, cultivate enunciation and pronunciation, store the 
 memory with a rich fund of words, develop a knowledge of 
 our own language, and in every manner give a readiness in 
 originating and expressing ideas. 
 
 The system of rehearsals adopted in the Free Academy is, it 
 is believed, unlike any which prevails in our colleges, and, for 
 excellence, is probably surpassed by no other. The instructor 
 gives each student, individually, careful disciphne upon the speech 
 which he is to recite, explaining its meaning, correcting his faults 
 of enunciation, pronunciation, emphasis, gesticulation, or other 
 errors, and imparting a delivery which shall give the most per- 
 fect expression of the ideas that are to be conveyed. During 
 the first part of his period of study the pupil gives recitations 
 of extracts, which exercise receives a searching criticism at the 
 rehearsals ; and in the latter portion of his course, he delivers 
 original orations and discussions, subject to the same discipline. 
 There can be but little doubt that if this system shall be fully 
 carried out, it will furnish more finished speakers and writers 
 
8 PREFACE. 
 
 and well-disciplined thinkers than can be produced if undue 
 prominence is given to other branches of study. 
 
 The compiler of this volume acknowledges his indebtedness 
 to the Honorable Messrs. Cass, Benton, Berrien, Butler, Hunter, 
 Seward, Dickinson, Winthrop, Jefferson Davis, Hilliard, and 
 Mayor Seaton, of Washington, for valuable assistance in furnish- 
 ing and collecting speeches for his use, of which he has fully 
 availed himself. 
 
 For an able discussion of the principles of oratory, he refers 
 to the work of the Rev. Henry Mandeville, D. D., which may 
 be obtained froni the enterprising publishers of this collection. 
 
 An abridgment, styled " The First Book of Oratory," con- 
 taining about one-half of the extracts here presented, has been 
 prepared for the use of schools, and of those persons who wish 
 a volume of moderate price. 
 
 New Yoek Fuke Academy, Atkii^ 1861 
 
 M 
 
 / 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 PASS 
 
 1. The perfect orator Anonymous. 17 
 
 2. Reply to the Duke of Grafton Thurlow. 18 
 
 3. Oratoiy, an art Knowles. 18 
 
 4. The value of oratory Knowles. 19 
 
 5. "Vindication from calumny : Emmet. 20 
 
 6. The same.— Part Second Emmet. 21 
 
 7. The same.— Part Third Emmet. 22 
 
 8. Defence of Smith O'Brien Whiteside. 23 
 
 9. Vindication from treason Meagher. 24 
 
 10. The same.— Part Second Meagher. 25 
 
 11. The Indian, as he was, and is Sprague. 20 
 
 12. Sorrow for the dead Irving. 27 
 
 13. The same.— Part Second Irving. 28 
 
 14. The destiny of America Story. 29 
 
 15. The responsibilities of America Story. 30 
 
 16. The Indian tribes Humphrey. 31 
 
 17. The memory of the good Humphrey. 32 
 
 18. The patriot's ambition Clay. 33 
 
 19. The consequences of disunion Clay. 34 
 
 20. The Union Clay. 35 
 
 21. Taxation for war Calhoun. 35 
 
 22. State rights Calhoun. 36 
 
 2.3. Eulogy upon John C. Calhoun Webster. 37 
 
 24. Free discussion Webster. 39 
 
 25. American institutions Webster. 39 
 
 26. America - Webster. 40 
 
 27. The murderer's secret Webster. 41 
 
 28. The same.— Part Second Webster. 42 
 
 29. Supposed speech of John Adams Webster. 43 
 
 30. The same.— Part Second Webster. 44 
 
 31. Encroachments on the Constitution Webster. 45 
 
 32. The sentinels of Uberty Webster. 46 
 
 33. Bunker Hill Monument Webster. 47 
 
 34. The character of Washington Webster. 48 
 
 35. The responsibility of Americans Webster. 49 
 
 36. The voyage of the Mayflower Everett. 50 
 
 37. The laud of our fathers EvereU. 51 
 
 38. The same.— Part Second Everett. 52 
 
 39. The influence of Lafayette Everett. 53 
 
 40. Man made to labor Everett. 54 
 
 41. What good ? Everett. 54 
 
 42. Adams and Jefferson Everett. 56 
 
 43. Civil war Wirt. 57 
 
 44. The poor Indian Wirt. 58 
 
 45. Suspension of relations with Austria Cass. 59 
 
 1* 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOK 
 
 46. Suspension of relations with Austria Hunter. GO 
 
 47. The President's protest Benton. 62 
 
 48. The rigiit to discuss presidential acts Preston. 64 
 
 49. British influence Randolph. 65 
 
 50. War with France Buchanan. 66 
 
 (' 51. War with France Crittenden. 68 
 
 52. The Mexican war Berrien. 69 
 
 53. The Union Butier. 71 
 
 54. The South and the Union Evans. 72 
 
 55. The Union Dickinson. 74 
 
 56. A defence of Daniel Webster Clayton. 75 
 
 57. The war with Mexico Corwin. 77 
 
 58. The exploits of General Taylor Davis. 79 
 
 50. Obedience to the (institution Douglas. 81 
 
 60. Thedeath of O'Connell '. Seward. 82 
 
 61. The Oregon territory Hannegan. 83 
 
 62. The heroism of the pilgrims Choate. 85 
 
 63. Popular excitement in elections McDuffic. 86 
 
 64. The destiny of the United States Hilliard. 88 
 
 65. The famuie in Ireland Prentiss. 89 
 
 66. Republics Legare. 90 
 
 67. A monument to Washington Winthrop. 91 
 
 68. The dissolution of the Union Stewart. 93 
 
 69. Free discussion Burgess. 95 
 
 70. Northern laborers J^aylor. 97 
 
 71. The destiny of America Hilliard. 93 
 
 72. California Tyng. 99 
 
 73. The development of our country Henry. 100 
 
 74. Profaueness Chapin. 101 
 
 75. Washington, a man of genius Whipple. 102 
 
 76. The death of Washington Paine. 103 
 
 77. The death of General Harrison McLaren. 104 
 
 78. The death of General Taylor Stevens. 105 
 
 79. A religious spirit in education Kelly. 107 
 
 80. Mental diligence Benedict. 108 
 
 81. A good book Milton. 109 
 
 82. Trutli and falsehood Milton. 110 
 
 B3. The institutions of England Peel. 110 
 
 84. The Irish distmbance bill O'Connell. Ill 
 
 85. The miseries of Ireland Shiel. 112 
 
 86. The vanity of learning Watson. 114 
 
 87. The miseries of war Chalmers. 115 
 
 88. The benevolence of God Chalmers. 116 
 
 89. The power of temptation Chalmers. 117 
 
 90. Speech of Caius Marius Sallust. 118 
 
 91. The progress of liberty *. Webster. 119 
 
 92. Our country's origin Webster. 120 
 
 93. The spirit of human liberty Webster. 121 
 
 94. The patriot's courage Clay. 121 
 
 95. The survivors of the Revolution Everett. 122 
 
 96. Territorial extension Everett. 123 
 
 97. The experiment of self-government Everett. 124 
 
 98. Revolutionary struggles Everett. 125 
 
 99. War with Fjunce Calhoun. 126 
 
 100. The preservation of the Union Cass. 127 
 
 101. Agriculture Dickinaov-. 129 
 
CONTENTS. 11' 
 
 PAGK 
 
 102. An appeal for union Berrien. 130 
 
 103. The State of Virginia Butler. 131 
 
 104. Suspension of diplomatic relations with Austria Hunter. 132 
 
 105. The South Jefferson Davis. 134 
 
 106. The California gold mines Benton. 136 
 
 107. The federal compact Morris. 137 
 
 108. Peace and national honor Morris. 138 
 
 109. The triumphs of science Dix. 139 
 
 110. The influence of Christianity Dix. 140 
 
 111. Intelligence a national safeguard Woodbury. 141 
 
 112. The pei-manence of American liberty McDvffie. 142 
 
 113. New England,and the Union Prentiss. 143 
 
 114. The true reformers Greeley. 144 
 
 115. Self-sacrificing ambition Orecley. 145 
 
 116. The admission of California Winthrop. 146 
 
 117. New territories Winthrop. 148 
 
 118. Ignorance and superstition Barnard. 149 
 
 1 19. The light of knowledge Barnard. 151 
 
 120. Ignorance a crime in a republic Mann. 151 
 
 121. Popular education the concern of every citizen : Randall: 152 
 
 122. Classical studies Story. 153 
 
 123. The freedom of the press Story. 154 
 
 124. The fate of the Indians Story. 155 
 
 125. The example of our forefathers Sparks. 156 
 
 126. Oratory in Greece and Rome Wirt. 157 
 
 127. The Declaration of American Independence Bradish. 158 
 
 128. The noble deeds of the Revolution Bradish. 159 
 
 129. The disinterestedness of Washington Paine. 160 
 
 130. Classical and Christian literature Sumner. 162 
 
 13 1 . American literature Orimhe. 163 
 
 132. The end of the world Taylor. 164 
 
 133. Party spirit Qaston. 165 
 
 134. The warfare of truth Upham. 165 
 
 135. Our obligations to the pilgrims Whelpley. 166 
 
 136. Woman's influence Carter. 167 
 
 137. The freedom of science in America Verplanck. 168 
 
 138. Practical scholarship Verplanck. 169 
 
 139. Independence of thought in America Verplanck. 170 
 
 140. American scholars independent of a nobility Verplanck. 171 
 
 141. Free institutions ennobling Verplanck. 172 
 
 142. The evils of political parties Verplanck. 173 
 
 143. Military glory Channing. 174 
 
 144. False courage Channing. 175 
 
 145. Tru«^ courage Channing. 176 
 
 146. Military courage Channing. 176 
 
 147. The moral character of war Channing. YTl 
 
 148. Truth Channing. 178 
 
 149. Thought the privilege of all men Channing. 178 
 
 150. The capacity of the people for knowledge Channing. 179 
 
 151. The nobility of mind Channing. 180 
 
 152. Social changes Channing. 181 
 
 153. The value of books Channing. 182 
 
 154. Hard work Channing. 183 
 
 155. The dignity of human nature Dewey. 184 
 
 156. Attention, the soul of genius .' . . . Dewey. 185 
 
 157. The nobility of labor Dewey. 13S 
 
12 CONTENTS 
 
 * rAan 
 
 158. Howard, the philanthropist Wayland. 187 
 
 159. The emptiness of human gloiy Wayland. 188 
 
 160. The mission of the Saxon race Tyng. 180 
 
 161. Political demagogues Henry, 190 
 
 162. The pacific age Sprague. 191 
 
 163. Language Hale. 1 92 
 
 164. The Bible friendly to Uberty. HaJ.e. 193 
 
 165. The political knave Beecher. 193 
 
 166. Address to a missionary Red Jacket. 194 
 
 167. Address to Gen. Street Black Hawk. 196 
 
 168. Conciliation with the colonies Burke. 197 
 
 169. Reform in Parliament Brougham. 198 
 
 170. Refonn in the elections Brougham. 199' 
 
 171. Sympathy for man around the throne of God Chalmers. 20O 
 
 172. The British constitution PhilpoUs. 201 
 
 173. Autumn jilison. 202 
 
 174. Charity St. Paul. 203 
 
 175. The rights of the i>lebeians Canuleius. 204 
 
 176. Brutu»(m the death of Caesar Shakspeare. 204 
 
 »77. Hamlet to the players ^Mkspearc. 205 
 
 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 1. One good turn deserves another Oilman. 207 
 
 2: The dilatory scholar Oilman. 207 
 
 3. Orator Puff .anonymous. 208 
 
 4. The Jackdaw Cowper. 209 
 
 5. Nose vs. Eyes Cowper. 210 
 
 6. Conversation Coujper. 211 
 
 7. The removal Anonymous. 212 
 
 8. My aunt Holmes. 213 
 
 9. The features A-nonymous. 21 4 
 
 10. Morning meditations Hood. 215 
 
 11. Major Brown Hood. 210 
 
 12. The duel Hood. 219 
 
 13. John Day Hood. 221 
 
 14. The troublesome wife Anonijmous. 222 
 
 15. The cold-water man Saxe. 224 
 
 16. Youthful precocity Saxc. 225 
 
 17. The conflagration Ejected Addresses. 220 
 
 18. Follow your nose Anonymous. 228 
 
 19. Economy Jrolcot. 22S 
 
 20. Shamus O'Brien .*. Anonymous. 230" 
 
 21. The same.— Part Second Anonymous. 231 
 
 22. Tlie same.— Part Third Anonymous. ^Ji 
 
 23. The rhyming apothecary Caiman. 236 
 
 24. Brown Stout Anonymous. 238 
 
 25. The farmer's blimder Anonymous. 239 
 
 26. Hasty pudding Barlow. 241 
 
 27. Song of the Speaker Anonymous. 243 
 
 28. Editorial musiugs Anonymous. 244 
 
 29. The alarmed skipper - Fields. 245 
 
 30. A Yankee IjtIc..., ,,.., Peters. 247 
 
UONTENTS. 15 
 
 31. Village greatness Ray. 248 
 
 32. Old Grimes Oreenc. 249 
 
 33. The poet Clarke. 251 
 
 34. The world's a stage Anonymous. 2.52 
 
 35. Improvement Dow, Jr. 253 
 
 36. Despair Dow, Jr. 254 
 
 37. Nature Dow, Jr. 255 
 
 3a Slumber Dennie. 25G 
 
 39. The same— Part Second Dennie. 2&7 
 
 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 1. The soldier's tear Bailey. 259 
 
 2. The veteran BaUey. 260 
 
 3. The deserter BaUey. 260 
 
 4. The pilot Bailey. 261 
 
 5. The old man's revery Bailey. 262 
 
 6. Oft in religion's name Bailey. 262 
 
 7. The mibeliever Bailey. 263 
 
 8. The dream of darkness Bacon. 264 
 
 9. I remember, I remember Hood. 265 
 
 10. Gold Hood. 266 
 
 11. Avenged honor Colman. 266 
 
 12. Posthxxmous fame Colman. 267 
 
 13. Monterey Hoffman. 268 
 
 14. Buena Vista Pike. 269 
 
 15. Darkness Byron. 270 
 
 16. Solitude Byron. 272 
 
 17. Mazeppa Byron. 272 
 
 18. The ocean Byron. 274 
 
 19. Belshazzar's vision Byron. 276 
 
 20. The shipwreck Byron. 277 
 
 21. The battle of Albuera Bijron. 278 
 
 22. Brutus reproaching Cassius Shakspeare. 279 
 
 23. Cardinal Wolsey's soliloquy Shakspeare. 280 
 
 24. Cardinal Wolsey's address to Cromwell Shakspeare. 280 
 
 25. Soliloquy of Henry IV Shakspeare. 281 
 
 26. Soliloquy of Richard III Shakspeare. 282 
 
 27. The seven ages of man Shakspeare. 283 
 
 28. Despair Shakspeare. 284 
 
 29. The advice of Polonius to his son Shakspeare. 284 
 
 30. Mercy Shakspeare. 285 
 
 31. Mark Antony's oration Shakspeare. 28G 
 
 32. Address of Marullus to the mob Shakspeare. 287 
 
 33. Richmond's address to his soldiers Shakspeare. 288 
 
 34. Soliloquy of Hamlet's uncle Shakspeare. 2P8 
 
 35. Cheerfulness Shakspeare. 2t J 
 
 36. Hamlet's soliloquy Shakspeare. 290 
 
 37. Royal ceremony Shakspeare. 291 
 
 38. Soliloquy of Henry VI Shakspeare. 292 
 
 39. Clarence's dream , Shakspeare. 203 
 
 40. Martnion and the Douglas Scott. 294 
 
14 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 TAOm 
 
 41. The death of Marmion Scott. 296 
 
 42. The love of country Scott. 297 
 
 43. Rienzi'a address to the Romans Mitford. 298 
 
 44. Speech of Sempronius for war Addison. 299 
 
 45. Speech of Lucms for peace Addison. 299 
 
 46. Speech of Cato Addison. 300 
 
 47. The Baron's last banquet Oreenc. 301 
 
 48. Bernardo and King Alphouso Lockhart. 302 
 
 49. The taking of Warsaw Campbell. 304 
 
 50. The song of Marion's men Bryant. 305 
 
 51. The village blacksmith Bryant. 307 
 
 52. Alaric, the Visigoth Everett. 308 
 
 53. Woodman, spare that tree Morris. 310 
 
 54. The Chieftain's daughter Morris. 311 
 
 55. The mothers of the west Oallagher. 311 
 
 56. The Indian council Hosmer. 313 
 
 57. The pioneers of America Hosmer'. 314 
 
 58. The Indian tribes Hosmer. 315 
 
 59. Death's mission Everest. 316 
 
 60. Death's triumphs Everest. 318 
 
 61. The aged prisoner Whittier. 319 
 
 62. The Semuiole's reply Patten. 321 
 
 63. Beauty everywhere Marshall, 322 
 
 64. Our country Marshall. 323 
 
 65. Work Marshall. 324 
 
 66. The dram-drinker Rockwell. 325 
 
 67. The death-flre Stephens. 326 
 
 68. The battle of Ivry Macaulay. 327 
 
 69. The angel of death s Bailey. 329 
 
 70. The madman «. Jtf. C. 331 
 
 71. A fever dream Harney. 333 
 
 72. Thoughts in a library Lynch. 335 
 
 73. The old man in December Hcrrman. 330 
 
 74. Rome Anonymous. 337 
 
 75. The poor-liouse Crabbc. 338 
 
 76. The hermit Home. 339 
 
 77. Speech of Caius Gracchus Knowles. 340 
 
 78. BeJshazzar's warning Croly. 340 
 
 79. The death of Napoleon McLellan. 342 
 
 80. The Roman soldier Atherstone. 343 
 
 81. The same.— Part Second Atherstone. 344 
 
 82. Thought without utterance Tupper. 345 
 
 83. The power of eloquence Tupper. 34G 
 
 84. Trifles Tupper. 34? 
 
 85. The good man , Tupper. 34fc 
 
 86. Equality Tupper. 349 
 
 87. Books , Tupper. 349 
 
 88. Beauty Tupper. 350 
 
 89. Cruelty Tupper. 351 
 
 90. The Chamois hunter Tupper. 352 
 
 91. Dreams Tupper. 354 
 
 92. Arminius '. Praed. 355 
 
 93. Alexander and Diogenes Praed. 356 
 
 94. What makes a hero ? Taylor. 358 
 
 95. The landing of the Pilgrims Hemans. 359 
 
 96. Drones ^. . . Shelley. 360 
 
CONTENTS. 15 
 
 PAGH 
 
 97. Thanatopsis Bryant. 3G1 
 
 98. The same.— Part Second Bryant. 362 
 
 99. The murdered traveller Bryant. 303 
 
 100. The heroes of Seventy-six Bryant. 364 
 
 101. The African chief Bryant. 365 
 
 102. The hm-ricane Bryant. 367 
 
 103. The tweiityrsecond of December Bryant. 368 
 
 104. A Psalm of life Longfellow. 369 
 
 105. The leper Willis. 370 
 
 106. Nature Street. 371 
 
 107. The poor Indian Street. 373 
 
 108. The Six Nations Street. 374 
 
 109. A forest nook Street. 376 
 
 110. The poor and the rich Lowell. 377 
 
 111. The fight of Paso del Mar Taylor. 378 
 
 112. Lament of the Indian Chieftain Hosmer. 380 
 
 113. Origin of the crow Hosmer. 382 
 
 114. Watchwords Cox. 383 
 
 115. The American flag Drake.. 384 
 
 116. Old Ironsides Holmes. 385 
 
 1 17. The pilgrims Sigourncy. 386 
 
 118. Time Prentice. 387 
 
 119. The Yankee ships Fields. 388 
 
 120. Press on Benjamin. 389 
 
 121. The marmers Benjamin, 390 
 
 122. What the end shall be Jlnon7jmou3. 391 
 
 12.3. Rest. Marshall. 392 
 
 124. Another life Marshall. 393 
 
 125. The flight of the Nundowagas Marshall. 394 
 
 120. Iron Hale. 396 
 
 127. Rome Bacon. 397 
 
 128. The last revolutionary Dow. 399 
 
 129. The shipwreck McLaughlin. 400 
 
 130. Cold Pollok. 401 
 
 131. The storming of Vera Cruz Jlnonymous. 402 
 
 132. Ambition, ftdse and true inonymous. 403 
 
 133. The oaken bucket fVocdworth. 404 
 
 134. The gladiator .Tones. 405 
 
 133. The Kaiser Howitt. 407 
 
 136. Albuquerque Dawes. 408 
 
 137. Look aloft Lawrence. 409 
 
 138. The ocean Cornwall. 409 
 
 139. The charnel ship Anonymous. 411 
 
 140. The phantom sliip Anonymous. 412 
 
 141. The serpent of the still Anonymous. 415 
 
 142. Washington Cook. 416 
 
 143. The seventh plague of Egypt Anonymovs. All 
 
 144. Friends separated by death » Montgomery. 420 
 
 145. The charge Percival. 420 
 
 146. The Bunker Hill Monument Pierpont. 421 
 
 147. The Marseilles Hymn De VIsle. 422 
 
 148. Speak not harshly Crosby. 423 
 
 149. The death of Major Ringgold Crosby. 424 
 
 150. The death of Colonel Clay Crosby. 42.5 
 
 15L General Scott Crosby. 425 
 
 152. The death of General Taylor Crosby. 426 
 
16 CONTENTS. 
 
 153. Tipperary ..Davis. 428 
 
 154. The vow of Tipperary Davis. 423 
 
 155. The battle of Limerick Davis. 429 
 
 156. Paddies evermore .Anonymous. 431 
 
 157. The song of the poor Anonymous. 432 
 
 158. The O'Kavanagh Shea. 433 
 
 159. Woman's sufferings JVorton. 434 
 
 160. The power of dreams J^Torton. 435 
 
 161. The fallen leaves J<rorton. 437 
 
 162. Weep not for him that dieth JSTorton. 438 
 
 103. Advice to the aspirant for fame Mackay. 439 
 
 DIALOGUES. 
 
 1. A quarrel scene • Ilomt 44i 
 
 2. Lochiel's warning Campbell. 444 
 
 3. A scene from William Tell Knowlcs. 446 
 
 4. Goody Grim v. Lapstone Mathews. 451 
 
 5. David and Goliah More. 455 
 
 6. The invalid and the politician Murphy. 457 
 
 7. The lawyer and the politician Murphy. 459 
 
 8. A nautical examination , Anonymous. 4C2 
 
 9. Scene from Pizarro Kotzchuc. 464 
 
 10. The same.— Second Scene Kotzcbuc. 406 
 
 11. Pedantry Anonymous. 468 
 
 12. Irish courtesy Sedley. 473 
 
 13. Alderman Smuggler — Sir Harry Wildair — John Anonymous. 475 
 
 14. Sir Philip Blandford— Ashfleld Morton. 477 
 
 15. Indigestion Anonymous. 479 
 
 16. Ollapod— Sir Charles Cropland Colman. 481 
 
 17. Old Fickle— Tristram Fickle Allingham. 484 
 
 18. Doctor Wisepate— Thady O'Keen— Robert Oulton. 487 
 
 19. Scene from Catiline Crohj. 490 
 
 20. Van den Bosch and Van Artevelde Taylor. 493 
 
 21. Tell and his countrymen Knowlcs. 496 
 
 22. The Frenchman's lesson in English Anonymous. 498 
 
 23. The point of honor Shakspcarc. 499 
 
THE 
 
 PRACTICAL AM) COMPREIMSIVE 
 
 BOOK OF ORATORY. 
 
 SELECTIONS IN PROSE 
 
 1. THE PERFECT ORATOR. 
 
 Imagine to yourselves a Demosthenes addressing tlie most 
 illustrious assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the fate 
 of the most illustrious of nations depended. — How awful such a 
 meeting ! How vast the subject ! Is man possessed of talents 
 adequate to the great occasion ? Adequate ? — yes, superior. 
 By the power of his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly 
 is lost in the dignity of the orator ; and the importance of the 
 subject for a while superseded, by the admiration of his talents. 
 With what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, 
 withwha't emotions of the heart, does he assault and subjugate the 
 whole man, and, at once, captivate his reason, his imagination, 
 and his passions ! To effect this, must be the utmost effort of 
 the most improved state of human nature. — Not a faculty that 
 he possesses is here unemployed ; not a faculty that he pos- 
 sesses but is here exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal 
 powers are at work ; all his external testify their energies. 
 Within, the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the passions, are 
 all busy ; without, every muscle, every nerve, is exerted ; not a 
 feature, not a limb, but speaks. The organs of the body, 
 attuned to the exertions of the mind, through the kindred organs 
 of the hearers, instantaneously, as it were with an electrical 
 epirit, vibrate those energies from soul to soul. — Notwithstand- 
 ing the diversit}'' of minds in such a multitude, by the hghtning 
 of eloquence, they are melted into one mass — the whole assem- 
 bly, actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, but 
 one man, and have but one voice. The universal cry is — " Let 
 us march against Philip — let us fight for our hberties — ^let us 
 conquer— or die." AmnNYMous. 
 

 2. REPLY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON. 
 
 My Lords — I am amazed ; yes, my Lords, I am amazed at 
 nis grace's speech. The noble duke cannot look before him, 
 behind him, or on either side of him, without seeing some noble 
 peer, who owes his seat in this house to his successful exertions 
 in the profession to which I belong. Does he not feel that it is 
 as honorable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an 
 accident ? To all these noble lords the language of the noble 
 duke is as applicable and as insulting as it is to myself. But I 
 do not fear to meet it single and alone. No one venerates the 
 peerage more than I do ; but, my lords, I must say, that the 
 peerage solicited me, not I the peerage. 
 
 Nay, more — I can say, and will say, that as a peer of parlia- 
 ment, as speaker of this right honorable house, as keeper of the 
 great seal, as guardian of his majesty's conscience, as lord high 
 chancellor of England, nay, even in that character alone, in 
 which the noble duke would think it an affront to be considered, 
 but which character none can deny me — as a man, I am, at this 
 time, as much respected as the proudest peer I now look down 
 
 "P«"- Thuklow. 
 
 3. ORATORY, AN ART. 
 
 One cause of our not excelling in oratory is our neglecting to 
 cultivate the art of speaking — of speaking our own language. 
 We acquire the power of expressing our ideas almost insensibly ; 
 we consider it as a thing that is natural to us ; we do not regard 
 it as an art : it is an art, a difficult art, an intricate art ; and out 
 ignorance of that circumstance, or our omitting to give it due 
 consideration, is the cause of our deficiency. 
 
 In the infant, just beginnings to articulate, you will observe 
 every inflection that is recognized in the most accurate treatise 
 on elocution ; you will observe, further, an exact proportion in 
 its several cadences, and a speaking expression in its tones. I 
 say, you will observe these things in almost every infant. Se- 
 lect a dozen men, men of education, erudition ; ask them to 
 read a piece of animated composition — you will be fortunate if 
 you find one in the dozen that can raise or depress his voice, 
 inflect or modulate it, as the variety of the subject requires. 
 What has become of the inflections, the cadences, and the mod- 
 
J. SHERIDAN KNOWLES. 19 
 
 ulation of llie infant ? They have not been exercised ; they 
 have been neglected ; they have never been put into the hands 
 of the artist, that he might apply them to their proper use ; 
 they have been laid aside, spoiled, abused ; and, ten to one, 
 they will never be good for any thing ! 
 
 J. Sheridan Knowles 
 
 4. THE VALUE OF ORATORY. 
 
 The principal means of communicating our ideas are two- 
 speech and writing. The former is the parent of the latter ; it 
 IS the more important, and its highest efforts are called oratory. 
 
 If we consider the very early period at which we begin to 
 exercise the faculty of speech, and the frequency with which we 
 exercise it, it must be a subject of surprise that so few excel in 
 oratory. In any enlightened community you will find numbers 
 who are highly skilled in some particular art or science, to the 
 study of which they did not apply themselves till they had al- 
 most arrived at the stage of manhood. Yet, with regard to the 
 powers of speech, those powers which the very second year of 
 our existence generally calls into action, the exercise of which 
 goes on at our sports, our studies, our walks, our very meals ; 
 and which is never long suspended, except at the hour of re- 
 freshing sleep, — with regard to those powers, how few surpass 
 their fellow- creatures of common information and moderate at- 
 tainments ! how very few deserve distinction ! how rarely does 
 one attain to eminence ! 
 
 In common conversation, observe the advantage which the 
 fluent speaker enjoys over the man that hesitates and stumbles 
 in discourse. With half his information, he has twice his im- 
 portance ; he commands the respect of his auditors ; he instructs 
 and gratifies them. In the general transactions of business the 
 same superiority attends him. He communicates his views witli 
 clearness, precision, and effect ; he carries his point by his mere 
 readiness ; he concludes his treaty before another man would 
 have well set about it. Does he plead the cause of friendship ? 
 — how happy is his friend ! Of charity ? — how fortunate is the 
 distressed ^ Should he enter the legislature of his country, he 
 approves himself the people's bulwark ! 
 
 J. Sheridan Knowles. 
 
20 SEI.E0TIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 O. VINDICATION FROM CALUMNY. 
 
 Mr Lords — What have I to say why sentence of death should 
 not be pronounced on me, according to law ? I have nothing 
 to say that can alter your predetermination, nor that it will be- 
 come me to say, with any view to the mitigation of that sen- 
 tence, wliich you are here to pronounce, and I must abide by. 
 But I have that to say which interests me more than life, and 
 which you have labored (as was necessarily your office in the 
 present circumstances of this oppressed country) to destroy. I 
 have much to say why my reputation should be rescued from 
 the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped 
 upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, your 
 minds can be so free from impurity as to receive the least im- 
 pression from what I am going to utter. I have no hopes that 
 I can anchor my character in the breast of a court, constituted 
 and trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I 
 expect, that your lordships may suffer it to float down your 
 memories, untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds 
 some more hospitable harbor to shelter it from the storm by 
 which it is at present buffeted. Was I only to suffer death, after 
 being adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I should bow in silence, 
 and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur ; but the 
 sentence of the law which delivers my body to the executioner 
 will, through the ministry of that law, labor, in its own vindica- 
 tion, to consign my character to obloquy ; for there must be 
 guilt somewhere ; whether in the sentence of the court, or in 
 the catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man in my situa- 
 tion, my lords, has not only to encounter the difficulties of for- 
 tune, and the force of power over minds which it has corrupted 
 or subjugated, but the difficulties of established prejudice. The 
 man dies, but his memory lives : that mine may not perish, that 
 it may live in the respect of my countrymen, I seize upon this 
 opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged 
 against me. When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly 
 port, — when my shade shall have joined the bands of those 
 martyred heroes who have shed their blood on the scaffold, and 
 in the field, in defence of their country and of virtue, this is my 
 hope : I wish that my memory and name may animate those 
 who survive me, while I look down with complacency on the 
 destruction of that perfidious government which upholds its 
 domination by blasphemy of the Most High, — which displays 
 its power over man as over the beasts of the forest, — which 
 
EOBEKT ER£M:ET. 21 
 
 sets man upon his brother, and lifts his hand, in the name oi 
 God, against the throat of his f^jllow, who beheves or doubts a 
 little more or a little less than the government standard, — .1 
 government which is steeled to barbarity by the cries of the or- 
 phans, and the tears of the widows which it has made. 
 
 I appeal to the immaculate God, I SAvear by the throne of 
 Heaven, before which I must shortly appear, by the blood of 
 the murdered patriots who have gone before me, that my con- 
 duct has been, through all this peril, and all my purposes, gov- 
 erned only by the convictions which I have uttered, and by no 
 other view than that of their cure, and the emancipation of my 
 country from the superinhuman oppression under which she has 
 so long and too patiently travailed ; and that I confidently and 
 assuredly hope that, wild and cliimerieal as it may appear, there 
 is still union and strength in Ireland to accomplish this noblest 
 enterprise. Of this I speak with the confidence of intimate 
 knowledge, and with the consolation that appertains to that 
 confidence. Think not, my lord, I say this for the petty grati- 
 fication of giving you a transitory uneasiness ; a man who never 
 yet raised his voice to assert a lie, will not hazard his character 
 with posterity by asserting a falsehood on a subject so impor- 
 tant to his country, and on an occasion like this. Yes, my lords, 
 a man who does not wish to have his epitaph written until liis 
 country is hberated, will not leave a weapon in the power of 
 envy, nor a pretence to impeach the probity which he means to 
 preserve, even in the grave to which tyranny consigns him. 
 
 Robert Emmet. 
 
 6. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 I AM charged with being an emissary of France ! An emis- 
 sary of France ! And for what end ? It is alleged that I 
 wished to sell the independence of my country ! And for what 
 end ? Was this the object of my ambition ! And is this the 
 mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions ? 
 No, I am no emissary ; and my ambition was to hold a place 
 among the deliverers of my country ; not in power, nor in profit, 
 but in the glory of the achievement ! Sell my country's inde- 
 pendence to France ! And for what ? Was it for a change of 
 masters ? No ! But for ambition. 0, my country, was it per- 
 sonal ambition that could influence me ! Had it been the soul 
 of my actions, could I not, by my education and fortune, by th« 
 
T2 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself among 
 the proudest of my oppressors ? My country was my idol ; to 
 it I sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment ; and for 
 it I now offer up my life. God ! No, my lord ; I acted as 
 an Irishman, determined on delivering my country from the yoke 
 of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and from the more galling 
 yoke of a domestic faction, which is its joint partner and per- 
 petrator in the parricide, for the ignominy of existing with an 
 exterior of splendor and of conscious depravity. It was the 
 wish of my heart to extricate my country from this doubly riv- 
 eted despotism. 
 
 I wished to place her independence beyond the reach of any 
 power on earth ; I wished to exalt her to that proud station in 
 the world. I wished to procure for my country the c^uarantce 
 wdiich Washington procured for America. To procure an aid 
 which, by its example, would be as important as its valor ; dis- 
 ciphned, gallant, pregnant with science and experience ; who 
 would perceive the good, and polish the rough points of our 
 character ; they would come to us as strangers, and leave us as 
 friends, after sharing in our perils and elevating our destiny. 
 These were my objects, not to receive new task-masters, but to 
 expel old tyrants ; these were my views, and these only became 
 Irishmen. It was for these ends I sought aid from France, be- 
 cause France, even as an enemy, could not be more implacable 
 than the enemy already in the bosom of my country. 
 
 Robert Emmet. 
 
 7. THE SAME. PART THIRD. 
 
 Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis- 
 honop! let no man attaint my memory, by believing that I 
 could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's lib- 
 erty and independence ; or, that I could have become the pliant 
 minion of power, in the oppressicJn or the miseries of my coun- 
 trymen. The proclamation of the provisional government speaks 
 for our views ; no inference can be tortured from it to coun- 
 tenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, humil- 
 iation, or treachery from abroad ; I would not have submitted 
 to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist 
 the foreign and domestic oppressor. In the dignity of freedom 
 I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and its 
 enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse- 
 
KOBERT EACMET. WinTESTDT". 23 
 
 Am I, who lived but for my coimtiy, ;^nil who liavo subjected 
 myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and 
 the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen theit 
 rights, and my country her independence, — am I to be loaded 
 with calumny, and not suffered to resent or repel it ? No — God 
 forbid ! 
 
 If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns 
 and cares of those who are dear to them in this transitory life, 
 
 ever dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look 
 down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering son, and 
 see if I have, even for a moment, deviated from those principles 
 of morality and patriotism which it was your care to instil into 
 my youthful mind, and for which I am now to offer up my hfe ! 
 
 My lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice ; the blood which 
 you seek is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround 
 your victim ; it circulates warmly and unruffled through the 
 channels which God created for noble purposes, but which you 
 are bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous that they cry to 
 heaven. Be yet patient ! I have but a few words more to say ; 
 
 1 am going to my cold and silent grave ; my lamp of life is 
 nearly extinguished ; my race is run ; the grave opens to receive 
 me, and I sink into its bosom ! I have but one request to ask 
 at my departure from this w^orld : it is the charity of its silence ! 
 Let no man write ray epitaph ; for, as no man who knows my 
 motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance 
 asperse th6m. Let them and me repose in obscurity and. peace, 
 and my tomb remain uninscribed until other times and other 
 men can do justice to my character. When my country takes 
 her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, 
 let my epitaph be written. ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 8. DEFENCE OF SMITH o'bRIEN. 
 (Delivered during the recent rebellion in Ireland.) 
 
 Mr. Smith O'Brien, my client, now stands at the bar of his 
 country to answer for having meant to subvert the constitution 
 which in heart he adores. His true offence is, that he courted 
 for yo2i what is England's glory, and blessing, and pride. Deep- 
 ly he may have erred in pursuit of this daring object ; w^ill you 
 avenge his misdirected patriotism by a dreadful death ? 
 
 You may do so ; and no earthly inducement will tempt me 
 
534. SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 to say, if you pronounce the awful sentence of guilty, that you 
 have not given the verdict conscience commanded. If his coun- 
 trymen condemn him, he will be ready to meet his fate with the 
 faith of a Christian, and with the firmness of a man. The last 
 accents of his lips will breathe a prayer for Ireland's happiness, 
 Ireland's constitutional freedom. The dread moment that shall 
 precede his mortal agonies will be consoled, if through his suf- 
 ferings and his sacrifice some system of government shall arise — 
 which I aver has never existed — just, comprehensive, impartial, 
 and, above all, consistent, which may conduct to wealth, pros- 
 perity, and greatness the country he has loved, not wise y, 
 perhaps, but too well. 
 
 In no pitiful strains do I seek compassion for my client, even 
 in a case of blood. I ask it solemnly, in the spirit of our free 
 constitution, in accordance with the rooted principles of our 
 common law. This is a cause between the subject and the 
 crown, wherein these great principles might shine out in glo- 
 rious perfection. A verdict of acquittal, in accordance with this 
 divine doctrine, will not be a triumph over the law. When the 
 sovereign seals, by her coronation oath, the great compact be- 
 tween the people and the crown, she swears to execute, in all 
 her judgments, justice in mercy. That same justice you admin- 
 ister ; no rigorous, remorseless, sanguinary code, but justice in 
 mercy. 
 
 In nothing, though at an immeasurable distance still, do men 
 on earth so nearly approach the attribute of the Almighty as in 
 the administration of justice tempered with mercy, or dismal 
 would be our fate. As you hope for mercy from the Great 
 Judge, grant it this day ! The awful issues of life and death 
 are in your hands ; do justice in mercy ! The last faint mur- 
 mur on your quivering lips will be for mercy, ere the immortal 
 spirit shall wing its flight to, I trust, a better and brighter world ! 
 
 Whiteside. 
 
 9. VINDICATION FROM TREASON. 
 (Delivered during the recent rebellion in Ireland.) 
 
 My Lords, — It is my intention to say a few words only. 1 
 desire that the last act of a proceeding which has occupied so 
 much of the public time should be of short duration. 'Nov have 
 I the indelicate wish to close the dreary ceremony of a State 
 prosecution ■vfith a vain display of Avords. Did I fear that here- 
 after, when I shall be no more, the country I have tried to serv« 
 
T, F. MEAGIIEK. 25 
 
 would think ill of me, I might indeed avail myself of this solemn 
 moment to vindicate my sentiments and my conduct. But I 
 have no such fear. In speaking thus, accuse me not, my lords, 
 of an indecorous presumption. To the efforts I have made in 
 a just and a noble cause, I ascribe no vain importance ; nor do 
 I claim for those efforts any high reward. But it so happens, 
 and it will ever happen so, that they who have tried to serve 
 their country, no matter how weak the effort may have been, 
 are sure to receive the thanks and blessings of its people. 
 With my country, then, I leave my memory, my sentiments, 
 my acts — proudly feehng that th«y require no vindication from 
 me this day. A jury of my countrymen, it is true, have found 
 me guilty of the crime of which I stood indicted. For this I 
 entertain not the slightest feeling of resentment towards them : 
 influenced by the charge of the Lord Chief Justice, they could 
 have found no other verdict. What of the charge ? Aiiy 
 strong observation on it, I feel sincerely, would ill befit the 
 solemnity of this scene ; but I would earnestly beseech of you, 
 my lord, — you who preside on that bench, — when the passions 
 and the prejudices of this hour have passed away, to appeal to 
 your ov/n conscience, and ask of it. Was your charge as it ought 
 to be — impartial and indifferent between the subject and the 
 crown ? My lords, you may deem this language unbecoming 
 in me, and perhaps it may seal my fate. But I am here to 
 speak the truth, whatever it may cost. I am here to regret 
 nothing I have ever done — to retract nothing I have ever said. 
 I am here to crave with no lying lip the life I consecrate to the 
 liberty of my country. Far from it : even here, — here where 
 the thief, the libertine, the murderer, have left their footprints 
 in the dust, — here on this spot, where the shadows of death 
 surround me, and from which I see my early grave in an ima- 
 nointed soil opened to receive me, — even here, encircled by 
 these terrors, the hope which has beckoned me to the perilous 
 sea upon which I have been wrecked, still consoles, animates, 
 enraptures me. - ^_ p^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 10. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 N^o, I do not despair of my poor old country — her peace, 
 ner liberty, her glory. For that country I can do no more 
 than bid her hope. To lift this island up, to make her a bene- 
 factor, instead of being the meanest beggar in the world ; to 
 
 2 
 
26 SELECTIONS m PEOSE. 
 
 restore to her her native powers and her ancient constitution ;— 
 this has been my ambition, and this ambition has been my 
 crime. Judged by the law of England, I know this crime 
 entails the penalty of death; but the history of Ireland 
 explains this crime and justifies it. Judged by that history, I 
 am no criminal ; you are no criminal ; you are no criminal : I 
 deserve no punishment; we deserve no punishment. Judged 
 by that history, the treason of which I stand convicted loses all 
 its guilt ; is sanctified as a duty ; will be ennobled as a sacrifice. 
 With these sentiments, my lord, I await the sentence of the 
 court — having done what I felt to be my duty, having spoken 
 what I felt to be the truth, as I have d(5ne on every other occa- 
 sion of my short career. I now bid farewell to the country of 
 my birth, my passion, and my death, — the country whose mis- 
 fortunes have invoked my sympathies, whose factions I have 
 sought to still, whose intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim, 
 whose freedom has been my fatal dream. I offer to that 
 countiy as a proof of the love I bear her, and the sincerity 
 with which I thought, and spoke, and struggled for her free- 
 dom, the life of a young heart ; and with that life all the hopes, 
 the honors, the endearments, of an honorable home. Pro- 
 nounce, then, my lords, the sentence which the law directs, 
 and I will be prepared to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared 
 to meet its execution. 1 hope to be able, with a pure heart, 
 and a perfect composure, to appear before a higher tribunal — 
 a tribunal where a Judge of infinite goodness, as well as of 
 justice, will preside, and where, my lords, many, many of the 
 judgments of this world will be reversed. 
 
 T. F. Meaghee 
 
 11. THE INDIAN, AS HE WAS AND IS. 
 
 Not many generations ago, where you now sit, circled witK 
 all that exalts and embellisRes civilized life, the rank thistle 
 nodded in the wind, and the wild fox dug his hole unscared. 
 Here lived and loved another race of beings. Beneath the 
 same sun that rolls over your heads, the Indian hunter pursued 
 the panting deer ; gazing on the same moon that smiles for you, 
 the Indian lover wooed his dusky mate. 
 
 Here the wigwam-blaze beamed on the tender and helpless, 
 the council-fire glared on the wise and daring. Now they 
 dipped their noble limbs in your sedgy lakes, and now they 
 
G. SrEAGUE. — WASHINGTON IRVING. ^7 
 
 paddled the light canoe along your rocky shores. Here they 
 warred ; the echoing whoop, the bloody grapple, the defying 
 death-song, all were here ; and when the tiger-strife was over, 
 here curled the sntoke of peace. ^ 
 
 Here, too, they worshipped ; and from many a dark bosom 
 went up a pure prayer to the Great Spirit. He had not written 
 his laws for them on tables of stone, but he had traced them 
 on the tables of their hearts. The poor child of nature knew 
 not the God of revelation, but the God of the universe he 
 acknowledged in every thing around. 
 
 And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came a 
 pilgrim bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. The former 
 were sown for you ; the latter sprang up in the path of the 
 simple native. Two hundred years have changed the character 
 of a great continent, and blotted forever from its face a whole 
 peculiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and 
 the anointed children of education have been too powerful for 
 the tribes of the ignorant. 
 
 As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows 
 are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the 
 dust. Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, 
 and their war-cry is fast dying to the untrodden West. Slowly 
 and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom 
 in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide 
 which is pressing them away ; they must soon hear the roar of 
 the last wave, which will settle over them forever. 
 
 G. Sprague. 
 
 12. SORROW FOR THE DEAD. 
 (These parts may be spoken together or separately.) 
 
 SoRROV^ for the dead is the only sorrow from which we 
 refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal : 
 every other affliction to forget ; but this wound we consider it 
 a duty to keep open : this affliction we cherish and brood over 
 in solitude. Where is the mother that would willingly forget 
 the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though 
 every recollection is a pang ? where is the child that would 
 willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember 
 be but to lament ? who, even in the hour of agony, would 
 forget the friend over whom he mourns ? who, even when the 
 tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved, and he 
 
28 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portal, 
 would accept consolation that was to be bought by forge tful- 
 ness ? No ; the love which survives the tomb is one of the 
 noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its w§es, it has hkewise 
 its dehghts ; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is 
 calmed into the gentle tear of recollection, when the sudden 
 anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all 
 that we most: loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on 
 all that it was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out 
 such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may sometimes 
 throw a passing cloud even over the bright hour of gaiety, or 
 spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would 
 exchange it even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of 
 revelry ? No ; there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than 
 song : there is a recollection of the dead to which we turn even 
 from the charms of the living. Oh, the grave ! the grave ! It 
 buries every error ; covers every defect ; extinguishes every 
 resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond 
 regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the 
 grave even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, 
 that ever he should have warred with the poor handful of earth 
 that hes mouldering before him ! WAsmNGxoN Ieving. 
 
 13. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 The grave of those we loved — ^what a place for meditation ! 
 There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of 
 virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished 
 upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy : 
 there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful 
 tenderness of the parting scene : the bed of death, with all its 
 stifled griefs : its noiseless attendance : its mute, watchful assi- 
 duities : the last testimonies * of expiring love : the feeble, 
 fluttering, thrilling (Oh ! how thrilling !) pressure of the hand : 
 the last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us even 
 from the threshold of existence : the faint, faltering accents 
 struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection ! ^ 
 
 Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate ! There 
 settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit 
 unrequited, every past endearment unregarded, of that being who 
 can never, never, never return to be soothed by thy contrition ! 
 
WASniNGTON IRVmG. — JOSEPH STOKY. 29 
 
 If tliou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, 
 or a furrow to the silvered broAV of an affectionate parent ; if 
 thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that 
 ventured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment 
 of thy kindness or thy truth ; if thou art a friend, and hast 
 ever wronged in thought, word, or deed, the spirit that gener- 
 ously confided in thee ; if thou art a lover, and hast ever given 
 one unmerited pang to that true heart that now lies cold and 
 still beneath thy feet; then be sure that every unkind look, 
 every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come throng- 
 ing back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul : 
 then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on 
 the grave, and ucter the' unheard groan, and pour the unavailing 
 tear : more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. 
 
 Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of 
 nature about the grave ; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst, 
 with these tender, yet- futile tributes of regret ; but take warn- 
 ing by tlie bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over the dead, 
 and be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy 
 duties to the living. Washington Iuving. 
 
 14. THE DESTINY OF AMERICA. 
 
 We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last, exper- 
 iment of self-government by the people. We have begun it 
 under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are 
 in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by 
 the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been 
 enfeebled by the vices or luxuries of the Old World. Such as 
 Ave are, we have been from the beginning ; simple, hardy, intel- 
 ligent, accustomed to self-government and self-respect. The 
 Atlantic rolls between us and any formidable foe. 
 
 Within our own territory, stretching through many degrees of 
 latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, 
 and many means of independence. The government is mild. 
 The press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or 
 may reach, every home. What fairer prospects of success could 
 be presented ? What means more adequate to accomplish the 
 subhme end ? What more is necessary than for the people to 
 preserve what they themselves have created ? 
 
 Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. 
 
30 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of 
 both oceans. It has infused itself into the hfe-blood of Europe, 
 and warmed the sunny plains of France, and the lowlands of 
 Holland. It has touched the philosophy of Germany and the 
 North, and, moving onward to the South, has opened to Greece 
 the lessons of her better days. 
 
 Can it be that America, under such circumstances, can betray 
 herself ? that she is to be added lo the catalogue of republics, 
 the inscription upon whose ruins is, " They were, but they are 
 not?" Forbid it, my countrymen; forbid it, Heaven! 
 
 Joseph Stoey. 
 
 15. THE B.ESP0NSIBIUTIE8 OF AMERICA. 
 
 The Old World has already revealed to us, in its unsealed 
 books, the beginning and end of all its own marvellous struggles 
 in the cause of liberty. Greece, lovely Greece, ** the land of 
 scholars and the nurse of arms,'' where sister republics in fair 
 procession chanted the praises of liberty and the gods, — where 
 and what is she ? For two thousand years the oppressor has 
 bound her to the earth. Her arts are no more. The last sad 
 rehcs of her temples are but the barracks of a ruthless soldiery ; 
 the fragments of her columns and her palaces are in the dust, 
 yet beautiful in ruin. She fell not when the mighty were upon 
 her. Her sons were united at Thermopylae and Marathon ; and 
 the tide of her triumph rolled back upon the Hellespont. She 
 was conquered by her own factions. She fell by the hands of 
 her own people. The man of Macedonia did not the work of 
 destruction. It was already done, by her own corruptions, 
 banishments, and dissensions. 
 
 Rome, repubUcan Rome, whose eagles glanced in the rising 
 and setting sun, — where and what is she ? The Eternal City 
 yet remains, proud even in her desolation, noble in her decline, 
 venerable in the majesty of religion, and calm as in the com- 
 posure of death. The malaria* has but travelled in the paths 
 worn by her destroyers. More than eighteen centuries have 
 mourned over the loss of her emphe. A mortal disease was 
 upon her vitals before Caesar had crossed the Rubicon. The 
 Goths, and Vandals, and Huns, the swarms of the North, com- 
 pleted only what was already begun at home. Romans betrayed 
 Rome. The legions were bought and sold, but the people 
 offered the tribute-money. 
 
 When we reflect on what has been, and is, how is it possible 
 
JOSEPH STOEY. DK. H. HUMPHREY, 81, 
 
 not to feel a profound sense of the responsibleness of tliis 
 republic to all future ages ! What vast motives press upon us 
 for lofty efforts ! What brilliant prospects invite our enthu- 
 siasm ! What solemn warnings at once demand our vigilance, 
 and moderate our confidence ! j^g^^^ S^^j^y. 
 
 16. THE INDIAN TRIBES. 
 
 The Indians allowed us to abide by our own council-fires, 
 and to govern ourselves as we chose, when they could either 
 have dispossessed or subjugated us at pleasure. We did re- 
 main, and we gradually waxed rich and strong. We wanted 
 more land, and they sold it to us at our own price. Still, we 
 were not satisfied. There was room enough to the West, and 
 we advised them to move further back. If they took our ad- 
 vice, well. If not, we knew how to enforce it. And where are 
 those once terrible nations now ? Driven, alternately, by pur- 
 chase and by conquest, from river to river, and from mountain 
 to mountain, they, have disappeared with their own gigantic 
 forests ; and we, their enUghtened heirs at law, and the sword, 
 now plough up their bones with as much indifference as we do 
 theii arrows. Shall I name the Mohegans, the Pequots, the 
 Iroqv.ois, and the Mohawks ? What has become of them, and 
 of a hundred other independent nations which dwelt on this side 
 of the Mississippi when we landed at Plymouth and at James- 
 town ? Here and there, as at Penobscot, and Marshpee, and 
 Oneida, you may see a diminutive and downcast remnant, wan- 
 dering, like troubled ghosts, among the graves of their mighty 
 progenitors. Our trinkets, our threats, our arms, our whiskey, 
 our bribes, and our vices, have all but annihilated those vast 
 physical and intellectual energies of a native population, which, 
 for more than a hundred and fifty years, could make us quake 
 and flee at pleasure, throughout all our northern, western, and 
 southern borders. Gone is the mighty warrior, the terrible 
 avenger, the heart-bursting orator ! Gone is the terror and 
 glory of his nation ; and gone forever, from our elder states, arc 
 the red men, who, like Saul and Jonathan, " were swifter than 
 eagles, and stronger than lions ;" and who, with the light and 
 advantages which we enjoy, might have rivalled us in wealth and 
 power, in the senate and forum, as I am sure that they would 
 have sui^assed us in magnanimity and justice. 
 
 Da. H. Humphrey 
 
32 SELECTIONS m PEOSIS. 
 
 17. THE MEMORY OF THE GOOD, 
 
 Why is it that the names of Howard, and Thornton, and 
 Clarkson, and Wilberforce, will be held in everlasting remem- 
 brance ? Is it not chiefly on account of their goodness, their 
 Christian philanthropy, the overflowing and inexhaustible be- 
 nevolence of their great minds ? Such men feel that they were 
 not born for themselves, nor for the narrow circle of their kin- 
 dred ftnd acquaintances, but for the world and for posterity. 
 They delight in doing good on a great scale. Their talents, 
 their property, their time, their knowledge, and experience, and 
 iufluence, they hold in constant requisition for the benefit of the 
 poor, the oppressed, and the perishing. You may trace them 
 along the whole pathway of life, by the blessings which they scat- 
 ter far and wide. They may be likened to yon noble river, which 
 carries gladness and fertility from state to state, through all the 
 length of that rejoicing valley, which it was made to bless,; — or 
 to those summer showers which pour gladness and plenty over 
 all the regions that they visit, till they melt away into the glo- 
 rious effulgence of the setting sun. 
 
 Such a man was Howard, the prisoner's friend. Christian 
 philanthropy was the element in which he lived and moved, and 
 out of which life would have been intolerable. It was to him 
 that kings listened with astonishment, as if doubtful from what 
 world of pure disinterestedness he had come. To him despair 
 opened her dungeons, and plague and pestilence could summon 
 no terrors to arrest his investigations. In his presence, crime, 
 though girt with the iron panoply of desperation, stood amazed 
 and rebuked. With him home was nothing, country was noth- 
 ing, health was nothing, life was nothing. His first and last 
 question was, " What is the utmost that I can do for degraded, 
 depraved, bleeding humanity, in all her prison-houses ?" And 
 what wonders did he accomphsh ! what astonishing changes in 
 the whole system of prison discipline may be traced back to his 
 disclosures and suggestions, aifd how many millions, yet to be 
 born, will rise up and call him blessed ! Away, all ye Caesars 
 and Napoleons, to your own dark and frightful domains of 
 slaughter and misery ! Ye can no more endure the light of 
 such a godlike presence, than the eye, already inflamed to tor 
 ture by dissipation, can look the sun in the face at noonday. 
 
 Dr. H. Humphhetc 
 
HENEY CLAY. 33 
 
 18. THE PATRIOT S AMBITION. 
 
 I HAVE been accused of ambition in presenting tliis measure. 
 Ambition ! inordinate ambition ! If I had thought of myselJ 
 only, I should have never brought it forward. I know well the 
 perils to which I expose myself ; the risk of alienating faithful 
 and valued friends, with but little prospect of making new ones, 
 if any new ones could compensate for the loss of those whom 
 we have long tried and loved ; and the honest misconceptions 
 both of friends and foes. Ambition ! If I had listened to its 
 soft and seducing whispers ; if I had yielded myself to the dic- 
 tates of a cold, calculating, and prudential policy, I would have 
 stood still and unmoved. I might even have silently gazed on 
 the raging storm, enjoyed its loudest thunders, and left those 
 who are charged with the care of the vessel of state, to conduct 
 it as they could. I have been heretofore often unjustly accused 
 of ambition. Low, grovelling souls, who are utterly incapable 
 of elevating themselves to the higher and nobler duties of pure 
 patriotism — beings who, forever keeping their own selfish aims 
 in view, decide all public measures by their presumed influence 
 on their aggrandizement — judge me by the venal rule which 
 they prescribe to themselves. I have given to the winds those 
 false accusations, as I consign that which now impeaches my 
 motives. I have no desire for office, not even the highest. Tho 
 most exalted is but a prison, in which the incarcerated incum- 
 bent daily receives his cold, heartless visitants, marks his weary 
 hours, and is cut off from the practical enjoyment of all the 
 blessings of genuine freedom. I am no candidate for any office 
 in the gift of the people of these states, united or separated ; I 
 never wish, never expect to be. Pass this bill, tranquiUize the 
 country, restore confidence and affection in the Union, and I am 
 willing to go home to Ashland, and renounce public service for- 
 ever, I should there find, in its groves, under its shades, on 
 its lawns, amidst my flocks and herds, in the bosom of my fam- 
 ily, sincerity and truth, attachment, and fidelity, and gratitude, 
 which I have not always found in the walks of public life. Yes, 
 I have ambition ; but it is the ambition of being the humble in- 
 strument, in the hands of Providence, to reconcile a divided peo- 
 ple ; once more to revive concord and harmonjr in a distracted 
 land ; the pleasing ambition of contemplating the glorious spec- 
 tacle of a free, united, prosperous, and fraternal people ! 
 
 Henry Clay. 
 2* 
 
34 ' SEJJEOnONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 19. THE CONSEQUENCES OF DISUNION. 
 
 South Carolina must perceive the embarrassments of lief 
 situation. She must be desirous — ^it is unnatural to suppose 
 that she is not — to remain in the Union. 
 
 What ! a state whose heroes in its gallant ancestry fought so 
 many glorious battles along with those of the other states of this 
 Union — a state with which this confederacy is linked by bonds 
 of such a powerful character ! 
 
 I have sometimes fancied what would be her condition if she 
 goes out of this Union ! if her five hundred thousand people 
 should at once be thrown upon their own resources. She is out 
 of the Union. What is the consequence ? She is an indepen- 
 dent power. What then does she do ? She must have armies 
 and fleets, and an expensive government — have foreign missions 
 — she must raise taxes — enact this very tariff^, which had driven 
 her out of the Union, in order to enable her to raise money, and 
 to sustain the attitude of an independent power. If she should 
 have no force, no navy to protect her, she would be exposed to 
 piratical incursions. Her neighbor, St. Domingo, might pom- 
 down a horde of pirates on her borders, and desolate her plant- 
 ations. She must have her embassies, therefore must she have 
 a revenue. 
 
 But I will not dwell on this topic any longer. I say it is ut- 
 terly impossible that South Carohna ever desired, for a moment, 
 to become a separate and independent state. I would repeat 
 that, under all the circumstances of the case, the condition of 
 South Carohna is only one of the elements of a combination, the 
 whole of which together, constitutes a motive of action which 
 renders it expedient to resort, during the present session of Con- 
 gress, to some measure, in order to quiet and tranquillize the 
 country. 
 
 If there be any who want civil war — who want to see the 
 blood of any portion of our countrymen spilt, I am not one of 
 them : I wish to see war of no kind ; but, above all, do I not 
 desire to see a civil war. When war begins, whether civil or 
 foreign, no human foresight is competent to foresee when, or 
 how, or where it is to terminate. But when a civil war shall 
 be lighted up in the bosom of our own happy land, and armies 
 are marching, and commanders are winning their victories, and 
 fleets are in motion on our coast, — tell me, if you can, tell me if 
 any human being can tell, its duration ? God alone knows 
 wliere such a war will end. Hknry Cla^ 
 
HENKY CLAY. JOHN C. CALHOUN. 85 
 
 20. THE UNION. 
 
 I DO not desire to see the lustre of one single star dimmed, of 
 that glorious confederacy which constitutes our political sun ; 
 still less do I wish to see it blotted out, and its light obhterated 
 forever. Has not the state of South Carolina been one of the 
 members of this Union in " days that tried men's souls ?'* Have 
 not her ancestors fought alongside our ancestors ? Have we 
 not, conjointly, won together many a glorious battle ? If we 
 had to go into a civil war with such a state, how would it ter- 
 minate ? Whenever it should have terminated, what would be 
 her condition ? If she should ever return to the Union, what 
 would be the condition of her feelings and affections ? what the 
 state of the heart of her people ? She has been with us before, 
 when our ancestors mingled in the throng of battle ; and as I 
 hope our posterity will mingle with hers, for ages and centuries 
 to come, in the united defence of hberty, and for the honor and 
 glory of the Union, I do not wish to see her degraded or de- 
 faced as a member of this confederacy. 
 
 In conclusion, allow me to entreat and implore each individual 
 member of this body to bring into the consideration of .this 
 measure, which I have had the honor of proposing, the same 
 love of country, which, if I know myself, has actuated me, and 
 the same desire of restoring harmony to the Union, which has 
 prompted this effort. If we can forget for a moment — but that 
 would be asking too much of human nature — if we could sup- 
 press, for one moment, party feelings and party causes — and, 
 as I stand here before my God, I declare I have looked beyond 
 these considerations, and regarded only the vast interests of this 
 united people — I should hope, that under such feelings, and 
 with such dispositions, we may advantageously proceed to the 
 consideration of this bill, and heal, before they are yet bleeding, 
 the wounds of our distracted country. Heney Clay 
 
 21. TAXATION FOR WAR. 
 
 If taxes should become necessary, I do not hesitate to say 
 the people will pay cheerfully. It is for their government and 
 their cause," and would be their interest and duty to pay. But 
 \t may be, and, I believe, was said, that the nation will not pay 
 
Sd SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 taxes, because the rights violated are not worth defending ; (» 
 that the defence will cost more than the profit. 
 
 Sir, I here enter my solemn protest against this low and 
 " calculating avarice" entering this hall of legislation. It is 
 only fit for shops and counting-houses, and ought not to disgrace 
 the seat of sovereignty by its squalid and vile appearance. 
 Whenever it touches sovereign power, the nation is ruined. It 
 is too short-sighted to defend itself. It is an unpromising spirit, 
 always ready to yield a part to save the balance. It is too 
 timid to have in itself the laws of self-preservation. It is never 
 safe but under the shield of honor. Sir, I only kiiDw of tne 
 principle to make a nation great, to produce in this country not 
 the form but real spirit of union, and that is, to protect every 
 citizen in the lawful pursuit of his business. He will then feel 
 that he is backed by the government ; that its arm is his arms, 
 and will rejoice in its increased strength and prosperity. Pro- 
 tection and patriotism are reciprocal. This is the road that all 
 great nations have trod. Sir, I am not versed in this calculating 
 policy, and will not, therefore, pretend to estimate in dollars 
 and cents the value of national independence or national affec- 
 tion. I cannot dare to measure in shillings and pence the 
 misery, the stripes, and the slavery of our impressed seamen ; 
 nor even to value our shipping, commercial, and agricultural 
 losses under the orders in council and the British system of 
 blockade. I hope I have not condemned any prudent estimate 
 of the means of a country, before it enters on. a war. This i? 
 wisdom ; the other, folly. j^^^ C Calhoun. 
 
 22. STATE RIGHTS. 
 
 This bill proceeds on the ground that the entire sovereignty 
 of this country belongs to the American people, as forming one 
 great community, and regards the states as mere fractions or 
 counties, and not as an integral part of the Union. 
 
 It has been said that it declares war against South Carolina. 
 Ko ! It decrees a massacre of her citizens ! War has some- 
 thing ennobling about it, and, with all its horrors, brings into 
 action the highest qualities, intellectual and moral. It was, 
 perhaps, in the order of Providence, that it should be permitted 
 for that very purpose. But this bill declares no war, except, 
 udeed, it be that which savages wage ; a war, not against th(i» 
 
JOHN C. CALHOUN. DANIEL WEBSTER. 87 
 
 community, but the citizens of wliom that community is com- 
 posed. But I regard it as worse than savage warfare — as an 
 attempt to take away hfe, under the color of law, without the 
 trial by jury, or any other safeguard which the constitution has 
 thrown around the life of the citizen ! It authorizes the Presi- 
 dent, or even his deputies, when they may suppose the law to 
 be violated, without the intervention of a court or jmy, to kill 
 without mercy or discrimination. 
 
 It has been said by the senator from Tennessee to be a 
 measure of peace ! Yes, such peace as the wolf gives to the 
 lamb — the kite to the dove ! Such peace as Russia gives to 
 Poland, or death to its victim ! A peace by extinguishing the 
 political existence of the state, by aw*ng her into an abandon- 
 ment of the exercise of every power which constitutes her a 
 sovereign community ! It is to South Carolina a question of 
 self-preservation ; and I proclaim it, that, should this bill pass, 
 and an attempt be made to enforce it, it will be resisted, at 
 every hazard — even that of death itself ! Death is not the 
 greatest calamity ; there are others, still more terrible to the 
 free and brave, and among them may be placed the loss of 
 liberty and honor. There are thousands of her brave sons 
 who, if need be, are prepared cheerfully to lay down their 
 lives in defence of the state, and the great principles of consti- 
 tutional liberty for which she is contending. God forbid that 
 this should become necessary ! It never can be, unless this 
 government is resolved to bring the question to extremity ; 
 when her gallant sons will stand prepared to perform the last 
 duty-to die nobly ! j^^^^ C. Calhoun. 
 
 23. EULOGY UPON JOHN C. CALHOUN. 
 
 Sir, the eloquence of Mr. Calhoun, or the manner of his 
 exhibition of his sentiments in public bodies, was part of his 
 intellectual character. It grew out of the quahties of his mind. 
 It was plain, strong, terse, condensed, concise ; sometimes im- 
 passioned — 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. 
 
38 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 His demeanor as a senator is known to us all — is appreciatcdj 
 venerated by us all. No man was more respectful to others ; 
 no man carried himself with greater decorum, no man with 
 superior dignity. I thmk 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 he »aw before us a 
 senator of Rome, when Rome survived. 
 
 / Mr. President, he had the basis, the indispensable basis, of 
 all high character; and that was, unspotted integrity — unim- 
 peached 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. Firm in his purpose, perfectly patriotic and 
 honest, as I am sure he was, in the principles that he espoused, 
 and in the measures that he defended, aside from that large 
 regard for that species of distinction that conducted him to 
 eminent stations for the benefit of the republic, I do not believe 
 he had a selfish 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 a great name. He has lived long enough, he has done 
 enough, and he has done it so well, so successfully, so honor- 
 ably, as to connect himself for all time with the records of his 
 country. He is now an historical character. Those of us who 
 have known him here, will find that he has left upon our minds 
 and our hearts a strong and lasting impression of his person, 
 his character, and his public performances, which, while we 
 live, will never be obliterated. We shall hereafter, I am sure, 
 indulg3 in it as a gratefus. recollection that we have lived in his 
 age, that we have been 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 when 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 integrity, 
 his amiable deportment in private life, and the purity of his 
 exalted patriotism. ' ^^^^^^ ^^_^^^^_ 
 
DANIEL WEB8TEK. 30 
 
 24. FREE DISCUSSION. 
 
 Important as I deem it to discuss, on all projer occasions, 
 the policy of the measures at present pursued, it is still more 
 important to maintain the right of such discussion in its full and 
 just extent. Sentiments lately sprung up, and now growing 
 fashionable, make it necessary to be exphcit on this point. The 
 more I perceive a disposition to check the freedom of inquiry by 
 extravagant and unconstitutional pretences, the firmer shall be 
 the tone in which I shall assert, and the freer the manner in 
 which I shall exercise it. 
 
 It is the ancient and undoubted prerogative of this people to 
 canvass public measures, and the merits of public men. It is a 
 "home-bred right," a fireside privilege. It hath ever been 
 enjoyed in every house, cottage, and cabin in the nation. It is 
 not to be drawn into ' controversy. It is as undoubted as the 
 right of breathing the air, or walking on the earth. Belonging 
 to private life as a right, it belongs to public life as a duty ; 
 and it is the last duty which those, whose representative I am, 
 shall find me to abandon. Aiming at all times to be courteous 
 and temperate in its use, except when the right itself shall be 
 questioned, I shall then carry it to its extent. I shall place 
 myself on the extreme boundary of my right, and bid defiance 
 to any arm that would move me from my ground. 
 
 This high, constitutional privilege I shall defend and exercise 
 within this house, and without this house, and in all places ; in 
 time of peace, and in all times. Living, I shall assert it ; and, 
 ohould I leave no other inheritance to my children, by the bless- 
 ing of God I will leave them the inheritance of free principles, 
 and the example of a manly, independent, and constitutional de- 
 fence of them. j)^^^^^ Webstee. 
 
 25. AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS. 
 
 Who is there among us, that, should he find himself on any 
 spot of the earth where human beings exist, and where the ex- 
 isteace of other nations is known, would not be proud to say, I 
 am ati American ? I am a countryman of Washington ? I am 
 a citiajen of that republic which, although it has suddenly sprung 
 up, yet there are none on the globe who have ears to hear, and 
 have not heard of it — who have eyes to see, and have not read 
 
10 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. • 
 
 of it — who know any thing, and yet do not know of its existence 
 and its glory ? And, gentlemen, let me now reverse the pic- 
 ture. Let me ask, who there is among us, if he were to be 
 found to-morrow in one of the civilized countries of Europe, and 
 were there to learn that this goodly form of government had 
 been overthrown — that the United States were no longer united 
 —who is there whose heart would not sink within him ? Who 
 is there who would not cover his face for very shame ? 
 
 At this very moment, gentlemen, our country is a general 
 refuge for the distressed and the persecuted of other nations. 
 Whoever is in affliction from political occurrences in his own 
 country, looks here for shelter. Whether he be repubhcan, fly- 
 ing from the oppression of thrones — or whether he be monarch 
 or monarchist, flying from thrones that crumble and fall under 
 or around him — he feels equal assurance that, :f he get foothold 
 on our soil, his person is safe, and his rights will be respected. 
 
 We have tried these popular institutions in times of great ex- 
 citement and commotion; and they have stood substantially 
 firm and steady, while the fountains of the great political deep 
 have been elsewhere broken up ; while thrones, resting on ages 
 of prescription, have tottered and fallen ; and while, in other 
 countries, the earthquake of unrestrained popular commotion has 
 swallowed up all law, and all liberty, and all right together. 
 Our government has been tried in peace, and it has been tried 
 in war ; and has proved itself fit for both. It has been assailed 
 from without, and it has successfully resisted the shock ; it has 
 been disturbed within, and it has effectually quieted the disturb- 
 ance. It can stand trial — it can stand assault — it can stand 
 adversity — it can stand every thing but the marring of its own 
 beauty, and the weakening of its own strength. It can stand 
 ever} thing but the effects of our own rashness and our own 
 folly. It can stand every thing but disorganization, disunion, 
 and nullification. D^^^^^ Webster. 
 
 26. AMERICA. 
 
 It cannot be denied, that with America, and in America, a 
 new era commences in human affairs. This era is distinguished 
 by free representative governments, by entire religious liberty, 
 by improved systems of national intercourse, by a newly 
 awakened and an unconquerable spirit of free inquiry, gjid by a 
 
DANIEL WEBSTKB. 41 
 
 diffusion of knowledge througli the community, such as has 
 been before altogether unknown and unlieard of. America, 
 America, our country, fellow- citizens, our own dear and native 
 land, is inseparably connected, fast bound up, in fortune, and by 
 fate, with these great interests. If they fall, we fall with them ; 
 if they stand, it will be because we have upholden them. Let 
 us contemplate, then, this connection, which binds the pros- 
 perity of others to our own ; and let us manfully discharge all 
 the duties which it imposes. If we cherish the virtues and the 
 principles of our fathers. Heaven will assist us to carry on the 
 work of human liberty and human happiness. Auspicious 
 omens cheer us. Great examples are before us. Our own 
 firmament now shines brightly upon our path. Washington is 
 in the clear upper sky. Other stars have now joined the Amer- 
 ican constellation ; they circle round their centre, and the heav- 
 ens beam with new light. Beneath this illumination let us walk 
 the course of life, and at its close devoutly commend our be- 
 loved country, the common parent of us all, to the Divine be- 
 
 ^^S^^^y- Daniel Webstee. 
 
 27. THE murderer's SECRET. 
 (These parts may be spoken together, or separately.) 
 
 The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and 
 steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. 
 The circumstances, now clearly in evidence, spread out the 
 whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined 
 victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to 
 whom sleep was sweet, the first sound slumbers of the night 
 held him in their soft but strong embrace. The assassin enters, 
 through the window already prepared, into an unoccupied 
 apartment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half 
 lighted by the moon ; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and 
 reaches the door of the chamber. Of this he moves the lock, 
 by soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges without 
 noise ; and he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The 
 room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. The 
 face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and 
 the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged 
 temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given ! 
 and the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, froiu ihe 
 
42 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 repose of sleep to the repose of death ! It is the assassin's pur 
 pose to make sure work ; and he yet piles the dagger, though 
 it was obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of the 
 bludgeon. * He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail 
 in his aim at the heart, and replaces it again over the wounds 
 of the poniard ! To finish the picture, he explores the wrist 
 for the pulse ! He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no 
 longer ! It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, 
 retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he 
 came in, and escapes. He has done the murder — no eye has 
 seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it 
 is safe ! 
 
 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 dis- 
 guises, and beholds every thing, as in the splendor of noon — 
 such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by 
 
 Daniel Webster. 
 
 28. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 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 shed- 
 ding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery : espe- 
 cially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery 
 must 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 slight- 
 est 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 pos- 
 session, 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 or man. A vulture is devouring it, and it asks no sym- 
 pathy or assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret 
 which the murderer possesses, soon comes to possess him ; and. 
 
DJLNIEL WEBSTER. 43 
 
 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 circumstances 
 to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater vio- 
 lence to burst forth. It must be confessed : it will be confessed : 
 there is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is 
 
 ^^^f^^^^^°- Daniel Websti^e. 
 
 29. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF ADAMS FOR THE DECLARATION. 
 
 Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand 
 and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the 
 beginning, Ave aimed not at independence. But there's a Divinity 
 which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven 
 us to arms ; and, Winded to her own interest, for our good, she 
 has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our 
 grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, 
 then, should we defer the declaration ? Is any man so weak 
 as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall 
 leave either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to 
 his own life and his own honor ? Are not you, sir, who sit in 
 that chair ; is not he, our venerable colleague near you ; are you 
 not both, already, the proscribed and predestined objects of 
 punishment and of vengeance ? Cut off from all hope of 
 royal clemency, Avhat are you, what can you be, while the 
 power of England remains, but outlaws ? If we postpone 
 independence, do we mean to carry on or to give up the war ? 
 Do Ave mean to submit to the measures of parliament, Boston 
 port-bill, and all ? Do we mean to submit, and consent that 
 we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and 
 its rights trodden down in the dust ? I knoAV Ave do not mean 
 to submit. We never shall submit. Do Ave intend to violate 
 that most solemn obligation eA'er entered into by men, that 
 plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to Washington, 
 when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well 
 fts the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to 
 
44: SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 him, in every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives ? 1 
 know there is not a man here, who would not rather see a 
 general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink 
 it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted faith to fall to the 
 ground. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, 
 moved you, that George Washington be appointed commander 
 of the forces, raised, or to be raised, for defence of American 
 liberty, may' my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue 
 cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the 
 support I give him. The war, then, must go on. We must 
 fight it through. And, if the war must go on, why put off 
 longer the declaration of independence ? That measure will 
 strengthen us. If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we 
 shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies ; the cause will 
 create navies. The people, if we are true to them, will carry 
 us, and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. 
 
 Daniel Webster. 
 
 30. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with increased 
 courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of 
 privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities, 
 held under a British king, set before them the glorious object 
 of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the 
 breath of life. Read this declaration at the head of the army : 
 every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn 
 vow uttered, to maintain it or to perish on the bed of honor. 
 Publish it from the pulpit : religion will approve it, and the love 
 of religious liberty will cling around it, resolved to stand with 
 it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls ; proclaim it 
 there : let them hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's 
 cannon : let them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons 
 fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington 
 and Concord, — and the very walls will cry out in its support. 
 
 Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs ; but I see 
 clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may 
 rue it. We may not live to the time when this declaration shall 
 be made good. We may die — die, colonists ; die, slaves ; die, 
 it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be it so. If it 
 be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the 
 
DA^^IEL ^VEBSTKK. 45 
 
 poor oflfering of my life, the victim shall be ready, at the 
 appointed hour of sacrifice — come when that hour may. 
 
 But, whatever may be our fate, be assured that this declara- 
 tion will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood ; 
 but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. 
 Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of 
 the future as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, 
 an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will 
 honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, 
 with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return, they will 
 shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, 
 not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and 
 of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My 
 judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. 
 All that I am, all that I have, and all that I hope for, in this 
 life, I am now ready here to stake upon it. Sink or swim, hve 
 or die, survive or perish, I am for the declaration : it is my 
 living sentiment ; and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my 
 dying sentiment : independence now, an^ independence forever ! 
 
 Daniel Webster. 
 
 31. ENCROACHMENTS ON THE CONSTITUTION. 
 
 Whether the consequences be prejudicial or not, if there be 
 dn illegal exercise of power, it is to be resisted in the proper 
 manner. Even if no harm or inconvenience result from trans- 
 gressing the boundary, the intrusion is not to be suffered to pass 
 unnoticed. Every encroachment, great or small, is important 
 enough to awaken the attention of those who are intrusted with 
 the preservation of a constitutional government. We are not to 
 wait till great public mischiefs come, till the government is 
 overthrown, or liberty itself, put in extreme jeopardy. We 
 should not be worthy sons of our fathers, were we so to regard 
 great questions affecting the general freedom. Those fathers 
 accomplished the revolution on a strict question of principle. 
 The parhament of Great Britain asserted a right to tax the 
 colonies in all cases whatsoever, and it was precisely on this 
 question that they made the revolution turn. The amount of 
 taxation was trifling, but the claim itself was inconsistent with 
 liberty ; and that was, in their eyes, enough. It was against 
 the recital of an act of parliament, rather than against any 
 suflfering under its enactments that they took up arms. They 
 
«r SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 went to war against a preamble. They fought seven years 
 against a declaration. They poured out their treasures and their 
 blood like water, in a contest, in opposition to an assertion, 
 which those less sagacious and not so well schooled in the prin- 
 ciples of civil liberty would have regarded as barren phraseology, 
 or mere parade of words. They saw in the claim of the British 
 parliament a seminal principle of mischief, the germ of unjust 
 power ; they detected it, dragged it forth from underneath its 
 plausible disguises, struck at it, nor did it elude e.ther their 
 steady eye, or their well-directed blow, till they had extirpated 
 and destroyed it, to the smallest fibre. On this question of 
 principle, while actual suffering was yet afar off, they raised 
 their flag against a power to which, for purposes of foreign con- 
 quest and subjugation, Rome, in the height of her glory, is not 
 to be compared ; a power which has dotted over the surface of 
 the whole globe with her possessions and military posts ; whose 
 morning drum-beat, following the sun, and keeping company 
 with the hours, circles the earth daily with one continuous and 
 unbroken strain of the tiartial airs of England. 
 
 Daniel Webstee. 
 
 32. THE SENTINELS OF LIBERTY. 
 
 When the members of this house shall lose the freedom of 
 speech and debate ; when they shall surrender the right of 
 publicly and freely canvassing all important measures of the 
 executive ; when they shall not be allowed to maintain their 
 own authority and their own privileges by vote, declaration, or 
 resolution, they will then be no longer free representatives of a 
 free people, but slaves themselves, and fit instruments to make 
 slaves of others. 
 
 Sir, if the people have a right to discuss the official conduct 
 of the executive, so have their representatives. , We have been 
 taught to regard a representative of the people as a sentinel on 
 the watch-tower of liberty. Is he to be blind, though visible 
 danger approaches ? Is he to be deaf, though sounds of peril 
 fill the air ? Is he to be dumb, while a thousand duties impel 
 him to raise the cry of alarm ? Is he not, rather, to catch the 
 lowest whisper which breathes intention or purpose of 
 encroachment on the public liberties, and to give his voice 
 breath and utterance at the first appearance of danger ? Is 
 not his eye to traverse the whole horizon, with the keen and 
 
DANIEL AVEBSTER. 4:7 
 
 eager vision of an unhooded hawk, detecting, through all 
 disgiiibes, every enemy advancing, in any form, towards the 
 citadel which he guards ? Sir, this watchfulness for public 
 liberty, this duty of foreseeing danger and proclaiming it, this 
 promptitude and boldness in resisting attacks on the constitution 
 from any quarter, this defence of established landmarks, this 
 fearless resistance of whatever would transcend or remove them, 
 all belong to the representative character, are interwoven with 
 its very nature, and of which it cannot be deprived, without 
 converting an active, intelligent, faithful agent of the people 
 into an unresisting and passive instrument of power. A repre- 
 sentative body which gives up these rights and duties, gives 
 itself up. It is a representative body no longer. It has broken 
 the tie between itself and its constituents, and henceforth is fit 
 only to be regarded as an inert, self-sacrificed mass, from which 
 all ap'')ropriate principle of vitality has departed forever. 
 
 Daniel Webster. 
 
 '3'3. BUNKER-HILL MONUMENT. 
 
 The Bunker-Hill monument is finished. Here it stands 
 Fortunate in the natural eminence on which it is placed, — higher, 
 infinitely higher, in its objects and, purpose, it rises over the 
 land, and over the sea ; and visible, at their homes, to three 
 hundred thousand citizens of Massachusetts, — it stands, a 
 memorial of the last, and a monitor to the present, and all 
 succeeding generations. I have spoken of the loftiness of its 
 purpose. If it had been without any other design than the 
 creation of a work of art, the granite of which it is composed 
 would have slept in its native bed. It has a purpose ; and that 
 purpose gives it character. That purpose enrobes it with dignity 
 and moral grandeur. That well-known purpose it is which 
 causes us to look up to it with a feeling of awe. It is itself the 
 orator of this occasion. It is not from my lips, it is not from 
 any human lips, that- that strain of eloquence is this day to flow, 
 most competent to move and excite the vast multitudes around. 
 The potent speaker stands motionless before them. It is a plain 
 shaft. It bears no inscriptions, fronting to the rising sun, from 
 which the future antiquarian shall wipe the dust. Nor does the 
 rising sun cause tones of music to' issue from its summit. But 
 at the rising of the sim, and at the setting of the sun, in tl^i 
 blaze of noon-day, and beneath the milder effulgence of lunar 
 
4:8 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 light, it looks, it speaks, it acts, to the full comprehension of 
 every American mind, and the awakening of glowing enthu- 
 siasm in every American heart. Its silent, but awful utterance ; 
 its deep pathos, as it brings to our contemplation the 1*7 th of 
 June, 1175, and the consequences which have resulted to us, 
 to our country, and to the world, from the events of that day, 
 and which we know must continue to rain influence on the 
 destinies of mankind, to the end of time; the elevation with 
 which it raises us high above the ordinary feelings of life • sur- 
 pass all that the study of the closet, or even the inspiration of 
 genius, can produce. To-day, it speaks to us. Its future 
 auditories will be through successive generations of men, as they 
 rise up before it, and gather round it. Its speech will be of 
 patriotism and courage ; of civil and religious hberty ; of free 
 government ; of the moral improvement and elevation of man- 
 kind ; and of the immortal memory of those who, with heroic 
 devotion, have sacrificed their lives for their country. 
 
 Daniel "Webster. 
 
 34. THE CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 America has furnished to the world the character of Wash- 
 ington ! And if our American institutions had done nothing else, 
 that alone would have entitled them to the respect of mankind. 
 
 Washington ! — " First in war, first in peace, and first in the 
 hearts of his countrymen !" — Washington is all our own ! The 
 enthusiastic veneration and regard in which the people of the 
 United States hold him, prove them to be worthy of such a 
 countryman; while his reputation abroad reflects the highest 
 honor on his country and its institutions. I would cheerfully 
 put the question to-day to the intelligence of Europe and the 
 world, what character of the century, upon the whole, stands out 
 in the relief of history, most pure, most respectable, most sub- 
 lime; and I doubt not, that, by a sufi'rage approaching to 
 unanimity, the answer would be, Washington ! 
 
 This structure,* by its uprightness, its solidity, its durability, 
 is no unfit emblem of his character. His public virtues and 
 public principles were as firm as the earth on which it stands ; 
 his personal motives as pure as the serene heaven in which its 
 summit is lost. But, indeed, though a fit, it is an inadequate 
 emblem. Towering high above the column which our hands 
 have builded, beheld, not by the inhabitants of a single city, cr 
 a single State, ascends the colossal grandeur of his character, 
 * Bunker-Hill Monument. 
 
DANIEL WEBSTER. 49 
 
 and his life. In all the constituents of the one, in all the acts 
 of the other, in all its titles to immortal love, admiration, and 
 renown, it is an American production. It is the embodiment 
 and vindication of our transatlantic liberty. Born upon our soil, 
 of parents also born upon it, never for a moment having had a 
 sight of the old world, instructed, according to the modes of his 
 time, only in the spare, plain, but wholesome elementary knowl- 
 edge which our institutions provide for the children of the peo- 
 ple, growing up beneath and penetrated by the genuine influ- 
 ences of American society, growing up amidst our expanding, 
 but not luxurious, civilization, partaking in our great destiny of 
 labor, our long contest with unreclaimed nature and uncivilized 
 man, our agony of glory, the war of independence, our great 
 victory of peace, the formation of the Union and the establish- 
 ment of the Constitution, he is all, all our own ! That crowded 
 and glorious life, 
 
 "Where multitudes of virtues pass along, 
 Each pressing foremost, in the mighty throng 
 Contending to be seen, then making room 
 For greater multitudes that were to come ;" — 
 
 that life was the life of an American citizen. 
 
 I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every darkened 
 moment of the State, in the midst of the reproaches of enemies 
 and the misgiving of friends, I turn to that transcendent name 
 for courage and for consolation. To him who denies, or doubts, 
 whether our fervid liberty can be combined with law, with or- 
 der, with the security of property, with the pursuit and ad- 
 vancement of happiness, — to him who denies that our institutions 
 are capable of producing exaltation of soul, and the passion of 
 true glory, — to him who denies that we have contributed any 
 thing to the stock of great lessons and great examples, — to all 
 these I reply by pointing to Washington ! 
 
 Daniel Webster. 
 
 35. THE responsibility of AMERICANS. 
 
 This lovely land, this glorious liberty, these benign institu- 
 tions, the dear purchase of our fathers, are ours ; ours to enjoy, 
 ours to preserve, ours to transmit. Generations past, and gen- 
 erations to come, hold us responsible for this sacred trust. Our 
 fathers, from behind, admonish us, with their anxious paternal 
 voices ; posterity calls out to us, from the bosom of the future ; 
 the world turns hither its solicitous eyes — all, all conjure us to 
 act wisely and faithfully in the relation which we sustain. We 
 can never, indeed, pav the debt which is upon us ; but by virtue, 
 
 3 
 
50 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 by morality, by religion, by the cultivation of every good prin- 
 ciple and every good habit, we may hope to enjoy the blessing, 
 through our day, and to leave it unimpaired to our children. 
 Let us feel deeply how much of what we are and of what we 
 possess, we owe to this hberty, and these institutions of govern- 
 ment. Nature has, indeed, given us a soil which yields boun- 
 teously to the hands of industry ; the mighty and fruitful ocean 
 is before us, and the skies over our heads shed health and vigor. 
 But what are lands, and seas, and skies, to civilized men, with- 
 out society, without knowledge, without morals, without reli- 
 gious culture ; and how can these be enjoyed, in all their extent, 
 and all their excellence, but under the protection of wise institu- 
 tions and a free government ? There is not one of us, there is 
 not one of us here present, who does not, at this moment, and 
 at every moment, experience in his own condition, and in the 
 condition of those most near and dear to him, the influence and 
 the benefit of this liberty, and these institutions. Let us then 
 acknowledge the blessing ; let us feel it deeply and powerfully ; 
 let us cherish a strong affection for it, and resolve to maintain 
 and perpetuate it. The blood of our fathers — let it not have 
 been shed in vain ; the great hope of posterity — let it not b* 
 
 ^^^^^^^- Daniel VVebstee. 
 
 36. THE VOYAaE OjT THE MAYFLOWER. 
 
 Methinks I see it now : that one solitary, adventurous vessel, 
 the Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with the prospects 
 of a future state, and bound across the unknown sea. I behold 
 it pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, tedious 
 voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and 
 winter surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the 
 sight of tlie wished-for shore. I see them now, scantily sup- 
 plied with provisions, crowded almost to suffocation in their ill- 
 stored prison, delayed by calms, pursuing a circuitous route ; 
 and now driven in fury, before the raging tempest, on the high 
 and giddy waves. The awful voice of the storm howls through 
 the rigging : the laboring masts seem straining from their base : 
 the dismal sound of the pumps is heard : the ship leaps, as it 
 were, madly from billow to billow : the ocean breaks and set- 
 tles with ingulfing floods over the floating deck, and beats with 
 deadening, shivering weight, against the staggered vessel. I 
 see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their all but dcs- 
 
EDWAED EVERETT. 51 
 
 perato undertaking, and landed, at last, after a five months' paS' 
 sage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth : weak and weary from 
 the voyage, poorly armed, scantily provisioned : depending on 
 the charity of , their shipmaster for a draught of beer on board ; 
 drinking nothing but water on shore: without shelter: with- 
 out means : surrounded by hostile tribes. ' ' ■. 
 Shut now the volume of history,' and tell me, on any princi- 
 ple of human probability, what shall be the fate of this handful 
 of adventurers. Tell me, man of military science ! in how many 
 months were they all swept off by the thirty savage tribes 
 enumerated within the early limits of New England ? Tell me, 
 politician ! how long did the shadow of a colony, on which your 
 conventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on the distant 
 coast ? Student of history ! compare for me the baffled pro- 
 jects, the deserted settlements, the abandoned adventures of 
 other times, and find the parallel of this. Was it the winter's 
 storm, beating upon the houseless heads of women and children, 
 was it hard labor and spare meals, was it disease, was it the 
 tomahawk, was it the deep malady of a blighted hope, a ruined 
 enterprise and a broken heart, aching in its last moments at the 
 recollection of the loved and left, beyond the sea, — was it some, 
 or all of these united, that hurried this forsaken company to 
 their melancholy fate ? And is it possible that neither of these 
 causes, that not all combined, were able to blast this bud of 
 hope ? is it possible, that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so 
 worthy, not so much of admiration as of pity, there has gone 
 forth a progress so steady, a growth so wonderful, an expansion 
 so ample, a reality so important, a promise, yet to be fulfilled, 
 
 «^§^^"«"«- EWAED EVEUETT. 
 
 31. THE LAND OF OUR FATHERS. 
 (These parts may be spoken together, or separately,) 
 
 What American does not feel proud that he is descended 
 from the countrymen of Bacon, of Newton, and of Locke ? Who 
 does not know, that while every pulse of civil liberty in the 
 heart of the British empire beat warm and full in the bosom of 
 our fathers, the sobriety, the firmness, and the dignity with 
 which the cause of free principles struggled into existence here, 
 constantly found encouragement and countenance from the sons 
 vf liberty there ? Who do,es not remember that when the Pil- 
 
52 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 grims went over the sea, the prayers of the faithful British con- 
 fessors, in all the quarters of their dispersion, went over with 
 them, while their aching eyes were strained, till the star of hope 
 should go up in the western skies ? And who will ever forget 
 that in that eventful struggle which severed this mighty empire 
 from the British crown, there was not heard, throughout our 
 continent in arms, a voice which spoke louder for the rights of 
 America, than that of Burke or of Chatham, within the walls of 
 the British parliament, and at the foot of the British throne ? 
 No, for myself I can truly say, that after my native land, I feel 
 a tenderness and a reverence for that of my fathers. The pride 
 I take in my own country makes me respect that from which 
 we are sprung. ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^ 
 
 38. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 In touching the soil of England, I seem to return like a de- 
 scendant to the old family seat ; to come back to the abode of 
 an aged, the tomb of a departed parent. I acknowledge this 
 great consanguinity of nations. The sound of my native lan- 
 guage, beyond the sea, is a music to my ear beyond the richest 
 strains of Tuscan softness, or Castilian majesty. I am not yet 
 in a land of strangers while surrounded by the manners, the 
 habits, the forms in which I have been brought up. I wander 
 delighted through a thousand scenes, which the historians, the 
 poets, have mads familiar to us, — of which the names are inter- 
 woven with our earliest associations. I tread with reverence 
 the spots where I can retrace the footsteps of our suffering fa- 
 thers : the pleasant land of their birth has a claim ofi my heart. 
 It seems to me a classic, yea, a holy land, rich in the memories 
 of the great and good ; the martyrs of Hberty, the exiled her- 
 alds of truth ; and richer, as the parent of this land of promise in 
 the west. 
 
 I am not, I need not say I am not, the panegyrist of Eng- 
 land. I am not dazzled by her riches, nor awed by her .power. 
 The sceptre, the mitre, and the coronet, stars, garters, and blue 
 ribbons, seem to me poor things for great men to contend for. 
 Nor is my admiration awakened by her armies, mustered for the 
 battles of Europe ; her navies, overshadowing the ocean ; nor 
 her empire, grasping the furthest East. It is these, and the 
 price of guilt and blood by which they are maintained, which 
 
EDWARD EVEKETT. 53 
 
 are the cause why no friend of hberty can salute her with undi- 
 vided affections. But it is the refuge of free principles, though 
 often persecuted ; the school of religious liberty, the more pre- 
 cious for the struggles to which it has been called ; the tombs 
 of those who have reflected honor on all who speak the English 
 tongue ; it is the birthplace of our fathers, the home of the Pil- 
 grims ; — it is these which I love and venerate in England. I 
 should feel ashamed of an enthusiasm for Italy and Greece, did 
 I not also feel it for a land like this. In an American it would 
 seem to me degenerate and ungrateful, to hang with passion 
 upon the traces of Homer and Virgil, and follow without emo- 
 tion the nearer and plainer footsteps of Shakspeare and Milton ; 
 and I should think him cold in his love for his native lajid, who 
 felt no melting in his heart for that other native land, which 
 holds the ashes of his forefathers. ^^^^^ Eveeett. 
 
 39. THE INFLUENCE OF LAFAYETTE. 
 
 What young man that reflects on the history of Lafayette, 
 that sees him, in the morning of his days, the associate of sages, 
 the friend of Washington, but will stai't with new vigor on the 
 path of duty and renown ? 
 
 And what was it which gave to our Lafayette his spotless 
 fame ? The love of liberty. What has consecrated his memory 
 in the hearts of good men ? The love of liberty. What nerved 
 his youthful arm with strength, and inspired him, in the morn- 
 ing of his days, with sagacity and counsel ? The living love of 
 liberty. To what did he sacrifice power, and rank, and country, 
 and freedom itself? To the horror of licentiousness; to the 
 sanctity of plighted faith ; to the love of liberty protected by law. 
 Thus the great principle of your revolutionary fathers, of your 
 pilgrim sires, the great principle of the age, was the rule of his 
 life : The love of Liberty protected hy Law. 
 
 You have now assembled within these renowned walls to 
 perform the last duties of respect and love, on the birthday of 
 your benefactor, beneath that roof which has resounded, of old, 
 with the master voices of American renown. The spirit of the 
 departed is in high communion with the spirit of the place ;— 
 the temple worthy of the new name which we now behold in- 
 scribed on its walls. 
 
 Listen, Americans, to the lesson which seems borne to us on 
 
54 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 the very air we breathe, while we perform these dutiful rights. 
 Ye winds that wafted the Pilgrims to the land of promise, fan, 
 in their children's hearts, the love of freedom ! Blood which 
 our fathers shed, cry from the ground ; echoing arches of this 
 renowned hall, whisper back the voices of other days ; glorious 
 Washington ! beloved Lafayette ! teach, oh teach us the love 
 
 OF LIBERTY PROTECTED BY LAW ! ^DWARD EvEUETT. 
 
 40. MAN MADE TO LABOR. 
 
 Man is, by nature, an active being. He is made to labor. 
 His whole organization, mental and physical, is that of a hard- 
 working being. Of his mental powers we have no conception, 
 but as certain capacities of intellectual action. His corporeal 
 faculties are contrived for the same end, with astonishing variety 
 of adaptation. Who can look only at the muscles of the hand, 
 and doubt that man was made to work ? who can be conscious 
 of judgment, memory, and reflection, and doubt that man was 
 made to act ? He requires rest, but it is in order to invigorate 
 him for new efforts : to recruit his exhausted powers ; and, as 
 if to show him, by the very nature of rest, that it is means, not 
 end, that form of rest which is most essential and most grateful, 
 sleep, is attended with the temporary suspension of the con- 
 scious and active powers, — an image of death. Kature is so 
 ordered, as both to require and encourage man to work. He is 
 created with wants, which cannot be satisfied without labor. 
 The plant springs up and grows on the spot where the seed was 
 cast by accident. It is fed by the moisture which saturates the 
 earth, or is held suspended in the air ; and it brings with it a 
 sufficient covering to protect its delicate internal structure. It 
 toils not, neither doth it spin, for clothing or food. But man is 
 so created, that let his wants be as simple as th^y will, he must 
 labor to supply them. ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^ 
 
 "^ 41. WHAT GOOD ? 
 
 But I am met with the objection, What good will the monu- 
 ment do ? I beg leave, sir, to exercise my birthright as a Yan- 
 kee, and answer this question by askmg two or three more, — to 
 
EDWARD EVEKETT. 55 
 
 whicli I believe it will be quite as difficult to furnish a satisfac- 
 tory reply. I am asked, What good will the monument do ? 
 And I ask, What good does any thing do ? What is good ? 
 Does any thing do any good ? The persons who suggest this 
 objection, of course, think that there are some projects and un- 
 dertakings that do good ; and I should therefore like to have 
 the idea of good explained, and analyzed, and run out to its ele- 
 ments. When this is done, if I do not demonstrate, in about 
 two minutes, that the monument does the same kind of good 
 that any thing else does, I will consent that the huge blocks of 
 granite, already laid, should be reduced to gravel, and carted off 
 to fill up the mill-pond ; for that I suppose is one of the good 
 things. Does a railroad or a canal do good ? Answer : Yes ; 
 and how ? It facihtates intercourse, opens markets, and in- 
 creases the wealth of the country. But Avhat is this good for ? 
 Why, individuals prosper and get rich. And what good does 
 that do ? Is mere wealth, as an ultimate end ; gold and silver, 
 without an inquiry as to their use ; are these a good ? Cer- 
 tainly not. I should insult this audience by attempting to prove 
 that a rich man, as such, is neither better nor happier than a 
 poor one. But as men grow rich, they live better. Is there 
 any good in this, stopping here ? Is mere animal life, feeding, 
 working, and sleeping like an ox, entitled to be called good ? 
 Certainly not. But these improvements increase the popula- 
 tion. And what good does that do ? Where is the good in 
 counting twelve millions instead of six, of mere feeding, working, 
 sleeping animals ? There is then no good in the mere animal 
 hfe, except that it is the physical basis of that higher moral ex- 
 istence which resides in the soul, the heart, the mind, the con- 
 science ; in good principles, good filings, and the good actions 
 (and the more disinterested, the more entitled to be called good), 
 which flow from them. Now, sir, I say that generous and pat- 
 riotic sentiments (sentiments which prepare us to serve our 
 country, to live for our country, to die for our country), feelings 
 like those which carried Prescott, and Warren, and Putnam to 
 the battle-field, are good : good, humanly speaking, of the high- 
 est order. It is good to have them : good to encourage them : 
 good to honor them : good to commemorate them ; and what- 
 ever tends to cherish, animate, and strengthen such feelings, does 
 as much right-down practical good as filhng low grounds and 
 building raihoads. ^^^^^^ j,^^^^^^; 
 
56 SKLECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 42. ADAMS AND JEFFERSON. 
 
 No, fellow -citizens, we dismiss not Adams and Jefferson t« 
 the chambers of forgetfulness and death. What we admired, 
 and prized, and venerated in them can never die, nor, dying, be 
 forgotten. I had almost said that they are now beginning to 
 live ; to live that life of unimpaired influence, of unclouded fume, 
 of unmingled happiness, for which their talents and services 
 were destined. They were of the select few, the least portion 
 of whose life dwells in tlieir physical existence ; whose hearts 
 have watched while their senses slept ; whose souls have grown 
 up into a higher being ; whose pleasure is to be useful ; whose 
 wealth is an unblemished reputation ; who respire the breath ojf 
 honorable fame; who have deliberately and consciously put 
 what is called life to hazard, that they may live in the hearts of 
 those who come after. Such men do not, cannot die. To be 
 cold, and motionless, and breathless ; to feel not and speak not ; 
 this is not the end of existence to the men w^ho have breathed 
 their spirits into the institutions of their country, who have 
 stamped their characters on the pillars of the age, who have 
 poured their hearts' blood into the channels of the public pros- 
 perity. Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon sacred height, 
 is Warren dead ? Can you not still see him, not pale and pros- 
 trate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly 
 wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honor, with 
 the rose of heaven upon his cheek, and the fire of liberty in his 
 eye ? Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the 
 shades of Vernon, is Washington indeed shut up in that cold 
 and narrow house ? That which made these men, and men like 
 these, cannot die. The hand that traced the charter of inde- 
 pendence is indeed motionless, the eloquent lips that sustained 
 it are hushed ; but the lofty spirits that conceived, resolved, 
 matured, maintained it, and which alone, to such men, " make 
 it life to live," these cannot expire : 
 
 " These shall resist the empire of decay, ' 
 When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away : 
 Cold in the dust the perished heart may lie, 
 But that which warmed it once can never die." 
 
 Edwabd EvEBirrr. 
 
WILLIAM WIKT, 6^ 
 
 43. CIVIL WAR. 
 
 " Quae regio in terris, nostri non plena laboris ?" 
 
 Sir, it was not in the moment of triumph, nor with the 
 fcehngs of triumph, that ^neas uttered that exclamation. It 
 was when, with his faithful Achates by his side, he was survey- 
 ing the works of art with which the palace of Carthage was 
 adorned, and his attention had been caught by a representation 
 of the battles of Troy. There he saw the sons of Atreus, and 
 Priam, and the fierce Achilles. The whole extent of his misfor- 
 tunes, the loss and desolation of his friends, the fall of his 
 beloved country, rushed upon his recollection. 
 
 " Constitit et lachrj^mans, quis jam locus, inc[uit, Achate, 
 Q,u« regio in terris, nostri non plena laboris ?" 
 
 Sir, the passage may hereafter have a closer application to 
 the cause than my eloquent and classical friend intended ; for if 
 the state of things which has already commenced is to go on ; 
 if the spirit of hostihty which already exists in three of our 
 states is to catch, by contagion, and spread among the rest, as, 
 from the progress of the human passions, and the unavoidable 
 conflict of interests, it will too surely do ; — what are we to 
 expect ? Civil wars, arising from far inferior causes, have 
 desolated some of the fairest provinces of the earth. History 
 is full of the afflicting narratives of such wars; and it will 
 continue to be her mournful office to record them, till '• time 
 shall be no longer." But, sir, if you do not interpose your 
 friendly hand, and extirpate the seeds of anarchy which New 
 York has sown, you will have civil war. The war of legislation 
 which has already commenced will, according to its usual course, 
 become a war of blows. Your country will be shaken with 
 civil strife ; your republican institutions will perish in the con- 
 •flict ; your constitution will fall : the last hope of nations will be 
 gone. And what will be the eff'ect upon the rest of the world ? 
 Look abroad at the scenes now passing on our globe, and judge 
 of that eff"ect. The friends of free government throughout the 
 earth, who have been heretofore animated by our example, and 
 have cheerfully cast their glance to it, as to their polar star, to 
 guide them through the stormy seas of revolution, will witness 
 our fall with dismay and despair. The arm that is everywhere 
 lifted in the cause of liberty wfll drop unnerved by the warrior's 
 side. Despotism Avill have its day of triumph, and will accom- 
 plish the purpose at which it too certainly aims. It will cover 
 
 8* 
 
58 SELECTIONS IN TEOSE. 
 
 the earth with the mantle of mourning. Then, sir, when New 
 York shall look upon this scene of ruin, if she have the gener- 
 ous feelings which I believe her to have, it will not be with hei 
 head aloft, in the pride of conscious triumph, " her rapt sou] 
 sitting in her eyes." No, sir ; no ! Dejected with shame and 
 confusion, drooping under the weight of her sorrow, with a 
 voice suflfocated with despair, well may she then exclaim, — 
 
 Quis jam locus, 
 
 Quae regio in terris, Bostri non plena laboris ?" 
 
 William Wikt. 
 
 44. THE POOR INDIAN. 
 
 Poor Indians ! Where are they now ? Indeed, this is a 
 truly afflicting consideration. The people here may say what 
 they please, but, on the principles of eternal truth and justice, 
 they have no right to this country. They say that they have 
 bought it. Bought it ? Yes : — of whom ? Of the poor 
 trembling natives, who knew that refusal would be vain ; and 
 who strove to make a merit of necessity, by seeming to yield 
 with grace what they knew that they had not the power to retain. 
 
 Poor wretches ! No Avonder that they are so implacably 
 vindictive against the white people : no wonder that the rage of 
 resentment is handed down from generation to generation : no 
 wonder that they refuse to associate and mix permanently with 
 their unjust and cruel invaders and exterminators : no wonder 
 that, in the unabating spite and phrensy of conscious impotence, 
 they wage an eternal war, as well as they are able ; that they 
 triumph in the rare opportunity of revenge ; that they dance, 
 sing, and rejoice, as the victim shrieks and faints amid the 
 flames, when they imagine all the crimes of their oppressors 
 collected on his head, and fancy the spirits of their injured 
 forefathers hovering over the scene, smiling with fprocious delight 
 at the grateful spectacle, and feasting on the precious odor as 
 it arises from the burning blood of the white man. 
 
 Yet the people here affect to wonder that the Indians are so 
 very untrasceptible of civilization ; or, in other words, that they 
 so obstinately refuse to adopt the manners of the white men. 
 Go, Virginians, erase from the Indian nation the tradition of 
 their wrongs : make them forget, if you can, that once this 
 charming country Avas theirs ; that over these fields and 
 through tl\ese forests their beloved forefathers once, in careless 
 
WILLIAM WIKT. LEWIS CASS. 59 
 
 gayety, pursued their sports, and hunted their game ; that every 
 returning day found them the sole, the peaceful, and happy 
 proprietors of this extensive and beautiful domain. Go, admin- 
 ister the cup of oblivion to recollections hke these ; and then 
 you will cease to complain that the Indian refuses to be civilized. 
 But, until then, surely it is nothing wonderful that a nation, 
 even yet bleeding afresh from the memory of ancient wrongs, 
 perpetually agonized by new outrages, and goaded into desper- 
 ation and madness at the prospect of the certain i uin which 
 awaits their descendants, should hate the authors of their 
 miseries, of their desolation, their destruction; should hate' 
 their manners, hate their color, their language, their name, 
 and every thing that belongs to them ! No ; never, until time 
 shall wear out the history of their sorrows and their sufferings, 
 will the Indian be brought to love the white man, and to 
 imitate his manners. William Wirt. 
 
 45. THE SUSPENSION OF DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS WITH AUSTRIA. 
 (In recognition of the rights of Hungary.) 
 
 Mr. President, I do not mistake the true position of mj 
 country, nor do I seek to exaggerate her importance. I am 
 perfectly arware that, whatever we may do or say, the immediate 
 march of Austria will be onward in the course of despotism, 
 with a step feebler or firmer, as resistance may appear near or 
 remote, till she is stayed by one of those upheavings of the 
 people, which is as sure to come as that man longs for freedom, 
 and longs to strike the blow which shall make it his. 
 
 Pride is blind, and power tenacious ; and Austrian prid« and 
 power, though they may quail before the signs of the times, 
 before barricades and fraternization, by which streets are made 
 fortresses and armies revolutionists, new and mighty engines in 
 popular warfare, will hold out in their citadel till the last 
 extremity. But many old things are passing away ; and Aus- 
 trian despotism will pass away in its turn. Its bulwarks will be 
 shaken by the rushing of mighty winds, by the voice of the 
 world, wherever its indignant expression is not restrained by the 
 kindred sympathies of arbitrary power. - 
 
 I desire, sir, not to be misunderstood. I do not mean that in 
 all the revolutionary struggles which political contests bring on, 
 it would be expedient for other governments to express their 
 
00 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 feelings of interest or sympathy. I think the) should not ; foi 
 there are obvious considerations Avbich forbid such action, and 
 the value of this kind of moral interposition would be diminished 
 by its too frequent recurrence. It should be reserved for great 
 events — events marked by great crimes and oppressions on the 
 one side, and great exertions and misfortunes on the other, and 
 under circumstances which carry with them the sympathies of 
 the world, like the partition of Poland and the subjugation of 
 Hungary. We can offer public congratulations, as we have 
 done, to people crowned by success in ^heir struggle for 
 freedom. We can oflfer our recognition of their independence 
 to others, as we have done, while yet the effort was pending. 
 Have we sympathy only for the fortunate ? Or is a cause less 
 sacred or less dear because it is prostrated in the dust by the 
 foot of power ? Let the noble sentiments of Washington, in 
 his spirit-stirring reply to the French minister, answer these 
 questions : " Born, sir, in a land of liberty ; having early learned 
 to estimate its value ; having, in a word, devoted the best years 
 of my life to its maintenance, I rejoice whensoever in any 
 country I see a nation imfold the banner of freedom. To call 
 your nation brave, were but common praise. Wonderful people ! 
 Ages to come will read with astonishment the history of your 
 exploits." 
 
 I freely confess that I shall hail the day with pleasure when 
 this government, reflecting the true sentiments of the people, 
 shall express its sympathy for struggling millions seeking, in 
 circumstances of peril and oppression, that liberty which was 
 given to them b)^ God, but has been wrested from them by 
 man. I do not see any danger to the true independence of 
 nations by such a course ; and indeed I am by no means certain 
 that the free interchange of public views in this solemn manner 
 would not go far towards checking the progress of oppression 
 and the tendency to war. j^^^.^^ ^^^^ 
 
 4G. THE SUSPENSION OF DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS WITH AUSTRIA. 
 
 Mk. President, I knoAV that I sliall be accused of a want of 
 sympathy for the Hungarians, whose case excites so much atten- 
 tion here. So far as I am personally concerned, I care nothing 
 for such accusations, for I have a witness within me which pro- 
 nounces them false. But, sir, I should be unwilling to inflict 8 
 
KOBEKT M. T. HUNTEK. 61 
 
 new pang upon the unfortunate Hungarian, by doing any thing 
 to give countenance to the idea that there was any man or class 
 of men here who did not respect and sympathize with him in his 
 misfortunes. I was no uninterested observer of his struggle — 
 no unmoved witness of its final catastrophe. If my good wishes 
 could have availed him, he had them all. I have studied their 
 history with interest, and learned to admire and respect their 
 national character. There is a wild mixture of Oriental fervor 
 and western chivalry about them which has always made them 
 objects of rather a romantic interest. History, that great rec- 
 ord of human affairs, is full of startling contrasts and striking 
 vicissitudes, and the chapter of that great book which belongs 
 to Hungary and her people is nearly as eventful as any. When I 
 first heard, sir, that the Hungarian patriots had been forced to take 
 refuge with the Turk, and seek at his hands the charity of an asy- 
 lum which Christendom refused them, I could but recall the day 
 when that country was the bulwark of Christendom against the 
 Infidel, and Hunniades made good its title to that debatable 
 land between the Crescent and the Cross. When I 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 Cae- 
 sar, threw herself upon those people for succor and protection. 
 The scene arose before me, as it appears on the pictured page of 
 Macauley, 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 
 imagination, 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 in- 
 terpose in his favor and give him armed assistance : still less 
 would it be of any avail to offer him such a resolution of sympa- 
 thy as this. There is not, sir, on the page of history, an in- 
 stance of a nation which has maintained its liberty by foreign 
 aid ; for the moment the protecting hand is withdrawn, it must 
 fall, unless it has some internal resources — some means within 
 itself of maintaining its independence, and for self-defence. 1 
 have said, sir, that this resolution of sympathy will do the Hun- 
 garian 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 
 '-he final catastrophe of Poland was probably hastened by im- 
 
62 SEIJ]X)TiONS IK PEOSE. 
 
 prudent speeches made in the British House of Commons and 
 the French Chamber of Deputies. It is said that those impru- 
 dent 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 suffer- 
 ings 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 ray own country. I 
 give Hungary my best wishes, my earnest sympathy ; but I 
 prefer my own country to any other, and I cannot sacrifice iu 
 interests for 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 de- 
 mands of sympathy ; yet, sir, truth and justice are of higher 
 obhgation, and ought to be of higher consideration still.* Mr. 
 President, I cannot vote for this resolution. I owe it not only, 
 to my own coimtry, but to the rights of man, of which so much 
 is said, to preserve the wise and long-established policy of the 
 former, and to stand by the principle of non-intervention as a 
 high moral defence and security for the other. 
 
