THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
GIFT OF
COMMODORE BYRON MCCANDLESS
^^
X
^
/^^^
fi^
Jf —
THE
BOOK OF ELOQUENCE:
COLLECTION OF EXTRACTS
IN
PROSE AND VERSE,
FROM THE MOST FAMOUS ORATORS AND POETS;
INTENDED AS EXERCISES FOR DECLAMATION IN COLLEGES
AND SCHOOLS.
BY CHARLES D. WARNER.
" Suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this special
observance, that you o'crstep not the modesty of nature."— ^hakspeare.
" Quid facundia posset
Re patuit ." — Ovid, Met. Lib. xiii.
CONCORD, N. H.:
EDSON C. EASTMAN.
1877.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
CHARLES D. WARNER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Northern Dislrici of New York.
8TRB0TYPED BY THOM\S B. SMITBf
216 WILLIAM STRKKT, N. Y,
TK
TO
SIMON C. HITCHCOCK, ESQ.,
THIS WORK
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED Bl
THE EDITOR,
AS SOME LITTLE ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF KINDNESS SHOWN
THROUGH MANY YEARS.
PREFACE.
The continual call in our schools for extracts suitable for
declamation, and the difficulty of obtaining them, 1>&? induced
the editor to prepare the present work, which he hopes will
meet the demand. Of the many compilations of a similar de-
sign in print, some are utterly unfit for their intended puipose,
by reason of the too great length of the selections, and neariy
all havinof been long; in use, have become irksome to the stu-
dent ; and it has been an especial endeavor in this work to pre-
sent new and spirited extracts, and not to encumber it with
those too lengthy for practical use. With the object in view
of compiling a really valuable book for declamation, the usual
mode has been slightly departed from ; the prose being made
to outbalance the poetry, and dialogues being entirely omitted,
as the writings of the best dramatists, — and those alone can be
used with pi'ofit, — are in every one's hands, and the introduc-
tion of the usual hackneyed colloquies of school-books would
only serve to crowd out more useful matter".
Yet, in making this a new book, the editor has not permitted
hnnself to lose sight of those master-pieces of eloquence, which,
though familiar, never grow old, neither lose their interest by
lapse of years, nor grow stale by repetition, and which should
always find a j)lace in a book of this character, until the groat
names of American and of Euroj^ean story fall unheeded on the
ear, until the mention of Marathon and Bannockburn and Bun-
ker ilill fails to quicken the pulse and brighten the eye.
It has not been thought best to insert rules for declamation,
as comprehensive and approved works on elocution are accessi-
11 PREFACE
ble to every one, and the compiler of tMs volume would only
urge the absolute necessity of a constant and persevering course
of drilling and practice in declamation, if the student would at-
tain any excellence in the great art of oratory. An often cited
maxim from Horace might not untruly read,
" Poeta nascitur, orator fit,"
since it is only by untiring study that pre-eminence in elocution
can be attained ; and, to substantiate this, we have the example
of the Athenian orators, of Lord Chatham practising before
his glass the gestures and the very expression which so en-
tiauced the House of Lords, and the kno\vn fact that the most
eloquent men of our own time are dihgent students and imi-
tators of the best models. And it is grateful to observe that
the art of oratory is every day obtaining more attention, and
gradually regaining the rank and consideration it held in the
early republics.
The editor takes this opportunity to thank his personal friends
for their assistance in this undertaking, and to acknowledge the
courtesy of those gentlemen in various parts of the Union, to
whom he has had occasion to apply, and whose liberal and
efficient aid will always be remembered with pleasure and with
jn-ide.
C D. W.
CONTENTS.
♦ « »
PART I.
SELECTIONS OF PROSE.
AMERICAN ELOQUENCE.
PAOK
1. Ancient and Modern Eloquence Adams. 18
2. Duty of America Webster. 14
3. The'Ultima Tliule Everett. 15
4. Our Relation to Europe Clay. 16
5. Tlie Name of Republic Legare. 17
6. Eulogy on Andrew Jackson Bancroet. 1 8
7. Injustice toward Kossuth Webster. 19
8. Importance of Literary Pursuits Everett. 20
9. Freedom and Patriotism Dewey. 22
10. Teachings of the American Revolution Sparks. 23
11. The Present Age Channing. 25
12. State Veto Power Calhoun. 26
13. State Veto Power WebsteiJ-. 27
14. Vindication of the South Clemens. 28
15. Ties that bind the West to us Everett. 29
16. Patriotic Appeal McDowell. 31
17. California and Plymouth Rock Benton. 32
18. The Honor of War Channing. 32
19. Danger of Indian Hostilities Ames. 34
20. Nominal War Randolph. 35
21. Tlie DiBicult Step Randolph. 36
22. Death of John Q. Adams Seward. 37
23. Death of Napoleon Seward. 39
24. Who is Blannerhassett ? Wirt. 40
25. Doom of the Indians Story. 42
20. Virginia Bkdinoer. 44
27. Massachusetts Palfrey. 45
28. Tlie Constitution Wkisster. 47
29. The Peace Congress Anonymous. 48
80. Literature Perverted Anonymous, 49
IV CONTENTS.
PAGE
31. Civilization of Africa Everett. 60
32. Public Di^honL•sty .Beeuheb. 51
33. World--svifle Fame of Washington Robbins. 52
34. On the VVitlidrawal of the Army from Mexico Hannegan. 63
35. Retributive Justice .Corwin. 6-t
36. JSTo National Greatness without Morality.. Channing. 57
37. True Grandeur of Nations Sumner. 59
38. Vicissitudes of 18-19 Greelev. 60
39. Acquisition of Territory Dickinson. 60
40. Acquisition of Territory Miller. 62
41. The First American Congress Maxlt. 63
42. Liberty and Despotism Clinton. 64
43. Resistance to Oppression Maxet. 66
44. Democracy Dem. Rkview. 67
45. Obhgation of Treaties Ames. 69
46. The Preservation of the Union Webster. 70
47. No Extinction of Freedom by Force Johnson. 71
48. Disunion and War inseparable Clay. 72
49. The Expunging Resolution Clay. 73
50. Censure of Austria Cass. 75
51. Improvement of the West Harrison. 76
52. Plea for the Descendants of James Rumsey Rumsey. 77
53. The Sabl)ath rRELiNGHtTYsE>f. 78
64. Invidious Distinctions Legaue. 80
55. Eulogy on Yell Bedinger. 81
56. Genoa in her Beauty Sumner. 82
57. Best Policy in Regard to Naturalization Levin. 83
58. An Appeal for Oregon McDowell. 84
59. Always Ready but never Rash Bedinger. 85
60. Secession AVebstkr. 86
61. Peaceful Conquests Dix. 88
62. A Striking Picture ' Everett. 89
63. Power of Wealth produced by Labor Burgess. 90
64. Modern Idol Worship Sprague. 91
65. Justice to Frontiermen Peyton. 92
66. Northern Laborers Naylor. 94
67. Discussion of Webster and Hayne Johnson. 95
68. On the Platform of the Constitution Webster. 97
69. Impressment of American Seamen Clay. 98
70. The Issue Anonymous. 99
71. The Marriage broken off Benton. 100
72. America's Influence Abroad McDowell. 101
73. The Extent of the Union Houston. 102
74. Clay and Webster Gentry. 103
75. Glory of Arms Sumner. 105
76. On the Removal of Washington's Remains Clayton. 106
77. On the Revolutionary Pension Bill Davis. 107
78. The Mayflower Everett. 108
79. Philanthropy Wayland. 110
80. Indemnity to the Niagara Sufferers Williams. Ill
81. Indemnity to the Niagara Sufferers Vance. 112
82. Suppression of Piracy Barbour. 1 13
CONTENTS. V
PAGE
83. Communication with Mexico in 1825 Benton. 114
84. Liberty in South America Randolph. 116
85. Last Charge of 2fey Headi.ey. 117
86. Defense of Poets Lyon. 118
87. The Militia General and his Forces Corwin. 1 19
88. Who is Independent ? Ruett. 121
89. Condition of In-^olvejit Debtors Clay. 123
90. Remembrance of Wrongs Choate. 123
91. Military Character of General Taylor Hilliaed. 124
92. EuU)gium on South Carolina Hayne., 126
98. South Carolina and ilassachusetts Webstee. 128
94. Reply to Mr. Webster Havne. 129
95. Rejoinder to Mr. Hayue Wkbstk.r. 131
96. Final Triumph of Democracy Dem. Review. 1o3
97 Amendment to the Constitution Isaacs. 135
98. Mis-ion to Panama Webster. 136
99. Our Duty to Rcs-olutionary Soldiers Sprague. 138
100. Tne Zero Line of Valor Barton. 139
101. Effect of Steadiness of Pursuit Rubbins. 140
102. The Territories Winturop. 141
1U3. Triumph of Poetry over Arms Story. 143
104. Danger of Faction Gaston. 143
105. Evil of Duelling Bekoher. 144
106. Puritan and Sp.irtan Heroism Cuoate. 145
107. Appeal in Behalf of Greece ^.Clay. 147
108. Achievements of the Pilgrims Everett. 149
109. Duty of Lit', rary Men to America Gri.mke. 150
110. Death of Hamilton Nott. 152
111. Invective of Hungary Buell. 153
112. The Admission of California Skward. 154
113. Undivided Allegiance Sewaro. 155
114. Means of Health Man.v. 157
115. Brief Authority Bayaud. 15S
116. The Ground of Treaty Moimus. 159
117. Fourth of July, 185l' Webster. 161
118. Aspirations of the American People Hu.vter. 162
119. Eloquence Stanton. 164
120. Death of Washington Mason. 165
121. Address to South Carolina Jackson. 106
122. American History Verplanck. 167
123. Conte.-t of a I'eople for Freedom Everett. 168
1 24. Welcome to Lafayette Everett. 1 69
12.5. Right of Spanish America to Revolt Clay. 169
126. On the Recognition of La Plata Clay. 171
127. On the Judiciary Morris. 172
128. Necessity of Resistance Hknuy. 173
129. 'I'he War with Mexico Badger. 174
1 30. The Embargo (iuiNCHY. 176
131. Sorrow for (he Dead Irving. 177
1 32. Price of Liberty Giles. 1 79
133. How to gain an Honest Name Barnes. 180
134. The Poet Emerson. 181
VI CONTENTS.
PAGK
135. Injustice the Cause of National Ruin Parker. 182
136. Suppo.*ed Speech against the Declaration WEissTEa. 184
137. Supposed Speech of Adams in Keply Webster. 185
138. Society without Morahty Beecuer. 186
139. Embassy to Rome Levin. 187
140. Cessation of Hostihties Dayton. 189
141. The Puritans Whu'ple. 190
142. Tlie Demagogue Beecher. 191
143. Eulogium on John Q. Adams Holmes. 192
144. The Levelling System Beeciier. 194
145. Spirit of Liberty in 1772 Warren. 195
146. On the Boston Massacre ^arren. 190
147. Men who never Die Everett. 197
148. Literary Position of America Story. 198
149. When War shall be no more Anonymous. 199
150. A Picture of Terror Upham. 2uO
151. Stopping the March of Freedom Parker. 201
152. Invective in the " Wilkinson 'J'rial" Prentiss. 202
153. The World of Beauty around us Mann. 203
154. Danger of Vast Fortune Mann. 204
155. Influfuce of Republican Geneva on the Puritans. . . .Choate. 205
1 56. The same — continued Choate. 206
157. Secret of the Murderer Webster. 207
158. Bunker Hill Monument Webster. 208
159. Mitral Power of Public Opinion Webster. 209
160. Sacred from War , Sumner. 211
161. Plea in the Michigan Railroad Conspiracy Trial. . . .Seward. 212
162. Danger of Military Supremacy Clay. 213
163. Executive Clemency Beecher. 214
164. Death of Jefferson and Adams Everett. 215
165. Executive Power Webster. 216
166. Greatness of Napoleon Channing. 217
EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE, ANCIENT AND MODERN.
1. The Perfect Orator Sheridan. 221
2. Appeal for Queen Caroline Brougham. 222
3. Demand for Justice to Ireland O'Connell. 223
4. Defence from the Charge of Tyranny Robespierre. 223
5. Peroration in the Oration against Warren Hastings.. . .Burke. 225
6. Catiline's Address to the Conspirators Sallust. 226
7. Conciliation of Ireland Erskine. 227
8. A Free Constitution Bolingbroke. 229
9. Immortal Influence of Athens Macaulay. 230
10. Trial of Warren Hastings Macaulay. 231
11. Burns Carlyle. 232
12. Personal Vindication Mirabeau. 233
13. The Duke of Wellington Allson, 234
14. France and the Republic Berryer. 286
15. On tlie Presidential Election. . . . ^ Lamartine. 237
CONTENTS. ni
PAOE
16. The Mystfiries of Life Chateaubriand. '238
17. Tn Relation to the Impeachment of Hastings Sheridan. '2o9
IS. Genius BuLWuii. '240
19. Hope for Italy Mariotti. 241
20. Province of the Hi^^torian Sculegel. 24'2
21. Protest against Turkish Perfidy Kossuth. 243
22. Lesson to Ambition Jekfrey. 244
23. Catholic Restrictions Sydney Smith. 246
24. Plea to George IV. in Behalf of the Queen Pnii-ui'S. '247
25. In Defence of Mr. Finnerty Curran. 248
26. The Evidence of Mr. O'Brien Curran. 250
27. Cremutius Cordus's Defence of his Annals Tacitus. 251
28. Monopolies . . .• Culpeiu'er. 252
29. The Poet's Theme Talkourd. 253
So. On the Prospect of an Invasion Hall. 254
31. Universality of Conscience Chalmers. 255
32. On Parliamentary Reform Fox. 256
33. Character of Justice Sukridan. 257
84. Tlie Hour of Destiny Dublin Nation. 258
35. The same — continued Dublin Nation. 260
36. Vindication from Treason McManus. 262
37. Vindication fiom Treason Meagher. 262
38. Influence of the Dutch Boyton. 265
39. Speech of Galgacus to the Caledcinians. Tatitus. 266
40. Speech of Agiicola to his Army in Britain Tacitus. 268
41. Invective against ^schines Demosthenes. 269
42. Religious Liberty Sydney Smith. 270
43. Securities from Catholic Ireland Phillips. 271
44. Blessings of Education Phillips. 272
45. Wrongs of Ireland Grattan. 274
46. On the Funeral of Henrietta Bossuet. 274
47. Trial of the Church Gilfillan. 275
48. Duty in Time of War CuALMiiRs. 277
49. On the Conspiracy of Catiline 7 Cickro. 278
50. A Defence from Impeacliinent Marat. 279
51. Liberty in the Revolution of 1830 St. Chamans. 280
52. The True Conqtierors BRoU(iiiAM. 282
53. Aljolition of die Slave 'IVade Wilbicrforce. 283
54. Futility of Ertbrts to stay Reform Sydney Smith. 2.S4
55. Plea of Sergeant Buzftiz in Bardell v. Pickwick Dickens. 285
56. The same — continued Dickens. 287
57. Death of Fox Shicridan. 289
58. On the Reformation in England Milton. 290
59. Attack of Antw.Tp Windham. 291
t)i). What is till- French Revolution ? Lamariine. 292
61. 'I'rue Use of Wealth Alison. 293
62. Yielding to PuV>lic Opinion Alison. 294
63. Decline of tlie Celtic Race Michklet. 295
64. Disregard of the Past Talfouhd. 297
65. On the Law of Cop) right Talfourd. 298
66. Hamlefs Address to the Players Shakspeark. 299
67. True Position of Napoleon Carmenin. 299
VIU CONTENTS.
68. Qualifications for Soldiers Stdney Smith. 301
CO. Grioviuioes of the Englis-h Government Mackintosh. 302
'70. Duty of Eni^rland to Italy M.ukinto.sh. S03
71. Defence of tlie Poet Archias Cicero. S04
1± Speech of Shrewsbury before Queen Elizabeth Schiller. 306
73. Mr. Fox and the East India Bill Burke. S07
1i. Detached Empire Burke. 308
1o. Taxation of America Burke. 308
76. The Return of Peace Jeffrey. 309
77. Glory of Holland and Ireland Boyto.v. 310
78. Apparitions Carlyle. 313
79. The Landed Interest D'Israell 313
80. Vindication from Dishonor Emmett. 315
81. Removal of the Troops from Boston Chatham. 316
82. " You cannot Conquer America" Chatham. 317
83. Days of Desolation Alison. 318
81. Indulgencies to the Catholics Sydney Smith. 319
85. Safety only in the Republic LamartIne. 320
86. Attachment of a People to their Religion Sy'dney Smith. 321
87. Speech of Icilius to the Romans Alkieri. 322
88. Visions of Joan of Arc and Bi.shop Beauvais De Quincey. 321-5
89. The same — continued De Quincey. 32 1
PART II.
SELECTIONS OF POETEY.
1. Seaweed Longfellow. 329
2. The Winds Bryant. 330
3. The Steamboat Holmes. 331
4. Deatii of Osceola Street. 333
5. Rhyme of the Rail Saxe. 334
6. Lord of Belmont Tower Praed. 336
7. Song of the War McMaster. 337
8. Press On Willis. 339
9. Alnwick Castle Halleck. 340
10. Quin and Foote Anonymous. 341
1 1. The Quality of Mercy Shaksieare. 342
12. From Henry V Shakspeare. 342
13. Sleep Shakspeare. 343
14. Soliloquy of Macbeth Shakspeare. 344
15. Venice and America Byron. 344
16. The Dying Gladiator Byron. 346
17. Lvcidas — A Monody Mit.ton. 347
le. The Hour of Death Hemans 347
CONTENTS. IX
PAGE
19. The Loved Dead Hkmans. 349
20. The Cloud Shelley, 349
21. Mary's Ghost Hood. 350
22. Battle of Beal' an' Duine Slott. 3J>2
23. Battle of the Baltic Campbell. 353
24. Address to au Egyptian Mummy Horace Smith. 355
25. The Press Elliott. 356
26. Tlie Height of the Ridiculous Holmes. 357
27. Horatius Macaulay. 358
28. Joan of Arc Sterling. 359
29. Napoleon's Return Browning. 360
30. The Beleaguered City Longfellow. 3(52
31. Antony's Speech over Caesar's Body Shakspeare. 364
32. The same — continued Shakspeare. 365
S3. Union Anonymous. 366
34. Tiie Banner of Murat VVetmore. 367
35. The Pri-^oner for Debt Whittieu. 368
36. A Death Bed Aldrich. 370
37. Thanatopsis Bryant. 372
38. Marmiou's Departure Scott. 373
39. " To Arras '.. '. Benjamin. 373
40. A Hundred Years Ago Anonymous. 374
41. The Cold Water Man Saxe. 375
42. A Sea Fog Crabbe. 377
43. Funeral of Charles I Bowles. 377
44. The Four Eras Rogers. 378
45. Seminole's Reply Patten. 379
46. The Rising of the North Procter. 3SU
47. The Soldier's Tear Bayley. 3sl
48. Leonidas Ckoly'. 382
49. Byron Pollok. 383
50. The Drowned Mariner E. Oakes Smith. 384
51. Tne Peri's Boon Moore. 3S5
62. Tlie Bards Read. 386
53. Death of Oriska Sigourney. 388
54. Little Kindnesses Talfourd. 389
55. Annie Clayville Cary. 390
56. The Spirit of my Song Fuller. 391
57. Pocahontas Morris. 392
58. A Solemn Conceit Motherwell. 392
69. The Departed Benjamin. 394
60. St-venty-six Bryant. 395
61. The Hurricane Bryant. 396
62. D.Mth of Harrison Willis. 397
68. The Happiest Land Longfellow. 398
64. Hymn of the Moravian Nuns Longfellow. 399
6.5. Thf UiMJ Fisherman Puaed. 4(iO
66. Shy lock to Antonio Shakspeare. 401
67. Speech of Robespierre Coleridge. 402
68. Morning Meditations Hood. 403
69. Crystal Fountain Anonymou.s. 404
10. Song of Steam Cutter. 406
1*
X CONTENTS.
PAOK
71. Storming of Monterey Hoffman. 407
72. Angels of Buena Vista Whittier. 408
73. Entry of the Austriaus into Naples Moore. 411
74. Forgive and Forget Tupper. 412
75. Robert Burns Montgomery. 413
76. Old Ironsides Holmes. 415
77. The Last Leaf Holmes. 415
78. The English Tongue Saxe. 417
79. Munody on Sam Patch Sands. 418
80. The War Cross Scott. 419
81. Soliloquy of Richard HI Shak^peare. 420
82. Mathew Lee Dana. 421
83. The Seven Ages Shakspeare. 422
84. Ambition Willis. 423
85. The Contrast Street. 424
86. The Pilgrim's Funeral Bryant. 425
87. March Coxe. 427
88. Last Days of Autumn Percival. 428
89. Music of the Night Neal. 429
90. My Mother's Grave Prentice. 430
91. " Passing Away" , Pierpont. 431
92. Shakspeare Ode Sprague. 433
93. The Ivy and the Vine Bailey. 435
94. The De: tri^ction of the Universe Bailey. 435
95. Mazeppa Byron. 436
96. Universality of Poetry Percivat.. 438
97. Greece Byron 438
98. Fame Byron. 439
99. Faithless Nelly Gray Hood. 440
100. The Hat Regained Rejected Addresses. 441
101. Capture of the Alhambra Anonymous. 442
102. The Seer Whittier. 443
103. Evening Paulding. 444
104. Manfred's Soliloquy Byron. 446
105. Moonlight March Heber. 447
106. The Guerilla Brainard. 447
107. I Remember, I Remember Hood. 448
108. Earth's Angels Anonymous. 449
109. Address to Spain Byron.
4^1
PART I.
SELECTIONS OF PRO^E
THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
8-EiECTIONS FROM AMERICAN ELOQUENCE.
I— ANCIENT AND MODERN ELOQUENCE.
J. Q. ADAMS.
With the dissolution of Koman liberty, and the decline of
Roman taste, the reputation and excellency of the oratorical
art fell alike into decay. Under the despotism of the Gsesars,
the end of eloquence was perverted from persuasion to pane-
gyric, and all her faculties were soon palsied by the touch ot
corruption, or enervated by the impotence of servitude. There
Bucceeded the midnight of the monkish ages, when with the
other liberal arts, she slumbered in the protouud darkness ot
the cloister. , ^ ^, .
At the revival of letters in modern Europe, Eloquence to-
gether with her sister muses, awoki, and shook the poppies
from her brow. But their torpors still tingled in her veins.
In the interval her voice was gone ; her favorite languages
were extinct ; her organs were no longer attuned to harmmiy,
and her hearers could no longer understand her speech. Ihe
discordant jargon of feudal anarchy had banished the musical
dialects, in which she had always delighted. The theatres
of her former triumph were either deserted, or they were
filled with the dabblers of sophistry and chicane. She shrunk
intuitively from the former, for the last object she remember-
ed to have seen there w^as the head of her darhng Cicero
T)l:uited upon the rostrum. She ascended the tribunals ot
justice- there she Ibuud her child, Persuasion, manacled and
pinioned by the letter of the law ; there she beheld an image
of herself, slai.nnering in barbarous Latin, and staggering
under the lumber of a thousand volumes. Her heart lamted
within her. !Sho lost all coulideuce in hersell. Togethei
^^ TUE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
with all her irresistible powers, she lost proportionablv the
consideration of the world, until, instead of comprising the
whole system of public education, she found herself excluded
Irom the circle of science, and declared an outlaw from the
realms oi learnincr.
She was not however doomed to eternal silence With
the progress of freedom and of liberal science, in various
parts of modern Europe, she obtained access to mingle in the
deliberations of her parliaments. With labor and difficulty
she learned their languages, and lent her aid in giving them
foi-m and polish. But she has never recovered the graces of
her lormer beauty, nor the energies of her ancient victor
II.— DUTY OF AMERICA.
DANIEL 'WEBSTEE.
Neither individuals nor nations can perform their part
well, until they understand and feel its importance, and com-
prehend and justly appreciate all the duties belongino- to it
It IS not to inflate national vanity, nor to swell a light and
empty feeling oi self-importance, but it is that we may jud-e
justly of our situation, and of our duties, that I earnestly
urge this consideration of our position, and our character
among the nations of the earth. It cannot be denied, but by
those who would dispute against the sun, that with America,
and in America, a new era commences in human aflliirs
ihis era is distinguished by free representative governments
by entire religious hberty, by improved systems of national
intercourse, by a newly awakened, and unconquerable spirit
ot free inquiry, and by a diffusion of knowledge throucrh the
community, such as has been before altogether unknown and
unheard of. America, America, our country, our own dear and
native land, is inseparably connected, fast bound up, in fbrtune
and by fate, with these great interests. If they fall, we fall
with them; if they stand, it will be because we have up-
holden them. Let us contem[)late, then, this connectidn, which
binds the prosperity of others to our own ; and let us man-
luUy discharge all the duties which it imposes. If we cher-
ish the virtues and the principles of our fkthers, Heaven will
assist us to carry on the work of human liberty and human
THK ULTIMA THULE, 15
happiness Auspicious omens cheer us. Great examples
are belbre us. Our own firmament now shines brightly upon
our path. Washington is in the clear upper sky. There
other stars have now joined the American constellation ; they
circle round their centre, and the heavens beam with new
light. Beneath this illumination, let us walk the course of
life, and at its close devoutly commend our beloved country,
the common parent of us all, to the Divine Benignity.
III.— THE ULTIMA THULE.
EDWARD EVERKTT.
When we engage in that solemn study, the history of our
race ; surveying the progress of man, from his cradle in tlie
East to these limits of his wanderings ; when we behold him
forever flying M'estward from civil and religious thraldom,
over mountains and seas, seeking rest and finding none, but
still pursuing the ilying bow of promise to the glittering hills
which it spans in Hesperian climes ; we cannot but exclaim,
with Bishop Berkeley, the generous prelate, who bestowed
his benefactions, as well as blessings, on our country, —
'* Westward the course of empire takes its way ;
The first four acts already past,
A fifth ^hall close tlie drama with the day ;
Time's noblest offspring is the last."
This exclamation is but the embodiment of a vision, which
the ancients, from the earliest period, cherished of .some fa-
vored land beyond the mountains and the seas ; a land of
equal laws and happy men. The primitive poets placed it in
the Islands of the Blest ; the Doric bards diiidy beheld it in
the Hyperborean region ; the mystical sage of the Academy
found it in his lost Atlantis ; and even the stem spirit of
Seneca dreamed of the restoration of the golden age in dis-
tant worhls, hereafter to be discovered. Can we look back
upon these uninspired predictions, and not feel the weight of
obligations w'iicli they imply ? Here must these bright iiin-
cies be turned into truth ; here must these high visions be
realized, in wliich tlie seers and sages of the elder world took
refuge from the calamities of the days in which they lived.
16 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
There are no more continents to be revealed ; Atlantis hath
arisen from the ocean ; the farthest thule is reached ; there
are no more retreats beyond the sea, no more discoveries, no
more hopes.
IV._OUR RELATION TO EUROPE.
HENRT CLAT.
Sir, gentlemen appear to me to forget that they stand on
American soil ; that they are not in the British House of
Commons, but in the Chamber of the House of Represeiita-
tives of the United States ; that we have nothing to do with
the afl'airs of Europe, the partition of territory and sovereignty
there, except so far as these things affect tlie interests of our
own country. Gentlemen transform themselves into the
Eurkes, Chathams, and Pitts, of another country, and forget-
ting, from honest zeal, the interests of America, engage with
European sensibility in the discussion of European interests.
If the gentlemen ask me whether I do not view with regret
and horror the concentration of such vast power in the hanos
of Bonaparte, I reply that I do ; I regret to see the Emperor
of China holding such immense sway over the fortunes of
millions of our species ; I regret to see Great Britain possess-
ing so uncontrolled a command over all the waters of our
globe. If I had the ability to distribute among the nations
of Europe, their several portions of sovereignty and power, I
would say, that Holland should be reinstated, and given the
weight she enjoyed in the days of her De Witts. I would
confine France within her natural boundaries, the Alps,
Pyrenees, and the Rhine, and make her a secondary naval
power only. I would abridge the British maritime power,
raise Prussia and Austria to their original conditions, and
preserve the integrity of the empire of Russia. But these
are speculations. I look at the political transactions of
Europe, with the single exception of their possible bearing upon
us, as I do at the history of other countries, or other times. I do
not survey them with half the interest that I do the move-
ments in South America. Our political relation with them
is much less important than it is supposed to be. I have no
fears of French or English subjugation. If we are united wo
THE NAME OF REPUBLIC. 17
are too powerful for the mightiest nation in Europe, or all
Europe combined. If we are separated and torn asunder, we
shall become an easy prey to the weakest of them. In the
hitter dreadful contingency, our country will not be worth
preserving.
v.— THE NAME OF REPUBLIC.
HUGH S. LEG.iKB.
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, sublime in genius, and
elegant and bripiaut in the cultivation of arts and letters.
Wliat land has ever been visited with the influence of liberty,
that did not flourish like the spring ? What people has ever
worsliipped at her altars without kindling with a loftier
spirit, and putting forth more noble energies ? Where has
slie ever acted that her deeds have not been heroic ? Where
has she CA^er spoken, that her eloquence has not been trium-
phant and sublime ?
Is it f/othing then to he free ? How many nations, in the
whole annals of human kind, have proved themselves worthy
of being so ? Is it nothing that we are Republicans ? Were
all men as enlightened, as brave, as ]jroi{d as they ought to
be, would they sufl'er themselves to be insulted with any otlier
title ? Is it nothing that so many independent sovereignties
sliould 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
naich 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 imrnen.se than the empire of the Ctesars, in the accumu-
lated conquests of a tliuusand years — without prasfects, or
proconsuls, or publicans — founded in the maxims of common
sense — erii])lf)ying williin itself no arms but those of reason —
and kncnvn to its suhjeds only hy the bh-ssings it bestows or
perpoluates, yet capable of direcLuig, against a foreign ioe,
18 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
all the energies of a military despotism — a Republic in which
men are completely iusiguilicant, and ^wi/^ciyj/c6' and laias
exercise, throughout its vast dominion, a peacei'ul and irresist-
ible sway, blending in one divine harmony, such various
habits and conflicting opinions ; and mingling in our institu-
tions the light of philosophy, with all that is dazzling in the
associations of heroic achievement and extended domination,
and deep-seated and formidable power I
YL— EULOGIUM ON ANDREW JACKSON.
GEORGE BANCROFT.
No man in private life so possessed the hearts of all around
him — no public man of this century, ever returned to jn'ivate
lii'e with such an abiding mastery over the aliections of tlio
people. No man with truer instinct received American
ideas — no man expressed them so completely, or so boldly
or so sincerely. He was as sincere a man as ever lived. He
was wholly, always, and altogether sincere and true, tip to
the last, he dared to do anything that it was right to do.
He united personal courage and moral courage beyond any
man of whom history keeps the record. Beli)re the nation,
before the world, before coming ages, he stands forth tlie
representative, for his generation, of the American mind.
And the secret of his greatness is this : by intuitive con-
ception, he shared and possessed all the creative ideas of his
country and his time. He expressed them with daimtless
intrepidity ; he enforced them with an immovable will ; he
executed them with an electric power, that attracte'd and
swayed the American people. The nation, in his time, had
not one great thought, of which he was not the boldest and
clearest expositor.
History does not describe the man that equalled him in
firmness of nerve. Not danger, not an army in' battle array,
not wounds, not wide-spread clamor, not age, not the anguish
of disease, could impair, in the least degree, the vigor of his
steadfast mind. The heroes of antiquity, would have con-
templated with awe the unmatched hardihood of his charac-
ter ; and Napoleon, had he possessed his disinterested will,
«ould never have been vanquished. Andrew Jackson never
INJUSTICE TOWARD KOSSUI'II. 10
was vanqiushed. He was always fortunate. He conquered
the wilderness ; he conquered the savage ; he conquered the
bravest veterans trained in the battle-fields of" Europe ; he
conquered everywhere in statesmanship ; and, when death
came to get the mastery over him, he turned that last enemy
aside as tranquilly as he had done the feeblest of his adver-
saries, and escaped from earth in the triumphant consciousness
ot immortality.
His bodv has its fit resting-place in the great central val-
ley of the Mississippi ; his spirit rests upon our whole territo-
ry ; it hovers over the vales of Oregon, and guards, in ad-
vance, the frontier of Del Norte. The fires of party spirit are
quenched at his grave. His faults and frailties have perished.
Whatever of good he has done, lives, and will live forever.
VII.— INJUSTICE TOWARD KOSSUTH.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
The Emperor of Russia demands of Turkey that the noble
Kossuth and his companions shall be given up. This demand
is made in derision of the established law of nations. Gen-
tlemen, there is something on earth greater than arbitrary or
despotic power. Tlie lightning has its power, and the wiiirl-
wind has its power, and the earthquake has its poAver. But
there is something among men more capable of shaking des-
potic power tlian lightning, whirlwind, or eartliquake, — that
is the threatened indignation of the whole civilized world.
The Emperor of Russia holds himself to be bound by the
law of nations, from the fact that he treats with nations —
that he forms alliances — he professes in fact to live in a civil-
ized age, and to govern an enlightened nation. I say, that if,
under these circumstances, he shall perpetrate so great a vi-
olation of natural law, as to seize these Hungarians, and to
execute them, he will stand as a criminal anc) malefactor in
the view of the law. The whole world will be the tribuniil
to try him, and he mu.st appear belbre it, and hohl up his
hand, and plead, and abide its judgment. The Etnperor of
Russia is the su])reme lawgiver in his own country, and for
aught I know, the executor of it also. But, tlianks be to
God, he is not the supreme lawgiver or executor ofthenational
20 THE BOOK OF ELOQCEXCE.
law, and every ofTence against that is an offence against
the rights of the civihzed world ; and if he breaks that law
in the case of Turkey, or in any other case, the whole world
has a right to call him out and demand liis punishment Our
rights as a nation are held under the sanction of national
law — a law which becomes more important from day to day —
a law which none who profess to agree to, are at Jibert)- to
violate. Nor let him imagine, nor let any one imagine, that
mere force can subdue the general sentiment of mankind. It
is much more hkely to extend that sentiment, and to destroy
that power which he most desires to establish and secure.
The bones of poor John Wickliffe were dug out of his grave
seventy years after his death, and burnt, for his heresj', and
his ashes were thrown upon a river in Warwickshire. Some
prophet of that day said :
" The AvoD to the Severn mns.
The Severn to the sea.
And Wickliife's dust shall spread abroad
Wide as the waters be."'
Gentlemen, if the blood of Kossuth is taken by an absolute,
unqualified, unjustifiable violation of national law, what will
it appease — what "will it pacify ? It will mingle with the
earth — ^it will mix with the waters of the ocean — the whole
civilized world will snuff it in the air, and it will return with
awful retribution on the heads of those Anolatois of national
law and imiversal justice. I cannot say when, or in what
form : but depend upon it, that if such an act take place, the
thrones and principalities and powers must look out for the
consequences.
VnL— BIPOETAXCE OF LITERARY PURSUITS.
A. H. EVEBETT.
IxDEPEXDENCE and liberty, the great political objects of all
communities, have been secured to us by our glorious ances-
tors. In these respects, we are only required to preserve and
transmit unimpaired to our posterity- the inheritance which our
fathers bequeathed to us. To the present, and to the follow-
ing generations, is left the easier task of enriching with arts
IMPORTAXCE OF LITKRABT PURSnTS. 21
and letters, the proud fabric of our national glory. Our Sparta
is indeed a noble one. Let us then do our best for it.
It will belong to your position to take the lead in arts and
letters, as in policy, and to give the tone to the literature of
the language. Let it be your care and study not to show
yourselves unequal to this high calling, — to vindicate the
honor of the new world in this generous and friendly compe-
tition with the old. You w^ill perhaps be told that literary
pursuits will disqualify you for the active business of life.
Heed not the idle assertion. Reject it as a mere imagination,
inconsistent with principle, unsupported by experience. Point
out to those who make it, the illustrious characters who have
reaped iu every age the highest honors of studious and active
exertion. Show them Demosthenes, forging by the light of
the midnight lamp those thunderbolts of eloquence which
" Shook the arsenal and fnlmined over Greece —
To Macedon aDd Artaxerxes' throna"
Ask them if Cicero would have been hailed w"ith rapture as
the father of his country, if he had not been its pride and pat-
tern in philosophy and letters. Inquire whether Caesar, or
Frederick, or Bonaparte, or Wellington, or Washington, fought
the worse because they knew how to write their own com-
mentaries. Remind them of Franklin, tearing at the same
time the lightning from heaven, and the sceptre from the
hands of the oppressor. Do they say to you that study will
lead j'ou to skepticism ? Recall to their memory the venerable
names of Bacon, ililtou, Xewton and Locke. Would they
persuade you that devotion to learning will withdraw your
steps from the paths of pleasure ? Tell them they are mis-
taken. Tell them that the only true pleasures are those
which result from the diligent exercise of all the faculties of
body, and mind, and heart, in pursuit of noble ends by noble
means. Repeat to them the ancient apologue of the youthful
Hercules, in the pride of strength and beaut}', giving up his
generous soul to the worship of virtue. Tell them your choice
is also ma^e. Tell them, with the illustrious Roman orator,
you would rather be in the wrong with Plato, than in the right
with Epicurus. Tell them that a mother in Sparta would
have rather seen her son brought home from battle a corpse
upon his shield, than dishonored by its loss. Tell them that
your mother is America. y«'ur battle the warfare of life, youi
shield the breastplate of Religion.
22 THE COOK OF ELOQUENCE.
IX.— FREEDOM AND PATRIOTISM.
ORVILLE DE-WET.
G OD has stamped upon our very humauity this impress of
freedom. It is the unchartered prerogative of human nature.
A soul ceases to be a soul, in proportion as it ceases to be I'ree.
, Strip it of this, and you strip it of one of its essential and char-
acteristic attributes. It is this that draws the footsteps of the
wild Indian to his wide and boimdless desert-paths, and makes
him prefer them to the gay saloons and soft carpets of sump-
tuous palaces. It is this that makes it so ditficult to bring
him within the pale of artificial civilization. Our roving
tribes are perishing — a sad and solemn sacrifice upon the altar
of their wild freedom. They come among us, and look with
childish wonder upon the perfection of our arts, and the splen-
dor of our habitations : they submit with ennui and weariness,
for a few days, to our burdensome forms and restraints ; and
then turn their faces to their forest homes, and resolve to push
those homes onward till they s'.nk in the Pacific waves, rather
tluin not be free.
It is thus that every people is attached to its country, just
in proportion as it is free. No matter if that country be in
the rocky fastnesses of Switzerland, amidst the snows of Tar-
tary, or on the most barren and lonely island-shore ; no mat-
ter if that country be so poor as to force away its children to
other and richer lands, for employment and sustenance ; yet
when the son^s of those free homes chance to fall upon the
exile's ear, no soft and ravishing airs that wait upon the
timid feastings of Asiatic opulence ever thrilled the heart
with such mingled rapture and- agony as those simple tones.
Sad mementos might they be of poverty and want and toil ;
yet it was enough that they were mementos of happy free-
dom.
I have seen my countrymen, and I have been with them a
fellow wanderer, in other lands ; and little did I see or feel to
warrant the apprehension, sometimes expressed, that foreign
travel would weaken our patriotic attachments. One sigh
for home — home, arose from all hearts. And why, from
palaces and courts — why, from galleries of the arts, where
the marble softens into life, and painting sheds an almost
living presence of beauty around it — why, from the moun-
tain's awful brow, and the lonely valleys and lakes touched
TEACHINGS OF THE AMERICAN KEVOLUTIOX. 23
With the sunset hues of old romance — why, irom those vene-
rable aind touching ruins to which our very heart grows — ■
why, from all these scenes, were they looking heyond the
swellings of the Atlantic wave, to a dearer and holier spot
of earth — their own, own country? Doubtless, it was in part
because it is their country I But it was also, as every one's
experience will testify, because they knew that iJicre was no
oppression, no piliful exaction of petty tyranny ; because
that there, they knew was no accredited and irresistible reli-
gious domination ; because that there, they knew, ihey should
not meet the odious soldier at every corner, nor swarms of
imploring beggars, the victims oi" misrule ; that tJicre, no
curse causeless did fall, and no blight, worse than plague and
pestilence, did dc-scend amidst the pui-e dews of heaven ; be-
cause, in fine, that there, they know, was libt-rly — upon all
the green hills, and amidst all the peaceful villages — liberty,
the wall of lire around the humblest home ; the crown of
glory, studded with her ever-blazing stars upon the proudest
luansion !
X.— TEACHINGS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.
JAUKD SPAllKS.
Happy was it for America, happy for the world, tliat a
great nauu', a guanlian genius, pivsuied over lier destinies in
war, combining more llian the virtues ol' the Ixoinan f'.ibiiis
and the Tlieban Epamiiiondas, and compared with wlioin,
the conquerors of the world, the Alexanders and (Jiesars, are
but pageants crimsoned with blood and decked with the
trophies of slaughter, objects equally of the wonder and the
execration of mankind. The hero of America was the con-
queror only of his country's foes, and the hearts of bis conn-
tryinen. To the one he was a terror, and in the other he
gained an ascendency, supreme, unrivalled, the tribute of
admiring gratitude, the reward of a nation's love.
The American armies, compared with the embattled
legions of the old world, were small in numbers, but the soul
ol a whule people centred in the bosom of those more than
Spartan bands, and vibrated quickly and keenly with every
incident that belell them, whether in their leats of valor, or
the acuteuess of tlieir sullering.s. The cuuutry itself was one
24 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
wide battle-field, in which not merely the life-blood, but the
dearest interests, the sustaining hopes, of" every individual,
were at stake. It was not a war of pride and ambition be-
tween raonarchs. in which an island or a province miafht be
tlie award of success ; it was a contest for personal liberty
and civil rights, coming down in its principles to the very
sanctuary of home and the fireside, and determining for
every man the measure of responsibility he should hold over
his own condition, possessions and happiness. The spectacle
was grand and new, and may well be cited as the most
glowing page in the annals of progressive man.
Theinstructive lesson of history, teaching by example, can
nowhere be studied with more profit, or with a better
promise, than in this revolutionary period of America ; and
especially by us, who sit under the tree our fltthers 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, that would loosen
one stone in the basis of this fair structure, or mar its beauty ;
the tongue mute, that would dishonor their names, by calcu-
latin;; 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 tyr-
anny 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 is our safety and our hope ; the spirit of our fathers ;
and while this dwells deeply in our remembrance, and its
flame is cherished, ever burnmg. ever pure, on the altar of
our hearts ; while it incites us to think as they have thought,
and do as Lhey have done, the honor and the praise will be
ours, to have preserved unimpaired the rich inheritance,
whicii they so nobly achieved.
THE TKESENT AGE. 26
XL— THE PRESENT AGE.
W. E. CHANNINO.
The Present Ajje. In these brief words what a world of
t]iou<rht is comprehended I what infinite movements ! what
joys and sorrows I what hope and despair ! wliat iaith and
dniibt I what silent g;rief and loud lament I what fierce con-
liicts and subtle schemes of policy I what private and public
levolulions I In the period throuofh which many of us have
passed, what thrones have been shaken I what hearts have
bled I what millions have been butchered by their fellow-
creatures I what hopes of philanthropy have been blighted I
and at the same time what magnificent enterprises have been
achieved 1 what new provinces won to science and art I what
ri<;hTs and liberties secured to nations ! It is a privilege to
have lived in an age so stirring, so pregnant, so eventl'nl. It
IS an age never to be forgotten. Its voice of warning and
encouragement is never to die. Its impression on history is
.'ndeiible. Amidst its events, the American Revolution, the
lifgt distinct, solemn assertion of the rights of men, and the
French Revolution, that volcanic force which shook the earth
to lis centre, are never to pass from men's minds. Over tliis
age the night will, indeed, gather more and more as time
lolls away ; but in that night two forms will appear. Wash-
ing-ton and Napoleon, the one a lurid meteor, the other a
benign, serene, and undecaying star. Another American name
will live in history, your Franklin ; and the kite which
bri)iight lightning from heaven, will be seen sailing in the
clouds by remote posterity, when the city where he dwelt
may be known only by its ruins. There is, however, some-
thing greater in the age than its greatest men ; it is the ap-
jicaraiicc of a new power in the world, the appearance of the
multitude of men on the stage where as yet the few have
acted their parts alone. This influence is to endure to the
end of time. What more of the present is to survive ? Per-
haps much, of which we now take no note. The glory of an
age is often hidden from itself Perhaps some word has been
6j)okeri in our day which we have not deigned to hear, but
which is to grow clearer and louder through all ages. Per-
haps some silent thinker among us is at work in his closet
whose u-dina is to fill the earth. Perhaps there sleeps in his
cradle s me rcibruier who is to move tlie church, and the
26 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
world, who is to open a new era in history, who is to fire tha
human soul with new hope and new daring. What else is to
survive the age ? That which the age has little thought of,
but which is living in us all ; I mean the soul, the immortal
spirit — of this all ages are the uutoldiugs, and it is greater
than all. We must not Jeel, in the contemplation of the
vast movements in our own and i<)rmer times, as if we our-
selves were nothing. 1 repeat it, we are greater than all.
We are to survive our age, to comprehend it, and to pro-
nounce its sentence.
XIL— STATK VETO POWER.
JOHN C. CALHOUN.
I AM not surprised that, with the idea of a perfect govern-
ment which the Senator from Massachusetts has formed — a
government of an absolute majority, unchecked and unre-
strained, operating through a representative body — that he is
so much shocked with what he is pleased to call the absurdity
of State veto. But let me tell him, that his scheme of a
perfect government, beautiful as he conceives it to be, though
often tried, has invariably iailed, and has alwuys ran, when-
ever tried, through the same uniform process of faction,
corruption, anarchy, and despotism He considers the repre-
sentative principle as the great modern improvement in
legislation, and of itself sufficient to secure liberty. I caunol
regard it in the light in which he does. Instead of modern,
it is of remote origin, and has existed in greater or les.s per-
fection, in every free state, from the remotest antiquity Nor
do I consider it as of itself sufficient to secure liberty, though
I regard it as one of the indispensable means — the means of
securing the people against the tyranny and oppression of
their rulers. To secure liberty, another means is still neces-
sary — the means of securing the difl'erent portions of society,
against the injustice and oppression of each othtr, which
can only be elTected by veto, interposition, or nullification, or
by whatever name the restraining or negative power of
Government may be called.
The Senator seems to be enamored with his conception of
a consolidated government, and avows himself to be prepared,
STATE VETO TOWER. 27
seekiujr no lead, to rush in its defence to tlie front rank,
"where the hlows lall heaviest and thickest. I admire his
{ralhuitry and courajre ; hut I will tell him that he will find
in the o|tj)osite ranks, niider the tiajr of liberty, sjiirits as jral-
lant as his own ; and that experience will teach him, that it
is infinitely easier to carry on a war of ietrislative exaction,
hy hills and enactments, than to extort hy sword and bayonet
irom the brave and the free.
We are told, in order to juslify the passaj2;e of this fatal
measure, tliat it was necessary to present the olive hranch
with one hand, and the sword with the other. We scorn the
alternative. You have no rijrht to present the sword ; the
Constitution never put the instrument in your hands to he
em|il()ved a<rainst a iState ; and as to the olive hrancli,
whether we receive it or not, will not dejiend on your
menace, hut on our own estitnation ot what is due 1o ourselves
and the rest of the comnninitv, in reference to the dillicnlt
subject on which we have taken issue.
XIII.— STATE VETO POWER.
DANIEL WKBSTER.
T CANNOT recognize any rijrht in a State to arrest atid repeal
llie le<rislation of Conjrress. T could not forjret the pa.sl, nor
sliut my eves to the fact that the present aiarmin<r extent and
tlireateninnf form of a resistance and defiance, have been
consequent u})on the tolerated practical imllificatiou of the
State oi' t^eoriria. The •.'entleman from S(.utli Carolina, lias
a.-sun'd us that such is tlie lact ; attempts have been vainly
rniide tei find a distinction between the two. In jninciide
tliey are identical. I reifret that the fjentleman from ( !eor<.>ia,
in his endeavor to render his defence of the one, consistent
with the condemnation of the other, has deemed it necessary
to assail the Supreme Court of the United States — to pro-
nounce tfie reasoninjr and arirunn'iit of one of its most impor-
tant decisions to be unwurlhy the lowest connty court in any
of the States I 1 can assure the frentleman tli;i1 the coiiiilry
re<rards it far otherwise, and that the mo.st vi^romus and
gifted minds (Imu il no'- <il thr most jinwcii'ul jHCHbicI ums ol
the wonderfnl intellccl of the revered chief of that auirnst
28 THE DOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
tribunal. Tf, in the inscrutable ways of Providence, our
institutions are destined to be subverted, and left in ruins by
the convulsions of revolution, that decision and other kindred
constitutional opinions from the same mind, will remain to
after generations, splendid and enduring monuments of intel-
lectual and moral greatness, and, like the broken columns and
classic remains of Athens and Palmyra, be the wonder and
admiration of successive ages. The time has arrived when
the progress of nullification must be arrested, or the hopes ot
permanent union surrendered. The gentleman assures us
that his theory would make this government a beautiful
system I Beautiful as would be the proud and polished
pillars which surround us, if resolved into their original rude
and paltry pebbles ; beautiful as the dashed mirror, A-om
vhose fragments are reflected twenty-four pigmy portraits,
instead of one gigantic and noble original I The triumph of
.hat doctrine dissolves the unioii. It must be so regarded by
foreign nations ; it is almost so even now. Already have the
exuliations of the oppres.sor, and the laments of the pliilan-
t':.ropist, been heard beyond the Atlantic They have looked
with fear and hope, with wonder and delight, upon the
brilliant and beautiful constellation in our western hemi-
sphere, moving in majestic harmony, irradiating the earth
with its mild and benignant beams. iShall these stars now
be severed and scattered, and rushing from their orbits
through the troubled air, singly and feebly sink into clouds
of murky blackness, leaving the world in rayless night ?
Shall the flag of our common country, the ensign of our
nation, which has waved in honor upon every sea — the
guardian of our common rights — the herald of our common
glory — be severed and torn into twenty-four fragments ; and
our ships hereafter display for their protection but a tattered
rag of one of its stripes ?
XIV.— VINDICATION OF THE SOUTH.
J. CLEMENS.
How stands the account of personal services? It was a
Southern man who pointed out the road from bondage to
independence ; who led you triumphantly through the perils
TIES THAT BIND THE WEST TO US. 29
of a seven years' war, and sternly refused the diadem with
whieli a grateful sol iiery would liave cri)wned hiui. It was
a Southern o-eneral and Southern soldiers who breasted tlie
British bayonets at New Orleans, and added one of its bright-
est chapti-rs to the histmy of the Republic. Southern blood
has watered every plain from the St. Lawrence to tliH
capilal of the Aztecs. The memortfble fields of Palo Alto,
and Resaca de la Palma Mere won by a Southern general
It was before the genius of a Southern leader, tliat the walls
and towers of Monterey crumbled into dust ; and two South-
ern regiments, struggling side by side in a glorious rivalry,
snatched from the camion's mouth the palm of victory. In
the narrow gorge of Angostura, Southern valor again stemmed
the tide of war, and rolled back the murderous charges of
the ic)e. On the sands of Vera Cruz, another great name
which the South has given to history and renown, added to
a fame ah-eady imperishable, and wrung from the reluctant
nations of the Old World, plaudits which they could not with-
hold. At Cerro Gordo, the story of Southern achievements
was re-written in blood ; and among the rocks and volcanoes
of Contreras, the glorious old Palmetto State vindicated her
right to the title of chivalrous, and silenced forever the
tongues of her detractors. Sir, I mean to indulge in no dis-
])aragement of the North. She has furnished gallant men
who have done their duty nobly upon the field. 1 would not,
if I could, tear a single laurel from her brow. But 1 claim
tliat tiie record gives to us at least an equality of tlie common
dangers, the common suflerings, and the common trium])hs,
and I demand an equal participation in the rights they have
established.
XV.— TIES THAT BIND THE WEST TO US.
EDWARD EVERETT.
The states and nations which are springing up in the val-
li-y of the Mi.ssouri, are Itouiid to us by the dearest ties of a
common lanjfnage, a commoii government, and .'i couiuion
descent. Bei()re New England can look with colthiess on their
ri.siiig myriads, she must forget that some of her own best
blood is beating in their veins ; that her hardy children, with
30 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
their axes on their shoulders, have been anrionp ihe pioneers
in the march of humanity; that young as she is, she has be-
come the mother oC populous states. What generous miutl
would sacrifice to a selfish preservation of local preponderance
the delight of beholdiug civilized nations rising up in the dts-
ei-I ; and the language, the manners, the principles in which
he has been reared, carried, with his household gods, to the
foot of the Rocky Mountains ? Who can forget, that this ex-
tension of our territorial limits is the extension of the empire
of all we hold dear ; of our laws, of our character, of the mem-
ory of our ancestors, of the great achievements in. our histo-
ry ? Whithersoever the sons of the thirteen States sliall wan-
der, to the southern or western climes, they will send back
their hearts to the rocky shores, the fertile fields, the infant
settlements of the Atlantic coast. These are placed beyond
the reach of vicissitude. They have already become matter
«f history, of poetry, of eloquence.
Divisions may spring up, ill blood may burn, parties be
formed, and interests may seem to clash ; but the great bonds
of the nation are linked to what is past. The deeds of
the great men, to whom this country owes its origin and
growth, are a patrimony, 1 know, of which its children will
never deprive themselves. As long as the Mississippi and
Missouri shall flow, those men, and those deeds, will be re-
membered on their banks. The sceptre of government may
go where it will ; but that of patriotic feeling can never de-
part from Judah. In all tliat mighty region which is drained
by the Missouri and its tributary streams, — the valley coex-
tensive, in this country, with the temperate zone, — will there
be, as long as the name of America shall last, a father that
will not take his children on his Knee, and recount to them
the events of the twenty-second of December, the nineteenth
of April, the seventeenth of June, and the fourth of July ?
This then is the theatre on which the intellect of America
is to appear, and such the motives to its exertion ; such the
mass to be influenced by its energies ; such the glory to crown
its success. If I err in this happy vision of my country's ior-
tiuies, I thank Heaven ii)r an error so animating. If this, be
false, may I never know the truth.
PATiaOTIC Ari'EAL. 31
XVL— PATRIOTIC APPEAL.
J. m'dowell.
Give us but a part of that devotion which frlowed in the
heart ot" the younjjer Pitt, and ol" our own elder Adams, whq,
in the midst of their agonies, forjrot not the countries they had
hved fur, but mingled with the spasms of their dying hour a
las' and imploring appeal to the Parent of all Mercies that he
would rememher, in eternal blessings, the land of their birth :
give us their devotion, give us that of the young enthusiast of
Paris, who listening to Mirabeau in one of his surpassing vin-
dications of human right, and seeing him fall from his stand,
dying, as a physician proclaimed, lor the want of blood, rushed
to the s|K)t, and as he bent over the expiring man, bared his
arm lor the lancet, and cried again, and ajiain, with impas-
sioned voice — " Here, take it — take it — oh I take it from mc,
let me die, so that Mirabeau and the liberties of my country
may not perish !" Give us something only of such a spirit as
this — something only of such a love of country, and we are
sale, Ibrever safe : the troubles which shadow over and op-
pr.'ss US now, will pass away as a summer cloud. No measure
ot unalienable wrong, no measure of unconquerable disagree-
ment, will be press«d upon us here. The fatal element of all
our discord will be taken from amongst us. Let gentlemen be
entreated to remove it as the one only and solitary obstacle to
our perfect peace. Let them be adjnred by the weal of this
and coming ages — by our own and our cliildren's good — by all
that we love or that we KK)k for in the progress and the glo-
ries of our land, to leave the entire subject of slavery, with
eveiy accountability it may impose, every remedy it may re-
quire, every accunuilalion of difficulty or pressure it may
reach ; to leave it all to the interest, to the wisdom, and to the
coMseieiu:e of those upon whom the providence oi God and tho
Constitution of their country have cast it. Leave it to them
•noir (i)i(l forrrer, and stop, whilst it is yet possible to stop, the
ihrious and bluid headway of that wild and mad philanthrt)py,
which is lighting up for the nation ilsell the fires of the stake,
and which is rusliing on, stride after stride, to an intestine
struggle that may bring us all under a harder, and wickeiler,
and more incurable slavery, than any it would extinguish.
32 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XVII.— CALIFORNIA AND PLYMOUTH ROCK.
THOMAS H. BENTOX.
Let us vote upon the measures before us, beginning with
the admission of California. Let ns vote her in. Let us vote,
after lour months' talk. The people wlio have gone there
have done honor to the American name. tStarting from a
thousand points, and tneetmg as strangers far removed from
law and government, they have cond noted themselves with
the order, decorum and justice, which would have done honor
to the oldest established and best regulated community. They
have carried our institutions to the furthest verge of the
hmd — to the coast of the Pacific, and lit it up with the lights
of religion, liberty, and science — lights which will shine
across the broad ocean, and illuminate the dark recesses of
benighted Asia. They have completed the work of the Pil-
grim Fathers. Would to God that those who landed on the
Rock, and on the banks of the James river, more than two
hundred years ago, and who crossed the stormy Atlantic in
search of civil and religious liberty, and who did so uuich tor
both in their day and generation, could now see what has
been done in our day I could look down from their celestial
abodes, and see the spark which they struck Irom the flint
now blazing with a light which fixes the gaze of the world —
see the mustard seed which they planted, now towering to the
skies, and spreading its branches from the Atlantic to the
Pacific. With what rapture would they welcome the Pil-
grims of California into the family circle, while we, their de-
scendants, sit here in angry debate, repulsing our brethren,
calculating the value of the Union, and threatening to rend it
asunder if California is admitted.
XVIII.— THE HONOR OF WAR.
W. H. CH.\NN1NQ.
That the idea of glory should be associated strongly with
military exploits, ought not to be wondered at. From the
earliest ages, ambitious sovereigns and states have sought to
spread the military spirit, by loading it with rewards.
THE HONOR OF WAR. 33
Badges, ornaments, distinctions, the most flatterinfr and
intoxicating", have been the prizes of" war. The arislocracy
ot Europe, whicli couiuiencctl in barbarous ages, was luun>Jed
on nuiitary talent and success ; and the chief education of
tiie young noble, was, fur a long time, little more than a
trainmg lor battle, — hence the strong connection between
war and honor. All past ages have bequeathed us this pre-
jiulice, and the structure of society has given it a feailuj
force. Lotus consider it with some pai-ti> ularity.
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 peo])le, but to those who are particularly engaged in it.
The mass of a people, who stay at liome, 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 tlieir chance of starving — who
nurse the slightest hurt on their own bodies, and hire others
to expose themselves to mortal wounds and to linger in com-
ibrtless hospitals ; certainly this mass reap little honor from
war ; the honor belongs to tliose 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 iiew
tlie body ; to plunge the sword into the heart of a ieUow-
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 umltiply
widows and orpiians. Are these honorable deeds ? VVhi-h
you called to name exploits worthy of demons, woulJ you noi
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 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
ot" death. We have placed among the i-evercd benefactors
of the human race, the discoverers of arts which alleviate
liuman sullljrings, which j)roloiig, comf()rt, adorn, and cheer
liuman life ; and if these arts be honorable, where is tlie
glory of multiplying and aggravatuig tortures and death ?
2*
34 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XIX— DANGER OF INDIAN HOSTILITIES.
FISHER AMES.
If any should maintain that the peace with the Indians
would be stable without the posts, to them I will urjre
another reply. From arjrumeiits calculated to procure con-
viction, ! will appeal directly to the hearts of those who hear
ine, and ask, wliether it is not already planted there ? I
resort especially to the convictions ot" the Western gentlemen,
whether, supposing no posts and no treaty, the settlers will
remain in security ? Can they take it upon them to say, tliat
an Indian peace, under these circumstances, will prove flrmJ?
No, sir, it will not be peace, but a sword ; it will be no
better than a lure to draw victims within the reach of the
tomahawk.
On this theme my emotions are unutterable. If I could
find words for them, if my powers bore any proportion to my
zeal, I wouhl swell my voice to such a note of reinoii-strance,
it should reach every log house beyond the mountains. I
would say to the inhabitants, wake from your liilse security ;
your cruel dangers, your more cruel appreliensions are soon
to be renewed ; the wounds, yet unhealed, are to be torn
open again ; in the day-time your path through the woods
will be ambusiied ; the darkness of midnight will glitter with
tlie blaze ot" your dwellings. You area fathei — tlie blood of
your sons shall fatten j'our corn-field : you are a mother —
the war-whoop shall wake the sleep of the cradle.
On this subject you need not suspect any deception on
your feelings ; it is a spectacle of horror wiiich cannot be
overdrawn. If you have nature in your hearts, they will
speak a language, compared with which, all I have said, or
can say, will be jwor and frigid. Will any one deny that
we are Iwund, and I would hope to good purpose, by the
most solemn sanctions of duty for the vote we give ? Are
despots alone to be reproached for unfeeling indiH'erence to
the tears and blood of their .subjects ? Are republicans
irresponsible? Have the principles on which you ground the
reproach upon cabinets and kings, no practical influence, no
binding force? Are they merely themes of idle declamation,
introduced to decorate^the morality of a newspaper essay, or
to furnish pretty topics of harangue from the windows of that
Stale House ? I trust it is neither too presumptuous nor too
i^OMINAL WAR. 35
late to ask : Can you put the dearest interests of society at
risk without guilt, and without remorse ? There is no mis-
take in this case ; there can be none : experience has already
been the prophet of events, and the cries of our future vic-
tims have already reached us. The Western inhabitants are
not a silent or uncomplainin<r sacrifice. The voice of human-
ity issues from the shade of tlie wilderness ; it exclaims that,
while one hand is held up to reject this treaty, the other
jrrasps a tomahawk. It summons our imatrination to the
scenes that will open. It is no great ellbrt of the imagina-
tion to conceive that events so near are already begun. I
can i'ancy that I listen to the yells of savage vengeance, and
the shrieks of torture ; already they seem to sigh in the
AW'stern wind ; already they mingle with every echo from
the mountains.
XX.— NOMINAL WAR.
JOHN RANDOLPH.
But, sir, I shall be told, perliaps, that there is only a
'tuindiud war between Spain and those belligerents — that
there is nothing else — a war ol name ; and that Spain is
unable any longer to wag a finger, to use a familiar phrase,
or anything but her tongue in the contest. If that be the
condition of Spain, by what arguments can king-cralt and
priest-craft be prevailed on to remove this nominal claim,
which will, like some others, keep cold until the chapter of
accidents may realize it ? Did Philip the Second ever recog-
nize the independence of the iJutch, when that independence
was more firmly established than his own ? No, sir, Spain
is made of sterner stulf. Truce after truce was }ta1eh(!d up
witliout any such recognition — and they were the United
I'rociKicA, and so remained till France gave them the coifi)
de <irac(', by the true fraternal hug. What, sir, was the con-
tlition of the war between England and France a little while
ago--one not having a ship at sea, except a lew frigates,
which she employed in l)nrning our ships in a friendly way,
so as to indu(M^ us to join in making a diversion in aid of her
cru.sa<le against iVlo.scow — Irom which I hope we shall take
warning ; for that attempt was not only plausible, but
36 THE BOOK OF ELuQU&NCE.
promised suecess — was quite practicable, compared to the
crusade to which I have alluded— aud England had not a
man, at the time I speak of, after the battle of Jena, in arms
on her side, on the continent of Europe — not one man ; and
there they stood, a complete non-conductor interposed between
them, except the United States, who received the blows
of both !
But, though that war was for a long time little else but a
suspension of arms, from the inability of each to attack on.
the other's element — was it nominal— was it war like a'
peace, or even peace like a war, as was said of Amiens?
Oh, no- old England had nailed the colors to the mast; she
had determined to go down rather than give up the ship ; she
wisely saw no safety for. her in what might be called a peace ;
and it was a glorious determination ; and it is that spirit — it
is not thews, muscle — it is not brawn, it is that spirit which
gives life to every nation — that spirit which carries a man,
however feeble, through conflicts Avith giants, compared to
him in point of strength, honorably, triumphantly. Sir, I
consider the late conflict between England and France —
England against the congregated continent of Europe —to
say nothing of any other make-weights in the scale — confi-
dent against a world in arms — as far surpassing in sublimity
of example, the tenaciousness of purpose of Rome during the
second Punic war, as that surpassed any of our famous Indian
wars and expeditious. It is a lesson of the constancy of the
human mind, which ought never to be thrown away.
XXL— THE DIFFICULT STEP.
JOHN RANDOLPH.
Sir, I never could speak or quarrel by the book — by the
card, as Touchstone tells us, was the fashion hi his day. I
have no gift at this special pleading — at the retort courteous
and the countercheck quarrelsome, till things get to the
point, where nothing is left for it but to back out or fight.
We are asked, sir, by this new executive government of
ours not in the very words, but it is a great deal like it —
of the son of Climene — to give some token, some proof, that
they possess legitimate claims to the confidence of the people —
DEATH OF J. Q. ADAMS. 37
which they have modestly confessed they do not possess in
the same depree as thi'ir predecessors. I will answer them
in the words of the father of that son, " You ask definite
pledpres — I give definite pledges tremblingly." But, sir, the
pliaetoM is at the door, ambition burns to mount. Whether
the Mississippi, hke the Po, is to sutler a metamorphosis, not
in :ts poplars — Avhelher the blacks shall be turned into whites,
or tlie whites into blacks, the slaves into masters, or the mas-
ters into slaves, or the murdered and their murderers to
chaiiire color, like the mulberry-trees, belongs to men of
greater sagacity than I am, to foretell. I am content to act
the part of Cassandra, to lift up my voice, whether it be
heeded, or heard only to be disregarded, until too late — 1 will
cry out obsta 'priiicipih. Yes, sir, in tliis case, as in many
others — the first step is all the difficulty — that taken, then
they may take for their motto — " there is no retreat." I tell
these gentlemen there is no retreat — it is cut off — there is no
retrfeat, even as tedious and painliil as that conducted by
Xeiioj)hon. There is no Anabasis ibr us — and if there was,
where is our XeiKipbon ? 1 do not feel lightly on tliis occa-
sion — far otherwise — but the heaviest heart oiten vents itself
in light expressions. There is a mirth of sadness, as well as
tears of joy. If I could talk lightly on this sad subject,
I would remind gentlemen of the reply given by a wiseacre,
who was sent to search the vaults of the Parliament House
at the time of the gunpowder plot, and who had searchfj
and reported that they had found fifty barrels of powder con-
cealed under the fagots and other fuel — that he had removi'd
tw?uty-five, and hoped that the other twenty-five would do
no harm. The step you are about to take is the match of
that powder — whether it be twenty-five or fifty barrels is
cpiile immaterial — it is enough to blow — not the first of the
Stuarts — but the last of anoLlier dynasty — sky-high — sky-
high.
XXIL— DEATH OF J. Q. ADAMS.
WILLIAM H. SEW.VRD.
The Thirtieth Congress assembles in this conjuncture, anil
the (h^hates are solemn, earnest and bewildering. Steam
and lightning, which have become docile messengers, make
38 THE BOOK OF KLOQUENCE.
tlie American people listeners to this hijjh debate, and anxiety
and interest, intense and nniver.sal, absorb them all. Sud-
di'nly the eonneil is dissolved. Silence is in the capitol. and
sorrow lias thrown its jkiII over the land. What new event
is this? Has some Cromwell closed the lei^islative chambers ?
or has some Caesar, retnrnmn: from his distant conf|iiests,
jiassed the Rubicon, ^eized the j)nrple, and I'allen in the
Senate beneath the swords of self-appoinled executioners of
his country's ventreance ? No! Nothinj): of all this. What
means, then, this abrupt and fearful silence? What un-
looked-for calamity has quelled thedeliates of the Senate, and
calmed the excitement of the people? An old man, whoise
lonsiue once indeed was eloquent, but now throufrh ape had
well nijrh lost its cunninjr, luis i'allen uitothe swoon of death.
He was not an ador in the drama of conquest — nor had his
feeble voice yet mingled in the lofty argument —
"A s^^a^' liaiicd .«ire, wlio-e e\e intent
Was on tliu visioned future buiit."
— In the very act of rising to debate he fell into the arms
of conscript fathers of the republic. A long lethargy super-
vened and oppressed his senses. Nature rallied the wasting
]»owers, on the verge of the grave, for a very brief space.
But it was long enough for him. There-kindled eyesliowed
that the re-collected mind was clear, calm and vigorous.
His weeping family, and his sorrowing compeers were there.
He surveyed the scene, and knew at once its fatal import.
He had left no duty unperformed ; he had no wish unsatis-
fied ; no ambition unaltained ; no regret, no sorrow, no fear,
no remorse. He could not shake off' the dews of death that
gathered on his brow. He could not pierce the thick shades
tliat rose up before him. But he knew that eternity lay
close by the shores of time. He knew that his Redeemer
lived. Eloquence, even in that hour, inspired him with his
ancient sublimity of utterance. " This," said the dying
man, " this is the end of eakth." He paused for a mo-
ment, and then added, " I am content." Angels might well
draw aside the curtains of the skies to look down on such a
scene — a scene that approximated even to that scene of un-
approachable sublimity, not to be recalled without reverence,
when in mortal agony, one who spake as never man spake,
Slid, " It is finishf.o "
DKATH OF NAPOLEON. 39
XXIII.— DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
WILLIAM H SEWAKn.
IJk wns an emperor. But he saw around him a mother,
broUiers and sisters, not ennobled ; whose humble state re-
minded him and the workl, that lie was born a plebeian ; and
he lia<l no heir to wait for the imperial crown. He seour<:ed
the earth again, and again fortune smiled on him even in his
wild extravagance. He bestowed kingdoms and principali-
ties upon his kindred — put away the devoted wife of his
youthful days, and another, a daughter of Hapsburgh's impe-
rial house, joyfully accepted his proud alliance Ollspriug
gladdened his anxious sight ; a diadem Mas ]»laced on its
infant brow, and it received the homage of princes, even in
its cradle. Now he was indeed a monarch — a legitimate
monarch — a monarch by divine a|)poiutineut — the tirst of an
endless succession of monarclis. But there were other mon-
archs who held sway in the earth. He was not conJLeiit, he
would reign with his kindred alone. He gathered new and
greater armies, from his own land — from subjugated lands.
He called forth the young and brave — one from every hou.-e-
hold — from the Pyrenees to the Zuyder-Zee — from Jura to
the ocean. He marshalled them into long and majestic
coluunis, and went Ibrth to seize that universal dominion,
which seemed almost within his grasp. But ambition had
tempted fortune too far. The nations of the earth resisted,
repelled, pursued, surrounded him. The pageant was ended.
The crown feirfrom his presumptuous head. The wile who
had wedded him in his pride forsook him when the hour of
fear came upon him. His cliild was ravished from his sight.
His kinsmen were degraded to their first estate, and he was
no longer emperor, nor consul, nor general, nor even a citizen,
but an exile and a prisoner, on a lonely island, in the midst
of the wild Atlantic. Discontent attended him here. The
wayward man fretted out a few long years of his yet unbroken
manhood, looking off' at the earliest dawn and in evening's
latest twilight, toward that distant world that had only just
elmled his grasp. His heart corroded. ])eath came, not un-
louked for, though it came even then unwelcome. He was
stretched on his bed within the fort which con.'^tituled his
I)risoii. A lew last and faithful friends stood around, with the
guards who rejoiced that the hour of relief from long and
40 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
wearisome watching:, was at hand. As his strength wasted
away, delirium stirred up the brain from its h)ng and inglori-
ous inactivity. The pageant of ambition returned. He was
again a lieutenant, a general, a consul, an emperor of France.
He filled again the throne of Charlemagne. His kindred
pressed around hitn, again invested with the pompous pa-
geantry of royalty. T!io dauirhter of the long line of kings
again stood proudly by his side, and the sunny face of liis
child shone out from beneath the diadem that encircled its
flowing locks. The marshals of Europe awaited his com-
mand. The legions of the old guard were in the field, their
scarred faces rejuvenated, and their ranks, thinned in many
battles, replenished. Russia, Prussia, Denmark and England,
gathered their mighty hosts to give him battle. Once more
he mounted his impatient charger, and rushed forth to con-
quest. He waved his sword aloft and cried " Tete d'armeic."
T!ie feverish vision broke — the mockery was ended. The
silver coi'd was loosened, and the warrior fell back upon his
bed a lifeless corpse. This was the end of earth. The
CORSICAN was not CONTENT.
XXIV.— WHO IS BLANNERHASSETT?
WILLIAM WIRT.
"Who is Blannerhassett ? A native of Ireland, a man of
letters, who fled from the storms of his own country to find
quiet in ours. His history shows that war is not the natural
element of his mind. If it had been, he never would have
exchanged Ireland for America. So far is an army from
furnishing the society natural and proper to Mr. Blannerhas-
sett's character, that on his arrival in Ameinca, he retired
even from the population of the Atlantic States, and sought,
quiet and solitude in the bosom of our western forests. But
he carried with him taste, and science, and wealth ; and lo,
the desert smiled ! Possessing himself of a beautiful island
in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with
every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery that
Shenstone might have envied, blooms around him. Music,
that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his.
An extensive library spreads its treasures belbre him. A
WHO IS BLANNERHASSETT? 41
philosophical apparatus ofiers to him all the secret mysteries
of nature. Peace, tranquillity, and innocence shed their
mingled delights around him. And to crown the enchant-
ment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lov'ely even be-
yond her sex, and graced Avith every accomplishment that
can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love and
made him the father of several children. The evidence
would convince you that this is but a faint picture of tho
real life. In the midst of all this peace, this innocent sim-
plicity, and this tranquillity, this feast of mind, this pure ban-
quet of the heart, the destroyer comes ; he comes to change
this paradise into a hell. Yet the flowers do not wither at
his approach. No monitory shuddering through the bosom
of their unfortunate possessor warns him of the ruin that is
coming upon him. A stranger presents himself. Introduced
to their civilities by the high rank which he had lately held
in his country, he soon finds his way into their hearts by the
dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the light and beauty
of his conversation, and the seductive and fascinating power
of his address. The conquest was not difficult. Innocence
is ever simple and credulous. Conscious of no design itself,
it suspects none in others. It wears no guard before its
breast. Every door and portal and every avenue of the
heart is open, and all who choose it enter. Such was the
state of Eden when the serpent entered its bowers. The
prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into the
open and unpractised heart of the unfortunate Blannerhas
sett, found but little difficulty in changing the native char-
acter of that heart and the object of its afl'ections. By de-
grees he infuses into it the poison of his own ambition. He
breathes into it the fire of his own courage ; a daring and
desperate thirst for glory ; an ardor panting for great enter-
prises, for all the storm and bu.stle and hurricane of life. In
a short time the whole man is changed, ami every ol ject of
his former delight is relinquished. No more he enjoys the
tranquil scene ; it has become flat and insipid to his taste.
His books are abandoned. His retort and crucible are thrown
aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upori
the air in vain ; he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks th&
rich melody of music ; it longs for the trumpet's clangor and
the cannon's roar. Even the pr.ittle of his babes, once so
sweet, no lon;r(.r affects him ; and the angel smile of his
Wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with an ecstacy so
42 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
unspeakable, is now unseen and unfelt. Greater objeots
have taken possession of his soul. His iraagination has been
dazzled by visions of diadems, of stars and garters, and titles
of nobility. He has been taught to burn with restless emu-
lation at the names of great heroes and conquerors. His en-
chanted island is de-tined soon to relapse into a wilderness ;
and in a few months we find the peaceful and tender i)ar1ner
of his bosom, whom he lately " permitted not the winds of"
summer "to visit too roughly," we find her shivering at mid-
night on the winter banks of the Ohio and mingling her tears
with the torrents that froze as they fell. Yet this unfortu-
nate man, thus deluded from his interest and his happiness,
thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace, thus
confounded in the toils that were deliberately spread for him,
and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of an-
other — this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to pl^y
a subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and trea.son,
this man is to be called the principal offender, while he by
whom he M'as thus plunged in misery is comparatively inno-
cent, a mere accessory ! Is this reason ? Is it law ? Is it
humanity ? Sir, neither the human understanding will bear
a perversion so monstrous and absurd I so shocking to the
soul ! so revolting to reason ! Let Aaron Burr, then, not
siiriidf from the high destination which he has courted, and
having already ruined Blannerhassett in fortune, character,
and happiness forever, let him not attempt to finish the
tragedy by thrusting that ill-fated man between himself and
punishment.
XXV.— DOOM OF THE INDIANS.
JOKEPH .STORY.
There is, in the fate of these unfortunate beings, much to
awaken our sympathy, ainl 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. Wliat can be more melan-
choly than their history? By a law of their nature, tliey
seem destined to a slow, but sure extinction. Everywhere,
at the approach of the white man, they fade away. We hear
DOOM OF THE INDIANS. 43
the rustling of their footsteps, like that of the withered leaves
of autumn, and they are gone forever. They pass mounifully
by us, and tliey return no more. Two centuries ago, tlie
sinoke of their wigwams and tlie fires of tlieir councils rose
in every valley, iVom Hudson's Bay to the farthest Florida,
from the ocean to the Mississippi and the lakes. The shouts
of viclory and the war dance rang through the mountains and
the glades. The thick arrows and the deadly tomahawk
wiiistled through the forests ; and the hunter's trace and dark
enc;iin|)uu'nt startled the wild beasts in their lairs. The war-
riors stood forth ill their glory. The young listened to the
songs of other days. The mothers played with their infants,
ami gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the future. The
aired sat down ; but they wept not. They should soon be at
rest in fiirer regions, where the Great Spirit dwelt, in a home
prepared iov the brave, beyond the western skies. Braver
TUi'ii never lived ; truer men never drew the bow. They had
coui-age, and fortitude, and sagacity, and perseverance, be-
yond most of the human race. They shrank from no dangers,
and they feared no hardships. If they had the vices of savage
life, they had the virtues also. They were true to their coun-
try, their friends, and their homes. If they forgave not inju-
ry, neither did they forget kindness. If their vengeance was
terrible, their fidelity and srenerosity were uncoiupierable also.
Tlieir love, like their hate, stopped not on this side of the
grave.
But where are they ? Where are the villagers, and war-
riors, and youth ; the Sachems and their tribes ; the hunters
and their families ? They have perished. They are con-
Bumed. The wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty
work. No, — nor famine, nor war. There has been a mighty
power, a moral canlfer, which has eaten into their heart-
core.s — a plague, which the touch of the white man corn-
rniinicated — a poison, which betrayed them into a lingering
ruin. The winds of tlie Atlantic fan not a single region,
which they may now call their own. Ah'eady the last
f(\'l)le remnants of the race are preparing lor their journey
b:.'yond 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 ^urls round their
Jowly cabins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step.
The white man is upon their heels, H)r terror, or despatch ;
44 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look of their
deserted villafres. They east a last glance upon the graves
ot" 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-
ground of their race.
XXVI.— VIRGINIA.
H. E-EDI.VGEIl.
I KNOW that it is customary with those who lack the taste
lo select or the ability to handle a more becoming theme, lo
discharge their tiny artillery at Southern character and Sou-
thern institutions ; and especially does Virginia come in for a
full share of the pointless arrows of these gentlemen, whose
efforts constantly remind me of those very ambitious persons
whose names are to be seen, inscribed by their own hands, on
every edifice or monument of art, and who hope, by thus dis-
figuring or defiling it, they may render their own paltry me-
moirs as lasting as the building itself
Now, whether Virginia has deteriorated or not, whether her
palmiest days have passed by, and her energies are in tlie
" sere and yellow leaf;" whether her present sons are dwarfs,
in comparison with her elder born ; whether the sceptre of
intellect has departed from her, and in the race of glory and
of greatness she is no longer first ; whether the plucking of
Northern cupidity has drained her of her wealth, or her own
unbounded and unwise liberality exhausted her resources, I
M'ill not at present attempt to determine ; but this I will
boldly assert, and that without the fear of contradiction, that
in her regard for law and order — in her love of justice, asid
her strict obedience to all its dictates — in the careful observ-
MASSACHUSETTS. 45
ance of the rights and privilefjfes of all, manifested by her
citizens, in piety, morality, and subriety — and in her sacred
observance of the plij;hted'\vord of her government, the mo-
ther of States need tear no comparison with any of her prog-
eny, or with any of her sisters.
Massachusetts is a great State, Sir, — a very great State, in-
deed, is Massachusetts. She could not well be anything else,
eir, for she has Boston, and Banker Hill, and the Rock of
Plymouth I Tliere the Mayflower landed the Pilgrims ; and
there witches and Indians and (Quakers and Catholics, and
otiier such heretics, were in the brave days of old, burned,
literally, by the cord ! She is unquestionably, sir, a great
fc>late, and some of her Representatives on this floor seem to
know it ; and in the plenitude of their merciful hearts, they
pour out a deal of compassion and surplus pity upon poor old
Virginia I They not unfrequently raise their sanctified eyes
to Heaven, and thank the Lord they are not like that poor
publican I
XXVIL— MASSACHUSETTS.
J. G. PALFRKY.
When the gentleman, calling up affecting reminiscences
of the pa.st, appealed to us of Massachusetts to be faithful to
the obligations of patriotism, I rejieat, that 1 trust his lan-
guage li'll profitably as well as pleasantly on my ear. He has
reminiled us of our stern but constant ancestry. I hope wo
shall be true to tlieir great mission of Freedom and Right, and
all the more true lor having listened to his own impressive
exhortation. The gentleman remembers the declaration of
Hume, that " it was to the Puritans that the people of Eng-
liiiid owed its liberties." May their race never desert that
work, as long as any of it is left to do I Sir, as 1 come of a
morning 1o my duties here, I am apt to stop l)efore the picture
in your Rotundo, ol' the dej)arture irom Dellt Haven ot that
vef-sel, " freighted with the best hoj)es of the world," and re-
fresh myself by looking in the faces of four ancestors of n.y
own, dejiicted by the liimier in the grouj) on that dismal
deck — the brave and prudent leader of" the company, his head
and knee bowed in prayer; — his faithful partner, blending iij
46 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
her mild but care-worn countenance the expression of the
wife, the parent, the exile, and the saint ; — the younj; maiden
and the youth, going out to the wide sea and the wide world,
Lut already trained to masculine endurance and " perli^ct
peace" by the precious faith of Christ. Not more steadliist
than those forlorn wanderers wei'e the men, who in the tapes-
tried chambers of England's great sway, with stout sword
on thigh, and a stouter faith in the heart, and the ragged
flags of Cressy, and Agincourt, and the Armada above their
heads,
— " Sat with Bibles open, around the council board,
And answered a king's missive, with a stern
''I'hus saith the Lord.'"