 Robert M. T. Huntee.* 
 
 47. THE president's PROTEST. 
 
 The immediate question is upon the rejection of the President's 
 message. It has been moved to reject it — to reject it, not after it 
 was considered, but before it was considered ! and thus to tell 
 the American people that their president shall not be heard, — • 
 should not be allowed to plead his defence, in the presence of 
 the body that condemned him, neither before nor after it ! This 
 is the motion ; and certainly no enemy to the senate could wish 
 it to miscarry. The President, in the conclusion of his message, 
 has respectfully requested that his defence might be entered 
 upon the journal of the senate — upon that same journal which 
 contains the record of his conviction. This is the request of the 
 President. Will the senate deny it ? Will they refuse this 
 act of sheer justice and common decency ? Will they go fur- 
 ther, and not only refuse to place it on the journal, but refuse 
 even to suffer it to remain in the senate ? Will they refuse to 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Virginia. 
 
THOMAS II. BENTON. , 63 
 
 permit it to remain on file, but send it back, or throw it out of 
 doors, without condescending to reply to it? for that is the 
 exact import of the motion now made ! Will senators exhaust 
 their minds, and their bodies also, in loading this very commu- 
 nication with epithets, and then say that it shall not be received ? 
 Will they receive memorials, resolutions, essays, from all that 
 choose to abuse the President, and not receive a word of de- 
 fence from him ? Will they continue the spectacle which has 
 been presented here for three months — a daily presentation of 
 attacks upon the President from all that choose to attack him, 
 young and old, boys and men — attacks echoing the very sound 
 of this resolution, and which are not only received and filed 
 here, but printed also, and referred to a committee, and intro- 
 duced, each one with a lauded commentary of set phrase ? — are 
 the senate to receive all these, and yet refuse to receive from 
 the object of all this attack, one word of answer ? In this point 
 of view, as a question concerning the senate itself, it may become 
 material to the senate, in a country and in an age when no tri- 
 bunal is too high for public opinion to reach it — it may become ' 
 material to the senate, in such a countiy and such an age, to 
 reject and throw out of doors the calm and temperate defence 
 of the President, in the midst of the reception of a thousand me- 
 morials and resolutions condemning him for the very act which 
 he is not allowed to defend. Is he to be the only citizen who 
 is not to be heard by the senate ; upon Avhom it seems to be 
 lawful for 'every one to lavish billingsgate rhetoric, whose edu- 
 cation and manners qualify him for the application of it ? Re- 
 jected or not, that communication cannot be secreted from the 
 eyes of the American people. It has been read, and will be 
 printed. An independent press will carry it to the extremities 
 of the country, and hand it down to succeeding generations. It 
 will be compared with speeches delivered for three months in 
 this capifbl against this president ; and an enlightened and up- 
 right community will decide between the language of the de- 
 fence and the language of the accusation ; between the temper 
 of the accusers and the temper of the accused ; between the 
 ■violent President who has violated the constitution and the 
 laws, and the meek and gentle senators who have sat in judg- 
 ment upon him for it. The people will see these things — will 
 compare them together — Avill judge for themselves ; and that 
 judgment, in this free and happy land, will be the final and su- 
 preme award, from which there is no appeal. 
 
 Thomas H. Benton.* 
 * U. S. Senator from Missouri. 
 
64t SELECTIONS IN TEOSE. 
 
 48. THE RIGHT TO DISCUSS PRESIDENTIAL ACTS. » 
 
 The gentleman has referred to the contest to be foughl 
 between Uberty and power; and I say, that if the contest did 
 not originate here, it is made when we are not permitted to 
 speak of the administration in terms that we believe to be true, 
 without being denounced for it. The President of the United 
 States certainly demands a degree of forbearance from his 
 pohtical opponents ; but am I to be told, that one can only 
 allude to him in the humble language of a degraded Roman 
 senate, speaking of the emperor with his Prsetorian guards 
 surrounding the capitol ? Am I to be told, when he came into 
 power on principles of reform, after ** keeping the word of 
 promise to our ear, and breaking it to our hope," — am I to be 
 told that I must close my lips, or be denounced for want of 
 decorum ? Am I to be told, when he promised to prevent 
 official influence from interfering with the freedom of elections, 
 that I must not speak of the broken promise, under pain of the 
 displeasure of his friends ? Am I to be tpld, when he came 
 into power as a judicious tariff man, after advocating his prin- 
 ciples and aiding in his election, — believing at the time in his 
 integrity, though I did not believe him possessed of intellectual 
 qualifications, — am I to be told, after pledges that have been 
 violated, promises that have been broken, and principles thai 
 have been set at naught, that I must not speak of these things 
 as they are, for fear of being denounced for want of courtesy 
 to the constituted authorities ? Why, to wliat pass are wo 
 come ! Are we to be gagged — reduced to silence ? If nothing 
 else is left to us, the liberty of speech is left, and it is our duty 
 to cry aloud and spare not, when the undenied, admitted, and 
 declared fact before us is, that these pledges have been made, 
 and have been violated. This administration is about to end, 
 and if gentlemen can succeed in preventing us from complaining 
 of being deceived — if they can reduce us to abject slavery, they 
 will also have to expunge tlie history of the country, the 
 President's written and recorded communications to congress, 
 and the most ardent professions of his friends, when fighting 
 his battles, before they can conceal the recorded fact, that he 
 has made pledges which he has violated, and promises which he 
 has repeatedly broken. If they succeed in reducing us to 
 slavery, and closing our hps against speaking of the abuses of 
 this administration, thank God, the voice of history, trumpet- 
 
\VILLIAM B. PKESTON. JOHN EANDOLPH. 65 
 
 tongued, will proclaim these pledges, and the manner in which 
 they have been violated, to future generations. 
 
 Neither here nor elsewhere will I use language, with regard 
 to any gentleman, that may be considered indecorous ; and the 
 question not easily solved is, how far shall we restrain ourselves 
 in expressing a just and necessary indignation ; and whether 
 the expression of such indignation may be considered a departure 
 from courtesy ? That indignation, that reprobation, I shall 
 express on all occasions. But those who have taken upon 
 themselves the guardianship of the Grand Lama, who is sur- 
 rounded by a light which no one can approach, — about whom 
 no one is permitted to speak Avithout censure, — have extended 
 that guardianship to the presiding officer of this house. Gentle- 
 men are not permitted to speak of the qualifications of that 
 offi.cer for the highest office in the government. Shall we, sir, 
 because he is here as presiding officer of this body, keep silent 
 when he is urged upon the people, who are goaded and driven 
 to his support, lest we be guilty of an indecorum against those 
 who are the constituted authorities of the country ? Thank 
 God, it is not my practice to " crook the phant hinges of the 
 knee, that thrift may follow fawning." 
 
 This aggression of power upon our liberties, sir, and this tame 
 submission to aggression, forebode evil to this nation. ** Coming 
 events cast their shadows before them," deepening and dark- 
 ening, and, as the sun sets, the shadoAvs lengthen. It may be 
 the going "down of the great luminary of the republic, and that 
 we all shall be enveloped in one universal political darkness ! 
 
 William B. Pueston* 
 
 49. BRITISH INFLUENCE. 
 
 Against whom are these charges of British predilection 
 brought? Against men who, in the war of the revolution, 
 were in the councils of the nation, or fio-htine: the battles of 
 your country. 
 
 Strange, that we should have no objection to any other people 
 or government, civilized or savage, in the whole world ! The 
 great autocrat of all the Russias receives the homage of our 
 high consideration. The Dey of Algiers and his divan of pirates 
 are a very civil, good sort of people, with whom we find no diff^- 
 
 * U. S. Senator from South Carolina. 
 
6© SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 culty in maintaining the relations of peace and amity. *' Turks, 
 Jews, and Infidels," or the barbarians and savages of every 
 clime and color, are welcome to our arms. With chiefs of 
 banditti, negro or mulatto, we can treat and can trade. Name, 
 however, but England, and all our antipathies are up in arms 
 against her. Against whom? Against those whose blood 
 runs in our veins ; in common with whom, we claim Shakspeare, 
 and JN'ewton, and Chatham, for our countrymen ; whose 
 government is the freest on earth, our own only excepted ; 
 from whom every valuable principle of our own institutions has 
 been borrowed — representation, trial by jury, voting the sup- 
 plies, writ of habeas corpus — our whole civil and criminal juris- 
 prudence. In what school did the worthies of our land, the 
 Washingtons, Henrys, Hancocks, Franklins, Rutledges, of 
 America, learn those principles of civil liberty which were so 
 nobly asserted by their wisdom and valor ? American resistance 
 to British usurpation has not been more warmly cherished by 
 these great men and their compatriots — not more by Washing- 
 ton, Hancock, and Henry — than by Chatham and his illustrious 
 associates in the British parhament. 
 
 It ought to be remembered, too, that the heart of the 
 English people was with us. It was a selfish and corrupt 
 ministry, and their servile tools, to whom we were not more 
 opposed than they were. I trust that none such may ever exist 
 among us ; for tools will never be wanting to subserve the 
 purposes, however ruinous or wicked, of kings and ministers of 
 state. I acknowledge the influence of a Shakspeare and a 
 Milton upon my imagination, of a Locke upon my understand- 
 ing, of a Sidney upon my poHtical principles, of a Chatham 
 upon qualities which, would to God, I possessed in common 
 with that illustrious man ! This is a British influence v*^hich I 
 can never shake ofi-. j^^^ Rakdolph.*- 
 
 50. WAR WITH FRANCE. 
 
 France has been placed before the world by her rulers in 
 the most false position ever occupied by a brave and gallant 
 nation. She believes herself to be insulted, and what is the 
 consequence ? She refuses to pay a debt now admitted to be 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Virginia. 
 
JAJklES BUCHAJ^AX. 67 
 
 just by all the branches of her government. Her wounded 
 feelings are estimated by dollars and cents ; and she withholds 
 twenty-five 'millions of francs, due to a foreign nation, to soothe 
 her injured pride. How are the mighty fallen ! Truly it may 
 be said, the days of her chivalry are gone. Have the pride and 
 the genius of Napoleon left no traces of themselves under the 
 constitutional monarchy ? In private life, if you are insulted by 
 an individual to whom you are indebted, what is the first im- 
 pulse of a man of honor ? To owe no pecuniary obligation to 
 the man who has wounded your feelings ; to pay him the debt 
 instantly, and to demand reparation for the insult ; or, at the 
 least, to hold no friendly communication with him afterwards. 
 
 The only question with you now, is not one of substance, but 
 merely whether these explanations are in proper form. But in 
 regard to the United States, the question is far different. What 
 is with you mere etiquette, is a question of life and death to 
 them. Let the President of the United States make the apology 
 which you have dictated — let him once admit the right of a 
 foreign government to question his messages to congress, and to 
 demand explanations of any language at which they may choose 
 to take offence, and their independent existence as a government, 
 to that extent, is virtually destroyed. 
 
 We must remember that France may yield with honor ; we 
 never can without disgrace. Will she yield ? That is the ques- 
 tion. She must still believe that the people of this country are- 
 divided in opinion in regard to the firm maintenance of their 
 rights. In this she will find herself entirely mistaken. But 
 should congress, at the present session, refuse to sustain the 
 President, by adopting measures of defence, — should the prece- 
 dent of the last' session be followed for the present year, then I 
 shall entertain the most gloomy forebodings. The father of his 
 country has informed us that the best mode of preserving peace 
 is to be prepared for war. I firmly believe, therefore, that a 
 unanimous vote of the senate in favor of the resolutions now 
 before them, to follow to Europe the acceptance of the media- 
 tion, would, almost to a certainty, render it successful. It would 
 be an act of the soundest policy, as Avell as of the highest pat- 
 riotism. It would prove, not that we intend to menace France, 
 because such an attempt would be ridiculous, but that the 
 American people are unanimous in the assertion of their rights, 
 and have resolved to prepare for the worst. A French fleet is 
 nov/ hovering upon our coasts ; and shall we sit still, with au 
 overflowing treasury, and leave our country defenceless ? This 
 will never be said with truth of the American Congress. • 
 
68 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 ' If war should come, which God forbid. — if France should 
 still persist in her efforts to degrade the American people in the 
 person of their chief magistrate, we may appeal to heaven for 
 the justice of our cause, and look forward with confidence to 
 victory from that Being in whose hands is the destiny of nations 
 
 James Buchanan * 
 
 51. WAR WITH FRANCE. 
 
 1 AGREE with the hoiiorable senator that France owes us 
 twenty-five millions of francs, and that she assigns an insuffi- 
 cient reason for withholding payment. But this is the whole 
 head and front of her offending. We have no other complaint 
 against her. Would it be expedient and proper for us to make 
 war for such a cause ? There is no other cause of complaint on 
 our part. France has in no way offended against us on this oc- 
 casion, except only by her failure to pay the money in question. 
 Shall we go to war to enforce its payment ? 
 
 It is needless to discuss the question. Thank God, the dan- 
 ger of this war has passed by, and we have, as I believe, an al- 
 most certain assurance of reconciliation and peace with France. 
 Such an issue of this controversy cannot be regarded otherwise 
 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 threatened. 
 
 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, certainly 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 in- 
 glorious 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 ignoble strife. 
 On its barren fields the laurel cannot flourish. In the sordid 
 
 * U. S. Senator from rennsylvunia. 
 
JOHN J. CKITTENDKN-. — ^JOHN M. BEKKIEN. 69 
 
 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 nations can doubt 
 but the contest would be fierce, bloody, and obstinate. Sup- 
 pose, however, that our success is such as finally to enable 
 us to dictate terms to France, and to oblige her to pay the 
 money. Imagine, Mr. Presidefit, that the little purse, the prize 
 of war and carnage, is at last obtained. There it is, sir, stained 
 with the blood of Americans, and of Frenchmen, their ancient 
 friends. Could you, sir, behold or pocket that blood-stained 
 purse without some emotions of pain and remorse ? 
 
 John J. Crittenden.* 
 
 62. THE MEXICAN WAR. 
 
 Sir, there is a responsibility, direct, immediate, which may 
 not be disregarded, which we are compelled to recognize. He 
 is recreant from all the duties of an American senator, of an 
 American citizen, who will not obey its behests. It is our re- 
 sponsibihty to our immediate constituents — to the American 
 people. To them we must render an account of the origin of 
 this war, of the manner in which it is conducted, of the purposes 
 for which it is prosecuted. That people, sir, are awake to these 
 inquiries. The excitement of feeling, produced by the first in- 
 telligence from the Rio Grande, has given place to reflection. 
 In the fervor of that feeling they did not stop to inquire into the 
 indignity okrired to Mexico, by the occupation of a disputed ter- 
 ritory — (of a territory which we ourselves had admitted to be 
 the subject of negotiation) — of the erection of a fort on the east- 
 ern bank of the Rio Grande, and the pointing of our cannon on 
 the town of Matamoras. All this was forgotten in the excite- 
 ment of the moment. American blood had been shed, and it 
 must be avenged. They are calmer now. That feeling has 
 been appeased. Whatever indignity was offered by Mexican 
 officers to American arms, nas been washed out by Mexican 
 blood, which flowed so copiously at Palo Alto, Resaca de la 
 Palma, and at Monterey. Great God ! is not this sufficient 
 atonement to Christian men ? Sir, the indignity has been ex- 
 piated ; and now the inquiries are, with what views is this war 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Kentucky. 
 
70 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 still prosecuted ? Witli what object has our army been pushed 
 into the heart of Mexico ? What do you expect to gain, which 
 it may consist with your honor, or even with your interest, to 
 receive ? For what practical purposes, for what attainable ob- 
 jects, to what end, useful and honorable to the United States, 
 is that army maintained there, and still urged onward, at such 
 an expense, of blood and treasure, — loading us with a national 
 debt, to be redeemed by a burdensome . taxation, and involving 
 a wanton sacrifice of the lives of our patriotic citizens, who have 
 flocked to the national standard ? Will you . go before the 
 American people, gallant, generous, noble-minded, as you know 
 they are, and tell them the national honor has been redeemed, 
 the shed blood of our people has been avenged by the gallantry 
 of our army ; and that now we are fighting to despoil a stricken 
 foe of such portion of her territory as may indemnify us for the 
 expense of vindicating our honor ? Beheve me, they will reject 
 the appeal with scorn and indignation. The inquiries which I 
 have presented will be reiterated in your ears — not perhaps by 
 politicians — certainly not by party presses — assuredly not by 
 those ardent spirits who, tired of the dull pursuits of civil life, 
 seek mihtary glory at whatever cost ; but they will be made by 
 the patriotic yeomanry, by the merchant, the mechanic, the 
 manufacturer, by men of all occupations — by the moral, reli- 
 gious, conservative portion of our countrymen, constituting in 
 numbers a proportion of the American people whose voice may 
 not be disregarded. They will call upon you to consider that 
 within two short years you found this people free, prosperous, 
 and happy — with every department of industry flourishing, with 
 an ample revenue, and at peace with the world — and they will 
 point to the condition to which you have reduced us. 
 
 Mr. President, in the bustle of the pubhc mart, in the quiet 
 retirement of the domestic fireside, these inquiries and these re- 
 flections now press upon the minds of our countrymen with 
 a force and intensity which I have no power to express, and 1 
 pray senators to receive^ in the spirit in which it; is oflfered, the 
 warning which I give them^ that they, and that I must answer 
 
 * U. S. Senator fr'^m Gep*-gia. 
 
ANDREW P. BUTLEE. 73 
 
 53. THE UNION. 
 
 There has been much said about the feeling of a portion of 
 this Union as being ready to dissolve it. I am not to be terri- 
 fied or controlled by any imputations of that kind. This Union 
 has its uses, just according to the use that is made of it. It 
 may be used as a great trust to effect the greatest ends that 
 time ever committed to human institutions ; and it is in the 
 power of patriots and statesmen to make it subserve these ends. 
 But Avhen it shall be made a mere instrument of partial legisla- 
 tion, and to pander to the views and ends of hypocritical dema- 
 gogues, it will cease to be an object of veneration, unless its 
 worshippers shall be like those of Juggernaut, who regard it as 
 a pious service to prostrate themselves and be crushed by the 
 wheels of his car. I believe I am one of its real friends, and 
 the charge of criminal design upon its duration comes with an 
 ill grace from those who have adhered to selfish and unjust pur- 
 poses. 
 
 Those who have introduced here the doctrines which we are 
 called upon to question, have no right to measure the extent of 
 my opposition. What that measure will be I do not know. I 
 am willing to accede to any peaceful constitutional measure 
 which will tend to preserve the Union itself ; these means may 
 be too long disregarded ; there is a limit. I am astonished 
 when I hear the language sometimes used by the representatives 
 from the " old thirteen ;" from Massachusetts, Connecticut, 
 Rhode Island, New York, and New Jersey, making war upon 
 their brethren of the southern sections of the Union, whicli 
 seems to me but the policy that results in their own suicide. 
 They give way to these wild fanatical suggestions of policy 
 in disregard of those admonitions which should address them- 
 selves to them from their past history, as vfell as in view of 
 their future destiny. They are waging a war against their 
 interest, under the influence of feelings which were inculcated 
 by. their ancestors, and sowing the seeds of disunion. 
 
 I have said what I designed to say at this time, but with it I 
 would, if I dared, make a suggestion to the administration, 
 which has now, in a measure, the control of the destinies of this 
 country ; and it would be, that they should not experiment upoi* 
 the disaffection which exists in one portion of this Union. I 
 know, sir, it is deeper, far deeper than has ever been exhibited 
 on this floor. I fear it has been too much disguised. And it 
 is not confined to South Carolina, as some seem to consider, 
 
f 2 SELECTIONS IN PKOBE." 
 
 Some would be glad to see her isolated from others, and 
 thereby made an easier victim. The people of other southern 
 states are speaking out, and if events are not arrested, there 
 will be but one voice, and that voice will come from the mass 
 of the people. The press and politicians cannot much longer 
 delude them. What state may be the first to be involved in 
 measures of resistance I know not. South Carolina has some- 
 times cried out as a sentinel. But there are others having greater 
 interests at stake, and which will be put ultimately in great 
 danger. They will look to their security and interests, and all 
 will move as one man. It is for those who have the destinies 
 of this nation in their hands to say how far they will respect the 
 feelings of the South. ^^^^^^ p^ 3^^^^^ 
 
 54. THE SOUTH AND THE UNION. 
 
 The honorable gentleman, sir, spoke with eloquent fervor of 
 the deep and abiding attachment of the South to the blessed 
 union of these states. I am not about to call in question the 
 sincerity of his declaration. When the blessings, vast, number- 
 less, unexampled, which, by the providence of God, that union 
 has conferred upon the people of our country, are for one 
 moment considered, no mind not utterly bhnded to our best and 
 dearest interests — no heart not utterly dead to the happiness of 
 the hunian race, and the hopes of civil liberty itself, can be 
 indifferent as to its preservation. What has it not done for 
 human happiness and human advancement ? From the lowest 
 condition of anarchy, disorder, and weakness — of poverty and 
 national degradation — it has raised us to an eminence of his:h 
 and enviable prosperity and strength, of respect in the eyes of 
 all nations, of regular government ; and has established and 
 built up all the institutions of social and civil life, for which I 
 know not what history of the world furnishes a parallel. When 
 did the light of heaven ever shine down upon more glorious and 
 indubitable proofs of the efficiency and wisdom of human 
 government than the condition of our country now displays ? 
 1^0 all these, the South cannot be insensible — cannot but indulge 
 patriotic pride, and feel attachments to the Union, not to be 
 sundered for light and temporary causes, for imaginary griev- 
 
 * U. S. Senator from South Carolina 
 
GEORGE EVANS. 73 
 
 aiiues, for doubtful and contested theories of political economy. 
 It will not calmly see this Union rent in twain, to be followed 
 by what no human sagacity can foresee. But, much as the 
 South is attached to the Union, it is attached to liberty more. 
 Liberty is the first object of all its efforts and aspirations. Is 
 the honur.kble gentleman quite sanguine that liberty, even at 
 the South, vv^ill long survive the dissolution of the Union ? Does 
 he hold thb bond of fate ? Can he cast its horoscope ? I am 
 not disposed to enter into invidious comparisons, nor to question 
 the resources, the capacity, the ability of the South to maintain 
 a separate gov^ernment, and to occupy a high position among 
 the nations of the world. It is not unbecoming, however, to 
 suggest to those who are most ardent in their faith, to weigh 
 well all the considerations — to calculate all the vicissitudes per- 
 taining to a subject r^o awfully momentous. If that disastrous 
 event should occur, and an independent government be estab- 
 lished at the South, — are all the rivakies, the passions, the 
 ambition, the interests which agitate the bosoms of men, and 
 shake societies and communities, as Avith an earthquake, to be 
 smothered and annihilated ? Are the hidden fires which heave 
 empires from their deep foundations to be extinguished ? Will 
 no sources of discord remain — no clouds float in the clear vault 
 over their heads ? He has read the annals of our race, and 
 studied the liuman character to little purpose, who indulges in 
 reveries like these. . How is it, even now ? Is there entire 
 unanimity of principle or purpose at the South ? Do contig- 
 uous states, separated only by a narrow stream, entirely har- 
 monize ? In view of these things, Avhat assurance can the 
 gentleman have that, whatever befall the Union, liberty will 
 still fix her chosen abode at the South ? Is there any thing sc 
 peculiar in its institutions, its principles, its policy, as to induce 
 the fond belief that her last footsteps on earth will be found 
 there ? In after ages, if some zealous votary, groping among 
 the fallen ruins and scattered fragments of her temples, to 
 rescue some monument of her existence from the remorseless 
 hand of time, shall explore the vestiges she haa left, will he 
 exclaim of the South, exclusively, in the language of the Roman 
 poet, " hie illius arma — hie currus fuit ?" 
 
 Sir, it is " better to bear the ills we have" than to seek a 
 remedy in the dark chaos of disunion. All history admonishes 
 us of its deplorable results. Faction, commotion, discord, civil 
 war, — how have they not written awful lessons, as inscriptions 
 upon the tombstones of nations ! Does it not become us, then, 
 the South as well as the North, the East no less than the West, 
 
 4 
 
74 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 to start back from this yawning and fathomless abyss of disunion, 
 whose depths no human eye can reach, and from which the 
 groans of buried empires send back fearful warning? God 
 grant that we may not blindly, madly, rashly, plunge in, to 
 explore for ourselves the dark recesses of its dreary caverns ! 
 
 Geokse Evans.* 
 
 55. THE UNION. 
 
 But a few days since, I visited the hall where the immortal 
 Washington, after carving out the liberty which we, in common 
 with twenty-five millions of our fellow-beings, this day enjoy, 
 with a victorious, yet unpaid army, who adored him, under his 
 command, surrendered his commission and his sword volun- 
 tarily to the representatives of a few exhausted colonies. That 
 sublime occasion yet imparts its sacred influences to the place, 
 and there is eloquence in its silent walls. But where, said I, 
 are the brave and patriotic spirits who here fostered the germ 
 of this mighty empire ? Alas ! they have gone to their 
 rewards, and the clods of the valley lie heavily on their hearts ; 
 while we, their ungrateful children, with every element of good 
 before us, forgetting the mighty sacrifices ^they made for their 
 descendants, trifle with the rich blessings we inherited, and are 
 ready, with sacrilegious hands, to despoil the temple of liberty 
 which they reared by years of toil and trial, and cemented in 
 blood and tears. Oh ! could we not have defei*red this inhuman 
 struggle until the departure from amongst us of the revolutionary 
 soldier, with his bowed and tottering frame, and his once bright 
 eye dimmed ? Ask him the cost of liberty, and he will " shoulder 
 his crutch and tell how fields were won," and tell you of its 
 priceless value. And yet we are shamelessly struggling in his 
 sight, like mercenary children, for the patrimojiy, around the 
 death-bed of a common parent, by whose industry and exertion 
 it was accumulated, before the heart of him who gave them 
 existence had ceased to pulsate. Amid all these conflicts, it has 
 been my policy to give peace and stability to the Union, to 
 silence agitation, to restore fraternal relations to an estranged 
 brotherhood, and to lend my feeble aid in enabling our common 
 cpuntry to march onward to the glorious fruition which awaits 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Maine. 
 
DANIEL S. DICKINSON. 75 
 
 her. 1 have opposed, and will hereafter oppose, the monster 
 disunion, in any and every form, and howsoever disguised, or 
 in whatsoever condition — whether in the germ, or the stately 
 upas, with its wide-spread branches ; whether it comes from the 
 North or the South, or the East or the West ; and whether it 
 consists in denying the South her just rights, or in her demand- 
 ing that to which she is not entitled. The union of these states, 
 in the true spirit of the constitution, is a sentiment of my life. 
 It was the dream of my early years ; it has been the pride and 
 joy of manhood ; and, if it shall please Heaven to spare me to 
 age, I pray that its abiding beauty may beguile my vacant and 
 solitary hours. I do not expect a sudden disruption of the 
 political bonds which unite the states of this confederacy ; but 
 I greatly fear a growing spirit of jealousy and discontent and 
 sectional hate, which must, if permitted to extend itself, finally 
 destroy the beauty and harmony of the fabric, if it does not raze 
 it to its foundation. It cannot be maintained by force, and majori- 
 ties in' a confederacy should be admonished to use their power 
 justly. Let no one suppose that those who have been joined to- 
 gether will remain so, despite the commission of mutual wrongs, 
 because they have once enjoyed each other's confidence and 
 affection, and propriety requires them to remain united. A 
 chafed spirit, whether of a community or an individual, may be 
 goaded beyond endurance, and the history of the world has 
 proved thai the season of desperation which succeeds is awfully 
 reckless of consequences. But woe be to him by whom the 
 offence of disunion comes ! He will be held accursed when the 
 bloody mandates of Herod and Nero shall be forgiven ; and be 
 regarded as a greater monster in this world than he who, to sig- 
 nalize his brutal ferocity, reared a monument of thousands of 
 human skulls ; and, in the next, 
 
 " The common damned will shun his society, 
 And look upon themselves as fiends less k»u1." 
 
 Daniel S. Dickinson.* 
 
 56. A DEFENCE OF DANIEL WEBSTER. 
 
 Sir, in regard to the denunciation of the sentiment of my 
 honorable friend from Massachusetts, I have something to say, 
 
 * U. S. Senator from New York. 
 
76 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 The opinion expressed in this denunciation is, that it would ht 
 a natural and easy step for the senator from Massachusetts to 
 take, to join the enemies of his country in war : in other words, 
 to turn traitor, and merit by his treason the most ignominious 
 of all deaths, with an immortality of infamy beyond the grave ! 
 And for what ? The senator from Massachusetts had expressed 
 a preference for the constitution to the capitol of his country. 
 He had dared to declare that he prized the magna charta of 
 American liberty, — the sacred bond, of our union, the tie which 
 binds together twelve millions of freemen, — above the stones and 
 mortar which compose the crumbling mass within whose walls 
 we are assembled. " The very head and front of his offending 
 hath this extent : no more." No man here has questioned, in the 
 most violent moments of party excitement — not amidst the 
 fiercest of all political strife — his purity of purpose in debate. 
 Grant to him, what all others who have any title to the char- 
 acter of gentlemen demand for themselves, that he believed 
 what he said ; grant that, in his judgment, as well as that of 
 many here, the very existence of our liberties is involved in the 
 surrender of the principle he contended for; grant that the 
 concentration of legislative and executive power in the hands of 
 a single man is the death-blow to the constitution, and that the 
 senator was right in considering the proposed appropriation as 
 establishing the very principle which gave that fatal blow ; — 
 and who is he that, thus believing, would support that proposi- 
 tion, because the guns of the enemy were battering at the walls 
 of the capitol ? Where is the coward — where is the traitor, 
 who would not rather see the capitol than the constitution of 
 his country in ruins ? or who would lend himself to the estab- 
 lishment of a despotism among us, with a view to save this 
 building for the despot to revel in ? Sir, in the days when 
 Themistocles led the Athenians to victory at Salamis, he 
 advised them to surrender their capitol for the preservation of 
 the constitution of their country. That gallant people rose 
 under the impulse of patriotism as one man, and with a stern 
 resolution to yield life itself rather than abandon their liberties, 
 and surrender the proud privilege of legislating for themselves 
 to the delegate of a Persian despot, who offered them "all 
 their own dominions, together with an accession of territory 
 ample as their wishes, upon the single condition that they 
 should receive law and suffer him to preside ih Greece." At 
 that eventful period of their history, Crysilus alone proposed 
 the surrender of their constitution to save the capitol ; and 
 they stoned him to death. The public indignation was not yet 
 
 I 
 
JOHN M. CLAYTON. THOIMAS COKWIN. Y7 
 
 satisfied ; for the Athenian matrons then rose and inflicted the 
 same punishment on his wife. Leaving their capitol, and their 
 noble city, rich as it was with the productions of every art, 
 and ghttering all over with the proudest trophies and the most 
 splendid temples in the world ; deserting, in the cause of free 
 government, the very land that gave them birth, they embarked 
 on board their ships, and fought that battle, the name of which 
 has made the bosoms of freemen to thrill with sympathy in all 
 the ages that have followed it, and shall cause the patriot's 
 heart to beat higher with emotion through countless ages to 
 come. 
 
 I repeat, sir, what no man who knows the senator from 
 Massachusetts has ever doubted, that he was sincere in declaring 
 that he viewed the proposition under debate as involving the 
 surrender of the most valuable trust reposed in us by the con- 
 stitution to a single man ; and as one which, while it delegates 
 the legislative power to the executive, establishes a precedent 
 to prostrate the constitution forever. I do not feel, however, 
 that his conduct needs vindication from me or any other ; for, 
 although the transient spirit of party may have sought to 
 obscure his exalted character in the eyes of those who are easily 
 led by misrepresentation into error, honorable fame has already 
 encircled his temples with a wreath of unfading verdure, and 
 impartial history shall hereafter emphatically designate him, 
 amidst all. the compatriots of his day, as the able, the eloquent, 
 the fearless champion and defender of his country's constitution. 
 
 John M. Clayton."* 
 
 O/. THE WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 Sir, I scarcely understand the meaning of all this myself. If 
 we are to vindicate our rights by battles, in bloody fields of 
 war, let us do it. If that is not the plan, why then let us call 
 back our armies into our own territory, and propose a treaty 
 with Mexico, based upon the proposition that money is better 
 for her and land is better for us. Thus we can treat Mexico 
 like an equal, and do honor to ourselves. But what is it you 
 ask ? You have taken from Mexico one-fourth of her territory, 
 and you now propose to run a line comprehending about another 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Delaware. 
 
78 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 third, and for what ? 1 ask, Mr. President, for what ? What 
 has Mexico got from you for parting with two-thirds of her do- 
 main ? She has given you ample redress for every injury of 
 which you have complained. She has submitted to the award 
 of your commissioners, and, up to the time of the rupture with 
 Texas, faithfully paid it. And for all that she has lost (not 
 through or by you, but which loss has been your gain), what 
 requital do we, her strong, rich, robust neighbor, make ? Do 
 we send our missionaries there, "to point the way to heaven ?" 
 Or do we send the schoolmasters to pour daylight into her dark 
 places, to aid her infant strength to conquer freedom, and reap 
 the fruit of the independence herself alone had won ? No, no ; 
 none of this do we. But we send regiments, storm towns, and 
 our colonels prate of liberty in the midst of the solitudes their 
 ravages have made. , They proclaim the empty forms of social 
 compact to a people bleeding and maimed with wounds received 
 in defending their hearth-stones against the invasion of these 
 very men who shoot them down, and then exhort them to be 
 free. Your chaplain of the navy throws aside the New Testa- 
 ment and seizes a bill of rights. He takes military possession 
 of some town in California, and instead of teaching the plan of 
 the atonement and the way of salvation to the poor, ignorant 
 Celt, he presents Colt's pistol to his ear, and calls on him to 
 take " trial by jury and habeas corpus," or nine bullets in his 
 head. Oh ! Mr. President, are you not the lights of the earth, 
 if not its salt ? 
 
 What is the territory, Mr. President, which you propose to 
 wrest from Mexico ? It is consecrated to the heart of the Mex- 
 ican by many a well-fought battle with his old Castilian mas- 
 ter. His Bunker Hills, and Saratogas, and Yorktowns are 
 there ! The Mexican can say, " There I bled for liberty ! and 
 shall I surrender that consecrated home of my affections to the 
 Anglo-Saxon invaders ? What do they want with it ? They 
 have Texas already. They have possessed themselves of the 
 territory between the Nueces and the Rio Grande, What else 
 do they want ? To what shall I point my children as memorials 
 of that independence which I bequeath to them, when those 
 battle-fields shall have passed from my possession ?" 
 
 Sir, had one come and demanded Bunker Hill of the people 
 of Massachusetts — ^had England's lion ever showed himself 
 there, is there a man over thirteen and under ninety who would 
 not have been ready to meet him, — is there a river on this con- 
 tinent that would not have run red with blood, — is there a field 
 but would have been piled high with the unburied bones of 
 
THOMAS COEWm. — JEFFEESON DAVIS. 79 
 
 siuugliterc'd Americans, before these consecrated battle-fields of 
 liberty should have been wrested from us ? 
 
 Thomas Coewin * 
 
 58. THE EXPLOITS OF GEN. TAYLOR. 
 
 Mr. President, this whole country was thrown into one gen- 
 eral burst of joy, our towns were illuminated when the little 
 army on the Rio Grande repulsed, beat on two fields, a Mexican 
 army three times their number, advantageously posted, and 
 fighting with obstinacy proportionate to their numerical supe- 
 riority ; but why recount it ? It was an army, according to the 
 senator's dictum, which could have been held in check by two 
 hundred and fifty Texan rangers. Is it true, sir, that those sol- 
 diers who had spent their lives in acquiring their profession, 
 with an army of two thousand men, than which none was ever 
 more favorably composed for desperate service, old soldiers and 
 young leaders, performed only what two hundred and fifty 
 Texan rangers could have done so much more effectually ? 
 Shades of Ringgold, Mcintosh, Barbour, Ridgely, and Duncan, 
 and thou, the hero of the Mexican war, let not your ashes be 
 disturbed ! The star of your glory will never be obscured by 
 such fogs and fleeting clouds as that. It will continue to shine 
 brighter and brighter as long as professional skill is appreciated, 
 or bravery is admired, or patriotism has a shrine in the Ameri- 
 can heart. 
 
 But, sir, it was not alone in the United States that the mih- 
 tary movements and achievements on the Rio Grande were 
 viewed with admiration. 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 Isa- 
 bel 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. 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Ohio. 
 
iiO SELECTIONS m prose. 
 
 1 have spoken thus as a simple duty, not from any unkindnest 
 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 
 liave 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 
 Buena Vista, fought after he had been recommended by his 
 senior general to retire to Monterey. 
 
 Ai'ound 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 ; some who, never having seen a battle, were eager for 
 the combat, without knowing how direful it would be ; imme- 
 diately about him those loving and beloved, and reposing such 
 confidence in their commander that they but waited his beck 
 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 be 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 
 so often beaten, or close the conqueror's career as became the sol- 
 dier. His purpose never wavered, his determination never fal- 
 tered ; his country's honor to be untarnished, his country's flag 
 to triumph, or for himself to find an honorable grave, was the 
 only alternative he considered. Under these circumstances, on 
 the morning of the 23d of February, that glorious but bloody 
 conflict commenced. It won foa* 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 is 
 conscious of his services, and possesses a discrimination that is 
 not to be confounded by the assertions of any, however high 
 their position. .toEKsex D^ns.* 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Mississippi. 
 
STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS. 81 
 
 59. OBEDIENCE TO THE CONSTITUTION. 
 
 Our forefathers held that the people had an inherent right tc 
 establish such constitution and laws for the government of them- 
 selves and their posterity, as they should deem best calculated 
 to insure the protection of life, hberty, and the pursuit of happi- 
 ness ; and that the same might be altered and changed as expe- 
 rience should satisfy them to be necessary and proper. Upon 
 this principle the constitution of the United States was formed, 
 and our glorious Union established. All acts of congress passed 
 in pursuance of the constitution are declared to be the supreme 
 laws of the land, and the Supreme Court of the United States is 
 charged with expounding the same. All officers and magis- 
 trates, under the federal and state governments — executive, 
 legislative, judicial, and ministerial — are 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 natural- 
 ized citizen takes an oath to support it. Fidelity to the consti- 
 tution 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 evangel- 
 ist, and appeals to his God for the sincerity of his vow to sup- 
 port the constitution. He who does this with a mental reser- 
 vation or* secret intention to disregard any provision of the 
 constitution, commits a double crime — is morally guilty of per- 
 fidy 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 the w411 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 revolutionary fathers was foolishness, and 
 their piety wickedness, and destroy the only system of self- 
 government that has ever realized the hopes of the friends oi 
 freedom, and commanded the respect of mankind, it becomes us 
 to wait patiently until the purposes of the Latter Day Saint? 
 shall be revealed* unto us. 
 
 For my part, I am prepared to maintain and preserve invio- 
 late the constitution as it is, with all its compromises, to stanc? 
 
 4-* 
 
82 SELECTIONS LN PEOSE. 
 
 or fall by the American Union, clinging with the tenacity of life 
 to all its glorious memories of the past and precious hopes ot 
 
 f'^^^^^^^e- Stephen A. Douglas* 
 
 60. THE DEATH OF O CONNELL. 
 
 There is sad news from Genoa. An aged and weary pil- 
 grim, who can travel no further, passes beneath the gate of one 
 of her ancient palaces, saying with pious resignation as he enters 
 its silent chambers, *' Well, it is God's will that I shall never 
 see Rome. I am disappointed. But I am ready to die. It is 
 all right." The superb though fading queen of the Mediterra- 
 nean holds anxious watch, througU ten long days, over that 
 majestic stranger's wasting frame. And now death is there — 
 the Liberator of Ireland has sunk to rest in the Cradle of Co- 
 lumbus. 
 
 Coincidence beautiful and most sublime ! It was the very 
 day set apart by the elder daughter of the Church for prayer 
 and sacrifice throughout the world, for the children of the sa- 
 cred island, perishing by famine and pestilence in their homes 
 and in their native fields, and on their crowded paths of exile, 
 on the sea and in the havens, and on the lakes, and along the 
 rivers of this far distant land. The chimes rung out by pity for 
 his countrymen were O'Connell's fitting knell ; his soul went 
 forth on clouds of incense that rose from altars of Christian 
 charity ; and the mournful anthems which recited the faith, and 
 the virtue, and the endurance of Ireland, were his becoming 
 requiem. 
 
 It is a holy sight to see the obsequies of a soldier, not only of 
 civil liberty, but of the liberty of conscience — of a soldier, not 
 only of freedom, but of the Cross of Christ — of a benefactor, not 
 merely of a race of people, but of mankind. The vault lighted 
 by suspended worlds is the temple within which .the great so- 
 lemnities are celebrated. The nations of the earth are mourn- 
 ers ; and the spirits of the just made perfect, descending from 
 their golden thrones on high, break forth" into songs. 
 
 Behold now a nation which needeth not to speak its melan- 
 choly precedence. The lament of Ireland comes forth from 
 palaces deserted,' and from shrines restored ; from Boyne's dark 
 water, witness of her desolation, and from Tar??s lofty hill, ever 
 
 * U. S. Senator from IlUnois. 
 
WILLIAM H. SEWiLRD. E. A. HANNEGAN. 83 
 
 echoing her renown. But louder and deeper yet that wailing 
 comes from the lonely huts on mountain and on moor, where 
 the people of the greenest island of all the seas are expiring in 
 the midst of insufficient though world-wide charities. Well in- 
 deed may they deplore O'Connell, for they were his children ; 
 and he bore them 
 
 " A love so vehement, so strong', so pure, 
 That neither age could change nor art could cure." 
 
 William H. Sewabd.* 
 
 61. THE OREGON TERRITORY. 
 
 The honorable senatorf has arrayed before us the mighty na- 
 val power of England, the number of her ships of war, her sail- 
 ors, and her guns, and the comparatively diminutive force wo 
 present. If that senator by this intended to awe us into a com- 
 promise, by the surrender of our own territory, it was certainly 
 both ill-timed and ill-planned ; that would have better become 
 a secret session. The idea of surrendering without an effort, 
 because of the numerical superiority of the enemy, whether in 
 guns or men, is new to me in military history. I admit that it 
 is right and proper to examine the force of Great Britain, but at 
 the same time we ought not to forget or undervalue our own. 
 The American people cannot be alarmed ; they arc not to be 
 awed by any such representations. 
 
 But the senator of South Carolina]; is wedded to a. different 
 plan — a plan which avoids all action. He is for leaving the 
 whole matter to the silent, quiet, noiseless operation of time, and 
 the gradual encroachments of our hardy and enterprising settlers, 
 who have gone, and are going, into the territory. 
 
 But do gentlemen flatter themselves that we can thus take 
 Oregon, and England know nothing of it ? Will the Enghsh not 
 understand this pohcy as well as we ? And when they perceive 
 the plan hkely to take effect, will they not be on their guard ? 
 If we press our population upon them, will they not, in turn, 
 press their pauper population upon us ? Which of the two 
 plans will most consult the honor of this country ? Which story 
 shall we rather have on record as a heritage to our posterity — 
 the plan of the honorable senator to get the territory by silent 
 
 * U. S. Senator from New York. 
 + Mr. Clayton, of Delaware. 
 i Mr. Calhoun. 
 
84 - SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 encroachment, or that advocated by gentlemen on the othei 
 side, who are for demanding the territory because it is our& ? 
 Shall we take it openly and boldly, by a straight-forward, manly 
 course ? — or shall we get it covertly, slily, stealthily ? No ! 1 
 will not say stealthily ; I will not employ any term that may 
 imply the slightest disrespect to the honorable senator : I will 
 not say stealthily, but I will say eircuitously ; yes, that is the 
 word — circuitously. I would not say any thing that could be a 
 cause of offence to the honorable gentleman from South Caro- 
 lina. I have no such feelings towards him. I hold that honor- 
 able senator in too much respect ; I have too much esteem and 
 regard for him. I would not, for the world, pluck one leal 
 from the laurel that enwreathes his venerated brow. He has 
 ably served his countiy in many and various important stations. 
 I hope and trust he will do nothing that shall mar the page in 
 this nation's history which he is destined to fill. I respect his 
 acquisitions ; above all, I venerate his virtues — the spotless pu- 
 rity of his private life. But the senator's course is circuitous ; 
 ours is direct. Which, I ask, will do most honor to a country like 
 this ? Which will read the best ? Sir, how will it read alongside 
 of the history of "76 ? Then the whole population of a range of 
 Atlantic colonies, sooner than submit to the exaction of a slight 
 tax, took up arms, and went into the appeal of battle. They stood 
 for their rights in many a bloody field ; and they conquered 
 those rights from the mightiest and the haughtiest power the 
 world ever saw. Such was the first chapter of our history, read 
 and studied by the nations of the Old World. But what is to 
 be the second chapter ? At first we had but three millions of 
 people ; now we have twenty millions. Our wealth, our power, 
 our energy, have increased in more than a like proportion. And 
 now the same old enemy claims a great empire on our western 
 coast ; and th3 descendants of the same people resolve, sooner 
 than resist, to surrender their rights, and let her take it. I trust 
 no such chapter is to be written in our history. 
 
 Mr. President, I have but uttered the rights of my country ; 
 and by their side I plant myself, ready to abide the issue — come 
 peace, come war. ^ ^ Hanxeo.^.» 
 
 * U. 8. Senator from Indiana. 
 
KUFUS CHOATE. 85 
 
 62, THE HEROISM OF THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 If one were called on to select the most glittering of the iii- 
 'Btances of military heroism to which the admiration of the 
 world has been most constantly attracted, he would make 
 choice, I imagine, of the instance of that desperate valor, in 
 which, in obedience to the laws, Leonidas and his three hun- 
 dred Spartans cast themselves headlong, at the passes of Greece, 
 on the myriads of their Persian invaders. From the simple 
 page of Herodotus, longer than from the Amphyctionic monu- 
 ment, or the games of the commemoration, that act speaks still 
 to the tears and praise of all the world. 
 
 Judge if, that night, as they watched the dawn of the last 
 morning their eyes could ever see ; as they heard with every 
 passing hour the stilly hum of the invading host, his dusky 
 lines stretched out without end, and now almost encircling 
 them around : as they remembered their unprofaned home, 
 city of heroes and of the mothers of heroes, — ^judge if, watch- 
 ing there, in the gate-way of Greece, this sentiment did not 
 grow to the nature of madness, if it did not run in torrents of 
 literal fire to and from the laboring heart ; and when morning 
 came and passed, and they had dressed their long locks for 
 battle, and when, at a little after noon, the countless invading 
 throng was seen at last to move, was it not with a rapture, as 
 if all the jby, all the sensation of life was in that one moment, 
 that they cast themselves, with the fierce gladness of mountain- 
 torrents, headlong on that brief revelry of glory ? 
 
 I acknoAvledge the splendor of that transaction in all ita 
 aspects. I admit its morality, too, and its useful inflf^ence on 
 every Grecian heart, in that greatest crisis of. Greece. 
 
 And yet, do you not think, that whoso could, by adequate 
 description, bring before you that winter of the Pilgrims, — its 
 brief sunshine ; the nights of storm, slow waning ; the damp 
 and icy breath, felt to the pillow of the dying ; its destitutions, 
 its contrasts with all their former experience in life; its utter 
 insulation and loneliness ; its death-beds and burials ; its mem- 
 ories ; its apprehensions ; its hopes ; the consultations of the pru- 
 dent; the prayers of the pious; the occasional cheerful hymn, 
 in which the strong heart threw off its burden, and, asserting 
 its unvanquished nature, went up, like a bird of dawn, to the 
 skies ; — do ye not think that whoso could describe them calmly 
 waiting in tliat defile, lonelier and darker than Thermopylae, for 
 a morning that might never dawn, or might show them, when 
 
36 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 it did, a miglitier arm than the Persian, raised as in act to strike, 
 would he not sketch a scene of more difficult and rarer hero- 
 •sm? A scene, as Wordsworth has said, "melancholy, yea, 
 Jismal, yet consolatory and full of joy ;" a scene, even better 
 fitted to succor, to exalt, to lead the forlorn hopes of all great 
 causes, till time shall be no more ! 
 
 I have said that I deemed it a great thing for a nation, in all 
 the periods of its fortunes, to be able to look back to a race of 
 founders, and a principle of institution, in which it might ration- 
 ally admire the realized idea of true heroism. That felicity, 
 that pride, that help, is ours. Our past, with its great erd^s, 
 that of settlement, and that of independence, should announce, 
 should compel, should spontaneously evolve as from a germ, a 
 wise, moral, and glowing future. Those heroic men and women 
 should not look down on a dwindled posterity. That broad 
 foundation, sunk below frost or earthquake, should bear up 
 something more permanent than an encampment of tents, 
 pitched at random, and struck when the trumpet of march 
 sounds at next daybreak. It should bear up, as by a natural 
 growth, a structure in which generations may come, one after 
 another, to the great gift of the Social Life. 
 
 RuFus Choate.* 
 
 63. POPULAR EXCITEMENT IN ELECTIONS. 
 
 Sir, I not only maintain that the people are exempt from the 
 charge of violence, but that there is a tendency to carry the 
 feeling of indiff'erence to public afiairs to a dangerous extreme. 
 From the peculiar structure and commercial spirit of modern 
 society, and the facilities presented, in our country, for the ac- 
 quisition of wealth, the eager pursuit of gain predominates over 
 our concern for the afiairs of the Republic. This is, perhaps, 
 our national foible. Wealth is the object of ou^: idolatry, and 
 even liberty is worshipped in the form of property. Although 
 this spirit, by stimulating industry, is unquestionably excellent 
 in itself, yet it is to be apprehended that, in a period of peace 
 and tranquillity, it will become too strong for patriotism, and 
 produce the greatest of national evils — popular apathy. 
 
 We have been frequently told, that the farmer should attend 
 to his plough, and the mechanic to his handicraft, during the 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Massachusetts. 
 
GEOKGE McDUFFIE. 87 
 
 canvass for the Presidency. Sir, a more danorerous doctrine 
 could not be inculcated. If there is any spectacle from the con- 
 templation of which I would shrink with peculiar horror, it 
 would be that of the great mass of the American people sunk 
 into a profound apathy on the subject of their highest political 
 interests. Such a spectacle would be more portentous to the 
 eye of intelligent patriotism, than all the monsters of the earth, 
 and fiery signs of the heavens, to the eye of trembhng supersti- 
 tion. If the people could be indififerent to the fate of a contest 
 for the Presidency, they would be unworthy of freedom. If I 
 were to perceive them sinking into this apathy, I would even 
 apply the power of political galvanism, if such a power could be 
 found, to rouse them from their fatal lethargy. Keep the peo- 
 ple quiet ! Peace ! peace ! Such are the whispers by which the 
 people are to be lulled to sleep, in the very crisis of their high- 
 est concerns. Sir, *' you make a solitude, and call it peace !" 
 Peace ? 'Tis death ! Take away all interest from the people, in 
 the election of their Chief Ruler, and liberty is no more. What, 
 sir, is to be the consequence ? If the people do not elect the 
 President, some body must. There is no special providence to 
 decide the question. Who, then, is to make the election, and 
 how will it operate ? You throw a general paralysis over the 
 body politic, and excite a morbid action in particular members. 
 The general patriotic excitement of the people, in relation to the 
 election of the President, is as essential to the health and energy 
 of the political system, as circulation of the blood is to the health 
 and energy of the natural body. Check that circulation, and 
 you inevitably produce local inflammation, gangrene, and ulti- 
 mately death. Make the people indifferent, destroy their 
 legitimate influence, and you communicate a morbid violence to 
 the eff'orts of those who are ever ready to assume the control of 
 such afiairs — the mercenary intriguers and interested office- 
 hunters of the country. Tell me not, sir, of popular violence ! 
 Show me a hundred political factionists — men who look to the 
 election of a President as the means of gratifying their high or 
 their low ambition — and I will show you the very materials for 
 a mob, ready for any desperate adventure connected with their 
 common fortunes. The reason of this extraordinary excitement 
 is obvious. It is a matter of self-interest, of personal ambition. 
 The people can have no such motives. They look only to the 
 interest and glory of the country. ^^^^^^ McDuffie.* 
 
 * U. S. Representative from South Carolina. 
 
88 SELECHOKS LN PEOSE. 
 
 64. THE DESTINY OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 Sir, is not the language of Berkley in the progress of fulfil- 
 ment, when he wrote that immortal line — 
 
 " Westward the star of empire takes its way ?" 
 
 When Oregon shall be in our possession, when we shall hav( 
 established a profitable trade with China through her ports, 
 when our ships traverse the Pacific as they now cross the 
 Atlantic, and all the countless consequences of such a state of 
 things begin to flow in upon us, then will be fulfilled that 
 vision which rapt and filled the mind of Nunez as he gazed over 
 the placid waves of the Pacific. 
 
 I will now address myself for a moment to the moral aspect 
 of this great question. Gentlemen have talked much and 
 eloquently about the horrors of war. I should regret the 
 necessity of a war ; I should deplore its dreadful scenes ; but if 
 the possession of Oregon gives us a territory opening upon the 
 nation prospects such as I describe, and if, for the simple 
 exercise of our rights in regard to it. Great Britain should wage 
 war upon us — an unjust war — the regret which every one must 
 feel will, at least, have much to counterbalance it. One ol 
 England's own writers has said : " The possible destiny of the 
 United States of America, as a nation of one hundred millions 
 of freemen, stretching from the Atlantic to the Pacific, living 
 under the laws of Alfred, and speaking the language of Shaks- 
 peare 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 ot 
 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 
 together, and what a picture do they present to the mental eye ! 
 Civilization 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 vei-gc of the Pacific shores, then, unlike the fabled 
 god of the ancients, who dipped his glowing axle in the western 
 w.ive, they will take up their permanent abode ; then shall wo 
 
HEOTiY W. IIILLTAKD. S. S. PRENTISS. 89 
 
 enjoy the sablime destiny of returning these blessings t^ 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 treasure 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 out 
 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. I 
 hope the day is not distant — soon, soon may its dawn arise- 
 to shed upon the farthest and the most benighted of nations the 
 splendor of more than a tropical sun. ^^^^^ ^^ Hilliard.* 
 
 65. THE FAMINE IN IRELAND. 
 
 There lies upon the other side of the wide Atlantic a beautiful 
 island, famous in story and in song. It has given to the world 
 more than its share of genius and of greatness. It has been 
 prolific in statesmen, warriors, and poets. Its brave and gener- 
 ous sons have fought successfully in all battles but its own. In 
 wit and humor it has no equal; while its harp, like its history, 
 moves to tears by its sweet but melancholy pathos. In this fair 
 region God has seen fit to send the most terrible of all those 
 fearful ministers who fulfil his inscrutable decrees. The earth 
 has failed to give her increase ; the common mother has forgotten 
 her offspring, and her breast no longer affords them their accus- 
 tomed nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly famine, has 
 seized a nation with its strangling grasp ; and unhappy Ireland, 
 in the sad woes of the .present, forgets, for a moment, the gloomy 
 history of the past. 
 
 In battle, in the fulness of his pride and strength, little recks 
 the soldier Avhether the hissing bullet sing his sudden requiem, 
 or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel. But he who 
 dies of hunger, wrestles alone, day after day, with his grim and 
 unrelenting enemy. He has no friends to cheer him in the ter- 
 rible conflict ; for if he had friends how could he die of hunger ? 
 
 * U. S. Eeprcscntative from Alabama. 
 
90 SELECTIONS m PEOSE. 
 
 He has, not the hot blood of the soldier to maintain him ; for his 
 foe, vampire-like, has exhausted his veins. 
 
 Who will hesitate to give his mite, to avert such awful results ? 
 Give, then, generously and freely. Recollect, that in so doing, 
 you are exercising one of the most godlike quahties of your na- 
 ture, and at the same time enjoying one of the greatest luxuries 
 of life. We ought to thank our Maker that he has permitted 
 us to exercise equally with himself that noblest of even the 
 Divine attributes, benevolence. Go home and look at your 
 family, smiling in rosy health, and then think of the pale, fam- 
 ine-pinched cheeks of the poor children of Ireland ; and you will 
 give, according to your store, even as a bountiful Providence has 
 given to you — ^not grudgingly, but with an open hand ; for the 
 quality of benevolence, like that of mercy, 
 
 " Is not strained ; 
 It droppeth-like tlie gentle rain from Heaven, 
 Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed : 
 It blesses him that gives, and him that takes." 
 
 S. S. Prentisb.* 
 
 66. REPUBLICS. 
 
 The name of Republic is inscribed upon the most imperish-; 
 able monuments of the species, and it is probable that it will 
 continue to be associated, as it has been in all past ages, with 
 whatever is heroic in character, and sublime in genius, and ele- 
 gant and brilliant in the cultivation of arts and letters. It would 
 not be difficult to prove that the base hirelings who have so in- 
 dustriously inculcated a contrary doctrine, have jeen compelled 
 to falsify history and abuse reason. 
 
 It might be asked, triumphantly, what land has ever been 
 visited with the influences of hberty, that has not flourished hke 
 the spring ? What people has ever worshipped at her altars 
 without kindhng with a loftier spirit and putting forth more 
 noble energies ? Where has she ever acted that her deeds have 
 not been heroic ? Where has she ever spoken, that her elo- 
 quence has not been triumphant and sublime ? 
 
 With respect to ourselves, would it not be enough to say that 
 we live under a form of government and in a state of society to 
 which the world has never yet exhibited a parallel ? Is it then 
 nothing to be free ? How many nations, in the whole annals ol 
 
 Kepresentative from Mississippi. 
 
HUGH S. LEGAEA. — EGBERT C. WrNTimOP. 91 
 
 human kind, have proved themselves worthy of being so ? Is 
 it nothing that we are repubhcans ? Were all men as enlight- 
 ened, as brave, as proud as they ought to be, would they suffer 
 themselves to be insulted with any other title ? Is it nothing, 
 that so many independent sovereignties should be held together 
 in such a confederacy as ours ? What does history teach us of 
 the difficulty of instituting and maintaining such a polity, and 
 of the glory that, of consequence, ought to be given to those 
 who enjoy its advantages in so much perfection and on so grand 
 a scale ? For, can any thing be more striking and sublime, than 
 the idea of an imperial republic, spreading over an extent of 
 territory more immense than the empire of the Ccesars, in the 
 accumulated conquests of a thousand years— without praefects 
 or proconsuls or publicans — founded in the maxims of common 
 sense — employing within itself no arms, but those of reason — 
 and known to its subjects only by the blessings it bestows or 
 perpetuates, yet capable of directing, against a foreign foe, all 
 the energies of a mihtary despotism, — a republic, in which men 
 are completely insignificant, and principles and laws exercise, 
 throughout its vast dominion, a peaceful and irresistible sway, 
 blending in one divine harmony such various habits and conflict- 
 ing opinions, and mingling in our institutions the light of phi- 
 losophy with all that is dazzling in the associations of heroic 
 achievement and extended domination, and deep-seated and for- 
 midable power ! Hugh S. Legare * 
 
 67. A MONUMENT TO WASHINGTON. 
 
 Fellow-citizens, let us seize this occasion to renew to each 
 other our vows of allegiance and devotion to the American 
 Union, and let us recognize in our common title to the name 
 and the fame of Washington, and in our common veneration 
 for his example and his advice, the all-sufficient centripetal 
 power, which shall hold the thick clustering stars of our con- 
 federacy in one glorious constellation forever ! Let the column 
 which we are about to construct be at once a pledge and an 
 emblem of perpetual union ! Let the foundations be laid ; let 
 the superstructure be built up and cemented ; let each stone be 
 raised and riveted, in a spirit of national brotherhood! And 
 
 * U. S. licprebentativc from South Curoliua. 
 
92 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 may the earliest ray of the rising sun — till that sun shall set to 
 rise no more — draw forth from it daily, as from the fabled 
 statue of antiquity, a strain of national harmony, which shall 
 strike a responsive chord in every heart throughout the republic ! 
 
 Proceed, then, fellow-citizens, with the work for which you 
 have assembled. Lay the corner-stone of a monument which 
 shall adequately bespeak the gratitude of the whole American 
 people to the illustrious father of his country. Build it to the 
 skies : you cannot outreach the loftiness of his principles. 
 Found it upon the massive and eternal rock : you cannot make 
 it more enduring than his fame. Construct it of the peerless 
 Parian marble : you cannot make it purer than his life. Exhaust 
 upon it the rules and principles of ancient and of modern art : 
 you cannot make it more proportionate than his character. 
 
 But let not your homage to his memory end here. Think 
 not to transfer to a tablet or a column the tribute which is due 
 from yourselves. Just honor to Washington can only be ren- 
 dered by observing his precepts and imitating his example. 
 Similitudine decoremus. He has built his own monument. 
 We, and those who come after us, in successive generations, are 
 its appointed, its privileged guardians. This wide-spread 
 republic is the future monument to Washington. Maintain its 
 independence. Uphold its constitution. Preserve its union. 
 Defend its liberty. Let it stand before the world in all its 
 original strength and beauty, securing peace, order, equality, 
 and freedom to all within its boundaries, and shedding light and 
 hope and joy upon the pathway of human liberty throughout 
 the world, — and Washington needs no other monument. Other 
 structures may fully testify our veneration for him : this, this 
 alone can adequately illustrate his services to mankind. 
 
 Nor does he need even this. The republic may perish .: the 
 wide arch of our ranged union may fall ; star by star its glories 
 may expire ; stone by stone its columns and its capitol may 
 moulder and crumble ; all other names which adorn its annals 
 may be forgotten ; but as long as human hearts shall anywhere 
 pant, or human tongues shall anywhere plead, for a true, rational, 
 constitutional liberty, those hearts shall enshrine the memory, 
 and those tongues shall prolong the fame, of George Washington. 
 
 Egbert C. Winthrop.* 
 
 * U. S. Kopresentative from Massachusetts. 
 
ANDEEW STEWART. 93 
 
 (38. THE DISSOLUTION OF THE UNION. 
 
 The gentleman from South Carolina* lias painted, in the 
 most glowing colors and fascinating forms, the glorious advan- 
 tages to the South of a dissolution of this Union. But is 
 there not another side to this picture ? — and to this I beg the 
 gentlemen to turn their calm and dispassionate attention. Before 
 they take this fearful plunge, let them look over the precipice 
 on which they stand into the yawning gulf beneath. On the 
 other side of this picture is written, in flaming capitals — 
 treason ; rebellion ; civil war, with all its fearful consequences. 
 Let it be remembered, that no state can go out of this Union 
 until it has conquered all the rest. When one state is gone, 
 no two remain united. We have heard of the benefits of 
 destroying tj\is Union ; but what will be its cost to those who 
 may attempt it ? From imaginary ills, they fly to " others 
 that they know not of." 
 
 They now complain of taxation! But what will be the 
 taxation necessary to raise and sustain armies and navies to 
 contend against this government ? — a government which now, 
 with fond and parental affection, guards and protects the South. 
 But taxation would be the smallest item in the frightful cata- 
 logue of their calamities. There is still another leaf in this 
 book, to which gentlemen should look. And can they behold 
 it with indifference ? It is the page on which posterity will 
 write the epitaph of the authors of the destruction of this 
 happy and glorious Union ; of those who should involve us in 
 all the horrors of civil war ; who should arm father against son, 
 and brother against brother ; who should destroy this bright 
 and glorious example — the only free government on earth. 
 
 How deep and how loud would be their denunciations, how 
 bitter and how blasting would be the curses, with which pos- 
 terity would brand the memories of those men ! And will not 
 their sentence be just ? Where will they look for extenuation 
 or excuse ? Taxation ! — it is imaginary ; not real. All contri- 
 butions here are voluntary ; not compulsory. No people under 
 heaven are half so lightly taxed, or half so highly blessed. 
 In other countries, the people are taxed twenty times the 
 amount, to support despots ; imposed, not by themselves, but 
 by arbitrary power. Compared with this country, in England 
 taxation is as eighteen to one ; yet they submit, and we rebel 
 
 * Mr. McDuffie. ' 
 
94r SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 Will not the people of the South look at these facts, and pause 
 before they do the fatal deed that must seal forever their own 
 destruction ? In this Union, the gentleman from South Carolina 
 has every thing to hope : his name may go down to posterity 
 among the most distinguished men of the age : his talents 
 may adorn its highest offices, to which he has a just right to 
 aspire ; and much as I may differ with that gentleman, both as 
 to men and measures, yet such is my opinion of his talents and 
 his worth, that I would rejoice to see him at this moment 
 filling the highest of the executive departments of this govern- 
 ment, or the highest of its diplomatic stations. That gentleman 
 may be carried away by momentary excitement ; still I cannot 
 doubt his attachment to this Union, which I trust he will never 
 sacrifice to imaginary evils. The blessings of this government, 
 and the value of this Union, I have never heard so forcibly 
 urged, or so eloquently portrayed, as by the gentleman from 
 South Carolina himself; and I cannot, in conclusion, better 
 express my own feelings than by repeating the very words 
 uttered by that gentleman in concluding an able and eloquent 
 speech on another occasion, when he said — " The liberty of this 
 country is a sacred depository — a vestal fire, which Providence 
 has committed to our hands for the general benefit of mankind. 
 It is the world's last hope : extinguish it, and the earth will be 
 covered with eternal darkness ; but once * put out that light, I 
 know not where is that Promethean heat that shall that light 
 relume.' " 
 
 I appeal to the gentleman — I ask him, is he prepared to 
 destroy that " sacred depository," the Union and liberties of his 
 country ? Is he prepared to extinguish, in fraternal blood, that 
 "vestal fire committed to his hands by Providence, for the 
 benefit of mankind ?" Is he prepared to destroy " the world's 
 last hope ;" to put out and extinguish forever that gr<3at and 
 glorious light of liberty and union now blazing up to the 
 heavens, illumining the path and cheering the onward march of 
 the friends of freedom throughout the world, and thus to cover 
 the earth with eternal dai'kness ? Is he prepared for this 1 
 I pause for a reply. j^^^^^ Stewart.» 
 
 U. S. Kepresentative from Pennsylvania. 
 
TRISTAJ^I EUliGES. 95 
 
 69. FREE DISCUSSION. 
 
 Sir, admit — for we must admit — that free discussion has 
 ever been odious to the tyrant, and to all the minions of licen- 
 tious power ; but can we ever forget how eloquent, how enchant- 
 ing the voice of that same freedom of speech has, in all ages, 
 been, wherever its tones have fallen on the ear of freemen ? 
 
 Free discussion, and liberty itself, eloquence and freedom of 
 speech, are contemporaneous fires, and brighten and blaze, or 
 languish and go out, together. Athenian liberty was, for years, 
 protracted by that free discussion, which was sustained and 
 continued in Athens. Freedom was prolonged by eloquence. 
 Liberty paused and lingered, that she might listen to the divine 
 intonations of her voice. Free discussion, the eloquence of one 
 man, rolled^ back the tide of Macedonian power, and long pre- 
 served his country from the overwhelming deluge. 
 
 When the light of free discussion had, throughout all the 
 Grecian cities, been extinguished in the blood of those states- 
 men by whose eloquence it had been sustained, young Tully, 
 breathing the spirit of Roman hberty on the expiring embers, 
 relumed and transmitted, from the banks of the llissus to those 
 of the Tiber, this glorious light of freedom. This mighty 
 master of the forum, by his free discussions, both from the 
 rostrum and in the senate-house, gave new vigor, and a longer 
 duration of existence, to the liberty of his country. Who^ 
 more than Marcus Tullius Cicero, was loved and cherished by 
 the friends of that country ? Who more feared and hated by 
 traitors and tyrants ? 
 
 Freedom of speech, Roman eloquence, and Roman liberty, 
 expired together, when, under the proscription of the second 
 trmmvirate, the hired bravo of Mark Antony placed in the lap 
 of one of his profligate minions the head and the hands of 
 Tully, the statesman, the orator, the illustrious father of his 
 country. After amusing herself some hours by plunging her 
 bodkin through that tongue which had so long delighted the 
 senate and the rostrum, and made Antony himself tremble in 
 the midst of his legions, she ordered that head and those hands, 
 then the trophies of a savage despotism, to be set up in the 
 forum. 
 
 " Her last good man, dejected Kome adored ; 
 Wept for her patriot slain, and cursed the tyrant's sword." 
 
 English statesmen and orators, in the free discussions of the 
 
96 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 English parliament, have been formed on those illustrious models 
 of Greek and Roman policy and eloquence. Multiplied by the 
 teeming labors of the press, the works of the master and the 
 disciple have come to our hands ; and the eloquence of Chatham, 
 of Burke, of Fox, and of the younger Pitt, reaches us, not in 
 the feeble and evanescent voice of tradition, but preserved and 
 placed b^efore the eye on the more imperishable page. Neither 
 these great originals, nor their improved transcripts, have been 
 lost to our country. The American political school of free 
 discussion has enriched the nation with some distinguished 
 scholars ; and Dexter, and Morris, and Pinkney will not soon be 
 forgotten by our country, or by the hterary world. 
 
 Some men who now live may hereafter be found deserving of 
 that life, in the memory of posterity, which very great men 
 have thought no Unworthy object of a glorious ambition. Who 
 can censure this anxious wish to live in human memory ? When 
 we feel ourselves borne along the current of time ; when we 
 see ourselves hourly approach that cloud, impenetrable to the 
 human eye, which terminates the last visible portion of this 
 moving estuary ; who of us, although he may hope, when he 
 reaches it, to shoot through that dark barren into a more bright 
 and peaceful region, yet who, I say, can feel himself receding 
 swiftly from the eye of all human sympathy, leaving the vision 
 of all human monuments, and not wish, as he passes by, to 
 place on those monuments some little memorial of himself — 
 some volume of a book — or, perhaps, but a single page, that it 
 may be remembered, 
 
 " When we are not, that we /lave heen /" 
 Sir, these models of ancient and modern policy and eloquence, 
 formed in the great schools of free discussion, both in earlier 
 and later time, are in the hands of thousands of those youths 
 who are now, in all the parts of our country, forming them- 
 selves for the public service. This hall is the bright goal of 
 their generous, patriotic, and glorious ambition. Sir, they look 
 hither with a feeling not unlike that devotion felt by the pilgrim 
 as he looks towards some venerated shrine. Do not — I implore 
 you, sir, do not — by your decision this day, abolish the rites of 
 liberty, consecrated in this place. Extinguish not those fires on 
 her altar, which should here be eternal. Suffer not, suffer not 
 the rude hand of this more than Vandal violence to demolish, 
 ** from turret to foundation-stone," this last sanctuary of freedom. 
 
 Tristam Buuges.* 
 
 * U. S. Ecpresentative from Kliode Island. 
 
C. C. NAYLOE. W 
 
 70. NORTHERN LABORERS. 
 
 Sir, the gentleman has misconceived the spirit and tendoucy 
 of northern institutions. He is ignorant of northern character. 
 He has forgotten the history of his country. Preach insurrec- 
 tion to the northern laborers ! Who are the northern laborers ? 
 The history of your country is their history. The renown of 
 your country is their renown. The brightness cf their doings is 
 emblazoned on its every page. Blot from your annals the deeds 
 and the doings of northern laborers, and the history of you?- 
 country presents but a universal blank. 
 
 Sir, who was he that disarmed the Thunderer ; wrested from 
 his grasp the bolts of Jove ; calmed the troubled ocean ; be- 
 came the central sun of the philosophical system of his age, 
 shedding his brightness and effulgence on the whole civilized 
 world ; whom the great and mighty of the earth delighted to 
 honor ; who participated in the achievement of your indepen- 
 dence ; prominently assisted in moulding your free institutions, 
 and the beneficial effects of whose wisdom will be felt to the 
 last moment of " recorded time ?" Who, sir, I ask, was he ? 
 A northern laborer — a Yankee tallow-chandler's son — a printer's 
 runaway boy ! 
 
 And who, let me ask the honorable gentleman, who was he 
 that, in the- days of our revolution, led forth a northern army — 
 yes, an army of northern laborers — and aided the chivalry of 
 South Carolina in their defence against British aggression, drove 
 the spoilers from their firesides, and redeemed her fair fields 
 from foreign invaders ? Who was he ? A northern laborer, a 
 Rhode Island blacksmith — the gallant General Greene — who 
 left his hammer and his forge, and went forth conquering and 
 to conquer in the battle for our independence ! And will you 
 preach insurrection to men like these ? 
 
 Sir, our country is full of the achievements of northern la- 
 borers ! Where is Concord, and Lexington, and Princeton, and 
 Trenton, and Saratoga, and Bunker Hill, but in the north? 
 And what, sir, has shed an imperishable renown on the never- 
 dying names of those hallowed spots, but the blood and the 
 struggles, the high daring and patriotism, and sublime courage, 
 of northern laborers ? The whole north is an everlasting monu- 
 ment of the freedom, virtue, intelligence, and indomitable inde- 
 pendence of northern laborers ! Go, sir, go preach insurrection 
 to men like these ! 
 
 The fortitude of the men of the north, under intense suffering 
 P. 
 
98 SELEdlONS m PKOSE. 
 
 for liberty's sake, has been almost godlike ! History lias so 
 recorded it. Who comprised that gallant army, that, without 
 food, without pay, shelterless, shoeless, penniless, and almost 
 naked, in that dreadful winter — the midnight of our revolution — 
 whose wanderings could be traced by their blood- tracks in the 
 snow ; whom no arts could seduce, no appeal lead astray, no 
 sufterings disaffect ; but who, true to their country and its holy 
 cause, continued to fight the good fightrof liberty, imtil it finally 
 triumphed ? Who, sir, were these men ? Why, northern la- 
 borers ! Yes, sir, northern laborers ! 
 
 Who, sir, were Roger Sherman and But it is idle to 
 
 enumeratOv To name the northern laborers who have distin- 
 guished themselves, and illustrated the history of their country, 
 would require days of the time of this house. Nor is it neces- 
 sary. Posterity will do them justice. Their deeds have been 
 recorded in characters of fire ! ^ q jf^yj^^^ * 
 
 1l. THE DESTINY OF AMERICA. 
 
 We may betray the trust reposed in us — we may most miser- 
 ibly defeat the fond hopes entertained of us. We may be- 
 come the scorn of tyrants and the jest of slaves. From our 
 fate, oppression may assume a bolder front of insolence, and its 
 victims sink into a darker despair. 
 
 In that event, how unspeakable will be our disgrace ! with 
 what weight of mountains will the infamy lie upon our souls ! 
 The gulf of our ruin will be as deep, as the elevation we might 
 have attained is high. How wilt thou fall from heaven, O 
 Lucifer, son of the morning ! Our beloved country with ashes 
 for beauty ; the golden cord of our union broken ; its scattered 
 fragments presenting every form of misrule, from the wildest 
 anarchy to the most ruthless despotism; our "soil drenched 
 with fraternal blood ;" the life of man stripped of its grace and 
 dignity ; the prizes of honor gone, and virtue divorced from half 
 its encouragements and supports ; — these are gloomy pictures, 
 which I would not invite your imaginations to dwell upon, but 
 only to glance at, for the sake of the warning lessons wc may 
 draw from them. 
 
 Remember that we can have none of those consolations which- 
 
 * U. S. Representative from Pennsylvania. 
 
G. S. inLLIAED. Dli. S. II. TYNG. 90 
 
 Bustain the patriot who mourns over the undeserved misfortunes 
 of his cour^try. Our Rome cannot fall, and we be innocent. 
 No conqueror will chain us to the car of his triumph ; no 
 countless swarm of Huns and Goths will bury the memorials 
 and trophies of civiHzed life beneath a living tide of barbarism. 
 Our own selfishness, our own neglect, our own passions, and 
 our own vices will furnish the elements of our destruction. 
 With our own hands we shall tear down the stately edifice of 
 our glory. We shall die by self-inflicted wounds. 
 
 But we will not talk of themes hke these. We will not think 
 of failure, dishonor, and despair. We will elevate our minds 
 to the contemplation of our high duties, and the great trust 
 committed to us. We will resolve to lay the foundations of 
 our prosperity on that rock of private virtue which cannot be 
 shaken until the la^s of the moral world are reversed. From 
 our own bi;easts shall flow the salient springs of national increase. 
 Then our success, our happiness, our glory is inevitable. We 
 may calmly smile at all the croakings of all the ravens, whether 
 of native or foreign breed. 
 
 The whole will not grow weak by the increase of its parts. 
 Our growth will be like that of the mountain oak, which strikes 
 its roots more deeply into the soil, and clings to it with a closer 
 grasp as its lofty head is exalted and its broad arms stretched 
 out. The loud burst of joy and gratitude which this, the 
 anniversary of our independence, is breaking from the full hearts 
 of a mighty people, will never cease to be heard. No chasms 
 of sullen silence will interrupt its course ; no discordant notes 
 of sectional madness mar the general harmony. Year after 
 year will increase it, by tributes from now unpeopled solitudes. 
 The farthest West shall hear it and rejoice ; the Oregon shall 
 swell it with the voice of its waters ; the Rocky Mountains shall 
 fling back the glad sound from their snowy crests. 
 
 G. S. HlLLIARD. 
 
 72. CALIFORNIA. 
 
 The colonizing of California is an unequalled wonder in the his- 
 tory of the world, whether you consider the rapidity of its pro- 
 gress ; the moral dignity of its settlement, even in the midst of the 
 overwhelming confusion of its multitudes tumbling in from every 
 quarter ; the wisdom displayed in its organization by the first 
 generation of its inhabitants, in the first year of its occupation • 
 
100 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 or the incalculable results to which its settlement must lead, in 
 the moral and commercial history of the world. By this pro- 
 cess of settlement, this continent must soon become the high- 
 way to the opening riches of Eastern Asia, and the great road 
 also on which moral and intellectual influence is to travel thither. 
 So that either for the purposes of earthly gain, or of religious 
 usefulness to man, we may hope the stormy doubling of the 
 southern Capes will soon come to an end. 
 
 Now, I call this whole extent of territory a gift to this gen- 
 eration ; an attainment from a far higher power than the mere 
 power of man, for purposes most important to the interests of 
 man, and most near to the honor of his Creator. Let the suf- 
 fering inhabitants of the Old World come : we may reel a little 
 beneath the burden on this Atlantic strip, but it will be to 
 gather strength and greatness by the eSbrt. Let every sorrow- 
 ing refugee feel, the moment he has reached our shore, that 
 he is an American, born in that auspicious hour, and entitled to 
 an inheritance for himself and his children after him, to be made 
 dependent upon nothing but his own fidehty in sustaining and 
 defending American principles of liberty, order, and truth, and 
 carrying out, in his own efforts, the great and noble purposes 
 for which America has been opened and provided. With this 
 extending territory we may safely, invite the hard-working men 
 from all the earth. We may. tell the whole crowd of sufferers 
 under foreign despotism, that there is a Goshen for them here, 
 and that God has sent us before them to preserve life. Here 
 they may cast away the iron which has entered into their soul, 
 and rise to the manhood of their Creation, free, honored, and 
 useful t6 mankind. ' pj^ g jj Tyng. 
 
 •73. THE DEVELOPMENT OF OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 It is but a few years since we entered upon the conquest of 
 A country wilder than Germany in thft days of Csesar, and ten 
 times more extensive; and yet in that short space we have 
 reached a point of physical development which twenty centuries 
 have not accomphshed there. The forests have fallen down, 
 the earth has been quarried, cities and towns have sprung up all 
 over the immense extent of our land, thronged with life, and 
 resounding with the multitudinous hum of traffic ; and from 
 hundreds of ports the canvas of ten thousand sails whitens all 
 
DK. C. S. HENEY. ^Ei,^.,t5kAil l^ ]' \ ] > >, l^J > 
 
 the ocean and every sea, bearing the products of our soil and 
 manufactures, and bringing back the wealth and luxuries of 
 every quarter of the globe. Then, too, the tremendous agencies 
 of nature — the awful forces evolved by chemical and dynamic 
 science — have been subdued to man's dominion, and have 
 become submissive ministers to his will, more prompt and more 
 powerful than the old fabled genii of the Arabian tales. Little 
 did our fathers, little did we ourselves, even the youngest of us, 
 dream — in the days of our childhood, when we fed our wonder- 
 ing imaginations with the prodigies wrought by those elemental 
 spirits evoked by the talismanic seal of Solomon — that these 
 were but faint foreshadowings of what our eyes should see in 
 the familiar goings on of the every-day life around us. Yet, so 
 it truly is. Ha ! gentlemen, the steam-engine is your true 
 elemental spirit : it more than realizes the gorgeous ideas of the 
 old Oriental imagination. That had its different orders of 
 elemental spirits — genii of fire, of water, of earth, and of air, 
 whose everlasting hostility could never be subdued to unity of 
 purpose : this combines the powers of all in one, and a child 
 may control them ! Across the ocean, along our coast, through 
 the length of a hundred rivers, with the speed of wind, we 
 plough our way against currents, wind, and tide ; while, on iron 
 roads, through the length and breadth of the laud, innumerable 
 trains, thronged with human life and freighted with the wealth 
 of the nation, are urging their way in every direction — flying 
 through the valleys ; thundering across the rivers ; panting up 
 the sides, or piercing through the hearts of the mountains, with 
 the resistless force of lightning, and scarcely less swift ! 
 
 All this is wonderful ! The old limitations to human endeavor 
 seem to be broken through — the everlasting conditions of time 
 and space seem to be annulled! Meanwhile the magnificenj 
 achievements of to-day lead but to grander projects for to- 
 morrow. Success in the past serves but to enlarge the pur- 
 poses of the future ; and the people are rushing onward in a 
 career of physical development, to which no bounds can he 
 
 assigned. -n rt a -u- 
 
 != Dr. C. S. Henky. 
 
 14. THE SIN OF PROFANENESS. 
 
 Profaneness is a brutal vice. He who indulges it is no 
 gentleman. I care not what his stamp may be ti society, I 
 
102 ' 'c r ,1S^Jl4E<?TI0NS IN PEOSE. 
 
 care not what clothes he wears, or what culture he beasts-— 
 despite all his refinement, the light and habitual taking of God's 
 name betrays a coarse nature and a brutal will. Profaneness 
 is an unmanly and silly vice. It certainly is not a grace in con- 
 versation, and it adds no strength to it. There is no organic 
 symmetry in the narrative that is ingrained with oaths ; and 
 the blasphemy that bolsters an opinion, does not make it any 
 more correct. Nay, the use of these expletives argues a 
 limited range of ideas, and a consciousness of being on the 
 wrong side ; and if we can find no other phrases through 
 which to vent our choking passion, we had better repress that 
 passion. Again, profaneness is a mean vice. It indicates the 
 grossest ingratitude. According to general estimation, he who 
 repays kindness with contumely — he who abuses his friend and 
 benefactor, is deemed pitiful and wretched. And yet, oh ! 
 profane man, whose name is it you handle so lightly? It is 
 that of your best Benefactor ! 
 
 You whose blood would boil to hear the venerable names of 
 your earthly parents hurled about in scoffs and jests, abuse, 
 without compunction and without thought, the name of your 
 heavenly Father ! Finally, profaneness is an awful vice. Once 
 more I ask, whose name is it you so lightly use ? That name 
 of God — ^have you ever pondered its meaning ? Have you 
 ever thought what it is that you mingle thus with your passion 
 and your wit? It is the name of Him whom the angels wor- 
 ship, and whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain ! 
 
 Profane man ! though habit be ever so stringent with you, 
 when the word of mockery and of blasphemy is about to leap 
 from your lips, think of these considerations — think of God, 
 and, instead of that rude oath, cry out in reverent prayer, 
 " Hallowed be thy name !" ^^^^ ^^^^^^^ 
 
 75. WASHINGTON, A MAN OF GENIUS. 
 
 How many times have we been told that Washington was 
 not a man of genius, but a person of excellent common sense, of 
 admirable judgment, of rare virtues/ He had no genius, it 
 seems. O no ! genius, we must suppose, is the peculiar and 
 shining attribute of some orator, whose tongue can spout patri- 
 otic speeches ; or some versifier, whose muse can Hail Columbia, 
 but not of the man Avho supported states on his arm, and car- 
 
E. P. WinPPLE. EOBEKT lEEAT PAINE. 103 
 
 ried America in his- brain. What is genius? Is it worth any- 
 thing? Is splendid folly the measure of its inspiration? Is 
 wisdom its base and summit, — that which it recedes from, or 
 tends towards ? And by what definition do you award the 
 name to the creator of an epic, and deny it to the creator of a 
 country ? On what principle is it -to be lavished on him who 
 sculptures in perishing marble the image of possible excellence, 
 and withheld from him who built up in himself a transcendent 
 characier, maestructible as the obligations of duty, and beautiful 
 as her rewards ? 
 
 Indeed, if by the genius of action, you mean will enlightened 
 by intelhgence, and intelligence energized by will,* — if force and 
 insight be its characteristics, and influence its test, and if great 
 efi'ects suppose a cause proportionally great, a vital, causative 
 mind, — then was Washington most assuredly a man of geni.js, 
 and one whom no other American has equalled in the power of 
 working morally and mentally on other minds. His genius was 
 of a peculiar kind, the genius of character, of thought, and the 
 objects of thought solidified and concentrated into active faculty. 
 He belongs to that rare class of men, — rare as Homers and 
 Miltons, rare as Platos and Newtons, — who have impressed 
 their characters upon nations without pampering national vices. 
 Such men have natures broad enough to include all the facts of 
 a people's practical life, and deep enough to discern the spirit- 
 ual laws which underlie, animate, and govern those facts. 
 
 Edwin P. WiiirPLE. 
 
 16. THE DEATH OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 Having accomplished the embassy of a benevolent Provi- 
 dence, Washington, the founder of one nation, the sublime 
 instructor of all, took his flight to heaven — not like Mahomet, 
 for his memory is immortal without the fiction of a miracle ; 
 not like Elijah, for recording time has not registered the man 
 on whom his mantle should descend ; but in humble imitation 
 of that Omnipotent Architect, who returned from a created 
 universe to contemplate from his throne the stupendous fabric 
 he had erected ! 
 
 The august form whose undaunted majesty could arrest the 
 Gghtning, ere it fell on the bosom of his country, now sleeps in 
 silent ruin, untenanted of its celestial essence. But the incor- 
 mptible example of his virtues shall survive, unimpaired by the 
 
104 SELECTIONS IN PKOSiL". 
 
 corrosion of time, and acquire new vigor and influence frons 
 the crimes of ambition and the decay of. empires. The inval- 
 uable valediction bequeathed to the people who inherited his 
 affections, is the effort of a mind whose powers, like those oi 
 prophecy, could overleap the tardy progress of human reason, 
 and unfold truth without the, labor of investigation. Impressed 
 in indelible characters, this legacy of his intelligence will 
 descend, unsullied as its purity, to the wonder and instruction 
 of succeeding generations ; and should the mild philosophy of 
 its maxims be ingrafted into the policy of nations, at no distant 
 period will the departed hero, who now lives only in :'he spot- 
 less splendor of his own great actions, exist in the happiness 
 and dignity of mankind. 
 
 The sighs of contemporary gratitude have attended the sub- 
 lime spirit to its paternal abode ; and the prayers of meliorated 
 posterity will ascend in glowing remembrance of their illustrious 
 benefactor ! The laurels that now droop as they shadow his 
 tomb with monumental glory, will be watered by the tears of 
 ages ; and, embalmed in the heart of an admiring world, the 
 temple erected to his memory will be more ' glorious than the 
 pyramids, and as eternal as his own imperishable virtues ! 
 
 RoBE&T Teeat Paink 
 
 '7'?. THE DEATH OF GEN. HARRISON. 
 
 The great body of the American people had fixed their hopes 
 on General Harrison, as the individual under whose auspices, 
 in the presidential office, the country might regain its prosperity, 
 and be reinstated in the honest and honorable republicanism of 
 its earlier days. These hopes fired the bosoms of the people ; 
 they cheered, invigorated, and united them in the political con- 
 test ; and they seemed to be realized by his elevation. Where 
 are they now ? So far as he was concerned, they are entombed 
 with him ; and bereaved America, tearful and trembling, casts 
 a pensive and timorous eye over the period which she deemed 
 him destined to brighten and bless. 
 
 Behold the melting away of earthly greatness! When I 
 reflect on these events, I am confounded with the various, 
 mighty, and rapid vicissitudes in human affairs. We seem to 
 have passed through the excitement and incidents of an age. 
 A private citizen becomes the rallying point of party arrange- 
 ments, that reach to the remotest corners of our extensive 
 
KEV. J. F. McLAIJEN.- —DR. STEVENS. 105 
 
 country, and that animate every man with a zeal which seems 
 to identify the destiny of the nation with his individual action. 
 In ten thousand neighborhoods, they meet to decide the civil 
 strife : a thrilling suspense of universal uncertainty is termin- 
 ated by the irreversible announcement ; and upon that private 
 citizen devolves the distinguished glory of presiding over the 
 civil affairs of seventeen millions of people ! We looked upon 
 him in amazement ; but while we looked, we saw him grow 
 pale and sink, and gasp, and die : — " and wherein is he any more 
 to be accounted of !" 
 
 Do crowned heads rank high in the circles of human great- 
 ness ? Much more did he ; for it was not the accident of 
 royal birth — it was not the issue of ambitidn, that exalted him. 
 No ; it was a nobler cause ! High, by undisputed merit, in the 
 hearts of the people, their suffrage raised him high in of&cial 
 station. Their spontaneous call drew him from the retirement 
 and repose of private life, " which he had hoped would be per- 
 petual ;" and the enthusiasm of their patriotism placed him at 
 the post of high responsibility, occupied only by those whom 
 the people dehght to trust and honor. They saw him consti- 
 tutionally invested with the honors and authority of the lofty 
 station ; they mingled their gratulations together ; and the 
 voice of rejoicing was heard through the land. But, scarcely 
 had the pleasant gales wafted the plaudits of a dehghted people 
 to the borders of the republic, ere they are , commissioned to 
 bear the heavy tidings, thrilling to every heart, that the Presi- 
 dent of the Union is dead ! So transitory is earthly greatness ! 
 *' Man, being in honor, abideth not." " He dieth ; yea, he 
 giveth up the ghost ; and where is he ?" ^^^^ j_ j,^ McLaren. 
 
 18. THE DEATH OF GEN. TAYLOR. 
 
 Yes ! General Taylor is dead ! The bold soldier, the devoted 
 patriot, the upright president is dead. But it is his body only 
 that is dead. That which vivified his form, which lit up his 
 eye, which spoke out from his tongue ; that which made him 
 what he was — the soul ; that is not dead ! 
 
 " In the blank silence of the narrow tomb 
 The clay may rest which wrapped his human birth ; 
 But, aU unconquered by that silent doom, 
 The spirit of his thought shall walk the earth, 
 In glory and in light." 
 
 5* 
 
lOG SELECTIONS IN mOSE. 
 
 His deeds arc not dead. That soldierly prowess wliich 
 marked his conduct in three sanguinary wars ; which won for 
 him laurels in youth, as well as garlands in age ; those great 
 achievements on the tented field, beneath the moated wall and 
 in the nation's cabinet, marking him out as a model of courage, 
 energy, and decision ; — these are not dead. Those deeds are 
 written in his country's annals — are part of his country's glory, 
 and shall live while a page of history remains. 
 
 His name is not dead. But five years ago, the nation, with 
 breathless anxiety, turning its eyes to the Rio Grande — to the 
 little army of occupation and to the scarcely known leader, 
 asked, with an intensity of earnestness which showed how much 
 hung upon his character. Who is General Taylor ? They ask 
 not now that question ; for that name, coupled with so many 
 victories, and linked with such mighty deeds, 
 
 " Is Freedom's now and Fame's : 
 
 One of the few, the immortal names 
 That were not born to die." 
 
 His glory is not dead. The sun that shed such lustrous 
 beams has, indeed, set, but the whole firmament blushes with 
 the roseate tints which linger above the horizon. His honors 
 have all been gathered under that flag which he never lowered 
 to mortal foe, but which a nation lowered to him, when he fell 
 beneath the only enemy he could not conquer. Forty years he 
 dwelt beneath that banner ; under it he won his victories and 
 his fame ; beneath it he put off the corselet of the warrior for 
 the toga of the statesman ; on it his eye last rested as it floated 
 out in freedom's breeze, on freedom's natal morn ; and under 
 its craped and drooping folds he was borne, amidst the mourning 
 of a great nation, to the voiceless dweUing of the tomb. And 
 now, wherever that flag lifts up to heaven its glittering stars of 
 freedom, or rolls out to the wind the blended stripes of union 
 — whether it rustles to the breezes of the Atlantic, or dallies 
 with the airs of the Pacific — whether it waves from the peaks 
 of . the Rocky Mountains, or hangs pensively in the lowly 
 valley — whether it floats over bristling ramparts, or the dome 
 of the capitol, — it cannot be hoisted, it cannot be seen, neither 
 m the present hour of sorrow, nor yet in the roll of far-off ages, 
 without telling of him as a patriot, a hero, and a statesman. 
 
 His influence is not dead. He has set in motion trains of 
 'bought, schemes of state, and agencies of power that will be 
 working out their result to far-distant generations. Influence 
 IS immortal. The great thoughts of a great mind are as death- 
 
DK. STEVENS. KOBEKT KELLY. 10-7 
 
 less as the mind that bore them. The deeds of one chieftain 
 are models for future chieftains ; and many a modern hero, like 
 Michael Angelo, has learned to sculpture out for himself a more 
 than ideal perfection, by studying some fragment of former 
 greatness — some " Torso" of a once giant mind, that even in its 
 mutilation has fired his thought with beauty, and guided his art 
 with truth. Gen. Taylor, once the man of a party, is now the 
 man of the country ! Death has cut the tie which bound him 
 to a political sect, and in its place forged an adamantine chain 
 that links his memory with the Union — the whole Union — by 
 the most thrilling remembrances that can stir the soul, or rouse 
 the gratitude, or call out the love of a noble and independent 
 People. Dfl. Stevens. 
 
 79. A RELIGIOUS SPIRIT IN EDUCATION. 
 From a discourse at the opening of the New York Free Acadenoy 
 
 The spirit of Christianity should pervade education as it per- 
 vades the laws of the land and the administration of justice ; 
 and a devout Christian sentiment should be its prevailing tone 
 of morals and philosophy. Let instructors teach that the truths 
 of Nature rest upon the truth of God. Let them demonstrate 
 that at the foundation of every science lies omniscient wisdom ; 
 that all of beautiful or sublime truth is but a development of 
 the Divine mind. Let them point to the limits where man, by 
 searching, can find out no further, because he meets the unre- 
 vealed mysteries of the Divine power. Let the serene light of 
 a pure religion permeate every science, brightening and blend- 
 ing with its beauty and truth, like a lamp set within a vase ot 
 alabaster, bringing out, into bolder relief and more exquisite 
 effect, the forms and ornaments that are sculptured upon it. 
 
 When exhibiting the scroll of the heavens, and pointing out 
 the golden characters emblazoned upon it, let them teach that 
 those characters are the symbols of worlds ; let not the guidance 
 of a mad undevoutness lead to the inconclusive reasoning, that 
 because the Almighty hath created all those radiant spheres, 
 which none but himself can number or call by their names, and 
 for his glory sent them upon their career, whirling, like burning 
 censers, through the sky, and binds them to his throne with 
 cords invisible, and sustains them in their prescribed courses, not 
 needing to check or alter, with his hand, their intricate move- 
 ments ; therefore, his rebellious creatures upon tliis apostate orb 
 
108 SELECTIONS m PKOSE. 
 
 are not subject to the moral laws and the eternal sanctions o\ 
 his infinite government ; but let this be the spirit of their teach- 
 ing : — " When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, 
 the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained ; What is man, 
 that thou art mindful of him ? or the son of man, that thou vis- 
 itest him ?" 
 
 When, beneath the varied 'surface of this earth, the instructor 
 shows his pupils those tablets of stone on which are graven the 
 only records of its primeval ages, he will let them trace on them, 
 as on the tables of the law written upon Mount Smai, the jinger 
 of God. He will teach them, that the records of God's power 
 and the revelation of his will, the registers of an eternity past, 
 and the chart of an eternity to come, shall one day be beautiful- 
 ly reconciled in a perfect gospel harmony. He will tell them 
 that should voices come forth from the tomb of buried centu- 
 ries, full of dark and doubtful import, they may be like the false 
 oracles of ancient times, issuing from the earth only to beguile 
 those who trusted in them ; that should science seem to declare 
 that the Jehovah, who spake by the lips and the pen of Moses 
 of the creation of the world and the origin of our race, is to be 
 dethroned, they have only to wait until, by a more potent ad- 
 juration, she be compelled to make a fuller, a clearer, and more 
 truthful utterance ; for science, exorcised and dispossessed, shall 
 one day sit humbly at the foot of the Cross, and the Pythoness 
 shall become a prophetess ^^^^^^ ^^^^^ 
 
 80.- MENTAL DILIGENCE. 
 From a discourse at the first Anniversary of the New York Free Academy. 
 
 The mind must not be pampered with luxuries, nor fritteied 
 away with frivolity. It must sharpen its appetite by maniy 
 exercises, and invigorate its powers by manly studies. It mast 
 be grasping for truths which are almost beyond its reach. Its 
 amusement must be to hunt the boldest dogma down, with all 
 the keenness of a sportsman. It must eat that which it taketh 
 in hunting, and it will grow by what it feeds on. It is thus 
 that desirable distinction has always been attained. The great 
 and good of past ages, those of whom the race has most reason 
 to be proud, those whose examples and whose fame are most 
 familiar to us, are the most striking examples of it. History 
 and Fame will show you the records of ancient greatness. It 
 
EKASTUS C. BENEDICT. — JOHN MILTON. 109 
 
 is there set down that Cicero, by an industry that never tired, 
 acquired his stores of learning ; that it was by constant labor 
 that the thunders of Grecian eloquence were taught to roll from 
 lips that stammered up to manhood, and Socrates, and Plato, 
 and Archimedes, and such as they, were never idle. They are 
 all described in the records of their glory as men of incredible 
 industry, of singular diligence. And in more modern times it 
 has not been otherwise. Think you that Newton came from 
 the hand of his Creator a genius so much mightier than all who 
 had gone before him, as the effects which he produced exceeded 
 those of any other age ? Do you believe that our own Frank- 
 iin was formed by nature alone to sport with the thunders, and 
 make the lightning the plaything of his leisure ? He had 
 learned that nature is to be subdued only by obeying her laws ; 
 and only by a careful study did he learn them, obey them, and 
 make then; his servants. Bacon will be remembered till there 
 is no more need of philosophy, and Franklin and Newton will 
 live, in the gratitude of the world, till the last lightnings shall 
 have played through the heavens, and they be rolled together 
 as a scroll. And this enduring fame was the reward of lives of in- 
 credible laborious industry, in the pursuit of useful knowledge. 
 
 Erastus C. Benedict. 
 
 81. A GOOD BOOK. 
 
 As good almost kill a mafn as kill a book : who kills a man, 
 kills a reasonable creature : God's image ; but he who destroys 
 a good b(?ok, 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, em- 
 balmed 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 Avhole nations fare the 
 worse. We should be wary, therefore, what persecutions 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 execution ends not in the slaying of an 
 elemental life, but strikes at that ethereal and sift essence, the 
 breath of reason itself : slays an immortality rather than a life. 
 
 JoBN Milton. 
 
110 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 82. TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. 
 
 Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon 
 the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously, by licens- 
 ing and prohibiting, to doubt her strength. Let her and False- 
 hood grapple ; who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free 
 and open encounter ? who knows not that Truth is strong, next 
 oo the Almighty ? She needs no policies, nor stratagems, nor 
 licensings, to make her victorious ; those are the shifts and de- 
 fences that error uses against her power. Give her but room, 
 and do not bind her when she sleeps ; for then she speaks not 
 true, but then rather she turns herself into all shapes, except 
 her own, and perhaps tunes her voice according to the time, 
 until she be adjured into her own likeness. 
 
 John Miltox. 
 
 83. the institutions of England. 
 
 If you are convinced that the habits of a country must be 
 formed by its institutions, and if you are also convinced that our 
 institutions are superior to those of other countries, let us de- 
 termine to chng to our native government. 
 
 All the excitement that accompanies mighty changes, is now 
 beginning quietly to settle ; the influence, the disturbing influ- 
 ence of those changes, is gradually lessening ; the dazzhng illu- 
 sions of " glorious days" are dissipated ; and we are now per- 
 mitted to see things in their true colors. The convictions, the 
 feelings, the affections of the people are gravitating towards 
 their old centre, in which sit enthroned respect for property, 
 love of rational freedom, and attachment to long-established and 
 prescriptive authority. 
 
 Yes ; from these walls a spirit shall go forth, that shall sur- 
 vive when this edifice shall be, like an unsubstantial pageant, 
 faded. That spirit shall survive by the remembrance of this 
 day, spreading a contagious influence into every part of the em- 
 pire, animating the desponding and encouraging the brave. 
 
 It shall go forth exulting in, but not abusing, its strength. It 
 shall go forth, remembering, in the days of its prosperity, the 
 pledges it gave in the time of its depression. It shall go forth, 
 uniting a disposition to correct abuses, to redress grievances. It 
 shall go forth, uniting the disposition to improve, with the resc- 
 
 I 
 
KOBEKT PEEL. DANIEL o'cOIs^NELL. Ill 
 
 Jution to maintain and defend, by that spirit of unl ought affec- 
 tion which is the chief defence of nations. 
 
 Our ancient constitution shall survive at last, protecting the 
 rich from spoliation, and the poor from oppression. No tawdry 
 emblems of revolution shall float over its ruin. 
 
 " The flag, that for a thousand years 
 Has braved tlie battle and the breeze," 
 
 shall still float over the ramparts. And that faith, ai'.d those 
 national establishments intended for its protection, as they exist 
 respectively in the three branches of the United Kingdom — those 
 establishments which kings have sworn to protect, and to the 
 maintenance of which the national honor is pledged, as essen- 
 tial parts of a great national compact, shall survive ; and the 
 religion which we profess, the off'sprir^ of free inquiry, shall 
 find, in the diffusion of sound knowledge, new sources of 
 strength ; and great as may be the storm of adversity to which 
 it may be exposed, it shall come out proved and fortified by the 
 trial, and remain rooted deeply in the convictions, the feehngs, 
 and affections of the people. ^^^^^^ p^^^^ 
 
 84. THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL 
 
 I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this house ; I do not rise 
 to supplicate you to be merciful towards the nation to which I 
 belong — towards a nation which, though subject to England, 
 yet is distinct from it. It is a distinct nation : it has been treated 
 as such by this country, as may be proved by history, and by 
 seven hundred years of tyranny. I call upon this house, as 
 you value the liberty of England, not to allow the present ne- 
 farious bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties of England, 
 the liberty of the press, and of every other institution dear to 
 Englishmen. 
 
 Against the bill I protest in the name of the Irish people, and 
 in the face of heaven. I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful 
 assertions that grievances are not to be complained of, that our 
 redress is not to be agitated ; for, in such cases, remonstrances 
 cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to 
 the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under 
 what tyranny the people suffer. 
 
 There are two fricrhtful clauses in this bill. The one which 
 
112 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 does away with trial by jury, and which I have called upon you 
 to baptize : you call it a court-martial,-^a mere nickname ; 1 
 stigmatize it as a revolutionary/ tribu7ial. What, in the name of 
 heaven, is it, if it is not a revolutionary tribunal ? It annihilates 
 the trial by jury ; it drives the judge from his bench, — the man 
 who, from experience, could weigh the nice and delicate points 
 of a case, — who could discriminate between the straightforward 
 testimony and the suborned evidence, — who could see, plainly 
 and readily, the justice or injustice of the accusation. It turns 
 out this man who is free, unshackled, unprejudiced, — who has 
 no previous opinions to control the clear exercise of his duty. 
 You do away with that which is more sacred than the throne 
 itself ; that for which your king reigns, your lords deliberaivj, 
 your commons assemble. 
 
 If ever I doubted before of the success of our agitation for 
 repeal, this bill, this infamous bill, the way in which it has been 
 received by the house, the manner in which its opponents have 
 been treated, the personalities to which they have been sub- 
 jected, the yells with which one of them has this night been 
 greeted, — all these things dissipate my doubts, and tell me of 
 its complete and early triumph. Do you think those yells will 
 be forgotten ? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the 
 plains of my injured and insulted country ; that they will not 
 bo ' rt^hispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty 
 hills ? Oh ! they will be heard there : yes, and they will not 
 be forgotten. The youth of Ireland will bound with indignation ; 
 they will say, " We are eight millions ; and you treat us thus, 
 as though we were no more to your country than the isle of 
 Guernsey or of Jersey !" 
 
 I have done my duty ; I stand acquitted to my conscience 
 and my country : I have opposed this measure throughout ; 
 and I now protest against it as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, 
 unjust, as establishing an infamous precedent by retaliating 
 crime against crime; as tyrannous, cruelly and vindictively 
 tyrannous. Daniel O'Connell. 
 
 85. THE MISERIES OP IRELAND. 
 
 Englishmen, look at Ireland ! what do you behold ? — a beau- 
 tiful countty, with wonderful agricultural and comniercial ad- 
 vantages, — the link between America and Europe, — the natural 
 
SHIEL. 113 
 
 resting-place of trade, in its way to either liemispliere ; indented 
 with havens, watered by deep and numerous rivers, with a for- 
 tunate chmate, and a soil teeming with easy fertility, and inhab- 
 ited by a bold, intrepid, and — with all their faults — a generous 
 and enthusiastic people. 
 
 Such is natural Ireland : what is artificial Ireland ? Such is 
 Ireland, as God made her : what is Ireland, as England made 
 her? 
 
 This fine coun^jry is laden with a population the most misera- 
 ble in Europe. Your domestic swine are better housed than 
 the people. Harvests, the most abundant, are reaped by men 
 w^ith starvation in their faces ; famine covers a fruitful soil ; and 
 disease inhales a pure atmosphere : all the great commercial fa- 
 cilities of the country are lost ; the deep rivers, that should cir- 
 culate opulence, and turn the machinery of a thousand manu- 
 factures, flo,w to the ocean without wafting a boat or turning a 
 wheel ; and the wave breaks in solitude in the silent magnifi- 
 cence of deserted and shipless harbors. 
 
 Instead of being a source of wealth and revenue to the em 
 pire, Ireland cannot defray her own expenses, or pay a single 
 tax. Instead of being a bulwark and fortress, she debilitates, 
 exhausts, and endangers England, and offers an allurement to 
 the speculators in universal ruin. 
 
 The great mass of her enormous population is ahenated and 
 dissociated from the state ; the influence of the constituted and 
 legitimate authorities is gone ; a strange, anomalous, and unex- 
 ampled kind of government has sprung up from the public 
 passions, and exercises a despotic sway over the great mass of 
 the community ; while the class inferior in numbers, but accus- 
 tomed to authority, and infuriated at its loss, are thrown into 
 formidable reaction. The most ferocious passions rage from one 
 extremity of the country to the other. Hundreds and thou- 
 sands of men, arrayed with badges, gather in the south ; and the 
 smaller factions, with discipline and arms, are marshalled in the 
 north. The country is strewed with the materials of civil com- 
 motion, and seems like one vast magazine of powder, which a 
 spark might ignite into an explosion that would shake the whole 
 fabric of civil society into ruin, and of which England would 
 perhaps never recover from the shock. g 
 
V 
 
 >i 
 
 114: SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 86. THE VANITY OF LEARNING. 
 
 '■' r 
 
 f / To be ambitious of distinction in tbe world, is a commendac 
 ble quality, when it excites men to the performance of illustri- 
 ous actions, for the benefit of human kind. But for the pleasure 
 of being lifted up, for a moment, above the common level of 
 mankind, — of being made a spectacle for silly people to admire 
 and applaud, — of having his ears stunned with the senseless 
 noise of popularity, — many a man has forfeited his character 
 with the wise and good, and inflicted woimds on his conscience 
 which the balm of flattering dependents can never heal, i 
 
 The love of learning itself is not to be gratified beyond a cer- 
 tain limit ; it must not be indulged to the injury of your health, 
 nor to the hindrance of your virtue : of that virtue which is 
 employed in discharging the duties of your station with firm- 
 ness and activity. What will the fame derived from the most 
 profound learning avail you, if you have not learned to be pious, 
 and humble, and temperate, and charitable ? Your wisdom is 
 nothing worth, unless you are wise in working out your own 
 salvation: your researches into the depths of philosophy are 
 but the triflings of an idle mind, unless they teach you to search 
 out God, to adore his inscrutable perfections, and to regulate 
 all your conduct in obedience to his will. If the condition of 
 your parents is such as enables them to give you a learned 
 education, it will be a shame for you to disappoint their hopes 
 by idleness and profligacy. You must use diligence in acquir- 
 ing all the knowledge you can of such branches of study as you 
 shall be directed to cultivate; but you must not suffer the 
 praises you hear bestowed on learning, to induce you to believe 
 that there is nothing more excellent as a qualification ; for piety 
 is more excellent ; so is benevolence ; so is sobriety ; so is every 
 virtue which adorns a Christian. You must not let your knowl- 
 edge puff" you up with vanity ; for there can be no cause for 
 your presumption. You may^ know a little more than those 
 who have not been instructed as well as you have been, or 
 than those whom God has not favored with as good talents as 
 he has given you ; but those who know the most of any subject, 
 know so little of it, that their knowledge is, to them, only a 
 more convincing proof than other men have, of the great and 
 general weakness of the human understanding. If your knowl- 
 edge produces that reflection in you, instead of vanity, its fruit 
 will be humility ; and if it does not produce it, it deceives you. 
 
 Bisnoi? WiTSON. 
 
DE. CHALMEES. 115 
 
 87.- THE MISERIES OF WAR. 
 
 The stoutest heart in this assembly would recoil, were he 
 who owns it to behold the destruction of a single individual by 
 some deed of violence. Were the man who, at this Aoment, 
 stands before you, in the full' play and energy of health, to be, 
 in another moment, laid, by some deadly aim, a hfeless corpse 
 at your feet, there is not one of you who would not prove how 
 strong are the relentings of nature at a spectacle so hideous as 
 death. There are some of you who would be haunted, for 
 whole days, by the image of horror you had witnessed ; who 
 would feel the weight of a most oppressive sensation upon your 
 heart, which nothing but time could wear away ; who would 
 be so pursued by it, as to be unfit for business or for enjoy- 
 ment; who. would think of it through the day, and it would 
 spread a gloomy disquietude over your waking moments ; who 
 would dream of it at night, and it would turn that bed, which 
 you courted as a retreat from the torments of an ever-meddling 
 memory, into a scene of restlessness. 
 
 Oh, tell me, if there be any relentings of pity in your bosom, 
 how could you endure it, to behold the agonies of the dying 
 man, as, goaded by pain, he grasps the cold ground in convul- 
 sive energy ; or, faint with the loss of blood, his pulse ebbs low, 
 and the gathering paleness spreads itself over his countenance ; 
 or, wrapping himself round in despair, he can only mark, by a 
 few feeble quiverings, that life still lurks and lingers in his 
 lacerated body ; or, lifting up a fa^ed eye, he casts on you a 
 look of imploring helplessness for that succor which no sym- 
 pathy can yield him? It may be painful to dwell thus, in 
 imagination, on the distressing picture of one individual ; but, 
 multiply it ten thousand times ; say how much of all this dis- 
 tress has been heaped together on a single field ; give us the 
 arithmetic of this accumulated wretchedness, and lay it before 
 us, with all the accuracy of an official computation, and, strange 
 to tell, not one sigh is lifted up among the crowd of eager lis- 
 teners, as they stand on tiptoe, and catch every syllable of 
 utterance which is read to them out of the registers of death. 
 Oh ! say, what mystic spell is that which so blinds us to the 
 suffering of our brethren ; which deafens to our ear the voice of 
 bleeding humanity, when it is aggravated by the shriek of dy- 
 ing thousands ; which makes the very magnitude of the slaugh- 
 ter throw a softening disguise over its cruelties and its horrors ; 
 which causes us to eye, with indifference, the field that is 
 
116 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 crowded with the most revolting abominations, and arrests that 
 sigh which each individual would, singly, have drawn from us, 
 by the report of the many who have fallen and breathed their 
 last in agony along with him ? P^^ Chalmees. 
 
 88. THE BENEVOLENCE OF GOD. 
 
 It is saying much for the benevolence of God, to say, that 
 it sends forth wide and distant emanations over the surface of 
 a territory so ample, that the world we inhabjt, lying imbedded, 
 as it does, amidst so much surrounding greatness, shrinks into a 
 point, that, to the Universal Eye, might appear to be almost 
 imperceptible. But, does it not add to the power and to the 
 perfection of this Universal Eye, that, at the very moment it is 
 taking a comprehensive survey of the vast, it can fasten a steady 
 and undistracted attention on each minute and separate portion 
 of it ; that, at the very moment it is looking at all worlds, it 
 can look most pointedly and most intelligently to each of them ; 
 that, at the very moment it sweeps the field of immensity, it 
 can settle all the earnestness of its regards upon every^ distinct 
 handbreadth of that field ; that, at the very moment at which 
 it embraces the totality of existence, it can send a most thorough 
 and penetrating inspection into each of its details, and into every 
 one of its endless diversities ? You cannot fail to perceive how 
 much this adds to the power of the All-seeing Eye. Tell me, 
 then, if it do not add as much perfection to the benevolence of 
 God, that, while it is expatiating over the vast field of created 
 things, there is not one portion of the field overlooked by it ; 
 that, while it scatters blessings over the whole of an infinite 
 range, it causes them to descend, in a shower of plenty, on 
 every separate habitation ; that, while his arm is underneath 
 and round about all worlds, he enters within the precincts of 
 every one of them, and gives a care and a tenderness to each 
 individual of their teeming population ? Oh ! does not the 
 God, who is said to be love, shed over this attribute of his its 
 finest illustration, when, while he sits in the highest heaven, 
 and pours out his fulness on the whole subordinate domain of 
 nature and of providence, he bows a pitying regard on the 
 very humblest of his children, and sends his reviving Spirit 
 mto every heart, and cheers, by his presence, every home, and 
 provides for the wants of every family, and watches every sick- 
 
DK. CHALMERS. SALLUST. 117 
 
 bed, and listens to the complaints of every sufferer ! And while, 
 by his wondrous mind, the weight of universal government is 
 borne, oh ! is it not more wondrous and more excellent still, that 
 he feels for every sorrow, and has an ear open to every prayer ! 
 
 Dr. Chalmeus. 
 
 89. THE POWER OF TEMPTATION. 
 
 Who has not felt the workings of a rivalry within him, be 
 tween the power of conscience and the power of temptation? 
 Who does not remember those seasons of retirement, when the 
 calculations of eternity had gotten a momentary command over 
 the heart, and time, with all its interests, and all its vexations, 
 had dwindled into insignificancy before them ? Oh ! how comes 
 it that, in the face of experience, the whole elevation of purpose, 
 conceived in this hour of better understanding, should be dissi- 
 pated and forgotten ? Who is it that so pictures out the ob- 
 jects of sense, and so magnifies the range of their future enjoy- 
 ment, and so dazzles the fond and deceived imagination, that, in 
 looking onward through our earthly career, it appears like the 
 vista or the perspective of innumerable ages ? He, who is called 
 the god of this world. He, who can dress the idleness of its 
 waking dreams in the garb of reahty. He, who can pour a se- 
 ducing brilliancy over the panorama of its fleeting pleasures and 
 its vain anticipations. He, who can turn it into an instrument 
 of deceitfulness, and make it wield such an absolute ascendency 
 over all the affections, that man becomes the poor slave of its 
 idolatries and its charms : puts the authority of conscience, and 
 the warnings of the word of God, and the offered instigations of 
 the Spirit of God, and all the lessons of calculation, and all the 
 wisdom even of his own sound and sober experience away from 
 
 ^"°^- De. Chalmers. 
 
 90. SPEECH OF CAIUS MARIUS* 
 
 I SUBMIT to your judgment, Romans, on which side the 
 advantage lies, when a comparison is made betwjeen patrician 
 haughtiness and plebeian experience. The very actions, which 
 they have only read, I have partly seen, and partly myself 
 achieved. What they know by reading, I know by action. 
 They are pleased to slight my mean birth ; I despise their mean 
 
118 SELECTIO^s^S IN PROSE. 
 
 characters. Want of birth and fortune is the objection against 
 me ; want of personal worth against them. But are not all 
 men of the same species ? What can make a difference between 
 one man and another, but the endowments of the mind ? For 
 my part, I shall always look upon the bravest man as the 
 noblest man. If the patricians have reason to despise me, let 
 them likewise despise their ancestors, whose nobility was the 
 fruit of their virtue. Do they envy the honors bestowed upon 
 me ? Let them envy, likewise, my labors, my abstinence, and 
 the dangers I have undergone for my country, by which I have 
 acquired them. But those worthless men lead such a hfe of 
 inactivity, as if they despised any honors you can bestow, 
 whilst they aspire to honors as if they had deserved them by 
 the most industrious virtue. They lay claim to the rewards of 
 activity, for their having enjoyed the pleasures of luxury; yet 
 none can be more lavish than they are in the praise of their 
 ancestors : and they imagine they honor themselves by celebrat- 
 ing their forefathers ; whereas they do the very contrary ; for, 
 as much as their ancestors were distinguished for their virtues, 
 so much are they disgraced by their vices. The glory of ancestors 
 casts a light, indeed, upon their posterity ; but it only serves to 
 show what the descendants are. It alike exhibits to public view 
 their degeneracy and their worth. I own, I cannot boast of 
 the deeds of my forefathers ; but I hope I may answer the 
 cavils of the patricians, by standing up in defence of what I have 
 myself done. 
 
 Observe, now, my countrymen, the injustice of the patricians. 
 They arrogate to themselves honors, on account of the exploits 
 done by their forefathers ; whilst they will not allow me the 
 due praise, for performing the very sort of actions in my own 
 person. He has no statues, they cry, of his family. He can 
 trace no venerable line of ancestors. What then ?^ Is it matter 
 of more praise to disgrace^ne's illustrious ancestors, than to 
 become illustrious by one's own good behavior ? What if I 
 can show no statues of my family ? I can show the standards, 
 the armor, and the trappings which I have myself taken from 
 the vanquished : I can show the scars of those wounds which I 
 have received by facing the enemies of my country. These are 
 my statues. These are the honors I boast of. Not left me by 
 inheritance, as theirs ; but earned by toil, by abstinence, by 
 valor ; amidst clouds of dust and seas of blood : scenes of 
 action, where those effeminate patricians who endeavor, by 
 indirect means, to depreciate me in vour esteem, have never 
 dared to show their faces. Sallubt 
 
DANIEL WEBSTEK. 119 
 
 91. THE PROGRESS OF LIBERTY. 
 
 Mr. President, the contest for ages has been to rescue 
 liberty from the grasp of executive power. Whoever has 
 engaged in her sacred cause, from the days of the downfall of 
 those great aristocracies which had stood between the king and 
 the people to the time of our own independence, has struggled 
 for the accomplishment of that single object. On the long list 
 of the champions of human freedom, there is not one name 
 dimmed by the reproach of advocating the extension of execu- 
 tive authority ; on the contrary, the uniform and steady purpose 
 of all such champions has been to limit and restrain it. To 
 this end, the spirit of liberty, growing more and more enlight- 
 ened, and more and more vigorous from age to age, has been 
 battering for centuries against the soHd hutments of the feudal 
 system. To this end, all that could be gained from the impru- 
 dence, snatched from the weakness, or wrung from the necessi- 
 ties of crowned heads, has been carefully gathered up, secured, 
 and hoarded as the rich treasures, the very jewels of liberty. 
 To this end, popular and representative right has kept up its 
 warfare against prerogative with various success; sometimes 
 writing the history of a whole age in blood ; sometimes wit- 
 nessing the martyrdom of Sydneys and Russells ; often baffled 
 and repulsed, but still gaining, on the whole, and holding what 
 it gained with a grasp which nothing but the complete extinction 
 of its own being could compel it to relinquish. At length the 
 great conquest over executive power, in the leading western 
 states of Europe, has been accomplished. The feudal system, 
 like other stupendous fabrics of past ages, is known only by the 
 rubbish which it has left behind it. Crowned heads have been 
 compelled to submit to the restraints of law, and the people, 
 with that intelligence and that spirit which make their voice 
 resistless, have been able to say to prerogative, " Thus far shalt 
 thou come, and no farther." I need hardly say, sir, that, into 
 the full enjoyment of all which Europe has reached only 
 through such slow and painful steps, we sprang at once, by the 
 declaration of independence, and by the establishment of free 
 representative governments; governments borrowing more or 
 less from the models of other free states, but strengthened, 
 secured, improved in their symmetry, and deepened in their 
 foundation by those great men of our own country, whose 
 names will be as familiar to future times as if they were written 
 on the arch of the sky. ^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^_ 
 
120 SELECTIONS IN THOSE. 
 
 92. OUR COUNTRY S ORIGIN. 
 
 Our fathers came hither to a land from which they were 
 never to return. Hither they had brought, and here they were 
 to fix their hopes, their attachments, and their objects. Some 
 natural tears they shed, as they left the pleasant abodes of 
 their fathers, and some emotions they suppressed when the 
 white cliffs of their native country, now seen for the last time, 
 grew dim to their sight. 
 
 A new existence awaited them here ; and when they saw these 
 shores, rough, cold, barbarous, and barren, as then they were, 
 they beheld their country. Before they reached the shore, they 
 had established the elements of a social system, and at a much 
 earlier period had settled their forms of religious worship. At 
 the moment of their landing, therefore, they possessed institu- 
 tions of government, and institutions of religion. The morning 
 that beamed on the first night of their repose saw the Pilgrims 
 already established in their country. There were political insti- 
 tutions, and civil hberty, and religious worship. Poetry has 
 fancied nothing in the wanderings of heroes so distinct and 
 characteristic. Here was man indeed unprotected, and unpro- 
 vided for, on the shore of a rude and fearful wilderness ; but it 
 was politic, intelligent, and educated man. Every thing was 
 civilized but the physical world. Institutions containing in sub- 
 stance all that ages had done for human government were es- 
 tablished in a forest. Cultivated mind was to act on unculti- 
 vated nature ; and, more than all, a government and a country 
 were to commence with the very first foundations laid under the 
 divine light of the Christian religion. Happy auspices of a 
 happy futurity ! Who would wish that his country's existence 
 had otherwise begun ? Who would desire the power of going 
 back to the ages of fable ? Who would wish for an origin ob- 
 scured in 'the darkness of antiquity ? Who would wish for 
 other emblazoning of his country's heraldry, or other ornaments 
 of her genealogy, than to be able to say that her first existence 
 was with inteUigence ; her first breath the inspirations of liber- 
 ty ; her first principle the truth of divine religion ? 
 
 Daniel "Webster. 
 
DANIEL WEBSTER. HENRY CLAY, 121 
 
 93. THE SPIRIT OF HUMAN LIBERTY. 
 
 The spirit of human liberty and of free government, nurtured 
 and grown into strength and beauty in America, has stretched 
 its course into the midst of the nations. Like an emanation 
 from heaven, it has gone forth, and it wiil not return void. It 
 must change, it is fast changing, the face of the earth. Our 
 great, our high duty, is to show, in our own examples, that this 
 spirit is a spirit of health as well as a spirit of power ; that its 
 benignity is as great as its strength ; that its efficiency to se- 
 cure individual rights, social relations, and moral order, is 
 equal to the irresistible force with which it prostrates principal- 
 ities and powers. The world, at this moment, is regarding us 
 with a wiUing, but something of a fearful admiration. Its deep 
 and awful anxiety is to learn, whether free states may be stable 
 as well as free ; whether popular power may be trusted as well 
 as feared ; in short," whether wise, regular, and virtuous self- 
 government is a vision for the contemplation of theorists, or a 
 truth, established, illustrated, and brought into practice, in the 
 country of Washington. 
 
 For the earth which we inhabit, and the whole circle of the 
 sun, for all the unborn races of mankind, we seem to hold in 
 our hands, for their weal or woe, the fate of this experiment. 
 If we fail, -who shall venture the repetition ? If our example 
 shall prove to be one, not of encouragement, but of terror, not 
 fit to be imitated, but fit only to be shunned, where else shall 
 the world look for free models ? If this great western sun be 
 struck out of the firmament, at what other fountain shall the 
 lamp of Hberty hereafter be lighted? What other orb shall 
 emit a ray to glimmer, even, on the darkness of the world ? 
 
 Daniel Websteb. 
 
 94. THE patriot's courage. 
 
 There is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do 
 not possess, a boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor 
 which I cannot covet. I cannot lay myself down in the way of 
 the welfare and happiness of my country. That I cannot, I 
 have not the courage to do. I cannot interpose the power 
 with which I may be invested, a power conferred, not for my 
 personal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement, but for mj coun- 
 
 6 
 
122 SELECTIONS m PEOSE. 
 
 try's good, to check lier onward marcli to greatness and glory. 
 I have not courage enough. I am too cowardly for that. 1 
 would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a trust, lie down, 
 and place my body across the path that leads my country to 
 prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely 
 diflferent from that which a man may display in his private con- 
 duct and personal relations. Personal or private courage is 
 totally distinct from that higher and nobler courage which 
 prompts the patriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his 
 country's good. 
 
 Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness 
 sometimes impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It 
 is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the 
 want of courage. But pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable 
 and offensive in private life, are vices which partake of the char- 
 acter of crimes, in the conduct of public affairs. The unfortu- 
 nate victim of these passions cannot see beyond the little, petty, 
 contemptible circle of his own personal interests. All his 
 thoughts are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on 
 his consistency, his firmness, himself. The high, the exalted, 
 the sublime emotions of a patriotism which, soaring towards 
 heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or selfish things, and is 
 absorbed by one soul- transporting thought of the good and the 
 glory of one's country, are never felt in his impenetrable bosom. 
 That patriotism which, catching its inspirations from the im- 
 mortal God, and leaving at an immeasurable distance below all 
 lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates and 
 prompts to deeds of self-sucrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of 
 death itself — that is pubhc virtue ; that is the noblest, the sub- 
 limes!; of all public virtues! Henky Clay 
 
 95. THE SURVIVORS OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 Let us not forget the men who, when the conflict of counsel 
 was over, stood forward in that of arras ; yet let me not, by 
 faintly endeavoring to sketch, do deep injustice to the story of 
 their exploits. The efforts of a life would scarce suffice to paint 
 out this picture in all its astonishing incidents, in all its mingled 
 colors of sublimity and woe, of agony and triumph. 
 
 But the age of commemoration is at hand. The voice of oui 
 fathers' blood begins to cry to us, from beneath *iw soil which 
 
 I 
 
EDWAKD EVERETT. - 123 
 
 it moistened. Time is bringing forward, in their proper relief 
 the men and the deeds of that high-souled day. The genera- 
 tion of contemporary worthies is gone ; the crowd of the unsig- 
 nalized great and good disappears ; and the leaders in war as 
 well as council, are seen, in Fancy's eye, to take their stations on 
 the mount of remembrance. 
 
 They come from the embattled cliffs of Abraham ; they start 
 from the heaving sods of Bunker's Hill ; they gather from the 
 blazing lines of Saratoga and Yorktown, from the blood-dyed 
 waters of the Brandywine, from the dreary snows of Valley 
 Forge, and all the hard-fought fields of the war. With all their 
 wounds and all their honors, they rise and plead with us for 
 their brethren who survive ; and bid us, if indeed we cherish the 
 memory of those who bled in our cause, to show our gratitude, 
 not by sounding words, but by stretching out the strong arm of 
 the country's prosperity to help the veteran survivors gently 
 down to their graves. ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 96. TERRITORIAL EXTENSION. 
 
 In the grand and steady progress of our country, the career 
 of duty and. usefulness will be run by all its children, under a 
 constantly increasing excitement. The voice which, in the 
 morning of life, shall awaken the patriotic sympathy of the land, 
 will be echoed back by a community, incalculably swelled in all 
 its proportions, before that voice shall be hushed in death. The 
 writer, by whom the noble features of our scenery shall be 
 sketched with a glowing pencil, the traits of our romantic early 
 history gathered up with filial zeal, and the peculiarities of our 
 character seized with delicate perception, cannot mount so en- 
 tirely and rapidly to success, but that ten years will add new 
 millions to the numbers of his readers. The American states- 
 man, the orator, whose voice is already heard in its supremacy 
 from Florida to Maine, whose intellectual empire already ex- 
 tends beyond the limits of Alexander's, has yet new states and 
 new nations starting into being, the willing tributaries to his 
 sway. 
 
 The wilderness, which one year is impassable, is traversed the 
 next by the caravans of the industrious emigrants, who go to 
 follow the setting sun, with the language, the institutions, and 
 the arts of civilized life. It is not the irruption of wild barba- 
 
124 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 rians, sent to visit the wrath of God on a degenerate empire ; it 
 is not the inroad of disciphned banditti, marshalled by the in- 
 trigues of ministers and kings. It is the human family, led out 
 to possess its broad patrimony. The states and nations which 
 are springing tip in the valley of the Missouri, are bound to us 
 by the dearest ties of a common language, a common govern- 
 ment, and a common descent. 
 
 Who can forget that this extension of our temtorial limits is 
 the extension of the empire of all we hold dear ; of our laws, 
 of our character, of the memory of our ancestors, of the great 
 achievements in our history ? Whithersoever the sons of these 
 states shall wander, to southern or western climes, they will 
 send back their hearts to the rocky shores, the battle-fields, and 
 the intrepid councils of the Atlantic coast. These are placed 
 beyond the reach of vicissitude. They have become already 
 matter of history, of poetry, of eloquence : 
 
 " The love, where death has set his seal, 
 Nor age can chill, nor rival steal. 
 Nor Msehood disavow." 
 
 Edward Everett. 
 
 97. THE EXPERIMENT OF SELF-GOVERNMENT. 
 
 We are summoned to new energy and zeal by the high na- 
 ture of the experiment we are appointed in Providence to make, 
 and the grandeur of the theatre on which it is to be performed. 
 When the Old World aflforded no longer any hope, it pleased 
 heaven to open this last refuge of humanity. The attempt has 
 fcegun, and is going on, far from foreign corruption, on the 
 broadest scale, and under the most benignant prospects ; and it 
 certainly rests with us to solve the great problem in human 
 society, to settle, and that forever, that momentous question — 
 whether mankind can be trusted with a purely popular system ? 
 One might almost think, without extravagance, that the depart- 
 ed wise and good of all places and times are looking down from 
 their happy seats to witness what shall now be done by us ; that 
 they who lavished their treasures and their blood of old, who 
 labored and suffered, who spake and wrote, who fought and 
 perished, in the one great cause of freedom and truth, are now 
 hanging, from their orbs on high, over the last solemn experi- 
 ment of humanity. As I have wandered over the spots once 
 the scene of their labors, and mused among the prostrate col- 
 
EDWAED EVEEETT. 125 
 
 unins of tlieir senate-houses and forums, I have seemed almost 
 to hear a voice from the tombs of departed ages — from the sep- 
 ulchres of the nations which died before the sight. They ex- 
 hort us, they adjure us to be faithful to our trust. They im- 
 plore us, by the long trials of struggling humanity ; by the 
 blessed memory of the departed ; by the dear faith which has 
 been plighted, by pure hands, to the holy cause of truth and 
 man ; by the awful secrets of the prison-houses where the sons 
 of freedom have been immured ; by the noble heads which 
 have been brought to the block ; by the wrecks of time, by the 
 eloquent ruins of nations, they conjure us not to quench the 
 light which is rising on the world. Greece cries to us, by the 
 convulsed lips of her poisoned, dying Demosthenes ; and Rome 
 pleads with us in the mute persuasion of her mangled Tully. 
 
 Edward Everett. 
 
 98. REVOLUTIONARY STRUGGLES. 
 
 The present age may be justly described as the age of revo- 
 lutions. From the commencement of our revolution up to the 
 present day, we have witnessed, in Europe and America, an un- 
 interrupted series of important changes. The thrones of the Old 
 World have been shaken to their foundations. Every arrival 
 from abroad brings us intelligence of some new event of the 
 highest moment ; some people rising in revolt against their sov- 
 ereign ; some new constitution proclaimed in one country ; some 
 reform, equivalent to a new constitution, projected in another ; 
 France in the midst of a dangerous revolutionary crisis ; Bel- 
 gium, Poland, and Italy the scenes of actual hostilities ; England 
 on the eve of commotion : the whole European commonwealth 
 apparently plunging again into the gulf of general war. 
 
 What is the object of all those desperate struggles ? The 
 object of them is to obtain an extension of individual liberty. 
 Established institutions have lost their influence and authority. 
 Men have become weary of submitting to names and forms 
 which they once reverenced. It has been ascertained — to use 
 the language of Napoleon — that a throne is only four boards 
 covered with velvet : that a written constitution is but a sheet 
 of parchment. There is, in short, an effort making throughout 
 the world to reduce the action of government within the nar- 
 rowest possible limits, and to give the widest possible extent to 
 individual liberty. 
 
126 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 » 
 
 Our own country, though happily exempt, and God grani 
 that it may long continue so, from the troubles of Europe, is 
 not exempt from the influence of the causes that produce them. 
 We too are inspired and agitated, and governed by the all-per- 
 rading, all-inspiring, all-agitating, all-governing spirit of the age. 
 What do I say ? We were the first to feel and act upon its 
 influence. Our revolution was the first of the long series that 
 has since shaken every corner of Europe and America. Our 
 fathers led the van in the long array of heroes, martyrs, and 
 confessors, who had fought and fallen under the banner of hb- 
 erty. The institutions they bequeathed to us, and under which 
 we are living in peace and happiness, were founded on the prin- 
 ciples which lie at the bottom of the present agitation in Europe. 
 We have reahzed what our contemporaries are laboring to attain. 
 Our tranquillity is the fruit of an entire acquiescence in the spirit 
 of the age. We have reduced the action of government within 
 narrower limits, and given a wider scope to individual liberty; 
 than any community that ever flourished before. 
 
 Edward Everett 
 
 99. WAR WITH FRANCE. 
 
 The first thing that strikes me, sir, in casting my eyes to the 
 future, is the utter impossibility that war, should there unfor- 
 tunately be one, can have an honorable termination. The capa- 
 city of France to inflict injury upon us is ten times greater than 
 ours to inflict injuries on her ; while the cost of the war, in pro- 
 portion to her means, would be in nearly the same proportion 
 less than ours to our means. She has relatively a small com- 
 merce to be destroyed, while we have the largest in the world, 
 in proportion to our capital and population. She may threaten 
 and harass our coast, while her own is safe from assault. I do 
 not hesitate to pronounce, sir, that a war with France will be 
 among the greatest calamities — greater than a war with England 
 herself. The power of the latter to annoy us may be greater 
 than that of the former; but so is ours, in turn, greater to 
 annoy England than France. Nothing can be more destructive 
 to our commerce and navigation, than for England to be neutral, 
 while we are belligerent, in a contest with such a country as 
 France. The whole of our commercial marine, with our entire 
 shipping, would pass almost instantly into the hands of England. 
 With the exception of our public armed vessels, there would be 
 
JOHN 0, CALHOUN. ^LEWIS CASS. 127 
 
 scarcely a flag of ours afloat on the ocean. We grew rich 
 by being neutral while England was belligerent. It was that 
 which so suddenly built up the mighty fabric of our prosperity 
 and greatness. Reverse the position : let England be neutral 
 while we are belligerent, and the sources of our wealth and 
 prosperity would be speedily exhausted. 
 
 In a just and necessary war, all these consequences ought to 
 .be fearlessly met. Though a friend to peace, when a proper 
 occasion occurs I would be among the last to dread the con- 
 sequences of war. I think the wealth and blood of a country 
 are well poured out in maintaining a just, honorable, and neces- 
 sary war ; but, in such a war as that with which the country is 
 now threatened — a mere war of etiquette — a war turning on a 
 question so trivial as whether an explanation shall or shall not be 
 given — no, whether it has or has not been given, (for that is the 
 real point on which the controversy turns,) — to put in jeopardy 
 the lives &nd property of our citizens, and the liberty and 
 institutions of our country, is worse than folly — is madness. I 
 say the liberty and institutions of the country. I hold them to 
 be in imminent danger. Such has been the grasp of executive 
 power, that we have not been able to resist its usurpations, even 
 in a period of peace ; and how much less shall we be able, with 
 the vast increase of power and patronage which a war must 
 confer on that department? In a sound condition of the 
 country, with our institutions in their full vigor, and every 
 department confined to its proper sphere, we would have nothing 
 to fear from a war with France, or any other power ; but oui" 
 system is deeply diseased, and we may fear the worst in being 
 involved in a war at such a juncture. j^^^^ C. Calhoun. 
 
 100. THE PRESERVATION OF THE UNION. 
 
 Sir, I may well appeal to those who find in the constitution 
 or out of the constitution this power to control the territories, 
 whether it is a power that ought to be exercised under existing 
 circumstances. 
 
 Here is one-half of a great country which believes, with a 
 unanimity perhaps without a parallel in grave national questions, 
 that the constitution has delegated to congress no such power 
 whatever. And there is a large portion of the other half which 
 entertains similar views ; while of those who see in the consti- 
 
128 SELECTIONS m PEOSK 
 
 tution sufficient grounds for legislative action, tlierc are many 
 who admit- — indeed, probably, there are few who deny — that 
 the question is not free from serious doubts. 
 
 Besides the Avant of constitutional power, there are at least 
 fourteen states of this Union which see in this measuie a direct 
 attack upon their rights, and a disregard of their feelings and 
 interests, as injurious in itself as it is oflFensive to their pride of 
 character, and incompatible with the existence of those bonds 
 of amity which are stronger than constitutional ties to hold us 
 together. No man can shut his eyes to the excitement which 
 prevails there, and which is borne to us by the press in count- 
 less articles coming from legislative proceedings, from popular 
 assemblies, and from all the sources whence public opinion is 
 derived, and be insensible to the evil day that is upon us. I 
 believe this Union will survive all the dangers with which it 
 may be menaced, however trying the circumstances in which it 
 may be placed. I believe it is not destined to perish till long 
 after it shall have fulfilled the great mission confided to it, of 
 example and encouragement to the nations of the earth who 
 are struggling with the despotism of centuries, and groping 
 their Avay in a darkness once impenetrable, but where the light 
 of knowledge and freedom is beginning to disperse the gloom. 
 But to maintain this proud position, this integrity of political 
 existence, on which so much for us and for the world depends, 
 we must carefully avoid those sectional questions so much and 
 so forcibly deprecated by the father of his country, and culti- 
 vating a spirit of mutual regard, adding to the considerations 
 of interest which hold us together the higher motives of affec- 
 tion and of affinity of views and of sympathies. Sad will be 
 the day when the first drop of blood is shed in the preservation 
 of this Union. That day need never come, and never will come, 
 if the same spirit of compromise and of concession by each to 
 the feelings of all, which animated our fathers, continues to 
 animate us and our children. But if powers offensive to one 
 portion of the country, and of doubtful obligation, to say the 
 least of it, are to be exercised by another, and under circum- 
 stances of peculiar excitement, this confederation may be rent 
 in twain, leaving another example of that judicial blindness with 
 which God, in his providence, sometimes visits the sins of nations. 
 
 Lkwis Cass. 
 
DAIJIEL S. DICKINSON. 129^ 
 
 101. AGRICULTURE. 
 
 We have the high authority of history, sacred and profane, 
 for declaring that agriculture is a dignified and time- honored 
 calling — ordained and favored of heaven, and sanctioned by 
 experience ; and we are invited to its pursuit by the rewards of 
 the past and the present, and the rich promises of the future. 
 While the fierce spirit of war, with its embattled legions, has, 
 in its proud triumphs, " whelmed nations in blood, and wrapped 
 cities in fire," and filled the land with lamentation and mourning, 
 it has not brought peace or happiness to a single hearth — dried 
 the tears of the widows, or hushed the cries of the orphans it 
 has made — bound up or soothed one crushed or broken spirit — 
 nor heightened the joys of domestic or social life in a single 
 bosom. But how many dark recesses of the earth has agricul- 
 ture illumined with its blessings ! How many firesides has it 
 lighted up with radiant gladness ! How many hearts has it 
 made buoyant with domestic hope ! How often, like the good 
 Samaritan, has it alleviated want and misery, while the priest 
 and Levite of power have passed by on the other side ! How 
 many family altars, and gathering places of aflfection, has it 
 erected ! How many desolate homes has it cheered by its con- 
 solations ! How have its peaceful and gentle influences filled 
 the land with plenteousness and riches, and made it vocal with 
 praise and thanksgiving ! 
 
 It has pleased the benevolent Author of our existence to set 
 in boundless profusion before us the necessary elements for a 
 high state of cultivation and enjoyment. Blessings cluster 
 around us like fruits of the land of promise, and science unfolds 
 her treasures and invites us to partake, literally without money 
 and without price. The propensities of our nature, as well as 
 the philosophy of our being, serve to remind us that man was 
 formed for care and labor — for the acquisition and enjoyment of 
 property — for society and government — to wrestle with the 
 elements around him ; and, that by an active exercise of his 
 powers and faculties alone, can he answer the ends of his crea- 
 tion, or exhibit his exalted attributes. His daily wants, in all 
 conditions of fife, prompt him to exertion, and the spirit of 
 acquisition, so deeply implanted in the human breast— that 
 " ruling passion strong in death,'* so universally diffused 
 through the whole family of man — is the parent of that laud- 
 able enterprise which has caused the wilderness to bud and 
 blossom like the rose, planted domestic enjoyments in the lah' of 
 
 6* 
 
130 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 the beast of prey, and transformed the earth from an uncul- 
 tivated wild into one vast storehouse of subsistence and enjoy- 
 ment. What can be more acceptable to the patriot or the 
 philanthropist, than to behold the great mass of mankind raised 
 above the degrading influences of tyranny and indolence, to the 
 rational enjoyment of the bounties of their Creator ? To see, 
 in the productions of man's magic powers, the cultivated 
 country, the fragrant meadow, the waving harvest, the smiling 
 garden, and the tasteful dwelling, and himself chastened by the 
 precepts of religion, and elevated by the refinements of science, 
 partaking of the fruits of his own industry, with the proud 
 consciousness that he eats not the bread of idleness or fraud ; 
 that his gains are not met with the tears of misfortune, nor 
 wrung from his fellow by the devices of avarice or extortion ; 
 his joys heightened, his sorrows alleviated, and his heart rectified 
 by the cheering voice and heaven-bom influences of woman. 
 Well may he sit down under his own vine and fig-tree without 
 fear of molestation, and his nightly repose be more quiet than 
 that of the stately monarch of the East upon his down of 
 cygnets, or the voluptuous Sybarite upon his bed of roses. 
 
 Daniel S. Dickinson.* 
 
 102. AN APPEAL FOR UNION. 
 
 Sir, I do not limit my appeal to Southern senators, I address 
 myself to senators from whatever quarter of the Union; I 
 appeal to them as American senators, and I adjure them by 
 their recollections of the past — by their hopes of the future — 
 as they value the free institutions which the mercy of Provi- 
 dence permits us to enjoy — by all these considerations, I entreat 
 them to unite wnth us in excluding from the national councils 
 this demon of discord. The acquisition of territory which it is 
 proposed to accomplish by this bill, must bring upon us, with 
 accumulated force, a question which even now menaces the 
 permanence of our Union. I know the firmness of your deter- 
 mination to exert your constitutional powers, to prevent the 
 extension of our domestic institutions. I know the various 
 considerations which unite to constitute that determination, and 
 to give to it its unyielding irrevocable character. I do not 
 mean to discuss this question with you, still less to speak in the 
 
 * U. S. Senator from New York. 
 
JOHN M. BEEKIEN. ANDKEW P. BUTLEK. 131 
 
 language of menace. That is alike forbidden by my respect for 
 myself, for you, and for the dignity and the interests of my con- 
 stituents ; but I entreat you to listen to truth, dispassionately, 
 calmly announced to you. 
 
 Your determination to deny this right to the South, is not 
 more fixed and unwavering than theirs to assert it. You do 
 not believe that Southern men will silently acquiesce in — will 
 tamely submit to the denial to them, of that which in their 
 deliberate judgment is the common right of all the people of the 
 United States. If we have a right to acquire territory — if that 
 acquisition be made by the common effort of all the states — by 
 the blood and treasure of all — if all have a common right to 
 share, what all have united to acquire, then the exclusion of the 
 South must result in one of two things. They must give an 
 unexampled manifestation of their devotion to the bond of our 
 Federal Union, by submitting to this exclusion, or sadly, though 
 resolutely determine, at whatever hazard, and even against you 
 their bi*others in that sacred bond, to assert and maintain their 
 rights. You know them well enough to know, which of these 
 alternatives they will adopt. I do most earnestly hope that w*e 
 may never be brought to so fearful a crisis. The danger mena- 
 ces us even now ; but the patriotism and intelligence of the 
 American people will, I trust, avert it : will teach us, and will 
 teach you, that our safety, that your safety, that the common 
 safety of all alike, forbid the acquisition of territory, if we would 
 continue to enjoy the precious legacy which has been trans- 
 mitted to us — a rich, almost boundless domain, capable of 
 ministering to all our wants, of gratifying all our desires, and 
 a glorious constitution, which a world in arms would vainly 
 assail while we rally round it in our united strength. 
 
 John M. Berrien.* 
 
 103. THE STATE OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 Sir, we often find that it is peculiar to the minds of some per- 
 sons who do not practise virtue very much, to be constant in their 
 recommendations of it to others ; it is the tribute which hypoc- 
 risy pays to virtue. Sir, there are some on this floor who say 
 that they are above the constitution, I do not know how far 
 they are above it, or how much better they are than those who 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Georgia. 
 
132 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 made it. Those who make so many professions of conscience, 
 generally have the shortest performances \inder them. There 
 are those who are continually looking into other people's con- 
 cerns, and making comparisons and parallels for no practical 
 purpose. We yesterday heard a parallel drawn by the sena- 
 tor from Connecticut, between the states of New York and 
 Virginia, with a view of illustrating the unfavorable effects of 
 Southern institutions. I thought such a comparison was very 
 unnecessary, and that any one might have said to that sena- 
 tor, that if Virginia had occasion to be proud of any thing, it 
 was of her institutions — not only as they had exhibited their 
 influence in her own borders, but wherever her sons had gone. 
 Sir, if her fields are washed into gullies, let it be remembered 
 that the crops which have grown upon them have raised states- 
 men and heroes. She may not boast of crowded villages and 
 densely settled farms, but wherever they have been settled, they 
 have been settled to good purpose ; and though they do not 
 possess the particular kind of prosperity which may have 
 njarked some of the Northern states, whenever she was disposed 
 to exhibit her wealth, like Cornelia when asked to show her 
 jewels, she could point to her children. 
 
 Sir, I wish to make no corapf^risons, but, if they are made, 
 gentlemen will find that there have been more men of talent 
 and virtue in this senate from the state of Virginia, than from 
 any oth 3r state in the Union. ^^^^^ p_ Butlicb.* 
 
 104. THE SUSPENSION OF DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS WITH AUSTRIA. 
 
 Mr. President, I am opposed to this proposition, for, sup- 
 posing it to be founded upon ti-ue principles, its appHcation is 
 partial, unequal, and in that sense, is unjust. This objection 
 has already been made, and a proposition, I believe, is now 
 pending to add Russia to the list of the courts with which our 
 diplomatic relations are to be suspended. Assuredly there 
 would be as much reason for thus punishing Russia as Austna ; 
 for the offence is the same, or even worse. What shall we say 
 to France, too, if we are to assume this general supervision of 
 the conduct of foreign governments ? Is there nothing in the 
 
 * U. S> Senator from Soiith Carolina. 
 
K. M. T. HDNTEK. 135 
 
 course of the French government in Italy to shock our repub- 
 lican sensibilities ? Have they not interfered against the rights 
 of man and popular liberty, according to our conception of the 
 terms? We ought, then, in order to be just, to suspend our 
 diplomatic relations with all of these courts — Austria, Russia, 
 and France. I am not sure, sir, tha,t the list would stop here, 
 if I chose to pursue this examination further. But it is unne- 
 cessary for my purpose to continue the investigation ; I have 
 said enough to show the inequality of the proposition as it now 
 stands. But I have a third objection to this resolution, which 
 is founded on the fact that it casts reproach on our history and 
 past conduct towards foreign governments — a reproach which, 
 in my opinion, has not been deserved by the sages and patriots 
 who have gone before us, or, indeed, by any of those who have 
 hitherto been responsible for the course of our government. If, 
 as this resolution assumes, it is our duty to observe the conduct 
 of foreign governments towards their own subjects, and to pun- 
 ish them in this mode for acts of oppression towards their citi- 
 zens, or for violations of the rights of man, according to our 
 conception of their nature; then, sir, in times past we have 
 grievously failed in the discharge of our obligations. From the 
 institution of our government up to this period, how often ought 
 we not to have exercised this power in the discharge of such 
 duties ! With how many governments should we not have sus- 
 pended such relations at the time of the partition of Poland ! 
 With how many during the aggressive wars of Napoleon ! 
 Which of the European nations would have escaped after the 
 treaty of Vienna, and during the existence of the Holy Alli- 
 ance ? Why, sir, we could not have recalled ministers fast 
 enough about that period to have signalized our abhorrence of 
 the daily violation of the rights of man, in the arbitrary disrup- 
 tion of territories long united together, and the forced connec- 
 tion of people to governments to which they were averse. I 
 should waste the time of the senate, if I were to attempt the 
 enumeration of the cases in which we have failed to act as this 
 resolution assumes we ought to have done. How often should 
 we have suspended relations with France, with England ! In- 
 deed, -ft^hat government is there in the civilized world with whom 
 we should not have suspended our relations at some period of 
 our history, according to the principles now laid down V Per- 
 haps we might have preserved diplomatic relations with the 
 repubhc of San Marino, by way of showing that it was possible 
 to maintain such a connection with somebody, according to the 
 principles of action which we had laid down upon such subjects. 
 
134 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 Sir, if this resolution be right, then our government has been 
 grievously wrong in its past course in relation to these matters. 
 To vote for this resolution is to record that censure. For one, 
 I am not willing to do it. I believe they acted wisely and well. 
 They deserved the thanks of mankind for their foreign policy, 
 which has won, as I had supposed, universal respect. 
 
 R. M. T. HUNTEE.* 
 
 105. THE SOUTH. 
 
 Sir, I can -but consider it as a tribute of respect to the char- 
 acter for candor and sincerity which the South maintains, that 
 every movement which occurs in the Southern states is closely 
 scrutinized ; but what shall we think of the love for the Union 
 of those in whom this brings no corresponding change of con- 
 duct, who continue the wanton aggressions which have pro- 
 duced and justify the action they deprecate ? Is it well, is it 
 wise, is it safe, to disregard these manifestations of public dis- 
 pleasure, though it be the displeasure of a minority ? Is it 
 proper, or prudent, or respectful, when a representative, in 
 accordance with the known will of his constituents, addresses 
 you the language of solemn warning, in conformity to his duty 
 to the constitution, the Union, and to his own conscience, that 
 bis course should be arraigned as the declaration of ultra ana 
 dangerous opinions? If these warnings were received in the 
 spirit they are given, it would augur better for the country. It 
 would give hopes which are now denied us, if the press of the 
 country, that great lever of public opinion, would enforce these 
 warnings, and bear them to every cottage, instead of heaping 
 abuse upon those whose ease would prompt them to silence — 
 whose speech, therefore, is evidence of sincerity. Lightly and 
 loosely representatives of Southern people have been denounced 
 as disunionists by that portion of the Northern press which 
 most disturbs the harmony and endangers the perpetuity of the 
 Union. Such, even, has been my own case, though tire man 
 does not breathe at whose door the charge of disunion might not 
 as well be laid as at mine. The son of a revolutionary soldier, 
 attachment to this Union was among the first lessons of my 
 childhood • bred to the service of my country from boyhood, to 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Virginia. 
 
JEFFEESON DAVIS. 135 
 
 mature age I wore its uniform. Through the brightest portion 
 of my hfe I was accustomed to see our flag, historic emblem of 
 the Union, rise with the rising and fall with the setting sun. I 
 look upon it now with the affection of early love, and seek to 
 maintain and preserve it by a strict adherence to the constitu- 
 tion, from which it had its birth, and by the nurture of which 
 its stars have come so much to outnumber its original stripes. 
 Shall that flag, which has gathered fresh glory in every war, 
 and become more radiant still by the conquest of peace — shall 
 that flag now be torn by domestic faction, and trodden in the 
 dust by petty sectional rivalry ? Shall we of the South, who 
 have shared equally with you all your toils, all your dangers, 
 all your adversities, and who equally rejoice in your prosperity 
 and your fame ; shall we be denied those benefits guarantied 
 by our compact, or gathered as the common fruits of a com- 
 mon country? If so, self-respect requires that we should 
 assert thera ; and, as best we may, maintain that which we 
 could not surrender without losing your respect as well as our 
 own. 
 
 If, sir, this spirit of sectional aggrandizement shall cause the 
 disunion of these states, the last chapter of our history will be 
 a sad commentary upon the justice and the wisdom of our peo- 
 ple. That this Union, replete with blessings to its own citizens, 
 and diffusive of hope to the rest of mankind, should fall a vic- 
 tim to a selfish aggrandizement, and a pseudo philanthropy, 
 prompting' one portion of the Union to war upon the domestic 
 rights and peace of another, would be a deep reflection on the 
 good sense and patriotism of our day and generation. 
 
 Sir, I ask Northern senators to make the case their own — 
 to carry to their own fireside the idea of such intrusion and 
 offensive discrimination as is offered to us — realize these irrita- 
 tions, so galling to the humble, so intolerable to the haughty, 
 and wake, before it is too late, from the dream that the South 
 will tamely submit. Measure the consequences to iis of your 
 assumption, and ask yourselves whether, as a free, honorable, 
 and brave people, you would submit to it ? 
 
 It is essentially the characteristic of the chivalrous, that they 
 never speculate upon the fears of any man, and I trust that no 
 such speculations will be made upon either the condition or the 
 supposed weakness of the South. They will bring sad disap- 
 pointments to those Avho indulge them. Rely upon her devo- 
 tion to the Union ; rely upon the feehng of fraternity she inher- 
 ited and has never failed to manifest ; rely upon the nationality 
 and freedom from sedition which has in all ages characterized 
 
136 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 an agricultural people ; give her justice, sheer justice, r^nd the 
 
 reliance will never fail you. t t^ * 
 
 •z Jeffekson Davis.* 
 
 106. THE CALIFORNIA GOLD MINES. 
 
 1 AM a friend to gold currency, but not to gold mining. That 
 is a pursuit which the experience of nations shows to be both 
 impoverishing and demoralizing to a nation. I regret that we 
 have these mines in California ; but they are there, and I am 
 for getting rid of them as soon as possible. Make the working 
 as free as possible. Instead of hoarding, and holding them up, 
 and selling in driblets, lay them open to industry and enterprise. 
 Lay them open to natural capital, to labor, to the man that has 
 stout arms and a willing heart. Give him a fair chance. Give 
 all a fair chance. It is no matter who digs up the gold, or 
 where it goes. The digger will not cat it, and it will go where 
 commerce will carry it. The nations which have industry, 
 which have agriculture, commerce, and manufactures, they will 
 get the gold. Not sales, but permits, is the proper mode to 
 follow, and the only practicable mode. People are going to 
 California to dig, and dig they will. A wise legislation would 
 regulate, not frustrate their enterprise. Permits would put 
 them on the side of the law, for it would give them protection 
 and security ; sales and hoarding would put them in opposition 
 to the law, and they would disregard it. Sir, this is a case in 
 which the lawgiver must go with the current ; and then he may 
 regulate it : if he goes against the current, his law will be nuga- 
 tory, and his authority will be despised. The current is for 
 hunting, and finding, and digging ; permits follow this current, 
 and by granting them, the legislator may control and regulate 
 the current. 
 
 If you want revenue, raise it from the permits, a small sum 
 for each, and upon the coinage. In that way it would be prac- 
 ticable to raise as much as ought to be raised. But revenue is 
 no object compared to the great object of clearing the ground of 
 this attraction, which puts an end to all regular industry, and 
 compared to the object of putting the gold into circulation. 
 I care not who digs it up. I want it dug up. I want the fe- 
 ver to Be over. I want the raining finished. Let all work that 
 mil. Let them ravage the earth, extirpate and exterminate the 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Mississippi. 
 
THOMAS II. BENTON. GOVEENEUK MORKIS. 137 
 
 mines. Then the sober industry will begin which enriches and 
 ennobles a nation. Work as hard as we may, we cannot finish 
 soon. These gold indications cover more than two thousand 
 miles. They are in New Mexico — on the waters of the Middle 
 Colorado — on the mountains between the Rio del Norte and the 
 Rio Colorado— in the Sierra Nevada — and in the prolongations 
 of that mountain, both north and south. 
 
 Is all this extent of country and of treasure to be hoarded 
 and guarded by the government? — held up from use until 
 examined and valued by a mineralogist, surveyed by surveyors, 
 and then sold out in two-acre patches ? Is this vast region to 
 be hoarded and guarded, as a thing too precious for the people ? 
 Is it to be the Hesperian fruit, guarded by dragons from profane 
 touch ? And if so, where are the dragons to come from which 
 are to guard it ? Certain it is, our dragoons will not do for this 
 guard. I am against the whole scheme of hoarding these 
 mines, or endeavoring to confine their product to their own 
 country. I am not for trying to stop it from going elsewhere. 
 Let it go where it Avill : like water, it will find its level. 
 
 Thomas H. Benton.* 
 
 107. THE FEDERAL COMPACT. 
 
 Our situation is peculiar. At present, our national compact 
 can prevent a state from acting hostilely towards the general 
 interest. But, let this compact be destroyed, and each state 
 becomes vested instantaneously with absolute sovereignty. Is 
 there no instance of a similar situation to be found in history ? 
 Look at the states of Greece ? By their divisions they became 
 at first victims of the ambition of Philip, and were at length 
 swallowed up in the Roman empire. Are we to form an excep- 
 tion to the general principles of human nature, and to all the 
 examples of history ? And are the maxims of experience to 
 become false, when applied to our fate ? 
 
 Some, indeed, flatter themselves that our destiny will be like that 
 of Rome. But we have not that strong aristocratic arm which can 
 seize a wretched citizen, scourged almost to death by a remorse- 
 less creditor, turn him into the ranks, and bid him, as a soldier, 
 bear our eagle in triumph round the globe. I hope to God we 
 «ihall never have such an abominable institution. But what. 1 
 
 * U. S. Senator from Missouri. 
 
138 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 ask, will be the situation of these states, organized as they no^w 
 are, if, by the dissolution of our national compact, they be left 
 to themselves ? What is the probable result ? We shall eithet 
 be yictims of foreign intrigue, and, split into factions, fall under 
 the domination of a foreign power ; or else, after the misery and 
 torment of civil war, become the subjects of a usurping military 
 despot. What but this compact, what but this specific part of 
 it, can save us from ruin ? The judicial power — that fortress of 
 the constitution — is now to be overturned. Yes, with honest 
 Ajax, I would not only throw a shield before it — I would build 
 around it a wall of brass. Govzeneuu Moukis * 
 
 108. PEACE AND NATIONAL HONOR. 
 
 Mr. President, my object is peace. I will not pretend, like 
 my honorable colleague, to describe to you the waste, the 
 ravages, and the horrors of war. I have not the same har- 
 monious periods, nor the same musical tones ; neither shall I 
 boast of Christian charity, nor attempt to. display that ingenuous 
 glow of benevolence so decorous to the cheek of youth, which 
 gave a vivid tint to every sentence he uttered, and was, if pos- 
 sible, as impressive even as his eloquence. But though we 
 possess not the same pomp of words, our hearts are not insen- 
 sible to the woes of humanity. We can feel for the misery of 
 plundered towns, the conflagration of defenceless villages, and 
 the devastation of cultured fields. Turning from these features 
 of general distress, we can enter the abodes of private afiliction, 
 and behold the widow weeping as she traces, in the pledges of 
 connubial affection, the resemblance of him whom she has lost 
 forever. We see the aged matron bending over the ashes of 
 her son. He was her darling, for he was generous and brave, 
 and, therefore, his spirit led him to the field in defence of his 
 country. Hard, hard indeed must be that heart which can be 
 Insensible to scenes like these, and bold the man who dares 
 present to the Almighty Father a conscience crimsoned with 
 the blood of his children. 
 
 Yes, sir, we wish for peace ; but how is that blessing to be 
 preserved ? In my opinion, there is nothing worth fighting for 
 but national honor ; for in the national honor is involved the 
 
 * U. S. Senator from New York. 
 
GOVEENEUE MOEEIS. — ^.TOIIN A. DIX. 139 
 
 national independence. I know that prudence may force a wise 
 government to conceal the sense of indignity ; but the insult 
 should be engraven on tablets of brass with a pencil of steel. 
 And when that time and change, which happen to all, shall 
 bring forward the favorable moment, then let the avenging arm 
 strike home. It is bv avowins: and maintaininjj this stern prin- 
 
 • let *' 1 
 
 ciple of honor, that peace can be preserved. 
 
 GovERNEUR Morris. 
 
 109. THE TRIUMPHS OF SCIENCE. 
 
 Whatever may be the issue of the experiments now in pro- 
 gress in government, in science, and in the useful arts, upon the 
 external policy or the internal condition of nations ; whatever 
 obstacles may for a time oppose and defeat the triumph of 
 enlightened principles ; whether ancient prejudices shall again 
 revive and ripen into collision, bringing in their train the con- 
 quest of provinces, the overthrow of armies, the deposition of 
 monarchs, and the abolition of thrones ; or whether a period of 
 enduring tranquillity has even now begun to dawn upon the 
 inhabitants of the earth ; — happily, the cause of science fears no 
 impediment, either from political agitation or discord. Her 
 triumphs, as rapidly as they are achieved, are, by the instru- 
 mentahty of the press, written down in all languages, and the 
 record treasured up in a thousand places of safety. If any 
 deluge of Vandalism shall overwhelm and bury in ruins the 
 stores of knowledge which she has accumulated in one quarter 
 of the globe, the same treasures will be preserved in -others. 
 Thus will the point at which, in all future time, the researches 
 and discoveries of each generation shall have their termination, 
 become the starting- place of their successors in the career of 
 improvement. Nor has she any thing to fear from dissension 
 among her own followers. Her empire is without bounds. 
 Her domains know no geographical demarkations. Her votaries, 
 wherever they are to be found, are citizens of the same great 
 commonwealth ; pursuing the same high objects, obeying the 
 '^ame honorable impulses ; distracted by no party feuds ; ambi- 
 tious of no other triumphs but to carry the victorious arms of 
 knowledge and truth into the dominions of ignorance and error. 
 
 John A. Dix.* 
 
 * U. S. Senator froui New York. 
 
140 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 110. THE INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 The influence of Christianity upon the pohtical condition ol 
 mankind, though silent and almost imperceptible, has doubtless 
 been one of the most powerful instruments of its amelioration. 
 The principles and the practical rules of conduct which it pre- 
 scribes ; the doctrine of the natural equality of men, of a com- 
 mon origin, a common responsibility, and a common fate ; the 
 lessons of humiUty, gentleness, and forbearance which it teaches, 
 are as much at war with political, as they are with all moral, 
 injustice, oppression, and wrong. During century after century, 
 excepting for brief intervals, the world too often saw the beauty 
 of the system marred by the fiercest intolerance and the grossest 
 depravation. It has been made the confederate of monarchs 
 in cari-ying out schemes of oppression and fraud. Under its 
 banner, armed multitudes have been banded together, and led 
 on by martial prelates to wars of desolation and revenge. Per- 
 petrators of the blackest crimes have purchased from its chief 
 ministers a mercenary immunity from punishment. 
 
 But nearly two thousand years have passed away, and no 
 trace is left of the millions who, under the influence of bad pas- 
 sions, have dishonored its holy precepts ; or of the far smaller 
 number who, in seasons of general depravation, have drunk its 
 current of living water on the solitary mountain or in the hollowv 
 rock. Its simple maxims, outliving them all, are silently work- 
 ing out a greater revolution than any which the world has seen ; 
 and long as the period may seem since its doctrines were first 
 announced, it is almost imperceptible when regarded as one of 
 the divisions of that time which is of endless duration. To use 
 the language of an eloquent and philosophical writer, "The 
 movements of Providence are not restricted to narrow bounds : 
 it is not anxious to deduce to-day the consequences of the pre- 
 mises it laid down yesterday. It may defer this for ages, till 
 the fulness of time shall come. Its logic will not be less con- 
 clusive for reasoning slowly. Providence moves through time 
 as the gods of Homer through space — it makes a step, and 
 years have rolled away. How long a time, how many circum- 
 stances intervened before the regeneration of the moral powers 
 of man by Christianity exercised its great, its legitimate function 
 upon his social condition ! yet who can doubt or mistake j*a 
 
 P^^^^-"* JoHNA.Dix.i 
 
 * Quizot. t U S. Senator from New York. 
 
LEVI WOODBUEY. 141 
 
 111. INTELLIGENCE A NATIONAL SAFEGUARD. 
 
 Our history constantly points her finger to a most efficient 
 resource, and indeed to the only elixir, to secure a long hfe to 
 any popular government, in increased attention to useful educa- 
 tion and sound morals, with the wise description of equal 
 measures and just practices they inculcate on every leaf of 
 recorded time. Before their alliance, the spirit of misrule will 
 always, in time, stand rebuked, and those who worship at the 
 shrine of unhallowed ambition, must quail. 
 
 Storms, in the political atmosphere, may occasionally happen 
 by the encroachments of usurpers, the corruption or intrigues 
 of demagogues, or in the expiring agonies of faction, or by the 
 sudden fury of popular phrensy ; but, with the restraints and 
 salutary influences of the allies before described, these storms 
 will purify as healthfully as they often do in the physical world, 
 and cause the tree of liberty, instead of falling, to strike its roots 
 deeper. 
 
 In this struggle, the enlightened and moral possess also a 
 power, auxiliary and strong, in the spirit of the age, which 
 is not only with them, but onward, in every thing to ameliorate 
 or improve. 
 
 When the struggle assumes the form of a contest with power, 
 in all its subtlety, or with undermining and corrupting wealth, 
 as it sometimes may, rather than with turbulence, sedition, or 
 open aggression by the needy and desperate, it will be indispen- 
 sable to employ still greater diligence ; to cherish earnestness 
 of purpose, resoluteness in conduct ; to apply hard and constant 
 blows to real abuses, and encourage not only bold, free, and 
 original thinking, but determined action. 
 
 In such a cause, our fathers were men whose hearts were not 
 accustomed to fail them, through fear, however formidable the 
 obstacles. Wb are not, it is trusted, such degenerate descend- 
 ants, as to prove recreant, and fail to defend, with gallantry and 
 firmness as unflinching, all which we have either derived from 
 them, or since added to the rich inheritance. 
 
 At such a crisis, therefore, and in such a cause, yielding to 
 neither consternation nor despair, may we not all profit by the 
 vehement exhortations of Ciceroto Atticus? "If you are asleep, 
 awake ; if you are standing, move ; if you are moving, run ; if 
 you are running, fly !" 
 
 All these considerations warn us — the gravestones of almost 
 every former republic warn us — that a high standard of moral 
 
14:2 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 rectitude, as well as of intelligence, is quite as indispensable tc 
 communities, in their public doings, as to individuals, if they 
 would escape from either degeneracy or disgrace. 
 
 Levi Woodbury * 
 
 112. THE PERMANENCE OF AMERICAN LIBERTY. 
 
 The election of a chief magistrate by the mass of the peopld 
 of an extensive community, was, to the most enhghtened nations 
 of antiquity, a political impossibility. Destitute of the art of 
 printing, they could not have introduced the representative 
 principle into their political systems, even if they had under- 
 stood it. In the very nature of things, that principle can only 
 be coextensive with popular intelligence. In this respect, the 
 art of printing, more than any invention since the creation of 
 man, is destmed to change and elevate the political condition of 
 society. It has given a new impulse to the energies of the 
 human mind, and opens new and brilliant destinies to modern 
 republics, which were utterly unattainable by the ancients. The 
 existence of a country population, scattered over a vast extent 
 of territory, as intelligent as the population of the cities, is a 
 phenomenon which was utterly and necessarily unknown to the 
 free states of antiquity. All the intelligence which controlled 
 the destiny and upheld the dominion of republican Rome, was 
 confined to the walls of the great city. Even when her domin- 
 ion extended beyond Italy to the utmost known limits of the 
 inhabited world, the city was the exclusive seat both of intelH- 
 gence and empire. Without the art of printing, and the con- 
 seque:it advantages of a free press, that habitual and incessant 
 action of mind upon mind, which is essential to all human im- 
 provement, could no more exist, among a numerous and scattered 
 population, than the commerce of disconnected continents could 
 traverse the ocean without the art of navigation. Here, then, 
 is the source of our superiority, and our just pride as a nation. 
 The statesmen of the remotest extremes of the Union, can con- 
 verse together, like the philosophers of Athens, in the same 
 portico, or the pohticians of Rome, in t^he same forum. Dis- 
 tance is overcome, and the citizens of Georgia and of Maine 
 can be brought to co-operate in the same great object, with as 
 perfect a community of views and feelings, as actuated the 
 
 * U. S. Senator from New Hampshire. 
 
GEOEGE Mcduffie. — s. s. prentiss. 143 
 
 tribes of Rome, in the assemblies of the people. It is obvious 
 that liberty has a more extensive and durable foundation in the 
 United States, than it ever has had in any other age or country. 
 By the representative principle — a principle unknown and im- 
 practicable among the ancients, the whole mass of society is 
 brought to operate, in constraining the action of power, and in 
 the conservation of public liberty. Geoege McDuffie* 
 
 113. NEW ENGLAND AND THE UNION. 
 
 Glorious New England ! thou art still true to thy ancient 
 fame, and worthy of thy ancestral honors. On thy pleasant 
 valleys rest, like sweet dews of morning, the gentle I'ecollections 
 of our early hfe ; around thy hills and mountains cling, like gath- 
 ering mists, the mighty memories of the revolution ; and far away 
 in the horizon of thy past gleam, like thy own bright northern 
 lights, the awful virtues of our Pilgrim sires ! But while we 
 devote this day to the remembrance of our native land, we for- 
 get not that in which our happy lot is cast. We exult in the 
 reflection, that though we count by thousands the miles which 
 separate us from our birthplace, still our country is the same. 
 We are no 'exiles meeting upon the banks of a foreign river, to 
 swell its welters with our homesick tears. Here floats the same 
 banner which rustled above our boyish heads, except that its 
 mighty folds are wider, and its glittering stars increased in num- 
 ber. 
 
 The sons of New England are found in every state of the 
 broad republic ! In the East, the South, and the unbounded 
 West, their blood mingles freely with every kindred current. 
 We have but changed our chamber in the paternal mansion ; in 
 all its rooms we are at home, and all who inhabit it are our 
 brothers. To us the Union has but one domestic hearth ; its 
 household gods are all the same. Upon us, then, peculiarly 
 devolves the duty of feeding the fires upon that kindly hearth ; 
 of guarding with pious care those sacred household gods. 
 
 We cannot do with less than the whole Union ; to us it ad- 
 mits 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 affections of the heart, the noblest instincts of 
 
 * U. S. Ecprescntative from Soutli Carolina. 
 
144 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 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 co'^ntry, the in- 
 tegrity of the republic. 
 
 Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden 
 cord of union! thrice accursed the traitorous lips which shall 
 propose its severance ! g g p^^^ntlss.* 
 
 114. THE TRUE REFORMERS. 
 
 To the rightly constituted mind, to the truly developed man, 
 there always is, there always must be opportunity — opportunity 
 to be and to learn, nobly to do and to endure ; and what matter 
 whether with pomp and eclat, with sound of trumpets and shout 
 of applauding thousands, or in silence and seclusion, beneath the 
 calm, discerning gaze of heaven ? No station can be humble 
 on which that gaze is approvingly bent : no work can be igno- 
 ble which is performed uprightly, and not impelled by sordid 
 and selfish aims. 
 
 Not from among the children of monarchs, ushered into 
 being with boom of cannon and shouts of revelling millions, 
 but from amid the sons of obscurity and toil, cradled in peril 
 and ignominy, from the bulrushes and the manger, come forth 
 the benefactors and saviours of mankind. So when all the bab- 
 ble and glare of our age shall have passed into a fitting oblivion, 
 when those who have enjoyed rare opportunities and swayed 
 vast empires, and been borne through life on the shoulders of 
 shouting multitudes, shall have been laid at last to rest in golden 
 coffins, to molder forgotten, the stately marble their only monu- 
 ments, it will be found that some humble youth, who neither 
 inherited nor found, but hewed out his opportunities, has uttered 
 the thought which shall render the age memorable, by extend- 
 ing the means of enlightenment and blessing to our race. The 
 great struggle for human progress and elevation proceeds noise- 
 lessly, often unnoted, often checked and apparently baffled, amid 
 the clamorous and debasing strifes impelled by greedy selfish- 
 ness and low ambition. In that struggle, maintained by the 
 wise and good of all parties, all creeds, all chmes, bear ye the 
 part of men. Heed the lofty summons, and with souls serene 
 and constant, prepare to tread boldly in the path of highest du- 
 
 * U. S. KepreBcntative from Mississippi. 
 
IIOEACE GEEELEY. 145 
 
 ty. So sliall life be to you truly exalted and heroic ; so shall 
 death be a transition neither sought nor dreaded ; so shall your 
 memory, though cherished at first but by a few humble, loving 
 hearts, linger long and gratefully in human remembrance, a 
 watchword to the truthful and an incitement to generous en- 
 deavor, freshened by the proud tears of admiring affection, and 
 fragrant with the odors of heaven ! jj^^^^ Gueeley * 
 
 115. SELF-SACRIFICING AMBITION. 
 
 We need a loftier ideal to nerve us for heroic lives. To know 
 and feel our nothingness without regretting it ; to deem fame, 
 riches, personal happiness, but shadows of which human good 
 is the substance ; to welcome pain, privation, ignominy, so that 
 the sphere of human knowledge, the empire of virtue, be thereby 
 extended : such is the soul's temper in which the heroes of the 
 coming age shall be cast. When the stately monuments of 
 mightiest conquerors shall have become shapeless and forgotten 
 ruins, the humble graves of earth's Howards and Frys shall 
 still be freshened by the tears of fondly admiring millions, and 
 the proudest epitaph shall be the simple entreaty, 
 
 " Write me as one wlio loved his fellow-m^n." 
 
 Say not that I thus condemn and would annihilate ambition. 
 The love of approbation, of esteem, of true glory, is a noble in- 
 centive, and should be cherished to the end. But the ambition 
 which points the way to fame over torn hmbs and bleeding 
 hearts, which joys in the Tartarean smoke of the battle-field, 
 and the desolating tramp of the war-horse, — that ambition is 
 worthy only of " archangel ruined." To make one conqueror's 
 reputation, at least one hundred thousand bounding, joyous, 
 sentient beings must be transformed into writhing and hideous 
 fragments, — must perish untimely by deaths of agony and hor- 
 ror, leaving half a million widows and orphans to bewail their 
 loss in anguish and destitution. This is too mighty, too awful 
 a price to be paid for the fame of any hero, from Nimrod to 
 Wellington. True fame demands no such sacrifices of others ; 
 it requires us to be reckless of the outward well-being of but 
 one. It exacts no hecatomb of victims for each triumphal pile ; 
 for the more who covet and seek it, the easier and more abun- 
 
 * U. S. Eepresentative fi-om New York. 
 7 
 
146 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 dant is the success of eacli and all. With souls of tlie celestial 
 temper, each human life might be a triumph, which angels 
 would lean from the skies delighted to witness and admire. 
 
 Horace Gkeeley.* 
 
 116. THE ADMISSION OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 The great questions which demand our consideration at this 
 moment, are those which relate to our new territorial acquisi- 
 tions ; and the first of these questions is that which relates to 
 California. 
 
 r What is California ? But yesterday, sir, it was a colony in 
 embryo. But yesterday — to use the language which Mr. Burke 
 once applied to America — it was " a little speck, scarce visible 
 in the mass of national interest ; a small seminal principle, rather 
 than a formed body." To-day, it presents itself to us an estab- 
 lished commonwealth, and is knocking at our doors for admit- 
 tance to the Union as a free and independent state.) Shall it be 
 turned away ? Shall it be remanded to its colonial condition ? 
 Shall we attempt to crowd back this full-grown man into the 
 cradle of infancy ? And that, too, in spite of the express pro- 
 vision of the treaty by which it was acquired, " that at a proper 
 time, it shall be incorporated into the Union?" 
 
 Upon what pretence shall such a step be taken ? Why is 
 not this the proper time ? Is it said that there has been some 
 violation of precedents in her preparatory proceedings ? Where 
 will you find a precedent in any degree applicable to her condi- 
 tion ? When has such a case been presented in our past his- 
 tory ? When may we look for another such in our future pro- 
 gress ? " Who hath heard such a thing ? Who hath seen such 
 thing ? Shall the earth be made to bring forth in one day ? 
 Or shall a nation be born at once ?" 
 
 Is it -said that she has not population enough ? The best 
 accounts which we can obtain estimate her population at more 
 than a hundred thousand souls ; and these, be it remembered, 
 are nearly all full-grown persons, and a vast majority of tliem 
 men, and voters. And what, after all, are any estimates of 
 population worth in such a case ? As the same great British 
 orator, whom I have just quoted, said of the American colonies 
 in 1775: "Such is the strength with which population shoots 
 
 * y. S. Eepresentative from New York. 
 
EOEEKT C. WINTimOP 147 
 
 in that part of the world, that, state the numbers as high as we 
 will, whilst the dispute continues, tlie exaggeration ends. Whilst 
 we are discussing any given magnitude, they are grown to it." 
 
 Is it said that her boundaries are too extensive ? You did 
 not find this fiult with Texas. Texas, with the boundaries 
 which are claimed by her, has three hundred and twenty-five 
 thousand five hundred and twenty square miles ; and, with any 
 boundaries which are likely to be assigned to her, she will have 
 more than two hundred thousand square miles. California, 
 under her own constitution, has but one hundred and fifty-five 
 thousand five hundred and fifty square miles of territory, of 
 which one-half are mere mountains of rock and ice, and another 
 quarter a desert waste ! 
 
 Is it said that these settlers are a wild, reckless, floating pop- 
 ulation, bent only upon digging gold, and unworthy to be trusted 
 in estabhshing a government ? Sir, I do not believe a better 
 class of emigrants was ever found flocking in such numbers to 
 any new settlement on the face of the earth. The immense dis- 
 tance, the formidable difficulties, and the onerous expense of the 
 pilgrimage to California, necessarily confined emigration to men 
 of some pecuniary substance, as well as to men of more than 
 ordinary physical endurance. We have all seen going out from 
 our own respective neighborhoods, not a few hardy, honest, in- 
 dustrious, patriotic young men, 
 
 " Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, 
 To make a hazard of new fortunes there ;" 
 
 and, in their name, sir, I protest against the constitution which 
 they have adopted being condemned on any score of its pa- 
 ternity. 
 
 And now, sir, entertaining such views, I need hardly add that, 
 in my judgment, California ought to be admitted to the Union 
 without more delay, as a separate, independent measure. 1 am 
 opposed to any scheme for qualifying, or coupling it with other 
 arrangements. It is unjust to Cahfornia to embarrass, and per- 
 haps peril, her admission, by mixing her up with matters of a 
 controverted character. It is still more unjust to a large ma- 
 jority of this house, who desire to record their names distinctly 
 for her admission as a state, to deny them the proper, legiti- 
 mate, parliamentary mode of doing so, by annexing to the same 
 bill provisions against which not a few of them are solemnly 
 pledged. Let the Southern gentlemen forbear to teach us 
 bloody instructions, which may return to plague the inventor. 
 The ingredients of the poisoned chalice may yet be commended 
 to their own lips. Let them remember, that there may be a 
 
148 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 point of honor at the North as well as at the South. Let them 
 remember that the same voice of patriotism which cries to the 
 North " give up," says to the South also, " keep not back." 
 
 Robert C. Winthrop.* 
 
 # 
 
 117. NEW TERRITORIES. 
 
 Sir, the territories which have come under our guardianship 
 are, in my judgment, of more worth than to be made the mere 
 make-weights in the scales of sectional equality. They are 
 entitled to another sort of consideration, than to be cut up, and 
 partitioned off, like trodden-down Poland, in order to satisfy the 
 longings and appease the jealousies of surrounding states. 
 They are — they ought certainly — to be disposed of and regu- 
 lated by us, with a primary regard to the prosperity and welfare 
 of those who occupy them now, and those who are destined to 
 occupy them hereafter, and not with the selfish view of augment- 
 ing the mere local power or pride of any of us. 
 
 Mr. Chairman, I see in the territorial possessions of this 
 Union, the seats of new states, the cradles of new common- 
 wealths, the nurseries, it may be, of new repubhcan empires. 
 I see in them the future abodes of our brethren, our children, 
 and our children's children, for a thousand generations. I see, 
 growing up within our borders, institutions upon which the 
 character and condition of a vast multitude of the American 
 family, and of the human race, in all time to cbme, are to de- 
 pend. I feel, that for the original shaping and molding of these 
 institutions, you and I, and each one of us who occupy these 
 seats, are in part responsible. And I cannot omit to ask my- 
 self, what shall I do, that I may deserve the gratitude and the 
 blessing, and not the condemnation and the curse, of that pos- 
 terity, whose welfare is thus in some degree committed to my 
 care ? 
 
 Here then, sir, I bring these remarks to a close. I have ex- 
 plained, to the l3est of my ability, the views which I entertain 
 of the great questions of the day. Those views may be mis- 
 represented hereafter, as they have been heretofore ; but they 
 cannot be misundei-stood by any one who desires, or who is even 
 wiling, to vmderstand them. 
 
 One lie, however, I am persuaded, still remains to us all— 
 
 * U. S. Kepresentative from Massachusetts. 
 
EGBERT C. WINTKROP. — D. D. BAENAKD. 149 
 
 a common devotion to the 'Union of these states, and a common 
 determination to sacrifice every thing but principle to its preserva- 
 tion. Our responsibihties are indeed great. This vast repubhc, 
 stretching from sea to sea, and rapidly outgrowing every tliyig 
 but our affections, looks anxiously to us, this day, to take care 
 that it receives no detriment. Nor is it too much to say, that 
 the eyes and the hearts of the friends of constitutional freedom 
 throughout the world are at this moment turned eagerly here — 
 more eagerly than ever before — to behold an example of suc- 
 cessful repubhcan institutions, and to see them come out safely 
 and triumphantly from the fiery trial to which they are now 
 subjected. 
 
 I have the firmest faith that these eyes and these hearts will 
 not be disappointed. I have the strongest belief that the 
 visions and phantoms of disunion which now appall us, will soon 
 be remembered only like the clouds of some April morning, or 
 " the dissolving views" of some evening spectacle. I have the 
 fullest conviction that this glorious republic is destined to out- 
 last all, all at either end of the Union, who may be plotting 
 against its peace, or predicting its downfall. 
 
 " Fond, impious man ! tliink'st thou yon sanguine cloud, 
 Eaised by thj^ breath, can quench the orb of day ? 
 To-morrow, it repairs its golden flood. 
 And warms the nations with redoubled ray!" 
 
 Let us proceed in the settlement of the unfortunate contro- 
 versies in which we find ourselves involved, in a spirit of mutual 
 conciliation and concession : let us invoke fervently upon our 
 efforts the blessings of that Almighty Being who is " the author 
 of peace and the lover of concord." And we shall still find 
 order springing out of confusion, harmony evoked from discord, 
 and peace, union, and hberty, once more reassured to our land ! 
 
 Robert C. Winthrop.* 
 
 118. IGNORANCE AND SUPERSTITION. 
 
 We are not to make pilgrimages, my friends, in search of 
 Ignorance. It lives in our lives, and dwells in our dwellings. 
 Who can tell how many there are, even in our own enlightened 
 age and country, who can still discover the movements of em- 
 
 * U. S. Eeprescntative from Massachusetts. 
 
150 SELECTIONS IN PK08E. 
 
 battled and bloody hosts in the harmless coruscations of the 
 northern aurora ? How many are still the dupes of the absurd 
 pretensions and impositions of judicial astrology ? How many 
 miserable lunatics, pretending to be rational, still see, in an 
 eclipse of the moon, nothing but the sickening effect of some 
 enchanter's influence ? How many who are still firm believers 
 in unlucky days ? How many who still draw disastrous omens 
 from the commonest events in nature ; who can pick letters out 
 of the wick of a bm-ning candle ; brew a quarrel by spilling a 
 little salt at the table ; sever love and friendship by the present 
 of a pair of scissors ; and hear the death-warrant of a friend 
 in the ticking of an insect, or the flapping of a dove's wing at 
 the window ? How many who still believe that the earthly 
 mterests of a new-born infant absolutely require that it should 
 first be carried up stairs, before it is brought down? How many 
 grown-up children are still cowards in the dark ? How many 
 who still people an imaginary world of their own creation, with 
 hosts of spectres, hobgoblins, and brownies ? Nor let the 
 educated flatter themselves that all the current ignorance of the 
 period is confined to the circle of the uninstructed. For who 
 can tell how many of the Augustuses of our day confidently 
 expect ill-luck, if a stocking be put on with the wrong side out, 
 or the left shoe be put on to the right foot ? how many of our 
 Luthers see the hand of the devil in every meteoric phenome- 
 non ? how many of our Johnsons are believers in, or are them- 
 selves gifted with, the " second sight ?" 
 
 But, my friends, ignorance does not do the whole or the worst 
 of her work, by shackling with idle fear and superstitious belief 
 the free mind of man. She does more than this. When the 
 mind is occupied with error, truth cannot enter ; and when the 
 heart is filled with superstition, it becomes the habitation of 
 cruelty. Faith is the foundation on which conduct builds ; and 
 her banner, be it pure or be it bloody, is sure to float over every 
 conquest made in her name. Under the lead of ignorance, per- 
 secution takes the field, and destroys with fire and with the 
 sword. The earth is filled with violence, and the poAvers of uni- 
 versal nature are moved in elemental war, to satisfy the wrath 
 
 of man. tw T^ t. * 
 
 D. D. Baknard.* 
 
 * U. S. Eepresentative from New York. 
 
D. D. BAJRNAED. — HOEACE MANN. 161 
 
 119. THE LIGHT OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 We know the enemy we have to contend with — which is 
 ignorance ; and we know where to find him, though he hath his 
 habitation in darkness. . We are acquainted with his haunts and 
 his associations ; and the weapon of his certain destruction is 
 in our hands. That weapon is Light — the light of genuine 
 learning added to the light of a genuine faith — a light which 
 heretofore has not been permitted to burn with brightness and 
 purity, chiefly because it was not originally kindled at the right 
 fountain ; a light which has often gone out, in the keeping of 
 unfaithful vestals ; which has often been hid, when it should 
 have been made manifest ; which has always been, more or less, 
 fed from sources which could not supply or suppcfl-t it ; which, 
 at best, has been kept as a lamp to the feet of the few, when it 
 should have been made to illumine the pathway of the many ; 
 which, for the most part, having only ghmmered faintly from a few 
 sequestered and solitary places, has served but to deepen the 
 shadows of the general gloom around them. This is that light 
 which is now beginning to be fed from better and purer 
 sources ; which has its fountain in nature ; which is to be sup- 
 plied from her fulness, by the aid of the educated ; which 
 ought to be made, and may be made to increase, spreading wide 
 and mounting high, and passing rapidly from heart to heart, 
 and from dwelling to dwelling, till all the valleys shall answer 
 to all the mountain-tops in one universal and healthful glow of 
 brightness and illumination. ^^ P_ Barnakd.* 
 
 120. IGNORANCE A CRIME, IN A REPUBLIC. 
 
 In all the dungeons of the Old World, where the strong 
 champions of freedom are now pining in captivity beneath the 
 remorseless power of the tyrant, the morning sun does not 
 Bend a glimmering ray into their cells, nor does night draw a 
 thicker veil of darkness between them and the world, but the 
 lone prisoner lifts his iron-laden arms to heaven in prayer, that 
 we, the depositaries of freedom, and of human hopes, may be 
 faithful to our sacred trust; — while, on the other hand, the 
 pensioned advocates of despotism stand, with listening ear, to 
 
 * U. S. Eepresentativc from New York. 
 
152 SELECTIONS m PEOSE. 
 
 catch the first sound of lawless violence that is wafted from 
 our shores, to note the first breach of faith or act of perfidy 
 amongst us, and to convert them into arguments against liberty 
 and the rights of man. 
 
 The experience of the ages that are past, the hopes of the 
 ages that are yet to come, unite their voices in an appeal to 
 us; — they implore us to think more of the character of our 
 people than of its numbers; to look upon our vast natural 
 resources, not as tempters to ostentation and pride, but as a 
 means to be converted, by the refining alchemy of education, 
 into mental and spiritual treasures ; they supplicate us to seek 
 for whatever complacency or self-satisfaction we are disposed to 
 indulge, not in the extent of our territory, or in the products of 
 our soil, but in the expansion and perpetuation of the means of 
 human happiness ; they beseech us to exchange the luxuries of 
 sense for the joys of charity, and thus give to the world the ex- 
 ample of a nation whose wisdom increases with its prosperity, 
 and whose virtues are equal to its power. For these ends they 
 enjoin upon us a more earnest, a more universal, a more reli- 
 gious devotion to our exertions and resources, to the culture of 
 the youthful mind and heart of the nation. Their gathered 
 voices assert the eternal truth, that, in a republic, ignorance is 
 a crime ; and that private immorality is not less an opprobrium 
 to the state than it is guilt in the perpetrator. 
 
 HosAcc Mann.* 
 
 121. POPULAR EDUCATION THE CONCERN OF ETERY CITIZEN. 
 
 There are those who claim an exemption from a general con- 
 tribution for the purpose of extending the blessings of knowl- 
 edge to all, upon the ground that they have already provided 
 for the education of their own children, or are both able and 
 willing to do so, at their own proper cost and charges ; and that 
 it is for others to do the same, or to omit it altogether, as they 
 may deem most expedient. Let us examine, for a moment, the 
 strength and validity of this plea. My friend, you have a son, 
 upon whose education no time, no pains, no expense has been 
 spared. He, too, has been daintily brought up and vigilantly 
 oared for. No child of poverty and degradation has been suf- 
 fered to pollute the fair surface of his ingenuous and aristocratic 
 
 * U. S. Keprescntativc from Magsacliusctts. 
 
S. 8. RANDALL. JOSEPH STOEY. 15S 
 
 mind. His companionship has been with the gentle and the 
 well-born ; his associations have been exclusively with the vir- 
 tuous, the high-minded, and the pure. All that the most emi- 
 nent and successful instructors and the most ample store of an- 
 cient and modern lore could give him, has been freely and 
 liberally bestowed ; and he goes forth into the scenes of active 
 life with a proud brow, a fearless heart, and a cultivated mind. 
 Surely it were the height of presumption to expect that a father 
 could do more. What is it to him that the licensed vender of 
 alcohol lurks in his neighborhood with his well-filled dens of in- 
 famy and darkness ? What is it to him that the gambler, the 
 debauchee, the prostitute, the accomphshed libertine, the un- 
 principled villain arc abroad in the land, and that they, and 
 such as they, are now the men who, a few short years since, as 
 luckless and poor, but as yet innocent and unhardened hoys, 
 were passed haughtily by as unworthy of his notice or regard ? 
 A few brief years have rolled on, and that fair-haired boy, in 
 an evil hour, has yielded to the allurements of passion ! The 
 tempter has prevailed ; and his swollen and bloated cheeks, his 
 trembhng limbs, his pestiferous breath, haggard and bloodshot 
 eyes, tell that for him the drunkard's dishonored grave is rap- 
 idly preparing ! Alas ! my friend, had you indeed no interest 
 in the education of your neighbor's children ? 
 
 S. S. Randall. 
 
 122. CLASSICAL STUDIES. 
 
 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 embedded in the very , 
 elements of classical learning. The literature of England is, in 
 an emphatic sense, thg 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 Enghsh literature without the 
 lights of classical learning, loses half the charms of its sentiments 
 and style, of its force and feelings, of its delicate touches, of its 
 delightful allusions, of its illustrative associations. Who, that 
 reads the poetry of Gray, does not feel that it is the refinement 
 of classical taste which gives such inexpressible vividness and 
 
 7* 
 
154: SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 transparency to his diction ? Who, that reads the concentrated 
 sense and melodious versification of Dry den 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^play- 
 ful wit of antiquity ? Who, that meditates over the strains of 
 Milton, does not feel that he drank deep at 
 
 " Siloa's brook, that flow'd 
 Fast by tlie oracle of God'' — 
 
 that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by coals from 
 ancient altars ? 
 
 It is no exaggeration to declare that he who proposes to 
 abohsh classical studies proposes to render, in a great measure, 
 inert and unedifying the mass of Enghsh literature for three 
 centuries ; to rob us of the glory of the past, and much of the 
 instruction of future ages ; to blind us to excellences which few 
 may hope to equal, and none to surpass ; to annihilate associa- 
 tions which are interwoven with our best sentiments, and give 
 to distant times and countries a presence and reality as if they 
 were m fact his own. j^^^^^ S^^^^_ 
 
 123. THE FREEDOM OF THE PRESS. 
 
 One of the most striking characteristics of our age, and that 
 indeed which has worked deepest in all the changes of its for- 
 tunes and pursuits, is the general diffusion of knowledge. This 
 is emphatically the age of reading. In other times, this was 
 the privilege of the few ; in ours, it is the possession of the 
 many. 
 
 The principal cause of this change is to be found in the free- 
 dom of the press. It has been aided, also, by the system of 
 free schools wherever it has been established ; by that liberal 
 commerce which connects, by golden chains, the interests of 
 mankind ; and, above all, by those necessities which have com- 
 pelled even absolute monarchs to appeal to the patriotism and 
 common sentiments of their subjects. Little more than a cen- 
 tury has elapsed since the press, in England, was under the 
 control of a licenser; and within our own days only has it 
 ceased to be a contempt, punishable by imprisonment, to print 
 the debates of parliament. We all know how it still is on the 
 continent of Europe. It either speaks in timid undertones, or 
 echoes back the prescribed formularies of the government. The 
 
JOSEPH STOKY. 155 
 
 moment publicity is given to the affairs of state, they excite 
 everywhere an irresistible interest. If discussion be permitted, 
 it will soon be necessary to enlist talents to defend, as well as 
 talents to devise measures. The daily press first instructed men 
 in their wants, and soon found that the eagerness of curiosity 
 outstripped the power of gratifying it. No man can now doubt 
 the fact that, wherever the press is free, it will emancipate the 
 people ; wherever knowledge circulates unrestrained, it is no 
 longer safe to oppress ; wherever public opinion is enlightened, 
 it nourishes an independent, mascuUne, and healthful spirit. If 
 Faustus were now living, he might exclaim, with all the enthu- 
 siasm of Archimedes, and with a far nearer approach to the 
 truth. Give me where I may place a free press, and I will shake 
 the world. jog^j,jj S^oKY. 
 
 124. THE FATE OF THE INDIANS. 
 
 There is, indeed, in the fate of the unfortunate Indians much 
 to awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb the sobriety of 
 our judgment ; much which may be urged to excuse their own 
 atrocities ; much in their characters which betrays us into an 
 involuntary admiration. What can be more melancholy than 
 their history ? By a law of their nature, they seem destined 
 to a slow, but sure, extinction. Everywhere, at the approach 
 of the white man, they fade av/ay. We hear the rustling of 
 their footsteps, like that of the withered leaves of autumn, and 
 they are gone forever. They pass mournfully by us, and they 
 return no more. 
 
 Two centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams and the fires 
 of their councils rose in every valley, from Hudson's Bay to the 
 farthest Florida — from the ocean to the Mississippi and the 
 lakes. The shouts of victory and the war-dance rang through 
 the mojintains and the glades. The thick arrows and the 
 deadly tomahawk whistled through the forests, and the hunter's 
 trace and the dark encampment startled the wild beasts in their 
 lairs. 
 
 But where are they ? Where are the villages, and warriors, 
 and youth — the sachems and the tribes — the hunters and their 
 families ? They have perished. They are consumed. The 
 wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty work. No ; 
 nor famine, nor war. There has been a mightier power, a moraj 
 
156 . SELECTIONS EST PKOSE. 
 
 canker, which hath eaten into their heart-cores ; a plague, whict 
 the touch of the white man communicated; a poison, which 
 betrayed them into a hngering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic 
 fan not a single region which they may now call their own. 
 Already tlie last feeble remnants of the race are preparing for 
 their journey beyond the Mississippi. I see them leave their 
 miserable homes, the aged, the helpless, the women, and the 
 warriors, " few and faint, yet fearless still." 
 
 The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke no 
 longer curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with a 
 slow, unsteady step. The white man is upon their heels, for 
 terror or dispatch ; but they, heed him not. They turn to take 
 a last look of their deserted villages. They cast a last glance 
 upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears ; they 
 utter no cries ; they heave no groans. There is something in 
 their hearts which passes speech. There is something in their 
 looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard necessity, 
 which stifles both ; which chokes all utterance ; which has no 
 aim or method. It is courage absorbed in despair. They linger 
 but for a moment. Their look is onward. They have passed 
 the fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them— no, 
 never ! Yet there lies not between us and them an impassable 
 gulf. They know and feel, that there is for them still one 
 remove further, not distant, nor unseen. It is to the general 
 burial-groun(^. of the race. j^^^^^ g^^^^_ 
 
 125. THE EXAMPLE OF OUR FOREFATHEKS. 
 
 The instructive lesson of history, teaching by example, can 
 nowhere be studied with more profit, or with a better promise, 
 than in the revolutionary period of 4'^erica ; and especially by 
 us, who sit under the tree our fathers have planted, enjoy its 
 shade, and are nourished by its fruits. But little is our merit 
 or gain, that we applaud their deeds, unless we emulate their 
 virtues. Love of country was in them an absorbing principle, 
 an undivided feeling ; not of a fragment, a section, but of the 
 whole country. Union was the arch on which they raised the 
 strong tower of a nation's independence. Let the arm be palsied 
 tliat would loosen one stone in the basis of this fair structure, 
 or mar its beauty ; the tongue mute^ that would dishonor thei' 
 
JAKED SPAEKS.C— WILLIAM WIRT. 157 
 
 names, by calculating the value of that which they deemed 
 without price. 
 
 They have left us an example already inscribed in the world's 
 memory ; an example portentous to the aims of tyranny in every 
 land ; an example that will console in all ages the drooping 
 aspirations of oppressed humanity. They have left us a written 
 charter as a legacy, and as a guide to our course. But every 
 day convinces us that a written charter may become powerless. 
 Ignorance may misinterpret it ; ambition may assail and faction 
 destroy its vital parts ; and aspiring knavery may at last sing its 
 requiem on the tomb of departed liberty. It is the spirit which 
 lives : in this are our safety and our hope — the spirit of our 
 fathers ; and while this dwells deeply in our remembrance, and 
 its flame is cherished, ever burning, ever pure, on the altar of 
 our hearts ; while it incites us to think as they have thought, 
 and do as they have done, the honor and the praise Avill be ours, 
 to have preserved unimpaired the rich inheritance which they 
 so nobly achieved. j^^^ gp,^^3_ 
 
 126. THE STUDY OF ORATORY IN GREECE AND ROME. . 
 
 > 
 
 In the ancient republics of Greece and Rome, oratory was a 
 necessary branch of a finished education. A much smaller pro- 
 portion of the citizens were educated than among us ; but of 
 these a much larger number became orators. No man could 
 hope for distinction or influence, and yet slight this art. The 
 commanders of their armies were orators as well as soldiers, 
 and ruled as well by their rhetorical as by their military skill 
 There was no trusting with them, as with us, to a natural facil- 
 ity, or the acquisition of an accidental fluency by actual practice. 
 
 But they served an apprenticeship to the art. They passed 
 through a regular course of instruction in schools. They sub- 
 mitted to long and laborious discipline. They exercised them- 
 selves frequently, both before equals and in the presence of 
 teachers, who criticised, reproved, rebuked, excited emulation, 
 and left nothing undone which art and perseverance couli 
 accomplish. The greatest orators of antiquity, so far from being 
 favored by natural tendencies — except, indeed, in their high in- 
 tellectual endowments — had to struggle against natural obstacles ; 
 and, instead of growing up spontaneously to their unrivalled 
 
158 SELECTIONS *N PEOSK 
 
 eminence, they forced themselves forward by the most dis« 
 couraging, artificial process. 
 
 Demosthenes combated an impediment in speech, an ungain- 
 liness of gesture, which at first drove him from the forum in 
 disgrace. Cicero failed at first, through weakness of lungs and 
 an excessive vehemence of manner, which wearied the hearers 
 and defeated his own purpose. These defects were conquered 
 by study and discipline. He exiled himself from home, and, 
 during his absence, in various lands, passed not a day without a 
 rhetorical exercise, seeking the masters who were most severe 
 in criticism, as the surest means of leading him to the perfection 
 at which he aimed. ^^^^^^^ ^^^ 
 
 127. THE DECLARATION OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 We have now, fellow-citizens, reached an important point in 
 this interesting controversy between Great Britain and her colo- 
 nies. The future tendency of the present state of things could 
 no longer be mistaken. " Thick coming events already cast 
 their shadows before," and pointed to a result then as inevitable 
 as it was near, and as much desired by some as it was destined 
 to be glorious to all. 
 
 From this point, let us, for a moment, look back upon this 
 singular and momentous contest. In this review, we shall find 
 it singularly characterized by a spirit of gradual and persevering 
 encroachment on the one part, and of forbearance, but steady 
 resistance, on the other. Small at first and slight the departure 
 from the acknowledged principles of right, but increasing in 
 wrong at each successive step of its progress, making the legit- 
 imate resistance to its first wrong a new pretext for the aggra- 
 vation and increased severity of its succeeding one, until its 
 assumption of power had passed all limit, and its exercise all 
 restraint, the course of Great Britain, in this contest, exhibited 
 a folly as remarkable as her tyranny was odious. No suppHca- 
 tion could soften her anger, or propitiate her favor ; no argu- 
 ment, however clear and strong, could reach her reason, or 
 arouse her sense of justice ; and no appeal to humanity could 
 either touch her sensibility or excite her kindly regard. But 
 moved by the worst spirit of cupidity and ambition, stung by 
 the mortifications of wounded pride and conscious wrong, and 
 deaf alike to the voice of reason, the dictates of justice, and 
 
LUTHEK BKADISH. 150 
 
 the suggestions of humanity, she rushed bhndly and madly upon 
 her ruin, exhibiting a striking example of the truth of that 
 familiar but beautiful Latin proverb, 
 
 " Quern Deus vult perdere prius dementat." 
 
 On the other hand, we find the colonists forbearing in their 
 complaints, moderate in their demands, but firm and unwavering 
 in their resistance to wrong. In their love of liberty and their 
 attachment to free government, they never faltered. Neither 
 the corruptions of avarice, the whisperings of ambition, nor 
 the gorgeous pageantry of monarchy or power, could ever for 
 a moment seduce them from the one, or draw them from the 
 other. As the perception of their rights was always clear, so 
 was their assertion of them ever fearless. A people more timid 
 than the colonists, viewing the great disparity of force between 
 the parties to the contest, might often have been led to adopt 
 the expedient, while the colonists thought only of the right. 
 They had imbibed too much of the spirit of their Pilgrim 
 fathers, either to submit quietly to any wrong, or make any 
 compromise with duty. Once satisfied of the right, they 
 embraced it without hesitation, and left the event to Him who 
 controls and governs all events. Although comparatively few 
 in numbers, and feeble in resources, their strength was in their 
 consciousness of right, and in Him who had ordained it. 
 
 Having, therefore, endured unredressed wrong to the last 
 point of human forbearance ; and their last attempt at recon- 
 ciliation having been met only with contumely and insult, a 
 single alternative only remained to them. That alternative was 
 adopted. The representatives of the people, then in congress 
 assembled, animated by a patriotism as pure as it was ardent, 
 and sustained by a spirit as bold and fearless as it was just, and 
 " appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world, for the recti- 
 tude of their intentions," did, on the 4th of July, 1176, put 
 forth to the world the solemn declaration, " that these united 
 colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states." 
 
 Luther Bradish. 
 
 128. THE NOBLE DEEDS OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 The united colonies, which were lately dependencies ox Great 
 Britain, are now free and independent states. They have 
 '* assumed among the powers of the earth the separate and 
 
160 SELECTIONS m PEOSE. 
 
 equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God 
 entitled them," They have declared their independence. Their 
 right to that independence is henceforth to be determined by 
 their power to maintain it. It is no longer a question of a 
 redress of grievances, but one of power. And this young 
 republic of the New World is about to enter the lists, and 
 measure arms with one of the proudest and most powerful 
 monarchies of the Old. Upon the issue of this contest hangs 
 not only her own destiny, but the hopes of the friends of free 
 government throughout the world. 
 
 With the events and the results of the war that ensued, you 
 are all familiar. They have already passed on to the pages of 
 history, and their record is garnered up amongst our dearest 
 and proudest recollections. Time would fail me, to enter into a 
 minute detail of those events. Suffice it, therefore, to say, 
 that the whole period of this memorable contest, from the firing 
 of the first gun at Lexington to the last at Yorktown — from the 
 first insolence of Gage to the last humiliation of Cornwallis, — 
 was, on the part of the Americans, fruitful in great men and 
 noble deeds. 'Tis said that " adversity is the school in which 
 great virtues are acquired, and great characters formed." And 
 it is certain that the great and trying exigences of the revolu- 
 tion never failed to produce both men and deeds equal to the 
 occasion. If, at any time, the country seemed to want the 
 ordinary and necessary means of success, that want was abun- 
 dantly supplied by her many virtues ; for the military and civic 
 virtues, of the highest order, which characterized this whole 
 period, would have illustrated any age of any country. A pure 
 and ardent patriotism; a patient endurance of hardships; a 
 sustaining courage, that no danger or difficulties could appall ; 
 and a devotion to the pubhc good that scarce knew bounds, 
 were the virtues that eminently distinguished this period, and 
 which led the country in triumph through its arduous struggle, 
 to the final establishment and recognition of its independence. 
 
 Luther Bradish. 
 
 129. THE DISINTERESTEDNESS OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 To the pen of the historian must be resigned the more 
 arduous and elaborate tribute of justice to those efforts of he- 
 roic and pohtical virtue, which conducted the American people 
 to peace and liberty. The vanquished foe retired from qui 
 
R0BE3JT TKEAT PAINE. 161 
 
 shores, and left to the controlhng genius who repelled them 
 the gratitude of his own country, and the admiration of the 
 world. The time had now arrived which was to apply the 
 touchstone to his integrity — which was to assay the affinity < f 
 his principles to the standard of immutable right. On the one 
 hand, a realm, to which he was endeared by his services, almost 
 invited him to empire ; on the other, the liberty to whose pro- 
 tection his life had been devoted, was the ornament and boon 
 of human nature. Washington could not depart from his own 
 great self. His country was free — he was no longer a general. 
 Sublime spectacle ! more elevating to the pride of virtue than 
 the sovereignty of the globe united to the sceptre of ages! 
 Enthroned in the hearts of his countrymen, the gorgeous 
 pageantry of prerogative was unworthy the majesty of his 
 dominion. That effulgence of military character which in 
 ancient states has blasted the rights of the people whose 
 renown it had brightened, was not here permitted, by the hero 
 from whom it emanated, to shine with so destructive a lustre. 
 Its beams, though intensely resplendent, did not wither the 
 young blossoms of our independence ; and liberty, like the 
 burning bush, flourished unconsumed by the glory which sur- 
 rounded it. 
 
 To the illustrious founder of our republic was it reserved to 
 exhibit the example of a magnanimity tfhat commanded victory 
 — of a moderation that retired from triumph. Unlike the 
 erratic meteors of ambition, whose flaming path sheds a disas- 
 trous light on the pages of history, his bright orb, eclipsing the 
 luminaries among which it rolled, never portended " fearful 
 change" to rehgion, nor from its •* golden tresses" shook pes- 
 tilence on empire. What to other heroes has been glory, would 
 to him have been disgrace. To his intrepidity it would have 
 added no honorary trophy, to have waded, like the conqueror 
 of Peru, through the blood of credulous millions, to plant the 
 standard of triumph at the burning mouth of a volcano. To 
 his fame it would have erected no auxiliary monument, to have 
 invaded, like the ravager of Egypt, an innocent though barbar- 
 ous nation, to inscribe his name on the pillar of Pompey. 
 
 Robert Treat PAunt. 
 
162 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 130. CLASSICAL AND CHRISTIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 The classics possess a peculiar charm, from the circumstance 
 that they have been the models, I might almost say the masters, 
 of composition and thought in all ages. In the contemplation 
 of these august teachers of mankind, we are filled with conflict- 
 ing emotions. They are the early voice of the world, better 
 remembered and more cherished still, than all the intermediate 
 words that have been' uttered, — as the lessons of childhood still 
 haunt us when the impressions of later years have been effaced 
 from the mind. But they show with most unwelcome frequency 
 the tokens of the world's childhood, before passion had yielded 
 to the sway of reason and the affections. They want the highest 
 charm of purity, of righteousness, of elevated sentiments, of 
 love to God and man. It is not in the frigid philosophy of the 
 porch and the academy that we are to seek these ; not in the 
 marvellous teachings of Socrates, as they comfe mended by the 
 mellifluous words of Plato ; not in the resounding line of Homer, 
 on whose inspiring tale of blood Alexander pillowed his head ; 
 not in the animated strain of Pindar, where virtue is pictured in 
 the successful strife of an athlete at the Isthmian games ; not 
 in the torrent of Demosthenes, dark with self-love and the spirit 
 of vengeance ; not in the fitful philosophy and intemperate elo- 
 quence of Tully ; not in the genial libertinism of Horace, or the 
 stately atheism of Lucretius. No; these must not be our 
 masters ; in none of these are we to seek the way of life. For 
 eighteen hundred years the spirit of these writers has been 
 engaged in weaponless contest with the Sermon on the Mount, 
 and those two sublime commandments on which hang all the 
 law and the prophets. The strife is still pending. Heathenism, 
 which has possessed itself of such siren forms, is not yet exor- 
 cised. It still tempts the young, controls the affairs of active 
 life, and haunts the meditations of age. 
 
 Our own productions, though they may yield to those of the 
 ancients in the arrangement of ideas, in method, in beauty ot 
 form, and in freshness of illustration, are immeasurably superior 
 in the truth, delicacy, and elevation of their sentiments — above 
 all, in the benign recognition of that great Christian revelation, 
 the brotherhood of man. How vaiki are eloquence and poetry, 
 compared with this heaven-descended truth ! Put in one scale 
 that simple utterance, and in the other the lore of antiquity, 
 with its accumulating glosses and commentaries, and the last 
 will be light and trivial in the balance. Greek poetrv has be(?n 
 
CHAKLES SUMNEE.— GEIMKE, 163 
 
 likened to the song of tlie nightingale as she sits in the rich, sym. 
 metrical crown of the palm-tree, trilling her thick- warbled notes ; 
 but even this is less sweet and tender than the music of the 
 human heart. Chakles Sumnek. 
 
 131. AMERICAN LITERATURE. 
 
 We cannot honor our country with too deep a reverence ; we 
 cannot love her with an affection too pure and fervent ; we can- 
 not serve her with an energy of purpose or a faithfulness of zeal, 
 too steadfast and ardent. And what is our country ? It is not 
 the East, with her hills and her valleys, with her countless sails, 
 and the rocky ramparts of her shores. It is not the North, with 
 her thousand villages, and her harvest-honie, with her frontiers 
 of the lake and the ocean. It is not the West, with her forest- 
 sea and her inland isles, with her luxuriant expanses, clothed in 
 the verdant corn, with her beautiful Ohio, and her majestic Mis- 
 souri. Nor is it yet the South, opulent in the mimic snow of the 
 cotton, in the rich plantations of the rustling cane, and in the 
 golden robes of the rice-field. What are these but the sister 
 families of one greater, better, holier family — our country ? 
 
 If, indeed, we desire to behold a literature like that, which 
 has sculptured, Avith such energy of expression, wliich has 
 painted so faithfully and vividly, the crimes, the vices, the follies 
 of ancient and modern Europe : if we desire that our land should 
 furnish for the orator and the novehst, for the painter and the 
 poet, age after age, the wild and romantic scenery of war ; the 
 glittering march of armies, and the revelry of the camp ; the 
 shrieks and blasphemies, and all the horrors of the battle-field ; 
 the desolation of the harvest, and the burning cottage ; the 
 storm, the sack, and the ruin of cities : if we desire to unchain 
 the furious passions of jealousy and selfishness, of hatred, re- 
 venge, and ambition, those lions that now sleep harmless in their 
 den : if we desire that the lake, the river, the ocean, should 
 blush with the blood of brothers ; that the winds should waft 
 from the land to the sea, from the sea to the land, the roar and 
 the smoke of battle ; that the very mountain-tops should become 
 altars for the sacrifice of brothers ; — if we desire that these, and 
 such as these — the elements, to an incredible extent, of the 
 literature of the old world — should be the elements of our 
 literature, then, but then only, let us hurl from its pedestal the 
 
16-J: SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 majestic statue of our Union, and scatter its fragments over al 
 our land. But, if we covet for our country the noblest, purest, 
 loveliest literature the world has ever seen, such a literature as 
 shall honor God, and bless mankind ; a literature, whose smiles 
 might play upon an angel's face, whose " tears would not stain 
 an angel's cheek ;" then let us cling to the union of these states, 
 with a patriot's love, with a scholar's enthusiasm, with a Chris^ 
 tian's hope. In her heavenly character, as a holocaust self- 
 sacrificed to God ; at the height of her glory, as the ornament 
 of a free, educated, peaceful. Christian people, American litera- 
 ture will find that the intellectual spirit is her very tree of life, 
 and that union her garden of paradise'. q^ 
 
 132. THE END OF THE WORLD. 
 
 When the first day of judgment happened, that of the uni- 
 versal deluge of waters upon the old world, the calamity swelled 
 like the flood, and every man saw his friend perish, and the 
 neighbors of his dwelling, and the relatives of his house, and 
 the sharers of his joys, and yesterday's bride, and the new-born 
 heir, the priest of the family, and the honor of the kindred, all 
 dying or dead, drenched in water and the divine vengeance ; 
 and thfen they had no place to flee unto, no man cared for 
 their souls ; they had none to go unto for counsel, no sanctuary 
 high enough to keep them from the vengeance that rained down 
 from heaven ; and so it shall be at the day of judgment, when 
 that world and this, and all that shall be born hereafter, shall 
 pass through the same Red Sea, and be all baptized with the 
 same fire, and be involved in the same cloud, in which shall be 
 thunderings and terrors infinite. Every man's fear sjiall be in- 
 creased by his neighbor's shrieks, and the amazement that all 
 the world shall be in, shall unite as the sparks of a raging 
 furnace into a globe of fire, and roll upon its own principle, and 
 increase by direct appearances and intolerable reflections. And 
 that shriek must needs be terrible, when millions of men and 
 women, at the same instant, shall fearfully cry out, and the 
 noise shall mingle with the trumpet of the archangel, with the 
 thunders of the dying and groaning heavens, and the crack of 
 the dissolving world, when the whole fabric of nature shall 
 shake into dissolution and eternal ashes ! 
 
 Jeremy Taylor, 
 
W. GASTON. 165 
 
 133. PARTY SPIRIT. 
 
 Parties and party men may deserve reprobation for their 
 selfishness, their violence, their errors, or their wickedness. 
 They may do our country much harm. They may retard its 
 growth, destroy its harmony, impair its character, render its 
 institutions unstable, pervert the public mind, and deprave the 
 pubhc morals. These are, indeed, evils, and sore evils ; but the 
 principle of life remains, and will yet struggle, with assured 
 success, over these temporary maladies. 
 
 Still we are great, glorious, united, and free ; stiil we have a 
 name that is revered abroad, and loved at home — a name which 
 is a tower of strength to us against foreign wrong, and a bond 
 of internal union and harmony — a name which no enemy pro- 
 nounces but with respect, and which no citizen hears but with 
 a throb of exultation. Still we have that blessed constitution, 
 which, with all its pretended defects, and all its alleged viola- 
 tions, has conferred more benefit on man than ever yet flowed 
 from any other human institution — which has established jus- 
 tice, insured domestic tranquillity, provided for the common 
 defence, promoted the general welfare, and which, under God, 
 if we be true to ourselves, will insure the blessings of liberty to 
 us and our posterity. 
 
 Surely, such a country, and such a constitution, have claims 
 upon you, my friends, which cannot be disregarded. I entreat 
 and adjure you, then, by all that is near and dear to you on 
 earth, by all the obligations of patriotism, by the memory of 
 your fathers who fell in the great and glorious struggle, for the 
 sake of your sons, whom you would not have to blush for your 
 degeneracy ; by all your proud recollections of the past, and 
 all the fond anticipations of the future renown of our nation — 
 preserve that country, uphold that constitution. Resolve that 
 they shall not be lost, while in your keeping ; and may God 
 Almighty strengthen you to perform that vow ! 
 
 W. Gastox. 
 
166 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 134. THE WARFARE OF TRUTH. 
 
 The awful and murderous operations of military power can 
 only be justified when directed against a foreign invader, or 
 domestic conspirators attempting to obtain possession of the 
 government by force of arms : — even in such cases they must 
 be allowed to be in themselves great evils, and are only tolera- 
 ted because necessary to put down still greater evils. They 
 cannot be rightfully employed as the means of enlarging the 
 liberties, or reforming the abuses, of any nation or commu- 
 nity. 
 
 The hon'ors and cruelties of civil and intestine war, the blood- 
 shed and the barbarism of the battle-field, the furies and the 
 crimes attendant upon massacre, conflagration, and pillage, can 
 never be made to prepare the way for the blessings of hberty, 
 peace, and equal rights, to enter and take up their abode in any 
 land. They serve only to bind upon it still more firmly the 
 burden and the woes of slavery and sin. " All they that take 
 the sword," that is, select and adopt it as the means of improv- 
 ing their social or political condition, "shall perish with the 
 sword." But truth is mighty, reason is mighty, conscience is 
 mighty, the spirit of human and of Christian benevolence is 
 mightier than them all, and the most despised minority, the 
 most trampled victims of oppression and slavery, if they make 
 these the weapons of their warfare, and wield them in faith, 
 patience, and perseverance, will be sure to conquer, for God 
 will be their ally. And the strongest and fiercest giant, who 
 comes to the field with aspear, and with a sword, and with a 
 shield, will be sure to fall before the merest stripling who meets 
 him in the name of the Lord. q ^ Upham 
 
 135. OUR OBLIGATIONS TO the PILGRIMS. 
 
 To whom do we owe it, under an all-wise Providence, that 
 this nation, so miraculously born, is now contributing with such 
 effect to the welfare of the human family, by aiding the march 
 of mental and moral improvement, and giving an example to 
 the nations of what it is to be pious, intelligent, and free ? To 
 whom do we owe it, that with us the great ends of the social 
 compact are accomplished to a degree of perfection never before 
 
WHELPLEY. — J. G. CARTER. 167 
 
 realized ; that the union of public power and private liberty is 
 here exhibited in a harmony so singular and perfect as to allow 
 the might of political combination to rest upon the basis of indi- 
 vidual virtue, and to call into exercise, by the very freedom 
 which such a union gives, all the powers that contribute to na- 
 tional prosperity ? 
 
 To whom do we owe it, that the pure and powerful light of 
 the gospel is now shed abroad over these countries, and is rap- 
 idly gaining upon the darkness of the western world ; that the 
 importance of religion to the temporal welfare of men, and to the 
 permanence of wise institutions, is here beginning to be felt in its 
 just measure ? To whom do we owe it, that in this favored land the 
 gospel of the grace (?f God has best displayed its power to bless 
 humanity, by uniting the anticipations of a better world with the 
 highest interests and pursuits of this ; by carrying its merciful in- 
 fluence into the very business and bosoms of men ; by making 
 the ignorant wise and the miserable happy; by breaking the 
 fetters of the slave, and teaching the " babe and suckling" those 
 simple and sublime truths which give to life its dignity and vir- 
 tue, and fill immortality with hope : — to whom do we owe all 
 this ? Doubtless, to the Plymouth Pilgrims ! Happily did one 
 of these fearless exiles exclaim, in view of all that was past, and 
 of the blessing, and honor, and glory, that was yet to come, 
 ** God hath sifted three kingdoms, that he might gather the 
 choice grain, and plant it in the Avilderness." 
 
 Whelpley. 
 
 136. woman's influence. 
 
 The influence of the female character is now felt and ac- 
 knowledged in all the relations of her life. I speak not now of 
 those distinguished women, who instruct their age through the 
 public press ; nor of those whose devout strains we take upon 
 our lips when we worship ; but of a much larger class ; of those 
 whose influence is felt in the relations of neighbor, friend, daugh- 
 ter, wife, mother. Who waits at the couch of the sick to ad- 
 minister tender charities while life hngers, or to perform the 
 last acts of kindness when death comes ? Where shall we look 
 for those examples of friendship that most adorn our nature ; 
 those abiding friendships, which trust even when betrayed, and 
 survive all changes of fortune ? Where shall we find the bright- 
 est illustrations of filial piety ? Have you ever seen a daugliter, 
 
168 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 herself perhaps timid and helpless, watching the decline of an 
 aged parent, and holding out with heroic fortitude to anticipate 
 his wishes, to administer to his wants, and to sustain his totter- 
 ing steps to the very borders of the grave ? 
 
 But in no relation does woman exercise so deep an influence, 
 both immediately and prospectively, as in that of mother. To 
 her is committed the immortal treasure of the infant mind. 
 Upon her devolves the care of the first stages of that course of 
 discipline which is to form, of a being perhaps the most frail 
 and helpless in the world, the fearless ruler of animated crea- 
 tion, and the devout adorer of its great Creator. Her smiles 
 Call into exercise the first affections that spring up in our hearts. 
 She cherishes and expands the earliest gerTns of our intellects. 
 She breathes over us her deepest devotions. She lifts our little 
 hands, and teaches our little tongues to lisp in prayer. She 
 watches over us, like a guardian angel, and protects us through 
 all our helpless years, when we know not of her cares and her 
 anxieties on our account. She follows us into the world of men, 
 and lives in us, and blesses us, when she lives not otherwise 
 upon the earth. j_ ^^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 13Y. THE FREEDOM OF SCIENCE IN AMERICA. 
 
 The quick and keen sense of self-interest, that gives such sa- 
 gacity and energy to the business operations of this country, is 
 equally propitious to the success of every art, every discovery, 
 invention, undertaking, and science, that involves in it any 
 amount of practical improvement or power. Hence, whatever 
 of theoretical science, inventive skill, ingenious speculation, or 
 reasoning eloquence, can be made to tell upon any of the multi- 
 tudinous affairs making up the business of life, or to minister in 
 any way to the increased power or enjoyment of man, will soon 
 find ready attention for their claims. Here no prejudices in 
 favor of time-honored usages are strong enough long to resist 
 the advance of scientific improvement or wise innovation. So- 
 ciety is not divided into castes, each one of them watching with 
 jealous vigilance against any encroachment of their several ex- 
 clusive walks by any rude intruder from another class, them- 
 selves clinging to the settled usages and old forms of their own 
 clan, with the steady pertinacity of men whose unexamined 
 prejudices are interwoven with their earliest habits and their 
 most valuable personal interests. If Science, descending from 
 
OULIAN C. VEEPLANCK. 169 
 
 her starry throne in the heavens, light the student to any dis- 
 covery or invention in any manner apphcable to the wants of his 
 fellow-creatures, — if Genius prompt the lofty thought, — if love 
 of God or of man inspire th<3 generous design, no matter how 
 the novelty may astonish for the moment, no matter what 
 prejudices -may be shocked, no matter what interests may be 
 alarmed and band themselves against the innovator, let him go 
 on undismayed ; he advances to certain victory. 
 
 GULIAN C. VERrLANCK. 
 
 138, PRACTICAL SCHOLARSHIP. 
 
 It may well be that there are some meditations so subtile and 
 unreal, some branches of learning so remote from use, some la- 
 borious arts of refinement requiring for their successful cultiva- 
 tion such silent abstraction and unremitting, undivided labor for 
 years, that they can find no room amid the strife and bustle, the 
 fumum, strepitumque, the railroad noise and rapidity of this 
 work-day world of America. 
 
 But if awed by that veneration the scholar naturally feels for 
 thos'e who consecrate their days and nights to learning, alterna- 
 ting only between books and the pen, you hesitate to allow the 
 superiority conferred by this variety and versatiUty over the 
 man of one solitary study, let me appeal to the unvarying testi- 
 mony of literary history for the proof. The great men of an- 
 tiquity, the models of eloquence, the fathers of poetry, the 
 teachers of ethical wisdom, the founders of that ancient jurispru- 
 dence, that still rules the greater part of the civilized world, 
 were none of them solitary scholars; none of them were con- 
 tented with the *' half wisdom of books" alone. They performed 
 well all the duties of war and peace ; and their immortal w^orks, 
 beautiful in the severe simplicity of truth and nature, still re- 
 main " eternal monuments" — as Thucydides, in the calm con- 
 sciousness of genius, has said of his own majestic history — eter- 
 nal monuments for the good of after ages, of things Wliich they 
 had themselves seen and done. ^^^^^ ^ Vekplanck. 
 
 8 
 
170 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 139. INDEPENDENCE OF THOUGHT IN AMERICA. 
 
 Every thing here is propitious to honest independence 
 of thought. Such an independence is the presiding genius of 
 all our institutions ; it is the vital spirit that gives life to the 
 whole. Without this, our constitutions and laws, our external 
 forms of equahty, our elections, our representation, our boasted 
 liberty of speech and of conscience, are but poor and beggarly 
 elements, shadows without substance, dead and worthle.ss car- 
 casses, from which the living soul, the grace, the glory, the 
 strength, have forever fled. 
 