Sir, the spirit of that stubborn race, if somewhat softened
by the change in manners and the lapse of time, is not yet
extinct in their children. The gentleman is welcome, for
me, to have very little respect for any who, in his language,
have " made capital" of one kind or another out of human
slavery. But I ask him, did the Roundhead ever flineh
when battle was to be done for freedom? Sir, I live in tlie
midst of his last bloody struggles for that cause. Humble as
I am I am honored to represent the men who till the
earliest battle- fields of American Independence. As I sit in my
door of a still summer evening, I hear the bells from Lexing-
ton Common. The shaft over the sacred ashes of Bunker
Hill rises within three miles of my windows ; I leave my
home, and in an hour I stand by the ruined abutments of
old Concord Bridge, and the green graves of the first two
British victims in the hecatombs of the Revolution. Repre-
senting, however feebly, such a people in lineage and in office
— warned by the lessons and the purest monuments of such a
history — is it for me to think of helping to extend the foul
cause of slavery over another foot of God's fair earth ? No,
■' here I stand, I can do no otherwise ; may God help me."
I boast no courage ; I fear I might turn out to be no better
than a fearful man ; but I do trust that every drop of thin
blood in these old veins of mine, would be freely given to stain
the scaflbld, or boil and bubble at the stake, before, by any
act of my doing, the slavery of my brother man should take
another Ibrward step on free American soil.
THE CONSTITUTION. 47
XXVIIL— THE CONSTITUTION.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
We can give up everything but our Constitution, "which is
the sun of our system. As tlie natural sun dispels logs, heats
the air, and vivifies and illumines the world, even so docs
the Constitution, in days ol" adversity and gloom, come out
lur our rescue and our enlightening. If the luminary which
now sheds its light upon us, and invigorates our sphere,
should sink forever in his ocean bed, clouds, cold, and perpet-
u.il death would environ us : and if we sufler our other sun,
llie Constitution, to be turned from us; if we neglect or disre-
gard its benefits ; if its beams disappear but once in the
West, anarchy and chaos will have come again, and we
shall grope out in darkness and despair the remainder of a
miserable existence. I confess that, when I think of the
Constitution, I feel a burning zeal which prompts me to pour
out my whole heart. What is the Constitution ? It is the
l)ond which binds together millions of brothers. What is its
history* who made it ? Monarchs, crowned heads, lords, or
emperors ? No, it was none of these. The Constitution of
tlie United States, the nearest approach of mortal to perfect
political wisdom, was the work of" men who purchased liberty
with their bloud, but who found that, without organization,
freedom was not a blessing. They formed it, and the people,
in their intelligence, adopted it. And what has been its his-
tory ? Has it trodden down any man's rights ? Has it cir-
cnmscribed the liberty of the press ? Has it stopped the
mouth of any man ? Has it held us up as objects of disgrace
abroad ? How much the reverse I It has given us charac-
It-r al)road ; and Avhen, with Washington at its head, it went
I'Tth to the world, this young country at once became the
TiKti^i interesting and imposing in the circle of civilized nation!?.
How is the Constitulionof the United States regarded abroad ?
Why, as the last hope of liberty among men I Wherevf'
you go, you find the United States held up as an example by
the advocates of freedom. The mariner no more looks to his
compass or takes his departure by the sun, than does the
lover of liberty abroad shape liis course by reference to the
Constitution of the United States.
48 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XXIX.— THE PEACE CONGRESS.
ANONYMOT'S.
■ If we fail, the disappointment is our own ; the world can
Teceive no detrirneut from our exertions, however unsuccess-
ful. But if we succeed, — if our efibrls for ameliorating the
lot of humanity are triumphant, — what a fountain of the
bitterest woes will he dried I what rivers of blood will cease
to deluge and destroy the choicest of human bliss I how will
the heart of philanthropy exult, and what a smile of un-
mingled delight will kindle over the face of a suHLu-ing and
desponding world I That a Ibul stigma, which for so many
ages has defaced the annals of humanity, should he wiped
away — that man should cease to Ibllow the fratricidal
example of the first of sons and of murderers — that he should
lay aside his cannibal ferocity, which, unlike that of the wild
beast, is turned against his own race and kindred — that in-
fancy, and age, and leminine helplessness should forever here-
after repose in saiety — that our flocks should feed on the
green fields in quiet, and the smoke of our cottages still curl
on the peaceful breeze —that these sights should hereafter
present themselves, instead of the butcheries, the havoc, and
the conflagration of war, is an object well worthy the most
devout and unw^earied elTorts of every friend of human honor
and human happiness. Great God I is such an expectation
a chimera, the creature of a duped and sickly imagination ?
Are the eflbrts which aim thus at the exaltatiou and blessed-
ness of the human race, inspired alone by folly ? Is any sad
and inevitable fatality thus brooding over the fate of mortals ?
Must reason guide, and success forever crown schemes of
human wretchedness and human destruction ; while disap-
}tf-in1ment is forever to be the bitter cup of those who thus
signally eiuleavor to render the world better and happier ?
We are unwilling to believe it ; we will not, at least, desoair
without an ulTurt.
LITERATURE PERVERTED. 49
XXX.— LITERATURE PERVERTED.
ANONYMOUS.
Liter \ture has been a most powerful agent in feeding: the
warlike propensity, and this is undergoing a vital and happy
change. In former days it was altogether calculated to
arouse and I'oster a martial feeling. The poems, the hi.storics,
tiie orations, which lor centuries have delighted mankind,
have been replete with the praises of heroes and conquerors.
These pictures and descriptions have been seized uj)on,
amphfied and issued at second hand, or assumed as a species
of model for every imitator, from that day to this. A magi-
cal illusion has been attempted, and in a great degree efi'ected
Tlie battle-field, with its promiscuous carnage of men and
horses, covered with clotted gore, and tlie frozen fragments
of bodies, — which else had now been warm with youth, and
health, and happiness, blessing and being blessed, — is repre-
sented as the field of glory. The devastation of fruitful
fields, the destruction of happy homes, the cleaving down of
the liberties of a free, and prosperous, and happy people, ap-
pear under the guise of a splendid conquest. The tears and
execrations of a nation of widows and orphans, and cliildlcss
pareuts — the smothered groans of an enslaved peojjle — tliese
sound the trump of everlasting fame for the author of such
accumulated miseries ; more loud and more lovely, in propor-
tion as they are mingled more deeply with the tones of
despair I And men have listened, and admired, and have
been made the dupes of their imaginations.
But the scales of delusion are falling from the eyes of
nations, and the literature of the age is turned, and is flowing
with the general current. At the present day, he is more
applauded who crowns a country with peace and plenty,
than he who covers it with bones and putrefaction — he who
builds, than he who burns, a city — he who has founded a
wise system of laws, than he who has overturned it — he, in
short, whose fame is associated Avith the happiness of his
race, than he who has wantonly hurled the firebrand of
destruction into the home of that happiness, though the smoke
and glare of its conflagration should reach the heavens, and
the crash of its ruins shake the earth to its centre. When
Jve reflect upon the influence exerted by a ballad, or a tale,
ehall we hesitate to hope the most blessed results from this
change in the literature of the present age ?
3
50 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
'^ XXXI.— CIVILIZATION OF AFRICA.
EDWARD EVSRETT.
I KNOW it is said that it is impossible to civilize Africa.
Why ? Why is it impossible to civilize men in one part of
the earth more than in another? Consult history. Was
Italy, "was Greece, the cradle of civilization ? No. As far
back as the lights of tradition reach, Africa was the ciadle of
science, while Syria, and Greece, and Italy were yet covered
with darkness. As far back a-^ we can trace the first rudi-
ments of improvement, they come from the very head waters
of the Nile, far in the interior of Africa ; and there are yet
to be found, in shapeless ruins, the monuments of this prime-
val civilization. To come down to a much later period,
while the West and South of Europe were yet barbarous, the
Mediterranean coast of Africa was filled with cities, acad-
emies, museums, churches, and a highly cultivated popula-
tion. What has raised the Gaul, the Belgium, the Germany,
the Scandinavia, the Britain of ancient geograpliy to their
present improved and improving condition ? Africa is not
now sunk lower than most of those countries were eighteen
centuries ago ; and the engines of social influence are increas-
ed a thousand-fold in numbers and efficacy. It is not
eighteen hundred years since Scotland, whose metropolis has
been called the Athens of modern Europe, the country of
Hume, of Smith, of Robertson, of Blair, of Stewart, of Brown,
of JefiVey, of Chalmers, of Scott, of Brougham, was a wilder-
ness, infested by painted savages. It is not a thousand years
since the north of Germany, now filled with beautiful cities,
learned universities, and the best educated population in the
world, was" a dreary, pathless forest. Am I told that
the work we have in hand is too great to be done ? Too
great, I ask, to be done iclteii ? too great to be done by
'Lcliom ? Too great, I admit, lo be done at once ; too great
to be done by this society ; too great to be done by this gene-
ration, perhaps ; but not too great to be done. Nothing is
too great to be done, whicli is ibunded on truth and justice,
and which is pursued with the meek and gentle spirit of
Christian love.
PUBLIC DISHONKSTT. 51
XXXII.— PUBLIC DISHONESTY.
HENRY Vr. BEECHER.
A CORRUPT public sentiment produces dishonesty. A public
Eentimeut in which dishonesty is not disgracel'ul ; in which
bad men are respectable, are trusted, are honored, are exalted,
is a curse to the young. The lever of" speculation, the univer-
sal derangement of" business, the growing laxness of morals, is,
to an alarming extent, introducing such a state of things.
If the shocking stupidity of the public mind to atrocious
dishonesties is not aroused ; if good men do not bestir them-
selves to drag the young from this loul sorcery ; if the relaxed
bands of honesty are not tightened, and conscience tutored
to a severer morality, our night is at hand, — our midnight
tot far off. Woe to that guilty people who sit down upon
broken laws, and wealth saved by injustice ! Woe to a gen-
eration fed by the bread of fraud, whose children's inheritance
Bhali be a perpetual memento of their lather's unrighteous-
ness ; to whom dishonesty shall be made pleasant by associa-
tion with the revered memories of father, brother, and friend !
But when a whole people, united by a common disregard
of justice, conspire to defraud public creditors ; and States vie
with States in an infamous repudiation of just debts, by open
or sinister methods ; and nations exert their sovereignty to
protect and dignify the knaveiy of the Commonwealth ; then
the confusion of domestic affairs has bred a fiend, before
whose flight honor fades away, and under whose feet the
sanctity of truth and the religion of solemn compacts are
stamped down and ground into the dirt. Need we ask the
cause of gi'owing dishonesty among the young, the in-
creasing untrustworthincss of all agents, when States are seen
clothed with the panoply of dishonesty, and nations put on
fraud ibr their garments ?
Absconding agents, swindling schemes, and defalcations,
occurring in such melancholy abundance, have at length
ceased to be wonders, and rank with the common accidents
(.f fire and Hood. The budget of each week is incomplele
without its mob and run-away cashier - its duel and de-
faulter ; and as waves which roll to the shore are lost in
those which follow on, so the villanies of each week obliterate
the record of the last.
Men of noturious immorality, whose dishonesty is flagrant,
whose private habits would disgrace the ditch, arc powerful
62 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
and popular. I have seen a man stained with every sin,
except those which required courag^e ; into whose head 1 do
not think a pure thought iias entered ibr i'orty years ; in
whose heart an honorable ieehug would droop lor very lone-
Iniess ; — in evil he was ripe and rotten ; hoary and deprav-
ed in deed, in word, in his piesent hie and in all his past ; evil
wlien by hiinseli', and viler among men ; corrupting to tlie
yoiuig ; — to domestic fidelity, a recreant ; to common honor, a
traitor ; to honesty, an outlaw ; to i-eligion, a hypocrite ; — base
ill all that is woitliy ot man, and accomplished in whatever
is disgraceful ; and yet this wretch could go where he would ;
enter good men's dwellings, and purloin their votes. Men
would curse him, yet obey him ; hate him, and assist him ;
warn their sons against him, and lead them to the polls lor
him. A public sentiment which produces ignominious
knaves, c;imiot breed honest men.
We have not yet emerged from a period in which debts
were insecure; the debtor legally protected against the rights
of the creditor; taxes laid, not by the requirements of" justice,
but tor })oHtic;il ellect ; and lowered to a dishonest inelli-
cieney ; and when thus diminished, not collected ; the citi-
zens resisting their own officers ; officers resigning at the
bidding of the electors; the laws of property paralyzed;
bankrupt laws built up ; and stay-laws unconstitutionally
enacted, upon which the courts look with aversion, yet iear
to deny them, lest the wilduess of popular opinion should roll
back disdainlully upon the bench, to despoil its dignity, and
prostrate its power. General su tiering has made us tolerant
of general dishonesty ; and the gloom of our commercial dis-
aster threatens to become the pall of our morals.
XXXIII.— WORLD-WIDE FAME OF WASHTNGTOX
ASHER ROUBINS.
It is the peculiar good fortune of this country to have given
birth to a citizen, whose name evxny where produces a senti-
ment of i-egard for his country itself In other countries when-
ever and wherever this is spoken of to be praised, and with the
highest praise, it is called the country of Washington. I be-
lieve there is no people, civilized or savage, in any place,
however remote, whei-e the name of Washington has not been
WITHDRAWAL OF THK ARMY FROM MEXICO. 53
heard, and where it is not respected with the fondest admira-
tion. We are told that the Arab of the desert talks of
Wasliiiipton in his tent, and that his name is famihar to tlie
wanderinjr ^cytliian. He seems, indeed, to be the deliuht of
human kind, as their beau ideal of human nature. No Amer-
ican, in any part of the world, but has found the regard ior
himself increased by his connection with Washington, as liis
leih)w-countryinan ; and wlio has not felt a pride, and had
occasion to exult, in the fortunate connection ?
Half a century and more has now passed away since he
came upon the stajxe, and his fame first broke upon the
world ; for it broke like the blaze of day from the rising sun —
almost as sudden, and seemingly as universal. The event lul
period since that era, has teemed with great men, who have
crossed tlie scene and passed off. Some of them have arrestid
great attention — very great. Still Washington retains his
preeminent place in the minds of men — still his peerless
name is cherished by them in the same freshness of delight
as in the morn of its glory. History will keep her record of
his fame ; but h story is not necessary to perpetuate it. In
regions where history is not read, where letters are uidvuown,
it lives, and will go down from age to age. in all future time,
in their traditionary lore. Who would exchange this firne,
the common inheritance of our country, lor the fame of any
individual, which any country of any time can boast ? — I
would not ; with my sentiments, I could not.
XXXIV.— ON THE WITHDRAWAL OF THE ARMY FROM
Mt-LXlCO.
EDWARD A. HANNEGAN.
We are engaged in war "with an ot).<tiiiate enemy, and
during its continuance I feel bound by the highest sense of
duty to contribute, by every means in my power, to the suc-
cess of my country's arms, and the iiumiliation and over-
throw ot the- enemy. I stop not to ask tlie approval of cas-
uists wlieii my heart bids me to know only my own country
in the contest ; and 1 fervently trust that (jod may forever
irown her eagle banner with victory, whenever and wherever
aer sons may unfurl it in battle, beneath the broad vault of
54 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Heaven. Never may its glorious folds, dimmed and discolored
with the blood of its soldiers, trail in the dust. I should de-
plore an unjust or an aggressive war as much as any man ; I
would leave no proper means untried for an accommodation ;
to secure peace I would yield everything but honor ; but
while war lasted I would strain every sinew, exert every
nerve of the nation to impress the enemy and the world with
the terror of our arms. iSir, the hunters-up of conscience cases
may approve it or not : I am well assured that this course it
is my duty to adopt and pursue. I would not, while the
gloomy cloud of war hangs over the land, say to the enemy,
" Go on ! you are right — we are wrong! The God of justice
is on your side, and His avenging hand will yet deliver to
your toils our soldiers bound hand and foot, so that you may
fii!sh your swords in their bosoms !" Sir, I would not say to
our own brave soldiers, " March slowly — trail your arms —
you are engaged in an unjust and unholy war !" No. I
would not paralyze their strong arms and valiant hearts in
ttie hour of battle ! 1 would not rob them of the hope of
Heaven ! I would not shriek into the ear of the dying soldier
that for him no bright-eyed angels waited above the smoke
of the battle — that he mu,st never hope for Paradise ! No !
but I would say to our soldiers, " Advance your standard !
Wave it high in air ! Let its flashing Iblds make music ;
when the battle is over, let the blaze of victory surround it,
or let your lifeless bodies be piled in pyramids on the gory
field ! Onward in this spirit, or dream no more of the proud
wife's kiss, or the mother's blessing and her prayer !" For, I
must confess, I do not comprehend the forecast which pro-
poses the withdrawal of our arniies, or the prudence which
declares in advance that we must attach no Mexican territory
to the Union.
XXXV.— RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE.
THOMAS CORWIN.
Sir, I have heard much and read somewhat of this gentle-
...,in Terminus. Alexander of whom 1 have spoken was a
devotee of this divinity We have seen tlie end of him and
his empire. It was said to b^^ an attribute of this god, that
man '"
RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE. 55
he must nhray^ advance, and never recede. So both
Republican and Imperial Rome believed. It was, as they
said, their destiny : and tor a while it did seem to be even bo.
Roman Terminus did advance. Under the eagles of" Rome
he was carried from his home on the Tiber to the furthest
East, on the one hand, and the far West, amongst the then
barbarous tribes of western Europe, on the other. But at
length the time came when retributive justice had become
"a destiny." The despised Ganl calls out to the contemned
Goths, and Attila, with his Huns, answers back the battle-
shout to both. The " blue-eyed nations of the North," in
succession, are united, pour their countless hosts of warriors
upon Rome and Rome's always-advancing god, Terminus.
And now the battle-axe of the barbarian strikes down the
conquering eagle of Rome. Terminus at last recedes, slowly
at first, but finally he is driven to Rome, and from Rome to
Byzantium. Whoever would know the further fate of this
Roman deity, may find ample gratification of his curiosity in
the luminous pages of Gibbon's "Decline and Fall." Such
will find that Rome thought as you now think, that it was
her destiny to conquer provinces and nations, and, no doubt,
she sometunes said as you say, " I will conquer a peace."
And where is she now, the Mistress of the World ? The
spider weaves his web in her palaces, the owl sings hisAvatch-
song in her towers. Teutonic power now lords it over the
servile remnant, the^miserable memento of old and once
omnipotent Rome. Sad, very sad, are the lessons which
time has written for us. Through and in them all I see
nothing but the inflexible execution of that old law, which
ordains as eternal, that cardinal rule, " Thou shalt not covet
thy neighbor's goods, nor aiiijtliiiig which is his." Since I
have lately heard so much about the dismemberment of
Mexico, I have looked back to see how, in the course of events
which some call " Providence," it has fared with other nations
who engaged in this work of dismemberment. I see that in
the latter half of the eighteenth century, three j)owert"ul
nations — Russia, Austria, and Prussia — united in the dismem-
berment of Poland. They said, too, as you say, " It is our
destiny." They " wanted room." Doubtless each of them
thought, with his share of Poland, his power was too strong
ever to fear invasion or even insult. One had his California,
another his New Mexico, and a third his Vera Cruz. Did
they remain untouched and incapable of harm ? Alas I no ;
56 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
far, very far from it. Retributive justice must fulfil ita
destiny too. A very few years pass off, and we hear of a
new man, a Corsican lieutenant, the self-named " armed
soldier of democracy" — Napoleon. He ravages Austria,
covers her land with blood, drives the Northern Caesar from
his capital, and sleeps in his palace. Austria may now re-
member how her power trampled upon Poland. Did she not
pay dear, very dear lor her California ?
But has Prussia no atonement to make ? You see this
same Napoleon, the blind instrument of Providence, at work
there. The thunders of his cannon at Jena proclaim the
work of retribution for Poland's wron3:s ; and the successors of
the great Frederick, the drill-sergeant of Europe, are seen flying
across the samly plain that surrounds their capital, right glad
if they may escape captivity or death. But how fares it with
the Autocrat of Russia ? Is he secure in his share of the
spoils of Poland ? No. Suddenly we .see, sir, six hundred
thousand armed men marching to Moscow. Does his Vera
Cruz protect him now ? Far from it. Blood, slaughter,
devastation spread abroad over the land, and finally, the
conflagration of the old commercial metropolis of Russia
closes the retribution ; she must pay for her share in the dis-
memberment of her weak and impotent neighbor. A mind
more prone to look for the judgments of Heaven, in the doings
of men, than mine, cannot fail in this to see the providence
of God. When Moscow burned, it seemed as if the earth
was lighted up that the nations might behold the scene. As
that mighty sea of fire gathered and heaved, and rolled up-
wards, and yet liigher, till its flames licked the stars, and
fired the whole heavens, it did seem as though the God of
the nations was writing, in characters of flame, on the front
of his throne, that doom that shall fall upon the strong nation
who tramples in scorn upon the weak. And what fortune
aw;iits him, the appointed executor of this work, when it was
all done ? He, too, conceived the notion that his destiny pointed
onward to universal dominion. France was too small —
Europe, he thought, should bow down before him. But as
soon as this itlea took possession of his soul, he, too, becomes
powerless. His Terminus must recede too. Right there,
while he witnessed the humiliation, and doubtless meditated
the subjugation of Russia, he who holds the winds in his
fists, gathered the snows of the North, and blew them upon
his six hundred thousand men^ — they fled — they froze — they
NO NATIONAL GREATNESS WITHOUT MORALITY. 57
«
perished. Ami now the mighty Napoleon who had resolved
oil imiversai dominion, lie too is summoned to answer for the
viol.if ion of that ancient law, " Thou shalt not covet anything
which is thy neiglihor's." And how is the mighty t'alien I
He, heiieath whose proud ibotstep Europe trembled, he is
now an exile at Elba, and now, finally, a prisoner on the rock
oi' St. Helena, and there, on a barren island, in an unfrequented
sea, in the crater of an extinguished volcano, there is the
death-bed of the mighty conqueror. All his anfiexafions
have come to that I His last hour has now come, and he,
the man of dcsliiiij, he who had rocked tlie world as with
the throes ol' an earthquake, is now powerless, still — even as
the beggar, so lie died. On the wings of a tempest, that
x-aged With unwonted fury, up to the throne of the only power
that controlled him wiiile he lived, went the fiery soul of
that wonderiul warrior, another witness to the existence of
that eternal decree, that they who do not rule in righteous-
ness, shall perish from tiie earth. He has found '" room" at
last : and France, she too has found "room." Her "eagles"
now no longer scream along the banks of the Danube, the To,
and the Borysthenes. They have returned to their old eyry
between tlie Alps, the Rhine, and the Pyrenees; so shall it
be with yours. You may carry them to the loJtiest peaks u['
the Cordilleras, they may wave with insolent triumph in the
halls ol the Montezumas, the armed men of Mexico may quail
belbre them, but the weakest hand in Mexico, uplifted in
prayer to the God of Justice, may call down against you a
liowcr, in the presence of which, the iron hearts of your war-
riors shall be turned into ashes.
XXXVL— NO NATIONAL GREATNESS WITHOUT MORALITY.
W. E. OUANNINO.
WincN we look forward to the probable growlh of this
country ; wlien we think of tlie millions of bnmin beings
who are to spread over our present territory ; of the career
of improvement and glory open to this new people ; ol' the
impulse which free institutions, if pro.*perous, may be ex-
pecti.d to give to philosophy, religion, science, literature, and
arlb ; of the vast lield in which the experiment is to be
a*
58 THE BOOK OF ELOQOENCE.
«
made, of what the unfettered powers of man may achieve ;
of the bright pajre of history which our fathers have filled,
and of the advantages under which their toils and virtues
have placed us for carrying on their work ; when we think
of all this, can we help, for a moment, surrendering ourselves
to bright visions of our country's glory, before which all the
glories of the past are to fade away ? Is it presumption to
say, that, if just to ourselves and all nations, we shall be felt
through this whole continent, that we shall spread our lan-
guage, institutions, and civilization, through a wider space
than any nation has yet tilled with a like beneficent in-
fluence ? And are we prepared to barter these hopes, this
sublime moral empire, for conquests by force ? Are we pre-
pared to sink to the level of unprincipled nations, to content
onrselves with a vulgar, guilty greatness, to adopt in oui
j'outh maxims and ends wliich must brand our future with
sonlidness, oppression and shame ? This country cannot
without peculiar infamy run the common race of national ra-
pacity. Our origin, institutions, and position are peculiar,
and all favor an upright, honorable course. We have not
the apologies of nations hemmed in by narrow bounds, or
threatened by the overshadowing power of ambitious neigh-
bors If we surrentler ourselves to a selfish policy, we shall
sin almost without temptation, and forfeit opportunities of
greatness vouchsafed to no other people, for a prize below
contempt.
I have alluded to the want of wisdom with which we have
been accustomed to speak of our destiny as a people. We are
destined (that is the word) to overs])read North America ;
and, intoxicated with the idea, it matters little to us how we
accomplish our fate. To spread, to supplant others, to cover
a boundless space, this seems our ambition, no matter what
influence we spread with us. Why cannot we rise to noble
conceptions of our destiny ? Why do we not feel, that our
wm-k as a nation is, to carry freedom, religion, science, and a
nobler form of human nature over this continent? and wdiy
do we not remember, that to difliise these blessings we must
first cherish them in our own borders ; and that whatever
deeply and permanently corrupts us will make our spreading,
influence a curse, not a blessing, to this new world ? I am
not prophet enough to read our fate. I believe, indeed, that
we are to make our futurity for ourselves. I believe, that a
nation's destiny lies in its character, in the principles which
TRUE GRAXDEUa OF NATION'S. 59
povern its poliev, and bt^ar rule in the hearts of its citizens.
I take my stand on God s moral and eternal hiw. A nation,
renouncing and deiying this, cannot be tree, cannot be
great.
XXX VII.— TRUE GRANDEUR OF NATIONS.
CHARLKS SU.INER.
Casting our eyes over the history of nations, with horror
Wi' discern the succession of murderous shtughters, by which
(heir ))nigress has been niarki'd. Even as the hunter traci-s
the wild beast, when pursued 1o his lair, by tlie drops of
l)lood on the earlh, so we liillow man, weary, stajigering wilh
wounds, through the black l<)rest of the past, which !ie has
reddened with his gore. 0, let it not be in the future ages,
as in those wliicli we now conlempiate I Let the grandi-ur
ol' man be liiscenied, not in bloody victories, or in ravenous
conquests, but in the blessings which he has secured ; in the
good he has accomplished ; in the 1rium])lis of benevoleiice
and justice ; in the establishiuent ot perpetual peace.
As the ocean washes every shore, and, with all embracing
arms, tdasps every land, while, on its heaving bosom it bears
the products of various climes ; so peace surrounds, protects,
and upholds all other blessings. Without it, comiU'^'ce i*
vain, the ardor of industry is restrained, justice is arrested,
happiness is blasted, virtue sickens and dies.
And peace has its own pccnluir victories, in compari.=on
with wliich Marathon and Ikinnockbuni and Bunker Hill,
fields h(dd .'•acred in the history of human freedc ni, sh.ill lose
their lustre. Onrown W;ishing1on rises to a truly heavenly
stature, — not when we follow hiin over the ice of the Dela-
ware to the capture of Trenton, — not when we behold him
victorious over Cornwallis at Yorktown, - but when we re-
gard him in noble deli-rence to justice, refusing the kingly
crown which a faithless soldiery protiered, and, at a later
day, upholding the peaceful neutrality of the country, while
he received unmoved the clamor of the jieople wickedly cry-
iii" \or war.
60 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XXXVIIL— VICISSITUDES OF 1849.
HORACE OREELKT.
Tins fatal year, '49 — will it never have done with its
desolations? Pestilence has stalked, and still stalks, with
desolating tread over the broad earth, defacing its green sod
to make room for innumerable graves — graves not alone of
the weak and the wretched, bnt also of the mighty, the glo-
rious, the gentle, the lovely, the widely and keen.y deplored.
And that darker scourge, des]iotism, the dominion of brnte
force and blind sellishness — the lordship of the few for their
own luxury and agjrrandizement over the many whom they
scorn, and sweat, and starve — when before has a year been
so fruitful as now, of triumphs to the realm of night ? Sicily
betrayed and ruined — Lombardy's chains riveted — Sardinia
crushed — Rome, generous, brave, ill-fated Rome, too ! — she
lies beneath the feet of her perfidious, perjured foes, and in
her fall has dragged down the reptiblicans of France, ad-
judged guilty of the crime of daring to resist the assassination
of a sister repnl)lic. But this is not all, nor half Cfermany,
through her vast extent, has passed over to the camp of
absolutism — her people still think, but dare not speak, for the
bayonet is at their throats, and democracy is once more trea-
son, since its regal enemies have recovered from their terror,
and found their military tools as brainless and as heartless as
eve:-. A.t last Hungary mounts the funeral pyre of freedom
and the sacrifice is complete, for Venice must trail her flag
directly on the tidings of Gorgey's victory. She has stood
out nobly, for a noble, a priceless cause — so has Hungary
struggled nobly and nobly fallen. For the present, all is over,
save that a few desperate, heroic patriots will yet sell their
lives in fruitless casual conflicts with the minions of despot-
ism. Nothing now remains but that the wolves should divide
and devour their prey.
XXXIX.— ACQUISITION OF TERRITORY.
DANIEL S. DICKINSON.
It would be well for these antagonisms Vvdio fear that all
newly acquired territory may be preoccupied and monopolized,
either by tiee labor on the one hand, or by slave labor on the
ACQUISITION OF TERKITORT. 61
other, as the case may be, unless their favorite ideas are in-
dulg^eJ, to remember that there are other daiiirers, either real
or imagiuary, to which it may be exposed if left to the free
goveruireiit of its own people. Our institutions invite the
children of every clime to sit down under the wide-spreading
branches of the tree of liberty, and we have no prohibitory,
or even protective impost duties upon social manners and cus-
toms, political opinions or religions rites. It may be that the
rugged Russian, allured by the gentle breezes of Mexico, may
fall down from his hyperborean regions with his serfdom and
his [uilitary rule, or the Turk choose to regale himself there
with his pipes and mocha, his Georgian Houris — sensual de-
lights and Moliammedan divinity ; or, what is equally probable,
as our Pacific possessions place us in direct conmiunicatioii
with Asia, that the plains may be desecrated by the trundling
oithe car of Juggernaut, or the subjects of the celestial Em-
peror — the brother of the sun and moon — may hurry thither,
and ruin all agricultural interests by converting it into an
extensi^'e field of hyson.
But let those who entertain them, dismiss all idle and sel-
fish fears, regard others as wise, and as virtuous, and as
capable of their own government as themselves, and all will
be well. The spirit of freedom will enlarge her own bound-
aries and people the area, in obedience to laws stronger tlian
the laws of Congress. The rich heritage we enjoy was won
by the common blood and ti'easure of the North aud k^oulh,
tiie East and the West, and was defended and vindicated by
the same, in the second war of independence ; and in the
present war with a reckless and semi-barbarous foe, the brave
sons of every section of the Union have Ibught and fallen
side by side ; the parched sands of Mexico have drunk togeth-
er the best blood of New York and South Carolina. These
recollections should renew and strengthen the ties whicli
unite the members of the confederacy, and cause them to
S]iurn all attempts at provoking sectional jealousies and irri-
tations, calculated to disturb the harmony and shake the
stability of the Union, lu the language of Mr. Jefiiirson, they
who intlulge "this treason against human hope will signalize
their enoc.h in future history as the counterpart of the model
01 laeir ore<it;cessor» "
62 THE BOOK OF KLOQUENCE.
XL.— ACQUISITION OF TERRITORY.
J. W. MII.I.Ka.
In consultinc: the history of nations, it will bo found there
is an epoch in tlio exislt'iice of eat^h, when a tempi atiou
presents itself, whieh resisted or yielded to, marks the fulnre
jharaeter of the nation for irood or for evil. That temptation
is now presented to this repubhc — it is Mexico. It is a broad
and a rich land — a land of silver and gold — a laud without
d froverument to protect it, and without a people capable of
deliiuduig it, and it lies before us an ea,sy tempting prey.
There is none to stay our hand, or to i-esist the gratification
of our ambition. The mystery of her origin, the story of lier
former conquest, play upon our fancy and excite our heroic
passions. Already has the tempter carried us to the piruiacle
of the temple and points out the rich treasures of the city
beneath We now stand upon the high mountain — at our
foet lie twenty states, with their cities and towns, their
temples of religion, and palaces of state. The tempter whis-
pers in our ear, all these shall be yours il"you will fall down aiul
worship the god conque-t. History stands ready with her
pen of steel to record our determination. Shall we bow down
to the evil spirit, and fall as other nations have fallen, or shall
we maintain our virtue and rise to god-like courage and say,
"Get thee belihid me, Satan." Tbe tem|jtatiou is mighty — the
power to resist only divine. I know of no nation, in ancient
or modern times that would resist so easy, yet so rich, an ac-
quisition tj its dominions. To say nothing of the heathen
world, not one of the powers of modern Europe would with-
fitand the temptation. England would not, as she has shown
by her conquests in the East. France would not, as she is
now proving by her attempts upon Algeria. As to Eussia,
Prussia, Austria, let the partition of Poland answer. There,
too, is old Spain, once the pi-oudest and miglitiest of them all,
she Iras also had her temptation. It was this same Mexico
which now fascinates us. Allured by its mines of silver and
gold, which now entice us — excited by the spirit of proj)a-
gandism, which now inspires us, she too yielded to the
tempter, and for a Avhile she went on from conquering to
conquer, until in her turn, she was made to lick the dust be-
neath the chariot wheels of that fiilse deify she had worship-
ped, when that chariot rolled in triumph over the fair iielda
THE FIIIST AMERICAN CONGRESS. 63
of Arranfon ami Castile. No, sir, I can fiiul no example of
this higli standard of national virtue and tbrbearance. If we
resist this temptation, we shall set an example to the world.
Ours the wisdtim, ours the virtue, ours the glory, of forbear-
ing to seize upon tlie territory of a weak and defenceless
neighbor, when we had the opportunity and the excuse of doing
so. We have already, in our slioit history, set one great
example to the nations of the earth. We have laid the Ibun-
dation of a mighty empire, deep and strong, upun a principle
new and startling to the old world. We have established,
seli-goveriunent, and bound in strong and happy union,
twenty millions of freemen, who acknowledge no government,
but that of their owu choice. Let us now establish another
principle of national action, equally new and startling. Let
us declare that while we admit the oppressed of every land,
to a free participation of the blessings of our self-government,
no cause of war, no excuse, no temptation will induce us to
concpier a nation by war, for the purpose of subjugating its
territory and people to our dominiou.
XLI.— THE FIRST AMERICAN CONGRESS.
J. MAXCY.
The int rposition of Divine Providence was eminently con-
Bpicuous, in the fust general Congress ; wliat men, what pa-
triots, what independent, heroic spirits 1 cliosen by the un-
bia'^sed voice of the pe()])le ; chosen as all public servants
ou^Mit to b(^ without i'avor and without fear ; what an au-
gust assembly of sages ! Rome in the height of her glory, fades
before it. There never was in any age, or nation, a body of
men wlio for general information, for the judicious use of the
results of civil and political history, for eloquence and virtue;
for true dignity, elevation and grandeur of soul, that could
stand a comparison with the first American Congress I See
what the peo])le will do when left to themselves ; to their un-
biassed good sense, and to their true interests! The ferocious
Gau! would have dropped his sword at the hall-door, and
bavi' lli'd thunderstruck as from an as.sembly of gods ! Whom
do 1 tjchold ? a llan(V)(d<, a .Icflerson, an Adams, a Henry, a
Le'5. a llutledge ! — Ulory to their immortal spirits! On you
64 THE BOOK OF ELOQUEXCE.
depend the destinies of your country ; tlie fate of three mil-
lions of men ; and of the countless millions of their posterity !
Shall these be slaves, or will yuu make a noble stand lor
liberty, against a power whose triumphs are already eo-ex-
teiisive with the earth ; whose legions trample on thrones and
sceptres ; whose thunders bellow on every ocean ? How tre-
meiulous the occasion I How vast the responsibility ! Tiie
President and all the members of this august assembly take
their seats. Every countenance tells the mighty struggle
within. Every tongue is silent. It is a pause in nature, that
soiemii, awful stillness, which precedes the earthquake and
tornado I At length Demosthenes arises ; he is only adequate
to the great occasion, the Virginian Demosthenes, the mighty
Henry ! What dignity ! What majesty ! Every eye fastens
upon him. Firm, erect, undaunted, he rolls on the mighty
torrent of his eloquence. What a picture does he draw of the
horrors of servitude, and the charms of freedom I At once he
gives the full rein to all his gigantic powers, and pours his
own heroic spirit into the minds of his auditors ; they become
as one man ; actuated by one soul — and the universal shout
is ■' Liberty or Death !" This single speech of this illustrious
man gave an impulse, which probably decided the fate of
America. His eloquence seized and moved the assembled
sages ; as the descending hail-storm, bursting in thunder,
ivnding the forest, and shaking the mountains. God bestows
on nations no greater gift, than great and good men, endowed
with the high and commanding powei's of eloquence. Such
a man as Patrick Henry, may on some great occasion, wlien
the happiness or misery of millions depends on a single deci-
sion, render more important service to a nation, than all the
generations of a century.
XLII. -LIBERTY AND DESPOTISM.
DK WITT CLINTON.
In revolutionary times great talents and great virtues, a?
well as great vices and great follies spring into being. The
energies of our nature are put into requisition, and during tl e
whirlwind and the tempest, innumerable evils will be perpe-
trated, iiut all the transient mischiefs of revolution are mild
IIBERTY AND DESPOTISM. C5
when compared with the pennauciit calamities of arl)itrary
power. The one is a sweepiag; deiu^re, an awlul tornado,
Aviiich qi-.ickly passes away ; but the other is a vokauo,
contiiinally ejecting rivers of lava — an earthquake hurying
whole couiilries in ruin. The alleged inaptitude of man for
liberty is the effect of the oppressions which he has suffered ;
and until a free government can slied its propitious influence
over time — until perhaps, a new generation has risen up un
der the new order of things, with new habits and new prin-
ciples, society will be in a state of agitation and mutation ;
f.etion will be the lord of the ascendant, and frenzy and fury,
dfuuncialion and proseri])lion, will be the order of the day.
The dilemma is inevitable. Either the happiness of the many
or the predominance of the icw must be sacrificed. The flame
of liberty and the light of knowledge emanate iiom the same
sacred fire, and subsist on the same element ; and the seeds of
instruction widely disseminated will, like the serpent's teeth,
in the pagan mythology, that were sown into the earth, rise
up against oppression in the shape of the iron men of Cadmus.
In such a case who can hesitate to m.ake an election ? The
factions and convulsions of free govenunents are not so san-
guinary in character, or terrific in efii^cts, as the animosities
and intestine wars of monarchies about the succession, the in-
surrections of the military, the j)roscriptions of the priesthood,
and the cruelties of the administration. The spirit of a Re-
public is the friend, and the genius of a monarchy is the ene-
my of peace. The potentates of the earth have, for centuries
hack, maintained large standing armies, and, on the most
frivolous pretexts, have created havoc and desolation. And
when we compare the world as it is under arbitrary power,
with the world as it was under free republics, what an aw-
ful contrast does it exluhlt ! What a solemn lesson does it
inculcate I The ministers of famine and pestilence, of death
and destruction, have formed the van and brought up the
rear, of despotic authority. The monuments of the arts, the
fabrics of genius and skill, and the sublime erections of piety
and science, have been prostrated in the dust ; the j)laces
where Demos' henes and Ci(!ero s])()ke, where Homer and Vir-
gil sang, and where Plato and Aristotle taught, are now ex-
hibiled as mementoes of the perishable nature of human glory.
The forum of Rome is converted into a market for cattle ;
the sacred fountain of Ca.stalia Is surrounded, not by the
.muses and graces, but by the semi-barbarous girls of Albania ;
6G THK BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
the laurel groves, and the deified heights of Parnassus, are
the asylum of" banditti ; Babylon can only be traced by its
bricks ; the sands of" the desert have overwhelmed the splen-
did city of Palmyra, and are daily encroaching on the f(LMtile
territories of the Nile ; and the malaria has driven man from
the fairest portions of Italy, and pursued him to tlie very gates
of the Eternal City.
XLTIL— RESISTANCE TO OPPRESSION.
J. M.\5iCY.
We are called upon as citizens and as men, by the highest
motives of duty, interest and happiness, to resist the innova-
tions attempted on our government ; to cultivate in ourselves
and others the geimine sentiments of liberty, patriotism and
virtue. After a long series of peace, prosperity and happi-
ness, you are tlireateued with all the horrors and cruelties of
vi^ar. The tempest thickens around you, and the thunder
already begins to roar. A nation hardened in the science of
human butchery ; accustomed to victory and plunder ; ex-
onerated from all those restraints by which civilized nations
are governed, lifts over your heads the iron sceptre of des-
potic power. To terrify you into an unmanly submission,
she holds up to your view Venice, shorn of her glory ; Hol-
land, robbed, degraded and debased ; Switzerland, with her
desolated fields, smoking villages and lofty cliHs, reeking in
blood amidst the clouds. In the full prospect of this mighty
group, this thickening battalion of horrors, call up all your
courage ; fly back to the consecrated altar of your liberty,
and while your souls kindle at the hallowed fire, invigorate
your attachment to the birth-day of your independence ; to
the government of your choice ; feel with additional weight
the necessity of united wisdom, councils and exertions, and
vow to the God of your fathers, that your lives and fortunes ;
that everything you esteem sacred and dear ; that all your
energies and resources, both of body and mind, are indissolu-
bly bound to your sovereignty and freedom. On all sides you
now behold the most energetic measures of defence. All is
full of lifii, and ardor, and zeal. The brave youth, the
flower and strength of our country, rush into the field, and
DEMOCRACY. 67
the eye of immortal Washington lightens along their em-
battled ranks. Aj)proach these hallowed shores, ye butchers,
■who have slaughtered half Europe — you will fuid every de-
file a Thermopyl.e, and every p.ain a Marathon ! We
already behold our fleet whitening the eloiuls witli its canvuss,
and sweeping the ocean with its tliiuider. The Uallic Hag
di()j)s to American valor, and our intrepid sailors sing victory
iu tlie midst of the tempest. Fellow-citizens, it is not by
tribute, it is not by submission — it is by resolution, it is by
courage, that we are to save our country. Let our efforts
an() our wisdom concentrate in the common cause, and show
to tlie world, that we are worthy that freedom which was
won by the valor and blood of our fathers. Let our govern-
ment, our religion and our liberty, fostered by our care, and
protected by our exertions, descend through the long range
of succeeding ages, till all the pride and presumption of
human arrangements, shall bow to the empire of universal
love, and the glory of all sublunary grandeur be forever ex-
tin<ruished.
XLIV.— DEMOCRACY.
DEMOCR.\TIC REVIEW.
Democracy must finally triumjdi in himian reason, be-
cause its fijundations are deep in the human heart. The
great mass, whose souls are bound by a strorsg fraternal sym-
j)atliy, once relieved from ancient prejudices, will stand liirth
as its moveless champions. It iiistens the affections of iiumi,
as the shield of their present lilierties and tlie ground of their
future hopes. They perceive in it a saving faith, a redeem-
ing truth, a regulating power. It is the only creed which
does justice to man, or tliat can bind the entire race in chains
of brotlierliood and love. Nothing sinks so deep into the
hearts of the multitude, for nothing else is so identified with
their moral and social good. Though the high and mighty
of the earth may deride its simjile truths, these are willing to
di'' in their defence. Those truths are blriidcd too closely
with all liir which it is worthy to live and glorious to perish,
to be ri'lini|Uislicd without a struggle or a |)aiig. They are
too firmly allied to the imperishable hopes, the deathless
68 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
aspirations, the onward triumphant march of humanity, ever
to he deserted. The fortunes of individuals may chaiifre — •
empires be born and blotted out — kuigs rise and fall — wealth,
honor, distinction, fade as the dying pageant of a dream — but
Democracy must live. While man lasts, it must live. Its
origin is among the necessary relations of things, and it can
only cease to be when eternal truth is no more.
Democracy, in its true sense, is the last best revelation of
human thought — I speak, of course, of that true and genuine
Democracy which breatlies the air and lives in the light of
Christianity — whose essence is justice, ami whose object is
human progress. I have no sympathy with much that
usurps the name, like that fierce and turbulent spirit of an-
cient Greece, which was only the monstrous misgrowth of
faction and fraud, or that Democracy whose only distinction
is the slave-like observance of party usages — the dumb repe-
tition of party creeds ; and still less for that wild, reckless
spirit of mobism which triumphs with remorseless and fiend-
ish exultation, over all lawful authorhy, all constituted
restraint. The object of our worship is far difierent from
these ; the oilering is made to a spirit wliicli asserts a virtu-
ous freedom of act and thought — which insists on the rights
of men — demands the equal diflusion of every social advan-
tage, asks the imj)artial participation of every gift of God —
sympathises with the down-trodden — rejoices in their eleva-
tion— ami proclaims to the world the sovereignty, not of the
people barely, but of immutable justice and truth.
No other doctrine exerts a mightier power over the weal
or woe of the whole human race. In times which are gone,
it has been the moving spring of revolutions — has aroused
the ferocious energies of oppressed nations — has sounded into
the ears of despots and dynasties the fearful rnoanhigs of com-
ing storms — has crimsoned fields of blood — has numbered
troops of marlyrs— has accelerated the downfall of emperors
—has moved the foundations of mighty thrones. Even now
millions of imprisoned spirits await its march with anxious
solicitude and hope. It must go Ibrth, like a bright angel of
God, to unbar the prison door, to succor the needy, heal the
sick, relieve the distressed, and pour a flood of light and love
into the darkened intellects and dreary hearts of the sons of
men.
OBLIGATION OF TREATIES. (59
XLV.— OBLIGATIONS' OF TREATIES.
riSriER AMES.
Will any man affirm, the American nation is engaged
by good lailh to the British nation ; but this engagement is
niitliing to this House I Such a man is not to be reason(,'d
^vilh — such a doctrine is a coat ol" mail, that woukl turn the
edge of all the weapons of argument, if they were sharper
than a sword. "Will it be imagined the King of Great
I'ritain and the President are mutually bound by the treaty ;
but tlie two nations are free ?
This, sir, is a cause that would be dishonored and betrayed
if I contented myself with appealing only to the understand-
ing. It is too cold, and its processes are loo sIoav lor the oc-
casion. I desire to thank God, that, since he has given me
an intellect so iallible, he has impressed upon me an instinct
that is sure. On a question of shame and honor, reasoning
is sometimes useless, and vain. I feel the decision in my
pulse : if it throws no light upon the brain, it kindles a lire
at the heart. It is not easy to deny, it is impossible to doubt,
that a treaty imposes an obligation on the American nation.
It would be childish to consider the President and Senate
obliged, and the nation aud House free. What is the
obligation ? perfect or imperfecl ? If perfect, the debate is
brought to a conclusion. If imperfect, how large a part
of our faith is pawned ? Is half our honor put at risk, and
is that half too cheap to be redeemed ? How long has this
hair-splitting subdivision of good i'aith been discovered, and
why has it escaped the researches of writers on the law of
nations ? Should we add a new chapter to that law ; or
insert this doctrine as a supplement to, or more properly a
repeal of the ton commandments ?
It is painful, I hope it is .superfluous, to" make even the
su))position, that America should i'urnish the occasion of this
opprobruirn. No, let me not even imagine, that a Ilej)ubli-
oan government, sprung, as our own is, from a people enligiiten-
ed and uncorrupted, a government whose origin is right, and
whose daily discipline is duty, can, upon solenui debate, make
its option to be faithless ; can dare to act what despots daro
not aviivv, what our own example evinces the Stales ot Bar-
bary arc uii.=us])ected ol". No, let me rather make the sup-
[losiliufi, that Great Britain relu.-,es to execute the treaty,
70 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
after we have done everything to carry it into effect. Is there
any lan<Tu;i<Te of" reproach pmiirent enouirh to express your
coiiunentary ou the I'act ? What wonld you say, or, rather,
•what would you not say ? Would you not tell them, wher-
ever an Englishman might travel, shame would stick to him :
he would disown his country. You would exclaim, England,
proud of your wealth, and arrogant in the possession of power,
blush for these distinctions, which become the vehicles of
your dishonor. Such a nation might truly say to corruption,
thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother
and sister. We should say of such a race of men, their name
is a heavier burden than their debt.
XLVL— THE PRESERVATION OF THE UNION.
D.^NIEL WEBSTER.
I pPv-OFESS, sir, in mj' career hitherto, to have kept steadily
in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the
preservation of our federal iniion. It is to that union we -owe
our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad.
It is to that union that we are chiefly indebted ibr whatever
makes us most proud of our country. That union we reached
only by the discipline of our virtue, in the severe school of ad-
versity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered
finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its be-
nign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as
from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of lile. Every
year of its dui^ation has teemed with fresh proof of its utility
and its blessings, and although our country has stretched out,
wider and wider, and our population stretched farther and
farther, they have not overturned its protection, or its benefits.
It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and
personal happiness.
I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union,
to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I
have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty,
wiien the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asun-
der. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the preci-
pice of disunion, to see whether, in my short sight, 1 can
fathom the depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard hira
NO EXTENSION OF FREKDOM CY FORCE. Yl
as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this government, whose
thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the
Uniou should be best preserved, but how tolerable might be
the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and
destroyed.
While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying
prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond
that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my
day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant, that on
my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When my
eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in
heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dis-
honored fragments of a once glorious Union ; on States dis-
severed, discordant, belligerent ; on a laud rent with civd
fends, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their
last feeble and linfrerinc; glance, rather, behold the g()r<ri'()us
ensign of the Republic, now known and honored throughout
the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and tro])liies
streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or pol-
luted, not a single star obscured — bearing for its motto, no
such miserable interrogatory as — What is all this worth ?
Nor those other words of delusion and folly — liberty first, and
union afterward.s — but everywhere, spread all over in charac-
ters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds as they float
over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the
wliole heavens, that other sentiment dear to every true Amer-
ican lieart — liberty a/id union, now and forever, one and in-
separable I
XLVII.— NO EXTENSION OF FREEDOM BY FORCE.
EEVERDY JOHNSON.
Sir, our institutions are telling their own story by the
blessings they impart to us, and indoctrinating the people
everywhere with the principles of freedom upon which they
are founded. Ancient prejudices are yielding to their mighty
infhience. Heretol()re revered, and apparently permanent
systems of govennnent, are falling beneath it. Our glorioua
mother, free as she has ever comitaratively been, is getting to
be freer. It has blotted out the corruptions of her polilicul
12 THE BOOK OF ELOQCEXCE.
franchise. It has broken her religious intolerance. It has
greatly elevated the individual character of her subjects. It
has immeasurably weakened the power of her nobles, and by
weakening in one sense has vastly strengthened the authority
of her crown, by forcing it to rest for all its power and glory
upon the breasts of its people. To Ireland too — impulsive Ire-
land — the land of genius, of eloquence, and of valor, it is rap-
idly carrying the blessings of a restored freedom and hapja-
ness. In France, all of political liberty which belongs to her,
is to be traced to it ; and even now it is to be seen cheering,
animating, and guiding the classic land of Italy, making the
very streets of Rome itself to ring with shouts of joy and grat-
itude for its presence. Sir, such a spirit sutlers no inactivity,
and needs no incentive. It admits of neither enlargement
nor restraint. Upon its own elastic and never-tiring wing, it
is now soaring over the ci%Tlized world, everj'where leaving
, its magic and abiding charm. I say, then, try not, seek not
to aid it. Bring no physical force to succor it. Such an ad-
junct would serve only to corrupt and paralyze its eflorts.
Leave it to itself, and, sooner or later, man will be free.
XLVIIL— DlSUXIOy AND WAR INSEPARABLE.
HENET CL.\Y.
Mr. President, I have said what I solemnly believe —
that the dissolution of the Union and war are identical and
inseparable ; that they are convertible terras. Such a war,
too, as that would be, following the dissolution of the Union I
Sir, w^e may search the pages of history, and none so furious,
so bloody, so implacable, so exterminating, from the wars of
Grreece down, including those of the commonwealth of Eng-
land, and the revolution of France — none, none of them raged
with such violence, or was ever conducted with such blood-
shed and enormities as will that war which shall follow that
disastrous event — if that event ever happen — of dissolution.
And what would he its termination ? Standing armies
and navies, to an extent draining the revenues of each por-
tion of the dissevered empire, would be created ; extermina-
tino- wars would follow — not a war of two or three years, but
of interminable duration — an exterminating war would fol-
THE EXPUNGING RESOLUIION'. "73
low, until some Philip or Alexander, some Csesar or Napo-
leon, would rise to cut the Gordiaii knot, and solve the
capacity of man for self-government, and crush the liberties
of both the dissevered portions of this Union. Can you doubt
it ? Look at history— consult the pages of all history, an-
cient or modern ; look at human nature — look at the char-
acter of the contest in which you would be engaged in the
supposition of a war following the dissolution of the Union,
such as I have suggested — and I ask you if it is possible tor
you to doubt that the final but perhaps distant termination
of the whole will be some despot treading down the liberties
of the people ? -that the final result will be the e.vti notion
of this last glorious light which is leading all mankind, who
are gazing upon it. to cherish hope and anxious expectation
that the liberty which prevails here will sooner or later be
advanced throughout the civilized "Svorld ? Can you liglitly
contemplate the consequences ? Can you yield yourself to a
torrent of passion, amidst danjrers which I have depicted in
colors far short of what would be the reality, if the event
should ever happen ? I conjure gentlemen — whether from
the South or the North, by all they hold dear in the world —
by all their love of liberty —by all their veneration for their
ancestors — by all their regard for posterity — by all their
gratitude to Him who has bestowed upon them such unnum-
bered blessings — by all the duties which they owe to man-
kind, and all the duties which they owe to themselves — by
all these considerations I implore them to pause — solemnly
to pause — at the edge of the precipice, before the fearful and
disastrous leap is taken in the yawning abyss below, which
will inevitably lead to certain and irretrievable destruction
And, i.nally, I imjilore, as the best blessing which heaven
can bestow upon me uj)on earth, that if the direful and sad
event ci the dissolution of the Union shall happen, I may not
survivo 10 behold the sad and heart-rending spectacle.
XLIX— THE EXPUNGING RESOLUTION,
HENRY CLAY.
Wu.^r patriotic purpose is to be accomplished bv this ex
puniriuL '; Is it to aj)pea.se the wrath, and to heal the wound-
ed pride oi the chief magistrate ? If he really be l4ie hero
4
74 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
that his friends represent him, he must despise all mean con-
descension, all grovelling sycophancy, all self-degradation,
and selt-abasement. He would reject with scorn and con-
tempt, as unworthy of his fame, your black scratches, and
your baby lines in the fair records of his country. Black
lines I Black lines I Sir, I hope the secretary of the Senate
will preserve the pen with which he may inscribe them, and
present it to that senator of the majority whom he may
select, as a proud trophy, to be transmitted to his descendants.
And hereafter, when we shall lose the forms of our free in-
stitutions, all that now remain to us, some future American
monarch, in gratitude to those by whose means he has been
enabled, upon the ruins of civil liberty, to erect a throne, and
to commemorate especially this expunging resolution, may
institute a new order of knighthood, and confer on it the ap-
j)ropriate name of the kmgiit of the black lines.
But why should I detain the Senate, or needlessly waste
my breath in future e.x:ertions ? The decree has gone forth.
Il is one of urgency, too. The deed is to be done — that foul
de(^d, like the blood-stained hands of the guilty Macbeth, all
ocean's waters will never wash out. Proceed, then, to the
noble work which lies before you, and like other skilful ex-
ecutioners, do it quickly. Atid when you have perpetrated
it, go home to the people, and tell them what glorious honors
you have achieved for our common country. Tell them that
you have extinguished one of the brightest and purest lights
that ever burned at the altar of civil liberty. Tell them that
you have silenced one of the noblest batteries that ever thun-
dered in defence of the constitution, and bravely spiked the
cannon. Tell them that, henceforth, n i matter what daring
or outrageou- act any president may perform, you have for-
ever hermetically sealed the mouth of the Senate. Tell therr*
that he may fearlessly assume what power he j)leases, siiat".b
from its lawful custody the public purse, command a military
detachment to enter the hall of the capitol, overawe Congress,
trample down the constitution, and raze every bulwark of
freedom ; but that the Senate must stand mute, in silent
submission, and not dare to raise its opposing voice ; that it
must wait until a house of representatives, humbled and sub-
dued like itself, and a majority of it composed of the partisar?
of the president, shall j)refer articles of impeachment. TtU
them, finally, that you have restored the glorious doctrine of
passive obed.euce and nou-resistauce, and, if the people do
CENSURE OF AUSTRIA. TS
not pour out their indif^nalion and imprecations, I have yet
to learn the character oi" A mericau freemen.
L.— CENSURE OF AUSTRIA.
LEAVIS CASS.
I AM perfectly aware 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
appL-ar near or remote, until she is stayed by one of those np-
heaviiifis of the people, which is as sure to come as that man
Iduj^s for freedom, and longs to strike the blow which shall
make it his. Pride is blind, and power tenacious, and Aus-
trian pride and power, though they may quail before the
siirns of the times, before barricades and fraternization, by
which streets are male fortresses, and armies revolutionized
— new, but mighty engines in popular warfare — will hold
out in their citadel till the last extremity. But many old
things are passing away, and Austrian despotism will pass
away in its turn — its bulwarks will be shaken by the rushing
of mighty winds, and by the voice of the world — whenever a
benignant expression is not restrained by the kindred sympa-
thies of arbitrary power. I desire not to be misunderstood.
1 do not mean that in all the revolutionary struggles which
political contests bring on, it would be expedient lor otlier
trovernments to express their feelings of interest and sympathy.
I think they should not, for there are obvious considerat oiis
which forbid this action, and the value of this kind of moral
interposition would be diminished by its too frequent occur-
rence. It should be reserved for great events, marked by
Sfreat crimes and oppression on the one side, and great mis-
(()rtunes and exertions on the other, and circumstances which
carry with them the symj)athies of the world, like the parti-
tion of" I'oland and the subjugation of Hungary. We can
oHLt j)ublic congratulations, as we have done, to people
crowned by success in their struggles for freedom. We can
oder our recognition of their independence to others, as we
have done, while yet the efil^rt was pending. Have we
Bymj)athy only for the fortunate, or is a__cause less dear or
fsacred because it is prostrated in the dust at the feet of
76 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCR.
power ? I freely confess that I shall hail the day with pleas-
ure, when the government reflectiug the true seiitirnonts of
the people, shall express its sympathy for struggling millions,
seeking that liberty which was given to them by God, but
has been wrested from them by man. I do not see any dan-
ger to the true independence of nations by such a course, and
indeed I am by no means certain, that tlie free interchange
of public views in this solemn manner, would not go fir
toward checking the progress of oppression and the tendency
to war. Why, sir, the very discussion in high places, and
free places, even when discussion is followed by no act, is, I
believe, a great element of retributive justice, to punish it
when an atrocious deed is done, and a great element of moral
power to restrain it, where such a deed is contemplated. I
claim for our country no exemption from the decrees of their
high ti'ibunals, and when we are guilty of a tithe of the op-
pression and cruelty which have made the Austrian name a
name of reproach through the world, I hope we shall receive,
as we shall well merit, the condemnation of mankind.
LI.— IMPROVEMENT OF THE WEST.
A. G. HARRISON.
All that we ask is, to be equal with the other States of
this Confederacy in freedom, sovereignty, and independence
Grrant us only this, and you will see this whole country, like the
giant that gathered strength in his wrestle with Hercules,
every time he touched the earth, spring up with an elastic
bound to new vigor and power, and the proud galaxy that
adorns your stars and stripes shine forth with a rich splendor
which nothing but regenerated liberty can give. Enable us
to make our roads and canals, to carry on our works of inter-
nal improvement, to manage our own internal police, as oui
genius and necessities may require, and you will soon witness
the wonderful change which the uncontrolled and plastic
power of self government can alone accomplish ; the waste
lands speedily sold and settled, the desert made to smile and
blossom as a garden, the country improved and cultivated to
its utmost limits, industry stimulated, labor rewarded with
PLEA FOR THE DESCENDANTS OF JAMES RUMSET. 77
rich returns, the people prosperous and happy, and the
country rich with every blessing.
What a guarantee to the perpetuity and stability of the
government, living in the hearts of its own people, and bor-
rowing its own lustre and glory from their proud, prosperous,
and independent condition. And, permit me to tell you, that
deep and tirm as may be the foundations of our country, still
deeper will they be made by the policy which is before you.
Let me beseech you to cast aside your prejudices, to throw
oil' from your eyes the scales which have so long blinded you,
and to come nj) to this mighty and momentous question with
notlimg but the holy impulses of patriotism directing your
heart ; and you will see inscribed upon our banners Truth
and Justice, as all for which we would appeal to you, or
ask at your hands. Our strength will be yours. The glory
that may surround us will radiate its efl'ulgence to every
portion of our common country, and the same destiny that
awaits us and our children will be indissolubly connected
with your own ; and should any great event in the
changes of life and the vicissitudes of the afi'airs of nations
ever take place, to pull up the deep foundations of our
government, and tear down our noble edifice, let me tell you
that in the general wreck of the liberties of the country, the
last spark will be found flickering on the plains of the West
in the domicils of the humble tillers of the earth.
LII.— PLEA FOR THE DESCENDANTS OF JAMES RUiMSEY.
EDWARD RUMSEY.
I H.WR stood upon the bank of the beautiful river wliich
washes the broad border of my own beloved State, and con-
teiM|)lat('(| the majestic steam j)alace in her proud career,
e.xclianging with lapidity and cheapness the productions of
dil'l'i-K nt clinics, conveying with comfort and expedition the
travelling public, giving new life and energy to conmien e,
to agiicuiture, to national industry and enterprise : I say,
sir, 1 have stood in musing mood upon the shore ol the fair
Ohio, and viewed tlie noble steamer moving victorious
ftgainst wind and cmreiit,
" Walking the waters Hke a thing of life,"
YS THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
and then reflected that the only son of the man who first
seriously attracted the attention of the skilful and inf^enious
to the suhject — the only son of the man who first, hy ac-
tual trial, proved its practicability — the only son of the
man who, in his arduous struggles to perfect and present to
the woi-ld the steamboat, expended his little fortune, banished
hirnself from his home and his country, and in spite of all
obstacles, was pushing onward to success, when arrested by
sudden death. When I have reflected that the only son of
this man was toiling ibr his daily bread, smitten by his (lod,
and neglected by his country — when I have contemplated
that and this spectacle, the steamboat aiul the unfortunate
son of its inventor, feelings, emotions, reflections, have
crowded upon me, of a character wliich, as a patriot, a phi-
lanthropist, and a Christian, I acknowledge it was improper
and sinful to entertain. To the support of that stricken one
I have thought his country abounding in resources, with
more hundreds of millions of public domain than she can
S(juander in ages, might contribute something more substan-
tial than a medal, without any extraordinary stretch of liber-
ality. But it is not tor me to solicit it even for him. I shall
be gratified, deeply gratified, if the government of his conn-
try shall honor the memory of his father for all his sacrifices
and all his services by the adoption of this resolution.
LIIL— THE SABBATH.
T. FREMNGHUYSEN.
Mr. President — The Sabbath was made for man — not to
be contemned and forgotten — the constitution of his nature
requires just such a season. It is identified with his pur-
suits, and his moral tendencies. God has ordained it in infi-
nite benevolence. The reason for its institution, as recorded
in his word, was his own example. It began with creation.
The first week of time was blessed with a Sabbath. Tlie
garden of Eden would not have smiled in all its loveliness,
had not the light of this day shone upon it. Blot it out, and
the hope of the world is extinguished. When the whirl-
wind raged in France, how was it, sir ? They could not
carry their measures of ferocity and blood, while this last
THE SABBATH, '19
palladium of virtue remained. Desolation seemed to pause
ill its course, its waves almost subsided : when the spirit ot"
evil struck this hallowed day from the calendar, and enactt-d
a decade to the Goddess of Reason — after which the besuui
swept all before it.
Our own experience must satisfy us tliat it is essential to
the welfare of our condition. Put the mind to any action of
its powers — let its enerjiies be exerted incessantly, with no
season for abstraction and repose, and it would very soon sink
under a task so hostile to its nature : it would wear out in
such hard service. !So let the pursuits of business constantly
enpage our speculations, and the wliole year become one un-
varied calculation of profit and loss, with no Sabbath to
open an hour for the I'etui'u of higher and nobler feelings, and
the heart will become the victim of a cold and debasing sel-
fishness, and have no greater susceptibility than the nether
mill-stones. And if in matters that are lawful, such conse-
quences would ensue, what will be the results of a constant,
unbroken progression in vice I Sir, I tremble at the prospect
for my country. If this barrier against the augmenting flood
of evil be prostrated, all your penalties and prisons will oppose
an utterly inefficient check. Irreligion will attain to a mag-
nitude and hardihood that will scorn the restraints of your
laws. Law, sir I of what avail can this be against the cor-
rupted sentiment of a whole people ? Let us weigh the in-
teresting truth — that a free people can only flourish under
the control of moral causes ; and it is the Sabbath which
gives vigor, and energy, and stability to these causes. The
nation expects that the standard of sound principles will be
raised here. Let us give it a commanding elevation. Let its
tone be lofty. It is in this way we should expect to excite
the enthusiasm of patriotism, or any otiier virtue. When
we would awaken in our youth the spirit of literary emula-
tion, we spread out to their vision a rugged path and a diffi-
cult ascent, and raise the prize of fame high above the reach
ni any pursuit, but an ardent, laborious, and vigorous reach
ui effort. If we would kindle the love of country, we do ntit
humble her claims to a miserable posture, just above down-
right indifTerence — but we point to a devoted Leonidas, and
tiie brightest names of the scroll, and thus urge our youth
onward and upward. Let us, then, sir, be as wise and faith-
ful in the cultivation of sound moral principles.
80 THE HOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LIV.— INVIDIOUS DISTINCTIONS.
HUGH S. LEG ARE.
Sir, as a Southern man, I represent equally rent, capital,
and wiij^es, which are confoiuided in our estates ; and 1 pro-
test against attempts to array, without cause, without a color
of pretext or plausibility, the diflerent classes of society against
each other, as ii', in such a country as this, there could be any
natural hostility or any real distinction between them — a
country in which all the rich, with hardly an exception,
have been poor, and all the poor may one day be rich — a
Country in winch banking institutions have been of immense
service, precisely because they have been most needed by a
people who had all their fortunes to make by good character
and industrious habits. Look at that remarkable picture —
remarkable not as a work of art, but as a monument of his-
tory — which you see in passing through the rotunda. Two
out of five of that immortal committee were mechanics, and
such men! In the name of God, sir, why should any one
study to pervert the natural good sense and kindly feelings
of this moral and noble people — to infuse into their minds a
sullen envy towards one another, instead of that generous
emulation which everything in their situation is fitted to in-
spire — to breathe into them the spirit of Cain, muttering deep
curses and meditating desperate revenge against his brother,
because the smoke of his sacrifice has ascended to heaven be-
Ibre his own ! And do not they who treat our industrious
classes as if they were in the same debased and wretched
condition as the poor of Europe, insult them by the compar-
ison ? Why, sir, you do not know what poverty is. We
have no poor in this country, in the sense in which that word
is used abroad. Every laborer, even the most humble, in the
United States soon becomes a capitalist, and even if he
choose, a proprietor of land ; ibr the West, with all its bound-
less fertility, is open to him. How can any one dare to com-
pare the mechanics of this land (whose inferiority, in any
substantial particular, in intelligence, in virtue, in wealth, to
the other classes of our society, I have yet to learn) with that
race of outcasts, of which so terrific a picture is presented by
recent writers — the poor of Europe ? a race, among no in-
considerable portion of whom famine and pestilence may be
said to dwell continually; many of whom are without mor-
EULOGY OS YELL. 81
als, without education, without a country, without a God I
and may be said to know society only by the terrors of its
penal code, and to live in perpetual war with it. Poor bond-
men I mocked with the name ol' liberty, that they may be
sometimes tempted to break their chains, in order that, after
a lew days of starvation in idleness and dissipation, they may
be driven back to tlieir prison house to take them up a<rain,
heavier and more galling than belbre ; severed, as it has been
touchingly expressed, from nature, from the common air, and
the light of the sun ; knowing only by hearsay that the fields
are green, that the birds sing, and that there is a perfume in
flowers. And is it with a race whom the perverse institu-
tions of Europe have thus degraded beneath the condition of
humanily, that the advocates, the patrons, the protectors of
our working-men, presume to compare tbem ? Sir, it is to
treat them with a scoru at which their spirit should revolt,
and does revolt.
LV.— EULOGY ON YELL.
H. BEDINOER.
The gentleman spoke of the gallant conduct of a certain
heroic young officer who now has a seat in the other branch
of our National Legislature, and of several other gallant men
of the South, whose heroic deeds shall never die. But, sir,
there was one whose name, greatly to my regret, he did not
mention ; I say greatly to my regret, only because I know,
that with his accustomed ability and fervent feeling, he
would have done such justice to the memory of that gallant
hero as it never can receive from any poor eulogy of" mine. I
speak, sir, of one with whom I had the honor of a personal
acquaintance, between whom and myself there existed an in-
timacy which, to me, was always a source of pride and pleas-
ure ; of one who, but a short time ago, stood with us upon
this floor, and participated in our deliberations ; one whose
manly and dignified ciiarader, wliose urbane and (-oiirteous
manners, and whose unquestioned integrity, assigned to him
the very highest place in the estimation of all who knew him.
Sir, I shall never i()rget his conduct and bearing when the
news first reached him, of the uncalled-for, unprovoked, and
4*
82 THE BOOK OF ELOQUKNCE.
infamous outrages perpetrated by the Mexicans upon oui
troops and our soil. I shall never forget his gallant bearing
on that occasion ; his flashing eye, his indignant exclama-
tions, and the earnest manner in which he declared his in-
tention to take part in the vengeance which he knew his
country would wreak upon those who had thus rashly dared
to violate her soil and insult her flag. Sir, the first peal of
the tocsin had barely reached us — the alarm of war had
barely rung out in the land, when he resigned his seat upon
this floor, flew to the standard of his country, and upon the
glorious field of Buena Vista poured out his life's-blood in de-
fence of her honor and her rights. Sir, I have never heard
the name of that gallant man mentioned on this floor, in any
of the many complimentary notices which have been taken
of our army and our officers. Yet of one thing I am very
certain : I do know, that so long as patriotism, so long as self-
sacrificing devotion to country, shall be deemed a virtue wor-
thy of the estimation of mankind — so long as bravery, chival-
ry, and noble daring shall be prized by the American peo-
ple- so long shall live in their grateful recollections, so long
shall flourish and grow green in their hearts, the name, the
memory, and the virtues of Archibald Yell.
LVI.— GENOA IN HER BEAUTY.
CHARLES SUMNER.
Lkt me bring to your mind Genoa, called the Superb City
of Palaces, dear to the memory of American childhood as the
birthplace of Christopher Columbus, and otie of the spots
first enlightened by the morning beams of civilization, whose
merchants were princes, and whose rich argosies, in those
early days, introduced to Europe the choicest products of the
East, the linen of Egypt, the spices of Arabia, and the silks
of Samarcand. She still sits in queenly pride, as she sat
then, — her mural crown studded with towers — her churches
rich with marble floors and rarest pictures — her palaces of
ancient doges and admirals yet spared by the hand of time —
her close streets, thronged by one hundred thousand inhabi-
tants — at the foot of the maritime Alps, as they descend to
the blue and tideless waters of the Mediterranean Sea — lean
BEST POLICY IN REGARD TO NATURALIZATION. 83
ing with her back asrainst their stronn; mountain-sides, over-
sliadowed by the ioHaire of the tig-tree and the olive, while
the orange and lemon till with their perfume the air where
reipus perpetual spring. Who can contemplate such a city
without delight ?
LVII.— BEST POLICY IN REGARD TO NATURALIZATION.
■ LEWIS C. LEVIN.
Each hour will behold this tide of foreign emigration
rising higher and higher, growing stronger and stronger,
rus ing bolder and bolder.
The pai^t furnishes no test of the future, and the future
threatens to transcend all calculations of this formidable evil.
View this great subject in any light, and it still Hings back
upon us the reflected rays of reason, patriotism, and philan-
ttu(Tpy. The love of our native land is an innate, holy, and
irrad:cable passion. Distance only strengthens it — time only
concentrates the feeling that causes the tear to gush I'rom the
eye of the emigrant, as old age peoples by the vivid memory
the active present with the happy past. In what land do
we behold the foreigner, who denies this passion of the heart?
It is nature's most holy decree, nor is it in human power to
repeal the law, which is passed on the mother's breast, and
confirmed by the father's voice. The best policy of the wise
statesman is to model his laws on the holy ordinances of na-
ture. Il' the heart of the alien is in his native land — if all
liis di;are!^t thoughts and fondest affections clyster around the
ahar of his native gods — let us not disturb his enjoyments hy
plac riir this burden of new affections on his bosom, through
the moral f(»rce of an oath of allegiance, and the onerous ob-
ligation of political duties that are against his sympathies, and
call on liim to renounce I'eelings that he can never exi)el from
lii'* b(»som. Let us secure him the privilege at least of mourn-
in ' f-r his native land, by withholding obligations he cannot
(ii.-ch.iriie either with lidelity, ability, or j)leasure. Give him
lime, .^ir, to wean himself iiom his early love. A long list
of innumerable dntirs w ill engage all his attention during his
political novitiate, in addition to those comprised in reforming
the errors and prejudices of the nursery, and in creating and
84 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
forming new opinions, congenial to the vast field which lies
spread betbie him in morals, politics, and life. A due reflec-
tion will convince every alien, when his passions are not in-
flamed by the insidious appeals of senseless demagogues, that
his highest position is that of a moral agent in the full enjoy-
ment of all the attributes of civil freedom, preparing the
minds and hearts of liis children to become faithful, intelli-
gent, and virtuous republicans, born to a right that vindicates
itself by the holy ties of omnipotent nature, and which, while
God sanctions and consecrates, no man can dispute.
LVIIL— AN APPEAL FOR OREGON".
J. J. m'powf.ll.
Is the American heart dead that pulsated so nobly and
patriotically in days gone by ? Is there no remaining love
for the graves of our ancestors, our honor, and our liberty ?
No, that heart is not dead, tliank God ! I heard the voice,
the other day, on this floor, of an aged and venerable member
from Massachusetts, who lived far back in the eighteenlh
century, asserting that the whole of Oregon was ours, and
that the question ought now to be settled. Sir, my heart
throbbed a warm response to that patriotic declaration, com-
ing from one who has lived and acted with that noble band
of patriots that gaA^e birth to this Republic, imparting to it
that vitality and vigor that command the love and admira-
tion of all who can appreciate the liberality of her principles
or the sublimity of her destinv. He seemed to be the only
remaining one of that group of intellectual constellations that
shone in times gone by, and threw a lustre upon the history
of their own country and of the "world, that time nor circum-
stances can obscure or destroy. Though the ravages of time
are visible in the palsied hand that was raised in attestation
of our right to Oregon, and the spray of the political Jordan
he had passed, with other worthies that were no more, still
was white upon his locks, yet there beat in that bosom on
this question an American heart ; aye, sir, it pulsates with a
warmth that was imparted to it by the fire that fell upon it
from the altar of liberty, at which he and the fathers of the
Constitution worshipped together in days gone by. May its
ALWAYS READY BUT NKVER RASH. 85
genial heat be imparted to the heart of every man in this
House and to tiie heart of the whole American people I
Sir, I fancy that I hear the people of the West responding
to the sentiments uttered by that venerable man — that the
mifrhty heart of that great giantess has begun to pulsate with
a double vigor, and that I hear the echo of its throbs across
the Alleghanies. Yes ! I fancy that I see gathering upon her
brow a tempest of indignation, that will burst upon tlic de-
voted heads of any set of men, or party, that would defeat
the consummation of the measures beibre the House for the
lull occupation of Oregon, and the protection of our citizens ;
or that would surrentler one foot of our territory there to
satiate the cupidity of Great Britain. Her sons would prefer
inakiug the territory north of forty-nine degrees their burying-
grouud, rather than seal, by its surrender to by peace irom
Euirland, the infamy and eternal disgrace of their country.
They ask nothing but what is just, and will not submit to
anytliing that is wrong. She oilers the noble bosoms of her
sous, as a living, unconquerable bulwark, to protect the coun-
try and our rights. She asks the boon at the hands of this
government of rearing aloft the stars and stripes, and planting
them on every hill-top and valley in Oregon — aye, sir, on the
shores of the mighty Pacific, there to guard them with her
noblest sons, and there to let them wave in triumph, till tfie
glorious prin(;iples of liberty and Christianity shall have be-
girt the world, and consummated universal liberty, civil and
religious, to man.
LTX.— ALWAYS READY BUT NEVER RASH.
H. BKDINOER.
TiiosK who, like mvself, have stood amid the sublime
scenery at Harper's Ferry, and watched the eagle there in his
favorite hannts, now perched in solitary grandeur on some
tall peak or towering cra<r — now wheelinir into the heavens
with his eye upon the sun — tlio.se who have delighted to
watch him thus, know something of his nature and his habits.
They know he is never rash, that he makes no unnecessary
noise, or i<lle (luttering ; that he never strikes until he is
readij, and when lie does strike, it is with the rapidity and
86 TIIK BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
deadly certainty of heaven's lightning I I witnessed there,
upon one occasion, sir, a scene which I wish I had the skill
or ability to depict, for it was very beautiful. There was a
black, lowering, and portentous cloud in the west, charged
with thunder ;\over its dark bosom the red lightning gleam-
ed and danced, and the voice of the thunder came forth in
tones which shook the hills. An eagle came swooping on
from the east, directly in the face of the cloud itself. On-
ward he came with the rapidity of an arrow, seemingly re-
solved to penetrate the dark barrier, and make his onward
way in spite of all resistance. Now he plunged into the
dark bosom of the cloud, as if determined to snatch the
lightnings of heaven. Anon he wheeled aloft as if resolved
to scale the summit ; and his shriek came forth in fierce de-
fiance of the angry thunder. But suddenly he made one
majestic swoop — not backward, sir, no retreat in his nature
— but directly alone: the very verge of the cloud, skirting tliis
Blue Ridge, and perched himself upon one of its loftiest peaks.
He paused one moment, with bowed wings and glancing eyes
— the cloud blew over without even the smallest pattering
of rain, the sun came out again from the cloudless heaven,
the eagle sprang from his perch and pursued his course far in
the dim regions of the trackless West 1
iSo, sir, might it be with us. if we could but curb our im-
petuosity and imprudence ; if we could but pause and ponder,
and wait, for a brief period, the dark cloud now lowering upon
our political horizon would pass away without difficulty of
danger, and the " Eajjle of America" would take its onward
flight, unresisted and unopposed, to the rich regions of Oregon.
LX.— SECESSIOK
DANIEL ■WEBSTER.
Secession I Peaceable 'Secession ! Sir, your eyes and
mine are never destined to see that miracle. The dismem-
berment of this vast country without convulsion ! The
breaking up of the fountains of the great deep without ruf-
fling the surface ! Who is so foolish — I beg everybody's pardon
— as to expect to see any such thing ? Sir, he who sees
these States, now revolving in harmony around a common
centre, and expects to see them cpiit their places and fly ofl'
SECESSION. 87
without convulsion, may look the next hour to see tlie
heavenly bodies rush from their splieres, and joslle ajrainst
each other in the realms of space, without piaducin<r the
crush of the universe. There can be no such thing as a
peaceable secession. Peaceable secession is an utter impos-
sibility. Is the great Constitution under which we live here
— covering this whole country — is it to be thawed and melt-
ed away by secession, as the snows on the mountain melt
luider the influence of a vernal sun — disappear almost unob-
served, and die ofl"? No, sir! no, sir! I will not state what
might produce the disruption of the States ; but, sir, I see it
as plainly as I see the sun in heaven — I see that disruption
must produce such a war as 1 will not describe in its twolold
characters.
Peaceable secession ! peaceable secession ! The concurrent
agreement of all the members of this great Republic to .sepa-
rate I A voluntary separation Avith alimony on the one side
and on the other. Why, what would be the result ? Where
is the line to be drawn ? What States are to secede ? What
is to remain American ? What am I to be ? — an American
no longer ? Where is the flag of the Republic to remain ?
Where is the eagle still to tower ? or is he to cower, and
shrink, and fall to the ground ? Why, sir, our anc-estors —
our fathers, and our grandfathers, those of them that are yet
living among us with prolonged lives — would rebuke and
reproach us; and our children, and our grandchildren. Mould
cry out, shame upon us ! if we, of this generation, should
dishonor these ensigns of the power of the Government, and
the harmony of the Union, which is every day felt among us
with so much joy and gratitude. What is to become of the
army ? What is to become of the navy ? What is to
become of the public lands ? How is each of the thirty States
to defend itself?
# ^ ^ # ^ ^
Sir, I am ashamed to pursue this line of remark. I dislike
it — 1 have an utter disgust for* it. I would rather hear of
natural blasts and mildews, war, pestilence, and fitmine, than
to hear gentlemen talk of secession. To break up ! to break
up this great Government ! to dismember this great country !
to astonish Europe with an act of folly, such as Europe for
two centuries has never beheld in any government ! No,
sir! no, sir! There will be no secession. Gentlemen are
not serious when they talk ol secession.
88 ■ THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LXL— PEACEFUL CONQUESTS.
JOHN A. DIX.
In the extension of our commercial intercourse, we have
not, like our Anglo-Saxon mother, been seen hewing down
with the sword, with unrelenting and remorseless determina-
tion, every obstacle which opposed itself to her progress. Our
career thus far has been stained by no such companionship
with evil. Our conquests have been the peaceful achieve-
iTients of enterprise and industry — the one leading the M'ay
into the wilderness, the other following and completing the
acquisition by the formal symbols of occupancy and posses-
sion. They have looked to no objects beyond the conversion
of uninhabited wilds into abodes of civilization and freedom.
Their only arms were the axe and the ploughshare. The
accumulations of wealth they have brought were all ex-
tracted from the earth by the urioifending hand of labor.