 That restlessness of enterprise, which alike nerves the frontier 
 settler to the toils and adventures of the wilderness, and kindles 
 the young dreams of the political aspirant, which whitens the 
 ocean with our canvas, drives the railroad through the desert, 
 and startles the moose at his watering-place, or scares the eagle 
 from his high solitary perch with the sudden beat of the steam- 
 boat's wheels — ^that one and the same ardent, restless spirit 
 ruling our whole people, can have little communion with that 
 abject prostration of intellect, that makes man crouch before his 
 fellow, submitting his reason and his conscience to another's 
 will. It is our happy fate to know nothing personally of the 
 severer tyranny of power over the conscience. History can 
 alone teach us what this is, and how to estimate duly our po- 
 litical advantages in this respect. What then is the history of 
 human opinions but a long record of martyrdom for truth, for 
 religion, for private conscience, for public liberty ? Every mon- 
 ument of antiquity in the Old World, like that one of " London's 
 lasting shame," 
 
 " The Traitor'' s Gate, miscalled, through which of yore 
 Past Kaleigh, Cranmer, Kussel, Sydney, More," — 
 
 every vestige of the past recalls some remembrance of the 
 " lifted axe, the agonizing wheel," the scaffold, the stake, and 
 the fagot, on which the patriot poured out his life's blood, and 
 where the martyr breathed forth in torture his last prayer ol 
 triumphant, forgiving faith. But, traveller, stop not there tn 
 mourn. Rejoice rather, for these are the monuments of tlie. 
 victories of truth, of the triumph of the self-sustaining, immor- 
 tal mind, over the impotence of transient power. The martyrs 
 have conquered. Their sentence is reversed. Their tyrants 
 have passed away with names blackened and branded by uni- 
 versal scorn. The cause for which they died has now mounted 
 
GULiAN c. t:erplanck. 171 
 
 the seat of worldly empire, or else is enthroned still more re- 
 gally in the hearts of millions. ^^^^^^ C. Veuplanck. 
 
 140. AMERICAN SCHOLARS NOT DEPENDENT UPON PRIVILEGED 
 ORDERS. 
 
 In other lands, pecuniary dependence is too often connected 
 with reverence for rank, so that they produce together the most 
 complete vassalage. The market for intellectual labor is over- 
 stocked. Nature's rich banquet is crowded with titled and he- 
 reditary gviests ; "the table is full." To emerge from the crowd 
 of menials, and obtain some share of the feast, the unbidden 
 scholar must attach himself to the train of a patron, and feed 
 on the alms his niggard bounty may bestow. Such has been 
 the degrading history of literary men, poets, authors, and, I 
 blush to add, philosophers, throughout the world, for many 
 centuries. The facility with which a sure and comfortable sub- 
 sistence may be obtained in this country, and the certainty with 
 which educated talent, directed by ordinary discretion and in- 
 dustry, may obtain to a decent competency, are such as to ex- 
 clude all temptation, much more all necessity, to follow in this 
 respect the humiliating example of European learning. To such 
 evils " the lack of means need never drive us." If dazzled by 
 the false glitter of office, if bribed by the doles of political pat- 
 ronage, or by such paltry boons as private interest can bestow, 
 the American scholar is ever weak enough to sell his conscience, 
 or bow down his independence before a master, he falls a vol- 
 untary victim. The sin is his own : his own be the shame. Let 
 him not seek to divide it with his country. Is it not then a 
 glorious privilege to be wholly free from the necessity of sucli 
 dependence, never to be forced by the tyrannous compulsion of 
 need to man- worship, the meanest of all idolatries ? Far no- 
 bler, far happier, than kings can make him, is the lot of him 
 who dedicates his life and his intellect to instruct and delight 
 the people ; Avho looks to them, not for alms or bounty, but for 
 a just compensation in honor and in profit, for the pleasure or 
 the instruction he affords them ; who seeks to serve them as a 
 friend, not to fawn on them as a flatterer — to please them or to 
 teach them, yet as having a higher master and knowing the 
 solemn responsibility of one who acts upon the happiness or the 
 morals of many. Happy he who, in the discharge of such du 
 
172 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 ties, leads none into dangerous error, lulls none into careless or 
 contemptuous negligence of right, nor ever sullies the whiteness 
 of an innocent mind. Happier, still happier, he who has scat- 
 tered abroad into many hearts those moral seeds whence benev- 
 olent and lieroic actions spring up, who has ** given ardor to 
 virtue and confidence to truth," or, in more sacred language, 
 "has turned many unto righteousness." Such genius, fired 
 from heaven's own light, will continue to the end of time to 
 burn and spread, kindling congenial flames far and wide, until 
 they lift up their broad united blaze on high, enlightening, 
 cheering, and gladdening the nations of the earth. 
 
 GULIAN C. Verplanck. 
 
 141. THE INFLUENCE OF FREE INSTITUTIONS ENNOBLING. 
 
 It has been said by shrewd though unfriendly observers, thai, 
 in America the practical and the profitable swallow up every 
 other thought. There, say they, fancy withers, art languishes, 
 taste expires ; there the mind looks only to the material and the 
 mechanical, and loses its capacity for the ideal and the abstract. 
 But while the intelligent American citizen is surrounded by the 
 strongest temptations to devote himself solely to selfish pursuits, 
 he is at the same time everywhere invited to conform his own 
 spirit to that of our liberal institutions, and instructed to uphft 
 his mind to the consideration of large principles, and to regard 
 himself as being but a small part of the vast whole which claims 
 his best affections. 
 
 With such a choice before him, pitiable indeed is the lot of 
 him who turns from the nobler and manlier side, to think, to 
 live, and to drudge for himself alone. He cuts himself off from 
 the best delights of the heart, its endearing charities and its ele- 
 vating sympathies. He paralyzes his own intellect by suffering 
 it to become half dead through inaction, and that in its nobler 
 parts. The mighty ladder of thought and reason, reaching 
 from the visible to the invisible — from the crude knowledge 
 gained through the senses to the sublimest inferences of the 
 pure reason — from the earth to the very footstool of God's own 
 throne — is before him and invites his ascent. But he bends his 
 eyes obstinately downwards upon the glittering ores at his feet, 
 until he loses the wish or the hope for any thing better. 
 
 That such grovelling materiality, such mean selfishness, is not 
 the necessary, nor the constant, no, nor the frequent result of 
 
GULIAN C. VEKPLANCK. 173 
 
 our ardent industry in the affairs of life, let the discoveries of 
 Franklin, and the magnificent far-drawn speculations of Ed- 
 wards — let the grand philosophy, and the poetic thought, 
 flashing quick and thick through the cloudy atmosphere of po- 
 litical discussion in our senate-house — let the open-handed 
 charity, tTie more than princely munificence, the untiring per- 
 sonal labors of benevolence, exhibited by our most devoted and 
 successful men of business, bear splendid testimony. 
 
 GULIAN C. VerPLANCK. 
 
 142. TUE EVILS OP POLITICAL PARTIES. 
 
 In our popular form of government, the existence of organ- 
 ized parties for the promotion of any system of policy, for the 
 success of any principles of administration on which opinions are 
 divided, and even for local objects and questions that must be 
 decided ultimately by the ballot-boxes and legislative action, 
 seems to he unavoidable, and when confined to their legitimate 
 sphere, not only harmless but salutary. But no dispassionate 
 man, who examines the character of all our pohtical parties for the 
 last few years, can fail to perceive that there is something in 
 their organization threatening to defeat the primary object of 
 their own formation, and injurious to personal honor and inde- 
 pendence. 
 
 By means of this organization, the true liege-men of faction 
 learn to move together with the discipline and blind obedience 
 of a regular army, and to regard those who do not act with 
 them, not as republican fellow- citizens who differ from them in 
 opinion on some secondary though important points, but as 
 aliens and enemies. The first who suffer the just punishment 
 of this moral treason, for such it is, against republican princi- 
 ples, are the successful leaders themselves. They deprive 
 themselves at once of the honest enthusiasm, the cheerful confi- 
 dence that ever accompany the zealous support of principles. 
 They become the timid, temporizing slaves of expediency, look- 
 ing at every step, not to its justice or wisdom, but to its probable 
 popularity. Tkeir own policy prevents them from relying for 
 respect and support upon the broad judgment of all honest and 
 enlightened men, and when age or adversity arrives, when ** in- 
 terest calls off all her sneaking train," they are left helpless and 
 contemptible. Such being the pitiable condition of the mag- 
 nates of faction, what must be that of him who follows at their 
 
174 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 heels as a hireling ; above all, of the educated and literary hire^ 
 ling ? He has sold his manhood for a little pelf ; he must re- 
 vile, and he must glorify ; he must shout huzzas, or whisper 
 calumnies, just as he is bidden. His time is not his own. His 
 thoughts are not his own. His soul is not his own. 
 
 Strange thing it is, but true, that in this our republic, the 
 land of abundance, the native soil of independence, there may 
 be found some Americans of talent and information as abject in 
 the submission of their understanding and will to the dictation 
 of another, as was ever the most awe-struck courtier of the 
 Russian czar, and who can fawn upon the dispensers of office 
 with a cringing servility that would have mantled with shame 
 the cheek of the worst hireling of Walpole, or the most profli- 
 gate parasite of Dubois, the scandal of the church, or of Jef- 
 fries, the reproach of the law. _ ^^^^^^ ^^ Veuplanck. 
 
 143. MILITARY GLORY. 
 
 The idea of Honor is associated with war. But to whom 
 does the honor belong ? If to any, certainly not to the mass of 
 the people, but to those who are particularly engaged in it. 
 The mass of a people, who stay at home and hire others to 
 fight, who sleep in their warm beds and hire others to sleep 
 on the cold and damp earth, who sit at their well-spread board 
 and hire others to take the chance of starving, who nurse the 
 slightest hurt in their own bodies and hire others to expose 
 themselves to mortal wounds and to linger in comfortless hospi- 
 tals, certainly this mass reap little honor from war. The honor 
 belongs to those immediately engaged in it. Let me ask, then, 
 what is the chief business of war. It is to destroy human life, 
 to mangle the limbs, to gash and hew the body, to plunge the 
 sword into the heart of a fellow- creature, to strew the earth 
 with bleeding frames, and to trample them under foot with 
 horses' hoofs. It is to batter down and burn cities, to turn 
 fruitful fields into deserts, to level the cottage of the peasant 
 and the magnificent abode of opulence, to scourge nations with 
 famine, to multiply widows and orphans. Are these honorable 
 deeds ? Were you called to name exploits worthy of demons, 
 would you not naturally select such as these ? Grant that a 
 necessity for them may exist ; it is a dreadful necessity, such as 
 a good man must recoil from with instinctive horror; and though 
 
DE. CHANNING. 175 
 
 it may exempt them from guilt, it cannot turn them into glory. 
 We have thought that it Was honorable to heal, to save, to 
 mitigate pain, to snatch the sick and sinking from the jaws of 
 death. We have placed among the revered benefactors of the 
 human race, the discoverers of arts which alleviate human suf- 
 ferings, which prolong, comfort, adorn, and cheer human life, 
 and if these arts be honorable, where is the glory of multiply- 
 ing and.aggravating tortures and death ? 
 
 Db* Chanking. 
 
 144. FALSE COURAGE. 
 
 Courage, considered in itself, or without reference to its ori- 
 gin and motives, and regarded in its common manifestations, is 
 not virtue, is not moral excellence ; and the disposition to exalt 
 it above the spirit of Christianity is one of the most ruinous de- 
 lusions which have been transmitted to us from barbarous 
 times. In most men, courage has its origin in a happy organi- 
 zation of the body. It belongs to the nerves rather than to the 
 character. In some, it is an instinct bordering on rashness. In 
 one man it springs from strong passions obscuring the idea of 
 danger. In another, from the want of imagination, or from the 
 capacity of bringing future evils near. The courage of the un- 
 educated may often be traced to stupidity, to the absence of 
 thought and sensibility. Many are courageous from the dread 
 of the infamy absurdly attached to cowardice. One terror ex- 
 pels another. A bullet is less formidable than a sneer. To 
 show the moral worthlessness of mere courage, of contempt of 
 bodily suffering and pain, one consideration is sufficient. The 
 most abandoned have possessed it in perfection. The villain 
 often hardens into the thorough hero, if courage and heroism be 
 one. The more complete his success in searing conscience and 
 defying God, the more dauntless his daring. Loijg-continued 
 vice and exposure naturally generate contempt of life and a 
 reckless encounter of peril. Courage, considered in itself, or 
 without reference to its causes, is no virtue, and deserves no es- 
 teem. It is found in the best and the worst, and is to be 
 judged according to the quahties from which it springs and with 
 which it is conjoined. De. CnANKiNa. 
 
IT^ SELECTIONS IN PEOSB. 
 
 145. TRUE COURAGE, 
 
 There is a virtuous^ glorious courage ; but it liappens to be 
 found least in those who are most admired for bravery. It is 
 the courage of principle, which dares to da right in the face of 
 scorn, which puts to hazard reputation, rank, the prospects (A 
 advancement, the sympathy of friends, the admiration of the 
 world, rather than violate a conviction of duty. It is the cour- 
 age of benevolence and piety, which counts not life dear in 
 withstanding error, superstition, vice, oppression, injustice, and 
 the mightiest foes of human improvement and happiness. It is 
 moral energy, that force of will in adopting duty, over which 
 menace and suffering have no power. It is the courage of a 
 soul which reverences itself too much to be greatly moved about 
 what befalls the body ; which thirsts so intensely for a pure in- 
 ward life, that it can yield up the animal life without fear ; in 
 which the idea of moral, spiritual, celestial good has been un- 
 folded so brightly as to obscure all worldly interests ; which 
 aspires after immortality, and therefore heeds little the pains or 
 pleasures of a day ; which has so concentered its whole power 
 and life in the love of Godlike^ virtue, that it even finds a joy in 
 the perils and sufferings by which its loyalty to God and virtue 
 may be approved. This courage may be called the perfection 
 of humanity, for it is the exercise, result, and expression of the 
 highest attributes of our nature. P^ Channing. 
 
 146. MILITARY COURAGE. 
 
 The courage of military and ordinary life, instead of resting 
 on high and unchangeable principles, finds its chief motive in 
 the opinions of the world, and its chief reward in vu)gar praise. 
 Superior to bodily pain, it crouches before censure, and dares 
 not face the scorn which faithfulness to God and unpopular duty 
 must often incur. It wears the appearance of energy, because 
 it conquers one strong passion, fear ; but the other passions it 
 leaves unmastered, and thus differs essentially from moral 
 strength or greatness, which consists in subjecting all appetites 
 and desires to a pure and high standard of rectitude. Brilliant 
 courage, as it is called, so far from being a principle of universal 
 self-control, is often joined with degrading pleasures, with a 
 lawless spirit, with general licentiousness of manners, with a 
 
DE. CHATOTINO. 177 
 
 hardihood which defies God as well as man, and which, not 
 satisfied with scorning death, contemns the judgment that is to 
 follow. So wanting in moral worth is the bravery which has 
 so long been praised, sung, courted, adored. It is time that it 
 should be understood. It is time that the old, barbarous, indis- 
 criminate worship of mere courage should give place to a wise 
 moral judgment. This fanaticism has done much to rob Chris- 
 tianity of its due honor. Men, who give their sympathies and 
 homage to the fiery and destructive valor of the soldier, will see 
 little attraction in the mild and peaceful spirit of Jesus. His 
 unconquerable forbearance, the most genuine and touching ex- 
 pression of his divine philanthropy, may even seem to them a 
 weakness. Will this delusion never cease ? Will men never 
 learn to reverence disinterested love? Shall the desolations 
 and woes of ages bear their testimony in vain against the 
 false glory which has so long dazzled the world ? I do not 
 ask these questions in despair. Whilst we lament the lim- 
 ited triumphs of Christianity over false notions of honor, we 
 see and ought to recognize its progress. War is not now the 
 only or chief path to glory. The greatest names are not now 
 written in blood. The purest fame is the meed of genius, phi- 
 losophy, philanthropy, and piety, devoting themselves to the 
 best interests of humanity. The passion for military glory is no 
 longer, as once, able of itself to precipitate nations into war. 
 
 Dk. Channing. 
 
 147. THE MORAL CHARACTER OF WAR. 
 
 A NATION, in declaring war, should be lifted above its passions 
 by the fearfulness and solemnity of the act. It should appeal 
 with unfeigned confidence to heaven and earth for its upright- 
 ness of purpose. It should go forth as the champion of truth 
 and justice, as the minister of God, to vindicate and sustain 
 that great moral and national law, without which life has no 
 security, and social improvements no defence. It should be 
 inspired with invincible courage, not by its passions, but by the 
 dignity and holiness of its cause. Nothing in the whole com- 
 pass of legislation is so solemn as a declaration ef^war. By 
 nothing do a people incur such tremendous responsibility. 
 Unless justly waged, war involves a people in the guilt of miu-- 
 der. The state which, without the command of justice and 
 God, sends our fleets and armies to slaughter fellow-creatures, 
 
 8* 
 
178 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 must answer for the blood it sheds, as truly as the assassin for 
 
 the death of his victim. Oh, how loudly does the voice of 
 
 blood cry to heaven from the field of battle ! Undoubtedly, 
 
 the men whose names have come down to us with the loudest 
 
 shouts of ages, stand now before the tribunal of eternal justice 
 
 condemned as murderers ; and the victories, which have been 
 
 thought to encircle a nation with glory, have fixed the same 
 
 brand on multitudes in the sight of the final and Almighty 
 
 Judee. T. n 
 
 •^ Dr. Channing. 
 
 148. TRUTH. 
 
 Force of thought may be put forth to amass wealth for 
 selfish gratification, to give the individual power over others, to 
 blind others, to weave a web of sophistry, to cast a deceitful 
 lustre on vice, to make the worse appear the better cause. But 
 energy of thought, so employed, is suicidal. The intellect, in 
 becoming a pander to vice, a tool of the passions, an advocate of 
 lies, becomes not only degraded, but diseased. It loses the 
 capacity of distinguishing truth from falsehood, good from evil, 
 right from wrong ; it becomes as worthless as an eye which 
 cannot distinguish between colors or forms. Woe to that 
 mind which wants the love of truth ! For want of this, genius 
 has become a scourge to the world; its breath a poisonous 
 exhalation ; its brightness a seducer into paths of pestilence and 
 death. Truth is the light of the Infinite Mind, and the image 
 of God in his creatures. Nothing endures but truth. The 
 dreams, fictions, theories which men would substitute for it, 
 soon die. "Without its guidance, effort is vain, and hope base- 
 less. Accordingly, the love of truth, a deep thirst for it, a 
 deliberate purpose to seek it and hold it fast, may be considered 
 •as the very foundation of human culture and dignity. Precious 
 as thought is, the love of truth is still more precious; for 
 without it, thought wanders and wastes itself, and precipitates 
 men into guilt and misery. ^^^ CnKsm^o. 
 
 149. THOUGHT, THE PRIVILEGE OF ALL MEN. 
 
 1 DENY to any individual or class a monopoly of thought. 
 Who among men can show God's commission to think for hi> 
 
Dll. CHANNING. 179 
 
 brethren, to shape passively the intellect of the mass, to stamp 
 his own image on them as if they were wax ? As well might 
 a few claim a monopoly of light and air, of seeing and breathing, 
 as of thought. Is not the intellect as universal a gift as the 
 organs of sight and respiration ? Is not truth as freely spread 
 abroad as'the atmosphere or the sun's rays ? Can we imagine 
 that God's highest gifts of intelligence, imagination, and moral 
 power, were bestowed, to provide only for animal wants ? to 
 be denied the natural means of growth, which is action ? to be 
 starved by dnidgery ? Were the mass of men made to be 
 monsters ? to grow only in a few organs and faculties, and to 
 pine away and shrivel in others ? or were they made to put forth 
 all the powers of men, especially the best and most distinguish- 
 ing ? No man, not the lowest, is all hands, all bones and 
 muscles. The mind is more essential to human nature, and 
 more enduring than the hmbs ; and was this made to lie dead ? 
 Is not thought the right and duty of all ? Is not truth alike 
 precious to all ? Is not truth the natural aliment of the mind, 
 as plainly as the wholesome grain is of the body ? Is not the 
 nl'md adapted to thought, as plainly as the eye to light, the ear 
 to sound ? Who dares to withhold it from its natural action — 
 its natural element and joy ? Undoubtedly, some men are more 
 gifted than others, and are marked out for more studious lives. 
 But the work of such men is not to do other's thinking for 
 them, but to help them to think more vigorously and effectually. 
 Great minds are to make others great. Their superiority is to 
 be used, not to break the multitude to intellectual vassalage — 
 not to estabhsh over them a spiritual tyranny, .but to rouse 
 them from lethargy and to aid them to judge for themselves. 
 The light and life which spring up in one soul are to be spread 
 far and wide. Of all treasons against humanity, there is no one 
 worse than his, Avho employs great intellectual force to keep 
 down the intellect of his less favored brother, -q^ Channin 
 
 150. THE CAPACITY OF THE PEOPLE FOR KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 The mass of the people, it is said, can go to the bottom of 
 nothing ; and the result of stimulating them to thought, will 
 be the formation of a dangerous set of half-thinkers. To this 
 argument, I reply, first, that it has the inconvenience of proving 
 feoo much ; for, if valid, it shows that none of any class ought 
 
180 SELECTIONS IK PKOSE. 
 
 to tliink. For who, I would ask, can go to the bottom of anj^ 
 thing ? Whose " learning" is not " little ?" Whose " draughts" 
 ©f knowledge are not " shallow ?" Who of us has fathomed 
 the depths of a single product of nature, or a single event in 
 history? Who of us is not baffled by the mysteries in a grain 
 of sand ? How contracted the range of the widest intellect ! 
 But is our knowledge, because so little, of no worth ? Are we 
 to despise the lessons which are taught us in this nook of crea- 
 tion — in this narrow round of human experience— because an 
 infinite universe stretches around us, which we have no means 
 of exploring, and in which the earth, and sun, and planets, 
 dwindle to a point? We should remember, that the known, 
 however little it may be, is in harmony with the boundless 
 unknown, and a step towards it. We should remember, too, 
 that the gravest tiiiths may be gathered from a very narrow 
 compass of information. God is revealed in his smallest work 
 as truly as in his greatest. The principles of human nature 
 may be studied better in a family than in the history of the 
 world. The finite is a manifestation of the infinite. Great ideas 
 are within the reach of every man who thirsts for truth a"ml 
 seeks it with singleness of mind. The laboring class are not 
 now condemned to draughts of knowledge so shallow as to 
 merit scorn. Many of them know more of the outward world 
 than all the philosophers of antiquity ; and Christianity has 
 opened to them mysteries of the spiritual world, which kings 
 and prophets were not privileged to understand. And are they, 
 then, to be doomed to spiritual inaction, as incapable of useful 
 
 thoUP-ht ? -n n 
 
 ^ Dr. CbanninGw 
 
 151. TlIE MOBILITY OF MIND. 
 
 That some should be richer than others is natural, and is 
 necessary, and could only be prevented by gi-oss violations of 
 right. Leave men to the free use of their powers, and some 
 will accumulate more than their neighbors. But, to be pros- 
 perous is not to be superior, and should form no barrier between 
 men. Wealth ought not to secure to the prosperous the 
 slightest consideration. The only distinctions which should be 
 recognized are those of the soul, of strong principle, of incor- 
 ruptible integrity, of usefulness, of cultivated intellect, of 
 fidelity in seeking for truth. A man, in proportion as he has 
 
DR. CHANNING. 18J 
 
 these claims, should be honored and welcomed everywhere. 
 Such a man, however coarsely, if neatly, dressed, should be a 
 respected guest in the most splendid mansions, and at the most 
 brilliant meetings. A man is worth infinitely more than the 
 saloons, and the costumes, and the show of the universe. He 
 was made to tread all these beneath his feet. What an insult 
 to humanity is the present deference to dress and upholstery, 
 as if silkworms, and looms, and scissors, and needles could pro- 
 duce something nobler than a man ! Every good man should 
 protest against a caste founded on outward prosperity, because 
 it exalts the outward above the inward, the material above the 
 spiritual ; because it springs from and cherishes a contemptible 
 pride in superficial and transitory distinctions ; because it alien- 
 ates man from his brother, breaks the tie of common humanity, 
 and breeds jealousy, scorn, and mutual ill-will. Can this be 
 needed to social order ? 
 
 In rude ages, it keeps the people down ; but when the 
 people, by degrees, have risen to some consciousness of their 
 rights and essential equality with the rest of the race, the awe 
 of rank naturally subsides, and passes into suspicion, jealousy, 
 and sense of injur}^, and a disposition to resist. The very insti- 
 tution which once restrained, now provokes. Through this 
 process the Old World is now passing. The strange illusion 
 that a man, because he wears a garter or ribbon, or was bom to 
 a title, belongs to another race, is fading away ; and society 
 must pass through a series of revolutions, silent or bloody, until 
 a more natural order takes place of distinctions which grew 
 originally out of force. Thus aristocracy, instead of giving 
 order to society, now convulses it ; so impossible is it for arbi- 
 trary human ordinations permanently to degrade human nature, 
 or subvrrt the principles of justice and freedom. 
 
 Dr. Channing. 
 
 152. SOCIAL CHANGES. 
 
 Suppose that the happiest of all ages were the feudal, when 
 aristocracy was in its flower and glory ; when the noble, superior 
 to the laws, committed more murders in one year than the 
 multitude in tAventy. Suppose it best for the laborer to live 
 and die in thoughtless ignorance. AIIoav all this, and that we 
 have reason to look with envy on the past ; one thing is plain : 
 the past is gone, the feudal castle is dismantled, the distance 
 
182 SELECTIONS IN TEOSE. 
 
 between classes greatly reduced. Unfortunate as it may be, 
 the people have begun to think, to ask reasons for what they 
 do and suffer and believe, and to call the past to account. Old 
 spells are broken, old reliances gone. Men can no longer be 
 kept down by pageantry, state robes, forms, and shows. Allow- 
 ing it to be best, that society should rest on the depression of 
 the multitude, the multitude will no longer be quiet when they 
 are trodden under foot, but ask impatiently for a reason why 
 they too may not have a share in social blessings. Such is the 
 state of things, and we must make the best of what we cannot 
 prevent. Right or wrong, the people will think ; and is it not 
 important that they should think justly ? that they should be 
 inspired with the love of truth, and instructed how to seek it ? 
 that they should be established by wise culture in the great 
 principles on which religion and society rest, and be protected 
 from skepticism and wild speculation by intercourse with en- 
 lightened and virtuous men? It is plain, that in the actual 
 state of the world, nothing can avail us, but a real improve- 
 ment of the mass of the people. No stable foundation can 
 be laid for us but in men's minds. Alarming as the truth is, it 
 should be told, that outward institutions cannot now secure, us. 
 Mightier powers than institutions have come into play among 
 lis — the judgment, the opinions, the feelings of the many ;. and 
 all hopes of stability, which do not rest on the progress of the 
 many, must perish. Du. Chanxinq 
 
 153. THE VALUE OF BOOKS. 
 
 One of the very interesting features of our times, is the multi- 
 plication of books, and their distribution through all conditions 
 of society. Once confined to a few by their costliness, they are 
 now accessible to the multitude ; and in this way a change of 
 habits is going on in society, highly favorable to the culture of 
 the people. Instead of depending on casual rumor and loose 
 conversation for most of their knowledge and objects of thought ; 
 instead of forming their judgments in crowds, and receiving 
 their chief excitement from the voice of neighbors, men are now 
 learning to study and reflect alone, to follow out subjects con- 
 tinuously, to determine for themselves what shall engage their 
 minds, and to call to their aid the knowledge, original views, 
 and reasonings of men of all countries and asjes ; and the results 
 
DK. CIIANNING. ISS 
 
 must be, a deliberateness and independence of judgment, and a 
 thoroughness and extent of information, unknown in former 
 times. The diffusion of these silent teachers, books, through 
 the whole community, is to work greater effects than artillery, 
 machinery, and legislation. They are cheering or soothing com- 
 panions in- solitude, illness, affliction. The wealth of both con- 
 tinents would be no equivalent for the good they impart. 
 
 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, f 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, j No matter how poor I am. No matter though the pros- 
 perous of my own time will not enter my obscure dwelling. If 
 the Sacred Writers will enter and take up their abode under my 
 loof ; if Milton will cross my threshold to sing to me of paradise, 
 and Shakspeare to open to me the worlds of imagination 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. ^^^ Q^m^,^^ 
 
 154. HARD WORK. 
 
 I HAVE great faith in hard work. The material world does 
 much for the mind by its beauty and order ; but it does more for 
 our minds by the pains it inflicts, by its obstinate resistance 
 which nothing but patient toil can overcome, by its vast forces 
 which nothing but unremitting skill and effort can turn to our 
 use, by its perils which demand continual vigilance, and by its 
 tendencies to decay. I believe that difficulties are more impor- 
 tant to the human mind than what we call assistances. Work 
 we all must, if we mean to bring out and perfect our nature. 
 Even if we do not work with the hands, we must undergo 
 equivalent toil in some other direction. No business or study 
 which does not present obstacles, tasking to the full the intellect 
 and the will, is worthy of a man. In science, he who does not 
 grapple with hard questions, who does not concentrate his whole 
 intellect in vigorous attention, who does not aim to penetrate 
 what at first repels him, will never attain to mental force. The 
 uses of toil reach beyond the present world. The capacity of 
 
184: ' SELECTIONS IN" PEOSE. 
 
 steady, earnest labor is, I apprehend, one of our great prepani. 
 tions for another state of being. When I see the vast amount 
 of toil required of men, I feel that it must have important con- 
 nections with their future existence ; and that he who has mel" 
 this discipline manfully, has laid one essential foundation of im- 
 provement, exertion, and happiness in the world to come. You 
 will here see that labor has great dignity. It is not merely the 
 grand instrument, by which the earth is overspread with fruit- 
 fulness and beauty, and the ocean subdued, and matter wrought 
 into innumerable forms for comfort and ornament. It has a far 
 higher function, which is to give force to the will, efficiency, 
 courage, the capacity of endurance and of persevering devotion 
 to far-reaching plans. Alas, for the man who has not learned 
 to work ! He is a poor creature. He does not know himself. 
 He depends on others, with no capacity of making returns for 
 the support they give ; and let him not fancy that he has a 
 monopoly of enjoyment. Ease, rest, owes its deliciousness to 
 toil ; and no toil is so burdensome as the rest of him who has 
 nothing to task and quicken his powers. jy^ Channino 
 
 155. THE DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 You are a man ; you are a rational and religious being ; you 
 are an immortal creature. Yes, a glad and glorious existence 
 is yours ; your eye is opened to the lovely and majestic vision of 
 nature ; the paths of knowledge are around you, and they 
 stretch onward to eternity ; and, most of all, the glory of the 
 infinite God, the all-perfect, all-wise, and all-beautiful, is un- 
 folded to you. What now, compared with this, is a little 
 worldly renown ? The treasures of infinity and of eternity are 
 heaped iipon thy laboring thought ; — can that thought be 
 deeply occupied with questions of mortal prudence ? It is as 
 if a man were enriched by some generous benefactor almost 
 beyond measure, and should find nothing else to do but vex 
 himself and complain, because another man was made a few 
 thousands richer. 
 
 Where, unreasonable complainer, dost thou stand, and what 
 is around thee? The world spreads before thee its sublime 
 mysteries, where the thoughts of sages lose themselves in 
 wonder ; the ocean lifts up its eternal anthems to thine ear ; 
 the golden sun lights thy path ; the wide heavens stretch them* 
 
DE. O. DEWEY. 185 
 
 selves above thee, and worlds rise upon worlds, and systems 
 beyond systems, to infinity ; and dost thou stand in the centre 
 of all this, to complain of thy lot and place ? Pupil of that 
 infinite teaching — minister at nature's great altar — child of 
 heaven's favor — ennobled being — redeemed creature, — ^must 
 thou pine* in sullen and envious melancholy, amidst the plenitude 
 of the whole creation ! 
 
 In that thou art a man, thou art infinitely exalted above what 
 any man can be, in that he is praised. I would rather be the 
 humblest man in the world, than barely be thought greater 
 than the greatest. The beggar is greater, as a man, than is the 
 man, merely as a king. Not one of the crowds that listened to 
 the eloquence of Demosthenes and Cicero — Bot one who has 
 bent with admiration over the pages of Homer and Shakspeare 
 — not one who followed in the train of Cfesar or of Napoleon, 
 would part with the humblest power of thought, for all the 
 fame that is echoing over the world and through the ages. 
 
 Dr. 0. Dewey. 
 
 156. ATTENTION, THE SOUL OF GENIUS. 
 
 The favorite idea of a genius among us is, of one who never 
 studies, or who studies, nobody can tell when — at midnight, or 
 at odd times and intervals ; and now and then strikes out, " at a 
 heat," as the phrase is, some wonderful production. " The 
 young man," it is often said, " has genius enough, if he would 
 only study." Now, the truth is, that the genius will study ; it 
 is that . in the mind which does study : that is the very nature 
 of it. l(l care not to say that it will always use books. All 
 study is not reading, any more than all reading is study:'] 
 
 Attention is the very soul of genius ; not the fixed eye, not 
 the poring over a book, but the fixed thought. It is, in fact, an 
 action of the mind, wliich is steadily concentrated upon one 
 idea, or one series of ideas ; which collects, in one point, the 
 rays of the soul, till they search, penetrate, and fire the whole 
 train of its thoughts. And while the fire burns within, the 
 outside may be indeed cold, indifferent, negligent, absent in 
 appearance : he may be an idler, or a wanderer, apparently 
 without aim or intent; but still the fire burns within. And 
 what, though " it bursts forth" at length, as has been said, ** like 
 volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force?" It 
 only shows the intense action of the elements beneath. What, 
 
186 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 though it breaks forth, like lightning from the cloud ? The 
 electric fire had been collecting in the firmament, through many 
 a silent, clear, and calm day. What, though the might of 
 genius appears in one decisive blow, struck in some moment of 
 high debate, or at the crisis of a nation's peril ! That mighty 
 energy, though it may have heaved in the breast of Demos- 
 thenes, was once a feeble, infant thought. A mother's eye 
 watched over its dawnings. A father's care guarded its early 
 youth. It soon trod, with youthful steps, the halls of learning, 
 and found other fathers to wake and to watch for it, even as it 
 finds them here. It went on; but silence was- upon its path, 
 and the deep strugglings of the inward soul silently ministered 
 to it. The elements around breathed upon it, and " touched it 
 to finer issues." The golden ray of heaven fell upon it, and 
 ripened its expanding faculties. The slow revolutions of years 
 slowly added to its collected energies and treasures ; till, in its 
 hour of glory, it stood forth embodied in the form of living, 
 commanding, irresistible eloquence. The world wonders at the 
 manifestation, and says, " Strange, strange that it should come 
 thus unsought, unpremeditated, unprepared !" But the truth 
 is, there is no more a miracle in it, than there is in the towering 
 of the pre-eminent forest-tree, or in the flowing of the mighty 
 and irresistible river, or in the wealth and waving of the bound- 
 less harvest. P^_ ^^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 157. THE NOBILITY OF LABOR. 
 
 Why, in the great scale of things, is labor ordained for us ? 
 Easily, had it so pleased the great Ordainer, might it have been 
 dispensed with. The world itself might have been a mighty 
 machinery for producing all that man wants. Houses might 
 have risen like an exhalation, 
 
 ' " With the sound 
 
 Of dulcet symphonies, and voices sweet, 
 Built like a temple." 
 
 Gorgeous furniture might have been placed in them, and soft 
 couches and luxurious banquets spread, by hands unseen ; and 
 man, clothed with fabrics of nature's weaving, rather than with 
 imperial purple, might have been sent to disport himself in those 
 Elysian palaces. 
 
 But where, then, had been human energy, perseverance. 
 
DE. O. DEWEY. DU. F. WATLAND, 187 
 
 patience, virtue, heroism ? Cut off labor -with one blow from 
 the world, and mankind had sunk to a crowd of Asiatic volup- 
 tuaries. 
 
 Better that the earth be given to man as a dark mass, where- 
 upon to labor. Better that rude and unsightly materials be 
 provided in* the ore-bed, and in the forest, for him to fashion 
 in splendor and beauty. Better, not because of that splen- 
 dor and beauty, but because the act of creating them is better 
 than the things themselves ; because exertion is nobler than 
 enjoyment ; because the laborer is greater and more worthy of 
 honor than the idler. 
 
 Labor is heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. 
 Let not the great ordi^'iance be broken down. What do I say ? 
 It is broken down ; and it has been broken down for ages. Let 
 it, then, be built again ; here, if any where, on the shores of a 
 new world — of a new civilization. 
 
 But how, it may be asked, is it broken down ? Do not men 
 toil ? it may be said. They do, indeed, toil ; but they too 
 generally do, because they must. Many submit to it, as in some 
 sort a degrading necessity ; and they desire nothing so much on 
 earth as an escape from it. This way of thinking is the heri- 
 tage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under which serfs 
 labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. 
 It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. 
 
 Ashamed to toil ! Ashamed of thy dingy workshop and 
 dusty la?'X)r-field ; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more 
 honorable than that of war ; of thy soiled and weather-stained 
 garments, on which mother Nature has embroidered mist, sun, 
 and rain, fire and steam — her own heraldic honors ! Ashamed 
 of those tokens and titles, and envious of the flaunting robes of 
 imbecile idleness and vanity ! It is treason to nature ; it is 
 impiety to heaven : it is breaking heaven's great ordinance. 
 Toil — toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand — 
 is the only true manhood, the only true nobility ! 
 
 Dr. 0. Dewey. 
 
 158. no WARD, THE PHILANTHROPIST. 
 
 It is not in the field of patriotism alone that deeds have 
 been achieved, to which history has awarded the palm of moral 
 sublimity. There have lived men in whom the name of patriot 
 has been merged in that of philanthropist ; who, looking with 
 
188 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 an eye of compassion over the face of the earth, have felt foi 
 the miseries of our race, and have put forth their calm might to 
 wipe off one blot from the marred and stained escutcheon of 
 human nature, to strike off one form of suffering from the cata- 
 logue of human woe. Such a man was Howard. Surveying 
 our world like a spirit of the blessed, he beheld the misery of 
 the captive — he heard the groaning of the prisoner. His deter- 
 mination was fixed. He resolved, single-handed, to gauge and 
 to measure one form of unpitied, unheeded wretchedness, and, 
 bringing it out to the sunshine of public observation, to work 
 its utter extermination. And he well knew what this under- 
 taking would cost him. He knew what he had to hazard from 
 the infection of dungeons, to endure from the fatigues of inhos- 
 pitable travel, and to brook from the insolence of legalized 
 oppression. He knew that he was devoting himself to the 
 altar of philanthropy ; and he willingly devoted himself. He 
 had marked out his destiny, and he hasted forward to its accom- 
 plishment, with an intensity "jvhich the nature of the human 
 mind forbade to be more, and the character of the individual 
 forbade to be less." Thus he commenced a new era in the 
 history of benevolence. And hence, the name of Howard will 
 be associated with all that is sublime in mercy, until the final 
 consummation of all things. jy^ -p -^^yland. 
 
 159. THE EMPTINESS OF HUMAN GLORY. 
 
 The crumbling tombstone and the gorgeous mausoleum, the 
 sculptured marble and the venerable cathedral, all bear witness 
 to the instinctive desire within us to be remembered by coming 
 generations. But how short-lived is the immortality which the 
 works of our hands can confer ! The noblest monuments of art 
 that the world has ever seen are covered with the soil of twenty 
 centuries. The works of the age of Pericles lie at the foot of 
 the Acropolis in indiscriminate ruin. The ploughshare turns 
 up the marble which the hand of Phidias had chiselled into 
 beauty ; and the Mussulman has folded his flock beneath the 
 falling columns of the temple of Minerva. 
 
 Neither sculptured marble nor stately column can reveal to 
 other ages the lineaments of the spirit ; and these alone can 
 embalm our memory in the hearts of a grateful posterity. As 
 the stranger stands beneath the dome of St. Paul's, or treads. 
 
DR. F. WAYLAND. — DE. S. II. TYNG. 189 
 
 with religious awe, the silent aisles of Westminster Abbey, the 
 sentiment which is breathed from every object around him is, 
 the utter emptiness of sublunary glory. The fine arts, obedient 
 to private affection or public gratitude, have here embodied, in 
 every form, the finest conceptions of which their age was 
 capable. Each one of these monuments has been watered by 
 the tears of the widow, the orphan, or the patriot. But genera- 
 tions have passed away, and mourners and mourned have sunk 
 together into forgetfulness. 
 
 It is by what we ourselves have done, and not by what others 
 have done for us,. that we shall be remembered by after ages. 
 It is by thought that has aroused my intellect from its slum- 
 bers, which has " given lustre to virtue, and dignity to truth," 
 or by thosQ examples which have inflamed my soul with the love 
 of goodness, and not by means of sculptured marble, that I 
 hold communion with Shakspeare and Milton, with Johnson and 
 Burke, with Howard and Wilberforce. -^^^ p Wayland. 
 
 160. THE MISSION OF THE SAXON RACE. 
 
 The power given to the two nations of the Saxon race is a 
 remarkable fact of this age. The keys of the earth have been 
 committed to their charge. The printing-press, the steam- 
 engine, the telegraph, the coal beds, and even the mines of the 
 earth, have been thrown into their hands. To a great extent, 
 their interest and work on the earth are common. Both of 
 them combined may regenerate the globe. Their united mis- 
 sion is to elevate its whole population to Gospel light and truth ; 
 to rational liberty and to prosperous trade. And all this, we 
 may reasonably hope, will soon, to a great degree, be reali-zed. 
 The pressing advances in the course of invention, discovery, and 
 settlement, for the last twenty-five years, allow almost any ex- 
 tent of expectation, and make no calculations for the future ap- 
 pear extravagant. The new republics forming on our western 
 coast are in this accumulation of wonders — ^the most important 
 and remarkable, as connected with these anticipated results. 
 How happy was the name given to that ocean, on which, prob- 
 ably, the great and final achievements of this moral victory are 
 to be seen ! Oh, that the omen may be permitted to abide ! Let 
 no warfare disturb its pacific waters ! Let no streams of human 
 blood mingle with its translucent depths ! Carrying still west- 
 
190 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 ward our acquired sympathy for suffering man, let us press for- 
 ward, everywhere, to elevate and save — nowhere to destroy. 
 Let the attainments of the generations past be honored and ful- 
 filled, by the generous and faithful discharge of the responsibili- 
 ties accruing upon us for generations to come. Thus, in main- 
 taining and spreading the glorious Gospel of Christ, in connection 
 with every instrument of national extension and power, shall we 
 be serving our generation according to the will of God, and pre- 
 paring a highway for the Saviour's passage in triumph through a 
 redeemed and rejoicing world. Thus may we justly come and 
 ofter our annual thanksgiving to the God of Qur fathers. Thus 
 may we be ourselves laid unto our fatliers at the last, in joyful 
 hope for the welfare of our land when our own work of life is 
 finished. Thus may earth have reason to rejoice over the dis- 
 covery and history of a continent and a nation, whose influence 
 has been an unspeakable blessing to mankind. 
 
 De. S. H. TyNG. 
 
 161. POLITICAL DEMAGOGUES. 
 
 There never was a country in the world, from the days of 
 Pericles to the present time, which furnished such unbounded 
 scope for the demagogue as ours ; and never was a country sc 
 cursed with demagogues. The demagogue and the courtier are 
 but opposite poles of the same character. The demagogue per- 
 petually tells the people that they are sovereign — that there is 
 no higher law than their will. Like the courtier, he flatters 
 and cajoles the sovereign, in order to mislead and rule hira. 
 What chance for a fair hearing has the honest friend of the 
 people ? It certainly cannot be said to be unnatural for men 
 to confide in and yield themselves to the guidance of those who 
 bow to their will, flatter their vanity, or minister to their pas- 
 sions. In point of fact, what public man dares resist the cur- 
 rent of party opinion, and the demands of party discipline ? 
 What truths unpalatable to the popular taste, however vitally 
 important to the public welfare, do the politicians of either party 
 dare to tell the people ? What popular errors, however dan- 
 gerous, do they dare expose and denounce ? From the politi- 
 cal and party presses, controlled by demagogues, the people 
 almost never hear the truth. Morning, noon, and night, they 
 are fed on falsehoods, and nursed in prejudices, hatreds, and 
 animosities. All considerations of truth, decency, and rever- 
 
DK. C. S. HENRY. DE. W. B. SPEAGUE. 191 
 
 'ence, give way before the violence of party spirit; and the 
 Wind and bitter spirit of party is continually stimulated by 
 provocatives addressed to the ignorance, the prejudices, and 
 violent passions of the people ; and in the midst of all their pro- 
 fessed homage, love, and respect for the people, the demagogues 
 show clearly enough to the discerning eye in what real con- 
 tempt they hold the knowledge, the wisdom, and the virtue of 
 the people, by the boundless impudence of the lies, flatteries, 
 and quackeries with which they seek to cajole and lead them. 
 
 And which way tends the political destiny of the nation un- 
 der these influences of the party presses and of political dema- 
 gogues ? It tends to throw the absolute power of the nation 
 into whatever party of demagogues, calling themselves friends 
 of the pe9ple, can most successfully cajole and corrupt the peo- 
 ple. It tends, in short, to a democratic absolutism — the worst 
 of all forms of absolutism, the most pervading and the least 
 conscientious. Any party, supported by a popular majority, 
 can at any time overbear the constitution, and absorb into itself 
 all the powers of the state. Dr C S Henry 
 
 162. THE PACIFIC AGE. 
 
 The history of man's intellect down to the present hour is, 
 with comparatively few exceptions, the history of deep darkness, 
 of withering bondage, of noble aspirations stifled, of great and 
 immortal faculties yielding nothing. I ask, wherefore has been 
 this criminal perversion of God's noblest gifts ? Wherefore has 
 learning witnessed to so many ages of imprisonment, and, even 
 in her best days, exercised so contracted a dominion ? The an- 
 swer is, she has had her lot in a world of enemies, — the chief of 
 which is war. But we think we see signs of no equivocal im- 
 port that war is soon to die ; and we trust that her other foes 
 will also be slain and buried in the same grave. The pacific age 
 stretches into the far-distant future. I see it embosomed in 
 millennial glory. I hear it celebrated in millennial anthems. I 
 inquire for man's intellect, and behold it is quite another thing 
 than what I have been accustomed to contemplate : he has be- 
 come so great that, if he were to meet an angel, it would 
 scarcely seem arrogant that he should call him brother. I see 
 the means of knowledge multipHed a hundred-fold and extended 
 everywhere : I see great and venerable institutions of learning 
 
192 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 
 
 planted on the ruins of superstition and barbarism : I see the ' 
 world peopled with cultivated minds :. I see truth and virtue 
 reigning over all. Hail, thou pacific age ! Come and renovate 
 man's intellect, as well as his heart ! Be it so that it is our 
 privilege to witness only thy auspicious dawn — yet we believe 
 that our children and children's children shall rejoice in thy 
 noonday splendors ! ^^^ ^^ ^^ S^^^^^^^ 
 
 163. LANGUAGE. 
 
 / What is worthy to form a part of hberal study, if not lan- 
 guage, and what is worthy of being studied more thoroughly ? 
 it puts us in intercourse with other men, and forms a society 
 among the intelligences of the earth. The senses give us com- 
 merce with the physical world ; but without language we should 
 know little or nothing of other minds. | So too in its written 
 form, it gives us intercourse with the great men of all times and 
 all ages, who have left their thoughts on record. We gather 
 their works in our libraries, and when we please, we may enjoy 
 their society, ourselves the host and master of ceremonies, and 
 regulating our intercourse with them in our own way. Time 
 and distance are no obstacles, for through language and the 
 press they have gained ubiquity. Their books are better to us 
 in their living intercourse, for these have patience with our dul- 
 ness and our blunders ; they bear with our doubts and our de- 
 nials ; they allow us our own time, and find no fault if we pre- 
 fer the wisdom of others, or even our own, to theirs. When I 
 look upon a library, I think I see the grandest achievement of 
 the human mind. It is little to heap up the stones of a pyra- 
 mid, or to bind together the remotest ends of a wide territory, 
 and to annihilate time and space by a railroad ; here we have 
 piled together the thoughts of men, the best labors of immortal 
 intellects ; we have, gathered into one mass, the wisdom of the 
 wisest of all times and all countries ; we multiply it, and place 
 within the reach and hearing of all, ever living and ever speak- 
 ing, those whom God has given, in the long course of time, to 
 all nations, to be their teachers in knowledge and understanding. 
 
 Da. Benjamin Hale. 
 
DK. BENJAMIN HALE. II. W. BEECHER. 193 
 
 164. THE BIBLE FRIENDLY TO LIBERT? 
 
 The language of the Bible is a hearty masculine English, as 
 pure a standard of our mother tongue as we have. Its history- 
 is that by .which all ancient history has been obliged to correct 
 itself; and its poetry unsurpassed. It is full of the purest 
 ethics and the noblest philosophy. It gives the truest view of 
 human nature, and reveals the only method for its radical im- 
 provement. 
 
 Is it not the friend of civil liberty ? Certainly, if beyond all 
 other means it is powerful to make man a law to himself, it is 
 beyond every thing else favorable to liberty. The Bible has 
 never yet shown itself a foe to the liberties or the prosperity and 
 happiness of states. It is true, the world has sometimes been 
 agitated by the attempt of some of its friends to impose their 
 views of its revelations upon others, but the evil is most surely 
 corrected, by permitting it freely and at all times to speak for 
 itself. 
 
 , All the most valuable elements of modern civilization have 
 developed themselves under the fostering influence of Christiani- 
 ty ; and, if I may judge from my own consciousness, or from 
 the records of history, nothing has contributed, and nothing can 
 contribute so effectually to make men feel the true dignity of 
 their natui'e, and raise them to a true independence of spirit, as 
 to regard themselves in the hght of that immortality which has 
 been made known to us by the Gospel. Whose sufferings in 
 the cause of human hberty have equalled those of the Christian 
 martyrs of all times ? And in Christian countries, who is most 
 likely to set his opinion to sale, and truckle to the times, he who 
 is daily conscious of the undying spirit within him, or he who 
 has lost sight of himself as an immortal' being ? 
 
 Dr. Benjamin Hale, 
 
 165. THE POLITICAL KNAVE. 
 
 The lowest of pohticians is that man who seeks to gratify aii 
 invariable selfishness by pretending to seek the public good. 
 For a profitable popularity, he accommodates himself to all opin- 
 ions, to all dispositions, to every side, and to each prejudice. 
 He is a mirror, with no face of its own, but a smooth surface 
 from which eaoh man of ten thousand may see himself reflected. 
 
 9 
 
194 SELECTIONS IN PBOSE. 
 
 He glides from man to man, coinciding witli their views, pre- 
 tending their feelings, simulating their tastes : with this one, he 
 hates a man ; with that one, he loves the same man : he favors 
 a law, and he dislikes it ; he approves, and opposes ; he is on 
 both sides at once, and seemingly wishes that he could be on 
 one side more than both sides. 
 
 As a man, he means to be veracious, honest, moral ; as a pol- 
 itician, he is deceitful, cunning, unscrupulous, — any thing for 
 party. As a man, he abhors the slimy demagogue ; as a poli- 
 tician, he employs him as a scavenger. As a man, he shrinks 
 from the flagitiousness of slander ; as a politician, he permits it, 
 smiles upon it in others, rejoices in the success gained by it. As 
 a man, he respects no one who is rotten in heart ; as a politi- 
 cian, no man through whom victory may be gained can be too 
 bad. 
 
 For his religion he will give up all his secular interests ; but 
 for his politics he gives up even his religion. He adores 
 virtue, and rewards vice. Whilst bolstering up unrighteous 
 measures, and more unrighteous men, he prays for the advance- 
 ment of religion, and justice, and honor } I would to God that 
 his prayer might be answered upon his own political head ; for 
 never was there a place where such blessings were more needed ! 
 What a heart has that man, who can stand in the very middle 
 of the Bible, with its transcendent truths raising their glowing 
 fronts on every side of him, and feel no inspiration but that of 
 immorahty and meanness ! 
 
 If the love of country, a sense of character, a manly regard 
 for integrity, the examples of our most illustrious men, the 
 warnings of religion and all its solicitations, and the prospect 
 of the future, cannot inspire a man to any thing higher than a 
 sneaking, truckling, dodging scramble for fraudulent fame and 
 dishonest bread, it is because such a creature has never felt one 
 sensation of manly virtue ; it is because his heart is a howling 
 wilderness, inhospitable to innocence. -^ -^ Beeoheu. 
 
 166. ADDRESS TO A MISSIONARY. 
 
 Brother ! listen to what we say. There was a time when 
 our forefathers owned this great island. Their seats extended 
 from the rising to tlie setting sun ; the Great Spirit had made it 
 for the use of the Indians. He had created the buffalo, the 
 
EED JACKET. 195 
 
 deer, and other animals for food. He had made the bear and 
 the beaver; their skins served us for clothing. He had scat- 
 tered them over the country, and taught us how to take them. 
 He had caused the earth to produce corn for bread. All this 
 he had done for his red children, because he loved them. If we 
 had disputes about our hunting-ground, they were generally 
 settled Avithout the shedding of much blood. But an evil day 
 came upon us ; your forefathers crossed the great waters and 
 landed on this island. Their numbers were small ; they found 
 us friends, and not enemies. They told us they had fled from 
 their own country through fear of wicked men, and had come 
 here to enjoy their religion. They asked for a small seat; we 
 took pity on them, and granted their request; and they sat 
 down a^ong us. We gave them corn and meat ; and, in return, 
 they gave us poison. The white people now having found our 
 country, tidings were sent back, and more came amongst us ; 
 yet we did not fear them. We took them to be friends : they 
 called us brothers ; we beheved them, and gave them a larger 
 seat. At length their number so increased, that they wanted 
 more land : they wanted our country. Our eyes were opened, 
 and we became uneasy. Wars took place ; Indians were hired 
 to fight against Indians ; and many of our people were, destroyed. 
 
 Brother ! Once our seats were large, and yours were small. 
 You have now become a great people, and we have scarcely a 
 place left to spread our blankets. . You have got our country, 
 but, not satisfied, you want to force your religion upon us. 
 
 Brother ! continue to listen. You say you are sent to in- 
 struct us how to vrorship the Great Spirit agreeably to his mind, 
 and that if we do not take hold of the religion which you teach, 
 we shall be unhappy hereafter. How do we know this to be 
 true ? We understand that your religion is written in a book. 
 If it was intended for us as well as you, why has not the Great 
 Spirit given it to us ; and not only to us, but why did he not 
 give to our forefathers the knowledge of that book, with the 
 means of rightly understanding it ? We only know what fon 
 tell us about it, and having been so often deceived by the white 
 people, how shall we believe what they say ? 
 
 Red Jacket. 
 
196 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 ' 167. ADDRESS TO GEN. STREET. 
 
 You have taken me prisoner, with all my warriors. I am 
 much grieved, for I expected, if I did not defeat you, to hold 
 out much longer, and give you more trouble before I surren- 
 dered. I tried hard to bring you into ambush, but your last 
 general understands Indian fighting. I determined to rush on 
 you, and fight you face to face. I fought hard. But your guns 
 were well aimed. The bullets flew like birds in the air, and 
 whizzed by our ears like the wind through the trees in winter. 
 My warriors fell around me ; it began to look dismal : I saw my 
 evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on us in the morning, and 
 at night it sank in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. 
 That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. His heart 
 is dead, and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now a 
 prisoner to the white men. They will do with him as they 
 wish. But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. He 
 is no coward. Black Hawk is an Indian. 
 
 He has done nothing for which an Indian ought to be 
 ashamed. He has fought for his countrymen, the squaws and 
 pappooses, against white men, who came, year after year, to 
 cheat them and take away their lands. You know the cause of 
 our making war. It is known to all white men. They ought to 
 be ashamed of it. The white men despise the Indians, and 
 drive them from their homes. They smile in the face of the 
 poor Indians to cheat them. They shake them by the hand to 
 gain their confidence, to make them drunk, and to deceive them. 
 We told them to let us alone, and keep away from us ; but 
 they followed on, and beset our paths, and they coiled them- 
 selves among us, like the snake. They poisoned us by their 
 touch. We were not safe. We lived in danger. We looked 
 up to the Great Spirit, We went to our father. We were 
 encouraged His great council gave us fair words and big 
 promises ; but we got no satisfaction : things were growing 
 worse. There were no deer in the forest. The opossum and 
 beaver were fled. The springs were drying up, and our squaws 
 and pappooses without victuals to keep them from starving. 
 
 We called a great council, and built a large fire. The spirit 
 of our fathers arose and spoke to us to avenge our wrongs or 
 die. We set up the war-whoop, and dug up the tomahawk ; 
 our knives were ready, and the heart of Black Hawk swelled 
 high in his bosom when he led his warriors to battle. He is 
 ■satisfied. He will go to the world of spirits contented. He 
 
BLACK HAWK. ^EDMUND BURKE. 197 
 
 has done his duty. His father will meet him there, and com- 
 mend him. 
 
 Farewell, my nation ! Black Hawk tried to save you, and 
 avenge your wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the 
 whites. He has been taken prisoner, and his plans are stopped. 
 He can do no more. He is near his end. His sun is setting, 
 and he will rise no more. Farewell to Black Hawk ! 
 
 Black Hawk. 
 
 168. CONCILIATION WITH THE COLONIES. 
 
 The proposition is peace. Not peace, through the medium 
 of war ; not peace, to be hunted through the labyrinth of in- 
 tricate and endless negotiations ; not peace, to arise out of 
 universal discord, fomented from principle, in all parts of the 
 empire ; not peace, to depend on the juridical determination of 
 perplexing questions, or the precise marking the shadowy 
 boundaries of a complex government : it is simple peace ; 
 sought in its natural course, and in its ordinary haunts. It is 
 peace, sought in the spirit of peace ; and laid in principles 
 purely pacific. I propose, — by removing the ground of the 
 difference, and by restoring the former unsuspecting confidence 
 of the colonies in the mother country, — to give permanent 
 satisfaction to your people ; and (far from a scheme of ruling by 
 discord) to reconcile them to each other in the same act, and by 
 the bond of the very same interest, which reconciles them to 
 British government. 
 
 I mean to give peace. Peace implies reconciliation ; and, 
 where there has been a material dispute, reconciliation does, in 
 a manner, imply concession on the one part or the oth^r. In 
 this state of things, I make no difficulty in affirming that the 
 proposal ought to originate from us. Great, and acknowledged 
 force is not impfflrea, either in eflfect or in opinion, by an unwil- 
 lingness to exert itself. The superior power may offer peace 
 with honor and safety. Such an offer from such a power will 
 be attributed to magnanimity. But, the concessions of the 
 weak are the concessions of fear. When such a one is disarmed, 
 he is wholly at the mercy of his superior ; and he loses forever 
 that time and those chances which, as they happen to all men, 
 are the strength and resources of all inferior power. 
 
 All this, I know well enough, will sound wild and chimerical 
 lo the profane herd of those vulgar and mechanical politicians 
 
198 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 who have no place among us. But, to men truly initiated and 
 rightly taught, these ruling principles are, in truth, every thing. 
 Magnanimity in politics is, not seldom, the truest wisdom ; and a 
 great empire and little minds go ill together. We ought tc 
 elevate our minds to the greatness of that trust to which the 
 order of providence has called us. By adverting to the dignity 
 of this high calling, our ancestors have turned a savage wilder- 
 ness into a glorious empire, and have made the most extensive, 
 and the only honorable, conquests, not by destroying, but by 
 promoting the wealth, the number, ihe happiness of the human 
 
 **^^®' " Edmund Bukke. 
 
 169. REFORM IN PARLIAMENT. « 
 
 Is it, in the eye of such a reformer as my noble friend, no 
 abuse, that the most populous, the most opulent, the most 
 enterprising, and the most intelligent cities in this empire should 
 be wholly unrepresented, whilst the moldering mounds of Old 
 Sarum, and the barren walls of Midhurst, each send two mem- 
 bers to parliament ? " Oh ! but, then," says he, " if your plan 
 had been confined to that, Birmingham and Manchester might 
 have been permitted to return members to the house of com- 
 mons." Be it so. But, then, is it no abuse in the eyes of my 
 noble friend, that the power of giving laws to a great empire, 
 with millions of subjects at home, and tens of millions of sub- 
 jects abroad — the power of giving laws to this great and intel- 
 ligent country, and of all but giving laws, through this country, 
 to all the world besides — is it no abuse, I say, that the power 
 of making such laws, should be vested, as property, in private 
 individuals ? Is it no abuse in his eyes that the power should 
 be given, not by the choice of the people, but according to the 
 caprice, inclination, or good-will of a peer or other powerful 
 patron ? Is it no abuse, that this power should be let out for 
 a term of years, like a stall or a stable ? Is it no abuse that 
 it should be so openly treated as an article of traffic, that, 
 when a question arose respecting prompt payment, the payment 
 or discount for three, six, or nine-tenths was made, not in money, 
 but in returning a member to serve in this present parliament 
 now assembled ? I speak, my lords, from my own knowledge. 
 What ! is this no abuse ? Is the buying and selling of seats in 
 the British house of parhament so common and ordinary a 
 
BROUGHAM. 199 
 
 transaction, that it fails to excite alarm or indignation in the 
 minds of those who are made acquainted with such disgraceful 
 transactions ? Is it no abuse that the buying and selling of 
 seats should be as common as bargains and sales that are every- 
 day made — as common as the buying and selling of cattle in 
 the stalls of Smithfield market? That these things should be 
 no abuse — that these practices, which the highest authority of 
 the commons house of parliament declared from the chair of 
 that house, would have made our ancestors startle with indig- 
 nation — that these practices, I say, are to be called no abuse, 
 is one -of the most extraordinary and barefaced assertions that I 
 have ever heard uttered by man. BRoucnAM 
 
 IVO. REFORM IN THE ELECTIONS. 
 
 My lords, I am stating one or two of the prominent evils of 
 the system, but, I leave out all mention of the bribery and cor- 
 ruption that contaminate and degrade the elections of all 
 boroughs. From whence do they arise ? — from whence, but 
 from what are called the sacred rights of corporations — that is 
 to say, not the rights of the corporations, but the rights of the 
 freemen of the towns corporate. They are the usurpers of the 
 ancient rights of the people ; they are the select bodies which 
 were totally unknown in the earlier stages of the constitution ; 
 they are the individuals to whom that constitution, originally, 
 never intended to insure the right of voting ; and they are the 
 persons r-ho, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, all over Eng- 
 land, have, by usurpation, acquired to themselves the privilege 
 of an exclusive monopoly in the choice of the representatives of 
 the people. In my mind, it is no small recommendation of the 
 measure which has been introduced, that it will, in future, 
 abolish such abuses and anomalies. 
 
 My lords, I have yet to learK that a measure recommended 
 upon principle, consistent in its form, and, certainly, proceeding 
 upon an anxious wish to restore, and not to destroy, to improve, 
 and not to impair, is to be at once cried down and abandoned, 
 because it happens to enjoy this additional quality — I will not 
 call it a recommendation — that it is honestly and sincerely 
 greeted with approbation by a large body of his majesty's 
 Bubjects. 
 
 My lords, I do not call upon you to adopt this measure 
 
200 SELECTIONS IN FJBOSE. 
 
 because it happens to be consistent with popular feelings. I do 
 not call upon you to adopt it upon that account ; but I am 
 persuaded that if this measure be rejected, you will bring the 
 security of the country — the peace of his majesty — the stability 
 of our ancient constitution — and the whole frame of society, 
 from Cornwall to Sutherland, Ireland as well as England, into 
 a state of jeopardy, which I earnestly pray to heaven ma} 
 never come to ^ pass. 
 
 iMy lords, I do not wish to use the language of threats, but 
 I recollect, and history has recorded the fact, that when the 
 great Earl of Chatham was addressing our most severe ances- 
 tors within these walls — when he was shaking them with his 
 magnificent oratory — he suffered the lightning of his eloquence 
 to smite the enemies of reform, by menacing them with the 
 dangers that must attend an attempt to withhold from the 
 people their just rights ; and I well remember that that was 
 deemed no insult by those who heard him, but was considered 
 honorable, highly honorable to him who had the boldness to 
 utter that denunciationJ For my own part, all that I will ven- 
 ture to do in this latter day of eloquence and of talent, standing 
 in the honorable situation which I do in this house and in the 
 eountry, is, to call upon your lordships to reflect and believe, 
 that the thunders of heaven are sometimes heard tc^ roll in the 
 voice of a united people. Beougham. 
 
 171. SYMPATHY FOR MAN AROUND THE THRONE OF GOD. 
 
 When one of a numerous household droops under the power 
 of disease, is not that the one to whom all the tenderness is 
 turned, and who, in a manner, monopolizes the inquiries of his 
 neighborhood, and the care of his family ? When the sighing 
 of the midnight storm sends a dismal foreboding into the 
 mother's heart ; to whom, of all her offspring, I would ask, are 
 her thoughts and her anxieties then wandering ? Is it not to 
 her sailor-boy whom her fancy has placed amid the rude and 
 angry surges of the ocean ? We sometimes liear of shipwrecked 
 passengers thrown upon a barbarous shore, and seized upon by 
 its prowling inhabitants, and hun-ied away through the tracks 
 of a dreary and unknown wilderness, and sold into captivity. 
 Oh ! tell me, when the fame of all this disaster reaches his 
 family, who is the member of it to whom is directed the full 
 
DK. CIIALMEKS. DK. PHILPOrrS. 201 
 
 tide of its griefs and of its sympathies ? Who is it, that for 
 weeks, and for months, usurps every feehng, and calls out their 
 largest sacrifices, and sets them to the busiest expedients for 
 getting him back again ? Who is it that makes them forgetful 
 of themselves, and of all around th,em ? and tell me, if you can 
 assign a limit to the pains, and the exertions, and the surrenders 
 which afflicted parents and weeping sisters would make to seek 
 and to save him ? 
 
 Now conceive the principle of all these earthly exhibitions to 
 be in full operation around the throne of God. Conceive the 
 universe to be one secure and rejoicing family, and that this 
 alienated world is the only strayed, or only captive member be- 
 longing to it, and we shall cease to wonder that from the first 
 period of the captivity of our species, down to the consumma- 
 tion of their history in time, there should be such a movement 
 in heaven ; or, that angels should so often have sped their com- 
 missioned way, on the errand of our recovery ; or, that the Son 
 of God should have bowed himself down to the burden of our 
 mysterious atonement ; or, that the Spirit of God should now, 
 , by the busy variety of his all-powerful influences, be carrying 
 forward that dispensation of grace, which is to make us meet 
 for readmittance into the mansions of the celestial. 
 
 Db. Chalmers. 
 
 1*72. THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION. 
 
 My lords, it is with no ordinary feeling that I find myself 
 speaking upon this subject, in this, the most august assembly in 
 the world — ay, I repeat it, in this, the most august assembly in 
 the world. Such this house for centuries has been — such it still 
 is — such, let us hope, it may long continue to be. God grant 
 it may, for if it should ever cease to be the most august assem- 
 bly in the world, it will become the most degraded. And why, 
 my lords, will this be ? because if this house shall fall from its 
 proud eminence, it will not fall by violence from without ; for, 
 notwithstanding all that has been said or done, the people of 
 this country will never be so false to their own interests, as to 
 be wanting in respectful attachment to you, if you are not want- 
 ing to yourselves and them. It will fall by the folly or the guilt, 
 by the cowardice or the treachery of some, if there shall be any 
 such, of its own degenerate members. 
 
 My lords, it has been ordained by a severe, but most merci- 
 9* 
 
202 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 ful dispensation, that those to whom great interests are intrusted, 
 cannot be false to those interests, without drawing down a full 
 measure of righteous retribution on their own heads. My lords, 
 to you the guardianship of the British constitution — that con- 
 stitution which for at least eight hundred hears, has fostered, 
 nursed, matured, and consolidated the liberties and the happi- 
 ness of this much-favored people ; to you the guardianship of 
 that constitution has been mainly consigned : to your fidelity, to 
 your prudence, to your firmness. My lords, if it fall, you will 
 not only fall with it, but you will be ground to dust beneath its 
 ruins. May He who has appointed you to your high place, 
 enable you to fill it as you ought ! In this great crisis, for so 
 we all feel it to be, in this agony of our country's fate, may He 
 give you wisdom to see, and fortitude to pursue steadily and 
 fearlessly that only path, which can lead to honor or to safety — 
 the path of duty. True, my lords, that path is beset with 
 difficulties and 'with dangers ; clouds and thickest darkness rest 
 upon it ; but one thing is clear, is bright, and one thing only, — 
 to walk uprightly is within your own power. As. for conse- 
 quences, they are in the power of God. Will you distrust that 
 power ? My lords, you will not. p^^ PuiLrorrs. 
 
 173. AUTUMN. 
 
 t'P is the unvarying character of nature, amid all its scenes, to 
 lead us, at last, to its Author ; and it is for this final end that 
 all lis varieties have such dominion over our minds. We are led, 
 by tne appearance of spring, to see his bounty ; we are led, by 
 the splendors of summer, to see his greatness. In the season 
 of aurumn we are led to a higher sentiment ; and, what is most 
 remarkable, the very circumstances of melancholy are those 
 which guide us most securely to put our trust in him. We are 
 witnessing the decay of the year ; we go back in imagination, 
 and find that such, in every generation, has been the fate of man. 
 We look forward, and we see that to such ends all must come 
 at last ; we lift our desponding eyes in search of comfort, and 
 we' see above us One who " is ever the same, and to whose years 
 there is no end." Amid the vicissitudes of nature, we discover 
 that central Majesty, ** in whom there is no variableness nor 
 shadow of turning." We feel that there is a God ; and, from 
 the tempestuous sea of life, we hail that polar star of nature, 
 
ALISON. — ST. PAUL. 203 
 
 to which a sacred instinct had directed our eyes, and which 
 burns, with undecaying ray, to hghten us among all the dark- 
 ness of the deep. 
 
 Let the busy and active go out, and pause, for a time, amid 
 the scenes which surround them, and learn the high lesson 
 which nature teaches in the hours of its fall. They are now- 
 ardent with all the desires of mortahty ; and fame, and interest, 
 and pleasure are displaying to them their shadowy promises. 
 Let them withdraw themselves, for a time, from the agitations 
 of the world ; let them mark the desolation of summer, and 
 listen to the winds of winter, which begin to murmur above their 
 heads. It is a scene which, with all its powers, has yet no re- 
 proach : it tells them that such is also the fate to which they 
 must come ; that the pulse of passion must one day beat low ; 
 that the illusions of time must pass ; and " that the spirit must 
 return to Him who gave it." Alison. 
 
 114:. CHARITY. 
 
 Though I speak with the tongues of men, and of angels, and 
 have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling 
 cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and under- 
 stand all mysteries, and all knowledge ; and though I have all 
 faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I 
 am nothing. 
 
 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and 
 though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it 
 profiteth me nothing. Charity suflfereth long, and is kind ; 
 charity envieth not ; charity vaunteth not itself ; it is not puffed 
 up ; doth not behave itself unseemly ; seeketh not her own ; is 
 not easily provoked ; thinketh no evil ; rejoiceth not in miquity, 
 but rejoiceth in the truth ; beareth all things, believeth all 
 things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. 
 
 Charity never faileth : but whether there be prophecies, they 
 shall fail ; whether there be tongues, they shall cease ; whether 
 there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in 
 part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is 
 perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done 
 away. 
 
 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a 
 thild, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put 
 
204 SELECTIONS IN PKOSE. 
 
 away childish, things. For now we see through a glass, dartlj ; 
 but then, face to face : now I know in part ; but then shall 1 
 know, even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, 
 charity, these three ; but the greatest of tliese is charity. 
 
 St. Paul. 
 
 1*75. THE KIGIITS OF THE PLEBEIANS. 
 
 What an insult upon us is this ? If we are not so rich as 
 the patricians, are we not citizens of Rome as well as they ? in- 
 habitants of the same country' ? members of the same commu- 
 nity ? The nations bordering upon Rome, and even strangers 
 more remote, are admitted, not only to marriage with us, but to 
 what is of much greater importance, the freedom of the city. 
 Are we, because we are commoners, to be worse treated than 
 f;trangers ? And, when we demand that the people may be 
 free to bestow their offices and dignities on whom they please, 
 do we ask any thing unreasonable or new ? Do we claim more 
 than their original inherent right ? What occasion, then, for all 
 this uproar, as if the universe were falling to ruin ? They were 
 just going to lay violent hands upon me in the senate-house. 
 
 What ! must this empire, then, be unavoidably overturned ? 
 must Rome of necessity sink at once, if a plebeian, worthy of 
 the office, should be raised to the consulship ? The patricians, 
 I am persuaded, if they could, would deprive you of the com- 
 mon light. It certainly offiinds them that you breathe, that you 
 speak, that you have the shapes of men. Nay, but to make a 
 commoner a consul, would be, say they, a most enormous thing. 
 Numa PompiMus, however, without being so much as a Roman 
 citizen, was made king of Rome. The elder Tarquin, by birth 
 not even an Italian, was nevertheless placed upon the throne. 
 Servius TuUius, the son of a captive woman, obtained the king- 
 dom as the reward of his wisdom and virtue. In those days, no 
 man in whom virtue shone conspicuous, was rejected or despised 
 on account of his race and descent. Canuleius. 
 
 ] 76. BRUTUS JUSTIFYING THE ASSASSINATION OF C..ESA~R. 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ; 
 and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor ; 
 
SIIAKSPEAKE. 205 
 
 and have respect to mine lionor, that you may beheve. Cen- 
 sure me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that yuu may 
 the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear 
 friend of CaDsar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Csesar was 
 •no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose 
 against Caesar, this is my answer, — not that I loved Caesar less, 
 but that I loved Rome more. 
 
 Had you rather Csesar were living, and die all slaves, than 
 that Csesar were dead, to live all freemen ? As Csesar loved 
 me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he 
 was valiant, I honor him ; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. 
 There are tears, for his love ; joy, for his fortune ; honor, for 
 his valor ; and death, for his ambition. Who's here so base, 
 that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him have I 
 offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman ? If 
 any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who's here so vile, that 
 will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him have I 
 oflf^nded. I pause for a reply. 
 
 None ! Then none have I offended. I have done no more to 
 CcDsar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death 
 is enrolled in the capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he 
 was worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered 
 death. 
 
 Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony ; who, 
 though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit 
 of his dying — a place in the commonwealth ; as Avhich of you 
 shall not ? With this I depart ; that, as I slew my best lover 
 for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when 
 it shall please my country to need my death. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 17 7. hamlet's address to the players. 
 
 Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, 
 trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our 
 players do, I had as lief the town-criers spoke my lines. Nor 
 do not saw the air too much with yoiu- hand, thus ; but use all 
 gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may sa} ) 
 whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a tem- 
 perance, that may give it smoothness. Oh, it'offends me to the 
 soul, to hear a i-obustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to 
 tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who. 
 
206 SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 
 
 for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb- 
 shows and noise : I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er- 
 doing Termageus ; it out-herods Herod : I pray you avoid it. 
 Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your 
 tutor : suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with 
 this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of 
 nature : for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of play- 
 ing, whose end, both at the first and now, was, and is, to hold, as 
 it were, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own fea- 
 ture, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the 
 time, his form and pressure. Now this, overdone, or come tardy 
 off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the 
 judicious grieve ; the censure of which one, must in your allow- 
 ance o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh, there be players, 
 that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and that 
 highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent 
 of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, Pagan, nor man, have so 
 strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's 
 journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imi- 
 tated humanity so abominably. Shakspeare. 
 
 / 
 
207 
 
 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 1. ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER. 
 
 Will Wag went to see Charley Quirk, 
 
 More famed for his books than his knowledge. 
 
 In order to borrow a work 
 He had sought for in vain over college. 
 
 But Charley replied, " My dear friend, 
 You must know I have sworn and agreed 
 
 My books from my room not to lend, — 
 But you may sit hy my fire and read^ 
 
 Now it happened, by chance, on the morrow, 
 
 That Quirk, with a cold, quivering air. 
 Came his neighbor Will's bellows to borrow, 
 
 For his own they were out of repair. 
 
 But Willy rephed, " My dear friend, 
 
 I have sworn and agreed, you must knoAv, 
 
 That my bellows I never will lend, — 
 
 But you may sit hy my fire and blow.'' ^^^^^ Gilmam 
 
 2. THE DILATORY SCHOLAR. 
 
 On ! where is my hat ? — it is taken away. 
 
 And my shoestrings are all in a knot ! 
 I can't find a thing where it should be to-day, 
 
 Though I've hunted in every spot. 
 
 My slate and my pencil nowhere can be found. 
 Though I placed them as safe as could be ; 
 
 While my books and my maps are all scattered around. 
 And hop about just like a flea. 
 
208 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS 
 
 Do, Rachel, just look for my Atlas, up stairs ; 
 
 My Virgil is somewhere there, too ; 
 And, sister, brush down these troublesome hairs, — 
 
 And, brother, just fasten my shoe. 
 
 And, m©ther, beg father to write an excuse ; 
 
 But stop — he will only say "No," 
 And go on with a smile, and keep reading the news. 
 
 While every thing bothers me so. 
 
 My satchel is heavy and ready to fall ; 
 
 This old pop-gun is breaking my map ; 
 I'll have nothing to do with the pop-gun or ball, — 
 
 There's no playing for such a poor chap ! 
 
 The town-clock will strike in a minute, I fear ; 
 
 Then away to the foot I must sink : — 
 There, look at my History, tumbled down here ! 
 
 And my Algebra covered with ink ! 
 
 I wish I'd not lingered at breakfast the last. 
 Though the toast and the butter were fine : 
 
 I think that our Edward must eat very fast, 
 To be oflf when I haven't done mine. 
 
 Now, Edward and Henry protest they won't wait. 
 
 And beat on the door with their sticks ; 
 
 I suppose they will say I was dressing too late : 
 
 To-morrow I'll be up at six. t^ ^ 
 
 ^ Mes. Oilman 
 
 3. ORATOR PUFF. 
 
 Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice. 
 
 The one squeaking thus, and the other down so ; 
 In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, 
 For one half was B alt, and the rest G below. 
 Oh ! oh ! Orator Puff, 
 One voice for an orator's surely enough. 
 
 But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns, 
 
 So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs. 
 That a wag once, on hearing the orator say, 
 
 "My voice is for war," asked him, "Which of them, pray ?** 
 Oh ! oh ! Orator Puff, 
 One voice for an orator's sarely enough. 
 
TIIOMAS MOOKE. COWPER. 209 
 
 Reeling homewards, one evening, top-heavy with gin, 
 
 And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, 
 He tripp'd near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, 
 
 " Sinking fund," the last words as his noddle came down. 
 Oh ! oh ! Orator Puff, 
 One voice for an orator's surely enough. 
 
 *' Good Lord !" he exclaim'd, in his he-and-she-tones, 
 
 " Help me out ! help me out ! — I have broken my bones !" 
 *' Help you out !" said a Paddy, who passed, " what a bother ! 
 Why, there's two of you there ; can't you help one another ?*' 
 Oh ! .oh ! Orator Puff, 
 One voice for an orator's surely enough. 
 
 Thomas Mooue. 
 
 4. THE JACKDAW. 
 
 There is a bird, who, by his coat. 
 And by the hoarseness of his note. 
 
 Might be supposed a crow ; 
 A great frequenter of the church. 
 Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch. 
 
 And dormitory too. 
 
 Above the steeple shines a plate. 
 That turns, and turns, to indicate 
 
 From what point blows the weather : 
 Look up — your brains begin to swim, — 
 'Tis in the clouds — that pleases him. 
 
 He chooses it the rather. 
 
 Fond of the speculative height. 
 Thither he wings his airy flight. 
 
 And thence, securely, sees 
 The bustle and the raree-show. 
 That occupy mankind below, 
 
 Secure, and at his ease. 
 
 You think, no doubt, he sits, and muses, 
 On future broken bones and bruises. 
 
 If he should chance to fall ; 
 No ; not a single thought like that. 
 Employs his philosophic pate. 
 
 Or troubles it at all. 
 
210 COMIC AND AltruSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 He sees that this great roundabout. 
 The world, with all its motley rout. 
 
 Church, army, physic, law. 
 Its customs, and its bus'nesses. 
 Is no concern at all of his. 
 
 And says — what says he ? — Caw. 
 
 Thrice happy bird ! I too have seen 
 Much of the vanities of men ; 
 
 And, sick of having seen 'em. 
 Would, cheerfully, these limbs resign, 
 For such a pair of wings as thine. 
 
 And such a head between 'em. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 5. NOSE VS. EYES. 
 
 Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, - 
 The spectacles set them, unhappily, wrong ; 
 
 The point in dispute was, as all the world knows. 
 To which the said spectacles ought to belong. 
 
 So the Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause 
 With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning ; 
 
 While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws. 
 So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. 
 
 In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear. 
 
 And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find 
 
 That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear. 
 Which amounts to possession, time out of mind. 
 
 Then, holding the spectacles up to the court — 
 
 Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle. 
 
 As wide as the ridge of the Nose is ; in short. 
 Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. 
 
 Again, would your lordship a moment suppose 
 
 ('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again), 
 
 That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, 
 
 Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then ? 
 
 On the whole, it appears, and my argument shows. 
 With a reasoning the court will never condemn. 
 
 That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, 
 And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. - 
 
COWPEK. 211 
 
 Then, shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how. 
 
 He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes ; 
 But what were his arguments few people know, 
 
 For the court did not think they were equally wise. 
 
 So his lordship decreed, with a grave, solemn tone. 
 
 Decisive and clear, without one if or but — 
 That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on. 
 
 By daylight or candle-light, Eyes should be shut. 
 
 COWPEB. 
 
 0. CONVERSATION. 
 
 The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose, 
 
 In contact inconvenient, nose to nose. 
 
 As if the gnomon on his neighbor's phiz, 
 
 Touched with a magnet, had attracted his. 
 
 His whispered theme, dilated, and at large, 
 
 Proves, after all, a wind-gun's airy charge, — 
 
 An extract of his diary — no more, — 
 
 A tasteless journal of the day before. 
 
 He walked abroad, o'ertaken in the rain. 
 
 Called on a friend, drank tea, stepped home again, 
 
 Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk 
 
 With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. 
 
 I interrupt him with a sudden bow, — 
 
 " Adieu, dear sir ! lest you should lose it now." 
 
 I cannot talk with civet in the room,-^ 
 A fine puss, gentlemen, that's all perfume : 
 His odoriferous attempts to please. 
 Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees ; 
 But we that make no honey, though we sting, — 
 (Poets) — are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 
 
 A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see. 
 Quite as absurd, though not so light as he ; 
 A shalloAV brain behind a serious mask. 
 An oracle within an empty cask. 
 The solemn fop, — significant and budge, 
 A fool with judges, amongst fools a judgef 
 He says but little, and that little said 
 Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. 
 
212 COMIC AND AMUSING- SELECTIONS. 
 
 His wit invites you, by his looks, to come. 
 
 But, when you knock, it never is at home : 
 
 *Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage, — 
 
 Some handsome present, as your hopes presage : 
 
 'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove 
 
 An absent friend's fidehty and love, — 
 
 But, when unpacked, your disappointment groans, 
 
 To find it stuffed with brickbats, earth, and stones. 
 
 COWPER, 
 
 7. THE RifiMOVAL. 
 
 A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade, — 
 By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made, — 
 Took a house 'tvvixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town. 
 Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy and pull down. 
 
 This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate ; 
 But, alas ! when he entered he found it too late ; 
 For in each dwelt a smith : — a more hard-working two 
 Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe. 
 
 At six in the raoniing, their anvils, at work. 
 Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk : 
 " These fellows," he cried, " such a clattering keep. 
 That I never can get above eight hours of sleep." 
 
 From morning till night they keep thumping away, — 
 No sound but the anvil the whole of the day : 
 His afternoon's nap, and his daughter's new song. 
 Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong. 
 
 He'^ffered each Vulcan to purchase his shop ; 
 But, no ! they were stubborn, determined to stop : 
 At length (both his spirits and health to improve) 
 He cried, " I'll give each fifty guineas to move." 
 
 " Agreed !" said the pair ; " that will make us amends." 
 " Then come to my house, and let us part friends : 
 You shall dine ; and we'll drink on this joyful occasion, 
 That each may live long in his new habitation." 
 
 He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale, — 
 He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale ; 
 
ANONYMOUS. OLIVER W. HOLMES. 213 
 
 So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest 
 Would take from him noise, and restore to him rest. 
 
 " And now," said he, ** tell me, Avhere mean you to move — 
 I hope to some spot where your trade will improve ?" 
 *' Why, sir," replied one, with a grin on his phiz, 
 ** Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his !" 
 
 ANONYMOUa . 
 
 8. MY AUNT. 
 
 My aunt ! my dear unmarried aunt ! 
 
 Long years have o'er her flown ; 
 Yet still she strains the aching clasp 
 
 That binds her virgin zone : 
 I know it hurts her, — though she looks 
 
 As cheerful as she can : 
 Her waist is ampler than her life. 
 
 For life is but a span. 
 
 My aunt ! my poor deluded aunt ! 
 
 Her hair is almost gray : 
 Why will she train that winter curl 
 
 In such a spring-like way ? 
 How can she lay her glasses down, 
 
 And say she reads as well. 
 When, through a double convex lens. 
 
 She just makes out to spell. 
 
 Her father — ^grandpapa ! forgive 
 
 This erring lip its smiles — 
 Vowed she would make the finest girl 
 
 Within a hundred miles. 
 He sent her to a stylish school — 
 
 'Twas in her thirteenth June ; 
 And with her, as the rules required, 
 
 " Two towels and a spoon." 
 
 They braced my aunt against a board, 
 To make her straight and tall ; 
 
 They laced her up, they starved her down, 
 To make her light and small ; 
 
214 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECIIONS. 
 
 They pinched her feet, they singed her hair, 
 
 They screwed it up with pins ; — 
 Oh, never mortal suffered more 
 
 In penance for her sins ! 
 
 So, when my precious aunt was done, 
 
 My grandsire brought her back ; 
 (By daylight, lest some rabid youth 
 
 Might follow on the track.") 
 " Ah !" said my grandsire, as he shook 
 
 Some powder in his pan, 
 " What could this lovely creature do 
 
 Against a desperate man ?" 
 
 Alas ! nor chariot, nor barouche, 
 
 Nor bandit cavalcade. 
 Tore from the father's trembling arms 
 
 His all-accomplished maid. 
 For her how happy had it been ! 
 
 And heaven had spared to me 
 To see one sad, ungathered rose 
 
 On my ancestral tree. ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 9. THE FEATURES. 
 
 That mortals are made up of quarrelsome clay, 
 
 My tale, I imagine, will prove as it goes ; 
 For the features composing the visage, one day. 
 
 Most cruelly fell to abusing the Nose. 
 First, the Lips took it up, and their reason was this : 
 
 That the Nose was a bane both to beauty and love 
 And they never, moreover, in comfort could kiss, 
 
 For that horrid protuberance jutting above ! 
 
 Then Eyes, not behind in the matter to be. 
 
 With a sparkle began, as I've often times seen 'em. 
 And vowed, it was perfectly shocking to see ' 
 
 Such a lump of deformity sticking between 'em." 
 The Cheeks, with a blush, said, *' the frightfulest shade. 
 
 By the Nose, o'er their bloom and their beauty was thiown ;' 
 And Ears couldn't bear the loud trumpeting noise. 
 
 Whenever that troublesome member was blown ! 
 
NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THOMAS HOOD. 215 
 
 So 'twcis moved, and agreed, without dallying more, 
 
 To thrust the intruder, at once,*from the face. 
 But Nose, hearing this, most indignantly swore, 
 
 " By the breath of his nostrils, he'd stick to his place !" 
 Then, addressing the Eyes, he went learnedly through 
 
 His defence, and inquired, " when their vigor was gone, 
 Pray what would their worship for spectacles do, 
 
 If the face had no nose, to hang spectacles on ?" 
 
 " Mankind," he observed, " loved their scent, as their sight ; 
 
 Or who'd care a farthing for myrtles and roses ? 
 And the charge of the Lips was as frivolous quite ; 
 
 For, if Lips fancied kissing, pray, why mightn't Noses ? 
 As for Ears," — and, speaking. Nose scornfully curled, — 
 
 " Their murmurs were equally trifling and teasing. 
 And not all the Ears, Eyes, or Lips in the world, 
 
 Should keep him unblown, or prevent him from sneezing.'* 
 
 *' To the Cheeks," he contended, " he acted as screen. 
 
 And guarded them oft from the wind and the weather ; 
 And but that he stood like a landmark between, 
 
 The face had been nothing but cheek altogether!" 
 With eloquence thus he repelled their abuse. 
 
 With logical clearness defining the case ; 
 And from thence came the saying, so frequent in use, 
 
 That an argument's plain " as the nose on your face !" 
 
 New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 10. MORNING MEDITATIONS. 
 
 Let others preach upon a morning breezy, 
 
 How well to rise while night and larks are flying ; 
 For my part, getting up seems not so easy. 
 By half, as lying. 
 
 What if the lark does carol in the sky. 
 
 Soaring beyond the sight to find him out — 
 Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly ? 
 
 I'm not a trout. 
 
 Talk not to me of bees and such like hums ; 
 
 They smell of sweet herbs at the morning prime : 
 Only lie long enough, and bed becomes 
 
 A bed of time. 
 
216 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 To me Dan Phoebus and his cars are naught. 
 
 His steeds that paw impatiently about ; 
 Let them enjoy, say I, as horses ought, 
 
 The first turn out. 
 
 Right beautiful the dewy meads appear, 
 Besprinkled by the rosy-fingered girl ; 
 What then — if I prefer my pillow dear 
 
 To early pearl ? 
 
 My stomach is not ruled by other men's, 
 
 And, grumbling for a season, quaintly begs — 
 Wherefore should miser rise before the hens 
 
 Have laid their eggs ? 
 
 Why from a comfortable pillow start. 
 
 To see faint flushes in the east awaken ? 
 A fig, say I, for any streaky part. 
 
 Excepting bacon. 
 
 An early riser Mr. Gray has drawn, 
 
 Who used to haste the dewy grass among. 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn — 
 
 Well — he died young. 
 
 With chairwomen such early hours agree. 
 
 And sweeps that earn betimes their bite and sup ; 
 But I'm no chmbing boy, and will not be 
 All up — all up. 
 
 So here I'll lie, my morning calls deferring, 
 
 Till something nearer J^o the stroke of noon : 
 A man that's fond precociously of stirring^ 
 Must be a spoon. 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
 11. MAJOR BROWN. 
 
 If any man, in any age, 
 
 In any town or city, 
 Was ever valiant, courteous, sage, 
 
 Experienced, wise, or witty. 
 
 That man was Major Brown by name 
 The fact you cannot doubt, 
 
THOMAS HOOD. 217 
 
 For he himself would say the same. 
 Ten times a day, about. 
 
 The major in the foreign wars 
 
 Indifferently had fared ; 
 For he was coVered o'er with scars, 
 
 Though he was never scared. 
 
 But war had now retired to rest. 
 
 And piping peace returned ; 
 Yet still within his ardent breast, , 
 
 The major's spirit burned. 
 
 When suddenly he heard of one 
 
 Who, in an air balloon 
 Had gone — I can't tell where he*d gone— 
 
 Almost into the moon. 
 
 " Let me — let me," the major cries, 
 
 " Let me, like him, ascend ; 
 And if it fall that I should rise. 
 
 Who knows where it may end ?" 
 
 The cords are cut — a mighty shout ! — 
 
 The globe ascends on high ; 
 And, like a ball from gun shot out. 
 
 The major mounts the sky — 
 
 Or would have done, but cruel chance 
 
 Forbade it so to be ; 
 And bade the major not advance — 
 
 Caught in a chestnnt-tree. 
 
 But soon the awkward branch gives way. 
 
 He smooths his angry brow, 
 Shoots upward, rescued from delay. 
 
 And makes the branch a bow : 
 
 Till, mounting furlongs now some dozens, 
 
 And peeping down, he pants 
 To see his mother, sisters, cousins, 
 
 And uncles, look hke ants. 
 
 That Brown looked blue 1 will not say — 
 
 His uniform was red ; — 
 But he thought that if his car gave way 
 
 He should probably be dead. 
 10 
 
218 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONB. 
 
 He gave his manly breast a slap. 
 And loudly shouted " Courage !" 
 
 And waved above his head the cap 
 In which he used to forage. 
 
 And up he went, and looked around 
 To see what there might be. 
 
 And felt convinced that on the ground 
 Were better things to see. 
 
 A strange bird came his path across. 
 Whose name he did not know ; 
 
 Quoth he, " 'Tis like an albatross," — 
 It proved to be a crow. 
 
 " I wish that you would please to drop,** 
 Quoth Brown to his balloon ; — 
 
 He might as well have spoken to 
 The man that's in the moon. 
 
 And now the heavens begin to lower. 
 And thunders loud to roll ; 
 ^ And winds and rains to blow and pour 
 That would daunt a general's soul. 
 
 Such a hurricane to Major Brown 
 Must most unpleasant be ; 
 
 And he said, " If I cannot get down, 
 'Twill be all up with me !" 
 
 From his pocket, then, a knife he took— 
 In Birmingham, 'twas made — 
 > The handle was of handsome look, 
 Of tempered steel the blade. 
 
 Says he, " The acquaintance of a balloon 
 
 I certainly shall cut ;" 
 So in the silken bag, full soon 
 
 His penknife blade he put. 
 
 Out rushed the gas imprisoned there,— 
 The balloon began to sink ; v 
 
 " I shall surely soon get out of the air," 
 Said Major Brown, *' I think." 
 
 AlsLS for Brown, balloon, and car. 
 The gas went out too fast ; 
 
THOMAS HOOD. 219 
 
 The car went upside down, and far 
 Poor Major Brown was cast. 
 
 Long time head over heels he tum- 
 bled, till unto the ground, 
 
 As I suppose, he must have come ; 
 But he was never found. 
 
 The car was found in London town ; 
 
 The bag to Oxford flew ; 
 But what became of Major Brown, 
 
 No mortal ever knew. r^^oMAs Hool 
 
 12. THE DUEL. 
 
 In Brentford town, of old renown, 
 
 There lived a Mister Bray, 
 Who fell in love with Lucy Bell, 
 
 And so did Mister Clay. 
 
 To see her ride from Hammersmith, 
 
 By all it was allowed. 
 Such fair " outside"* was never seen, — 
 
 An angel on a cloud. 
 
 Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay, 
 
 " You choose to rival me 
 And court Miss Bell ; but there your court 
 
 No thoroughfare shall be. 
 
 " Unless you now give up your suit, 
 
 You may repent your love ; — 
 I, who have shot a pigeon match. 
 
 Can shoot a turtle-dove. 
 
 " So, pray, before you woo her more. 
 
 Consider what you do : 
 If you pop aught to Lucy Bell, — 
 
 I'll pop it into you." 
 
 Said Mr. Clay to Mr, Bray, 
 
 " Your threats I do explode ; — 
 
 In England, women frequently ride on the outside of Btage-coaches. 
 
220 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 One who has been a volunteer 
 Knows how to prime and load. 
 
 And so I say to you, unless 
 
 Your passion quiet keeps, 
 I, who have shot and hit bulls' eyes. 
 
 May chance to hit a sheep* s /" 
 
 Now gold is oft for silver changed. 
 
 And that for copper red ; 
 But these two went away to give 
 
 Each other change for lead. 
 
 But first they found a friend apiece, 
 This pleasant thought to give — 
 
 That when they both were dead, they'd have 
 Two seconds yet to Uve. 
 
 To measure out the ground, not long 
 
 The seconds next forbore ; 
 And having taken one rash step. 
 
 They took a dozen more. 
 
 They next prepared each pistol pan, 
 
 Against the deadly strife ; 
 By putting in the prime of death. 
 
 Against the prime of hfe. 
 
 Now all was ready for the foes ; 
 But when they took their stands, 
 . Fear made them tremble so, they found 
 They both were shaking hinds. 
 
 Said Mr. C. to Mr. B., 
 
 " Here one of us may fall. 
 And, like St. Paul's Cathedral now. 
 
 Be doomed to have a hall. 
 
 *' I do confess I did attach 
 
 Misconduct to your name ! 
 If I withdraw the charge, will then 
 
 Your ramrod do the same ?" 
 
 Said Mr. B., "I do agree ; — 
 But think of Honor's courts, — 
 
 If we off without a shot. 
 There will be strange reports. 
 
THOMAS HOOD. 221 
 
 *' But look ! the morning now is bright, 
 
 Though cloudy it begun ; 
 Why can't we aim above, as if 
 
 We had called out the sun ?" 
 
 So up into the harmless air 
 
 Their bullets they did send ; 
 And may all other duels have 
 
 That upshot in the end. Thomas Hooa 
 
 13. JOHN DAY. 
 
 John Day, he was the biggest man, 
 
 Of all the coachman kind ; 
 With back too broad to be conceived 
 
 By any narrow mind. 
 
 The bar-maid of " The Crown" he loved. 
 From whom he never ranged ; 
 
 For, though he changed his horses there. 
 His love he never changed. 
 
 One day, as she was sitting down 
 
 Beside the porter pump. 
 He came and knelt, with all his fat. 
 
 And made an offer plump. 
 
 Said she, ** My taste will never learn 
 
 To like so huge a man ; 
 So I must beg you will come here 
 
 As httle as you can." 
 
 But still he stoutly urged his suit. 
 With vows, and sighs, and tears, 
 
 Yet could not pierce her heart, although 
 He drove the ** Dart" for years. 
 
 In vain he wooed — ^in vain he sued — 
 The maid was cold and proud. 
 
 And sent him off to Coventry, 
 While on the way to Stroud. 
 
 He fretted all the way to Stroud, 
 And thence all back to town ; 
 
223 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 The course of love was never smooth, 
 So his went up and down. 
 
 At last, her coldness made him pine 
 
 To merely bones and skin ; 
 But still he loved like one resolved 
 
 To love through thick and thin. 
 
 " 0, Mary ! view my wasted back. 
 
 And see my dwindled calf ! 
 Though I have never had a wife, 
 
 I've lost my better half !" 
 
 Alas ! in vain he still assailed, 
 
 Her heart withstood the dint ; 
 Though he had carried sixteen stone, 
 
 He could not move a flint ! 
 
 Worn out, at last he made a vow, 
 
 To break his being's link. 
 For he was so reduced in size, 
 
 At nothing he could shrink. 
 
 Now, some will talk in water's praise. 
 
 And waste a deal of breath ; 
 But John, though he drank nothing else. 
 
 He drank himself to death. 
 
 The cruel maid, that caused his love. 
 
 Found out the fatal close. 
 For, looking in the butt, she saw 
 
 The butt end of his woes. 
 
 Some say his spirit haunts the Crown ; 
 
 But that is only talk ; 
 For, after riding all his life, 
 
 His ghost objects to walk. Teomas Hooa 
 
 14. THE TROUBLESOME WIFF. 
 
 A MAN had once a vicious wife — 
 (A most uncommon thing in life) ; 
 His days and nights were spent in strife unceasing. 
 
 Her tongue went glibly all day long, 
 
 Sweet contradiction still her song, 
 
 And all the poor man did was wrong, and ill-done. 
 
ANONYMOUS. 223 
 
 A truce without doors, or within, 
 From speeches long as tradesmen spin, 
 Or rest from her eternal din, he found not. 
 
 He every soothing art displayed ; 
 Tried of what stuff her skin was made : 
 Failing in all, to Heaven he prayed to take her. 
 
 Once, walking by a river's side. 
 
 In mournful terms, " My dear," he cried, 
 
 ** No more let feuds our peace divide : I'll end them. 
 
 ** "Weary of life, and quite resigned. 
 
 To drown, I have made up my mind. 
 
 So tie my hands as fast behind, as can be ; 
 
 " Or nature may assert her reign. 
 
 My arms assist, my will restrain. 
 
 And swimming, I once more regain my troubles." 
 
 With eager haste the dame complies. 
 While joy stands glistening in her eyes : 
 Already, in her thoughts, he dies before her. 
 
 "Yet, when I view the rolling tide, 
 Nature revolts," he said ; " beside, 
 I would not be a suicide, and die thus. 
 
 " It would be better far, I think. 
 
 While close I stand upon the brink, 
 
 You push me in — nay, never shrink, but do it." 
 
 To give the blow the more efifect. 
 
 Some twenty yards she ran direct. 
 
 And did what she could least expect she should do. 
 
 He slips aside, himself to save. 
 
 So souse she dashes in the wave. 
 
 And gave, what ne'er she gave before, much pleasure. 
 
 " Dear husband, help ! I sink !" she cried ; 
 " Thou best of wives," the man rephed, 
 " I would,but you my hands have tied : heaven help you." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
224 COMIC AUlf AMUSING SELECTIONS 
 
 15. THE COLD-WATER MAN. 
 
 There lived an honest fisherman — 
 I knew him passing well — 
 
 "Who dwelt hard by a little pond. 
 Within a little dell. 
 
 All day that fisherman would sit 
 
 Upon an ancient log. 
 And gaze into the water, like 
 
 Some sedentary frog. 
 
 A cunning fisherman was he : 
 
 His angles all were right ; 
 And, when he scratched his aged poll. 
 
 You'd know he'd got a bite. 
 
 To charm the fish he never spoke. 
 Although his voice was fine ; 
 
 He found the most convenient way 
 Was just to " drop a line." 
 
 And many a " gudgeon" of th^ pond, 
 
 If made to speak to-day. 
 Would own, with grief, this angler had 
 
 A mighty " taking way." 
 
 One day, While fishing on the log. 
 He mourned his want of luck, — 
 
 When, suddenly, he felt a bite. 
 And, jerking — caught a duck ! 
 
 Alas ! that day the fisherman 
 
 Had taken too much grog ; 
 And being but a landsman, too. 
 
 He couldn't "keep the log." 
 
 In vain he strove with all his might. 
 And tried to gain the shore ; — 
 
 Down, down he went, to feed the fish 
 He'd baited oft before ! 
 
 The moral of this mournful tale 
 To all is plain and clear ; — 
 
 A single "drop too much" of rum 
 May make a watery bier. 
 
J. G. SAXE. 225 
 
 And he who will not " sign the pledge," 
 
 And keep his promise fast. 
 May be, in spite of fate, a stark 
 
 Cold-water man at last. j q. g^^. 
 
 16. YOUTHFUL PRECOCITr. 
 
 Happy the youth, in this our golden age. 
 Condemned no more to con the prosy page 
 Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools, 
 Now justly banished from our moral schools. 
 By easier modes philosophy is taught. 
 Than through the medium of laborious thought. 
 Imagination kindly serves in stead. 
 And saves the pupil many an aching head. 
 Room for the sages ! — ^hither comes a throng 
 Of blooming Platos trippingly along. 
 In dress how fitted to beguile the fair ! 
 What intellectual, stately heads — of hair ! 
 Hark to the oracle ! — to Wisdom's tone 
 Breathed in a fragrant zephyr of cologne. 
 That boy in gloves, the leader of the van. 
 Talks of the ** outer" and the ** inner man," 
 And knits his girlish brow in stout resolve 
 Some mountain-sized "idea" to "evolve." 
 Delusive toil ! — thus in their infant days, 
 When children mimic manly deeds in plays, 
 Long will they sit, and eager, " bob for whale," 
 Within the ocean of a water-pail ! 
 The next, whose looks unluckily reveal 
 The ears portentous that his locks conceal. 
 Prates of the ** orbs" with such a knowing frown, 
 You deem he puffs some Hthographic town 
 In western wilds, v/here yet unbroken ranks 
 Of thrifty beavers build unchartered " banks," 
 And prowling panthers occupy the lots 
 Adorned with churches on the paper plots ! 
 In other times, — 'twas many years ago, — 
 The scholar's course was toilsome, rough, and slow, 
 The fair Humanities were sought in tears, 
 And came, the trophy of laborious years. 
 10* 
 
226 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 Now Learning's shrine each idle youth may seek. 
 
 And, spending there a shilling and a week 
 
 (At lightest cost of study, cash, and lungs), 
 
 Come back, like Rumor, with " a thousand tongues !" 
 
 What boots such progress, when the golden load 
 From heedless haste is lost upon the road ? 
 When each great science, to the student's pace, 
 Stands like the wicket, in a hurdle race. 
 Which, to o'erleap, is all the courser's mind. 
 And all his glory, that 'tis left behind ! j q^ g^^ 
 
 17. THE CONFLAGRATION. 
 
 As Chaos, which, by heavenly doom. 
 Had slept in everlasting gloom. 
 Started with terror and surprise. 
 When light first flashed upon her eyes — 
 So London's sons in nightcap woke. 
 
 In bed-gown woke her dames ; 
 .■'"or shouts were heard 'mid fire and smoke 
 And twice ten hundred voices spoke — 
 
 '* The playhouse is in flames !" 
 ilie summoned firemen woke at call. 
 And hied them to their stations all : 
 Starting from short and broken snooze. 
 Each sought his pond'rous hobnailed shoes ; 
 And one, the leader of the band, 
 From Charing Cross along the Strand, 
 Like stag by beagles hunted hard. 
 Ran till he stopt at Vin'gar Yard. 
 The burning badge his shoulder bore, 
 And belt and oil-skin hat he wore. 
 The cane he had, his men to bang. 
 Showed foreman of the British gang — 
 His name was Higginbottom. 
 E'en Higginbottom now was posed. 
 For sadder scene was ne'er disclosed ; 
 Without, within, in hideous show. 
 Devouring flames resistless glow. 
 And blazing rafters downwai-ds go, 
 And never halloo, " Heads below !" 
 
REJECTED ADDRESSES. 227 
 
 Nor notice give at all. 
 The JBremen, terrified, are slow 
 To bid the pumping torrent flow 
 
 For fear the roof would fall. 
 Back, Robins, back ! Crump, stand aloof ! 
 Whitford, keep near the walls ! 
 Huggins, regard your own behoof. 
 For lo ! the blazing, rocking roof 
 Down, down, in thunder falls ! 
 An awful pause succeeds the stroke. 
 And o'er the ruins volumed smoke. 
 Rolling around its pitchy shroud. 
 Concealed them from th' astonished crowd. 
 At length the mist awhile was cleared, 
 When, lo ! amid the wreck upreared, 
 Gradually a moving head appeared. 
 
 And Eagle firemen knew 
 'Twas Joseph Muggins, name revered, 
 
 The foreman of their crew. 
 Loud shouted all in signs of woe, 
 ** A Muggins ! to the rescue, ho !" 
 
 And poured the hissing tide : 
 Meanwhile the Muggins fought amain. 
 And strove and struggled all in vain. 
 For, rallying but to fall again. 
 
 He tottered, sunk, and died. 
 Did none attempt, before he fell, 
 To succor one they loved so well ? 
 Yes, Higginbottom did aspire 
 (His fireman's soul was all on fire) 
 
 His brother chief to save ; 
 But ah ! his reckless, generous ire 
 
 Served but to share his grave ! 
 'Mid blazing beams and scalding streams. 
 Through fire and smoke he dauntless broke, ' 
 
 Where Muggins broke before. 
 But sulphury stench and boiling drench. 
 Destroying sight, o'erwhelmed him quite. 
 
 He sunk to rise no more. 
 Still o'er his head, while Fate he braved. 
 His whizzing water-pipe he waved ; 
 " Whitford and Mitford, ply your pumps. 
 You, Clutterbuck, come, stir your stumps. 
 Why are you in such doleful dumps ? 
 
228 COMIC AUB AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 A fireman, and afraid of bumps ! — 
 
 What are they fear'd on ? fools ! 'od rot 'em ''* 
 
 Were the last words of Higginbottom. 
 
 Rejected ADDREaSBS. 
 
 18. FOLLOW YOUR NOSE. 
 
 Kind friends, at your call I'm come here to sing. 
 
 Or rather to talk of my woes ; 
 Though small's the delight to you I can bring, 
 
 The subject's concerning my nose. 
 Some noses are large, and others are small. 
 
 For nature's vagaries are such. 
 To some folks, I'm told, she gives no nose at all. 
 
 But to me she has given too much. 
 Oh, dear ! lauks-a-daisy me ! 
 My cause of complaint, and the worst of my woes. 
 Is, because I have got such a shocking long nose. 
 
 Some insult or other, each day I do meet. 
 
 And by joking, my friends are all foes ; 
 And the boys every day, as I go through the street. 
 
 All bellow out — " There goes a nose !" 
 A woman, with matches one day, I came near. 
 
 Who, just as I tried to get by her. 
 Shoved me rudely aside, and asked, with- a leer. 
 
 If I wanted to set her o'fire ? 
 Oh, dear ! lauks-a-daisy me ! 
 Each rascal, each day, some inuendo throws. 
 As, my nose isn't mine, I belongs to my nose. 
 
 I once went a courting a wealthy old maid. 
 
 To be married we were, the next day ; 
 But an accident happened, the marriage delayed. 
 
 My nose got too much in the way. 
 For the night before marriage, entranced with my bliss- 
 
 In love, e'er some torment occurs — 
 I screwed up my lips, just to give her a kiss. 
 
 My nose slipped, and rubbed against hers ! 
 Oh, dear ! lauks-a-daisy me ! 
 The ring that I gave, at my head soon she throws, 
 And another tipped me, 'twas a w-ring on the nose. 
 
ANONYMOUS. JOHN WOLCOT. 229 
 
 Like a porter all day, with fatigue fit to crack, 
 
 I'm seeking for rest, at each place ; 
 Or, like Pilgrim of old, with his load at his back, 
 
 Only my load I bear on my face. 
 I can't get a wife, though each hour hard I try. 
 
 The girls they all blush, like a rose ; 
 ** I'm afraid to have you !" when I ask *em for why ? 
 
 Because you have got such a nose. 
 Oh, dear ! lauks-a-daisy me ! 
 Their cause of refusal I cannot suppose. 
 They all like the man, but they say — blow his nose ! 
 
 Like a large joint of meat before a small fire. 
 
 They say that my proboscis hangs — 
 Or, to a brass knocker, naught there can be nigher. 
 
 And in length it a pump-handle bangs. 
 A wag, you must know, just by way of a wipe. 
 
 Said, with a grin on his face, t'other night. 
 As he from his pocket was pulling a pipe, 
 
 " At your nose will you give me a hght ?'* 
 Oh, dear ! lauks-a-daisy me ! 
 If I ask any one my way to disclose. 
 If I lose it, they answer, Why, follow your nose. 
 
 Anoxymou& 
 
 19. ECONOMY. 
 
 Economy's a very useful broom. 
 
 Yet should not ceaseless hunt about the room 
 
 To catch each straggling pin to make a plum. 
 Too oft economy's an iron vice, 
 That squeezes e'en the little frames of mice. 
 
 That peep with fearful eyes, and ask a crumb. 
 
 f -Proper economy's a comely thing ; 
 Good in a subject — better in a king ; 
 
 Yet, pushed too far, it dulls each finer feeling- 
 Most easily inclined to make folks mean ; 
 Inclines them, too, to villany to lean, 
 
 To overreaching, perjury, and stealing — 
 E'en when the heart should only think of grief, 
 It creeps into the bosom hke a thief. 
 
230 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 And swallows up the affections, all so mild ;-|- 
 Witness the Jewess and her only child. 
 
 Poor Mistress Levi had a luckless son. 
 
 Who, rushing to obtain the foremost seat. 
 
 In ipaitation of the ambitious great. 
 High from the gallery, ere the play began, 
 
 He fell all plump into the pit. 
 
 Dead in a minute as a nit : 
 In short, he broke his pretty Hebrew neck, 
 Indeed — and very dreadful was the wreck ! 
 
 The mother was distracted, raving, wild. 
 
 Shrieked, tore her hair, embraced and kissed her child. 
 
 Afflicted every heart with grief around. 
 Soon as the shower of tears was somewhat past. 
 And moderated the hysteric blast. 
 
 She cast about her eyes in thought profound ; 
 And being with a saving knowledge blest. 
 She thus the playhouse manager addressed : 
 
 " Sher, I am de moder of de poor Chew lad, 
 Dat meet misfortune here so bad ; 
 Sher, I must haf de shilling back, you know. 
 Ass Moses haf nat see de show." j^^^^ Wolcot 
 
 20. SHAMUS o'bRIEN. 
 
 J 1ST afthcr the war, in the year 95, 
 As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate, 
 'Twas the custom, whenever a pisunt was got. 
 To hang him by thrial — barrin' sich as was shot. 
 There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight, 
 And the martial law hangin' the lavins by night. 
 It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon ; 
 If he missed in the judges, he'd meet a dragoon ; 
 An' whether the sojers or judges gev sentence. 
 The divil a much time they allowed for repentance. 
 An' it's many's the fine boy was then an his keepin', 
 Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or sleepin'. 
 An' because they loved Erin, an' scorned to sell it, 
 A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet — 
 
ANONYMOUS. ^ 231 
 
 Unsheltered by night and unrested by day, 
 
 With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay. 
 
 An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all. 
 
 Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town iv Glingall. 
 
 His limbs were well set, an' his body was light. 
 
 An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white ; 
 
 But his face was as pale as the face of the dead. 
 
 An* his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red : 
 
 An' for all that, he wasn't an ugly young bye. 
 
 For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his eye, 
 
 So droll an' so wicked, so dark an' so bright. 
 
 Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night ; 
 
 An' he was the best mower that ever has been, 
 
 An' the illigantest hurler that ever was seen : 
 
 In fincin' he gev Patrick Mooney a cut. 
 
 An' in jumpin' he bate Tom Malowney a fut ; 
 
 For lightness iv fut there was not his peer, 
 
 For, by gorra ! he'd almost outrun the red deer ; 
 
 An' his dancin' was sich, that the men used to stare. 
 
 An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare ; 
 
 An', by gorra ! the whole world gev into him there. 
 
 An' its he was the boy that was hard to be caught, 
 
 An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought. 
 
 An' it's many the one can remember right well 
 
 The quare things he done, an' it's oft I heerd tell 
 
 How he freckened the magisthrates in Cahirbally, 
 
 An' escaped thro' the sojers in Aherloe Valley, 
 
 An' leathered the yeomen, himself agin four. 
 
 An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore. 
 
 But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer mast rest. 
 
 An' treachery prey on the blood iv the best. 
 
 After many a brave action of power and pride, ~— 
 
 An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side. 
 
 An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast. 
 
 In the darkness of night he was taken at last. 
 
 Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon, , 
 
 For the door of the prison must dose on you soon ; 
 
 An' take your last look at her dim lovely light. 
 
 That falls on the mountain and valley this night ; — 
 
 One look at the village, one look at the flood. 
 
 An' one at the sheltering, far-distant wood. 
 
 Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill. 
 
 An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still ; 
 
 Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin' and wake. 
 
232 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 An* farewell to the girl that would die for your sake. 
 An* twelve sojers brought him to Maryborough jail, 
 An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin' all bail. . ^^^ 
 
 21. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 As soon as a few weeks was over and gone. 
 
 The terrible day iv thrial kem on. 
 
 There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand. 
 
 An* sojers on guard, an' dhragoons sword in hand ; 
 
 An' the court-house so full that the people were bothered, 
 
 An' attorneys an' criers on the pint iv bein' smothered ; 
 
 An' counsellors almost gev over for dead, 
 
 An' the jury sittin' up in their box overhead ; 
 
 An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big, 
 
 With his gown on his back, an' an illigant new wig. 
 
 An' silence was called, an' the minute it was said, 
 
 The court was as still as the heart of the dead. 
 
 An' they heard but the opening of one prison lock. 
 
 An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock. 
 
 For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng, 
 
 An' he looked at the bars, so firm an' so strong, 
 
 An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend, 
 
 A chance to escape, nor a word to defend ; 
 
 An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone. 
 
 As calm an' as cold as a statue of stone ; 
 
 An* they read a big writin', a yard long, at laste. 
 
 An' Jim didn't undherstand it nor mind it a taste. 
 
 An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuflf, an' he says, 
 
 " Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, av you plase ?'* 
 
 An* all held their breath, in the silence of dhread. 
 
 An' Shamus O'Brien made answer an' said : — 
 
 " My lord, if you ask me if in my lifetime 
 
 I thought any treason, or did any crime 
 
 That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here. 
 
 The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear. 
 
 Though I stood by the grave to receive my death blow, 
 
 Before God and the world, I would answer you, no ; 
 
 But if you would ask me, as I think it like. 
 
 If in the rebelUon I carried a pike. 
 
ANONYMOtJS. 233 
 
 An* fought for ould Ireland, from the first to the close, 
 
 An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes, — 
 
 I answer you, yes ; an' I tell you again. 
 
 Though I stand here to perish, it's my glory that then 
 
 In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry. 
 
 An* that now for her sake I am ready to die." 
 
 Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright. 
 
 An' the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light ; 
 
 By my sowl, it's himself was the crabbed ould chap ! 
 
 In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap. 
 
 Then Shamus' mother, in the crowd staiidin' by. 
 
 Called out to the judge, with a pitiful cry, 
 
 ** Oh, judge, darlin', don't ! — oh ! don't say the word ! 
 
 The crathur is young — have mercy, my lord ! 
 
 He was foohsh — he didn't know what he was doin' : 
 
 You don't know him, my lord ; — oh ! don't give him to ruin 
 
 He's the kindliest crathur, the tendherest hearted ; — 
 
 Don't part us forever, we that's so long parted 1 
 
 Judge, mavourneen, forgive him — ^forgive him, my lord. 
 
 An' God will forgive you : — oh ! don't say the word !" 
 
 That was the first minute that O'Brien was shaken. 
 
 When he saw he was not quite forgot or forsaken ; 
 
 An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother. 
 
 The big tears wor running fast, one afther t'other. 
 
 An' two or three times he endeavored to spake. 
 
 But the sthrong manly voice used to falther an' break ; 
 
 But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride. 
 
 He conquered and masthered his grief's swelling tide ; 
 
 An' says he, " Mother, darlint, don't break your poor heart. 
 
 For, sooner or later, the dearest must part ; 
 
 And, God knows, it's better than wandering in fear 
 
 On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer. 
 
 To lie in the graye, where the head, heart, and breast 
 
 From thought, labor, and sorrow forever shall rest. 
 
 Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more — 
 
 Don't make me seem broken in this my last hour ; 
 
 For I wish, when my head's lyin' undher the raven, 
 
 No thrue man can say that I died like a craven !" 
 
 Then, towards the judge Shamus bent down his head. 
 
 An' that minute the solemn death sintence was said. 
 
 ANONYMOUa, 
 
234 cojyno and amusing selections. 
 
 22. THE SAME. PART THIRD. 
 
 The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high, 
 An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky — 
 But why are the men standin' idle so late ? 
 An' why do the crowds gather fast in the street ? 
 What come they to talk of ? — what come they to see ? 
 An' why does the long rope hang from the cross tree ? 
 Oh, Shamus O'Brien, pray fervent and fast, 
 May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last ; 
 Pray fast and pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh, 
 When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die. 
 At last they threw open the big prison gate. 
 An' out came the sheriflfs and sojers in state. 
 An' a cart in the middle, an' Shamus was in it. 
 Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute. 
 An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien, 
 Wid prayin' and blessin', an' all the girls cryin', 
 A wild waihn' sound kem on all by degrees. 
 Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees. 
 On, on, to the gallows, the sheriflfs are gone. 
 An' the cart an' the sojers go steadily on ; 
 An' at every side swellin' around of the cart, 
 A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart. 
 Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand, 
 An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand ; 
 An' the priest, havin' blessed him, goes down on the ground, 
 An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last look around. 
 Then the hangman drew near, an' the people grew still. 
 Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turn chill ; 
 An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare, 
 For the gripe iv the life-strangling cord to prepare ; 
 An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer. 
 But the good priest did more — for his hands he unbound. 
 And, with one daring spring, Jim has leaped on the ground. 
 Bang, bang ! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres ; 
 " He's not down ! he's alive still ! now stand to him, neigh- 
 bors !" 
 Through the smoke and the horses, he's into the crowd ; — 
 ** By the heavens, he's free !" than the thunder more loud. 
 By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken, — 
 One shout that the dead of the world might awaken. 
 
.ANONYMOUS. 235 
 
 Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang. 
 
 But if you want hangin', it's yourself you must bang ; 
 
 To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin, 
 
 An' the divil's in the dice- if you catch him agin. 
 
 The sojers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that. 
 
 An' father Malone lost his new Sunday hat ; 
 
 An' the sheriflfs wor both of them punished sevarely. 
 
 An' fined like the divil, because Jim done them fairly. 
 
 A week after dis time, widout firing a cannon, 
 A sharp Yankee schooner sailed out of the Shannon ; 
 An' the captain left word he was goin' to Cork, 
 But the divil a bit — he was bound to New York. 
 The very next spring — a bright morning in May, — 
 Just six months after the " great hanging day," — 
 A letter was brought to the town of Kiidare, 
 And on the outside was written out fair — 
 " To ould Mrs. O'Brien, in Ireland, or elsewhere." 
 And the inside began — " My dear good ould mother, 
 I'm safe and am happy — and not wishin' to bother 
 You in the radin' (with the help of the priest), 
 I send you inclosed in this letter, at laist, 
 Enuf to pay him, and to fetch you away 
 To this * land of the free and brave,' Amerika. 
 Here you'll be happy, and never nade cryin'. 
 So long as 5'^ou're mother of Shamiis O'Brien. 
 Give my love to swate Biddy, and tell her beware * 
 Of that spalpeen who calls himself * Lord of Kiidare ;' 
 And just say to the judge, I don't now care a rap 
 For him, or his wig, or his dirty black cap. 
 And as for dragoons, them paid men of slaughter. 
 Say I love them as the divil loves holy water. 
 And now, my good mother, one word of advice : 
 Fill your bag with potatoes, and whiskey, and rice ; 
 And when ye start from ould Ireland, take passage at Cork, 
 And come strate over to the town of New York ; 
 And there ax the Mayor the best way to go 
 To the state of Sinsnaty — ^in the town of Ohio ; 
 For 'tis dare you will find me, widout much tryin'. 
 At * The Harp and the Eagle,' kept by Shamus O'Brien." 
 
 Anonymous, 
 
236 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 23. THE RHYMING APOTHECARY. 
 
 A MEMBER of the ^sculapian line 
 Lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne ; 
 No man could better gild a pill, 
 
 Or make a bill ; 
 Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister ; 
 Or draw a tooth out of your head ; 
 Or chatter scandal by your bed ; 
 
 Or spread a plaster. 
 
 His fame full six miles round the country ran ; 
 
 In short, in reputation he was solus ; 
 All the women called him " a fine man !" 
 
 His name was Bolus. 
 
 Benjamin Bolus, though in trade 
 
 (Which, oftentimes, will genius fetter), 
 Read works of fancy, it is said ; 
 
 And cultivated the belles-lettres. 
 And why should this be thought so odd ? 
 
 Can't men have taste, who cure a phthisic ? 
 Of poetry though patron god, 
 
 Apollo patronizes physic. 
 Bolus loved verse, and took so much dehght in't, 
 That his prescriptions he resolved to write in't» 
 
 No opportunity he e'er let pass. 
 
 Of writing the directions on his labels. 
 In dapper couplets — like Gay's Fables ; 
 
 Or, rather like the lines in Hudibras. 
 
 Apothecary's verse ! — and where 's the treason ? 
 
 'Tis simple honest dealing — not a crime ; 
 When patients swallow physic without reason, 
 
 It is but fair to give a httle rhyme. 
 
 He had a patient, lying at death's door. 
 Some three miles from the town, — it might be fowr-,- 
 To whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article. 
 In pharmacy, that's called cathartical. 
 And on the label of the stuff 
 He wrote verse ; 
 
COLMAN. 237 
 
 Which, one would think, was clear enough, 
 And terse "i 
 " When taken. 
 To be well shaken." 
 
 Early next morning, Bolus rose. 
 And to his patient's house he goes, 
 
 Upon his pad, 
 Which a vile trick of stumbling had : 
 It was, indeed, a very sorry hack ; — 
 
 But, that's of course ; 
 
 For, what's expected from a horse. 
 With an apothecary on his back ? 
 Bolus arrived, and gave a loudish tap, 
 Between a single and a double rap. 
 
 Knocks of this kind, 
 
 Are given by gentlemen, who teach to dance ; 
 
 By fiddlers and by opera singers ; 
 One loud, and then a little one behind. 
 As if the knocker fell by chance 
 
 Out of their fingers. 
 
 The servant lets him in with dismal face, 
 Long as a courtier's out of place — 
 
 Portending some disaster ; 
 John*s countenance as rueful looked and grim. 
 As if th' apothecary had physicked him. 
 
 And not his master. 
 
 " Well, how's the patient ?" Bolus said : 
 
 John shook his head. 
 " Indeed ! — ^hum ! — ^ha ! — that's very odd ! 
 He took the draught ?" John gave a nod. 
 " Well, how ? — ^what then ? Speak out, you dunce !" 
 " Why, then," says John, " we shook him once." 
 " Shook him ! how ?" Bolus stammered out. 
 
 " We jolted him about." 
 " Zounds ! shake a patient, man ! — a shake won't do.'* 
 ** No, sir, and so we gave him two." 
 *' Two shakes ! — odds curse ! 
 'T would make the patient worse." 
 " It did so, sir, and so a third we tried." 
 " Well, and what then ?" — " Then, sir, my master died." 
 
 COLMAN. 
 
238 COMIC AND AMUSmG SELECTIONS. 
 
 24. BROWN STOUT. 
 
 A BREWER, in a country town, 
 
 Had got a monstrous reputation ! 
 No other beer than his went down, — 
 
 The Hosts of the surrounding station 
 Carving his name upon their mugs, 
 
 And painting it on every shujiter ; 
 
 And though some envious folks would utter 
 Hints, that its flavor came from drugs, 
 Others maintained 'twas no such matter. 
 
 But, owing to his monstrous vat, — 
 
 As corpulent, at least, as that 
 At Heidelberg — and some, say fatter. 
 
 His foreman was a lusty black. 
 
 An honest fellow ; 
 But one that had an ugly knack 
 Of tasting samples, as he brewed, 
 
 Till he was stupefied and mellow. 
 One day, in this top-heavy mood. 
 
 Having to cross the vat aforesaid 
 (Just then with boiling beer suppHed), 
 
 O'ercome with giddiness and qualms, he 
 Reeled — fell in — and nothing more said, 
 But in his favorite liquor died. 
 
 Like Clarence in his butt of Malmsey. 
 
 In all directions round about, 
 The negro absentee was sought, 
 But, as no human noddle thought 
 
 That our fat black was made brown stout, 
 They settled that the negro left 
 The place for debt, or crime, or theft. 
 
 Meanwhile, the beer was day by day 
 
 Drawn into casks and sent away. 
 
 Until the lees flowed thick and thicker. 
 
 When, lo ! outstretched upon the ground. 
 
 Once more their missing friend they found. 
 As they'd oft done before, — in liquor ! 
 
 " See," cried his moralizing master, 
 
 " I knew the fellow always drank hard, 
 And prophesied some sad disaster. 
 
AITONYMOUS. 239 
 
 His fate should often tipplers strike. 
 Poor Mungo ! tliere he welters like 
 A toast at bottom of a tankard !" 
 
 Next morn, a Pubhcan whose tap 
 
 Had helped to drain the vat so dry, 
 Not having heard of the mishap, 
 
 Came to demand a fresh supply ; 
 Protesting loudly that the last 
 All previous specimens surpassed — 
 Possessing a much richer gusto. 
 Than formerly it ever used to ; 
 And begging, as a special favor. 
 More of exactly the same flavor. 
 
 " Zounds !" cried the brewer, " that's a task 
 
 More difficult to grant, than ask ! 
 Most gladly would I give the smack 
 
 Of the last beer to the ensuing ; 
 But, where am I to find a black 
 
 To be boiled down at every brewing ?'* 
 
 ANONTMOU& 
 
 25. THE FARMER S BLUNDER. 
 
 A FARMER once to London went. 
 To pay the worthy squire his rent. 
 He comes, he knocks, soon entrance gains, — 
 Who at the door such guests detains ? 
 Forth struts the squire, exceeding smart — 
 " Farmer, you're welcome to my heart ; 
 You've brought my rent then — to a hair ! 
 The best of tenants, I declare !" 
 The steward's called, the account's made even, 
 The money paid, the receipt was given ; 
 "Well," said the squire, "now, you shall stay. 
 And dine with me, old friend, to-day ; 
 I've here some ladies wondrous pretty. 
 And pleasant sparks, too, who will fit ye." 
 Hob scratched his ears, and held his hat, 
 And said — " No, zur, two words to that ; 
 For look, d'ye zee, when I'ze to dine 
 With gentlefolks zo cruel fine, 
 
240 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 I'ze use to make,- — and 'tis no wonder, — 
 In word or deed, some plaguy blunder ; 
 Zo, if your honor will permit, 
 I'll with your zarvants pick a bit." 
 " Poh !" says the squire, " it shan't be done," 
 And to the parlor pushed him on. 
 To all around he nods and scrapes, 
 Not waiting-maid or butler 'scapes ; 
 ' With often bidding takes his seat, ' 
 But at a distance mighty great. 
 Though often asked to draw his chair, 
 He nods, nor comes an inch more near. 
 By madam served with body bended. 
 With knife and fork, and arms extended, 
 He reached as far as he was able. 
 To plate that overhung the table ; 
 With little morsels cheats his chops. 
 And in the passage some he drops. 
 To show where most his heart inclined, 
 He talked and drank to John behind. ^ ^ 
 
 When drank to in a modish way, / 
 
 " Your love's sufficient, zur," he'd say ; 
 And to be thought a man of mannerg, 
 Still rose to make his awkward honors. 
 " Tush," says the squire, " pray keep your sitting," 
 " No, no," he cries, " zur, 'tis not fitting ; 
 Though I'm no scholar, versed in letters, 
 I knaws my duty to my betters." 
 Much mirth the farmer's ways aflford. 
 And hearty laughs went round the board. 
 Thus, the first course was ended well. 
 But, at the next — Ah ! what befell ? 
 The dishes were now timely placed. 
 And table with fresh luxury graced. 
 When drank to by a neighboring charmer. 
 Up as usual starts the farmer. 
 A wag, to carry on the joke. 
 Thus to his servant softly spoke : — 
 " Come hither Dick, step gently there. 
 And pull away the farmer's chair." 
 'Tis done : his congee made, the clown 
 Draws back, and stoops to sit him down ; 
 But, by posteriors overweighed. 
 And of his trusty seat betrayed, 
 
, ANONYMOUS. — ^JOEL BAKLOW. 241 
 
 As men, at twigs, in rivers sprawling, 
 
 He caught the cloth to save his falling ; 
 
 In vain, sad fortune, down he wallowed, 
 
 And rattling, all the dishes followed ! 
 
 The fops soon lost their httle wits. 
 
 The ladies squalled, some fell in fits ; 
 
 Here tumbled turkeys, tarts, and widgeons. 
 
 And there, minced pies, and geese, and pigeons. 
 
 Lord ! what ado 'twixt belles and beaux, 
 
 Some curse, some cry, and rub their clothes ! 
 
 This lady raves, and that looks down. 
 
 And weeps and wails her spattered gOAvn. 
 
 One spark bemoans his greased waistcoat ; 
 
 One, " Rot him, he has spoiled my laced coat !** 
 
 Amidst the rout,«the farmer, long 
 
 Some pudding sucked, and held his tongue ; 
 
 At length he gets him on his breech. 
 
 And scrambles up to make his speech ; 
 
 First rubs his eyes, mouth, nostrils twangs. 
 
 Then snaps his fingers, and harangues : 
 
 " Plague tak't, Ize tell you how'd 'twould be ; 
 
 Look, here's a pickle, zurs, d'ye see — " 
 
 " Peace, brute, begone !" the ladies cry : 
 
 The beaux exclaim, " Fly, rascal, fly !" 
 
 *' I'll tear his eyes out !" squeaks Miss Dolly ; 
 
 " I'll pink his soul out !" roars a bully. 
 
 At this, the farmer shrinks with fear, 
 
 And thinking 'twas ill tarrying here. 
 
 Runs olOf, and cries, " Ay, kill me then, 
 
 Whene'er you catch me here again." ANONYMoua. 
 
 26. HASTY PUDDING. 
 
 Ye Alps audacious, through the heavens that rise. 
 To cramp the day and hide me from the skies ; 
 Ye Gallic flags, that, o'er their heights unfurled, 
 Bear death to kings and freedom to the world, 
 I sing not you. A softer theme I choose, 
 A virgin theme, unconscious of the Muse, 
 But fruitful, rich, well suited to inspire 
 The purest phrensy of poetic fire. 
 11 
 
242 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 Despise it not, ye bards to terror steeled. 
 Who hurl your thunders round the epic field ; 
 Nor ye who strain your midnight throats to sing 
 Joys that the vineyard and the still-house bring ; 
 Or on some distant fair your notes employ. 
 And speak of raptures that you ne'er enjoy. 
 I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel. 
 My morning incense, and my evening meal. 
 The sweets of Hasty Pudding. Come, dear bowl. 
 Glide o'er my palate, and inspire my soul. 
 The milk beside thee, smoking from the kine. 
 Its substance mingled, married in with thine. 
 Shall cool and temper thy superior heat, 
 And save the pains of blowing while I eat. 
 
 Thee, the soft nations round the warm Levant, 
 
 Polanta call ; the French, of course, Polante. 
 
 E'en in thy native regions, how I blush 
 
 To hear the Pennsylvanians call thee Mush ! 
 
 On Hudson's banks, while men of Belgic spawn. 
 
 Insult and eat thee by the name Suppawn. 
 
 All spurious appellations, void of truth : 
 
 I've better known thee from my earliest youth : 
 
 Thy name is Hasty Pudding ! thus our sires 
 
 Were wont to greet thee fuming from the fires ; 
 
 And while they argued in thy just defence. 
 
 With logic clear, they thus explained the sense : 
 
 " In haste the boiling cauldron, o'er the blaze. 
 
 Receives and cooks the ready powdered maize ; 
 
 In Jiaste 'tis served, and then in equal haste, 
 
 With cooling milk we eat the sweet repast. 
 
 Ko carving to be done, no knife to grate 
 
 The tender ear, and wound the stony plate ; 
 
 But the smooth spoon, just fitted to the lip. 
 
 And taught with art the yielding mass to dip. 
 
 By frequent journeys to the bowl well stored. 
 
 Performs the hasty honors of the board." 
 
 Such is thy name, significant and clear, 
 
 A name, a sound to every Yankee dear, 
 
 But most to me, whose heart and palate chaste. 
 
 Preserve my pure, hereditary taste. j^^.^^ Bablow. 
 
LIVEEPOOL NEWSPAPEK. 243 
 
 27. SONG OF THE SPEAKER. 
 
 With patience weary and worn. 
 
 With eyelids heavy as lead. 
 The Speaker sat in his chair of state, 
 
 Nodding his drowsy head ; 
 
 And whilst the dull debate 
 
 Maintained its sluggish reign, 
 The dubious doze, which refuses repose, 
 
 Suggested these thoughts to his brain. 
 
 " Talk— talk— talk ! 
 Whilst the cock is crowing aloof, 
 
 And talk— talk— talk ! 
 Till the stars shine on the roof ; 
 
 It's oh to be the slave. 
 
 The * Infidel dog' of the Turk, 
 Rather than sit to superintend 
 
 This sham senatorial work ! 
 
 " Talk— talk— talk ! 
 
 The rattle never flags ; 
 And what are its products ? Little, alas. 
 
 But rhetoric's wretched rags ! 
 
 A shattered joke, or a naked lie. 
 
 Of candor's cant a store. 
 And a whole so blank, that sleep I thank. 
 
 If it cast its shadow o'er. 
 
 "Talk— talk— talk! 
 From weary chime to chime ; 
 
 And talk— talk— talk ! 
 As if silence were a crime — 
 
 * Oh,' and * Order,' and ' Hear,' 
 
 ' Hear,' and * Order,' and ' Oh'— 
 Till every sense is as drowsy and dense 
 
 As the eye that hath lost its glow. 
 
 " Talk— talk— talk ! " 
 In the dull and heavy night. 
 
 And talk— talk— talk ! 
 When the sun is warm and bright ; 
 
 'Tis ever a winter to me. 
 
 No change the seasons bring. 
 
244: COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 And Nature gay, in her bridal array, 
 But twits me with the spring. 
 
 " Oh, but for one short hour, 
 
 A respite, however brief. 
 From these uttered nothings, that should fill 
 
 The statesman's mind with grief ! 
 A little more work, a little less talk. 
 
 Might ease the common fate ; 
 But the country's smart never touches the heart 
 
 Of the Moloch of Debate." 
 
 With patience weary and worn, 
 
 With eyelids heavy as lead. 
 The Speaker sat in his chair of state, 
 
 Nodding his drowsy head ; 
 
 And whilst the dull debate 
 
 Maintained its sluggish reign, 
 The dubious doze, which refuses repose — 
 Which deadens, oft only to deepen, our woes — 
 
 Suggested these thoughts to his brain. 
 
 LiVEEPOOL Newspaper 
 
 28. EDITORIAL MUSINGS. 
 
 An editor sat on a lofty stool, 
 
 A very long pen was stuck in his ear : 
 Before him productions from rogue and fool. 
 
 In hieroglyphics not over clear. 
 He opened one, and he opened all. 
 
 More hke a machine than a man 
 (How imperturbable editors are !) 
 
 And thus the medley ran : — 
 
 " Are you for taking the duty off tea ?" 
 
 " What's the age of the Pope ?" 
 " When will the next Good Friday be ?" 
 
 " Are you pretty well off for soap V* 
 " Oblige by stating the longest night." 
 
 "Did Shelley make a will ?" 
 " Misther Heedetur, sur, who von the fight. 
 
 The Nobbier or Brummagem Bill ?" 
 
GEORaETOWN ROYAL GAZETTE — J. T. FIELDS. 245 
 
 " Is bone-dust really made into bread ?" 
 
 " Are the Jumpers increasing in Wales ?" 
 ** Where is it that angels fear to tread ?" 
 
 " Have you tried the patent scales ?" 
 ** What color was Polyphemus's eye V* 
 
 " Was the great Alexander a Spartan ?" 
 ** When may an oyster be said to die ?" 
 
 " Who's the oft-mentioned Betty Martin ?" 
 
 Now entered the oflSce an inky youth, 
 
 A mass of most picturesque splashing, 
 'Twould have done him good, a dive after truth. 
 
 If but for the sake of the washing. 
 Awaiting the editor's orders he stood ! 
 
 No emotion his tattooed face tinted ; 
 Comets and corns were the same to him — 
 
 He did not care what was printed. 
 
 The editor handed the boy a list 
 
 That would cover a drawing-room floor, 
 And said, " Just insert these initials and say, 
 
 We have answered these questions before." 
 Then he savagely fell to biting his pen 
 
 (An unsatisfactory ration), 
 And said to the boy, " You can state again 
 
 The amount of our circulation." 
 
 The editor sat on his lofty stool. 
 
 Before him a sheet of foolscap lay ; 
 So many subjects claimed his pen. 
 
 That he doubted what to say. 
 On a sudden he thought of the starving Avorld, 
 
 And advised a plan to feed her : 
 He dashed his pen in the pliant ink 
 
 Buy iht paper, and study the " leader." 
 
 Geougetown Royal Qazettb 
 
 29. THE ALARMED SKIPPER. 
 
 Many a long, long year ago, 
 
 Nantucket skippers had a plan 
 Of finding out, though " lying low," 
 
 How near New*York their schooners ran. 
 
M6 come AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 They greased the kad before it fell, 
 
 And then, by sounding through the night. 
 
 Knowing the soil that stuck, so well. 
 
 They always guessed their reckoning right. 
 
 A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim. 
 
 Could tell, by tasting, just the spot. 
 And so below he'd " dowse the glim" — 
 
 After, of course, his " something hot." 
 
 Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock. 
 This ancient skipper might be found ; 
 
 No matter how his craft would rock. 
 He slept — for skippers' naps are sound ! 
 
 The watch on deck would now and then 
 Run down and wake him, with the lead ; 
 
 He'd up, and taste, and tell the men 
 How many miles they went ahead. 
 
 One night, 'twas Jotham Marden's watch, 
 
 A curious wag — the peddler's son ; 
 And so he mused (the wanton wretch), 
 
 " To-night I'll have a grain of fun. 
 
 ** We're all a set of stupid fools 
 
 To think the skipper knows by tasting 
 
 What ground he's on : Nantucket schools 
 
 Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting !** 
 
 And so he took the well-greased lead. 
 
 And rubbed it o'er a box of earth 
 That stood on deck — (a parsnip bed) — 
 
 And then he sought the skipper's berth. 
 
 " Where are we now, sir ? Please to taste." 
 The skipper yawned, put out his tongue. 
 
 Then oped his eyes in wondrous haste. 
 And then upon the floor he sprung ! 
 
 The skipper stormed, and tore his hair. 
 
 Thrust on his boots, and roared to Harden — 
 
 " Nantucket's sunk, and here we are 
 
 Right over old Harm Hackett's garden !" 
 
 J. T. FiELDa 
 
HUGH PETEES. 24:7 
 
 30. A YANKEE LYRIC. 
 
 There is, in famous Yankee land, 
 A class of men yclept tin-peddlers, 
 A shrewd, sarcastic band 
 Of busy meddlers : 
 They scour the country through and through. 
 Vending their wares, tin pots, tin pans, 
 Tin ovens, dippers, wash-bowls, cans. 
 Tin whistles, kettles, or to boil or stew. 
 Tin cullenders, tin nutmeg-graters. 
 Tin warming-platters for your fish and 'taters ! 
 In short. 
 If you will look within 
 
 His cart. 
 And gaze upon the tin 
 Which glitters there. 
 So bright and fair. 
 There is no danger in defying 
 You to go off without buying. 
 
 One of these cunning, keen-eyed gentry 
 Stopped at a tavern in the country, 
 Just before night. 
 And called for bitters for himself, of course. 
 And fodder for his horse : 
 
 This done, our worthy wight 
 Informed the landlord that his purse was low. 
 Quite empty, I assure you, su*, and so 
 I wish you'd take your pay 
 In something in my way. 
 
 Now Boniface supposed himself a wag — 
 And when he saw that he was sucked, 
 Was not dispirited, but plucked 
 Up courage and his trowsers too ! 
 Quoth he t' himself, I am not apt to brag, 
 'Tis true, 
 But I can stick a feather in my cap 
 By making fun of this same Yankee chap, 
 *' Well, my good friend. 
 That we may end 
 This troublesome affair, 
 
248 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 I'll take my pay in ware, 
 Provided that you've got what suits 
 My inclination." 
 •*No doubt of that," the peddler cri(;d. 
 Sans hesitation : 
 " Well, bring us in a pair of good tin boots !*' 
 " Tin boots f" Our Jonathan espied 
 His landlord's spindle shanks. 
 And giving his good Genius thanks 
 
 For the suggestion. 
 Ran out, returned, and then — " By goles ! 
 . Yes, hete's a pair of candle-moulds ! 
 They'll fit you Avithout question !" 
 
 Hugh Peteb& 
 
 31, VILLAGE GRExVTNESS. 
 
 In every country village, where 
 Ten chimney smokes pprfurae the air. 
 
 Contiguous to a steeple, 
 Great gentlefolks are found, a score. 
 Who can't associate any more 
 
 With common "country people." 
 
 Jack Fallow, born amongst the woods. 
 From rolUng logs, now rolls in goods. 
 
 Enough a while to dash on ; 
 Tells negro stories— smokes cigars — 
 Talks politics — decides on wars — 
 
 And lives in stylish fashion. 
 
 Tim Oxgoad, lately from the plough, 
 A polished gentleman is now. 
 
 And talks about "country fellows ;'* 
 But ask the fop what books he's read. 
 You'll find the brain-pan of his head 
 
 As empty as a bellows. 
 
 Miss Faddle, lately from the v/heel. 
 Begins quite lady-like to feel, 
 And talks affectedly genteel. 
 
, WILLIAM EAY. — ALBERT G. GREENE. . 24:9 
 
 And sings some tasty songs, too ; 
 But, my veracity impeach. 
 If she can tell what part of speech 
 
 Gentility belongs to. 
 
 Without one spark of wit refined — 
 Without one beauty of the mind — 
 
 Genius or education, — 
 Or family or fame to boast ; — 
 To see such gentry rule the roast, , 
 
 Turns patience to vexation. 
 
 To clear such rubbish from the earth, — 
 Though real genius, mental worth. 
 
 And science do attend you, — 
 You might as well the sty refine, 
 Or cast your pearls before the swine ; 
 
 They'd only turn and rend you. ^^^^^^ ^^^ 
 
 32. OLD GRIMES. 
 
 Old Grimes is dead ; that good old man 
 
 We never shall see more ; 
 He used to wear a long black coat, 
 
 All buttoned down before. 
 
 His heart was open as the day. 
 
 His feelings all were true ; 
 His hair was some inclined to gray — 
 
 He wore it in a queue. 
 
 Whene'er he heard the voice of pain. 
 His breast with pity burned ; 
 
 The large round head upon his cane 
 From ivory was turned. 
 
 Kind words he ever had for all ; 
 
 He knew no base design : 
 His eyes were dark and rather small, 
 
 His nose was aquiline. 
 
250 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 He lived at peace with all mankind ; 
 
 In friendship he was true ; 
 His coat had pocket-holes behind. 
 
 His pantaloons were blue. 
 
 Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes 
 
 He passed securely o'er ; 
 And never wore a pair of boots 
 
 For thirty years or more. 
 
 But good old Grimes is now at rest. 
 
 Nor fears misfortune's frown : 
 He wore a double-breasted vest — 
 
 The stripes ran up and down. 
 
 He modest merit sought to find. 
 
 And pay it its desert ; 
 He had no malice in his mind, 
 
 No ruffles on his shirt. 
 
 His neighbors he did not abuse — 
 
 "Was sociable and gay : 
 He wore large buckles on his shoes, 
 
 And changed them every day. 
 
 His knowledge, hid from public gaze. 
 
 He did not bring to view. 
 Nor make a noise, town-meeting days. 
 
 As many people do. ^ 
 
 His worldly goods he never threw 
 
 In trust to Fortune's chances ; 
 But lived (as all his brothers do) 
 
 In easy circumstances. 
 
 Thus undisturbed by anxious cares. 
 
 His peaceful moments ran. 
 And every body said he was 
 
 A fine old gentleman. ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ 
 
, . SAKA J. CLARKE. 251 
 
 33. THE POET. 
 (A parody on Marco Bozzaris.) 
 
 At midnight, in his cottage small, 
 
 The bard was dreaming of the times 
 When cheerily from camp and hall 
 
 Rang out the minstrel's rhymes ! 
 In dreams through courtly scenes he roved, 
 In dreams a royal mistress loved. 
 
 In dreams he clasped her as his brides- 
 Then revelled at the board of kings, 
 Bedecked with ribbons, stars, and rings ; 
 And ever woke his harp's wild strings 
 
 To notes of joy and pride ! 
 
 At midnight, in the court beneath. 
 
 The sheriflf ranged a savage band. 
 Following their game up to the death 
 
 With murderous notes of hand ! 
 There was the draper, trim and neat. 
 There was the burly man of meat. 
 
 Landlord, and tailors four, — 
 Bound on an errand all unblest. 
 Like envious cranes met to molest. 
 With their long bills, a skylark's nest, 
 
 They thronged the poet's door ! 
 
 An hour passed on. The bard awoke,— 
 
 That poet-dream was past ! 
 He wakened to a cry of fear — 
 Of " Hide, dear Tom, the sheriff's here !" 
 He woke to find himself safe hid 
 Beneath a meal chest's friendly lid ! 
 
 To mutter sacres fierce and fast. 
 On baffled foes that round him crowd, — 
 And hear, in accents sharp and loud. 
 
 The sheriff cheer his band ! 
 Search ! till each closet is explored — 
 Search ! landlord, for thy bill of board ! 
 Search for the wines against him scored— •■ 
 
 And, tailors, lend a hand ! 
 
 They sought like Shylocks, long and hard, 
 
 Around, beneath, and overhead ; 
 But vainly all — they left the bard 
 
 Snug in his mealy bed ! 
 
252 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 Then his indignant Susan saw 
 Those shameless wreckers of the law 
 
 Had nabbed his Sunday coat I 
 She saw the fearful look he wore. 
 As then and there he roundly swore 
 To leave his thankless native shore, 
 
 Upon that morning's boat ! g^^^ j^ ^lauhc 
 
 34. THE world's a stage. 
 
 (Mrs. PartingtoD's " Seven Ages.") 
 
 All the world's a stage. 
 And all the men and women merely passengers ; 
 They have their axes and their entry ways. 
 And one man keeps time and plays his part, 
 And all the axes have seven edges. First the baby. 
 Mewling, &c, in its nurse's arras ; 
 And then the winning school-boy with his scratchawl. 
 And shiny mourning face, running like a snail 
 Unwittingly to school ; then the lover, 
 Sighing like a foundry with an awful bandage 
 Made for his mistress' eyebrows ; then the soldier, 
 Full of strangle oaths, and bearded like a pardner. 
 Zealous in horror, scrubbing a stick in quarrel. 
 Seeking the blubber refutation 
 Into the cannon mouth ; then a justice of the peace 
 In fair round belly, with good apron lined ; 
 His eyes so sore and beard of normal cut, 
 Full of old handsaws and modern mischances ; 
 And so he brays his part ; the sixth edge shimmies 
 Into the lean and slippery pair of pantaloons 
 With youthful hoes, well shaved, a world too wide 
 For his crook shank ; and his big homely voice, 
 Turning a grain toward hardish pebble, pipes 
 And mizzles in his sound ; and last of all 
 That ends this s^j^ained repentful history. 
 Is second childishness and mere pavilion, 
 Sands* teeth. Sands' eyes, Sands' tasting, Sands* Sarsapanllal 
 
 Anonymous* 
 
DOW, JE. 
 
 35. IMPROVEMENT. 
 
 253 
 
 Mv DEAR FRIENDS, I mean to speak of the spirit of improve- 
 ment in general terms, as relating to enlightenment, the ad- 
 vancement of knowledge and progress in the arts and sciences. 
 in this respect, it is like the rolling avalanche, that leaves de- 
 tached portions of its bulk by the way, and yet keeps augment- 
 ing in its circumvolutionary course. Hardy Enterprise first goes 
 forward as a pioneer in the untracked wilderness, and commen- 
 ces fight with the mighty trees of the forest, cutting them off, 
 some in the prime of life, and others in a green old age, and 
 compelling them to spill their sap upon their country's soil. 
 Then walks Agriculture into them 'ere diggins, with spade, 
 harrow, and hoe, and scatters the seed of promise hither and 
 thither, assuring the hopeful settler that his children's children 
 shall sop their hard-earned crumbs in the real gravy of the land. 
 The handmaid Art then comes forward, erects edifices of splen- 
 dor, and leaves her ornaments of skill on every side — builds 
 studios for the scholars of science, and throws facilities in their 
 way for increasing their wisdom, or for making egregious fools 
 of themselves. 
 
 Such, my hearers, is the spirit of improvement. Like the 
 overflowing of a stream that covers and enriches the valley, it 
 betters the natural and social condition of man, opens wide the 
 avenues to the temple of reason, and "expands the young buds 
 of prosperity. Brush away the fog of a couple of centuries, 
 and take a look at this, our native land, as it then appeared. 
 Here, upon the Atlantic shore, the scream of the panther arose 
 on the midnight air with the savage war-whoop, and the pale- 
 faced pilgrim trembled for the safety of his defenceless home. 
 He planted his beans in fear and gathered them in trouble ; his 
 chickens and his children were plundered by the foe, and fife it- 
 self was in danger of leaking out from between the logs of his 
 hut, even if it w^ere fortified with three muskets, a spunky wife, 
 and a jug of whiskey. Yes, my friends, this was then a wild, 
 gloomy, and desolate place. Where the Indian squaw hung her 
 young pappoose upon the bough and left it to squall at the hush- 
 a-by of the blast, the Anglo-Saxon mother now rocks the cradle 
 of her delicate babe on the carpet of peace, and in the gay paj - 
 Jor of fashion. The v/ild has been changed to a blooming gar- 
 den, and its limits are expanding with the mighty genius of 
 Liberty. On Erie's banks tlic flocks are now straying o'er thy- 
 my pastures, and a few Dutchmen (but no shepherds) are already 
 
254 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 piping there. The yells of fierce savages now faintly echo from 
 beyond the waters of the Mississippi, and the time is not far ofif 
 when the last Indian will leave his bones to bleach on the rock- 
 bound coast of the Pacific. P^^ j^. 
 
 36. DESPAIR. 
 
 The whitest foam dances upon the darkest billow, and the 
 stars shine the brightest when surrounded by the blackest of 
 thunder- clouds ; even as a diamond pin glistens with the greatest 
 effulgence when fastened upon the ebony bosom of an Ethio- 
 pian wench. So hope mirrors its most brilliant rays in the dark 
 wave of despair, and happiness is never so complete as when 
 visited occasionally by the ministers of misery. These ups and 
 downs in the pathway of man's existence are all for the best, 
 and yet he allows them to vex and torment his peace till he 
 bursts the boiler of his rage, and scalds his own toes. I have 
 no doubt but the common run of people would like to have a 
 railroad built from here to the grave, and go through by steam ; 
 but if they all worked as easy in life's galling collar as I do, 
 they would have things just as they are ; some ups and some 
 downs — some sweet and some bitter — some sunshine and some 
 storm ; because they constitute a variety. I wouldn't give a 
 shinplaster penny to have the road of existence perfectly level ; 
 for I should soon become tired of a dull sameness of prospect, 
 and make myself miserable in the idea that I must experience 
 no material change, either for better or for worse. Plum-pud- 
 ding is most excellent stuff to wind off a dinner with ; but all 
 plum-pudding would be worse than none at all. So you see, 
 my friends, the trouble and trials of life are absolutely neces- 
 ttrtry to enable us to judge rightly of genuine happiness, when- 
 ever it happens to enliven the saturnine region of the heart with 
 its presence. 
 
 If we never were to have our jackets and shirts wet with the 
 cold rain of misfortune, we should never know how good it feels 
 to stand out and dry in the warm rays of comfort. You needn't 
 hesitate ever to travel through swamps of trouble, for fear of 
 sintJijg over head in the mud of despondency ; for despair is 
 never quite despair. No, my friends, it never comes quite up 
 to the mark in the most desperate cases. I know the prospects 
 of man are sometimes most tormentingly conglomerous ; but 
 
DOW, JR. 255 
 
 the clouds eventually clear away, and liis sky again becomes 
 clear and quiescent as a basin of potato starch. His sun of 
 ambition may be darkened — his moon of memory turned to 
 blood — and the star of his peace blotted from the firmament of 
 his, I don't know what ; but he is not entirely a gone goose 
 even in this situation. Those semi- celestial angels of light and 
 loveliness, Hope and Fancy, will twine the sweetest of roses 
 round his care-wrinkled brow ; and while one whispers in his 
 ear, " Don't give up the ship," the other dresses up for him a 
 bower of future happiness, and festoons it with the choicest of 
 elysian flowers. The very darkest cell of despair always lias a 
 gimlet-hole to let the glory of hope shine in, and dry up the 
 tears of the poor prisoner of woe P^^ j^ 
 
 37. NATURE. 
 
 My dear friends, it matters not upon whichsoever side we 
 turn our eyes, we behold such beauty in its primitive nakedness 
 as cannot fail to captivate the heart of every true worshipper of 
 the God of nature, and make him feel as though ten thousand 
 caterpillars were crawHng up and down the ossified railway of 
 his back. Look at yonder myriads of stars that glitter and 
 sparkle from the dome of heaven's high concave ! Say, is there 
 not beauty in these ? Ay, there is beauty magnificent in these 
 little celestial trinkets that stud the ebon brow of night — 
 shining, as they do, like a multitude of beacon-lights of glory 
 in the blue-black of eternity, or like so many cats' eyes in a win- 
 dowless garret. Observe the silvery moon, pale-faced Cynthia, 
 wandering Luna, or whatever you choose to call her : see how 
 gracefully she promenades the self-same path which was laid out 
 for her at the beginning of the world. Look at the resplendent 
 sun : see how it has maintained its unsullied brightness through 
 the rust-gathering ages of time. Not a single thread has been 
 lost from its golden fringe, and not even a fly-speck has marred its 
 splendor ; but it is to-day the same beautiful, lovely object that 
 it was when it first burst upon Paradise, and rolled back the 
 darkness of chaos into the unknown regions of nowhere. There 
 is beauty at sunset. Who can look at all the glories of an 
 autumnal twilight, and not have the furze upon his hands rise 
 up in rapture ! Oh, it is, by all odds, the grandest and sub- 
 
256 COMIC AND AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 limest picture in the great academy of nature ! At the fes- 
 tooned gates of the West, angels of peace and loveHness have 
 furled their purple wings, and are sweetly sleeping with their 
 heads upon pillows of amber, over-canopied with curtains of 
 damask and crimson, tempting poor mortals like us to climb up 
 the ladder of imagination, and steal kisses by the bushel ' 
 When the morning, too, as my friend Hudibras observes, like a 
 boiled lobster, begins to turn from brown to red, there is beauty 
 of the tallest order. Yes, when Aurora hangs out her red 
 under-garment from her chamber window, prepares her per- 
 fumed toilet, and sweeps out the last speck of darkness from 
 the Oriental parlor, there is such blushing beauty lesting upon 
 the eastern hill- tops, as cannot fail to be appreciated by any one 
 whose heart-strings are not composed of catgut and horse-hair. 
 
 Dow, Ju. 
 
 38. SLUMBER. 
 
 Various philosophers and naturahsts have attempted to de- 
 fine man. I never was satisfied with their labors : absurd to 
 pronounce him a t\«o-legged, unfeathered animal, when it is 
 obvious he is a sleepy one. In this world there is business 
 enough for every individual : a sparkling sky over his head to 
 admire, a soil under his feet to till, and innumerable objects, 
 useful and pleasant, to choose. But such in general is the pro- 
 voking indolence of our species, that the hves of many, if im- 
 partially journahzed, might be truly said to have consisted of a 
 series of slumbers. Some men are invested with day-dreams, 
 as well as by visions of the night : they travel a certain insipid 
 roundj like the blind horse of the mill, and, as Bolingbroke ob- 
 serves, perhaps beget others to do the like after them. They 
 may sometimes open their eyes a little, but they are soon dimmed 
 by some lazy fog ; they may sometimes stretch a limb, but its 
 efforts are soon palsied by procrastination. Yawning, amid to- 
 bacco fumes, they seem to have no hopes, except that their bed 
 will soon be made, and no fears, except that their slumbers Avill 
 be broken by business clamoring at the door. 
 
 How tender and affectionate is the reproachful question of 
 Solomon, " When wilt thou arise out of sleep ?" Yet, at the 
 present time, few Solomons exist to preach against pillows, and 
 never was there more occasion for a sermon. Our country be* 
 
DEKPOE. 257 
 
 ing at peace, not a drum is heard to rouse the slothful. But, 
 though we are exempted from the tumults and vicissitudes of 
 war, we should remember that there are many posts of duty, if 
 not of danger, and at these we should vigilantly stand. If we 
 will stretch the hand of exertion, means to acquire competent 
 wealth, and honest fame, abound ; and when such ends are in 
 view, how shameful to close our eyes ! He who surveys the 
 paths of active life, will find them so numerous and long, that 
 he will feel the necessity of early rising, and late taking rest, to 
 accomplish so much travel. He who pants for the shade of 
 speculation, will find that literature cannot flourish in the bow- 
 ers of indolence and monkish gloom. Much midnight oil must 
 be consumed, and innumerable pages examined, by him whose 
 object is to be really wise. Few hours has that ma,n to sleep, 
 tmd not one to loiter, who has many coffers of wealth to fill, or 
 many cells in his memory to store. Dennie. 
 
 39. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 Among the various men whom I see in the course of my pil- 
 grimage through this world, I cannot frequently find those who 
 are broad awake. Sloth, a powerful magician, mutters a witch- 
 ing spell, and deluded mortals tamely suffer this drowsy being 
 to bind a fillet over their eyes. All their activity is employed 
 in turning themselves like a door on a rusty hinge, and all the 
 noise they make in the world is a snore. When I see one, de- 
 signed by nature for noble purposes, indolently declining the 
 privilege, and, heedless, like Esau, bartering the birthright for 
 what is of less worth than his red pottage of lentils, for liberty 
 to sit still and lie quietly, — I think I see, not a man, but an oys- 
 ter. The drone in society, like that fish on our shores, might as 
 well be sunken in the mud, and inclosed in a shell, as stretched 
 on a couch, or seated in a chimney-corner. 
 
 The season is now approaching fast, Avhen some of the most 
 plausible excuses for a little more sleep must fail. Enervated 
 by indulgence, the slothful are of all men most impatient of cold, 
 and they deem it never more intense than in the morning. But 
 the last bitter month has rolled away, and now, could I per- 
 suade to the experiment, the sluggard may discover that he may 
 toss off the bedquilt, and try the air of early day without being 
 congealed ! He may be assured that sleep is a very stupid em- 
 
258 COMIC ANB AMUSING SELECTIONS. 
 
 ployment, and diflfers very little from death, except in duration. 
 He may receive it implicitly, upon the faith both of the physi- 
 cian and the preacher, that morning is friendly to the health 
 and the heart ; and if the idler is so manacled by the chains of 
 habit, that he can, at first, do no more, he will do wisely and 
 well to inhale pure air, to watch the rising sun, and mark the 
 magnificence of nature. Dbnnie. 
 
259 
 
 SELECTIONS IN POETEY, 
 
 1. THE SOLDIER S TEAR. 
 
 Upon the hill he turned 
 
 To take a last fond look. 
 Of the valley and the village church 
 
 And the cottage by the brook ; 
 He listened to the sounds. 
 
 So familiar to his ear. 
 And the soldier leant upon his sword 
 
 And wiped away a tear. 
 
 Beside that cottage porch 
 
 A girl was on her knees. 
 She held aloft a snowy scarf, 
 
 Which fluttered in the breeze ; 
 She breathed a prayer for him, 
 
 A prayer he could not hear, 
 But he paused to bless her, as she knelt. 
 
 And wiped away a tear. 
 
 He turned and left the spot. 
 
 Oh, do not deem him weak ; 
 For dauntless was the soldier's heart. 
 
 Though tears were on his cheek : 
 Go watch the foremost rank 
 
 In danger's dark career. 
 Be sure the hand most daring there 
 
 Has wiped away a tear. rr ^ b^ilet 
 
260 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 2. THE VETERAN. 
 
 It was a Sabbath mom, 
 
 The bell had chimed for church, 
 And the young and gay were gathering 
 
 Around the rustic porch ; 
 
 There came an aged man. 
 
 In a soldier's garb was he. 
 And gazing round the group, he cried, 
 
 " Do none remember me ?" 
 
 The veteran forgot 
 
 His friends were changed or gone ; 
 The manly forms around him there, 
 
 As children he had known : 
 
 He pointed to the spot 
 
 Where his dwelling used to be. 
 Then told his name, and smiling said, 
 
 " You now remember me !" 
 
 Alas ! none knew him there ! 
 
 He pointed to a stone, 
 On which the name he breathed was traced 
 
 A name to them unknown ; 
 
 And then the old man wept, 
 
 " I am friendless, now," cried he ;' 
 *' Where I had many friends in youth, 
 
 Not one remembers me !" 
 
 T. H. Bailbt 
 
 THE DESERTER. 
 
 *Tis the dismal beat of a muffled drum, 
 
 A crowd on the rampart gathers ; 
 What means that dirge amid prancing steeds. 
 
 Bright armor and flaunting feathers ! - 
 In the martial throng one warrior kneels. 
 
 With no Avarrior's garb upon him, 
 And he hides his face with his folded hands. 
 
 For his old companions shun him. 
 
T. H. BAILEY. 
 
 The deserter shrinks from the thought of death. 
 
 But it is not a coward's terror. 
 No, fain would he die in well-fought field, 
 
 To blot out one fatal error ! 
 Again ! 'tis the beat of the muffled drum. 
 
 And the fatal arms are ready. 
 And the prisoner waits for the signal word. 
 
 With an aspect calm and steady. 
 
 They have bound his eyes with a silken fold. 
 
 But his hands again displace it : 
 For he who deserves so vile a doom. 
 
 Hath at least the nerve to face it ; 
 Shall the brand of dishonor gall the heart. 
 
 That hath sighed for the wreath of glory ? 
 Shall his children blush for their father's shame. 
 
 261 
 
 When they hear the mournful story ? 
 
 T. H. BAiunr 
 
 4. THE PILOT. 
 
 Oh, pilot ! 'tis a fearful night, 
 
 There's danger on the deep, 
 I'll come and pace the deck with thee, 
 
 I do not dare to sleep. 
 Go down ! the sailor" cried, go down, 
 
 This is no place for thee : 
 Fear not ; but trust in Providence, 
 
 Wherever thou mayst be. 
 
 Ah ! pilot, dangers often met. 
 
 We all are apt to slight. 
 And thou hast known these raging waves 
 
 But to subdue their might. 
 It is not apathy, he cried, 
 
 That gives this strength to me : 
 Fear not, but trust in Providence, 
 
 Wherever thou mayst be. 
 
 On such a night the sea engulfed 
 
 My father's lifeless form ; 
 My only brother's boat went down 
 
 In just so wild a storm * 
 
262 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 And such, perhaps, may be my fate, 
 
 But still I say to thee 
 Fear not ; but trust in Providence, 
 
 Wherever thou mayst be. rp j^ bailey. 
 
 5. THE OLD MAN S RE VERY. 
 
 Of what is the old man thinking. 
 
 As he leans on his oaken staff? 
 From the May-day pastime shrinking. 
 
 He shares not the merry laugh. 
 But the tears of the old man flow, 
 
 As he looks on the young and gay ; 
 And his gray head, moving slow. 
 
 Keeps time to the air they play. 
 The elders around are drinking, 
 
 But not one cup will he quaff: 
 Oh, of what is the old man thinking. 
 
 As he leans on his oaken staff? 
 
 'Tis not with a vain repining 
 
 That the old man sheds a tear, 
 'Tis not for his strength declining — 
 
 He sighs not to linger here. 
 There's a spell in the air they play. 
 
 And the old man's eyes are dim. 
 For it calls up a past May-day, 
 
 And the dear friends lost to him. 
 From the scene before him shrinking. 
 
 From the dance and the merry laugh, 
 Of their calm repose he is thinking. 
 
 As he leans on his oaken staff. m tt ;rajt j-t 
 
 6. OFT IN religion's NAME. 
 
 Too oft in pure Religion's name 
 Hath human blood been spilt. 
 
 And Pride hath claimed a patriot's fame. 
 To crown the deed of guilt. 
 
T. H. BAILEY. 263 
 
 Oh ! look not on the field of blood — 
 
 Religion is not there : 
 Her battle-field is solitude — 
 
 Her only watchword, Prayer ! 
 
 The sable cowl ambition wears 
 
 To hide its laurel wreath ; 
 The spotless sword that virtue bears. 
 
 Will slumber in its sheath. 
 The truly brave fight not for fame, 
 
 Though fearless they go forth ; 
 They war not in religion's name — 
 
 They pray for peace on earth. 
 
 By them, that fear is never felt 
 
 Which weakly clings to life. 
 If shrines by which their fathers knelt 
 
 Be perilled in the strife. 
 Not theirs the heart that, spiritless. 
 
 From threatened wrong withdraws ; 
 Not theirs the vaunted holiness 
 
 That veils an earthly cause. ,p jj Bailkt 
 
 7. THE UNBELIEVER. 
 
 Is there an unbeliever f 
 
 One man who walks the earth, 
 And madly doubts that Providence 
 
 Watched o'er him at his birth ? 
 He robs mankind forever 
 
 Of hopes beyond the tomb : 
 What gives he as a recompense ? 
 
 The brute's unhallowed doom. 
 
 In manhood's loftiest hour, ' 
 
 In health, and strength, and pride. 
 Oh ! lead his steps through valleys green. 
 
 Where rills 'mid cowslips glide : 
 Climb nature's granite tower. 
 
 Where man hath rarely trod ; 
 And will he then, in such a scene. 
 
 Deny there is a God ? 
 
264. SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 Yes — the proud heart will ever W 
 
 Prompt the false tongue's reply ; 
 An omnipresent Providence 
 
 Still madly he'll deny. 
 But see the unbeliever 
 
 Sinking in death's decay ; 
 And hear the cry of penitence ! — 
 
 He never learnt to pray. ^ ^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 8. THE DREAM OP DARKNESS. 
 
 I HAD a dream ; and yet, methought, 
 
 It was not all a dream : 
 'Mid darkness brooding wide, I sought, 
 
 But found no cheering beam. 
 
 At first there was one flickering ray. 
 Which shot athwart the gloom. 
 
 Like ghastly smile on rotting clay, 
 Within the cold, damp tomb. 
 
 Long hours I strove, with painful gasp, 
 To catch one breath of light ; 
 
 But at my throat a demon's grasp 
 Seemed laid with deadly might. 
 
 That glimmer fled, I cursed my birth ; 
 
 I cursed the sun that gave ; 
 For darkness pressed, like trodden earth. 
 
 Upon a live man's grave. 
 
 Cold on my limbs, as on the dead, 
 A clammy mold there came ; 
 
 Foul slimy worms crawled there and fed— 
 They gnawed my wasting frame. 
 
 A fire-fly once came flitting by ; 
 
 A moment — ^it was gone : 
 I saw (and prayed that I might die) 
 
 A sister's skeleton. 
 
KICHAED BACON, JR. — ^THOMAS HOOD. 265 
 
 That was the last ! Like guilty men, 
 
 To black perdition hurled, 
 No ray of hope was left me then — 
 
 For darkness was the world. 
 
 Richard Bacon, Jb. 
 
 9. I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. 
 
 I REMEMBER, I remember. 
 
 The house where I was born ; 
 The little window where the sun 
 
 Came peeping in at morn : 
 He never came a wink too soon, 
 
 Nor. brought too long a day ; 
 But now, I often wish the night 
 
 Had borne my breath away ! 
 
 I remember, I remember. 
 
 The roses — red and white ; 
 The violets and the lily-cups, - 
 
 Those flowers made of light ! 
 The lilacs where the robin built. 
 
 And where my brother set 
 The laburnum on his birth-day, — 
 
 The tree is living yet ! 
 
 F remember, I remember. 
 
 Where I was used to swing ; 
 And thought the air must rush as fresh 
 
 To swallows on the wing. 
 My spirit flew in feathers then. 
 
 That is so heavy now, 
 And summer pools could hardly cool 
 
 The fever on my brow ! 
 
 I remember, I remember. 
 
 The fir-trees dark and high ; 
 I used to think their slender tops 
 
 Were close against the sky : 
 It was a childish ignorance, 
 
 But now 'tis little joy 
 To know I'm further off from heaven 
 
 Than when I was a boy. Thomas Hood. 
 
 12 
 
266 SELECTIONS m POETRY. 
 
 10. GOLD. 
 
 Gold ! gold ! gold ! gold ! 
 Bright and yellow, hard and cold. 
 Molten, graven, hammered and rolled ; 
 Heavy to get and light to hold ; 
 Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold. 
 Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled : 
 Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old. 
 To the very verge of the church-yard mold j 
 Price of many a crime untold ! 
 Gold ! gold ! gold ! gold ! 
 Good or bad a thousand-fold ! 
 
 How widely its agencies vary, — 
 To save — to ruin — to curse — to bless — 
 As even its minted coins express ; 
 Now stamped with the image of Good Queen Bess, 
 
 And now of a Bloody Mary ! ^^^^^^ jjoou 
 
 11. AVENGED HONOR. 
 
 Honor, thou blood-stained god ! at whose red altar 
 
 Sit war and homicide, oh, to what madness 
 
 Will insult drive thy votaries ! By heaven ! » 
 
 In the world's range there does not breathe a man 
 
 Whose brutal nature I more strove to soothe. 
 
 With long forbearance, kindness, courtesy, 
 
 Than his who fell by me. But he disgraced me, 
 
 Stained me : oh, death and shame ! the world looked on. 
 
 And saw this sinewy savage strike me down ; 
 
 Rain blows upon me, drag me to and fro. 
 
 On the base earth, like carrion. Desperation, 
 
 In every fibre of my frame, cried vengeance ! 
 
 I left the room, which he had quitted : chance — 
 
 Curse on the chance ! — while boiling with my wrongs. 
 
 Thrust me against him, darkling, in the street : 
 
 I stabbed him to the heart ; and my oppressor 
 
 Rolled lifeless at my foot. 
 
 E'en at the moment when I gave the blow. 
 
 Butchered a fellow- creature in the dark. 
 
COLMAN. 
 
 I had all good men's love. But my disgrace, 
 
 And my opponent's death, thus linked with it, 
 
 Demanded notice of the magistracy. 
 
 They summoned me, as friend would summon friend, 
 
 To acts of import and communication. 
 
 We met ; and 'twas resolved, to stifle rumor. 
 
 To put me on my trial. No accuser. 
 
 No evidence appeared to urge it on : 
 
 'Twas meant to clear my fame. How clear it then ? 
 
 How cover it ? you say. Why, by a lie ; 
 
 Guilt's offspring and its guard. I taught this breast. 
 
 Which truth once made her throne, to forge a he ; 
 
 This tongue to utter ft ; rounded a tale. 
 
 Smooth as a seraph's song from Satan's mouth ; 
 
 So well- compacted, that the o'erthronged court 
 
 Disturbed cool justice in her judgment-seat, 
 
 By shouting " innocence !" ere I had finished. 
 
 The court enlarged me ; and the giddy rabble 
 
 Bore me in triumph home. Ay ! look upon me. 
 
 I know thy sight aches at me. 
 
 I ask no consolation. 
 
 Hurt honor, in an evil, cursed hour, 
 
 Drove me to murder — lying : 'twould again. 
 
 My honesty, sweet peace of mind, all, all 
 
 Are bartered for a name. I will maintain it. 
 
 Should slander whisper o'er my sepulchre. 
 
 And my soul's agency survive in death, 
 
 I could embody it with heaven's lightning, 
 
 And the hot shaft of my insulted spirit 
 
 Should strike the blaster of my memory 
 
 Dead, in the church-yard. ^ ^^ 
 
 267 
 
 12. POSTHUMOUS FAME. 
 
 This honest soul 
 
 Would fain look cheery in my house's gloom ; 
 
 And, like a gay and sturdy evergreen. 
 
 Smiles in the midst of blast and desolation. 
 
 Where all around him withers. Well, well, wither ! 
 
 Perish this frail and fickle frame, — this clay. 
 
 That, in its dross-like compound, doth contain 
 
SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 The mind's pure ore and essence ! Oh ! that mind- 
 That mind of man ! that god-Hke spring of action ! 
 That source whence learning, virtue, honor, flow ! 
 Which lifts us to the stars ; which carries us 
 O'er the swoln waters of the angry deep, 
 As swallows skim the air ! — Thou fame's sole fountain. 
 That doth transmit a fair and spotless name. 
 When the vile trunk is rotten. Give me this — 
 Oh, give me but to live in after age, 
 Remember'd and unsullied ! — Heaven and earth ! 
 Let my pure flame of honor shine in story. 
 When I am cold in death, and the slow fire, 
 That wears my vitals now, will no more move me. 
 Than 'twould a corse within a monument ! Colmah 
 
 13. MONTEREY. 
 
 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 stept. 
 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 ; 
 
C. F. HOFFMAN. ALBERT PIKE. 269 
 
 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 ? 
 
 0. F. Hoffman 
 
 14. BUENA VISTA. 
 
 From the Rio Grande's waters to the icy lakes of Maine, 
 
 Let all exult ! for we have met the enemy again — 
 
 Beneath their stern old mountains, we have met them in their 
 
 pride. 
 And rolled from Buena Yista 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 blood. 
 
 Santa Anna boasted loudly, that before two hours were past, 
 His lancers through Saltillo should pursue us thick and fast : 
 On came his solid regiments, line marching after line ; 
 Lo ! their great standards in the sun like sheets of silver shine ! 
 With thousands 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 flam- 
 ing steel ! 
 Before his serried column, how the frightened lancers reel ! 
 They flee 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 flank 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. 
 
270 SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 Lo ! — tlieir battery is silenced now : our iron hail still showers : 
 They falter, halt, retreat ! — Hurra ! 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 the 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, 
 Desparingly and sullen, in the night, Santa Anna fled. 
 
 Albert Pike. 
 
 15. DARKNESS. 
 
 1 HAD a dream," which was not all a dream. 
 The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars 
 Did wander, darkling, in the eternal space, 
 Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth 
 Swung blind, and blackening, in the moonless air ; 
 Morn came, and went — and came, and brought no day; 
 And men forgot their passions, in the dread 
 Of this their desolation ; and all hearts 
 Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light. 
 
 Some lay down. 
 And hid their eyes, and wept ; and some did rest 
 "^heir chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled ; 
 
BYKON. 271 
 
 And others hurried to and fro, and fed 
 
 Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up. 
 
 With mad disquietude, on the dull sky. 
 
 The pall of a past world ; and then again, 
 
 With curses, cast them down upon the dust, 
 
 And gnashed their teeth, and howled. The wild birds shrieked, 
 
 And, terrified, did flutter on the ground. 
 
 And flap their useless wings : the wildest brutes 
 
 Came tame, and tremulous ; and vipers crawled 
 
 And twined themselves among the multitude. 
 
 Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food. 
 
 The meager by the meager were devoured ; 
 
 Even dogs assailed their masters — all save one. 
 
 And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 
 
 The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay, 
 
 Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead 
 
 Lured their lank jaws ; himself sought out no food, 
 
 But, with a piteous and perpetual moan, 
 
 And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand 
 
 Which answered not with a caress — he died. 
 
 The crowd was famished by degrees ; but two 
 Of an enormous city did survive. 
 And they were enemies ; they met beside 
 The dying embers of an altar-place. 
 Where had been heaped a mass of holy things. 
 For an unholy usage : they raked up. 
 And, shivering, scraped, with their cold skeleton hands, 
 The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath 
 Blew for a little life, and made a flame. 
 Which was a mockery : then they lifted 
 Their eyes, as it grew lighter, and beheld 
 Each other's aspects : saw, and shrieked, and died. 
 Even of their mutual hideousness they died. 
 Unknowing who he was upon whose brow 
 Famine had written fiend. The world was void ; 
 The populous and the powerful was a lump — 
 Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless ; 
 A lump of death — a chaos of hard clay. 
 The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still. 
 And nothing stirred within their silent depths : 
 Ships, sailorlcss, lay rotting on the sea. 
 And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropped. 
 They slept, on the abyss, without a surge : 
 The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave ; 
 
272 8ELE0TI0I>rS IN POETKY. 
 
 The moon, their mistress, had expired before ; 
 
 The winds were withered in the stagnant air. 
 
 And the clouds perished : darkness had no need 
 
 Of aid from them ; she was the universe. Byeo* 
 
 16. SOLITUDE. 
 
 To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell. 
 
 To slowly trace the forest's shady scene. 
 Where things that own not man's dominion dwell. 
 
 And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been ; 
 To climb the trackless mountain all unseen. 
 
 With the wild flock, that never needs a fold ; 
 Alone, o'er steeps and foaming folds to lean ; — 
 
 This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold 
 Converse with nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled 
 
 But, midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men. 
 
 To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess. 
 And roam along, the world's tired denizen. 
 
 With none who bless us, none whom we can bless ; 
 Minions of splendor, shrinking from distress ! 
 
 None, that, with kindred consciousness endued. 
 If we were not, would seem to smile the less. 
 
 Of all that flattered, followed, sought, and sued ; — 
 This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude ! Byecn 
 
 17. MAZEPPA. 
 
 ** Bring forth the horse !" — the horse was brought ; 
 
 In truth, he was a noble steed, 
 
 A Tartar of the Ukraine breed. 
 Who looked as though the speed of thought 
 Were in his limbs ; but he was wild. 
 Wild as the wild deer, and untaught. 
 
 With spur and bridle undefiled — 
 'Twas but a day he had been caught ; 
 
 And snorting with erected mane. 
 
 And struggling fiercely, but in vain. 
 In the full foam of wrath and dread. 
 
BYKON. 273 
 
 To me the desert-born was led : 
 They bound me on, that menial throng, 
 Upon his back with many a thong ; 
 They loosed him with a sudden lash ; 
 Away ! away ! — and on we dash ! — 
 Torrents less rapid and less rash. 
 
 Away, away, my steed and I, 
 Upon the pinions of the wind. 
 All human dwelHngs left behind ; 
 We sped like meteors through the sky. 
 When with its crackling sound, the night 
 Is checkered with the northern light ; 
 Town, — village, — none were on our track. 
 But a wild plain of far extent. 
 And bounded by a forest black ; 
 The sky was dull, and dim, and gray. 
 And a low breeze crept moaning by : 
 I could have answered with a sigh ; 
 But fast we fled, away, away, 
 And I could neither sigh nor pray ; 
 And my cold sweat-drops fell, like rain. 
 Upon the courser's bristling mane. 
 
 We neared the wild- wood — 'twas so wide, 
 I saw no bounds on either side ; — 
 The boughs gave way, and did not tear 
 My hmbs, and I found strength to bear 
 My wounds, already scarred with cold — ■ 
 My bonds forbade to loose my hold. 
 We rustled through the leaves like wind. 
 Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind. 
 By night I heard them on my track : 
 Their troop came hard upon our back. 
 With their long gallop, which can tire 
 The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire : 
 
 Where'er we flew they followed on, 
 "Nor left us with the morning sun. 
 Oh ! how I wished for spear or sword, 
 At least to die amidst the horde. 
 And perish, if it must be so. 
 At bay, destroying many a foe. 
 My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, 
 And throbbed a while, then beat no more. 
 12-^ 
 
274: SELEcnoNS m poetry. 
 
 The skies spun like a mighty wheel : 
 I saw the trees like drunkards reel, 
 And a slight flash sprung o'er my eyes. 
 Which saw no further : he who dies 
 Can die no more than then I died, 
 O'ertortured by that ghastly ride. 
 
 A trampling troop ; I see them come ! 
 In one vast squadron they advance ! 
 The sight renerved my courser's feet, 
 A moment staggering, feebly fleet, 
 A moment with a faint low neigh. 
 
 He answered, and then fell ; 
 With gasps and glazing eyes he lay. 
 And reeking limbs immovable : 
 His first and last career is done ! 
 On came the troop — they saw him stoop. 
 They saw me strangely bound along 
 His back with many a bloody thong ; 
 Tliey snort — they foam — neigh — swerve aside. 
 And backward to the forest fly. 
 By instinct, from a human eye. 
 
 They left me there to my despair, 
 Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch. 
 Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, — 
 Relieved from that unwonted weight. 
 From which I could not extricate 
 Nor him nor me ; and there we lay. 
 
 The dying on the dead. ^^^^^ 
 
 18. THE OCEAN. 
 
 There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore. 
 There is society where none intrudes. 
 By the deep sea, and music in its roar : 
 I love not man the less, but nature more, 
 From these our interviews, in which I steal 
 From all I may be, or have been before. 
 To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
 What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 
 
BYPwOJST. 275 
 
 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. 
 Man marks the earth with ruin : his control 
 Stops with the shore ; — upon the wateiy plain 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own ; 
 When for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
 He sinks into thy depths, with bubbling groan. 
 Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. 
 
 The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals, — 
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
 Their clay creator the vain title take 
 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war, — 
 These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake. 
 They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
 Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. 
 
 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee : 
 Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? 
 Thy waters wasted them, while they were free. 
 And many a tyrant since : their shores obey 
 The stranger, slave, or savage : their decay 
 Has dried up realms to deserts : — Not so thou : 
 Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play. 
 Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow : 
 liSttch as creation's dawn beheld, thou roUest now. 
 
 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 
 (Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm. 
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
 Dark-heaving,) — boundless, endless, and sublime — 
 The image of Eternity — the throne 
 Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
 The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
 Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 
 
 Btrox. 
 
276 SELECTIONS m POETKT. 
 
 19. BELSIIAZZAK S VISION. 
 
 The king was on his throne, 
 
 Tlie satraps thronged the hall ! 
 A thousand bright lamps shone 
 
 O'er that high festival. 
 A thousand cups of gold. 
 
 In Judak deemed divine — 
 Jehovah's vessels hold 
 
 The godless Heathen's wine. 
 
 In that same hour and hall. 
 
 The fingers of a hand 
 Came forth against the wall. 
 
 And wrote as if on sand ; 
 The fingers of a man ; — 
 
 A solitary hand 
 Along the letters ran. 
 
 And traced them like a wand. 
 
 The monarch saw, and shook. 
 
 And bade no more rejoice ; 
 All bloodless waxed his look. 
 
 And tremulous his voice. 
 *' Let the men of lore appear. 
 
 The wisest of the eartli. 
 And expound the words of fear 
 
 Which mar our royal mirth.** 
 
 Chaldea's seers are good. 
 
 But here they have no skill ; 
 And the unknown letters stood 
 
 Untold and awful still. 
 And Babel's men of age 
 
 Are wise and deep in lore ; 
 But now they were not sage : 
 
 They saw^but knew no more. 
 
 A captive in the land, 
 
 A stranger and a youth, 
 He heard the king's command. 
 
 He saw that writing's truth. 
 The lamps around were bright. 
 
 The prophecy in view ; 
 He read it on that night — 
 
 The morrow proved it true. 
 
** Belshazzar's grave is made. 
 
 His kingdom passed away. 
 He, in the balance weighed, 
 
 Is light and worthless clay — 
 The shroud, his robe of state. 
 
 His canopy the stone : 
 The Mede is at his gate ! 
 
 The Persian on his throne !" By&ok. 
 
 20. THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 As day advanced the weather seemed to abate, 
 And then the leak they reckoned to reduce, 
 
 And keep the ship afloat, though three feet yet 
 Kept two hand and one chain pump still in use. 
 
 The wind blew fresh again : as it grew late , 
 
 A squall came on, and while some guns broke loose, 
 
 A gust — which all descriptive power transcends — 
 
 Laid with one blast the ship on her beam-ends. 
 
 Immediately the masts were cut away. 
 
 Both main and mizen ; first the mizen went. 
 
 The mainmast followed : but the ship still lay 
 Like a mere log, and baffled our intent. 
 
 Foremast and bowsprit were cut down, and they 
 Eased her at last (although we never meant 
 
 To part with all 'till every hope was blighted). 
 
 And then with violence the old ship righted. 
 
 'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down 
 
 Over the waste of waters ; like a veil. 
 Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown 
 
 Of one whose fate is masked but to assail. 
 Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown. 
 
 And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale. 
 And the dim desolate deep : twelve days had Fear 
 Been their familiar, and now Death was here 
 
 At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars. 
 And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose. 
 
 That still could keep afloat the struggling tars ; 
 For yet they strove, although of no great use. 
 
278 SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 There was no light in heaven but a few stars ; — 
 
 The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews : 
 She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, 
 And, going down head-foremost — sunk, in short. 
 Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell — 
 
 Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave ; — 
 Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell. 
 
 As eager to anticipate their grave ; 
 And the sea yawned around her like a hell. 
 
 And down she sucked with her the whirling wave, 
 Like one who grapples with his enemy. 
 And strives to strangle him before he die. 
 And first one universal shriek there rushed. 
 
 Louder than the loud ocean, hke a crash 
 Of echoing thunder ; and then all was hushed. 
 
 Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash 
 Of billows ; but at intervals there gushed, 
 Accompanied with a convulsive splash, 
 A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry 
 Of some strong swimmer in his agony. BrRow 
 
 21. THE BATTLE OF ALBUERA. 
 
 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' slaves ? The fires of death, 
 u The bale-fires, flash on high ; — from rock to rock. 
 Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe. 
 
 Death rides upon the sulphury siroc ; 
 Ked JBattle 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 hands. 
 
 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 ! 
 
BYEON. SHAKSPEAEE. 279 
 
 By heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see, — 
 
 For one who hath no friend nor brother there, — 
 Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery — 
 
 Their various arms that glitter in the air ! 
 What gallant war- hounds rouse them from their lair. 
 
 And gnash their fangs, loud-yelling for the prey ! 
 All join the chase, but few the triumph share : 
 
 The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away. 
 And Havoc, scarce for joy, can number their array. 
 
 Three Hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 
 
 Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ; 
 Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies : 
 
 The shouts are, " France," "Spain," " Albion," " Victory !" 
 The foe, the victim, and the fond ally. 
 
 That fights for all, but ever fights in vain. 
 Are met — as if at home they could not die — 
 
 To feed the crow on Talavera's plain. 
 And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. 
 
 There shall they rot — Ambition's honored fools ! 
 
 Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay ! 
 Vain sophistry ! in these behold the tools, — 
 
 The broken tools, — that tyrants cast away 
 By myriads, when they dare to pave their way 
 
 With human hearts — to what ? — a dream alone. 
 Can despots combat aught that hails their sway ? 
 
 Or call, with truth, one span of earth their own, 
 Sa"e that wherein, at last, they crumble bone by bone ? 
 
 ByjaoN. 
 
 22. BRUTUS REPROACHING CASSIUS. 
 
 You have done that you should be sorry for. 
 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats : 
 
 For I am armed so strong in honesty, 
 
 That they pass by me as the idle wind. 
 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 
 For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; 
 
 For I can raise no money by vile means : 
 
 By heaven, I had rather coin my heart. 
 
 And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
 
 From the hard hands of peasants their, vile trash, 
 
280 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 By any, indirection. I did send 
 
 To you for gold to pay my legions. 
 
 Which you denied me : — was that dojae like Cassius ? 
 
 Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? 
 
 When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends. 
 
 Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, — 
 
 Dash him to pieces ! Shakspkaek 
 
 23. CARDINAL WOLSEy's SOLILOQUY. 
 (This and the following selection may be spoken together or separately.) 
 
 Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; — to-morrow, blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : 
 The third day comes a frost — a killing frost ; 
 And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely. 
 His greatness is a ripening — nips his root ; 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured. 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 These many summers in a sea of glory — 
 But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride. 
 At length, broke under me, and now has left me. 
 Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream that must forever hide me. 
 Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye ! 
 I feel my heart new opened. Oh ! how wretched 
 Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
 There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, — 
 That sweet aspect of princes, — and their ruin. 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
 And whejvhe falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope aofain. ci 
 
 24. CARDINAL WOLSEy's ADDRESS TO CROMWELL. 
 
 Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear. 
 In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me. 
 Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
 
SHAKSPEAEE. 281 
 
 Let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
 
 And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 
 Of me more must be heard of ; say I taught thee — 
 
 Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory. 
 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor. 
 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 
 A sure and safe one — though thy master missed it. 
 
 Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. 
 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ! 
 
 By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then. 
 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? 
 
 Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee : 
 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 
 Still, in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 
 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 
 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's. 
 
 Thy God's, and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, Cromwell, 
 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; 
 
 And, — Pr'ythee, lead me in 
 
 There take an inventory of all I have ; 
 
 To the last penny, — 'tis the king's. My robe. 
 
 And my integrity to Heaven, is all 
 
 I dare now call my own. O Cromwell ! Cromwell ! 
 
 Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
 
 I served my king, he would not, in mine age. 
 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies. a„.Trcnx,.», 
 
 25. SOLILOQUY OF HENRY IV. 
 
 O SLEEP, gentle sleep, 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down. 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs. 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. 
 And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber. 
 Than in the perfumed chambers of the great. 
 Under the canopies of costly state. 
 And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody ? 
 thou dull god ! why liest thou with the vile. 
 
282 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 la loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch, 
 
 A watch-case to a common 'lanim bell ? 
 
 Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast. 
 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; 
 
 And, in the visitation of the winds. 
 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top. 
 
 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
 
 With deafening clamors in the slippery shrouds. 
 
 That, with the hurly. Death itself awakes ? — 
 
 Canst thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose » 
 
 To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude, 
 
 And in the calmest and the stillest night, 
 
 With all appliances and means to boot, 
 
 Deny it to a king ? Then, happy, lowly clown ! 
 
 Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Shakspeaek. 
 
 26. SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III. 
 
 Give me another horse : — bind up my wounds : — 
 Have mercy, Jesu : — soft ; I did but dream ! — 
 
 coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! — 
 The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. — 
 What do I fear ? Myself ? There's none else by : 
 Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. 
 
 Is there a murderer here ? "No : yes ; I am. 
 
 Then fly. What ! From myself ? Great reason ; why ? 
 
 Lest I revenge. What ! Myself on myself ? 
 
 1 love myself ? Wherefore ? For any good 
 That I myself, have done unto myself ? 
 
 Oh, no, alas ! I rather hate myself. 
 
 For hateful deeds committed by myself. 
 
 I am a villain : yet I lie ; I am not. 
 
 Fool, of thyself speak well : — fool, (lo not flatter : — 
 
 My conscience hath a thousand several tongues ; 
 
 And every tongue brings in a several tale ; 
 
 And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
 
 Perjury, perjury, in tlie highest degree. 
 
 Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree, 
 
 Throng to the bar, crying all. Guilty ! guilty ! 
 
 I shall despair. — There is no creature loves me, 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 283 
 
 And, if I die, no soul will pity me : 
 JSTay ; wherefore should they ; since that I myself 
 Find in myself no pity to myself ? — 
 Methought the souls of all that I had murdered 
 Came to my tent, and every one did threat 
 To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 ♦ 27. THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN. 
 
 All the world's a stage. 
 And all the men and women merely players : 
 They have their exits and their entrances ; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts. 
 His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant. 
 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; 
 And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
 Unwillingly to school : And then, the lover ; 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
 Made to his mistress' eyebrow : Then, a soldier ; 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard. 
 Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice; 
 In fair round belly, with good capon lined. 
 With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut. 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances. 
 And so he plays his part : The sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean and slippered pantaloon ; 
 With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 
 His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
 For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 
 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
 And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all. 
 That ends this strange eventful history. 
 Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing, 
 
 SUAKSPEABK, 
 
284 / SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 28. DESPAIR. 
 
 If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's treasures. 
 
 Enough to purchase such another island, 
 
 So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 
 
 Bring me to my trial when you will ; 
 
 Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ? 
 
 Can I make men live, whether they will or no ? 
 
 Oh ! torture me no more : I will confess. 
 
 Alive again ? then show me where he is : ' ^ 
 
 I'll give a thousand pounds to look upon him. 
 
 He hath no eyes, — the dust hath blinded them. 
 
 Comb down his hair : look ! look ! it stands upright, 
 
 Like lime-twigs — to catch my winged soul. 
 
 Give me some drink, and bid the apothecary 
 
 Bring in the strong poison, that I bought of him. 
 
 Henceforth let no man trust the first false step 
 
 To guilt. It hangs upon a precipice. 
 
 Whose deep descent in fast perdition ends. 
 
 How far am I plunged down beyond all thought 
 
 Which I this evening framed ! 
 
 Consummate horror ! guilt beyond a name ! 
 
 Dare not my soul repent. In thee, repentance 
 
 Were second guilt, and 'twere blaspheming heaven 
 
 To hope for mercy. My pain can only cease 
 
 When gods want power to punish. Ha ! the dawn ! 
 
 Rise, never more, O sun ! let night prevail — 
 
 Eternal darkness close the world's wide scene. 
 
 And hide me from myself. Shakspeabk 
 
 29. THE ADVICE OF POLONIUS TO HIS SON. 
 
 Give tliy thoughts no tongue. 
 Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 
 Be thou familiar ; but by no means vulgar. 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried. 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 Of ev'ry new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance into quarrel ! but, being in, 
 
SHAKSPEAEE. 285 
 
 Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
 
 But not expressed in fancy : rich, not gaudy ; 
 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 
 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be ; 
 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend. 
 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 
 This, above all — to thine own self be true. 
 
 And it must follow, as the night the day. 
 
 Thou canst not, then, be false to any man. Shakspeabe. 
 
 30. MERCY. 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, 
 Upon the place beneath : it is twice blessed ; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown : 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. 
 The attribute to awe and majesty. 
 Wherein doth sit the fear and dread of kings : 
 But mercy is above the sceptered sway ; 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. 
 It is an attribute to God himself ; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
 When mercy seasons justice : therefore, Jew, 
 Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
 That, in the course of justice, none of us 
 Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy ; 
 And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
 The deeds of mercy : I have spoke thus much. 
 To mitigate the justice of thy plea. g 
 
286 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 31. MARK Antony's oration. 
 
 Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears : 
 
 I come to bury Csesar^ not to praise him. 
 
 The evil that men do Hves after them ; 
 
 The good is oft interred with their bones : 
 
 So let it be with Csesar. The noble Brutus 
 
 Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : 
 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
 
 And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 
 
 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest 
 
 (For Brutus is an honorable man. 
 
 So are they all, all honorable men). 
 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me*: 
 
 But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 
 And Brutus is an honorable man. 
 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 
 Whose .ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
 
 When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wepi : 
 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff : 
 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 
 
 And Brutus is an hmiorable man. 
 
 You all did see, that on the Lupercal 
 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 
 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 
 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 
 And, sure, he is an honorable man. 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. 
 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 
 You all did love him once, not without cause ; 
 
 What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 
 
 O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts. 
 
 And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; 
 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
 
 If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
 
 You all do know this mantle : I remember 
 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
 
 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ; 
 
 That day he overcame the Nervii. 
 
 Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 
 
SHAKSPEAEE. 
 
 287 
 
 See, what a rent the envious Casca made : 
 
 Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; 
 
 And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
 
 Mark how the blood of Ccesar followed it ; 
 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
 
 If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ; . , 
 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
 
 Judge, you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! 
 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
 
 For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms. 
 
 Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heart ; 
 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statue. 
 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Csesar fell. 
 
 Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down. 
 
 Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. Suakspeark. 
 
 32. ADDRESS OF MARULLt>S TO THE MOB. 
 
 Wherefore rejoice ? that Caesar comes in triumph ! 
 
 What conquest brings he home ? 
 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ? 
 
 You blocks ! you stones ! you worse than senseless things ! 
 
 Oh, you hard hearts ! you cruel men of Rome ! 
 
 Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
 
 Have you climbed up to walls and battlements. 
 
 To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops — 
 
 Your infants in your arms — and there have sat 
 
 The live-long day, -with patient expectation. 
 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
 
 And, when you saw his chariot but appear. 
 
 Have you not made a universal shout. 
 
 That Tiber trembled underneath his banks. 
 
 To hear the replication of your sounds. 
 
 Made in his concave shores ? 
 
 And do you now put on your best attire ? 
 
 And do you now cull out a hohday ? 
 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way, 
 
288 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 
 
 Begone ! 
 
 Run to your houses ! fall upon your knees ! 
 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague, 
 
 That needs must light on this ingratitude ! Shakspeare. 
 
 33. Richmond's address to his soldiers. 
 
 Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, 
 
 Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny. 
 
 Thus far into the bowels of the land 
 
 Have we marched on without impediment ! 
 
 Richard, the bloody and devouring boar, 
 
 Whose ravenous appetite has spoiled your fields. 
 
 Laid this rich country waste, and rudely cropped 
 
 Its ripened hopes of fair prosperity. 
 
 Is, now, even in the centre of the isle. 
 
 God, and our good cause, fight upon our side : 
 
 The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls. 
 
 Like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces. 
 
 Thrice is he armed that has his quarrel just ; 
 
 And he but naked, though locked up in steel, 
 
 Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted : 
 
 The very weight of Richard's guilt s]iall crush him. 
 
 Then let us on, my friends, and boldly face him ! 
 
 Advance your standards, draw your willing swords : 
 
 For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 
 
 Shall be this body on the earth's cold face ; 
 
 But if we thrive, the glory of the action 
 
 The meanest soldier here shall share his part of. 
 
 Advance your standards ! Draw your willing swords ! 
 
 Sound drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully ! 
 
 The words, " St. George ! Richmond ! and victory !" 
 
 Shaksfeare. 
 
 34. 
 
 Oh ! my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
 It hath the primal, eldest curse upon it. 
 
SHAKSPEAEE. 289 
 
 A brother's murder ! — ^Pray I cannot, 
 
 Though inchnation be as sharp as 'twill, 
 
 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent . 
 
 And hke a man to double business bound, 
 
 I stand in pause where I shall first begin. 
 
 And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
 
 Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ; 
 
 Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens 
 
 To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy. 
 
 But to confront the visage of offence ? .%^ 
 
 And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, ^^* 
 
 To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, 
 
 Or pardoned being down ? — Then I'll look up ; 
 
 My fault is past. But oh, what form of prayer 
 
 Can serve my turn ? " Forgive me my foul murder !" 
 
 That cannot be ; since I am still possessed 
 
 Of those effects for which I did the murder. 
 
 My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
 
 May one be pardoned, and retain the offence ? 
 
 In the corrupted currents of this world, 
 
 Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
 
 And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
 
 Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; 
 
 There, is no shuffling ; there, the action lies 
 
 In his true nature ; and we ourselves compelled, 
 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 
 To give in evidence. What then ? — what rests ? 
 
 Try what repentance can : what can it not ? 
 
 Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ? 
 
 Oh wretched state ! oh bosom, black as death ! 
 
 Oh limed soul ; that struggling to be free, 
 
 Art more engaged ! Help, angels ! make assay ! 
 
 Bow, stubborn knees ; and heart, with strings of steel, 
 
 Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! 
 
 All may be well. Shakspeaek 
 
 35. CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 '0 Let me play the fool ; 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
 Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
 Sit like like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
 13 
 
290 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice 
 
 By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio, 
 
 I love thee, and it is my love that speaks : 
 
 There are a sort of men, whose visages 
 
 Do cream and mantle like a standing pond ; 
 
 And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
 
 With purpose to be dressed in an opinion 
 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 
 
 As who should say, / am Sir Oracle, 
 
 And, when I ope my lips, let no dog harJc ! 
 
 Oh, my Antonio, I do know of these. 
 
 That therefore only are reputed wise. 
 
 For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure. 
 
 If they should speak, would almost damn those ears. 
 
 Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. 
 
 I'll tell thee more of this another time ; 
 
 But fish not with this melancholy bait. 
 
 For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. Shaksp»«^» 
 
 36. hamlet's soliloquy. 
 
 To be, or not to be, that is the question ; — 
 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
 
 And, by opposing, end them ? To die, — to sleep, — 
 
 No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 
 That flesh is heir to : 'tis a consummation 
 
 Devoutly to be wished. To die, — to sleep ; — 
 
 To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the rub ' 
 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. 
 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. 
 
 Must give us pause. There's the respect 
 
 That makes calamity of so long life ; 
 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
 
 The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumelv. 
 
 The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 9r 
 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 291 
 
 With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, 
 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
 
 But that the dread of something after death, — 
 
 The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
 
 No traveller returns, — puzzles the will. 
 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have. 
 
 Than fly to others that we know not of ? 
 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment. 
 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry. 
 
 And lose the name of action. Shakspearh 
 
 37. ROYAL CEREMONY. 
 
 O, HARD condition ! twin-born with greatness ; 
 
 Subjected to the breath of every fool, 
 
 Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing. 
 
 What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect. 
 
 That private men enjoy ! 
 
 And what have kings that privates have not too. 
 
 Save ceremony — save general ceremony ? 
 
 And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ? . 
 
 What kind of god art thou, that sufferest more 
 
 Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers ? 
 
 What are thy rents ? what are thy comings in ? 
 
 O ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 
 
 What is thy soul of adoration ? 
 
 Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, 
 
 Creating awe and fear in other men ? 
 
 Wherein thou art less happy, being feared. 
 
 Than they in fearing. • 
 
 What drinkest thou oft, instead of homage sweet. 
 
 But poisoned flattery ? Oh, be sick, great greatness, 
 
 And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! 
 
 Thinl^est thou, the fiery fever will go out 
 
 Witn titles blown from adulation ? 
 
 Will it give place to flexure and low bending ? ' 
 
 Canst thou, when thou commandest the beggar's knee. 
 
 Command the health of it ? No, thou proud dream, 
 
 4 
 
292 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 That playest so subtly with a king's repose : 
 
 I am a king that find thee ; and I know, 
 
 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball. 
 
 The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
 
 The inter- tissued robe of gold and pearl. 
 
 The farced title running *fore the king. 
 
 The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
 
 That beats upon the high shore of this world,— 
 
 No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony — 
 
 Not all these, laid in bed majestical. 
 
 Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave. 
 
 Who, with a body filled, and vacant mind. 
 
 Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread ; 
 
 Never sees horrid night, the child of hell ; 
 
 But, like a lackey, from the rise to set. 
 
 Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night 
 
 Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn. 
 
 Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse ; 
 
 And follows so the ever-running year 
 
 With profitable labor, to his grave : 
 
 And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 
 
 Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, 
 
 Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. Shakspeabk 
 
 38. SOLILOQUY OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 O God ! methinks it were a happy life. 
 
 To be no better than a homely swain ; 
 
 To sit upon a hill, as I do now. 
 
 To carve out dials quaintly, point by point. 
 
 Thereby to see the minutes how they run : 
 
 How many make the hour full complete. 
 
 How many hours bring about the day. 
 
 How many days will finish up the year. 
 
 How many years a mortal man may live. 
 
 When this is known, then to divide the times : 
 
 So many hours must I tend my flock ' 
 
 So many hours must I take my rest ; 
 
 So many hours must I contemplate ; 
 
 So many hours must I sport myself ; 
 
 So many days my ewes have been with young , 
 
SnAKSPEAKE. 293 
 
 So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
 
 So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : 
 
 So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, 
 
 Passed oyer to the end they were created. 
 
 Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
 
 Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely ? 
 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 
 To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep. 
 
 Than doth a rich embroidered canopy 
 
 To kings, that fear their subjects treachery ? 
 
 Oh, yes it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth ! 
 
 And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, 
 
 His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 
 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, — 
 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys. 
 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates. 
 
 His viands sparkling in a golden cup. 
 
 His body couched in a curious bed, 
 
 When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. 
 
 SHAKSPEARXi 
 
 39. CLARENCE S DREAM. 
 
 Oh, I have passed a miserable night. 
 
 So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
 
 That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 
 
 I would not spend another such a night. 
 
 Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days ; 
 
 So full of dismal terror was the time. 
 
 Methought that I had broken from the Tower, 
 
 And was embarked to cross to Burgundy, 
 
 And, in my company, my brother Gloster ; 
 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 
 Upon the hatches : thence we looked towards England, 
 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times. 
 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster, 
 
 That had befallen us. As we paced along 
 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 
 Methought that Gloster stumbled ; and in falling. 
 
 Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard 
 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 
 O Lord ! methought what pain it was to drown : 
 
294: SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 ru 
 
 What dreadful noise of water in my ears : 
 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
 
 Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnawed upon ; 
 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl. 
 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels. 
 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea : 
 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes 
 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 
 (As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems. 
 
 That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep. 
 
 And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. 
 
 Oh, then began the tempest to my soul ! 
 
 I passed, methought, the melancholy flood. 
 
 With that grim ferryman which poets write of. 
 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul. 
 
 Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, 
 
 Who cried aloud, — What scourge for perjury 
 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? / 
 
 And so he vanished : Then came wand'ring by 
 
 A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
 
 Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud, — 
 
 Clarence is come — false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, \ 
 
 That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury ; y^ 
 
 Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments ! h \ 
 
 With that, methought a legion of foul fiends j ' 
 
 Environed me, and howled in mine ears / 
 
 Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, / 
 
 I trembling waked, and, for a season after. 
 
 Could not believe but that I was in heU : 
 
 Such terrible inipression made my dream. Shakspeae*! 
 
 40. MARMION AND THE DOUGLAS. 
 
 Not far advanced was morning day, 
 When Marmion did his troop array 
 
 To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
 He had safe conduct for his band, 
 Beneath the royal seal and hand, 
 
 And Douglas gave a guide. 
 

 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 The train from out the castle drew ; 
 But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : — 
 
 " Though something I might plain," he said 
 " Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
 Sent hither by your king's behest. 
 
 While in Tantallon's towers I staid ; 
 Part we in friendship from your land, 
 And, noble earl, receive my hand." 
 But Douglas round him drew his cloak. 
 Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
 " My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
 Be open at my sovereign's will. 
 To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
 Unmeet to be the owner's peer : 
 My castles are my king's alone. 
 From turret to foundation-stone, — 
 The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
 And never shall in friendly grasp 
 The hand of such as Marmion clasp." 
 Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire. 
 And shook his very frame for ire, 
 
 And—" This to me !" he said : ^ 
 ** An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
 Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 
 
 To cleave the Douglas* head ! 
 And first, I tell thee, haugbtyHeer, 
 He who does England's message here, 
 Although the nieanest in her state, 
 Mayw^ell, proud Angus, be thy mate : 
 And, Douglas, more I tell thee here. 
 
 Even in thy pitch of pride. 
 Here in thy hold, thy vassals near 
 (Nay, never look upon your lord. 
 And lay your hands upon your sword), 
 
 I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! 
 And if thou saidst, I am not peer 
 To any lord in Scotland here. 
 Lowland or Highland, far or near. 
 
 Lord Angus, thou hast lied !" 
 On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
 O'ercame the ashen hue of age ; 
 Fierce he broke forth : — " And darest thou then 
 To beard the lion in his den, 
 
 The Douglas in his hall ? 
 
296 SELECTIONS IN POETKT. 
 
 And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ? 
 
 No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! 
 
 Up drawbridge, grooms — what, warder, ho ! 
 
 Let the portcullis fall." 
 Lord Marmion turned — well was his need, 
 And dashed the rowels in his steed. 
 Like arrow through the archway sprung. 
 The ponderous grate behind him rung : 
 To pass there was such scanty room. 
 The bars, descending, razed his plume. 
 
 Walter Scorra, 
 
 41. THE DEATH OF MARMION. 
 
 With that, straight up the hill there rode 
 Two horsemen drenched with gore. 
 
 And in their arms, a helpless load, 
 A wounded knight they bore. 
 
 His hand still strained the broken brand ; 
 
 His arms were smeared with blood and sand ; 
 
 Dragged fro\n among the horses' feet. 
 
 With dinted shield, and helmet beat. 
 
 The falcon-crest and plumage gone. 
 
 Can that be haughty Marmion ? 
 
 When, doffed his casque, he felt free air. 
 
 Around *gan Marmion wildly stare : 
 
 " Where's Harry Blount ? Fitz-Eustacc where ? 
 
 Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 
 
 Redeem my pennon — charge again ! 
 
 Cry — * Marmion to the rescue !' — Vain I 
 
 Last of my race, on battle-plain 
 
 That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! — 
 
 Yet my last thought is England's — fly ! 
 
 Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly ! 
 
 Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
 
 They parted, and alone he lay : 
 
 With fruitless labor Clara bound. 
 
 And strove to stanch the gushing wound : 
 
 The Monk, with unavailing cares. 
 
 Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 
 
 Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
 
 A lady's voice was in his ear. 
 
WALTER SCOTT. 297 
 
 And that the priest he could not hear ; 
 
 For that she ever sung, 
 *' In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, 
 Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying !" 
 
 So the notes rung : — 
 " Avoid thee, Fiend ! — with cruel hand, 
 Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! 
 Oh look, my son, upon yon sign 
 Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 
 
 Oh think on faith and bhss ! 
 By many a death-bed I have been, 
 And many a sinner's parting seen. 
 
 But never aught like this." 
 The war, that for a space did fail, 
 Now trebly thundering swelled the gale. 
 
 And — Stanley ! was the cry. 
 A light on Marmion's visage spread, 
 
 And fired his glazing eye : 
 With dying hand, above his head. 
 He shook the fragment of his blade. 
 
 And shouted " Victory ! — 
 Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on !" 
 Were the last words of Marmion. Walter Scow. 
 
 42. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. 
 
 Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
 
 Who never to himself hath said, 
 
 " This is my own, my native land ?" 
 
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned. 
 
 As home his footsteps he hath turned. 
 
 From wandering on a foreign strand ? 
 
 If such there breathe, go mark him well : 
 
 For him, no minstrel raptures swell ; 
 
 High though his titles, power, or pelf. 
 
 The wretch, concentred all in self. 
 
 Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 
 
 And, doubly dying, shall go down 
 
 To the vile dust from whence he sprung. 
 
 Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. ^^^^^^ g^^^ 
 
 13* 
 
298 SELECTIONS IN TOETKY. 
 
 43. KIENZl's ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS. 
 
 Friends, 
 I come not here to talk. Ye know too well 
 The story of our thraldom. We are slaves ! 
 The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
 A race of slaves ! — He sets, and his last beam 
 Falls on a slave. Not such as, swept along 
 By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 
 To crimson glory and undying fame ; 
 But base ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde 
 Of petty despots, feudal tyrants ; lords, 
 Rich in some dozen paltry villages ; 
 Strong in some hundred spearmen, only great 
 In that strange spell, a name. Each hour, dark fraud. 
 Or open rapine, or protected murder. 
 Cry out against them. But this very day, 
 An honest man — my neighbor ; — there he stands ; — 
 Was struck — struck like a dog — by one who wore 
 The badge of Ursini ; because, forsooth. 
 He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 
 Nor hfted up his voice in servile shouts. 
 At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men. 
 And suffer such dishonor ? — men, and wash not 
 The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common : 
 I have known deeper wrongs, — I that speak to yc. 
 I had a brother once, a gracious boy. 
 Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, 
 Of sweet and quiet joy. Oh, how I loved 
 That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years : 
 Brother at once and son ! He left my side ; 
 A summer-bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile 
 Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour. 
 The pretty harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
 His corse, his mangled corse ; and then I cried 
 
 For vengeance Bouse ye, Romans ! rouse ye, slaves ! 
 
 Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next fierce brawl 
 To see them die. Have ye fau' daughters ? Look 
 To see them live, torn from your arms — distained, 
 Dishonored ; and if ye dare to call for justice. 
 Be answered with the lash ! Yet this is Rome 
 That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne 
 Of beauty ruled the world ! And we are Romans ! 
 
MAJJY E. MITFOED. ADDISON. 299 
 
 Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 
 
 Was greater than a king ! And once again, — 
 
 Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
 
 Of either Brutus!— Once again, I swear, 
 
 The Eternal City shall be free ! jj^^^ ^ Mitforo. 
 
 44. SPEECH OF SEMPRONIUS FOR WAR. 
 
 My voice is still for war. 
 Gods ! can a Roman senate long debate, 
 Which of the two to choose — slavery or death ? 
 No ; let us rise at once, gird on our swords. 
 And, at the head of our remaining troops. 
 Attack the foe ; break through the thick array 
 Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him. 
 Perhaps some arm more lucky than the rest 
 May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. 
 Rise, fathers, rise ! 'tis Rome demands your help ; 
 Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens. 
 Or share their fate ! The corpse of half her senate 
 Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we 
 Sit here, deliberating in cold debates. 
 If we should sacrifice our lives to honor, 
 Or wear them out in servitude and chains. 
 Rouse up, for shame ! our brothers of Pharsalia 
 Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, " To battle ! 
 Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow. 
 And Scipio's ghost walks unrevcnged amongst us ! 
 
 45. SPEECH OF LUCIUS FOR PEACE. 
 
 My thoughts, I must confess, are turned on peace. 
 
 Already have our quarrels filled the world 
 
 With widows and with orphans. Scythia mourns 
 
 Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions 
 
 Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome. 
 
 'Tis time to sheathe the sword and spare mankind. 
 
 It is not Ceesar, but the gods, my fathers : 
 
'300 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 The gods declare against us, and repel 
 
 Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle 
 
 (Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair), 
 
 Were to refuse the awards of Providence, 
 
 And not to rest in heaven's determination. 
 
 Already have we shown our love to Rome : 
 
 Now let us show submission to the gods. 
 
 We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves. 
 
 But free the commonwealth : when this end fails, 
 
 Arms have no further use-; — our country's cause. 
 
 That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands^- 
 
 And bids us not delight in Roman blood 
 
 Unprofitably shed. What men could do 
 
 Is done already : heaven and earth will witness. 
 
 If Rome must fall, that we are innocent. » 
 
 46. SPEECH OF CATO. 
 
 Let us appear nor rash nor diffident : 
 
 Immoderate valor swells into a fault ; 
 
 And fear, admitted into public councils. 
 
 Betrays, like treason. Let us shun them both. 
 
 Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs 
 
 Are grown thus desperate : we have bulwarks round us ; 
 
 Within our walls are troops, inured to toil 
 
 In Afric's heats, and seasoned to the sun : 
 
 Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us. 
 
 Ready to rise, at its young prince's call. 
 
 While there is hope, do not distrust the gods ; 
 
 But wait, at least, till Caesar's near approach 
 
 Force us to yield. 'Twill never be tdo late 
 
 To sue for chains and own a conqueror. 
 
 Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time ? 
 
 No, let us draw her term of freedom out. 
 
 In its full length, and spin it to the last. 
 
 So shall we gain still one day's liberty ; 
 
 And let me perish ; but, in Cato's judgment, 
 
 A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty. 
 
 Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. . 
 
ALBERT G. GREENE. 301 
 
 47. THE baron's last BANQUET. 
 
 O'er a low coucli the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, 
 Where, in hiu last strong agony, a dying warrior lay — 
 The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent 
 By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. 
 
 *' They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, 
 That I shall mount my noble steed, and lead my band no more ; 
 They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, 
 Their own Hege lord and master born, that 1 — ha ! ha ! — must 
 die. 
 
 " And what is death ? I've dared him oft, before the Paynim 
 
 spear ; — 
 Think ye he's entered at my gate — has come to seek me here ? 
 I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging 
 
 hot ;— 
 I'll try his might — I'll brave his power ; defy, and fear him not. 
 
 *' Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin ; 
 Bid each retainer arm with speed : call every vassal in. 
 Up with my banner on the wall, — the banquet-board prepare, — 
 Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there !" 
 
 An hundred hands were busy then : the banquet forth was 
 
 spread. 
 And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread ; 
 While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall, ■ 
 Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud 
 
 old Gothic hall. 
 
 Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers 
 
 poured. 
 On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the 
 
 board ; 
 While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state. 
 Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate. 
 
 ** Fill every beaker up, my men, — pour forth the cheering wine ! 
 There's life and strength in every drop — thanksgiving to the 
 
 vine ! 
 Are ye all there, my vassals true ? — mine eyes are waxing dim : 
 Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim ! 
 
i502 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 ** Ye're there ; but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty 
 
 sword. 
 And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board 
 I hear it faintly. Louder yet ! — What clogs my heavy breath ? 
 Up all, and shout for Rudiger, * Defiance unto Dcj^th !' " 
 
 Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening 
 
 cry. 
 That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high. 
 " Ho ! cravens, do ye fear him ? — Slaves, traitors, have ye flown ? 
 Ho ! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone ? 
 
 '* But I defy him : — ^let him come !" Down rang the massy cup. 
 While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half-way up ; 
 And, with the black and heavy plumes, scarce trembling on his 
 
 head, 
 Tliere, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Rudiger sat dead. 
 
 Albert G. Greenk. 
 
 48. BERNARDO AND KING ALPHONSO. 
 
 With some good ten of his chosen men, 
 
 Bernardo hath appeared. 
 Before them all in the palace hall. 
 
 The lying king to beard ; 
 With cap in hand and eye on ground. 
 
 He came in reverend guise, 
 But ever and anon he frowned, 
 
 And flame broke from his eyes. 
 
 " A curse upon thee," cries the king, 
 
 " Who com'st unbid to me ! 
 But what from traitor's blood should spring. 
 
 Save traitor like to thee ? 
 His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart, — 
 
 Perchance our champion brave 
 May think it were a pious part 
 
 To share Don Sancho's grave." 
 
 " Whoever told this tale. 
 
 The king hath rashness to repeat," 
 Cries Bernard, " here my gage I fling 
 
 Before the liar's feet. 
 
J. G. LOCEHAKT. 303 
 
 No treason was in Sancho's blood, — 
 
 No stain in mine doth lie : 
 Below the throne, what knight will own 
 
 The coward calumny ? 
 
 " Ye swore upon your kingly faith, 
 
 To set Don Sancho free ; 
 But, curse upon your paltering breath ! 
 
 The light he ne'er did see : 
 He died in dungeon cold and dim, 
 
 By Alphonso's base decree ; 
 And visage blind, and mangled limb. 
 
 Were all they gave to me. 
 
 * The king that swerveth from his word, 
 
 Hath stained his purple black : 
 N'o Spanish lord shall draw his sword 
 
 Behind a liar's back. 
 But noble vengeance shall be mine ; 
 
 And open hate I'll show ; — 
 The king hath injured Carpio's line, 
 
 And Bernard is his foe!" 
 
 " Seize — seize him !" loud the king doth scream : 
 
 " There are a thousand here ; 
 Let his foul blood this instant stream ; — 
 
 What ! caitiffs, do ye fear ? 
 Seize — seize the traitor !" But not one 
 
 To move a finger daretli : 
 Bernardo standeth by the throne. 
 
 And calm his sword he bareth. 
 
 He drew the falchion from its sheath. 
 
 And held it up on high ; 
 And all the hall was still as death : — 
 
 Cries Bernard, " Here am I ; 
 And here's the sword that owns no lord, 
 
 Excepting heaven and me : 
 Fain would I know who dares its point, — 
 
 King, conde, or grandee." 
 
 Then to his mouth his horn he drew, — 
 
 It hung below his cloak ; 
 His ten true men the signal knew. 
 
 And through the ring they broke. 
 
304 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 With helm on head, and blade in hand. 
 
 The knights the circle break, 
 And back the lordhngs 'gan to stand, 
 
 And the false king to quake. 
 
 ** Ha ! Bernard !" quoth Alphonso, 
 ■ ** What means this warlike guise ? 
 Ye knoM^ full well I jested ; — 
 
 Ye know your worth I prize !" 
 But Bernard turned upon his heel. 
 
 And, smiling, passed away. 
 Long rued Alphonso and Castile 
 
 The jesthiff of that day ! j^ q_ Lockhaui 
 
 49. THE TAKING OF WARSAW. 
 
 When leagued Oppression poured to northern wars 
 Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars. 
 Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
 Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn 
 Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
 Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 
 
 Warsaw's last champion, from her height surveyed 
 Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, — 
 Oh ! Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save : 
 Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
 Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains. 
 Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! 
 By that dread name, we wave the sword on high. 
 And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! 
 
 He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed 
 His trusty warriors few, but undismayed ! 
 Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form. 
 Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 
 Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
 Revenge or death, — the watchword and reply ; 
 Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm. 
 And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! — 
 
 In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few. 
 From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew :— 
 
CAMPBELL. — BRYANT. 305 
 
 Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
 Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
 Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe. 
 Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 
 Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 
 Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career : — 
 Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell. 
 And Freedom shrieked — as Kosciusko fell. 
 
 The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there : 
 Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air — 
 On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow. 
 His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below : 
 The storm prevails, the ramparts yield away. 
 Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ; 
 Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, 
 A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! 
 Earth shook — red meteors flashed along the sky. 
 And conscious nature shuddered at the cry ! 
 
 Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
 Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 
 Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man. 
 Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 
 Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone. 
 And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
 Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return 
 The patriot Tell — the Bruce of Bannock'' xm ! 
 
 Campbelu 
 
 50. THE SONG OF MARIOn's MEN. 
 
 Our band is few, but true and tried,- 
 
 Our leader frank and bold ; 
 The British soldier trembles 
 
 When Marion's name is told. 
 Our fortress is the good green wood. 
 
 Our tent the cypress-tree ; 
 We know the forest round us. 
 
 As seamen know the sea. 
 We know its walls of thorny vines. 
 
 Its glades of reedy grass. 
 
306 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 Its safe and silent islands 
 Within the dark morass. 
 
 Woe to the English soldiery 
 
 That little dread us near ! 
 On them shall light, at midnight, 
 
 A strange and sudden fear : 
 When, waking to their tents on fire. 
 
 They grasp their arms in vain. 
 And they who stand to face us 
 
 Are beat to earth again ; 
 And they who fly in terror deem 
 
 A mighty host behind. 
 And hear the tramp of thousands 
 
 Upon the hollow wind. 
 
 Well knows the fair and friendly moon 
 
 The band that Marion leads' — 
 The glitter of their rifles. 
 
 The scampering of their steeds. 
 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb 
 
 Across the moonlight plain ; 
 *Tis life to feel the night-wind 
 
 That lifts his tossing mane. 
 A moment in the British camp — 
 
 A moment— and away. 
 Back to the pathless forest, 
 
 Before the peep of day. 
 
 Grave men there are by broad Santee, 
 
 Grave men with hoary hairs ; 
 Their hearts are all with Marion, 
 
 For Marion are their prayers. 
 And lovely ladies greet our band. 
 
 With kindliest welcoming. 
 With smiles like those of summer. 
 
 And tears like those of spring. 
 For them we wear these trusty arms, 
 
 And lay them down no more. 
 Till we have driven the Briton 
 
 Forever from our shore. 
 
 Beyant. 
 
H. W. LONGFELLOW. 307 
 
 51. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 Under a spreading chestnut-tree. 
 
 The village smithy stands ; 
 The smith, a mighty man is he. 
 
 With large and sinewy hands ; 
 And the muscles of his brawny arms 
 
 Are strong as iron bands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; 
 
 His face is like the tan ; 
 His brow is wet with honest sweat ; 
 
 He earns whatever he can, 
 And looks the whole world in the face, 
 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
 Week out, week in, from morn till night, 
 You can hear his bellows blow ; 
 
 You hear him swing his heavy sledge. 
 With measured beat and slow. 
 
 Like a sexton ringing the old kirk chimes, 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
 And children, coming home from school, 
 
 Look in at the open door : 
 They love to see a flaming forge. 
 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 And catch the burning sparks, that fly 
 
 Like chaff" from a tkreshing-floor. 
 
 He goes, on Sunday, to the church. 
 
 And sits among his boys ; 
 He hears the parson pray and preach. 
 
 He hears his daughter's voice, 
 Singing in the village choir. 
 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him like her mother's voice. 
 
 Singing in Paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more. 
 
 How in the grave she hes ; 
 And with his hard rough hand he wipes 
 
 A tear from out his eyes. 
 
308 SELECTIONS IN POETKT. 
 
 Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 
 
 Onward through hfe he goes : 
 Each morning sees some task begin, 
 
 Each evening sees it close ; 
 Something attempted, something done, 
 
 Has earned a night's repose. 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
 For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
 
 Tlius, at the flaming forge of Life, 
 Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
 
 Thus, on its sounding anvil shaped. 
 Each burning deed, and thought. 
 