It", in the progress of our people westward, they shall occupy
territories not our own, but to become ours by amicable ar-
rangements with the government to which they belong,
which of the nations of the earth shall venture to stand
forth, in the face of the civilized world, and call on us to
pause in this great work of human improvement ? It is as
much the interest of Europe as it is ours, that we should be
permitted to (bllow undisturbed the path which, in the allot-
ment of national fortunes, we seem aj)pointed to tread. Our
country has long been a refuge for those who desire a larger
liberty than they enjoy under their own rulers. It is an out-
let for the political disafleetion of the old world — for social
elements which might have become sources of agitation, but
which are here silently incorporated into our system, ceasing
to be principles of disturbance as they attain the greater free-
dom which was the object of their separation from less con-
genial cornf)inations in other quarters of the globe. Nay,
more ; it is into the vast reservoir of the western wilderness,
teeming with fruitfulness and fertility, that Europe is con-
stantly pouring, under our protection, her human surplnses,
unable to draw from her own bosom the elements of their
support. She is literally going along with us in our march
to prosperity and power, to share with us its triumphs and
its fruits. Happily, this continent is not a legitimate theatre
for the political arrangements of the sovereigns of the eastern
A STRIKIKO PICTURE. 89
hemisphere. Their armies may range, umlisturbeJ by us,
over the plains of Europe, Asia, and Africa, detlironiug
monarclis, partitioniuo: kinjidonis, and subverting repubiies,
as interest or caprice may dictate. But political justice de-
mands that in one quarter of the globe self-government, free-
dom, the arts of peace, shall be permitted to work out, ua-
iiiolcsted, the great purposes of human civilization.
LXII.— A STRIKING PICTURE.
EDWARD EVERETT.
At length the revolution, with all this grand civil and
military preparation, came on ; and that I could paint out
in worthy colors the magnificent picture I The incidents,
the characters, are worthy of the drama. What names,
what men I Chatham, Burke, Fox, Franklin, the Adamses,
Washington, Jefferson, and all the chivalry, and all the di-
plomacy of Europe and America. The voice of generous dis-
afi'ection sounds beneath the arches of St. Stephen's ; and
the hall of Congress rings with an eloquence like that which
" Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece,
To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throue."
Then contemplate the romantic groups that crowd the mili-
tary scene ; all the races of men, and all the degrees of civi-
lization, brought upon the stage at once — the English vete-
ran ; the plaided Highlander ; the hireling peasantry of
Hesse Cassel and Anspach ; the gallant chevaliers of Po-
land ; the well-appointed legions of France, led by her
]»olished 7t/>blesse ; the hardy American yeoman, his leather
apron not always thrown aside ; the mounted rifleman ; the
painted savage. At one moment, we hear the mighty
armadas of Europe thundering in the Antilles. Anon we he-
hold the blue-eyed }3runswickers, whose banners told, in
their tattered sheets, of the victory of Minden, threading
the wilderness between St. Lawrence and Albany, under
an accomplished British gentleman, and capitulating to the
American forces, commanded by a naturalized Virginian,
who had been present at the capture of Martinico, and was
shot through the body at Braddock's defeat. While the grand
90 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
drama is closed at Yorktown, with the storm of the British
lilies, by the emulous columns of the French and American
army, the Americans, led by the heroic La Fayette, a scion
of the oldest French nohility ; a young New York lawyer,
the gallant and lamented Hamilton, commanding the ad-
vanced guard.
LXIII.— POWER OF WEALTH PRODUCED BY LABOR.
TRISTAM BURGESS.
Sir, in this age of the world, the wealth of nations de-
pends on their labor. There was a time, nay, for many ages,
yjhinder was the great resource of nations. The first king-
dom established on earth was sustained by the conquest and
pillage of many nations ; and " great Babylon, the glory of
the Chaldean empire," was built and adorned by the spoil
of all Asia. The exorbitant wealth of one nation, thus ob-
tained, gave an example to the world, and awakened the
ambition, and sharpened the avarice of others ; until the As-
syrian was conquered and plundered by the Persian, the Per-
sian by the Macedonian, and he, at last, devoured by the Ro-
man power. The wolf which nursed their founder seems to
have given a hunger for pi'ey, insatiable, to the whole nation.
Perhaps there was not a house, nor a temple, between the
Atlantic and the Euphrates, which was not plundered by
some one of that nation of marauders. Sir, the tide of
ages, century after century, had rolled over the last fragment
of Roman power ; the light of science dawned on the world,
and a knowledge of letters was disseminated by the press,
before men seemed to believe that our Creator had, in fact,
announced to the first of our race, that " by the sweat of
his face man should eat his bread all the days of his life."
No one cause has done so much in changing that character
from war and plunder, as that pure, meek, and quiet philoso-
phy, which has taught all men to " do unio others as they
would that others should do unto them." Rebuked by this
divine precept, men have sheathed the sword, and put their
hand to the plough ; they have mined the earth, and not for
the instruments of war, but for the machines of labor. If,
now, war break out, it is not for plunder ; cities are not given
MODERN IDOL WORSHIP. 91
up to pillajre ; captives are not sold for slaves ; territories do
not chaiiiro owners ; men return asain with eagerness to the
habits of peace, and do not look to the labors of the camp,
but to those of the plough, the loom, and the sail, for emolu-
ment and wealth.
Wealth is power; and the defence of every nation depends
on its wealth. Tlie wealth of a nation is its labor, its skill,
its machinery, its abundant control of all the great agents of
nature employed in production. What but a mighty phalanx
of labor, an almost boundless power of consumption and re-
produdion, has defended, and now sustains England in all
the athletic vigor of the most glorious days of that extraor-
dinary nation ? With a valor truly Spartan she builds no
wall against the wars of the world. The little island, acces-
sible at a thousand points, and often within gun-shot of the
embattled fleets of her enemies, has not, for more than seven
hundred years, been stepped upon by a hostile foot. What
has enabled her to do this ? Her untiring labor ; her unrival-
led skill ; her unequalled machinery ; her exhaustless capital,
and unbounded control over all the agents of production.
This manufacturing nation, in the last war of Europe, exliib-
ited a spectacle never before seen by the world. 8he stoou
alone against the embattled continent; and, at last, with her
own spindle and distal!, demolished a despotism, an iron pyra-
mid of power, built on a base of all Europe.
LXIV.— MODERN IDOL WORSHIP.
PELKO SPRAOUE.
The people love their Constitution, their liberties, and
th<'inselvi-s. But they are not infallible. 1 should be fiilse
to all history, ialse to human nature, lalse to holy writ, if 1
coidd so flatter the people as to tell them that they were ex-
empt Irom that great, besetting sin, a proneness to idolatry.
It IS of the nature of man to worship the work of his own
hands, to bow down to idols which he has set up. Feeble,
fallible mortals like themselves are canonized and deified.
And oftentimes a military chieftain, having wrought real or
iantried deliveranee by sueeessful battles — fervent gratitude,
unbounded admiration, tho best feelings of our nature, rush
92 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
toward him ; the excited imagination invests him with a glo-
rious halo, circling around him with all the splendid perfec-
tions and dazzling attributes of heroes and patriots ; and
then the strongest facts, the clearest evidence, and the most
cogent reasoning, which expose his errors or ambition, excite
only indignation and resentment toward their authors, as im-
pious and sacrilegious revilers of the idol of their hearts.
Such are the delusions which have placed the iron sceptre
in the hands of the Caesars and Bonapartes of past ages, and
overwhelmed or jeopardized all the free governments of the
earth. So strong is this proclivity of our species, that if
there were to be a government sent directly from Heaven,
we may reverently fear that it would endanger its continua-
tion. If there were one to be, did I say ? There has been :
the theocracy of the Jews, whose history presents the most
melancholy examples of this deadly sin. And is there not
m this, our American Israel, which has been delivered from
the house of bondage, guided through the wilderness, and is
now in the land of promise — an idol cliief to whom our in-
cen.se and our homage is demanded ? Thank Heaven, there
is a remnant still unsubdued and undismayed ; there are
those, even here, who have not bowed, and will not bow the
knee to Baal.
Sir, this delusion will vanish ; the morning will dawn
upon us ; the peeple, the honest, the pure-minded people,
will awake — awake as from a dream — and look back upon
these scenes as upon the troubled visions of the night. The
delusion will be dissipated.
LXV.— JUSTICE TO FRONTIER-MEN".
BAILIE PEYTON.
The gentleman has classed these men with " plunderers
md savage murderers." These men were no " plunderers."
No, sir ; they were soldiers, true and pure ; and a soldier
never stains his hands with " plunder." The brave are
always tender and humane. They " plunderers !" Wha
temptation was there in the frowning forest of the West to
invite to " plunder ?" None, sir I none. The wild beast
and the naked savage, armed with all his instruments of
JUSTICE TO FRONTIER-MEN. 93
death — the frun, the knife, the axe, and fajrot — were the
allureineuts held oat. It was not every one whose taste
would have led him to partake in such " plunder." The
harvest, sir, was often smoking cabins, murdered wives and
children, scalped and manpled sires. They " murderers !"
They left their firesides and patrimonial farms in Carolina
and Virginia, to protect our mothers from murder, from
savage torture ; and, sir, the social and domestic virtues
found an asylum in the forest. The strongest rampart was
thrown around them — the chivalry of these men. And this
reliection soothed and quieted the pang which wrung their
bosoms when they stood upon the last hill which overlooked
their homes, where youthful feeling clung and hovered.
What I cast an imputation upon the names of Boon, Robin-
son, and Spencer, and their brave compeers ! Class these
men with the savage, in want of honor and humanity !
They were patriots, benefactors of the West, who deserved to
live in marble, and not to be remembered with reproach and
scorn .
Sir, if I were to ask you to point me to the most cruel,
bloody, and vindictive of all the mother country's acts, which
marked her M'ar upon the colonies, what would be the
answer ? That she excited the savages, unkennelled the
blood-hounds of the forest, who knew no mercy, who spared
neither age nor sex, to war upon the American people. " In
the issue which was made up before high heaven," "whether
England should rule, or America be free," were not the
savages used as instruments and allies of Great Britain, to
subjugate the colonies ? Was it not a part of our revolution-
ary struggle, to resist those savages ? Where did this vin-
dictive and unrelenting policy fall most heavily ? Upon the
West ; and, sir, the West met it, as she has since met perils
from the same quarter, and as I trust she will ever meet
thi'in, come irorn where they may. It was patriotic in
Washington to resist the civilizi'd armies of Great Britain,
but not so in Buon to resist her gentle and persuasive instru-
ments of savage warfare in the West ! What kept back the
depredations of these allies from the interior ? The best of
ramparts for a nation's safety — the chivalry of her frontier
citlzi'us. And, sir, shall such a race of men, wlio achieved
so much, be branded with ej)ithe1s ? — have their scalps put,
in their country's estimation, against an Indian's scalp —
their humanity against the luunanily of an Indian — their
94 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
honor against the honor of a savajre — while other soldiers of
the revolution have won for themselves immortal honor, and
freedom for their country? No, sir, it is not just to treat
them so. If any soldier of the revolution stand in patriotic
merit above another, it is he who fought the solitary fight in
far and distant parts. No flag — no spirit-stirring file and
drum to cheer him on — no Washington to lead him up in
confidence to battle — no pay, no arms, nor ammunition fur-
nished — no clo!hes nor meat — his name upon no roll — he
fights from high impulse and love of country, not for pay,' or
"plunder;" and, if he falls, no stone to tell the spot — no
book is written about him ; but if a monument at all, it is
left by the hand of a hunter, carved in the bark of the tree
that shades his grave. And if he lives, and is old and poor,
a wanderer from house to house, there is no pension for him.
No, sir, no pension. Why ? His name is not enrolled in a book !
LXVI— NORTHERN LABORERS.
CHARLES NAYLOR.
I AM a Northern lahorer. Aye, sir, it has been my lot to
have inherited, as my only patronage, at the early age of
nine years, nothing but naked orphanage, and utter destitu-
tion ; houseless and homeless, fatherless and penniless, I was
obliged, from that day forward to earn my daily bread by my
daily labor. And now, sir — now, sir, when I take my seat
in this hall as a free representative of a free people, am I to
be sneered at as a Northern laborer, and degraded into a
comparison with the poor, oppressed, and suliering negro
slave ? Is such the genius and spirit of our institutions ? If
it be, then did our fathers fight, and bleed, and struggle, and
die in vain I
But, sir, the gentleman has misconceived the spirit and
tendency of Northern institutions. He is ignorant of North-
ern character. He has forgotten the history of his country.
Preach insurrection to the Northern laborers ! Preach insur-
rection to me ! Who are the Northern laborers? The his-
tory of your country is their history. The renown of your
country is tltcir renown. The brightness of their doings is
emblazoned on its every page. Blot from your annals the
DISCUSSION OF WEBSTER AND IIAYNE. 95
deeds and doing-s of Northern laborer?, and the history of
your 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,
shoddin? his brightness and eflulgence on the whole civilized
world — whom the great and mighty of the earth delighted to
honor ; who pailicipatcd in the achievement of your inde-
pendence ; prominently assisted in moulding your free insti-
tutions ; and the beneficial effects of whose wisdom will be
felt till the last moment of recorded time ? Who, sir, I
ask, was he ? A Northern laborer ; a Yankee tallow chand-
ler's son,; a printer's runaway boy! And who, let me ask
the honorable gentleman, 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 gfallant General Greene ; who left
his hammer and his forge, and went forth conquering and to
conquer, in the battles of our independence ! And will you
preach insurrection to men like these ?
Sir, our country is full of the glorious achievements of
Northern laborers. Where are Concord, and Lexington, and
Princeton, and Trenton, and Saratoga, and Bunker Hill, but
in the North ? And what, sir, has shed an imperishable re-
nown 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 monument of the freedom, virtue, in-
telligence, and indoniital)le independence of Northern laborers.
Go, sir, go preach insurrection to men like these.
LXVIL— DISCUSSION OF WEBSTER AND HAYNE.
WM. C. J01INH()>f.
It was a conflict, in my apprehension, more sublime than
the warring of contendiiig elcmenls. It was a conflict of
mind, whose uund met and subdued mind. The occurrence
96 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
to which I allude formed a new epoch in the history of this
nation, and presented a spectacle of the highest sublimity. I
do not use the word "sublimity" in the august sense of the
bookmen ; of old ocean, when the elemeuts fret its vast bosom
into fearful terror ; of the grand prairie on fire, which forces
the heavens to reflect its lurid light, and fills the mind with
an idea of immensity of flame ; of the pale and blue moun
tain crag, which lifts its aspiring head to the heavens, as if to
defy the terror of the lighlniiig and the thun-ders ; nor of the
v.'ide and headlong cataract, which precipitates itself from the
fearful height above to the abyss below, dashes its angry
waves into foam, and hangs its spray and its rainbow in the
lieaveiis as a trophy of its awful power and sublimity. I have
seen all this ; but there is a sublime spectacle which has
struck me with more peculiar force, and one which reminds
nie more of tlie influence and power of Daniel Webster's great
speech on that memorable occasion. It is the confluence of
t!ie Missouri and the Mississijjpi, or the silent meeting of the
Ohio with the Mississippi. There is no awful terror there
which astonishes reflection ; no dreadful noise that subdues
the senses ; but you see the meeting of mighty waters ; you
see a vast river swallowing up, without commotion, vast
rivers ; you see that great mother of waters flowing on in sul-
li-u and silent grandeur, as if it received no aid, as if it were
unconscious that there were other streams. You are not
amazed at its breadth, nor its depth, but you are awed at its
quiet, sublime silence, and power. Your mind is not alaiTued
or astonished, but forced to reflect. It is thrown into a new
and endless world of meditation. You behold a stream which
has flown on from the beginning of the world, and will roll
on through all time, which defies the control of all human
power, and is the same, unchanged and unchangeable. Such
was the moral power of the speech to which I allude — its
calm and unostentatious power, its moral sublimity, which
bore down all resistance, and forced is influence through all
the channels of human thought. The doctrine of State su-
premacy had spread from town to town, from county to
county, and from state to state. It rolled on like mighty
waters, overleaping their banks from South to North, as each
aspiring wave strove to overreach its predecessor in the anx-
ious progress.
It was then that the reproach of being a Northern man was
thrown upon Daniel Webster ; he was accused — no matter
ON THE PLATFORM OF THE CONSTITUTION. 97
how wrongfully, he was still accused — with havmg been an
accessory of the Hartford Convention, which was charcted.
with having had a design of a dissolution of the Union :
in the same hreath he was called a consoladitionist, and a
federalist, and an opposer of the war. Under such a cloud
of prejudice he rose in his senate place, and by a mighty ef-
fort of mind, such as history furnishes but one parallel to, in
its influence upon a nation, and that the master elii)rt of the
great Cicero, he dasl ed back the angry waters to their foun-
tains, to flow on in fulure in their usual and well-defined
courses. It was a victory more glorious than any won on the
battle-field — a victory without carnage. It was the triumj)h
of intellect controlling intellect, and staying physical hostil-
ities by the moral force of reason and the sublime eloquence
of wisdom.
LXVIIL— ON THE PLATFORM OF THE CONSTITUTION.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
Finally, the honorable member declares that he shall now
march off", under the banner of State Rights I March off*
from whom ? March oti" irom what ? We have been con-
tending for great principles. We have been struggling to
maintain the liberty, ami to restore the prosperity of the coun-
try ; we have made these struggles here, in the national coun-
cils, with the old flag, the true American flag, the Eagle, and
the Stars and Stripes, waving over the chamber in which we
sit. He now tells us, however, that he marches off' under
the State Rights banner I Let him go. I remain. I am
where I ever have been, ami ever mean to be. Here, stand-
ing on the platform oF the general Constitution — a platform
broad enough, and firm enough, to uphold every interest of
the whole country — 1 shall ever be found. Intrusted with
some part in the administration of that Constitution, I intend
to act in its spirit, and in the s})irit of those who formed it.
Yes, sir, I would act as if our lathers, who formed it for us,
and who becpieathed it to us, were hxjking on us — as if I
could see their verierable forms bending down to behold ug,
from the abodes above. I would aet, too, sir, as if that l(>Mg
line of posterity were also viewing us, whose eye is herca.1-
ter to scrutinize our conduct.
6
98 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Standitif^ thus, as in the full gaze of our ancestors, and our
posterity, having received this iulieritance from the foi-mer, to
transmit it to the latter, and feeling that if I am born for any
good, in my day and generation, it is for the good of the
whole country, no local policy, or local feeling, no temporary
impulse, shall induce me to yield my foothold on the Con-
stitution and the Union. I move off, under no banner not
known to the whole American people, and to their Constilu
tion and laws. No, sir, these wails, these columns
"Fly
From their firm base as soou as I."
I came into public life, sir, in the service of the United
States. Ou that broad altar my earliest, and all my public
vows, have been made. I propose to serve no other master.
So far as depends on any agency of mine, they shall continue
United States ; united in interest and in affection ; united in
everything in regard to which the Constitution has decreed
their Union ; united in war, for the common defence, the
common renoM^n and the common glory ; and united, com-
pacted, knit firmly together in peace, for the common pros-
perity and happiness of ourselves and our children.
LXIX —IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICAN SEAMEN.
HENRY CLAT.
Sir, government has done too much in granting those pa-
per protections. I can never think of them without being
shocked. They resemble the passes which the master grants
to his negro slave — " Let the bearer, Mungo, pass and repass
•wnthout molestation." What do they imply ? That Great
Britain has a right to seize all who are not provided with
them. From their very nature, they must be liable to abuse
on both sides. If Great Britain desires a mark, by which she
can know her own subjects, let her give them an ear-mark.
The colors that float from his mast-head should be the cre-
dentials of our seamen. There is no safety for us, and the
fcntlemen have shown it, but in the rule, tliat all who sail
u'vler the flag (not being enemies) are protected by the flag.
It is impossible that this country should ever abandon the
THE ISSUE. 99
gallant tars, who have won for us siicli splendid trophies.
Let me suppose that the genius of Coh'unhia shouU visit one
of them in his oppressor's prison, and attempt to reconcile
liini to his forlorn and wretched condition. She would say
to him, in the language of gentlemen on the other side:
"Great Britain intends you no harm; she did not mean to
impress you, but one of her own subjects ; having taken you
by mistake, I will remonstrate, and try to prevail upon her,
by peaceable means, to release you ; but I cannot, my son,
fight for you " If he did not consider this mere mockery,
tiie poor tar would address her judgment, and say : " You
owe me, my country, protection : I owe you, in return, obe-
dience. I am no British subject ; I am a native of old Mas-
sachusetts, where lived my aged father, my wife,uiy children.
1 have faitlit'uUy discharged my duty. Will you reiuse to do
yours?" Appealing to her passions he would continue : " I
lost this ej'e in fighting under Truxton, M'ith the Insurgente ;
I got this scar before Tripoli ; I broke this leg on board the
Const tution, when the Guerriere struck."
I will not imagine the dreadful catastrophe to which he
would be driven by an abandonment of him to his oppressor.
It will not be, it cannot be, that his country will refuse him
protection.
LXX.— THE ISSUE.
ANONYMOUS.
Here is the issue, clear as daylight. How will it be de-
cided ? Here is the end. Eitlier the present Congress, at
the next session, will abolish this law, or confirm it. In the
liiriner case, the South will be compelled to secede from the
Union. She is driven into a corner where there is no escajie.
She knows it — she li-els it — she declares it, and she will do
it — she has no other course. Men of the North, will you su.s-
tain the course of your representatives in tiie last session of
Coiiirress? If you will, the Union is safe ; if not, it is gone ;
and, be it remembered, now the issue is with you, and on
your heads will fall the consequences. And wlien the final
question is decided, and the Union is broken up, wliat will be
the uj)shot of it on you, your fimilies, your interests ? Stop
long enough to ask yourselves this question. The South will
100 THE BOOK OF ELOQITENCK.
not war upon you — she will leave you. And where are your
markets, your mannractures, your commerce, your apfricul-
ture, your rents, your investments, your domestic relations ?
Have you measured the extent of the evil to yourselves and
your children? Above all, have you calculated the conse-
quences to mankind of tlie final failure of the only successful
attempt ever made on earth to establish on a ])ermanent basis
the fair fabric of repviblican institutions ? Why did you send
up your lamentations over the fall of Hunj2^ariaii freedom, or
the destruction of the republic of Rome ? And yet, what
was all this compared with the final extinction of the repub-
lic of Washington ? Look at the portraits of your ancestors,
and answer the question.
LXXI.— THE MARRIAGE BROKEN OFF.
THOMAS H BENTOy.
When his committee was formed, and himself safely in-
stalled at the head of it, conqueror and pacificator, the Sen-
ator appeared to be the happiest of mankind. We all re-
member that figure. It seemed to ache with pleasure. It
was too great for continence. It burst forth. In the fulness
of his joy, and the overflowing of his heart, he entered upon
that series of congratulations which seemed to me to be rather
premature, and in disregard of the sage maxim, which ad-
monishes the traveller never to hal-loo till he is out of the
woods. I thought so then. I was Ibrcibly reminded of it on
Saturday last, when I saw that Senator, after a vain effort to
compose his friends, and even reminding them of what they
were " threatened" with this day -inuendo, this poor speech
of mine — gather up his beaver and quit the chamber, in a
way that seemed to say, " the Lord have mercy on you all,
for I have done with you I" But the Senator was happy
that night — supremely so. All his plans had succeeded —
committee of thirteen appointed — he himself its chairman —
all power put into their hands — their own hands untied, and
the hands of the Senate tied — and the parties just ready to
be bound together, forever. It was an ecstatic moment for
the Senator, s imething like that of the heroic Pirithous when
he surveyed the preparations for the nuptial feast — saw the
America's influence abroad. 101
jompany all present, the lapithse on couches, the centaurs on
their haunches — heard the lo kyineii beginninu to resound,
and saw the beauteous Hippodami, about as beauteous I sup-
pose as California, come " glittering like a star," and take
her stand on his left hand. It was a happy moment for
Pirithous, and in the fulness of his feelings he might have
given vent to his joy, congratulationg to all the company
present, to all the lapitha? and to all tlie centaurs, to all man-
kind, and to all horsekind, on the auspicious event. But, oh !
the (leceitfulness of human felicity I In an instant the scene
was changed I the feast a fight — the wedding festival a mor-
tal combat — the table itself supplying the implements of
war I
" At first a medley flight
Of bowls and jars supply the fight :
Once implements of feasts, but now of fate."
You know how it ended. The fight broke up the feast. The
wedding was postponed. And so may it be with this at-
tempted conjunction of California with the many ill-suited
spouses which the committee of thirteen have provided for
her.
LXXII.— AMERICA'S INFLUENCE ABROAD.
J. m'dowell.
But the range and horrors of such a catastrophe do not
terminate with ourselves — they extend also to other lands
than our own, whose hopes, interests and freedom are deeply
coiii])licated with ours. Indeed, our whole position as a
people, the unparalleled physical and moral capabilities into
which we have been wrought up for our own welfare and
for au,spicious action upon the welfare of others, is, itself,
harilly less than a miracle in human story ; and in the whole
course of that story has never, in any other case, been real-
ized so providentially or responsibly before. From the Em-
pire of Nebuchadnezzar to that of Napoleon, how immense
the distance, how stupendous the revolutions that have
intervened, how intense the fiery contests which have burned
over continents and ages, changing their theatre and their
instruments, and leaving upon the whole surface of the globe
102 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
scarce a spot unstained by their desolating and bloody track ;
and yet no natiuuai otTspring hii? sprung from therr all so
fitted as our own United America, to redeem for the world
the agonies they have cost it.
Cast off, then, your national bonds, rearrange the sepa-
rated States into any new combinations that you please, vio
lently or peaceably, and your vast strength of influence and
of power, foreign and domestic, is gone ; your lofty mission
of deliverance and liberty to tiie nations is gone ; the exam])le,
v/hich fell, like tiie shadow of St. Peter, with healing and
hope upon the despairing and the diseased, is gone ; that
master spirit which was bringing the whole world into com-
munion with itself, rovising and regenerating its millions, and
bearing all things onward for good by the resistless energy
and miglit of its own beneficent and profound progression —
that sj)irit, too, will be gone.
State after State will sink under conflicts with each other,
and all will be swayed by the law of the sword, until some
American Maximin, or American Alexander, conquering all,
shall again consolidate all, and stamp his foot upon the bold
and the free heart, which throbs at this hour with so strong a
sense of human liberty, and so rich a hope of renovating the
governments and people of the world.
LXXIIL— THE EXTENT OF THE UNION.
J. W. HOUSTON.
I HAVE adverted, Mr. Chairman, to the rapid growth and
expansion of our country. What has it been, sir? Contem-
plate its feeble, gloomy, and doubtful condition, when only a
few years ago it was struggling for a national existence, thir-
teen poor and sparsely settled colonies occupying a narrow
strip of country along the eastern seaboard ; and now turn,
sir, and behold yon morning sun, which, rising from the broad
bosom of the Atlantic, rolls over thirty prosperous and popu-
lous States — over many a rich and gorgeous city, majestic
river, cloud-capped mom. tain, and many a wide and green
and glorious plain, until he sinks at last along the margin of
the wes ern ocean to his golden bed — spanning in his flight a
present empire of more than three thousand miles in extent,
CLAY AND WEBSTER. 103
and stretching, in a transverse direction, from the line of the
lakes on the north to ahiiost the line of the tropics on the
south. Where, sir, will you lind either in ancient or modern
times, a kingdom or a power of equal magnificence and equal
extent, when you take into consideration the wealth and
variety of its productions, the diversity of its climate and
resources, the fertility of its soil, and all that can make a
nation truly gi-eat and truly powerful ? It is estimated by
the historian of the Decline and Fall, that the Koman Em-
pire, in the palmiest days of her Antonincs, when her imperial
eagles spread in peaceful triumph from the Pillars of Hercules
to the banks of the Euphrates, and when she claimed to be
the sole mistress of the known and habitable world, only em-
braced a territorial area of about one million six hundred
thousand square miles — less than one half the present terri-
tory of the United States, which is now computed to contain
three millions three hundred thousand square miles. Sir,
when I contemplate this vast domain, this picture of more
than imperial grandeur, and consider what this great Repub-
lic now is, and what it is destined to be, if this glorious Union
is preserved, and then reflect that 1 am a citizen, not of I lie
State of Delaware alone, not of New York, not of Massa-
chusetts, not of Mississippi, not of (reorgia merely, but of this
whole country, in all its broad and glorious extent, I feel that
I can realize a greater boast than the Roman of old, and am
proud to know that " I, too, am an American citizen."
LXXIV.— CLAY AND WEBSTER.
«
MEREDITH P. GENTRY.
When the sectional controversy growing out of the acqui-
Bition of territory from Mexico began to assume a portentous
and alarming aspect, Mr. Clay had withdrawn himself iVom
the ])ublic cares, to spend the evening of his illustrious lite in
retirement. But the roar of civil discord and the muttering^
thunders of disunion penetrated the quiet shades of Ashland,
and roused him from his repose as the sound of the trumpet
rouses the war-horse. Ashland lost its charms. Retirement
and quiet and repose could no longer solace the veteran
statesman. His country was in danger — the Union was
104 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
menaced — the fair fabrw of freedom, erected by sages and
patriots, was threatened with demoUtion. He accepted a
commission from Kentucky to reappear upon the theatre of
public affairs, and hastened to the capitol. Again he rises iu
the Senate chamber, the scene of so many former triumphs.
That clarion voice, which so often before "enchained the
listening Senate," again rings through its chambers and
resounds through the country, striking terror to the hearts of
conspirators, and imparting confidence, courage, and hope, to
desponding patriots everywhere. How eloquently and per-
suasively he pleads for harmony and conciliation, and that
spirit of mutual concession and compromise in which the
Union was formed, and which alone can preserve it. With
what power does he portray the advantages of the Union and
the inappreciable evils that will follow its dissolution. How
terrible his denunciations of those who conspire against it !
Disunion stands rebuked and abashed in his presence, and
cowers under his patriotic indignation.
Towering in intellectual proportions above other men, as
Atlas towers above the mole-hills at its base, Mr. Webster
rises to follow in the debate. He is a Northern man. He is
a Senator from Massachusetts, and the favorite and mogt
honored citizen of that State. Wliat course will he take?
What will he say ? Will he forfeit his position in Massa-
chusetts and in the Northern States generally ? Dare he
brave the thunders of indignation which would burst upon
him ? He speaks — and speaks as no man never before spoke
— not for the North or the South, the East or the West, but
for the country, the whole country, and nothing but the
country — lor the Union, and the liberty and happiness which
it secures. Reckless of consequences to himself", he gave to
his couiftry. what was not meant for a state or a section — his
powerful intellect and matchless oratory, and all the influence
which these high gifts enabled him to wield.
Webster and Clay I — I refer to them with the most
exulting pride. I am proud of them as American patriots,
orators and statesmen. How gloriously they have borne
themselves I If they were both to die to-day, they have
achieved enough for fame. History would eternize their
patriotic deeds, and remote ages would hail them great and
glorious.
GLORY OF ARMS. 105
LXXV.— GLORY OF ARMS.
CHARLES SUMNEE.
Whatever may be the judgment of poets, of moralists, u
satirists, or even of sokliers, it is certain that the glory o
anus still exercises no mean influence over the minds of men.
Tlie art of war, wiiich has been happily termed by a French
divine, the baleful art by which men learn to exterminate
one another, is yet held, even among Cliristians, to be an
honorable pursuit ; and the animal courage, which it stimu-
lates and develops, is prized as a transcendent virtue. It
will be for another age, and a higher civilization, to appre-
ciate the more exalted character of the art of benevolence —
the art of extending happiness and ail good influences, by
word or deed, to the largest number of mankind, — which, in
blessed contrast with the misery, the degradation, the wicked-
ness of war, shall shine resplendent the true grandeur of
peace. All then will be willing to join with the early poet
iu saying at least : —
"Though louder fame attend the mnrti;il rage,
'Tis greater glory to reform the age."
Then shall the soul thrill with a nobler heroism than that of
battle. Peaceful industry, with untold mullitudes of cheer-
ful and beneficent laborers, shall be its gladsome token.
Literature, full of sympathy and comfort for the heart of man,
shall appear in garments of purer glory than she has yet
assumed. Science shall extend the bounds of knowledge and
power, adding unimaginable strength to the hands of men,
opening innumerable resources in the earth, and revealing
new secrets and harmonies in the skies. Art, elevated and
refined, shall lavish fresh streams of beauty and grace.
Charity, in streams of milk and honey, shall difl'use itself
among all the habitations of the world. Does any one ask
for the signs of this approaching era ?
The increasing bei:eficeiue and intelligence of our own
day, the broad-spread sympathy with human suffering, the
widening thoiights of men, the longings of the heart l()r a
higher condition on earth, the unfulfilled promises of Chric-
tiaii Progress, are the auspicious auguries of this Hap; y
Future. As early voyagirs over untried realms of waste,
we have already oLserved the signs of land. The green
5*
106 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
twig and fresh red berry have floated by our bark ; the
odors of the shore fan our faces ; nay, we may seem to descry
the distant gleam of light, and hear from the more earnest
observers, as Columbus heard, after midnight, from the mast-
head of the Pinla, the joyful cry of Land ! Land I and lo !
a new world broke upon his early moining gaze.
LXXVL— ON THE REMOVAL OF WASHINGTON'S REMAINS.
A. S. CLAYTON.
Physical monuments perish, but it is the grand moral as-
sociation that perpetuates events to the latest age, and occa-
sions them to endure, with increasing effect, through all fu-
ture time. Among these great moral recollections associated
with the character of Washington, is the place of his birth
and the home of his childhood. What country so fitted for
his sepulchre as Virginia, the State that gave him being ? —
that State, so distinguished for every noble daring, and where
Washington commenced and ended his military career — a
career so signally famed for its masterly valor at the very
outset, and the crowning victoiy of York at its close. Bat,
sir, when you add to this, the recollection of that spot, in
his native State — the one above all others, which he selected
lor his home — where he spent a long life — to which every
day in that long life was devoted in works of taste, and
around which he had thrown his great mind in the most im-
perishable evidences of genius and industry — that had at-
tracted the visits of thousands from every part of the world,
and those, too, of the most distinguished foreigners, at the
head of whom stands the immortal La Fayette — which, in
life, was open to every stranger, the curious as well as the
grateful, and since his death has become the shrine of the
patriot's pilgrimage — what site on earth so suited for a monu-
ment as that, thus consecrated by such undying recollections ?
This, then, should be the grave of Washington. But, sir,
there is another strong consideration why these remains should
not be disturbed. It was the last request recorded in his
will, that there he should rest, and that no pomp or show at-
tend his funeral, nor splendid monument mark his grave.
This was truly in character with his republican simplicity.
r
ON THE REVOLUTIONARY PENSION BILL. 107
And when it is remembered that his unrivalled fame is far
above the reach of artificial glories to adorn, and beyond all
the efforts of marble structures and towerinn^ edifices to per-
petuate, it is better secured, and more illustriously commemo-
rated in the unostentatious maimer in which, at Mount Ver-
non, his remains are entombed, than it would be, if they
were dt-posited under the gaudy dome of the capitol, where,
torn from the shade of his consort, they would become a
mere spectacle for the "gaze of the idler," and where, I
would add, all reverence for them would be lost in the same
reckless levity that is witnessed every day at the pictures in
the rotunda. The immeasurable distance between the great-
ness of his life and the simplicity of his death, and burial,
forms of itself a monument of moral grandeur, that utterly
contemns all the splendors of art.
LXXVIL— ON THE REVOLUTIONARY PENSION BILL.
W. R. DAVIS.
Sir, the passage of this bill will be a signal, the sounding
of a reveille, that will wake up from the slumber of the
grave all the dead militia of the land. Not harmless ghosts
and spectres, but substantial pensioners, tax receivers, and
consumers of the substance of the people. I believe, how-
ever, I might be induced to vote for this bill, if it would
have power and virtue to resurrect the blessed patriots wi.o
have gone before us ; if it would arouse from their slumbers
the real and true men who repose on the sides of Breed's
hill, on the plains of Trenton and Princeton, on the banks of
the Brandy wine ; of those who sleep on the gory but hal-
lowed spots that scar ihe bosoms of the Sonthern States : of
those who rest beneath the green sod of Yorktown, Guillind,
King's Mountain, Cowpens, Stono, and Eutaw ; if it would
bring to life and light " the buried warlike and tiie wise,"
anil give back to us, at this dread crisis, their counsels, ad-
vice, example, and countenance, to warm, animate, and
cheer our country's wintry slate I Yes, sir, ! Would give it
my support, if it would cause the great Washington to burst
the cerements which swathe him, and enable him to partici-
pate m the counsels of this day ; if it would call to your aid
108 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
the gallant Greene, the wise and patriotic Hancock, the
Adamses, Shermans, Pinckneys, and all that host of worthies ;
ii it would resuscitate that brotherly feeling which once con-
nected and made invincible the old thirteen States ; which
blazed with radiance the path of honor and virtue they trod
together, and gave to history one bright page of spotless de-
votion to human liberty.
What would such patriots feel and say, at the present
state of the country ? Would not Washington again warn
you against sectional legislation ? And what might we not
exjtect from the heroic Greene — from him, " around the
1 uriiing edges of whose shining buckler the whole chivalry
of the South delighted to rally ?" From one so loved and
cherished in life, so mourned in death by the whole South ? —
fi'om one, who chose to live and die on fields dear to him, to
his and American glory ? — from one intc whose lap she
poured her rich treasures? He would tell you, for well he
knew, that the Hugonots of Carolina, like the Pilgrims of
Plymouth rock, were a liberty-loving, but not a fiictious or
seditious people. What, too, would the old Maryland line
say to the charge of disaiiection mid want of patriotism made
against us by the selfish and interested ? Would the How-
ards and Campbells of that day give the charge a moment's
credence ? Would they not remember when our banners
floated, and our arms were stacked together on the bloody
but victorious plains of Eutaw ?
LXXVIII.— THE MAYFLOWER.
EDWARD EVERETT
Methtnks, T see it now, that one solitary, adventurous
A'cssel, 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, the 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 the wished for shore. I see
tliem now, scantily supplied with provisions, crowded almost
to sufib(^ition m their ill-stored prison, dflayed by calms, pur-
suing a circuitous route ; and now, driven in lury belbre the
THE MAYFLOWER. 109
rafrin<r tempest, in their scarcely sea-worthy vessel. The
awi'ul voice of the stonu howls through the I'iofriujr. The
laboring masts seem straining from their base ; the dismal
sound of tiie pumps is heard ; the ship leaps, as it were,
madly from billow to billow ; the ocean breaks, and settles
with ingulfing floods over the floating deck, and beats with
deadening weight against the staggering vessel.
I see them escaped from these perils, pursuing their all but
desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after a five months'
passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth, weak and ex-
hausted from the voyage, poorly armed, scantily provisioned,
depending on the charity of their ship-master ti)r a drautrht
of beer on board, drinking notliing but water on shore, with-
out shelter, without means, surrounded by hostile tribes.
Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any prin-
ciple of human probability, what shall be the fate of this
handful of adventurers ? Tell me, man of military science,
in how many months they were ail swept ofl^ by the thirty
savage tribes enumerated within the boundaries of New Eng-
land ? Tell me, politician, how long did this 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 batlied projects, the deserted .settlements,
the abandoned adventurers of other times, and find the paral-
lel of this Was it the winter storm, heating upon the
houseless heads of women and children ? was it hard labor
and .spare meals ? was it disease ? was it the tomahawk ? was
it tlie deep malady of a blighted hope, a ruined enterpri.-e,
and a broken heart, aching in its last moments at the recol-
lections of the loved and left, beyond the sea ? was it some
or all of them united that hurried this forsaken company to
thfiir melancholy fate ? And is it possible, that neithe; of
these causes, that all combined, were able to blast this oud
of hope ! Is it possible, that I'rom a beginning so feeble, .-^o
frail, so worthy, not so much of admiration as of pity, tl ere
has gone l()rlh a progress so steady, a growth so wonderfu!,
a reality so important, a promise yet to be fulfilled so gloi\;Ua I
110 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LXXIX.— PHILANTHROPY.
FRANCIS WAYLAND.
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 merged in that of philanthropist, who, looking
with an eye of compassion over the face of the earth, have
felt lor 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 suffer-
ing trom the catalogue of human war. 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 deternunation was fixed. He resolved,
si ngk*- 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
lie well knew what this undertaking would cost him.
He knew what he had to hazard from the infections of dun-
geons, to endure from the fatigues of mhospitable travel, and
to brook from the insolence of legalizeil oppression. Ho knew
that he was devoting himself to the altar of philanthropy,
^nd he v.'illingly devoted himself He had marked out his
destiny, and he hasted forward to its accomplishment, with
an intensity, " which 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 be-
nevolence. And hence, the name of Howard will be asso-
ciated with all that is sublime in mercy, unlii the final
consummation of all tilings I
Such a man is Clarkson, who, looking abroad, beheld the
miseries of Africa, and, looking at home, saw his country
stdined with her blood. We have seen him, laying aside
Ihe "cstments of the priesthood, consecrate himself to the
ho'y purpose of rescuing a continent from rapine and mur-
der, and of erasing this one sin from the book of his nation's
iniquities. We have seen him and his fellow piiilaiithropists,
for twenty years, never waver from their purpose. We have
Been them persevere amidst neglect and obloquy, and con-
tem[)t, and persecution, until the cry of the oppressed having
roused the sensibililies of the nation, the " Island Empress"
INDEMNITY TO THE NIAGARA SUFFERERS. Ill
rose in her mijrht, and said to this foul traffic in human fle?h,
" Thus far shall thou go, and no farther."
LXXX.— INDEMNITY TO THE NIAGARA SUFFERERS.
WILLIAMS.
But the gentleman insists that if the government is not
bound to pay for such losses, we cannot claim to be indepen-
dent. Sir, I have read to you, from the page of impartial
history, some of the acts of pillage and cruelty perpetrated by
the enemy in our Revolutionary war ; were these losses ever
paid ? No, sir, the old Congress denied the right of the suf-
ierers to indemnity, and invariably refused to grant any com-
pensation whatever. Was our country, therefore, not inde-
pendent ? Yet the gentleman says we must either pay such
losses ourselves, or compel the enemy to pay them, or we are
not independent. Sir, we suffered much under the British
Orders in Council. Was compensation allowed in the treaty
of Ghent ? We suffered sorely under the Berlin and Milan
decrees. Has compensation ever, to this day, been allowed
for these losses ? No, sir ; and it is very questionable if the
nation will go to war to obtain it. Will the gentleman,
therefore, maintain that the States are not, at this day, inde-
pendent ? Sir, the thing is not done by any government, nor
can the argument be sustained by an appeal to facts. The
true rule is, that government is bound to obtain such allow-
ance, and to make such compensation, if it can be done con-
veniently. But would the gentleman say that, in oi'der to
get the allowance of one million, the whole nation must be
pliuiged into war, at an expense of one hundred millions?
In such cases the demand becomes a question of policy. It
was a maxim (attributed, I believe, to Mr. Adams), at one
time, in tlie mouth of" every American, "Millions for defence,
but not a cent for tribute." There is something of honor in
such questions. What was the language of President Madi-
son to Cuckburn, when he commenced his ravages ? Did tlie
President say to him, " Admiral Cockburn, pray forbear ;
forbear, if you please ; if not, we nnist pay our citizen.s for
tlie iiijurii's you may inflict ?" No, sir ; he said, " Forbear;
if not we will retaliate." This, sir, is the only note lor such an
112 THE COOK OF ELOQUENCE.
e?.r as Cockburn's — the dread of retaliation is the only con-
sideration which can hold such an enemy in check.
But, the gentleman relies much on the merits and suffer-
ings of the inhabitants of the Niagara frontier. Sir, I have
much regard for those inhabitants, and I am inclined to be-
lieve much of the representations in their favor, which have
been given by the gentleman from New York ; but still I
fee^ great doubt whether they were sutfereis to anything liku
tlie extent they would have ns suppose. I do know that
many who send us the most heart-rending accounts of their
calamities, placed themselves voluntarily on the frontier for
certain commercial purposes, and I have been very credibly
informed that the frontier, generally, received more beneiit
than injury from being, to the extent it was, the seat of war.
Sir, those people, many of them, could well afford to have
their houses burnt, if they received at such a rate, the public
money, which was then concentrated, and expended with
the most lavish profusion on that frontier.
LXXXI.— INDEMNITY TO THE NIAGARA SUFFERERS.
JOSEPH VANCE.
Let me say to the gentleman, that in Buffalo, he might,
on one day, have found a familv well housed, well clothed,
surrounded with every comfort of life, who, from its hospital-
ity in throwing open its doors to the American soldier, was
the next day houseless and homeless, destitute of all things ;
if he had chanced, eight months afterwards, to be wandering
on the flats of the Ohio, he might there see a family scarcely
covered by a wretched house, in squalid poverty, one day
shivering with ague, and the next consumed with raging fe-
ver ; if his compassion should lead him to enter and inquire
into their situation, he would hear them say, our father lived
in plenty and comfort, on the Niagara frontier — he saw the
American soldiery ready lo perish — he opened his door to take
Ihem in — and for that we are here, ruined and in wretched-
ness. Sir, the sufferings of the French, on their retreat from
Moscow, present not too strong a picture to convey a just idea
of what was endured while the whole country on the Lakes
was converted into one wiae cantonment. Had the gentle-
SUPPRESSrON OF PIRACT. 113
man seen an American regiment on that frontier drawn up
on a frosty morning, and supporting arms while their limbs
were chilled to the bone, standing, in their cotton dress, in
snow two and three feet deep ; had he seen these claimants
opening their houses to receive men in immediate danger of
perishing (many of them did perish), and afterwards turned
out of house and home for doing it, he would not, he could
not, deny that something ought to be done for their relief
The gentleman has insinuated, that the inhabitants of the
frontier are actuated wholly by a principle of seltisluiess ; that,
unless stimulated by a sense of interest, they will do nothing
in their own defence, and will surrender up their property an
easy prey to the enemy. But, sir, that gentleman surely did
not consider the feelings of the American people when he ad-
vanced such a sentiment. If nothing had operated on their
minds but selfishness, the army of the frontier could not
have been kept together a single day. No, sir, not a single
day. There were our soldiers, lying naked and perisliing on
one bank of the Niagara river, while, directly op]K)site, they
could see the British sentry parading backward and forward
in a good comfortable watclicoat, and hesir him cry out, cheer-
fully, "all's well." They had only to cross en masse to tiie
British side, to exchange a lodging on the ground, in their
cotton that admitted the rain, and, when the rain was over,
froze upon their bodies, for warm clothing and good quarters.
Had selfishness been the ruling principle, where would have
been your militia? Where would have been your regulars?
— at their own homos, or over the British lines I
LXXXIL— SUPPRESSION OF PIRACY.
p. p. BARBOUR.
Sir, I think the strength of our measures may be ascribed
to the imbecility of Spain. That weakness has produced the
necessity of adopting the powerful m«asur(!s in question.
But, il^it is said that they have been adopted with the inten-
tion of taking advantage of the weakness of Spain, 1 aaswer,
ble.sj^ed be t-Jod, the United States have nothini: to wish, and
nothing to f.-ar. W^e are j)ri'pared to rejoice with our iortu-
nato neighbors : and. if they are unfortunate, to pity them.
114 TIIK BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Surely if, in the tide of time, any nation ever existed, callinjj
for the compassion of mankind, that nation is Spain. I
how she is degraded — how she is sunk — a foreign bayonet
supports a tottering throne, whilst her imbecile monarch is
watching, with a jealous eye, the progress of everything that
is patriotic or worthy. His counsels, in his native country,
have been more disastrous than the march of a desolating
conqueror. His decrees are dictated by fear, cruelty, and
despotism, and written in blood — at their approach, whatever
is worthy, retires, as from the bond of death — in their van,
amazement and flight ; but behind, sorrow and solitude. In
fine, the annals of Spain are 1 ke the Prophet's scroll, which
was written within and without, and there was written lam-
entation, and mourning, and woe. Were it possible for
America to desert her high career, to add an additional drug
to the cup which Spain has been doomed to drink, we might
well fear that we should provoke the vengeance of that (xod
whose kind Providence has enabled us to march, with a
giant's stride, to the fulfilment of our happy destinies, and
whose favor is to be conciliated only by deeds of moderation
and justice.
These robbers are more ferocious than the Algerine cor-
sairs ; they spare neither age nor sex, but all fall beneath
their murderous hands. Out of twelve vessels, not one was
suflered to survive I Can the records of any age produce any-
thing more monstrous or barbarous than this ? These are
the powerful motives which have induced us to recommend
the adoption of such decisive measures ; it is to save our prop-
erty from plunder, our citizens from being murdered, and
our flag from being insulted, and that it may become an in-
violable safeguard over whatever subject or whatsoever sea it
may wave.
LXXXIII.— COMMUNICATION WITH MEXICO IN 1825.
THOM.\S H. BENTON.
The use of an unmolested passage between Mexico'and the
United States, is as necessary in a political, as in a commer-
cial point of view. They are neighboring powers, inhabi-
tants of the same continent, their territories are contiguous,
and their settlements approximating to each other. They
COMMUNICATION WITH MEXICO IN 1825. 115
are the two chief powers of the New World, and stand at
the head of that cordon of Republics, which, stretching from
pole to pole, across the two Americas, are destined to make
-tiie last stand in defence of human liberty. They have the
Jcgilimates of Europe in front, and the autocrat of all the
Russias in the rear. They are republican, and Republics
have become " the abhorred thing," the existence of which
is not to be tolerated in the land. The time was, Mr. Presi-
dent, when the kingdom and the republic could exist to-
gether ; when the Swiss, and the Dutch, and the Venetian
republics, were the friends and allies of kings and emperors.
But that day has gone by. The time has come when tlie
monarch and the republican can no longer breathe the same
atmosphere. A speck of republicanism above the political
horizon, now throws all Europe into commotion. Telegraplis
play, couriers fly, armies move, the Cossacks of the Don and
of the Ukraine couch their lances, kings and emperors vault
into their saddles ; a million of bayonets turn their remorse-
less points against the portentous sign I We Americans
(I use the word in its broad sst sense), we Americans see and
hear all this, yet we remain strangers to each other, form no
associations, and our communications are as tardy and as
diflicult as they are between the inhabitants of Africa and of
Asia. Even with Mexico, our nearest, neighbor, we have no
communication, except by a sea voyage, through a boisterous
gulf infested with pirates. The bill before you is intended
to correct a part of this evil ; it will make " straight the
way" between the United Stales and Mexico ; it will open
an easy channel of communication between them ; not for
merchandise only, but for thouglits and ideas ; for books and
for newspapers, and for every description of travellers. It
will bring together the two nations whose power and whose
positions, make them responsible to the world for the preser-
vati(jn of the Republican system. And shall a measure )f
such moment be defeated by a parcel of miserable barbarians,
Arabs of the desert, incapable of appreciating our pohey, and
placing a higher value upon the gun of a murdered hunter,
than L'pou the preservation of all the republics in the world !
11<J THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LXXXI v.— LIBERTY IN SOUTH AMERICA.
JOHN RANDOLPE..
I WILL not detain the Senate further than to sufrgest, that 1
have heard that this creat man— I have no doubt that he
was a great man — a good man — there are a great many such
great and good men — La Fayette was one of them — at the
commencement of the French Revolution — woukl not hear of
any parley at all with what they considered the imprescrip-
tible rights of men ; they played the whole game, they would
not hear of qualification, and we see what this desperate
game has eventuated in — extremes always beget one another.
This General Bolivar, called the South American Washing-
ton — as every man nowadays, who has commanded a pla-
toon, is a Caesar or a Hannibal, a Enmenes or Sertorins at
least — so he is the South American Wjishington. I remem-
ber, sir, that when the old Earl of Bedford was condoled
with by a hypocrite, who wished in I'aet to wound his feel-
ings, on the murder of his sou Lord Russell, he indignantly
replied that he would not exchange his dead son for the
living son of any man on earth. So 1, Mr. President, would
not give our dead Washington for any living Washington, or
any Washington that is likely to live in your time or in
mine ; whatever may be the blessings reserved for mankind
in the womb of time. I do know, the world knows, that the
principle of the American Revolution, and the principle that
is now at work in the peninsula of South America and in
Guatemala and New Spain, are principles as opposite as light
and darkness — principles as opposite as a manly and rational
liberty is opposed to the frantic orgies of the French Baccha-
nals of the Revolution, as opposite as a manly and rational
piety is opposed to that politico-religious fanaticism, which, I
am sorry to see, is not at work only in the peninsula of South
America and New Spain, but has pervaded, or is pervading,
all this country, and has insinuated itself wherever it can, to
the disturbance of the public peace, the loosening oi the key-
stone of this Constitution, and the undermining ihe foundation
on which the arch of our Union rests. No, sir, th.:y are as
different as light and darkness — as common sense &nd prac-
tice differ from the visionary theories of moon-struck iunatics.
LAST CHARGE OF KEY. 117
LXXXV.— LAST CHARGE OF NEY.
J. T. HKAni.EY.
The whole contineiitn] struprrrle exhibited nosublimer spec-
tacle than tills last ellort oi' Napoleon to save his sinkiii<r em-
pire. Europe had been put upon the plains of Waterloo to
be battled for. The greatest military energy and skill the
Avorld possessed had been tasked to the utmost during the day.
Thrones were tottering on the ensanguined held, and the
shadows of fugitive kings flitted through the smoke of battle.
Bonaparte's star trembled in the zenith — now blazing out in
its aneieiit splendor, now suddenly paling beiijrc his anxious
eye. At length, when the Prussians appeared on the field,
he resolved to stake Europe on one bold throw. He commit-
ted himself and France to Ney, and saw his empire rest on a
single chance.
Ney felt the pressure of th'* imm nse responsibility on his
brave heart, and resolved not to prove unworthy of the great
trust committed to his care. Nothing could be more impos-
ing than the movement of that grand column to the assault.
Tliat guard had never yet recoiled before a human foe, and
the allied forces beheld with awe its firm and terrible ad-
vance to the final charge. For a moment the batteries
slop])ed playing, and the firing ceased along the British lines,
as without the beating of a drum, or the blast of a bugle, to
clieer their steady courage, they moved in dead silence over
the plain. The next moment the artillery opened, and the
head ol that gallant column seemed to sink into the earth.
Hank after rank went down, yet they neither stopped nor
faltered. Dissolving squadrons, and whole battalions disap-
])caring one after another in the destructive fire, afilicted not
their steady courage. The ranks closed up as before, a;id
each treading over his fallen comrade, pressed firmly on.
The horse which Ney rode fell under him, and he had scarce-
ly mounted another before it also sunk to the earth. Again
and again did that unllinchiiig man feel his steed sink down,
till five had been shot under him. Then, with his uniform
riddled with bullets, and his face singed and blackened with
jiowder, he marched on Ibcjt with drawn sabre, at the head
of his nn'U. In vain did the arlilleiy hurl its storm of firo
arsl lead into that living mass. Up to the very nuizzles they
guessed, and driving the artillerymen from their own pieces,
118 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
pushed on through the English lines. But at that moment a
fii(! of soldiers who had lain flat on the ground, behind a low
ridge of earth, suddenly rose and poured a volley in tlieir
very faces. Another and another followed till one broad
eheot of flame rolled on their bosoms, and in such a fierce
?nd unexpected flow, that human courage could not with-
stand it. Tliey reeled, shook, staggered back, then turned
and fled. Ney was borne back in the refluent tide, and hur-
ried over the Held. But for the crowd of fugitives that forced
him on, he would have stood alone, and fallen on his foot-
steps. As it was, disdaining to fly, though the whole army
was flying, he formed his men into two immense squares, and
endeavored to stem the terrific current, and would have done
Bo, had it not been for the thirty thousand fresh Prussians
that pressed on his exhausted ranks. For a long time these
squares stood and let the artillery plough through them But
the iate of Napoleon was writ, and though Ney doubtless did
what no other man in the army could have done, the decree
could not be reversed. The star that had blazed so brightly
over the world, went down in blood, and the " bravest of the
brave" had fought his last battle. It was worthy of his
g:reat name, and the charge of the Old Guard at VVaterloo,
with him at their head, will be pointed to by remotest gene-
rations with a shudder.
LXXXVI.— DEFENCE OF POETS.
CALEB LYOV.
It has been truly said by one who had studied the world
and drank deeply at the fountains of human knowledge,
" Let me make the songs of a nation, and 1 care not who
makes her laws." All national lyrics are illustrations of the
deep-seated veneration that poetry wedded to music awakes
in the souls of mankind. The gentleman seems to have for-
gotten that David, the man after God's own heart, was a
poet, and his psalms rise with grateful odor on every Sab-
bath, from a million of shrines in thanksgiving throughout
Christian lauds; that Solomon was a poet, whose compci-
tuiua are models of beauty, and whose proverbs are axioms of
wisdom. Homer was a poet, and his Iliad, composed live
THE MILITIA GENERAL AND HIS FORCES. 119
hundred years before the histories of Herodotus were written,
contributed largely to mould tlie public mind of Greece. Eu-
ripides was a poet, and his glorious works shed an imperisha-
ble halo over his once happy and beautiful, but now fillen
and desolate country. Virgil was a poet, the immortalizer
of rural life ; and Hesperides, Tempe's Valley, and Arcadia
linger with those who read him. And Shakspeare, whose
works —a bible of the mind — are an unfailing source of human
knowledge. In the words of Jonson, " He was not for a
day, but for all time."
Poets have ever been the great civilizers of mankind.
Poets have ever been the pioneers in human freedom. To
prince and peasant, in cottage and hall, their songs havo
brought social happiness or sweetest consolation. As memo-
rials of the past, venerated ; as prophecies of the future,
revered ; they count the tears, they tell the sorrows, they
number the joys, they cherish the remembrances, and they
soothe the passions of the great brotherhood of the world.
They breathe the matins over our cradles, the Te Deunis of
our manhood, and the vespers of our graves. Where song
sleeps, patriotism fades away, nationality declines ; but where
it wakes, like the strains of Memnon of old, it tells of the sun-
rise of a nation's glory.
LXXXVIL— THE MILITIA GENERAL AND HIS FORCES.
THOM.\S CORWIN.
Now the gentleman, being a militia general, as he has
told us, his brother officers, in that simple statement has re-
vealed the glorious hi.»<1ory of toils, privations, sacrifices, and
bloody scenes through which we know, from experience and
ob.servation, a militia officer in time of peace is sure to pass.
We all, in fancy, now see the gentleman in that most danger-
ous and glorious event in the life of a militia general on the
peace establishment — a p.irade-day I — The day, for which
all the other days of his life seem to have been made. We
can see the troops in motion ; umbrellas, hoe and axe handles,
and other deadly implements of war, overshadowing all the
ficld, when lo I the leader of the host aj)proaches,
" Far olT liLs coining shines ;"
120 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
his pliirae, white, after the fashion of the great Bourbon, is
of ample length, and reads its doleful history iii the bereaved
necks and bosoms of forty neighboring hen-roosts ! Like the
great Suwarow, he seems somewhat careless in forms and
points of dress ; hence his epaulettes may be on his slioulders,
back or sides, but still gleaming, gloriously gleaming in tlie
sun. M' unted he is, too, let it not be forgotten. Need I
describe to the colonels and generals of this lioiiorable house,
the steed which heroes bestride on such occasions ? No, I
see the memory of other days is with you. You see before
you the gentleman mounted on his crop-eared, bushy-
tailed mare, the singular obliquily of whose hind limbs
is described by that most expressive phrase, "sickle hams"'
— her height just tburteen bands, " all told ;" yes, sir,
there you see his "steed that laughs at the shaking of
the spear ;" that is, his " war-horse whose neck is clothed
with thunder." We have glowing descriptions in history
of Alexander the Great and his war-horse Buceplialus, at
the head of the invincible Macedonian phalanx, but, sir,
such are the improvements of modern times, that every one
must see that our militia general, with Ins crop-eared mare,
with bushy tail and sickle hams, would literally frighten off
the battle-field an hundred Alexanders. But, sir, to the his-
tory of the parade-day. The general thus mounted and
equipped is in the field, and ready for ;iction. On the eve of
some desperate enterprise, such as giving orders to shoulder
arms, it may be, there occurs a crisis, one of the accidents of
war which no sagacity could foresee or prevent. A cloud
rises and passes over the scene ! Here an occasion occurs
for the display of that greatest of all traits in the character
of a commander, the tact which enables lum to seize upon
and turn to good account events unlooked for, as they arise.
Now for the caution wherewith the Roman Fabius foiled the
skill and courage of Hannibal. A retreat is ordered, and
troops and general, in a twinkling, are found saft-ly bivouack-
ed in a neighboring grocery I But even here the general still
has room for the exhibition of heroic deeds. Hot from the
field, and chafed with the untoward events of the day, your
general unsheathes his trenchant blade, eighteen inches in
length, as you will well remember, and with an energy and
remorseless fury he slices the water-melons that lie in heaps
around him, and shares them with his surviving frieiius
Other of the sinews of war are not wanting here. Whiskey,
f
■WUO^IS INDEPENDENT! 121
that great leveller of modern times, is here also, and the
shells of the water-melons are filled to the brim. Here again,
is shown how the extremes of barbarism and civilization
meet. As the iScaudiiiavian heroes of old, after the fatigues
of war, drank wine from the skulls of their slaughtered ene-
mies, in Odin's Halls, so now our militia general and his
forces, from the skulls of melons thus vanquished, in copious
draughts of whiskey assuage the heroic fire of their souls,
alter the bloody scenes of a parade-day. But, alas, for this
short-lived race of oui's, all things will have an end, and so is
it even with the glorious achievements oi' our general. Time
is on the wing, and will not stay his flight ; the sun, as if
frightened at the mighty events of the day, rides down the
sky, and at the close of the day, when " the hamlet is still,"
the curtain of night drops upon the scene ;
" And glory, like the Phcenix in its firea,
Exhales its odor^, blaze.s, aud expires 1"
LXXXVIII.— WHO IS INDEPENDENT?
H. B. RHETT.
Sir, independence is a very imposing word — a stirring
word, when appealing to that innate pride which, while it is
the chief symbol of our fall, has also been the chief cause of
glory and fame to our aspiring race. Yet, after all, who is
independent in life ? Who desires to be independent ? What
would existence be, without that mutual dependence which
weaves for us the golden bonds of afiection, aud takes away
half the weariness of" life's pilgrimage ? From whence arise
all our sympathies, but from our capacity to serve and bless?
And to take from us the ability to receive aud impart good,
to be mutually dependent, is to pass over us the shade of
moral annihilation. The same principles apply to nations,
who are really neither beasts nor demons, but aggregates of
himiHU beings — brethren of the same human family. If un-
controlled by force, nations no more than individuals can be
degraded by mutual intercour.se. On the contrary, its inevi-
table tendency is to elevate them in the scale of social and
moral excellence. What is foreign commerce but an ex-
'jhange of equivalent produclions ? And in this exchange,
U
122 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
the one party is no more dependent than the other. Both
are dependent ; or, if you please, both are independent ;
inasmuch as they give full equivalent for vi^hat they receive.
If, at home, we subject and oppress the many for the ag-
g-randizement and benefit, of the few, it is but consistent that
we should deal with other nations on no better principles.
Sir, this is the policy that has made England great ; but is it
worthy of our imitation ? Mark her attitude in the world.
Nations in all quarters of the globe in military bondage^ to
her — pushing her conquests along the Hinmialaya Moun-
tains — massacring the Chinese to protect her manufacture
of opium — looking with avidity to central America and the
West Indies, and seeking to exclude our commerce from the
African seas, by claiming the right of search over our mer-
chantmen, for the same unhallowed purposes of monopoly ;
and on every border of our Union — in the East, in the West,
in the South, on the ocean — we are assailed and insulted by
her arrogant pretensions. Great she unquestionably is ; and.
I, too, who look back to her as my father land with reverence,
and not without afll-ction, may be dazzled by her bright as-
cendency. Great, she unquestionably is ; but she is also the
greatest robber and oppressor that now controls the destinies
of men. And where has all her greatness, and her glory,
placed her people ? Hear the tale which every wind, sweep-
ing across the Atlantic, brings of their appalling condition.
Bowed down with taxes, they work for life, and thank God
for even so graciou- a privilege. The barrack and the facto-
ry stand together ; whilst famine, and its fierce attendant,
crime, fill her poor-houses and prisons. Day and night, the
unceasing moan arises for bread ; and should nature rebel,
and the people rise, the dragoon's sabre settles the right.
It is not by following England, and the great nations of the
old world — leprosied all over and festering in the abuse of
ages — that we are to build up American prosperity and great-
ness. Our institutions are based on far different princijjles
from theirs. We affect not power, but right ; we aim not to
be great, but to be happy and freew We must not look back,
but forward, and press on under the guidance of the great
principle of Christian morality, on which our institutions are
based, to the mighty destiny which awaits us.
REMEMBRANCE OF WRONGS. 123
LXXXIX.— CONDITION OF INSOLVENT DEBTORS.
HENRY CLAY.
And when is it that we are called upon to retrace our
steps, and to subvert the whole system of beneficent measures
adopted at the extra session, by beginning with the repeal of
the bankrupt law, and ending with that of the law for the
distribution of the proceeds of the public lands ? Three days
only before the commencement of the operation ol the bank-
rupt law I fc?hould the work of destruction be accomplished,
they will not be days of grace and mercy, but of cruelty and
inhumanity. Yes,- the Senate, which has twice, after an in-
terval of snificient length to insure the i'ullest consideration,
deliberately pronounced its judgment in favor of this law, is
now asked to reverse that judgment, to undo its own work,
to deprive creditors of the great benefits wliich are secured
to them, to let loose the rigors of the law upon honest debt-
ors, and to rephnige them in hopeless despair.
Their condition resembles that of innocent and unfortunate
men, long and unjustly incarcerated within the dark walls of
a jail. Its door is half open ; they are rushing towards it,
pale, emaciated, and exhausted ; the light of heaven has once
more beamed upon their haggard faces, and once more they
begin to breathe the cold pure air oi" an uncontaminated at-
mosphere. At this instant of time, the Senate is called upon
to drive them back to their gloomy and loathsome cells, and
to fling back that door upon its grating hinges. And I am
invited to unite in this work of inhumanity and cruelty. I
have not the heart to do it. I have not the hand to do it. I
cannot, I will not do it.
XC— REMEMBRANCE OF WRONGS.
EUFUS CHOATE.
"We are above all this. Let the highland clansman, half
naked, half" civilized, half blinded by the peaf smoke of his
cavern, have his hereditary enemy and his hereditary 'Mimity,
and keep the keen, deep, and poisoudus hatred, set on fire of
hell, alive if he can ; let the jS'orlh American Indian have
3 24 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
his, and hand it down from father to son, by heaven knows
v/hat symbols of alligators, and rattlesnakes, and war-clubs
smeared with vermilion and entwined with scarlet ; let such
a country as Poland, eleven to the earth, the armed heel
on the radiant forehead, her body dead, her soul incapable to
die, let her " remember the wrongs of days long past ;" let
the lost and wandering tribes of Israel remember theirs — the
manliness or sympathy of the v/orld may allow or pardon this
to them ; but shall America, young, free, prosperous, just set-
ting out on the highway of heaven, " decorating and cheering
the elevated sphere she just begins to move in, glittering like
the morning star, full of life and j'ly," shall she be supposed
to be polluting and corroding her noble and happy heart, by
moping over old stories of stamp act, and tea tax, and the
firing of the Leopard upon the Chesapeake in a time of peace ?
No, sir; no, sir; a thousand times no I Why, I protest I
thought all that had been settled. I thought two wars had
settled it all. What else was so much good blood shed for
on so many more than cla.ssical fields of revolutionary glory ?
For what was so much good blood more lately shed at Lun-
dy's Lane, at Fort Erie, before and behind the lines at New
Orleans, on the deck of the Constitution, on the deck of the
Java, on the lai<es, on the sea, but to settle exactly the.se
" wrongs of past days ?" And have we come back sulky and
sullen from the very field of honor ? For my country 1 deny
it. We are born to happier feelings. We look on England
as we look on France. We look on them, from our new
world, not unrenowned, yet a new world still ; and the blood
mounts to our cheeks ; our eyes swim ; our voices are stiflt-d
with emulousness of so much glory ; their trophies will not
let us sleep ; but there is no hatred at all ; no hatred ; all for
honor, nothing for hate I We have — we can have — no bar-
barian memory of wrongs, for which brave men have made
the last expiation to the brave.
XCL— MILITARY CH/.F ACTER OF GEN. TAYLOR.
H. W. HILLIARD.
We are at a loss whether to admire most his faithful
discharge of every duty — his genius and courage in battle, or
the humanity which impelled him when the battle was over
MILITARY CHARACTER OF GEN. TAYLOR. 125
to minister to suffering. The eagles of his country have
never known defeat when borne by him. There was a self-
reUance about him — a consciousness of strength — a determi-
nation to drive his enemy before hiia, which made an army
under his command invincible. Cromwell was accustomed
to ride down at the head of his Ironsides, against the most
formidable hosts, and dash against them like a living ava-
lanche, which nothing could resist ; and, like him, Taylor,
with his stony will, his iron purpose, and his unflinching
courage, has, at the head of a few well-trained American
troops, driven before him powerful enemies. Perhaps in tlie
history of the world the power of a single will was never
more triumphantly exhibited than it was at Buena Vista.
Taylor had been advised to fall back for safety on Montert-y
— stripped of some of his best troops — far advanced in the
enemies' country, with an army numbering only about four
thousand, and but one third of them regulars — with no reserv-
ed force to support him — with the intelligence brought in
that Santa Anna, at the head of twenty thousand men, was
marching against him ; then he took his position in a gorge
oi' the Sierra Madre, and determined to meet the shock of
battle. He would neither retreat nor resign ; he would liglit.
There flashed forth a great spirit ; the battle came ; tlie odds
were fearful ; but who could doubt the i-esult when American
troops stood in that modern Thermopylae, and in the presence
of such a leader ? It was in vain that Mexican artillery
played upon their ranks, or Mexican infantry bore down
with the bayonet, or Mexican lancers charged. The spirit of
the great leader pervaded the men who fought with him,
and a single glance of his eye could reanimate a wavering
eolumn. Like Napoleon at the Danube, he held his mm
under fire because he was exposed to it himself; and like
him, wherever he rode along the lines mounted on a white
charger, a conspicuous mark for balls, men would stand and
be shot down ; but they would not give way. Of Taylor on
that day it may be said, as it has been said of Lannes at
Montebello, " he was i\ui rock of that battle-field, around
wliich men stood with a tenacity which nothing could move.
It he had fallen, in five minutes that battle would have been
a rout." That battle (closed Gen. Taylor's military career,
and that battle alone gives him a title to immortality.
126 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XCII.— EULOGIUM ON SOUTH CAROLINA.
ROBERT y. HAYNE.
I CALL upon any one who hears me, to bear witness tliat
this controversy is not of" my seeking. The Senate will do me
tlie justice to remember, that at the time this unprovoked
and uucal'.ed-for attack was made upon the South, not one
word had been uttered by me in disparagement of New
Eno-land, nor had 1 made the most distant allusion either to
the Senator from Massachusetts, or the State he represents.
But, sir, that gentleman has thought proper, for reasons best
known to himsell", to strike the South, through one, the most
unworthy of her servants. He has crossed the border, he has
mvaded the State of South Carolina, is making war upon her
citizens, and endeavoring to overthrow her principles and her
institutions. Sir, when the gentleman provokes me to such
a conflict, I meet him at the threshold, 1 will struggle while
I have life, for our altars and our firesides ; and if God give
me strength, will drive back the invader discomfited. Nor
shall I stop there. If the gentleman provoke war, he shall
have war. Sir, I will not stop at the border ; I will carry
the war into the enemies' territory and not coji-sent to lay
down my arms, until I shall have obtained " indemnity ior
the past, and security for the future." It is with unfeigned
reluctance that I enter upon the performance of this part of
my duty — I shrink almost instinctively from a course, how-
ever necessary, which may have a tendency to excite sec-
tional feelings and sectional jealousies. But, sir, the task has
been forced upon me, and 1 proceed right onward to a per-
I'ormance of my duty. Be the consequences what they may,
the responsibility is with those who have imposed upon me
this necessity. The Senator from Massachusetts has thought
proper to cast the first stone, and if he sliall find, according to
the liomely adage, that " he lives in a glass house '" — on his
head be the consequences. The gentleman has made a great
flourish about liis fidelity to Massachusetts. I shall make no
proiessions of zeal, for the interests and honor of South Caro-
lina— of that my constituents shall judge. If there be one
State in the Union (and I say it not in any boastful spirit-,
that may challenge comparison with any other for a uniform,
zealous, ardent and uncalculating devotion to the Union, that
State is South Carolina. Sir, from the very commencement
EITLOGIUM ON SOUTH CAROLINA. 127
of the revolution up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, how-
ever great, she has not cheerfully made ; no service she has
ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you in your
prosperity, hut in your adversity she has clung to you with
more than filial aliection. No matter what was the con-
dition of her domestic aliiiirs, though deprived of her resour-
ces, divided by parties, or surrounded by difficulties, the call
of the country has been to her as the voice of God. Domes-
tic discord has ceased at the sound — every man became at
once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were
all seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts
to tlie altar of their common country. What, sir, was the
{•oiiduct of the South during the Revolution ? Sir, I honor
New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle : but
great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think at least
equal honor is due to the South. They espoused the cause of
their brethren with generous zeal which did not sutler them
to stop to calculate their interest in the dispute. Favorites
of the mother country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen
to create commercial rivalship ; they might have found in
their situation a guaranty that their trade would be il;>rever
fostered and protected by Great Britain. But trampling on
all considerations, either of interest or of safety, they rushed
into the conflict, and fighting lor principle, periled all in the
sacred cause of freedom. Never was there exhibited in the
lii.story of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dread-
ful sufltjring, and heroic endurance, than by the M^higs of
Carolina during that revolution. The whole Stale, from the
mountain to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force
of the enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot
•where they were produced, or were consumed by the i()e.
The "plains of Carolina" drank up the most precious blood
of her citizens — black and smoking ruins marked the places
which had been the habitations of her children! Drivcni
from their homes into the gloomy and almost impenetiable
swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, and South
Carolina, 8u.stained by the example of her Sumpters and her
Marions, proved by her conduiit, that though her soil might
be overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible.
128 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XCIIL— SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS.
DANIEL "WEBSTER.
The eulofrium pronounced on the character of the Stato
of South Carohna by the honorable gentleman, for her revo-
huionary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I
shall not acknowledge that the honorable member goes be-
fore me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent, or
distinguished character. South Carolina has produced. I
claim part of the honor ; I partake in the pride of her great
names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The
Laurenses, Rutledges, the Pinckueys, the Sumpters, the
Marions — Americans all — whose fame is no more to be hem-
med in by state lines, than their talents and patriotism were
capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow
limits.
In their day and generation, they served and honored the
country, and the whole country, and their renown is of the
treasures of the whole country. Him whose honored name
the gentleman bears himself — does he suppose me less capa-
ble of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his suffer-
ings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Mas-
sachusetts instead of South Carolina ? Sir, does he suppose
it in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to
produce envy in my bosom ? No, sir — increased gratiticatioa
arid delight, rather. Sir, I thank God, that if I am gifted
with little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mor-
tals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other
spirit which would drag angels down
When I shall be found, sir, in my place here in the Sen-
ate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it hap-
pened to spring up beyond the limits of my own State and
neighborhood ; when I refuse, for any sucli cause, or for any
cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patri-
otism, to sincere devotion to liberty and the country ; or if I
see an uncommon endowment of heaven — if I see extraor-
dinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South — and if,
moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by State jealousy, I
get up here to abate the tithe of a hair, from his just char-
acter and just iame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my
mouth I
I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts — she
REPLY TO MR. WEBSTER. 129
needs none. There she is — behold her and judpfe for your-
selves. There is her history — the world knows it by heart.
The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord,
and Lexington, and Bunker's Hill ; and there they will re-
main forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great
struggle for independence, now lie mingled with tlie soil of
every State, from New England to Georgia ; and there they
will lie forever.
And, sir, where American liberty raised its fiist voice, and
where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still
lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original
spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it — it party
strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it ; if iully
and madness, if uneasiness, under salutary and necessary re-
straint, shall succeed to separate it from that Union, by which
alone its existence is made sure, it will stand m the end, by
the side of that cradle in which its inl'ancy was rocked ; it
will stretch forth its arm with whatever of vigor it may still
retain, on the friends who gather round it ; and it will fall
at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its
own glory, and on the very spot of its origin.
XCIV.— REPLY TO MR. WEBSTER.
ROBKRT Y. HAYNE.
When I took occasion, two days ago. to throw out some
ideas with respect to the policy of the government in relation
to public lauds, nothing certainly could have been further
from my thought, than that I should be compelled again to
throw myself upon the indulgence of the Senate. Little did
I expect to be called upon to meet such an argument as was
yesterday urged by the gentleman from Massachusetts. Sir,
I questioned no man's opinions — I impeached no man's mo-
tives — I charged no party, or state, or section of country, with
hostility to any other ; but ventured, I thought, in a becom-
ing spirit, to put forth my own sentiments in relation to a
great cpiestion of jtublic j)oli(;y. Such was my course. The
gentleman from Missouri, it is true, had charged ui)oii the
Eastern States an early and continued hostility towards the
West, and referred to a number of historical facts and docu-
0*
130 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
ments in support of that charge. Now, sir, how have these
di Hi-rent arguments been met ? The honorable gentleman
from Massachusetts, after deliberating a whole night upon
the cause, came into this chamber to vindicate New E112:-
land, and instead of making up his issue with the gentleman
from Missouri, on the charges which he bad preferred, chooses
to consider me as the author of those charges, and losing
sight eutirely of that gentleman, selects me as his adversary,
and pours out all the vials of his mighty wrath upon my
devoted head. Nor is he willing to stop there. He goes on
to assail the institutions and policy of the South, and calls in
question the principles and conduct of the State which I
have the honor, in part, to represent. When 1 find a gen-
tleman of mature age and experience, of acknowledged
talents and profound sagacity, pursuing a course like this, de>-
cliuinii the contest offered him from the West, and making
war upon the utiolFendinsj Sxiuth, I umst believe — I am
bound to believe — he has some object in view he has not
ventured to disclose. Why is tliis ? Has the ofentlernau
discovered in former controversien with the gentleman from
Missouri, that he is over-matched by that Senator ? And
does he hope for a more easy victory over a more feeble ad-
versary ? Has the gentleman's distempered fancy been dis-
turbed by gloomy forebodings of " new alliances to be
formed," at which he hinted ? Has the ghost of t'le mui--
dered coalition come back, like the ghost of Banquo, to " .sear
the eyeballs" of the gentleman, and will it not '■ down at his
bidding ?" Are dark visions of broken hopes and honors
lost forever, still floating before his heated imagination ?
Sir, if it be his object to thrust me between the gentleman
from Missouri and himself, in order to rescue the East fnnri
the contest which it has provoked with the West, he shall
not be gratified. Sir, I will not be dragged into the defence
of my friend from Missouri I The South shall not be forced
into a conflict not its own. The gentleman from Missouri is
able to fight his own battles. The gallant West needs no
aid from the South, to repel any attack which may be made
on it from any quarter. Let the gentleman from Massachu-
setts controvert the facts and arguments of the gentleman
from Missouri, if he can ; and if he win the victory, let him
wear his honors ; I shall not deprive him of his laurels.
REJOINDER TO MR. HAYNE. ISl
XCV.— REJOINDER TO MR. HAYNE.
DANIEL WEBSTEEL
The honorable member complained that I had slept on
his speech. I must have slept on it or not slept at all. The
moment the honorable member sat down, his friend from
Missouri rose, and with much honeyed commendation of the
speech, sugg'ested that the impressions that it had pi'oduced
were too charming and delightful to be disturbed by other
sentiments or other sounds, and proposed that the Senate
should adjourn. Would it have been quite amiable in me,
sir, to interrupt this good feeling ? Must I not have been
absolutely malicious if I could have thrust myself forward,
to destroy sensations thus pleasing ? Was it not much bet-
ter and kindlier, both to sleep upon them myself, and to al-
low others, also, the pleasure of sleeping upon them ? But
if it be meant, by sleeping upon his speech, that I took time
to prepare a reply to it, it is quite a mistake ; owing to other
engagements, I could not employ even the interval, between
the adjournment of the Senate and its meeting the next
morning, in attention to the subject of the debate. Never-
theless, sir, the mere matter of I'act is undoubtedly true — I
did sleep on the gentleman's speech, and slept soundly. And
I slept equally well on his speech of yesterday, to wliicli 1
am now replying. It is quite possible, that in this respect, I
possess some advantage over the honorable member : attri-
butable, doubtless, to a cooler temperament on my part ; for,
in truth, I slept upon his speeches remarkably well. But,
the gentleman inquires, why he was made the object of such
a riqjly ? Why was he singled out ? If an attack had been
made on the East, he, he assures us, did not begin it — it was
the gentleman from Missouri. Sir, I answered the gentle-
man's speech, because I happened to hear it ; and because,
afso, I chose to give an answer to that speech, which, if un-
answered, I thought nuxst likely to produce injurious impres-
sions. I did not stop to inquire who was the original drawer
of the bill ; I found a rcspousiljle endorser before me, and it
was my purjwse to hold him liable, and to bring him to his
just responsibility, without delay. But, sir, this interrogatory
of the honorable member, was only introductory to another.
He ])n)c.eeded to ask me, whether I had turned upon him in
this debate, from the consciousness that I should iind an over-
132 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
match, if I ventured on a contest with his friend from Mis-
souri. If, sk, the honorable member, " ex gratia modeel.-p,"
had chosen thus to defer to his friend, and to pay hnu a
compHrnent, without intentional disparagement to others, it
would have been quite accordnig to the friendly ^)itrtesies of
debate, and not at all ungrateful to my own leciing's. I am
not one of those, sir, who esteem any tribute of regard, whe-
ther light and occasional, or more serious and deliberate,
which may bo bestowed on others, as so much unjustly with
holden from themselves. But the tone and manner of the
gentleman's question, forbid me that I thus interpret it. I
am not at liberty to consider it as nothing more than a civil-
ity to his friend. It had an air of taunt and disparagement,
a little of the loftiness of asserted superiority, which does not al-
low me to pass it over without notice. It was put as a question
for me to answer, and so put, as if it were difficult for me to an-
swer, whether I deemed the member from Missouri an over-
match for myself, in debate here. It seems to me that this is ex-
traordinary language, and an extraordinary tone for the discus-
sions of this body. Matches and over-matches! Those terms
are more applicable elsewhere, than here, and fitted for other
assemblies than this. Sir, the gentleman seems to forget whex'e
and what we are. This is a senate : a senate of equals : of men
of individual honor and personal character, and of absolute in-
dependence. We know no masters ; we acknowledge no dicta-
tors. This is a hall for mutual consultation and discussion ; not
an arena for the exhibition of champions. I oiler myself, sir. as a
match I'or no man. I throw the challenge of debate at iio
man's feet. But, then, sir, since the honorable member has
put the question, in a manner that calls for an answer, I
will give him an answer ; and I tell him, that holding my-
self to be the humblest of the members here, I yet know no-
thing in the arm of his friend from Missouri, either alone, or
when aided by tlie arm of his friend from South Carolina,
that need deter even me from expressing whatever opinions
I may clioose to espouse, from debating whenever I may choose
to debate, or from speaking whatever I may see lit to say, on
the floor of the Senate. Sir, when uttered as a matter of
commendation or compliment, I should dissent from nothing
which the honorable member might say of his friend. Still
less do I put forth any pretensions of my own. But, when
put to me as a matter of taunt, I throw it back, and say to
the gentleman that he could possibly say nothing less likely
FINAL TRIUMPH OF DEMOCRACY. 133
than such a comparison to wound* my pride of personal cliar-
acter. The anger of lis tone rescued the remark from inten-
tional irony, which otherwise, probably, would have been its
general acceptation. But, sir, if it be imagined, that by this
mutual quotation and commendation ; if it be supposed, that
by castuig the characters of the drama, assigning to each
his part ; to one the attack , to another the cry of onset : or,
if it be thought, that by a loud and empty vaunt of antici-
pated victory, any laurels are to be won here ; if it be ima-
gined, especially, that any or all of these things will shake
any ])urpose of mine, I can tell the honorable member, once
for all, that he is greatly mistaken, and that he is dealing
with one of whose temper and character he has yet much to
learn. Sir, I shall not allow myself, on this occasion, to be
betrayed into any loss of temper ; but if provoked, as I trust
I shall never allow myself to be, into crimination and re-
crimination, the honorable member may, perhaps, fiiul, that,
in that contest, there will be blows to take as well as blows
to give; that others can state comparisons as significant, at
least, as his own, and that his impunity may, p(;rhaps, de-
mand of him wliatever powers of taunt and sarcasm he may
possess. I commend him to a prudent husbandry of his
resources.
XCVI.— FINAL TRIUMPH OF DEMOCRACY.
DEM. RKVIEW.
TuK naked right of a peojde to change their government
none but the sturdiest adherents of unrelenting despotism will
deny. But in the practical determination of a change, par-
ties will inevitably arise; they will arrange themselves
under the operation of necessary influences and principles
fcprinifing from the diversity of human nature. Tlie interests
li).stt'red by established systems, through the natural instinct
of sclfisliue.ss, will speedily form themselves into conservative
bauds. Their dependants, through all the ramifications of
Bociety, will hasten to swell the same ranks ; while the
naturally timid, dubious as to the virtue of their fellow-men,
averse to change, conjuring up dismal prospects ot future
anarchy and misrule, will enlist under the same banners.
Ho lliuiC will bu gaiiicicd the wealth and fashion which
1
134 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE. '^
draws its existence from old customs and laws — the prvi-
lese wliich subsists on ancient error — and the tal«»tit wliieh,
accustomed to profouad veneration, never travels beyuml a
beaten track. They will be met, on the other hjuid, by the
untutored yet unsopliisticated mass, and those b«T?d, indepen-
dent men of" genius who intuitively seize the rigtit, and labor
with fearless selt-denying energy ibr human progress. TUc
contest will be intense, as the interests and ]:«i.uiciples in-
volved are great. As it embraces the great doctrines of
science, the first truths of government, the welfare of nations,
and the destinies of a race, a long warfare will infringe on
the civilities of life, will break the restraints of law, will
estrange friends, will throw the sword into families, and give
rein to the wildest excesses of passion. Yet it is not difficult
to tell where victory will perch. The rights and happiness
of the many will prevail. Democracy must finally reign.
There is in man an eternal principle of progress which no
power on earth may resist. Every custom, law, science, or
religion, which obstructs its course, will fall as leaves before
the wind. Already it has done much, but will do more.
The despotism of force, the absolutism of religion, the feudal-
ism of wealth, it has laid on the crimson field ; while the
principle, alive, un wounded, vigorous, is still battling against
nobility and privilege with unrelaxing strength. It i^' con-
tending for the extinction of tyranny, for the abolition of pre-
rogative, for the reform of abuse, for the amelioration of
government, for the destruction of monopoly, for the estab-
lishment of justice, for the elevation of the masses, for the
progress of humanity, and for the dignity and worth of the
individual man. In this great work it has a mighty and effi-
cient aid — Christianity, self-purified and self-invigorated, Is
its natural ally — Christianity struck the first blow at the
vitals of unjust power. The annunciations of its lofty
Teacher embodied truths after which the nations in their
dim twilight had long straggled in vain. These potent doc-
trines were the inherent dignity, the natural equality, the
s]iiritual rights, the glorious hopes, of man. They addressed
the individual apart from social ran'; or position, riercing
the thick obscurity which ages of darkness have gathered —
removing the obstructions of heapcd-up falsehood and fraud
■ — they speak to oppressed, down-trodden man. They speak
t'l him in a voice of infinite power; they touch the chords o*^
sensibility, and expand his soul to free, generous action ; thsy
AMENDMENT OF THE CONSTITUTION. 135
awaken hope ; they administer consolation ; they cherish the
sonso &f pf-rsonal worth ; they strenjrthen faith in truth ; they
reveal th^ Lighest excellence ; they demand unceasing pro-
gress ; tiity worship the soul as of higher importance than
all outward TVvjrlds.
The movomcnt of man, then, must be onward. The vir-
tue of earth, aarl the holiness of Heaven, are pledged to his
sijppirrt. Maj' trod hasten the day of his complete final suc-
cess I Then will the downcast look up, then will the earth
be glad, then will a broad shout of rejoicing break through
the concave of heaven, and be echoed back from the thrones
on high.
XCVII.— AMENDMENT OF THE CONSTITUTION.
J. 0. ISACKS.
Ts not this power in the hands of Congress liable to abuse ?
I put it to the members of this House to answer me that ques-
tion, -from what we know of ourselves ; from what we have
seen and believe with respect to others ; from the circum-
stances which surround us ; from the motives which may
actuate ; the influence which may be exerted upon us ; our
proneness to temptation ; our love of power ; and a thou-
sand other considerations, which the mind, honestly in search
of truth, cannot help but find. Are we prepared to say that
this power is not liable to abuse here ? No, sir, we cannot,
we know that it may be — that it can be abused ; then send
it away — part with it at once — give it up to its rightful
r.wners — take ofl'the broad I'eproach of suspicion which rests
upon us — restore the Representatives of the People to what
they were chosen for, and what the Constitution intended
them to be — legislalors, and nothing but legislators. Let us
resume the dignity of our stations and the importance of our
cliaracters. Gentlemen sjteak oftlie confidence which should
be tilt and maintained ibr Congress — the dignity of its mem-
bers. I hope it will so decide this question, as to entitle it
to a nation's confidence, and by preserving its purity, secure,
unshaken, that confidence. As to the rest, God preserve its
members from the dignity of olfiee brokers and President ma-
kers. We want no Warwicks, with their vassals, here — no
king-makers, that would disgrace the name of Nevil '
136 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Gentlemen attempt to divert our attention from the defeotf
in the Constitution, by expressing a reverence for its framers
approaching to idolatry. Sir, to those who shared in the
struggle for independence, and laid the deep foundations of
our Government, I claim an equal participation in rendering
the full tribute of regard which is due to mortal man. They
gave us the charter of our liberty ; they could not. Heaven
did not give us a charter of exemption from the weakness
and the wickedness of human nature. No, sir, m the days
of our Fathers, the golden age of pristine purity — when, ac-
cording to one gentleman on this floor, " the political little
finger" of our statesmen could almost work miracles ; and,
ac(^ording to another, the palest star in that firmament out-
shone the whole galaxy of these degenerate times — even then
our country produced an Arnold I And who was Arnold ?
Some obscure, degraded, scape-gallows felon ? No, sir, no ;
he was found in front of the foremost rank of patriots, with
a wreath of" glory on his brow, which the rough hand of time
could not tear away — this man became a traitor '.
XCVIII.— MISSION TO PAJfAMA. ■
DANIEL WEBSTEE.
Wi: are told that the country is deluded and deceived by
cabalistic words. Cabalistic words ! If we express an emo-
tion of pleasure at the results of this great ac'ioii of the spirit
of political liberty ; if we rejoice at the birth of new Republican
nations, and express our joy by the common terms of regard
and sympathy ; if we feel and signify high gratification that,
throughout this whole continent, men are now likely to be
blessed by free and popular institutions ; and if in the utter-
ing of these sentiments, we happen to speak of sister Repub-
lics, of the great American family of Nations, or of the
political systems and forms of government of this hemisphere ;
then, indeed, it seems, we deal in senseless jargon, or impose
upon the judgment and feeling of the community by cabalis-
tic words! Sir, what is meant by this ? Is it intended that
the people of the United States ought to be totally indifferent
to the fortunes of these new neighbors ? Is no change, in
the lights iu which "'e ave to view them, to be wrought, by
:
MISSION TO PANAMA. 137
their having thrown off foreign dominion, established Inde-
j^ndence, and Instituted on our very borders, Republican
governments, essentially after our own example ? If it be a
weakness to feel a strong Interest In the success of these great
revolutions, I confess myself guilty of that weakness. If it
be A'eak to feeJ that I am an American, to think that recent
events have not only opened new modes of intercourse, but
have created also new grounds of regard and sympathy be-
tween ourselves and our neighbors ; if it be weak to feel that
the South, in her present state, is somewhat more emphati-
cally part of America than when she lay obscure, oppressed,
and unknown, under the grinding bondage of a foreign pow-
er ; if it be weak to rejoice, when, even in any corner of the
earth, human beings are able to get up from beneath oppres-
sion, to erect themselves, and enjoy the proper happiness of
their Intelligent nature ; if this be weak, it Is a weakness
from which I claim no exemption.
A day of solemn retribution now visits the overproud
monarchy of Spain. The prediction is fullilled. The spirit
of Montezuma and of the Incas might now well say,
" Art thou, too, fallen, Iberia? Do we see
Tlie robber and tlie rmirilerer weak as we ?
Thou, that hast wasted earth, and tlared despise
Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies,
Tl»y pomp is in the grave; thy glory laid
Low in the pit thine avarice has made."
We cannot be so blind, we cannot so shut up our senses,
and smother our faculties, as not to see that, in the progress
and establishment of South American liberty, our own example
has been among the most stimulating causes. Tliat great
\\'jr]it — a light which can never be hid — the light of our own
glorious Eevolulion, has shone on the path of the South
American Piitriots, from the beginning of their course. In
their emergencies, they have looked to our experience. In
their political institutions, they have followed our models.
In their deliberations, they have invoked the presiding Spirit
of our own Liberty. They have looked steadily, in every
ailversity, to the great noktiikiin i-uhit. In the hour of
bloody conflict, they have remembered the fields which have
been consecrated by the blood of our fathers ; and when they
have fallen, they have wished only to be remembered with
them, as men who had acted their parts bravely, ibr the
cause of Liberty in the Western World.
138 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XCIX.— OUR DUTY TO REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS.
PELEG 8PRAGUE.
You talk of erecting statues and marble memorials of the
Father of his country. It is well. But could his spirit now
be heard within these walls, would it not tell you, that, to
answer his fervent prayers, and verify his confident predic-
tions of your gratitude to his companions in arms, would be
a sweeter incense, a more grateful homage to his memory,
than the most splendid mausoleum ? You gave hundreds
of thousands of dollars to La Fayette. It was well ; and
the whole country resounded, Amen. But is not the citizen
soldier, who fought by his side, who devoted e 'erything to
your service, and has been deprived of his promised reward,
equally entitled, I will not say, to your liberality, but to your
justice ?
Sir, the present provision for the soldiers of the Revolution
is not sufficient. Instead of presuming every man to be up-
right and true until the contrary appears, every applicant
seems to be presupposed to be false and perjured. Instead
of bestowing these hard-earned awards with alacrity, they
appear to have been refused, or yielded with reluctance ; and
to send away the war-worn veteran, bowed down with the
infirmities of age, empty from your door, seems to have been
deemed an act of merit. So rigid has been the construction
and application of the existing law, that cases most strictly
within its provisions, of meritorious service and abject pov-
erty, have been excluded from its benefits. Yet gentlemen
"tell us that the law, so administered, is too liberal ; that it
goes too far, and they would repeal it. They would take
back even the little which they have given I And is this
possible ? Look abroad upon this wide extended land, upon
its wealth, its happiness, its hopes ; and then turn to the aged
soldier who gave you all, and see him descend in neglect and
poverty to the tomb I The time is short. A few years, and
these remnants of a former age will no longer bo seen.
Then we shall indulge unavailing regrets for our present
apathy : for, how can the ingenuous mind look upon thegi'ave
of an injured benefactor ? How poignant the reflection, that
the time for reparation and atonement has gone forever I In
what bitterness of soul shall we look back upon the infatua-
tion which shall have cast aside an opportunity v/hiih can
THE ZERO LINE OF VALOR. 139
never return, to give peace to our conscience. We shall
then endeavor to stifle our couvictions, hy empty honors to
their bones. We shall raise high the monuineut, and trum-
pet loud their deeds, but it will he all in vain. It cannot
warm the hearts which shall have sunk cold and comfortless
to the earth. This is no illusion. How often do we see, in
our public Uazettes, a pompous display of honors to the mem-
ory of some veteran patriot, who was suflei'ed to linger out
his latter days in unregai'ded penury ?
" How proud we can pr(«s to the fun'ral array
Oi' liiin wliom we sliumrd in his sickness and sorrow ;
And bailitFs may seize liis last blanket to-day,
Whose pall shall be borne up by heroes to-morrow."
C— THE ZERO LINE OF VALOR.
DAVID BARTON.
I SHOULD like to see this question in mathenatics figured
out, in the rule of three, and the quotient fairly stated. If
the low war mark or zero line of the Senator's valor, wlieu
peace is in all our borders, and not a war speck in the sky,
that" I can see, be equal to that of Palafox in the passes of
the Pyrenees, guarding his native Spain against the invad-
ing legions of Napoleon Bonaparte ; or of Leonidas, with his
three hundred Spartans, at the Straits of Thermopylaj,
guarding Sjiarta and all Greece against the million of myr-
midons of Xerxes, the king of Persia and of kings ; what
would be the spring-Hood height, or boiling degree of his
raire, if placed in the Pine-spur-gap of our own AUeghanies,
with his naked war-knife drawn, to guard the magnificent
valley of the Mississippi against the invasive Yankees; and
upon lifting up his eyes and looking over the plains below,
towards the north-east, he should behold the universal Yan-
kee nation, armed cap-a-pie, with drums beating and ban-
ners flying, coming to invade us, and lay our valley under
one sheet of fire, from the Lake of the Woods to the Balize,
and from the sources of the Mis-souri to the aforesaid Pine-
B|iiir-gap! arnl to carry away into captivity the brightest
portion of our mulatto beauties! Figures cannot count it.
Poets cauuot sing it. Homer did his be-t in Achilles' wrath
140 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
about the loss of his sweetheart, and while chasing Hector
around the walls of Troy ; and that barL4y came up to the
ZOTO line of the Senator's valor ! And Cervantes is dead I
Apropos ! Cervantes was the man for this sort of vaior !
It all rashes on the mind " like a flood of coming light !"
All is not right in the capital ! There is more occcsio;i,
now, for Dr. Cutbush or Dr. CutscuU, than for any military
hero to guard us against the Yankees I These mental ilhi-
sions have atllicted the frail sons of Adam in other countries,
and in climates better than our own ! My honorable friend.
Don (iuixotte de la Mancha, a countryman of Pclatbx, had
a long spell of them ! On one occasion he attacked, as he
supposed, an army of steel-clad knights, which turned out to
be a flock of harmless merinoes I Then a funeral procession,
and wounded a friar I Again, a windmill and a fulling-
mill, imagining them colossal, enchanted giants, more terri-
ble than iEsop's buffalo bull ! But why recount his freaks,
when all these honorable Senators have read Cervantes ?
and they who hope for missions to Spain, South America*, or
Mexico, have, doubtless, read him in the original I
CL— EFFECT OF STEADINESS OF PURSUIT.
ASHEE ROBBINS.
The most interesting instance of the efficacy of this steadi-
ness of pursuit was given by the city of Athens ; the most
interesting, because the object was most so. From the earliest
times, Athens aspired to literature and the elegant arts. l3y
a steady pursuit of the policy adopted \Adth a view to this
end, the city of Athens became such a monument of the arts,
that even her imperfect and dilapidated remains are at this
day the wonder of the world. What splendors, then, must
she have emitted in the day of her splendor ! When, in her
freshness, she met the morning sun, and reflected back a rival
glory I When she was full of the masterpieces of genhis in
every art — creations, that were said to have exalted in the
human mind the ideas of the divinities themselves I The
fervid eloquence of Demosthenes failed, unequal to the task,
to do justice to those immortal splendors, when employed, as
it occasionally was, for that purpose, in his addresses to the
THE TERRITOKIES. 141
Athenian people. It was by the steady pursuit of the same
policy, that tiieir literary works of every kind came to be
equally the masterpieces of human jrenius ; and being more
diflused, and less impaired by the injuries of time, than the
other monunu'nls of the arts, they were, and still are, the
wonder of the world, that, after it, the Athenians themselves
could never surpass them ; whilst others have never been
able to equal them. Now, what has been the efiect ? Lite-
rature and arts have gathered around that city a charm that
was, and is felt by all mankind ; which no distance, no time,
can dispel Ko scholar, of any age or clime, but has made
(in fancy, at least) a pilgrimage to its shore ; there to call
around him the shades of the mighty dead, whose minds still
live, and delight and astonish in their immortal works. It is
emphatically the city of the heart, where the afiections de-
light to dwell ; the green spot of the earth where the fancy
loves to linger. How poor is brute force — even the most
magnificent, even the Roman — compared to the empire of
mind, to which all other minds pay their voluntary homage !
Her literature and her arts acquired to Athens this empdre,
wliich her remains still preserve, and always will preserve. In
contemplating the phenomenon of her literary achievements, a
great and profound writer could not forbear saying, " that it
seemed a providential event, in honor of human nature, to show
to what perlection the species might ascend." Call it provi-
dential if you please — as every event is, in some sense, provi-
dential — but it was the efiect of artificial causes, as much so
as the military power of the Romans ; it was the efiect of a
policy, early adopted, and always after steadily pursued.
CIL— THE TERRITORIES.
EGBERT C. ■WINTIIROl'.
Mr. Chairman, I see in the territorial possessions of this
TJuion the seats of new States, the cradles of new Comtnoii-
Wi'alths, tlie tnirseries, it may be, of new Republican lilm-
pires. I see, in them, the future abodes of our brethren, our
children, and our children's children, for a thousand generations.
I see, growing u]) within their borders, institutions upon
•which the chaiacter and condiliou of a vast multitude of the
142 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
American family, and of the human race, in all time to
come, are to depend. I feel, that for the oiiginal sha])inff
and msulding 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 myself what shall I do, that I may de-
serve the gratitude and the blessing, and not the condemna-
tion and tlie curse, of that posterity whose welfai'e is thus in
some degree committed to my care ?
As I pursue this inquiry, sir, I look back instinctively to
the day, now more than two hundred years ago, when the
Atlantic coast was the scene of events like those now in pro-
gress upon the Pacific ; — when incited, not, indeed, by the love
of gold, but by a devotion to that which is better than gold,
and whose price is above rubies, the tbrefathers of New
England were planting their colony upon that rock-bound
shore. I look back to the day when slavery existed nowhere
upon the American continent, and before that first Dutch
ship, " built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark," had
made its way to Jamestown, with a cargo of human beings in
bondao-e. 1 refiect how much our fathers would have exult-
ed, could they have arrested the progress of that ill-starred
vessel, and of all other kindred employment. I recall the
original language of the Declaration of Independence itself, as
first dralted by Thomas Jetierson, assigning it as one of the
moving causes for throwing off our allegiance to the British
monarch, that " he had waged cruel war against human
nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life and
liberty, in the persons of a distant people who never offended
him, captivating and carrying them into slavery into another
hemlspliere, or to incur miserable death in their transporta-
tion thither."
1 remember, too, that whatever material advantages may
have since been derived from slave labor in the cultivation
of a crop which was then unknown to our country, that the
moral character and social influence of the institution are
still precisely what they were described to be, by those who
understood them best, in the early days of the Republic.
And 1 see, too — as no man can help seeing — that almost all
the internal dangers and domestic dissensions which cast a
doubt upon the perpetuity of our glorions Union, have been,
and still are, the direct or indirect consequences of the exist-
ence of this institution. And thus seeing, thus remembering,
thus reflecting, how can I do otherwise than resolve, that it
DANGER OF FACTION. 113
shall be by no vote of miue, that slavery shall be established
m any territory wliere it does not already exist I
cm.— TRIUMPH OF riETY OVER ARMS.
JOSEPH STORT.
Time was, when the exploits of war, the heroes of many
battles, the conquerors of millions, the men who waded
tlirough slaughter to thrones, the kings whose. footsteps were
darkened witii blood, and the sceptered oppressors of the earth,
were alone deemed worthy themes for the poet and the
orator, for the songs of the minstrel, and the hosannas of the
multitude. Time was, when feats of arms, and tournaments,
and crusades, and the high array of chivalry, and the pride
of royal banners waving for victory, engrossed all minds.
Time was, when the ministers of the altar sat down by the
side of the tyrant, and numbered his victims, and stimnlated
his persecutions, and screened the instruments of his crimes —
and there was praise, and glory, and revelry, for these things.
Murder and rapine, burning cities and desolated plains, if so
be they were the bidding oi royal or baronial feuds, led on by
the courtier or the clan, were matters of public boast, the de-
liglits of courts, and the treasured pleasure of the fireside
tales. But these times have passed away. Christianity bus
resumed her meek and holy reign. The Puritans have not
lived in vain. The simple piety of the Pilgrims of New
England casts into shade tliis false glitter, which dazzled and
betrayed men into the worship of their destroyers.
CIV.— DANGER OF FACTION.
WILLIAM GASTON.
I WOULD not depress your buoyant spirits with gloomy an-
ticipations, but I should be wanting in frankness, if I did not
state my conviction that you will be called to the perform-
ance of other duties unusually grave and important. Perils
E'trround you and are imminent, which will rei}.nire ckar
heads, pure intentions, and stout hearts, to discern and to
1-14 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
overcome. There is no side on which danger may not make
its approach ; but from the wickedness and madness of
factions it is most nieiiaciiig. Time was, indeed, when fac-
tions contended amongst us with virulence and fury ; but
they were, or affected to be, at issue on questions of priiicij)lu ;
now, Americans band together under the names of men, and
wear the livery, and put on the badges of their leaders. Then,
the individuals of the different parties were found side by side,
dispersed tliroughout the various districts of our confederated
liepublic ; but now, the parties that distract the land, are al-
most identified with our geographical distinctions. Now,
there has come a period, foreseen and dreailed by our Wash-
ington, by him "who, more than any other individual, found-
ed this our wide-spreading Enipire, and gave to our Western
World independence and freedom" — by him, who, with a
lather's warning voice, bade us beware of " parties founded
on geographical discriminations." As yet, the smtiment so
deeply planted in the hearts of our honest yeoiranry, that
union is strength, has not been uprooted. As yet, they ac-
knowledge the truth, and feel the force of the homely, but
excellent aphorism, " United we stand, divided we fall." As
yet, they take pride in the name of" the United States" — in
recollection of the fields that were won, the blood which was
poured forth, and the glory which was gained in the common
cause, and under the common banner of a united country.
May God, in his mercy, forbid that I, or you, my friends,
should live to see tie day, when these sentiments and feelings
shall be extinct ! Whenever that day comes, then is the
hour at hand, when this glorious Kepublic, this, at once, na-
tional and confederated Republic, which, for half a century,
has presented to the eyes, the hopes, and the gratitude of
man, a more brilliant and lovely image than Plato, or More,
or Harrington, ever feigned or fancied, shall be like a tale
that is told, like a vision that hath passed away.
CV.— EVIL OF DUELLING.
LYMAN BEECHE'2.
If the widows and the orphans, which this wasting evil
has created, and is yearly multiplying, might all stand before
you, could you witness their tears, or listen to their details
PURITAN AND SPARTAN HEROISM. 145
of anguish? Should they point to the murderers of their
fathers, their husbands, and their children, and lift up tlicir
voice, and implore your aid to arrest au evil which had made
them desolate, could you disregard their cry ? Before their
eyes could you approach the poll, and patronize by your votes
the destroyers of their peace ? Had you beheld a dying
father conveyed bleeding and agonizing to his distracted lam-
ily, had yon heard their piercing shi-ieks, and witnessed their
frantic agony ; would you reward the savage man who had
plunged them in distress ? Had the duellist destroyed your
neighbor — had your own father been kii^ (I by the man who
solicits your suffrage — had your son, laid low by his hand,
been brought to your door pale in death, and weltering in
blood — would you then think the crime a small one ? Would
you honor with your confidence, and elevate to power by your
vote, the guilty monster ? And what would you think of
your neighbors, if, regardless of your agony, they should re-
ward him ? And yet, such scenes of unutterable anguish
are multiplying every year Every year the duellist is cut-
ting down the neighbor of somebody. Every year, and
rnauy times in the year, a father is brought dead or dying to
his family, or a son laid breathless at the feet of his parents ;
and every year you are patronizing by your votes the men
who commit these crimes, and looking with cold indili'erence
U|)on, and even mocking, the sorrows of your neighbors.
Beware — I admonish you to beware, and especially such of
you as have promising sons preparing for active life, lest,
having no feelings for the sorrows of another, you b^ called
to weep for your own sorrow ; lest your sons fall by the hand
of the very murderer for whom you vote, or by the hand of
some one whom his example has trained for the work of
blood.
CVL— PURITAN AND SPARTAN HEROISM.
RUKtI.S CIIOATK.
If one were called on to select the more glittering of the
in.'^taiices of military heroism to which the admiration of the
V orld has been most constanlly attracted, he would make
choice, I imagine, of the instam-e of that desperate valor, in
which, in obedience to the laws, Leonidas and his three huu-
7
146 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
(Ired Spartans cast themselves headloagf, at the passes of
Greece, on the myriads of their Persian invaders. From the
simple page of Herodotus, longer than from the Amphyctionic
monument, or the games of the commemoration, that act
still speaks to the tears and praise of all the world. Yet I
agree with a late brilliant writer, in his speculation on the
probable feelings of that devoted band, left alone awaiting,
till day should break, the approach of a certain death, in
that solitaiy defile. Their enthusiasm and their rigid and
Spartan spirit, which had made all ties subservient to obedi-
ence to the law, all excitement tame to that of battle, all
pleasure dull to the anticipation of glory, probably made the
hours preceding death the most enviable of their lives. They
might have exulted in the same elevated fanaticism, which
distinguished afterwards the followers of Mahomet, and saw
that opening paradise in immortality below, which the Mus-
sulman beheld in anticipation above ! Judge if it were not
so ; judge, if a more decorative and conspicuous stage was
ever erected for the transaction of a deed of fame. Every
eye in Greece, every eye throughout the world of civilization,
throughout even the uncivilized and barbaric East, was felt
to be turned directly upon the playing of that brief part.
There passed round that narrow circle in the tent, the stern,
warning image of Sparta, pointing to their shields, and say-
ing, " With these to-morrow, or upon them." Consider, too,
that the one concentrated and comprehensive sentiment,
graved on their souls as by fire and by steel, by all the influ-
ences of their whole life, by th« mothers' lips, by the fathers'
example, by the law, by venerated religious rites, by public
opinion, strong enough to change the moral quality of things,
by the whole fashion and nature of Spartan culture, was
this ; seek first, seek last, seek always, the glory of conquer-
ing or falling in a " well fought field." 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 hosts, his dusky lines stretched
out without end, and now almost encircling them around ; as
they remembered their unprofiiued home, city of heroes and
of the mother of heroes, — judge if, watching them 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
APPEAL IN BEHALF OF GREECE. 147
when, at a little after noon, the countless invading tliron<3!
■was seen at last to move, was it not with a rapture, as if" all
the joy, all the sensation of life, was in that one moment,
that they cast themselves, with the fierce glatluess of moun-
tain torrents, headlong on that brief revelry of glory !
I acknowledge the splendor of that transaction in all its
aspects. I admit its morality, too, and its useful influence
on every Grecian heart, in that greatest crisis of Greece.
\nd yet, do you not think that whoso could, by adequate de-
scription, bring before you that winter of the Pilgrims, its
brief sunshine, the niglits of storm, slow waning ; the damp
and icy breath, felt to the pillow of the dying ; its destitu-
tions ; its contrast with all their former experience in life ; its
utter insulation and loneliness ; its death-beds and burials ; its
memories ; its apprehensions ; its hopes ; the counsels of the
prudent ; the pi-ayers of the pious ; the occasional cheerful
hymn, in which the strong heart threw off its burthen, and
asserting its unvanquished nature, went up like a bird of
dawn to the skies, — do ye not think that whoso could de-
scribe them, calmly waiting in that defile, lonelier and darker
than Thermopylaj, for a morning tliat might never dawn, or
might show them, when it did, a mightier arm than the Per-
sian raised as in act to sti'ike, would he not sketch a scene of
more difficult and rarer heroism ? A scene, as Wordsworth
has said, " melancholy, yea, dismal, yet consolatory and full
of joy ;" a scene, eveu better fitted, to succor, to exalt, to
lead the forlorn hopes of all great causes, till time shall be
no more !
CVIL— APPEAL IN BEHALF OF GREECE.
HENRY CI.AV. '
TriKRK is reason to apprehend, that a tremendous storm is
ready to burst upon our happy country — one which may call
into action all our vigor, courage and resources. Is it wise
or prudent, in preparing to breast the storm, if it nuist come,
to talk to thi.s nation of its incompetency to repel European
aggression — to lower its spirit, to weaken its moral energy,
and to qualify it for easy conquest and base submission? If
there be any reality in the dangers which are supposed to en-
compass us, should we not animate the people, and adjure ihcm
1-48 TIIK BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
to believe, as I do, that our resources are ample ; and that we
can briii<r into the field a million of Iveemen, ready to exhaust
tlieir la»t droi) of l)lood, and to spend the last cent in the defence
of the country, its liberty, and its institutions ? tiir, are
these, if united, to be conquered by all Europe combined ?
All the perils to which we can possibly be i-xposed, are much
less in reality, than t!ie imagination is disposed to paint them.
No, sir, no united nation, that resolves to be ii-ee, can be
conquered. And has it come to this? Are we so humbl.d,
go low, so debased, that we dare not express our sympathy for
suliering Greece ? That we dare not articulate our detesta-
tion of the brutal excesses of which she has been the bleed-
ing victim, lest we might olfend some one or more of their
imperial and royal majesties ?
Sir, it is not for Gieece alone that I desire to see this meas-
ure adopted. It will give to her but little support, and that
purely of a moral kind. It is principally tor America, lor
the credit and character of our common country, lor our own
unsullied name, that I hope to see it pass. Mr. Chairman,
what appearance on the page of history would a record like
this exhibit ? — " In the month of January, in the year of our
Lord and Saviour, 1824, while all European Christendom
beheld, with cohl and unfeeling indiirereiice, the unexampled
wrongs and inexjtressible miseries of Christian Greece, a prop-
osition was made in the Congress of the United States,
almost the sole, the last, the greatest depository of human
hope and human freedom, the representatives of a gallant
nation, containing a mi lion of freemen ready to fly to arms,
while the people of that nation were spontaneously expressing
its deep-toned feeding, and the whole continent by one .simul-
taneous emotion, was rising, and solemnly and anxiously sup-
plicating and invoking high heaven to spare and succor Greece,
and to invigorate her arms in her glorious cause, while temples
and senate-houses were alike resoundnig with one burst of gen-
erous and holy sympathy ; in th^ year of our Lord and Saviour
— that Saviour of Greece and of us — a proposition was oliered
m the American Congress to send a messenger to Greece, to
inquire into her state and condition, with a kind expression
of our good wishes and our sympathi.'S — and it was rejected !"
Go hom ', if you can ; go home, if you dare, to your constit-
uents, and tell them that you voted it down ; meet, if you
can, the appalling countenances of those w!io sent you here,
and tell them that you shrank from the declaration oi' your
.
ACHIEVEMEXTS OF THE PILGRIMS. 149
own sentiments ; that you cannot tell how, but that sora'3
unknown dread, some indescribable apprehension, some inde-
finable danger, drove you from your purpose ; that the spec-
tres of cimeters, and crowus, and crescents, gleamed belbre
you and alarmed you ;^and that you suppressed all the noble
feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by national inde-
pendence, and by humanity ! 1 cannot bring myself to be-
lieve, that such will be the feehng of a majority of the com-
mittee. But, for myself, though every friend of the cause
should desert it, and I be left to stand alone with the gentle-
man from Massachusetts, I will give to this resolution the
poor sauctiun of my unqualified approbation.
CVIIL— ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE PILGRIMS.
EDWARD EVERETT.
"Were it only an act of rare adventure, were it a trait in
foreign or ancient history, we sliould fix upon the achieve-
ments of our fathers as one of the noblest deeds in the annals
of the world. Were we attracted to it by no other feehng
than that sympathy we feel in all th- fortunes of our race,
it could lose nothing, it must gain, in the contrast, with
whatever history or tradition has preserved to us of tlie wan-
derings and the settlements of the tribes of man. A conti-
nent, tor the first time, effectually explored ; a vast ocean,
traversed by men, women, and children, vokmtarily exiluig
themselves from the fairest portions of the Old World ; and
a great nation grown up, in the space of two centuries, on
the fijuudation so perilously laid by tliis feeble band — point
me to the record, or to the tradition of anything that can
enter into competition witli it I It is the language, not of
exaggeration, but of truth and soberness, to s;iy tliat there is
nothing in the accounts of Phujuician, of Grecian, or of Ro-
man colonization, that can stand in the comparison.
Accomplisliing all they projected, — wliat th y projected
was the least part of what has come to jiass. Did they jiro-
pose to themselves a refiJge, beyond the sea, from tlie reli-
gious and tlie political tyranny of JMirope ? They achieved
not that alone, but they have opened a wide asylum to all
the victims of oppression throughout the world. We our-
150 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Eclvcs have seen the statesmen, the generals, the kings of the
elder world Hying ibr protection to our shores. i)id they look
lor a retired spot, inofienslve tor its obscurity, and sate in its
remoteness, where the little church ol' Leyden might enjoy
freedom of conscience? Behold the mighty regious, over
which, in peaceful conquest, — vic/oria sine chide, — they have
borne the banner of the cross I Did they seek, under the
common franchise of a trading charter, to prosecute a (rugal
commerce, in reimbursement of the expenses of their humble
establishment ? The fleets and navies of their descendants
are on the farthest ocean ; and the wealth of the Indies is
now wafted, with every tide, to the coasts where, with hook
and line, they painfully gathered up their frugal earnings.
In short, did they, in their brightest and most sanguine mo-
ments, contemplate a thrifty, loyal, and prosperous colony,
portioned off, like a younger son of the imperial household, to
an humble and dutiful distance ? Behold the spectacle of an
independent and powerful Republic, founded on the shores
where some of those are but lately deceased who saw the
first born of the Pilgrims !
And shall we stop here ? Is the tale now told ? Is the
contrast now complete ? Are our destinies all fulfilled ?
Why, friends, we are in the very morning of our days ; our
numbers are but a unit ; our national resources but a pittance ;
our hopeful achievements in the political, the social, and the
intellectual nature, are but the rudiments of what the chil-
dren of the Pilgrims must yet attain. I dare adventure the
prediction, that he who, two centuries hence, shall stand
where I stand, and look on our present condition, will sketch
a contrast far more astonishing ; and will speak of our times
as the day of small things, in stronger and juster language
than any in which we can depict the poverty and wants of
our fathers.
CIX.— DUTY OF LITERARY MEN TO AMERICA.
GRIMKE.
We cannot honor our country with too deep a reverence ;
we cannot love her with an alfection, too pure and fervent ;
we cannot serve her with an energy of purpose or a faithful-
DUTY OF LITERARY MEN TO AMERICA. 151
noss 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 slru'es.
It is not the North, with her thousand villages, and her har-
vest-home, with her frontiers of the lake and the ocean. It is
not the West, with her forest-sea and her inkmd isles, with
her luxuriant expanses, clothed in the verdant corn, with her
beautiful Oliio, and her majestic Missouri. Nor is it yet the
South, opulent in the mimic snow of the cotton, in tlie 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 ? I come not here
to speak the dialect, or to give the counsels of the patriot
statesman : but I come, a patriot scholar, to vindicate the
rights, and to plead for the interests of American Literature.
And be assured, that we cannot, as patriot scholars, think
too highly of that country, or sacrifice too much for her.
And let us never forget, let us rather remember with a reli-
gious awe, that the union of these States is indispensable to
our Literature, as it is to our national independence and our
civil liberties, to our prosperity, happiness, and improvement.
If, indeed, we desire to behold a Literature like that, which
has sculptured with such energy of expression, which 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 novelist, 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 yvc desire to unchain the furious passions of
jealousy and selfishness, of hatred, revenge and ambition,
those lions, that now sleep harmless in their den : if we de-
sire, that the lake, the river, the ocean, should blush with
the blood of brothers ; that the winds should waft from tlio
land to the sea, from the sea to the land, the roar and the
smoke of battle ; that the very mountain tops should become
the altars fcjr 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 ped-
estal the majestic statue of our Union, and scatter its frag-
4
152 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
menls over all 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 man-
kind ; a Literature, whose smiles might play upon an angel's
face, whose tears " would not stain an angel's cheek ;" then
let uc cling to the union of these States, with a patriot's love,
with a scholar's enthusiasm, with a Christian's hope. On
her heavenly character, as a holocaust self-sacrificed to God ;
at the height of her glory, as the ornament of a free, edu-
cated, peaceful, Christian people, Ai^nerican Literature will
find that the intellectual spirit is her very tree of life, and
that Union, her garden of paradise.
ex.— DEATH OF HAMILTON.
ELIPHALET NOTT.
" How are the mighty fallen ?" And, regardless as we are
of vulgar deaths, shall not the fall of the mighty afiect us ?
A short time since, and he, who is the occasion of our sor-
rows, was the ornament of his country. He stood on an emi-
nence, and glory covered him. From that eminence he has
f;illeii — suddenly, forever, fallen. His intercourse with the
living world has now ended ; and those, who would hereafter
find him, must seek him in the grave. There, cold and life-
less, is the heart which just now was the seat of friendship.
There, dim and sightless, is the eye, whose radiant and enli-
veuin<T orb beamed with intelligence; and there, closed for-
ever, are those lips, on whose persuasive accents we have so
often, and so lately, hung with transport ! From the dark-
ness which rests upon his tomb, there proceeds, methinks, a
light in which it is clearly seen, that those gaudy objects,
which men pursue, are only phantoms. In this light, how
dimly shines the splendor of victory; how humble appears
the majesty of grandeur! The bubble, which seemed to
have so much solidity, has burst ; and we see again that all
below the sun is vanity.
True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced ; the sad
and solemn procession has moved ; the badge of mourning
has already been decreed, and presently the sculptured
marble will lift up its front, proud to perpetuate the name of
INVECTIVE OF HUNGARY. 153
HAmLTON, and rehearse to the passing traveller his virtues.
Just tributes of respect I And to the living useful. But to
him, mouldering in his narrow and humble habitation, what
are they ? How vain ! how unavailing I
Approach, and behold, while I lift from the sepulchre its
covering ! Ye admirers of his greatness ; ye emulous of hiiS
talents and his fame, a})proach, and behold him now. How
pale I How silent I No martial bands admire the adroit-
ness of his movements ; no fascinated throng weep, and melt,
and tremble at his eloquence ! Amazing change ! a shroud I
a coffin I a narrow, subterraneous cabin ! This is all that
now remains of Hamilton ! And is this all that remains (»f
him ? During a life so transitory, what lasting monument,
then, can our fondest hopes erect 1
CXI.— INVECTIVE OF HUNGARY.
, A. W. BUEL.
The spirit of popular freedom in Europe, during the late
struggle of Hungary, asked us a solemn question. The Exec-
utive was called upon to say yea or nay. Hungary listened
■with anxious hopes. She was impatient for the response,^and
the eloquence of truth, of a righteous cause, burst forth in
every word she uttered. But it has been all in vain, and
now, in tones of eloquent and burning reproof, she thus turns
to her Russian invader.
You seek to encompass the earth with your ambition. The
world exclaims against you, and reproachfully calls you
sovereign of a barbarian horde. Asia speaks out : Your
neiglibnrhood has only served to bring upon my borders bloody
and protracted wars. Says Persia : For a century you have
desolated my remote frontiers and provinces, with the horrors
of a cruel warfare. Circas.sia asks : When will you cease to
massacre my people, and grant me that liberty and indepen-
dence which my victorious arms deserve ? England re-
proves : I see you in the swift-coming future advancing to
the banks of the Indus, and about to bring war upon my
dominions in the East. Turkey adds : You have couvertiMl
my (•iti<'s iii1o forts, and (or centuries obliged me to wiilrli
your threatened descent upon my fair capital. France sends
7* '
154 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
her legions to Italy, as she sees her influence ahout to he felt
upon the hanks of the Tiber. Poland yet cries heneath hei
fetters : When will you unbar the prison-door ? Europe
chides : Upon the partition of Poland you claimed the lion's
share, and claimed it too at the peace of Vienna.
, And now, you offer Siberia in exchange for fair Hungary.
Yet, I was at peace with you. I sought freedom from Aus-
trian tyranny, and you interfered to crown my misfortunes
with your cruelties. You warred against my national exist-
ence. You drove my once happy people to flee for refuge to
the mountains ; to abandon their hearths ; to forsake their
altars ; to poison their waters, lest they might quench your
thir-t ; to destroy their bread, lest they might feed you ; to
fire their own dwellings, lest they might shelter you. The
work of destruction, which they had not time to complete, you
finished. You wantonly desolated their wheat-fields; you
tortured their patriot clergy, and inflicted even upon female
patriotism, your proverbial cruelties. And now, from the un-
changing snows of Siberia, may be heard the wails of unseen
Poland, as she rises from her cenotaph, ejaculates the woes
and sufferings you have in store for my children, and with a
warning voice whispers, " fight on I -fight on 1"
Such is the first invective of Hungary against her mediat-
ing oppressor. From this she now turns and appeals to
the world. To us especially does she thus appeal for sym-
pathy. " You were oppressed ; so were we. You declared
and fought for independence, and triumphed upon the field
of battle ; so did we. You have had the experience of nearly
three generations, and will you now by silence and inactivity,
manifest before the world a trembling distrust in the justice
and wisdom of your principles ? In the days of your weak-
ness the world sent you a Montgomery, a Koscivisko, and a
La Fayette ; and now, in the days of your pride and strength,
fear not to make some just return."
CXII.— THE ADiMISSION OF CALIFORNIA.
WILLIAM H. SKWAED,
Four, years ago, California, a Mexican province, scarcely
inhabited, and quite unexplored, was unknown even to our
UNDIVIDED ALLEGIANCE. 155
usiKilly iinmoikM'ate desires, except, by a harbor capaeions and
tranquil, which only statesmen then foresaw wouhl be nsel'.il
in the Oriental commerce of a far distant, if not merely
chimerical, future.
A year ajro, California was a mere military dependency of
our own, and we were celebrating with unanimity and en-
thnsiasin, its actjuisi^uni, with its newly discovered, but yet
untold and untouchea mineral wealth, as the most auspicious
of many and unparalleled achievements.
To-day, California is a State, more populous than the least,
and richer than several of the greatest of our thirty States.
This same California, thus rich and populous, is here asking
admission into the Union, and finds us del)ating the dissolu-
tion of the Uuion itself.
jN^o wonder if we are perplexed with ever-changing embar-
rassments ! no wonder if we are appalled by ever-increasing
responsibilities I no wonder if we are bewildered by the ever-
augmenting magnitude and rapidity of national vicissitudes!
Shall Calilbrnia be received ? For myself, upon my indi-
vidual judgment and conscience, I answer, yes. For myself,
as an instructed representative of one of the States — of that
one even of the States which is soonest and longest to be
pressed in commercial and political rivalry, by the new Com-
monwealth — I answer, yes; let California come in. Every
new State, whether she come from the East or from the
West — every new State, coming from whatever part of the
continent she may —is always welcome. But Calilbrnia, that
comes from the clime where the West dies away into the
rising East — California, which bounds at onc^e the empire and
the Continent — Calilbrnia, the youthful queen of the Pacific,
in her robes of freedom, gorgeously inlaid with gold — is
doubly welcome.
CXIIL— UNDIVIDED ALLEGIANCE.
WILLIAM a. SEWARD.
I HAVE heard somewhat here — and almost for the first time
in my life — of divided allcginnee — of allegiance to the South
and to the Union — of alle'nunce to tlu^ States several Iv and
to the Union. Sir, if gympathies with State emulation and
3 56 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
pride of achievement could be allowed to raise up another
sovereign to divide the allegiance of a citizen of the United
States, I might recognize the claims of the State to which,
by birth and gratitude, 1 belong — to the State of Hamilton
and Jay, of Schuyler, of the Clintons, and of Fulton — the
State which, with less than two hundred miles of natural
navigation connected with the ocean, has, by her own enter-
prise secured to herself the commerce of the continent, and is
steadily advancing to the command of the commerce of the
world. But for all this, I know only one country and one
sovereign — the United States of America, and the American
people. And such as my allegiance is, is the loyalty of every
other citizen of the United States. As I speak, he will
speak when his time arrives. He knows no other country
and no other sovereign. He has lile, liberty, property,
and precious afi'ections, and hopes for himself and his pos-
terity, treasured up in the ark of the Union. He knows
as well, and feels as strongly as I do, that this Government
is his own Government ; that he is a part of it ; that it was
established ibr him, and that it is maintained by him ; that it
is the only truly wise, just, free, and equal Government that
has ever existed ; that no other Government could be so wise,
just, free, and equal ; and that it is safer and more beneiicenc
than any which time or change could bring into its place.
You may tell me, sir, that although all this may be true,
yet the trial of i'aetion has not yet been made Sir, if the
trial of faction has not been made, it has not been because
faction has not always existed, and has not always menaced
a trial, but because faction could find no fulcrum on which
to place the lever to subvert the Union, as it can find no ful-
crum now ; and in this is my confidence. I would not
rashly provoke the trial, but I will not sufl'er a fear which I
have not, to make me compromise one sentiment — one prin-
ciple of truth or justice — to avert a danger that all expe-
rience teaches me is purely chimerical. Let, then, those who
distrust the Union, make compromises to save it. I shall not
impeach their wisdom, as I certainly cannot their patriotism ;
but indulging no such apprehensions myself, 1 shall vote for
the admission of California directly, without conditions, with-
out qualifications, and without compromj^ ;.
For the vindication of that vote, I lodk not to the verdict
of the passing hour, disturbed as the public mind now is by
coutlicting inleresls and passions, but to that period, happily
MEANS OF HEALTH. 157
not far distant, when the vast regions over which we are now
legislating shall have received its destined inhabitants.
While looking forward to that day, its countless arenera-
tions seem to ine to be rising up, and passing in dim and
shadowy review befoi-e us ; and a voice cotnes forth from
their serried ranks, saying, " Waste your treasures and your
armies, if you will ; raze your fortifications to the ground ;
sink your navies into the sea ; transmit to us even a dishon-
ored name, if you must ; but the soil you hold in trust for us,
give it to us free. You found it free, and conquered it to ex-
tend a better and surer freedom over it. Whatever choice
you have made for yourselves, let us have no partial freedom ;
let us all be free ; let the reversion of your broad domain
descend to us unencumbered, and free from the calamities
and sorrows of human bondage."
CXIV.— MEANS OF HEALTH,
HORACE MANN.
See how the means of sustenance and comfort are distrib-
uted and diversified throughout the earth. There is not a
mood of body, from the wantonness of health to the languor
of the death-bed, for which the wonderful alchemy of nature
does not proffer some luxury to stimulate our pleasures ; or
her pharmacy some catholicon to assuage our pains. What
textures lor clothing — I'rom the gossamer thread whicdi the
silk-worm weaves, to silk-like furs which the winds of Zembla
cannot jjcnctrate ! As the materials from which to construct
our dwellings, what tluinceys and New Hampshires of
granite, what Alleghanies of oak, and what forests of pine,
belting the continent I What coal-fields to supply the lost
warmth of the receding sun! Nakedness, and famine, and
pestilence are not inexorable ordinances of nature. Nudity
and rags are only human idleness or ignorance out on exhi-
hition. The cholera is but the wrath of (xod against tuiclcan-
liness and intemperance. Famine is only a proof ol individual
misconduct, or of national misgovernment. In the woes of
Ireland, God is proclaiming the wickedness of England, in
tones as clear and articMilate as those in which Me s])oke
from iSinai ; and it needs no Hebraist to translate the thunder.
158 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
And if famine needs not to be, then other forms of destitution
and misery need not to be. But amid the exuberance of this
country, our dangers spring I'rom abundance rather than from
scarcity. Young men, especially young men in our cities,
walk in the midst of allurements lor the appetite. Hence,
health is imperiled ; and so indispensable an element is
health in all forms of human wellare, that whoever invigor-
ates his health has already obtained one of the greatest
guaranties of mental superiority, of usefulness, and of virtue.
Health, strength, longevity, depend upon imnmtable laws.
There is no chance about them. There is no arbitrary inter-
ference of higher powers with them. Primarily, our parents,
and secondarily, ourselves, are responsible lor them. The
providence of God is no more responsible, because the viru-
lence of disease rises above the power of all therapeutics, or
because one quarter part of the race die belbre completing the
age ol one year, — die before completing one seventieth part of
the term of existence allotted to them by the Psalmist ; — I
say the providence of God is no more responsible ibr these
things, than it is for picking pockets or stealing horses.
% CX v.— BRIEF AUTHORITY.
JAMES A. BAYARD.
It has been stated as the reproach, sir, of the bill of the
last session, that it was made by a party at the moment
when they were sensible that their power was expiring and
passing into other hands. It is enough for me that the full
and legitimate power existed. The remnant was plenary
and efficient. And it was our duty to employ it according to
our judgments and consciences, for the good of the country.
We thought the bill a salutary measure, and there was no
obligation upon us to leave it as a work for our successors.
Nay, sir, I have no hesitation in avo\vinu^ that I had no con
fidence in the persons who were to follow us. And I was the
more anxious, while we had the means, to accomplish a work
which I believed they w^ould not do, and which I sincerely
thought woukU contribute to the safety of the nation, by giv-
ing strength and su import to the constitution, through the
storm to which it was likely to be exposed. The fears which
THE GROUND OF TREATY. 159
I then felt have not been dispelled, but multiplied by what I
have since seen. I know nothing: which is to be allowed to
stand. I observe the institutions of governments falling
around me ; and where the woi-k of destruction is to end God
only knows. We discharged our consciences in establishing
a judicial system which now exists, and it will be for those
who hold the power of the government to answer for the abo-
lition of it, which they at present meditate. We are told
that our law was against the sense of the nation. Let me
tell those gentlemen they are deceived when they call them-
selves the nation. They are only a dominant party, and
though the sun of federalism should never rise again, they
■will shortly find men, better or worse than themselves,
thrusting them out of their places. I know it is the cant of
those in power, however they ma}'^ have acquired it, to call
themselves the nation. We have recently witnessed an
example of it abroad. How rapidly did the nation change
in France I At one time Brissot called himself the nation ;
tiien Robespierre ; afterwards Tallien and Barras ; and,
finally, Bonaparte. But their dreams were soon dissipated,
and they awoke in succession upon the scafibld or in banish-
ment. Let not these gentlemen flatter themselves that
heaven has reserved to them a peculiar destiny. What has
happened to others in this country, they must be liable to.
Let them not exult too highly in the enjoyment of a little
brief and fleeting authority. It was ours yesterday ; it is
theirs to-day ; but to-morrow it may belong to others.
CXVL— THE GROUND OF TREATY.
GOUVKRNKUR MORRIS.
Lkt me ask on what ground you mean to treat. Do you
expect to persuade ? Do you hope to intimidate ? If to
persuade, what are your means of persuasion .' Til vrery gentle-
man admits the importance of this country. Think yuu the
first consul, whose capacious mind embraces the globe, is
alone ignorant of its value ? Is he a child whom you may
win by a rattle, to comply with your wishes ? Will you,
like a nurse, sing to him a lullaby ? If you have no hope
from tbndliug attentions and soothing sounds, what have you
160 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
to offer in exchange ? Have you anything to give which he
will take ? He wants power : you have no power. He
wants dominion : you have no dominion ; at least none that
you can grant. He wants influence in Europe : and have
you any influence in Europe ? What, in the name of heaven,
are the means by which you would render this negotiation
successful ? Is it by some secret spell ? Have you any
niagie power ? Will you draw a circle and conjure up
devils to assist you ? Or as you rely on the charms of those
beautiful girls w^ith whom, the gentleman near me says, the
French grenadiers are to marry ? If so, why do you not
send an embassy of women ?
Gentlemen talk of the principles of our government, as if
they could obtain for us the desired boon, ^ut what will
these principles avail ? When you inquire as to the force of
France, Austria, or Russia, do you ask whether they have a
habeas corinis act, or a trial by jury ? Do you estimate
their power, discuss their interior p.jlice ? No. The question
is : How many battalions have they ? What train of artil-
lery can they bring into the field ? How many ships can
they send to sea ? These are the important circumstances
which command respect and facilitate negotiations. Can
you display these powerful motives? Alas! alas I To all
these questions you answer by one poor word -confidence —
confidence — confidence ; yea, verily, we have confidence.
We have faith and hope ; aye, and we have charity too.
"Well — go to market with these Christian virtues, and what
will you get for them ? Just nothing. Yet in the face of
reason and experience you have confidence ; but in whom ?
Why, in our worthy president. But he cannot make the
treaty alone. There must be two parties to a bargain. I
ask, if you have confidence also in the first consul ? But
whither, in the name of heaven, does this confidence lead,
and to what does it tend ? The time is precious. We waste,
and have already wasted, moments which will never return.
FOURTH OF JULY, 1851. IGl
CXVIL— FOURTH OF JULY, 1851.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
On the Fourth of July, 177G, the representatives of the
United States of America, in Congress assembled, declared
tliat these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free
and independent States. This declaration, made by most
patriotic and resolute men, trusting in the justice of their
cause, and the protection of Providence — and yet not witliout
deep solicitude and anxiety — has stood for seventy-five years,
and still stands. It was sealed in blood. It has met dan-
gers and overcome them ; it has had enemies, and it has
conquered them ; it has had detractors, and it has abashed
them all ; it has had doubting friends, but it has cleared all
doubts away ; and now, to-day, raising its august form higher
than the clouds, twenty millions of people contemplate it
with hallowed love, and the world beholds it, and the conse-
quences which have followed, with profound admiration.
This anniversary animates and gladdens, and unites all
American hearts. On other days of the year we may be
party men, indulging in controversies more or less important
to the public good ; we may have likes and dislikes, and we
may maintain our political differences often with warm, and
sometimes with angry feelings. But to-day we are Ameri-
cans all in all, nothing but Americans. As the great lumi-
nary over our heads, dissipating mists and fogs, cheers the
whole hemisphere, so do the associations connected with this
day disperse all cloudy and sullen weather, and all noxious
exhalations in the minds and feelings of true Americans.
Every man's heart swells within him — every man's i)ort and
bearing become somewhat more proud and lofty, as he re-
members that seventy-five years have rolled away, and that
the great inheritance of liberty is still his ; his, undiminished
and unimpaired ; his, in all its original glory ; his to enjoy,
his to protect, aiid his to transmit to future generations. If
Washington were now amongst us — and if he could draw
around him the shades of the great public men of his own
days — patriots and warriors, orators and statesmen — and were
to address us in their presence, would he not say to us — " Ye
men of this generation, I rejoice and thank (rod for bein»
able to see that our labors, and toils, and sacrifices, were not
ill vaiii. You are prosperous — you are happy — you are grate-
1G2 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
ful. The fire of liberty burns brightly and steadily in your
hearts, while duty and the law restrain it from bursting forth
in wild and destructive conflagration. Cherish liberty as you
love it— cherish its seciirities as you wish to preserve it.
Ma'i'.tain the Constitution which we labored so painfully to
establish, and wliich has been to you such a source oi' inesti-
mable blessings. Preserve the Union of the States, cemented
as it was by our prayers, our tears, and our blood, Be true
to God, your country, and your duty. So shall the whole
Eastern world Iblluw tfie morning sun, to contemplate you as
a nation ; so shall all succeeding generations honor you as
they honor us ; and so shall that Almighty Power wiiich so
graciously protected us, and which now protects you, shower
its everlasting blessings upon you and your posterity.
CXVIIL— ASPIRATIONS OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE.
R. M. T. HUNTER.
The sense of national honor beats high in the American
heart, and its every pulse vibrates at the mere suspicion of a
stain upon its reputation. But that same heart is warmed
with generous impulses and noble emotions If you would
moderate its lust of empire and its spirit of acquisition,
appeal to its magnanimity towards a feeble and prostrate foe
— appeal to it in the name of the highest aspirations which
can animate the human heart, the desire for moral excel-
lence, the love of liberty, and the noble ambition to take the
post of honor among nations, and lead the advance of civili-
zation. If our people are once awakened to a true conception
of the real nature and grandeur of their destiny, the first and
greatest step, in my opinion, is taken for its accomplishment.
If my imagination were tasked to select the highest blessing
for my countrymen, I should say, may they be true to them-
selves and faithful to their mission. I can conceive of nothing
of which u le possible for human effort to obtain, greater than
the destiny which we may reasonably hope to I'ultil. If war
has its dreams, dazzling in splendid pageantry, peace also has
its visions of a more enduring form, of a higher and purer
beauty. To solve by practical demonstration the grand
problem ol" increasing social power consistent with personal
ASPIRATIONS OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. 103
freedom— to increase the efficiency of the human ajjent by
enlarging- iii'lividnal liberty — to triumph over, not only the
physical, but more diffi.cult still, the moral difficulties which
lie in the path of a man's {trogress, and to adorn tliat ])alh
with all that is rare and useful in art. and whatever is hialiest
in civilization, are, in my opinion, the noblest achievements
of which a nation is capable. These are the ends to which
our ambition should be directed. If we reverse the old idea
of the Deity who presides over our boundaries, let us see so
far as we are concerned, that his movements are consistent
with the peace of the world. The sword may be the occa-
sional, but it is not the familiar weapon of our god Termi-
nu-. Tiie axe and the hoe are his more appropriate em-
blems. Let him turn aside irom the habitations of civilized
man, his path is toward the wilderness, through whose silent
solitudes, for more than two centuries, he has been rapidly
and triumphantly advancing. Let him plunge still deeper
into the forest, as the natural gravitation of the tide of popu-
lation impels him onward. His progress in that direction is
one of unmixed beneficence to the human race. The earth
smiles beneath his feet, and a new creation arises as if by
enchantment at his touch. Household fires illuminate his
line of march, and new-born hghts, strange visitants to the
night of primeval solitude, kindle on domestic altars erected
to all the peaceful virtues and kindly affections which conse-
crate a hearth and endear a home. Victorious industiy sacks
the forest and mines the quarry, for materials for its stately
cities, or spans the streams and saps the mountain to open
the way for the advance of civilization still deeper into the
pathless forest and neglected wild. The light of human
tliDUght pours in winged streams from sea to sea, and the
lingering nomad may have but a moment's pause, to behold
the Hying car which comes to invade the haunts so long se-
cured to savage life. These are the aspirations worthy of
our name and race, ami it is for the American people to de-
cide whether a taste f()r peace or the habits of war are most
consistent with such hopes. I trust that they may le guided
by wisdom in their choice.
1C4 THE 1300K OF ELOQUENCE.
CXIX— ELOQUENCE.
HENRY B. STANTON.
In every enlightened age, eloquence has been a controlling
element in human affairs,. Eloquence is not a gift, but an
art — not an inspiration, but an acquisition — not an intuition,
but an attainment. Excellence in this art is attained onlv
by unwearied practice, and the careful study of the best
models. The models lie all around us. The rest is within
us. Demosthenes and Cicero will be household words, in all
climes, to the end of time. But, the more one studies the
masters of Grecian and Roman eloquence, the more readily
will he yield to the growing opinion that England, France,
and America, during the last sixty or seventy years, have
produced a greater number of eloquent orators than flourished
in all Grecian and Roman history. As objects increase in
size when seen through a mist, so'' men tower into giants
when seen through the haze of antiquity. Without neglect-
ing the ancient models, let us study those of our own times.
From both we may catch some of that inspiration which
bound the audience to the orator, and bade him play upon
their emotions as the master touches the keys of his familiar
instrument — which subdued them to tears or convulsed them
with laughter — which bore them aloft on the win"; of imas^i-
nation, or blanched them with horror while narration threw
the colors upon the canvass which held the judgment and
the fancy captive, as reason forged the chain of argument,
and poetry studded its links with the gems of illustration —
which poured over the subject a flood of rare knowledge,
laden with the contributions of all sciences and all ages —
which gambolled in playi'ul humor, or opened the sparkling
jet d'eau of wit, or barbed the point of epigram, or sketched
the laughing caricature, gliding from grave to gay, from
lively to severe, with majesty and grace; — that inspiration
which, as Paul reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and the
judgment, made Felix tremble ; as Demosthenes anathema-
tized Macedonia, made the Greeks cry out, "Lead us against
Philip ;" at the thrilling tones of Henry, made America ring
with the shout, " Give us liberty, or give us death ;" when
the thunder of Danton shook the dome of the Convention,
roused all Paris to demand the head of Louis ; and lashed
into fury or hushed into repose acres of wild peasantry, as the
voice of O'Comiell rose or tell.
DEATH OF VTASHINGTON. 1G5
CXX.— DEATH OF WASHINGTON.
JOHN M. MASON.
It must ever be difficult to compare tlie merits of Wash-
injfloii's characters, because he always appeared greatest in
that which he last sustained. Yet if there is a preference,
it must be assigned to the lieutenant-general of the armies
of America. Not because the duties of that station were
more arduous than those which he had often performed, but
because it more fully displayed his magnanimity. While
others become great by elevation, Washington becomes great-
er by condescension. Matchless patriot I to stoop, on public
motives, to an inferior appointment, after possessing and dig-
nifyitig the highest offices ! Thrice favored country, which
boasts of such a citizen I We gaze with astonishment : we
exult that we are Americans. We augur everything great,
anil good, and happy. But whence this sudden hori-or ?
What means that cry of agony ? Oh I 'tis the shriek of
America I The fairv vision is fied : Washinirton is — no
more ! —
" How are tlie mighty fallen, and tlie weapons of war perislied !"
Daughters of America, who erst prepared the festal bower
and the laurel wreath, plant now the cypress grove, and
water it with tears.
" How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perisJjfid T
The death of Washington, Americans, has revealed the
extent of our loss. It has given us the final proof that we
never inistook him. Take his affecting testament, and read
the secrets of his soul. Read all the power of domestic vir-
tue. Read his strong love of letters and of liberty. Read
his fidelity to republican principle, and his jealousy of national
cliaracter
In his acts, Americans, you have seen the man. In the
complicated excellence of character, he stands alone. Let
no future Plutarch attempt the iniquity of parallel. Let no
soldier of fortune, let no usurping conqueror, let not Alexan-
der or Ca;.sar, let not Cromwell or Bonaparte, let none among
the dead or the living, appear in the same picture with
Washington : or let them appear as the shade to his light.
16(> THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
CXXL— ADDRESS TO SOUTH CAROLINA.
ANDREW JACKSON.
I. HAVE urged yon to look bnck to the means that wore
used to hurry you on to the position you have now assumed,
and forward to the consequences it will produce. Something
more is necessary. Contemjdate the condition of that coun-
try of which you still form an important part. Considei its
government, uniting in one bond of common interest autJ
general protection so many dilTerent Slates ; giving to all
their inhabitants the prond title of American Citizens, pro-
tecting their commerce, securing their literature and their
arts, facilitating their intcr-communication, defending their
frontiers, and making their name respected iu the remotest
part of the earth ! Consider the extent of its territory, its
increasing and happy popnlatiou, its advance in arts which
render life agreeable, and the sciences which elevate the
mind ! See education spreading the lights of religion, hu-
manity, and general information into every cof^age in this
wide extent of our Territories and States I Behold it as the
asylum where the wretched and the oppressed find a refuge
and a su]jport ! Look at this picture of happiness and honor,
and say — we, too, are citizens of America. Carolina is one
of these proud States : her arms have defended, her best
blood has cemented this happy Union ! And then add, if
you can, without honor and remorse — thishappv Union we
will dissolve — this picture of peace and prosperity we will
deface — this free intercourse we will interrupt —these fertile
fields we will deluge with blood — the protection of that glo-
rious flag we will renounce — the very names of Americans
we discard. And for what, mistaken men I — for what do
you throw away these inestimable blessings, for what would
you exchange your share in the advantages and honor of the
ITnion ? For the dream of a separate independence — a
dream interrupted with bloody conflicts with your neighbors,
and a vile depeudence on a foreign power? If your leaders
could succeed in establishing a separation, what would be
your situation ? Are you united at home — are you free from
the appreliension of civil discord, with all its fearful conse-
quences ? Do our neighboring republics, every day suffering
some new revolution, or contending with some new insurrec-
tion — do they excite your envy ? But the diclales of a high
duty oblige me solemnly to announce that you cannot succeed,
AMERICAN HISTORY, 167
CXXIL— AMERICAN HISTORY.
GULIAN C. VERPLANCK.
The study of the history of most other nations, fills the
r.iin'fl with sentiments not unlike those which the Auierioan
traveller feels on entering the venerable and lofty cathedral
of some proud old city of Europe. Its solemn grandeur, its
vastness, its obscurity, strike awe to his heart. From the
richly painted windows, filled with sacred emblems and
strange antique forms, a dim religious light falls around. A
thousand recollections of romance and poetry, and legendary
stor)', come thronging in upon him. He is surrounded by the
tombs of the mighty dead, rich with the labors of ancient art,
and emblazoned with the pomp of heraldry.
What names does he read upon them ? Those of princes
and nobles who are now remembered only for their vices ;
and of sovereigns, at whose graves no tears were shed, and
whose memories lived not an hour in the afl"ections of their
people. There, too, he sees other names, long familiar to him
lor their guilty and ambiguous fame. There rest, the blood-
stained soldier of fortune — the orator, who was ever the
ready apologist of tyranny — great scholars, who were the
pensioned flatterers of power — and poets, who profaned the
high gift of genius, to pamper the vices of a corrupted court.
Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical temple
of lame, reared by the imagination of Chaucer, and decorated
by the taste of Pope, is almost exclusively dedicated to the
memory oi" the truly great. Or rather, like the Pantheon of
E-ome, it stands in calm and severe beauty amid the ruins of
ancient magnificence and "the toys of modern state." With-
in, no idle ornament encumbers its bold simplicity. The
pure light of heaven enters from above and sheds an equal
and serene radiance around. As the eye wanders about its
extent, it beholds the unadorned monuments of brave and
good men who have greatly bled or toiled for their country,
or it rests on votive tablets inscribed with the names of the
best benefactors ot mankind.
168 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
CXXIIL— CONTEST OF THE PEOPLE FOR FREEDOM.
EDWARD EVERETT.
In the eflorts of the people, — of the people struggling for
their rights, moving, not iu organized, disciplined masses, but
in their spontaneous action, man for man, and heart for
heart, — there is something glorious. They can then move
forward without orders, act together without combination,
and brave the flaming lines of battle, without intrench-
ments to cover or walls to shield them. No dissolute camp
has worn off from the feelings of the youthful soldier the
freshness of that home, where his mother and his sisters sit
waiting, with tearful eyes and aching hearts, to hear good
news from the wars ; no long service in the ranks of the con-
queror has turned the veteran's heart into marble ; their valor
springs not from recklessness, irom habit, from indifference to
the pi'eservation of a life knit by no pledges to the life of
others. But in the strength and spirit of the cause alone
they act, they contend, they bleed. In this they conquer.
Tiie people always conquer. They always must conquer.
Armies may be defeated, kings maybe overthrown, and new
dynasties be imposed, by foreign arms, on an ignorant and
slavish race, that care not in what language the covenant
of their subjugation runs, nor in whose name the deed of their
barter and sale is made out. But the people never invade ;
and, when they rise against the invader, are never subdued.
If they are driven from the plains, they fly to the mountains.
Steep rocks and everlasting hills are their castles ; the
tangled pathless thicket their palisado, and nature, God, is
their ally. Now he overwhelms the hosts of their enemies
beneath his drifting mountains of sand ; now he buries them
beneath a faUiug atmosphere of polar snows ; he lets loose
his tempests on their fleets ; he puts a folly into their coun-
sels, a madness into the hearts of the'r leaders ; and never
<rave, and never will give, a final triumph over a virtuous and
gallant people, resolved to be free.
BIGHT OF SPANISH AMERICA TO REVOLT. 163
CXXIV.— WELCOME TO LA. FAYETTE.
EDWARD EVEKETT,
"Welcome, friend of our fathers, to our shores ! Happy
arc our eyes, that behold those venerable features I Enjoy a
triuniph such as never conqueror nor monarch enjoyed — the
assurance that, throughout America, there is not a bosom which
does not beat with joy and gratitude at the sound of your
name ! You have already met and saluted, or will soon
meet, the few that I'emain of the ardent patriots, prudent
counsellors, and brave warriors, with whom you were asso-
ciated in achieving our liberty. But you have looked round
in vain for the faces of many, who would have lived years
of pleasure, on a day like this, with their old companion in
arms and brother in peril. Lincoln, and Greene, and Knox,
and Hamilton, are gone ; the heroes of Saratoga and York-
town have fallen before the enemy that conquers all. Above
all, the first of heroes and of , men, the friend of your youth,
the more than friend of his country, rests in the bosom of the
soil he redeemed. On the banks of his Potomac he lies in
glory and in peace. You will revisit the hospitable shades of
Mount Yernon, but him, whom you venerated as we did, you
will not meet at its door. His voice of consolation, which
reached you in the dungeons of Olmiilz, cannot now break
its silence to bid you welcome to his own roof But the
grateful children of America will bid you welcome in his
name. Welcome ! thrice welcome to our shores I and whith-
ersoever your course sliall take you, throughout the limits
of the continent, the ear that hears you shall bless you, the
eye that sees you shall give witness to you, and every tongue
exclaim, with heartielt joy, Welcome! welcome I La Fayette!
I
CXXV.— RIGHT OF SPANISH AMERICA TO REVOLT.
HENIIV CLAY.
I MAINTAIN, that an oppressed people are authorized, when
ever they can, to rise and break tlicir fetters. This was the
great jtrinciplc of the J'^iigli.sh revohition. It was the great
principle of our own. Our l;it hers rose ; they breasted the
770 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
storm ; they achieved our freedom. Spanish America for
centuries has been doomed to the practical eflectsof an odious
tyranny. If we were justified, she is more than justified.
I am no propagandist. 1 wouhl not seek to force upon other
nations our principles and our liberty, if they do not waiit
them. I would not disturb the repose even of a detestable
despotism. But, if an abused and oppressed people will their
ireedom ; if they seek to establish it ; if, in truth, they have
established it ; we have a right, as a sovereign power, to no-
tice the fact, and to act as circumstances and our interest
require. I will say, in the language of the venerated father
of my country, " Born in a land of liberty, my anxious recol-
lections, my sympathetic feelings, and my best wishes, are
irresistibly excited, whensoever, in any country, I see an
oppressed nation unfurl the banners of freedom.'^ Whenever
1 think of Spanish America, the image irresistibly forces itself
upon my mind, of an elder brother, whose education has been
neglected, whose person has been abused and maltreated, and
who has been disinherited by the uukindness of an unnatural
parent. And, when I contemplate the glorious struggle which
that country is making, 1 think I behold that elder brother
rising, by the power and energy of his fine native genius, to the
manly rank which nature, and nature's God, intended for him.
If Spanish America be entitled to success from the justness
of her cause, we have no less reason to M'ish that success,
from the horrible character which the royal arms have given
to the war. More atrocities, than those which have been
])erpetrated durir-g its existence, are not to be Ibund, even in
the annals of Spain herself And history, reserving some of
her blackest pages for the name of Morillo, is prepared to
place him by the side of his great prototype, the infamous
desolater ot the Netherlands. He who has looked into the
history of the conduct of this war, is constantly shocked at
the revolting scenes which it portrays ; at the refusal, on the
part of the commanders of the royal forces, to treat, on any
terms, with the other side ; at the denial of quarters ; at the
butchery, in cold blood, of prisoners ; at the violation of Hags
in some cases, after being received with religious ceremonies ;
at the instigation of slaves to rise against their owners ; and
at acts of wanton and useless barbarity. Neither the weak-
ness of the other sex, nor the imbecility of inl'ants, nor the
re.verence due to the sacerdotal character, can stay the arm
of royal vengeance.
ON THE RECOGNITION OF LA PLATA. 171
CXXYI.— ON THE RECOGNITION OF LA PLATA.
HENRY CLAY.
We have been asked, and asked with a triumph worthy
of a better cause, why recognize this Republic ? Where is
the use of it ? And is it possible gentlemen can see no use
ill recognizing this Republic? For what did this Republic
fight ? To be admitted into the family of nations. Tell the
nations of the world, saj's Pueyrredon, in his speech, that we
already belong to their illustrious rank. What would be the
powerl'ul consequences of a recognition of her claim ? 1 ask
the patriot of '76, how the heart rebounded with joy, on the
information that France had recognized us ? The moral in-
fluence ol' such a recognition, on the patriot of the South, will
be irresistible. He will derive assurance from it of his not
having fought in vain. In the constitution of our natures
there is a point to which adversity may pursue us, without
perhaps any worse effect than that of exciting new energy to
meet it. Having reached that point, if no gleam of comfort
breaks through the gloom, we sink beneath the pressure,
yielding reluctantly to our fate, and in hopeless despair lose
all stimulus to exertion. And is there not reason to fear such
a fate to the patriots of La Plata ? Already enjoying inde-
pendence for eight years, their ministers are yet spurned
from the courts of Europe, and rejected by the government of
a sister Republic ! Contrast this conduct of ours with our
conduct in other respects. No matter whence the minister
comes, be it from a despotic power, we receive him ; and
even now, the gentleman from Maryland would have us send
a minister to Constantinople, to beg a passage tlirough the
I)ardanelles to the Black Sea, that, I suppose, we might get
some hemp and bread-stufls there, of which we ourselves
produce none ; he who can see no advantage to the country
irorn opening to its commerce the measureless resources of
South America, would send a minister to Constantinople for
a little trade. Nay, I have seen a project in the newspapers,
and I should not be surprised, after what we have already
Been, at its being carried into effect, for sending a minister to
the Porte. Yes, sir, from Constantinople, or from the Brazils ;
from Turk or Ghri.stian ; from black or white ; from the Dey
ol Algiers, or the Bi-y of Tunis ; from the devil himself, if he
wore a crown, we should receive a minister. We even paid
172 THK BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
the expenses of the minister of his Sublime Highness the
Bey of Tunis, and thought ourselves highly honored by his
visit. But, let the minister eome from a poor Republic, like
that of La Plata, and we turn our back on him. The bril-
liant costumes of the ministers of the royal governments are
seen glistening in the circles of our drawing-rooms, and their
splendid equipages rolling through the avenues of the metrop-
olis ; but the iniaccredited minister of the Republic, if he
visits our President or Secretary of State at all, must do it
incognito, lest the eyes of Don Oais should be oilended by so
unseemly a sight !
CXXVIL— ON THE JUDICIARY.
GOUVERNEUR MORRIS.
The judicial power, that fortress of the Constitution, is
now to be overturned. With honest Ajax, I would not only
throw a shield before it, I would build around it a wall of
brass. But I am too weak to defend the rampart against the
host of assailants. I must call to my assistance their good
sense, their patriotism, and their virtue. ^ Do not, gentlemen,
suffer the rage of passion to drive reason from her seat. If
this law be indeed bad, let us join to remedy the defects.
Has it been passed in a manner which wounded your pride
or roused your resentment ? Have, I conjure you, the mag-
nanimity to pardon that offence. I entreat, I implore you, to
sacrifice those angry passions to the interests of our countiy.
Pour out this pride of opinion on the altar of patriotism. Let
it be an expiatory libation for the weal of America. Do not,
for God's sake, do not suffer that pride to plunge us all into
the abyss of ruin. Indeed, indeed, it will be but of litlle
avail, whether one opinion or the other be right or wrong ;
it will heal no wounds ; it will pay no debts ; it will rebuild
no ravaged towns. Do not rely on that popular will, which
has brought us frail beings into^ political existence. That
opinion is but a changeable thing. It will soon change.
This very measure will change it. You will be deceived.
Do not, I beseech you, in reliance on a foundation so frail,
commit the dignity, the harmony, the existence of our nation
to the wild wind. Trust not your treasure to the waves
NECESSITY OF RESISTANCE. lY3
Throw not your conipas* and yonr charts into the ocean. Do
not believe that its billows will wait you into port. Indeed,
indeed, you will be deceived. Cast not away this only
anclior of your safety. I have seen its progress. I know
the dilficulties through which it was obtained. I stand in
the presence of Almighty God, and of the world ; and I de-
clare to you, that if you lose this charter, never ! no, never
will you get another. We are now, perhaps, arrived at tlie
parting point. Here, even here, we stand on the brink of
fate Pause — pause ! — For heaven's sake, pause !
OXXVIII— NECESSITY OF RESISTANCE.
PATRICK HENET.
I HAVE hut one lamp by which my feet are guided ; and
tliat is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judg-
ing of the future but by the past. And judging by the past,
I wish to know what has heen the conduct of the British
ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with
which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and
the house? Is it that insidit»us smile with which our petition
has been lately received ? Trust it not, sir ; it will prove a
snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with
a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our
petition comports with those warlike preparations which
cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies
necessary to a work of love and reconciliation ? Have we
shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must
be called in to win back our love ? Let us not deceive our-
selves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjuga-
tion ; the last arguments to which kings resort. There is no
longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free — if we
mean 1o preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges lijr
which we have been so long contending — if we mean not
basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been
so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never
to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall be
obtained — we must fight I I repeat it, sir, we must fight !
An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left
us!
174 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
They tell us, sir, that we are weak ; unable to cope with
go formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger?
Will it be the next week, or the next year ? Will it be
when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard
shall be stationed in every house ? Shall we gather strength
by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we acquire the means
ot effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and
hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall
have bound us hand and foot ? Sir, we are not weak, if we
make a proper use of those means which the God of nature
has placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in
the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which
we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can
send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not light our battles
alone. There is a just God, who presides over the destinies
of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles
for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to
the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no
election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too
late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in
submission and slavery ! Our chains are forged I Their
clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The war
is inevitable — and let it come I I repeat it, sir, let it come.
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen
may cry, Peace I peace I — but there is no peace. The war
is actually begun I The next gale that sweeps from the north
will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms I Our
brethren are already in the field I Why stand we here idle I
What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have ?
Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the
price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it. Almighty God I I
know not what course others may take ; but as for me, give
me liberty, or give me death I
CXXIX.— THE WAR WITH MEXICO.
GEORGE E. BADGER.
The honorable gentleman from Michigan says, that he
wishes, by the exhibition of a large force there, to produce
" a great moral efiect." How ? Why, he means to con-
THE WAR WITH MEXICO. l'J'5
vince the Mexicans that they are unable to resist us. Well,
sir, if they are able to withstand the lojric of such fields as
Buena Vista, Churubusco, Coutreras, and Cerro Gordo, think
you, sir, that their incredulity will yield to the mere sight uf
a large body of men ? What, then, do you intend to do
with this immense military force ? They are to take posses-
sion and occupy the country, it is said. And when they are
there, what great object is it intended that they should ac-
complish, which this country desires to see accomplished ?
Do we want peace ? Is it not obvious to every one that
peace caiuiot in this way be obtained ? If peace could Ite
coerced, we have done everything that genius can contrive,
and skill and gallantry execute, to accomplish it. I believe
it may be said, without exaggeration, that the history oi' no
country has presented such a succession of brilliant military
achievements as we have gained in Mexico. If chastisement
— defeat — overpowering, overwhelming defeat, were sufficient
to bring Mexico to a disposition for peace, she would have
been brought to that disposition long ago. How, then, do
you propose to accomplish it by your troops? Why, they
are to take possession and occupy the whole country — or, as
the Secretary of War says, to keep that portion of it which
we have got, and occupy all the rest of which our means
will allow us to take possession. Well, when you have got
possession, what disposition of it do you propose to make ?
Forts and fortifications, I suppose, are to be established every-
where. You are to maintain all the strongholds of Mexico,
and her valleys are to be everywhere marked by the signs of
mihtary occupation. How long is this state of things to con-
tinue ? Until Mexico makes peace I But, I pray you, is
this the way in which the gentle sentiments of benevolence
and peace are to be instilled into the Mexican bosom ? True,
you may compel her to submit — you may prevent her from
uttering a word of complaint — you may force her to feign
compliance with your wishes — her active resentment may
disappear — and yet a dogged spirit of revenge, and the in-
tensest hate, will rankle and lurk beneath.
If this be the tendency of that moral coercion, what may
we hope from awe and terror ? Do we really expect, by re-
newed conquest, by devastated fields, by captured villages,
by stormed fortresses, by occujiyiiig sucli positions tliat no
Mexican can look f()rth without beholding evidence of the
fa'l of liis country and the presence of her conqueror, that a
176 THE BOOK OF EL0QUE1*CE.
true peace is to be restored ? Sir, no man should expect it
What is the situation of Mexico at this moment ? She lies
at your feet, bleeding, exhausted, panting. Do you wish to
tnunple upon this enemy already in the dust ? Do you wish
to crush the last remains of her vitality ? I hope not, sir ;
but even if you do, you need not send, this additional i'oice.