 H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 52. ALARIC THE VISIGOTH. 
 
 Alaric stormed and spoiled the city of Rome, and wan afterwards bnried in the channel ot 
 the river Busentins, tiie water of which had been diverted from its course that the bod» 
 might be interred. 
 
 When I am dead, no pageant train 
 Shall waste their sorrows at my bier. 
 
 Nor worthless pomp of homage vain 
 Stain it with hypocritic tear ; 
 
 For I will die as I did hve. 
 
 Nor take the boon I cannot give. 
 
 Ye shall not pile, with servile toil. 
 
 Your monuments upon my breast. 
 Nor yet within the common soil 
 
 Lay down the wreck of power to rest ; 
 Where man can boast that he has trod 
 On him that was ** the scourge of God." 
 
 But ye the mountain stream shall turn, 
 
 And lay its secret channel bare. 
 And hollow, for your sovereign's urn, 
 
 A resting-place forever there : 
 Then bid its everlasting springs 
 . Flow back upon the king of kings ; 
 And never be the secret said. 
 Until the deep give up his dead. 
 
EDWAED EVERETT. 309 
 
 My gold and silver ye shall fling 
 
 Back to the clods, that gave them birth ; 
 
 The captured crowns of many a king, 
 The ransom of a conquered earth : 
 
 For, e'en though dead, will I control 
 
 The trophies of the capitol. 
 
 My course was like a river deep, 
 
 And from the northern hills I burst 
 Across the world, in wrath to sweep ; 
 
 And where I went the spot was cursed. 
 Nor blade of grass again was seen 
 Where Alaric and his hosts had been. 
 
 Not for myself did I ascend 
 
 In judgment my triumphal car ; 
 *Twas God alone on high did send 
 
 The avenging Scythian to the war, 
 To shake a"^oad, with iron hand. 
 The appointed scourge of his command. 
 With iron hand that scourge I reared 
 
 O'er guilty king and guilty realm ; 
 Destruction was the ship I steered. 
 
 And vengeance sat upon the helm, 
 When, launched in fury on the flood, 
 I ploughed my way through seas of blood, 
 And, in the stream their hearts had spilt, 
 Washed out the long arrears of guilt. 
 
 Across the everlasting Alp 
 
 I poured the torrent of my powers. 
 And feeble Caesars shrieked for help. 
 
 In vain, within their seven-hilled towers : 
 I quenched in blood the brightest gem 
 That glittered in their diadem. 
 And struck a darker, deeper dye 
 In the purple of their majesty. 
 And bade my northern banners shine 
 Upon the conquered Palatine. 
 
 My course is ran, my errand done ; 
 
 I go to Him from whom I came ; 
 But never yet shall set the sun 
 
 Of glory that adorns my name ; 
 
310 SELEcrroNS in poetry. 
 
 And Roman hearts shall long be sick, 
 When men shall think of Alaric. 
 
 My course is run, my errand done ; 
 
 But darker ministers of fate. 
 Impatient, round the eternal throne. 
 
 And in the caves of vengeance, wait ; 
 And soon mankind shall blench away 
 Before the name of Attila. j,^^^^ ^yj,^^. 
 
 53. WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREB. 
 
 Woodman, spare that tree ! 
 
 Touch not a single bough ! 
 In youth it sheltered me, 
 
 And I'll protect it now. 
 'Twas my forefather's hand 
 
 That placed it near his cot ; 
 There, woodman, let it stand. 
 
 Thy axe shall harm it not ! 
 
 That old familiar tree, 
 
 Whose glory and renown 
 Are spread o'er land and sea. 
 
 And wouldst thou hew it down ' 
 Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! 
 
 Cut not its earth-bound ties ; 
 Oh, spare that aged oak. 
 
 Now towering to the skies ! 
 
 When but an idle boy 
 
 I sought its grateful shade ; 
 In all their gushing joy 
 
 Here too my sisters played. 
 My mother kissed me here ; 
 
 My father pressed my hand — 
 Forgive this foohsh tear. 
 
 But let that old oak stand ! 
 
 My heart-strings round thee cling. 
 Close as thy bark, old friend ! 
 
 Here shall the wild- bird sing. 
 And still thy branches bend. 
 
GEORGE P. MOERIS. — WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER. 311 
 
 Old tree ! the storm still brave ! 
 
 And, woodman, leave the spot ; 
 While I've a hand to save, 
 
 Thy axe shall harm it not! Geoegk P. Morris. 
 
 54, THE chieftain's daughter. 
 y 
 Upon the barren sand 
 
 A single captive stood. 
 Around him came, with bow and brand, 
 
 The red men of the wood. 
 Like him of old, his doom he hears. 
 
 Rock-bound on ocean's rim ; 
 The chieftain's daughter knelt in tears, 
 
 And breathed a prayer for him. 
 
 Above his head in air. 
 
 The savage war-club swung. 
 The frantic girl, in wild despair, 
 
 Her arms about him .flung. 
 Then shook the warriors of the shade, 
 
 Like leaves on aspen limb. 
 Subdued by that heroic maid 
 
 Who breathed a prayer for him. 
 
 " Unbind him !" gasped the chief, 
 
 " Obey your king's decree !" 
 He kissed away her tears of grief. 
 
 And set the captive free. 
 *Tis ever thus, when in life's storm, 
 
 Hope's star to man grows dim. 
 An angel kneels in woman's form. 
 
 And breathes a prayer for him. g^„^^^ p^ ^^^^^ 
 
 55. THE MOTHERS OF THE WEST. 
 
 The mothers of our forest-land ! 
 
 Stout-hearted dames were they ; 
 With nerve to wield the battle-brand. 
 
 And join the border fray. 
 
312 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 Our rough land had no braver. 
 
 In its days of blood and strife — 
 Aye ready for severest toil, 
 
 Aye free to peril life. 
 
 The mothers of our forest-land ! 
 
 On old Kentucky's soil 
 How shared they, with each dauntless band, 
 
 War's tempest and life's toil ! 
 They shrank not from the foeman — 
 
 They quailed not in the fight — 
 But cheered their husbands through the day, 
 
 And soothed them through the night. 
 
 The mothers of our forest-land ! 
 
 Their bosoms pillowed men ! 
 And proud were they by such to stand, 
 
 In hammock, fort, or glen, 
 To load the sure old rifle — 
 
 To run the leaden ball — 
 To watch a battling husband's place, 
 
 And fill it, should he fall ! 
 
 The mothers of our forest-land ! 
 
 Such were their daily deeds : 
 Their monument ! — where does it stand ? 
 
 Their epitaph ! — who reads ? 
 No braver dames had Sparta, 
 
 No nobler matrons Rome — 
 Yet who or lauds or honors them. 
 
 E'en in their own green home ? 
 
 The mothers of our forest-land ! 
 
 They sleep in unknown graves : 
 And had they borne and nursed a band 
 
 Of ingrates, or of slaves. 
 They had not been more neglected ! 
 
 But their graves shall yet be found, 
 And their monuments dot here and there 
 
 " The Dark and Bloody Ground." 
 
 William D. GALLAGHEa. 
 
W. H. C. HOSMEK, 3t3 
 
 56. THE INDIAN COUNCIL. 
 
 The trunks of oaken monarchs, huge and tall. 
 Were the rough columns of the Council Hall ; 
 Thick boughs were interwoven overhead, 
 And winds made music with their leafy pall : 
 Below, a tangled sea of brushwood spread, 
 Through which, to far-oflf wild, the beaten war-path led. 
 
 Few were the whites in number, and about 
 The council-fire were gathered dusky throngs 
 From whose dark bosoms time had not washed out 
 The bitter memory of recent wrongs. 
 Some longed to wake their ancient battle-songs, 
 And on the reeking spoils of conflict gaze — 
 Bind the pale captive to the stake with thongs, 
 And hellish yells of exultation raise, 
 While shrivelled up his form, and blackened in the blaze. 
 
 The compact for a cession of their land 
 Was nearly ended, when a far-famed chief 
 Rose with the lofty bearing of command. 
 Though lip and brow denoted inward grief : 
 Naught broke the silence save the rustling leaf 
 And the low murmur of the lulling wave ; 
 He drew his blanket round him, and a brief 
 But proud description of his fathers gave. 
 Then spoke of perished tribes and glory in the grave. 
 
 " And who be ye ?" he said in scornful tones. 
 And glance of kindling hate — " who offer gold 
 For hunting-grounds made holy by the bones 
 Of our great seers and sagamores of old ? 
 Men who would have our hearths and altars cold — 
 Unstring the bow, and break the hunting-spear— 
 Our pleasant huts with sheeted flame enfold, 
 Then drive our starving, wailing race in fear 
 Beyond the western hills, like broken herds of deer ! 
 
 "Wake, On-gue-hon-we ! strike the painted post. 
 And gather quickly for the conflict dire ; 
 Yon Long-Knives are forerunners of a host 
 Thick as the sparks when prairies are on fire : 
 Let childhood grasp the weapon of his sire — 
 14 
 
814 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 Arm, arm for deadly struggle, one and all. 
 While wives and babes to secret haunts retu-e ; 
 The ghosts of buried fathers on ye call 
 To guard their ancient tombs from sacrilege, or fall !'* 
 
 Dark forms rose up, and brows began to lower. 
 While many a savage eye destruction glared ; 
 But one came forth in that portentous hour, 
 Ere shaft was aimed, or dagger fully bared. 
 And hushed the storm. Old Honneyawus dared 
 His voice upraise ; and by his friendly aid 
 The knife was sheathed, the pioneer was spared. 
 Above that humane warrior of the shade 
 Let marble tell the tale in lines that cannot fade. 
 
 W. H. C. HOSMEB. 
 
 57. THE PIONEERS OF AMERICA. 
 
 Our hardy pioneers, the men who — nursed 
 
 Amid the blooming fields of cultured lands — 
 
 Forsook the scenes of infancy, and first 
 
 With hearts of lofty daring and strong hands 
 
 Pierced old primeval groves — by hunter bands. 
 
 And beasts of carnage tenanted alone — 
 
 And lit their camp-fires on the lonely strands 
 
 Of lakes and seas, to geographer unknown. 
 
 Deserve the bard's high lay, the sculptor's proudest stone. 
 
 Noblest of human conquerors were they ! 
 
 For, mighty though the bonds that bound the heart 
 
 To home and its endearments, far away 
 
 From mourning kindred and the crowded mart, 
 
 And earth for funeral uses set apart. 
 
 Where lay their honored dead in solemn rest, 
 
 They bore the precious seed of useful art 
 
 To wild, benighted regions of the West ; 
 
 Since the creation-day in unpruned beauty dressed. 
 
 Let ruin lift his arm, and crush in dust 
 The glittering sarcophagus of kings. 
 And, changing crown and sceptre into nisi# 
 Doom them to sleep among forgotten things ; 
 Let Time o'ershadow with his dusky wings 
 
W. H. C. HOSMEE. 315 
 
 Warriors who guilty eminence have gained, 
 And drank renown at red, polhited springs — 
 Sacked peaceful towns — the holy shrine profaned — 
 And to their chariot wheels the groaning captive chained : 
 
 But the self-exiled Britons who behind 
 
 Left transatlantic luxuries, and gave 
 
 Their parting salutations to the wind. 
 
 And, scorning the vile languor of the slave. 
 
 Rocked with the little May Flower on the wave, 
 
 To immortality have prouder claim. 
 
 Let the bright Muse of History engrave 
 
 Their names in fadeless characters of flame, 
 
 And give their wondrous tales an eveilasting fame. 
 
 No empty vision of unbounded power — 
 
 No dream of wild romance — no thirst for gold 
 
 Lured them from merry England's hall and bower. 
 
 Her Sabbath chime of bells, her hamlet old : 
 
 At home religious bigotry controlled 
 
 The struggling wing of thought ; a gloomy cloud. 
 
 Charged with despotic wrath, above them rolled ; 
 
 And haunts they sought where man might walk unbowed. 
 
 And sacred truth might raise her warning voice aloud. 
 
 W. H. C. HOSMER 
 
 58. THE INDIAN TRIBES. 
 
 Tribes of the Indian League ! from ancient seats 
 
 Swept by the whites like Autumn leaves away 
 Faint are your records of heroic feats, 
 
 And few the traces of your former sway ; 
 Loved woodland haunts, deep, shadowy, and gray, 
 
 No longer wave defiance to the roar 
 And rush of whirlwinds 'mid their cool retreats ; 
 
 The wild beast harbors in their depths no more. 
 And ploughmen turn the glebe they darkly clothed of yore. 
 
 Tribes of the Mighty ! dwindled to a few. 
 
 Dejected, trampled children of despair; 
 And only like your ancestors in hue, 
 
 And the wild beauty of their flowing hair ; 
 
316 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 With laughter rude inquisitors lay bare 
 
 The ghastly secrets of your green old graves, 
 To molder, piecemeal, in dissolving air ; 
 Forgetful of past glory, when your braves 
 Surrounding nations made poor, weak, dependent slaves. 
 
 Where are your hoary Magi — wrinkled seers — 
 
 Clad in their dread apparelhng, who made 
 Rude, rocky altars, stained and mossed with years. 
 
 And held terrific orgies in the shade ? 
 Where is the phant oar of slender blade 
 
 That urged the birchen vessel on the stream ? 
 Long council halls with cedar bark o'erlaid ? 
 
 Gone, like the shapes that populate a dream, 
 Or twinkhng dew, drunk up by mom's effulgent beam : 
 
 And where those whooping legions, fierce and free. 
 
 Who back the tide of French invasion bore. 
 Defeating warriors trained beyond the sea. 
 
 And bathing guarded Montreal in gore ? 
 Their day of power is ended, and no more 
 
 Ring out their paeans louder than the sound 
 Of booming waters on an iron shore. 
 
 While captive hundreds, bleeding, faint, and bound, 
 Expira in flame, or fall transpierced by many a wound. 
 
 Where are your thrilling orators, who caught 
 
 Their eloquence from nature, and allied 
 Wild powers of fancy to the glow of thought. 
 
 And grace of gesture to ancestral pride ? 
 Their sylvan voices on the wind have died : 
 
 And your last master of the honeyed tone. 
 Commanding port and gesture dignified, 
 
 No longer wails an empire overthrown. 
 And near his couch of dust, Niagara makes moan. 
 
 W. H. C. HOSMER. 
 
 59. DEATH S MISSION. 
 
 Go, Death, to thy mission ! The mandate was given. 
 
 And the echo rolled back through the chambers of heaven, 
 
 Then faint in the distance its mutterings grew. 
 
 And a being of horror came forth to my view ! 
 
 He seemed one commissioned for terrible deeds. 
 
C. W. EVEREST. 317 
 
 For dark was his chariot, and pale were his steeds ; 
 One hand grasped a sceptre, the other a dart, 
 And the glow of his eye told the pride of his heart ; 
 The Sun, at his glance, shed a sicklier ray. 
 And Nature, astonished, in fear shrunk away ; 
 The heavens grew black at his pestilent breath. 
 And owned him the monarch invincible— Death ! 
 He cast a proud glance over Earth's happy throng, 
 And breathed to the Nations his horrible song : 
 
 " I am lord of the Earth ; I am lord of the Main ; 
 
 All Nature I hold in my withering chain : 
 
 From my shadowy realm, in the chambers of night, 
 
 I will come on my pathway of mildew and blight : 
 
 The surest destruction 'tis mine to impart ; 
 
 My arrow shall pierce to the manliest heart ; 
 
 I will shroud man's proud hopes in the darkness of gloom. 
 
 And bear him from all that he loves, to the tomb ! 
 
 " I will visit the couch of the mother's first-born. 
 
 And the mother, despairing, shall sorrow forlorn ; 
 
 I will tear the fond wife from her little-ones' clasp, 
 
 She must come at my call, she must shrink from their grasj) ; 
 
 The father, though dear to the group of his heart. 
 
 From his wife and his infants forever must part : 
 
 In the hall of affection my banner shall wave — 
 
 I am lord of the Earth, I am lord of the Grave ! 
 
 " I will visit the sage, when, through night's lonely hours. 
 
 O'er the lore of past ages devoutly he pores ; 
 
 He shall cease his pursuits, he must molder to dust — 
 
 No learning can save — I am true to my trust ! 
 
 I will come to the dungeon, an angel of peace, 
 
 And grant to the captives a joyful release ; 
 
 Their chains cannot bind, they will come at my call, 
 
 And sorrow no longer shall hold them in thrall ! 
 
 "■ I will curb mad Ambition, when wading through blood. 
 And mounting the throne o'er the hearts of the good ; 
 I will call upon avarice, toiling for dust ; 
 His treasures, forsaken, neglected shall rust : 
 The scoflPer shall start at my coming, and quail. 
 And the stoutest transgressor turn suddenly pale : 
 
 " Mortal ! proud mortal ! prepare for my call : » 
 
 Thou shalt sleep, at the last, 'neath my curtaining pall ! 
 
318 SELECTIONS m POETRY. 
 
 I will come — the dread herald of woe to the gay, 
 When the giddy and careless will think me away ! 
 I will come — and the hall shall be shrouded with gloom. 
 And arrayed with the emblems of Death and the tomb ! 
 Be prepared ! that my summons shall cause no affright — 
 For my arrow is noiseless — my footstep is light !" 
 
 C. "W. EVEKEST 
 
 60. death's triuiiphs. 
 
 I WILL spare neither innocence nor truth ; 
 The aged, the manly, nor childhood, nor youth ; 
 The monarch will find that no sceptre can save ; 
 The beggar must go down with me to the grave ; 
 The sad and forlorn, with the happy and gay. 
 Must leave all behind them, and hasten away : 
 Man alike is my prey, nor shall favor be shown — 
 I will give each an arrow, a pall, and a stone ! 
 
 I will visit the proud one, exulting in state. 
 Who shall spurn the poor beggar that kneels at his gate : 
 I will humble his might ; I will sadden his hall ; 
 And his couch shall be spread with my funeral pall ! 
 I will come to the orphan, despised and rejected ; 
 I will visit the widow, by false friends neglected ; 
 And the lordlings who left them in sorrow to sigh. 
 By conscience affrighted, despairing shall die ! 
 
 I will go where is echoed the bacchanal's song. 
 
 And enter, unseen, with the revelling throng : 
 
 Woe ! woe ! when the red wine by me shall be poured. 
 
 The lights shall go out round the festival board ! 
 
 I will visit the gamester's low hall of despair, 
 
 And alas for the lip that shall welcome me there : 
 
 The wild curse of horror no more shall be said. 
 
 But the blood-gushing bosom be crushed 'neath my tread ! 
 
 I will visit the good man, to sickness a prey. 
 And bid him prepare for a happier day ! 
 He will not be affrighted, but welcome me on ; 
 He is tired of the world, and he longs to be gone ; 
 He knows I will calm all the woes of his breast. 
 And bear him away to a mansion of rest [^ 
 
C. W. EVEREST. — ^JOim G. WHITTIEK. 319 
 
 He will not plead to linger where pleasure is sad, 
 But will smile at my presence, look up, and be glad ! 
 
 Thus boasted the Monarch, and onward he rode. 
 To bear his destruotion in terror abroad ! 
 His shafts, all unerring, sped fatal and wide. 
 And the dead and the dying fell thick by his side ; 
 No pity could move him, no terror could stay. 
 But to Death's silent valley he bore them away. 
 
 I looked o'er creation : where, where was her throng. 
 
 So giddy in pleasure, so happy in song ? 
 
 Ah ! their glad hearts were stifled, and hushed was their breath; 
 
 For Earth's countless millions were sleeping in death ; 
 
 There were "heaps upon heaps" of the mangled and slain — 
 
 The Tyrant had boasted, nor boasted in vain ! 
 
 'Twas a horrible scene ; not a breath — not a groan — 
 
 And Death, the proud victor, was stalking alone ! 
 
 C. "W. Everest. 
 
 61. THE AGED PRISONER. 
 
 Look on him ! — through his dungeon grate, 
 
 Feebly and cold, the morning light 
 Comes steahng round him dim and late, 
 
 As though it loathed the sight. 
 Reclining on his strawy bed. 
 His hand upholds his drooping head — 
 His bloodless cheek is seamed and hard. 
 Unshorn his gray, neglected beard ; 
 And o'er his bony fingers flow 
 His long, dishevelled locks of snow. 
 
 No grateful fire before him glows. 
 And yet the winter's breath is chill ; 
 
 And o'er his half-clad person goes 
 The frequent ague thrill ! 
 
 Silent, save ever and anon, 
 
 A sound, half murmur and half groan. 
 
 Forces apart the painful grip 
 
 Of the old suflerer's bearded lip ; 
 
 Oh, sad and crushing is the fate 
 
 Of old age, chained and desolate ! 
 
320 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 Just God ! why lies that old man there ? 
 
 A murderer shares his prison bed, 
 Whose eyeballs, through his horrid hair. 
 
 Gleam on him fierce and red ; 
 And the rude oath and heartless je^r 
 Fall ever on his loathing ear. 
 And, or in wakefulness or sleep, 
 Nerve, flesh, and pulses thrill and creep 
 Whene'er that ruffian's tossing limb. 
 Crimson with murder, touches him ? 
 
 What has the gray-haired prisoner done ? 
 
 Has murder stained his hands with gore ? 
 God made the old man poor ! 
 
 For this he shares a felon's cell — 
 The fittest earthly type of hell ! 
 For this boon, for which he poured 
 His young blood on the invader's sword, 
 And counted light the fearful cost — 
 His blood-gained liberty is lost 1 
 
 And so, for such a place of rest, 
 
 Old prisoner, dropped thy blood as rain 
 On Concord's field, and Bunker's crest. 
 
 And Saratoga's plain ? 
 Look forth, thou man of many scars. 
 Through thy dim dungeon's iron bars ; 
 It must be joy, in sooth, to see 
 Yon monument upreared to thee — 
 Piled granite and a prison cell — 
 The land repays thy service well ! 
 
 Go, ring the bells, and fire the guns. 
 And fling the starry banner out ; 
 
 Shout " Freedom !" till your lisping ones 
 Give back their cradle shout ; 
 
 Let boasting eloquence declaim 
 
 Of honor, liberty, and fame ; 
 
 Still let the poet's strain be heard, 
 
 With glory for each second word. 
 
 And every thing with breath agree 
 --3s<ro praise " our glorious liberty." 
 
 But when the patriot cannon jars 
 That prison's cold and gloomy wall. 
 
JOHN G. WHITTIEE. G. W. PATTEN. 321 
 
 And througli its grates the stripes and stars 
 
 Kise on the wind and fall — 
 Think ye that prisoner's aged ear 
 Rejoices in the general cheer ? 
 Think ye his dim and failing eye 
 Is kindled at your pageantry ? 
 Sorrowing of soul, and chained of limb, 
 What is your carnival to him ? 
 
 Down with the law that binds him thus ! 
 
 Unworthy freemen, let it find 
 No refuge from the withering curse 
 
 Of God and human kind ! 
 Open the prison's living tomb. 
 And usher from its brooding gloom 
 The victims of your savage code. 
 To the free sun and air of God : 
 No longer dare as crime to brand 
 The chastening of the Almighty's hand. 
 
 John G. Whiitibbi 
 
 62. THE Seminole's reply. 
 
 Blaze, with your serried columns ! 
 
 I will not bend the knee ! 
 The shackles ne'er again shall bind 
 
 The arm which now is free. 
 I've mailed it with the thunder. 
 
 When the tempest muttered low , 
 And where it falls, ye well may dread 
 
 The hghtning of its blow ! 
 
 I've scared ye in the city, 
 
 I've scalped ye on the plain ; 
 Go, count your chosen, where they fell 
 
 Beneath my leaden rain ! 
 I scorn your proffered treaty ! 
 
 The pale-face I defy ! 
 Revenge is stamped upon my spear. 
 
 And blood my battle cry ! 
 
 Some strike for hope of booty, 
 Some to defend their all, — 
 14* 
 
322 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 I battle for the joy I have 
 To see the white man fall : 
 
 I love, among the wounded, 
 To hear his dying moan. 
 
 And catch, while chanting at his siatj, 
 The music of his groan. 
 
 Ye've trailed me through the forest, 
 
 Ye've tracked me o'er tlie stream ; 
 And struggling through the everglade. 
 
 Your bristling bayonets gleam ; 
 But I stand as should the warrior, 
 
 With his rifle and his spear ; 
 The scalp of vengeance still is red. 
 
 And warns ye — Come not here ! 
 
 I loathe ye in my bosom, 
 
 I scorn ye with mine eye, 
 And I'll taunt ye with my latest breath. 
 
 And fight ye till I die ! 
 I ne'er will ask ye quarter. 
 
 And I ne'er will be your slave ; 
 But I'll swim the sea of slaughter. 
 
 Till I sink beneath its wave ! 
 
 G. W. Paitbr 
 
 63. BEAUTY EVERYWHERE. 
 
 Adoring souls some beauty find 
 
 In every humble nook, 
 In every line some glowing thought 
 
 Through all of Nature's book ; 
 Enrapt, they hear the Eternal's voice 
 
 In thunders of the storm, 
 They see his Spirit hovering o'er 
 
 The mountain's misty form ; 
 They fancy heavenly symphonies 
 
 Inspire the nightingale. 
 They see angelic footprints on 
 
 The violets of the vale. 
 
 Each moment fleeting past, gives some 
 New beauty joyous birth. 
 
EDWAED C. MAESHALL. 323 
 
 Some glories of the azure dome 
 
 Or iris hues of earth ; 
 The music of the purling rill. 
 
 The sweetly slumbering lake, 
 The wild swan, round whose downy breast 
 
 The dashing ripples break. 
 The skylark's lonely path on high. 
 
 Each leaflet's tiny scroll, 
 Have all its deepest raptures waked 
 
 Within the loving soul. 
 
 'Tis sweetest solace thus to hear, 
 
 Through Nature's canopy, 
 Unceasing swell the choral strams 
 
 In melting harmony 
 Sent forth from all created things. 
 
 In holy stillness breathing 
 A rapture on the attuned ear, 
 
 A story ever wreathing. 
 Or in the grandeur of the storm. 
 
 Or when the dew-drop ghstens, 
 Of teachings fraught with truth divine 
 
 To every one that listens. ^^^^^ ^^ Maeshali. 
 
 64. OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 Our country ! lovely are her hills, 
 And peaceful are her vales. 
 
 Wealth flows where'er her yeoman tills, 
 Health freights her balmy gales. 
 
 Her gallant tars sail o'er the seas 
 
 And visit every strand, 
 Her banner floats on every breeze. 
 
 Her praise o'er every land. 
 
 Where famine reigns, or kings oppress, 
 
 She sends her kind relief. 
 She soothes the orphan's sore distress. 
 
 And stills the widow's grief. 
 
 Our country ! hallowed be the name — 
 Courageous were our sires, — 
 
324 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 To noble deeds their glorious fame 
 The patriot's bosom fires. 
 
 They braved the tempest and the flood, 
 
 They met the battle's fray, 
 They pledged their honor and their blood 
 
 On freedom's natal day. 
 
 Our country summons every son 
 
 To join the choral throng. 
 For freedom's battles fought and won 
 
 To raise the lofty song. 
 
 Loud swell the anthem's joyful sound 
 
 Within the sacred dome, — 
 And tell each nation far around 
 
 Here Freedom has her home. 
 
 Edward C. M.vrs»am» 
 
 C5. WORK. 
 
 Work is the sweet of earth's sad life ; 
 
 Work is a hymn of praise, 
 That wings its flight o'er sounds of strife. 
 
 To the Ancient One of days. 
 
 Work yields thee peace from every foe, 
 
 A balm for every sorrow ; 
 It soothes with joy thy thoughts of woe, 
 
 And cheers with hope thy morrow. 
 
 The Father's work, rejoicing came 
 
 The Saviour to perform ; 
 To heal the sick, restore the lame. 
 
 And bless the souls who mourn. 
 
 Wouldst learn of faith, or joy or love ? 
 
 By steadfast work thou'lt know 
 The mysteries of heaven above. 
 
 Or of the earth below. 
 
 Work on ! work on ! ye sons of toil ; 
 
 Your guerdon this shall be, — 
 
 While here ye sweat, and toil, and moil. 
 
 Ye win eternity ! ti r^ ^ 
 
 ^ Edward C. Maeshali. 
 
J. OTIS KOCKWELL. 32^ 
 
 66. THE DRAM-DRINKER. 
 
 Pray, Mr. Dram-drinker, how do you do ? 
 
 What in perdition's the matter with you ? 
 
 How did you come by that bruise on the head ? 
 
 Why are your eyes so infernally red ? 
 
 Why do you mutter that infidel hymn ? 
 
 Why do you tremble in every limb ? 
 
 Who has done this ? — let the reason be shown, 
 
 And let the offender be pelted with stone. 
 
 And the Dram-drinker said, " If you listen to me. 
 
 You shall hear what you hear, and see what you see. 
 
 " I had a father ; — the grave is his bed : 
 
 I had a mother ; — she sleeps with the dead. 
 
 Truly I wept when they left me alone ; 
 
 But I shed all my tears on their grave and their stone. 
 
 I planted a willow, I planted a yew. 
 
 And left them to sleep till the last trumpet blew. 
 
 Fortune was mine ; I mounted her car — 
 
 Pleasure from virtue had beckoned me far. 
 
 Onward I went, like an avalanche, down. 
 
 And the sunshine of fortune was changed to a frown. 
 
 ** Fortune was gone, and I took to my side 
 A young, and a lovely, and beautiful bride ! 
 Her I entreated with coldness and scorn — 
 Tarrying back till the break of the morn ; 
 Slighting her kindness, and mocking her fears — 
 Casting a blight on her tenderest years i 
 Sad, and neglected, and weary I left her : 
 Sorrow and care of her reason bereft her ; 
 T^ill, like a star, when it falls from its pride. 
 She sunk on the bosom of misery, and died. 
 
 " I had a child, and it grew like a vine ; — 
 Fair as the rose of Damascus was mine : 
 Fair — and I watched over her innocent youth, 
 As an angel of heaven would watch over truth. 
 She grew like her mother, in feature and form ; 
 Her blue eye was languid, her cheek was too warm. 
 Seventeen summers had shone on her brow — 
 The seventeenth winter beheld her laid low ! 
 Yonder they sleep in their graves, side by side — 
 A father, a mother, a daughter, a bride." 
 
326 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 Go to your children, and tell them the tale : 
 Tell them his cheek, too, was lividly pale ; 
 Tell them his eye was bloodshot and cold ; 
 Tell them his purse was a stranger to gold ; 
 Tell them he passed through the world they are in 
 The victim of sorrow, and misery, and sin ; 
 Tell them, when life's shameful conflicts were past. 
 In horror and anguish he perished at last. 
 
 J. Otis Rockwell. 
 
 67. THE DEATH-FIRE. 
 
 Beneath the ever dense and leafy gloom 
 
 Of the hushed wilderness, a lurid flame 
 
 Crept, like a serpent, gorged with kindling blood, 
 
 Around the knotted trunk of an old forest oak ; 
 
 Then upward and abroad it fiercely spread 
 
 Through the dusk pine-tops and the clinging vines, 
 
 Till the dark forest crimsoned with the glare. 
 
 Strong winds swept through the hot and crackling boughs. 
 
 While scintillating sparks — a fiery rain — 
 
 Fell from the arrowy flames that darted through 
 
 The black and smoky air. 
 
 In double ranks, around that flaming tree. 
 
 Sat fierce-browed warriors, like a crowd of fiends, 
 
 Sent forth to hold their orgies on the earth. 
 
 Their shafted arrows, and the sinewy bow. 
 
 The tomahawk, and club, and keen-edged knife. 
 
 Flashed back the fire, and there all hotly gleamed 
 
 In the tall grass, that, coiled all crisply back. 
 
 Grew stiff and died on the scorched earth. 
 
 The^ sparkling river, flowing with sweet chime. 
 
 So cool and tranquil in its verdant banks. 
 
 In gentle contrast with the flaming trees. 
 
 And the red demons crouching underneath, 
 
 Mocked the devoted victims. 
 
 One was a girl, so gently fair. 
 
 She seemed a being of upper air, 
 
 Lured by the sound of the waters' swell. 
 
 To the haunt of demons dark and fell ! 
 
 Shackled by many a galling thong, 
 
 But in Christian courage firm and strong. 
 
ANN S. STEPHENS. T. B. IVIACAULAY. 327 
 
 Stood a brave man, with his eye on fire. 
 
 As he bent its glance on the funeral pyre ; — 
 
 Yet his bosom heaved and his heart beat quick ; 
 
 His labored breath came fast and thick ; 
 
 His cheek grew pale, and drops of pain 
 
 Sprang to his brow, like beaded rain. 
 
 As he felt the clasp of his pallid bride, 
 
 Where she clung in fear to his prisoned side. 
 
 A savage shout — a fierce, deep yell — 
 
 Rings up through the forest, cove, and dell : 
 
 The wood is alive on either hand 
 
 With the i-ushing feet of that murderous band. 
 
 One start from the earth — one feeble cry. 
 
 Like the moan of a fawn when the hounds are nigh — 
 
 And she sinks to the ground with a shuddering thrill. 
 
 And lies at his feet all cold and still. 
 
 With the mighty strength of his stem despair, 
 
 Like a hon roused in his guarded lair. 
 
 The youth has rended his bonds apart — 
 
 The bride is snatched to his throbbing heart ! 
 
 With a bound he clears the savage crew, 
 
 And plunges on toward the bark canoe. 
 
 He nears the bank — a ■fiendish scream 
 
 From the baffled foes rings o'er the stream : 
 
 He springs to the bark ; — away, away ! — 
 
 It is lost from sight in the flashing spray ! 
 
 Ann S. Stephens. 
 
 68. THE BATTLE OF IVRY. 
 
 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 infantiy. 
 
 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 ; 
 
328 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 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 in 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 fieiy duke is pricking fast 
 
 Across Saint Andre's plain, 
 With all the hirehng chivalry 
 
 Of Guelders 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 spurs are striking deep, 
 
 A thousand spears in rest. 
 
T. B. MACAULAY. — PHILIP J. BAILEY. 329 
 
 A thousand knights are pressing close 
 
 Behind the snow-white crest ; 
 And in they burst, and on they rushed, 
 
 While, like a guiding star. 
 Amidst the thickest carnage blazed 
 
 The helmet of Navarre. 
 
 Now, God 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 steeds. 
 
 And flags, and cloven mail ; 
 And then we thought on vengeance. 
 
 And all along our van, 
 " Remember St. Bartholomew," 
 
 Was passed from man to man ; 
 But out spake gentle Harry, 
 
 ** No Frenchman is my foe : 
 Down, down with every foreigner ; 
 
 But let 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 ! ^^ ^ Maoai^t 
 
 69. THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 
 
 'TwAS night : over earth like a pall was thrown 
 Thickest darkness. Blent with the thunder's tone 
 Were the torrent's rush, and the wind's wild moan. 
 
 And the wail of the ocean wave. 
 'Twas then that grim death, clad in terror and gloom. 
 Left his cheerless home in the dreary tomb. 
 To summon the old and the young to their doom. 
 
 In the land of the dreamless grave. 
 
 He lifted the latch of a cottage door. 
 Where a widowed mother is bending o'er — 
 
330 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 With looks that the fulness of sorrow wore — 
 
 The child of her early love. 
 And meekly she bowed in the dying hour — 
 *Twas her Father's will that the fragile flower 
 Remove from the blight of an early bower 
 
 To the garden of God above. 
 
 Then away he flew with fiendish glee ! 
 " I will visit the house of mirth," said he : 
 " 'Tis seldom they meet with a guest like me 
 
 In the blaze of the festive hall." 
 The spectre brandished his blood-stained lance. 
 The revellers shrank from his withering glance, 
 And a blackened corse in the mazy dance. 
 
 Struck down was the " belle of the ball 1" 
 
 In the banqueting hall of a castle old 
 Sat a stalwart warrior, grim and bold, 
 As rugged and gray as his own stronghold, 
 
 And the last of an ancient hne. 
 The falcon eye of the stern old knight 
 Lit up with a wild unearthly light, 
 As he Hfted on high the goblet bright 
 
 Brim-full of the purple wine. 
 
 He had scoffed at death on the blood-red plain, 
 'Mid the bristling steel and the leaden rain ; 
 He had laughed to scorn, on the land and main. 
 
 The shell and the booming shot : 
 With the wine-cup now in his nervous grasp, 
 He is seized in the spectre's icy clasp ; 
 One groan of horror — a shudder — a gasp — 
 
 And the warrior chief is not. 
 
 Thus, the Angel of Death remorseless flings 
 The blighting shade of his leaden wings 
 O'er the cottage low and the domes of kings : 
 
 Over all he asserts his power. 
 Learn wisdom then : let your life attest 
 That death will not come an unwelcome guest : 
 Seek now the love that will make you blest 
 
 In the gloom of thy dying hour. 
 
 When the pulses of life beat faint and slow. 
 And the spirit is struggling, and pants to go. 
 The richest baubles that tempt below 
 
PHILIP J. BAILEY. — K. M. C. 331 
 
 But deepen the 'gathering gloom ; 
 But light divine, with heavenly ray. 
 Will guide the soul on the radiant way 
 To the chme of the blest, forever and aye 
 
 To live in Eternity's bloom. 
 
 Philip J. Bailey : (Festus.) 
 
 70. THE MADMAN. 
 
 Many a year hath passed away. 
 Many a dark and dismal year. 
 Since last I roamed in the light of day. 
 Or mingled my own with another's tear : 
 Woe to the daughters and sons of men — 
 Woe to them all, when I roam again ! 
 
 Here have I watched in this dungeon cell. 
 
 Longer than Memory's tongue can tell : 
 
 Here have I shrieked in my wild despair. 
 
 When the damned fiends from their prison came. 
 
 Sported and gambolled, and mocked me here, 
 
 With their eyes of fire, and their tongues of flame ; 
 Shouting forever and aye my name ! 
 And I strove in vain to burst my chain, 
 And longed to be free as the winds again. 
 That I might spring in the wizard ring, 
 And scatter them back to their hellish den ! 
 Woe to the daughters and sons of men — 
 Woe to them all, when I roam again ! 
 
 How long I have been in this dungeon here. 
 Little I know, and nothing I care : 
 
 What to me is the day or night. 
 Summer's heat or autumn sere, 
 
 Spring-tide flowers or winter's blight. 
 Pleasure's smile or sorrow's tear ? 
 
 Time ! what care I for thy flight ? 
 Joy ! I spurn thee with disdain : 
 Nothing love I but this clanking chain. 
 Once I broke from its iron hold : 
 Nothing I said, but silent and bold. 
 Like the shepherd that watches his gentle fold, 
 Like the tiger that crouches in mountain lair, 
 
332 SELEcnoNS in poetry. 
 
 Hours upon hours, so watched I here ; 
 
 Till one of the fiends that had come to bring 
 
 Herbs from the valley, and drink from the spring. 
 
 Stalked through my dungeon entrance in ! 
 
 Ha ! how he shrieked to see me free ! 
 
 Ho ! how he trembled and knelt to me, 
 
 He who had mocked me many a day, 
 
 And barred me out from its cheerful ray ! 
 
 Gods ! how I shouted to see him pray ! 
 
 I wreathed my hand in the demon's hair. 
 
 And choked his breath in its muttered prayer, 
 
 And danced I then in wild delight, 
 
 To see the trembling wretch's fright. 
 
 Gods ! how I crushed his hated bones 
 
 'Gainst the jagged wall, and the dungeon-stones ; 
 
 And plunged my arm adown his throat, 
 
 And dragged to life his beating heart, 
 And held it up, that I might gloat 
 
 To see its quivering fibres start ! 
 Ho ! how I drank of the purple flood, 
 Quafl:ed and quaffed again of blood. 
 Till my brain grew dark, and I knew no more. 
 Till I found myself on this dungeon floor. 
 Fettered and held by this iron chain ! 
 
 Ho ! when I break its links again, 
 
 Ha ! when I break its links again. 
 Woe to the daughters and sons of men ! 
 
 My frame is shrunk, and my soul is sad, 
 
 And devils mock and call me mad. 
 
 Many a dark and fearful sight 
 
 Haunts me here in the gloom of night : 
 
 Mortal smile or human tear 
 
 Never cheers or soothes me here : 
 
 The spider shrinks from my grasp away, 
 
 Though he's known my form for many a day ; 
 
 The slimy toad, with his diamond eye. 
 
 Watches afar, but comes not nigh : 
 
 The craven rat with her filthy brood. 
 
 Pilfers and gnaws my scanty food ; 
 
 But when I strive to make her play. 
 
 Snaps at my hands, and flees away : 
 Light of day or ray of sun, 
 Friend or hope, I've none — I've none ! 
 
K. M. C. — JOnN M. HAKNEY. 333 
 
 They called me mad : they left me here, 
 
 To my burning thoughts, and the fiend's despair, 
 
 Never, ah ! never to see again 
 
 Earth, or sky, or sea, or plain ; 
 
 Never to hear soft Pity's sigh — 
 
 Never to gaze on mortal eye ; 
 
 Doomed through hfe, if life it be, 
 
 To helpless, hopeless misery. 
 
 Oh, if a single ray of light 
 
 Had pierced the gloom of this endless night ; 
 
 If the cheerful tones of a single voice 
 
 Had made the depths of my heart rejoice ; 
 
 If a single thing had loved me here, 
 
 I ne'er had crouched to these fiends' despair ! 
 
 They come again ! They tear my brain ! 
 They tumble and dart through my every vein ! 
 Ho ! could I burst this clanking chain. 
 Then might I spring in the hellish ring, 
 And scatter them back to their den again ! 
 
 Ho ! when I break its links again. 
 
 Ha ! when I break its links again. 
 Woe to the daughters and sons of men ! r m CT 
 
 71. A FEVER DREAM. 
 
 A FEVER scorched my body, fired my brain ! 
 
 Like lava, in Vesuvius, boiled my blood 
 
 Within the glowing caverns of my heart. 
 
 I raged with thirst, and begged a cold clear draught 
 
 Of fountain water. 'Twas with tears denied. 
 
 I drank a nauseous febrifuge, and slept ; 
 
 But rested not — harassed with horrid dreams 
 
 Of burning deserts, and of dusty plains — 
 
 Mountains disgorging flames — forests on fire. 
 
 Steam, sunshine, smoke, and boiling lakes — 
 
 Hills of hot sand, and glowing stones that seemed 
 
 Embers and ashes of a burnt up world ! 
 
 Thirst raged within me. I sought the deepest vale, 
 And called on all the rocks and caves for water ; — 
 I climbed a mountain, and from cliff to cliff 
 
334 SELECTIONS IN BOETRY. 
 
 Pursued a flying cloud, howling for water : — 
 I crushed the withered herbs, and gnawed dry roots, 
 Still crying, Water ! water ! — while the cliffs and caves, 
 Tn horrid mockery, re-echoed " Water 1" 
 
 The baked plain gaped for moisture, 
 And from its arid breast heaved smoke, that se«med 
 The breath of furnace — fierce, volcanic fire, 
 Or hot monsoon, that raises Syrian sands 
 To clouds. Amid the forests we espied 
 A faint and bleating herd. Sudden, a shrill 
 And horrid shout arose of — " Blood ! blood ! blood 1" 
 We fell upon them with the tiger's thirst. 
 And drank up all the blood that was not human ! 
 We were dyed in blood ! Despair returned ; 
 The cry of blood was hushed, and dumb confusion reigned, 
 Even then, when hope was dead ! — past hope — 
 I heard a laugh ! and saw a wretched man 
 Rip his own veins, and bleeding, drink 
 With eager joy. Tlie example seized on all : — 
 Each fell upon himself, tearing his veins. 
 Fiercely in search of blood ! And some there were, 
 Who, having emptied their own veins, did seize 
 Upon their neighbors* arms, and slew them for their blood ! - 
 
 " Rend, O ye lightnings ! the sealed firmament. 
 And flood a burning world. Rain ! rain ! pour ! pour ! 
 Open ye windows of high heaven ! and pour 
 The mighty deluge. Let us drown and drink 
 Luxurious death I Ye earthquakes, split the globe. 
 The solid rock-ribbed globe ! — and lay all bare 
 Its subterranean rivers and fresh seas !" 
 
 Thus raged the multitude. And many fell 
 In fierce convulsion ; — many slew themselves. 
 And now, I saw the city all in flames — 
 The forest burning — and the very earth on fire ! 
 I saw the mountains open with a roar 
 Loud as the seven apocalyptic thunders, 
 And seas of lava rolling headlong down, 
 Through crackling forests fierce, and hot as hell, 
 Down to the plain ; — I turned to fly — and waked ! 
 
 John M. HABNEr 
 
AIJNE C. LYNCH. 335 
 
 12. THOUGHTS IN A LIBRARY. 
 
 The first stanza, -which is original, is prefixed to the beautiful ones that 
 follow, as their meaning is not at the outset sufficiently apparent, without 
 an introduction, for oratorical purposes. 
 
 Oh ! ye, who love sweet hours of thought, 
 
 Here seek these lofty domes, 
 Where some old fond librarian guards, 
 
 As treasures, ancient tomes. 
 
 Speak low — tread softly through these halls I 
 
 Here genius lives enshrined, 
 Here reign in silent majesty 
 
 The monarchs of the mind. 
 
 A mighty spirit-host they come 
 
 From every age and clime — 
 Above the buried wrecks of years 
 
 They breast the tide of time. 
 
 And in their presence-chamber here. 
 
 They hold their regal state. 
 And round them throng a noble'' train. 
 
 The gifted and the great. 
 
 Oh ! child of toil ! when round thy path 
 
 The storms of life arise ; 
 And when thy brothers pass thee by 
 
 "With stern, unloving eyes ; 
 
 Here shall the Poets chant for thee 
 
 Their sweetest, loftiest lays, 
 And Prophets wait to guide thy steps 
 
 In wisdom's pleasant ways. 
 
 Come, with these God-anointed kings, 
 
 Be thou companion here ; 
 
 And in the mighty realms of mind 
 
 Thou shalt o;o forth a Peer. . ^ t 
 
 ^ Annk C. Ltsco. 
 
m- 
 
 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 *I3. THE OLD MAN IN DECEMBER. 
 
 They call me old : they do not know 
 
 The thrill my heart receives, 
 When I hear the children's bounding feet 
 
 Go through the rustling leaves. 
 
 The sounds of happy laughter fall 
 
 In music on my ear ; 
 And my spirit keeps the cadence while 
 
 The gray head turns to hear. 
 
 They mark, at times, a trembling tear, 
 
 And say I'm worn and old : 
 They do not know the healthful cheer 
 
 That keeps me blithe and bold. 
 
 These tottering limbs may faint and fail^ 
 
 These scattering hairs be gray ; 
 But I feel my mother's parting kiss 
 
 On my lips grow warm to-day ! 
 
 I hear her breathe a burning prayer 
 
 For the boy that climbs her knee ; 
 While the almond spreads its snowy star 
 
 O'er the halls of memory. 
 
 'Tis a star of hope ! — it leads me on, 
 
 And Faith her radiance gives. 
 To light me through the narrow way 
 
 To where my mother lives. 
 
 What though her grave be wide and deep. 
 
 O'er lands and seas away ; 
 I know she's bending down from heaven 
 
 To cheer ray heart to-day. 
 
 Oh ! I'm not sad, though old and gray. 
 
 And worn with many a care : 
 My soul is warm in Christian love, 
 
 And strong in answered prayer. 
 
 In every bright and glorious thing 
 
 That God has made, I joy ; 
 I love the earth and heaven above, 
 
 As I did when a little boy. Eahlt Heekmanit. 
 
ANONYMOUS. 337 
 
 74. ROME. 
 
 Rome ! oh, Rome, eternal city ! 
 Who can gaze unmoved on thee ? 
 
 Even Nature looks in pity- 
 On thy fallen majesty. 
 
 Yet, not faithless to her duty, 
 Shedding o'er thee purple light. 
 
 Still she grants a dower of beauty 
 To thy ruins, day and night. 
 
 Still thy day is fair — but fairer, 
 Fairer far thy evening hour. 
 
 When the moon, night's queenly bearer. 
 Floats above yon mold'ring tower. 
 
 Is not this the hour to ponder ? 
 
 Those dim vistas that we see, 
 Do they not wake thoughts that wander 
 
 On throughout eternity ? 
 
 Pace the stern old Coliseum, 
 
 Slumbering 'neath that peaceful ray ; 
 Listen to the far " Te Deum," 
 
 Issumg from those cloisters gray ; 
 
 Gaze upon yon lonely column. 
 
 Rising, spirit-like, on high, 
 Keeping there its vigil solemn. 
 
 By thy grave, past Italy ! 
 
 Temple, shrine, and queenly bower. 
 Mantling ivy shrouds in gloom ; 
 
 Wrapping, pall-like, haughty tower. 
 Regal pile, and sullen tomb. 
 
 More to tell were vain — were needless : 
 Who can choose but love this land ? 
 
 Who can, of its beauties heedless. 
 Seek uijmoved another strand ? 
 
 There men dream of fallen splendor. 
 Ruins old and cloudless skies : 
 
 Fancy there her dreams may tender — 
 Here we have realities ! 
 15 
 
S38 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 Oh ! what noble feats of glory, 
 World-subduer, thou hast seen ! 
 
 Gaze upon these ruins hoary — 
 
 Gaze, and think what Rome has been ! 
 
 ANONTMOUat 
 
 15. THE POOR-HOUSE. 
 
 There is yon house that holds the parish poor, » 
 
 Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door : 
 
 There, where the putrid vapors flagging play. 
 
 And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day, — 
 
 There children dwell, who know no parents* care-^ 
 
 Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there ; 
 
 Heart-broken matrons, on their joyless bed ; 
 
 Forsaken wives — and mothers never wed ; 
 
 Dejected widows, with unheeded tears. 
 
 And crippled age, with more than childhood's fears : 
 
 The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest, they. 
 
 The moping idiot and the madman gay. 
 
 Here, too, the sick their final doom receive — 
 Here brought amid the scenes of grief to grieve ; 
 Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow, 
 Mixed with the clamor of the crowd below : 
 Here sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan, 
 And the cold charities of man to man ; 
 Whose laws, indeed, for ruined age provide. 
 And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride ; 
 But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh. 
 And pride embitters what it can't deny ! 
 
 Say, ye, — oppressed by some fantastic woes. 
 Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose. 
 Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance. 
 With timid eye, to read the distant glance ; 
 Who, with sad prayers, the weary doctor tease. 
 To name the nameless, ever new disease ; 
 Who, with mock patience, dire complaint endure. 
 Which real pain, and that alone, can cure, — 
 How would ye bear, in real pain to lie. 
 Despised, neglected, left alone to die ? 
 How would ye bear to draw your latest breath 
 Where all that's wretched paves the way for death ? 
 
 CuABBa 
 
HOME. 339 
 
 76. THE HERMIT. 
 
 Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote 
 
 And inaccessible by shepherds trod. 
 
 In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand, 
 
 A hermit lived ; a melancholy man. 
 
 Who was the wonder of our wandering swains. 
 
 Austere and lonely, cruel to himself. 
 
 Did they report him ; the cold earth his bed. 
 
 Water his drink, his ifood the shepherd's alms. 
 
 I went to see him, and my heart was touched 
 
 With reverence and with pity. Mild he spake , 
 
 And, entering on discourse, such stories told. 
 
 As made me oft revisit hie sad cell ; 
 
 For he had been a soldier in his youth. 
 
 And fought in famous battles, when the peers 
 
 Of Europe, by the old Godfredo led 
 
 Against the usurping infidel, displayed 
 
 The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land. 
 
 Pleased with my admiration and the fire 
 
 His speech struck from me, the old man would shake 
 
 His years away, and act his young encounters. 
 
 Then, having showed his wounds, he'd sit him down. 
 
 And all the live-long day discourse of war. 
 
 To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf 
 
 He cut the figures of the marshalled hosts ; 
 
 Described the motions and explained the use 
 
 Of the deep column and the lengthened line. 
 
 The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm ; 
 
 For all that Saracen or Christian knew 
 
 Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known. 
 
 Wliy this brave soldier in a desert hid 
 Those qualities that should have graced a camp. 
 At last I also learned. Unhappy man ! 
 Returning homewards by Messina's port. 
 Loaded with wealth and honors, bravely won, 
 A rude and boisterous captain of the sea 
 Fastened a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought : 
 The stranger fell ; and, with his dying breath. 
 Declared his name and lineage. • " Mighty heaven !" 
 The soldier cried — " My brother ! oh, my brother !" 
 They exchanged forgiveness. 
 
840 SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 And happy, in my mind, was he that died ; 
 For many deaths has the sumvor suffered. 
 In the wild desert, on a rock, he sits, 
 Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks, 
 And ruminates all day his dreadful fate : 
 At times, alas ! not in his perfect mind, 
 Holds dialogues with his loved brother's ghost ; 
 And oft, each night, forsakes his sullen couch. 
 To make sad orisons for him he slew. 
 
 HOMK 
 
 V7. SPEECH OF CAIUS GRACCHUS. 
 
 Rome, my country ! my mother Rome ! 
 
 Is it to shed thy blood I draw my sword ? 
 
 To fill thy matrons' and thy daughters' eyes 
 
 With tears, and drain the spirits of thy sons ? 
 
 Should I not rather turn it 'gainst myself. 
 
 And by the timely sacrifice of one. 
 
 Preserve the many ? They will not let me do it ; 
 
 They take from me the rule of mine own acts. 
 
 And make me freedom's slave ! What ! Is it so ? 
 
 Come, then, the only virtue that is left me, — 
 
 The fatal virtue of necessity. 
 
 Upon them ! — 
 
 Give them stout hearts, ye gods ! to enable them 
 
 To stand the flashing of their tyrants' swords ; 
 
 Deaf to the din of battle let them be ; 
 
 Senseless to wounds, and without eyes for blood ; — 
 
 That for this once they may belie themselves, — 
 
 Make tyranny to cower, and from her yoke 
 
 Lift prostrate Hberty, to fall no more 1 
 
 J. Sheridan KNOWLsa 
 
 18. belshazzar's warning. 
 
 Hour of an empire's overthrow ! 
 
 The princes from the feast were gone ; 
 The idol flame was burning low ; 
 
 'Twas midnight upon Babylon. 
 
 That night the feast was wild and liigh ; 
 That night was Sion's gold profaned; 
 
CKOLY. 34:1 
 
 The seal was set to blasphemy ; 
 
 The last deep cup of wrath was drained. 
 
 Mid jewelled roof and silken pall, 
 
 Belshazzar on his couch was flung ; 
 A burst of thunder filled the hall ; ^ 
 
 He heard — but 'twas no mortal tongue : 
 
 " King of the East ! the trumpet calls. 
 
 That calls thee to a tyrant's grave : 
 A curse is on thy palace walls — 
 
 A curse is on thy guardian wave : 
 
 " A surge is in Euphrates' bed, 
 
 That never filled its bed before ; 
 A surge that, ere the morn be red. 
 
 Shall load with death its haughty shore. 
 
 ** Behold a tide of Persian steel ! 
 
 A torrent of the Median c^ ; 
 Like flame their gory banners wheel : 
 
 Rise, king, and arm thee for the war !" 
 
 Belshazzar gazed : the voice was pnsc — 
 
 The lofty chamber filled with gloom ; 
 But echoed on the sudden blast 
 
 The rushing of a mighty plume. 
 
 He listened : all again was still ; 
 
 He heard no chariot's iron clang ; 
 He heard the fountain's gushing rill. 
 
 The breeze that through the roses sang. 
 
 He slept : in sleep wild murmurs came ; 
 
 A visoned splendor fired the sky ; 
 He heard Belshazzar's taunted name ; 
 
 He heard again the Prophet cry : 
 
 " Sleep, Sultan ! 'tis thy final sleep ; 
 
 Or, wake or sleep, the guilty dies. 
 The wrongs of those who watch and Aveep, 
 
 Around thee and thy nation rise." 
 
 He started : mid the battle's yell. 
 
 He saw the Persian rushing on ; 
 He saw the flames around him swell :. 
 
 Thou'rt ashes, King of Babylon ! « 
 
9 
 
 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 79. THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON. 
 
 Wild was the night ; yet a wilder night 
 Hung round the soldier's pillow ; 
 In his bosom there waged a fiercer fight 
 Than the fight on the watchful billow. 
 
 A few fond mourners were kneeling by, 
 The few that his stem heart cherished ; 
 They knew by his glazed and unearthly eye, 
 That life had nearly perished. 
 
 They knew by his awful and kingly look. 
 
 By the order hastily spoken. 
 
 That he dreamed of days when the nations shook. 
 
 And the nations' hosts were broken. 
 
 He dreamed that the Frenchman's sword still slew. 
 And triumphed the Frenchman's * eagle' ; 
 And the strugghng Austrian still fled anew, 
 Like the hare before the beagle. 
 
 The bearded Russian he scourged again. 
 The Prussian's camp was routed. 
 And again, on the hills of haughty Spain, 
 His mighty armies shouted. 
 
 Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows, 
 At the pyramids, at the mountain. 
 Where the wave of the lordly Danube flows. 
 And by the Italian fountain. 
 
 On the snowy clifi*s, where mountain streams 
 Dash by the Switzer's dweUing, 
 He led again, in his dying dreams. 
 His hosts, the broad earth quelling. 
 
 Again Marengo's field was won. 
 And Jena's bloody battle ; 
 Again the world was overrun. 
 Made pale at the cannon's rattle. 
 
 He died at the close of that darksome day, 
 
 A day that shall live in story ; 
 
 In the rocky land they placed his clay, 
 
 " And left him alone with his glory." j MoLkllan. Jk. 
 
ATHEESTONE. " 34:3 
 
 80. THE ROMAN SOLDIER. 
 
 The Last Days of Herculaneum. 
 
 There was a man, 
 A Roman soldier, for some daring deed 
 That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low 
 Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough, 
 But generous, and brave, and kind. 
 He had a son : it was a rosy boy, 
 A little faithful copy of his sire 
 In face and gesture. From infancy the child 
 Had been his father's solace and his care. 
 
 With earliest morn. 
 Of that first day of darkness and amaze. 
 He came. The iron door was closed, — for them 
 Never to open more ! The day, the night. 
 Dragged slowly b}'- ; nor did they know the fate 
 Impending o'er the city. Well they heard 
 The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath. 
 And felt its giddy rocking ; and the air 
 Grew hot at length, and thick ; but in his straw 
 The boy was sleeping : and the father hoped 
 The earthquake might pass by ; nor would he wake 
 From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell 
 The dangers of theii* state. On his low couch 
 The fettered soldier sunk, and with deep awe 
 Listened the fearful sounds : — with upturned eye 
 To the great gods he breathed a prayer ; — then strove 
 To calm himself, and lose in sleep awhile 
 His useless terrors. But he could not sleep : — 
 His body burned with feverish heat ; — ^his chains 
 Clanked loud, although he moved not : deep in earth 
 Groaned unimaginable thunders : — sounds. 
 Fearful and ominous, arose and died. 
 Like the sad meanings of November's wind. 
 In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chilled 
 His blood that burned before ; cold clammy sweats 
 Came o'er him : — then anon a fiery thrill 
 Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk, 
 And shivered as in fear :— now upright leaped, 
 As though he iK^ari the battle trumpet sound. 
 And longed to cope with death. 
 
344: SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 He slept at last, 
 A troubled, dreamy sleep. Well, — had he slept 
 Never to waken more ! His hours are few 
 But terrible his aprony. . 
 
 81. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 Loudly the father called upon his child : — 
 No voice rephed. Trembling and anxiously 
 He searched their couch of straw : — with headlong haste 
 Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent. 
 Groped darkling on the earth : — ^no child was there. 
 Again he called : — again, at farthest stretch 
 Of his accursed fetters, till the blood 
 Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes 
 Fire flashed : ue strained with arm extended far. 
 And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch 
 Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil ! 
 Yet still renewed : — still round and round he goes. 
 And strams, and snatches, — and with dreadful cries 
 Calls on his boy. Mad phrensy fires him now : 
 He plants against the Wall his feet ; — his chain 
 Grasps ; — tugs with giant strength to force away 
 The deep-driven staple : — yells and shrieks with rage. 
 And, like a desert lion in the snare 
 Raging to break his toils, to and fro bounds. 
 But see ! the ground is opening : — a blue light 
 Mounts, gently waving, — noiseless : — thin and cold • 
 It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flame ; 
 But by its lustre, on the earth outstretched. 
 Behold the lifeless child ! — ^his dress is singed. 
 And o'er his face serene a darkened line 
 Points out the lightning's track. 
 
 Silent and pale 
 The father stands : — no tear is in his eye : — 
 The thunders bellow, but he hears them not : — 
 The ground lifts like a sea, — he knows it not : — 
 The strong walls grind and gape : — the vaulted roof 
 Takes shapes like bubble tossing in the wind : — 
 See ! he looks up and smiles ; — for death to him 
 
, ATHEESTONE. 345 
 
 Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace 
 Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die. 
 
 It will be given. Look ! how the rolhng ground, 
 At every swell, nearer and still more near 
 Moves towards the father's outstretched arm his boy : — 
 Once he has touched his garment ; — ^how his eye 
 Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears ! 
 Ha ! see ! he has him now ! — he clasps him round, 
 Kisses his face ; — puts back the curhng locks. 
 That shaded his fine brow : — ^looks in his eyes, 
 Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands. 
 Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont 
 To lie when sleeping, and resigned awaits 
 Undreaded death. 
 
 And dexith came soon, and swift, 
 And pangless. 
 
 The huge pile sunk down at once 
 Into the opening earth. Walls, arches, roof. 
 And deep foundation-stones, all mingling fell ! 
 
 Atheestone. 
 
 82. THOUGHT WITHOUT UTTERANCE. 
 
 Come, I will show thee an affliction, unnumbered among this 
 world's sorrows. 
 
 Yet real and wearisome and constant, fembittering the cup of life. 
 
 There be, who can think within themselves, and the fire burneth 
 at their heart. 
 
 And eloquence waiteth at their lips,' yet they speak not with 
 their tongue ; 
 
 There be, whom zeal quickeneth, or slander stirreth to reply. 
 
 Or need constraineth to ask, or pity sendeth as her messengers. 
 
 But nervous dread and sensitive shame freeze the current of 
 their speech ; 
 
 The mouth is sealed as with lead, a cold weight presseth on the 
 heart. 
 
 The mocking promise of power is once more broken in per- 
 formance. 
 
 And they stand impotent of words, travailing with unborn 
 thoughts ; 
 
 Courage is cowed at the portal : wisdom is widowed of utter- 
 ance ; 
 
 15* 
 
34:6 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 He that went to comfort is pitied ; he that should rebuke, is 
 
 silent. 
 And fools who might listen and learn, stand by to look and laugh ; 
 While friends, with kinder eyes, wound deeper by compassion, 
 And thought, finding not a vent, smouldereth, gnawing at the 
 
 heart. 
 And the man sinketh in his sphere, for lack of empty sounds. 
 There be many cares and sorrows thou hast not yet considered. 
 And well may thy soul rejoice in the fair privilege of speech ; 
 For at every turn to want a word, — thou canst not guess that 
 
 want; 
 It is as lack of breath or bread : hfe hath no grief more galling. 
 
 M. F. TurPER. 
 
 83* THE POWER OF ELOQUENCE, 
 
 Come, I will tell thee of a joy, which the parasites of pleasure 
 have not known. 
 
 Though earth and air and sea have gorged all the appetites of 
 sense. 
 
 Behold, what fire is in his eye, what fervor on his cheek ! 
 
 That glorious burst of winged words ! — ^how bound they from 
 his tongue ! 
 
 The full expression of the mighty thought, the strong trium- 
 phant argument. 
 
 The rush of native eloquence, resistless as Niagara, 
 
 The keen demand, the clear reply, the fine poetic image. 
 
 The iJice analogy, the clenching fact, the metaphor bold and free. 
 
 The grasp of concentrated Intellect wielding the omnipotence of 
 truth. 
 
 The grandeur of his speech, in his majesty of mind ! 
 
 Champion of the right, — patriot, or priest, or pleader of the 
 innocent cause. 
 
 Upon whose lips the mystic bee hath dropped the honey of per- 
 suasion. 
 
 Whose heart and tongue have been touched, as of old, by the 
 live coal from the altar. 
 
 How wide the spreading of thy peace, how deep the draught 
 of thy pleasures ! 
 
 To hold the multitude as one, breathing in measured cadence, 
 
 A thousand men with flashing eyes, waiting upon thy will : 
 
 A thousand hearts kindled by thee with consecrated fire. 
 
M. F TUPPEK. 34:7 
 
 Ten flaming spiritual hecatombs ofiered on the mount of God: 
 
 And how a pause> a thrilling pause, — they live but in thy 
 words, — 
 
 Thou hast broken the bounds of self, as the Nile at its rising. 
 
 Thou art expanded into them, one faith, one hope, one spurit. 
 
 They breathe but in thy breath, their minds are passive unto 
 thine. 
 
 Thou turnest the key of their love, bending their affections to 
 thy purpose. 
 
 And all, in sympathy with thee, tremble with tumultuous emo- 
 tions. 
 
 Verily, man, with truth for thy theme, eloquence shall throne 
 thee with archangels. ^^ p^ Tuppee. 
 
 84. TRIFLES. 
 
 Yet once more, saith the fool, yet once, and is it not a little one ? 
 Spare me this folly yet an hour, for what is one among so 
 
 many ? 
 And >e blindeth his conscience with Hes, and stupifieth his 
 
 heart with doubts ; — 
 Whom shall I harm in this matter ? and a little ill breedeth much 
 
 good; 
 My thoughts, are they not mine own ? and they leave no mark 
 
 behind them ; 
 And if God so pardoneth crime, how should these petty sins 
 
 affect him ? — 
 So he transgresseth yet again, and falleth by little and little. 
 Till the ground crumble beneath him, and he sinketh in the 
 
 gulf despairing. 
 For there is nothing in the earth so small that it may not pro- 
 duce great things. 
 And no swerving from a right line, that may not lead eternally 
 
 astray. 
 A landmark tree was once a seed ; and the dust in the balance 
 
 maketli a difference ; 
 And the cairn is heaped high by each one flinging a pebble ; 
 The dangerous bar in the harbor's mouth is only grains of sand ; 
 And the shoal that hath wrecked a navy is the work of a colony 
 
 of worms : 
 Yea, and a despicable gnat may madden the mighty elephant ; 
 
34:8 SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 And the living rock is worn by the diligent flow of the brook. 
 Little art thou, man, and in trifles thou contendest with thine 
 
 equals. 
 For atoms must crowd upon atoms, ere crime groweth to be a 
 
 giant. 
 What, is thy servant a dog ? — not yet wilt thou grasp the dagger, 
 Not yet wilt thou laugh with the scoffers, not yet betray the 
 
 innocent ; 
 But if thou nourish in thy heart the reveries of injury or passion 
 And travel in mental heat the mazy labyrinths of guilt, 
 And then conceive it possible, and then reflect on it as done, 
 And use, by little and little, thyself to regard thyself a villain. 
 Not long will crime be absent from the voice that doth invoke 
 
 him to thy heart. 
 And bitterly wilt thou grieve, that the buds have ripened into 
 
 85. THE GOOD MAN. 
 
 Angels are round the good man, to catch the incense of his 
 
 prayers. 
 And they fly to minister kindness to those for whom he pleadeth ; 
 For the altar of his heart is lighted, and bumeth before God 
 
 continually. 
 And he breatheth, conscious of his joy, the native atmosphere 
 
 of heaven, 
 Yea, though poor, and contemned, and ignorant of this world's 
 
 wisdom, 
 111 can his fellows spare him though they know not of his value. 
 Thousands bewail a hero, and a nation mourneth for its king, 
 But the whole universe lamenteth the loss of a man of prayer. 
 Verily, were it not for One, who sitteth on his rightful throne. 
 Crowned with a rainbow of emerald, the green memorial of 
 
 earth, — 
 For one, a meditating man, that hath clad his Godhead with 
 
 mortality. 
 And offereth prayer without ceasing, the royal priest of Nature, 
 Matter and life and mind had sunk into dark annihilation, 
 And the lightning frown of Justice withered the world into 
 
 "°^^^"g- M.RTCPPEH. 
 
M F. TUPPEK. 349 
 
 86. EQUALITY. 
 
 Whence cometli the doctrine, that all should be equal and 
 
 free ?— 
 It is the lie that crowded hell, wheii Seraphs flung away sub- 
 jection. 
 No man is his neighbor's equal, for no two minds are similar. 
 And accidents, alike with quahties, have every shade but same- 
 ness : 
 The hghtest atom of difference shall destroy the nice balance of 
 
 equality, 
 And all things, from without and from within, make one man 
 
 to differ from another. 
 We are equal and free ! was the watchword that spirited the 
 
 legions of Satan, 
 We are equal and free ! is the double lie that entrappeth to him 
 
 conscripts from earth : 
 The messengers of that dark despot will pander to thy license 
 
 and thy pride. 
 And draw thee from the crowd where thou art safe, to seize 
 
 thee in the solitary desert. 
 Woe unto him whose heart the syren song of Liberty hath 
 
 charmed ; 
 Woe unto him whose mind is bewitched by her treacherous 
 
 beauty ; 
 In mad zeal flingeth he away the fetters of duty and restraint. 
 And yieldeth up the holocaust of self to that fair idol of the 
 
 damned. 
 No man hath freedom in aught save in that from which the 
 
 wicked would be hindered. 
 He is free towards God and good ; but to all else a bondman. 
 
 M, F. TuppEB. 
 
 87. BOOKS. 
 
 O BOOKS, ye monuments of mind, concrete wisdom of the wisest ; 
 Sweet solaces of daily life ; proofs and results of immortality ; 
 Trees yielding all fruits, whose leaves are for the healing of the 
 
 nations , 
 Groves of knoAvledgc, where all may cat, nor fear a flaming 
 
 sword ; 
 
850 SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 Gentle comrades, kind advisers ; friends, comforts, treasures : 
 Helps, governments, diversities of tongues ; who can weigh youi 
 
 worth ?— 
 To walk no longer with the just ; to be driven from the porch 
 
 of science ; 
 To bid a long adieu to those intimate ones, poets, philosophers, 
 
 and teachers ; 
 To see no record of the sympathies which bind thee in com- 
 munion with the good ; 
 To be thrust from the feet of Him, who spake as never man 
 
 spake ; 
 To have no avenue to heaven but the dim aisle of superstition ; 
 To live as an Esquimaux, in lethargy ; to die as the Mohawk, 
 
 in ignorance : 
 Oh, what were life, but a blank ? what were death but a terror ? 
 What were man, but a burden to himself ? what were mind, 
 
 but misery ? 
 Yea, let another Omar burn the full library of knowledge. 
 And the broad world may perish in the flames, offered on the 
 
 ashes of its wisdom ! , ^ j, totper. 
 
 88. BEAUTY. 
 
 There is a beauty for the body; the superficial polish of a 
 
 statue, 
 The symmetry of form and feature, delicately carved and 
 
 painted. 
 There is a beauty of the reason : grandly independent of ex- 
 ternals. 
 It looketh from the windows of the house, shining in the man 
 
 triumphant. 
 I have seen the broad blank face of some misshapen dwarf 
 Lit on a sudden as with glory — the brilliant light of mind : 
 Who then imagined him deformed ? Intelligence is blazing on 
 
 his forehead — 
 There is empire in his eye, and sweetness on his lip, and his 
 
 brown cheek glittercth with beauty. 
 And I have known some Nireus of the camp a varnished 
 
 paragon of chamberers — 
 Fine, elegant, and shapely, molded as the master-piece of 
 
 Phidias : 
 
M. F. TUPPEK. 351 
 
 Such an one, with intellects abased, have I noted crouching to 
 
 the dwarf. 
 Whilst his lovers scorn the fool whose beauty hath departed ! 
 And there is a beauty for the spirit; mind in its perfect 
 
 flowering, 
 Fragrant, expanded into soul, full of love and blessed. 
 Go to some squalid couch — some famishing deathbed of the 
 
 poor: 
 He is shninken, cadaverous, diseased ; — there is here no beauty 
 
 of the body. 
 Never hath he fed on knowledge, nor drank at the streams of 
 
 science ; 
 He is of the common herd — illiterate. There is here no 
 
 beauty of the reason. 
 But, lo ! his filming eye is bright with love from heaven ; 
 In every look it beameth praise, as worshipping with seraphs. 
 What honeycomb is hived upon his lips, eloquent of gratitude 
 
 and prayer ! 
 What triumph shrined serene upon that clammy brow ! 
 What glory flickering transparent under those thin cheeks ! 
 Wlwit beauty in his face ! Is it not the face of an angel ? 
 
 M. F. Tdppee. 
 
 89. CRUELTY. 
 
 Will none befriend that poor dumb brute- 
 Will no man rescue him ? 
 
 With weaker effort, gasping, mute. 
 He strains in every limb. 
 
 Spare him, O spare ! He feels — he feels ! 
 
 Big tears roll from his eyes : 
 Another crushing blow! — he reels. 
 
 Staggers, and falls, and dies. 
 
 Poor jaded horse, the blood runs cold 
 
 Thy guiltless wrongs to see ; 
 To heaven, O starved one, lame and old. 
 
 Thy dim eye pleads for thee ! 
 
 Thou too, Q dog, whose faithful zeal 
 
 Fawns on some ruffian grim ; 
 He stripes thy skin with many a weal— 
 
 And yet thou lovest him ! 
 
352 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 Shame ! that of all the living chain 
 
 That links creation's plan, 
 There is but one delights in pain — 
 
 The savage monarch, man ! 
 
 cruelty ! who could rehearse 
 
 Thy million dismal deeds ; 
 Or track the workings of the curse 
 
 By which all nature bleeds ? 
 
 Tlie merciless is doubly curst, 
 
 As- mercy is " twice blest :" 
 Vengeance, though slow, shall come, — but first 
 
 The vengeance of the breast. 
 
 Why add another woe to life ? 
 Man, are there not enough ? 
 Why lay thy weapon to the strife ? 
 . ^ Why make the road more rough ? -^ -p rp^pj^^ 
 
 90. THE CHAMOIS HUNTER. 
 
 Night gloomed apace, and dark on high 
 The thousand banners of the sky 
 
 Their awful width unfurled. 
 Veiling Mont Blanc's majestic brow. 
 That seemed, among its cloud- wrapt snow, 
 
 The ghost of some dead world ; 
 
 When Pierre the hunter cheerly went 
 To scale the Catton's battlement 
 
 Before the peep of day : 
 He took his rifle, pole, and rope — 
 His heart and eyes alight with hope. 
 
 He hasted on his way. 
 
 He crossed the vale — he hurried on — 
 He forded the cold Arveron — 
 
 The first rough terrace gained ; 
 Threaded the fir wood's gloomy belt. 
 And trod the snows that never melt. 
 
 And to the summit strained. 
 
M. F. TUPPEK. 
 
 And now he nears tlie chasmed ice ; 
 He stoops to leap, and in a trice, 
 
 His foot hath shpped ! — heaven ! 
 He hath leapt in, and down he falls 
 Between those blue tremendous walls. 
 
 Standing asunder riven ! 
 
 But quick his clutching nervous grasp 
 Contrives a jutting crag to clasp, 
 
 And thus he hangs in air ; — 
 moment of exulting bliss ! 
 Yet hope so nearly hopeless, is 
 
 Twin-brother to despair. 
 
 He looked beneath, — a horrible doom ! 
 Some thousand yards of deepening gloom 
 
 Where he must drop to die ! 
 He looked above, and many a rood 
 Upright the frozen ramparts stood. 
 
 Around a speck of sky. 
 
 Fifteen long dreadful hours he hung. 
 And often by strong breezes swung. 
 
 His fainting body twists ; 
 Scarce can he cling one moment more — 
 His half-dead hands are ice, and sore 
 
 His burning, bursting wrists. 
 
 His head grows dizzy — ^he must drop : 
 He half resolves ; — but stop, stop ! 
 
 Hold on to the last spasm ! 
 Never in life give up your hope : 
 Behold ! behold ! a friendly rope 
 
 Is dropping down the chasm ! 
 
 They call thee, Pierre ! See, see them here ; 
 Thy gathered neighbors far and near : 
 
 Be cool, man — hold on fast ! 
 And so from out that terrible place. 
 With death's pale paint upon his face. 
 
 They drew him up at last. 
 
 And he came home an altered man. 
 For many harrowing terrors ran 
 
 Through his poor heart that day : 
 
 35a 
 
S54: SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 He thought how all through life, though young, 
 Upon a thread, a hair, he hung. 
 Over a gulf midway : 
 
 He thought what fear it were to fall 
 Into the pit that swallows all, 
 
 Unwinged with hope and love : 
 And when the succor came at last, 
 Oh, then he learnt how firm and fast 
 
 Was his best Friend above. 
 
 M. r. TuppKu. 
 
 91. DREAMS. 
 
 A DREAM — mysterious word, a dream ! 
 
 What joys and sorrows are enshrined 
 In those still hours we fondly deem 
 
 A playtime for the truant mind ! 
 
 It is a happy thing to dream. 
 
 When rosy thoughts and visions bright 
 Pour on the soul a golden stream 
 
 Of rich luxurious delight. 
 » 
 It is a weary thing to dream. 
 
 When from the hot and aching brain. 
 As from a boiling cauldron, steam 
 
 The myriad forms in fancy's train. 
 
 It is a curious thing to dream. 
 
 When shapes grotesque of all quaint things. 
 Like laughing water- witches, seem 
 
 To sport in reason's turbid springs. 
 
 It is a glorious thing to dream. 
 
 When full of wings and full of eyes, — 
 Borne on the whirlwind or sun-beam, — 
 
 We race along the startled skies. 
 
 It is a wondrous thing to dream 
 Of tumbhng, with a fearful shock. 
 
 From some tall cliff where eagles scream. 
 To light upon a feather rock. 
 
M. F. TIJPPEE. — ^W. M. PEAED. 355 
 
 It is a terrible thing to dream 
 
 Of strangled throats and heart-blood spilt, 
 And ghosts that in the darkness gleam. 
 
 And horrid eyes of midnight guilt. 
 
 I love a dream — I dread a dream, 
 
 Sometimes all bright and full of gladness, 
 
 But other times my brain will teem 
 
 With sights that urge the mind to madness. 
 
 M. F. TuppER 
 
 -92. ARMINIUS. 
 
 Back, back ; — he fears not foaming flood 
 
 Who fears not steel-clad line : — 
 No warrior thou of German blood, 
 
 No brother thou of mine. 
 Go, earn Rome's chain to load thy neck, 
 
 Her gems to deck thy hilt ; 
 And blazon honor's hapless wreck 
 
 With all the gauds of guilt. 
 
 But wouldst thou have me share the prey ? 
 
 By all that I have done. 
 The Varian bones that day by day 
 
 Lie whitening in the sun ; 
 The legion's trampled panoply, 
 
 The eagle's shattered wing, 
 I Avould not be for earth or sky 
 
 So scorned and mean a thing. 
 
 Ho ! call me here the wizard, boy. 
 
 Of dark and subtle skill, 
 To agonize, but not destroy — 
 
 To torture, not to kill. 
 AVhen SAVords arc out, and shriek and shout 
 
 Leave little room for prayer. 
 No fetter on man's arm or heart 
 
 Hangs half so heavy there. 
 
 I curse him by the gifts the land 
 Hath won from him and Rome — 
 
 The riving axe, the wasting brand. 
 Rent forest, blazing home. 
 
B6S SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 I curse him by our country's gods. 
 
 The terrible, the dark — 
 The breakers of the Roman rods, 
 
 The smiters of the bark. 
 
 Oh, misery that such a ban 
 
 On such a brow should be ! 
 Why comes he not in battle's van, 
 
 His country's chief to be ? 
 To stand a comrade by my side. 
 
 The sharer of my fame, 
 And worthy of a brother's pride. 
 
 And of a brother's name ? 
 
 • But it is past ! — where heroes press 
 
 And cowards bend the knee, 
 Arminius is not brotherless — 
 
 His brethren are the free. 
 They come around : — one hour, and lighi 
 
 Will fade from turf and tide ; 
 Then onward — onward to the fight. 
 
 With darkness for our guide ! 
 
 To-night — to-night, when we shall meet 
 
 In combat face to face. 
 Then only would Arminius greet 
 
 The renegade's embrace. 
 The canker of Rome's guilt shall be 
 
 Upon his dying name ; 
 And as he lived in slavery, 
 
 Sd shall he fall in shame. 
 
 W. ]^L Pbae©. 
 
 93, ALEXANDER AND DIOGENES. 
 
 Diogenes Alexandro roganti ut diceret, Si quid opus esset, "nunc quidem 
 pauUulnm." inquit, "a sole." — Cicero Tusc. Disp. 
 
 King Alexander turned aside ; 
 
 But when his glance of youthful pride 
 
 Rested upon the warriors gray 
 
 Who bore his lance and shield that day. 
 
 And the long hue of spears, that came 
 
 Through the far grove like waves of flame. 
 
W. M. PEAED. 
 
 His forehead burned, his pulse beat high, 
 More darkly flashed his shifting eye. 
 And visions of the battle-plain 
 Came bursting on his soul again. 
 
 The old man drew his gaze away 
 Right gladly from that long array. 
 As if their presence were a blight 
 Of pain and sickness to his sight ; 
 And slowly folding o'er his breast 
 The fragments of his tattered vest. 
 As was his wont,, unasked, unsought. 
 Gave to the winds his muttered thought, 
 Naming no name of friend or foe, 
 And reckless if they heard or no. 
 
 "Ay, go thy way, thou painted thing. 
 Puppet, which mortals call a king. 
 Adorning thee with idle gems. 
 With drapery and diadems. 
 And scarcely guessing, that beneath 
 The purple robe and laurel wreath, 
 There's nothing but the common slime 
 Of human clay and human crime ! — 
 My rags are not so rich, — but they 
 Will serve as well to cloak decay. 
 
 "And ever round thy jewelled brow 
 False slaves and falser friends will bow ; 
 And Flattery, — as varnish flings 
 A baseness on the brightest things, — 
 Will make the monarch's deeds appear 
 All worthless to the monarch's ear. 
 Till thou wilt turn and think that Fame, 
 So vilely dressed, is worse than shame !— 
 The gods be thanked for all their mercies, 
 Diogenes hears naught but curses ! 
 
 " And thou wilt banquet ! — air and sea 
 Will render up their hoards for thee ; 
 And golden cups for thee will hold 
 Rich nectar, richer than the gold. 
 The cunning caterer still must share 
 The dainties which his toils prepare ; 
 
 357 
 
358 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 The page's lip must taste the wine 
 Before he fills the cup for thine ! — 
 Wilt feast with me on Hecate's cheer ? 
 I dread no royal hemlock here ! 
 
 " And night will come ; and thou wilt lie ' 
 
 Beneath a purple canopy. 
 
 With lutes to lull thee, flowers to shed 
 
 Their feverish fragrance round thy bed, 
 
 A princess to unclasp thy crest, 
 
 A Spartan spear to guard thy rest. — 
 
 Dream, happy one ! — thy dreams will be 
 
 Of danger and of perfidy ; — 
 
 The Persian lance, — the Carian club ! — 
 
 I shall sleep sounder in my tub ! 
 
 " And thou wilt pass away, and have 
 A marble mountain o'er thy grave. 
 With pillars tall, and chambers vast, 
 Fit palace for the worm's repast ! — 
 I too shall perish ! — let them call 
 The vulture to my funeral ; 
 The Cynic's staff, the Cynic's den. 
 Are all he leaves his fellow-men, — 
 Heedless how this corruption fares, — 
 Yea, heedless though it mix with theirs !" 
 
 94. WHAT MAKES A HERO ? 
 
 What makes a hero ? — not success, not fame, 
 Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim 
 
 Of glutted avarice — caps tossed up in air, 
 
 Or pen of journalist, with flourish fair. 
 Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name — 
 
 These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare ; 
 His rightful tribute, not his end or aim, 
 
 Or true reward ; for never yet did these 
 Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease. 
 What makes a hero ? — An heroic mind. 
 Expressed in action, in endurance proved : 
 
 And if there be pre-eminence of right. 
 
HENKY TAYLOK. — MitS. HEMANS. 359 
 
 Derived through pain well suflfered, to the height 
 
 Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved, 
 
 Ifot toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, 
 
 Not the brute fury of barbarians blind. 
 
 But worse — ingratitude and poisonous darts, 
 Launched by the country he had served and loved ; 
 
 This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure. 
 
 This in the strength of silence to endure, 
 A dignity to noble deeds imparts. 
 Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown 5 
 This is the hero's complement and crown ; 
 
 This missed, one struggle had been wanting still- 
 One glorious triumph of the heroic will. 
 One self-approval in his heart of hearts. 
 
 Henry Taylob. 
 
 95. THE LANDING OF THE TILGRIMS. 
 
 The breaking waves dashed high 
 On a stern and rock-bound coast. 
 
 And the woods against a stormy sky, 
 Their giant branches tossed ; 
 
 And the heavy night hung dark 
 
 Tlie hills and waters o'er. 
 When a band of exiles moored their bark 
 
 On the wild New England shore. 
 
 Not as the conqueror comes. 
 
 They the true-hearted came. 
 Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 
 
 And the trumpet that sings of fame. 
 
 Not as the flying come. 
 
 In silence, and in fear ; 
 They shook the depth of the desert's gloom, 
 
 With their hymns of lofty cheer 
 
 Amidst the storm they sang, 
 
 And the stars heard, and the sea ; 
 
 And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
 To the anthem of the free. 
 
360 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 The ocean-eagle soared 
 
 From liis nest by the white wave's foam. 
 And the rocking pines of the forest roared ; 
 
 This was their welcome home. 
 
 There were men with hoary hair, 
 
 Amidst that pilgrim band ; 
 Why had they come to wither there. 
 
 Away from their childhood's land ! 
 
 There was woman's fearless eye. 
 
 Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
 There was manhood's brow, serenely high, 
 
 And the fiery heart of youth. 
 
 What sought they thus afar ? 
 
 Bright jewels of the mine ? 
 The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? — 
 
 They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 
 
 Ay, call it holy ground. 
 
 The soil where first they trod ! 
 They have left unstained what there they found — 
 
 Freedom to worship God ! ^^^^^ ^emanh. 
 
 96. DRONES. 
 
 Those gilded flies 
 That, basking in the sunshine of a com-t, 
 Fatten on its corruption, what are they ? 
 The drones of the community. They feed 
 On the mechanic's labor ; the starved hind 
 For them compels the stubborn glebe to yield 
 Its unshared harvests ; and yon squallid form. 
 Leaner than fleshless misery that wastes 
 A sunless life in the unwholesome mine. 
 Drags out in labor a protracted death, 
 To glut their grandeur ; many faint with toil. 
 That few may know the cares and woes of sloth. 
 
 Whence think'st thou kings and parasites arose ? 
 Whence that unnatural hive of drones, who heap 
 Toil and imvanquishable penury 
 On those who build their palaces and bring 
 
SHELLEY. — W. C. EKYANT. 361 
 
 Their daily bread ? From vice, black, loathsome vice ; 
 From rapine, madness, treachery, and wrong ; 
 From all that genders misery, and makes 
 Of earth this thorny wilderness ; from lust. 
 Revenge, and murder. 
 
 And when reason's voice. 
 Loud as the voice of Nature, shall have waked 
 Tlie nations, and mankind perceive that vice 
 Is discord, war, and misery — that virtue 
 Is peace, and happiness, and harmony-^- 
 When man's maturer nature shall disdain 
 The playthings of its childhood — ^kingly glare 
 Will lose its power to dazzle ; its authority 
 Will silently pass away ; the gorgeous throne 
 Shall stand unnoticed in their regal hall. 
 Fast falUng to decay ; whilst falsehood's trade 
 Shall be as hateful and unprofitable 
 As that of truth is now. Shellbt 
 
 97. THANATOPSIS. 
 (Tliese parts can be spoken together, or separately.) , 
 
 To him who, in the love of Nature, holds 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language. For his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
 Into his darker musings with a mild 
 And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
 Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud and pall. 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house. 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart — 
 Go forth unto the open sky, and list 
 To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 
 Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 
 Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 
 The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
 In all his course. Nor yet in the cold ground, 
 16 
 
SELECTIONS IN POETIiT. 
 
 Where tliy pale form was laid, with many tears, 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
 Thy image. Earth, that nomished thee, shall claim 
 Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 
 And lost each human trace, surrendermg up 
 Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
 To mix forever with the elements. 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock 
 And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
 Tunis with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold 
 Yet not to thy eternal resting-place 
 Shalt thou retire alone ; nor couldst thou wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 With patriarchs of the infant world — with kingr 
 The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good. 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past. 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills. 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales. 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
 The venerable woods ; rivers that move 
 In majesty ; and the complaining brooks, 
 - That make the meadow green ; and poured rc^ixl all. 
 Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste — 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 Of the great tomb of man. ^ ^ ^^^^^ 
 
 98. THE SAME. PART SECOND. 
 
 The golden sun. 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
 Are shining on the sad abodes of death. 
 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
 That slurnber in its bosom. Take the wings 
 Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce ; 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound. 
 Save his own dashings ; yet — the dead are there ; 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 
W. C. BRYANT. 363 
 
 In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
 
 So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou fall 
 
 Unnoticed by the living, and no friend 
 
 Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay<^ will laugh 
 
 When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
 
 Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
 
 His favorite phantom ! yet all these shall leave 
 
 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, 
 
 And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
 
 Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
 
 The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
 
 In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
 
 The bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles 
 
 And beauty of its innocent age cut off — 
 
 Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side. 
 
 By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them. 
 
 So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
 
 The innumerable caravan that moves 
 
 To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
 
 His cha,mber in the silent halls of death. 
 
 Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night. 
 
 Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained and soothed 
 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 W. C. Bryant 
 
 99. THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. 
 
 When spring, to woods and wastes around. 
 
 Brought bloom and joy again. 
 The murdered traveller's bones were found, 
 
 Far down a narrow glen. 
 
 The fragrant birch, above him, hung 
 
 Her tassels in the sky ; 
 And many a vernal blossom sprung. 
 
 And nodded careless by. 
 
 The red-bird warbled, as he wrought 
 JHis hanging nest o'erhead ; 
 
364 SELECJTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 And fearless, near the fatal spot. 
 Her young the partridge led. 
 
 But there was weeping far away ; 
 
 And gentle eyes, for him. 
 With watching many an anxious day, 
 
 Grew sorrowful and dim. 
 
 They little knew, who loved him so. 
 
 The fearful death he met. 
 When shouting o'er the desert snow. 
 
 Unarmed, and hard beset ; — 
 
 Nor how, when round the frosty pole 
 
 The northern dawn was red, 
 The mountain wolf and wild- cat stole 
 
 To banquet on the dead ; — 
 
 Nor how, when strangers found his bones. 
 
 They dressed the hasty bier. 
 And marked his grave with nameless stones, 
 
 Unmoistened by a tear. 
 
 But long they looked, and feared, and wept, 
 
 Within his distant home ; 
 And dreamed, and started as they slept. 
 
 For joy that he was come. 
 
 So long they looked — but never spied 
 
 His welcome step again. 
 Nor knew the fearful death he died 
 
 Far down that narrow glen. ^ q Brtan* 
 
 100. THE HEROES OF SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 What heroes from the woodland sprung, 
 When, through the fresh-awakened land. 
 
 The thrilling cry of freedom rung. 
 
 And to the work of -wrarfare strung 
 The yeoman's iron hand ! 
 
 Hills flung the cry to hills around ; 
 And ocean-mart replied to mart ; 
 And streams, whose springs were yet unfound. 
 
W. C. BEYANT. 365 
 
 Pealed far away the startling sound 
 Into the forest's heart. 
 
 Then marched the brave from rocky steep. 
 
 From mountain river swift and cold ; 
 The borders of the stormy deep, 
 The vales where gathered waters sleep, 
 
 Sent up the strong and bold. 
 
 As if the very earth again 
 
 Grew quick with God's creating breath. 
 And, from the sods of grove and glen, 
 Rose ranks of iron-hearted men, 
 
 To battle to the death. 
 
 The wife, whose babe first smiled that day. 
 
 The fair fond bride of yester-eve. 
 And aged sire and matron gray. 
 Saw the loved warriors haste away. 
 
 And deemed it sin to grieve. 
 
 Already had the strife begun ; 
 
 Already blood on Concord's plain 
 Along the springing grass had run. 
 And blood had flowed at Lexington, 
 
 Like brook of April rain. 
 
 That death-stain on the vernal sward 
 
 Hallowed to freedom all the shore ; 
 In fragments fell the yoke abhorred — 
 The footstep of a foreign lord ^ 
 
 Profaned the soil no more. -yy- ^ Bbyani 
 
 101. THE AFRICAN CHIEF. 
 
 Chained in the market-place he stood, 
 
 A man of giant frame. 
 Amid the gathering multitude 
 
 That shrunk to hear his name, — 
 All stern of look and strong of limb. 
 
 His dark eye on the ground ; — 
 And silently they gazed on liim, * 
 
 As on a lion bound. 
 
SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 Vainly, but well, that chief had fought,— ^ 
 
 He was a captive now ; 
 Yet pride, that fortune humbles not, 
 
 Was written on his brow. 
 The scars his dark broad bosom wore, 
 
 Showed warrior true and brave ; 
 A prince among his tribe before. 
 
 He could not be a slave. 
 
 Then to his conqueror he spake— 
 
 " My brother is a^ king ; 
 Undo this necklace from my neck, 
 
 And take this bracelet ring, 
 And send me where ray brother reigns. 
 
 And I will fill thy hands 
 With store of ivory from the plains, 
 
 And gold-dust from the sands." 
 
 " Not for thy ivory nor thy gold 
 
 Will I unbind thy chain ; 
 That bloody hand shall never hold 
 
 The battle-speai' again. 
 A price thy nation never gave. 
 
 Shall yet loe paid for thee ; 
 For thou shalt be the Christian's slave. 
 
 In lands beyond the sea." 
 
 Then wept the warrior chief, and bade 
 
 To shred his locks away ; 
 And, one by one, each heavy braid 
 
 Before the victor lay. 
 Thick were the plaited locks, and long. 
 
 And, deftly hidden there. 
 Shone many a wedge of gold, among 
 
 The dark and crisped hair. 
 
 " Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold 
 
 Long kept for sorest need ; 
 Take it — thou askest sums untold. 
 
 And say that I am freed. 
 Take it — ^iny -yvife, the long, long day, 
 
 Weeps by the cocoa-tree. 
 And my young' children leave their play, 
 
 And ask in vain for me." 
 
W. C. BRTAIfT. 367 
 
 " I take thy gold, but I have made 
 
 Thy fetters fast and strong, 
 And ween that by the cocoa shade 
 
 Thy wife will wait thee long." 
 Strong was the agony that shook 
 
 The captive's frame to hear. 
 And the proud meaning of his look 
 
 Was changed to mortal fear 
 
 His heart was broken — crazed his brain : 
 
 At once his eye grew wild ; 
 He struggled fiercely with his chain, 
 
 Whispered, and wept, and smiled ; 
 Yet wore not long those fatal bands. 
 
 And once, at shut of day, 
 They drew him forth upon the sands, 
 
 The foul hyena's prey. ^ (j jj^^^aut. 
 
 102. THE HURRICANE. 
 
 The golden blaze 
 Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze. 
 And he sends through the shade a funeral ray- 
 A glare that is neither night nor day, 
 A beam that touches, with hues of death, 
 The clouds above and the earth beneath. 
 To its covert glides the silent bird. 
 While the hurricane's distant voice is heard. 
 Uplifted among the mountains round, 
 And the forests hear and answer the sound. 
 
 He is come ! he is come ! do ye not behold 
 His ample robes on the wind unrolled ? 
 Giant of air ! we bid thee hail ! 
 How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale ! 
 How his huge and writhing arms are bent. 
 To clasp the zone of the firmament. 
 And fold at length in the dark embrace. 
 From mountain to mountain the visible space ! 
 
 I)arker — still darker ! the whirlwinds bear 
 The dust of the plains to the middle air : 
 And hark to the crashing, long and loud. 
 Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud ! 
 
af|8. SELECnONS IN POETRY. 
 
 You may trace its path by, the flashes that start 
 
 From the rapid wheels where'er they dart. 
 
 As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, 
 
 And flood the sky with a lurid glow. 
 
 What roar is that ? — 'tis the rain that breaks. 
 
 In torrents away from the airy lakes. 
 
 Heavily poured on the shuddering ground, 
 
 And sheddmg a nameless horror round. 
 
 Ah ! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies. 
 
 With the very clouds ! — ^ye are lost to my eyes. 
 
 I seek ye vainly, and see in your place 
 
 The shadowy tempest that sweeps through jpace, 
 
 A whirling ocean that fills the wall 
 
 Of the crystal heaven, and buries all ; 
 
 And I, cut off" from the world, remain 
 
 Alone with the terrible hurricane. w n -d 
 
 W. C, Bryant. 
 
 103. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER. 
 
 Wild was the day ; the wintry sea 
 Moaned sadly on New England's strand. 
 When first, the thoughtful and the free. 
 Our fathers, trod the desert land. 
 
 They little thought how pure a light. 
 With years, should gather round that day. 
 How love should keep their memories bright. 
 How wide a realm their sons should sway. 
 
 Green are their bays ; but greener still 
 
 Shall rcftiiid their spreading fame be wreathed. 
 
 And regions, now untrod, shall thrill 
 
 With reverence, when their names are breathed. 
 
 Till where the sun, with softer fires. 
 Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep, 
 The children of the Pilgrim sires 
 This hallowed day hke us shall keep. 
 
 W. C. Bryanx. 
 
H. W. LONGFELLOW. 361? 
 
 104. A PSALM OF LIFE. 
 
 Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
 
 Life is but an empty dream ; 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
 
 And things are not what they seem. 
 
 Life is real ! — life is earnest ! 
 
 And the grave is not its goal : 
 Dust thou art — to dust returnest, 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow. 
 
 Is our destined end or way ; 
 But to act, that each to-morrow 
 
 Find us further than to-day. 
 
 Art is long, and time is fleeting. 
 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave. 
 
 Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
 Funeral marches to the grave. 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle, 
 
 In the bivouac of life. 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle, — 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! 
 
 Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ! 
 
 Let the dead past bury its dead ! 
 Act — act in the living present ! 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead. 
 
 Lives of great men all remind U3 
 We can make our lives sublime. 
 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 Footprints on the sands of time ; — 
 
 Footprints, that perhaps another. 
 Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother. 
 Seeing, shall take heart again. 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing. 
 
 With a heart for any fate ; 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 
 Learn to labor and to wait ! 
 
 H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 16* 
 
370 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 105, THE LEPER. 
 
 "Room for the leper ! room !" And, as he came, 
 The cry passed on — " Room for the leper ! room !" 
 
 And aside they stood — 
 Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood — all 
 Who met him on his way, and let him pass. 
 And onward through the open gate he came, 
 A leper, with the ashes on his brow, 
 Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip 
 A covering, — stepping painfully and slow. 
 And with a difficult utterance, like one 
 Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down, 
 Crying, " Unclean ! unclean !" 
 
 'Twas now the first 
 Of the Judean autumn, and the leaves. 
 Whose shadows lay so still upon his path, 
 Had put their beauty forth beneath the eye 
 Of Judah's loftiest noble. He was young. 
 And eminently beautiful, and life 
 Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip, 
 And sparkled in his glance ; and in his mien 
 There was a gracious pride that every eye 
 Followed witli benisons — and this was he ! 
 With the soft airs of summer, there had come 
 A torpor on his frame, which not the speed 
 Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast 
 Of the bold huntsman's horn, nor aught that stirs 
 The spirit to its bent, might drive away. 
 The blood beat not as wont within his veins ; 
 Dimness crept o'er his eye ; a drowsy sloth 
 Fettered his limbs like palsy, and his mien. 
 With all its loftiness, seemed struck with eld. 
 Even his voice was changed — a languid moan 
 Taking the place of the clear silver key ; 
 And brain and sense grew faint, as if the light 
 And very air were steeped in sluggishness. 
 He strove with it a while, as manhood will. 
 Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein 
 Slackened within his grasp, and in its poise 
 The arrowy jereed, like an aspen, shook. 
 Day after day, he lay as if asleep : 
 
N. P. WILLIS. — A. B. STREET. 371 
 
 His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales. 
 Circled with livid purple, covered him, 
 — And Helon was a leper ! 
 
 It was noon. 
 And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool 
 In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow, 
 Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched 
 The loathsome water to his fevered lips. 
 Praying that he might be so blest — to die ! 
 Footsteps approached, and, with no strength to flee. 
 He drew the covering closer on his lip. 
 Crying, " Unclean ! unclean !" and in the folds 
 Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face, 
 He fell upon the earth till they should pass. 
 Nearer the Stranger came, and, bending o'er 
 The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name- 
 " Helon !" The voice was like the master-tone 
 Of a rich instrument — most strangely sweet ; 
 And the dull pulses of disease awoke. 
 And for a moment beat beneath the hot 
 And leprous scales with a restoring thrill. 
 ** Helon ! arise !" and he forgot his curse. 
 And rose and stood before Him. 
 He looked on Helon earnestly a while, 
 As if his heart were moved, and stooping down. 
 He took a little water in his hand. 
 And laid it on his brow, and said, " Be clean !" 
 And lo ! the scales fell from him, and his blood 
 Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins, 
 And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow 
 The dewy softness of an infant's stole. 
 His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down 
 Prostrate at Jesus' feet and worshipped him. 
 
 K P. WiLLia. 
 
 106. NATURE. 
 
 Nature is man's best teacher. She unfolds 
 Her treasures to his search, unseals his eye. 
 Illumes his mind, and purifies his heart. 
 Her influence breathes in all the sights and sounds 
 Of her existence ; she is Wisdom's self. 
 
372 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 Rest yields she to the weary of the earth ; 
 Its heavy-laden she endows with strength. 
 When sorrow presses on us, when the stings 
 Of bitter disappointment pierce our soul. 
 When our eye sickens at the sight of man. 
 Our ear turns loathing from his jarring voice, — 
 The shadowy forest and the quiet field 
 Are then our comforters. A medicine 
 Breathes in the wind that fans our fevered brow. 
 The blessed sunshine yields a sweet delight, 
 The bird's low warble thrills within our breast. 
 The flower is eloquent with peace and joy. 
 And better thoughts come o'er us. Lighter heart 
 And purer feelings cheer our homeward way. 
 We prize more deep the blessings that are ours. 
 And rest a higher, holier trust in God. 
 
 And when the splendid summer moonlight bathes. 
 Blinding the stars, night's purple sky, in rich, 
 Transparent splendor, brightening all below, 
 As though, at God's command, earth's angel-guard 
 Had dropped his silver mantle from his form 
 Upon her, to protect her helpless sleep. 
 Nature speaks soothing music, stealing through 
 Each avenue to the heart, till all is peace. 
 
 She teaches us of God, 
 Her Architect — her Master. At his feet 
 She crouches, and in offering him her praise 
 From myriad altars, and in myriad tones. 
 She bids man praise him also. In the broad 
 Magnificent ocean, surging in wild foam. 
 Yet bounded in its madness ; in the fierce. 
 Shrieking, and howling tempest, crashing on 
 In desolating wrath, yet curbed with reins, — 
 She shows Ms awful power, yet tender care : 
 In the wide sunlight, in the murmuring rains, 
 And changes of the seasons, she proclaims 
 His wide beneficence, exhaustless love. ^ j^ Strebr 
 
A. B. STREET. 373 
 
 107. THE POOR INDIAN. 
 
 Fast the white race spread, 
 
 And fast they scattered here rude clearings through 
 
 The leafy desert. The tall blockhouse rose, 
 
 Surrounded by its stooping cabin-roofs. 
 
 And belted with its pointed palisades. 
 
 The axe rung always, and the echoes woke 
 
 To the down-crashing woods. Green meadows sprung 
 
 From the wood-moss, and cattle lowed where rose 
 
 The bleating of the deer, and where the wolf 
 
 Howled to the moon. The rifle brought quick death, 
 
 In hard, strong hands, to the majestic moose 
 
 And bounding deer. The eagle stooped to it. 
 
 The darting salmon felt the barbed point 
 
 Of the torch-lighted spear ; the spotted trout 
 
 Leapt at the butterfly, and found quick death. 
 
 The beaver, paddling round his ancient stream. 
 
 Felt the sharp talons of some hidden trap, 
 
 And meekly died. The otter rose to breathe, 
 
 And saw the red shot glancing from the bush — 
 
 And gasped in blood. The winter snows fell deep ; 
 
 And the pale, starving Indian, lingering near 
 
 The pale-face village, sought in vain the deer. 
 
 For paths, broad-stamped around with snow-shoes, told 
 
 The white man's rifle had been there before him. 
 
 In vain he sought the drifts that choked so deep 
 
 The laurels, for the partridge or the quail ; 
 
 In vain he searched the hollow tree, made mad 
 
 With hunger, for the torpid bear, to wrestle 
 
 E*en with that shaggy foeman for Lis flesh. 
 
 Skill and strange knowledge also had been there, 
 
 And, on the village green, with forehead bored 
 
 With the swift bullet, stood the black square frame 
 
 Of the dead monster, frozen stiff" with cold. 
 
 What wonder that he clutched his tomahawk 
 
 And drew his knife, and swore, on bended knee, 
 
 By Hah-wen-ne-yo, he would be revenged ! 
 
 What wonder that the midnight sky blushed red ! 
 
 What wonder that the settler sank in death 
 
 Beside his plough, or tinged the golden wheat 
 
 With his own blood ! What wonder that the child 
 
 Saw the fierce eyeball gleaming from the thicket. 
 
374 SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 --^. And fell ere he could -reach his shrieking mother ; 
 
 / /-"^Who felt in turn her reeking scalp clutched off 
 / y Her burning head ! What wonder black revenge 
 r"'*f-' Looked from the heavens : the forests echoed it 
 
 In the wild storm ! The winter snows were piled 
 High with its curses, and e'en green-garbed spring. 
 That brought her birds, her flowers, and grass and light 
 To the cursed white men, howled revenge to them. 
 
 But naught could daunt the white man's energy : 
 
 The valleys smiled with culture ; mountain-sides 
 
 Grew green with pastures, and their soaring tops 
 
 E'en bore rough clearings : by the trapper's streams. 
 
 Rose roofs ; and rivers, like the winter woods, 
 
 Were flaked with sails. Life, active, prosperous life, 
 
 Ran through the woods and mantled o'er the land. 
 
 As the tree fell, the log-hut sprang in place ; 
 
 The log-hut, hke the tent in fairy tale. 
 
 Expanded to the village — like the wand 
 
 Of the enchanter, budding, sprouting forth ; 
 
 Or like the gourd mysterious of the prophet, 
 
 The village spread, in turn, into a city. ^ -g g^^g^- 
 
 \ 
 
 108. THE SIX NATIONS, OR IROQUOIS. 
 
 Proud and majestic was that native race. 
 
 The Iroquois ! once masters of our State. 
 
 Leagued into one ^vQ^i union, five wild tribes 
 
 Towered o'er the boundless forest of their home. 
 
 Conquerors of all the tawny races dwelling 
 
 Where dwell the swarming thousands of our Union : 
 
 Thus lifting their plumed foreheads to the clouds. 
 
 And stretching their keen tomahawk and knife 
 
 From where St. Lawrence its tremendous floods 
 
 Rolls through his half year snow-blocked, ice-clad woods. 
 
 To where the rich magnolia swings its breath 
 
 In radiant Florida's eternal summer. 
 
 Wise were their laws and noble were their hves. 
 
 Hearing their forests thundering in the storm, 
 
 And seeing them put on their changing garb 
 
 To every changing season. For them rose 
 
A. B. STREET. 3Y5 
 
 The wood-swathed mountain, cloud-capped ; for them smiled 
 
 The green and leafy valley ; silver waters 
 
 Rose to their lips, and food of earth and air 
 
 Fell to their arrows. The stern and awful roar 
 
 Of great Niagara filled the western end 
 
 Of their Long House, and by its eastern door 
 
 The peaceful Hudson flowed in whispers low. 
 
 Within that Long House every bird that flies. 
 
 From the strong eagle soaring to the sun 
 
 To the rich humming-bird that murmurs sweet 
 
 Around its flowers, was theirs; and every shape 
 
 That only claimed the ground whereon to dwell. 
 
 From the tall moose that trampled underneath 
 
 His broad splay-hoofs strong saplings branched with leaves 
 
 That made the wren's and robin's nested home 
 
 A sylvan pillar, tore with craunching teeth 
 
 The moose-wood's mottled bark, and from whose front 
 
 The hungry panther turned his blazing eyes, 
 
 To the striped squirrel rolling to his grot 
 
 The oak's brown acorn, all, alone were theirs. 
 
 Where are they now, the noble Iroquois ! 
 
 Where are they now ! The hollow echo gives 
 
 !N'o answer, for the forests where they lived 
 
 Have vanished utterly. Where are they now ! 
 
 Answer, ye scattered spectres, wearing aye 
 
 Your sunken heads upon your tawny breasts, 
 
 And staggering in the white man's midst, a shame 
 
 To human nature ; or, perchance, aloof 
 
 Wandering around the sparkling streams that once 
 
 Flashed to your paddle — through the woods that rang 
 
 Once to your war-whoop, — scathed and blighted men, 
 
 Answer, and from your pale and trembling lips 
 
 Would come, "Go, ask the white man in his pride 
 
 What, what hath bowed the red man to the dust ; 
 
 His power, his strength, his might, that made his law 
 
 And trampled us as Autumn in his fury. 
 
 Rends the sear leaves, and tramples them to earth, 
 
 The sad memorials of relentless power." a B «? 
 
376 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 109. A FOREST NOOK. 
 
 A NOOK -within the forest ; overhead 
 
 The branches arch, and shape a pleasant bower, 
 
 Breaking white cloud, blue sky, and sunshine bright 
 
 Into pure ivory and sapphire spots 
 
 And flecks of gold ; a soft, cool emerald tint 
 
 Colors the air, as though the dehcate leaves 
 
 Emitted self-born light. What splendid walls, 
 
 And what a gorgeous roof^ carved by the hand 
 
 Of glorious Nature ! Here the spruce thrusts in 
 
 Its bristling plume, tipped with its pale-green points. 
 
 The hemlock shows its borders freshly fringed. 
 
 The smoothly scalloped beech-leaf, and the birch, 
 
 Cut into ragged edges, interlace. 
 
 While here and there, through clefts, the laurel hangs 
 
 Its gorgeous chahces half-brimmed with dew, 
 
 As though to hoard it for the haunting elves 
 
 The moonlight calls to this their festal hall. 
 
 A thick, rich grassy carpet clothes the earth 
 
 Sprinkled with autumn leaves. The fern displays 
 
 Its fluted wreath beaded beneath with drops 
 
 Of richest brown ; the wild-rose spreads its breast 
 
 Of dehcate pink, and the o'erhanging fir 
 
 Has dropped its dark, long cone. 
 
 Such nooks as this are common in the woods : 
 
 And all these sights and sounds the commonest 
 
 In Nature when she wears her summer prime. 
 
 Yet by them pass not lightly : to the wise 
 
 They tell the beauty anji the harmony 
 
 Of e'en the lowliest things that God hath made. 
 
 That this famihar earth and sky are full 
 
 Of his ineffiable power and majesty. 
 
 That in the humble objects, seen too oft 
 
 To be regarded, is such wondrous grace. 
 
 The art of man is vain to imitate. 
 
 That the low flower our careless foot treads down 
 
 Is a rich shrine of incense delicate. 
 
 And radiant beauty, and that God hath formed 
 
 All, from the mountain wreathing round its brow 
 
 The black cars of the thunder, to the grain 
 
 Of silver sand the bubbling spring casts up, 
 
 With deepest forethought and severest care. 
 
A. B. STREET. J. E. LOWELL. 377 
 
 And thus these noteless, lowly things are types 
 
 Of his perfection and divinity. ^ g Steeei 
 
 110. THE POOR ANp THE RICH. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits lands, 
 And piles of brick and stone and gold. 
 And tender flesh that fears the cold, 
 Nor dares to wear a garment old ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 One would not care to hold in fee. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits cares. 
 
 The bank may break, the factory burn, 
 
 Some breath may burst his bubble shares. 
 
 And soft white hands would scarcely earn 
 
 A living that would suit his turn ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 One would not care to hold in fee. 
 
 What does the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 
 
 A hardy frame, a hardier spirit ; 
 
 King of two hands, he does his part 
 
 In every useful toil and art ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What does the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, 
 
 A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit. 
 
 Content that from enjoyment springs, 
 
 A heart that in his labor sings ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What does the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 A patience learned by being poor ; 
 
 Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it ; 
 
 A fellow feeling that is sure 
 
 To make the outcast bless his door ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
378^ 
 
 ^«- Oh, rich man's son, there is a toil 
 
 That with all others level stands ; j 
 
 Large charity doth never soil, 
 ,, But only whitens, soft white hands ; 
 
 This is the best crop from thy lands — 
 X ""K-W. A heritage, it seems to me, 
 ^ "^ -/r~l Worth being rich to hold in fee. 
 
 Oh, poor man's son, scorn not thy state ! 
 There is worse weariness than thine, — 
 In being merely rich and great : 
 1 Work only makes the soul to shine, 
 
 X\. And makes rest fragrant and benign, — 
 f A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 Worth being poor to hold in fee. 
 