CXXX— THE EMBARGO.
JOSIAH QUINCT.
When I enter on the subject of the Embargo, I am struck
with wonder at the very threshold. I know not with what
words to express my astonishment. At the time I departed
i'rom Miissachusetts, if there was an impression, which I
thought universal, it was, that, at the commencement of this
session, an end would be put to this measure. The opinion
was not so much, that it would be teniiiriated, as that it was
then at an end. Sir, the prevailing sentiment, according lo
my apprehension, was stronger than this — even that the pres-
sure was so great, that it could not possibly be endured ;
that it would soon be absolutely insupportable. And this
opinion, as I then had reason to believe, was not confined to
any one class, or description, or party; that even those who
w^ei-e friends of the existing administi'ation, and unwilling to
abandon it, were yet satisfied, that a sufficient trial had been
given to this measure. With these impressions I arrived in
this city. I hear the incantations of the great enchanter
I feel his spell. I see the legislative machinery begin to move
The scene opens. And I am commajided to forget all my
recollections, to disbelieve the evidence of my senses, to con-
tradict what I have seen and heanl, and felt. I hear, that
all this discontent is mere party clamor — electioneermg arti-
fice ; that the people of New England are able and willing
to endure this Embargo for an indefinite, unlimited period ;
some say for six months ; some a year ; some two years. The
gentleman from North Carolina told us, that he preferred
three years of embargo to a war. And the gentleman from
Virginia said expressly, that he hoped we should never allow
our vessels to go upon the ocean again, until the orders and
decrees of the belligerents were rescinded ; in plain English,
SORROW FOR THE DEAD. 1*77
until France and Great Britain should, in their great condescen-
sion, permit. Good heavens'. Mr. Chairman, are men mad?
Is this House touched with that insanity, wh ch is the never-
failing precursor of the intention of Heaven to destroy ? The
people of New England, after eleven months' deprivation of
the ocean, to be commanded still longer to abandon it, ibrun
undefined period ; to hold their inalienable rights at the tea-
lire of the will of Britain or of Bonaparte I A people, com-
mercial in all respects, in all their relations, in all tlu-ir
hopes, in all their recollections of the past, in all their pros-
pects of the future ; a people, whose first love was the oct-an,
the choice of their childhood, the approbation of their manly
years, the most precious inheritance of their fathers, in the
midst of their success, in the moment of the most exquisite
perception of commercial prosperity, to be commanded to
abandon it, not for a time limited, but for a time unlimited ;
not until they can be prepared to defend themselves there
(for that is not pretended), but until their rivals recede I'rom
it ; not until their necessities require, but until fireign nations
permit I I am lost in astonishment, Mr. Chairman. I have
not words to express the matchless absurdity of this at-
tempt. 1 have no tongue to express the swift and headlong
destruction, which a blind perseverance in such a system
must bring upon this nation.
CXXXI.— SORROW FOR THE DEAD
WASHINGTON IRVING.
Sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we
refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal :
every other aflliction to forget ; but this wound we consider
our duty to keep open ; this affliction we cherish and brood
ov(.-r in solitude. Where is the mother that would willingly
forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms,
thouirh every recollection is a pang ? Where is the (^hild that
would willingly foriret the most tender of parents, though to
retnember 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 u|)on the remains of her he most
loved, and he leels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing
8*
178 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
of its portal, would accept consolation that was to be bought
by fbrgetfulness ? No, the love which survives the tomb is
one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes,
it has likewise its delights ; 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 love-
liness, 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 pleasur'', 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 I — the grave I 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 even he should
have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies mould-
ering before him I
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 attendants; its mute,
watchful assiduities ; the last testimonies of expiring love ; the
feeble, faltering, 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
afl'ection ! Aye, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate !
There settle the account with thy conscience for every past
benehi unrequited, every past endearment unregarded, of that
b-eing who can never, never, never return to be soothed by thy
contrition !
If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the
soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow 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
PRICE OF LIBERTY. 1
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 generously 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 heneath thy feet ; then be sure that every
unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action,
will come thronging 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 utter the unheaixl
groan, and pour the unavailing tear ; more deep, more bitter,
because unheard and unavailing.
Then weave the 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 warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite affliction
over the dead, and be more faithful and aHectionate in thy
discharge of thy duties to the living.
CXXXII.— PRICE OF LIBERTY.
HENRY GILES.
Liberty has directly occasioned a vast amount of sufTering ;
liberty of coimtiy, liberty ofyconscience, liberty of person.
It has cost much endurance ; it has been bought with a great
price. Trace it along the line of centuries ; mark the ])ris-
ons where captives for it pined ; mark the graves to which
victims for it went down despairing ; mark the fields whereon
its heroes battled ; mark the seas whereon they fought ; mark
the exile to which they fled ; mark the burned spots where
those who would not resist evil, gave up the ghost in torture,
to vindicate the integrity of their souls ; add then open sufler-
ings to those that have tound no record ; imagine, if you can,
the whole ; then you have the price, only in part, of liberty ;
f(ir liberty has cost more than all these. Is it value for
the price ? Consult, if you are able, the purchaser who paid
it ; awaken from the prisons those who perished in them ;
arouse (rum the graves the weary and broken-hearted by
oppression; call from the fields of blood, the myriads who
chose death rather than bonds ; invoke from the caverns of
the deep, those whom the ocean swallowed in braving the
180 THE COOK OF ELOQUENCE.
invader ; summon back from exile those who sank unseen in
savajre wilds. Pray for those to come once more to earth,
who bore testimony to the truth in agony ; you will have a
host of witnesses which no man can number, who all, afore-
time, and through manifold affliction, maintained, even unto
death, the cause of liberty. Inquire if they I'epent ; ask them
if the boon which they have given us, was worth the suffer-
ing with which they hought it ; ask, also, the speakers who
proclaimed freedom, the thinkers who made laws for it, and
the reformers who purified it, if tlie object for which tliey
toiled, was worth the labor which they spent. That it was,
all will exclaim with triumphant voice ; that it was, will come
with one glad consent, with one sublime ameii, from tliis
glorious company of apostles, this goodly fellowship of pro-
phets, this noble army of martyrs.
CXXXIII.— HOW TO GAIN AN HONORED NAME.
ALBF.RT BARNES.
You will ask me what field is open in this land where an
honorable reputation may now be gained ? To this question,
wliich a noble-hearted and ingenuous youth would ask, I
would re|)ly hy saying, that in this covnitry, at least, the whole
field is still ojjen. The measure of military reputation is
indeed filled up, and the world will look hereafter with, fewer
smiles on the blood-stained hero than in days that are past.
The time is coming, also, and is near at hand, when a man
who attempts to deieiid his reputation by shedding tli^ blood
of another, will only exclude himself from all the expressions
of approval and of confidence among men. Reputation is
not to be gained, that will be of value, by brilliant verse,
that shall unsettle the foundations of faith and hope ; thai
shall fill the soul with misanthropy, or that shall corru])t the
heart by foul and offensive images. Sickening night-shades
enough of this kind have already been culled, and twisted
around the brows of those great in title or in talent. The
sentiment has gone forth, not to be recalled, that he who is
to be held in lasting, grateful remembrance, must base his
claims on true virtue ; on tried patriotism ; on a generous
THE POET. 181
love of the species ; on the vindication of injured virtue ; on
great plans to advance the permanent welfare of man.
Do you ask what can be done here to secure an honored
name ? I answer, the liberties of our land, bought witli so
invaluable blood, are to be defended, and transmitted in their
purity, to other times — and he deserves a grateful remem-
brance who contributes anytliing, by private virtue or public
service, to such a result. Every office is open to any young
American as the reward of service rendered to the country ;
and there is not one in the gift of the people whicli may not
be contemplated as possibly within the reach of any aspirant
for a grateful remembrance. It is one of the glories of our
system, that the path to the highest office is to be kept open
to any one who may confer sulficient benefit on his country,
to show that it may be a suitable recompense for public ser-
vices. And no human tongue can tell what youth may yet
enter on that hiirh office, or in what humble cottage beyond
the mountains the infant may now be sleeping that is yet to
attain it.
CXXXIV.— THE POET.
RALPH W. EMERSON.
Nothing walks, or creeps, or grows, which must not, in its
turn, arise and stand before the poet as exponent of his mean-
ing. I)oubt not, poet, but persist. t<ay, " It is in me,
and shall out I" Stand then, balked and dumb, stuttering
and stanunering, hissed and hooted, stand and strive until at
last rage draw out of thee that dream 'poirer, which every
night shows thee is thine own. Then indeed is thy genius
lit) lf)nger exhaustible. All creatures by pairs and by tribes,
pour into thy mind as into a Noah's ark, to come forth again
ti) p(.'0])le a new world. It is like the stock of air for respira-
tion, not a measure of gallons, })nt the entire mighty atmos-
])here. And theref()re it is that Homer and Shakspeare and
liaphael are exliaustlcss — resembling a mirror carried through
the street, ready to render an image of ^every created object.
Poet I a nfew nobility is conlerred in groves and pastures,
and not in castles or by sword-blades any longer. The con-
ditions are hard, but e(jual. Thou shalt leave the world and
Vnow the muse only. The time of towns is tolled from the
182 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
•world by funereal chimes, but in nature the universal hours
are counted by succeeding tribes of animals and plants, by
growth of joy upon joy. Thou shalt lie close hid with na-
ture, and cannot be afforded to the Capitol of Exchange.
The world is full of renunciations and aj)prenticeships, and
this is thine ; thou must pass for a fool and a churl for a long
season. And this is the reward : that the ideal shall be real
to thee, and the impressions of the actual world shall fall
like summer rain, copious but not troublesome, to thy invul-
nerable essence. Thou shalt have the whole land for thy
park and manor, the sea for thy bath and navigation, with-
out tax and without envy. The woods and rivers shalt thou
own ; and thou shall possess that wherein others are only
tenants and^ boarders. Thou true landlord I sea lord ! air
lord I Wherever snow falls, or water flows, or birds fly —
wherever day and night meet in twilight— wherever the blue
heaven is hung by clouds, or sown by stars — wherever are
forms with transparent boundaries — wherever are outlets into
celestial space — wherever is danger, and awe, and love, there
is Beauty, plenteous as rain, shed for thee. And thou
shouldst walk the world over, thou shalt not be able to find
a condition inopportune or ignoble.
CXXXV.— INJUSTICE THE CAUSE OF NATIONAL RUIN.
THEODORE PARKER.
Do you know how empires find their end ? Yes, the great
states eat up the little ; as with fish, so with nations. Aye,
but how do the great states come to an end ? By their own
injustice, and no other cause. Come with me, my friends,
come with me into the Inferno of the nations, with such
poor guidance as my lamp can lend. Let us disquiet and
bring up the awful shadows of empires buried long ago, and
learn a lesson from the Tomb.
Come, old Assyria, with the Ninevitish dove upon thy em-
erald crown. What laid thee low ? "I fell by my own in-
justice. Thereby Nineveh and Babylon came with me to
the ground." Oh queenly Persia, flame of the nations,
wherefore art thou so fallen, who troddest the people und .r
thee, bridgcdst the Hellespont with ships, and pouredst thy
INJUSTICE THE CAUSE OF NATIONAL RUIN. 183
temple-wasting millions on the western world ? " Because I
trod the people under me, and bridged the Hellespont with
ships, and poured my temple- wasting millions on the western
world. I fell by my own misdeeds I" Tiiou, muselike, Gre-
cian queen, fairest of all thy classic sisterliood of states, en-
clianting yet the world with thy sweet witchery, speaking in
art, and most seductive song, why liest thou there with the
beauteous yet dishonored brow, i-eposing on thy broken harp ?
" I scorned the law of God ; banished and poisoned wisest,
jnstest men ; I loved the loveliness of flesh embalmed in Pa-
rian stone ; I loved the loveliness of thought, and treasured
that in more than Parian speech. But the beauty of justice,
the loveliness of love, I trod them down to earth I Lo,
therefore, have 1 become as those Barbarian states — as one
of them I"
Oh manly, majestic Rome, thy seven-fold mural crown
all broken at thy feet, why art thou here ? 'Twas not injustice
brought thee low ; for thy Great Book of Law is prefaced
with these words. Justice* •<; the unchanging, everlasting will
to give each man his Right I " It was not the saint's ideal,
it was the hypocrite's pretence I 1 made iniquity my law.
I trod the nations under me Their wealth gihled my
palaces, — where thou mayest see the fox and hear the owl, —
it fed my courtiers and my courtezans. Wicked men were
my cabinet councillors — the flatterer breathed his poison in
my ear. Millions of bondmen wet the soil with tears and
blood. Do you not hear it crying yet to God ? Lo, here
have I my recompense, tormented with such downfall as you
see I Go back and tell the new-born child, who sitteth on
the Alleghanies, laying his either hand upon a tributary sea,
a crown of thirty stars above his youthful brow — tell him
there are rights which States must keep, or they shall sufler
wrongs. Tl'U him there is a God who keeps the black man
and the white, and hurls to earth the loftiest realm that
breaks His just, eternal law ! Warn the young empire that
he come not down dim and dishonored to myshametul tomb I
Tell him that Justice is the unchanging, everlasting will to
^"ive each man his Right. I knew it, broke it, and am lost.
Bid him to keep it and be safe !"
184 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
CXXXVI.— SUPPOSED SPEECH AGAINST THE
DECLARATION.
DANIEL WKBSTKE.
Let us pause ! This step, once taken, cannot be retraced.
This resolution, once passed, will cnt oft' all hope of reconcil-
iation If success attend the arms of England, we shall
then be no longer colonies, with charters, and with privi-
leges ; these will all be forfeited by this act ; and we shall be
in the condition of other conquered j>eople, at the mercy of
the conquerors. For ourselves, we may be ready to run the
hazard , but are we ready to carry the country to that length ?
Is success so probable as to justify it ? Where is the mili-
tary, where the naval power, by which we are to resist the
whole strength of the arm of England, for she will exert
that strength to the utmost ? Can we rely on the constancy
and perseverance of the people ? or will they act, as the
people of other countries have acted, and, wearied with a long
war, submit in the end, to a worse oppression ? While we
stand on our old ground, and insist on redress of grievances,
we know we are right, and are not answerable for the conse-
quences. Nothing, then, can be imputable to us. But if we
now change our object, carry our pretensions further, and set
up for absolute independence, we shall lose the sympathy of
mankind. We shall no longer be defending what we possess,
but struggling for something which we never did possess, and
which we have solemnly and uniformly di-dained all inten-
tion of pursuing, from the very outset of the troubles. Aban-
doning thus our old ground, of resistance only to arbitrary
acis of oppression, the nations will believe the whole to have
Vieen mere pretence, and they will look on us, not as injured,
but as ambitious subjects. I shudder, before this responsi-
bility. It will be on us, if relinquishing the ground we have
stood on so long, and stood on so safely, we now proclaim in-
dependence, and carry on the war for that object, while
these cities burn, these pleasant fields whiten and bleach
with the bones of their owners, and these streams run blood. It
will be upon us, it will be upon us, if failing to maintain this
unseasonable and ill-judged declaration, a sterner despotism,
maintained by military power, shall be established over our
posterity, when we ourselves, given up bj'' an exhausted, a
harassed, a misled people, shall have expiated our rashness
and atoned for our presumption, on the scallbld.
SUPPOSED SPEECH OF ADAMS IN REPLY. 185
CXXXVIL— SUPPOSED SPEECH OF ADAMS IN REPLY.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand
and ai}' heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the he-
ginning, we aimed not at independence. But there's a Di-
vinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has
driven us to ai'ms ; and, hlinded to her own interest for our
good, she has ohstinately persisted, till independence is now
within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it
is ours. ^V'hy then sliould we deler 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 ofi^from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what
can you be, while the power of England remains, but out-
laws ? If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry
on, or to give up the war ? Do we mean to submit to tlie
measures of Parliament, Boston port-bill and all ? Do we
mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves sliull he
ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden
down into dust? I knoM^ we do not mean to submit. We
never shall submit. The war then must go on. We must
fight it through. And if the war must go on, why put olT
longer the Declaration of Independence ? That measure will
strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. If we fail,
it can be no worse Ibr us. But we shall not fail. The
cause will raise up armies, the cause will create navies. The
people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and
will carry themselves, gloriously, tlirough this struggle. Sir,
the declaration will inspire the people with increased courage.
Read this declaration at the head ol" the army ; every sword
■will he drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vowntlered
to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it
from the pulpit ; religion will approve it, and the lovi' of reli-
gious liberty will cling round it, resolved fo s1aud wilh it, or
fall with it. Send it to the public halls ; j)roclaiin it there ;
let them hear it who heard the first roar of the cucniy's can-
non. ; lei them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons
1'56 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexing-
ton and Concord, and the very walls will cry out in its
support.
tSir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see, I
see clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed,
may rue it. We may not live to the time, when this decla-
ration sliall be made go id. We may die ; die, colonists ; die,
slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scailbld.
Be it so. Be it so. But if it be the pleasure of heaven that
my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the vic-
tim shall be ready, at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come
when that hour may. But while I do live, let me have a
country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a free
country. Whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured,
that this declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it
may cost blood ; but it will stand, and it will richly compen-
sate 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 cliiflren will honor it. They will celebrate it,
with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illumi-
nations. 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 has come. My judgment ap-
proves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I
have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I
am now ready here to stake upon it ; and I leave off, as I
began, that live or die, survive or perish, I am for the decla-
ration. It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God
it shall be my dying sentiment; independence, now; and
INDEPENDENCE FOllEVER I
CXXXYIIL— SOCIETY WITHOUT MORALITY.
LYMAN BEECHEE.
The mass is changing. We are becoming another people.
Our habits have held us, long after those moral causes which
foriTied them have in a great degree ceased to operate. These
habits, at length, are giving way. So many hands have EO
EMBASSY TO ROME. 187
lonpr been employed to pull away foundations, ami so few to
repair the breaclies, that the building totters. So much en-
terprise has been displayed in removing obstructions from the
current of human depravity, and so little to restore them,
that the stream at length is beginning to run. It may be
stopped now, but it will soon become deep, and broad, and
rapid, and irresistible.
The crisis then has come. By the people of this gener-
ation, by ourselves probably, the amazing question is to be
decided, whether the inheritance of our fathers shall be pre-
served, or thrown away — whether our Sabbaths shall be a
delight, or a loathing — whether the taverns on that holy day,
shall be crowded with drunkards, or the sanctuary of God
with humble worshippers — whether riot and profanity shall
fill our streets, and poverty our dwellings, and convicts our
jails, and violence our land ; or whether industry, and tem-
perance, and righteousness, shall be the stability of our times
— whether mild laws shall receive the cheerful submission of
freemen, or the iron rod of a tyrant com]>el the trembling
homage of slaves. Be not deceived. Human nature in this
nation is like human nature everywhere. All actual diller-
ence in our favor is adventitious, and the re>ult of our laws,
institutions and habits. It is a moral inflicence which, with
the blessing of God, has formed a state of society so eminently
desirable. The same influence which has Ibrmed it, is indis-
pensable to its preservation. The rocks and hills of New
England will remain till the last conflagration ; but, let the
SSabbath be profaned with imjiuuity, the worship of God be
abandoned, the government and religious instruction of chil-
dren be neglected, the streams of intemperance be permitted
to flow, and her glory will depart. The wall of fire will no
more surround her, and the munition of rocks will no longer
be her defence.
CXXXIX.— EMBASSY TO ROME.
LEWIS 0. LEVIN.
SvMrATHY with Pope Pius IX. appears to be the hobby-
horse of political leaders. O'Connell, the Irish reformer, ia
dead. The curtain has fallen Ujion the last act of the na-
188 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
tional farce, and now the Pope, an Italian reformer, stops
upon the stage to conchxde wliat O'Connell left unfinished.
The hurrah has gone through the country ; public meetings
\nve heen held ; sympathy lor the Pope has grown almost
into a fashion : yet, sir, in no legitimate sense can this em-
bassy to Rome be called a national measure, intended for the
public benefit. We have no commerce to protect in the llo-
inau States ; we have no seamen whose rights may need
even the supervision of a goverrmient agent (jT consul ; we
have no navy riding in her only harbor ; we have no inter-
ests that may be exposed to jeopardy ibr want of an ambas-
sador.
The Papal flag has never been knoM'n to wave in an Amer-
ican port. JMo American vessel has received the visit of a
Pope. Dwelhng under the shadow of the ruins of antiquity,
they have never disturbed us, save by the bulls of Pope Lirt^g-
ory and the intrigues of his Jesuits. What, then, has pro-
duced this sudden revolution in the concerns of the two coun-
tries ? We are told tliat Pius IX. is a retbrmer. Indeed I
In what sense is he a reformer ? Has he divested himself
of any of his absolute prerogatives ? Has he cast oif his
claims to infallibility ? Has he flung aside his triple crown ?
Has lie become a republican ? Has he emancipated his peo-
ple ? Has he suppre.<seii tlie Jesuits ? Far from it. Noth-
ing of this has been done. He maintains his own preroga-
tives as absolute as Gregory XIX., or any other of his illus-
trious predecessors. In what, then, Joes the world give him
credit lor being a reformer ? For building up a new and
firmer foundation to his own secular and hierarchical power ;
lor permitting a press to be established in Rome, under his
own supervision and control ; for carrying out measures not
to be censured, but certainly giving him no pretensions be-
yond that of a selfish sagacity, intent on the study of all
means calculated to add stability to his spiritual power, and
firmness to his temporal thi-oue.
But, it is said, if Rome will not come to America, Ameri-
ca must go to Rome I This is the new doctrine of an age of
retrogressive progress. If the Pope will not establish a re-
public lor his Italian subjects, we, the American people,
must renounce all the ties oi' our glorious freedom, and en-
dorse the Papal system as the perliiction of human wi.sdi in,
by sending an amdassador to Rome to congratulate " His
Holiness" on having made — what? The Roman people
CESSATION OF HOSTILITIES. 189
free ? Oh I no ; but on having made tyranny amiable ; in
having sugared the poisoned cake. And for this, the highest
crime against freedom, we are to commission an ambassad-ir
to Rome I Is there an American heart that does not recoil
from the utter degradation of the scheme ? Sir, in the
name of the American people, I protest against this innova-
tion, which would make us a by-word among the nations.
CXL.— CESSATION OF HOSTILITIES.
W. L. DAYTON.
I HAVE some confidence — an abiding hope, at least — that
•we have seen the end of this wretched war. I trust that
the flag of my country will never again be red with Mexican
blood. The gallantry of our troops has carried it through
smolce and fire from the coast to the capital — from the waters
of the Gulf to the very halls of the Aztec. There, then, let
it rest ; may not a breath of human passion ever again open
one fold on a Mexican battle-field. I know not how recent
events in the European world may have affected the minds
of other men, but, for myself, I feel that, at this strange junc-
ture in the world's progress, America, the great moving
cause and example, should be at rest. In peace there is at
this moment to us a peculiar, a moral fitness. If one half
that we hear be true, an intense interest must soon attach
itself to us and to our institutions. We are soon to become
the cynosure of all eyes, " the observed of all observers"
among nations. Consider well, I pray you, the spectacle
that we now present, as the great model republic, preying
upon, grinding to powder a Aveak, helpless, an almost only
sister republic. But, sir, it is not only fit in a moral point
of view that we should be at peace, but prudential considera-
tions counsel us to the same course. The atmosphere of the
old world is portentous of change ; her air is thick and
murky ; the clouds are lurid ; nations, like men, are literally
liolding their breath in momentary expectation of the burst
whicii may follow. I tell you, sir, that you have not yet
sec-u even the begiuiiiiig of the end. I tell you that nations
and kinudoms whicli are th<! growth of ages, do not go out
without a struggle, nor in a day. I tell you that large
190 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
classes of men, concentrating vast wealth, born to power
and dominion, do not abandon their supposed destiny as a
thing of yesterday. What though a king be stricken down!
Wliat though the sons of a king fall away, like leaves from
the oak that is blasted ; still the great problem remains, can
thirty millions of mercurial Frenchmen, of whom about six
or seven millions only can read and write, with no knowledge
of free institutions, no experience in the elective franchise —
can they be made in a day, an hour, the safe depository of
sovereign power ? Sir, I distrust the future ; it rises before
my mind's eye black with anarchy, red with blood. Even
although the nations of Europe stand aloof yet the excited
material in France herself may burst into flame, thougli
chafed by nothing save the friction of its own parts. Should
this be so, the old world will spring to its arms in a day. In
the dreadful struggle which must follow, it becomes this Re-
public to stand " at guard." Let her gather in her resour-
ces ; let her husband her strength ; let her stand calm, fixed,
unmoved, as the main land when the distant swell rolls iu
upon it.
CXLL— THE PURITANS.
EDWIN P. WHIPPLE.
The Puritans — there is a charm in that word which will
never be lost on a New England ear. It is closely associated
with all that is great in New England history. It is hal-
lowed by a thousand memories of obstacles overthrown, of
dangers nobly braved, of sufferings unshrinkingly borne, in the
service of freedom and religion. It kindles at once the pride
of ancestry, and inspires the deepest feelings of national
veneration. It points to examples of valor in all its modes
of manifestation, — in the hall of debate, on the field of
battle, before the tribunal of power, at tlie martyr's stake.
It is a name which will never die out of New England
hearts. Wherever virtue resists temptation, wherever men
meet death for religion's sake, wherever the gilded baseness
of the world stands abashed before conscientious principles,
there will be the spirit of the Puritans. They have left
deep and broad marks of their influence on human society.
Their children, in all times, will rise up and call them
THE DKMAGOGITR. 101
blessed. A thousand witnesses of their courage, their indus'
try, their sagacity, their invincible perseverance in well-
doing, their love of" free institutions, their respect for justice,
their hatred of wrong, are all around us, and bear grateful
evidence daily to their memory. We cannot forget them,
even if we had sufficient baseness to wish it. Every spot
of New England earth has a story to tell of them ; every
cherished institution of New England society bears the print
of their minds. The strongest element of New England
character has been transmitted with their blood. So intense
is our sense of affiliation with their nature, that we speak of
them universally as our " fathers." And though their fame
everj'where else were weighed down with calumny and
hatred, though the principles for which they contended, and
tlie noble deeds they performed, should become the scofT of
sycophants and oppressors, and be blackened by the smooth
falsehoods of the selfish and the cold, tliere never will be
wanting hearts in New England to kindle at their virtues,
nor tongues and pens to vindicate their name.
CXLIL— THE DEMAGOGUE.
HENRY W. BEKCHEB.
The lowest of politicians is that man who seeks to gratify
an invariable selfishness by pretending to seek the public
good. For a profitable popularity he accommodates himself to
all opinions, to all dispositions, to every side, and to each pre-
judice. He is a mirror, with no face of his own, but a smooth
surface from which each man of ten thousand mav see him-
self reflected. He glides from man to man, coinciding with
their views, pretending their feelings, stimulating their tastes ;
with this one, he hates a man ; with tliat one he loves the
same man ; he favors a law, and he dislikes it ; he approves,
uiid opposes; he is on both sides at once, and seemingly
wi.sheo that he could be on one side iiinre than on both sides.
He atteinls meetings to suj)press intemperance, — but at elec-
tions makes every grog-shop free to all drinkers. He can
witli equal rejis^h plead most elocpiently for t('in])eranee, or
toss off a dozen glasses in a dirty grocery. He thinks that
there is a time for everything, and therefore, at one time ho
102 THK BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
swears and jeers and leers with a carousing crew ; and at
another time, havin<i h.ippily beou converted, he displays the
various features of devotion. Indeed he is a capacious Chris-
tian ; an epitome of faith. He piously asks the class-leader,
of the welfare of his charge, for he was always a Methodist,
and always shall be, — until he meets a Presbyterian ; then
he is a Presbyterian, old-sciiool or new, as the case requires.
However, as he is not a bigot, he can atibrd to be a Baptist,
in a good Baptist neighborhood, and with a wiidi he tells the
zealous elder, that he never had one of his children baptized,
not he I He whispers to the Reformer that he abhors all
creeds but baptism and the Bible. After all this, room will
be found in his heart for the fugitive sects also, which come
and go like clomls in a summer sky. His flattering attention
at church edihes the simple-hearted preacher, who admires
that a plain sermon should make a man whisper amen! and
weep. Upon the stump his tact is no less rare. He roars
and bawls with courageous plainness, on points about which
all agree ; but on subjects where men diHer, his meaning is
nicely balanced on a pivot that it may dip either way.
CXLIII.— EULOGY ON JOHN Q. ADAMS.
ISAAC C. HOLMES.
The mingled tones of sorrow, like the voice of many waters,
have come unto us from a sister State — Massachusetts weep-
ing for her honored son. The State I have the honor to rep-
resent once endured, with yours, a common sutl'ering, battled
for a common cause, and rejoiced in a common triumph.
Surely, then, it is meet that in this, the day of your affliction,
we should mingle our griefs.
When a great man falls, the nation mourns ; when a pa-
triarch is removed, the people weep. Ours, my associates, is
no common bereavement. The chain which linked our
hearts with the gifted spirits of former times, has been rudely
snapped. The lips i'rom which flowed those living and glo-
rious truths that our fathers uttered, are closed in death I Yes,
my friends, Death has been among us I He has not entered
the cottage of some unknown, ignoble peasant ; he has
knocked audibly at the palace of a nation I His footstep has
EUI.OGY ON" JOHN Q. ADAMS. 103
been heard in the Hall of State ! He has cloven down his
victim in the midst of the councils of a people ! He has
borne in triumph from among you the gravest, wisest, most
reverend head I Ah! he has taken him as a trophy who
was once chief over many States, adorned with virtue, and
learning-, and truth ; he has borne upon his chariot wheels a
renowned one of the earth.
There was no incident in the birth, the life, the death of
Mr. Adams, not intimately woven with the history of the
land. Born in the night of his country's tribulation, he heard
the first murmurs of discontent ; he saw the first eilorts for
deliverance. Whilst yet a little child, he listened with
easrerness to the whispers of freedom as they breathed from
the lips of her almost inspired apostles ; he caught the firo
that was then kindled ; his eye beamed with the first ray ;
he watched the dayspring from on high, and long before he
departed from earth, it was graciously vonclisafed unto him
to behold the efiuigence of her noontide glory.
He disrobed himself with dignity of the vestures of office,
not to retire to the shades of (iuiiicy, but in the maturity of
his intellect, in the vigor of his thought, to leap into this
arena, and to continue as he had begun, a disciple, an ardtnt
devotee at the temple of his country's freedom. How, in
this department, he ministered to his country's wants, we all
know, and have witnessed. How often we have crowded into
that aisle, and clustered around that now vacant desk, to listen
to the counsels of wisdom, as they fell from the lips of the
venerable sage, we can all remember, for it was but of yes-
terday. But what a change I How wondrous! how sudden!
'Tis like a vision of the night ! That form which we beheld
but a few days since, is now cold in death ! But the last
Sabbath, and in this hall, he worshipped with others. Now
his spirit mingles with the noble army of martyrs, and the
just made perfect, in the eternal adoration of the living tlod.
With him " this is the end of earth." He sleeps the sleep
that knows no waking. He is gone — and forever ! The sun
that ushers in the morn of the next holy day, while it gilds
tlie lofty dome of the eaj)il()l, shall rest with soft and mellow
light upon the consecrated spot beneath whose turf forever
lies the patriot father and the patriot sac;k I
9
194 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
CXLIV.— THE LEVELLING SYSTEM.
LYMAN BEECHEa.
If you think that this crisis cannot come on our country,
you have not studied the constitution ot society, the char-
acter of man, tire past h story of moral causes, or the exist-
ing signs of the times. You have not read the glowing
pages of specious argument, of powerful eloquence, of spirit-
stirring indignation — pouring adventitious action upon the
fever of the hrain, and the madness of the heart.
Hear these Catilines harangue their troops, in the five hun-
dred thousand grog-shops of this nation — the temples and in-
spiration of atheistic worship : — " Comrades, patriots, friends,
— The time has come. Long have you sulit;red, and deep-
ly, and in all sorts of ways. Property has been denied
you, that others might roll in splendor ; and toil imposed, that
they might inherit ease ; and poverty inflicted, that they
might be blessed with more than heart could wish ; and to
add ignominy to fraud, and persecution to insult, your names
are cast out as evil. You snatch the crumbs from their
table, and they call it stealing ; the momentary alleviation
of your woes by stimulus, drunkeiuiess ; and your intercour.<e
as freeborn animals, is branded with outlawry and burning
shame ; and all this by that intolerant aristocracy of wealth,
religion, and law. You are miserable, and you are oppressed ;
but you hold in your own hand the power of redress. Those
splendid dwellings, and glittering equipages — those cultivated
farms and cattle on a thousand hills — those barns bursting
out with all manner of plenty — those voluptuous cities, and
stores, crowded with merchandise — and boats and ships tran-
sporting wealth — and those banks and vaults of gold — are
yours. You are the people — numbers are with you. Rise,
freemen — rise — to the polls — to the polls — and all is yours."
It is true, this levelling system would destroy the industry
of the world. It would augment the number, and aggravate
the poverty of the poor, as it would expel the arts, banish
commerce, stop the plough, and shut up the workshop, and
send back the ruined race to skins, and bows, and arrows.
But wluat is all this to a short-sighted, infuriated population,
who know only that they are miserable, and feel that all
above them is invidious distinction and crime ; and that to
rise, it is only necessary to grasp the pillars of society, and
SPIRIT OF LIBERTY IN 1772. 195
pull it down ? Is there no treason in brcathinfr such doc
triues upon the ear of discontented millions ? It is throwing
fire-brands into a magazine.
CXLV.— SPIRIT OF LIBERTY IN 1772.
JOSEPH WARREX.
You have, my friends and countrymen, frustrated the de-
sijrns of your enemies, by your unanimity and fortitude : it
was your union and determined spirit which expelled those
troops, who polluted your streets with innocent blood. You
have appointed this anniversary as a standard memorial of
the bloody consequences of placing an armed force in a popu-
lous city, and of your deliverance from the dangers which
then seemed to hang over your heads ; and I am confident
that you will never betray the least want of spirit when
called upon to guard your freedom. None but they who set
a just value upon the blessings of liberty, are worthy to en-
joy her — your illustrious lathers were her zealous votaries —
■when the blasting frowns of tyranny drove her from public
view, they clasped her in their arms ; they cheri-shed her iu
their generous bosoms ; they brought her safe over the rough
ocean, and fixed her seat in this then dreary wilderness ; they
nursed her infant age with the most tender care ; for her
sake, they ])atientlv bore the severest hardships ; for her sup-
port, they underwent the most rugged toils ; in her defence,
they boldly encountered the most alarming dangers ; neither
the ravenous beasts that ranged the woods for prey, nor the
more i'urious savages of the wilderness, could damp their ar-
dor! Whilst with one hand they broke the stubborn glebe,
with the other they grasped their weapons, ever ready to
protect her from danger. No sacrifice, not even their own
blood, was esteemed too rich a libation for her altar I God
prospered their valor ; they presei'ved her brilliancy unsullied ;
tlicy enjoyed her wliilst they lived, and tlying, bequeathed
the dear inheritance to your care. And as they left you this
glorious legacy, they have undoubtedly transmitted to you
sorne portion of their noble spirit, to inspire you with the
virtue to merit her, and courage to preserve lier. You su^u-
ly cannot with such examples belbre your eyes, as every
196 THE BOOK OF ELOQURNCE.
paofe of the history of this coimtry affords, suffer your liber*
til's to be ravished from you by lawless force, or cajoled
away by flattery and fraud.
CXLVL— ON THE BOSTON MASSACRE.
JOSEPH WAEKEN.
Approach we then the melancholy walk of death. Hither
let me call the gay companion ; here let me drop a farewell
tear upon that body which so late he saw vigorous and warm
with social mirth ; hither let me lead the tender mother to
weep over her beloved son — come, widowed mourner, here
satiate thy grief; behold thy nmrdered husband gasping on
tlie ground, and to complete the pompous show of wretched-
ness, bring in each hand thy infant children to bewail their
father's fate — take heed, ye orphan babes, lest, whilst your
streaming eyes are fixed upon the ghastly corpse, your feet
slide on the stones bespattered with your father's brains !
Enough; this tragedy need not be heightened by an infant
weltering in the blood of him that gave it birth. Nature
reluctant, shrinks already from tlie view, and the chilled
blood rolls slowly backward to its fountain. We wildly stare
about, and with amazement ask, who spread this ruin about
us? What wretch has dared deface the image of his God ?
Has haughty France or cruel Spain sent forth her myrmi-
dons ? Has the grim savage rushed again from the far dis-
tant wilderness ; or does some fiend, fierce from the depth
oi" hell, Avith all the rancorous malice which the apostate
damned can feel, twang her destructive bow, and hurl ht^r
deadly arrows at our breasts ? No, none of these — but, how
aslouishing! it is the hand of Britain that inflicts the wound!
The arms of George, our rightful king, have been employed
to shed that blood, when justice, or the honor of his crown,
had called his subjects to the field.
But pity, grief listonishment, with all the soft movements
of the soul, must now give way to stronger passions. Say,
fellow-citizens, what drt^adful thought now swells your
heavy bosoms ; you fly to arms — sharp indignation flashes
from each eye — revenge gnashes her iron teeth — death grins
MEN WHO NEVER DIE.
idl
a hideous smile, secure to drench his frreedy jnws in human
gore — whilst lioverinsj furies darken all the air I
But stop, my bold adventurous countrymen ; stain not your
weapons with the blood of Britons. Attend to reason's
voice ; humanity puts in her claim, and sues to be again ad-
mitted to her wonted seat, the bosom of the brave. Revenge
is far beneath the noble mind. Many, perhaps, compelled to
rank among the vile assassins, do from their inmost souls, de-
test the barbarous action. The winged death, shot from
your arms, may chance to pierce some breast that bleeds al-
ready for your injured country.
CXLVn.— MEN WHO NEVER DIE.
EDWARD EVERETT.
We dismiss them not to the chambers of forgetful ness ;iud
death. What we admired, and prized, and venerated in
them, can never be forgotten. I had almost said that they
are now begiruiing to live;*to live that liie of unimpaired
inlluence, of unclouded fame, of unmingled happiness, for
which their talents and services were destined. ?>uch men
do not, cannot die. To bo cold and breathless ; to IL-el not
and speak not ; this is not the end of existence to the men
who have breathed their spirits inlo the institutions of their
country, who have stamped their characters on the pillars of
llie age, wl:o have poured their hearts' blood into the chan-
nels of the public prosperity. Tell me, ye who tread the
S(i(ls of yon sacred height, is Warren dead ? Can you not
still see him, not pale and prostrate, the blood of his gallant
heart pouring out of his ghastly wound, but moving resplen-
dent over the field of honor, with the rose of heaven upon
his clieek, and the fire of liberty in his eye ? Tell me, ye
who •make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is
Washingloti indeed sliut up in that cold and narrow house ?
That wliicdi made these men, and mm like these, cannot die.
The hand that traced the charter of independence is, indeed,
motionless ; the eloquent lips that sustained it are hushed ;
but the hitty spirits that conceived, resolved, and maintained
it, ami which alojie, to such men, " make it life to live," tlieeie
cannot expire ; —
198 THE 13O0K OF ELOQUENCE.
"These shall resist the empire of decay,
Wlieii time is o'er anJ worlds have passed away;
Colli in tlie dust the perished heart may lie.
But that which warmed it once can never die."
CXLVIII.— LITERARY POSITION OF AMERICA.
JOSEPH STORY.
To US, Americans, nothing, indeed, can, or ought to be in-
dilFerent, that respects the cause of science and literature.
We have taken a stand among the nations of the earth, and
have successfully asserted our claim to political equality. We
possess an enviable elevation, so far as concerns the structure
of our government, our political policy, and the moral energy
of our institutions. If we are not without rivals in these
respects, we are hardly behind any, even in the general esti-
mate of foreign nations themselves. But our claims are far
more extensive. We assert an equality of voice and vote in
the republic of letters, and assume for ourselves the right to
decide on the merits of others, as well as to vindicate our
own. These are lofty pretensions, which are never conceded
without proofs, and are severely scrutinized, and slowly ad-
mitted by the grave judges in the tribunal of letters. We
have not placed ourselves as humble aspirants, seeking our
way to higher rewards under the guardianship of experienced
guides. We ask admission into the temple of fame, a^ joint
heirs of the inheritance, capable in the manhood of our
strength of maintaining our title. We contend for prizes
with nations whose intellectual glory has received the homage
of centuries. France, Italy, Germany, England, can point to
the past for monuments of their genius and skill, and to the
present with the undismayed confidence of veterans. It is
not for us to retire from the ground which we have chosen to
occupy, nor to shut our eyes against the difficulties of main-
taining it. It is not by a few vain boasts, or vainer self-com-
placency, or rash daring, that we are to win our way to the
first literary distinction. We must do as others have done
before us. We must serve in the hard school of discipline ;
we must invigorate our powers by the studies of other times.
We must guide our footsteps by those stars which have shone,
and still continue to shine, with inextinguisliable light in the
■WHEN WAR SHAIL BE NO MORE. 199
firmament of learning. Nor have we any reason for de-
spondencj'. There is that in American character which has
never yet been found unequal to its purpose. There is that
in American enterprise, which shrinks not, and faints not,
and fails not in its labors. We may say with honest pride,
" Man 19 the nobler growth our realms supply,
, And souls are ripened in our northern sky."
We may not then shrink from a rigorous examination of
our own deficiencies in science and literature. If we have
but a just sense of our wants, we have gaiued half the vic-
tory. If we but face our ditficulties, they will fly before us.
We have solid claims upon the atlectiou and respect of man-
kind. Let us not jeopard thein by a false shame, or an
ostentatious pride.
CXLIX.— WHEN WAR SHALL BE NO MORE.
ANONYMOUS.
Death shall hereafter work alone and single-handed, un-
aided by his most terrible auxiliary The world shall repose
in cpiiet. Far ^\of/^^ the vista of futui'ily the tribes of human
kind are seen miuglinjr in fraternal harmony, wondering and
shuddering as they read of fonner brutality, and exulting at
their own more fortunate lot. They turn their grateful eyes
upon us. Their countenances are not suffused with tears,
nor streaked with kindred blood. We hear their voices ;
they are not swelling with tones of general wailing and de-
ejiair. We look at their smiling fields, undevaslaled by the
band of rapine ; they are waving with yellow harvests, or
loaded with golden fruits ; and their sunny pastures are filled
with quiet herds, which have never known the wanton rav-
age of war. We turn to the peaceful homes where our in-
fancy has been cradled ; they stand undespciiled by the hand
o!' the de.stroyer. The semes where we indulged our cliildish
sports have never been prol'aiied by hostile feet ; and the tall
groves, where we performed our feats of school-boy dexterity,
have never b(»en desecrated to olttain tlie im[)li'meiits of hu-
man deslnictioii. Tbeii our thoughts extend and I'lubrace
the land of our birth, the institutions and laws we so much
200 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
venerate, and sonnething whispers us they shall endure for
ever ; that all time shall witness their iucreasintr perfection ,
that all nations shall copy from its example, and derive inter-
minable benefits from its influence ; for war, tlie destroyer of
every valuable institution, the great and sole cause of all
national ruin, is soon to be seen no more forever.
CL.— A riCTURE OF TERROR.
THOMAS C. UPHAM.
At the dreadful period of the French Revolution, it wgis
found that the glittering sword of war could strike upward,
as well as downward ; among the high and the iniglity, as
well as among the poor and powerless peasants. The scythe
fell upon the neck of princes ; those who had been clothed
in purple and fine linen, were arrayed in beggar's rags aiul
ate their crumbs in a dungeon ; the innocent children died
with the guilty fathers ; delicate women, the delight of their
friends and the ruling star of palaces, were smitten by the
hand of the destroyer, and bowed their heads in blood. And
tliere were beheld the hundred guillotines, the horrid inven-
tion of the fusillades, the drownings in the Loire, the dread-
ful devastations of La Vendee, the gathering of armies on the
plains of Italy, the bridge of Lodi, and the battle of Ma-
rengo.
These were the beginnings of terrors, the opening of the
incipient seal ; but the end was not yet. For twenty suc-
cessiv^e years, the apocalypse of the book of war opened itself
from one end of Europe to the other, and on the ocean as
well as on the land, in the thunders and fires which at once
shook, and enlightened, and awed the world, of the Nile and
Trafalgar, of .Jena and Austerlitz, together with the dashing
of" tlirone against throne, and of nation against nation At
length the " white horse of death" was seen taking his way
through the centre of Europe, and power was given him to
kill with the sword and with hunger; and he 'was followed
by " the beasts of the earth," an army of five hundr-ed soldiers,
and they were all oflered up as victims on the frozen fi(dds
of Russia ; and the Kremlin, and the ancient and mighty
city of Moscow, were burul upon their funeral pyre. The
1
STOPPING THE MARCH OF FREEDOM. 201
earth shook to its centre ; a howling and a lamentation went
up to heaven ; the living ate the dead, and then fed upon
their own flesh, and then went mad ; the wolves and the
vultures held their carnival, while Rachel wept for her chil-
dren, and would not be comforted. Nevertheless, the sickle
of the destroyer was again thrust among the clusters; the
wine-press of war was trodden at Dresden, and Leipsic, and
Waterloo, till tlie blood "came out of the wiue-press, even to
the horse-bridles."
CLI.— STOPPING THE MARCH OF FREEDOM.
THKODORE PARKER.
It is not for men long to hinder the march of human free-
dom. I have no fear for that ultimately ; none at all — sim-
ply for this reason : that I believe in the infinite God. You
may make your statutes ; an appeal always lies to the higher
law, and decisions adverse to that get set aside in the ages.
Your statutes cannot hold Him. You may gather all the
dried grass and all the straw in both continents ; you may
braid it into ropes to bind down the sea ; while it is calm,
you may laugh, and say, " Lo, I have chained the ocean I"
and howl down the law of Him who holds the universe as a
rose-bud in his hand — its every ocean but a drop of dew.
" How the waters suppress their agitation," you may say.
But when the winds blow their trumpets, the sea rises in his
strength, snaps asunder the bonds that had confined his
migiity limbs, and the world is littered with the idle hay !
Slop the human ra(;e in its devt;k)pment and march to Free-
dom I As well might the boys of Boston, some lustrous
night, mounting the steeples of the town, call on the stars to
stop their course ! (xently, but irresistibly, the Greater and
the Lesser Bear move round the pole ; Orion, in his mighty
mail, comes up the sky; the Bull, the Heavenly Twins, the
Crab, the Lion, the Maid, the Scales, and all that shining
company, pursue their march all night, and the ww day dis-
covers the idle urchins in their lofty places all tired, and
sleepy, and ashamed.
9*
202 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
CLIL— INVECTIVE IN" THE " WILKINSON TRIAL."
S. S. TBENTISS.
Gentlemen, althouph my clients are free from the charpfe
of shedding blood, there is a murderer, and, strange to say,
his name appears upon the indictment, not as a criminal, but
a prosecutor. His garments are wet with the blood of those
upon whose deaths you hold this solemn inquest. Yonder he
sits, allaying for a moment the hunger of that fierce vulture,
Conscience, by casting before it the food of pretended regret,
and false, but apparent eagerness for justice. He hopes to
appease the manes of his slaughtered victims— victims to
his falsehood and treachery — by sacrificing upon their graves
a hecatomb of innocent men. By base misrepresentations
of the conduct of the defendants, he induced his imprudent
friends to attempt a vindication of his pretended wrongs, by
violence and bloodshed. His clansmen gathered at his call,
and followed him for vengeance ; but when the fight began,
and the keen weapons clasiied in the sharp conflict — where
was the wordy warrior ? Aye, " where was Roderick then ?"-
No " blast upon his bugle horn" encouraged his companions
as they were laying down their lives in his quarrel ; no gleam
of his dagger indicated a desire to avenge his fail ; with
treacherous cowardiee he left them to their fate, and all his
va'uited courage ended in ignominious fli":ht.
o o r;
8ad and gloomy is the path that lies before him. You
will in a few moments dash, untasted, from his lips, the
sweet cup of revenge ; to quafi^ whose intoxicating contents
he has paid a price that would have purehased the goblet of
the Egyptian queen. I behold gathering around him, thick
and f !St, dark and cori-oding cares. That face, which looks
so ruddy, and even now is flushed with shame and conscious
guilt, will from this day grow pale, uutd the craven blood
shall refuse to visit the ha.gard cheek. In his broken and
distorted sleep his dreams will be more fearful tiian those of
tlie " false, perjured Clarence ;" and around his waking pil-
low, in the deep hour of night, will flit the ghosts of Meeks
and Rothwell, shrieking their curses in his shrinking ear.
Upon his head rests not only the blood shed in this unfor-
tunate strife, but also the soul-killing crime of perjury ; f(>r,
surely as he lives, did the words of craft and falsehood fall
from his lips, ere they were hardly loosened from the holy
THE WORLD OF BEAUTV AROUND US. 203
volume. But I dismiss liim, and do coTisipn him to the
furies, tnistinfr, iu all charity, that the terrible punishment
he must sufi'er from the scorpion-lash of a guilty consciencfa
will be considered iu his last account.
CLIIL— THE WORLD OF BEAUTY AROUND US.
HORACE MANN.
I'lT a hioflier and holier world than the world of Ideas, or
the world oi" Beauty, lies around us ; and we find ourselves
endued with susceptibilities which affiliate us to all its purity
and its perlectncss. The laws of nature are sublime, but
there is a moral sublimity before which the highest intelli-
gences must kneel and adore. Tlie laws by which the winds
blow, and the tides of the ocean, like a vast clepsydra, meas-
ure, with inimitable exactness, the hours of ever-flowing'
time; the laws by wliich the planets roll, and the sun vivi-
fies and paints ; the laws which preside over the subtle com-
binations of chemistry, and the amazing velocities of electri-
city ; the laws of germination and production in the vegeta-
ble and animal worlds ; — all these, radiant with eternal
beauty as they are, and exalted above all the objects of
sense, still wane and pale before the Moral Glories that ap-
parel the universe in their celestial light. The heart can
])ut on charms which no beauty of known things, nor imagi-
nation of the unknown, can aspire to emulate. Virtue shines
in native colors, purer and brighter than pearl, or diamond,
or prism, can reflect. Arabian gardens in their bloom can
exhale no such sweetness as charity difliises. Beneficence
is jrodlike, and he who does most good to his fellow-man is the
Master of Masters, and has learned the Art of Arts. En-
rich and embellish the universe as you will, it is only a fit
temple for the heart that loves truth with a supreme love.
Inanimate vastness excites M'onder ; knowledge kindles ad-
miration, but love enraptures the soul. Scientific truth is
marvellous, but moral truth is divine ; and whoever breathes
its air and walks by its light has found the lost paradise.
For him a new heaven and a new earth have already been
created. His home is the sanctuary of God, the Holy of
Holies.
204 THE BOOK OF ELOQUEXCE.
CLIY— DANGER OF VAST FORTUNES.
HORACE MAlfN.
Vast fortunes are a misfortune to the State. They confer
irresponsible power ; and human nature, except in the rarest
instances, has proved incapable of wieldinjr irresponsible
power, without abuse. The feudalism of Capital is not a
whit less formidable than the feudalism of Force. The mil-
lionaire is as dangerous to the welfare of the community, in
our day, as was the baronial lord of the middle ages. Both
supply the means of shelter and of raiment on the same
conditions ; both hold their retainers in service by the same
tenure — their necessity for bread ; both use their superiority
to keep themselves superior. The power of money is as im-
perial as the power of the sword ; I may as well depend upon
another for my head as for my bread. The day is sure to
come, when men will look back upon the prerogatives of
Capital, at the present time, with as severe and as just a
condemnation as w^- now look back upon the predatory
chieftains of the Dark Ages. Weighed in the balances of
th^ sanctuary, or even in the clumsy scales of human justice
there is no equity in the allotments, which assign to one
man but a dollar a day, with working, while another has an
income of a dollar a minute, without working. Under the
reign of Force, or under the reign of Money, there may be
here and there a good man who uses his power for blessing
and not lor oppressing his race ; but all their natural tenden-
cies are exclusively bad. In England, we see the feudalism
ot Capital approaching its catastrophe. In Ireland, we see
the catastrophe consummated. Unhappy Ireland ! where
the objects of human existence and the purposes of human
government have all been reversed ; where rulers, for centu-
ries, have ruled for the aggrandizement of themselves, and
not for the happiness of their subjects ; where misgovern-
ment has reigned so long, so supremely, and so atrociously,
Itiat, at the present time, the " Three Estates" of the realm
are Crime, Famine, and Death.
IXFLCEXCE OF GENEVA UPON THE PURITANS. 205
CLV^— INFLUENCE OF REPUBLICAN GEN'EVA UPOX THE
PUKITA>S.
RUFL'S CHOATE.
In the reign of Mary, from 1553 to 155S, a thousand
learned Enirlishmen fled from the stake, at home, to the hap-
pier seats of Continental Protestantism. Of tliese, great num-
bers, I know not how many, came to Geneva. They awaited
the death of the Queen ; and then, sooner or later, but in the
time of Ehzabeth, went back to England. I ascribe to that
five years in Geneva an influence that has changed the his-
tory of the world. I seem to myself to trace to it, as an in-
fluence on the English race, a new Theology, a new Polities,
another tone of character, the opening of another era of time
and of Liberty. 1 seem to myself to trace to it, a portion, at
least, of the objects of the great civil war in England, the
republican constitution framed in the cabin of the May
Flower, the divinity of Jonathan Edwards, the battle of
Bunker Hill, and the Independence of America. In that
brief season, English Puritanism was changed fundamentally
and forever. Why sliould one think this so extraordinary ?
There are times when whole years pass over the head of a
man, and work no change of mind at all. There are others,
again, when in an hour, all things pass away, and all things
become new. A verse of the Bible, a glorious line of some
old poet, dead a thousand years before, the new-made grave
of a child, a friend killed by a thunderbolt, as in the case of
Luther, some single more than tolerable pang of " despised
love," some single more intolerable act of the "oppressor's
wrong and proud man's contumely," the gleam ol rarer
beauty on the lake or in the sky, something lighter than the
fall of a leaf or a bird's song on the shore, draws tears from
him in the twinkliiiir of an eye. When, before or since, in
the history of the world, was the human character subjected
to an accumulation of agents, so fitted to create it all anew,
as those which i^icompassed the English at Geneva ?
I do not make nuich account in this of the matcrutl gran-
deur and beauty which burst on their astonished senses, as
around the solitudes of Patmos. It is of the moral agents of
chaiiire of which 1 would speak. Passing over the tlieology
which they learned there, consider the politics they learned
there. Consider that the asylum into which they had beeu
206 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
admitted, the city which had opened its arms to the pious and
learned men banished by an EnjrHsh throne, and an English
hierarchy, was a repubUc. In the giant hands ot" guardian
mountains, ascending from their "silent sea of pines," above
the thunder-clouds, and reposing there, calmly, amidst their
encircling stars, while the storm raved by below, before
which forests and cathedral-tombs of kings went down ; on
the banks of a contrasted lake, lovelier than a dream of fairy-
land, in a valley which might have been hollowed out to
enclose the last home of liberty, there smiled an independent,
peaceful, law-abiding and prosperous commonwealth. There
was a state without king or nobles ; there was a church
without a bishop ; there was a people, governed by laws of
their own making, and by rulers of their own choosin^j.
CLVL— THE SAME— CONTINUED.
RL'FUS CHOATK.
To the eye of these exiles, bruised and pierced througli, by
the accumulated oppressions of a civil and spiritual tyranny,
to whom there were coming tidings every day, out of Eng-
land, that another victim had been struck down, on whose
still dear home in the sea there fell, every day, a gloomit-r
shadow from the frowning turrets of power ; — was not tliat
republic of Geneva the brightest image in the whole trans-
cendent scene ? Do you doubt that they turned from Alpine
beauty and Alpine grandeur, to look, with a loltier emotion,
for the first time in their lives, on the serene, unveiled statue
of Classical Liberty ? Do you not think that this spectacle,
in their circumstances, and in their moods, prompted pregnant
doubts, daring hopes, new ideas, " thoughts that wake to
perish never," doubts, hopes, ideas and thoughts, of which a
new age is born ? Was it not then and there that the dream
of Republican Liberty, a dream to be realized somewhere,
perhaps in England, perhaps in some region of the western
sun, first mingled itself with the general impulses and the
general hopes of the Reformation ? Was that dream ever
let go, down to the morning of that day, when the Pilgrim
Fathers met in the cabin of their thattered bark, and then,
as she rose and fell on the stern New England sea, and the
SE 'RET OF THE MURDERER.
207
voices of the November forests rang through her torn topmost
rinriring, subscribed the first Republican Constitution of the
New World ? I couless myself to be of the opinion of those
Avho trace to that spot and that time the Republicanism of
the Puritans. I confess, too, that I love to trace the pedigree
of our transatlantic liberty, thus backward, through Switzer-
land, to its native land of Greece. I think this is the true
line of succession, down which it has descended. I agree
willi Swift, and Dryden, and Bishop Burnett, in that hypoth-
esis. There was a liberty, no doubt, which the Puritans
found, and kept, and improved, in England. They would
have chansred it, but were not able. But that was a kind of
liberty, which admitted and demanded an inequality of man,
an insubordination of ranks, a favored eldest son, the ascending
orders of a hierarchy, the vast and constant pressure of a super-
incumbent crown. It was the liberty of Feudalism. It was
the liberty of a united monarchy, overhung and shaded by
the imposing architecture of great antagonist elements of the
State. Such was not the form of liberty which our lathers
brought witli them. Allowing, of course, for that anomalous
relation to theEuslish crowti, three thousand miles off', it was
republican freedom as perfect the moment they stepped on
the rock as it is to-day. It has not all been born in the
woods of Germany, or between the Elbe and the Ider, or on
tbe level of Runnymede. It was the child of other climes
and other days. It sprang to life in Greece. It gilded, next,
the early and middle age of Italy. It then reposed in the
hollow breast of the Alps. It descended, at length, on the
iron-bound coast of New England, " and set the stars of glory
there."
CLVIL— SECRET OF THE MURDERER.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
Hk has done the murder — no eye has seen him, no ear has
hcanl him. The secret is his own, and it is safe I Ah I
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 guilly can bestow it, and say it is
safe. Not to speak of that eye which glancres through all
disguises, and beholds everything, as in the splendor of noon, —
208 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by
men. True is it, generally speaking, that " murder will out."
True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so
govern things, that those who break the great law of heaven,
by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding dis-
covery. Es|)ecially, in a cas<^ exciting so much attention as
this, discovery nmst come, and will come, sooner or later. A
thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing,
every circumstance, connected with the time and place ; a
thousand ears catch every whisper ; a thousand excited minds
intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and
ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of dis-
covery. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own
secret. It is false to itself; or rather it ieels an irresistible
impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under its
guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The
human heart was not made for the residence of such an in-
habitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it
dares not acknowledge to God or man. A vulture is devour-
ing it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, either from
heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses,
soon comes to possess him ; and, like the evil spirits of which
we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it
will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat,
and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees
it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its work-
ings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his
master. It betrays his discretion ; it breaks down his cour-
age ; it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from with-
out begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances to
entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater
violence to burst forth. It must be confessed : it will be con-
iessed : there is no refuge from confession but suicide ; and
suicide is confession.
CLVIII.— BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
Let it not be supposed that our object is to perpetuate
national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military spirit.
It is higher, purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the
MORAL POWER OF PIBLIC OPINION. 206
gpirit of national independence, and we wish that the lig:ht
of peace may rest upon it forever. We rear a memorial of
our conviction of that unmeasured benefit, which has been
conferred on our own land, and of the happy influences,
wiiich have been produced, by the same events, on the gen-
eral interests of mankind. We come, as Americans, to
mark a spot, which must forever be dear to us and our pos-
terity. We wish, that whosoever, in all coming time, sliali
turn his eye hither, may behold that the place is not undis-
tinguished, where the first great battle of the Revolution was
fouirlit. W^e wish, that this structure may proclaim the
nuignitude and importance of that event, to every class and
every age. We wish, that infancy may learn the purpose of
its erection from maternal lips, and that weary and withered
age may behold it, and be solaced by the recollections which
it suggests. We wish, that labor may look up here, and be
proud, in the midst of its toil. We wish, that, in those days
of disaster, which, as they come on all nations, must be expected
to come on us also, desponding patriotism may turn its eyes
hitherward, and be assured that the foundations of our national
power still stand strong. We wish, that this column, rising
toward heaven among the pointed spires of so many temjiles
dedicated to God, may contribute also to produce, in all minds,
a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally,
tliat the last object on the sight of him who leaves his native
shore, and the first to gladden his who revisits it, may be
something which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory
of his country. Let it rise, till it meet th.^ sun in its coming ;
let the earliest light of the morning gild it, and parting day
linger and play ou its summit.
CLIX.— MORAL POWER OF PUBLIC OPINION.
DANIEL WKBSTER.
Tt may, in the next place, be asked, perhaps, supposing all
this to be true, what can xoe do ? Are we to go to war ?
Are we to interfere in the Greek cause, or any other Unro-
pean cause ? Are we to endanger our pacific relations ? —
No, certainly not. What, then, the question recurs, remains
for MS. If we will not endanger our own peace : ii' we will
210 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
neither furnish armies, nor navies, to the cause which we
think the just one, what is there in mir power ?
yir, this reasoning mistakes the age. The time has heen,
indeed, when fleets, and armies, and subsidies, were the
principal reUances, even in the best cause. But, happily ibr
mankind, there has arrived a great change in this respect.
Moral causes come into consideration, in proportion as the
progress of knowledge is advanced ; and the imblic ojunion
of the civilized world is rapidly gaining an ascendency over
mere brutal force. It is alreatly able to oppose the most for-
midable obstruction to the progress of injustice and oppres-
sion ; and, as it grows more intelligent and more intense, it
will be more and more formidable. It may be silenced by
military power, but it cannot be conquered. It is elastic,
irrepressible, and invulnerable to the weapons of ordinary
warfare. It is that impassible, unextinguishable enemy of
mere violence and arbitrary rule, which, like Milton's angels,
" Vital in every part,
Cannot, but by annihilating, die."
Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is in vain for power
to talk of triumphs or of repose. No matter what fields are
desolated, what fortresses surrendered, what armies sub-
dued, or what provinces overrun. In the history of the year
that has passed by us, and in the instance of unhappy Spain,
we have seen the vanity of all triumphs, in a cause which
violates the general sense of justice oi' the civilized world. It
is nothing, that the troops of France have passed from the
Pyrenees to Cadiz ; it is nothing that an unhappy and pros-
trate nation has fallen before them ; it is nothing that arrests,
and confi.scation, and execution, sweep away the little rem-
nant of national resistance. There is an enemy that still
exists to check the glory of these triumphs. It follows the
conqueror back to the very scene of his ovations ; it calls upon
him to take notice that Europe, though silent, is yet indig-
nant ; it shows him that the sceptre of his victory is a barren
sceptre; that it shall confer neither joy nor honor, but shall
moulder to dry ashes in his grasp. In the midst of his ex-
ultation, it pierces his ear with the cry of injured justice, it
denounees against him the indignation of an enlightened and
civilized age, it turns to bitterness the cup of his rejoicing,
and wounds him with the sting which belongs to the con-
Bciousness of having outraged the opinion of mankinu.
SACRED FROM WAR. 211
CLX.— SACRED FROM WAR.
CHARLES SUMNER.
It is a beautiful picture in Grecian story, that there was
at least one spot, the smail island of Delos, dedicated to the
Gods, and kept at all times sacred from war. No hostile
foot ever soujrht to press this kindly soil ; and the citizens of
all countries here met, in common worship, beneath the aepis
of inviolable Peace. So let us dedicate our beloved coimtry ;
and may the bles,sed consecration be felt, in all its parts,
everywhere throughout its ample domain I The temple of
HONOR shall be surrounded, here at last, by the Temple of
Concord, that it may never more be entered through any
portal of War ; the horn ot Abundance shall overflow at its
pates ; the angel of Religion shall be the guide over its steps
of flashing adamant ; while within its enraptured courts,
purged of violence and wrong, justice, returned to earth from
her long exile in the skies, with mighty scales for Nations as
for men, shall rear her serene and majestic front ; and by her
side, greatest of all, charity, sublime in meekness, hoping
all, and enduring all, shall divinely temper every righteous
decree, and with words of infinite cheer, shall inspire those
good works that cannot vanisli away. And the future chiels
of the Republic, destined to uphold the glories of a new era,
unspotted by human blood, shall be "the first in Peace, and
the first in the hearts of their countrymen."
But while seeking these blissful glories for oiu'selves, let us
strive to extend them to other lands. Let the bugles sound
the truce of God to the whole world forever. Let the sel-
fisli boast of the Spartan women become the grand chorus of
mankind, that they have never seen the smoke of an enemv's
carnp. Let the iron belt of martial music, which now en-
coiupas.ses the earth, be exchanged for the golden cestus of
Peace, clothing all with celestial beauty.
212 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE,
CLXL— PLEA IN THE MICHIGAN RAILROAD CONSPIRACY
TRIAL.
WILLIAM H. SEWARD.
Gentlemen, in the middle of the fourth month we draw
near to the end of what has seemed to be an endless laltor.
While we have been here, events have transpired which
have roused national ambition — kindled national resentment
— drawn forth national sympathies —and threatened to dis-
turb the tranquillity of empires. He who, althoufrh He work-
eth unseen, yet worketh irresistibly and unceasin<rly, has sns-
pended neitiier His guardian care nor His paternal discipline
on ourselves. iSome of you have sickened and convalesced.
Others have parted with cherished ones, who, removed be-
Ibre they had time to contract the stain of earth, were al-
ready prepared Ibr the kingdom of Heaven. There have
heen changes, too, among the unfortunate men whom I have
defended. The sound of the hammer has died away in the
workshops of some ; the harvests have ripened and wasted in
the fields of others. W;uit, and fear, and sorrow, have en-
tered into all tiieir dwellings. Their own rugged tbrms have
drooped ; their sunburnt brows have blanched ; and their
hands have becoriie as soft to the pressure of iriendship as
yours or mine. One of them — a vagrant boy — whom I
foutid imprisoned here for a few extravagant words, that,
perhaps, he never uttered, has pined away and died. An-
other, he who was feared, haled, and loved most of all, has
fallen in the vigor of life,
" hacked down,
His thick summer leaves all fallen."
When such an one falls, amid the din and smoke of the
battle-field, our emotions are overpowered — suppressed— lost
in the excitement of public passion. But when he perishes
a victim of domestic or social strife — when we see the iron
enter his soul, and see it, day by day, sinking deeper and
deeper, until nature gives way, and he lies lifeless at our feet —
then there is nothing to check the flow of forgiveness, com-
pa.ssion, and sympathy. If, in the moment when closing his
eyes on earth, he declares : " I have committed no crime
against my country ; I die a martyr for the liberty of speech,
and perish of a broken heart" — then, indeed, do we feel that
the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep har-
DANGER OF MILITARY SITPRRMACV. 213
mony. Who would willingly consent to decide on the fruilt
or innocence of one who has thus beeu withdrawn from our
erriiijr jud<rment, to the tribunal of eternal justice? Yet it
cannot be avoided. If Abel F. Fitch was guilty of the
crime charged in this indictment, every man here may never-
theless be innocent ; but if he was innocent, then there is not
one of these, his associates in lile, who can be guilty. Try
liim, then, since you must condemn him, if you must — and
with him condemn them. But remember that you are mor-
tal, and he is now immortal ; and that, before that tribunal
where he stands, you must stand and confront him, and vin-
dicate your judgment. Remember, too, that he is now free.
He has not only left behind him the dungeon, the cell, and
the chain, but he exults in a freedom, compared with which,
the liberty we enjoy is slavery and bondage. You stand,
then, between the dead and the living. There is no need to
bespeak the exercise of your caution — of your candor — and
of your impartiality. You will, I am sure, be just to the
living, and true to your country ; because, under circumstan-
ces so solemn — so full of awe — you cannot be unjust to the
dead, nor lalse to your country, uor to your (Jod.
CLXII.— DANGER OF MILITARY SUPREMACY.
HKNRY CLAY.
Recall to your recollection the free nations which have
gone before us. Where are tl>ey now ?
" Gone ^limnierini^ throii|[jh the dream of thing.s that were,
A .sclioolboy's tale, the wuiuier of an hour.'"
And how have they lost their liberties ? If we could tran-
sport ourselves to the ages when (xreece and Rome flourished
in their greatest prosperity, and, min2flirig in the throng,
shoidd ask a (Trecian, if he did not fear that .some darinir
military chiettain, covered with glory, .some Philip or Alex-
ander, would one day overthrow the liberties of his country,
the confident and indignant Grecian would exclaim, " No I
no I we have nothing to fear from our heroes ; our liberties
will be eternal." II" a Koiuau citizen had been asked, if he
did not fear that the conqueror of Gaul might establish a
214 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCR.
throne upon the ruins of public liberty, he would have in-
stantly repelled the unjust insinuation. Yet Greece fell ;
Cajsar passed the Rubicon, and the patriotic arm even of
Brutus could not preserve the liberties of his devoted country!
We are fighting a great moral battle, for the benefit, not
onlj^ of our country, but of all mankind. The eyes of the
whole world are in fixed attention upon us. One, and the
largest portion of it, is gazing with contempt, with jealousy,
and with envy ; the other portion, with hope, with confi-
dence, and with afiection. Everywhere the black cloud of
legitimacy is suspended over the world, save only one bright
spot, which breaks out fi-om the political hemisphere of the
west, to enlighten and animate, and gladden the human
heart. Observe that, by the downfall of liberty here, all
mankind are enshrouded in a pall of universal darkness.
To you belongs the high privilege of transmitting, unimpaired,
to posterity, the fair character and liberty of our country.
Do you expect to execute this high trust, by trampling, or
sulfering to be trampled down, law, justice, the constitution,
and the rights of the people ? by exhibiting examples of in-
humanity, and cruelty, and ambition ? Beware how you
give a fatal sanction, in this infant period of our republic,
scarcely yet two-score years old, to military insubordination.
Remember that Greece had her Alexander, Rome her Uassar,
England her Cromwell, France her i3onaparte, and that if
we would escape the rock on which they split, we mu^-t
avoid their errors.
CLXIIL— EXECUTIVE CLEMENCY.
HENRY W. BEECHER.
Executive clemency, on its frequency, has been a tempta-
tion to dishonesty. Who will fear to be a culprit when a
legal sentence is the argument of pity, and the prelude of
pardon? What can the community expect but growing dis-
honesty, when juries connive at acquittals, and judges con-
demn only to petition a pardon ; Avhen honest men and ofll-
cers fly before a mob; when jails are besieged and threat-
ened, if felons are not relinquished ; when the Executive,
consulting the spirit of the community, receives the demands
DEATH OF JEFFERSON AND ADAMS. 215
of the mob, and humbly complies, throwinjj down the fences
of the law, that base rioters may walk unimpeded, to llieir
work of vengeance, or unjust mercy ? A sickly sentimen-
tality too often enervates the administration of justice ; and
the pardoning power becomes the master-key to let out un-
washed, unrepentant criminals. They have fleeced us, rob-
bed us, and are ulcerous sores in the body politic; yet our
heart turns to water over their merited punishment. A line
young fellow, by accident, writes another's name for his own ;
by a mistake equally unfortunate, lie presents it at the bank ;
innocently draws out the large amount ; generously spends
a part, and absent-mindedly liides the rest. Hard-hearled
■wretches there are, who would punish him for this I Young
men, admiring the neatness of the aOkir, pily his misfortune,
and curse a stupid jury tliat knew no better than to send to
a penitentiary, him, whose skill deserved a cashiership. He
goes to his cell, the pity of a wiiole metropolis. Bulletins
irom Sing-Sing inform us daily what Edwards is doing, as if
he were Napoleon at St. Helena. At length pardoned, he
will go forth again to a renowned liberty !
CLXIV.— DEATH OF JEFFERSON AND ADAMS.
EUW.AKD KVERETT
The jubilee of America is turned into mourning. Its joy
is mingled ^with sadness ; its silver trumpet breathes a
mingled strain. Henceforth, while America exists among
the nations of earth, the first emotion on the Fourth oi July
will be of joy and triumph in the great event which immor-
talizes the day ; the second will be one of chastened and
tender recollection of the venerable men, wlio departed on
tile morning of tlie jubilee. T-his mingled emotion of triumph
and sadness has sealed the beauty and sublimity oi Our great
anniversary. In the sim[)le commemoration ot a victorious
political achievement, there seems not enough to occiqiy our
jjurest and best feelings. The Fourth of July was before a
day of triumph, exultation, and national pride ; but the
angel of death bas mingled in tlie glorious pageant to teach
us we are men. Had our venerated latlirrs left us on any
other day, it would have been heucelurtli a day of mournful
216 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
recollection. But now, the whole nation feels, as with one
heart, that since it must sooner or later have been bereaved
of its revered fathers, it could not have wished that any
other day had been the day of their decease. Our anniver-
sary festival was before triumphant ; it is now triumphant
and sacred. It before called out the young and ardent, to
join in the public rejoicings ; it now also speaks in a touch-
ing voice, to the retired, to the gray-headed, to the mild and
peaceful spirits, to the whole family of sober freemen. It is
henceforth, wliat the dying Adams pi-onounced it, " a great
and a good day." It is full of greatness and full of goodness.
It is absolute and complete. The death of the men who
declared our independence, — their death on the day of the
jubilee, — was all that was wanting to the Fourth of July.
To die on that day, and to die together, was all that was
wanting to Jefferson and Adams.
CLXV.— EXECUTIVE POWER.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
Mii. 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 executive authority : on the contraiy, the uni-
form and steady purpose of all such champions has been to
limit and restrain it. To this end the spirit of liberty, grow-
ing more and more enlightened, and more and more vigorous
from age to age, has been battering for centuries, against the
solid hutments of the feudal system. To this end, all that
could be gained from tlie imprudence, snatched from the
weakness, or wrung from the necessities, of crowned heads,
has been carefully gathered up, secured and hoarded, as the
rich treasures, the very jewels of liberty. To this end, popu-
lar and representative right has kept up its warfare against
prerogative, with various success ; sometimes writing the
history of a whole age in blood ; sometimes witnessing the
martyrdom of Sidneys and Russells, often baffled and re-
GREATNESS OF NAPOLEOK. 21*7
pulseil, but still gfaining on the whole, and holding what is
gained with a grasp which nothing but the complete extinc-
tion of its own being could compel it to relinquish. At
length, the great conquest over executive power, in the lead-
ing 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 re-
straints of law, and the people, with that intelligence and
that spirit which makes the voice resistless, have been able
to say to prerogative, " Thus lar 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
nidependeuce, and by the establishment of free representa-
tive governments ; governments borrowing more or less from
the models of other free states, but strengthened, secured,
improved in their symmetry^ and deepened in their founda-
tion, 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.
CLXVI.— GREATNESS OF NAPOLEON.
W. E. CHANXI.VO
By the greatness of action, we mean the sublime power of
conceiving bold and extensive plans ; of constructing and
bringing to bear on a mighty object a complicated machinery
of means, energies, and arrangements, and of accomplishing
great outward effects. To this head belongs the greatness of
Bonaparte, and that he pos.sessed it, we need not prove, and
none will be hardy enough to deny. A man, who raised
himself from obscurity to a throne, who changed the face of
the world, who made himself felt through powerful and civil-
ized nations, who sent the terror of his name across seas an J
oceans, whose will was pronounced and feanMl as destiny,
whose donatives were crowns, whose ante-chamber was
tlironged with submissive princes, who broke down the awful
barrier of the Alps and made them a higliway, and whose
fame was s.pread beyond the boundaries of civilization to the
steppes of the Cossack, and the deserts of the Arab; a man,
who has left this record of himself in history, has taken oul
218 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
of our hands the question, whether he shall be called great.
All must concede to him a sublime power of action, an energy
equal to great elFects.
We are not disposed, however, to consider him as preemi-
nent even in this order of greatness. War was his chief
sphere. He gained his ascendency in Europe by the sword.
But war is not the field for the highest active talent, and
Napoleon, we suspect, was conscious of this truth. The ghiry
of being the greatest general of his age would not have satis-
fied him. He would have scorned to take his place by the
siile of Marlborough or Tnrenne. It was as the founder of
an empire, which threatened for a time to comprehend the
world, and which demanded other talents besides that of
war, that he challenged unrivalled fame. And here we
question his claim. Here we cannot award him supremacy.
The project of universal empire, however imposing, was not
original. The Revolutionary governments of France had
adopted it before ; nor can we consider it as a sure indication
of greatness, wlien we remember that the weak and vain
mind of Louis the Fourteenth was large enough to cherish it.
The question is ; did Napoleon bring to this design the capa-
city of advancing it by bold and original conceptions, adapted
to an age of civilization, and of singular intellectual and moral
excitement ? Did he discover new foundations of power ?
L'id he frame new bonds of union ior subjugated nations?
Did he breathe a spirit which could supplant the old national
attachments, or did he Invent any substitutes for those Aailgar
instruments of force and corrujition, which any and every
usurper would have used ? Never in the records of time did
the wcndd furnish such materials to work with, such means
of modelling nations afresh, of building up a new powx^r, of
iatruduciug a new era, as did Europe at the period ol the
French Revoluliou. Never was the human mind so capable
of new impulses. And did Napoleon prove himself equal to
the condition of the world ? Do we detect one original con-
ception in his means of universal em[)ire ? Did he seize on
the enthusiasm of his age, that poweri'ul principle, more effi-
cient than arms or policy, and bend it to his purpose ? He
did nothing but follow the beaten track, but apply force and
fraud in their very coarsest forms. With the sword in one
hand and bribes in the other, he imagined himsell' absolute
master of the human mind.
SELECTIONS FROM EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE,
ANCIENT AND MODERN.
SELECTIONS FROM EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE.
^« »
I— THE PERFECT ORATOR.
SHERIDAM.
Imagine to yoixrselves a Demosthenes, addressing the most
ilhistrious assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the
fate of the most illustrious of nations depended. — How awlul
such a meeting ! how vast the subject I 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, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault
and subjugate the whole man ; and, at once, captivate his
reason, his imagination, and his passions I To efi'ect this,
must be the utmost of the most improved state of human
nature. Not a faculty that he possesses, 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 vibrate the.se energies from soul to
soul. Notwithstanding the diversity of mind in such a nuilti-
tude, by the lightning of eloquence they are melted into one
mass ; the whole assembly, actuated in one and the same
way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one
voice. The universal cry is — I^et us march against Philip,
let as fv^hi fur our liberties — let us conquer or die /
222 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
II.— APPEAL FOR QUEEN CAROLINE.
BROUGHAM.
Such, my lords, is the case before you I such is the evi-
dence in support of this measure— evidence inadequate to
prove a debt, impotent to deprive of a civil right, ridiculous
to convict of the lowest ofience, scandalous, if broug^ht for-
ward to support a charge of the highest nature which tlie
law knows, monstrous to ruin the honor and blast the name
of an English queen I What shall I say, then, if this is the
proof by which an act of judicial legislation, a parliatncnlary
sentence, an ex post facto law, is sought to be passed against
a defenceless woman ? My lords, I pray you to pause ; [
do earnestly beseech you to take heed. You are statuiing
upon the brink of a precipice — then beware! It will go forth
as your judgment, if sentence shall pass against the queen.
But it will be the only judgment you ever pronounced,
which, instead of reaching its object, will return and bound
back upon those who give it. Save the country, my lords,
from the horrors of this catastrophe — save yourselves froia
this peril. Revere that coiuitry of which you are the orna-
ments, but in which you can flourish no longer, when severed
from the people, than the blossom when cut ofi' from the
roots and the stem of the tree. Save that country, that you
may continue to adorn it; save the crown, which is in jeop-
ardy, the aristocracy, which is shaken ; save the altar,
which must stagger with the blow that rends its kindred
throne ! You have said, my lords, you have willed, the
church to the queen, have willed that she should be deprived
of its solemn service. She has, instead of that solemnity,
the heartfelt prayers of the people. She wants no prayers
of mine. But I do here pour forth my humble supplication
to the throne of mercy, that that mercy may be poured down
upon the people, in a larger measure than the merits of its
rulers may deserve, and that your hearts may be turned to
justice.
DEFENCE FROM THE CHARGE OF TYRANNY, 223
III.— DEMAND FOR JUSTICE TO IRELAND.
O'CONNELL.
T WILL never be guilty of the crime of despairing of my
couiilry ; and to-day, after two centuries of sullering, here I
stand amidst you in this hall, repeating the same complaints,
demanding the same justice which was claimed by our
fathers ; hut no longer with the humble voice of the sup])li-
aut, hut with the sentiment of our force and the conviction
that Ireland will henceforth find means to do, without you,
what you shall have refused to do for her ! I make no eum-
prumise with you ; I want the same rights for us tliat you
enj'oy ; the same municipal system for Ireland as for England
and Scotland : otherwise, what is a union with yon ? A
union upon parchment I Well, we will tear this parchment
to pieces, and the Empire will be sundei-ed I
1 hear, day after day, the plaintive voice of Ireland, crying,
Am I to be kept forever waiting and forever sufiering ? No,
iellow-countrymen, you will be left to sutler no longer : you
will not have in vain asked justice from a people of brothers.
England is no longer that country of prejudices where the mere
name of popery excited every breast and impelled to iniqui-
tous cruelties. The representatives of Ireland have carried
the Reform bill, which has enlarged the franchises of the
English people ; they will be heard with favor in asking
their colle;igues to render justice to Ireland. But should it
prove otherwise, should Parliament still continue deaf to our
prayer, then we will appeal to the English nation, and if the
nation too should suiler itself to be blinded by it-; prejudices,
we will enter the fastnesses of our mountains and take coun-
sel but of our energy, our courage, and our despair.
IV.— DEFENCE FROM THE CHARGE OF TYRANNY.
ROIiKSl'IERUK.
TiiEY call me a tyrant ! If I were so, they would fall at
my leet : I should have gorged them with gold, assured tlieiii
ol impunity to their crimes, and they would have worshipped
me. Had I been so, the kings whom we have conquered
224 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
■would have been my most cordial supporters. It is hy the
aid of scoundrels you arrive at tyranny. Whither tend tlioso
who combat them ? To the touib and immortality I Who
is the tyrant that protects me ? What is the faction to which
1 belong ? It is yourselves ! What is the party whicli,
since the commencement of the Revolution, has crushed all
other factions — has annihilated so many specious traitors ?
It is yourselves ; it is the people ; it is the force of principles !
This is the party to which I am devoted, and against which
crime is everywhere leagued. I am ready to lay down my
life without regret. I have seen the past: I fort see the
future. What lover of his country would "wish to live, when
he can no longer succor oppressed innocence ? Why should
he desire to remain in an order of things where intrigue
eternally triumphs over truth — where justice is deemed an
imposture — where the vilest passions, the most ridiculous
fears, till every heart, instead of the sacred interests of hu-
manity ? Who can bear the punishment of seeing the hor-
rible succession of traitors, more or less skilful in concealing
their hideous vices under the mask of virtue, and who will
leave to posterity the difficult task of determining which was
the most atrocious ? In contemplating the multitude of vices
which the Revolution has let loose pell mell with the civic
virtues, I own I sometimes fear that I myself shall be sul-
lied in the eyes of posterity by their calumnies. But I am
consoled by the reflection that, if I have seen in history all
the defenders of liberty overwhelmed by calumny, I have
seen their oppressors die also. The good and the bad distip-
pear alike from the earth ; but in very different conditions.
No, Chaumette I " Death is 7iot an eternal sleep !'' — Citi-
zens, efface from the tombs that maxim, engraven by sacri-
legious hands, which throws a funeral pall over nature,
which discourages oppressed innocence : write ratlier, " Death
is the commencement of immortality !" I leave to the
oppressors of the people a terrible legacy, which well becomes
the situation in A\'hich I am placed ; it is the awful truth,
" Thou shalt die 1"
ORATION AGAINST WAKREN HASTINGS. 22i
v.— rERORATION m THE ORATIOX AGAINST WARREN
HASTINGS.
BURKE.
My lords, at this awful close, in the name of the Cominons,
and surrouuded by them, 1 attest the retiring, I attest the
advancing: generations, between which, as a link in the great
cliain of eternal order, we stand. We call this nation, we
call the world to witness, that the Commons have shrunk
from no labor ; that we have been guilty of no prevarication ;
that we have made no compromise with crime ; that we
have feared no odium whatsoever, in the long warfare we have
carried on with the crimes — with the vices — with the exor-
bitant wealth — with the enormous and overpowering in-
fluence of" Eastern corruption. This war, my lords, we have
waged for twenty-two years, and the conflict has been fought,
at your lordships' bar, for the last seven years. My lords,
twenty-two years is a great space in the scale of the lite uf
man ; it is no inconsiderable space in the history of a grettt
nation. A business which has so long occupied the councils
and the tribunals of Great Britain, cannot possibly be hud-
dled over in the course of vulgar, trite, and transitory events.
Nothing but some of those great revolutions, that break the
traditionary chain of human memory, and alter the very face
of nature itself, can possibly obscure it. My lords, we are all
elevated to a degree of importance by it ; the meanest of us
will, by means of it, more or less, become the concern of pos-
terity — if we are yet to hope for such a thing, in the present
slate of the world, as a recording, retrospective, civilized pos-
terity : but this is in the hand of the great Disposer of events ;
it is not ours to settle how it shall be. My lords, your house yet
stands ; it stands as a great edifice ; but let me say, it stands in
the midst of ruins — in the midst of the ruins that have been
made by the greatest moral earthquake that ever convulsed
or shattered this globe of ours. My lords, it has pleased
Providence to place us in such a state, that we appear every
moment to be upon the verge of some great mutations.
There is one thing, and one thing only, which defies all mu-
tation, that which existed before the world, and will survive
the fabric of the world itself — I mean justice : that juslic^e
which, emanating from Divinity, has a place in the breast of
very one of us, given us for our guide with regard to our-
10*
226 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
selves and with regard to others, and which will stand, after
this globe is burned to ashes, our advocate or our accuser be-
fore tlie great Judge, when He comes to call upon us for the
tenor of a well-spent life.
My lords, if you must fall, may you so fall I but if you
stand — and stand I trust you will — together with the fortune
of this ancient monarchy — together with the ancient laws
and liberties of this great and illustrious kingdom — may you
stand as unimpeached in honor as in power ; may you stand,
not as a substitute for virtue, but as an ornament of virtue,
as a security fur virtue ; may you stand long, and long stand
tlie terror of tyrants ; may you stand the refuge of afilicted
nations ; may you stand a sacred temple, lor the perpetual
residence of an inviolable justice.
VI.— CATILINE'S ADDRESS TO THE CONSPIRATORS.
SALLUST.
Had not your valor and fidelity been well known to me,
fruitless would have been the smiles of Fortune ; the prospect
ot" as mighty domination would in vain have opened upon
us ; nor would I have mistaken illusive hopes for realities, un-
certain tilings for certain. But since, on many and great occa-
sions, I have known you to be brave and faithful, I have ventur-
ed to engage iu the greatest and noblest undertaking ; for I well
know that good and evil are common to you and me. That
friendship at length is secure, which is founded on wishing
and dreading the same things. You all know what designs
T have long revolved in my mind ; but my confidence in them
daily increases, when 1 reflect what our fate is likely to be,
if we do not vindicate our freedom by our own hands. For,
since the republic has fallen under the power and dominion
of a few, kings yield their tributes, governorships their profits
to them : all the rest, whether strenuous, good, noble or ig-
noble, are the mere vulgar : without influence, without au-
thority, we are obnoxious to those to whom, if the common-
wealth existed, we should be a terror. All honor, favor,
wealth, is centered in them, or those whom they favor : to
us are left dangers, repulses, lawsuits, poverty. How long
will you endure them, ye bravest of men? Is it not bet-
COKCILIATION OF IRELAND. 227
ter to die bravely, than clrajr out a miserable antl dishonorrd
life, the sport of pride, the victims of disgrace ? But by the
faith of gods and men, victory is in our own hands : our
strength is unimpaired ; our minds energetic : theirs is en-
feebled by age, extinguished by riches. All that is required
is to begin boldly ; the rest follows of course. Where is tlie
man of a manly spirit, who can tolerate that they should
overflow with riches, which they squander in ransacking the
sea, in levelling mountains, while to ns the common neces-
saries of life are wanting ? They have two or more superb
palaces each ; we know not wherein to lay our heads. When
they buy pictures, statues, basso-relievos, they destroy the old
to make w^ay for the new : in every possible way they squan-
der away their money ; but all their desires are unable to ex-
haust their riches. At home, we have only poverty ; abroad,
debts: present adversity; worse prospects. What, in fine,
is left us, but our woe-stricken souls? What, then, shall
we do ? That, that which you have ever most desired. Lib-
erty is before your eyes ; and it will soon bring riches, re-
nown, glory : Fortune holds out these rewards to the v-ietors.
The time, the place, our dangers, our wants, the splendid
spoils of war, exhort you more than my words. Make use
of me either as a commander or a private soldier. Neither
in soul nor body will I be absent from your side. These
deeds 1 hope I shall perform as consul with you, unless my
hopes deceive me, and you are prepared rather to obey as
slaves, than to command as rulers.
VII.— CONCILIATION OF IRELAND.
EUSKINE.
We refused to look at the grievances of America whilst
they were curable. It was this refusal which gave birth 1o
her independence. The same procrastinating spirit prevailed
at that p(;riod which prevails now, and the same delusion as
to the effiicts of terror and coercion. Lord Chatham's warn-
ing voice was rejected " (xive. satisfaction to America,"
Baid that great statesman — "conciliate her allection — do it
to-night — do it before you sleep." But we slej)t and did it
not, and America was separated from us forever.
228 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Irt'land In the same manner obtained a sudden and un-
sou<>ht-lbr iudepciideiice, and has been brouglit to her present
slale of alarm inir hostility to this country. We refused to
eee what stared us in the face in characters reddening into
blood ; but the light broke in upon us at last, not through
well-constructed windows, but tlirough the yawning chasnrs
of our ruin. We were taught wisdom through humiliation —
I am alraid we have much more to learn in that useful, bul
melancholy school. The identical system by wliich America
Avas lo.st to Great Britain, ministers are now acting over again
with regard to Ireland at this moment. They refuse to re-
dress her grievances. They listen not to her complaints ;
what America was, Ireland, perhaps England itself, will
shortly be, if you obstinately refuse to adopt that system of
conciliation which alone can bring back aHection and ohedi-
ence to any government which has lost it.
Let ministers instantly ibrego that fatal system of coercion
which forced America from her connection with us into the
arms of France, and which is, at this very moment, driving
Ireland to seek the same protection. Let them relinquish
the insane attempt to retain the affection of that country at
the point of the bayonet, which is hourly tearing out of the
hearts of Irishmen those feelings of kindness and love fbr
England, upon which the p rmanence of union between the
two countries can alone be established. Tliis fatal sys+em
of coercion and terror, which ministers seem resolved to per-
severe in, has made half Europe submit to the arms of
France, and has given the air of romance or rather of en-
chantment to tlie career of her conquests. Now in HoDand
— now on the Rhine — almost at the same moment overturn-
ing the states of Italy, and overawing the empire atthe gates
ol Vienna. Without meaning to underrate the unexampled
energies of a mighty nation repelling the atrocious combina-
tions of despotism against her liberties, the nations with
which she contended had no privileges to fight for, o'- any
governments Avorth preserving ; they felt therefore no interest
in their preservation. Whilst the powers of such govern-
ments remained, their sul'jccts were drawn up in arms, and
appeared to be armies ; but when invasion had silenced the
power which oppressed them, they became in a moment the
subjects and the soldiers oi' their invaders Take warning
from so many examples the principles of revolution are
eternal and universal.
A FREE CONSTITUTION. 229
VIIL— A FREE CONSTITUTION.
BOLINGBKOKE.
If ever a weak and corrupt administration should arise ;
if an evil minister should embezzle the public treasure ; il' he
should load the nation in times of peace, vi'ith taxes greater
than would be necessary to defray the charge of an expensive
war ; if money thus raised should be expended, under the
pretence of secret service, to line his own pockets ; to stop
the mouths of his hungry dependants ; to bribe some luture
parliament to approve his measures ; and to patch up an iil-
digested, base, dishonorable peace with foreign powers, whom
he shall have offended by a continual series of provocations
and blunders ; if ht^hould adv se his sovereign to make it a
maxim, that his security consisted in the continuance, or in-
crease of the public debts, and that his grandeur was l()uud-
ed on the poverty of his subjects ; if he should hazard the
affections of the people, by procuring greater revenues lor
the crown, than they shall be able to spend or the people to
raise ; and after this, engage his prince to demand still farther
sums as his right, which all men should be sensible were not
his due ; I say, if the nation should ever fall under these un-
happy circumstances, they will then find the excellence of a
free constitution. The public discontent, which upon such
oc(rasions has formerly burst forth in a torrent of blood, of
universal confusion and desolation, will make itself known
only in faint murmurs, and dutiful general complaints. The
nation will wait long, before they engage in any desperate
measures, that may endanger a constitution, which they just-
ly adore, and from which they confidently expect a sure,
ihouirh perhaj)s a dilatory justice, upon such an enormous of-
fender.
These are the inestimable advantages of our present hay)py
settlement. L(!t us prize it as we oujrht. Let us not have
the worse opinion ot the thing itself, because it may, in some
in.«tances, be abused. But let us retain the highest venera-
tion lor it. Let us remember how much it is our right, and
let us resolve to preserve it, untainted and invioluble. Then
shall we truly serve our king ; we shall do our duty to our
country ; and preserve ourselves m the condition, for which
all men were originally designed ; that is, of a free people.
230 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
IX.— IMMORTAL INFLUENCE OF ATHENS.
T. B. MACAULAY.
All the triumphs of truth and genius over prejudice and
power, in every country and in every age, have been the
triumphs of Atlicns. Whenever a il'W great minds have
made a stand against violence and fraud, in the cause ol
liberty and reason, there has been her spirit in the midst of
them ; inspiring, encouraging, aud consoling ; — by the lonely
lamp of Erasnuis; by the restless bed of Pascal ; in the trib-
une of Mirabeau ; in the cell of Galileo ; on the scafl'old of
Sidney. But wbo shall estimate her influence on private
hap])iness ? Who shall say how many thousands have been
made wiser, happier, and better, by those pursuits in which
she has taught mankind to engage ; to how many the studies
which took their rise from her have been wealth in poverty, —
liberty in bondage, — health in sickness, — society in solitude.
Her power is indeed manifested at the bar; in the senate ;-
in the field of battle ; in the schools of philosophy. But
these are not her glory. Wherever literature consoles sor-
row, or assuages pain, — wherever it brings gladness to eyes
which fail with wakefulness and tears, and wake for the
dark house and the long sleep, — there is exhibited, in its
noblest form, the immortal influence of Athens.
The dervise, in the Arabian tale, did not hesitate to aban-
don to his comrade the camels with their load of jewels and
gold, while he retained the casket of that mysterious juice,
which enabled him to behold at one glance all the hidden
riches of the universe. Surely it is no exaggeration to say,
that no external advantage is to be compared with that puri-
fication of the intellectual eye, which gives us to contemplate
the infinite wealth of the mental world ; all the hoarded
treasures of the primeval dynasties, all the shapeless ore of
the yet unexplored mines. This is the gift ol" Athens toman.
Her freedom and her power have for more than twenty cen-
turies been annihilated ; her people have degenerated into
timid slaves ; her language into a barbarous jargon ; her
temples have been given up to the successive depredations of
Romans, Turks, and Scotchmen ; but her intellectual empire
is imperishable. And, when those who have rivalled her
greatness, shall have shared her fate : when civilization and
knowled":e shall have fixed thoir abode hi distant continents ;
TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS. 231
when the sceptre shall have passed away from England
when perhaps, travellers from distant regions shall in vain
labor to decipher on some mouldering pedestal tlie name of
our jtroudest chief; shall hear savage hynms chanted to sumo
misshapen idol over the ruined dome of our proudest temple :
and shall see a single naked fisherman wasli his nets in the
river of the ten thousand masts, — her inllnence and her
glory Avould still survive, — fresh in eternal youth, exempt
I'rom mutability and decay, iumiortal as the intellectual prin-
cijile from which they derived their origin, and over which
they exercise their control.
X.— TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS.
T. B. MACAULAY".
The place was worthy of such a trial. It was the great
ball of William Rufus ; the hall which had resounded with
acclamations at the inautrurations of thirty kings ;.the hall
which had witnessed the just sentence of Bacon, and the just
absolution of Vomers ; the hall where the eloquence of
Stratford had for a moment awed and melted a victorious
party inflamed with just resentment ; the hall where Charles
had confronted the High Court of Justice with the placid
courage which has half rede med his fame. Neither military
nor civil pomp was wanting. The avenues were lined with
grenadiers. The streets were kept clear by cavalry. The
gray old walls were hung with scarlet. The loug galleries
were crowded by such an audience as rarely has excited the
lears or enuUation of an orator. There were gathered to-
gether, from all parls of a great, free, enlightened, and j)ros-
jii'rnus realm, grace and female loveliness, wit and learning,
the representatives of every science and every art. There
were seated around the (pieen the fair-haired daughters of the
house of Brunswick. There the ambassadors of great kings
and commonwealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle
which uo other country in the world could present. There
Siddons, in the prime of her majestic beauty, looked with
emotion on a scene surpassing all the imitations of the stage.
Tliere the historian of the lloman Empire thought of the
days when Cicero pleaded the cause of t^icily against Verres ;
232 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
and when, beforo a senate which had still some show of free-
dom, Tacitus thundered against the oppressor of Africa.
There were seen, side by side, the greatest painter and the
greatest scholar of the age. The spectacle had allured
Ueynolds from that easel which has preserved to us the
thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, and
the sweet smiles of so many noble matrons. It had induced
Parr to suspend his labors in that dark and profound mine
from which he had extracted a vast treasure of erudition — a
treasure too often buried in the earth, too often paraded with
injudicious and inelcirant ostentation ; but still precious,
massive, and splendid. There appeared the voluptuous
charms of her to whom the heir of the throne had in secret
plighted his faith. There, too, was she, the beautiful mother
of a beautiful race, the Saint Cecilia, whose delicate features,
lighted up by love and music, art has rescued from the com-
mon decay. There were the members of that brilliant
society which quoted, criticized, and exchanged rejiartees, un-
der the rich peacock hangings of Mrs. Montague. And there
the ladies, whose lips, more persuasive than those of Fox him-
self, had carried the Westminster election against palace and
treasury, shone round Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire.
There stood Fox and Sheridan, the English Demosthenes
and the English Hyperides. There was Burke, ignorant,
indeed, of the art of adapting his reasonings and his style to
the capacity of his hearers ; but in aptitude of comprehension
and richness of imagination superior to every orator, ancient
or modern.
XI.— BURNS.
THOMAS OARI.YI.E.
We are far from regarding Burns as guilty before the
world, as guiltier than the average ; nay, from doubting that
he is less guilty than one often thou.sand. Tried at a tribu-
nal far more rigid than that where the Flcbiscif a of common
civic reputations are pronounced, he has seemed to us even
then less worthy of blame than of pity and wonder. But
the world is habitually unjust in its judgments of such men ;
unjust on many gi'oinids, of which this one may be stated as
the substance. It decides like a court of law by dead stat-
PERSONAL VTNniCATIOX. 233
utes ; and not positively but negatively, less on what is done
ri<rlit, than on what is, or is not, done wronjr. Not the lew
inches of reflection from the mathematical orbit, which are
so easily measured, but the ratio of these to the whole diam-
eter, constitutes the real aberration. This orbit may be a
planet's, its diameter the breadth of the solar system ; or it
may be a city hippodrome ; nay, the circle of a gfinhorse, its
diameter a score of feet or paces. But the inches of deflec-
tion only are measured ; and it is assumed that the diam-
eter of the <rinhorse, and that of the planet, will yield the
same ratio when compared with them. Here lies the root of
many a blind, cruel condemnation of Burnses, Swifts, Rous-
seaus, which one never listens to with approval. Granted,
the ship comes into harbor Avith shrouds and tackle damaired ,
and the pilot is therefore blameworthy ; for he has not been
all-wise and all-powerful ; but to know hoic blameworthy,
tell us first whether his voyafje has been round the globe, or
only to Ramsgate and the Isle of Dogs.
With our hearers in general, with men of right feeling
anywhere, we are not required to plead for Burns. In pity-
ing admiration, he lies enshrined in all our hearts, in a lar
nobler mausoleum than that one of marble ; neither will his
works, even as they are, pass away from the memory ol' men.
AVliile the Shakspeares and Miltons roll on like mighty
rivers through the country of thought, bearing fleets of trat-
fickers and assiduous pearl-fishers on their waves ; this little
Valchisa Fountain will also arrest our eye ; for this also is
of Nature's own and most cunning workmanship, bursts from
the deptlis ot" the earth, with a full gushing current into the
light of day ; and often will the traveller turn aside to drink
of its cleS.r waters, and mnse among its rocks and pines!
XIL— PERSONAL VINDICATION. ;
MIRABEAU.
What have I done that was so criminal ? I have wished
that my order were wise enough to give to-day what will
infallibly be wrested from it to-morrow ; that it should re-
ceive the merits and glory ol sanctioning the as.seinblage of
the Three (>rders, which all Provence loudly demands. This
234 THE 1500K OF ELOQUENCK.
is the crime of j^our " enemy of peace." Or rather T haA'-e
ventui'ed to believe that the people might be in the ripht.
Ah, doubtless, a patrician soiled with such a thought deserves
vengeance ! But I am still guiltier than you think ; for it is
my belief that the people which comj)lains is always in the
right ; that its indefatigable patience invariably waits the
uttermost excesses of oppression, before it can determine on
resisting ; that it never resists long enough to obtain complete
redress ; and does not sutficiently know that to strike its ene-
mies into terror and submission, it has only to stand still,
that the mist innocent as the most invincible of all powers is
the power of refusing to do. 1 believe after this manner :
punish the enemy of peace I
Disinterested " friends of peace I" I have appealed to
your honor, and summon you to state what expressions of
mine have offended against either the respect we owe to tho
royal authority, or to the nation's right ? Nobles of Provence,
Europe is attentive ; weigh well your answer. Men of God,
beware ; God hears you I And if you do not answer, but
keep silence, shutting yourselves up in the vague declama-
tions you have hurled at me, then allow me to add one
word.
In all countries, in all times, aristocrats have implacably
persecuted the people's friends ; and if, by some singular
combination of Ibrtune, there chanced to exist such a one in
their own circle, it was he above all whom they struck at,
eager to inspire wider terror by the elevation of their victim.
Thus perished the last of the Gracchi by the hands of the
patricians ; but, being struck with the mortal stab, he lliuig
dust towards heaven, and called on the Avenging Deities ;
and from this dust sprang Marius, — Mariiis, not so illustrious
for exterminating the Cimbri, as for overturning in Rome the
tyranny of the Noblesse 1
XIII.— THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
ALISON.
The glory of the conqueror is nothing new ; other ages
have been dazzled with the phantom of military renown ;
other natiotis have bent beneath the yoke of foreign oppres-
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 235
sion, and other ages have seen the energies of mankind wither
before the inarch of victorions power. It has been reserved
foronr age alone to witness — it has been the high prerogative
of WeUington alone to exhibit, — a more animating spectacle ;
to behold })ower applied only to the pnrposes of betielicence ;
victory made the means of moral renovation, conquest be-
come the instrument of moral resurrection. Before the march
of liis victorious power we have seen the energies of the
world revive ; we have heard his triimiphant voice awaken
a fallen race to noble duties, and recall the remembrance of
their pristine glox-y ; we have seen his banners waving over
the infant armies of a renovated people, and the track ot liis
chariot-wheels iollowed, not by the sighs of a captive, but the
blessings of a liberated world. We may well say a liberated
world ; for it was his firmness which first o])posed a bari'ier
to the hitherto irresistible waves of Gallic ambition ; it was
his counsel which traced out the path of European deliver-
ance, and his victories which reanimated the all but ex-
tinguished spirit of European resistance. It was from the
rocks of Tores Vedras that the waves of French conquest first
permanently receded. When the French legions, in appa-
rently invincible strength, were preparing lor the fight of
Ijorodmo, they were startled by the salvos from the Russian
lines, which announced the victory of Salamanca. And when
the Russian army were marching in mournful silence round
their burning capital, and the midnight sky was iUnminated
by the flames of Moscow, a breathless messenger brouglit llie
news of the fall of Madrid, and the revived multitude be-
lield in tlie trium])h ol Wellington, and the capture of the
S|)anish capital, an omen of their own deliverance and the
rescue of their own metropolis. Nor were the services of
tile Duke of WelUngton of less vital consequence in later
times. When the tide of victory had ebbed on the plains of
Saxony, and European freedom quivered in the balancts at
the Congress of Prague, it was Wellington that threw liis
sword into the beam by the victory ol" Victoria, it was the
eliout of the world at the dcdivered peninsula which termina-
ted the indecision of the cabinet of Vienna.
236 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XIV.— FRANCE AND THE REPUBLIC.
BKURVER.
Can you suppose that I did not ask myself in February,
1848, why a great nation like France, able to boast of so
many able men, should not govern itself? I asked myself
the question, but I did not for a moment hesitate for an an-
swer, as 1 knew only too well what it was for an old society
to be subjected to a Republic necessarily at variance with its
hopes, its traditions, and its habits, and which could only
excite rancor and discontent.
Yes, I say that the Republic is incompatible with the old
society of Europe — is utterly unsuited to the genius, wants,
manners, and feelings of a nation of thirty millions oi" inhab-
itants, closely packed together in the same territory, and
whose ancestors have been, for centuries, governed by kings.
A great authority has been named to us to-day — Napoleon.
Napoleon, it has been said, when at St. Helena, spoke m favor
of the Republic, and predicted it for Europe. No, no, do not
believe tliat snch was his intention. What I that master
mind who had done so much to gather together the scattered
fragments around him, and to reconstitute society in France,
he to praise the Repnblic I Not so ; but when the great
genius beheld his work destroyed by the force of coalesced
Europe — if, then, he evoked the Republic — if he uttered the
words, "France will be Republican or Cossack'!"' — it was
not as a predictiun that he so spoke, but as a malediction.
Yes, it was a maltdiction from the lips of a great man fallen,
and nothing else. And that other great man, Mirabeau — the
mighty orator to move the listening senate and the masses — he
who had so shaken, from the tribune, the govei'nment to its
centre — when he had exhausted his remaining strength ia
endeavoring to reconstruct the ruin which he had made,
what was his cry of despair, when he felt the wings of death
flinging their darkest shadow around him ? "I carry with
me," cried he, " the monarchy ; the factions will dispute,
amongst themselves, its shreds and remnants." History has
appreciated, as they deserved, the testamentary exclamations
of the two great men 1 have mentioned. Both of them, wh)
disposed of a whole century and a whole people by the me»e
force of their genius, felt the task at least too ponderous /or
their strength, and in the agony of their disappointment i\ ey
ON THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION. 2o7
exclaimed : — " Authority is jrone, anarchy is entered on pos-
session. God only can again collect together the scattered
ruins."
XV.— ON THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION.
LAMARTINE.
What occupies all minds is the fear that the fanaticism
of certain men may mistake a duty, and, attaching themselves
to tlie heirs — I do not say of other persons' glory, for glory is
a matter to which relationship gives no right, but to that
fame which carries away so easily a nation like ours — may
create what you and what I myself look on as a danger. Is
such a danger real ? I cannot say. It is not given to mo
more than to you to lift up the veil of the future ; but per-
mit me to say, that I am convinced that the heirs of whom I
speak, do not thiidi of any attempt at usurpation ; they have
declared it themselves in this tribune, and I believe their
word, as honest men. No, they have no thought of that
kind ; but around them there are groups of men, such as are
always ready to flutter about supposed ambitions, and who
would be disposed to turn to the profit of bad passions the
greatest of our glories. But I say that these men woukl find
themselves mistaken. To efi"ect an 18th Brumaire, two
things are necessary — long years of terror behind, and in
prospect the victories of Marengo and the Pyi;0mids. But at
present, there is neither the one nor the other. The real
danger of the Republic^ of February, is its passage through
the perilous reflux which follows all revolutions. I will not
affirm that France is not republican ; I am perfectly con-
vinced that if France is not yet republican by her habits, if
she is still monarchical by her vices, she is republican by her
ideas. Think of the monarchy falling to pieces before a trib-
une not far distant from that in which I now speak ; thiidc
of the enthusiasm of the people saluting the magnificence of
the inauguration of the Republic, whicih cost neither a nsgret
nor a drop of blood, and which brought with it so luiiiiy
liopes to be I'ealized, not all at once, but with the slowness
ami maturity which efll'ct great things in life. That inaug-
niMtion ca[tJivate(l all hcjirts, and if I brought to this tribune
the coalidentia,! declarations of tlie heads of the great monar-
238 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
chical parties, you would be convinced, as I am, that at that
great period at which men elevate themselves above all per-
sonal considerations, there was in all minds but a sinfrle sen-
timent — a sincere, loyal, and complete acceptance of the He-
public.
XVI.— THE MYSTERIES OF LIFE.
CHATEAUBRIAND.
There is nothing beautiful, sweet, or grand in life, but in
its mysteries. The sentiments which a^ritate us most strong-
ly are enveloped in obscurity ; modesty, virtuous love, sincere
friendship, have all their secrets, with which the world must
not be made acquainted. Hearts which love, understand
each other by a word ; half of each is at all times open to
the other. Innocence itself is but a holy ifrnorance, and the
most inefiable of mysteries. Infancy is only happy, because
it as yet knows nothing ; age miserable, because it has noth-
ing more to karn. Happily for it, when the mysteries of life
are ending, those of immortality commence.
If we turn to the understanding, we shall find that the
pleasures of thought also have a certain connection with tlie
mysterious. To what sciences do we unceasingly return ?
To those which always leave something still to be discovered,
atid fix our regai'ds on a perspective which is never to ter-
minate. If we wander in the desert, a sort of in.stiuct leads
us to shun the plains where the eye embraces at once the
whole circumference of nature, to plnnge into forests, those
forests the cradle of religion, whose shades and solitudes are
filled with the recollections of prodigies, where the ravens
and the doves nourished the prophets and fathers of the
Church. If we visit a modern monument, whose origin or
destination is unknown, it excites no attention ; but if we
meet on a desert isle, in the midst of the ocean, with a muti-
lated statue pointing to the west, with its pedestal cov-
ered with hieroglyphics, and worn by the winds, what
a subjfct of meditation is presented to the traveller I
Everything is concealed, everything is hidden in the uni-
verse. Man himself is the greatest mystery of the whole.
Whence comes the spark which we call existence, and
in wnat obscurity is it to be extinguished ? The Eternal
THE IMPEACHMENT OF HASTINGS. 239
has placed our Liitli, and our death, under the form of two
veiled phantoms, at tlie two extremities of our career ; the
cue produces the incouceivable gilt of life, which the other is
ever ready to devour.
XVII.— IN RELATION TO THE IMPEACHMENT OF
HASTINGS.
SHERU)AN.
I TPv-UST, sir, that the season of impunity has passed away.
I cannot help iiiduliiinji: the hope that this House will vindi-
cate the insulted character of justice ; that it will exhibit
its true quality, essence, and purposes ; that it will deinou-
slrale it to be, in the case belbre us, active, inquisitive, and
aveupinp:.
I have heard, sir, of factions and parties in this House, and
know that they exist. There is scarcely a subject upon
wliich we are not broken and divided into sects. Tbe prerog-
atives of the crown find their advocates among the represen-
tatives of the people. The privileges of the people find op-
ponents in the House of Commons itself. The measures of
every mini.ster are supported by one body of men, and
thwarted by another. Habits, connections, parties, all lead
to a diversity of opinion. But, sir, when inhumanily presents
itsi'lf to our observation, it finds no division among us. We
attack it as our common enemy, and conceiving that the
character of the country is involved in our zeal lor its ruin,
we quit it not till it is completely overthrown. It is not
given to tliis House, to behold the objects of its compassion
;iii(l benevolence in the present extensive inquiry, as it was
to the officers who relieved them, and who so leelingly de-
scribed tlie extatic emotions of gratitude in the instant of de-
liverance. We cannot behold the workings of their hearts,
the quivering lips, the tricdding tears, the loud, yet tremu-
lous joys o( the milli(ins, whom our vote will forever sas'e
from the cruelty of corrupte*! power. But, though we can-
not directly see the etli.>ct, is not the true enjoyment of our
brnevolencc increased, by its being conferred uii.«eeu ? Will
nol, tlie omnipotence ol I>ril;uii Ix' drmonslrated, to the won-
der of nations, by stretching its mighty arm across the deep,
240 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCR.
and saving by its fiat distant millions from destruction ?
And will the benedictions of the people thus saved dissipate
in empty air ? No. Tliey will not. [{' 1 may dare to use
the figure, they w^ill constitute heaven itself tlieir proxy, to
receive for them the blessings of their pious thanksgiving,
•uid the prayers their gratitude will dictate.
XVIIL— GENIUS.
E. L. BULWER.
Man's genius is a bird that cannot be always on the wing ;
when the craving for the actual world is felt, it is a hunger that
must be appi'ased. They who command but the ideal, en-
joy ever most the real. See the true artist, when abroad in
men's thoroughfares, ever observant, ever diving into the
heart, ever alive to the least as to the greatest of the compli-
cated truths of existence — descending to what pedants would
call the trivial and the frivolous. From every mesh in the
social coil he can disentangle a grace. And for him each
wiry gossamer floats in the gold of the sunlight. Know you
not, that around the animalcule that sports in the water,
there shines a halo, as around the star that revolves in
bright pastime through the space ? True art finds beairly
everywhere. In the street, in the market-place, in the
hovel, it gathers food for the hive of its thoughts. In the
mire of politics, Dante and Milton selected pearls for the
wreath of song. Who ever told you that Raffiiele did not
enjoy the life without, carrying everywhere with him the on-^ in-
ward idea of beauty, which attracted and embedded in its own
amber every straw that the feet of the dull man trampled
into mud ? As some lord of the forest wanders abroad lor
its prey, and scents and follows it over plain and hill, through
brake and jungle, but, seizing it at last, bears the quarry to
its unwitnessed cave, so Genius searches through wood and
waste untiringly and eagerly, every sense awake, every nerve
strained to speed and strength, for the scattered and flying
images of matter, that it seizes at last with its mighty taions,
and beai-s away with it into solitudes no footstep can inva<lo.
Go, seek the world without ; it is for art the inexhaustible
pasture-ground and harvest to the world within.
HOPE FOR ITALY.
241
XIX.— HOPE FOR ITALY.
L. MARIOTlt.
The French, wautino: aid from every quarter, hailed the
awakeaiiio- of Italy. They <rave her a standard ; they girt
her suns with the weapons of war ; they seated them in sen-
ates and parliaments. They dusted the iron crown of the
Lombards, and placed it on the brovi'^ of one of her islanders.
The Italians started up ; they believed, they followed, they
fought. Deceived by the French, they turned to the Austri-
aiis — betrayed by the Austrians, tliey came back to the
French. There ensued a series of deception and perfidy, of
blind confidence and disappointment ; and when the Italians,
weary, dejected, and ravaged, lay down abandoned to their
bitter reflections, an awful truth shone in its I'nll evidence —
the only price for torrents of blood — that beyond the Alps
they had nothing but enemies ! The reaction was long and
severe. To those few years of raving intoxication, lethargy
succeeded, and nothingness. The sword was taken from the
side of the brave, the lips of the wise were closed ; all was
settled, and silenced, and fettered, but thought. Tliough*
remained anxious, sleepless, rebellious ; with a grim, severe
monitor behind — Memory ; and a rosy syren before— Hope,
always within its reach, always receding from its embrace ;
and it sat a tyrant of the soul, preyed upon the heart of tiie
young, of the brave, of the lovely, choosing its victims witli
the cruel sagacity of the vampire, and it strewed tlieir
couches with thorns, and sprinkled their feasts with poison,
and snatched from their hands the cup of pleasure.
" Italians," was the cry, " remember what you have been,
what you are, what you must be. Is it thus, on the dust of
heroes, is it in the fairest of lands, that you drag on the days
of ahjectness ? Will you never afibrd a better spectacle to
the nations than masquerades and processions of monks ?
Will you never go out among strangers, except as fiddlers and
limners? England and France are subduing deserts and
oceans ; Germany flourishes in science and letters. The
sons of the earth are snatching from your hands the sceptre
of the arts. Wliat is to become of Italy? Shall her name
be buried under these ruins, to which you cling with the
fondness^of a fallen noble, prouder of the escutcheon and of
the portraits of his ancestors, in proportion as he degenerates
11
242 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCK. "^
from them ? Shall it be said of her sons that they have
made their own destiny, and they groan under a yoke they
have merited ?"
But God has, at last, mercy on lonof-enduring Italy ! Her
princes may yet desert her. Her Pope, even if infalliijle,
is not immortal. But God is eternal, and is with her. Hap-
py, if she learns to trut-t in Him and herself alone I Her
sorrow has been weighed : lier fate is mature. Kings and
pontiffs may now work it out. It is not tliey, however, that
prepared it. The Spirit that is alive within her, comes di-
rect from the breath of her Maker. The phcenix has been
consumed upon her funeral pyre. Her last breath has van-
ished in the air with the smoke of her ashes ; but the dawn
breaks ; the first rays of the sun are falling upon the desolate
hearth ; the ashes begin to heave, and from their bosom the
new bird springs forth witli luxuriant plumage, disj)l.iying
her bold flight, with her eyes fixed on that sun from which
she derived her orioin.
XX.— PROVINCE OF THE HISTORIAN.
SCHI.EGEL.
Remarkable actions, great events, and strange catastro-
phes, are not of themselves sufficient to preserve the admira-
tion and determine the judgment of posterity. These are
only to be attained by a nation who have given clear proofs
that they were not insensible instruments in the hands of des-
tiny, but were themselves conscious of the greatness of their
deeds, and the singularity of their fortunes. This national
consciousness, expressing itself in w^orks of narrative and
illustration, is History. A people whose days of glory and
victory have been celebrated by the pen of a Livy, whose mis-
fortunes and decline have been bequeathed to posterity in
the pages of a Tacitus, acquires a strange pre-eminence by
the genius of her historians, and is no longer in any dangei
of being classed with the vulirar multitude of nations,
which, occupying no place in the history of human intellect,
as soon as they have performed their part of conquest or de-
feat on the stage of the world, pass away from our view and
sink forever into oblivion. The poet, the pauiter, or the
PROTKST AGAINST TURKISH PERFIDY. 243
sculptor, tlionfjli eudued with all the power and all the map;Ic
of his art, — thourrh capable of reachiiiir and embodying the
boldest flights of imagination ; — the philosopher, though he
mav be able to scrutinize the most hidden depth of human
thought (rare as these attainments may be, and few equals
as he may find in the society with which he is surrounded),
can, during the period of his own life, be known and ap]n-e-
ciated oidy by a few. But the sphere of his influences ex-
tends with the progress of ages, and his name shines brighter
and broader as it grows old. Compared with his, the fame
of tlie legislator, among distant nations, and the celebrity of
new institutions, appears uncertain and obscure ; while the
glory of the conqueror, after a few centuries have sunk into
the all-whelming, all-destr(\ving abyss of time, is forever fad-
ing in its lustre, until at length it ]ierliaps allords a subject
ol' e.Kultation to some plodding antiquarian, that he should
be able to discover some glimmerings of a name wh ch had
once challenged the reverence of the world.
XXL— PROTEST AGAINST TURKISH PERFIDY.
KOSSUTH.
To-day is the anniversary of our arrival at Kutahja I Ku-
tahja I the tomb, where the Sublime Porte has buried us
alive, whilst speaking to us of hospitality. Pursued by mis-
fitrtune we stopped before the thresiiold of the Mussulman,
and asked from him, in the name of God, in the name of
humanity, in the name of his religion, a hospitable asylum, or
a free passage. The Turkish government had entire liberty
to receive us or not. It had the right of saying : I will give
you shelter in a prison, or in some distant place whei'e you
will be detained and strictly guarded. This is the hospitahly
which Turkey offers you. If it does not please you, hasd-u
your departure, rid us of your embarrassing presence. This
was not said to us. The Sublime Purte deigned to open to
us its sheltering tent ; it entreated us to cross the tlireshold,
and swore by its God and its faith that it would grant us
hospitality and a safe asylum. VVe trusted ourselves to the
honor of the Turks. We eat ol' their bread and of their
Bait ; we reposed under their roof. We jjrayed to God to
244 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
bless them, and we offered them our courage, our experience
matured by vicissitudes, and our everlasting gratitude. And
Hungarians keep their word.
Look at Bosnia, where Mussulmen, subjects of the Sublime
Porte, are revolted against it. A handful of Hungarian
soldiers are in the ranks of its army — it is but a handlul, for
the Porte would not accept more. Well ! who are first upon
t!ie breach ? who are first in the charge ? who are they who
never retreat, who advance in the midst of fire and grape-shot,
bayonet in hand, to victory ? They are this handful of exdes.
They die for Turkey ; the Hungarian keeps his word. They
offered us hospitality, and they gave us a prison : they swore
to us that we should meet with an asylum, and we have
found banishment. God will judge ; and God is just. We
have suffered ; but for the sake of not causing embarrass-
ment, we have been silent. They begged us to have confi-
dence. We have shown it. They begged us to wait. We
have waited long. They said to us, it is only until Austria
shall succeed in re-establishing that which the despots call
order (the order of oppression), that which they call tran-
quillity (the tranquillity of the tomb).
Well, she has re-established this order, this tranquillity, by
her executions. She has re-established it so far as to dare to
provoke Prussia to war ; so far as to dare, trusting to the sup-
port of her master, the Czar, to encroach upon the nations
of Europe, to extend her forces from the Baltic to Eome ; so
far as to threaten Piedmont and Switzt-rland ; so far as to
bribe the border provinces of Turkey to revolt, — she has re-
established this tranquillity, she has even announced its
re-establishment to the Sublime Porte; and we are still
prisoners.
I most solemnly protest against this act. I ai)peal from it
to the eternal justice of God, and to the judgment of all
humanity.
XXII.— LESSON TO AMBITION.
JEFFREY.
A GUOUND of rejoicing in the downfall of Bonaparte is on
account of the impressive lesson it has read to Ambition, and
the striking illustration it has afforded, of the inevitable ten-
LESSON 10 AMSIil X. . 245
denoy of that passion to bring to ruin the power and the
greatness which it seeks so madly to increase. Ko hninaii
beinsT, perhaps, ever stood on so proud a pinnacle ol" worhlly
grandeur, as this insatialde conqueror, at the beginning of
his Russian campaign. He had done more — he had acquired
more — and he possessed more, as to actual power, influence,
and authority, than any individual that ever figured on the
scene of Eurojiean story. He had visited, with a victorious
army, almost every capital of the Continent ; and dictated
the terms of peace to their astonished princes. He had con-
solidated under his immediate dominion, a territory and pop-
ulation apparently sullicient to meet the combination ot all it
did not include ; and interwoven himself with the govern-
ment of almost all that was left. He had cast down and
erected thrones at his pleasure, and surrounded him.«elf with
tributary kings, and principalities of his own creation. He
had connected himself by marriage with the proudest of the
ancient sovereigns ; and was at the head of the largest and
the finest aimy that was ever assembled to desolate or dispose
of the world. Had he known where to stop in his aggres-
sions upon the peace and independence of mankind, it seems
as if this terrific sovereignty might have been permanently
established in his person. But the demon by which he was
possessed urged him on to his fate. He could not bear that
any ])ower should exist Avhich did not confess its dependence
on him. Without a pretext for quarrel he attacked Russia —
insulted Austria — trod contemptuously on the fallen llirtunes
of Prussia— and by new aggressions, and the meiuice of more
intolerable evils, drove them into that league which rolled
back the tide of ruin upon himself, and ultimately hurled
him into the insignidcance from which he originally sprung.
Without this, the lesson to Ambition would have been
imjii'rlccl, and the retribution of Eternal Justice apparently
incdiuijlete. It was fitting, that the world should see it
again demonstrated, by this great example, that the appetite
of conquest is in its own nature insatiable ; — and tliat a
being, once abandoned to that bloody career, is fated to pursue
it to the end ; and must persist in the work of desolation and
murder, till the accumulated wrongs and resentments of the
harassed world sweep him I'rom its face.
24S THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XXIII. -THE CATHOLIC RESTRICTIONS.
SYDNFA' SMITH.
I OBJECT, sir, to the law, as it stands at present, because it
is impolitic, and because it is unjust. It is impolitic, because
it exposes this country to the frreatest danger in time of war.
Can you believe, sir, can any man of the most ordinary turn
for observation, believe, that the monarchs of Europe mean
to leave this country in the quit-t possession of the high station
which it at present holds ? Is it not obvious that a war is
coming on between the governments of law and the govern-
ments of despotism ? — that the weak and tottering race of
the Bourbons will (whatever our wishes may be) be compelled
to gratify the wounded vanity of the French, by plunging
them into a war with England. Already they are pitying
the Irish people, as you pity the West Indian slaves — already
they are opening colleges for the reception of Irish priests.
Will they wait for your tardy wisdom and reluctant liber-
ality ? Is not the present state of Ireland a premium upon
early invasion ? Does it not hold out the most alluring invi-
tation to your enemies to begin ? And if the flag of any hos-
tile power in Europe is unfurled in that unhappy country, is
there one Irish peasant who M'ill not hasten to join it? — and
not only the peasantry, sir ; the peasantry begin these things,
but the peasantry do not end them — they are soon joined by
a power a little above them — and then, after a trifling suc-
cess, a still superior class think it worthwhile to try the risk :
men are hurried into a rebellion, as the oxen are pulled into
the cave of Cacus — tail foremost. The mob first, who have
nothing to lose but their lives, of which every Irishman has
nine — then comes the shopkeeper — then the parish priest —
then the vicar-general — then Dr. Doyle, and, lastly, Daniel
O'Connell.
War, sir, seems to be almost as natural a state to mankind
as peace ; but if you could hope to escape war, is there a
more powerful receipt for destroying the prosperity of any
country than these eternal jealousies and distinctions between
the two religions ?
But what right have you to- continue these rules, sir, these
laws of exclusion ? What necessity can you show for it ? Is
the reigning monarch a concealed Catholic ? Is his succes-
sor an open 4)ne ? Is there a Catholic pretender ? If some
PLEA TO GEORGE IV. IN BEIIVLF OF THE QUEEN. 2t7
of these circumstances are said to have justified the introduc-
tion, and others tlie continuation of these measures, why does
not the disappearance of all these circumstances justify the
repeal of these restrictions ? If you must be unjust — if it is
a Inxury you cannot live vi'ithout — reserve your injustice lor
the weak, and not for the stronfi— persecute the Unitarians,
nnizzle the Ranters, he unjust to a few thousand sectaries,
not to six millions — galvanize a frog, don't galvanize a tiger.
XXIV.— PLEA. TO GEORGE IV. IN BEHALF OF THE QUEEN.
PHILLire.
Who could have thought, that in a foreign land, the rest-
less fiend of persecution would have haunted the Princess
Charlotte ? Who could have thought, that in those distant
climes, where her distracted brain had sought oblivion, the
demoniac malice of her enemies would have followed ? who
could have thought that any human form which had a heart,
would have skulked afler the mourner in her wanderings, to
note and con every unconscious gesture ? Yet such a man
there was ; who on the classic shores of Conio, even in the
land of the illustrious Roman ; where every stone entombed a
hero, and every scene was redolent of genius, forgot his name,
his country, and his calling, to hoard such coinable and rabble
slander I Oh, sacred shades of our departed sages ! avert
your eyes from tliis uidiallowed spectacle ; the spotless ermine
is unsullied still ; lhe ark yet stands untainted in the temple,
and should unconsecrated hand assail it, there is a lightning
still, wliich would not slumber! No, no; the judgment-seat
ol i>ritish law is to be soared, not crawled to; it must be
sought on an eagle's pinion and gazed at by an eagle's eye ,
there is a radiant puritv about it, to blast the glance of grov-
ellnig speculatidu. His labor was vain. 8ir, the pcoj)le ot
]']ngland will not listen to Italian witnesses, nor ought they
Send back, then, to Italy, those alien adventurers ; away
with them anywhere from us: they cannot live in England:
they will die in the purity of its moral atmosphere.
Meanwhile during this accursed scrutiny, even while the
legal blood hounds were on the scent, the last dear stay
which buuad her to the world, parted, — Lite ■pi'i''t<'css Char
218 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
lotto died. What must have been that hapless mothor'a
misery, M'hen the first dismal tidings came upon her ? The
darling child over whose cradle she had shed so raany tears
— whose lightest look was treasured in her memory — who,
amid the world's frown, still smiled upon her — the fair and
lovely flower, which, when her orb was quenched in tears,
lost not its filial, its divine fidelity I It was blighted in it?
blossom — its verdant stem was withered, and in a foreign
land she heard it, and alone — no, no, not quite alone. The
myrmidons of British hate were around her, and when her
heart's salt tears were blind in 'j, Iter, a. German nobleman was
'plundering Iter letters. Bethink you, su'e, if that fair para-
gon of daughters lived, would England's heart be wrung
with this inquiry I Oh ! she would have torn the diamonds
from her brow, and dashed each royal mockery to the earth,
and rushed before the people, not in a monarch's, but in
'nature s ma jest i/ — a child appealing for her persecuted mother I
and Grod would bless the sight, and man would hallow it,
and every little infant in the land who felt a mother's warm
tear upon her cheek, would turn by instinct to that sacred
simunons. Your daughter in her shroud is yet alive, sire —
her spirit is amongst us — it rose untombed when her poor
mother landed — it wali<s amid the people — it has left Ihe
angels to protect a parent.
XXV.— IN DEFENCE OF MR. FINNERTY.
CUR RAX.
Gentlemen, in order to bring this charge of insolence and
vulgarity to the test, let me ask you, whether you know of
any language which could have adequately described the idea
of mercy denied, when it ought to have been granted, or of
any phrase vigorous enough to convey the indignation which
an honest man would have felt upon such a subject ? Let
me suppose that you had seen the respite given, and that
contrite and honest recommendalion transmitted to that seat
where mercy was presumed to dwell ; that new and before
unheard of cririres are discovered against the informer ; that
the royal mercy seems to relent, and that a new respite is
Bent to the prisoiier ; that time is taken, as the learned couu-
IN DEFENCE OF MU. FINNERTT. 249
sel for the crown has expressed it, to see whether mercy couhl
be extended or not ! th;it, after that period of linsrering delib-
eration passed, a third respite is transmitted ; that the un-
happy captive himself feels the cheerinj^ hope of being re-
stored to a family he adored, to a character that he had
never stained, and to a country that he had ever loved ; that
you had seen his wife and children upon their knees, giving
those tears to gratitude, which their locked and frozen hearts
could not give to aniruish and despair, and imploring the
blessings of eternal Providence upon his head, who had
graciously spared the f ither and restored him to his children ;
that you had seen the olive branch sent into his little ark, but
no sign that the waters had subsided. " Alas I nor vi'ife, nor*
children more shall he behold, nor friends, nor sacred home !"
No seraph mercy unbars his dungeon, and leads him forth to
light and life ; but the minister of death hurries him to the
scene of sulfering and of shame ; where unmoved by the hos-
tile array of artillery and armed men collected together, to
secure, or to insult, or to disturb him, he dies with a solemn
declaration of his innocence, and utters his last breath in a
prayer for the liberty of his country. Let me now ask you, if
any of you had addressed the public ear upon so foul and mon-
strous a subject, in what language would you have conveyed
the feelings of horror and indignation ? — would you have
stooped to the meanness of qualified complaint ? — would you
have been mean enough ? — but I entreat your forgiveness — I
do not think meanly of you ; had I thought so meanly of you,
I could not suller my mind to commune with you as it has
done ; had 1 thought you that vile and base instrument,
attuned by hope and by fear into discord and falsehood, from
whose vulgar string no groan of suflering could vibrate, no voice
of integrity or honor could speak, let me honestly tell you, I
should scorn to string my hand across it ; I should have left it
to a fitter minstrel : if 1 do not therefore grossly err in my
opinion of you, I could use no language upon such a subject
as this, tliat must not lag behind the rapidity of your feelings,
and that would not disgrace those feelings, if I attempted to
describe them.
11*
250 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XXVL— THE EVIDENCE OF MR. O'BRIEN.
■ CURRAN.
What is the evidence of OBrieii ? what has he stated?
Here, gentlemen, let nie claim the benefits of that great
privilege, which distinguished trial by jury in this coun-
try from all the world. Twelve men, not emerging from
the must and cobwebs of" a study, abstracted from hu-
man nature, or only acquainted with its extravagances ; but
twelve men, conversant with life, and practised in those feel-
ings which mark the common and necessary intercourse be-
tween man and man. iSuch are you, gentlemen ; how, then,
does Mr. O'Brien's tale hang together ? Look to its com-
mencement. He walks along Thomas street, in the open
day (a street not the least populous in the city), and is accost-
ed by a man, who, without any preface, tells him, he'll be
munlered before he goes half the street, unless he becomes a
United Irishman ! Do you think this a probable story ?
Suppose any of you, gentlemen, be a United Irishman, or a
freemason, or a friendly brotlier, and that you met me walk-
ing innocently along, just like Mr. O'Brien, and meaning no
harm, would you say, " Stop, sir, don't go further, you'll be
murdered before you go half the street, if you do not become
a United Irishman, a freemason, or a friendly brother ?"
Did you ever hear so coaxing an invitation to felony as this ?
" Sweet Mr. James O'Brien, come in and save your precious
life ; come in and take an oath, or you'll be murdered before
you go half the street ! Do, sweetest, dearest Mr. James
O'Brien, come in and do not risk your valuable existence."
What a loss had he been to his king, whom he loves so mar-
vellously I Well, what does poor Mr. O'Brien do ? Poor,
dear man, he stands petrified with the magnitude of his
dantrer — all his members refuse their office — he can neither
run from the danger, nor call for assistance ; his tongue
cleaves to his mouth I and his feet incorporate with the pav-
ing stones — it is in vain that his expressive eye silently im-
plores protection of the passenger ; he yields at length, as
gr-rater men have done, and resignedly submits to his fate:
he then enters the house, and being led into a room, a parcel
of men make faces at him : but mark the metamorphosis —
well may it be said, that "miracles will never cease," — he
who feared to resist in the open air, and in the face of the
CREMUTIUS CORBUS'S DEFENCE OF HIS ANNALS. 251
public, becomes a bravo, when pent, up in a room, and envi-
roned by sixteen men ; and one is obliged to bar the door
•while another swears him ; which, after some resistance, is
accordingly done, and poor Mr. O'Brien becomes a United
Irishman, lor no earthly purpose whatever, but merely to
save his sweet lile !
XXVIL— CREMUTIUS CORDUS'S DEFENCE OF HTS ANNALS.
TACITUS.
The charge, conscript fathers, is for words only ; so irre-
proachiible is my conduct. And what are my words? Do
tiiey ailfct the emperor or his mother, the only persons m-
cliided in tlte law of majesty ? It is. however, my crime
that 1 have treated the manes of Brutus and Cassius with
respect ; and have not others done the same ? In the num-
ber of writers, who composed the lives of these eminent
men, is there one who has not done honor to their memory ?
Titus Livius, that admirable historian, not more distinguished
by his eloquence, than by his fnlelily. was so lavisli in praise
of Pompey, that Augustus called him the Pompeian : and
yet the friendship of the einpeior w;is unalterable. Scipio
and Afranius, with this same Brutus and tMs very Cassius,
are mentioned by that immortal author, not indeed as ruf-
fians and parricides (the appellations now in vogue); but as
virtuous, upright, and illnstriou- Komans. The verses of
]5ihaciUus and Catullus, though keen lampoons on the family
of the Cassars, are in everybody's hands. Neither Julius
Caisar nor Augustus showed any r('S<titm('nt at these enven-
omed productions ; on the contrary they left them to maUe
their way in the world. AVas this their moderation, or supe-
rior wisclom ? Perhaps it was the latter Neglected cal-
umny soon expires : sliow that you are hurt, and you give it
the appearance of truth.
From Greece I draw no precedents. In that country, not
only liberty, but even licentiousness was encouraged. He
who felt the ed :c of satire, knew how to retaliate. Words
were revenged l>y words. When public characters have
passed away from tin* sla-je of lilr, and the applause of
friendship, as well as the lualiee ol enemies, is iieard no
252 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
more ; it has ever been the prerosative of history to rejudfre
their actions. Brutus aud Cassius are not now at tlie liead
of their armies : they are not encamped on t!ie phuns of
Philippi : can I assist their cause ? Have I harangued the
people, or incited them to take up ai-ms ? It is now more
than sixty years since these two extraordinary men perished
by the sword : from that time they have been seen in their
busts and statues : those remains the very conquerors spared,
and history has been just to their n.-emory. Posterity allows
to every man his true value and proper honors. You may,
if you will, by your judgment, atiect my life ; but Brutus
and Cassius will still be remembered, aud my namt mjiy at-
tend the triumph.
XXVIII.— MONOrOLIES.
SIR JOUN CULPEPER.
Mr. Speaker, I have but one grievance more to ofier you,
but this one compriseth many. It is a nest of wasps, or
swarm of vermin which have overcrept the land. I mean
the Monopolists and Pollers of the people : these, like the
frogs oi' Egypt, have gotten posse.ssion of our dwellings, and
we have scarce a room iree from them. They sup in our cup.
They dip in our dish. They sit by our fire. We find them
in the dyepot, wash-bowl, and powdering tub. They share
with the buller in his box. They have marked and sealed
us from head to foot. Mr. Speaker, they will not bate us a
pin. We may not buy our clothes without their brokage.
These are the leeches that have sucked the commonwealth
so hard, that it is almost become hectical. And, sir, some
of them are ashamed of their right names. They have a
vizard to hide the brand made by that good law in the last
parliament of King James : they shelter themselves under
the name of corporation ; they make bye-laws which serve
their turn to squeeze us and fill their purses. Unface these,
aud they will prove as bad cards as any in the pack. These
are not petty-chapmen, but wholesale men. Mr. Speaker, 1
have echoed to you the cries of the kingdom.
THE POETS THEMES. " 253
XXIX.— THE POETS THEMES,
TALFOITRD.
The universe, in its majesty, and man in the plain dipnity
of his nature, are the poet's favorite themes. And is there
no might, no glory, no sanctity in these ? Earth has her own
venerahleness — her awful forests, which have darkened her
hills for ages with tremendous gloom ; her mysterious springs
pouring out everlasting waters from unsearchable recesses ;
her wrecks of elemental contests ; her jagged rocks, monu-
mental of an earlier world. The lowliest of her beauties has
an antiquity beyond that of the pyramids. The evening
breeze has the old sweetness which it shed over the fields of
Canaan, when Isaac went out to meditate. The Nile swells
with its rich waters toward the bulrushes of Egypt, as when
the infant Moses nestled among them, watched by the sisterly
tbve of Miriam. Z ion's hill has not passed away with its
temple, nor lost its sanctity amidst the tumultuous changes
around it, nor even by the accomplishment of that awful
religion of types and symbols wliich once was enthroned on
its steeps. The sun to wbich the poet turns his eye is the
same which shone over Thermopylse ; and the wind to which
he listens swept over Salamis, and scattered the armaments
of Xerxes. Is a poet utterly deprived of fitting themes, to
whom ocean, earth, and sky are open — who has an eye for
the mo-t evanescent of nature's hues, and the most ethereal
of her graces — wdio can " live in the rainbow and play in
the plighted clouds," or send into our hearts tbe awful lo\"e-
liness of regions " consecrate to eldest time ?" Is there
nothing in man, considered abstractedly from the distinctions
of this world — nothing in a being who is in the infancy of an
innnortal lil'e — who is lackeyed by " a thousand liveried angels"
- — wiio is even " splendid in ashes and pompous in the grave"
— to awaken ideas of pennanence, solenniity and grandeur ?
Are there no themes sufficiently exalted for poetry in the
inidst of death and life — in the desires and hopes which have
their resting-place near the throne of the Eternal — in adections,
strange and wondrous in tbeir working, and unconquerable
by time, or anguish, or destiny ? Such subjects, though not
arrayed in any adventitious pomp, have a real and innate
grandeur.
254 ' THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XXX.— ON THE PROSPECT OF AN INVASION.
EOBKET HALL.
By a series of criminal enterprises, by the successes of
guilty ambition, the liberties of Europe have been gradually
extinguished : the subjugation of Holland, Switzerland, and
t!ie free towns of Germany, has completed the catastrophe ;
and we are the only people in the eastern hemisphere who
are in possession of equal laws, and a free constitution. Free-
dom, driven from every spot on the continent, has sought an
asylum in a country which she always chose for a favorite
abode : but she is pursued even here, and threatened with
de.struction. The inundation of lawless power, after covering
the whole earth, threatens to follow us here ; and we are
most exactly, most critically placed in the only aperture
where it can be successfully repelled, in the Thermopylae of
the universe. As far as the interests of freedom are con-
cerned, the most important by far of sublunary interests, you,
my countrymen, stand in the capacity of the federal represent-
atives of the human race ; for with you it is to determine (under
God) in what condition the latest posterity shall be born ; their
fortunes are entrusted to your care, and on your conduct at this
moment depends the color and complexion of their dt-stiny. If
liberty, after being extinguished on the continent, issufleredto
expire here, whence is it ever to emerge in the midst of that
thick night that will invest it ? It remains with you then to
decide whether that freedom, at whose voice the kingdoms of
Europe awoke from the sleep of ages, to run a career of virtuous
emulation in everything great and good ; the freedom which
dispelled the mists of superstition, and invited the nations to
beliold their God ; whose magic touch kindled the rays of
genius, the enthusiasm of poetry, and the flame of eloquence ;
the freedom which poured into our lap opulence and arts, and
embellished life with innumerable institutions and improve-
m»'nts, till it became a theatre of wonders ; it is for you to
decide whether this freedom shall yet survive, or be covered
with a funeral pall, and wrapped in eternal gloom. It is
not necessary to await your determiruition. In the solicitude
you feel to prove yourselves worthy oi" such a trust, everj,
thou-rht of what is afU^cting your welfare, every apprehension
oi' danger must vanish, and you are iuii)atient to iningle in
the baUle of the civilized world. Go then, ye defenders of
UNIVERSALITY OF CONSCIENCE. 255
your country, accompanied with every auspicious omen ;
advance with ahicrity into tlie field, where God himself" mus-
ters the hosts of war. Relifrion is too much interested in
your success, not to lend you her aid ; she will shed over this
enterprise her selectest influence. While you are engaged
in tlie field, many will repair to the closet, many to the
sanctuary ; the faithi'ul ol" every name will employ that
prayer which has power with God ; the feehle hands which
are unequal to any other weapon, will grasp the sword of" the
spirit ; and from myriads ol" humble, contrite hearts, the
voice of intercession, supplication, and weeping, will mingle
in its ascent to heaven wiih the shout of battle and the shock
of arms.
XXXI.-UNIVERSALITY OF CONSCIENCE.
CHALMERS.
This theology of conscience has been greatly obscured, but
never, in any country, or at any period in the history of the
world, has it been wholly obliterated. We behold the ves-
tiges of it in the simple theology of the desert ; and, perhaps,
more distinctly there, than in the complex su[)erstitioiis of an
arlilicial and civilized heathenism In cuntiiniation of this,
We might quote the invocations to the Great Spirit from the
wilds of North America. But, indeed, in every quarter of
the globe, where missionaries have held converse with
savages, even with the rndest of nature's cliildren — when
sjjeaking on the topics of sin and juilginent, they did not
speak to them in vocables unknown. And as this sense of a
universal law and a Supr^-me Lawgiver never waned into
total extinction among the tribes of f"erocious and untamed
wanderers — so neither was it altogether stifled by the refined
and intricate polytheism of more enlightened nations. When
the guilty Emj)erois ol Home were tempest-driven by remorse
and tear, it was not that they trembled before a spectre of
tlieir own imagination. VVHicn terror mixed, which it often
did, with the rage and cruelty of Nero, it was the theology
o( conscience which haunted him. It was not the suggestion
ot" a capricious f"aiiey which gave him the disturbance — but
a voice issuing iiom the deep recesses of a moral nature, aa
256 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Stable and uniform througfhout the species as islhe material
structure of humanity ; and in the lineaments of which we
may read that there is a moral regimen among nu-n, and
therefore a moral governor who hath institnled, and who
presides over it. Therefore it was that these imperial des-
pots, the worst and haughtiest of recorded monarchs, stood
aghast at the spectacle of their own worthlessness.
This is not a local or a geographical notion. It is a uni-
versal feeling — to be found wherever men are fonnd, be-
cause interwoven with the constitution of humanity. It is
not, therefore, the peculiarity of one creed or of one country.
It circulates at large throughout the family of man. We
can trace it in the theology of savage life ; nor is it M'holly
overborne by the artificial theology of a more complex and
idolatrous paganism. Neither crime nor civihzation cari ex-
tinguish it; and, whether in the " conscientia scelerum" of
the fierce and frenzied Catiline, or in the tranquil contem-
plative musings of Socrates and Cicero, we find the impres-
sion of at once a righteous and reigning Sovereign.
XXXIL— ON PARLIAMENTARY REFORM.
FOX.
Tt is asked, whether liberty has not gained much of late
years, and whether the popular branch ought not therefore to
be content ? To tins, I answer, that, if liberty has gahied
much, power has gained more.' Power has been indefatiga-
ble, and unwearied in its encroachments ; everything has
run in that direction throngh the whole course of the present
reign.- Nothing, therefore, I say, has been gained to the people,
whilst the constant current has run towards the crown ; and
God knows what is to be the consequence, both to the crown
and the country. I believe we are come to the last moment
of possible remedy. I believe that at this moment the ene-
mies of both are few ; but I firmly believe, that what has
been seen in Ireland, will be experienced also here ; and that,
if we are to go in the same career with convention bills and
acts of exasperation of all kinds, the few will soon become
the many, and that we shall have to pay a severe retribution
for our present pride. What a noble lord said some time
CHARACTER OF JUSTICE. 257
ago of France, may be applicable to this very subject.
What, said he, negotiate with France ? With men, vvliose
hands are reeking with the blood of their sovereign ? What,
sliall we degrade ourselves by going to Paris, and there ask-
ing in humble diplomatic language to be on good understand-
ing with them ? Gentlemen will remember these lofty
words ; and yet we have come to this humiliation ; we have
negotiated with France ! and I shall not be surprised to see
the noble lord himself going to Paris, not at the head of his
regiment, but on a diplomatic commission to those very regi-
cides, to pray to be on a good understanding with them.
Shall we then be blind to the lessons, which the events of
the world exhibit to our view ? Pride, obstinacy, and insult,
must end in concessions, and those concessions must be hum-
ble in proportion to our unbecoming pride.
XXXIIL— CHARACTER OF JUSTICE.
SHERIDAN,
Mr. Hastings, in the magnificent paragraph which con-
cludes this communication, says, " 1 hope it will not be a de-
parture from official language to say, that the majesty of
justice ought not to be ap])roached without solicitation. 8hc
ought not to descend to inflame or provoke, but to withhold
her judgment, until she is called on to determine." But,
my lords, do you, the judges of this land, and the expoiuiders
of its rightful laws, do you approve of this mockery, and call
it tlie character of justice, which takes the form of right to
excite wrong? No, my lords, justice is not thi.s halt and
miserable object ; it is not the inellective bauble of an Indian
jiagnd ; it is not the portentous phantom of despair ; it is not
like any fabled monster, formed in the eclipse of reason, and
fiiuml in some unhallowed grove of superstitious darkness, and
jiolitical dismay ! No, my lords. In the happy rever.se of
all this, I turn from the disgusting caricature to the real im-
age ! Justice I have now before me, august and pure I the
abstract idea of all that would be perfect in the spirits and
the aspirings of men I where the mind rises, where the heart
expands ; where the countenance is ever placid and benign ;
where her favorite attitude is to stoop to the unfortunate ; to
258 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
hear their cry and to help them ; to rescue and relieve, to
succor and save ; majestic from its mercy ; venerable from its
utility ; uplifted, without pride ; firm, without obduracy ; be-
neficent in each preference ; lovely, though in her frown I
On that justice I rely ; deliberate and sure, abstracted
from all party purpose and political speculation, not on
words, but on facts. You, my lords, who hear me, I conjure,
by those rights it is your best privileofe to preserve ; by that
fame it is your best pleasure to inherit ; by all those feelings
which refer to the first term in the series of existence, the
original compact of our nature — our controlling rank in the
creation. This is the call on all, to administer to truth and
equity, as they would satisfy the laws and satisfy themselves
— with the most exalted bliss possible or perceivable tor our
nature, the selt-approving consciousness of virtue, when the
condemnation we look for will be one of the most ample
mercies accomplished for mankind since the creation of the
■world I
XXXIV.— THE HOUR OF DESTINY.
DLBLIX .VATTOX.
The last plank has now. indeed, been shivered, to which
we clung with snch di-spairing Ikith. The last drop added to
the cup of insult and misery, and it has overflowed. Men
of Ireland, the hour of trial and deliverance has at last been
struck by Providence. Calmly contemplate all that God, hu-
manity, and your outraged country now demand of you, aiul
then resolutely dare, heroically conquer, or bravely die.
What have you to fear ? Nothing in Heaven, f()r you are
justified before (rod. You may kneel by your uplifled baltle-
flag, and call Him to witness how you have endured every
wrong— suti'ered, unrevenged, every infamv — and sought re-
dress only with streaming eyes and clasped hautls, and pas-
sionate prayers lor justice I justice ! The cry has gone up to
heaven, and entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth,
but it could not melt the heart of man. We appeal to God,
then, in the day of battle : we claim his vengeance for our
wrongs ; for has he not said : " Vengeance is mine, and I
will repay, saith the Lord ?" Do you fear the judgment of
men ? Look round the earth — every nation cheers you on
THE HOUR OF DESTINY. 259
with words of hope and sympathy and encouraorement. Up-
litt your battle-ria?, and from the two hemispheres, and
across the two oceans, not words alone, but brave hearts and.
armed hands will come to aid you.
Ireland 1 Ireland ! it is no petty insurrection — no local
quarrel — no party triumph that summons you to the field.
The destinies of the world — the advancement of the human
race — depend now on your courasre and success ; for if you
have courao:e, success must follow I Tyranny, and despot-
ism, and injustice, and bigotry, are gathering together the
chains that have been flung off' by every other nation of
Europe, an<l are striving to bind them upon us — the ancient,
brave, free Irish people. It is a holy war to which we are
called — a war against all that is opposed to justice ami hap-
piness and freedom. Conquer, and tyranny is subdued for-
ever. It is a death-struggle now between the oppressor and
the slave — between the murderer and his victim. Strike I —
strike I Another instant, and his foot will be upon your
neck — his dagger at your heart. Will he listen to prayers ?
Will he melt at tears ? We have looked to heaven, and
eurth, and asked, '"Is there no way to save Ireland but by
this dark path ?" We have taken counsel of misery, and
famine, and plague, and said, " Will ye not plead lor us ?
Will not horror grant what justice denies?" But they die I
— the)^ die ! The strong men, and the mothers, and the pale
children, down they fall, thousands upon thousands — a death-
ruin of human corses upon the earth, and their groans vi-
brate with a fearful dissonance through the country, and
their death-M'ail shrieks along the universe, but no pity dims
the eye of the stern murderer who watches their agonies.
Then arose a band of martvrs, and they stood between the
livinir and the deaii, and preaclud the truth, such as the
world has known from the beginning, only they preached it
more eloquently, for they were young and gifted, and genius
burned in their eyes, and patriotism in their hearts — and
God has filled these young noble spirits with a lofty enthusi-
asm for the divinest purpose — the regeneration of their coun-
try. But what care they for genius, or virtue, or patriotism ?
• — these iron macliines. called governments, wlio '' grind
down men's bones to a pale unanimity." So they trembled
at the voices of these young preachers, and strove to crush
them by cunninir and ingenious torture- that made lite more
terrible even limn death ; and soon there were noble limbs
260 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
writhing in prison cells ; and proud hearts beating in ignomin-
ious exile. And now with the groans of the dying, there
went up from our fatal land the shrieks of despairing
mothers, and the weeping of young wives left desolate by
lonely hearths, and the bewildered cries of orphaned children
when they heard they had no father.
XXXV.— THE SAME— CONTINUED.
DUBLIN NATION.
What then ? Is there no hope ? Will ye drag on a
wretched existence, degraded in the eyes of Europe — making
Ireland a by- word amongst the nations ? Will ye sufier
these things, that so your children may rise up in after years
and say, — Was it thus, and thus, when ye were young men,
and ye never lifted your arms to prevent it ? Did ye sell not
only the lives of your brothers, but also the honor of your
country ? Have ye left nothing but a heritage of shame ?
No I (iod has not utterly forsaken us. He has left us one
path, but one. There is no other. Yon must march on it,
or the ruin of your country, the death of the living, and the
vengeance of the unavenged dead will be on your souls. But
here solemnly we acquit the English people of all participation
in forcing on us this dreadful alternative — slavery or war.
Not the brave, generous, English people, but the tyrant, im-
becile ministry are guilty of thus recklessly plunging their
own nation and ours into the nmrderous collision.
One way is indeed yet left, one noble way, and a halle-
lujah of praise might rise to heaven in place of the clash of
arms and the groans of the dying. Let the tlueen come with
all the proud prerogatives of royalty. Let her unbar the
prison-gates, restore the exiles to their homes, restore their
rights to a nation. A woman can yet save thousands from
destruction. If she will not, then amongst the miserable in
the kingdom, there will be one moi-e miserable than all.
That (olueen upon her throne — a crowned Medea — with the
diamonds on her bmw, but the blood of her peoj)le, her chil-
dren, on her soul. Oh ! let thy heart speak, young Q/Ueen,
there is yet time ; hesitate — and the page of history that
T£IE nOCR OF DESTINY. 261
notes thy rcifrn will be scarcely ligible to posterity, for the
blood of thy subjects will have stained it.
Rise, then, men of Ireland, since Providence so wills it.
Rise in your citie> and in your fields, on your green hills, in
your valleys, by your dark mountain passes, by your rivers
and lakes, and ocean-washed shoi'es. Rise as a nation.
England has dissevered the bond of allegiance. Rise, not
now to demand justice from a foreign kingdom, but to make
Ireland an independent kingdom forever. It is no light task,
(rod has appointed you. It is a work of trial and temptation.
Oh ! be steadfast in the trial — be firm to resist the temptation.
You have to combat injustice, therefore you must yourselves
be just. You have to overthrow a despot power, but you
must establish order, not suffer anarchy. Remember, it is
not against individuals, or parties, or sects, you wage war, but
against a system ; overthrow — have no mercy on that system.
Down with it ; dowii with it, even to tlie ground ; but show
mercy to the individuals who are but the instruments of that
system. You look round upon aland — your own land — trod-
den down, and trampled, and insulted, and on a persecuted,
despairng pL'ople. It is your right arm must raise up the
trampled land — must make her again beautiful, and stately,
and rich in blessings. Elevate that despairing people, and
make them free and happy ; but teach them to be majestic
in their force, generous in their clemency, noble in their
triumph. It is a holy mission. Holy must be your motives
and your acts, if you would fulfil it. Act as if your soul's
salvation hung on each deed, and it will, for we stand already
in the shadow of eternity. For us is the combat, but not for
us, perhaps, the triumph. Many a noble heart will lie cold
many a throbbing pulse will be stilled, ere the cry of victory
will arise I It is a solemn thought, that now is the hour of
destiny, when the fetters of seven centuries may at last bo
broken, and by you, men of this generation ; by you, men of
Ireland 1 You are God's instruments ; many of you must be
freedom's martyrs. Oh ! be worthy of the name ; and as
you act as men, as patriots, and as Chi-istians, so will the
blessing rest upon your life here, when you lay it down a
sacrifice for Ireland upon the red battle-field.
262 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XXXVL— VINDICATION FROM TREASON.
m'manus.
My lords, I trust I am enoupfh of a Christian, and enouoh
of a man, to miderstand the awl'ul responsibility of the ques-
tion tliat has been put to me. My lords, standing: on this
my native soil — standinof in an Irish court of justice, and
"before the Irish nation, I have much to say why sentence of
death, or the sentence of the law sliould not be passed upon
me. But, my lords, on enlerinjr this court, I placed my life
— and what is of much more importance to me, my honor —
in the hands of two advocates ; and, my lords, if 1 had ten
thousand lives, and ten thousand honors. T would be content
to place them under the watchful and glorious genius of the
one, and the hi<rh letrul abihty of the other, — my Irrds, I am
content. In tliat reijard I have nothinp: to say. But I have
a word to say, which no advocate, however anxious, can utter
for me. I have this to say. my lords : that whatever part I
may have taken through any struggle for my country's inde-
pendence — whatever part I may have acted in that short
career, I stand before your lordships now with a free heart,
and with a light conscience, ready to abide the issue of your
sentence. And now, my lords, perhaps this is the fittest time
that I may put one sentiment on record, and it is this: —
Standing, as I do, between this dock and the scaHold, it may
be now, or to-morrow, or it may be never ; but whatever the
result may be, I have this sentiment to put on record that
in any part- 1 have taken, I have not b'en actuated by ani-
mosity to Englishmen ; for I have spent some of the happiest
and most prosperous days of my liie there, and in no part of
my career have I been actuated by enmity to Englishmen,
however much I may have felt the injustice of English rule
in this land. My lords, I have nothing more to say. It is
not for having loved England less, but for having loved Ire-
land more, that I stand now before you.
XXXVII.— VINDICATION FROM TREASON
MEAGHER.
It is my intention to say a few words only. I desire that
the last act of a proceeding which has occupied so much of
VINDICATION FROM TRE '-SON. 263
the public time should be of short duration. Nor have I
tlie indelicate wish to close the dreary ceremony of a State
prosecution Avith a vain display of words. Did I fear that
hereafter, when I shall be no more, the country I have tried
to serve would think ill of me, I might indeed avail myself
of tin's solemn moment to vindicate my sentiments and my
conduct. But I have no such fear. The countiy will judge
of those sentiments and that conduct, in a light far difiiireiit
from that in which the jury by wliich 1 have been convicted
will view thein ; and by the country, the sentence which you,
my lords, are about to pronounce, will be remembered only
as the severe and solemn attestation of my rectitude and
truth. Whatever be the language in which that sentence
be spoken, I know that my fate will meet with sympathy,
and that my memory will be honored. In speaking thus,
accuse me not, my lords, of an indecorous presumption. To
the efi'orts 1 have made in a just and noble cause, I ascribe
no vain importance — nor do I claim for those etlbrts any
high reward. But it so happens, and it will ever happen
so, that those who have tried to serve their country, no mat-
ter how weak the effort may have been, are sure to receive
the thanks and blessings of its peojde. With my country,
then, I leaA'^e my memory — my sentiments — my acts — proud-
ly feeling that they require no vindication from me this day.
A jury of my countrymen, it is true, have found me guilty
of the crime for which I stood indicted. For this I entertain
not the slightest feeling of resentment towards them. Influ-
enced as they must have been by the charge of the Lord
Thief Justice, they could have found no other verdict.
What of that charge ? Any strong observations on it, I feel
sincerely would ill befit the solemnity of this scene ; but I
would earnestly beseech of j'ou, my lord — you who preside
on that bench — when the passions and prejudices of this hour
have passed away, to appeal to your own conscience, and to
ask of it, was your charge, as it ought to have been, impar-
tial and indiii'erent between the subject and the crown ?. My
lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in rne, and,
ji'-rhaps, it may seal my fate. But I am here to speak the
truth, whatever it may cost; I am liere 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. F;ir from it, even here — here, where
the thiei, the lib rtine, the murderer, have left their foot-
264 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
prints in the dust ; here, on this spot, where the shadows of
death surround me, and from which I see my early grave in
an unanointed soil opened to receive me — even here, encir-
cled by these terrors, the hope M'hich has beckoned me to the
perilous sea upon which I have been wrecked, still consoles,
animates, enraptures me.
No, I do not despair of my poor old country — her peace,
her liberty, her glory. For that country I can do no moi'e
than bid her hope. To lift this island up — to make her a
benefactor to humanity, instead of being the meanest beggar
in the world, to restore to her her native powers and her an-
cient constitution, this has been my ambition, and this ambi-
tion 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, I deserve no punishment.
Judged by that history, the treason of which I stand convict-
ed, loses all its guilt, is sanctioned as a duty, will be en-
nobled 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 done on every other occasion of my short career, I
now bid farewell to the country of my birth, my passion, and
my death — the country whose misfortunes have invoked my
sympatliies — whose factions I have sought to still — whose in-
tellect I have prompted to a lofty aim — whose freedom has
been my fatal dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of
the love I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought
and spoke and struggled for her freedom — the life of a young
heart, and with that life all the hopes, the honors, the endear-
ments of a happy and an honored home. Pronounce, then,
my lords, the sentence which the laws direct, and T will be
prepared to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its
execution. I hope to be able, with a pure heart and perfect
composure, to appear before a higher tribunal — a tribunal
where a jndge 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.
INFLUENCE OF THE DUTCH. 2G5
XXXVIII.— INFLUENCE OF THE DUTCH.
BOYTON.
Theke is something in the history of the Dutch people
calculated to attract the interest of" every cultivated mind.
Independent of all mere abstract considerations, we cannot
but recollect that the brightest passages iu British history were
those in wliicli England and Holland were wrilten in the
same page — of Elizabeth, the founder of our empire, and the
vindicator of our faith — of Cromwell, who made the name
of Englishman respected as ever was that of ancient Roman
— and the glories of Blenheim, and the laurels of Waterloo,
were won along with Dutch allies, and against French foes.
On one occasion alone, were we united with the French
against the Hollanders ; and abroad or at home, in our foreign
or our domestic relations, it is the darkest and the basest
page in the tablets of our histories — I allude to the reign of
Charles the Second. With a profligate, an unconstitutional,
and a popish government at home, the name of England
was dishonored abroad. The Dutch fleets swept the seas,
our shipping was destroyed even upon the waters of the
Thames, and for once in our history a foreign fleet arrived
within a single tide of London bridge. Nor were we ab-
solved from our shame, until we sought from persecuted
Holland a Deliverer — (No idea can be conveyed of the en-
thusiasm with which this declaration was received) — from
dishonor abroad and despotism at home. No war can be
safe but such as is supported by the good-will of the people.
I am assured from every private account - 1 see it in forced
acknowledgment of the hireling press, who, however en-
slaved to the Government, are constrained to obey the still
higher behests of the popular will, that in England there is
a universal reclamation against this war — and, in Ireland -
in Ireland, what is the feeling ? It has been said by a wise
heathen, that a good man struggling with adversity is a spec-
tacle worthy of gods to witness. But a great and temperate
and wise ])rince, struggling against unjust aggression — assert-
ing with firmness, and not without moderation, the luiques-
tionable rights of his subjects — sup])orted >)y the sacrifices
and cheered by the affections of a unanimous aiul devoted
people, is a spectacle well worthy the adiniratiori of man-
kind.
12
2C0 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
When the Protestants were persecuted for their faith — •
when they were driven from their habitation — when they
were driven to the dreadful alternative of misery and debase-
ment at home, or of sorrow and exile abroad— they recollect
that their great Deliverer came from Holland. They look to
their people as one people with themselves — that the Irish
Protestant and the Dutch Protestant achieved the one victory
at the plains of Aughrim and the waters of the Boyne ; and
although it should still please their Sovereign to continue this
\mprofitable and unhappy contest, they will still maintain to
him the loyalty and devotion with which they have evt-r
been characterized, and still lend their best elibrts for the
maintenance of his dignity and crown. It will be the part
of a wise minister to recollect, that at a most dangerous period
iu the history of Ireland, when the bond of English connec-
tion has dwindled to a thread, when its only security is found
in the attachment of the Protestants to English rule, that he
advises a Sovereign to a war coudennied by every thiidiing
and educated individual of that persuasion ; and with re-
spect to the lower classes, revolting to the strongest prejudices
and most powerful emotions of the heart.
XXXIX.— SPEECH OF GALGACUS TO THE CALEDONIANS.
TACITUS.