 Both heirs to some six feet of sod. 
 Are equal in the earth at last — 
 \ Both children of the same dear God, 
 
 '^, Prove title to your heirship vast, 
 
 By record of a well-filled past ! 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 Well worth a life to hold in fee. j^ j^ Iowbil 
 
 111. THE FIGHT OF PASO DEL MAR. 
 
 Gusty and raw was the morning, 
 
 A fog hung over the seas. 
 And its gray skirts, rolling inland. 
 
 Were torn by the mountain trees ; 
 No sound was heard, but the dashing 
 
 Of waves on the sandy bar. 
 When Pablo of San Diego 
 
 Rode down to the Paso del Mar. 
 
 The pescador, out in his shallop. 
 
 Gathering his harvest so wide. 
 Sees the dim bulk of the headland 
 
 Loom over the waste of the tide ; 
 He sees, like a white thread, the pathway 
 
 Wind round on the terrible wall. 
 Where the faint, moving speck of the rider 
 
 Seems hoverinsc close to its fall ! 
 
BAYAJJD TAYLOE. 379 
 
 Stout Pablo of San Diego 
 
 Rode down from the hills behind ; 
 With the bells on his gray mule tinkling, 
 
 He sang through the fog and wind. 
 Under his thick, misted eyebrows. 
 
 Twinkled his eye like a star, 
 And fiercer he sang, as the sea- winds 
 
 Drove cold on the Paso del Mar. 
 
 Now Bernal, the herdsman of Coiral, 
 
 Had travelled the shore since dawn, 
 Leaving the ranches behind him — 
 
 Good reason had he to be gone ! 
 The blood was still red on his dagger. 
 
 The fury was hot in his brain, 
 And the chill, driving scud of the breakers 
 
 Beat thick on his forehead in vain. 
 
 With his blanket wrapped gloomily round him. 
 
 He mounted the dizzying road. 
 And the chasms and steeps of the headland 
 
 Were shppery and wet, as he trode ; 
 Wild swept the wind of the ocean, 
 
 Rolling the fog from afar, 
 When near him a mule-bell came tinkling, 
 
 Midway on the Paso del Mar ! 
 
 " Back !" shouted Bernal, full fiercely. 
 
 And " Back !" shouted Pablo, in wrath; 
 As his mule halted, startled and shrinking. 
 
 On the perilous line of the path ! 
 The roar of devouring surges 
 
 Came up from the breakers* hoarse war ; 
 And *' Back, or you perish !" cried Bernal, 
 
 " I turn not on Paso del Mar !" 
 
 The gray mule stood firm as the headland ; 
 
 He clutched at the jinghng rein. 
 When Pablo rose up in his saddle. 
 
 And smote, till he dropped it again. 
 A wild oath of passion swore Bernal, 
 
 And brandished his dagger, still red. 
 While fiercely stout Pablo leaned forward. 
 
 And fought o'er his trusty mule's head. 
 
S80 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 They fought, till the black wall below them 
 
 Shone red through the misty blast ; 
 Stout Pablo then struck, leaning further. 
 
 The broad breast of Bernal at last. 
 And, phrensied with pain, the swart herdsman 
 
 Closed round him his terrible grasp, 
 And jerked him, despite of his struggles, 
 
 Down from the mule, in his clasp. 
 
 They grappled with desperate madness 
 On the slippery edge of the wall, 
 
 They swayed on the brink, and together 
 Reeled out to the rush of the fall ! 
 
 A cry of the wildest death-anguish 
 Rang faint through the mist afar. 
 
 And the riderless mule went homeward 
 
 From the fight of the Paso del Mar ! 
 
 Bayari* Taylob. 
 
 \ 
 
 112. LAMENT OF THE INDIAN CHIEFTAIN. 
 
 At Onondaga burned the sacred fire 
 
 A thousand winters, with unwasting blaze ; 
 In guarding it, son emulated sire. 
 
 And far abroad were flung its dazzling rays : 
 Followed were happy years by evil days ; 
 
 Blue-eyed and pale, came children of the Dawn, 
 Tall spires on site of bark-built town to raise ; 
 
 Change graves of beauty to a naked lawn, 
 And whirl their chariot wheels where led the doe her fawn. 
 
 Where are the mighty ? — morning finds them not ! 
 
 I call — and echo gives response alone ; 
 The fiery bolt of Ruin hath been shot — 
 
 The blow is struck — the winds of death have blown — 
 Cold are their hearths — their altars overthrown ! 
 
 For them with smoking venison the board. 
 Reward of toilsome chase, no more will groan : 
 
 Sharper than hatchet proved the Conqueror's sword, 
 And blood, in fruitless strife, like water they outpoured. 
 
 Oh ! where is Garangula — Sachem wise, — 
 Who was the father of his people ? — where 
 
W. II. C. HOSMER. 381 
 
 King Hendrick — Cay-en-guacto ? — who replies ? 
 
 And, Skenandoali, was thy silver hair 
 Brought to the dust in sorrow and despair 
 
 By pale oppressors, though thy bow was strung 
 To guard their Thirteen Fires ? — they did not spare 
 
 E'en thee, old chieftain ! and thy tuneful tongue 
 The death-dirge of thy race, in measured cadence, sung. 
 
 The-an-de-nea-ya* of the martial brow, 
 
 Gy-ant-waf — Hon-ne-ya-wus,J where are they ? 
 Sa-gay-ye-wat-hah§ ! is he silent now, 
 
 Will listening throngs no more his voice obey ? 
 Like visions have the mighty passed away : 
 
 Their tears descend in raindrops, and their sighs 
 Are heard in wailing winds when evening gray 
 
 Shadows the landscape, and their mournful eyes 
 Gleam in the misty light of moon-illumined skies. 
 
 Gone are my tribesmen, and another race. 
 
 Born of the foam, disclose with plough and spade 
 Secrets of battle-field and burial-place ; 
 
 And hunting-grounds, once dark with pleasant shade. 
 Bask in the golden light ; — ^but I have made 
 
 A pilgrimage from far to look once more 
 On scenes through which in childhood's hour I strayed ; 
 
 Though robbed of might my limbs — my locks all hoar, 
 And on this holy mount mourn for the day's of yore. 
 
 Around me soon will bloom unfading flowers. 
 
 Ye glorious Spirit-Islands of the just ! 
 No fatal axe will hew away your bowers. 
 
 Or lay the green-robed forest king in dust ; — 
 Far from the spoiler's fury, and his lust 
 
 Of boundless power, will 1 my fathers meet. 
 Tiaras wearing never dimmed by rust ; 
 
 And they, while airs waft music passing sweet. 
 To blest abodes will guide my silver-sandalled feet. 
 
 W. H. C. HOSMEB. 
 
 * Brant. f Corn-planter. 
 
 \ Farmer's Brother. § Red Jacket. 
 
382 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 113. ORIGIN OF THE CROW. 
 (a legend of the SENECAS.) 
 
 Weary and worn old Tar-yon-ee 
 
 Was slumbering in the days of yore, 
 Under a leafy white-wood tree, 
 
 That grew beside his cabin door ; 
 Giving the wood a deeper brown, 
 A raven, huge and black, came down. 
 And hungering for human prey. 
 In his talons bore the Chief away. 
 
 A rush of wings — a dismal shriek, 
 
 The Tribe, with horror voiceless, heard, 
 . While sailed to a distant mountain peak. 
 With bleeding prize, that cruel bird : 
 Soon finished was its dread repast. 
 And up the monster hurried fast. 
 Leaving, to whiten in the wind, 
 A pile of naked bones behind. 
 
 Heh-nu — dark Thunder- God ! — espied 
 
 The creature flying to its nest. 
 Far in those regions blue and wide. 
 
 That over stormy Cloudland rest :-^ 
 On his resounding bow he laid 
 A shaft of ragged hghtning made. 
 While the gorged monster, at the sight, 
 Clapped pinions for a swifter flight. 
 
 Outstretched was its long neck in vain. 
 
 Soaring through air with frightful cries, 
 To reach its azure perch again 
 
 On wall that fenced remoter skies : 
 O'ertaken by a missile dire. 
 Scorched was each plume by hissing fire, 
 And redly the dismembered form 
 Was showered to earth in atoms warm. 
 
 A hunter on the hills, in fear. 
 
 Watched the torn fragments as they fell. 
 Forgetful of a wounded deer 
 
 That limped for shelter to the dell ; 
 
W. II. C. nOSMEK. — A. C. COX. 383 
 
 But wilder terror thrilled his heart, 
 When shape took each disrupted part, 
 And darkly, from the ground uprose. 
 Croaking their joy, a flock of crows. 
 
 Beneath a cedar tall and green. 
 
 The bones of Tar-yon-ee were laid ; 
 His mountain tomb may yet be seen 
 
 Within its ever-during shade : 
 Ill-omened ravens blacken oft 
 Its branches towering aloft, 
 And load with clamor loud the air, 
 As if they held a council there. 
 
 Vf. H. C. HOSMEB. 
 
 114. WATCHWORDS. 
 
 We are living, — we are dwelling 
 
 In a grand and awful time ; 
 In an age, on ages telling. 
 
 To be living — is sublime. 
 
 Hark ! the waking up of nations, 
 Gog and Magog, to the fray ; 
 
 Hark ! what soundeth, is Creation's 
 Groaning for its latter day. 
 
 Will ye play then ! will ye dally, 
 With your music, with your wine ? 
 
 Up ! it is Jehovah's rally ! 
 
 God's own arm hath need of thine. 
 
 Hark, the onset ! will ye fold your 
 Faith-clad arms in lazy lock ! 
 
 Up, oh up, thou drowsy soldier ! 
 Worlds are charging to the shock. 
 
 Worlds are charging — Heaven beholding ; 
 
 Thou hast but an hour to fight ; 
 Now, the blazoned cross unfolding. 
 
 On — right onward, for the right I 
 
 What ! still hug thy dreamy slumbers ? 
 ' 'Tis no time for idling play : 
 
384 SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 Wreaths, and dance, and poet-numbers. 
 Flout them ! we must work to-day ! 
 
 Fear not ! spurn the worldling's laughter ; 
 
 Thine ambition — ^trample thou ! 
 Thou shalt find a long Hereafter, 
 ^To be more than tempts thee now. 
 
 On ! let all the soul within you. 
 For the ti-uth's sake, go abroad ! 
 
 Strike ! let every nerve and sinew 
 Tell on ages — tell for God ! 
 
 A. 0. Oox. 
 
 115. TO THE AMERICAN FLAG. 
 
 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 the skies. 
 
 And striped its pure celestial white 
 
 With streakings from the morning light ! 
 
 Then, from his mansion in the sun. 
 
 She called her eagle-bearer down, 
 
 And gave into his mighty hand 
 
 The symbol of her chosen land ! 
 
 Flag of the free heart's only home. 
 
 By angel hands to valor given ! 
 Thy stars have lit the welkin dome 
 
 And all thy hues were born in heaven ; 
 Forever 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. 
 
 Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly. 
 The sign of hope and triumph high ! 
 When speaks the signal trumpet's tone. 
 And the long line comes gleaming on : 
 Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet. 
 
J. K. DKAKE. OLIVER W. HOLMES. 386 
 
 Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 
 Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
 To where thy meteor glories burn ; 
 And as his springing steps advance, 
 Catch war and vengeance from the glance ! 
 And when the cannon's mouthings loud 
 Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, 
 And gory sabres rise and fall. 
 Like shoots of flame on midnight pall ! — 
 There shall thy victor glances glow. 
 
 And cowiering foes shall fall beneath 
 Each gallant arm that strikes below 
 
 That lovely messenger of death ! 
 
 Flag of the seas ! on ocean's wave. 
 Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave, 
 When death, careering on the gale. 
 Sweeps darkly round the swelling 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. 
 
 J. R. Deak* 
 
 116. OLD IRONSIDES. 
 
 Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! 
 
 Long has it waved on high ; 
 And many an eye has danced to see 
 
 That banner in the sky ; 
 Beneath it rung the battle shout. 
 
 And burst the cannon's roar ; — 
 The meteor of the ocean air 
 
 Shall sweep the clouds no more. 
 
 Her deck, — once red with heroes' blood, 
 Where knelt the vanquished foe. 
 
 When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 
 And waves were white below, — 
 17 
 
886 SELECTIONS IN POETK\ 
 
 No more sliall feel the victor's tread, 
 
 Or know the conquered knee ; — 
 The harpies of the shore shall pluck 
 
 The eagle of the sea ! 
 
 Oh ! better that her shattered hulk 
 
 Should sink beneath the wave ; 
 Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 
 
 And there should be her grave : 
 Nail to the mast her holy flag, 
 
 Set every threadbare sail. 
 And give her to the god of storms, — 
 
 The lightning and the gale ! 
 
 Oliver Vi lioiJtJ» 
 
 11*7. THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 How slow yon tiny vessel ploughs the main ! 
 Amid the heavy billows now she seems 
 A toiling atom — then from wave to wave 
 Leaps madly, by the tempest lashed — or reels. 
 Half wrecked, through gulfs profound. 
 
 Moons wax and wuite, 
 But still that lonely traveller treads the deep. 
 I see an ice-bound coast, towards which she steers 
 With such a tardy movement, that it seems 
 Stern winter's hand hath turned her keel to stone. 
 And sealed his victory on her slippery shrouds. 
 They land ! — they land ! — not like the Genoese, 
 With glittering sword and gaudy train, and eye 
 Kindling with golden ftmcies. Forth they come 
 From their long prison — hardy forms, that brave 
 The world's unkindness — men of hoary hair. 
 And virgins of firm heart, and matrons grave. 
 Who hush the wailing infant with a glance. 
 Bleak Nature's desolation wraps them round. 
 Eternal forests, and unyielding earth, 
 And savage men, who through the thickets peer 
 With vengeful arrow. What could lure their steps 
 To this drear desert ? Ask of him who left 
 His father's home to roam through Haran's wilds, 
 Distrusting not the Guide who called him forth. 
 
MES. L. H. SIGOtJKNEY. — GEOiiGE D. PKENTICE. 387 
 
 Nor doubting, though a stranger, that his- seed 
 Should be as ocean's sands. 
 
 And can ye deem it strange 
 That from their planting such a branch should bloom 
 As nations envy ? Would a germ, embalmed 
 With prayer's pure tear-drops, strike no deeper root ■ 
 Than that which mad ambition's hand doth strew 
 Upon the winds, to reap the winds again ? 
 Hid by its veil of waters from the hand 
 Of greedy Europe, their bold vine spread forth 
 In giant strength. 
 
 Its early clusters, crushed 
 In England's wine-press, gave the tyrant host 
 
 A draught of deadly wine. Oh, ye who boast 
 
 In your free veins the blood of sires like these. 
 Lose not their lineaments ! Should Mammon cling 
 Too close around your heart, or wealth beget 
 That bloated luxury which eats the core 
 From manly virtue, or the tempting world 
 Make famt the Christian purpose in your soul. 
 Turn ye to Plymouth's beach — and on that rock 
 Kneel in their foot-prints, and renew the vow 
 They breathed to God. j^^^^ ^ H. Siqouenb. 
 
 118. TIME. 
 
 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 forever. 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 darkness has no chain to bind 
 His inishing pinions. Revolutions sweep 
 O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast 
 
388 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. « 
 
 Of dreaming sorrow ; cities rise and sink 
 Like bubbles on the water ; fiery isles 
 Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back 
 'To their mysterious caverns ; mountains rear 
 To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, and bow 
 . Their tall heads to the plain ; new empires rise. 
 Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, 
 And rush down like the Alpine avalanche. 
 Startling the nations ; and the very stars. 
 Yon bright and burning blazonry of God, 
 Glitter a while in their eternal depths, 
 And, like the Pleiad, lovehest of their train, 
 Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away 
 To darkle in the trackless void ; yet. Time, 
 Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, 
 Dark, stern, all pitiless, and pauses not. 
 Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, 
 To sit and muse, like other conquerors. 
 Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. 
 
 George D. PEENnct 
 
 119. THE YANKEE SHIPS. 
 
 Our Yankee ships ! in fleet career. 
 
 They linger not behind. 
 Where gallant sails from other lands 
 
 Court favoring tide and wind. 
 With banners on the breeze, they leap 
 
 As gayly o'er the foam 
 As stately barks from prouder seas, 
 
 That long have learned to roam. 
 
 The Indian wave, with luring smiles, 
 
 Swept round them bright to-day; 
 And havens of Atlantic isles 
 
 Are opening on their way ; 
 Ere yet these evening shadows close. 
 
 Or this frail song is o'er. 
 Full many a straining mast will rise 
 
 To greet a foreign shore. 
 
 High up the lashing northern deep. 
 Where glimmering watch-lights beam. 
 
J. T. FIELDS. — rAEK BENJAMm. 
 
 Away in beauty where the stars 
 
 In tropic brightness gleam, 
 Where'er the sea-bird wets h«r beak, 
 
 Or blows the stormy gale ; 
 On to the water's furthest verge 
 
 Our ships majestic sail. 
 
 They dip their keels in every stream 
 
 That swells beneath the sky ; 
 And where old ocean's billows roll 
 
 Their lofty pennants fly : 
 They furl their sheets in threatening clouds 
 
 That float across the main. 
 To Hnk with love earth's distant bays, 
 
 In many a golden chain. j^ rj,^ Fields. 
 
 m 
 
 120. PRESS ON. 
 
 Press on ! surmount the rocky steeps, 
 
 CUmb boldly o'er the torrent's arch : 
 He fails alone who feebly creeps, 
 
 He wins who dares the hero's march. 
 Be thou a hero ! let thy might 
 
 Tramp on eternal snows its way. 
 And, through the ebon walls of night. 
 
 Hew down a passage unto day. 
 
 Press on ! if once and twice thy feet 
 
 Slip back and stumble, harder try ; 
 From him who never dreads to meet 
 
 Danger and death, they're sure to fly. 
 To coward ranks the bullet speeds. 
 
 While on their breasts who never quail 
 Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds. 
 
 Bright courage, like a coat of mail. 
 
 Press on ! if Fortune play thee false 
 To-day, to-morrow she'll be true ; 
 
 Whom now she sinks, she now exalts, 
 Taking old gifts and granting new. 
 
390 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 The wisdom of the present hour 
 Makes up for foUies past and gone : 
 
 To weakness strength succeeds, and power 
 From frailty springs — press on ! press on 1 
 
 Therefore, press on ! and reach the goal, , 
 
 And gain the prize, and wear the crown : 
 Faint not ! for to the steadfast soul 
 
 Come wealth, and honor, and renown. 
 • To thine own self be true, and keep 
 
 Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil ; 
 Press on ! and thou shalt surely reap 
 
 A heavenly harvest for thy toil ! p^^ Benjamw. 
 
 121. THE MARINERS. 
 
 How cheery are the mariners. 
 
 Those lovers of the sea ! 
 Their hearts are like its yesty waves. 
 
 As bounding and as free. 
 They whistle wlien the storm-bird wheels 
 
 In circles round the mast ; 
 And sing when, deep in foam, the ship 
 
 Ploughs onward to the blast. 
 
 What care the mariners for gales ? 
 
 There's music in their roar. 
 When wide the berth along the lee. 
 
 And leagues of room before. 
 Let billows toss to mountain heights. 
 
 Or sink to chasms low ; 
 The vessel stout will ride it out. 
 
 Nor reel beneath the blow. 
 
 With streamers down and canvas furled. 
 
 The gallant hull will float 
 (Securely as on inland lake 
 
 A silken-tasselled boat ; 
 And sound asleep some mariners, 
 
 And some with watchful eyes. 
 Will fearless be of dangers dark. 
 
 That roll along the skies. 
 
PAUK BENJAMIN. — ANONYMOUS. 391 
 
 God keep these cheery mariners ! 
 
 And temper all the gales. 
 That sweep agamst the rocky coast, 
 
 To their storm-shattered sails ; 
 And men on shore will bless the ship 
 
 That could so guided be. 
 Safe in the hollow of his hand, 
 
 To brave the mighty sea ! p^^ Benjamin. 
 
 122. WHAT THE END SHALL BE. 
 
 When another life is added 
 
 To the heaving turbid mass ; 
 When another breath of being 
 
 Stains creation's tarnished glass ; 
 When the first cry, weak and piteous, 
 
 Heralds long- enduring pain. 
 And a soul from non-existence 
 
 Springs, that ne'er can die again ; 
 When the mother's passionate welcome 
 
 Sorrow-like bursts forth in tears. 
 And the sire's self-gratulation 
 
 Prophecies of future years — 
 
 It is well we cannot sce- 
 What the end shall be. 
 
 Wheit across the infant features 
 
 Trembles the faint dawn of mind ; 
 When the heart looks from the windows 
 
 Of the eyes that were so blind ; 
 When the incoherent murmurs 
 
 Syllable each swaddled thought. 
 To the fond ear of affection 
 
 With a boundless promise fraught, 
 Kindhng great hopes for to-morrow, 
 
 From that dull uncertain ray. 
 As by glimmering of the twilight 
 
 Is foreshown the perfect day — 
 
 It is well we cannot see 
 What the end shall be. 
 
3&2 SELECTIONS m POETKY. 
 
 When the boy upon the threshold 
 
 Of his all-comprising home, 
 Parts aside the arm maternal 
 
 That unlocks him ere he roam ; 
 When the canvas of his vessel 
 
 Flutters to the favoring gales. 
 Years of solitary exile 
 
 Hid behind its sunny sails ; 
 When his pulses beat with ardor. 
 
 And his sinews stretch for toil. 
 And a hundred bold emprises 
 
 Lure him to that eastern soil — 
 
 It is well we cannot see 
 What the end shall be. 
 
 Whatsoever is beginning 
 
 That is wrought by human skill. 
 Every daring emanation 
 
 Of the mind's ambitious will ; 
 Every first impulse of passion. 
 
 Gush of love, or twinge of hate ; 
 Every launch upon the waters. 
 
 Wide horizoned by our fate ; 
 Every venture in the chances 
 
 Of life's sad, oft desperate, game. 
 Whatsoever be our motive. 
 
 Whatsoever be our aim — 
 
 It is well we cannot see 
 What the end shall be. 
 
 Anontmousw 
 
 123. 
 
 Oh ! give me sweet rest, from ambition's wild dream. 
 
 From a world that's all heartless and vain ; 
 Give me rest from the tempests that rage o'er life's streatn- 
 
 From temptation, from sorrow, and pain ! 
 Oh ! if mine were the power, undaunted by fear, 
 
 I'd unroll the great volume of fate. 
 And there find a reprieve to my wanderings here. 
 
 In this dark and inconstant estate. 
 
 Is there rest far away on the ocean's blue wave. 
 O'er the path of tlie wide-rolling deep, 
 
EDWAED C. ISIAESHALL. 393 
 
 Where the white- crested billows unceasingly lave. 
 And the winds their hoarse revellings keep ? 
 
 I'll plunge in the surge, and I'll breast the wild foam — 
 I'll brave, in the storm, the cloud-rack ; 
 
 No voice of fond love shall then whisper of home, 
 No larum shall frighten me back. 
 
 Is it rest, all alone on the bosom of earth, 
 
 'JSTeath the deep and blue vault of the sky. 
 To awake the sweet musings of heavenly birth. 
 
 And feel that our Father is nigh ? 
 I'll away to the mount — contemplation's own height — 
 
 And, alone in the realms of the air. 
 My freed spirit I'll lave in those floods of pure light, 
 
 And my life shall be aye a long prayer. 
 
 No true rest shall there be, the Almighty has said. 
 
 In the days of man's pilgrimage here ; 
 For, by striving still onward and upward, he's led 
 
 To the prize of his earthly career. 
 But the bliss of sweet rest shall return once again. 
 
 In the mansions on high of the blest : 
 The wicked shall cease aye from troubling him then, 
 
 And the weary shall win a long rest. 
 
 Edward C. Maeshaix. 
 
 124. ANOTHER LIFE. 
 
 A BRUISED sea- weed on the strand. 
 
 Vile and worthless lay. 
 Tossed by the surges on the land. 
 
 Sport of the angry spray. 
 
 Such is man on the beach of life — 
 
 Son of toil and care, 
 Tossed on the sea of angry strife, 
 
 Of pain and sorrow heir. 
 
 The bruised sea-weed wastes away ; 
 
 Its atoms on the breezes ride ; 
 They are wafted far on a sunny day. 
 
 To a smiling mountain side. 
 17^- 
 
394 SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 They mingle with the teeming earth, 
 Where fragrant wild-flowers bloom, 
 
 And a violet springs to joyous birth, 
 And flings a sweet perfume. 
 
 Thus man shall know another life, 
 
 Not shrouded o'er with gloom. 
 Where the soul's sweet bliss shall lull her strife. 
 
 As the violet's sweet perfume. 
 
 And a seraph there in robes of white. 
 He shall bask in the Eternal's ray. 
 
 And faintly reflect his holy light 
 
 In realms of endless day. j,^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ 
 
 125. THE FLIGHT OF THE NUNDOWAGAS, OR SENECA INDIANS, 
 FROM SENECA LAKE. 
 
 In the gloom of the wild, by the smooth silver lake, 
 Lo ! the red men from sweet, silent slumbers awake. 
 What panic enshrouds the bronze features with fear. 
 Which nor sorrow or torment has soiled with a tear ? 
 Why gather their trophies in phrensy, to haste. 
 With their loved ones bewailing, to flee o'er the waste ? 
 Can the Indian forget his old braves' council-fires. 
 The proud seat of his nation, the graves of his sires ? 
 
 Ah ! yonder the pale faces, hastening in wrath, 
 And thirsting for vengeance, are scenting their path ; 
 No fleeter the hounds for the startled deer run, 
 Nor more joyously course the swift steeds of the sun. 
 As the leaves of the forest, or sands of the tide. 
 Unnumbered they loom from the eastern hill side ; 
 jphey wind through the thicket, approach the morass, 
 And soon to the home of the red men will pass. 
 
 Swift flee the dusk forms on the wings of the wind. 
 
 Nor leave at their castle one soul of their kind. 
 
 Save the chief, Guyanguahta, of locks hoary white. 
 
 Who would die at his birth-place, and scorned at their flight. 
 
 The breezes were flaunting his silvered hair. 
 
 His brawny arms tossed in wild rage through the air, 
 
 And proud was the taimting and bitter the sneer. 
 
 His aged lips uttered in tones shrill and clear : 
 
EDWAED C. MAESIIALL. 395 
 
 " Away, craven-hearted, away ! 
 
 I bid ye no longer to stay. 
 
 Away, and forget ye the fires 
 
 Of your feraves, the great deeds of your sires. 
 
 The proud Nundowagas of old. 
 
 The fame of whose prowess so bold. 
 
 By Six-Nations exultingly sung. 
 
 To the far Montezumas has rung. 
 
 Away ! and your sachem will sleep. 
 
 In the Good Spirit's home of the deep, 
 
 With the sprites of the emerald caves, 
 
 Far down *neath the beautiful waves ; 
 
 And his kinsmen's dishonor and flight, 
 
 Their blue covering shall shroud from his sight." 
 
 He finished, and bowed in deep sorrow his head. 
 Then straight to the lake's pebbly margin he sped : 
 He loosed from its moorings his bounding canoe, 
 And silently stole to the lake's deepest blue ; 
 While the watery elves the frail bark onward bore, 
 And merrily danced at the plash of his oar. 
 And laughingly sang him a fairy-like song, 
 As their loved -Indian sachem they wafted along. 
 
 Ah ! boldly he paddled, and free was the sweep 
 Of his soft-gliding bark to the midst of the deep. 
 And the soul of a brave proudly rushing to death. 
 Bade defiance in mutters deep throbbing his breast. 
 Afar to the fathomless* waiters he flew. 
 Then stayed the swift flight of his fleeting canoe ; 
 To the Manito uttered a heart-spoken prayer, 
 And plunged — his bent form deftly cleaving the air. 
 
 The old sachem has gone to his watery bed, 
 While far from their home his dark kinsmen have fled. 
 And sweetly he sleeps 'neath the beautiful wave. 
 By the Good Spirit soothed in his moss-cladden grave. 
 And oft on the lake, like a phantom bark, will float, 
 In the dim mist of evening, his light bounding boat ; 
 And the elves break the ice with the wild dashing foam, 
 And a requiem sigh in the wintiy wind's moan. 
 
 Edward C. IVIarshall. 
 
 * Seneca Lake is supposed to be fathomless, aucl its ludiau name, Canar 
 desaga, signifies " the Deautiful water." 
 
SELECnONS IN POETKT. 
 
 126. IRON. 
 
 As, in lonely thought, I pondered 
 
 On the marvellous things of earth. 
 And, in fancy's dreaming, wondered 
 
 At their beauty, power, and worth. 
 Came, like words of prayer, the feeling— 
 
 Oh ! that God would make me know. 
 Through the spirit's clear revealing, 
 
 What, of all his works below. 
 Is to man a boon the greatest. 
 
 Brightening on from age to age. 
 Serving truest, earliest, latest. 
 
 Through the world's long pilgrimage. 
 
 Soon vast mountains rose before me. 
 
 Shaggy, desolate, and lone, 
 Their scarred heads were threatening o'er em. 
 
 Their dark shadows round me thrown ; 
 Then a voice, from out the mountains. 
 
 As an earthquake, shook the ground. 
 And, like frightened fawns, the fountains 
 
 Leaping, fled before the sound ; 
 And the Anak oaks bowed lowly. 
 
 Quivering, aspen-like, with fear — 
 While the deep response came slowly. 
 
 Or it must have crushed mine ear. 
 
 '* Iron ! Iron ! Iron !" — crashing. 
 
 Like the battle-axe and shield. 
 Or the sword on helmet clashing. 
 
 Through a bloody battle-field : 
 *' Iron ! Iron ! Iron !" — rolling. 
 
 Like the far-oflf cannon's boom. 
 Or the death-knell, slowly tolling. 
 
 Through a dungeon's chamel gloom : 
 "Iron ! Iron ! Iron '"—swinging, 
 
 Like the summer winds at play. 
 Or as bells of Time were ringing 
 
 In the blest millennial day. 
 
 Then the clouds of ancient fable 
 Cleared away before mine eyes ; 
 
MES. S. J. HALE. — W. T. BACON. 397 
 
 Truth could tread a footing stable 
 
 O'er the gulf of mysteries. 
 Words, the prophet bards had uttered. 
 
 Signs, the oracle foretold. 
 Spells, the weird-like Sibyl muttered. 
 
 Through the twilight day's of old. 
 Rightly read, beneath the splendor. 
 
 Shining now on history's page. 
 All their faithful witness render — 
 
 All portend a better age. 
 
 Rugged strength and radiant beauty— 
 
 These were one in nature's plan ; 
 Humble toil and heavenward duty^ — 
 
 These will form the perfect man ! 
 Darkly was this doctrine taught us 
 
 By the gods of heathendom ; 
 But the hving light was brought us 
 
 When the gospel morn had come ; 
 How the glorious change, expected, 
 
 Could be wrought, was then made free ; 
 Of the earthly, when perfected. 
 
 Rugged Iron forms the key ! 
 
 While our faith in good grows stronger, 
 
 Means of greater good increase ; 
 Iron, slave of war no longer. 
 
 Leads the onward march of peace ; 
 Still new modes of service finding, 
 
 Ocean, earth, and air it moves. 
 And the distant nations binding, 
 
 Like the kindred tie it proves ; 
 With its Atlas-shoulder, sharing 
 
 Loads of human toil and care ; 
 On its wing of lightning bearing 
 
 Thought's swift mission through the air ! 
 
 Mrs. S. J. Halk. 
 
 127. ROME. 
 
 The Coliseum's lonely walls still tower. 
 
 In ail their massy strength, to greet the skies ; 
 
398 SELECTIONS IN POETKT. 
 
 The Caesars' hundred palaces of power 
 
 In undecayed magnificence still rise ; 
 
 And towers, and tombs, and temples desolate. 
 
 Tell of the solemn grandeur of her state. 
 
 We walk amid those temples tottering ; 
 
 Each foot-fall starts the young owl from her rest ; 
 
 Where mantling vines round moldering arches cling, 
 
 To furnish forth the bat her dusky nest ; 
 
 And every breeze that through the ruin strays. 
 
 Seems hke the ghost of Rome's departed days. 
 
 Romans and Roman matrons wandered here ; 
 Here blushed the cheek at its sweet beauty spoken * 
 Trembled the delicate hand, and sparkled clear 
 The bright drop in the eye, at love's fond token ; 
 And children's voices woke these streets all day. 
 And echoed the light laugh of maidens gay. 
 
 Tempest and terror, war, and flood, and fire, 
 . And cruelty, and guilt, and avarice. 
 These have been here, and wreaked their vengeance dire, 
 On pillared fane, and smouldering precipice ; 
 Yet sits she still amid the solemn scene. 
 Queen of the hills, in majesty a queen. 
 
 Rome's greatness and Rome's grandeur may not be 
 The greatness and the grandeur that we prize ; 
 Yet, though her soul was chained, her mind was free. 
 And power was there which men cannot despise : 
 She lifted her proud arm— each flag was furled ; 
 And at her haughty beck, bowed down the world. 
 
 And with her, though a tyrant in her mood. 
 
 Was genius, learning, talent consecrate ; 
 
 And though on land and sea her track was blood, 
 
 Yet intellectual greatness marked her state ; 
 
 For while was heard the trumpet's deafening clang, 
 
 The forum thundered with the loud harangue. 
 
 W. T. Bacon 
 
J. EESKINE DOW. 399 
 
 128. THE LAST REVOLUTIONARY. 
 
 Oh ! where are they, those iron men 
 Who braved the battle's storm of fire, 
 
 When war's wild halo filled the glen. 
 And lit each humble village spire ? 
 
 When hill sent back the sound to hill, 
 
 And might was right, and law was will ? 
 
 Oh ! where are they, whose manly breasts 
 Beat back the pride of England's might ? 
 
 Whose stalwart arm, laid low the crests 
 Of many an old and valiant knight ? 
 
 When evening came with murderous flame, 
 
 And liberty was but a name ? 
 
 I sec them in the distance, form 
 
 Like spectres on a misty shore ; 
 Before them rolls the dreadful storm. 
 
 And hills send forth their rills of gore ; 
 Around them death, with lightning breath. 
 Is twining an immortal wreath. 
 
 They conquer ! God of glory, thanks ! 
 
 They conquer ! Freedom's banner waves 
 Above oppression's broken ranks, 
 
 And withers o'er her children's graves ; 
 And loud and long the pealing song 
 Of jubilee is borne along. 
 
 'Tis evening, and December's sun 
 
 Goes swiftly down behind the wave ; 
 And there I see a gray -haired one, 
 
 A special courier to the grave ; 
 He looks around on vale and mound. 
 Then falls upon his battle-ground. 
 
 Beneath him rests the hallowed earth, 
 Now changed like him, and still and cold ; 
 
 The blood that gave young freedom birth 
 No longer warms the warrior old ; 
 
 He waves his hand with stern command, 
 
 Then dies, the last of glory's band. 
 
 J. Erskine Dow 
 
 r 
 
4:00 SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 129. THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 Hark ! from the sullen deep a fearful sound, 
 Which dies away where echo ne'er replies : — 
 While clouds of fiery vapor roll around, 
 And, like a wintry fog, obscure the skies. 
 The ship 's a wreck ! — in scattered fragments lies, 
 A smoking ruin on the combing swell I 
 The red flues have collapsed, and havoc flies 
 In volleyed thunder ! — like the bolt that fell 
 On that ill-fated boat — the lost, the mourned Moselle ! 
 
 A moment past, and the proud ship was gliding. 
 Like a swift dolphin, through the yielding seas, — 
 A moment past, and Beauty, coy, confiding. 
 Charming as love, and coiu:teous still to please. 
 Rung her light bells and wrangled with the breeze. 
 Where are they now ? — the lovely and the brave, 
 The staid, the gay, so late in health and ease ? — 
 Some, in their berths below, have found a grave. 
 Some toss upon the surge, — some struggle down the wave I 
 
 O what a cry of, woe burst from the deep ! 
 What shriel^ of terror pierced the vaulted sky ! 
 What icy chills around each heart did creep ! — 
 What black despair gleamed from each straining eye ! 
 Some, flayed alive, upon the waters lie. 
 And writhe and groan in agony of pain : — 
 O it were mercy now bestowed, to die. 
 And sink unconscious down th' unfathom'd main, 
 For life is misery, — death is the wretch's gain ! 
 
 Some vainly grapple with the burning wreck. 
 That slowly settling, tends the depths below ; 
 While others, maddened in life's sudden check. 
 Blaspheme their God ! and the last hope forego, 
 Despairing in th' extremity of woe ! 
 A few resigned upon the waters lie, 
 And gazing upward with a dying throe, 
 Await their dissolution, — not a sigh 
 Disturbs the soul whose wing is quivering for the sky. 
 
 The dying boy invokes his sinking sire. 
 
 The struggling sire no 'foothold may recover, — 
 
EDWAED A. Mclaughlin-. — pollok. 401 
 
 Husband and wife in either's arms expire, 
 In either's arms, the maiden and her lover ; — 
 Strangers and friends are calling to each other, 
 Childhood imploring aid, — alas ! in vain ! 
 The dashing seas each cry of anguish smother, 
 Heaiis cease to beat, and voices to complain, 
 And Death sits paramount, — triumphant on the main ! 
 
 Silence is on the sea ! — save the dull moan 
 Of the dirge-chanting -wind and hoarser swell ; 
 While bends night's goddess from her azure zone, 
 To kiss the enamored wave that owns her spell. 
 For these, — the dead, there tolls no funeral bell, 
 Nor hearse, nor pall, nor mourning friends appear : — 
 Th' affrighted sea-bird screams their passing knell. 
 Upon whose grave no flowers the Spring shall rear, 
 But sea-weed floats around to deck their watery bier. 
 
 Edward A. McLaughlix 
 
 130. GOLD. 
 
 Gold ! — many hunted, sweat, and bled for gold ; 
 
 Waked all the night, and labored all the day ; — 
 
 And what was this allurement, dost thou ask ? 
 
 A dust, dug from the bowels of the earth, 
 
 Which, being cast into the fire, came out 
 
 A shining thing, that fools admired and called 
 
 A god ; and, in devout and humble phght, 
 
 Before it kneeled — the greater to the less ! 
 
 And on its altar sacrificed ease, peace. 
 
 Truth, faith, integrity — ^good conscience, friends, 
 
 Love, charity, benevolence, and all 
 
 The sweet and tender sympathies of life ; 
 
 And, to complete the horrid, murderous rite. 
 
 And signaHze their folly, offered up 
 
 Their souls, and an eternity of bliss. 
 
 To gain them — what ? — an hour of dreaming joy- 
 
 A feverish hour, that hasted to be done. 
 
 And ended in the bitterness of woe ! 
 
 Pollok 
 
402 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 131. THE STORMING OF VERA CRUZ. 
 
 The night is wild and bitter, the prairie lies in snow ; 
 And hark ! the wolves are howling, as round the fort they go. 
 Close in their guarded stable the horses snort with fear : 
 Pile on the logs still higher, we'll give the night to cheer ! 
 
 While some the haunch are broiling, and others spice the wine, 
 And some deck out the table with torches of the pine. 
 And some bring in the red game, or pastry crisply done, 
 I'll tell the story, comrades, how Vera Cruz was won ! 
 
 You should have seen our transports, a hundred in a row : 
 Like stately swans they floated, majestical and slow. 
 Two days we headed southward, out on the boundless sea. 
 Two days gray Orizaba towered upon our lea. 
 At last the distant city flashed on the sea-board dim ; 
 And crouched before it, watching, the lion- castle grim. 
 
 Close by the beach we anchored : with a mighty shout 
 
 The boats were launched, the oars were down, and the long line 
 
 shot out 
 A moment in the breakers : — God help the gallant band ! 
 The creamy foam is o'er them ! — huzza ! they gain the land ! 
 The starry flag is planted, a beacon blazing wide ! 
 A hundred guns exulted ; ten thousand men replied. 
 
 That night we slept untented, and often waked to hear 
 
 The jackal snarling round us, the foeman scouting near. 
 
 With day the battle opened : a dread incessant roar 
 
 From fleet, and fort, and castle, billowed o'er the sea and shore ; 
 
 And while we dug the trenches, still blew the fiery gale, 
 
 And still above, about us, pattered the iron hail. 
 
 Sudden a trumpet sounded : we looked, and o'er the crest 
 Galloped a thousand lancers, their lances laid in rest. 
 " Now at them !" cried our leader : we mounted quick and bold. 
 " One charge upon the cravens !" and in the dust they rolled. 
 " Again !" and riding down them, we crushed the rabble rout. 
 As with his hounds the hunter the harvest tramples out. 
 
 The norther next assailed us : the sand in clouds arose. 
 As when across the desert the deadly Simoom blows ; 
 The tents went down like rushes when tempests hurtle by ; 
 The whizzing bombs incessant hissed viewless through the sky ; 
 
ANONYMOUS. 403 
 
 And the great sun in anger broke redly through the haze, 
 Like some fierce god of battle, his armor all a-blaze ! 
 
 Till night the conflict deepened ; and when the darkness fell. 
 Death fiercer rode the whirlwind of raging shot and shell. 
 From trench and fleet we thundered : the leaguered walls 
 
 replied ; 
 The stout old castle answered, flaming on every side ; 
 The hum of bombs enormous filled all the hollow air, 
 And the sky blazed with comets shaking their fiery hair. 
 
 We heard the plunge of round-shot, embrasures crumbling down. 
 
 The shrieks and wails of women from out the fated town. 
 
 The bells in terror ringing, the crash of falling domes : 
 
 We saw the red fire leaping high over happy homes ; 
 
 It played on roof and steeple, it flashed from ocean's swell. 
 
 Till sea and town shone lurid like the red mouth of hell ! 
 
 Four days the battle lasted ; four hapless nights and days : 
 Days black with smoke of Tophet, nights lit with sulphurous 
 
 blaze. 
 The fifth beheld a ruin. Where once had stood the town. 
 Were wall, and church, and dwelling, in chaos tumbled down. 
 The foe implored our mercy, and ere the set of sun. 
 Our flag was on the ramparts. Thus Vera Cruz was won. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 132. AMBITION, FALSE AND TRUE. 
 
 I WOULD not wear the warrior's wreath, 
 I would not court his crown ; 
 
 For love and virtue sink beneath 
 His dark and vengeful frown. 
 
 I would not seek my fame to build 
 
 On glory's dizzy height ; — 
 Her temple is with orphans filled ; 
 
 Blood soils her sceptre bright. 
 
 I would not wear the diadem. 
 
 By folly prized so dear ; 
 For want and woe have bought each gem. 
 
 And every pearl's a tear. 
 
404: SELECTIONS IN POETKY. 
 
 I would not heap the gt>lden chest. 
 
 That sordid spirits crave ; 
 For every grain (by penury cursed) 
 
 Is gathered from the grave. 
 
 No ; let my wreath unsullied be. 
 
 My fame be virtuous youth ; 
 My wealth be kindness, charity ; 
 
 My diadem be truth ! Anonymous. 
 
 133. THE OAKEN BUCKET. 
 
 How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood. 
 
 When fond recollection presents them to view ! 
 The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood. 
 
 And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; 
 The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it, 
 
 The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; 
 The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, 
 
 And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well. 
 The old oaken bucket — the iron-bound bucket — 
 The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. 
 
 That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure — 
 
 For often, at noon, when returned from the field, 
 I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure. 
 
 The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 
 How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing. 
 
 And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell ! 
 Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing. 
 
 And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well. 
 The old oaken bucket — tlie iron-bound bucket — 
 The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. 
 
 How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it. 
 When, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! 
 
 Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it. 
 Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. 
 
 And now, far removed from that loved situation. 
 The tear of regret will intrusively swell. 
 
S. WOODWOETn. — ^JONES. 405 
 
 As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, 
 
 And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well. 
 The old oaken bucket — the iron-bound bucket — 
 The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well. 
 
 S. WOODWOETH. 
 
 134. THE GLADIATOR. 
 
 They led a lion from his den, 
 
 The lord of Afric's sun-scorched plain ; 
 
 And there he stood, stern foe of men. 
 
 And shook his flowing mane. 
 
 There's not of all Rome's heroes, ten 
 
 That dare abide this game. 
 
 His bright eye naught of lightning lacked ; 
 
 His voice was hke the cataract. 
 
 They brought a dark-haired man along. 
 Whose limbs with gyves of brass were bound ; 
 Youthful he seemed, and bold and strong, 
 And yet unscathed of wound. 
 Blithely he stepped among the throng, 
 And careless threw around 
 A dark eye, such as courts the path 
 Of him who braves a Dacian's wrath. 
 
 Then shouted the plebeian crowd, — 
 Rung the glad galleries with the sound ; 
 And from the throne there spake aloud 
 A voice, — " Be the bold man unbound ! 
 And by Rome's sceptre yet unbowed. 
 By Rome earth's monarch crowned, 
 Who dares the bold, the unequal strife. 
 Though doomed to death, shall save his life." 
 
 Joy was upon that dark man's face ; 
 
 And thus, with laughing eye, spake he ; 
 
 " Loose ye the lord of Zaara's waste. 
 
 And let my arms be free : 
 
 * He has a martial heart,' thou say est ; — 
 
 But oh ! who will not be 
 
 A hero, when he fights for life. 
 
 For home and country, babes and wife !" 
 
4:06 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 And he has bared his shining blade, 
 And springs he on the shaggy foe ; 
 Dreadful the strife, but briefly played ;— 
 The desert-king lies low ; 
 His long and loud death-howl is made ; 
 And there must end the show. 
 And when the multitude were calm, 
 The favorite freed-man took the palm. 
 
 " Kneel down, Rome's emperor beside !" 
 
 He knelt, that dark man ; — o'er his brow 
 
 Was thrown a wreath in crimson died ; 
 
 And fair words gild it now : 
 
 " Thou art the bravest youth that ever tried 
 
 To lay a lion low ; 
 
 And from our presence forth thou go'st 
 
 To lead the Dacians of our host." 
 
 Then flushed his cheek, but not with pride. 
 And grieved and gloomily spake he : 
 " My cabin stands where blithely glide 
 Proud Danube's waters to the sea : 
 I have a young and blooming bride. 
 And I have children three : — 
 No Roman wealth or rank can give 
 Such joy as in their arms to hve. 
 
 " My wife sits at the cabin door. 
 
 With throbbing heart and swollen eyes ;— 
 
 While tears her cheek are coursing o'er. 
 
 She speaks of sundered ties. 
 
 She bids my tender babes deplore 
 
 The death their father dies ; 
 
 She teJ.s these jewels of my home, 
 
 I bleed to please the rout of Rome. 
 
 " I cannot let those cherubs stray 
 
 Without their sire's protecting care ; 
 
 And I would chase the griefs away 
 
 Which cloud my wedded fair." 
 
 The monarch spoke ; the guards obey ; 
 
 And gates unclosed are : 
 
 He's gone ! — No golden bribes divide 
 
 The Dacian from his babes and bride. 
 
 JONE? 
 
W. IIOWITT. 4:07 
 
 135. THE KAISER. 
 
 The Kaiser's* hand from all his foes 
 Had won him glory and repose : 
 Richly through his rejoicing land 
 Were felt the blessings of his hand ; 
 And when at eve he sought his rest, 
 A myriad hearts his slumbers blessed. 
 
 In midnight's hush a tempest broke ; — 
 Throughout his realm its myriads woke ; 
 And by the lightning's rapid flash, 
 And 'mid the thunder's bellowing crash, 
 In faith to heaven their prayers they spake, 
 For Christ's and for the Kaiser's sake. 
 
 But with a start, and with a pang, 
 Up from his couch the Kaiser sprang ; 
 What ! feareth he who never feared 
 When bloody deaths through hosts careered ? 
 What ! can the tempest's passing sound 
 That heart of battles thus confound ? 
 
 No ! no ! but in its deepest deep j 
 
 It wakes a cry no more to sleep ; 
 And there ! and there ! in wrath begin 
 The pangs — the power of secret sin. 
 A blow is dealt, — a strife is stirred, — 
 Without, the storm may pass unheard ! 
 
 And, therefore, from his palace door 
 He passed into the loud uproar ; 
 In wildest wind, and blackest night. 
 He passed away in sudden flight : 
 *Mid lightning, rain, and thunder's roll. 
 He went, — a fire within his soul. 
 
 The Kaiser went in storm and night, 
 But ne'er returned in peace and light; 
 Astonished thousands asked his lot. 
 Love sought and sought, but found him not ; 
 But conscience did what conscience would, 
 And sealed its errand — blood for blood ! 
 
 W. HoWlTXi 
 * Henry V., of Germany. 
 
403 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 136. ALBUQUERQUE. 
 
 A STORM was on the deep ; 
 
 And lightning, in its wrath, 
 Called the darkness from its sleep. 
 
 In the fierce tornado's path : 
 The ocean waves went up among 
 
 The thunder-spirit's choir. 
 Recoiling as the death-note rung 
 
 From their canopy of fire. 
 
 " Awake ! awake ! — behold 
 
 Death throned among the clouds ! 
 Tlie sands of life are told — 
 
 The waves must be our shrouds." 
 Thus spake the chief, while, clinging round. 
 
 The shrieking concourse stood. 
 Waiting the sulphurous bolt to sound 
 
 Their requiem for the flood. 
 
 Stern Albuquerque that hour 
 
 Showed horror on his brow, 
 While conscience, in her power. 
 
 Made his haughty heart to bow ; 
 Hot lightning blackened many a corse. 
 
 And cleft his bending mast. 
 While bounding like a reinless horse. 
 
 On went the proud ship fast. 
 
 Pressed down with guilty fear. 
 
 He knew his turn might be — 
 Another bolt fell near. 
 
 And burst upon the sea ; — 
 When from a mother's bosom blest, 
 
 He snatched her infant care. 
 And clasping it before his breast. 
 
 Defied the lightning's glare. 
 
 " Now strike ! — I stand prepared ; 
 
 Hurl down, proud Heaven, thy worst f 
 For innocence is bared 
 
 Before a bosom cursed !" 
 
fiUFUS DAWES. — JONATHAN LAWRENCE. 409 
 
 He stood — the tempest fell asleep — 
 
 The hurricane passed o'er, — 
 His arms that keep the mighty deep 
 
 Showed mercy, and forbore ! 
 
 RuFUs Dawes. 
 
 ISV. LOOK ALOFT. 
 
 In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale 
 Are around and above, if thy footing should fail, — 
 If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart, — 
 *' Look aloft," and be firm, and be fearless of heart. 
 
 If the friend who embraced in prosperity's glow. 
 With a smile for each joy, and a tear for each woe. 
 Should betray thee when sorrows like clouds are arrayed, 
 " Look aloft," to the friendship which never shall fade. 
 
 Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine eye. 
 Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly, — 
 Then turn, and, through tears of repentant regret, 
 " Look aloft" to the sun that is never to set. 
 
 Should they who are nearest and dearest thy heart,— 
 Thy relations and friends — ^in sorrow depart, — 
 " Look aloft," from the darkness and dust of the tomb. 
 To that soil where affection is ever in bloom. 
 
 And oh, when Death comes, in terrors, to cast 
 His fears on the future, his pall on the past, — 
 In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart, 
 And a smile in thine eye, " look aloft," and depart. 
 
 Jonathan Laweknck, 
 
 138. THE OCEAN. 
 
 THOU, vast Ocean ! ever-sounding Sea ! 
 Thou symbol of a dread immensity ! 
 Thou thing that windest round the solid world 
 Like a huge animal, which downward hurled 
 From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone. 
 Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone ! 
 Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep 
 18 
 
410 SELECTIONS m POETRY. 
 
 Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. 
 
 Thou speakest in the east and in the west 
 
 At once, and on thy heavily laden breast 
 
 Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life 
 
 Or motion, yet are moved, and meet in strife. 
 
 The earth hath naught of this : no chance nor change 
 
 Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare 
 
 Give answer to the tempest- waken air ; 
 
 But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range 
 
 At will, and wound its bosom as they go. 
 
 Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow ; 
 
 But to their stated rounds the seasons come. 
 
 And pass, hke visions, to their viewless home. 
 
 And come again and vanish ; the young spring 
 
 Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming, 
 
 And winter always winds his sullen horn 
 
 When the wild autumn, with a look forlorn. 
 
 Dies in his stormy manhood ; and the skies 
 
 Weep, and flowers sicken when the summer flies. 
 
 Thou only, terrible Ocean ! hast a power, 
 
 A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour. 
 
 When thou dost hft thine anger to the clouds, 
 
 A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds 
 
 Thy broad, green forehead. If thy waves be driven 
 
 Backwards and forwards, by the shifting wind, 
 
 How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind. 
 
 And stretch thine arms, and war at once with heaven ! 
 
 Thou trackless and immeasurable Main ! 
 
 On thee no record ever lived again 
 
 To meet the hand that writ it : line nor lead 
 
 Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps. 
 
 Where, haply, the huge monster swells and sleeps. 
 
 King of his watery limit, who, 'tis said. 
 
 Can move the mighty Ocean into storm — 
 
 Oh ! wonderful thou art, great element ; 
 
 And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent. 
 
 And lovely in repose : thy summer form 
 
 Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves 
 
 Make music in earth's dark and winding caves, 
 
 I love to wander on thy pebbled beach 
 
 Marking the sunlight at the evening hour. 
 
 And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach — 
 
 « Eternity, eternity, and power." ^^^^ Cornwall. 
 
A^,OiS'YMOUS. . 4.11 
 
 139. THE CHARNEL SHIP. 
 
 The storm had ceased — its wrath had rent 
 
 The icy wall asunder ; 
 And many a piercing glance they sent 
 
 Around in awe and wonder ; 
 And sailor hearts their rude praise gave 
 To God, that morn, from o'er the wave. 
 
 But lo ! — still further off appears 
 
 A form more dim and dark ; 
 And anxious eyes, and hopes, and fears, 
 
 Its slow, strange progress mark ; 
 As it moves towards them by the breeze 
 Borne onward from -more northern seas. 
 
 Near, and more near — and can it be 
 
 (More vent'rous than their own) 
 A ship, whose seeming ghost they see 
 
 Among those icebergs thrown ; 
 With broken masts, dismantled all. 
 And dark sails, like a funeral pall ? 
 
 " God of the Mariner ! protect 
 
 Her inmates as she moves along 
 Through perils which, ere now, had wrecked— 
 
 But that thine arm is strong." 
 Ha ! she has struck — she grounds — she stands 
 Still as if held by giant hands. 
 
 " Quick, man the boat !" — away they sprang. 
 
 The stranger ship to aid ; 
 And loud their hailing voices rang, 
 
 And rapid speed they made ; 
 But all in silence, deep, unbroke. 
 The vessel stood — none answering spoke. 
 
 'Twas fearful : not a sound arose — 
 
 No moving thing was there 
 To interrupt the dread repose 
 
 Which filled each heart with fear. 
 On deck they silent stepped, and sought,— 
 Till one, a man, their sad sight caught. 
 
 He was alone : the damp, chill mold 
 Of years hung on his cheek ; 
 
4.12 SELECTIONS IN PGETET. 
 
 A pen ia his hand had meekly told 
 
 The tale no voice might speak : 
 " Seventy days," the record stood, 
 " Had they been in the ice, and wanted food." 
 
 They took his book, and turned away, 
 
 But soon discovered where 
 The wife, in her death-sleep, gently lay. 
 
 Near him, in life most dear : 
 Who, seated beside his young heart's pride, 
 Long years before had calmly died. 
 
 There was a solemn, sacred feeling 
 
 Kindled in every breast ; 
 And softly from the cabin stealing, 
 
 They left them to their rest — 
 The fair, the young, the constant pair. 
 They left them with a blessing there ; 
 
 And to their boat returning, each 
 
 With thoughtful brows and haste, 
 And o'ercharged hearts, too full for speech, 
 
 Left 'midst the frozen waste 
 That Charnel Ship, which years before 
 Had sailed from distant Albion's shore. 
 
 They left her in the icebergs, where 
 
 Few venture to intrude: 
 A monument of death and fear, 
 
 'Mid ocean's solitude ! 
 And, grateful for their own release. 
 Thanked God, and sought their homes in peace. 
 
 Anontuou& 
 
 140. THE PHANTOM SHIP. 
 
 The breeze had sunk to rest. 
 
 The noonday sun was high. 
 And ocean's breast lay motionless 
 
 Beneath a cloudless sky. 
 There was silence in the air. 
 
 There was silence in the deep ; 
 -And it seemed as though that burning calm 
 
 Were nature's final sleep. 
 
ANONYMOUS. 413 
 
 The mid-day watch was set, 
 
 Beneath the blaze of light,- 
 When there came a cry from the tall mas^ head, 
 
 A sail ! a sail, in sight ! 
 And o'er the far horizon 
 
 A snowy speck appeared. 
 And every eye was strained to watch 
 
 The vessel as she neared. 
 
 i. 
 
 There was no breath of air. 
 
 Yet she bounded on her way. 
 And the dancing waves around her prow 
 
 Were flashing into spray. 
 She answered not their hail. 
 
 Alongside as she passed ; 
 There were none who trod her spacious deck, 
 
 Not a seaman on the mast : * 
 
 No hand to guide her helm ; 
 
 Yet on she held her course ; 
 She swept along that waveless sea. 
 
 As with a tempest's force ; 
 A silence, as of death, 
 
 Was o'er that vessel spread : 
 She seemed a thing of another world. 
 
 The world where dwell the dead. 
 
 She passed away from sight. 
 
 The deadly calm was o'er. 
 And the spell-bound ship pursued her course 
 
 Before the breeze once more ; 
 And clouds across the sky 
 
 Obscured the noonday sun. 
 And the winds arose at the tempest's call, 
 
 Before the day was done. 
 
 Midnight, and still the storm ' 
 
 Raged wrathfully and loud. 
 And deep in the trough of the heaving sea 
 
 Labored that vessel proud : 
 There was darkness all around. 
 
 Save where lightning flashes keen 
 Played on the crests of the broken waves, 
 
 And ht the depths between. 
 
414 SELECTIONS IN TOETKY. 
 
 AroHnd her and below, 
 
 The waste of waters roared. 
 And answered the crash of the faUing masts, 
 
 As they cast them overboard. 
 At every billow's shock 
 
 Her quivering timbers strain ; 
 And as she rose on a crested wave. 
 
 That strange ship passed again. 
 
 And o'er that stormy sea 
 
 She flew before the gale. 
 Yet she had not struck her lightest spar, 
 
 Nor furled her loftiest sail. 
 Another blinding flash. 
 
 And nearer yet she seemed. 
 And a pale blue light along her sails 
 
 And o'er her rigging gleamed. 
 
 But it showed no seaman's form, 
 
 No hand her course to guide ; 
 And to their signals of distress 
 
 The winds alone replied. 
 The Phantom Ship passed on, 
 
 Driven o'er her pathless way, 
 But helplessly the sinking wreck 
 
 Amid the breakers lay. 
 
 The angry tempest ceased, 
 
 The winds were hushed to sleep. 
 And calm and bright the sun again 
 
 Shone out upon the deep. 
 But that gallant ship no more 
 
 Shall roam the ocean free ; 
 She has reached her final haven. 
 
 Beneath the dark blue sea. 
 
 And many a hardy seaman. 
 
 Who fears nor storm nor fight. 
 Yet trembles when the Phantom Ship 
 
 Drives past his watch at night ; 
 For it augurs death and danger ; 
 
 It bodes a watery grave. 
 With sea-weeds for his pillow. 
 
 For his shroud, the wandering wave. 
 
 Anonymous 
 
AIIONYMOUS. 4:15 
 
 141. THE SERPENT OF THE STILL. 
 
 They tell me of the Egyptian asp, 
 
 The bite of which is death : 
 The victim yielding, with a gasp, 
 
 His hot and hm-ried breath. 
 The Egyptian queen, says history, 
 
 The reptile vile applied ; 
 And, in the arms of agony. 
 
 Victoriously died. 
 
 They tell me that in Italy 
 
 There is a reptile dread. 
 The sting of which is agony. 
 
 And dooms .the victim dead. 
 But it is said that music's sound 
 
 May soothe the poisoned part. 
 Yea, heal the galling, ghastly wound, 
 
 And save the sinking heart. 
 
 They tell me, too, of serpents vast, 
 
 That crawl on Afric's shore. 
 And swallow men : historians past 
 
 Tell us of one of yore ; — 
 But there is yet one, of a kind 
 
 More fatal than the whole. 
 That stings the body and the mind : 
 
 Yea, it devours the soul. 
 
 'Tis found almost o'er all the earth, 
 
 Save Turkey's wide domains ; 
 And there, if e'er it had a birth, 
 
 'Tis kept in mercy's chains. 
 'Tis found in our own gardens gay. 
 
 In our own flowery fields ; 
 Devouring, every passing day, 
 
 Its thousands at its meals. 
 
 The poisonous venom withers youth, 
 
 Blasts character and health. 
 All sink before it : hope and truth, 
 
 And comfort, joy, and wealth. 
 It is the author, too, of shame ; 
 
 And never fails to kill. 
 Reader, dost thou desire the name ? 
 
 The Serpent uf the Still. 
 
 A.NONTMOUta. 
 
^16 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 "142. WASHINGTON. 
 
 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 I 
 
 Rome had its 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 waves — 
 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 ? 
 
 No car of triumph bore him through 
 
 A city filled with grief ; 
 No groaning captives at the wheels. 
 
 Proclaimed him victor chief; 
 
ELIZA COOK. — ANOKl'MOUtJ. 417 
 
 He broke the gyves of slavery, 
 
 With stroncf and his^h 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. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 143. THE SEVENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. 
 
 *TwAs morn — the rising splendor rolled 
 On marble towers and roofs of gold ; 
 Hall, court, and gallery below. 
 Were crowded with a living flow ; 
 Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there. 
 The bearers of the bow and spear ; 
 The hoary priest, the Chaldee sage. 
 The slave, the gemmed and glittering page- 
 Helm, turban, and tiara, shone 
 A dazzling ring round Pharaoh's throne. 
 
 There came a man — the human tide 
 Shrank backward from his stately stride : 
 His cheek with storm and time was tanned ; 
 A shepherd's staff was in his hand ; 
 A shudder of instinctive fear 
 Told the dark king what step was near ; 
 On through the host the stranger came, 
 It parted round his form like flame. 
 
 He stooped not at the footstool stone, 
 He clasped not sandal, kissed not throne; 
 Erect he stood amid the ring, 
 His only words — " Be just, O king !" 
 On Pharaoh's cheek the blood flushed high, 
 A fire was in his sullen eye ; 
 18* 
 
4 IS SELEOTIOISrS IN POETET. 
 
 Yet on the chief of Israel 
 No arrow of his thousands fell : 
 All mute and moveless as the grave 
 Stood chilled the satrap and the slave. 
 
 " Thou'rt come," at length the monarch spoke ;' 
 
 Haughty and high the words outbroke : 
 
 •* Is Israel weary of its lair. 
 
 The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare ? 
 
 Take back the answer to your band ; 
 
 Go, reap the wind ; go, plough the sand ; ' 
 
 Go, vilest of the living vile. 
 
 To build the never-ending pile. 
 
 Till, darkest of the nameless dead. 
 
 The vulture on their flesh is fed. 
 
 What better asks the howhng slave 
 
 Than the base life our bounty gave ?" 
 
 Shouted in pride the turbaned peers^ 
 
 Upclashed to heaven the golden spears. 
 
 " King ! thou and thine are doomed ! — Behold !*' 
 
 The prophet spoke — the thunder rolled ! 
 
 Along the pathway of the sun 
 
 Sailed vapory mountains, wild and dun. 
 
 '* Yet there is time," the prophet said : 
 
 He raised his staff — the stoim was stayed : 
 
 " King ! be the word of freedom given : 
 
 What art thou, man, to war with heaven ?" 
 
 There came no word — the thunder broke ! 
 
 Like a huge city's final smoke. 
 
 Thick, lurid, stifling, mixed with flame. 
 
 Through court and hall the vapors came. 
 
 Loose as the stubble in the field. 
 
 Wide flew the men of spear and shield ; 
 
 Scattered like foam along the wave. 
 
 Flew the proud pageant, prince and slave : 
 
 Or, in the chains of terror bound. 
 
 Lay, corpse-like, on the smouldering ground. 
 
 " Speak, king ! — the wrath is but begun — 
 
 Still dumb ? — then, Heaven, thy will be done !" 
 
 Echoed from earth a hollow roar 
 Like ocean on the midnight shore 
 
ANONYMOUS. 419 
 
 A sheet of lightning o'er them wheeled. 
 
 The solid ground beneath them reeled ; 
 
 In dust sank roof and battlement ; 
 
 Like webs the giant walls were rent ; 
 
 Red, broad, before his startled gaze, 
 
 The monarch saw his Egypt blaze. 
 
 Still swelled the plague— the flame grew pale ; 
 
 Burst from the clouds the charge of hail ; 
 
 With arrowy keenness, iron weight, 
 
 Down poured the ministers of fate ; 
 
 Till man and cattle, crushed, congealed, 
 
 Covered with death the boundless field. 
 
 Still swelled the plague — uprose the blast, 
 The avenger, fit to be the last ; 
 On ocean, river, forest, vale. 
 Thundered at once the mighty gale. 
 Before the whirlwind flew the tree. 
 Beneath the whirlwind roared the sea ; 
 A thousand ships were on the wave — 
 Where are they? — -ask that foaming grave! 
 Down go the hope, the pride of years, 
 Down go the myriad mariners ; 
 The riches of Earth's richest zone. 
 Gone ! hke a flash of lightning, gone ! 
 
 And, lo ! that first fierce triumph o'er; 
 Swells Ocean on the shrinking shore ; 
 Still onward, onward, dark and wide, 
 Engulfs the land the furiest tide. 
 Then bowed thy spirit, stubborn king. 
 Thou serpent, reft of fang and sting ; 
 Humbled before the prophet's knee. 
 He groaned, " Be injured Israel free." 
 
 To heaven the sage upraised his wand ; 
 Back rolled the deluge from the land ; 
 Back to its caverns sank the gale ; 
 Fled from the noon the vapors pale ; 
 Broad burned again the joyous sun : 
 The hour of wrath and death was done. 
 
 Anon-mjous, 
 
420 SELECTIONS IN POETKT. 
 
 144. FRIENDS SEPARATED BY DEATH, 
 
 Friend after friend departs ; 
 
 Who has not lost a friend ? 
 There is no union here of hearts. 
 
 That finds not here an end ; 
 Were this frail world our final rest, 
 Living or dying none were blest. 
 
 Beyond the flight of time — 
 
 Beyond the reign of death — 
 There surely is some blessed clime 
 
 Where life is not a breath ; 
 Nor life's aflfeetions transient fire. 
 Whose sparks fly upward and expu-e. 
 
 There is a world above, 
 
 Where parting is unknown ; 
 A long eternity of love, 
 
 Formed for the good alone ; 
 And Faith beholds the dying here. 
 Translated to that glorious sphere. 
 
 Thus star by star declines. 
 
 Till all are past away ; 
 As morning high and higher shines. 
 
 To pure and perfect day : 
 Nor sink those stars in empty night. 
 But hide themselves in heaven's own light. 
 
 MONTGOMEKY 
 
 145. THE CHARGE. 
 
 The horn and the trumpet are ringing afar. 
 
 As the summons to battle is sounding ; 
 And the steed, as he catches the signal of war. 
 
 In the pride of his spirit is bounding ; 
 Shrill it echoes afar, over hill and o'er plain. 
 And the wide distant mountains repeat it again ,* 
 And the shout of the warrior, and nearer the song, 
 Peal aloud as the glittering bands are hurrying along 
 
PEKCIVAL. PrEEPONT. 42i 
 
 As on, on, on, on, pours the tide of fight. 
 Still aloft floats the tossing flag, in the glance of morning's 
 light. 
 
 We leap to our saddles, we range us in line 
 
 As the voice of the trumpet is calling : 
 On the crown of yon ridge, bright their drawn sabres shine ; 
 
 Down its slope, like a flood, they are falling. 
 ** Give the spur to the charge, ere the foeman is nigh : 
 Rush amain, as the forest rings loud with your cry : 
 Speed on to the shock, in his midway career — 
 For our sires still were first in fight ; they never thought of 
 
 fear !" 
 So on, on, on, on, o'er the sounding plain. 
 To the wild conflict fierce they rush, and together dash amain. 
 
 Peecivai^ 
 
 146. ON LAYING THE CORNER-STONE OF THE BUNKER-HILL 
 
 MONUMENT. 
 
 0, IS not this a holy spot ? 
 
 'Tis the high-place of freedom's birth ! 
 God of our fathers ! is it not 
 
 The holiest spot of all the earth ? 
 
 Quenched is thy flame on Horeb's side ; 
 
 The robber roams o'er Sinai now ; 
 And those old men, thy seers, abide 
 
 No more on Zion's mournful brow. 
 
 But on this hill, thou. Lord, hast dwelt, 
 Since round its head the war-cloud curled. 
 
 And wrapped our fathers, where they knelt. 
 In prayer and battle for a world. 
 
 Here sleeps their dust : 'tis holy ground : 
 And we, the cliildren of the brave, 
 
 From the four winds are gathered round, 
 To lay our offering on their grave. 
 
 Free as the winds around us blow. 
 Free as the waves below us spread, 
 
 We rear a pile, that long shall throw 
 Its shadow on their sacred bed. 
 
4t22 SELECTIONS m POETET. 
 
 But on their deeds no shade shall fall. 
 
 While o'er their couch thy sun shall flamt 
 
 Thine ear was bowed to hear their call. 
 And thy right hand shall guard their fame. 
 
 PlERPOft 
 
 147. THE MARSEILLES HYMN. 
 
 Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory ! 
 
 Hark ! hark ! what myriads bid you rise ! 
 Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary. 
 
 Behold their tears, and hear their cries. 
 Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding, 
 
 With hireling hosts, a ruffian band. 
 
 Affright and desolate the land. 
 While peace and liberty lie bleeding ? 
 
 To arms ! to arms, ye brave ! 
 Th' avenging sword unsheath : ' 
 
 March on, march on, all hearts resolved 
 On victory or death ! 
 
 Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling. 
 Which treacherous kings, confederate, raise ; 
 
 The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, 
 And lo ! our fields and cities blaze ; 
 
 And shall we basely view the ruin, 
 While lawless force, with guilty stride, 
 Spreads desolation far and wide. 
 
 With crimes and blood his hands imbruing ? 
 To arms ! to arms, ye brave ! 
 
 Th' avenging sword unsheath : 
 March on, march on, all hearts resolved 
 On victory or death ! 
 
 With luxury and pride surrounded. 
 
 The vile insatiate despots dare. 
 Their thirst of power and gold unbounded. 
 
 To mete and vend the light and air. 
 Like beasts of burden would they load us ; 
 
 Like gods, would bid their slaves adore ; 
 
 But man is man, and who is more ? 
 Then shall they longer lash and goad us ? 
 
J. K. DE l'iSLE. — ^FKANOES J. CKOSBY. 423 
 
 To arms ! to arms, ye brave ! 
 
 Th' avenging sword imsheath : 
 March on, march on, all hearts resolved 
 
 On victory or death ! 
 
 Liberty ! can man resign thee. 
 
 Once having felt thy generous flame ? 
 Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee ; 
 
 Or whips thy noble spirit tame ? 
 Too long the Avorld has wept, bewailing. 
 
 That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield ; 
 
 But freedom is our sword and shield, 
 A.nd all their arts are unavailing. 
 
 To arms ! to arms, ye brave ! 
 Th' avenging sword unsheath : 
 
 March on, march on, all hearts resolved 
 
 On victory or death ! j^ j^_ p^ jjj^^^^ 
 
 148. SPEAK NOT HARSHLY. 
 
 Speak not harshly when reproving 
 Those from duty's path who stray : 
 
 If we would reclaim the erring, 
 Kindness must each action sway. 
 
 Speak not harshly to the wayward ; — 
 Win their confidence — their love ; 
 
 They will feel how pure the motive 
 That hath led us to reprove. 
 
 Speak not harshly to the stranger. 
 Though he come in humble guise ; 
 
 Think how slight a thing would kindle 
 Gladness in a stranger's eyes. 
 
 Speak not harshly to the felon. 
 Though like adamant his heart ; 
 
 Touch one chord of fond affection. 
 And the scalding tear may start. 
 
 Speak not harshly to the orphan. 
 They have borne of grief their share ; 
 
424 SELECTIONS IN POETKT. 
 
 Add not to their heavy burden. 
 Add not to corroding care. 
 
 Speak not harshly, was the precept 
 Which to man the Saviour taught ; — 
 
 May that precept ever guide us — 
 Gentle words will cost us naught. 
 
 , Feances J. Ckobbt 
 
 149. THE DEATH OF MAJOR RINGGOLD. 
 
 They bore him from the battle-field 
 
 And clash of arms away ; 
 Extended on a lowly couch. 
 
 The dying hero lay. 
 
 The life-blood issues from the wound — 
 
 All human aid is vain ; — 
 A faithful band in silence weeps 
 
 Their brave commander slain. 
 
 Through foemen's ranks he proudly rode, 
 
 They marked his lofty brow ; 
 His keen dark eye had defiance flashed ; — 
 
 But oh ! he has fallen now. 
 
 He beckoned to one who near him stood — 
 Leaned his head on his friendly breast. 
 
 And then in accents weak and low. 
 These words to him addressed. 
 
 " I know that life is ebbing fast ; 
 
 All, all will soon be o*er ; — 
 My Country ! I have fought for thee. 
 
 But I fight for thee no more. 
 
 " And when these eyes in death are closed. 
 
 And tolls my funeral knell, 
 To Cadwal'der and his brave corps. 
 
 Bear thou my last farewell." 
 
 F£A(fC£S J. CnosBT. 
 
FRANCES J. CROSBY. 
 
 425 
 
 150. THE DEATH OF COLONEL GLAY. 
 
 Lo ! on the bloodstained battle-field 
 
 A wounded hero lying ! 
 Dim is the lustre of his eye — 
 
 For he, alas ! is dying. 
 
 See how with feeble hand he grasps 
 
 The sword so faithful ever ! 
 Now drops the weapon by his side. 
 
 To be resumed — ^no, never. 
 
 Oh, gallant Clay ! though for thy brow 
 
 Its laurels fame is wreathing, — 
 Vain trophies these, thy bosom now 
 
 Its last faint sigh is heaving. 
 
 Back ! tyrants ! would ye deeper make 
 
 The wounds already given ? 
 You from an aged father's heart 
 
 Another tie have riven. 
 
 Intrepid Warrior ! thou hast left 
 
 A deathless name behind thee ; 
 That name unsullied, bright shall shine. 
 
 Though the dark grave may hide thee 
 
 Thou by thy General's side hast fought. 
 
 And Taylor will deplore thee ; 
 And many a heart that loved thee dear 
 
 Will weep in silence o'er thee. 
 
 FEANCESk J. Crosby 
 
 151. GENERAL SCOTT. 
 
 Hail, son of Columbia ! the patriot flame 
 Burns bright in each breast while we tell of thy fame ; 
 We have heard of the deeds thou so nobly hast done. 
 We have heard of thy battles so fearlessly won. 
 
 Thou hast carried our flag to a far distant shore ; 
 See ! it streams from the towers of Juan d'Ulloa ; 
 
426 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 And the eagle hath perched on those battlements high, 
 To rest in his course through the blue vaulted sky. 
 
 When the war-cloud hung dark, 'twas thy voice that inspired; 
 
 And the hearts of thy soldiers with energy fired ; 
 
 The foremost in battle, the fearless in fight, 
 
 While thy sword in the sunbeam was glittering bright. 
 
 In the halls of Mont'zuma now revel the brave, 
 'Tis thine arm that hath conquered the Mexican slave ; 
 Thou hast buried thy sword in the enemy's breast. 
 They quailed at thy glance — thou hast laid them at rest. 
 
 A prey to the vultures that thirsted for gore, 
 They fell by the town of St. Juan d'Ulloa ; 
 And the raven's wild screech will their requiem be. 
 While aroimd them is floating the flag of the free. 
 
 The bugle is hushed, and the cannon's loud roar 
 Shall wake thee from slumber to battle no more ; 
 Thy hand we now grasp, and we hail thee with pride, , 
 As we would all the heroes who fought by thy side. 
 
 Yes, welcome, thrice welcome, again and again ! 
 With transport unbounded we echo the strain ; 
 Thy triumphs so glorious shall ne'er be forgot — 
 Hurrah for the patriot General Scott ! 
 
 Frances J. Ceosbt. 
 
 152. THE DEATH OF GENERAL TAYLOR. 
 
 A WAIL is in the Capitol, 
 
 A wail of anguish deep, 
 That startles with a fearful sound 
 
 The night wind from its sleep. 
 The bravig old oak hath bowed its head, 
 
 A victim to the blast ; 
 Death holds within his conquering arm 
 
 The conqueror at last. • 
 
 There's mourning in the Capitol : 
 With slow and solemn tread. 
 
 Go hang with weeds of cypress now 
 The chambers of the dead. 
 
FRANCES. J. CKOSBT. 4-27 
 
 Ye may not speak at such a time. 
 
 But gaze in mute despair ; 
 Ye would but mock those weeping ones 
 
 "Who kneel heart-broken there. 
 
 A gloom is in the Capitol, 
 
 And like a dismal pall, 
 It must, with melancholy hue, 
 
 On the whole nation fall. 
 For she will see the radiant gem 
 
 Which she so proudly wore. 
 Drop from her brilliant coronet. 
 
 To sparkle there no more. 
 
 Oh ! Taylor ! thou hast nobly won 
 
 A hero's deathless name ; 
 But what to thee are titles now ? — 
 
 What honor, rank, or fame ? 
 Where thou didst raise thy country's flag. 
 
 In triumph it shall wave ; 
 But all thy glorious deeds must end 
 
 Untimely in the grave. 
 
 'Tis sweet to think that with tliine own 
 
 Was breathed thy latest sigh ; 
 What comfort in thy parting words — 
 
 ** I am prepared to die." 
 The storms of battle thou hast braved. 
 
 And many a conflict passed ; 
 Now peaceful in thy native land 
 
 Thine eyes are closed at last. 
 
 A warning from the Capitol, 
 
 A deep sepulchral sound ! 
 List to the mournful requiem 
 
 With solemn awe profound. 
 Nor let the turbid, restless tide 
 
 Of .party feeling flow ; 
 He was a Nation's President, 
 
 Be ours a Nation's woe. 
 
 FfiANCES J CbOSBT. 
 
42S SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 
 
 153. TIPPER ART. 
 (A "Song of the Nation" in the late Irish rebellion.) 
 
 Let Britain boast her British hosts. 
 About them all right little care we ; 
 
 Not British seas nor British coasts 
 Can match The Man of Tipperary ! 
 
 Tall is his form, his heart is warm, 
 
 His spirit light as any fairy — 
 His wrath is fearful as the storm 
 
 That sweeps The Hills of Tipperary ! 
 
 Lead him to fight for native land, 
 
 His is no courage cold and wary ; 
 The troops hve not on earth would stand 
 
 The headlong Charge of Tipperary ! 
 
 Yet meet him in his cabin rude. 
 Or dancing with his dark-haired Mary 
 
 You'd swear they knew no other mood 
 But Mirth and Love in Tipperary ! 
 
 You're free to share his scanty meal, 
 His plighted word he'll never vary : 
 
 In vain they tried with gold and steel 
 To shake The Faith of Tipperary ! 
 
 Let Britain, too, her banner brag. 
 
 We'll lift The Green more proud and airy ; 
 
 Be mine the lot to bear that flag. 
 And head The Men of Tipperary ! 
 
 Though Britain boasts her British hosts. 
 About them all right little care we — 
 
 Give us, to guard our native coasts, 
 
 The Matchless Men of Tipperary! Thomas DAvia 
 
 154. THE vow OF TIPPERARY. 
 (A « Song of the Nation" in the late Irish rebellion.) 
 
 From Carrick streets to Shannon shore. 
 From Slievenamon to Ballindeary, 
 From Longford Pass to Galtymore, 
 Come hear The Vow of Tipperary. 
 
THOMAS DAVIS. 429 
 
 Too long we fought for Britain's cause, 
 And of our blood were never chary ; 
 She paid us back with tyrant laws, 
 And thinned The Homes of Tipperary. 
 
 Too long, with rash and single arm. 
 The peasant strove to guard his eyrie, 
 Till Irish blood bedewed each farm. 
 And Ireland wept for Tipperary. 
 
 But never more we'll lift a hand — 
 We swear by God and Virgin Mary ! 
 Except in war for Native Land, 
 And that's The Vow of Tipperary ! 
 
 Thomas Davis. 
 
 155. THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK.* 
 (A « Song of the Nation," in the Iat« Irish rebellion,) 
 
 Oh, hurrah ! for the men, who, when danger is nigh. 
 Are found in the front, looking death in the eye. 
 Hurrah ! for the men who kept Limerick's wall. 
 And hurrah ! for bold Sarsfield, the bravest of all. 
 King William's men round Luimneach lay. 
 His cannon crashed from day to day. 
 Till the Southron wall was swept away 
 
 At the city of Luimneach lionnglas.f 
 'Tis afternoon, yet hot the sun, 
 When William fires the signal gun. 
 And, like its flash, his columns run 
 
 On the city of Luimneach lionnglas. 
 
 The breach gaped out two perches wide, 
 The fosse is filled, the batteries plied ; 
 Can the Irishmen that onset bide 
 
 At the city of Luimneach lionnglas ? 
 Across the ditch the columns dash. 
 Their bay'nets o'er the rubbish flash. 
 When sudden comes a rending crash 
 
 From the city of Luimneach lionnglas. 
 
 ..,* August 27, 1590. t " Limerick, of the azure river." 
 
430 SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 The bullets rain in pelting shower, 
 
 And rocks and beams from wall and tower ; 
 
 The Englishmen are glad to cower 
 
 At the city of Luimneach lionnglas ; 
 But, rallied soon, again they pressed. 
 Their bay'nets pierced full many a breast, 
 Till they bravely won the breach's crest 
 
 At tl^e city of Luinmeach lionnglas. 
 
 Then fiercer grew the Irish yell. 
 And madly on the foe they fell. 
 Till the breach grew like the jaws of heU — 
 
 Not the city of Luimneach lionnglas. 
 The women fought before the men. 
 Each man became a match for ten, 
 So back they pushed the villains then. 
 
 From the city of Luimneach lionnglas. 
 
 But Bradenburgh the ditch has crossed, 
 And gained our flank at little cost — 
 The bastion's gone — the town is lost ; 
 
 Oh ! poor city of Luimneach lionnglas. 
 When, sudden, Sarsfield springs the mine — 
 Like rockets rise the Germans fine. 
 And come down dead, 'mid smoke and shine, 
 
 At the city of Luimneach lionnglas. 
 
 Out, with a roar, the Irish sprung, 
 And back the beaten English flung, 
 Till William fled, his lords among. 
 
 From the city of Luimneach lionnglas. 
 'Twas thus was fought that glorious fight. 
 By Irishmen, for Ireland's right — 
 May all such days have such a night 
 
 As the Battle of Luimneach lionnglas. 
 Oh ! hurrah for the men, who, when danger is nigh 
 Are found in the front, looking death in the eye. 
 Hurrah ! for the men who kept Limerick's wall, 
 And hurrah ! for bold Sarsfield, the bravest of all. 
 
 Thomas DAns. 
 
ANONYMOUS. 4:31 
 
 156. PADDIES EVERMORE. 
 ^■A " Song of the Natiou" in the late Irish rebellion.) 
 
 The hour is past to fawn or crouch 
 
 As suppliants for our right ; 
 Let word and deed unshrinking vouch 
 
 The banded millions' might : 
 Let them who scorned the fountain rill, 
 
 Now dread the torrent's roar. 
 And hear our echoed chorus still, 
 
 We're Paddies evermore. 
 
 What though they menace, suffering men 
 
 Their threats and them despise ; 
 Or promise justice once again. 
 
 We know their words are lies ; 
 We stand resolved those rights to claim 
 
 They robbed us of before, 
 Our own dear nation and our name, 
 
 As Paddies evermore. 
 
 What reck we though six hundred years 
 
 Have o'er our thraldom rolled. 
 The soul that roused 0' Conor's spears. 
 
 Still lives as true and bold ; 
 The tide of foreign power to stem 
 
 Our fathers bled of yore, 
 And we stand here to-day, like them, 
 
 True Paddies evermore. 
 
 Where's our allegiance ? With the land. 
 
 For which they nobly died ; 
 Our duty ? By our cause to stand. 
 
 Whatever chance betide ; 
 Our cherished hope ? To heal the woes. 
 
 That rankle at her core ; 
 Our scorn and hatred ? To her foes. 
 
 Like Paddies evermore. 
 
 The hour is past to fawn or crouch 
 
 As suppliants for our right ; 
 Let word and deed unshrinking vouch 
 
 The banded millions' misrht ; 
 
4:32 SELECTIONS IN POETBY. 
 
 Let tlicm who scorned the fountain rill, 
 Now dread the torrent's roar, 
 
 And hear our echoed chorus still. 
 We're Paddies evermore. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 157. THE SONG OF THE POOR. 
 (A " Song of the Nation" in the late Irish rebellion.) 
 
 Harp of Erin, freshly pealing ! 
 
 Harp, by patriot genius strung ! 
 Scatter wide each finer feeling. 
 
 Let not strife alone be sung. 
 Pleased, enchanted, have I heard thee 
 
 High-born valor's praise impart. 
 But a nobler theme ne'er stirred thee 
 
 Than the Irish peasant's heart ! 
 
 Let the hero's brow be braided. 
 
 Let the victor's crest be raised ; 
 But the poor man strives unaided. 
 
 But the poor man sinks unpraised. 
 Yet, whilst woes and wrongs importune. 
 
 And gaunt death uprears his dart, 
 Where's the field of feller fortune 
 
 Than the Irish peasant's heart ? 
 
 Well he bears him in the quarrel ; 
 
 Never knight of high degree. 
 For a meed of gold or laurel. 
 
 Showed a firmer front than he. 
 If, for wife and children only, 
 
 Bhnding tears will sometimes start. 
 What, in all its conflict lonely. 
 
 Guides the Irish peasant's heart ? 
 
 'Neath a despot's frigid scanning, 
 
 From a height he deems secure, 
 'Neath a bigot's saintly fanning, 
 
 Execratingly demure. 
 Still we see one sacred feeling 
 
 Solitary light impart, 
 Where his Soggarth* lowly kneeling. 
 
 Schools the Irish peasant's heart. 
 
 * Irish ioT priest. 
 
ANONTMOrS. — J. AUGUSTUS SHEA. 438 
 
 ** Tranquil wait the birth of time ! 
 
 Temp'rate, word and action be I 
 Whosoe'er commits a crime, 
 
 Wrongs his cause, himself, and me. 
 Sage endurance conquers fate. 
 
 Let oppression wince and start" — 
 Dangerous doctrine, men of state. 
 
 For the Irish^easant's heart ! 
 
 Harp of Erin, strongly waking ! 
 
 Harp, by patriot virtue strung! 
 Freedom's hand thy chords is shaking, 
 
 Freedom's hymn is o'er them sung. 
 Sound it ever ! never sparing 
 
 Tyrant's rage or bigot's art ; 
 But a peaceful promise bearing 
 
 To the Irish peasant's heart. Anohtmodb. 
 
 158. THE O KAVANAGH. 
 
 The Saions had met, and the banquet was spread. 
 And the wine in fleet circles the jubilee led ; 
 And the banners that hung round the festal that night. 
 Seemed brighter by far than when lifted in fight. 
 
 In came the O'Kavanagh, fair as the morn. 
 
 When earth to new beauty and vigor is born : 
 
 They shrank from his glance, like the waves from the prow. 
 
 For Nature's nobility sat on his brow. 
 
 Attended alone by his vassal and bard — 
 No trumpet to herald, no clansmen to guard — 
 He came not attended by steed or by steel : 
 No danger he knew, for no fear did he feel. 
 
 In eye and on lip his high confidence smiled — 
 So proud, yet so knightly — so gallant, yet mild : 
 He moved like a god through the light of that hall, 
 And a smile, full of courthness, proffered to all. 
 
 " Come pledge us, lord chieftain ! come pledge us !" they cried ; 
 Unsuspectingly free to the pledge he replied ; 
 And this was the peace-branch O'Kavanagh bore — 
 '* The friendships to come, not the feuds that are o'er!" 
 19 
 
434. SELECTIONS IN POETEY. 
 
 But, minstrel, why cometh a change o'er thy theme ? 
 Why sing of red battle — what dream dust thou dream t 
 Ha ! " Treason" 's the cry, and " Revenge" is the call. 
 As the swords of the Saxon surrounded the hall ! 
 
 A kingdom for Angelo's mind ! to portray 
 
 Green Erin's undaunted avenger that day ; 
 
 The far-flashing sword, and the death-darting eye, 
 
 Like some comet commissioned with wrath from the sky. 
 
 Through the ranks of the Saxon he hewed his red way-— 
 Through lances, and sabres, and hostile array ; 
 And, mounting his charger, he left them to tell 
 The tale of that feast, and its bloody farewell. 
 
 And now on the Saxons his clansmen advance. 
 With a shout from each heart, and a soul in each lance : 
 He rushed, like a storm, o'er the night-covered heath. 
 And swept through their ranks, like the angel of death. 
 
 Then hurrah ! for thy glory, young chieftain, hurrah ! 
 Oh ! had we such lightning-souled heroes to-day, 
 Again would our sunburst* expand in the gale, 
 And Freedom exult o'er the green Innisfail ! 
 
 J. Augustus ShkAs 
 
 159. WOMAN S SUFFERINGS. 
 
 Warriors and statesmen have their meed of praise. 
 
 And what they do or suffer men record ; 
 But the long sacrifice of woman's days 
 
 Passes without a thought, without a word ; 
 And many a holy struggle for the sake 
 
 Of duties sternly, faithfully fulfilled,— 
 For which the anxious mind must watch and wake. 
 
 And the strong feelings of the heart be stilled, — 
 Goes by imheeded as the summer wind. 
 And leaves no memory and no trace behind ! 
 Yet, it may be, more lofty courage dwells 
 
 In one meek heart which braves an adverse fate, 
 Than his, whose ardent soul indignant swells. 
 
 Warmed by the fight, or cheered through high debate, 
 
 • Tlie Irish national banner. 
 
MRS. NOETON. 435 
 
 The soldier dies surrounded ; — could he live 
 Alone to suffer, and alone to strive ? 
 
 Answer, ye graves, whose suicidal gloom 
 Shows deeper horror than a common tomb ! 
 Who sleep within ? The men who would evade 
 An unseen lot of which they felt afraid. 
 Embarrassment of means, which worked annoy, — 
 A past remorse, — a future blank of joy, — 
 The sinful rashness of a blind despair, — 
 These were the strokes which sent your victims there, 
 
 In many a village churchyard's simple grave. 
 
 Where all unmarked the cypress-branches wave ; 
 
 In many a vault where Death could only claim 
 
 The brief inscription of a woman's name ; 
 
 Of different ranks, and different degrees. 
 
 From daily labor to a life of ease, 
 
 (From the rich wife who, through the weary day, 
 
 Wept in her jewels, grief's unceasing prey. 
 
 To the poor soul who trudged o'er marsh and moor. 
 
 And with her baby begged from door to door,) 
 
 Lie hearts, which, ere they found that last release. 
 
 Had known no nights of rest, no days of peace ; 
 
 Hearts, whose long struggle through unpitied years 
 
 None saw but He who marks the mourner's tears ; 
 
 The obscurely noble ! who evaded not 
 
 The woe which He had willed should be their lot, 
 
 But nerved themselves to bear. ,^ ,t 
 
 Mrs. Isorton, 
 
 160. THE POWER OF DREAMS. 
 
 Strange is the power of dreams ! Who hath not felt, 
 When in the morning light such visions melt. 
 How the veiled soul, though strugghng to be free. 
 Ruled by that deep, unfathomed mystery. 
 Wakes, haunted by the thoughts of good or ill, 
 Whose shadowy influence pursues us still ? 
 
 Sometimes remorse doth weigh our spirits down ; 
 Some crime committed earns heaven's angriest frown : 
 
4:36 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 Some awful sin, in which the tempted heart 
 Hath scarce, perhaps, forborne its waking part. 
 Brings dreams of judgment ; loud the thunders roll. 
 The heavens shrink blackened like a flaming scroll ; 
 We faint, we die, beneath the avenging rod. 
 And vainly hide from our offended God. 
 For, oh ! though Fancy change our mortal lot. 
 And rule our slumbers. Conscience sleepeth not : 
 That strange, sad dial, by its own true light. 
 Points to our thoughts, how dark soe'er the night ; 
 Still by our pillow watchful guard it keeps, 
 And bids the sinner tremble while he sleeps. 
 
 Sometimes, with fearful dangers doomed to cope, 
 'Reft of each wild and visionary hope. 
 Stabbed with a thousand wounds, we struggle still. 
 The hand that tortures, powerless to kill. 
 Sometimes, 'mid ocean storms, in fearful strife, 
 We stem the wave, and, shrieking, gasp for life ; 
 While crowding round us, faces rise and gleam — 
 Some known and loved, some pictures of our dream : 
 High on the buoyant waters wildly tossed, 
 Low in its foaming caverns darkly lost, 
 Tliose flitting forms the dangerous hour partake, 
 Cling to our aid, or suffer for our sake. 
 Conscious of present life, the slumbering soul 
 Still floats us onward, as the billows roll, 
 Till, snatched from death, we seem to touch the strand, 
 Rise on the shoreward wave, and dash to land ! 
 Alone we come : the forms whose wild array 
 Gleamed round us while we struggled, fade away ; 
 We know not, reck not, who the danger shared, 
 But, vaguely dreaming, feel that we are spared. 
 
 Sometimes a grief, of fond affection born. 
 Gnaws at our heart, and bids us weep till morn ; 
 Some anguish, copied from our waking fears. 
 Wakes the eternal fount of human tears, 
 Sends us to watch some visioned bed of death, 
 Hold the faint hand, and catch the parting breath, 
 Where those we prized the most and loved the best. 
 Seem darkly sinking to the grave's long rest. 
 Lo ! in our arms they fade, they faint, they die, 
 Before our eyes, the funeral train sweeps by ; 
 
MES. NOETON. ^rS' 
 
 We hear the orphan's sob, the widow's wail — 
 O'er our dim senses woful thoughts prevail, 
 Till, with a burst of grief, the spell we break. 
 And, weeping for th' imagined loss, awake ! 
 
 Mrs. Nobtow. 
 
 161. THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 We stand among the fallen leaves, 
 
 Young children at our play, 
 And laugh to see the yellow things 
 
 Go rustling on their way : 
 Right merrily we hunt them down. 
 
 The autumn winds and we, 
 Nor pause to gaze where snow-drifts lie. 
 
 Or sunbeams gild the tree. 
 With dancing feet we leap along 
 
 Where withered boughs are strown ; 
 Nor past nor future checks our song — 
 
 The present is our own. 
 
 We stand among the fallen leaves 
 
 In youth's enchanted spring, 
 When Hope (avIio wearies at the last) 
 
 First spreads her eagle wing : 
 We tread with steps of conscious strength 
 
 Beneath the leafless trees. 
 And the color kindles on our cheek. 
 
 As blows the winter breeze ; 
 Wliile, gazing towards the cold gray sky, 
 
 Clouded with snow and rain, 
 We wish the old year all past by. 
 
 And the young spring come again. 
 
 We stand among the fallen leaves 
 
 In manhood's haughty prime. 
 When first our pausing hearts begin , 
 
 To love " the olden time ;" 
 And as we gaze, we sigh to think 
 
 How many a year hath passed. 
 Since, 'neath those cold and faded trees. 
 
 Our footsteps wandered last ; 
 
4:38 SELECTIONS IN POETET. 
 
 And old companions — now, perchance. 
 
 Estranged, forgot, or dead — 
 Come round us, as those autumn leaves 
 
 Are crushed beneath our tread. 
 
 We stand among the fallen leaves 
 
 In our own autumn day. 
 And, tottering on with feeble steps, 
 
 Pursue our cheerless way. 
 We look not back — too long ago 
 
 Hath all we loved been lost ; 
 * Nor forward — for we may not live 
 
 To see our new hope crossed : 
 But on we go ; the sun's faint beam 
 
 A feeble warmth imparts : 
 Childhood, without its joy returns ; — 
 
 The present fills our hearts ! ^^^ ^^^^^^^ 
 
 1G2. WEEP NOT FOR IIIM THAT DIETH. 
 
 Weep not for him that dieth. 
 
 For he sleeps, and is at rest ; 
 And the couch whereon he heth 
 
 Is the green earth's quiet breast : 
 But weep for him who pineth 
 
 On a far land's hateful shore, 
 Who wearily declineth 
 
 Where ye see his face no more ! 
 
 Weep not for him that dieth. 
 
 For friends are round his bed. 
 And many a young lip sigheth 
 
 When they name the early dead : 
 But weep for him that liveth 
 
 Where none will know or care, 
 When the groan his faint heart giveth 
 
 Is the last sigh of despair. 
 
 Weep not for him that dieth. 
 For his strugghng soul is free. 
 
 And the world from which it flieth 
 Is a world of misery ; 
 
MKS. NOKTON. — CHAKLES MACKAY. 439 
 
 But weep for him that weareth 
 
 The captive's galling chain : 
 To the agony he beareth. 
 
 Death were but little pain. 
 
 Weep not for him that dieth, 
 
 For he hath ceased from tears, 
 And a voice to his replieth 
 
 Which he hath not heard for years ; 
 But weep for him who weepeth * 
 
 On that cold land's cruel shore : 
 Blest, blest is he that sleepeth ! — 
 
 Weep for the dead no more ! ^jj^^ NoRton. 
 
 163. ADVICE TO THE ASPIRANT FOR FAME. 
 
 If thou wouldst win a lasting fame ; 
 
 If thou the immortal wreath wouldst claim, 
 
 And make the future bless thy name ; 
 
 If thou canst plan a noble deed. 
 
 And never flag till it succeed, 
 
 Though in the strife thy heart should bleed ; 
 
 If thou canst dine upon a crust. 
 And still hold on with patient trust, 
 Nor pine that Fortune is unjust ; 
 
 If thou canst see with tranquil* breast. 
 The knave or fool in purple dressed. 
 While thou must walk in tattered vest ; 
 
 If thou in darkest days canst find. 
 An inner brightness in thy mind. 
 To reconcile thee to thy kind ; 
 
 Whatever obstacles control. 
 
 Thine hour will come ; — go on, true soul ! • 
 
 Thou'lt win the prize, thou'lt reach the goal. 
 
 If not, what matters ? — tried by fire. 
 
 And purified from low desire, 
 
 Thy spirit shall but soar the higher. 
 
440 SELECTIONS IN POETKT. 
 
 But, if 30 bent on worldly fame. 
 That thou must gild thy living name. 
 And snatch the honors of the game ; 
 
 If failure might thy soul oppress. 
 And fill thy veins with heaviness, 
 And make thee love thy kind the less ; 
 
 Pause, ere thou *tempt the hard career — 
 Thou'lt find the conflict too severe, 
 And heart will break and brain will sear. 
 
 Content thee with a meaner lot : 
 
 Go plough thy field, go build thy cot, 
 
 Nor sigh that thou must be forgot. 
 
 Charles Mackat, 
 
DIALOGUES. 
 
 1. A QUARREL SCENE, 
 
 Glenalvon and Norval. 
 
 Olenalvon. His port I love ; he*s in a proper mood 
 To chide the thunder, if at him it roared ! 
 Has Nerval seen the troops ? 
 
 Norval. The setting sun 
 With yellow radiance lightened all the vale ; 
 And as the warriors moved each polished helm, 
 Corslet or spear glanced back his gilded beams. 
 The hill they climbed ; and, halting at its top. 
 Of more than mortal size towering, they seemed 
 A host angelic clad in burning arms. 
 
 Glenalvon. Thou talk'st it well ! No leader of our host. 
 In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war. 
 
 Norval. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name. 
 My speech will be less ardent. Novelty 
 Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration 
 Vents itself freely ; since no part is mine 
 Of praise, pertaining to the great in arms. 
 
 Glenalvon. You wrong yourself, brave sir ! Your martial 
 deeds 
 Have ranked you with the great : but, mark me, Norval ; 
 Lord Randolph's favor now exalts your youth 
 Above his veterans of famous service. 
 Let me who know these soldiers counsel you : 
 Give them all honor ; seem not to command ; 
 Else they will scarcely brook your late-sprung power, 
 Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns. 
 
 Norval. Sir, I have been accustomed, all my days. 
 To hear and speak the plain and simple truth ; 
 And though I have been told that there are men 
 
 19* 
 
442 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Who borrow Friendship's tongue to speak their scorn, 
 Yet, in such language I am httle skilled. 
 Therefore, I thank Glenalvon for his counsel, 
 Although it sounded harshly. Why remind 
 Me of my birth obscure ? Why slur my power 
 With such contemptuous terms ? 
 
 Glenalvon. I did not mean 
 To gall your pride, which now I see is great. 
 
 Norval. My pride ? 
 
 Glenalvon. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper ; 
 Your pride's excessive ! yet, for Randolph's sake, 
 I will not leave you to its rash direction. 
 If thus you swell and frown at high-bom men, 
 Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn ? 
 
 Norval. A shepherd's scorn ! 
 
 Glenalvon. Yes ; — if you presume 
 To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes, 
 As if you took the measure of their minds, 
 And said, in secret, " You are no match for me," 
 What will become of you ? 
 
 Norval. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? 
 
 Glenalvon. Ha ! — dost thou threaten me ? 
 
 Norval. Didst thou not hear ? 
 
 Glenalvon. Unwillingly, I did ; a nobler foe 
 Had not been questioned thus. But, such as thou ! 
 
 Norval. Whom dost thou think me ? 
 
 Glenalvon. Norval. 
 
 Norval. So I am ; 
 And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes ? 
 
 Glenalvon. A peasant's son, — a wand'ring beggar-boy , 
 At best no more, e'en if he speak the truth. 
 
 Norval. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth ? 
 
 Glenalvon. Thy truth ! 
 Thou'rt all a lie, and false as fiends 
 Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. 
 
 Norval. If I were chained, unarmed, or bed-rid old. 
 Perhaps I might revile ; but as I am, 
 I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval 
 Is of a race who strive not but with deeds ! 
 Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valor. 
 And make thee sink, too soon, beneath my sword, 
 I'd tell thee what thoii art 1 know thee well. 
 
 Glenalvon. Dost thou not know Glenalvon born to command 
 Ten thousand slaves like thee ? 
 
HOME. 443 
 
 Norval. Villain ! — no more ; — 
 Draw, and defend thy life. ( They draw their swords) I did 
 
 design, 
 To have defied thee in another cause ; 
 But Heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee. 
 Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs ! — 
 
 {They fight) 
 
 {Enter Lord Randolph.) 
 
 Lord Randolph. Hold ! — I command you both ; — 
 The man that stirs makes me his foe. 
 
 Norval. Another voice than thine 
 That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. 
 
 Glenalvon. Hear him, my lord, he's wondrous condescending : 
 Mark the humility of shepherd Norval ! 
 
 Norval. Now you may scoff in safety. — 
 
 {Both sheathe their swords.) 
 
 Lord Randolph. Speak not thus. 
 Taunting each other ; but unfold to me 
 The cause of quarrel : then I'll judge betwixt you. 
 
 Norval. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much, 
 My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment. 
 I blush to speak — I will not — cannot speak 
 The opprobrious words that I from him have borne. 
 To the liege lord of my dear native land, 
 I owe a subject's homage ; but even him, 
 And his high arbitration, I'd reject ! 
 Within my bosom reigns another lord, 
 Hdlior — sole judge, and umpire of itself. 
 If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph,- 
 Revoke your favors, and let Norval go 
 Hence as he came, — alone — but not dishonored. 
 
 Lord Randolph. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voice ; 
 The ancient foe of Caledonia's land, 
 Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields. 
 Suspend your purpose till your country's arms 
 Repel the bold invader ; then decide 
 The private quarrel. 
 
 Glenalvon. 1 agree to this 
 
 Norval. And I. {Uxit Randolph.) 
 
 Glenalvon. Norval, 
 Let not our variance mar the social hour. 
 Nor wrong the hospitahty of Randolph ; 
 Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate 
 
444 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow, 
 Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame. 
 
 Norval. Tliink not so lightly. Sir, of my resentment : 
 When we contend again, om* strife is mortal. ^, 
 
 2. lociiiel's warning. 
 
 Wizard. Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day 
 When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array f 
 For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
 And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight : 
 They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; 
 Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down I 
 Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain. 
 And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
 But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war. 
 What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
 'Tis thine, Glenullin ! whose bride shall await. 
 Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
 A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
 But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
 Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led 1 
 Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead ; 
 For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, — 
 Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 
 
 Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-teUing seer I 
 Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
 .Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, 
 This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 
 
 Wizard. Ha ! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? 
 Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! 
 Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth. 
 From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north ? 
 Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspceding, he rode 
 Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
 But down let him stoop from his havoc on high. 
 Ah ! home let him speed, — for the spoiler is nigh. 
 Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast 
 Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 
 'Tis the fire shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
 From Ixis eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
 
CAlMPIiELL. 445 
 
 0, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might. 
 
 Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 
 
 Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn : 
 
 Return to thy dwelling ; all lonely, return ! 
 
 For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
 
 And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 
 
 Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my clant, 
 Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ; 
 They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
 And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
 Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
 Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock 1 
 But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause. 
 When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
 When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
 Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud. 
 All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — 
 
 Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ! 
 For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal ; 
 But man cannot cover what God would reveal : 
 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore. 
 And coming events cast their shadows before. 
 I tell thee, CuUoden's dread echoes shall ring 
 With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king : 
 Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, 
 Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! — 
 Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight : 
 Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 
 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moore : 
 CuUoden is lost, and my country deplores ! 
 But where is the iron-bound prisoner 1 — Where ? — 
 For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
 Say, mounts he the ocean- wave, banished, forlorn, 
 Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ? 
 Ah ! no : — for a darker departure is near : — 
 The war-drum is muffled, and black. is the bier-; 
 His death-bell is tolling ! O mercy, dispel 
 Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! — 
 Life flutters convulsed in his quivering hmbs, 
 And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims ! 
 Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet. 
 Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat. 
 With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — 
 
 Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale 
 
446 DIALOGUES. 
 
 For never shall Albia a destiny meet 
 
 So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. 
 
 Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, 
 
 Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
 
 Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains. 
 
 While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
 
 Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
 
 With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 
 
 And leaving in battle no blot on his name. 
 
 Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame. 
 
 Oampbkll. 
 
 3. A SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 Gesler, Tell, and Albert, Verner, Sarnem, and Soldiers. 
 
 Sarnem. Down, slave ! 
 Behold the governor. Down ! down ! and beg 
 For mercy ! 
 
 Gesler. Does he hear ? — Thy name ? 
 
 Tell. My name ? 
 It matters not to keep it from thee now : 
 My name is Tell. 
 
 Ges. Tell!— William Tell? 
 
 Tell. The same. 
 
 Ges. What ! he so famed *bove all his countrymen 
 For guiding o'er the stormy lake the boat ! 
 And such a master of his bow, 'tis said 
 His arrows never miss ! — (Aside.) Indeed ! I'll take 
 Exquisite vengeance ! — Mark ! I'll spare thy life, 
 Thy boy's too. ^oth. of you are free, — on one 
 Condition. 
 
 Tell. Name it; 
 
 Ges. I would see you mase 
 A trial of your skill with that same bow 
 You shoot so well with. 
 
 Tell. Name the trial you 
 Would have me make. {Tell looks on Albert.) 
 
 Ges. You look upon your boy, 
 A-s though instinctively you guessed it. 
 
 Tell. Look 
 
o^. S. KNOWLES. 447 
 
 Upon my boy ! — What mean you ? Look upon 
 My boy, as though I guessed it ! Guessed the trial 
 You'd have me make ! Guessed it 
 Instinctively I You do not mean — No — no — 
 You would not have me make a trial of 
 My skill upon my child ! Impossible ! 
 I do not guess your meaning. 
 
 Ges. I would see 
 Thee hit an apple at the distance of 
 A hundred paces. 
 
 Tell. Is my boy to hold it ? 
 Ges. No. 
 
 Tell. No ! — I'll send the arrow through the core 1 
 Ges. It is to rest upon his head. 
 Tell. Great Heaven, 
 Thou hear'st him ! 
 
 Ges. Thou dost hear the choice I give — ^ 
 
 Such trial of the skill thou'rt master of. 
 Or death to both of yoii, not otherwise 
 To be escaped. 
 Tell. O, monster ! 
 Ges. Wilt thou do it? 
 Alh. He will ! he will ! 
 Tell. Ferocious monster ! Make 
 A father murder his own child ! 
 
 Ges. Take off 
 His chains, if he consents. 
 ■ Tell With his own hand ! 
 Ges. Does he consent ? 
 Alb. He does. 
 
 (Gesler signs to his Officers, who proceed to take off 
 TelVs chains, Tell all the while unconscious of 
 what they do.) 
 Tell. With his own hand ! 
 Murder his child with his own hand ! 
 The hand I've led him, when an infant, by ! 
 {His chains fall off.) What's that you 
 Have done to me ? ( To the Guard.) 
 Villains ! put on my chains again. 
 
 My hands 
 Are free from blood, and have no gust for it, 
 That they should drink my child's ! — 
 
 I'll not 
 Murder my boy for Gesler. 
 
448 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Alb. Father— father ! 
 You will not hit me, father ! 
 
 Ges. Dost thou consent ? 
 
 Tell. Give me my bow and quiver. 
 
 Ges. For what ? 
 
 Tell. To shoot my boy ! 
 
 Alb. No, father, no ! 
 To save me ! — You'll be sure to hit the apple. 
 Will you not save me, father ? 
 
 Tell. Lead me forth, — 
 I'll make the trial ! 
 
 Alb. Thank you! 
 
 Tell. Thank me!— Do 
 You know for what ? — I will not make the trial, 
 To take him to his mother in my arms, 
 And lay him down a corse before her ! 
 
 Ges. Then 
 He dies this moment ; and you certainly 
 Do murder him, whose life you have a chance 
 To save, and will not use it. 
 
 Tell. Well— I'll do it ! 
 I'll make the trial. 
 
 Alb. Father! 
 
 Tell. Speak not to me : 
 Let me not hear thy voice — thou must be dumb ; 
 And so should all things be : — earth should be dumb 
 And heaven, — unless its thunders muttered at 
 The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it ! Give me 
 My bow and quiver ! 
 
 Ges. That is your ground. — Now shall they measure thence 
 A hundred paces. Take the distance. 
 
 Tell. Is 
 The line a true one ? 
 
 Ges. True or not, what is't 
 To thee ? 
 
 Tell. What is't to me ? A little thing, 
 A very little thing : — a yard or two 
 Is nothing here or there, were it a wolf 
 I shot at 1 
 
 Ges. Be thankful, slave, 
 Our grace accords thee life on any terms. 
 
 Tell. I will be thankful, Gesler !— Villain, stop 
 You measure to the sun, {To the Attendant.) 
 
 Ges. And what of that ? 
 
J. S. KNOWLES. 449 
 
 What matter, whether to or from the sun ? 
 
 Tell. I'd have it at my back. — The sun should shine 
 Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots. 
 I cannot see to shoot against the sun : — 
 I will not shoot against the sun ! 
 
 Ges. Give him his way ! — Thou hast cause to bless my mercy. 
 
 Tell. I shall remember it. I'd like to see 
 The apple I'm about to shoot at. 
 
 Ges. Show me 
 The basket. — There ! [Gives a very small apple.) 
 
 Tell. You've picked the smallest one. ^ 
 
 Ges. I know I have. 
 
 Tell. Oh ! do you ?— But you see 
 The color oft is dark — I'd have it light. 
 To see it better. 
 
 Ges. Take it as it is : 
 Thy skill will be the greater if thou hitt'st it. 
 
 Tell. True — true, — I didn't think of that : — I wonder 
 I did not not think of that. — Give me some chance 
 To save my boy ! ( Throws away tlie apple.) I will not murdei 
 
 him. 
 If I can help it, — for the honor of 
 The form thou wear'st, if all the heart is gone. 
 
 Ges. Well ! choose thyself. 
 
 [Hands a basket of apples. — Tell takes 07ie.) , 
 
 Tell. Have I a friend among 
 The lookers on ? 
 
 Verner. Here, Tell ! 
 
 Tell. I thank thee, Verner !— Take the boy 
 And set him, Verner, with his back to me. — 
 Set him upon his knees ; — and place this apple 
 Upon his head, so that the stem may front me — 
 Thus, Verner ; charge him to keep steady, — tell him 
 I'll hit the apple ! — Verner, do all this 
 More briefly than I tell it thee. 
 
 Ver. Come, Albert ! [Leading him out.) 
 
 Alb. May I not speak with him before I go ? 
 
 Ver. No— 
 
 Alb. I would only kiss his hand — 
 
 Ver. You must not. 
 
 Alb. I must ! — I cannot go from him without ! 
 
 Ver. It is his will you should. 
 