As often as I reflect on the origin of the war and our neces-
sities, I feel a strong conviction that this day, and your will,
are about to lay the foundations of Britisti liberty. For we have
all known what slavery is, and no place of retreat lies be-
hind us. The sea even is insecure when the Roman fleet
hovers around. Thus arms and war, ever coveted by the
brave, are now the only refuge of the cowardly. In tormer
actions, in which the Britons fought with various success
against the Romans, our valor was a resource to look to, for
we, the noblest of all the nations, and on that account placed
in its inmost recesses, unused to the spectacle of servitude,
had our eyes ever inviolate from its hateful sight We,
the last of the earth, and of freedom, unknown to fame,
have been hitherto defended by our remoteness ; now the
extreme limits of Britain appear, and the unknown is ev«r
SPEECH OF GAT.GACUS TO THE CALEDONIANS. 2G7
rejrardeil fis the magnificent. No refiii^e is behind us, naiifrht
but the rocks and the waves, and the deadUer Romans : men
whose pride you have in vain sought to deprecate by moder-
ation and subservience. The robbers of" the globe, when the
hind fails they scour the sea. Is the enemy rich, they are
avaricious ; is he poor, they are ambitious, the East and the
West are unable to satiate their desires. Wealth and pov-
erty are alike coveted by their rapacity. To carry oft', mas-
sacre, seize on false pretences, they call empire ; and when
ihey make a desert, they call it peace.
Do not believe the Romans have the same prowess in war
as hist in peace. They have grown great on our divisions;
they know how to turn the vices of men to the glory of their
own army. As it has been drawn together by success, so
disaster will dissolve it, unless you suppose that the Gauls
aud the Germans, and, I am ashamed to say, many of the
Britons, who now lend their blood to a foreign usurpation,
and in their hearts are rather enemies than slaves, can be
retained by faith and afTection. Fear and terror are but
slender bonds of altachnient ; when you remove them, as
fear ceases terror begins. All the incitements of victory are
on our side ; no wives inflame the Romans ; no parents are
there, to call shame on their flight ; they have no country, or
it is elsewhere. Few in number, fearful from ignorance,
gazing on unknown woods and seas, the gods have delivered
them shut in and bound into your hands. Let not their vain
aspect, the glitter of silver and gold, which neither covers or
wounds, alarm you. In the very line of the enemy we shall
find our friends ; the Brilons will recognize their own cause;
the Gauls will recollect their former freedom ; the other Ger-
mans will desert them, as lately the Usipii have done. No
oljjects of" terror are behind them ; naught but empty castles,
aub-ridden colonies ; dissen.sion between cruel masters and
unwilling slaves, sick and discordant cities. Here is a lead-
er, an army ; there are tributes and payments, and the
badges of servitude, which to bear forever, or instantly to
avenge, lies in your arms. Go forth, then, into the field, and
think of your ancestors and your descendants.
2G8 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XL.— SPEECH OF AGRICOLA TO HIS ARMY IN BRITAIN.
TACITUS.
It is now, my fellow-soldiers, the eifrhth year of our service
in Britain. During that time, the genius and good auspices
of the Roman Empire, with your assistance and unwearied
labor, have made the island our own. In all our expeditions,
in every battle, the enemy has felt your valor, and by your
toil and perseverance the very nature of the country has been
conquered. I have be.en proud of my soldiers, and you have
had no reason to blush for your general. We have carried
the terror of our arms beyond the limits of any other soldiers,
or any former general ; we have penetrated to the extremity
of the land. This was formerly the boast of vainglory, the
mere report of fame ; it is now historical truth. We have
gained possession, sword in hand ; we are encamped on the
utmost limits of the island. Britain is discovered, and by the
discovery conquered.
In our long and laborious marches, when we were obliged
to traverse moors, and fens, and rivers, and to climb steep
and craggy mountains, it was still the cry of the bravest
amongst you, When shall we be led to battle ? When stiall
we see the enemy ? Behold them now before you I They
are hunted out of their dens and caverns ; your wish is
granted, and the field of glory lies open to your swords. One
victory raoi-e makes this new world our own ; but remember
that a defeat involves us all in the last distress. If we con-
sider the progress of our arms, to look back is glorious ; the
tract of country that lies behind us, the forests which you have
explored, and the estuaries which you have passed, are monu-
ments of eternal fame. But our fame can only last, while
we press forward on the enemy. If we give ground, if we
think of a retreat, we have the same difficulties to surmount
again. The success, which is now our pride, will in that
case be our worst misfortune. Which of you would not
rather die with honor, tlian live in infamy? But life and
honor are this day inseparable ; they are fixed to one spot.
Should fortune declare against us, we die on the utmost limits
of the world ; and to die where nature ends, cannot be
deemed inglorious.
In woods and forests, the fierce and noble animals attack
the huntsmen and rush on certain destruction ; but the
INVECTIVE AGAINST ^SCHINES. 269
timorous herd is soon dispersed, scared by the soimd and
elatuor of the chase. In like manner, the brave and warlike
Britons have lonjr since perished by the sword. The refuse
of tlie nation still remains. They have not stayed to make
head against yon ; they are hnnted down ; they are caught
in the toils. Benumbed with fear, they stand motionless on
yonder spot, which you will render forever memorable by a
glorious victory. Here you may end your labors, and close a
scene of fitly years by one great, glorious day. Let your
country see, and let the commonwealth be.-ir witness, if the
conquest of Britain has been a lingering work, ilthe seeds of
rebellion have not been crushed, that we at least have done
our duty.
XLI— INVECTIVE AGAINST ^SCHINES.
DEMOSTHENKS.
When you had obtained your enrolment among our citi-
zens — by what means I shall not mention — but when you
had obtained it, you instantly chose out the most honorable
of employments, that of under-serivener, and assistant to the
lowest of our public officers. And when you retired from
this station, where you had been guilty of all those practices
you charge on others, you were careful not to disgrace any
of the past actions of your life. No, by the powers I — you
hired yourself to Simylus and Socrates, those deep-groaning
tragedies, as they were called, and acted third characters.
You pillaged the ground of other men for figs, grapes, and
olives, like a fruiterer ; which cost you more blows than ever
your playing — which was in effect playing for your life ; for
there was an implacable, irreconcilable war declared between
you and the spectators, whose stripes you felt so often and so
severely, that you may well deride those as cowards who are
inexperienced in such perils.
Take then the whole course of your life, iEschines, and
of mine ; compare them ■without heat or acrimony. You
taught writing, I learned it : you were an instructor, I was
the instructed : you danced at the games, 1 presided over
them : you wrote as a clerk, I pleaded as an advocate : you
v,'cre an ncAor in the theatres, I a spectator : you broke down,
i biased : you ever took counsel tor our enemies, I ibr our
270 THE BOOK OF ELOQUKNCE.
country. In fine, now on this day the point at issue is — Am
I, yet unstained in cliaracter, worthy of a crown ? while to
you is reserved the lot of a calumniator, and you are in dan-
.ffcr of being silenced by not having obtained a fifth part of
the votes.
I have not fortified the city with stone, nor adorned it
with tiles, neither do I take any credit for such thin<rs. But
if you would behold my works aright, you will find arms,
and cities, and stations, and harbors, and ships, and horses,
and those who are to make use of them in our defence.
This is the rampart I have raised for Attica, as much as hu-
man wisdom could effect : with these I fortified, not the Pi-
raeus and the city only, but the whole country. I never
sank before the arms or cunning of Philip. No ! it was by
the supineness of your own generals and allies that he tri-
umphed.
XLIL— RELIGIOUS LIBERTY.
SYDNEY SMITH.
We preach to our congregations, sir, that a tree is known
by its fruits. By the fruits it produces I will judge your sys-
tem. What has it done for Ireland ? New Zealand is
emerging — Otaheite is emerging — Ireland is not emerging —
she is still veiled in darkness — her children, safe under no
law, live in the very shadow of death. Has your system of
exclusion made Ireland rich ? Has it made Ireland loyal ?
Has it made Ireland free ? Has it made Ireland happy ?
How is the wealth of Ireland proved ? Is it by the naked,
idle, suffering savages, who are slumbering on the mud floor
of their cabins ? In what does the loyalty of Ireland consist ?
Is it in the eagerness with which they would range them-
selves under the hostile banner of any invader, for your de-
struction and for your distress ? Is it liberty when men
breathe and move among the bayonets of English soldiers ?
Is their happiness and their history anything but such a
tissue of murders, burnings, hanging, famine, and disease, as
never existed before in the annals of the world ? This is a
system which, I am sure, with very different intentions, and
different views of its effects, you are met this day to uphold.
These are the dreadful consequences, which those laws your
SECURITIES FROM CATHOLIC IRELAND. 271
petition prays may be continued, have protluced upon Ire-
land. From the principles of that system, from the cruelty
of those laws, I turn, and turn with the homage of my whole
heart, to that memorable proclamation which the head of our
church — the present monarch of these realms — has lately
made to his hereditary dominions of Hanover — Tluit no man
should be subjected .to civil i?icapacifies o?i account of reli-
gious oitinions. Sir, there have been many memorable things
done in this reign. Hostile armies have been destroyed, fleets
have been captured, formidable combinations have been
broken to pieces — but this sentiment, in the mouth of a
king, deserves more than all glories and victories the notice
of that historian who is destined to tell to future ages the
deeds of the English people. I hope he will lavish upon it
every gem which glitters in the cabinet of genius, and so up-
hold it to the world that it will be remembered when Water-
loo is forgotten, and when the fall of Paris is blotted out
irom the metnory of man.
Of the Catholic emancipation bill, I shall say, that it will
be the foundation stone of a lasting religious peace ; that it
will give to Ireland not what it wants, but what it most
wants, and without which no other boon will be of any
avail.
When this bill passes, it will be a signal to all the reli-
gious sects of that unhappy country to lay aside their mutual
hatred, and to live in peace, as equal men should live under
equal law — when this bill passes, the Orange flag will fall —
when this bill passes, the Green flag of the rebel will fall — ■
when this bill passes, no other flag will fly in the land of
Erin than that flag which blends the lion with the harp —
that flag which, wherever it does fly, is the sign of freedom
and of joy — the only banner in Europe which floats over a
limited king and a free people.
XLIIL— SECURITIES FROM CATHOLIC IRELAND.
PHILLIPS.
Why is it that in the day of peace they demand securities
from a people who in the day of danger constituted their
strength? When were they denied every security that was
2 I 2 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
roasonable ? Was it in 1776, when a cloud of enemies,
hovering on our coast, saw every heart a shield, and every
hill a fortress ? Did they want securities in Catholic Spain ?
Were they denied securities in Catholic Portu<ral ? What is
their security to-day in Catholic Canada ? Return — return
to us our own glorious Wellington, and tell incredulous Eng-
land what was her security amid the lines of Torres Vedras,
or on the summit of Burrossa ! Rise, libelled martyrs of the
Peninsula ! — rise from your " gory bed," and give securities
for your childless parents I No, there is not a Catholic
family in Ireland, that for the glory of Great Britain is not
weeping over a child's, a brother's, or a parent's grave, and
yet still she clamors for securities ! Oh I Prejudice ! where
is thy reason ! Oh I Bigotry I where is thy blush I If ever
there was an opportunity for England to combine gratitude
with justice, and dignity with safety, it is the present. Now,
when Irish blood has crimsoned the cross upon her naval
flag, and an Irish hero strikes the harp to victory on the
tummit of the Pyrenees. England — England ! do not hesi-
tate. This hour of triumph may be but the hour of trial ;
another season may see the splendid panorama of European
vassalage, arrayed by your ruthless enemy, and glittering
beneath the ruins of another capital — perhaps of London.
Who can say it ? A few months since, Moscow stood as
splendid, as secure. Fair rose the morn on the patriarchal
city — the Empress of her nation, the queen of commerce,
the sanctuary of strangers ; her thousand spires pierced the
very heavens, and her domes of gold reflected back the sun-
beams. The spoiler came ; he marked her for his victim ;
and, as if his very glance were destiny, even before the night-
fall, with all her pomp, and wealth, and happiness, she with-
ered from the world I A heap of ashes told where once stood
Moscow I
XLIV.—BLESSINGS OF EDUCATION.
PHILLIPS.
No doubt, you have all personally considered — no doubt,
you have all personally experienced, that of all the blessings
which it has pleased Providence to allow us to cultivate, there
is not one which breathes a purer fragrance, or bears a
BLESSINGS OF EDUCATION". . 273
heavenlier aspect than education. It is a companion which
no mistbrtuiie can il(»press, no chme destroy, no enemy
alienate, no despotism enslave ; at home a friend, abroad an
introduction, in solitude a solace, in society an ornament ; it
chastens vice, it guides virtue, it gives at once a grace and
government to genius. Without it, what is man ? A splen-
did slave! a reasoning savage, vacillating between the dig-
nity of an intelligence derived from God, and the degradation
of passions participated with brutes ; and in the accident of
their alternate ascendency, shuddering at the terrors of an
hereafter, or embracing the horrid hope of annihilation.
What is this wondrous world of his residence ?
" A mighty maze, and all without a plan"
a dark and desolate and dreary cavern, without wealth, or
ornament, or order. But light up M'ithin it the torch of
knowledge, and how wondrous the transition ! The seasons
change, the atmosphere breathes, the landscape lives, earth
unfolds its fruits, ocean rolls in its magnificence, the heavens
display their constellated canopy, and the grand animated
spectacle of nature rises revealed before him, its varieties
regulated, and its mysteries resolved I The phenomena which
bewilder, the prejudices which debase, the superstitions which
enslave, vanish before education. Like the holy symbol which
blazed upon the cloud before the hesitating Constantiuc, if
man follow but its precepts, purely, it will not only lead him
to the victories of this world, but open the very portals of
omnipotence for his admission. Cast your eye over the mon-
umental map of ancient grandeur, once studded with the
stars of empire, and the splendors of philosophy. What erect-
ed the little state of Athens into a powerful commonwealth,
placing in her hand the sceptre of legislation, and wreathing
round her brow the imperishable chaplet of literary fame ?
what extended Rome, the haunt of banditti, into universal
empire ? what animated Sparta with that high, uubendiug,
adamantine courage, which conquered nature herself and has
fixed her in the sight of future ages, a model of public virtue,
and a proverb of national independeuce? What but those
wise ])ublic institutions which strengthened their minds with
early application, informed their infancy with the ju-int^ples
of action, and sent them into the world, too vigilant to be
deci-ived by its calms, and too vigorous to be shaken by its
whirlwinds !
12*
274 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCK.
XLV.— WRONGS OF IRELAND.
GRATTAN.
Hereafter, when these things shall he history, your ige
of thraldom and poverty, your sudden resurrection, commer-
cial redress, and miraculous armament, shall the historian
stop to declare, that here the principal men amongst us fell
into mimic traces of gratitude : they were awed by a weak
ministry, and bribed by an empty treasury ; and when liberty
was within their grasp, and the temple opened her folding-
doors, and the arms of the people clanged, and the zeal of
the nation urged and enconi-aged them on, that they fell
down, and were prostituted at the threshold.
1 will not be answered by a public lie in the shape of an
amendment : neither, speaking for the subjects' freedom, am
I to hear of faction. I wish for nothing but to breathe in this
onr island, in common with my fellow-subjects, the air of
liberty ; I have no ambition, unless it be the ambition to break
your chains, and contemplate your glory. I never will be
satisfied as long as the meanest cottager in Ireland has a
link of 'ritish chain clanking in his rags : he may be naked,
he shall not be in irons. And I do see the time is at hand, the
spirit is gone forth, the declaration is planted : and though
great men shonld apostatize, yet the cause will live : and
though the public speaker should die, yet the immortal fire
shiiU ontlast the organ which conveyed it, and the breath of
liberty, like the word of the holy man, shall not die with the
prophet, but survive him.
XLVI.— ON THE FUNERAL OF HENRIETTA.
BOSSUET.
It is not surprising that the memory of a great queen —
the daughter, the wife, the mother of monarchs — should at-
tract you from all quarters to this melancholy ceremony ; it
will bring forcibly before your eyes one of those awful exam-
ples which demonstrate to the world the vanity of which it
is composed. You will see in her single life the extremes of
things : felicity without bounds, miseries without parallel ; a
TRIAL OF THE CHURCH. 275
lontr and peaceable enjoyment of one of the most noble crowns
in the nuiverse — all that birth and grandeur could conler
that was glorious — all that adv'ersity and sufi'ering could ac-
cumulate that was disastrous ; the good cause attended at
first with some success, then involved in the most dreadful
disasters. Revolutions unheard of, rebellion long restrained,
at length reigned triumphant ; no curb there to license, no
laws in force. Majesty itself violated by bloody hands —
usurpaiion and tyranny, under the name of liberty — a fugi-
tive queen, who can find no retreat in her three kingdoms,
and was forced to seek in her native country a melancholy
exile. Nine sea-voyages undertaken against her will by a
tjueen, in spite of wintry tempests, — a throne unworthily
overturned, and miraculously reestablished. Behold the lesson
which God has given to kings ! thus does He manifest to the
world the nothingness of its pomp and grandeur. If our
words fail, if language sinks beneath the grandeur of such a
subject, the simple narrative is more touching than aught
that words can convey. The heart of a great queen, former-
'y elevated by so long a course of prosperity, then steeped in
all the bitterness of affliction, will speak in sufficiently
touching language ; and if it is not given to private individ-
uals to teach the proper lessons from so mourni'ul a catas-
trophe, the King of Israel has supplied the words — " Hear,
ye great of the earth ! Take lesson, ye rulers of the
■world I"
XLVII.— TRiAL OF THE CHURCH.
Gn.Fn-T.AN.
Thkrf is coming upon the church a current of doubt,
deeper far and darker than ever swelled against her before —
a current strong in learning, crested with genius, strenuous
yet calm in progress. It seems the last grand trial of the
truth of our faith. Against the battlements of Zion a motley
throng have gathered themselves together. Atheists, pan-
theists, donhters, open foes, secret foes, and bewildered
friends of Christianity, are all in the field, although no trum-
pet has openly been blown, and no charge publicly sounded.
There are the old des])eradoes of infidelity — the last follow-
ers of Paine and Voltaire ; there is the soberer and stolidor
276 . THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Owen and his now scanty and sleepy troop ; then follow the
Commuuists of France — a fierce but disorderly crew ; the
commentators of Germany come, too, with pickaxes in their
hands, crying, " Raze, raze it to its foundations I" Then
you see the garde mobile — the vicious and the vain youth
of Europe ; and on the outskirts hangs, cloudy and uncertain,
a small but select band, whose wavering surge is surmounted
by the dark and lofty crests of Carlyle and Emerson.
" Their swords are a thousand" — their purposes are various ;
in this, however, all agree, that historic d Christianity ouglit
to go down before advancing civilization. Sterling and some
of his co-mates the merciful cloud of death has removed from
the fields, while others stand in deep uncertainty, looking in
agony and in prayer above.
While thus the foeman is advancing, what is Zion about ?
Shame and alas I her towers are well nigh unguarded ; her
watchmen have deserted their stations, and are either squab-
bUng in the streets with each other, or have fallen asleep.
Many are singing psalms, few are standing to their arms.
Some are railing at the enemy from the safest towers. The
watchmen who first perceived the danger and gave the alarm,
almost instantly fell back in death.
Shall, then, old and glorious b ittlements be trodden down ?
Between the activity of their foes and the supineness of their
friends, must they perish ? No ; vain is perhaps the help of
man, but we, too, will look above. We will turn our eyes
to the hills whence the aid is expected. ()ur grand hope as
to the prospects of the world and the church has long lain
in the unchanged and the unchangeable love of Christ. As
long as his great, tremulous, unsetting eye continues, like a
star, to watch her struggles as the eye of love the tossiugs of
disease, we shall not fear. And whenever the time arrives
for that " Bright and Morning Star" starting from his sphere
to save his church, he will no longer delay his coming, wheth-
er in power or in presence. To save a city like Zion, there
mio-ht fall the curtain of universal darkness. That curtain
shall not i'all, but there may, in lieu of it, burst the bla/e
of celestial light ; and who can abide the day of that appear-
ing ?
DUTY IN A TIME OF WAR. 277
XLVIIL— DUTY IN A TIME OF WAR.
CHALMERS.
Life is short, ami its anxieties are soon over. The glories
even oi" the conqueror will soon find their hidinjr-phice in
the prave. In a few years, and that power which appals
the world will leel all the weakness of mortality — the sen-
tence of all must pursue him — the fate of all must overtake
him ; he must divest himself of his glories and lie down with
the meanest of his slaves — that ambition which aspires to
the dominion of the whole earth, will at last have but a
spot of dust to repose on — it M'ill be cut short in the midst
of its triumphs — it will sleep from all its anxieties, and be
fast locked in the inseusibility of death. There the wicked
cease from troublintr, and the weary are at rest.
We live in a busy and interesting period. Every year
gives a new turn to the history of the world, and throws a
new complexion over the aspect of political afiairs. The
wars of other times shrink into iusiguificance when com-
pared Mwth the grand contest which now embroils the whole
of civilized society. They were paltry in their origin — tliey
were trilling in their object — they were humble and insig-
nificant in their consequences. A war of the last generation
left the nations ol' Europe in the same relative situation in
which it found them ; but war now is on a scale of mag-
nitude that is quite unexampled in the history of modern
times. Not to decide some point of jealousy or to secure
some trifling possessions, it embraces a grander interest — it
involves the great questions of Existence and Liberty. Jlvery
■war is signalized with the wreck of some old empire, and the
establishment of a new one — all the visions of romance are
authenticated in the realilies which pass before us — the emi-
gration of one royal family, the flight and imprisonment of
another, the degradation of a third to all the obscurity of
private life — these are events which have ceased to astonish
us because their novelty is over, and they are of a piece with
those wonderful changes which the crowded history of these
few years |tresents to our remcmbranfre.
Let us rise in gratitude to Heaven that we stand aloof from
this theatre of convulsions. Our security depends npon our-
Belves. No wisdom, no energy can save us, if we flinch from
the cause of patriotism and virtue. The strength of a
278 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
country lies in the heart of its inhabitants. Let this be a day
of fasting ; but we should remember that to fast is to repent,
and to repent is to reform. It is not the visionary reform
of political enthusiasts that I speak of — it is a relbrm of
the lives and hearts of individuals — that reform wliich
would settle the reign of integrity in the councils of our
nation, and would settle the influence of piety among our
families and cottages — that reform which would descend to
your children, and secure the character of yet future ages —
that reform of which every great man should give the
example that every poor man should be proud to imitate —
that reform which would reconcile all the orders of the com-
munity, and make them feel that they had but one cause and
one interest — that reform which would banish prejudice and
disadection from the land, and bind to the throne of a beloved
sovereign the homage of a virtuous and aflectionate people.
XLIX.— ON THE CONSPIRACY OF CATILINE.
CICERO.
It is now a long time, conscript fathers, that we have trod
amidst the dangers and machinations of this conspiracy ; but I
know not how it comes to pass, the full maturity of all those
crimes, and of this long-ripening rage and insolence, has now
broke out during the period of my consulship. Should he
alone be removed from this powerful band of traitors, it may
abate perhaps our fears and anxieties for a while, but the
danger will still remain, and continue lurking in the veins
and vitals of the Republic : for as men oppressed with a
severe fit of illness, and laboring under the raging heat of
a fever, are often at first seemingly relieved by a drauifht of
cold water, but afterwards find the disease return on them
with redoubled fury, in like manner this distemper which has
seized the commonwealth, eased a little by the punishment
of this traitor, will from his surviving associates soon assume
a new force. Wherefore, conscript fathers, let the wicked
retire ; let them separate themselves from the honest ; let
them rendezvous in one place. In fine, as I have often said,
let a wall be between them and us : let them cease to lay
snares for the consul in his own house ; to beset the tribunal
A DEFENCE FROM IMrEACHMENT. 2'79
of the city praetor; to invest the senate-house with armed
ruffians, and to prepare tire-balls and torches lor burniufj the
city ; ill short, let every man's sentiments with regard to the
public be inscribed on his ibrehead. Tliis I engafre for and.
promise, conscript fathers, that by the dilig-ence of the consuls,
the weight of your authority, the courage and Hrmness of
Roman knights, the unanimity of all the honest, Catiline
being driven from the city, you shall behoM all his treasons
detected, exposed, crushed, and })uiiished. VV^ith these omens,
Catiline, of all prosperity to the Republic, but of destruction
to thyself and all those who have joined themselves with thee
in all kinds of parricide, go thy way then to this im[)ious and
abominable war ; while thou, Jupiter, whose religion was
established with the foundation of this city, whom we truly
call t?tator, the stay and prop of this empire, wilt drive this
man and his accomplices from thy altars and temples, from
the houses and walls of the city, I'rour the lives and fortunes
of us all ; and wilt destroy with eternal punishments, both
living and dead, all the haters of good men, the enemies of
their country, the plunderers of Italy, now confederated in
this detestable league and partnership of villany.
L.— A DEFENCE FROM IMPEACHMENT.
MARAT.
T siiL'DDERED at tho Vehement and disorderly movements
of the |te()|jle, when 1 saw them prolonged beyond the neces-
sary point ; in onh-r that these movements should not forever
fail, to avoid the necessity of their recommencement, I proposed
that some wise and just citizen should be n.imed, known for
his attachment to freedom, to take the direction of them, and
render them conducive to the great ends of public freedom If
the people could have appreciated the wisdom of that proposal,
if they had adopted it in all its plenitude, they w.mld have
swept oil" on the day the Bastile was taken, five hundred
heads from llie conspiralors. Everything, had this been done,
would now have bc-n tranquil For the same reason, 1 have
frequently propo.se(i to give instantaneous authority to a wise
man, uncier the name of tribune, or dictator, —the title signi-
fies nothing ; but the proof thai 1 meant to chain him to tho
280 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
public service is, that I insisted that he should have a bullet
at his feet, and that he should have no power but to strike
ofT criminal heads. Such was my opinion ; I have expressed
it freely in private, and given it all the currency possible in
my writings ; I have affixed my name to these compositions ;
I am not asliamed of them ; if you cannot comprehend them,
so much the worse for you. The days of trouble are not yet
terminated ; already a hundred thousand patriots have been
massacred because you Avould not listen to my voice ; a hun-
dred thousand more will sufier, or are menaced with destruc-
tion ; if the people falter, anarchy will never come to an end.
1 have diHused these opinions among the public ; if they are
dangerous, let enlightened men refuta them with the proofs
in their hands; for my own part, I declare I would be the
first to adopt their ideas, and to give a signal proof of my de-
sire for peace, order, and the supremacy of the laws, when-
ever I am convinced of their justice.
Am I accused of ambitious views ? I will not con-
descend to vindicate myself; examine my conduct; judge
my life. If I had chosen to sell my silence for profit, I might
have now been the object of favor to the court. What, on
the other hand, has been my fate ? I have buried myself in
dungeons ; condemned myself to every species of danger ; the
sword of twenty thousand assassins is perpetually suspended
over me ; I preached the truth with my head laid on the
block. Let those who are now terrifying you with the shad-
ow of a dictator, unite with me ; unite with all true patriots,
press the assembly to expedite the great measures which will
secure the happiness of the people, and I will cheerfully
mount the scaiiold any day of my life.
LI.— LIBERTY IN" THE REVOLUTION OF 1830.
ST. CHAMANS.
The Revolution of 1830 has lighted anew the torch of
experience on many controverted points, and I appeal with
confidence upon them to the many men of good faith who
exist among our adversaries. They seek like us the good of
our common country, and the welfare of humanity ; they
hold that in the charter there was too little political power
LIBERTY IN THE REVOLUTION OF 1830. 2S1
conferred upon the people. Let tliem judge now, for the
})roof has been decisive. They will Hud that on every occa-
sion, without one exception, in which political power, unre-
strained by strict limils, has been conferred U])on the people,
personal liberty has heen destroyed : that the latter has lost
as much as the former has gained. Reflect upon the fate of
personal freedom under the democratic constitutions which
promised the greatest possible extension of individual lib-
erty. Was there liberty under the Constituent Assembly, for
tliose who were massacred in the streets, and whose heads
tliey carried on the ends of pikes ? Was there liberty for
the seigniors whose cliateaux they burnt, and who saved
their lives only by fliglit ? Was there liberty lor those who
were massacred at Avignon, or wliom the committee of Ja-
cobins tore from the bosoms of their families to conduct to
the guillotine ? Was there liberty for the l<ing, who was not
permitted to move beyond the bai'riers of Paris, nor venture
to breathe the fresh air at the distance of a league from the
city? No ; there was liberty only lor their oppressors: the
only freedom was that which the uicendiaries, jailers, and as-
sassins enjoyed.
iSince the Revolution of July, has there been any freedom
for the clergy who do not venture to show themselves in the
streets of Paris, even in that dress which is revered by savage
tribes ; for the Catholics, who can no longer attend mass but
at midnight ; for the Judges, who are threatened in the dis-
charge of their duties by the aspirants for their places ; for
the Electors, whose votes are overturned with the urns that
contain them, and who return lacerated and bleeding from
the place of election ; for the Citizens, arbitrarily thrust out
of the National Guard; for the Archbishop of Paris, whose
house was robbed and plundered wit.h impunity, at the very
moment when the ministers confessed in the chambers they
could allege nothing against him; for the officers of all grades,
even the generals expelled from their situations at the caprice
of their inti-riors ; for the Curates of churches, when the gov-
ernment, trembling before the sovereign multitude, closed the
churches to save them from tlie profanation and sacking of
the mob ; fijr the King himsell', condenuied by their despotism,
to lay aside the arrrls of his race ? These evils have ari,sen
from confounding personal with political liberty; a distinction
which lies at the foundation of these matters.
282 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LIT.— THE TRUE CONQUERORS.
BROUGHAM.
There is nothino: which the adversaries of improvement
xre more wont to make themselves merry with, than what
is termed the ''march of in'rUcct f and here I will confess,
that I thiidf, as iar as the phrase goes, they are in the right.
It is a very ahsurd, because a very incorrect expression. It
>s httle calculated to describe the operation in question. It
Joes not picture an image at all resembling the proceeding
of the true friends of mankind. It much more resembles
the progress of the enemy to all improvement. The conquer-
or moves in a march. He stalks onward with the " pride,
pomp, and circumstance of war" — banners Hying -shouts
rending the air — guns thundering - and mai'tial music peal-
ing, to drown the shrieks of the wounded, and the lamenta-
tions for the slain. Not thus the schoolmaster, in his peace-
ful vocation. He meditates and purposes in secret the plans
which are to bless mankind ; he slowly gathers round him
those who are to further their execution — he quietly, though
firmly, advances in his humble path, laboring steadily, but
calmly, till he has opened to the light all the recesses of
ignorance, and torn up by tlie roots all the weeds of vice.
His is a progress not to be compared with anything like a
march — but it leads to a far more brilliant triumph, and to
laurels more imperishahle than the destroyer of his species,
the scourge of the world, ever won.
Such men, men deserving the glorious title of Teachers of
Mankind —I have found, laboring conscientiously, though,
perhaps, obscurely, in their blessed vocation, wherever I have
gone. I have found them, and shared their fellowship,
among the daring, the ambitious, the ardent, the mdomita-
bly active French ; I have found them among the persever-
ing, resolute, industrious Swiss ; I have found them among
the laborious, the warm-hearted, the enthusiastic Grermans ;
I have found them among the high-minded, but enslaved
Italians ; and in our own country, God be thanked, their
numbers everywhere abound, and are every day increasing.
Their calling is high and holy ; their fame is the prosperity
of nations ; their renown will fill the earth in alter ages ; in
proportion as it sounds not far off in their own times. Each
one of these great teachers of the world, pos.sessing his soul
ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE-TRADE. 283
in pcapo, performs his appointed course — awaits in patience
the fultlhneiit of the promises, and resting from his hibors,
bequeaths his memory to the <reneration whom his works
Iiave blessed, and sleeps under the humble but not inglorious
epitaj)h, commemorating " one in whom mankind lost a
friend, and no man got rid of an enemy."
LIIL— ABOLITIOIN' OF THE SLAVE-TRADE.
WILBKIlFOReE.
T CANXOT but persuade myself that whatever diflerence of
opinion there may have been, ^^■e shall ihis day be at lenglh
unanimous. I cannot believe that a British House of Com-
mons will give its sanction to the contuiuance of this infer-
nal trallic, the African slave-trade. We were for a while
ignorant of its real nature ; but it has now been completely
developed, and laid open to view in all its horrors. Never
was there, indeed, a sj'stem so big with wickednesig and cruel-
ty ; it attains to the fullest measure of pure, unmixed, unso-
phisticated wickedness ; and scorning all competition and
comparison, it stands without a rival in the secure, undis-
puted possession of its detestable preeminence.
But I rejoice, sir, to see that the people of Great Britain,
have stepped forward on this occasion, and expressed their
sense more generally and unequivocally than in any instance
wherein they have ever before interfered. 1 should in vain
attempt to express to you the satisfaction with which it has
filled my mind to see so great and glorious a ciuicnrretice, to
see this great cause triunqjliing over all lesser dif^tiiietions,
and substituting cordiality and harmony in the place of dis-
trust and opposition. Nor have its eflects amongst ourselves
been in this respect less distinguished or less honorable. It
has raised the character of Parliament. Whatever may liave
bi't'u thought or said concerning the unrestrained prevaleiicy
of our [)olitical divisions, it has I auLi'ht surrounding nations, it
lias taught our admiring country, that there are subjects still
beyond the reach of j)arty. There is a -point of elevation
where we get above the jarrinu: of the discordant elements that
rn.iric and agitate the v.ih.' brjovv. In our ordinary atmos-
I'herc, clouds and vapors oU^eurc the air, and we are the
284 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
sport of a thousand conflicting winds and adverse currents ;
but here, we move in a higher region, where all is pure, and
clear, and serene, free from perturbation and discomposure —
" As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm;
The' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."
Here, then, on this august eminence, let us build the temple
of benevolence ; let us lay its foundation deep in truth and
justice, and let the inscription on its gates be, "peace and
good-will towards men." Here let us oiler the first-fruits of
our prosperity ; here let us devote ourselves to the service of
these wretched men, and go forth burning with a generous
ardor to compensate, if possible, for the injuries we have
liitherto brought on tliem. Let us heal the breaches we have
made. Let us rejoice in becoming the happy instruments of
arresting the progress of rapine and desolation, and of intro-
ducing into that immense country the blessings oi' Christianity,
the comforts of civilized, the sweets of social life. I am i)er-
suaded, sir, there is no man who hears me, who would not
join with me in hailtng the arrival of this happy period ; who
does not feel his mind cheered and solaced by the contempla-
tion of those delightful scenes.
LIV.— FUTILITY OF EFFORTS TO STAY REFORM.
SYDNEY SMITH.
I HAVE spoken so often on this subject, that I am sure both
you and the gentlemen here present will be obliged to me for
saying but little, and that favor I am as willing to confer, as
you can be to receive it. I feel most deeply the event which
has taken place, because, by putting the two houses of Par-
liament in collision with each other, it will impede the pub-
lic business, and diminish the public prosperity. I feel it as
a churchman, because I cannot but blush to see so many dig-
nitaries of the church arrayed against the wishes and happi-
ness of the people. I feel it more than all, because I believe
it will sow the seeds of deadly hatred between the aristocracy
and the great mass of the people. The loss of the bill I do
PLEA IN "bARDELL VS. PICKWICK." 285
not feel, and for the best of all possible reasons — ^because I
have not the sli-ihtest idea it is lost. I have no more doubt,
before the expiration of the winter, that this bill will pass,
than I have that the annual tax bills will pass, and a greater
certainty than this no man can have, for Franklin tells us,
there are but two things certain in this world — death aiul
taxes. As for the possibility of the House of Lords prevent-
ing ere long a reform of Parliament, I hold it to be the most
absurd notion that ever entered into human imagination. I
do not mean to be disrespectful, but the attempt of the lords
to stop the pr.igress of reform, reminds me very forcibly of the
great storm of Sidmouth, and of the conduct of the excellent
Mrs. Partington on that occasion. In the winter of 1824,
there set in a great flood upon that town — the tide rose to an
incredible height — the waves rushed in upon tlie houses, and
everything was threatened with destruction. In the midst of
this sublime and terrible storm. Dame Partington, who lived
upon tlie beach, was seen at the door of her house with mop
and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water,
and vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The At-
lantic was roused. Mrs. Partington's spirit was up ; but I
need not tell you that the contest was unequal. The Atlantic
Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. She was excellent at a slop, or
a puddle, but she should not have meddled witli a tempest,
(^entlfinen, be at your ease — be quiet and steady. You will
beat Mrs. Partington.
LV.— PLEA OF SERGEANT BUZFUZ, IN "BARDELL vs.
PICKWICK."
CHARLES PICKENS.
The plaintiff! gentlemen, the plaintiff is a widow ; yes,
gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr Bardell, alter enjoying
li>r many years, the esteem and confidence of his sovereign,
as one of the guardians of his royal -revenues, glided almost
imperceptibly from the world, to seek elsewhere f()r that
repose and peace which a custom-house can never alionl.
Sometime before his death lie h;ul stampeil his likeness u|)(in
a little boy. With this lillh- Imy, the only |)l('dgi- oi' her tlc-
parted exciseman, Mrs. Ijardell shruids. from the world, and
286 THE DOOK OK ELOQUENCE.
courted the retirement and tranquillity of Goswell-street; and
here she placed in her Irout parlor window a written placard,
bearing this inscription — " Apartments furnished for a sinirle
gentleman. Inquire within." I entreat the attention of the
jury to the wording of this document — " Apartments fur-
nished for a single gentleman !" Mrs. Bardeli's opinions of
the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long con-
templation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband.
She had no fear — she had no distrust — she had no suspicion
— all was confidence and reliance. " Mr. Bardell," said the
widow ; " Mr. Bardell was a man of honor — Mr. Bardell
was a man of his word — Mr. Bardell was no deceiver — Mr.
Bardell was once a single gentleman himself; to single
gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for comfort,
and for consolation — in single gentlemen I shall perpetually
see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, whon
ho first won my young and untried affections; to a single
gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." Actuated by
this beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses
of our imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely and desolate
widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her
innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in
her parlor window. Did it remain there long ? No. The
serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, the mine was
preparing, the sapper and miner was at work. Before the
bill had been in the parlor window three days — three days,
gentlemen — a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all
the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster,
knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardeli's house. He inquired
within ; he took the lodgings ; and on the very next day he
entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick —
Pickwick, the defendant. ^
Of this man Pickwick I will say little ; the subject presents
but few attractions ; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor
are you, gentlemen, the men to delight in the contemplation
of revolting heartlessness and systematic villany. I say sys-
tematic villany, gentlemen, and when I say systematic vil-
lany, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick, if he be in court
as I am informed he is, that it would have been more decent
in him, more becoming, in better judgment, and in better
taste, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentlemen,
that any gestures of dissent or disapprol)ation in which he
may indulge in this court will not go down with you ; that
PLEA IN " BAUDELL VS, nCKWICK." 2SV
you will know how to A'alue and how to appreciate them ;
and let me tell him further, as my lord will tell you, gentle-
men, that a counsel, in his discharge of his duly to his client,
is neither to be intimidated, nor bullied, nor put down ; and
tliat any attempt to do eitlier the one or the other, or the first
or the last, will recoil on the head of the attempter, be iio
plaintiH' or be he defendant, be his nanit^ Pickwick, or Noakes,
or k>toakes, or iStiles, or Brown, or Thompson.
1 shall show you, gentlemen, that tor two years Pickwick
continued to reside constanly, and without interruption or
intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that
Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him,
attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his
linen for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned,
aired, and prepared it ibr wear when it came home, and, in
short, enjoyed his fullest trust and c-nfidence. I shall show
you that, on many occasions, he gave half-pence, and on some
occasions even sixpences, to her little boy ; and I shall prove
to yon, by a wutness whose testimony it will be impossible for
my learned friend to weaken or controvert, that on one occa-
sion he patted the boy on the head, and after in(piiriiig
"wliether he liad won any dilei/ tors or co/a/no/ic/js lately (both
of whic!i I understand to be species of marbles much prized
by the youth of this town), made use of this remarkable ex-
pression — "How would you like to have another father ?"
LVL— THE SAME— CONTINUED.
CHARLES niOKENS.
Two letters have passed between these parties, letters
•which are admitted to be in the handwriting of the defend-
ant, and which speak volumes indeed. These letters, too,
bi'speak the cliaracter of the man. They are not open, fer-
vid, eloquent epistles, breatliing nothing but the language of
atlectionate atLacliment. They are covert, sly, underhanded
communications, but, (()rtunalely, far more conclusive than it'
couched in ihc; most glowing language and the most poetic
imagery — lelters that nm.st Jn: viewi'd with a cautious and
suspicions eye — letters that were evidently intend(!d at the
tijiiu, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties
288 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCR.
into whose hands they miofht fall. Let me road the first : —
" Garraway's, twelve o'chH-k. — Dear Mrs. B. — Chops and
Tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwirk." Gentlemen, what does
this mean? Chops and Tomato sauoe. Yours, Pickwick!
Chops! Gracious heavens ! and Tomato sauce! Gentlemen,
is the happiness of a sensitive and contidin<r female to be
trifled av^^ay, by such shallow artifices as these ? The next
has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious — " Dear
Mrs. B. — I shall not be at home to-morrow. 81ow coach."
And then follows this very remarkable expression — " Don't
trouble yourself about the warming-pan !" The warminjr-
pan ! Why, gentlemen, who doe?, trouble himself about a
warming-pan ? When was the peace of mind of man or
woman broken or disturbed about a warming-pan, which is
in itself a harmless, a useful, and I will add, gentlemen, a
comforting article of domestic furniture ? Why is Mrs.
Bardi'U so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about
this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a
mere cover for hidden fire — a mere substitute for some en-
dearing word or promise, agreeable to some preconcerted sys-
tem of correspondence, arthilly contrived by Pickwick with
a view to his contemplated desertion, and which I am not in
a condition to explain ? And what does this allusion to the
slow coach mean ? For aught 1 know, it may be a reference
to Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably been a
criminally slow coach during the whole of this transaction,
but whose speed will now be very unexpectedly accelerated,
and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will
very soon be greased by you !
But enough of this, gentlemen, it is difficult to smile with
an aching heart ; it is ill jesting when our deepest sympathies
are aVi^akened. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined,
and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone
indeed. The bill is down — but there is no tenant. Eligible
single gentlemen pass and repass — but there is no invitation
for them to inquire within, or without. All is gloom and
teilence in the house ; even the voice of the child is hushed ;
his infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps ; his
" alley tors" and his " commoneys" are alike neglected ; he
forgets the long familiar cry of " knuckle down," and at tin-
chesse, or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pickwick,
jrentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic
oasis in Goswell-street — Pickwick, who has choked up the
PR \TTT OF FOX. 289
well, and thrown ashes on the sward — Pickwick, who comes
before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and warm-
injj-paus — Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing et-
f'roiitery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made.
Damages, gentlemen — heavy damages, is the only punish-
ment with which you can visit him ; the only recompense
you can award to my client. And ibr those damages she
now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-leel-
ing, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a coii-
templauve jury of her civilized countrymen.
LVIL— DEATH OF FOX.
SHERIDAN.
Upon that subject which must fill all your minds — ujion
the merits of that illustrious man, I shall, I can say but
little There must be some interval between the heavy blow
that has been struck, and the considerations of its efl'ect, be-
fore any one, and how many are there of those who have
revered and loved Mr. Fox as I have done, can speak of his
death with the feeling, but manly composure which becomes
the dignified regret it ought to inspire. To you, however,
gentlemen, it cannot be necessary to describe him — for you
must have known him well. To say anything to you at this
moment, in the first hours of your unburdened sorrows, must
be unnecessary, and almost insulting. His image is still
present before you — his virtue is in your hearts — his loss is
your despair I
1 have seen in one of the morning papers what are slated
to liave been the last words of this great man, — " I die hap-
py ;" then, turning to the dearest object of his afl'ection, " I
pity you 1" But had another moment been allowed him, and
had the modesty of his great mind permitted it, well migiit
he have expressed his compassion, not for his private friends
only, but for the world — well might he have said, " I pity
you I I pity England ! I pity Europe ! I pity the human,
race !" For to mankind at larcre his death must be a source
of n-gret, whose life was eni])loy(!d to promote their benefits.
Tie died in the sjiirit of peace, struggling to extend it to the
world. Tranquil in his own mind, he cherished to the
13
290 THE BOOK OF ELOQURNCE.
last, with a parental solicitude, the consoliusi^ hope to jrive
tranquillity to nations. Let us trust that the stroke of death,
which has borne hiiu from us, may not have left peace, and
the dignified charities of human nature, as it were, orphans
upon the world.
LVIIL— ON THE REFORMATION IN ENGLAND
MILTON.
Now, sir, for the love of holy reformation, what can be said
more against these importunate clients of antiquity, than she
herself hath said ? Whether, think ye, would she approve ;
still to doat upon immeasurable, innumerable, and therefore
unnecessary and unmerciful volumes, choosino; rather to err
with the specious name of the fathers ; or, to take a sound truth
at the hand of a plain upright man, that all his days hath been
diligently reading the holy scriptures, and thereto imploring
God's grace, while the admirers of antiquity have been beating
their brains about their ambones, their dyptichs, and menials?
Now, he that cannot tell of stations and indictions, nor has
wasted his precious hours in the endless conferring of councils
and conclaves that demolished one another ; although I know
many of those that preteiul to be great rabbles in these
studies, have scarce saluted them from the strings and title-
page, or, to give them more, have been but the ferrets and
mousehunts of an index ; yet what pastor or minister, how
learned, religious, or discreet soever, does not now bring both
his cheeks lull blown with cecumenical and synodical, shall
be counted a lank, shallow, insufficient man, yea, a dunce,
and not worthy to speak about reformation of church dis-
cipline. But I trust they for whom (rod lAth reserved the
honor of reforming this Church, will easily perceive their
adversaries' drift in thus calling for antiquity. They fear the
plain field of the Scriptures ; the chase is too hot ; they seek
the dark, the bushy, the tangled forest; they would imbush ,
they would plunge, and tumble, and think to lie hid in the
f()ul weeds and muddy waters, where no plummet can reach
the bottom. But. let them beat themselves like whales, and
spend their oil till they be dragged ashore. Though where-
fore should the minislers give ihem so much line for shifts
and delays ? Wherefore should they not urge only the gos-
ATTACK OX ANTWERP. 291
pel, and hold it ever in their faces like a mirror of diamond,
till it dazzle and pierce their misty eyeballs ? maintuiiiinu it
tiie honor of its absolute sutiieieney and supremacy iuviolal)le ;
for if the Scripture be lor reformation, and antiquity to boot,
it is but an advantage to tlie dozen, it is no winiiinir cast ;
and though antiquity be against it, while the Scriptures be l(.r
it, the cause is as good as ought to be wished, antiquity itsfli
sitting judge.
LIX— ATTACK ON ANTWERP.
WINDHAM.
What did the military opinions amount to ? Precisely
nothing ; and how could it be otherwise, seeing that the
otTicers had no data whereon to Ibund their opinions ? Min-
isters, indeed, tell us that they had information from their
spies, that there were so many men at Antwerp — so many at
LiUo — and so many at Bergen-op-Zoom ; but it must be rec-
ollected that it is the interest of spies to smooth the diifi-
culties that lie in the way of their employers : and, iiule-
peiidently of this consideration, how is it possible for spies to
form an estimate of the amount of the small detachments
which are scattered all over the country? It must also be
recollected that a great part of the population of the country
consists of men who have been accustomed to the use oi
arms ; aye, sir, and who have seen fire too. The very sweep-
iiiirs of such a country would have been sufficient lor the
defence of Antwerp. IJut were ministers so very ignorant, as
not to know that there are between twenty and thirty fortified
towns, within a few days' march of Antwerp, and that each
of these towns has its garrison ? Nay, it is now known,
that troops were sent even from Paris to Antwerp, before our
devoted army reached the point where its difficulties were to
commence. Did ministers think that troops of the enemy
were immovable ? The insane calculations of these dream-
ers remind me of a countryman, who, in directing a travel-
ler across the Downs, told liim, that he must travel three or
four miles, and when he came to a flock of sheep he nuist
turn to the right. But how if the sheep had changed their
position belbre he got there? What would gent lemi'ii say
of Bonaparte, if, on receiving intelligence from his spies that
292 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
there were only seven or eifrht thousand troops near Ports-
mouth, he was to send an expedition of forty thousand men to
take the place ? would they not say that he was insane ?
The noble lord, however, says, that it was intended to take
Antwerp by a cuup-dc-maiti. What must the enemy, sir,
think oi' us, when they hear this stated ? with what eon-
teiujjt and ridicule must they not treat us when they learn
that the projector of this mij^hty expedition is acquainted
with the terms of military science, without bavins the slifrht-
est idea of the meanintr of these terms ? Good God, sir, talk
of coup-dc-mdin with forty thousand men, and thirty-three
sail of the line 1 Geutlemen might as well talk of cuap-de-
tnain in the Court of Chancery.
LX.-WnAT IS THE FRENCH REVOLUTION?
LAMARTINE.
What, then, is the French Revolution ? Is it, as the
adorers of the past say, a great sedition of a nation disturbed
i()r no reason, and destroying in their insensate convulsions,
their church, their monarchy, their classes, their institutions,
their nationality, and even rending the map of Europe ? No I
the Revolution has not been a miserable sedition of France ;
for a sedition subsides as it rises, and leaves nothing but
corpses and ruins behind it. The Revolution has left scaf-
fohls and ruins, it is true ; therein is its remorse ; but it has
also left a doctrine ; it has left a spirit which will be enduring
and perpetual so long as human reason shall exist.
We are not inspired by the spirit of faction I No factious
idea enters our thoughts. We do not wish to compose a
faction — we compose opinion, for it is nobler, stronger, and
more invincible. Shall we have, in our first struggles,
violence, oppression and death ? No, gentlemen I let us give
thanks to our lathers — it shall be liberty which they have
bequeathed to us, liberty which now has its own arms, its
pacific arms, to develop itself without anger and excess.
Therefore shall we triumph — be sure of it I and if you ask
what is the moral lc)rce that shall bend the government
beneath the will of the nation, I will answer you ; it is the
sovereignty of ideas, the royalty of mind, the Repubhc, the
TRUE USK OF ^VEALTH. 293
tnie Republic of intelligence, in one word — opinion — that
modern power whose very name was unknown to antiquity
Gentlemen, public opinion was born on the very day when
Guttenberfr, who has been styled the artificer of" a new
world, invented, by printing, the multiplication and indefinite
communication of thought and human reason. This incom-
prehensible power of opinion needs not for its sway either
the brand of vengeance, the sword of justice, or the scaffold
of terror. It holds in its hands the equilibrium between
ideas and institutions, the balance of the human mind. In
one of the scales of this balance — understand it well — will be
for a long time placed, mental superstitions, prejudices self-
styled useful, the divine right of kings, distinctions of right
among classes, international animosities, the spirit of conquest,
the venal alliance of church and state, the censorship of thought,
the silence of tribunes, and the ignorance and systematic deg-
radation of the masses. In the other scale, we ourselves,
gentlemen, will place the lightest and most impalpable thing
of all that God has created — light, a little of that light which
the French Revolution evoked at the close of the last century,
from a volcano, doubtless, but from a volcano of truth.
LXI.— TRUE USE OF WEALTH.
ALISON.
Gentlemen, within two hours' journey from Glasgow are
to be found combined,
" Whate'er Lorrain hath touched with softening hue,
Or savage Jiosa da.^hed, or learned Poussln drew."
The wealth is heie, the enterprise is hei'e, the materials are
here ; nothing is wanting but the hand of genius to cast these
precious elements into the mould of beauty — the lofty s})irit,
the high aspirations which, aiming at greatness, never itiil to
attain it. Are 'we to be told thatw^e cannot do these things ;
that, like the Russians, we can imitate but cannot conceive ?
It is not in the nation of Smith and of VV^att, — it is not in
the land of Burns and Scott, — it is not in the country of
Shakspeare and Milton, — it is not in the empire of Reynolda
and VVrcn, that we can give any weight to that arguineut.
294 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Nor is it easy to believe that the same genius which has
drawn in enchanting colors the lights and shadows of Scot-
tish life, might not, if otherwise directed, have depicted, with
equal felicity, the lights and sliadows of Scottish scenery.
But we are not only moral and iiitellectnal, we are active
agents. We long after gratification — we thirst for enjoy-
ment ; and the experienced observer of man will not' despise
the subsidiary, but still important aid to be derived in the
great work of moral elevation, from a due direction of the
active propensities. And he is not the least friend to his
species, who, in an age peculiarly veliemeut in desire, discov-
ers gratifications which do not corrupt —enjoyments which
do not degrade. But if this is true of enjoyments simply in-
nocent, what shall we say of those which refine, which not
only do not lead to vice, but exalt to virtue ? — which open to
the peasant, equally with the prince, that pure gratification
which arises to all alike from the contemplation of the grand
and beautiful in Art and Nature? We have now reached
the point where such an election can no longer be delayed.
Our wealth is so great, it has come on u.« so suddenly, it will
corrupt if it does not refine ; if not directed to the arts which
raised Athens to immortality, it will sink us to those wiiich
hurled Babylon to perdition.
LXIL— YIELDING TO PUBLIC OPINION.
ALISON.
It is always in resisting, never by yielding to public o))in-
ion, that these great master-spirits exert their power. The
conqueror, indeed, who is to act by the present arms of men ;
the statesman who is to sway by present measures the agi-
tated masses of society, have need of general support. Napo-
leon said truly that he was so long successful, because i,e al-
ways marched with the opinions of five millions of men.
But the great intellects which are destined to give a perma-
nent change to thought — which are destined to act generally,
not upon the present but the next generation — are almost in-
variably in direct opposition to general opinion. In truth, it
is the resistance of a powerful mind to the flood of error by
which it is surrounded, which, like the compression that
DECLINE OF THE CELTIC RACE. 295
elicits the power of steam, creates the moving power which
alters the moral destiny of" mankind.
"Was it by yielding to ])ublic, ojjinion that Bacon emanci-
pated mankiiid from the letters of" the Aristotelian philoso-
pliy ? Was it by yielding to the Ptolemaic cycles that Co-
peruicns unfolded the true mechanism of the heavens ? Was
it by yielding to the dogmas of the Church that Galileo estab-
lished the earth's motions ? Was it by yielding to the Ro-
jiiish corruptions that Luther established the Retbrmatiou ?
Was it by concession that Latimer and Ridley " lighted a
flame which, by the grace of God, shall never be extin-
guished ?" AVas it by conceding to the long-established
system of commercial restriction, that Smith unfolded the
truths of the wealth of nations ? — or by chiming in with the
deluge of infidelity and democracy, with which he was sur-
rounded, that Burke arrested the devastation of the French
Revolution ? What were the eloquence of Pitt, the arms of
Nelson and Wellington, but the ministers of those principles
which, in opposition to general opinion, he struck out at once,
and with a giant's arm ? " Genius creates by a single con-
ception ; in a single principle, opening, as it were, on a sud-
den to genius, a great and new system of things is discovered.
The statuary conceives a statue at once, which is afterwards
slowly executed by the hands of many."
LXIIL— DECLINE OF THE CELTIC RACE.
, MICHELET.
Ireland ! Poor first-born of the Celtic race I So far from
France, yet its sister, whom' it cannot succor across the waves I
The Isle of Saints — the Emerald Isle— so fruitful in men, so
bright in genius ! — the country of Berk<dey and Toland, of
Moore and O'Connell I — the land of bright thoughts and the
rapid sword, which preserves, amidst the old age of this
world, its poetic inspiration. Let the English smile when,
passing some hovel in their towns, they hear the Irish M'idow
chant the coronach for her husband. Weep I mournful
country ; and let F'rance too weep, for degradation which she
cannot prevent — calamities which she cainiot avert I In
vani have li/ur hundred thousand Irishmen perished in the
296 THE COOK OF ELOQUENCE.
service of France. The Scotch Highlanders will ere long
disappear from the face of the earth ; the mountains are daily
depopulating ; the great estates have ruined the land of the
Gaul as they did ancient Italy. The Highlander will ere
long exist only in the romances of Walter Scott. The tar-
tan and the claymore excite surprise in the streets of Edin-
burgh ; they disappear — they emigrate ; their national airs
will ere long be lost, as the music of the Eolian harp when
the winds are hushed.
Behind the Celtic world, the old red granite of the Euro-
pean formation has arisen — a new world, with dilit'rent pas-
sions, desires, and destinies. Last of the .savage races which
overflowed Europe, the Germans were the first to introduce
the spirit of independence ; the thirst for individual freedom.
That bold and youthful spirit —that youth of man, who feels
himself strong and free in a world wliicli he appropriates to
himself in anticipation — in forests of which he knows not the
bounds — on a sea which wafts him to unknown shores — that
spring of the unbroken horse which beai-s him to the Steppes
and the Pampas — all worked in Alaric, when he swore that
an unknown force impelled him to the gates of Rome ; they
impelled the Danish pirate when he rode on the stormy bil-
low ; they animated the Saxon outlaws when under Robin
Hood they contended for the laws of Edward the Confessor
against the Norman barons. That spirit of personal freedom,
of unbounded personal pride, shines in all their writings, it is
the invariable characteristic of the German theology and phi-
losophy. From the day when, according to the beautiful
German fable, the ' Wargus' scattered the dust on all his re-
lations, and threw the grass over his shoulder, and resting on
his stafT, oveideapt the frail paternal enclosure, and let his
plume float to the wind — from that moment he aspired to
the empire of the world. He deliberated with Attila wheth-
er he should overthrow the empire of the east or the west ;
he aspired with England to overspread the western and
southern hemispheres.
DISREGARD OF THE PAST.
297
LXIV.— DISREGARD OF THE PAST.
TALFOURD.
I HAVE observed, with sorrow, a prevailing disregard of
the past, and a desire to extol the present, or to expatiate in
visionary prospects of the future. I fear this may be traced
not so much to philanthropy as to self-love, which inspires
men with the wish personally to distinguish themselves as the
teachers and benefactors of their species, instead of resting
contented to share in the vast stock of recollections and
sympathies which is common to all. They would fain per-
suade us that mankind, created " a little lower than the
angels," is now for the first time " crowned with glory and
honor;" and they exultingly point to institutions of yesterday
for the means to regenerate the earth. Some, for example,
pronounce the great mass of the people, through all ages, as
scarcely elevated above the brutes which perish, because the
arts of reading, writing, and arithmetic were not commonly
diliused among them ; and on the diffusion of these they
ground their predictions of a golden age. And were there
then no virtuous hardihood, no guileless innocence, no aflec-
tions stronger than the grave, in that mighty lapse of years
which we contemptuously stigmatize as dark ? Are disinter-
ested patriotism, conjugal love, open-handed hospitality, meek
self-sacriiice, and chivalrous contempt of danger and of death,
modern inventions ? Has man's great birthright been in
abeyance even until now ? Oh, no I The Chalda;an shepherd
did not cast his quiet gaze through weeks and years in vain
to the silent skies. He knew not, indeed, the discoveries of
science, which have substituted an immense variety of
figures on s])ace and distance, for the sweet influences of the
stars ; yet did the heavens tell to him the glory of God, and
angel fiices smile on him from the golden clouds. Book-
learning is, perliaps, the least part of the education of the
species. Nature is the mightiest and the kindliest of teachers.
The rocks and unchanging hills give to the heart the sense of
a duration b-yond tliat of the jK-rishable body. The flowing
stream images to the soul an everlasting continuity of tranquil
exi.stence. " The brave o'er-hanging firmament," even to
the most rngtred swain, imparts some consciousness of the
universal brotherhood of tho.se over whom it hangs.
13*
298 THE BOOK OF ELOQITEKCR.
LXV.— ON THE LAW OF COPYRIGHT.
TAI.FOURD.
The liberality of genius is surely ill urjred as an excuse
for our unirrateful denial of its rights. The late Mr. Cole-
ridge gave an example not merely of its liberality, but of ils
profuseness ; while he sought not even to appropriate to his
fume the vast intellectual treasures which he had derived
from boundless reseai-ch, and colored by a glorious imagina-
tion ; while he scattered abroad the seeds of beauty and of
wisdom to take root in congenial minds, and was content to
witness their fruits in the productions of those who heard
him. But ought we, therefore, the less to deplore, now wht-u
the music of his divine philosophy is forever hu.shed, that the
earlier portion of those works on which he stamped his own
impress — all wliich he desired of the world that it should rec-
ognize as his — is published for the gain of other than his
children — that his death is illustrated by the forfeiture of
their birthright? What justice is there in this? Do we re-
ward our heroes thus ? Did we tell our Marlborough's, our
Nelson's, our Wellington's, that glory was their reward, that
they fought for posterity, and that posterity would pay them ?
We leave them to no such cold and uncertain requital ; we
do not even leave them merely to enjoy the spoils of their
victories, which we deny to the author ; we coucentrate a
nation's honest feeling of gratitude and pride into the form
of an endowment, and teach other ages wliat we thought,
and what they ought to think, of their deeds, by the sub-
stantial memorials of our praise. Were our Shakspeare and
Milton less the ornaments of their country, less the benefac-
tors of mankind ? Would the example be less inspiring, if
we permitted them to enjoy the spoils of their peaceful vic-
tories — if we allowed to their descendants, not the tax as-
sessed by present gratitude and charged on the Future, but
the mere amount which that future would be delighted to
pay — extending as the circle of their glory expands, and ren-
dered only by those who individually reap the benefits, and
are contented at once to enjoy and reward its author ? But
I do not press these considerations to the full extent ; the
Past is beyond our power, and I only ask for the present a
brief reversion in the Future.
TRUE POSITION OF NAPOLEON. 299
LXVL— HAMLET'S ADDRESS TO THE PLAYERS.
SHAKSPEARE.
Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you,
trippingly on the tonj^ue : but if you rnoutli it, as many of
our phiyei-s do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but
use all gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as 1
may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and
beuret a temperance, that may give it smoothness. 0, it
oiil'iids me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated
fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears
of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, are capable of
nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise : I would
have such a fellow whipped lor o'er-doing Termagant ; it
out-herods Herod : Pray you, avoid it.
Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your
tu1or; suit the action to the word, the word to the action ;
witti this special observance, that you o'er-step not the
modesty of nature : for anything so overdone is from the pur-
pose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was,
and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show
virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very
age and the body of the time, his form and pressure. Now
this, overdone, or coine tardy off, though it make the unskil-
ful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure
of which one, must, in your allowance, o'er-weigh a whole
theatre of others. 0, 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 Chris-
tians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strut-
ted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's
journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they
imitated humanity so abominably.
LXVIL— TRUE POSITION OF NAPOLEON.
CORMENIN.
But let us try to see Napoleon as he will be seen by the
sages of posterity.
lie has reigned as reign all the powers of this world, by the
300 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
force of his principle. He has fallen as fall all the powers
of this world, by violence and the abuse of that principle.
Greater than Alexander, than Charlemagne, than Peter, and
than Frederick, he has, like them, impressed his name upon
his age. Like them, he-- was a lawgiver. Like them, he
fonnded an empire. His universal memory lives beneath the
tents of the Arab, and traverses with the canoes of the sav-
age, the distant rivers of the Oceanic Islands. The peoj)le
of France, so ready to forget, of a revolution which has over-
turned the world liave retained but his name. The soldiers
in their bivouac talk of no other captain, and when they
pass through the cities their eyes rest upon no other image.
When the people accomplished the Revolution of July,
the banner, all trampled in the dust, which was raised anew
by the soldier working-men, extempore chiefs of the insurrec-
tion — this banner was the banner surmounted by the French
eagle ; it was the banner of Austerlitz, of Jena, and of
Wagram, rather than that of Jemappes and of Fleurus ; it
M'as the banner which was planted on the towers of Lisbon,
of Vienna, of Berlin, of Rome, of Moscow, rather than that
which floated above the federacy of the Champ-de-Mars ; it
was the banner which had been riddled with balls at Water-
loo ; it was the banner which the emperor held embraced at
Fontainebleau while bidding farewell to his old guard ; it
was the baiuier which shaded at St. Helena the face of the
expiring hero ; it was, in one word, to say all, the banner of
Napoleon !
But stop, for on the other hand I hear muttering a severer
voice, and fear that history, in her turn, prepares her indict-
ment against him, and
" He dethroned the sovei'eignty of the people. He was
Emperor of the French Republic, and he became des])ot.
He threw the weight of his sword into the scales of the law.
He incarcerated individual liberty in the state prisons. He
stifled the freedom of the press under the gag of the censor-
ship. He violated the trial by jury. He held in abasement
and servitude the Courts, the Legislative Body, and the Sen-
ate. He depopulated the fields and the workshops. He
grafted upon militarism a new nobility, M'hieh could not fail
to become more insupportable than the ancient, because
without the same antiquity, or the same prestiges. He levied
arbitraiy taxes. He meant there should be throughout the
whole empire but one voice, his voice, but one law, his will.
QUALIFICATIONS FOR SOLDIERS. 301
Our Capitols, our cities, onr armies, our fleets, our palaces,
our museums, our magistrates, our citizens ; became his capi-
tols, his towns, his armies, his fleets, his palaces, his museums,
his magistrates, and his subjects. He drew alter him the
nation over the battle-fields of Europe, where we have left
no other remembrance than the insolence of our victories, our
carcasses, and our gold. In fine, after having besieged the
forts of Cadiz, after having held the keys of Lisbon, and of
Madrid, of Vienna and of Berlin, of Naples and of Home ;
after having shaken the very pavements of Moscow beneath
the thunder of his cannonading, he has rendered France less
great than he found her — all bleeding of her wounds, dis-
mantled, exposed, impoverished, and humbled."
LX VIII.— QUALIFICATIONS FOR SOLDIERS.
SYDNEY SMITH.
You say these men interpret the Scriptures in an orthodox
manner ; and that they eat their God. Very likely. All
this may seem very important to you, who live fourteen miles
from a market-town, and, from long residence upon your liv-
ing, are become a kind of holy vegetable ; and, in a theologi-
cal sense, it is highly important. But I want soldiers and
saik)rs for the state; I want to make a greater use than I
now can do of a poor country full of men ; 1 want to render
tlie military service popular among the Irish ; to check the
power of France ; to make every possible exertion lljr the
safety of Europe, which in twenty years' time, will be noth-
ing Itut a mass of French slaves ; and then you, and ten thou-
sand other such boobies as you, call out — " For (lod's sake,
do not think of raising cavalry and infantry in Ireland I . . . ,
They interpret the Epistle to Timothy in a diflerent maimer
from what we do I .... They eat a bit of wafer every Sun-
day, whi(;h they call their God !".... I wish to my soul
they would eat you, and such reasoners as you are. What !
wlicn Turk, Ji-w, Heretic, Infidel, Catholic, Protestant, are
all coniliiiied against this country ; when men of every reli-
gious persuasion, and no religious persuasion ; when the popu-
lation oi' half the globe is up in arms against us ; are we to
Btand examining our generals and armies as a bishop exam-
302 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
ines a candidate for holy orders ? and to suffer no one to bleed
for England who does not agree with you about the 2d of
Timothy ? You talk about the Catholics ! If you and your
brotherliood have been able to persuade the country into a
continuation of this grossest of all absurdities, you have ten
times the power which the Catholic clergy ever had in tlieir
best days. Louis XIV., when he revoked the Edict of
Nantes, never thought of preventing the Protestants from
fighting his battles ; and gained accordingly some of his most
splendid victories by the talents of his Protestant generals.
No power in Europe, but yourselves, has ever thought, for
these hundred years past, of asking whether a bayonet is
Catholic, or Presbyterian, or Lutheran ; but whether it is
sharp and well-tempered. A bigot delights in public ridicule ;
for he begins to think he is a martyr. I can promise you the
full enjoyment of this pleasure, from one extremity of Europe
to the other.
LXIX.— GRIEVANCES OF THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT.
MACKINTOSH.
We are boldly challenged to produce our proofs ; our com-
plaints are asserted to be chimerical ; and the excellence of
our government is inferred from its beneficial effects. Most
unfortunately for us — most unfortunately for our country,
these proofs are too ready and too numerous. We find
tliem in that " monumental debt," the bequest of wastelul
and profligate wars, which already wrings from the peasant
something of his hard-earned pittance,— which already has
punished the industry of the useful and upright manufacturer,
by robbing him of tlie asylum of his house, and the judgment
of his peers, — to which the madness of political (iuixotisrn
adds a million for every farthing that the pomp of ministerial
empiricism pays, — and which menaces our children with con-
vulsions and calamities, of which no age has seen the paral-
lel. We find them in the black and bloody roll of persecut-
ing statutes that are still suffered to stain our code ; — a list so
execrable, that were no monument to be preserved of what
England was in the eighteenth century but her Statute
Book, she might be deemed to have been then still plunged
ifT-
DUTY OF ENGLAND TO ITALY. 303
in the deepest gloom of superstitious Lar^'arism. We find
them in the ipuomiiiious exehisiou of great bodies of our Icl-
low-citizens from political trusts, by tests which reward false-
hood and punish probity, — which profane the rights of tho
religion it pretends to guard, and usurp the dominion of the
God they profess to revere. We find them in the growing
corruption of those who administer the goveriunent, — in the
venality of the House of Commons, which has become only a
cumbrous and expensive chamber for registering ministerial
edicts, — in the increase of a nobility degraded by the profu-
sion and prostitution of honors, which the most zealous parti-
sans of democracy would have spared them. We find them,
above all, in the rapid progress which has been made in silencing
the great organ of pubhc opinion, — that Press, which is the true
control over the ministers and parliaments, who might else,
with impunity, trample on the impotent formalities that form
the pretended bulwark of our freedom. The mutual con-
trol, the well-poised balance of the several members of our
Legislature, are the visions of theoretical, or the pretext of
practical politicians. It is a government, not of check, but
of conspiracy, — a conspiracy which can only be repressed by
the energy of popular opinion.
LXX.— DUTY OF ENGLAND TO ITALY.
MACKINTOSH.
Italy is, perhaps, of all civilized countries, that which
afi'ords the most signal example of the debasing power of
provincial dependence, and of a foreign yoke. With inde-
pendence, and with national spirit, they have lost, if not
talent, at least the moral and dignified use of talent, which
constitutes its only worth. Italy alone seemed to derive some
hope of independence from the convulsions which had de-
stroyed that of other nations. Tlie restoration of Euroj)e
annihilated the hopes of Italy : — the emancipation of other
countries announced her bondage. Stern necessity compelled
us to snfi'er the re-establishment of foreign masters in a
greater part of that renowned and humiliated country. But
as to (jenoa, our hands were unfettered ; we were at liberty
to be just, or if you will, to be generous. We had in oui
304 THE BOOK OF KLOQUEKCE.
hands the destiny of the last of that great body of RepnbHcs
■which united the ancient and the modern world, — the chil-
dren and heirs of Roman civilization, who spread commerce,
and with it refinement, liberty, and humanity over Western
]^]urope, and whose history has lately been rescued from ob-
livion, and disclosed to our times, by the greatest of living
historians. I hope I shall not be thought fanciful when I
say that Genoa, whose greatness was 'bunded on naval pow-
er, and which, in the earliest ages, gave the almost solitary
example of a commercial gentry, — Genoa, the remnant of
Italian liberty, and the only I'emaining hope of Italian inde-
pendence, had peculiar claims — to say no more — on the
generosity of the British nation. How have these claims
been satisfied ? She has been sacrificed to a frivolous, a
doubtful, perhaps an imaginary, speculation of convenience.
The most odious of foreign yokes has been imposed upon her
by a free state, — by a people whom she never injured, — after
she had been mocked by the re-appearance of her ancient
government, and by all the ensigns and badges of her past
priory. And after all this, she has been told to be grateful
for the interest which the government of England has taken
m her fate. By this confiscation of the only Italian territory
which was at the disposal of justice, the doors of hope have
been barred on Italy tbrever. No English general can ever
again deceive Italians.
LXXI.— DEFENCE OF THE POET ARCHIAS.
CICERO.
Had I not been convinced from my youth, by much in-
struction and much study, that nothing is greatly desirable in
life but glory and virtue, and that, in the pursuit of these,
ail bodily tortures, and the perils of death and exile, are to be
slighted and despised, never should I have exposed myself to
so many and so great conflicts for your preservation, nor to
the daily rage and violence of the most worthless of men.
But on this head books are full, the voice of the wise is full,
antiquity is full ; all which, were it not for the lamp of learn-
ing, would be involved in thick obscurity. How many pic-
tures of the bravest of men have the Greek and Latin
DEFENCE OF THE POET AHCHIA3. 305
writers left us, not only to contemplate, but likewise to imi-
tate I But were pleasure only to be derived from learuinir,
without the advantaCges we have mentioned, you must still, I
imagine, allow it to be a very liberal and polite amusement ;
for other studies are not suited to every time, to every a^e,
and to every place ; but these give strength in youth and joy
in old age ; adorn prosperity, and are the supj)ort and conso-
lation of adversity ; at home they are delightful, and abroad
they are easy ; at night they are company to us ; when we
travel they attend us : and, in our rural retirements, they do
not forsake us. Though we ourselves were incapable of them,
and had no relish lor their charms, still we should admire
them when we see them in others.
How often have I seen this Archias, my lords, without
using his pen, and without any labor or study, make a great
number of excellent verses on occasional subjects. How
often, when a subject was resumed, have I heard him give it
a difTerent turn of thought and expression : wiiile those com-
positions which he liiiished with care and exactness were as
highly appi-oved as the most celebrated writings of antiquity.
And shall I not love this man ? Shall I not admire him ?
Shall I not defend him to the utmost of my power ? For
men of the greatest eminence and learninir have taught us
that other branches of science require education, art, and
precept ; but that the poet is formed by the plastic hand of
nature herself, is quickened by the native fire of genius, and
animated, as it were, by a kind of divine enthusiasm. It is
with justice therefore that our Ennius bestows on poets the
epithet of " venerable," because they seem to have some
peculiar gifts of the gods to recommend them to us. Let the
name of poet, then, which the most barbarous nations have
n«ver profaned, be revered by you, my lords, who are so great
admirers of polite learning. Rocks and deserts re-echo
sounds; savage beasts are often softened by music, and listen
to its charms : and shall we, with all the advantages of the
best education, be unaflected with the voice of poetry ? The
praises of our fleet shall ever be recorded and celebrated for
the wonders performed at Tenedos, where the enemy's ships
were sunk, and their commanders s-lain : such are our trophies,
such our monuments, such our triumphs. Those, therefore,
whose genius describes these exploits, celebrate likewise the
praises of the Roman name.
We beg of you, therefore, my lords, since in matters of
306 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
such importance not only the intercession of men hut of gods
is necessary, that the man who has always celebrated your
virtues, those of your generals, and the victories of the Roman
people; who declares that he will raise eternal monuments to
your praise and mine for our conduct in our late domestic
dano-ers ; and who is of the number of those who have ever
been accounted and pronounced divine, may be so protected
by you as to have greater reason to applaud your generosity
than to complain of your rigor.
LXXIL— SPEECH OF SHREWSBURY BEFORE QUEEN
ELIZABETH.
SCHILLER.
God whose wondrous hand has four times protected you,
and who to-day gave the feeble arm of gray hairs strngthto
turn aside the stroke of a madman, should inspire confidence.
1 will not now speak in the name of justice : this is not the
time. In such a tumult, you cannot hear her still small
voice. Consider this only ; you are fearful now of the living
Mary ; but I say it is not the living you have to fear.
Tremble at the dead — the be]i,eaded. She will rise from the
grave a liend of dissension. She will awaken the spirit of
revenge in your kingdom, and wean the hearts of your sub-
ifcts from you. At present she is an object of dread to the
British ; but when she is no more, they will revenge her.
No longer will she then be regarded as the enemy of their
faith ; her mournful fate will cause her to appear as the
granddaughter of their king, the victim of man's hatred, and
woman's jealousy. Soon will you see the change appear I
Drive through London after the bloody deed has been done ;
sliow yourself to the people, who now surround you with
joyful acclamations : then will you see another England,
another people I No longer will you then walk forth en-
circled by the radiance of heavenly justice which now binds
every heart to you. Dread the frightful name of tyrant
which will precede you through shuddering hearts, and re-
sound through every street wliere you pass. You have done
the last irrevocable deed. What head stands fast when this
Bacred one has fallen ?
MR, FOX AND THE EAST INDIA BILL. 307
LXXIIT.— MR. FOX AND THE EAST INDIA BILL.
BUUKE.
The author of the East India Bill, Mr. Fox, has put to
hazard his ease, his security, his interest, his power, even his
darliusj popularity, for the benefit of a people whom he has
never seen. This is the road that all heroes have trod be-
fore him. He is traduced and abused for his supposed mo-
tives. He will remember, that obloqny is a necessary ingre-
dient in the composition of all true glory : he will remember,
that it was not only in the Roman customs, but it is in the
nature and constitution of things, that calumny and abuse
are essential parts of triumph. These thoughts will support
a mind, which only exists lor honor, under the burthen of
temporary reproach. He is doing indeed a great good ; such
as rarely falls to the lot, and almost as rarely coincides M'ith
the desires of any man. Let him use his time. Let him
give the whole length of the reins to his benevolence. He is
now on a great eminence, where the eyes of mankind are
turned to him. He may live long, he may do much. But
here is the summit. He can never exceed what he does this
day.
I confess, I anticipate with joy the reward of those, whose
whole consequence, power, and authority, exist only for the
benefit of mankind ; and I carry my mind to all the people,
and all the names and descriptions, that, relieved by this bill,
will bless the labors of this parliament, and the coiilidence
which the best House of Commons has given to him who the
best deserves it. The little cavils of party will not be heard,
where freedom and happiness will be felt. There is not a
tongue, a nation, or a religion in India, which will not bless
the presiding care and manly beneficence of this House, and
of him who proposes to j'ou this great work. Your names
will never be separated before the throne of the Divine
(ioodness, in whatever language, or with whatever rites, par-
don is asked for sin, and reward for those who imitate the
(lodhead in his universal bounty to his creatures. These
lioiiors you deserve, and they will surely be paid, when all
the jargon of influence, and party, and patronage, are swept
into oblivion
308 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LXXIV.— DETACHED EMPIRE.
BURKE.
The last cause of this disobedient spirit in the colonies is
hardly less powerful than the rest, as it is not merely moral,
but laid deep in the natural constitution of thin<,'s. Three
thousand miles ol' ocean lie between you and them. No con-
trivance can prevent the effect of this distance, in weaken-
ing government. Seas roll, and months pass, between the
order and the execution ; and the want of a speedy explana-
tion of a single point, is enough to defeat a whole system.
You have, indeed, winged messengers of vengeance, wlio
carry your bolts in their pounces to the remotest verge of the
sea. But there a power steps in, that limits the arrogance
of raging passions and furious elements, and says, " So far
shalt thou go and no farther." Who are you that should
fret and rage, and bite the chains of nature ? Nothing
worse happens to you than does to all nations, who have ex-
tensive empire ; and it happens into all the forms into which
empire can be thrown. In large bodies, the circulation of
power must be less vigorous at the extremities. Nature has
said it. The Turk cannot govern Egypt, and Arabia, and
Curdistan, as he governs Thrace ; nor has he the same do-
minion in Crimea and Algiers, which he has at Brusa and
Smyrna. Despotism itself is obliged to truck and huckster.
The Sultan gets such obedience as he can. He governs with
a loose rein, that he may govern at all ; and the whole of the
force and vigor of his authority in his centre, is derived from
a prudent relaxation in all his borders. Spain in her prov-
inces, is, perhaps, not so well obeyed, as you are in yours.
She complies, too ; she submits ; she watches times. This is
the inunutable condition, the eternal law, of extensive and
detached empire.
LXX v.— TAXATION OF AMERICA.
• BURKE.
Let us, sir, embrace some system or other before we end
this session. Do you mean to tax America, and to draw a
productive -revenue from thence? If you do, speak out;
THE RETURN OF PEACE. 309
name, fix, ascertain this revenue ; settle its quantity ; define
its objeets ; provide for its collection ; and then tight when
you have something to fight for. If you murder — rob ; if you
kill, take possession : and do not appear in the character of mad-
men, as well as assassins, violent, vindictive, bloody, and tyran-
nical, without an object. But may better counsels guide yon !
Again, and again, revert to your old principles — seek peace
and ensue it — leave America, if she has taxable matter in
her, to tax herself I am not here going into the distinctions
of rights, nor attempting to mark their boundaries. I do not
enter into these metaphysical distinctions ; I hate the very
sound of them. Leave the Americans as they anciently
stood, and these distinctions, bora of our unhappy contest,
will die along with it. They and we, and their and our an-
cestors, have been hap[jy under that system. Let the mem-
ory of all actions, in contradiction to that good old mode,
on both sides, be extinguished fc)rever. Be content to bind
America by laws of trade ; you have always done it. Let
this be your reason for binding their trade. Do not burthen
them with taxes ; you were not used to do so from the begin-
ning. Let this be your reason for not taxing. Tliese are
the arguments of states and kingdoms. Leave the rest to the
schools ; for there only thev may be discussed with saftity.
But if, intempei-ately, unwisely, fatally, you sophisticate and
poison the very sources of government, by urging subtle de-
duetions, and consequences odious to those you govern, from
the unlimited and illimitable natui'e of supreme sovei-eignty,
you wdl teach them by these means to call that sovereignty
itself in question. When you drive him liard, the boar will
surely turn u|)(in the hunters. 11' that sovereignty and their
freedom cannot be reconciled, what will they take ? They
will cast your sovereignty in your face. Nobody will be argued
into slavery.
LXXVL— THE RETURN" OF PEACE.
JEKFEET.
We are still too near the great image of Deliverance and
Heform which the Genius of Europe has just set up before
us, to discern with certainty its just lineatnents, or construe
the true character of the aspect with which it looks onward
310 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
to futurity ! We see enough, however, to fill us with innu-
merable feelings, and the germs of many high and anxious
speculations.
Tlie first and predominant feeling which rises on contempla-
ting the scenes that have just burst on our view, is that of deep-
felt gratitude and delight, — for the liberation of so many oj)-
pressed nations, — for the cessation of bloodshed and fear and
misery over the fairest portions of the civilized world, — and
lor the enchanting, though still dim and uncertain prospect
of long peace and measureless improvement, which seems at
last to be opening on the sufl'ering kingdoms of Europe. The
very novelty of such a state of things, which could be knowa
only by description to the greater part of the existing gene-
ration — the suddenness of its arrival, and the contrast which
it Ibrms with the anxieties and alarms to which it has so
immed ately succeeded, all concur most poweriuUy to enhance
its vast intrinsic attractions. It has come upon the world
like the balmy air and flushing verdure of a late spring, after
the dreary chills of a long and interminable winter ; and the
refreshing sweetness with which it has visited the earth, feels
like Elysium to those who have just escaped from the driv-
ing tempests it has banished.