 Alb. His will, is it ? 
 I am content, then, — come. 
 
450 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Tell. My boy ! [Holding out his anns to him.) 
 
 Alb. My father ! (Running into TelVs arms.) 
 
 Tell. If thou canst bear it, should not I ? — Go now, 
 My son — and keep in mind that I can shoot. — 
 Go, boy — be thou but steady, I will hit 
 The apple. Go : — God bless thee ! — Go. 
 My bow ! (Sarnem gives the bow.) 
 Thou wilt not fail thy master, wilt thou ? — Thou 
 Hast never failed him yet, old servant. — No, 
 I'm sure of thee — I know thy honesty ; 
 
 Thou'rt stanch — stanch : — I'd deserve to find thee treacherous. 
 Could I suspect thee so. Come, I will stake 
 My all upon thee ! Let me see my quiver. (Retires.) 
 
 Oes. Give him a single arrow. (To an Attendant.) 
 
 Tell. Is't so you pick an arrow, friend ? 
 The point, you see, is bent, the feather jagged ; 
 That's all the use 'tis fit for. (Breaks it.) 
 
 Ges. Let him have 
 Another. (Tell examines it.) 
 
 Tell. Why, 'tis better than the first. 
 But yet not good enough for such an aim 
 As I'm to take. 'Tis heavy in the shaft : 
 I'll not shoot with it! (Throws it away.) Let me see my 
 
 quiver. 
 Bring it ! 'tis not one arrow in a dozen 
 I'd take to shoot with at a dove, much less 
 A dove like that ! — ^What is't you fear ? I'm but 
 A naked man, a wretched naked man ! 
 Your helpless thrall, alone in the midst of you. 
 With every one of you a weapon in 
 His hand. What can I do in such a strait 
 With all the arrows in that quiver ? — Come, 
 Will you give it me or not ? 
 
 Ges. It matters not. 
 Show him the quiver. 
 
 (Tell kneels and picks out an arrow then secretes om 
 in his vest.) 
 
 Tell. See if the boy is ready. 
 
 Ver. He is. 
 
 Tell. I'm ready too ! — Keep silence, for ( To the people.) 
 
 Heaven's sake ! and do not stir, and let me have 
 Your prayers — your prayers : — and be my witnesses, 
 That if his life's in peril from my hand, 
 'Tis only for the chance of saving it. 
 
J. S. KNOWLES. — MATIIEWS. 451 
 
 Now, friends, for mercy's sake, keep motionless 
 And silent ! 
 
 {Tell shoots ; and a shout of exultation hursts from 
 the crowd.) 
 Ver. {Rushing in ivith Albert.) Thy boy is safe ; no liair of 
 
 him is touched ! 
 Alb. Father, I'm safe ! — your Albert's safe ! Dear father, 
 Speak to me ! speak to me ! 
 
 Ver. He cannot, boy ! 
 Open his vest, 
 And give him air. 
 
 (Albert opens his father^ s vest, and an arrow drops ; 
 Tell starts, fixes his eyes on Albert, and clasps him 
 to his breast.) 
 Tell. My boy ! my boy ! 
 Gcs. For what 
 Hid you that arrow in your breast ? Speak, slave ! 
 
 Tell. To kill thee, tyrant, had I slain my boy ! 
 Liberty 
 
 Would at thy downfall shout from every peak ! 
 My country then were free ! 
 
 J. S. Knowles. 
 
 4. GOODY GRIM V. LAPSTONE. 
 
 (In representing this selection as a dialogue, the one who personates the Judge can de» 
 liver the introduction and conclusion.) 
 
 Inti^oduction. {Delivered standing.) What a profound study 
 is THE LAW ! and how difficult to fathom ! Well, let us con- 
 sider the law, for our laws are very considerable, both in bulk 
 and numbers, according as the statutes declare ; considerandi, 
 considerando, considerandum, and are not to be meddled witli 
 by those who don't understand them. 
 
 Law, always expressing itself with true grammatical precision, 
 never confounding moods, cases, or genders, except, indeed, when 
 a woman happens accidentally to be slain, there a verdict is al- 
 ways brought in manslaughter. The essence of the laAV is al- 
 tercation, for the law can altercate, fulminate, deprecate, irritate, 
 and go on at any rate. " Your son follows the law, I think, sir 
 Thomas ?" " Yes, madam ; but I am afraid he will never over- 
 take it : a man following the law is like two boys running round 
 1 table ; he follows the law, and the law follows him. How- 
 ever, if you take away the whereofs, whereases, wherefores, and 
 
4:52 DIALOGUES. 
 
 notwithstandings, the whole mystery vanishes : it is then plain 
 and simple." Now, the quintessence of the law has, according 
 to its name, five parts. The first is the beginning, or incipien- 
 dum ; the second, the uncertainty, or duhitandum ; the third, 
 delay, or puzzleendum ; fourthly, replication without endum ; 
 and, fifthly, monstrum et hoverendum : all which is clearly ex- 
 emplified in the following case — Goody Grim against Lapstone. 
 This trial is as follows : — Goody Grim inhabits an almshouse, 
 No. 2 ; Will Lapstone, a superannuated cobbler, inhabits No. 
 3 ; and a certain Jew peddler, who happened to pass through 
 the town where those almshouses are situated, could only think 
 of No. One. Goody Grim was in the act of killing one of her 
 own proper pigs, but the animal, disliking the ceremony, burst 
 from her hold, ran through the semicircular legs of the afore- 
 said Jew, knocked him in the mud, ran back to Will Lap- 
 stone's, the cobbler, upset a quart bottle full of gin, belonging 
 to the said Lapstone, and took refuge in the cobbler's state-bed. 
 
 The parties being, of course, in the most opulent circum- 
 stances, consulted counsel learned in the law. The result was, 
 that Goody Grim was determined lo bring an action against 
 Lapstone for the loss of her pig with a curly tail ; and Lapstone 
 to bring an action against Goody Grim, for the loss of a quart 
 bottle full of Hollands gin ; and Mordecai to bring an action 
 against them both, for the loss of a tee-totum that fell out of 
 his pocket in the rencontre. They all delivered their briefs to 
 counsel, before it was considered they were all parties and no 
 witnesses. But Goody Grim, like a wise old lady as she is, 
 now changed her battery, and is determined to bring an action 
 against Lapstone, and bind over Mordecai as an evidence. 
 
 The indictment sets iovih: {reads from a paper) "that he, Lap- 
 stone, not having the fear of the assizes before his eyes, but 
 being moved by pig, and instigated by pruinsence, d:d, on the 
 first day of April, a day sacred in the annals of the law, steal, 
 pocket, hide, and crib divers, that is to say, five hundred hogs, 
 sows, boars, pigs, and porkers, with curly tails, and did secrete 
 the said five hundred hogs, sows, boars, pigs, and porkers, with 
 curly tails, in said Lapstone's bed, against the peace of our Lord 
 the King, his crown and dignity." 
 
 Mordecai will be examined by Counsellor Puzzle. {The Judge 
 deats himself.) 
 
 Puz. Well, sir, what are you ? 
 
 Mor. I sells old clos, and sealing-wax, and puckles. 
 
 Puz. I did not ask you what you sold : I ask you what you 
 are? 
 
MATHEWS. 453 
 
 Mor. I am about five and forty. 
 
 Puz. I did not ask your age : I ask you what you are ? 
 
 Mor. I am a Jew. 
 
 Puz. Why couldn't you tell me that at first ? Well, then, 
 if you are a Jew, tell me what you know of this affair. 
 
 Mor. As I vas a valking along — 
 
 Puz. Man, I didn't want to know where you were walking. 
 
 Mor. Vel, as I vas a valking along — 
 
 Puz. So you will walk along in spite of all that can be said. 
 
 Mor. Pless ma heart, you frighten me out of my vits — as I 
 vas valking along, I seed de unclean animal coming towards me, 
 and so says I — Oh ! Father AbraJiam, says I — 
 
 Puz. Father Abraham is no evidence. 
 
 Mor. You must let me tell my story my own vay, pr I can- 
 not tell it at all. As I vas valking along, I seed de unclean an- 
 imal coming towards me. Oh, Father Abraham, said I, here 
 comes de unclean animal towards me, and he runn'd between 
 my legs, and upset me in te mut. 
 
 Puz. Now, do you mean to say, upon your oath, that that 
 little animal had the power to upset you in the mud ? 
 
 Mor. I vill take my oath dat he upshet me in te mut. 
 
 Puz. And pray, sir, on what side did you fall ? 
 
 Mor. On te mutty side. 
 
 Puz. I mean, on which of your own sides did you fall ? 
 
 Mor. I fell on my left side. 
 
 Puz. Now, on your oath, was it your left side ? 
 
 Mor. I vill take my oath it vas my left side. 
 
 Puz. And pray what did you do when you fell down ? 
 
 Mor. I got up again as fast as I could. 
 
 Puz Perhaps you can tell me whether the pig had a curly tail ? 
 
 Mor. I vill take ma oath his tail was so curly as my peerd. 
 
 Puz. And pray where was you going when this happened ? 
 
 Mor. I vas going to the sign of de Cock and Pottle. 
 
 Puz. Now, on your oath, what had a cock to do with a 
 \)ottle ? 
 
 Mor. I don't know ; only it vas the sign of de house. And 
 all more vat I know was, dat I lose an ivory tee-totum out of ma 
 pocket. 
 
 Puz. Oh, you lost a tee-totum, did you ? I thought we 
 should bring you to something at last. My Lord, I beg leave 
 to take an exception to this man's evidence ! he does not come 
 into court with clean hands. 
 
 Mor. How te devil should I, when I have been polishing ma 
 goods all morning. 
 
454 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Puz. Now, my Lord, your Lordship is aware that tee-totum 
 is derived from the Latin terms of te and tutum, which means, 
 " Keep yourself safe." And this man, but for my sagacity, ob- 
 servation, and so forth, would have kept himself safe ; but now 
 he has, as the learned Lord Verulam expresses it, ** let the cat 
 out of the bag." 
 
 Mor. I vill take ma oath ** I had no cat in my bag." 
 
 Puz. My Lord, by his own confession he was about to vend 
 a tee-totum. Now, my Lord, and gentlemen of the jury, it is 
 my duty to point out to you that a tee-totum is an unlawful ma- 
 chine, made of ivory, with letters printed upon it, for the pur- 
 pose of gambling. Now your Lordship knows the act com- 
 monly known by the name of " Little go Act," expressly forbids 
 all games of chance whatever, whether put, whist, marbles, swabs, 
 tee-totum, churck-farthing, dumps, or what not. And, there- 
 fore, I do contend that the man's evidence is contra bonos mores, 
 and he is consequently non compos testimonce. 
 
 J^dge. Counsellor Botherem will now proceed. 
 
 Both. My Lord, and gentlemen of the jury, my learned friend 
 Puzzle has, in a most facetious manner, endeavored to cast a 
 slur on the highly honorable evidence of the Jew merchant. 
 And I do contend that he who buys and sells is h<ma fide in- 
 ducted into all the mysteries of merchandise ; ergo, he who mer- 
 ^chandises is, to all intents and purposes, a merchant. My learned 
 friend, in the twistings and turnings of his argument in hand- 
 ling the tee-totum, can only be called obiter dictum ; he is play- 
 ing, my Lord, a losing game. Gentlemen, he has told you the 
 origin, use, and abuse of the tee-totum ; but, gentlemen, he has 
 forgot to tell you what that great luminary of the law, the late 
 learned Coke, has said on the subject, in a case exactly similar 
 . to this, in the 234th foho volume of the Abridgment of the 
 Statutes, page 1349, where he thus lays down the law in the 
 case of Hazard versus Blacklegs : " Gamblendum consists f, enac- 
 tum gamblendi, sed non evendum macheni placendi.^' My Lord, 
 I beg leave to say that if I prove my client was in the act of 
 vending, and not playing with the said instrument, the tee- 
 totum, I humbly presume that all my learned friend has said 
 will come to the ground. 
 
 Judge. Certainly, brother Botherem, there's no doubt the 
 learned Sergean*. is incorrect. The law does not put a man ex* 
 tralegium for merely spinning a tee-totum. 
 
 Both. My Lord, one of the witnesses has owned that the pig 
 had a curly tail. Now, my Lord, I presume if I prove the pig 
 had a straight tail, I consider the objection must be fatal. 
 
MATHEWS. IIAN^^AII MOKE. 455 
 
 Judge. Certainly ; order the pig into court. — The pig being 
 produced, upon examination is found to have a straight tail. 
 
 In summing up the evidence, gentlemen of the jury, it is 
 wholly unnecessary to recapitulate ; for the removal of this ob- 
 jection removes all ground of action. And notwithstanding 
 the ancient statute, which says Serium pigum et boreum pigum, 
 et vendi curium tailum, there is an irrefragable proof, by ocular 
 demonstration, that Goody Grim's grunter had a straight tail, 
 and therefore the prisoner must be acquitted. And really, gen- 
 tlemen, if the time of the court is to be taken up with these 
 frivolous actions, the designs of justice will be entirely frustrated ; 
 and the attorney who recommends this action should be pun- 
 ished, not in the ordinary way, but with the utmost rigor and 
 severity of the law. 
 
 Conclusion. {Delivered standing.) This affair is thrown into 
 Chancery, and it is expected it will he settled about the end of 
 the year 1954. Mathews. 
 
 5. DAVID AND GO LI AH. 
 
 Goliah. Where is the mighty man of war, who dares 
 Accept the challenge of Phihstia's chief ? 
 What victor-king, what general drenched in blood. 
 Claims this high privilege ? What are his rights ? 
 What proud credentials does the boaster bring 
 To prove his claim ? What cities laid in ashes. 
 What ruined provinces, what slaughtered realms, 
 What heads of heroes, or what hearts of kings. 
 In battle killed, or at his altars slain, 
 Has he to boast ? Is his bright armory 
 Thick-set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail 
 Of vanquished nations, by his single arm 
 Subdued ? Where is the mortal man so bold. 
 So much a wretch, so out of love with life. 
 To dare the weight of this uplifted spear ? 
 
 Come, advance ! 
 Phihstia's gods to Israel's. Sound, my herald, 
 Sound for the battle straight ! 
 
 David. Behold thy foe ! 
 
 Gol. I see him not. 
 
 Dav. Behold him here ! 
 
4-56 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Gol. Say, where ? 
 Direct my sight. I do not war with boys. 
 
 Dav. I stand prepared ; thy single arm to mine. 
 
 Gol, Why, this is mockery, minion ! it may chance 
 To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee ; 
 But tell me who, of all this numerous host, 
 Expects his death from me ? Which is the man, 
 Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance ? 
 
 Dav. The election of my sovereign falls on me. 
 
 Gol. On thee ! on thee ! by Dagon, 'tis too much ! 
 Thou curled minion ! thou a nation's champion ! 
 'Twould move my mirth at any other time ; 
 But trifling's out of tune. Begone, light boy ! 
 And tempt me not too far. 
 
 Dav. I do defy thee, 
 Thou foul idolater ! Hast thou not scorned 
 The armies of the living God I serve ? 
 By me he will avenge upon thy head 
 Thy nation's sins and thine. Armed with his name. 
 Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe 
 That ever bathed his hostile spear in blood. 
 
 Gol, Indeed ! 'tis wondrous well ! Now, by my gods ! 
 The stripling plays the orator ! Vain boy ! 
 Keep close to that same bloodless war of words. 
 And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior ! 
 Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung, 
 Of idle field-flowers ? Where thy wanton harp, '" 
 
 Thou dainty-fingered hero ? 
 
 Now will I meet thee. 
 Thou insect warrior ! since thou darest me thus ! 
 Already I behold thy mangled limbs, 
 Dissevered each from each, ere long to feed 
 The fierce, blood-snufiing vulture. Mark me well ! 
 Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks. 
 And toss in air thy head all gashed with wounds. 
 
 Dav. Ha ! say'st thou so ? Come on, then ! Mark us well 
 Thou comest to me with sword, and spear, and shield ! 
 In the dread name of Israel's God, I come ; 
 The living Lord of Hosts, whom thou defiest ! 
 Yet though no shield I bring ; no arms, except 
 These five smooth stones I gathered from the brook. 
 With such a simple sling as shepherds use ; 
 Yet all exposed, defenceless as I am, 
 The God I serve shall give thee up a prey 
 
HANNAH MOKE. MUKl'HY. 457 
 
 To my victorious arm. This day I mean 
 To make the uncircumcised tribes confess 
 There is a God in Israel. I will give thee, 
 Spite of thjT- vaunted strength and giant bulk, 
 To glut the carrion kites. Nor thee alone ; 
 The mangled carcasses of your thick hosts 
 Shall spread the plains of Elah ; till Philistia, 
 Through all her trembling tents and flying bands. 
 Shall own that Judah's God is God indeed I 
 I dare thee to the trial ! 
 
 Got. Follow me. 
 In this good spear I trust, 
 
 Dav. I trust in heaven ! 
 The God of battles stimulates my arm. 
 And fires my soul with ardor not its own. 
 
 Hannah Mork. 
 
 J 
 
 6. THE INVALID AND THE POLITICIAN. 
 (Enter Feeble, in liis night-gown.) 
 
 Quidnunc (without). Hold your tongue, you foolish fellow ; 
 he'll be glad to see me. Brother Feeble ! brother Feeble ! 
 
 Feeble. I was just going to bed. Bless my heart, what can 
 this man want ? I know his voice. I hope no new misfortune 
 brings him at this hour. {Enter Quid.) 
 
 Quid. Brother Feeble, I give you joy ! the nabob's demol- 
 ished. Hurrah ! 
 
 Feeh. Lack-a-day, Mr. Quidnunc ! how can you serve me 
 thus? 
 
 Quid. Siiraja Dowla is no more ! Hurrah ! 
 
 Feeb. Poor man ! he's stark, staring mad. 
 
 Quid. Our men diverted themselves with killing their bul- 
 locks and their camels, till they dislodged the enemy from the 
 sotagon, and the counterscarp, and the bungalow — 
 
 Feeb. I'll hear the rest to-morrow mornipg. Oh ! I'm ready 
 to die ! 
 
 Quid. Odds-heart, man, be of good cheer ! The new nabob, 
 Jaffer Alley Cawn, has acceded to a treaty ; and the English 
 company got all their rights in the Phiemad and the Fushbul- 
 hoornons. 
 
 20 
 
458 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Feeh. But, dear heart, Mr. Quidnunc, why am I to be dis- 
 turbed for this ? 
 
 Quid. We had but two seapoys killed, three chokeys, foui 
 gaul-walls, and two zemindars. Hurrah ! 
 
 Feeh. Would not to-morrow morning do as well for this ? 
 
 Quid. Light up your windows, man ! — light up your win- 
 dows ! Chandernagore is taken ! Hurrah ! 
 
 Feeh. Well, well ! I'm glad of it. Good night. (Going.) 
 
 Quid. Here — here's the " Gazette." 
 
 Feeh. Oh, I shall certainly faint ! {Sits down.) 
 
 Quid. Ay, ay, sit down, and I'll read it to you. {Begins to 
 read. Feehle moves away.) Nay, don't run away : I've more 
 news to tell you. There's an account from Williamsburgh, in 
 America. The superintendent of Indian affairs— 
 
 Feeh. Dear sir ! dear sir ! {Avoiding him.) 
 
 Quid. He has settled matters with the Cherokees — {Follow- 
 ing him.) 
 
 Feeh. Enough, enough ! {Moving away.) 
 
 Quid. In the same manner he did before with the Catawbas — 
 {Following him.) 
 
 Feeh. Well, well ! — your servant. {Moving off.) 
 
 Quid. So that the white inhabitants — {Following him.) 
 
 Feeh. I wish you would let me be a quiet inhabitant of my 
 own house. 
 
 Quid. So that the white inhabitants will now be secured by 
 the Cherokees and Catawbas — 
 
 Feeh. You better go home, and think of appearing before 
 the commissioners. 
 
 Quid. Go home ! No, no ! I'll go and talk the matter over 
 at our coffee-house. {Going.) 
 
 Feeh. Do so, do so ! 
 
 Quid, {turning hack). I had a dispute about the balance of 
 power. Pray, now, can you tell — 
 
 Feeh. I know nothing of the matter. 
 
 Quid. Well, another time will do for that. I have a great 
 deal to say about that. {Going — returns.) Right ! I had like 
 to have forgot. Th'ere's an erratum in the last " Gazette." 
 
 Feeh. With all my heart. 
 
 Quid. Page 3, 1st col., 1st and 3d lines, for hombs read 
 booms. 
 
 Feeh. Read what you will. 
 
 Quid. Nay, but that alters the sense, you know. Well, now, 
 your servant. If I hear any more news, I'll come and tell yoiL 
 
 Feeh. For heaven's sake, no more ! 
 
MURPHY. 459 
 
 Quid. I'll be with you before you're out of your first sleep. 
 Feeb. Good night, good night ! {Hurries off.) 
 Quid, [screaming after him). I forgot to tell you — the .em- 
 peror of Morocco is dead. So now, I have made him happy. 
 I'll go and knock up my friend Razor, and make him happy, 
 too ; and then I'll go and see if anybody is up at the coffee- 
 house, and make them all happy there, too. Murphy. 
 
 Y. THE LAWYER AND THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 Quidnunc and Codicil. 
 
 Cod. Mr. Quidnunc, your servant. The door was open ; and 
 I entered upon the premises. I'm just come from the hall. 
 
 Quid. 'Sbodkins, this man has now come to keep me at home. 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Cod. Mr. Quidnunc, I am insiftucted to expound the law to 
 you. 
 
 Quid. What, the law of nations ? 
 
 Cod. I am instructed, sir, that you're a bankrupt. Quasi 
 lancus ruptus — hanque route faire. And my instructions say 
 further, that you are summoned to appear before the commis- 
 sioners to-morrow. 
 
 Quid. That may be, sir, but I can't go to-morrow ; and so I 
 shall 'send them word. lam to be to-morrow at Slaughter's 
 Coffee House, with a private committee, about business of great 
 consequence in the affairs of Europe. 
 
 Cod. Then, sir, if you don't go, I must instruct you that you 
 will be guilty of a felony : it will be deemed to be done nnalo 
 animo ; — it is held so in the books ; and what says the statute ? 
 By the 5th Geo. II, chap. 30, not surrendering, or embezzling, 
 is felony, without benefit of clergy. 
 
 Quid. Ay, you tell me ne\ys. 
 
 Cod. Give me leave, sir : I am instructed to expound the law 
 to you. Felony is thus described in the books : — Felonia, saith 
 Hotoman {De Verbis Feudalibus), significat capitate facinus, — 
 a capital offence. 
 
 Quid. You tell me news — you do indeed ! 
 
 Cod. It was so apprehended by the Goths and the Long- 
 bards. And what saith Sir Edward Coke ? — Fieri debeatfelleo 
 animo. 
 
460 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Quid. You've told me news : — I did not know it was felony 
 But if the Flanders mail should come in while I'm there, I 
 should know nothing at all of it. 
 
 Cod. But why should you be uneasy ? — cui bono, Mr. Quid- 
 nunc ? — cui bono ? 
 
 Quid. Not uneasy ! If the Papists should beat the Protest- 
 
 \ts? 
 
 Cod. But I tell you, they can get no advantage of us. The 
 xws against the further growth of Popery will secure us. 
 There are provisos in favor of Protestant purchasers under 
 Papists : — 10th Geo. 1, chap. 4, and 6th George II, chap. 5. 
 
 Quid. Ay ! 
 
 Cod. And, besides, Popish recusants can't carry arms ; so 
 can have no right of conquest, vi et armis. 
 
 Quid. That's true, that's true ! I am easier in my mind — 
 
 Cod. To be sure ; what are you uneasy about ? The Papists 
 can have no claim to Silesia. 
 
 Quid. Can't they? 
 
 Cod. No, they can set up no claim. If the queen, on her 
 marriage, had put all her lands into Hotchpot ; then, indeed, — 
 and it seemeth, saith Littleton, that this word Hotchpot is, in 
 English, a pudding — 
 
 Quid. You reason very clearly, Mr. Codicil, upon the rights 
 of the powers of war ; and so now, if you will, I am ready to 
 talk a little of my affairs. 
 
 Cod, Nor does the matter rest here ; for how can she set up 
 a claim, when she has made a conveyance to the house of Bran- 
 denburgh ? The law, Mr. Quidnunc, is very severe against 
 fraudulent conveyances. {^Codicil continues, and Quidnunc be- 
 comes very impatient.) 
 
 Quid. 'Sbodkins, you have satisfied me ! 
 
 Cod. Why, therefore, then, if he will levy fines, and suffer a 
 common recovery, he can bequeath it as he likes, in feodum, 
 simplex, provided he takes care to put in his sis heres. 
 
 Quid. I am heartily glad of it. So that, with regard to my 
 effects — 
 
 Cod. Why, then, suppose she was to bring it to a trial at 
 bar — 
 
 Quid. I say, with regard to the full disclosure of my 
 effects — 
 
 Cod. What would she get by that ? It would go off upon 
 a special pleading ; and as to equity — 
 
 Quid. Pray must I now surrender ray books and my pamph- 
 lets ? 
 
MUKPIIY. 461 
 
 Cod. What would equity do for her? Equity can't relieve 
 her ; he might keep her at least twenty years before a master, 
 to settle the account — 
 
 Quid. You have made me easy about the Protestants in this 
 war — ^you have, indeed. So that, with regard to my appearing 
 before the commissioners — 
 
 Cod. And as to the ban of the empire, he may demur to 
 that ; for all tenures by knight-service are abolished, and the 
 statute 12, Charles II, has declared all lands to be held under 
 a common socage. 
 
 Quid. Pray, now, Mr. Codicil, must not my creditors appear 
 to prove my debts ? 
 
 Cod. Why, therefore, then, if they're held in common so- 
 cage, I submit it to the court, whether the empire can have any 
 claim to knight-service. They can't call on him for a single 
 m'ln for the wars — unum hominem ad guerram. For what is 
 common socage ? — socagium idem est quod servitium soccae, — 
 the service of the plough. 
 
 Quid. I'm ready to attend to them ; but, pray, now, Avhen 
 my certificate is signed — it is of great consequence to me to 
 know this — I say, sir, when my certificate is signed, mayn't I 
 then — Hey ! hey ! what do I hear ? 
 
 Cod. I apprehend — I humbly conceive, when your certificate 
 is signed — 
 
 Quid. Hold your tongue ! Did I not hear the " Gazette ?" 
 
 Newsman {without). Great news in the " London Gazette !" 
 
 Quid. Yes, yes, it is — it is the " Gazette" — it is the " Ga- 
 zette !" 
 
 Cod. The law, in that case, Mr. Quidnunc, />rma /aae — 
 
 Quid. I can't "hear you; — I have not time. (^Endeavors to 
 pass out.) 
 
 Cod. I say, sir, it is held in the books — 
 
 Quid. I care for no books : I want the " Gazette." {Stamp- 
 ing his foot.) 
 
 Cod. Throughout all the books — ( Quid, rushes out.) Bo ! 
 lie man's non compos ; and his friends, instead of a commission 
 of bankruptcy, should take out a commission of lunacy. 
 
 MU&FHT. 
 
462 DIALOGUES. 
 
 8. A NAUTICAL EXAMINAIION. 
 
 Examiner. How would you scud a ship under bare poles, in 
 a gale of wind ? 
 
 Candidate. I should get the four and main yards a-cock-bil), 
 rib in the jib-boom, put the helm hard-up, lash the cook and 
 steward to the tafFerel, with their heads clean shaven, and let 
 her go. That is what I call scudding a ship under bare poles. 
 
 Ex. When scudding under bare poles in a hurricane, how 
 would you go to work to bring the ship to the wind, and lay 
 her to ? 
 
 Can. I would cut away the mizzen-mast, take a good swig at 
 the main-brace, lash the helm hard-a-port, and call all hands 
 to give three cheers ! 
 
 Ex. Very well, indeed. Can you pudden an anchor, or gam- 
 mon a bowsprit ? 
 
 Can. No ; but I ctm dispose of a pudding, or stow away a 
 gammon of bacon, with any old salt who ever turned a quid. 
 
 Ex. Under what circumstances should you consider it neces- 
 sary to box-haul a ship ? and how would you do it ? 
 
 Can. This should be done only on the approach of a thunder- 
 squall, and it is a delicate manoeuvre. Sway up the spanker 
 peak, and lash the boom amidships, let fly the jib-sheets, square 
 the fore and main yards by the lifts and braces, send a stout 
 hand aloft to loose the main royal, jam the helm a-lee, and let 
 the thunder-gust come ! You will soon find yourself in a bad 
 box — and this is called box-hauling. 
 
 Ex. Can you work a mousing, man-fashion, on the collar of 
 the main-stay ? 
 
 Can. I am not so certain of that ; but I can clap a mousing 
 on the cook's^ head with a handspike. 
 
 Ex. How do you heave a ship in stays ? 
 
 Can. Order eveiy man to his station ; the cook to the fore 
 sheet, and the boatswain to dance a hornpipe on the capstan 
 head ; and when the skipper sings out, " Hard-a-lee," let every 
 man shout with all the strength of his lungs, "Let go and haul!" 
 
 Ex. Can you clear a ship's hawse when there is a round turn 
 in the cables ? 
 
 Can. I dare say I can ; and, what is more, I can ride a 
 Flemish horse without saddle, martingale, stirrup, or bridle. 
 
 Ex. Can you tell me how to work a traverse ? 
 
 Can. Yes ; Tom Cox's traverse — up one hatchway and down 
 the other 
 
ANONYMOUS. 463 
 
 Ex. How do you perforin the evolution of club-hauling ? 
 
 Can. Hoist the broad pennant at the jib-boom end, and sway- 
 up the cabin-boy to the end of the fore-topmast studding-sail 
 boom ; cut away the best bower-anchor, and knock down with 
 a heaver the first man you can hit. That is what is meant by 
 club-hauling. 
 
 Ex. Did you ever see a bumpkin on board ship without 
 whiskers ? 
 
 Can. Yes ; Jonathan Flail, on board the bark Powderhorn. 
 Both sides of his cheeks were as smooth as the palm of my 
 hand. 
 
 Ex. How would you manage to raise a breeze when it was a 
 dead calm ? 
 
 C^an. Put all hands on half allowance, and set them at work 
 scraping the topmasts and cleaning the ship's bottom, without 
 allowing them even a dog's watch. If that does not raise a 
 breeze, whistle " Hey, Betty Martin, tip-toe tyc," until you see 
 a cat's-paw stretching across the water. 
 
 Ex. Who has the hardest time on board a ship at sea ? 
 
 Can. The " sweet little Cherub" which keeps watch while 
 sitting up aloft. 
 
 Ex. Who has the hardest time in port ? 
 
 Can. The little nun buoy, who keeps watching the anchor, 
 and is never relieved excepting to be bled. 
 
 Ex. Why is a ship like a hen ? 
 
 Can. Because she often keeps cackling. 
 
 Ex. Why is a ship like a well-bred Frenchman ? 
 
 Can. Because she prides herself on her graceful bows. 
 
 Ex. Why is a ship like a .comet ? 
 
 Can. Because she moves rapidly along, and leaves a brilliant 
 and sometimes marvellously crooked wake behind. 
 
 Ex. Why is a ship like the keeper of a livery stable ? 
 
 Can. Because she is well provided with horses, bridles, sad- 
 dles, stirrups, whips, and martingales. 
 
 Ex. What animal does a ship most remind you of ? 
 
 Can. A cat. Because she has cat-heads, cat-harpings, cat- 
 blocks — is partial to cat's-paws — and is often provided with a 
 cat with nine tails. 
 
 Ex. What do you mean by cat-harpings ? 
 
 Can. Cat-harpings is undoubtedly a corruption of cat's-harp- 
 strings, meaning catgut. 
 
 Ex, Very well explained. Is there ever a dog on board 
 «hip? 
 
 Can. Always ; and he keeps the watch from six to eight 
 
i64 DIALOGUES. 
 
 o'clock in the evening. He also looks closely after the wind, 
 and is sometimes called a dog- vane. 
 
 liJx. I wish to ask you one more question. Why is a ship 
 like a woman ? 
 
 Can. Because she is one of the most beautiful objects of na- 
 ture or art — looks best with a neat figure-head — ^is proud of her 
 fine and well-fitted rigging — takes delight in ear-rings, jewels, 
 and gingerbread work — makes use of stays to keep upright — 
 moves with a swimming gait — wears caps to which are fastened 
 many strings, and occasionally claps on a /)onnet ; besides, it is 
 desirable that she should be well mated and properly manned ; 
 for, if left to her own guidance, she would soon founder on the 
 ocean, or be wrecked upon the rocks. 
 
 Ex. Well done ! You answer like a real sailor, ^here can be 
 no doubt that yon possess all the quahfications necessary to 
 command an Indiaman. Clerk, make out this man's certifi- 
 
 **^ • Anonymous. 
 
 9. SCENE FllOM PIZARRO. 
 
 Pizarro ojid Gomez. 
 
 Piz. How now, Gomez, what bringest thou ? 
 
 Gom. On yonder hill, among the palm-trees, we have sur- 
 prised an old Peruvian. Escape by flight he could not, and we 
 seized him unresisting. 
 
 Piz. Drag him before us. (Gomez leads in Orozembo.) 
 What art thou, stranger ? 
 
 Oro. First tell me who is the captain of this band of rob- 
 
 " J*iz. Audacious I This insolence has sealed thy doom. Die 
 thou shalt, gray-headed ruffian. But first confess what thou 
 knowest. 
 
 Oro. I know that which thou hast just assur ed me of, that I 
 shall die. '' 
 
 Piz. Less audacity might have preserved thy life. 
 
 Oro. My fife is as a withered tree, not worth preserving. 
 
 Piz. Hear me, old man. Even now we march against the 
 Peruvian army. We know there is a secret path that leads to 
 your stronghold among the rocks. Guide us to that, and 
 name thy reward. If wealth be thy wish — 
 
 Oro. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
KOTZEBUE. 4:65 
 
 Piz. D. st thou despise my offer ? 
 
 Oro. Yes, thee and thy offer ! Wealth ! — I have the wealth 
 of two gallant sons. I have stored in heaven the riches which 
 repay good actions here ; and still my chiefest treasure do I 
 wear about me. 
 
 Piz. What is that ? Inform me. 
 
 Oro. I will, for thou canst never tear it from me. An un- 
 sullied' conscience. 
 
 Piz. I believe there is no other Peruvian who dares speak as 
 thou dost. 
 
 Oro. Would I could beUeve there is no other Spaniard who 
 dares act as thou dost. 
 
 Gom. Obdurate pagan ! how numerous is your army ? 
 
 Oro. Count the leaves of the forest. 
 
 Gom. Which is the weakest part of your camp ? 
 
 Oro. It is fortified on all sides by justice. 
 
 Gom. Where have you concealed your wives and children ? 
 
 Oro. In the hearts of their husbands and fathers. 
 
 Piz. Knowest thou Alonzo ? 
 
 Oro. Know him ! Alonzo ! Our nation's benefactor, the 
 guardian angel of Peru ! 
 
 Piz. By what has he merited that title ? 
 
 Oro. By not resembling thee. 
 
 Piz. Who is this Rolla, joined with Alonzo in command ? 
 
 Oro. I will answer that, for I love to speak the hero's name. 
 Rolla, the kinsman of the king, is the idol of our army. Id 
 war a tiger, in peace a lamb. Cora was once betrothed to him, 
 but finding she preferred Alonzo, he resigned his claim for 
 Cora's happiness. 
 
 Piz. Romantic savage ! I shall meet this Rolla soon. 
 
 Oro. Thou hadst better not; the terrors of his noble eye 
 v'ould strike thee dead. 
 
 Gom. Silence, or tremble ! 
 
 Oro. Beardless robber ! I never yet have learned to tremble 
 before man — why before thee, thou less than man ? 
 
 Gom. Another word, audacious heathen, and I strike ! 
 
 Oro. Strike, Christian! then boast among thy fellows, *' I toe 
 have murdered a Peruvian." Kotzebub. 
 
 20* 
 
4:6Q DIALOGUES, 
 
 10. THE SAME. SECOND SCENE. 
 
 Sentinel, Rolla, andAlonzo. 
 (Enter Rolla, disguised as a Monk) 
 
 Holla. Inform me, friend, is Alonzo, the Peruvian, confined 
 in this dungeon ? 
 
 Sent. He is. 
 
 Rolla. I must speak with him. 
 
 Sent. You must not. 
 
 Rolla. He is my friend. 
 
 Sent. Not if he were your brother. 
 
 Rolla. What is to be his fate ? 
 
 Sent. He dies at sunrise. 
 
 Rolla. Ha ! then I am come in time — 
 
 Sent. Just to witness his death. 
 
 Rolla {advancing towards the door). Soldier, 1 rmist speak 
 with him. 
 
 Sent, (pushing him hack with his gun). Back ! back ! it is 
 impossible. 
 
 Rolla. I do entreat you but for one moment. 
 
 Sent. You entreat in vain : my orders are most strict. 
 
 Rolla. Look on this wedge of massy gold ! look on these 
 precious gems ! In thy land they will be wealth for thee and 
 thine, beyond thy hope or wish. Take them — they are thine ; 
 let me but pass one moment with Alonzo. 
 
 Sent. Away ! Wouldst thou corrupt me ? Me,, an old 
 Castilian ! — I know my duty better. . 
 
 Rolla. Soldier ! hast thou a wife ? 
 
 Sent. I have. 
 
 Rolla. Hast thou children ? 
 
 Sent. Four — ^honest, lovely boys. 
 
 Rolla. Where didst thou leave them ? 
 
 Sent. In my native village, in the very cot -where I was born. 
 
 Rolla. Dost thou love thy wife and children ? 
 
 Sent. Do I love them ! God knows my heart ; — I do. 
 
 Rolla. Soldier ! Imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel 
 death in a strange land : — what would be thy last request ? 
 
 Sent. That some of my comrades should carry my dying 
 blessing to my wife and children. 
 
 Rolla. What if that comrade was at thy prison door, and 
 should there be told, thy fellow-soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou 
 shalt not for a moment' see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying 
 
KOTZEBUE. 467 
 
 blessing to his poor children, or his wretched wife — what 
 wouldst thou think of him who thus could drive thy comrade 
 from the door ? 
 
 Sent. How? 
 
 Holla. Alonzo has a wife and child ; and I am come but to 
 receive for her, and for her poor babe, the last blessing of my 
 friend. 
 
 Sent. Go in. (Exit Sentinel.) 
 
 Rolla (calls), Alonzo ! Alonzo ! 
 
 (Enter Alonzo, speaking as he comes in.) 
 
 Alon. How ! is my hour elapsed ? Well, I am ready. 
 
 Rolla. Alonzo ! — know me ! 
 
 Alon. Rolla ! O Rolla / how didst thou pass the ffuard ? 
 
 Rolla. There is not a moment to be lost in words. This 
 disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our 
 field of battle. It has gained me entrance to thy dungeon : — 
 now take it thou, and fly ! 
 
 Alon. And Rolla — 
 
 Rolla. Will remain here in thy place. 
 
 Alon. And die for me ! No ! rather eternal tortures rack 
 me. 
 
 Rolla. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, 
 not Rolla' s ; and thy arm may soon deliver me from prison. 
 Or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted tree in the desert ; 
 nothing lives beneath my shelter. Thou art a husband and a 
 father : the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant depend 
 upon thy life. Go, go, Alonzo ! not to save thyself, but Cora, 
 and thy child. 
 
 Alon. Urge me not thus, my friend. I am prepared to die 
 in peace. 
 
 Rolla. To die in peace ! devoting her you have sworn to live 
 for, to madness, misery, and death ! 
 
 Alon. Merciful heavens ! 
 
 Rolla. If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo — now mark m& 
 well. Thou knowest that Rolla never pledged his word and 
 shrunk from its fulfilment. Know then, if thou art proudly 
 obstinate, thou shalt have the desperate triumph of seeing 
 Rolla perish by thy side. 
 
 Alon. Rolla ! you distract me ! Wear you the robe, and 
 though dreadful the necessity, we will strike down the guard, 
 and force our passage. 
 
 Rolla. What, the soldier on duty here ? 
 
 Ahn. Yes, else seeing two, the alarm will be instant death. 
 
468 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Rolla. For my nation^s safety, I would not harm him ! That 
 soldier, mark me, is a man ! All are not men that wear the 
 human form. He refused my prayers, refused my goldy denying 
 to admit, till his own feelings bribed him. I will not risk a 
 hair of that man's head, to save my heart-strings from con- 
 suming fire. But haste I A moment's further pause, and all 
 is lost. 
 
 Alon. Rolla, I fear thy friendship drives me from honor and 
 from right. 
 
 Rolla. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonor to his friend ? 
 [Throwing the friar's garment over his shoulders.) There ! — 
 conceal thy face. Now, God be with thee 1 Kotzebue 
 
 11. PEDANTRY, 
 
 Digit, a mathematician ; Thill, a musician ; Sesqitipedalia, a linguist and 
 philosopher ; Drone, a servant of Mr. Morrell, in whose liouse the scene 
 is laid. 
 
 (D^it alone.) 
 
 Digit. If theologians are in want of a proof that mankind are 
 daily degenerating, let them apply to me, Archimedes Digit. I 
 can furnish them with one as clear as any demonstration in Eu- 
 clid's third or fifth book ; and it is this, — the sublime and ex- 
 alted science of Mathematics is falHng into general disuse. Oh 
 that the patriotic inhabitants of this extensive country should 
 suffer so degrading a circumstance to exist ! Why, yesterday, 
 I asked a lad of fifteen which he preferred, Algebra or Geometry ; 
 and he told me — oh horrible ! he told me he had never studied 
 them ! I was thunderstruck, I was astonished, I was petrified ! 
 Never studied Geometry ! never studied Algebra ! and fifteen 
 years old ! The dark ages are returning. Heathenish obscurity 
 will soon overwhelm the world, unless i do something immedi- 
 ately to enlighten it ; and for this purpose I have now applied 
 to Mr. Morrell, who lives here, and is celebrated for his patron- 
 age of learning and learned men. {A knock at the door.) Who 
 waits there ? 
 
 (Enter Drone.) 
 
 Is Mr. Morrell at home ? 
 
 Drone (speaking very slow). Can't say ; s'pose he is ; indeed, 
 I am sure he is, or was just now. 
 Digit. Why, I could solve an equation while you are answer-" 
 
ANONYMOUS. 409 
 
 ing a question of five words, — I mean if the unknOwn terms were 
 all on one side of the equation. Can I see him? 
 
 Drcme. There is nobody in this house by the name of Qua- 
 tion. 
 
 Digit {aside). Now, here's a fellow that cannot distinguish 
 between an algebraic term and the denomination of his mas- 
 ter ! — I wish to see Mr. Mowell upon an affair of infinite im- 
 portance. 
 
 Drone. Oh, very likely, sir. I will inform him that Mr. Qua- 
 tion wishes to see him {inimicTcing) upon an affair of infinite im- 
 portance. 
 
 Digit. No, no. Digit — Digit. My name is Digit. 
 
 Drone. Oh, Mr. Digy-Digy ! Very likely. {Exit Drone.) 
 
 Digit (alone.) That fellow is certainly a negative quantity. 
 He is minus common sense. If this Mr. Morrell is the man I 
 take him to be, he cannot but patronize my talents. Should he 
 not, I don't know how I shall obtain a new coat. I have worn 
 this ever since I began to write my theory of sines and co- 
 tangents ; and my elbows have so often formed right angles with 
 the plane surface of my table, that a new coat or a parallel patch 
 is very necessary. But here comes Mr. Morrell. 
 
 (Enter Sesquipedalia.) 
 
 Sir {bowing low), I am your most Mathematical servant. I 
 am sorry, sir, to give you this trouble ; but an affair of conse- 
 quence — {pulling the rags over his elbows) — an affair of conse- 
 quence, as your servant informed you — 
 
 Sesquipedalia. Servus non est mihi, Domine ; that is, I h?ive 
 no servant, sir. I presume you have erred in your calculation ; 
 and 
 
 Digit. No, sir. The calculations Lam about to present you 
 are founded on the most correct theorems of Euclid. You may 
 examine them, if you please. They are contained in this small 
 manuscript. {Producing a folio.) 
 
 Sesq. Sir, you have bestowed a degree of interruption upon 
 my observations. I was about, or, according to the Latins, fu- 
 turus sum, to give you a little information concerning the lumi- 
 nary who appears to have deceived your vision. My name, sii-, 
 is Tullius Maro Titus Crispus Sesquipedaha ; by profession a 
 linguist and philosopher. The most abstruse points in physics 
 or metaphysics are to me transparent as ether. I have come 
 to this house for the purpose of obtaining the patronage of a 
 gentleman who befriends all the literati. Now, sir, perhaps J 
 
4:70 DIALOGUES. 
 
 have induced conviction, in mente tua, that is, in your mind, that 
 your calculation was erroneous. 
 
 Digit. Yes, sir, as to your person, I was mistaken ; but my 
 calculations, I maintain, are correct, to the tenth part of a circu- 
 lating decimal. 
 
 Sesq. But what is the subject of your manuscript? Have 
 you discussed the infinite divisibili^ of matter ? 
 
 Digit. No, sir ; I cannot reckon infinity ; and I have nothing 
 to do with subjects that cannot be reckoned. 
 
 Sjsq. Why, I cannot reckon about it. I reckon it is divisi- 
 ble ad infinitum. But perhaps your work is upon the materi- 
 ality of light; and if so, which side of the question do you 
 espouse ? 
 
 Digit. Oh, sir, I think it quite immaterial. 
 
 Sesq. What ! light immaterial ! Do you say light is imma- 
 terial ? 
 
 Digit. No; I say it is quite immaterial which side of the 
 question I espouse. I have nothing to do with it. And besides, I 
 am a bachelor, and do not mean to espouse any thing at present. 
 
 Sesq. Do you write upon the attraction of cohesion ? You 
 know matter has the properties of attraction and repulsion. 
 
 Digit. I care nothing about matter, so I can find enough for 
 mathematical demonstration. 
 
 Sesq. I cannot conceive what you have written upon, then. 
 Oh, it must be the centripetal and centrifugal motions. 
 
 Digit {peevishly). No, no ! I wish Mr. Morrell would come ! 
 Sir, I have no motions but such as I can make with my pencil 
 upon my slate, thus. [Figuring upon Ids hand.) Six, minus 
 four, plus two, equal eight, minus six, plus two. There, those 
 are my motions. 
 
 Sesq. Oh, I perceive you grovel in the depths of Arithmetic. 
 I suppose you neyer soared into the regions of Philosophy. You 
 never thought of the vacuum which has so long filled the heads 
 of philosophers. '. 
 
 Digit. Vacuum ! (Putting his hand to his forehead.) Let me 
 think. 
 
 Sesq. Ha! what! have you got it suh manu, that is, imder 
 your hand ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Digit. Eh! under my hand? What do you mean, .sir? — 
 that my head is a vacuum ? Would you insult me, sir ? insult 
 Archimedes Digit ? Why, sir, I'll cipher you into infinite divisi- 
 bility. I'll set you on an inverted cone, and give you a cen- 
 tripetal and centrifugal motion out of the window, sir ! I'll scat- 
 ter your solid contents ! 
 
AlfONYMOUS. mi 
 
 Sesq. Da veniam, that is, pardon me, it was merely a 
 linguce, that is — • 
 
 Digit. Well, sir, I am not fond of lapsus linguoes, at all, sir. 
 However, if you did not mean to offend, I accept your apology. 
 I wish Mr. Morrell would come. 
 
 Sesq. But, sir, is your work upon mathematics ? 
 
 Digit. Yes, sir. In this manuscript I have endeavored to 
 elucidate the squaring of the circle. 
 
 Sesq. But, sir, a square circle is a contradiction in terms. 
 You cannot make one. 
 
 Digit. I perceive you are a novice in this sublime science. 
 The object is to find a square which shall be equal to a given 
 circle ; which I have done by a rule drawn from the radii of 
 the circle and the diagonal of the square. And by my rule the 
 area of the square will equal the area of the circle. 
 
 Sesq. Your terms are to me incomprehensible. Diagonal is 
 derived from the Greek. Dia and goneo, that is, " through the 
 corner." But I don't see what it has to do with a circle ; for 
 if I understand aright, a circle, like a sphere, has no corners. 
 
 Digit. You appear to be very ignorant of the science of num- 
 bers. Your life must be very insipidly spent in poring over 
 philosophy and the dead languages. You never tasted, as I 
 have, the pleasure arising from the investigation of a difficult 
 problem, or the discovery of a new rule in quadratic equations. 
 
 Sesq. Poll! poll! [Turns round in disgust, and hits Digit 
 with his cane.) 
 
 Digit. Oh, you villain ! 
 
 Sesq. I wish, sir — 
 
 Digit. And so do I wish, sir, that that cane w^as raised to the 
 fourth power, and laid over your head as many times as there 
 are units in a thousand. Oh ! oh ! 
 
 Sesq. Did my cane come in contact with the sphere of attrac- 
 tion around your shin ? I must confess, sir — 
 
 (Enter Trill.) 
 
 But here is Mr. Morrell, Salve Domine ! Sir, your servant. 
 
 Trill. Which of you, gentlemen, is Mr. Morrell ? 
 
 Sesq. Oh ! neither, sir. I took you'for that gentleman. 
 
 Trill. No, sir ; I«am a teacher of music. Flute,,harp, viol, 
 violin, violoncello, organ, or any thing of the kind ; any instru- 
 ment you can mention. I have just been displaying my powers 
 at a concert, and come recommended to the patronage of Mr, 
 Morre. 
 
472 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Sesq. For the same purpose are that gentleman and mysell 
 here. 
 
 Digit (still rubbing his shin). Oh ! oh ! 
 
 Trill. Has the gentleman the gout ? I have heard of its 
 being cured by music. Shall I sing you a tune ? Hem ! hem I 
 Faw— 
 
 Digit. No, no ; I want none of your tunes. I'd make that 
 philosopher sing, though, and dance, too, if he hadn't made a 
 vulgar fraction of my leg. 
 
 Sesq. In veritate, that js, in truth, it happened /or/e, that is, 
 by chance. 
 
 Trill (talking to himself). If B be flat, me is in E. 
 
 Digit. Ay, sir ; this is only an integral part of your conduct 
 ever since you came into this house. You have continued to 
 multiply your insults in the abstract ratio of a geometrical pro- 
 gression, and at last have proceeded to violence. The dignity 
 of Archimedes Digit never experienced such a reduction descend- 
 ing before. 
 
 Trill (to himself). Twice fa sol la, and then comes me 
 again. 
 
 Digit. If Mr. Morrell does not admit me soon, I'll leave the 
 house, while my head is on my shoulders. 
 
 Trill. Gentlemen, you neither keep time nor chord. But if 
 you can sing, we will carry a trio before' we go. 
 
 Sesq. Can you sing an ode of Horace or Anacreon ? I should 
 like to hear one of them. 
 
 Digit. I had rather hear you sing a demonstration of the 
 forty-seventh proposition, first book. 
 
 Trill. I never heard of those performers, sir ; where did they 
 belong ? 
 
 Sesq. They did belong to Italy and Greece. 
 
 T7'ill. Ah ! Italy ! There are our best masters, such as Mo- 
 relU and Fuselh. Can you favor me with some of their compo- 
 sitions ? 
 
 Sesq. Oh yes ; if you have a taste that way, I can furnish 
 you with them, and with Virgil, Sallust, Cicero, Csesar, and 
 Quintilian ; and I have an old Greek Lexicon which I can 
 sparer. 
 
 Trill. Ad libitum, my dear sir, they Avill make a handsome 
 addition to my musical hbrary. 
 
 Digit. But, sir, what pretensions have you to the patronage 
 of Mr. Morrell ? I don't believe you can square the circle. 
 
 Till. Pretensions, sir ! I have gained a victory over the great 
 Tantamarrarra, the new opera singer, who pretended to vie with 
 
ANONYMOUS.-7-SEDI.ET. 473 
 
 me. 'Twas in the symphony of Handel's Oratorio of Saul, where 
 you know every thing depends upon the tempo giusto, and where 
 the primo should proceed in smorgandoy and the secondo, agitati. 
 But he was on the third ledger Une, I was an octave below, 
 when, with a sudden appoggiaiura, I rose to D in alt, and con- 
 quered him. 
 
 (Enter Drone.) 
 
 Drone. My master says how he will wait on you, gentlemen. 
 
 Digit. What is your name, sir ? 
 
 Drone. Drone, at your service. 
 
 Digit. No, no ; you need not drone at my service. A very 
 applicable name, however. 
 
 Sesq. Drone ? That is derived from the Greek Draon, that is, 
 flying or moving swiftly. 
 
 Trill. He seems to move in andante measure, that is, to the 
 tune of Old Hundred. 
 
 Drone. Very likely, gentlemen. 
 
 Digit. Well, as I came first, I will enter first. 
 
 Sesq. Right. You shall be the antecedent, I the subsequent, 
 and Mr. Trill the consequent. 
 
 Trill. Right. I was always a man of consequence, — Fa, sol, 
 la, Fa, sol, &c. {Exeunt) Anonymous 
 
 12. IRISH COURTESY. 
 
 Stranger. — 0' Callaghan. 
 
 Stranger. I have lost my way, good friend ; can you assist 
 me in finding it ? 
 
 0' Callaghan. Assist you in finding it, sir ? ay, by my faith 
 and troth, and that I will, if it was to the world's end, and fur- 
 ther too. 
 
 Str. I wish to return by the shortest route to the Black 
 Rock. 
 
 0' Cal. Indade, and you will, so plase your honor's honor — 
 and O'Callaghan's own self shall show you the way, and then 
 you can't miss it, you know. 
 
 Str. I would not give you so much trouble, Mr. O'Calla- 
 ghan. 
 
 WCal. It is never a trouble, so plase your honor, for an 
 Irishman to do his duty. {Bowing.) 
 
^%4t DIALOGUES. 
 
 Str. Whither do you travel, friend ? 
 
 O'CaL To Dublin, so plase your honor — sure all the worla 
 knows that Judy OTlannaghan will be married to-morrow, God 
 willing, to Pat Ryan ; and Pat, you know, is my own foster- 
 brother — because why, we had but one nurse betwane us, and 
 that was my own mother ; but she died one day — the Lord rest 
 her swate soul ! and left me an orphan, for my father married 
 again, and his new wife was the devil's own child, and did noth- 
 ing but bate me from morning till night. Och, why did I not 
 die before I was born to see that day ! for, by St. Patrick, he 
 woman's heart was as cold as a hailstone. 
 
 Str. But what reason could she have for treating you so 
 unmercifully, Mr. O'Callaghan ? 
 
 O'Cal. Ah, your honor, and sure enough there are always 
 rasons as plenty as pratees for being hard-hearted. And I was 
 no bigger than a dumpling at the time, so I could not help 
 myself, and my father did not care to help me, and so I hopped 
 the twig, and parted old Nick's darling ; och, may the devil 
 find her wherever she goes. But here I am alive and lapeing, 
 and going to see Pat married ; and faith, to do him justice, he's 
 as honest a lad as any within ten miles of us, and no disparage- 
 ment, neither ; and I love Pat, and I love all his family ; ay, by 
 my shoul do I, every mother's skin of them — and by the same 
 token, I have travelled many a long mile to be present at his 
 wedding. 
 
 Str. Your miles in Ireland are much longer than ours, I be- 
 lieve. 
 
 O'Cal. Indade, and you may belave that, your honor, be- 
 cause why, St. Patrick measured them in his coach, you know. 
 Och, by the powers ! — the time has been — but, 'tis no matter, 
 not a single copper at all at all now belongs to the family — but 
 as I was saying, the day has been, ay, by my troth, and the 
 night too, when the O'Callaghans, good luck to them, held 
 their heads up as high as the best ; and though I have not a 
 rod of land belonging to me, but what I hire, I love my coun- 
 try, and would halve my last pratee with every poor creature 
 that has none. 
 
 Str. Pray, how does the bride appear, Mr. O'Callaghan ? 
 
 0' Cal. Och, by my shoul, your honor, she's a nate article ; 
 and tlien she will be rigged out as gay as a lark and as fine as 
 a peacock ; because why, she has a great lady for her godmo- 
 ther, long life and success to her, who has given Judy two milch 
 cows and five pounds in hard money ; and Pat has taken as da- 
 cent apartments as any in Dublin — a nate comely parlor as you'd 
 
1^ 
 
 SEDLEY. Al^rONYMOUS. 476 
 
 wisli to see, just six fate under ground, witli a nice beautiful 
 ladder to go down — and all so complatc and gentale, and . com- 
 fortable, as a body may say — 
 
 Str. Nothing like comfort, Mr. O'Callagban. 
 
 0' Cal. Faith, and you may say that, your honor. (Ruhhing 
 his hands.) Comfort is comfort, says I to Mrs. O'Callaghan, 
 •when we are all sated so cleverly around a great big turf fire, 
 as merry as grigs, with the dear little grunters snoring so swate- 
 ly in the corner, defying wind and weather, with a dry thatch, 
 *md a sound conscience to go to slape upon — 
 
 Str. A good conscience makes a soft pillow. 
 
 O'Cal. Och, jewel, sure it is not the best beds that make the 
 best slapers ; for there's Kathleen and myself can slape like two 
 great big tops, and our bed is none of the softest — because why, 
 we slape on the ground, and have no bed at all at all. 
 
 Str. It is a pity, my honest fellow, that you should ever 
 want one. There — {(jiving him a gimiea) — good-by, Mr. O'Cal- 
 laghan. 
 
 0' Cal. I'll drink your honor's health, that I will ; and may 
 God and the blessed Virgin bless you and yours, as long as 
 grass grows and water runs. Sedley. 
 
 13. ALDERMAN SMUGGLER SIR HARRY WILDAIR ^JOHN. 
 
 Sir Harry. Dear Mr. Alderman, I'm your most devoted and 
 humble servant. 
 
 Alderman Smuggler. My best friend. Sir Harry, you're wel- 
 come to England. 
 
 Sir H. I'll assure you, sir, there's not a man in the king's do- 
 minions I am gladder to meet, dear, dear Mr. Alderman. {Bow- 
 ing very low.) 
 
 Aid. S. Oh! my good sir, you travellers have the kindest, 
 the most obliging ways with you. 
 
 Sir H. There is a business, Mr. Alderman, fallen out, which 
 you may oblige me infinitely by — I am very sorry that I am 
 forced to be troublesome — but necessity, Mr. Alderman — 
 
 Aid. S. Ay, sir, as you say, necessity. But, upon my word, 
 dear sir, I am very short of money at present, but — 
 
 Sir 11. That's not the matter, sir ; I'm above an obligation 
 that way ; but the business is, I am reduced to an indispensable 
 
V 
 
 ^ti DIALOGUES. 
 
 necessity of being obliged to you for a beating. Here, take 
 this»ane. 
 
 Aid. S. A beating, Sir Harry ! lia, ha, ha ! I beat a knight 
 baronet ! An alderman turned cudgel-player ! ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Sir IT. Upon my word, sir, you must beat me, or I'll beat 
 you ; take your choice. 
 
 Aid. S. Psha ! psha ! you jest. 
 
 Sir IT. Nay, 'tis sure as fate ; so my dear, dear Mr. Alder- 
 man, I hope you'll pardon my curiosity. {Strikes him.) 
 
 Aid. S. Curiosity ! Deuce take your curiosity, sir. What 
 d'ye mean ? 
 
 Sir IT. Nothing at all. I'm but in jest, good sir. 
 
 Aid. S Oh ! I can take any thing in jest; but a man might 
 imagine, by the smartness of the stroke, that you were in down- 
 right earnest. 
 
 Sir If. Not in the least, sir — (strikes him) ; not in the least, 
 indeed, dear sir. 
 
 Aid. S. Pray, good sir, no more of your jests ; for they are 
 the bluntest jests that I ever knew. 
 
 Sir II. {strikes him). I heartily beg your pardon, with all 
 my heart, sir. 
 
 Aid. S. Pardon, sir ! well, sir, that is satisfaction enough 
 from a gentleman ; but seriously now. Sir Harry, if you pass 
 any more of your jests upon me, I shall grow angry. 
 
 Sir H. I humbly beg your permission to break one or two 
 more. {Strikes him.) 
 
 Aid. S. Oh ! oh ! sir, you'll certainly break my bones. Are 
 you mad, sir ? John ! John ! murder, felony, manslaughter, 
 murder ! {Huns about,) 
 
 Sir H. Sir, I beg you ten thousand pardons ; but I am ab- 
 solutely compelled to it, upon my honor, sir ; nothing can be 
 more averse to ray inclination than to jest with my honest, dear, 
 loving, obliging friend, the alderman. {Striking/ him all the 
 iiijie.) 
 
 (Enter John.) 
 
 John. Oh ! goodness ! Sir Harry's murdering the poor old 
 man. 
 
 Aid. S. Oh ! John, oh ! John, I have been beaten in jest till 
 I am almost murdered in good earnest. 
 
 John. Oh ! for charity's sake. Sir Harry, remember what you 
 are doing ; forbear, sir, or I'll raise the neighborhood. {Aside.) 
 Though, to tell the truth, the old rogue richly deserves it, and 
 for my part, I enjoy the joke. {Sir H. takes snuff.) 
 
ANONYMOUS. — MORTON . 47 7 
 
 Aid. S. Now, sir, I will have amends, sir, before I leave the 
 l)lace, sir ; how durst you use me thus ? 
 
 Sir. H.- Sir ? 
 
 Aid. S. Sir, I say that I will have satisfaction. 
 
 Sir II. Oh! sir, with all my heart. {Throws snuff in his 
 eyes.) 
 
 Aid. S. Oh ! murder, blindness, fire ! Oh ! John, John ! get 
 me some water ! water, fire, water ! (Exit with John.) >. 
 
 Sir H. How pleasant is resenting an injury without passion ! 
 'lis the beauty of revenge. 
 
 Let statesmen plot, and under business groan, 
 And, settling public quiet, lose their own ; 
 I make the most of life, — ^no hour misspend. 
 Pleasure's the mean, and pleasure is my end. 
 No spleen, no trouble, shall my time destroy ; 
 Life's but a span, I'll every inch enjoy. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 14. SIR PHILIP BLANDFORD ASIIFIELD. 
 
 Sir Philip. Come hither. I beheve you hold a farm of 
 mine. 
 
 Ashjield. Ees, zur, I do, at your zarvice. 
 
 Sir P. I hope a profitable one. 
 
 Ash. Zometimes it be, zur. But thic year it be all t'other 
 way, as 'twur ; but I do hope, as our landlords have a tightish 
 big lump of the good, they'll be zo kind-hearted as to take a 
 little bit of the bad. 
 
 Sir P. It is but reasonable. I conclude, then, you are in 
 my debt. 
 
 Ash. Ees, zur, I be ; at your zarvice. 
 
 Sir P. How much ? 
 
 Ash. I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds ; at your zar- 
 vice. 
 
 Sir P. Which you can't pay. 
 
 Ash. Not a varthing, zur ; at your zarvice. 
 
 Sir P. Well, I am willing to allow you every indulgence. 
 
 Ash. Be you, zur ? that be deadly kind. Dear heart ! it 
 will make my auld dame quite young again, and I don't think 
 helping a poor man will do your honor's health any harm ; I 
 don't, indeed, zur. I had a thought of speaking to your wor- 
 ship aboat it ; but then, thinks I, the gentleman mayhap be 
 one of those that do like to do a jrood turn, and not have a 
 
0s DIALOGUES. 
 
 word zaid about it : zo, zur, if you had not mentioned what I 
 owed you, I am zure I never should ; should not, indeed, zur. 
 
 Sir P. Nay, I will wholly acquit you of the debt, on con 
 dition — 
 
 Ash. Ees, zur. 
 
 Sir P. On condition, I say, that you instantly turn out that 
 boy — that Henry. 
 
 Ash. Turn out Henry ! Ha, ha, ha ! Excuse my tittering, 
 zur ; but you bees making your vun of I, zure. 
 
 Sir P. I am not apt to trifle : send him instantly from you, 
 or take the consequences. 
 
 Ash. Turn out Henry ! I do vow I shouldn't know how to 
 set about it ; I should not, indeed, zur. 
 
 Sir P. You hear my determination. If you disobey, you 
 know what will follow. I'll leave you to reflect on it. {Exit.) 
 
 Ash. Well, zur, I'll argify the topic, and then you may wait 
 upon me, and I'll tell ye. (Makes the motion of turning out.) 
 I should be deadly awkard at it, vor zartain. However, I'll 
 put the case. Well ! I goes whiztling whoam ; noa, drabbit it ! 
 I shouldn't be able to whiztle a bit, I'm zure. Well ! I goes 
 whoam, and I zees Henry sitting by my wife, mixing up someit 
 to comfort the wold zoul, and take away the pain of her rheu- 
 matics. Very well ! Then Henry places a chair vor I by the 
 vire-side, and zays — " Varmer, the horses be fed, the sheep be 
 folded; and you have nothing to do but to zit down, smoke 
 your pipe, and be hap^y !" Very well ! (Becomes affected.) 
 Then I zays, " Henry, you be poor and friendless ; so you must 
 >turn out of my house directly." Very well ! Then my wife 
 stares at I ; reaches her hand towards the vire-place, and throws 
 the poker at my head. Yerj well ! Then Henry gives a kind 
 of aguish shake, and getting up, sighs from the bottom of his 
 heart ; then holding up his head like a king, zays, " Varmer, I 
 have too long been a burden to you. Heaven protect you, as 
 you have me. Farewell ! I go." Then I zays, *' If thee doez, 
 I'll be smashed." (With great energy.) Hollo! you Mister 
 Sir Philip \ you may come in. 
 
 (Enter Sir Philip Blandford.) 
 
 Zur, I have argified the topic, and it wouldn't be pretty ; zo 
 I can't. 
 
 Sir P. Can't! 
 
 Ash. Well, zur, there is but another word : I won't. 
 
 Sir P. Indeed ! 
 
MOETON. ANONYMOUS . 
 
 479 
 
 Ash. No, zur, I won't. I'd see myself hanged first, and you 
 too, zur ! I would indeed. (Bowing.) 
 
 Sir. P. You refuse, then, to obey ? 
 
 Ash. I do, zur ; at your zarvice. {Bowing.) 
 
 Sir P. Then the law must take its course. 
 
 Ash. I be zorry for that too. I be, indeed, zur ; but if corn 
 wouldn't grow, I couldn't help it : it weren't poisoned by the 
 hand that zowed it. Thic hand, zur, be as free from guilt as 
 your own. Good morning to you. I do hope I have made 
 myself agreeable ; and zo I'll 2:0 whoam. {Exeunt.) 
 
 Morton. 
 
 15. INDIGESTION. 
 
 Dr. Gregory. — Patient. 
 Scene. — Dr. Gregory's study. Enter a plump Glasgow merchant. 
 
 Patiejit. Good morning. Dr. Gregory ! I'm just come into 
 Edinburgh about some law business, and I thought when I was 
 here, at any rate, I might just as weel take your advice, sir, 
 about my trouble. 
 
 Doctor. Pray, sir, sit down. And now, my good sir, what 
 may your trouble be ? 
 
 Pa. Indeed, doctor, I'm not very sure ; but I'm thinking it's 
 a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of 
 pinkUng about my stomach ; — I'm just na right. 
 
 Dr. You are from the west country, I should suppose, sir ? 
 
 Pa. Yes, sir, from Glasgow. 
 
 Dr. Ay ; pray, sir, are you a glutton ? 
 
 Pa. God forbid, sir ; I'm one of the plainest men living in 
 all the west country. 
 
 Dr. Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard ? 
 
 Pa. No, Dr. Gregory ; thank God, no one can accuse me of 
 that. I'm of the dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder ; 
 so you may suppose I'm na drunkard. 
 
 Dr. I'll suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of 
 life. I'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I 
 should wish to hear in detail. what you do eat and drink. When 
 do you breakfast, and what do you take at it ? 
 
 Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock ; tak a cup of coffee, and 
 one or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or 
 
480 DIALOGUES. 
 
 kippered salmon, or, may be, both, if they're good, and two or 
 three rolls and butter. 
 
 Br. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast ? 
 
 Pa. Oh, yes, sir ! but I don't count that as any thing. 
 
 Dr. Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. What kind of 
 a dinner do you' make ? 
 
 Pa. Oh, sir, I eat a very plain dinner indeed. Some soup, 
 and some fish, and a little plain roast or boiled ; for I dinna 
 care for made dishes : I think, some way, they never satisfy the 
 appetite. 
 
 Dr. You take a little pudding, then, and afterwards some 
 cheese ? 
 
 Pa. Oh, yes ! though I don't care much about them. 
 
 Dr. You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese ? 
 
 Pa. Yes, one or the other ; but seldom both. 
 
 Dr. You west-country people generally take a glass of High- 
 land whiskey after dinner. 
 
 Pa. Yes, we do ; it's good for digestion. 
 
 Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner ? 
 
 Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry ; but I'm indifferent as to 
 wine during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer. 
 
 Dr. What quantity of port do you drink ? 
 
 Pa. Oh, very little ; not above half a dozen glasses or so. 
 
 Dr. In the west country, it is impossible, I hear, to dine 
 without punch? 
 
 Pa. Yes, sir : indeed, 'tis punch we drink chiefly ; but foi 
 myself, unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take 
 more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that's moderate. 
 
 Dr. Oh, exceedingly moderate indeed! You then, after 
 this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter ? 
 
 Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the 
 evening letters. 
 
 Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose ? 
 
 Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to tak supper ; just something 
 before going to bed ; — a rizzered haddock, or a bit of toasted 
 cheese, or a half hundred of oysters, or the like o' that, and 
 may be, two-thirds of a bottle of ale; but I tak no regular 
 supper. 
 
 Dr. But you take a little more punch after that ? 
 
 Pa. No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I 
 tak a tumbler of warm whiskey-toddy at night ; it is lighter to 
 sleep on. 
 
 Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your every- 
 day life ; but, upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little ? 
 
AlfONYMOUS. — COLMAN. 481 
 
 Pa. No, sir, excejDt when a friend or two dine with me, or 
 I dine out, Avhich, as I am a sober family man, does not often 
 happen. 
 
 Dr. Not above twice a week ? 
 
 Pa. No ; not oftener. 
 
 Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite ? 
 
 Pa. Yes, sir, thank God, I have ; indeed, any ill health that 
 I have is about meal-time. 
 
 Dr. (assuming a severe loolc\ knitting his brow, and lowering 
 his eyebrows). Now, sir, you arc a very pretty fellow indeed. 
 You come here and tell me you are a moderate man ; but upon 
 examination, I find by your own showing, that you are i most 
 voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man ; yet, by 
 your own showing, you are a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a 
 wine-bibber, and a guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat 
 indigestible supper's, and swill toddy to force sleep. I see that 
 you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can stand 
 this ? Go home, sir, and leave your present course of riotous 
 living, and there are hopes that your stomach may recover its 
 tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors. 
 
 Pa. I'm sure, doctor, I'm very much obliged to you '{taking 
 out a bundle of bank notes). I shall endeavor to — 
 
 Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me : — put up your money, 
 sir. Do you think I'll take a fee for telUng you what you 
 know as well as myself ? Though you're no physician, sir, you 
 are not altogether a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or take 
 my word for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 IG. OLLAFOB SIR CHARLES CROPLAND. 
 
 Ollajwd. Sir Charles, I have the honor to be your slave. 
 Hope your health is good. Been a hard winter here : sore 
 throats were plenty; so were woodcocks. Flushed four couple 
 one morning, in a half-mile walk from our town, to cure Mrs, 
 Quarles of a quinsy. May coming on soon, Sir Charles. Hope 
 you come to sojourn. Shouldn't be always on' the wing ; that's 
 being too flighty. Do you take, good sir, do you take ? 
 
 Sir Charles. Oh, yes, I take. But by the cockade in your 
 hat, Ollapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avoca- 
 tions. 
 
 n 
 
482 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Olla. My dear Sir Charles, I have now the honor to be cor- 
 net in the volunteer association corps of our town. It fell out 
 unexpected — pop on a sudden ; like the going-off of a field- 
 piece, or an alderman in an apoplexy. 
 
 Sir 0. Explain. 
 
 Olla. Happening to be at home — rainy day — no going out to 
 sport, blister, shooi, nor bleed — was busy behind the counter. 
 You know my shop, Sir Charles — Galen's head over the door, 
 — new-gilt him last week, by-the-by — looks as fresh as a pill. 
 
 Sir C. Well, no more on that head now : proceed. 
 
 Olla. On that liead ! That's very well — very well, indeed ! 
 Thank you, good sir — I owe you one. Churchwarden Posh, of 
 our town, being ill of an indigestion, from eating three pounds 
 of measly pork, at a vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic 
 for the patient, when, who should strut into the shop but 
 Lieutenant Grains, the brewer — sleek as a dray-horse — in a 
 smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarb-colored 
 -lapel. I confess his figure struck me. I looked at him as I 
 was thumping the mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a 
 military ardor. 
 
 Sir C. Inoculated ! I hope your ardor was of a very favor- 
 able sort. 
 
 Olla. Ha ! ha ! That's very well — very well, indeed ! Tliank 
 you, good sir — I owe you one. We first talked of shooting ; — 
 he knew my celebrity that way. Sir Charles. I told him tlie 
 day before I had killed six brace of birds ; — I thumped on at 
 the mortar, We then talked of physic. I told him the day 
 before I had killed — lost, I mean — six brace of patients ; — I 
 thumped on at the mortar — eyeing him all the while ; for he 
 looked mighty flashy, to be sure ; and I felt an itching to belong 
 to the corps. The medical and military both deal in death, you 
 know : so 'twas natural. Do you take, good sir — do you take ? 
 
 Sir C. Take ? Oh, nobody can miss. 
 
 Olla. He then talked of the corps itself ; said it was sickly ; 
 and if a professional person would administer to the health of 
 the association — dose the men, and drench the horse — he could, 
 perhaps, procure him a cornctcy. 
 
 Sir C. Well, you jumped at the offer ! 
 
 Olla. Jumped ! I jumped over the counter— kicked down 
 churchwarden Posh's cathartic into the pocket of Lieutenant 
 Grain's smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarb- 
 colored lapel; embraced him and his offer; and I am now 
 Cornet Ollapod, apothecary, at the Galen's Head, of the asso- 
 ciation corps of cavalry, at your service. 
 
COLMAN. 483 
 
 Sir C. I wish you joy of your appointment! You may 
 now distil water for the shop from the laurels you gather in the 
 field. 
 
 Olla. Water for — oh ! laurel-water. Come, that's very well 
 — very well, indeed ! Thank you, good sir — I owe you one. 
 Why, I fancy fame will follow, when the poison of a small 
 mistake I made has ceased to operate. 
 
 Sir C. A mistake ? 
 
 Olla. Having to attend Lady Kitty Carbuncle on a grand 
 field-day, clapped a pint bottle of her ladyship's diet drink into 
 one of my holsters, intending to proceed to the patient after 
 the exercise was over. I reached the martial ground, and 
 jalaped — galloped, I mean — wheeled and flourished with great 
 eclat ; but when the word " Fire !" Avas given, meaning to pull 
 out my pistol, in a horrible hurry I presented, neck fpremost, 
 the villanous diet drink of Lady Kitty Carbuncle ; and . the 
 medicine being unfortunately fermented by the jolting of my 
 horse, it forced out the cork with a prodigious pop, full in the 
 face of my gallant commander. 
 
 Sir C. But, in the midst of so many pursuits, how proceeds 
 practice among the ladies ? Any new faces since I left the 
 country ? 
 
 Olla. Nothing worth an item ; nothing new arrived in our 
 town. In the village, to be sure, hard by. Miss Emily Wor- 
 thington, a most brilliant beauty, has lately given lustre to the 
 estate of farmer Harrowby. 
 
 Sir C. My dear doctor, the lady of all others I wish most 
 to know. Introduce yourself to the family, and pave the way 
 for me. Come ! mount your horse — I'll explain more as you 
 go to the stable ; but I am in a flame — in a fever, till I see 
 you off". 
 
 Olla. In a fever ! I'll send you physic enough to fill a bag- 
 gage wagon. 
 
 Sir C. {aside). So ! a long bill as the price of his polite- 
 ness ! 
 
 Olla. You need not bleed ; but you must have medicine. 
 
 Sir C. If I must have medicine, Ollapod, I fancy I shall 
 bleed pretty freely. 
 
 Olla. Come, that's very Avell — very well, indeed! Thank 
 you, good sir — I owe you one. Before dinner, a strong dose 
 of coloquintida, senna, scammony, and gamboge — 
 
 Sir C. Oh, confound scammony and gamboge ! 
 
 Olla. At night, a narcotic ; next day, saline draughts, cam- 
 phorated jalap, and — 
 
484 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Sir C. Zounds ! only go, and I'll swallow your whole shop. 
 
 Olla. Galen forbid ! 'Tis enough to kill every customer 1 
 have in the parish. Then we'll throw in the bark ; — by-the-by, 
 talking of bark, Sir Charles, that Juno of yours is the prettiest 
 pointer — 
 
 Si7' C. Well, well — she is yours. 
 
 Olla. My dear Sir Charles ! such sport next shooting season ! 
 If I had but a double-barrelled gun — 
 
 Sir C. Take mine that hangs in the hall. 
 
 Olla. My dear Sir Charles ! Here's morning's work ; senna 
 and coloquintida. (A&ide.) 
 
 Sir C. Well, begone, then. (Pushing him.) 
 
 Olla. I'm off; — scammony and gamboge! 
 
 Sir C. Nay, fly, man ! 
 
 Olla. I do. Sir Charles. A double-baiTclled gun — I fly — the 
 bark — I'm going — Juno — a narcotic ! 
 
 Sir C. OS ^ith you I Colma.. 
 
 lY. OLD FICKLE TRISTRAM FICKLE. 
 
 Old Fickle. What reputation, what honor, what profit can 
 accrue to you from such conduct as yours ? One moment you 
 tell me you are going to become the greatest musician in the 
 world, and straight you fill my house with fiddlers. 
 
 Tristram. I am clear out of that scrape now, sir. 
 
 Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are metamorphosed into a 
 philosopher ; and for the noise of drums, trumpets, and haut- 
 boys, you substitute a vile jargon, more unintelligible tlian was 
 ever heard at the Tower of Babel. 
 
 Tri. You are right, sir. I have found out that philosophy 
 is folly ; so I have cut the philosophers of all sects, from Plato 
 and Aristotle down to the puzzlers of modern date. 
 
 Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper the other day 
 for barrelling you up in a large tub, when you resolved to live 
 like Diogenes ? 
 
 Tri. You should not have paid him any thing, sir, for the 
 tub would not hold. You see the contents are run out. 
 
 Old F. No jesting, sir ; this is no laughing matter. I'our 
 follies have tired me out, I verily believe you have taken the 
 whole round of arts and sciences in a month, and have been of 
 fifty diiferent minds in half an hour. 
 
ALLINGIIAM. 485 
 
 Tri. And, by that, shown the versatility of my genius. 
 
 Old F. Don't tell me of versatility, sir. Let me see a little 
 steadiness. You have never yet been constant to any thing but 
 extravagance. 
 
 Tri. Yes, sir, one thing more. 
 
 Old F. What is that, sir ? 
 
 Tri. Affection for you. However my head may have wan- 
 dered, my heart has always been constantly attached to the 
 kindest of parents ; and, from this moment, I am resolved to 
 lay my follies aside, and pursue that line of conduct which will 
 be most pleasing to the best of fathers and of friends. 
 
 Old F. Well said, my boy — well said ! You make me 
 happy indeed. {Patting him on the shoulder.) Now, then, 
 my dear Tristram, let me know what you really mean to do. 
 
 Tri. To study the law — 
 
 Old F. The law ! 
 
 Tri. I am most resolutely bent on following that profession. 
 
 Old F. No ! 
 
 Tri. Absolutely and irrevocably fixed. 
 
 Old F. Better and better. I am overjoyed. Why, 'tis the 
 very thing I wished. Now I am happy ! {^Tristram makes 
 gestures, as if speaking.) See how his mind is engaged ! 
 
 Tri. Gentlemen of the jury — 
 
 Old F. Why, Tristram— 
 
 Tri. This is a cause — 
 
 Old F. Oh, my dear boy ! I forgive you all your tricks. 
 I see something about you now that I can depend on. (^Tris- 
 tram continues making gestures.) 
 
 Tri. I am for the plaintiff in this cause — 
 
 Old F. Bravo ! bravo ! — excellent boy ! I'll go and order . 
 your books directly. 
 
 Tri. 'Tis done, sir. 
 
 Old F. What, already ? 
 
 Tri. I ordered twelve square feet of books when I first 
 thought of embracing the arduous profession of the law. 
 
 Old F. What, do you mean to read by the foot ? 
 
 Tri. By the foot, sir ; that is the only way to become u solid 
 lawyer. 
 
 Old F. Twelve square feet of learning ! Well — 
 
 lYi. I have likewise sent for a barber — 
 
 Old F. A barber ! What, is he to teach you to shave close ? 
 
 Tri. He is to shave one-half of my head, sir. 
 
 Old F. You will excuse me if I cannot perfectly understand 
 what that has to do with the study of the law. 
 
486 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Tri. Did you never hear of Demosthenes, sh*, the Athenian 
 orator ? He had half his head shaved, and locked himself up 
 in a coal-cellar. 
 
 Old F. Ah ! he was perfectly right to lock himself up, 
 after having undergone such an operation as that. He cer- 
 tainly would have made rather an odd figure abroad. 
 
 Tri. I think I see him now, awaking the dormant patriotism 
 of his countrymen — lightning in his eye, and thunder in his 
 voice ; he pours forth a torrent of eloquence, resistless in its 
 force ; the throne of Philip trembles while he speaks ; he 
 denounces, and indignation fills the bosom of his hearers ; he 
 exposes the impending danger, and every one sees impending 
 i-uin ; he threatens the tyrant — they grasp their swords ; he 
 calls for vengeance — their thirsty weapons glitter in the air, 
 and thousands reverberate the cry. One soul animates a nation, 
 and that soul is the soul of the orator. 
 
 Old F. Oh ! what a figure he'll make in the King's Bench ! 
 But, come, I will tell you now what my plan is, and then you 
 will see how happily this determination of yours will further it. 
 You have [Tristram makes extravagant gestures, as if speaking) 
 often heard me speak of my friend Briefwit, the barrister — 
 
 Tri. Who is against me in this cause — 
 
 Old F. He is a most learned lawyer — 
 
 Tri. But as I have justice on my side — 
 
 Old F. Zounds ! he doesn't hear a word I say ! Why, Tris- 
 tram ! 
 
 Tri. I beg your pardon, sir ; I was prosecuting my studies. 
 
 Old F. Now, attend— 
 
 Tri. As my learned friend observes — Go on, sir, I am all 
 attention. 
 
 Old F. Well, my friend the counsellor — 
 
 Tri. Say learned friend, if you please, sir. We gentlemen 
 of the law always — 
 
 Old F. Well, well — my learned friend — 
 
 Tri. A black patch ! 
 
 Old F. Will you listen, and be silent ? 
 
 Tq'I. I am as mute as a judge. 
 
 Old F. My friend, I say, has a ward, who is very handsome, 
 and who has a very handsome fortune. She would make you 
 a charming wife. 
 
 Tri. This is an action — 
 
 Old F. Now, I have hitherto been afraid to mtroduce you 
 to my friend, the barrister, because I thought your lightness 
 und his gravity — 
 
ALLINGIIAM, OULTON. ' 4:87 
 
 TrL Might be plaintiff and defendant. 
 
 Old F. But now jou are grown serious and steady, and have 
 resolved to pursue his profession, I will shortly bring you 
 together : you will obtain his good opinion, and all the rest 
 follows of course. 
 
 Tri. A verdict in my favor. 
 
 Old F. You marry and sit down happy for life. 
 
 Tri. In the King's Bench. 
 
 Old F. Bravo ! Ha, ha, ha ! But now run to your study — 
 run to your study, my dear Tristram, and I'll go and call upon 
 the counsellor. 
 
 Tri. I remove by habeas corpus. 
 
 Old F. Pray have the goodness to make haste, then. (Hur- 
 rying him off.) 
 
 Tri. Gentlemen of the jury, this is a cause — [Exit.) 
 
 Old F. The inimitable boy ! I am now the happiest father 
 living. Wliat genius he has ! He'll be lord chancellor one day 
 or other, I dare be sworn. I am sure he has talents ! Oh, 
 how I long to see him at the bar ! Allixghvm 
 
 18. DOCTOR WISEPATE THADY o'kEEN ROBERT. 
 
 Doctor Wisepate, in a moming-gown and velvet night-cap, discovered at 
 a table at breakfast. A wig-box near bun, lying open. 
 
 Doctor Wisepate. Plague on her ladyship's ugly cur ! — it 
 has broke three bottles of bark that I had prepared myself for 
 Lord Spleen. I wonder Lady Apes troubled me with it. But 
 I understand it threw down her flower-pots and destroyed all 
 her myrtles. I'd send it home this minute, but I'm unwilling 
 to offend its mistress ; for, as she has a deal of money, and no 
 relation, she may think proper to reniember me in her will. 
 (Noise ivithin.) Eh ! what noise is that in the hall ? 
 
 (Enter Thady O'Keen, dirty and wet, followed by Robert.) 
 
 T. O'Keen. Lut I must and will, do you see. Yery pretty, 
 indeed, keeping people standing in the hall, shivering and shak- 
 ing with the wet and cold ! 
 
 Robert, The mischief's in you, I believe ; you order me about 
 AS if you were my master. 
 
48S DIALOG UKS-. 
 
 Dr. W. Why, what's all this ? who is this uiirnnnrierly fci' 
 low ? 
 
 T. 0*K. There ! your master says you are an iinraanncrl) 
 fellow. 
 
 Rob. Sir, it's Lady Ape's servant : he has a letter, and says 
 he won't deliver it into any one's hands but your honor's. Now, 
 I warrant my master will teach you better behavior. (£Jxii.) 
 
 T. O'K. Oh, are you sure you are Doctor Wisepate ? 
 
 Dr. W. Sure ! to be sure I am. 
 
 T. O'K. Och ! plague on ray hat, how wet it is ! (Shakes his 
 hat about {he room, d'c.) 
 
 Dr. W. {lays his spectacles down and rises from the table). 
 Zounds ! fellow, don't wet my room in that manner ! 
 
 T. O'lC Eh ! Well— Oh, I beg pardon— there's the letter : 
 and since I must not dry my hat in your room, why, ^s you 
 particularly desire it, I will go down to the kitchen, and dry it 
 and myself before the fire. (Goes out.) 
 
 Dr. W. Here, you, sir, come back. I must teach him bet- 
 ter manners. (Re-enter Thady O'Kcen.) Hark you, fellow — 
 whom do you live with ? 
 
 T. O'K. Whom do I live with ? why, with my mistress, to 
 be sure, Lady Apes. 
 
 Dr. W. And pray, sir, how long have you lived with her 
 ladyship ? 
 
 T. O'K. How long ? Ever since the first day she hired me. 
 
 Dr. W. And has her ladyship taught you no better man- 
 ners ? 
 
 T. O'K. Manners ? she never taught me any, good or bad. 
 
 Dr. W. Then, sir, I will ; I'll show you how you should 
 address a gentleman when you enter a room. What's your 
 name? 
 
 T. O'K. Name?— why, its Thady O'Kecn, my jewel. What 
 in wonder is he going to do with ray name ! {Aside^ 
 
 Dr. W. Then, sir, you shall be Dr. Wisepate for a while, and 
 I'll be Thady O'Keen, just to show you how you should enter a 
 room and deliver a letter. 
 
 T. O'K. Eh ! what ? make a swap of ourselves ! With all 
 my heart. Here's my wet hat for you. 
 
 Dr. W. There, sit down in my chair. (Golyig.) 
 
 T. O'K. Stop, stop, honey — by my shoul you can never be 
 Thady O'Keen without you have this little shillelagh in your 
 fist. — There. 
 
 Dr. W. Very well. Sit you down. (Takes Thady' s hat, 
 dc, and goes out.) 
 
OL'LTOJN-. 489 
 
 T. O'K. (solus). Let me see ; I can never be a doctor either, 
 without some sort of a wig. Oh, here is one — and liere is my 
 spectacles, faith. On my conscience, I'm the thing ! [Puts on 
 (he wig awkwardly, and the spectacles ; then sits in the doctor's 
 chair. Dr. Wisepate knocks.) Walk in, honey, [Helps himself 
 to chocolate and bread and butter.) 
 
 (Re-enter Dr. Wisepate, bowing.) 
 
 Dr. W. Please your honor — [Aside.) — What assurance the 
 fellow has ! 
 
 T. O'K. Speak out, young man, and don't be bashful. (Eat- 
 ing, dc.) 
 
 Dr. W. Please your honor, my lady sends her respectful 
 compliments — hopes your honor is well. 
 
 T. O'K. Pretty well, pretty well, I thank you. 
 
 Dr. W. And has desired me to deliver your honor this letter. 
 
 T. O'K. That letter, well, why don't you bring it to me ? 
 Pray, am I to rise from the table ? 
 
 Dr. W. So, he's acting my character with a vengeance. But 
 I'll humor him. (Aside.) There, your honor. (Gives the letter, 
 bowing.) 
 
 T. O'K. ( Opens the letter and reads!) 
 
 " Sir : — Since my dear Flora has given you so much uneasi- 
 ness — Och, by my shoul, that's no lie — I beg leave to inform 
 you that a gentleman shall call either to-day or to-morrow for 
 her. If it should rain, I request the poor thing may have a — 
 what's this ? — C o a — coat ! — coat, no — coach. Yours." — 
 Hem ! well — no answer's required, young man. 
 
 Dr. W. His impudence has struck me almost dumb. (Aside.) 
 No answer, your honor ? 
 
 T. O'K. JSTo, my good fellow — but come here — let me look 
 at you. Oh, you seem very wet. Why it's you, I understand, 
 who brought this troublesome cur a few days ago : you have 
 been often backwards and forwards, but I could never see you 
 till now. Hollo, Robert ! where's my lazy good-for-nothing 
 servant? Robert! (Rings a bell.) 
 
 Dr. W. Eh ! what the deuce does he mean ? (Aside.) 
 
 (Enter Robert, who stares at them both.) 
 
 Rob. Eh '.—Did— did you call, sir ? ( To Dr. Wisepate.) 
 T. O'K. Yes, sirrah ! Take that poor fellow down to the 
 
 kitchen ; he's come upon a foolish errand this cold wet day ; 
 
 BO, do you see, give him something to eat and drink — as much 
 
 21*^ 
 
4^90 DIALOGUES. 
 
 as he likes — and bid my steward give him a guinea for his 
 trouble. 
 
 Rob. Eh! 
 
 T. O'K. Tunder and ouns, fellow ! must I put my words into 
 my mouth, and take them out again, for you ? Thady (to the 
 Doctor), my jewel, just give that blockhead of mine a rap on 
 his sconce with your little bit of a switch, and I'll do as much 
 for you another time. 
 
 JDr. W. So, instead of my instructing the fellow, he has ab- 
 solutely instructed me. (Aside.) Well, sir, you have convinced 
 rce what Dr. Wisepate should be, and now suppose we are our- 
 selves again. 
 
 T. O'K. (rises). With all my heart, sir. Here's your hon- 
 or's wig and spectacles, and now give me my comfortable hat and 
 switch. 
 
 Dr. W. And, Robert, obey the orders that my representative 
 gave you. 
 
 Rob. What ! carry him down to the kitchen ! 
 
 T. O'K. No, young man, I shan't trouble you to carry me 
 down ; I'll carry myself down, and you shall see what a beau- 
 tiful hand master O'Keen is at a knife and fork. (Exit with 
 Robert.) 
 
 Dr. W. (solus). Well, this fellow has some humor ; indeed, 
 he has fairly turned the tables upon me. I wish I could get 
 him to give a dose of my prescribing to her ladyship's cats and 
 dogs, for the foolish woman has absolutely bequeathed in her 
 will an annual sum for the care of each, after her death. Oh, 
 dear ! dear ! how much more to her credit would it be to con- 
 sider the present exigencies of her country'-, and add to the num- 
 ber of voluntary contributions ! Oulton 
 
 19. SCENE FROM CATILINE. 
 
 The Senate — Lictors — The Consul — Cicero speaking. 
 
 Cic. Our long dispute must close. Take one proof more 
 Of this rebellion. — Lucius Catiline 
 Has been commanded to attend the senate. 
 He dares not come. I now demand your votes ! — 
 Is he condemned to exile ? 
 
GEOKGE CKOLY. 491 
 
 Catiline comes in hastily, and flings himself on the bench , 
 all the senators go over to the other side. 
 
 Cic. [turning to Catiline). Here I repeat the charge, to 
 gods and men, 
 Of treasons manifold ; — that, but this day, 
 He has received despatches from the rebels ; 
 That he has leagued with deputies from Gaul 
 To seize the province ; nay, has levied troops, 
 And raised his rebel standard : — that but now 
 A meeting of conspirators was held 
 Under his roof, with mystic rites, and oaths, 
 Pledged round the body of a murdered slave. 
 To these he has no answer. 
 
 Cat. (r'-sing calmly). Conscript fathers ! 
 I do not r'sR to waste the night in words ; 
 Let that plebeian talk ; 'Lis not my trade ; 
 But here I stand for right — let him show proofs — 
 For Roman right ; though none, it seems, dare stand 
 To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there. 
 Cling to your master; judges, Romans — slaves / 
 His charge is false ; I dare him to his proofs. 
 You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 
 
 Cic. (interrupting him). Deeds shall convince you ! HfiS 
 the traitor done ? 
 
 Cat. But this I will avow, that I have scorned, 
 And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ; 
 Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword. 
 Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back. 
 Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
 The gates of honor on me, — turning out 
 The Roman from his birthright ; and for what ! {LooJcing round 
 
 him.) 
 To fling your offices to every slave ; 
 Vipers that creep where man disdains to climb ; 
 And having wound their loathsome track to the top 
 Of this huge moldering monument of Rome, 
 Hang hissing at the nobler man below. 
 
 Cic. This is his answer ! Must I bring more proofs ? 
 Fathers, you know there lives not one of us, 
 But lives in peril of his midnight sword. 
 Lists of proscription have been handed round, 
 In which your general properties are made 
 Four murderer's hire. 
 
.493 DIALOGUES. 
 
 (A cry is Iieard without — " Mare i^fisoners /" An offc- 
 cer enters with letters for Cicei'o ; who, after glancing 
 at them, sends them round the Senate. Catiline i» 
 strongly perturbed.) 
 
 Cic. Fathers of Rome ! If man can be convinced 
 By proof, as clear as daylight, here it is ! 
 Look on these letters ! Here's a deep-laid plot 
 To wreck the provinces : a solemn league, 
 Made with a|l form and circumstance. The time 
 Is desperate, — all the slaves are up ; — Rome shakes 1 
 Tlie heavens alone can tell how near our graves 
 We stand even here !-^The name of Catiline 
 Is foremost in the league. He was their king. 
 Tried and convicted traitor 1 go from Rome ! 
 
 Cat. (haughtily rising). Come, consecrated lictors, from your 
 thrones : [^"^ ^^^ Senate. 
 
 Fling down your sceptres :— take the rod and axe, 
 And make the murder as you make the law. 
 
 Cic. (interrupting him). Give up the record of his banish- 
 ment. [To an officer. 
 
 (The ofjicer gives it to the Consul.) 
 
 Cat. (indignantly). Banished from Rome ! What's banished, 
 but set free 
 From daily contact of the things I loathe ? 
 " Tried and convicted traitor !" Who says this ? 
 Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head ? 
 Banished — I thank you for it. It breaks my chain ! 
 I held some slack allegiance till this hour — 
 But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords 1 
 I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 
 Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
 I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 
 To leave you in your lazy dignities. 
 But here I stand and scoff you ; here I jfling 
 Hatred and full defiance in your face. 
 Your Consul's merciful. — For this, all thanks. 
 He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. 
 
 (The Consul reads:) — ''Lucius Sergius Catiline: by 
 the decree of the Senate, you are declared an enemy 
 and alien to the State, and banished from the territory 
 of the Commonwealth." 
 
GEOKGE CKOIA". HliNKY TAYLOR. 493 
 
 The Consul. Lictors, drive the traitor from the temph^ ! 
 
 Cat.' (furious). "Traitor!" I go — but I return. This— 
 trial ! 
 Here I devote your Senate ! I've had wrongs 
 To stir a fever in the blood of age. 
 Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 
 This day's the birth of sorrows ! — this hour's work 
 Will breed proscriptions : — look to your hearths, my lords '. 
 For there, henceforth shall sit, for household gods, 
 Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes ! 
 Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
 Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
 Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe. 
 Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; 
 Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, 
 And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave ! 
 
 The Senators rise in tumult and cry out. 
 
 Go, enemy and parricide, from Rome ! 
 
 Cic. Expel him, lictors ! Clear the Senate-house ! 
 
 [They surround him. 
 Cat. {struggling through them). I go, but not to leap the 
 gulf alone. 
 1 go — but when I come, 'twill be the burst 
 Of ocean in the earthquake — rolling back 
 In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well ! 
 You build my funeral-pile, but your best blood 
 Shall quench its flame. Back, slaves ! {To the lictors) — I will 
 return ! 
 
 [He rushes out; the scene closes. 
 
 Geoege Ckoly v. 
 
 20. VAN DEN BOSCII AND VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Artevelde. This is a mighty matter. Van den Bosch, 
 And much to be revolved ere it be answered. 
 
 Van den Bosch. The people shall elect thee with one voice. 
 I will insure the White-Hoods, and the rest 
 Will eagerly accept thy nomination. 
 So to be rid of some that they like less. 
 Thy name is honored both of rich and poor, 
 
4:94 DIALOGUES. 
 
 For all are mindful of the glorious rule 
 
 Thy father bore, when Flanders, prosperous then, 
 
 From end to end obeyed him as one town. 
 
 Art. They may remember it — and. Van den Bosch, 
 May I not, too, bethink me of the end 
 To which this people brought my noble father ? 
 They gorged the fruits of his good husbandry, 
 Till, drunk with long prosperity, and blind 
 With too much fatness, they tore up the root 
 From which their common weal had sprung and flourished. 
 
 Van den B. Nay, Master Philip, let the past be pasi. 
 
 Art. Here on the doorstead of my father's house. 
 The blood of his they spilt is seen no more. 
 But when I was a child I saw it there ; 
 For sf) long as my widow-mother lived 
 Water came never near the sanguine stain. 
 She loved to show it me, and then with awe, — 
 But hoarding still the purpose of revenge, 
 I heard the tale — which, like a daily prayer 
 Repeated, to a rooted feehng grew — 
 How long he fought, how falsely came like friends 
 The villains Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, — 
 All the base murder of the one by many ! 
 Even such a brutal multitude as they 
 Who slew my father — yea, who slew their own 
 (For like one had he ruled the parricides), 
 Even such a multitude thou'dst have me govern. 
 
 Van den B. Why, what if Jacques Artevelde was killed ? 
 He had his reign, and that for many a year, 
 And a great glory did he gain thereby. 
 And as for Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, 
 Their breath is in their nostrils as was his. 
 If you be as stout-hearted as your father. 
 And mindful of the villanous trick they played him, 
 Their hour of reckoning is well-nigh come. 
 Of that, and of this base false-hearted league 
 They're making with the earl, these two to us 
 Shall give account. 
 
 Art. They cannot render back 
 The golden bowel that's broken at the fountain, 
 Or mend the wheel that's broken at the cistern. 
 Or twist again the silver cord that's loosed. 
 Yea, life for life, vile bankrupts as they are, — 
 Their worthless hves, for his of countless price,— 
 
ilENEY TAYLOK. 4:95 
 
 Is their whole wherewithal to pay their debt. 
 Yet retribution is a goodly thing, 
 And it were well to wring the payment from them 
 Even to the utmost drop of their hearts' blood. 
 
 Van den B. Then will I call the people to the square, 
 And speak for your election. 
 
 Art. Not so fast. 
 Your vessel, Van den Bosch, hath felt the storm : 
 She rolls dismasted in an ugly swell. 
 And you would make a jury-mast of me. 
 Whereon to spread the tatters of your canvas. 
 And what am I ? — Why, I am as the oak 
 Which stood apart, far down the vale of life, 
 Growing retired beneath a quiet sky. 
 Wherefore should this be added to the wreck ? 
 
 Van den B. I pray you, speak it in the Burghers' tongue : 
 I .ack the scholarship to talk in tropes. 
 
 Art. The question, to be plain, is briefly this : 
 Shall I, who, chary of tranquillity, 
 Not busy in this factious city's broils, 
 Nor frequent in the market-place, eschewed 
 The even battle, — shall I join the rout ? 
 
 Van der B. Times are sore changed, I see ; there's none lU 
 Ghent 
 That answers to the name of Artevelde. 
 Thy father did not carp nor question thus 
 When Ghent invoked his aid. The days have been - 
 When not a citizen drew breath in Ghent 
 But freely would have died in Freedom's cause. 
 
 Art. The cause, I grant thee. Van den Bosch, is good : 
 And were I linked to earth no otherwise 
 But that my whole heart centered in myself, 
 I could have tossed you this poor life to play with, 
 Taking no second thought. But as things are, 
 I will revolve the matter warily. 
 And send thee word betimes of my conclusion. 
 
 Van den B. Betimes it must be, for the White-Hood chiefs 
 Meet two hours hence, and ere we separate 
 Our course must be determined. 
 
 Art. In two hours. 
 If I be for you, I will send this ring 
 In token I have so resolved. Farewell ! 
 
 Van den B. Philip Van Artevelde, a greater man 
 H^an ever Ghent beheld, we'll make of thee, 
 
4:96 DIALOGUES. 
 
 If thou be bold enough to try this venture. 
 God give thee heart to do so. Fare thee well. 
 
 [^xit Van den Bosch. 
 
 Art. (after a long pause). Is it vain glory that thus whis- 
 pers me. 
 That 'tis ignoble to have led my life 
 In idle meditations — that the times 
 Demand me, that they call my father's name ? 
 Oh ! what a fiery heart was his ! such souls 
 Whose sudden visitations daze the world, 
 Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind 
 A voice that in the distance far away 
 Wakens the slumbering ages. Oh ! my father ! 
 Thy hfe is eloquent, and more persuades 
 Unto dominion than thy death deters ! 
 
 Henry Tatio*. 
 
 21. TELL AND HIS COUNTRYMEN. 
 
 Tell, Emi, Vemer, Furst. 
 Scene — A Lake and Mountains. 
 
 Tell. Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again ! 
 I hold to you the hands ye first beheld, 
 To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 
 A spirit in your echoes answer me. 
 And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
 Again ! — 0, sacred forms, how proud you look ! 
 How high you lift your heads into the sky ! 
 How huge you are ! how mighty and how free ! 
 Ye are the things that tower, that shine — whose smile 
 Makes glad — whose frown is terrible — whose forms. 
 Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear 
 Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, 
 I'm with you once again ! I call to you 
 With all my voice ! — I hold my hands to you 
 To show they still are free. I rush to you. 
 As though I could embrace you ! 
 
 Emi {zoithout). William ! William ! 
 
 Tell. Here, Erni, here ! 
 
J. S. KNOWLES. 
 
 (Erni enters.) 
 
 M'ni. You're sure to keep the time 
 That comes before the hour. 
 
 Tell. The hour 
 Will soon be here. Oh, when will liberty 
 Be here, my Erni ? That's my thought, which still 
 I find beside. Scaling yonder peak, 
 I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow 
 O'er the abyss : — his broad-expanded wings 
 Lay calm and motionless upon the air. 
 As if he floated there without their aid. 
 By the sole act of his unlorded will, 
 That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively 
 I bent my bow ; yet kept he rounding still 
 His airy circle, as in the delight 
 Of measuring the ample range beneath. 
 And round about absorbed, he heeded not 
 The death that threatened him. — I could not shoot ! 
 'Twas liberty ! — I turned my bow aside, 
 And let him soar away ! 
 
 (Enter Verner and Furst.) 
 
 Tell. Here, friends ! — Well met ! — Do we go on ? 
 
 Verner. We do. 
 
 Tell. Then you can count upon the friends you named ? 
 
 Verner. On every man of them. 
 
 Furst. And I on mine. 
 
 Erni. Not one I sounded, but doth count his blood 
 As water in the cause ! Then fix the day 
 Before we part. 
 
 Verner. No, Erni ; rather wait 
 For some new outrage to amaze and rouse 
 The common mind, which does not brood so mucli 
 On wrongs gone by, as it doth quiver with 
 The sense of present ones. 
 
 Tell {to Verner). I wash with Erni, 
 But think wdth thee. " Yet when I ask myself 
 On whom the wrongs shall light for which we wait — 
 Whose vineyard they'll uproot — whose flocks they'll ravage- 
 Whose threshold they'll profane — whose hearth pollute — 
 Whose roof they'll fire ? — when this I ask myself, 
 And think upon the blood of pious sons, 
 The tears of venerable fathers, and 
 
 497 
 
498 DIALOGUES. 
 
 The shrieks of mothers, fluttering round their spoiled 
 And nestless young — I almost take the part 
 Of generous indignation, that doth blush 
 At such expense to wait on sober prudence. 
 
 Furst. Yet it is best. 
 
 Tell. On that we're all agreed ! 
 Who fears the issue when the day shall come ? 
 
 Verner. Not I ! 
 
 Furst. Nor I! 
 
 Erni. Nor I ! 
 
 Tell. I'm not the man 
 To mar this harmony. Nor I, no more 
 Than any of you ! You commit to me 
 The warning of the rest. Remember, then, 
 My dagger sent to any one of you, 
 As time may press, is word enough : the others 
 I'll see myself. Our course is clear — 
 When next we meet upon this theme. 
 All Switzerland shall witness what we do ! 
 
 J. S. Knowlsjl 
 
 22. THE frenchman's lesson in ENGLISH. 
 
 Frenchman. Ha, my friend ! I have met one very strange 
 word in my lesson. Vat you call h-o-u-g-h, eh ? 
 
 Tutor. Huff. 
 
 Fr. Tres bien, huflf; and snuff you spell s-n-o-u-g-h, Q'^'^.c^cC^^.t-S 
 
 Tu. Oh no, no ! snuff is spelled s-n-u-flf. In fact, words in \iy 
 ough are a little irregular. ^ A «^ 
 
 Fr. Ah, very good ! 'tis beautiful language ! H-o-u-g-h is 
 huff. I will remember ; and of course c-o-u-g-h is cuff ; I have 
 one very bad cuff, ha ? 
 
 Tu. No, that is wrong ; we say kauff, not cuff. 
 
 Fr. Kauff, eh ? Huff and Kauff, and, pardonnez moi, how 
 you call d-o-u-g-h — duff, eh ? is it duff ? 
 
 Tu. No, not duff. 
 
 Fr. Not duff! Ah, oui; I understand, it is dauff, ha? 
 
 Tu. No, d-o-u-g-h spells doe. «- 
 
 Fr. Doe ! It is very fine ! wonderful language ! it is doe ; 
 and t-o-u-g'h is toe, certainement. My beef-steak is very toe. 
 
 Tu. Oh no, no ! you should say tuff. 
 
 Fr. Tuff ? Le Satan ! and the thing the farmer uses, how you 
 
ANONYMOUS. SIIAKSPEAKE. 499 
 
 call him, p-1-o-u-g-li — plufF, is it ? Ha, you smile, I see that I 
 am wrong ; it must be plaufF. No ? Then it is ploe, like doe ? 
 It is one beautiful language ! ver' fine — ploe ! 
 
 Tu. You are still wrong, my friend ; it is plow. 
 
 Fr. Plow ! Wonderful language ! I shall understand ver' 
 soon. Plow, doe, kaufF; and one more, r-o-u-g-h — what you 
 call Gen. Taylor, Rauf and Ready ? No ? Then Row and 
 Ready ? ^ 
 
 Tu. No. R-o-u-g-h spells ruff. 
 
 Fr. RufF, ha ? Let me not forget. R-o-u-g-h is ruff, and 
 b-o-u-g-h is buff, ha ? 
 
 Tu. No; bow. 
 
 Fr. Ah, 'tis ver' simple ! wonderful language ! — but I have 
 liad vat you call e-n-o-u-g-h — ha ? vat you call him ? — he ! he \ 
 ^la J 1>^^ 5 Anonymous. 
 
 23. THE POINT OF HONOR. 
 
 From " As You Like It." 
 
 Speakers. — The Duke (with attendants), Jaques, and Touchstone. 
 
 Scene. — The Forest. 
 
 Touch, (entering, to the Duke, dx.) Salutation and greetmg 
 to you all. 
 
 Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley- 
 minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest ; he 
 hath been a courtier, he swears. 
 
 Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purga- 
 tion. I have trod a measure ; I have flattered a lady ; I have 
 been politic, have undone three tailors ; I had four quarrels, and 
 like to have fought one. 
 
 Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? 
 
 Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the 
 seventh cause. 
 
 Jaq. How seventh cause ? — Good my lord, like this fellow. 
 
 Duke. 1 like him very well. 
 
 Touch. God 'ild you, sir : I desire you of the like. I press 
 in here, sir, among the rest, to swear and to forswear, with a 
 poor damsel, sir, an ill-favored one, — a poor humor of mine, sir, 
 to take that no man else will. But rich honesty dwells like a 
 miser, sir, in a poor house, — as your pearl in a foul oyster. 
 
 Duke. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. 
 
500 DIALOGUES. 
 
 Jaq. But, for tlie seventli cause : how did you find the quar- 
 rel upon the seventh cause ? 
 
 Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed : as thus, sir, I did 
 dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard ; he sent me word, 
 if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was : 
 this is called the Retort courteous. If I sent him word again 
 it was not well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please 
 himself : thi* is called the Quip modest. If again, it was not 
 well cut, he disabled my judgment : this is called the Reply 
 churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I 
 spake not true : this is called the Reproof valiant. If again, it 
 was not well cut, he would say, I lie : this is called the Coun- 
 tercheck quarrelsome ; and so to the Lie circumstantial and the 
 Lie direct. 
 
 Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut ? 
 
 Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie circumstantial, nor 
 he durst not give me the Lie direct; and so we measured 
 swords, and parted. ' 
 
 Jaq. Can you nominate in order, now, the degrees of the 
 lie? 
 
 Touch. Oh ! sir, we quarrel in print, by the book ; as you 
 have books for good .manners. I will name you the degrees. 
 The first, the Retort courteous ; the second, the Quip modest ; 
 the third, the Reply churlish ; the fourth, the Reproof valiant ; 
 the fifth, the Countercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie with 
 circumstance ; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may 
 avoid, but the Lie direct ; and you may avoid that, too, with 
 an If. I knew when seven justices could not make up a quar- 
 rel ; but when the parties were met themselves, one of thera 
 thought but of an If, — as, " If you said so, then I said so ;" and 
 they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is the only 
 peacemaker : much virtue in an If. 
 
 Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord ? he's as good at any 
 thing, and yet a fool. 
 
 Duke. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse ; and under the 
 presentation of that he shoots his wit, 
 
 Shakspeabs. 
 
 THE END. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO:S PUBLIC ATIONS. 
 
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 " Having carefully examined Quackenbos's English Grammar, I am much plcawd 
 with it, especially with its practical character. I think it will render this dij and 
 difficult study more intelligible to the pupil, and also greatly lessen the labor of \ha 
 teacher, who, in most text-books now in use, is obliged to elucidate and illustrate to a 
 VFoarisome degree." 
 
 Confident that a thorough examination of these Grammars will»show that 
 tkey present a lucid, simple, practical, consistent, and philosophical system, 
 In a form admirably adapted for use in the scnool-room, the Publishers will 
 mail, post-paid, a specimen copy for examination on receipt of one-half the 
 retail price. All teachers, particularly such as are dissatisfied with the work 
 tibey are now using, are solicited to avail themselves of this opportunity. 
 
D. APPLETON ik CO:S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
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 FIRST LESSONS IN COMPOSITION. 12mo, 182 pages. 
 ADVANCED COURSE OF COMPOSITION AND RHETORIC. 
 460 pages. 
 
 KND0K8EMENTS FEOM PEACTICAL EDUCATORS. 
 
 12mek 
 
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 — C. S. Hallowell, Princ High 
 School, Alexandria, Va. : " We have for 
 some years been using the small work 
 on Composition by Quackenbos, and 
 have recently Introduced his United 
 States History and Ehetoric, with both 
 of which we are well pleased." 
 
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 of the "Readers": "I have for* long 
 time been using your First Lessons in 
 my school, and like the work very 
 much."— R. S. James, Princ. of High 
 School, iTorristown, O. : "-I know oj no 
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 be*t treatise that has appeared on the 
 
 IQt4«Ct" 
 
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 Quackenbos's 'First Lessons in Compo- 
 sition* admirably adapted to supply a 
 want long felt In this branch of educa- 
 tion.*'-H. H. Merrill, A.M., Princ. 
 of ^oodlettsville (Tenn.) High School, 
 pronounces It "a superior book for 
 teaching the leading principles of Eng 
 lish Grammar. It is with me an indis- 
 pensable text-book."" 
 
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 and I take pleasure in saying that J 
 know of no book on this subject so well 
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 just the thing for advanced students." 
 
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