We have reason to hope, too, that the riches of the harvest
will correspond with the splendor of this early promise. All
the periods in which human society and human intellect
have been known to make great and memorable advances,
have followed close upon periods of general agitation and
disorder. Men's minds, it would appear, must be deeply and
roughly stirred, before they become prolific of great concep-
tions, or vigorous resolves ; and a vast and alarming fermen-
tation must pervade and agitate the mass of society, to inform
it with that kindly warmth, by which alone the seeds of
genius and improvement can be expanded.
LXXVII.— GLORY OF HOLLAND AND IRELAND.
BOYTON'.
The history of the Dutch people dims indeed the lustre,
while it transcends all that is marvellous in S, artan story.
Subjects of the most poweriul monarch of the day, the lord of
GLORY OF HOLLAND AND IRELAND. 311
an eastern and western ■world, with treasures the most bound-
less, with armies the best disciplined, trained to war, and
hal)ituated to victory, and led by generals whose experience
and skill have been the admiration of alter times, they rose
ajrainst their oppressors. Amid the sorest persecution, under
trials, the mere recital of which would blanch the cheek,
neither the violence of armed despotism, nor the cruelty of
bigoted power, could subdue a people determined to be free ;
deeply impressed with the trutiis spread abroad at the period
of the Reformation, when their souls were emancipated, their
bodies could not be enslaved. In defence of that sacred prin-
ciple which commands every being to worship iiis God as his
conscience dictates, they rose upon their bigoted persecutors
to a man. The same elastic principle wliich etii^cted the
national independence of Holland, spread wide its national
prosperity — her fleets tilled every harbor — her products sup-
plied every market — the extent of her enterprise was circum-
scribed only by the limits of the globe — her whalers usurped
the Arctic regions — her industry drew Irom the northern
deeps treasures as abundant, and far more blessed than her
persecutors could extract, under the lash of tyrants and amid
the tears of slaves, from the exhaustless caverns oi Potosi and
Peru. The s'lores of three quarters of the globe were inter-
spersed with her settlements — her establishments in the East
were almost as numerous as the islands in the ln(Han Archi-
pelago ; and at some future period, when the present state of the
habitiible world shall have passed a-way, we know the great
ones of the earth will pass away, and new states arise under
His bidding, at whose command nations and empires rise
and fall, flourish and decay. Suppose, when the great ones
of the earth have sunk into oblivion, and that some phi-
losopher or historian, or some one dedicated to antiquarian
research some thousand years hence, shall find the names of
Holland and Indand affixed to regions distant Irom the parent
Country by a semi-cireumlL'rence of the globe — when he finds
in the nomenclature of geography a monument of their
language, he will naturally inquire, what a wondrous country
nmst tliis have been — her population, how numerous — her
territory, how extensive — her climate, how favorable — her soil,
how fruitful — and if there be any old almanac in those days,
and a reference is made to it, how surprised will he be to find
thi.s countless people to have been less than two millions t)l souls,
an 1 this extensive territory not umch larg^-r than an Englisli
312 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
county I Perhaps, too, he may question the fidelity of the
poet, who describes the industry of this surprisint^ people as
encroaching upon the ocean, and creating a sphere lor its
labors by that firm connected bulwark, which
" Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar,
Scciops out an empire and usurps the shore,
While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile.
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ;
The slow canal, tiie yellow blo-.som'd vale,
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail ;
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain — •
A new creation rescued from his reign."
LXXVIIL— APPARITIONS.
THOMAS CAELTLE.
Are we not Spirits, shaped into a body, into an Appearance ;
and that fade away again into air, and Invisibility ? This is
no metaphor, it is a simple scientific fact : we start out of .
Nothingness, take figure, and are Apparitions ; round us, as
round the veriest spectre, is Eternity ; and to Eternity min-
utes arc as years and ceons. Come there not tones of love
and faith, as from celestial harp-strings, like the Song of
beatified Souls ? And again, do we not squeak and gibber (in
our discordant screech-owlish debatings and recriminations) ;
and glide bodeful, and feeble, and fearful ; or uproar, and
revel in our mad Dance of the Dead, — till the scent of the
morning-air summons us to our still Home ; and dreamy
Night becomes awake and Day ? Where now is Alexander
of Macedon ; does the steel Host, that yelled in fierce battle
shouts at Issus and Arbela, remain behind him ; or have
they all vanished utterly, even as perturbed Goblins must ?
Napoleon too, and his Moscow Retreats and Austerlitz Cam-
paigns ? Was it all other than the veriest Spectre Hunt ;
which has now, with its howling tumult that made Niglit
hideous, flitted away ? Ghosts I There are well nigh a
thousand million walking the earth openly at noontide ; some
half hundred have vanished from it, some half-hundred have
arisen in it, ere thy watch ticks once.
So has it been from the beginniiig, atid so it will be to the
end. Generation after generation takes to itself the Form
THE LANDED INTEREST. 313
of a Body ; and fortli-issnino- from Cimmerian Night, on
Heaven's mission appears. What Force and Fire is in earth
he expends ; one grindiii<r in the mill of Industry ; one hunt-
er-like climbing the giddy Alpine heights of Science ; one
madly dashed in pieces on the rocks of Strife, in war with his
fellow ; — and then the Heaven-sent is recalled ; his earthly
Vesture falls away, and soon even to sense becomes a van-
ished Shadow. Thus, like some wild-flaming, wild-thunder-
ing train of Heaven's Artillery, does this mysterious maiildml
thunder and flame, in long-drawn, quick-succeeding grandeur,
through the unknown Deep. Thus, like a God-created, fire-
breathing Spirit-host, we emerge from the Inane ; haste
stormfuUy across the astonished Earth ; then plunge again
into the Inane. Earth's mountains are levelled, and her
seas filled up, in our passage : can the Earth, which is but
dead and a vision, resist Spirits which have reality and are
alive ? On the hardest adamant some foot-print of us is
stamped in ; the last rear of the host will read traces of the
earliest Van. But whence ? — Heaven, -whither ? Sense
knows not ; Faith knows not ; only that it is through Mystery
to Mystery, from God and to God.
" We are such ntuff
Asi Dreams arc niaile of, and our little Life
Is rounded with a sleep !"
LXXIX.— THE LANDED INTEREST.
d' ISRAELI.
It is a fact, a well-known fact, that the spirit of the landed
interest is deeply moved, and whether they have foundation
for their feelings or not, I would not recommend any minister
to treat them with contempt. I fear the notion is of old
standing, that the landed interest may he treated with impu-
nity. It was a proverb of Walpole's, that they coiild be
fleeced with security ; and I observe that at no time was the
landed interest treated more unjustly than when demagogues
were deiKouncing them as an oligarchical usurpation. But,
sir, I think this may be a dangerous game, if you be out-
raginsr justice. It is true you may trust to their proverbial
loyalty. Trust to their loyalty, but do not abuse it. I dare
14
314 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
say, it may be said of them, as it was said three thousand
years ago, that the agricultural class is the least given to
sedition. It is true, I doubt not, that the Englishman, in his
plains and dales, is in this respect as the Greeks were in their
islands and continents. You should also remember that the
ancestors of these men were the founders of your liberty — the
men who fought and died for justice. You may rely upon it,
that the spirit which refused to pay ship-money is not to be
trifled with. Their conduct has exhibited no hostile feeling,
notwithstanding the political changes that have occurred
during late years, and the apparent diminution of their power.
They have inscribed a homely sentiment on their banners ;
but one, if I mistake not, which touches the heart, and con-
vinces the minds of Englishmen — " Live and let live."
You, the leading spirits of the manufacturing interest, have
openly declared your opinion, that if there was not an acre
of land cultivated in England, the country would not be in a
worse condition, and you have joined in open chorus in an-
. nouncing that England would monopolize the trade of all
countries, and become the workshop of the world. Your
systems, then, and those of the agricultural body, are directly
contrary. They invite union ; they believe that national
prosperity is only produced by the welfare of all. You would
wish to achieve an isolated splendor ; a solitary magnificence ;
but, believe me, when I say that, if you succeed in your
wishes you will be an exception in the history of mankind.
It will be a departure from the principles which have hitherto
governed society, if you can maintain that prosperity which
you desire, without the possession of that permanence and sta-
bility which territorial influence can alone insure. I see no
reason, though you may for a moment flourish after their
destruction, though our ports may be filled with your ship-
ping, though your factories smoke on every plain, though your
forges may flame in every city, I see no reason why you
should form an exception to that which history has recorded.
I see no reason, why you should not fade with the Syrian, and
moulder with the Venetian palaces. Rely upon it, you will
find in the landed interest the best and the surest foundation
uyjon which to build enduring prosperity ; you will find in
that interest, a consoler in your troulsles, a champion iu your
dangers, and a counsellor in your adversity.
VINDICATION FROM DISHONOR. 315
LXXX.— VINDICATION FROM DISHONOR.
EMMET.
Let no man ilare wlien I am dead to charjre me with dis-
honor ; let no man attaint my memory by believnig that I
conld have engaged in any cause but that of my country's
hburty and independence ; or that I could have become the
pliant minion of power in the oppression or the miseries of
my countrymen. The proclamation of the provisional gov-
ernment speaks for our views ; no inference can be tortured
from it to countenance barbarity or debasement at home, or
subjection, humiliation, or treachery from abroad ; I would
not have submitted to a foreign oppressor ; in the dignity of
freedom 1 would have fought upon the threshold of my
pouiitry, and its enemy should enter only by passing over my
lifeless corpse. Am I, who lived but for my country, and
who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and
watchful oppressor, and the bondage of the grave, only to give
my countrymen their rights, and my country her inde-
pendence, and am I to be loaded with calumny, and not suf-
fered to resent or repel it ? No, God forbid I
My lords, you are impatient for the sacrifiice — the blood which
you seek, is not congealed by the artificial terrors which sur-
round your victim ; it circulates warmly and unruffled,
through the channels which God created lor 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. I 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 I have
but one request to ask at my departure from this world, —
it is the charity of its silence ! — Let no man write my epitaph :
for as no man wlio knows my motives dare 7unv vindicate
them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them
and me rejoice 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
tlie nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my
epitaph be written. 1 have done.
316 THE COOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LXXXI.— REMOVAL OF THE TROOPS FROM BOSTON.
CHATHAM.
When your lordships look at the papers transmitted U8
from America ; when you consider their decency, firmness,
and wisdom, you cannot but respect their cause, and wish to
make it your own. For myself, I must declare and avow,
that in all my reading and observation — I have read Thucy-
dides, and have studied and admired the master states of the
world — that for solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity, and
wisdom of conclusion, under such a complication of difficult
circumstances, no nation, or body of men, can stand in pref-
erence to the General Congress at Philadelphia. I trust it is
obvious to your lordships, that all attempts to impose servi-
tude upon such men, to establish despotism over such a
mighty continental nation, must be vain, must be fatal. We
shall be forced ultimately to retract ; let us retract wliile we
can, not when we must. I say we must necessarily undo
these violent oppressive acts ; they must be repealed — you
will repeal them ; I stake my reputation on it — I will consent
to be taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed.
Avoid, then, this humiliating, disgraceful necessity. With a
dignity becoming your exalted station, make the first ad-
vances to concord, to peace and happiness ; for that is your
true dignity, to act prudence and justice. That you should
first concede is obvious from sound and rational policy. Con-
cession comes with better grace and more salutary ellect from
superior power. It reconciles superiority of power M'ith the
feelings of men, and establishes solid confidence on the found-
ations of affection and gratitude.
Every motive, therefore, of justice and of policy, of digni-
ty and of prudence, urges you to allay the ferment in Amer-
ica, by a removal of your troops from Boston, by a repeal of
your acts of parliament, and by a demonstration of amicable
dispositions towards your colonies. On the other hand, every
danger and every hazard impend, to deter you from perse-
verance in your present ruinous measure. Foreign war hang-
ing over your head by a slight and brittle thread. France
and Spain watching your conduct, and waiting for the matu-
rity of your errors ; with a vigilant eye to America, and the
temper of your colonies, more than to their own concerns, be
they what they may.
YOU CANNOT CONQUER AMERICA. 3l7
To eonclude, my lords, if the ministers thus persevere in
misadvisiiio' and misleading the king, I will not say, that
they can alienate the aliections of his subjects from his crown ;
but I will affirm, that they will make the crown not worth
his wearing : I will not say that the king is betrayed ; but I
will pronounce, that the kingdom is undone.
LXXXIL— YOU CANNOT CONQUER AMERICA.
CHATHAM.
My lords, this ruinous and ignominious situation, where we
cannot act with success, nor suller with honor, calls upon us
to remonstrate in the strongest and loudest language of truth,
to rescue the ear of majesty from the delusions which sur-
round it. The desperate state of our arms abroad is in part
known : no man thinks more highly of them than 1 do. 1 love
and honor the English troops. I know their virtues and their
valor. I know they can achieve anything except impossibil-
ities ; and I know that the conquest of English America is
an impossibility. You cannot, I venture to say it, you can-
not conquer America. Your armies in the last war effected
cverytliing that could be effected ; and what was it? It cost
a ziumerous army, under the command of a most able gene-
ral, now a noble lord in this House, a long and laborious
campaign, to expel five thousand Frenchmen from French
America. My lords, you cannot conquer America. What
is your present situation then ? We do not know tlie worst ;
but we know that in tliree campaigns we have done noth-
ing and suffered nmch. Besides the sufferings, perhaps total
loss, of the northern force ; the best appointed army that ever
took the field, commanded by Sir William Howe, has retired
from the Anierican lines. He was obliged to relinquish his
attempt, and, with great delay and danger, to adopt a new
and distant place of operations. Wc shall soon know, and
in any event have reason to lament, what may have h;i|»-
pene(l since. As to conquest, therefore, my lords, I repeat, it
is irnjtossible. You may swell every expense, and every ef-
fort still more extravagantly ; pile and accumulate every as-
sistance you can Imyor borrow; traffic and barter witli every
link' pitiful German prince, that sells and sends his subjects
318 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
to the shambles of a foreign prince ; your efforts are forever
vain and impotent : doubly so from this mercenaiy aid on
vi^hich you rely. For it irritates, to an incurable resentment,
the minds of your enemies — to overrun them with the
mercenary sons of rapine and plunder ; devoting them and
their positions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty I li' I were
an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop
was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms
— never — never — never !
LXXXIII.— DAYS OF DESOLATION.
ALISON.
This inundation of infidelity was soon followed by sterner
days ; to the unrestrained indulgence of passion, succeeded
the unfettered march of crime. With the destruction of all
the bonds which held families together ; with the removal of
all the restraints on vice or guilt, the fabric of civilization
and religion speedily was dissolved. To the licentious orgies
of the Regent Orleans succeeded the infernal furies of the
Revolution : from the same Palais Rnyal from whence had
sprung those fountains of courtly corruption, soon issued forth
the fiery stream of democracy. Enveloped in this burning
torrent, the institutions, the faith, the nobles, the throne
were destroyed ; the worst instruments of the supreme jus-
tice, the passions and ambition of men, were suffered to work
their unresisted way : and in a few years the religion of
eighteen hundred years was abolished, its priests slain or ex-
iled, its Sabbath abolished, its rights proscribed, its faith un-
known. Infancy came into the world without a blessing,
age left it without a hope ; marriage no longer received a
benediction ; sickness was left without consolation ; the village
bell ceased to call the poor to their weekly day of sanctity
and repose ; the village churchyard to witness the weeping
train of mourners attending their rude forefathers to their
last home. The grass grew, in the churches of every parish
in France ; the dead without a blessing were thrust into
charnel-houses ; marriage was contracted before a civil ma-
gistrate ; and infancy untaught to pronounce the name of
God, longed only for the period when the passions and indul-
gences of life were to commence.
INDULGENCES TO THE CATHOLICS. 819
LXXXIV.— INDULGENCES TO THE CATHOLICS.
SYDNET SMITH.
What amuses me the most is, to hear of the indulgences
which the Cathohcs have received, and their exorhitauce in
not being satisfied with those indulgences : now if you com-
plain to me that a man is obtrusive and shameless in his re-
quests, and that it is impossible to bring him to reason, I
must first of all hear the whole of your conduct towards
him ; for you may have taken from him so much in the first
instance, that, in spite of a long series of restitution, a vast
latitude for petition may still remain behind.
There is a village (no matter where) in which the inhabi-
tants, on one day in the year, sit down to a dinner prepared
at the common expense ; by an extraordinary piece of tyranny
(which Lord Hawkesbury would call the wisdom of the vil-
lage ancestors), the inhabitants of three of the streets, about
an hundred years ago, seized upon the inhabitants of the
fourth street, bound them hand and foot, laid them upon
their backs, and compelled them to look on while the rest
were stuffing themselves with beef and beer ; the next year,
the inhabitants of the persecuted street (though they contrib-
uted an equal quota of the expense), were treated precisely
in the same manner. The tyranny grew into a custom ; and
(as the manner of our nature is), it was considered as the
most sacred of all duties to keep these poor fellows without
their annual dinner ; the village was so tenacious of this
practice, that nothing could induce them to resign it ; every
enemy to it was looked upon as a disbeliever in Divine Provi-
dence, and any nefarious churchwarden who wished to suc-
ceed in his election had nothing to do but to represent his
antagonist as an abolitionist, in order to frustrate his ambition,
endanger his life, and throw the village into a state of most
dreadful commotion. By degrees, however, the obnoxious
slreet grew to be so well peopled, and its inhabitants so firndy
united, that their oppressors, more afraid of injustice, were
more disposed to be just. At the next dinner they are un-
l)()und, the year after allowed to sit upright, then a bit of
bread and a glass of water ; till, at last, after a long series
of concessions, they are emboldened to ask, in pretty plain
terms, that they may be allowed to sit down at the bottom
of the table, and to fill their bellies as well as the rest.
320 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Fortliwith a general cry of shame and scandal : " Ten years
ago, were you not laid upon yonr backs ? Don't you remem-
ber what a great thing you thought it to get a piece of bread ?
How thankful you were for cheese parings ? Have you for-
gotten that memorable era, when the lord of the manor in-
terfered to obtain for you a slice of the public pudding ?
And now with an audacity only equalled by your ingrati-
tude, you have the impudence to ask for knives and forks,
and to request, in terms too plain to be mistaken, that you
may sit down to the table with the rest, and be indulged
even with beef and beer : there are not more than half-a-
dozeu dishes which we have reserved for ourselves ; the rest
lias been thrown open to you with the utmost profusion ; you
have potatoes, and carrots, suet dumplings, sops in the pan,
and delicious toast and water, in incredible quantities. Beef,
niutton, lamb, pork, and veal, are ours; and if you were not
the most restless and dissatisfied of human beings, you would
never think of aspiring to enjoy them."
LXXXV— SAFETY ONLY IN THE REPUBLIC.
LAMAETINE.
For my part, I see too clearly the series of consecutive
catastrophes I should be prepnring for my country, to attempt
to arrest the avalanche of such a Revolution, on a descent
where no dynastic force could retain it without increasing its
mass, its weight, and the rviin of its fall. There is, I repeat
to you, a single power capable of preserving the people irom
the danger with which a revolution, under such social con-
ditions, menaces them, and this is the power of the people ;
it is entire liberty. It is the suffrage, will, reason, interest,
the hand and arm of all — the Republic I
Yes, it is the Republic alone which can now save you from
anarchy, civil and foreign war, spoliation, the scalibld, the
decimation of property, the overthrow of society and foreign
invasion. The remedy is heroic, I know, but, at crises of
times and ideas like these in which M^e live, there is no
effective policy but one as great and audacious as the crisis
itself. By giving, to-morrow, the Republic in its own name
10 the people, you will instantly disarm it of the watchword
ATTACHMENT OF A PEOPLE TO THEIR RELIGIOX. 321 ,
of agitation. What do I say ? You will instantly change
its anger into joy, its I'nry into entl;usiasni. All who have
the Republican sentiment at heart, all who have had a dream
of the Republic in their imaginations, all who regret, all who
aspire, all who reason, all who dream, in France, — Repub-
licans of the secret societies, Republicans militant, specula-
tive Republicans, the people, the tribunes, the youth, the
schools, the journalists, men of hand and men of head, — will
utter but one cry, will gather round their standard, will arm
to defend it, but will rally, confusedly at first, but in order
afterwards, to protect the government, and to preserve
society itself behind this government of all ; — a supreme force
which may have its agitations, never its dethronements and
its ruins ; for this government rests on the very foundations
of the nation. It alone appeals to all. This government
only can maintain itself, chis alone can govern itself ; this
only can unite, in the voices and hands of all, the reason and
will, the arms and sutlrages, necessary to sei've not only the
nation from servitude, but society, the family relation, prop-
erty and morality, which are menaced by the cataclysm of
ideas which are fermenting beneath the foundations of this
half crumbled throne. If anarchy can be subdued, mark it
well, it is by the Republic I If communism can be conquered,
it is by the Republic ! If revolution can be moderated, it is
by the Republic I If blood can be spared, it is by the Re-
public ! If universal war, if the invasion it would perhaps
bring on as the reaction of Europe upon us, can be avoided,
understand it well once more, it is by the Republic. This is
why, in reason and in conscience, as a statesman, before God
and before you, as free from illusion as from fanaticism, if
the hour in which we deliberate is pregnant with a revolu-
tion, I will not conspire for a counter-revolution. I conspire
for none — but if we must have one, I will accept it entire,
and I will decide for the Republic !
LXXXVI.— ATTACHMENT OF A PEOPLE TO TIIETR
RELIGION.
SYDNEY SMFTH.
If the groat mass of the people, environed as they are on
every side with Jenkenson's, Percevals, Mellvilles, and other
322 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
perils, were to pray for divine illumination and aid, what
more could Providence in its mercy do than send them the
example of Scotland ? For what a length of years was it
attempted to compel the Scotch to change their religion :
horse, foot, artillery, and armed prebendaries, were sent out
after the Presbyterian parsons and their congregations. The
Percevals of those days called for blood ; this call is never
made in vain, and blood was shed ; but to the astonishment
and horror of the Percevals of those days, they could not
introduce the Book of Common Prayer, nor prevent that
metaphysical people from going to heaven their true way,
instead of our true way. With a little oatmeal for food, and
a little sulphur for friction, allaying cutaneous irritation with
the one hand, and holding his Calvinistical creed in the
other, Sawney ran away to his flinty hills, sung his psalm
out of tune his own way, and listened to his sermon of two
hours long, amid the rough imposing melancholy of the
tallest thistles. But Sawney brought up his unbreeched ofi-
spring in a cordial hatred to his oppressors ; and Scotland
was as much a part of the weakness of England then as Ire-
land is at this moment. The true and the only remedy was
applied ; the Scotch were sutiered to worship God after their
own tiresome manner, without pain, penalty, and privation.
No lightnings descended from heaven ; the country was not
ruined ; the world is not yet come to an end ; the dignitaries
who foretold all these consequences, are utterly forgotten ;
and Scotland has ever since been an increasing source of
strength to Great Britain. In the six-hundredth year of our
empire over Ireland, we are making laws to transport a man,
il he is found out of his house after ei^ht o'clock at night.
That this is necessary, I know too well ; but tell me why it
is necessary ? It is not necessary in Greece, where the
Turks are masters.
LXXXVII.— SPEECH OF ICILIUS TO THE ROMANS.
ALFIEEI.
Listen to ray words, people of Rome ! I who hereto-
fore have n 'ver been deceitful, who have never either be-
trayed or sold my honor ; who boast an ignoble origin, but a
JOAN OF ARC AND BISHOP OF BEAUVAIS. 323
noTale heart ! hear me. This innocent free maid is daughter
of Virginius. At such a name, I see your eyes flash with
resplendent fire. Virginius is fighting for you in the field :
think on the depravity of the times ; meanwhile, exposed to
shame, the victim of outrage, his daughter remains in Rome.
And who outrages her ? Come forward, Marcus ! show
yourself Why tremble you ? He is v/ell known to you ;
the last slave of the tyrant Appius and his first minister — of
Appius the mortal enemy of every virtue — of Appius the
haughty, stern, ferocious oppressor, who has ravished from
you your freedom, and, to embitter the robbery, has left you
your lives. Virginia is my promised bride ; I love her. Who
I am, I need not say ; some one may perhaps remind you
I was your tribune, your defender ; but in vain. You trusted
rather the deceitful words of another than my free speech.
We now suff(3r in common slavery, the pain of your delusion.
Why do I say more ? The heart, the arm, the boldness of
Icilius is known to you not less than the name. From you 1
demand my free bride. This man does not ask her ; he
styles her slave— he drags her, he forces her. Icilius or
Marcus is a liar ; say, Romans, which it is.
LXXXVIIL— VISIONS OF JOATT OF ARC AND BISHOP OF
BEAUVAIS.
DE QUINCET
Bishop of Beauvais ! thy victim died in fire upon a scaf-
fold — thou upon a down bed. But for the departing minutes
of life, both are oftentimes alike. At the farewell crisis,
when the gates of death arc opening, and flesh is resting
from its struggles, oftentimes the tortured and the torturer
have the same truce from carnal torments ; both sink together
into sleep ; together both, sometimes, kindle into dreams.
When the mortal mists were gathering fast upon you two.
Bishop and Shepherd girl — when the pavilions of life were
flosing up their sliadowy curtains about you — let us try,
through the gigantic glooms, to decipher the flying features
of your separate visions.
The shepherd girl that had delivered France — she, from
her dungeon, she, I'rom her bailing at the stake, she, from hei
324 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
duel with fire, as she entered her last dream — saw Domremy,
saw the ibuutain of Domremy, saw the pomp of forests in
which her childhood had wandered. That Easter festival,
which man had denied to her languishing heart — that resur-
rection of spring-time, which the darkness of dungeons had
intercepted from her, hungering after the glorious liberty of
forests — were by God given back into her hands, as jewels
that had been stolen from her by robbers. With these, per-
haps (for the minutes of dream.s can stretch into ages), was
given back to her by God the bliss of childhood. By special
privilege, for kcr might be created, in this farewell dream, a
second childhood, innocent as the first ; but not, like that, sml
with the gloom of a fearful mission in the rear. This mis-
sion had now been fulfilled. The storm was weathered, the
skirts even of that mighty storm was drawing ofi^. The blood,
that she was to reckon for, had been exacted ; the tears, that
she was to shed in secret, had been paid to the last. The
hatred to herself in all eyes had been faced steadily, had been
sufiered, had been survived. And in her last fight upon the
scaffold she had triiimphed gloriously ; victoriously she had
tasted the stings of death. For all, except this comfort from
her farewell dream, she had died — died, amidst the tears of
ten thousand enemies —died, amidst the drums and trumpets
of armies — died, amidst peals redoubling upon peals, volleys
upon volleys, from the saluting clarions of martyrs.
LXXXIX.~THE SAME— CONTINUED.
DE QUINCEV.
Bishop of Beauvais I because the Sfuilt-burthened man is in
dreams haunted and waylaid by the most frightiul of his
crimes, and because upon that fluctuating mirror -rising
(like the mocking mirrors oi mirage, in Arabian deserts) from
the fens of death — most of all are reflected the sweet coun-
tenances which the man has laid in ruins ; therefore I know,
Bishop, that you, also, entering your final dream, saw Dom-
remy — the fountain of which the witnesses spoke so much,
showed itseli to your eyes in pure morning dews ; but neither
dews, nor the holy dawn could cleanse away the bright spots
of innocent blood upon its surface. By the fountain, Bishop,
JOAN OF ARC AND BISHOP OF BEAUVAIS. 325
you saw a woman seated, that hid her face. But as ymi
draw near, the woman raises her wasted features. Would
Dornremy know them again for the features of her child ?
Ah, but you know them, Bishop, well I Oh, mercy, what a
groan was that, which the servants, waiting outside the Bish-
op's dream at his bedside, heard from his laboring heart, as
at this moment he turned away from the fountain and the
woman, seeking rest in the forests afar off'. Yet not so to
escape the woman, whom once again he must behold belbre
he dies. In the forests to which he prays for pity, will he
find a respite? What a tumult, what a gathering of feet is
there I In glades, where only wild deer should run, armies
and nations are assembling; towering in the fluctuating
crowd are phantoms that belong to departed hours. There
is the great English Prince, Regent of France. ^There is
my lord of Winchester, the princely Cardinal, that died and
made no sign. There is the Bishop of Beauvais, clinging to
the shelter of thickets. AVhat building is that which hands
so rapid are raising ? Is it a martyr's scaffold ? Will they
burn the child of Domremy a second time ? No : it is a tri-
bunal that rises to the clouds ; and two nations stand around
it, waiting for a trial. Shall my^lord oi' Beauvais sit again
upon the judgment-seat, and again number the hours tor the
innocent ? Ah I no : he is the prisoner at the bar. Alread)
all is waiting ; the mighty audience is gathered, the court
is hurrying to their seats, the witnesses are arrayed, the
trumpets are sounding, the judge is going to take his place.
Oh I but this is sudden. My lord, have you no counsel?
" Counsel I have none : in heaven above, or on earth beneath,
counsellor there is none now that would take a brief from
me : all are silent." Is it, indeed, come to this ? Alas, the
time is short, ihe tumult is wondrous, the crowd stretcdies
away into infinity, but yet I will search in it for somebody to
take your brief: I know of somebody that will be your coun-
sel. Who is this that cometh from Domremy ? Who is she
that cometh in bloody coronation robes from Ilheims ? Who
is she that cometh with blackened flesh from walking the
furnaces of Rouen ? This is she, the Shepherd girl, counsel-
lor that had none for herself, whom I choose. Bishop, ibr
yours. She it is, I engage, that shall take rny lord's brief.
She it is, Bishop, that would plead for you : yes, Bishop, sue
— when heaven and earth are silent.
PART 11.
SELECTIONS OF POETKY.
SELECTIONS OF POETRY.
I— SEAWEED.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
When descends on the Atlantic
The gigantic
J^torm-wind of the equinox,
Landward in his wrath he scourges
The toihng surges,
Laden with seaweed from the rocks :
From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges
Of sunken ledges,
In some far-off, bright Azore ;
From Bahama, and the dashing,
Silver-flashing
Surges of San Salvador ;
From the tumbling surf that buries
The Orkneyan skerries.
Answering the hoarse Hebrides ;
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting
Spars, uplifting
On the desolate, rainy seas ;—
Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main ;
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches
Of sandy beaches.
All have found repose again.
330 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
So when storms of wild emotion
Strike the ocean
Of the poet's soul, ere long
From each cave and rocky fastness,
In its vastness,
Floats some fragments of a song :
From the far-off isles enchanted.
Heaven has planted
With the golden fruit of truth,
From the dashing surf, whose vision
Gleams Elysian
In the tropic clime of youth ;
From the strong Will, and the Endeavor
That forever
Wrestles with the tides of Fate ;
From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered,
Tempest-shattered,
Floating waste and desolate ; —
Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless heai't ;
Till at length in books recorded.
They, like hoarded
Household words, no more depart.
II.— THE WINDS.
■W. 0. BRYANT.
Ye -wands, ye unseen currents of the air,
Softly ye played a few brief hours ago ;
Ye bore the murmuring bee ; ye tossed the hair
O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow ;
Ye rolled the round white clouds through depths of blue ;
Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew ;
Before you the Catalpa's blossoms flew,
Slight blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow.
THE STEAMBOAT. 331
How are ye changed I Ye take the cataract's sound ;
Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might ;
The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground ;
The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight.
The clouds before you shoot like eagles past ;
The homes of men are rocking in your blast ;
Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and cast,
Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight.
The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain,
To escape your wrath ; ye seize and dash them dead.
Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain ;
The harvest's field becomes a river's bed ;
And torrents tumble from the hills around,
Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned,
And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound,
Rise, as the rusliing waters swell and spread.
Ye dart upon the deep, and straight is heard
A wilder roar, and men grow pale, and pray ;
Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird
Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray.
See ! to the breaking mast the sailor clings ;
Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs.
And take the mountain billow on your wings.
And pile the wreck of navies round the bay.
III.— THE STEAMBOAT.
O. W. HOLMES.
See how yon flashing herald treads
The ridged and rolling waves.
As, crashing o'er their crested heads,
She bows her surly slaves !
With foam before and fire behind,
Slie renils the clinging sea.
That flies before the roaring wind,
Beneath her his^in" Ice.
332 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
The morning spray, like sea-born flowers,
With heap'd and glistening bells,
Falls round her fast in ringing showers,
With every wave that swells ;
And, flaming o'er the midnight deep,
In lurid fringes thrown,
The living gems of ocean sweep
Along her flashing zone.
With clashing wheel, and lifting keel,
And smoking torch on high,
When winds are loud, and billows reel,
She thunders foaming by !
When seas are silent and serene
With even beam she glides,
The sunshine glimmering through the green
Tliat skirts her gleaming sides.
Now, like a wild nymph, far apart
She veils her shadowy form,
The beating of her restless heart
Still sounding through the storm ;
Now- answers, like a courtly dame,
The reddening surges o'er,
The flying scarf of spangled flame,
The Pharos of the shore.
To-night yon pilot shall not sleep,
Who trims his narrow'd sail ;
To-night yon frigate scarce shall keep
Her broad breast to the gale ; —
And many a foresail scoop'd and strain'd,
Shall break from yard and stay.
Before this smoky wreath has stained
The rising mist of day.
Hark I hark I I hear yon whistling shroud,
I see yon quivering mast ;
The black throat of the hunted cloud
Is panting forth the blast I
An hour, and whirl'd like winnowing chaff',
The giant surge shall fling
His tresses o'er yon pennon-stafT,
White as the sea-bird's wing !
DEATH OF OSCEOLA. 3C3
Yet rest, ye wanderers of the deep ;
Nor wind nor wave shall tire
Those fleshless arms, whose pulses leap
With floods of living fire ;
Sleep on — and when the morning light
Streams o'er the shining bay,
0, think of those for whom the night
Shall never wake in day I
IV.— DEATH OF OSCEOLA.
ALFRED -B. STREET.
Tn a dark and dungeon room
Is stretched a tawny form,
And it shakes in its dreadful agony
Like a leaf in the autumn storm.
No pillar'd palmetto hangs
Its tuft in the clear, bright air,
But a sorrowing group, and the narrow wall,
And a smouldering hearth is there.
o
For his own green forest-home
He had struggled long and well,
But the soul that had breasted a nation's arms
At the touch of a fetter, ft^U.
He had worn wild freedom's crown
On his bright unconquered brow
Since he first saw the light of his beautiful skies
It was gone forever now I
e^
But in his last dread hour.
Did not bright visions come ?
Bright visions that shed a golden gleam
On the darkness of his doom :
They calm'd his throbbing pulse,
And they hung oti his muttering breath :
The spray tlirovvn up from file's frenzied Hood
Plunging on to the gulf of death.
334 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
The close walls shrank away ;
Ahove was the stainless sky,
A nd the lakes with their floating isles of flowers
Spread glittering to his eye.
O'er his hut, the live-oak spread
Its branching gigantic shade,
With its dots of leaves and its robes of moss
Broad blackening on the glade.
But a sterner f-ight is round,
Battle's wild torrent is there,
The tomahawk gleams and the red blood streams,
And the war-whoops rend the air.
At the head of his faitliful band
He peals forth his terrible cry.
And he fiercely leaps 'mid the slaughter'd heaps
Of the foe that but fought to die.
One gasp — and the eye is glazed
And still is the stifl"'ning clay,
The eagle soul of the cliief had pass'd
On the battle's flood away.
v.— RHYME OF THE RAIL.
Singing through the forests,
Rattling over ridges,
Shooting under arches.
Rumbling over bridges.
Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale, —
Bless me ! this is pleasant.
Riding on the Rail I
Men of different ' stations'
In the eye of fame,
Here are very quickly
Comhig to the same
J. G. SAXE.
RHYME OF THE RAIL. 335
High and lowly people,
Birds of every feather,
On a common level
Travelling together !
Gentlemen in shorts,
Looming very tall ;
Gentlemen at large,
Talking very small ;
Gentlemen in tights,
With a loose-ish mien ;
Gentlemen in gray,
Looking rather green.
Gentlemen quite old.
Asking for the news ;
Gentlemen in black,
In a fit of blues ;
Gentlemen in claret,
Sober as a vicar ;
Gentlemen in Tweed,
Dreadfully in liquor !
Stranger on the right.
Looking very sunny.
Obviously reading
Something i-ather funny.
Kow the smiles grow thicker.
Wonder what they mean ?
Faith, he's got the Knicker-
Bocker Magazine !
Stranger on the left.
Closing up his peepers,
Now he snores amain.
Like the Seven Sleepers ;
At his feet a volume
Gives the explanation.
How the man grew stupid
From ' Association I'
Ancient maiden lady
Anxiously remarks,
That there must be peril
'Mong so many sparks;
336 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Roguish-looking fellow
Turning to the stranger.
Says it's his opinion
She is out of danger !
Woman with her haby,
Sitting vis-a-vis ;
Baby keeps a squalling,
Woman looks at me ;
Asks about the distance,
Says it's tiresome talking,
Noises of the cars
Are so very shocking I
Market-woman careful
Of the precious casket,
' Knowing eggs are eggs,
Tightly holds her basket ;
Feeling that a smash.
If it came, would surely
Send her eggs to pot
E-ather prematurely !
Singing througVi the forests,
Rattling over ridges.
Shooting under arches,
E.umbling over bridges.
Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale ;
Bless me I this is pleasant,
E-iding on the Rail I
yi_LORD OF BELMONT TOWER
W. M. PRAED.
W^HERI2 foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a ruin wan and gray
O'erlooks the cornfield and the vine,
Majestic in its dark decay. ■ ,
A SONG OF THE WAR. 857
Among their dim clouds long ago
They mocked the battles that raged below,
And greeted the guests in arms that came
"With hissiuo; arrow and scalding; flame :
But there is not one, of the homes of pride,
That frown on the breast of the peaceful tide,
Whose leafy walls more proudly tower
Than these, the walls of Belmont Tower.
Whrre foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a fierce and fiery lord
Did carve the meat and pour the wine
For all that revelled at his board.
Father and son, they were all alike,
Firm to endure, and fast to strike ;
Little they loved but a Frau or a feast,
But there was not one in all the land
More trusty of heart, or more stout of hand,
More valiant in field, or more courteous in bower,
Than Otto, the Lord of Belmont Tower.
VIL— A SONG OF THE WAR.
G. H. M'M.VSTEE,
In their ragged regimentals,
Stood the old Continentals,
Yielding not.
When the grenadiers were lunging,
And like hail fell the plunging
Cannon shot ;
When the files
Of the isles [rampart
From the smoky night encampment bore the banner of tho
Unicorn, |(lruininer,
And grummer, grunnner, grnmmer, rolled the roll of the
Through the morn I
15
£38 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCK.
But with eyes to the front all,
And with guns horizontal,
Stood our sires ;
And the balls whistled deadly,
And in streams flashing redly
Blazed the fires ;
As the swift
Billows' drift
Drove the dark battle breakers o'er the green sodded acres
Of the plain,
And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder.
Cracking amain I
Now like smiths at their forges
Labored red Saint George's
Cannoniers,
And the '' villainoiis saltpetre"
Rang a fierce discordant metre
Around their ears ;
Like the roar
On a shore,
Rose the Horse Guards' clangor, as they rode in roaring anger
On our flanks ;
Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire
Through the ranks !
And the old-fashioned Colonel
Galloped through the white infernal
Powder cloud ;
His broad-sword was swinging
And his brazen throat was ringing,
Trumpet loud ;
Then the blue
Bullets flew.
And the trooper jackets redden'd at the touch of the leaden
Rifle breath.
And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-poundeT,
Hurling death I
PRESS ON. ^ 339
VIIL— PRESS ON".
FROM A VALEDICTORT POEM.
N. P. WILLIS.
AVe shall go forth together. There will come
Alike the day of trial unto all,
And the rude world will buflet us alike.
Temptation hath a music for all ears ;
Aud mad ambition trumpeteth to all ;
And the ungovernable thoughts within.
Will be in every bosom eloquent ; —
But when the silence and the calm come on,
And the high seal of character is set.
We shall not all be similar. The flow
Of lifetime is a graduated scale ,
And deeper than the vanities of power,
Or the vaip pomp of glorj', there is writ
A standard measuring its worth for Heaven.
The pathway to the grave may be the same,
And the proud man shall tread it, and the low,
With his bow'd head, shall bear him company.
Decay will make no difi'eivnce, and death.
With his cold hand, shall make no difference ;
And there will be no precedence of power,
In waking at the coming trump of God :
But in the temper of the invisible mind,
The godlike and undying intellect.
There are distinctions that will live in h*»A"'w\.
When tinie is a forgotten circumstance !
The soul of man
Createth its own destiny of power ;
And as the trial is intenser here,
His being hath a nobler strength in heaven
What is its earthly victory ? Press on !
For it hath tempted angels. Yet press on I
For it shall make you mighty among men ;
And from the eyrie of your eagle thoujjht,
Ye shall look down on monarchs. press op
For the high ones and powerful shall come
To do you reverence : and ihe beautiful
Will know the purer language of your brow,
340 THE 1500K OF ELOQUENCE.
And read it like a talisman of love !
Press on I for it is godlike to unloose
The spirit, and forget yourself in thought ;
Bending a pinion for the deeper sky,
And, in the very fetters of your flesh,
Mating with the pure essences of heaven !
Press on I — " for in the grave there is no work,
And no device." — Press on I while yet ye may !
IX.— ALNWICK CASTLE.
FITZ-GEEENE HALLECK.
Home of the Percy's high-born race,
Home of their beautiful and brave,
Alike their birth and burial place.
Their cradle and their grave I
Still sternly o'er the castle's gate
Their house's lion stands in state,
As in his proud departed hours ;
And warriors frown in stone on high,
And feudal banners " flout the sky"
Above his princely towers.
A gentle hill its side inclines,
Lovely in England's fadeless green,
To meet the quiet stream which winds
Through this romantic scene.
As silently and sweetly still.
As when, at evening, on that hill.
While summer's wind blew soft and low,
Seated by gallant Hotspur's side.
His Katharine was a happy bride,
A thousand years ago.
Wild roses by the abbey towers
Are gay in their young bud and bloom :
They were boi-n of a race of funeral flowers
That garlanded, in long-gone hours,
A Templars' knightly tomb.
QUIX AND FOOTE. 341
He died, the sword in his mailed hand,
On the holiest spot of the Blessed Land,
Where the cross M'as dainp'd with his dying breath,
When blood ran free as festal wine,
And the sainted air of Palestine
Was thick with the darts of death.
Wise with the lore of centuries,
What tales, if there be " tongues in trees"
Those giant oaks could tell,
Of beings born and buried here ;
Tales of the peasant and the peer,
Tales of the bridal and the bier,
The welcome and farewell,
Since on their boughs the startled bird
First, in her twilight slumbers, heard
The Norman's curfew-bell.
X.— QUIN AND FOOTE.
As Q,uin and Foote,
One day walked out
To view the country round,
111 merry mood
They chatting stood,
Hard by the village-pound.
Foote from his poke
A shilling took.
And said, " I'll bet a penny,
In a short space
Within this place
I'll make this piece a guinea."
Upon the ground.
Within the pound,
The sliilling soon was thrown :
" Behold," says Foote,
" The thing's made out.
For tlicrc i.s one pound one."
ANONYMOUS.
342 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCK.
" I wonrler not,"
Says Gluiii, "that thought
Should in your head be found.
Since that's the way
Your debts you pay —
One shilling in the pound."
XL— THE QUALITY OF MERCY.
SHAKSPEARE.
The quality of mercy is not straln'd ;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven,
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ;
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,
AVherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above his sceptered sway,
It is enthroned in the heart's of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.
XIL— FROM HENRY V.
SHAKSPEARa
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ;
Or close the wall up with our English dead I
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness, and humility :
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tigej ;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disjjuise fair nature with hard-favor'd rage ;
SLEEP. 3-13
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ;
Let it pry through the portage ot" the head,
Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelra it,
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded* base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height I
XIIL— SLEEP.
SHAKSPEARE.
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 luU'd with sounds of sweetest melody ?
thou dull god ! why liest thou with the vile,
Li loathsome beds ; and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case or a common 'larum 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 tlieir monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf 'ning clamors, in the slippery clouds,
That with the burly, death itself awakes ?
Canst thou, partial sleep I give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ;
And, in the calmest, and most stillest night.
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low, lie down !
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
* Worn.
844 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XIV.— SOLILOQUY OF MACBETH.
SHAKSPEAaa
If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere •well
It were done quickly : If the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the eiid-all here.
But here upon this bank and shoal of time, —
We'd jump the life to come. But, in these cases,
We still have judgment here ; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which being taught, return
To plague the inventor : This even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust :
First as I am his kinsman and his subject.
Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking ofl':
And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd
Upon the sightless couriers of the air.
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other.
XV.— VENICE AND AMERICA.
BTROW
Oh Venice, Venice ! when thy marble walls
Are level with the waters, there shall be
A cry of nations, o'er thy sunken halls,
A loud lament along the sweeping sea !
VENICE AND AMERICA. 345
i)
If I, a novlhern wanderer, weep for tliee,
What should thy sons do ? — anythuio; but weep :
And yet they only murmur in their sleep.
In contrast with their fathers — as the slime,
The dull green ooize of the receding deep,
Is with the dashing springtide foam
That drives the sailor shipless to his home,
Are they to those that were ; and thus they creep,
Crouchiug and crab-like, tlirough their sapping streets.
Oh I agony — that centuries should reap
No mellower harvest I Thirteen hundred years
Of wealth and glory turned to dust and tears ;
And every monument the stranger meets,
Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets ;
And even the Lion all subdued appeal's,
And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum,
With dull and dully dissonance, repeats
The echo of thy tyrant's voice along
The soft waves, once all musical to song,
That heaved benea'h the moonlight with the throng
Of gondolas — and to the busy hum
Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds
Were but the overheating of the heart,
And flow of too much happiness, which needs
The aid of age to turn its course apart
From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood
Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood.
The name of Commonwealth is past and gone
O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe ;
Venice is crush'd, and Holland deigns to own
A sceptre, and endures the purple robe ;
If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone
His chainless mountains, 'tis but for a time,
For tyranny of late is cunning grown.
And in its own good season tramples down
The sparkles of our ashes One great clime,
Whose vigorous olispring by dividing ocean
Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion
Of freedom, which their fathers fought for, and
Bequeathed — a heritage of heart and hand,
And proud distinction from each other laud.
Whose sons must Ikjw them at a monarch'sTnotion,
As if his souBeless fcceplru were a wand
• 17*
346 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Full of the magic of exploded science —
Still one great clime, in full and free defiance,
Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime,
Above the far Atlantic I — She has taught
Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag,
The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag,
May strike to those whose red right hands have bought
Rights cheaply earn'd with blood. Still, still forever
Better, though each man's life-blood were a river,
That it should flow, and overflow, than creep
Through thousand lazy channels in our veins,
Damm'd like the dull canal with locks and chains,
And moving, as a sick man in his sleep,
Three paces, ami then faltering : — better^e
Where the extinguished Spartans still are free.
In their proud charnel of Thermopylae,
Than stagnate in our marsh, — or o'er the deep
Fly, and one current to the ocean add.
One spirit to the souls our lathers had.
One freeman more, America, to thee I
XVI.— THE DYING GLADIATOR.
BYRON.
I SEE before me the gladiator lie :
He leans upon his hand — his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony.
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low —
And through his side the last drops ebbing slow
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one.
Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now
The arena swims around him — he is gone.
Ere ceas'd the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who woru
He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes
YVere with his heart, and that was far away.
He reck'd not of the life he lost, nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play,-
There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire,
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday —
All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire
And unavenged ? Arise I ye Goths, and glut your ire I
THE HOUR OF DEATH. 347
XVII.— LTCIDAS. A MONODY.
MILTON.
Yet once more, ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with i^^ never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And, with forced fingers rude.
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year :
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,
Compels me to disturb your season due :
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime.
Young Lycidas, and has not left his peer :
Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float uj)on his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
But Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ;
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head.
And tricks his beams, and with new-spaugled arc
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky :
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walked the waves ;
Where, other groves and other streams along.
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves.
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song.
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love,
They entertain him all the saints above,
Li solemn troops and sweet societies,
That sing, and, singing, in their glory move,
And wipe the tears forever from his eyes.
XYIIL— THE HOUR OF DEATH.
FKLICIA OEMANa.
Leaves have their lime to Hill,
And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set — but all,
Thou ]ia.st all sea.sons lor thine own, oh Death I
348 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Day is for mortal care,
Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer —
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth.
The banquet hath its hour,
Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ;
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelmiug power,
A time for softer tears — but all are thine.
Youth and the opening rose
May look like things too glorious for decay.
And smile at thee — but thou art not of those
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey.
We know when moons shall wane.
When summer birds from far shall cross the sea.
When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain —
But who shall teach us when to look for thee ?
Is it when spring's first gale
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie ?
Is it when roses in our path grow pale ? —
They have one season — all are ours to die '
Thou art where billows foam,
Thou art where music melts upon the air ; .
Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
And the world calls us forth — and thou art there.
Thou art where friend meets friend.
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest —
Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north- wind's breath,
And stars to set — but all,
Thou hagt all seasons for thine own, oh Death I
THE CLOUD. 349
XIX.— THE LOVED DEAD.
FELICIA HEMANS.
The most loved are they,
Of whom Fame speaks not with her clarion voice
In regal halls ! — the shades o'erhang their way,
The vale, with its deep fountains, is their choice,
And gentle hearts rejoice
Around their steps I — till silently they die,
As a stream shrinks from summer's burning eye,
And the world knows not then,
Not then, nor ever, what pure thoughts are fled I
Yet these are they that on the souls of men
Come back, when night her folding veil hath spread,
The long-remembered dead !
XX.— THE CLOUD.
TERCT BYSSHE SHEI.LErr
I BRixG fresh showers for the thirsting flowers
From the seas and the streams,
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noon-day dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet birds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast.
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail.
And whiten the green plains under ;
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the movmtains below.
And their great pines groan aghast ;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white.
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers
Lightning, my j)ilot, sits ;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits.
350 THE COOK OF Er.OQUEN'CE.
That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my tieece-like floor,
Bj" the midnight breezes strewn ;
And whei'ever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof
The stars peep behind her and peer ;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
W^hen I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm river, lakes and seas.
Like strips of the sky fallen thi-ough me on high,
Are <»ach paved with the moon and these.
XXL— MARTS GHOST.
THOitAS HOOD.
TwAS in the middle of the night,
To sleep young William tried.
When Mary's ghost came stealing in.
And stood at his bed-side.
" William dear ! William dear !
My rest eternal ceases ;
Alas I my everlasting peace
Is broken into pieces.
I thought the last of all my cares
Would end with my last minute ;
But though I went to my long home,
I didn't stay long in it.
The body-snatchers they have come.
And made a snatch at me ;
It's very hard them kind of men
Won't let a body be.
MARY'S OIIOST. 351
You thought that I was buried deep,
tluite decent like and chary,
But from her grave in Mary-bone
They've come and bon'd your Mary.
The ai-m that used to take your arm
Is took to Dr. Vyse :
And both my legs are gone to w^alk
The hospital at Guy's.
I vow'd that you should have my hand,
But fate gives us denial ;
You'll 11 ud it there, at Doctor Bell's,
In spirits and a phial.
As for my feet, the little feet
You used to call so pretty,
There's one, I know, in Bedford Row,
The t'other's in the city.
I can't tell where my head is gone.
But Doctor Carpue can :
As for my trunk, it's all pack'd up
To go by Pickford's van.
I wish you'd go to Mr. P.
And save me such a ride ;
I don't half like the outside place.
They've took for my inside.
The cock it crows — I must be gone !
My William, we must part !
But I'll be yours in death, altho'
Sir Astley has my heart.
Don't go to woop upon my grave.
And think that there I be ;
They haven't left an atom there,
Of my anatoniie."
352 THE BOOK OF ELOQCEXCR.
XXII.— BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE.
■WALTER SCOTT.
At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that d.trk and narrow dell,
As all the fiends from heaven that fell,
Had pealed the banner cry of hell !
Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaii' before the wind of heaA-en,
The archery appear :
For life I for life ! their flight they ply —
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broad-swords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in their rear.
Onward they drive in dreadful race.
Pursuers and pursued ;
Before that tide of flight and chase.
How shall it keep its rooted place,
The spearmen's twilight wood ?
— " Down, down," cried Mar, " your lances down!
Bear back both friend and foe I"
Like reeds before the tempest's frown,
That serried grove of lances brown
At once lay levelled low ;
And closely shouldering side to side.
The bristling ranks the onset bide.
— " We'll quell the savage mountaineer,
As their Tinchel cows the game I
They come as fleet as forest deer,
We'll drive them back as tame."
Bearing before them, in their course,
The relics of the archer force
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam.
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.
Above the tide, each broad-sword bright
Was brandishing like beam of light.
Each tarvre was dark below ;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,
They hunted them on the foe.
I heard the lance's shivering crash.
As when the whirhvind rends the ash ;
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 353
I heard the broad sword's deadly clang,
As if an hundred anvils rang !
But Moray wlieeled his rearward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank —
" My banner-men, advance !
" I see," he cried, " their column shake — ■
Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake,
Upon them with the lance I"
The horsemen dashed among the rout,
As deer break through the broom ;
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,
They soon make lightsome room. ^
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne —
Where, where was Roderick then I
One blast upon his bugle-horn
^Vere worth a tliousand men.
And refluent through the pass of fear
The battle's tide was pour'd ;
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear,
Vanished the mountain's sword.
As Brocklinn's chasm, so black and steep.
Receives her roaring linn.
As the dark caverns of the deep
Suck the wild whirlpool in,
So did the deep and darksome pass
Devour the battle's mingled mass ;
None linger now upon the plain.
Save those who ne'er shall fight again.
XXIII.— BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
CAMPBELL.
Of Nelson and the north,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came ibrth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone ;
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold, determined hand.
And the prince of all the land
Led them on.
354 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Like leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine ;
While the sip^n of battle flew
On the lolly British line :
It was ten of April morn by the chime
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death ;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time. i
But the mijrht of En"-land flush'd
To anticipate the scene ;
And her van the fleeter rush'd
O'er the deadly space between.
" Hearts of oak," our captains cried ; when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade rouud the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
Again I again I again !
And the havock did not slack,
'Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back ; —
Their shots along the deep slowly boom : —
Then ceased — and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail ;
Or in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.
Now joy, old England, raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
While the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore I
Brave hearts I to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On tlie deck of Fame that died
With the gallant good Riou :
AUUKKSS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMr. 355
Soft sijih the winds of heaven o'er their grave I
While the billow mouruful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave I
XXIV.— ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY.
HORACE SMITH.
And thou hast walked about — how strange a story ! —
In Thebes's streets, three thousand years ago I
Wlien the Memnonium was in all its glory,
And time had not begun to overthrow
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
01' which the very ruins are tremendous.
Speak I — for thou long enough hast acted dummy,
Thou hast a tongue, come let us hear its tune !
Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, mummy !
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, —
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
But with their bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features
Tell us — for doubtless thou canst recollect, —
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame ? —
Was Cheops, or Cephrenes architect
Of either pyramid that bears his name? —
Is Pompey's pillar really a misnomer ? —
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer ?
Perhaps thou wort a mason, — and forbidden,
By oatb, to tell the mysteries of thy trade :
Then say, what secret mt'lody was hidden
In Memnon's slatue, which at sunrise play'd ?
Purliaps tliou wert a priest ; — if so, my struggles
Are in vain, — fur priestcraft never owns its juggles I
Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat.
Hath hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass, —
356 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Or dropp'd a half-penny in Homer's hat, —
Or doir'd thine own, to let Glueen Dido pass, —
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch, at the great temple's dedication !
I need not ask thee, if that hand, when arm'd,
Has any Roman soldier maul'd and knuckled ?
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm'd,
Ere Romulus and Remus had|been suckled :
Antiquity appears to have begun
Long after thy primeval race was run.
Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue
Might tell us M'hat those sightless orbs have seen,
How the world look'd when it was fresh and young,
And the great deluge still had left it green I —
Or was it then so old that history's pages
Contain' d no record of its early ages ?
XXV.— THE TRESS.
ELLIOTT
God said—" Let there be light !"
Grim darkness felt his might,
And tied away ;
Then startled seas and mountains cold
Shone forth, all bright in blue and gold
And cried—" 'Tis day ! 'tis day !"
" Hail, holy light !" exclaim'd
The thunderous cloud that flamed
O'er daisies white ;
And lo I the rose in crimson dress'd
Lean'd sweetly on the lily's breast ;
And blushing, murmur'd — "Light!"
Then was the skylark born ;
Then rose the embattl'd corn ;
Then floods of praise
Flow'd o'er the sunny hills of noon ;
And then, in stillest night, the moon
Pour'd forth her pensive lays.
THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS.
Lo, heaven's bright how is glad I —
Lo, trees and flowers all clad
lu glory, bloom I
And shall the mortal sons of God
Be senseless as the trodden clod,
And darker than the tomb ?
No, by the mind of man !
By the swart artisan I
By Godj our sire !
Our souls have holy light within —
And every form of grief and sin
Shall see and feel its fire.
By earth, and hell, and heaven,
The shroud of souls is riven I
Mind, mind alone
Is liglit, and hope, and life, and power !
Earth's deepest night from this bless'd hour,
The night of minds is gone I
" The Press 1" all lands shall sing ;
The Press, the Press we bring
All lands to bless :
pallid Want ! Labor stark !
Behold, we bring the second ark I
The Press I the Press ! the Press !
357
XXVI.— THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS.
O. W. HOLMES.
I WROTE some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.
They were so queer, so very queer,
I laughed as I would die ;
Albeit, in the general way,
A sober man am I.
I call'd my servant, and he came ;
How kind it was of him,
To mind a slender man hkc me,
tie of the niighly limb I
358 , THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
t
"There to the prhiter," I exclaimed,
And, in my humorous way,
I added, (as a trifiiuo^ j^st,)
" There'll be the devil to pay."
He took the paper, and I M'atch'd,
And saw liim puop within ;
At the first line he read, his lace
Was all upon the grin.
He read the next ; the grin grew broad,
And shot from ear to ear ;
Ho read the third ; a chuckling noise
I now began to hear.
The fourth ; he broke into a roar ;
The fifth ; his waisllumd split;
The sixth ; he burst five buttons off,
And tumbled in a fit.
Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
I watched that wretched man,
And since, I never dare to write
As funny as I can.
XXVII.— HORATIUS.
T. B. MACAULAY-.
It stands in the Comitium
Plain for all folks to see ;
Horatius in his harness,
Halting upon one knee ;
And underneath is waitten.
In letters all of gold.
How valiantly he kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
And still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome,
As the trumpet blast that cries to them
To charge the Volscian home ;
JOAX OF ARC. 3L0
And wives still pray to Juno
For boys with hearts as bold
As his who kept the bridge so well
111 the brave days of old.
And in the nights of winter,
When the cold north-winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow ;
When round the lonely cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within ;
When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit,
AVhen the chestnuts glow in the embers
And the kid turns on the spit ;
When young and old in circle
Around the firebrands close ;
When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows ;
When the good man mends his armor.
And trims his helmet's plume ;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom ;
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told.
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
XXVIII.— JOAN OF ARC.
JOHN STERLING.
Battle's blast is fiercely blowing,
Clarions sounding, coursers bounding,
Pennons o'er the tumult flowing,
Host on host the eye astounding,
Wave on wave that sea confounding,
And in headlong fury going,
Mounted -kingdoms wildly dashing,
Lance to lance, and steed to steed ;
Now must haughtiest champions bleed,
360 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
And a myriad, swords are flashing,
Loud on shield and helnnet clashing ;
Ne'er had men such noble spoil
On this broad and bloody soil.
As the storms a forest crushing,
Oaks of thousand winters grind,
So the iron whirl is rushing,
Shouts before, and groans behind, .
Still amid the dead and dying, |
All in shatter'd ridges lying,
Pride, revenge, and youthful daring.
And their cause and country's name,
Drive them on with sweep unsparing, —
Naught for life and all for fame I
Still above the surge of battle
Breathes the trump its fated gale,
And the hollow tambours rattle
Chorus to the deadly tale.
Still is Joan the first in glory.
Still she sways the maddening fight,
Kindling all the flames of story,
With an unimagined might.
Squadrons furious close around her,
Still her blade is waving free ;
Sword nor lance avails to wound her, —
Terror of a host is she.
Heavenly guardian, maiden wonder !
Long shall France resound the day
When thou earnest clad in thunder,
Blasting thy tremendous way.
XXIX.— NAPOLEON'S- RETURN.
E. BARRET RROM'NING.
Nai oleon I years ago, and that great word, .
Compact of human breath in hate and dread
And exultation, skyed us overhead —
An atmosphere, whose lightning was the sword,
Scathing the cedars of the world, drawn down
Li burnmgs, by the metal of a crown.
napoleon's return. 361
Napoleon I Foemeu, wliile they cursed that name,
Shook at their own curse ; and Avhile others bore
Its sound, as of a trunnpet, on before,
Brass-fronted legions followed, sure of fame —
And dying men from trampled battle-sods,
Near their last silence, uttered it for God's.
Napoleon I sages with high foreheads droop'd.
Did use it for a problem ; children small
Leapt up as hearing in 't their manhood's call .
Priests bless'd it from their altars, overstoop'd
By meek-eyed Christs, — and widows with a moan
Breathed it, when questioned why they sate alone.
Napoleon I 'twas a high name lifted high !
It met at last God's thunder, — sent to cleai'
Our compassing and covering atmosphere,
And open a clear sight beyond the sky
Of supreme empire I This of earth's was done —
And kings crept out again to feel the sun.
The kings crept out — the people sate at home, —
And finding the long-advocated peace
A pall embroider'd with worn images
Of rights divine, too scant to cover doom, —
Gnawed their own hearts, or else the corn that grew
K-ankly, to bitter bread, on Waterloo I
A deep gloom center'd in the deep repose —
The nations stood up mute to count their dead —
The bearer of the name which vibrated
Through silence, — trusting to his noblest foes,
When earth was all too gray for chivalry --
Died of their mercies 'midst the desert sea.
wild St. Helen ! very still she kept him,
With a green M^illow for all pyrtmiid.
Stirring a little if the low wind did, —
More rarely, if some pilgrim overwopt hiin
And parted the lithe bows, to see the clay
Which seem'd to cover his for judgment day :
IG
362 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCK.
Nay I not so long I France kept her old alleclion,
As deeply as the sepulchre the corse, —
And now, dilated by that love's remorse
To a new angel of the resurrection,
She cried, " Behold, thou England, I would Have
The dead thou wotiest of, from out that grave."
:5f^ * * * * # fair town
Of Paris, how the wild tears will run down,
And run back in the chariot marks of time,
AVhen all the people shall come forth to meet
The passive victor ; death-still in the street
He rode through 'mid the shouting and bell-chime
And martial music, — under eagles which
Dyed their ensaaguiued beaks at Austerlitz !
Napoleon ! he hath come again — borne home
Upon the popular ebbing heart, — a sea
AVhich gathers its own wrecks perpetually.
Majestically moaning. Give him room I
Room for the dead in Paris ! Welcome solemn
And grave-deep, 'neath the cannon-moulded column !
Napoleon ! Once more the recovered name
Shakes the old casements of the world ! and we
Look out upon the passing pageantry,
Attesting that the dead makes good his claim
To a Gaul grave, — another kingdom won —
The last — of few spans — by Napoleon I
XXX.— THE BELEAGUERED CITY.
H. W. LONGFELLOW
I HAVE read in some old marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague.
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.
THE BELEAGUERED CITY, 363
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace ;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But, when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer.
The white paviHons rose and fell
On the alarmed air.
Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled ;
Up rose the glorious morning star.
The ghostly host was dead.
I have read, in the marvellous heart of man
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.
Encamped beside Life's rushing stream.
In fancy's misty liglit,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound.
Flow's the River of Life between.
No other voice, nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave ;
No other chaUenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave,
304 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCK.
And, when the solemn and deep church-bell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.
Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled ;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghostly fears are dead.
XXXI.— ANTONY'S SPEECH OVER CESAR'S BODY.
SHAKSPEAaB.
I COME to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil, that men do, lives after them ;
The good is oft interred with their bones ;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious ;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ;
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd 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 to E.ome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill :
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ?
When that the poor have cried, Ca3sar hath wept :
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ;
And Brutus is an honorable 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.
axtony's speech over Caesar's bodt. 365
You all did love liim once, not without cause ;
What cause Avithholds you then to mourn for hirp *
judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason I — bear with me >
My heart is in the coffin there with Csesar,
And I must pause 'till it come back to me.
But yesterday, the word of CVsar might
Have stood against the world : now lies ke th? -<,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men :
I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I v/ill wrong such honorable men.
XXXIL— THE SAME— CONTINUED.
SH.\K»«'EAK, k
— Brutus, as you know, was Ca3sar's angel ;
Judge, you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him !
This was the most unkindest cut of all :
For when the noble Ctesar saw him stab.
Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms,
Q.uite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart ;
And, in his mantle muflling up his face,
Even at the base of Ponipey's statue,
Which all the while ran blood, great CcEsar fell.
0, what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then T, and you, and all of us fell down.
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
0, now you weep, and I perceive you feel
The dint of ])ily : these are gracious drops.
Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold
Our Caisar's vesture wounded ? Look you here,
Here is himself, marr'd as you see, with traitors.
Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
366 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
They, that have done this deed, are honorable ;
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not.
That made th-m do it ; they were wise and honorable,
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ;
I am no orator, as Brutus is :
But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man.
That love my friend : and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth.
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on :
I tell you that, which you yourselves do know :
Show you sweet Ceesar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, then were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Caesar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
XXXIII.— UNION.
ANONYMOUS.
The blood that flowed at Lexington, and crimsoned bright
Champlain,
Streams still along the Southern Gulf, and by the lakes of
Maine ;
It flows in veins that swell above Pacific's golden sand
And throbs in hearts that love and grieve by the dark At-
lantic's strand.
It binds in one vast brotherhood the trapper of the West,
With men whose cities glass themselves in Erie's classic
breast ;
Atid those to whom September brings the fireside's social hours,
With those who see December's brow enwreathed with
gorgeous flowers I
From where Columbia laughs to meet the smiling western wave,
To where Potomac sighs beside the patriot hero's grave ;
THE BANNER OF MURAT. 3G7
And from the steaming everglades to Huron's lordly flood,
The glory of a nation's Past thrills through a kindred blood !
Say, can the South sell out her share in Bunker's gory
height,
Or can the North give up her boast of Yorktown's closing
fight ?
Can ye divide with equal hand a heritage of graves,
Or rend in twain the starry flag that o'er them proudly
waves ?
Can ye cast lots for Vernon's soil, or chaffer 'mid the gloom
That hangs its solemn folds about your common Father's
tomb ?
Or could you meet around his grave as fratricidal foes.
And wake your burning curses o'er his pure and calm re-
pose ?
Ye dare not I is the Alleghanian thunder-toned decree :
'Tis echoed where Nevada guards the blue and tranquil sea ;
Where tropic waves delighted clasp our flowery Southern
shore.
And where, through frowning mountain gates, Nebraska's
waters roar I
XXXIV.— THE BANNER OF MURAT.
PROSPER M WETMORE.
Foremost among the first,
And bravest of the brave !
Where'er the battle's fury burst,
Or roll'd its purple wave, —
There flashed his glance, like a meteor,
As he charged the foe afar ;
And the snowy plume his helmet bore
Was the banner of Murat !
Mingler on many a field
Where riuig wild Victory's peal !
That fearless spirit was like a shield —
• A panoply of steel ;
368 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
For very joy in a glorious name
He rush'd where danger stood ;
And that banner-plume, like a winged flame,
Stream' d o'er the field of blood '
His followers loved to gaze
On his Ibrm with a fierce delight,
As it tower'd above the battle's blaze,
A pillar 'midst the fight ;
And eyes look'd up, ere they closed in death,
Through the thick and sulphury air —
And lips shi-iek'd out with their parting breath,
" The lily plume is there I"
A cloud is o'er him now —
For the peril-hour hath come —
And he stands with his high, unshaded brow
On the fearful spot of doom I
Away I no screen for a soldier's eye —
No fear his soul appals :
A rattling peal, and a shuddering cry,
And banuerless he falls !
AXXV.— THE PRISONER FOR DEBT.
JOHN G. WHITTIKB,
Look on him — through his dungeon grate,
Feebly and cold, the mornini;- light
Comes stealing round him, dun and late,
As if 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.
What has the gray-hair'd prisoner done ?
Has murder stain'd his hands with gore ?
Not so : his crime's a fouler one :
God made the old man poor ! %
THE PRISOXER FOR DEBT. 369
For this he shares a felon's cell —
The fittest eartiily type of hell !
For this — the hoou for wliich he pour'd
His young blood on the invader's sword,
And counted light the fearful cost —
His blood-gain'd liberty is lost !
And so, for such a place of rest,
Old prisoner, pour'd thy blood as rain
On Concord's held 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 uprear'd to thee —
Piled granite and a prison cell —
The land repays thy service well I
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 boasted eloquence declaim
Of honor, liberty, and fame ;
Still let the poet's strain be heard.
With " glory" for each second word,
And everything with breath agree
To praise " our glorious liberty 1"
And when the patriot cannon jars
The prison's cold and gloomy wall.
And through its grates the stripes and stars
Rise 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 chain'd of limb,
What is your carnival to him ?
16*
370 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XXXVL— THANATOPSIS.
W. C. BEYANT.
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 into 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.
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ;
And, lost each human trace, surrendering 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
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
iShall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mould.
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 inOmt world — with kings,
The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
AH in one mighty sepulchre. The hills,
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales,
Stretching in pensive quietness between ;
THANATOPSIS. 371
The venerable woods ; rivers that move
111 majesty ; and the comphiining brooks
That make the meadoM's green ; and pour'd round all,
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste —
Are but the solemn decorations all,
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite hosts 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 slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce ;
Or loose 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 therifi down
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest — and what if thou withdraw
Unheeded 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 spi'ing, as he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid.
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man —
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 that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent hall of death.
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night.
Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfullering trust, approach thy grave.
Like one who wraps the drapei-y of his couch
About him, and lies down lo pleasant dreams.
372 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
XXXVIL— MARMION'S DEPARTURE.
"WALTFE SCOTT.
The train from out the castle drew ;
But Marmion stopp'd 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 to 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 lijundation stone —
The hand of Douglas is his own ;
And never shall in i'riendly 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 I" he said, —
" An 'twere not for thy hoary head.
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head I
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He, who does England's message here.
Although the meanest in her state.
May M'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 I
And if thou said'st I am not peer,
To any lord in Scotland here.
Lowland, or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied I"
"to arms." 873
On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashy hue of age :
Fierce he broke forth : — " And dar'st thou then
To beard the liou in his den,
The Douglas in his hall ?
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ?
No, by Saint Bryde of Bothwell, no ' —
Up drawbridge, grooms — what, Warder ho .
Let the portculHs fall."
Lord Marmion turned, — well was his need,
And dashed the rowels in his stee<l.
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous gate behind him rung :
To pass there was such scanty room.
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
XXXVIIL— A DEATH BED.
JAMES ALDRICH
Her suflering ended with the day,
Yet lived she at its close.
And breathed the long, long night away,
In statue-like repose.
But when the sun, in all its state,
Illumed the eastern skies,
She pass'd through Glory's morning-gate,
And walked in Paradise I
PARK BENJAMIN.
XXXIX.— "TO ARMS."
Awake I arise, ye men of might I
The glorious hour i»nigh, —
Your eagle pauses in his flight,
And screams liis battle-cry.
From North to South, from East to West ;
Send back an answering cheer,
374 THE BOOK OF ELOQLiENCE.
And say farewell to peace and rest,
And banish doubt and fear.
Arm ! arm ! your country bids you arm !
Fling out your banners free —
Let drum and trumpet sound alarm,
O'er mountains, plain and sea.
March onward from th' Atlantic shore,
To Rio Grande's tide —
Fight as your fathers fought of yore !
Die as your fathers died !
Go ! vindicate your .ountry's fame,
Avenge your country's wrong !
The sons should own a deathless name,
To whom such sires belong.
The kindred of the noble dead
As noble deeds should dare :
The fields whereon their blood was shed,
A deeper stain must bear.
To arms ! to arms ! ye men of might ;
Away from home, away I
The first and foremost in the fight
Are sure to win the day !
XL.— A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
Where are the birds that sang
A hundred years ago ?
The flowers that all in beauty sprang
A hundred years ago ? —
The lips that smiled,
The eyes that wild
In flashes sh'one
Soft eyes upon —
Where, where are lips and eyes,
The maiden's smile, the lover's sigh.
That were, so long ago ?
ANONYMOUS.
THE COLD WATER-MAX. 375
Who peopled all the city's street
A huu(ired years ago ?
Who filled the church with faces meek,
A hundred years ago?
The sneering tale
Of sister frail,
The plot that work'd-
Another's hurt —
Where, where, are plots and srieers,
The poor man's hopes, the rich man's fears.
That were~so long ago ?
Where are the graves where dead men slept
A hundred years ago ?
Who, whilst living, oft-tim.es wept,
A hundred years ago ?
By other men
They knew not then
Their lands are tilled.
Their homes are filled —
Yet Nuture then was just as gay.
And brigiit the sun shone as to-day,
A hundred years ago !
XLI.— THE COLD WATER-MAN.
It was an honest fisherman
I knew him passing well, —
And he lived by a little pond,
Within a little dell.
For science and for books, he said
He never had a wish, —
No school to him was worth a fig.
Except a school of fish.
A cunning fisherman was he,
liis angles all were right ;
The smallest nibble at his bait
Was sure to prove ' a bite I'
J. a. SAXE.
376 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
All day this fisherman would sit
Upon ail ancient lo^,
And gaze into the water, like
Home sedentary frog ;
With all the seeming innocence,
And that unconscious look,
That other people often wear
When they intend to ' hook !'
To charm the fish he never spoke, —
Although his voice was fine,
He found the most convenient way
Was just to drop a line I
And many a gudgeon of the pond
If they could speak to-day,
Would own with grief, this angler had
A mighty ' taking way !'
Alas I one day this fisherman
Had taken too much grog.
And being but a landsman, too,
He couldn't ' keep the log I'
'Twas all in vain with might and main
He strove to reach 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, —
That drinking habits bring a man
Too often to his bier ;
And he who scorns to ' take the pledge,'
And keep the promise fast,
May be, in spite of fate, a stiff
Cold water-man at last I
FUNERAL OF CHARLES THE FIRST. 377
XLIL— A SEA FOG.
CRABBE.
When all you see tlirou<rh densest fog is seen ;
"When you can hear the lishers near at hand
Distinclly speak, yet see not where they stand ;
Or sometimes them and not their boat discern,
Or, half" conceaFd, some figure at the stei-n ;
Boys who, on shore, to sea the pehble cast,
Will hear it strike against the viewless mast ;
While the stern boatman growls his fierce disdain,
At whom he knows not, whom he threats in vain.
'Tis pleasant then to view the nets float past,
Net alter net, till you have seen the last ;
And as you wait till all beyond you slip,
A boat comes gliding from an anchored ship,
Breaking tlie silence with the dipping oar.
And their own tones, as laboring lor the shore ;
Those measured tones with which the scene agree.
And give a sadness to serenity.
XLIIL— FUNERAL OF CHARLES THE FIRST.
BOWLES*
The castle clock had tolled midnight —
With mattock and with spade,
And silent, by the torches' light.
His corse in earth we laid.
" Peace to the dead" no children sung.
Slow pacing up the nave ;
No prayers were read, no knell was rung,
As deep we dug his grave.
We only beard the winter's wind.
In many a sullen gust,
As o'er the open grave inclined.
We murnmred, " Dust to dust I"
A moonbeam, from the arches' height,
Stream'd as we |»aced the stone ;
378 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
The long aisles started into light,
And all the windows shone.
We thonght we saw the banners then,
That shook along the walls,
While the sad shades of mailed men,
Were gazing from the stalls :
'Tis gone ! again, on tombs defaced,
Sits darkness more profound,
And only, by the torch, we traced
Our shadows on the ground.
&*
And now the chilly, freezing air,
Without, blew long and loud ;
Upon our knees we breathed one prayer
Where he — slept in his shroud.
We laid the broken marble floor —
No name, no trace appears —
And when we closed the sounding door
We thought of him with tears.
XLIV.— THE FOUR ERAS.
AGGERS,
The lark has sung his carol in the sky ;
The bees have hummed their noon-tide harmony ;
Still in the vale the village-bells ring round,
Still in Llewellyn hall the jests resound :
For now the caudle-cup is circling there.
Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their pray'r.
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire
The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.
A few short years — and then these sounds shall hail
The day again, and gladness fill the vale ;
So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,
Eager to run the race his fathers ran.
Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin ;
The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine :
THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY. 379
And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze,
'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled.
" 'Twas on these knees he sat so oft and smiled."
And soon again shall music swell the breeze ;
Soon issviing Ibrth, shall glilter through the trees
Vestures of nuptial white ; and hymns be sung,
And violets scattered round ; and old and young,
In every cotfage porch, with garlands green.
Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene ;
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side
Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride.
And once, alas, nor in a distant hour,
Another voice shall come from yonder tower ;
When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen,
And weepings heard where only joy has been ;
When by his children borne, and from his door
Slowly departing to return no more,
He rests in holy earth with them that went before.
XLV.— THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY.
G. W. PATTEN.
Blaze, with your serried columns I
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 when it falls, ye well may dread
The lightning 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 " ULuou I" my batlle-cry.
38(^ THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
YeVe trailed me through the forest,
Ye've tracked me o'er the 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"
I loathe ye with my bosom,
I scorn ye with mine eye ;
And I'll taunt ye with my latest breath
And fight ye till 1 die I
I ne'er will ask ye quai-ter,
I ne'er will be your slave ;
But I'll swim the sea of slaughter,
Till I sink beneath the wave.
XLVL— THE RISING OF THE NORTH.
BRYAN W. PKOCTOa.
Hark — to the sound !
Without a trump, without a drum
The wild-eyed, hungry millions come,
Along the echoing ground.
From cellar and cave, from street and lane,
Each fi-om his separate place of pain,
la a blackened stream,
Come sick, and lame, and old, and poor,
And all who can no more endure ;
Like a demon's dream I
Starved children with their pauper sire,
And laborers with their fronts of fire,
In angry hum.
And felons, hunted to their den.
And all who shnme the name of men.
By millions come.
THE SOLDIER'S TEAR. 381
The good, the bad, come hand in hand,
Link'd by tliat law which none withstand ;
And at their head
Flaps no proud banner, flaunting high,
But a shout — sent upwards to the sky,
Oi^' Bread.'— Bread r
-To-night the poor
(All mad) will burst the rich man's door,
And wine will run
In floods, and rafters blazing bright
Will paint the sky with crimson light
Fierce as the sun ;
And plate carved round with quaint device
And cups all gold will melt, like ice
In Indian heat !
And queenly silks, from foreign lands
Will bear the stamps of bloody hands
And trampling feet :
And murder — from his hideous den
Will come abroad and talk to men,
Till creatures born
For good (whose hearts kind pity nursed)
Will act the direst crimes they cursed •
But yester-morn.
XLVIL— THE SOLDIER'S TEAR.
TUOMAS H. BAYL*
Upom the hill he turn'd
To take a last fond look
Of the valley and the village-church
And the coUage by the brook ;
He listened to the sounds,
So familiar to his ear,
And the soldier leant upon his sword,
And wiued away a tear.
382 THE BOOK OF ELOQUEXC'E.
Beside that cottage porch
A girl was on her knees,
She held aloft a snowy scarf
Which fiutter'd 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 turn'd 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.
XLVIIL— LEONIDAS.
GrOEGE CROLT.
Shout for the mighty men
Who died along this shore, —
Who died within this mountain's glen ."
For never nobler chieftain's head
Was laid on valor's crimson bed,
Nor ever prouder gore
Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day,
Upon thy strand, Thermopvlse I
Shout for the mighty men.
Who on the Persian tents,
Like lions from their midnight den
Bounding on the slumbering deer,
Rush'd — a storm of" sword and spear —
Like the roused elements, .
Let loose from an immortal hand,
To chasten or to crush a land !
BYRON. 3S3
But there are none to hear ;
Greece is a hopeless shive.
Leonidas ! no hand is near
To lift thy fiery falchion now :
No warrior makes the warrior'? /«■ tr
Upon thy sea-washed grav<.
The voice that should be ra'ssd by m-'A
Must now he given by wa> and glen.
XLIX.— BYF jN.
POLLOK.
He touched his harp, and nat'.ons heard, entranced.
As some vast river of unfailing (source,
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flow'd.
And opeu'd new fountauis in the human heait.
Where fancy halted, wearying in her flight
In other men, his, fresh as morning, rose,
And soar'd untrodden heights, and seemed at home
Where angels bashful look'd. Others, though great
Beneath their argument seem d struffgli'ig whiles ;
He from far descending, stoop'd to touch
The loftiest thought ; and proudly stoop'd, as though
It scarce deserved his verse. With nature's self
He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest
^'1 with all her glorious majesty.
._ laia his hand np5ii " the ocean's mane,"
And played familiar with his hoary locks ;
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines,
And with the thunder talk'd, as friend to friend ;
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,
Which as llie footsteps of the dreadful God,
Marching upon the storm in vengeance seemed :
Then turn'd and with the grassliopper, who su'ig
His evening song beneath his feet, conversed.
384 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
L.— THE DROWNED MARINER.
E. OAKES SMITH.
A MARINER sat on the shrouds one night,
The wind was piping free ;
Now brijrht, now dinim'd was the moonliirht pale,
And the phospor frleaiii'd in the wake olthe whale,
As it flouiider'd in the sea ;
The scud was flying athwart the sky,
The gathering winds went whistling by, ,.
And the wave, as it tower'd, then fell in spray, ||
Look'd an emerald v/all in the moonlight ray.
Wild the ship rocks, but he swingeth at ease,
And holdeth by the shroud ;
And as she careens to the crowding breeze,
The gaping deep the mariner sees,
And the surging heareth loud.
Was that a face looking up at him ;
With its pallid cheek and its cold eyes dim ?
Did it beckon him elown ? Did it call his name ?
Now rolleth the ship the way whence it came.
The mariner look'd, and he saw with dread,
A face he knew too well ;
And the cold eyes glared, the eyes of the dead.
And its long hair out on the wave was spread, —
Was there a tale to tell ?
The stout ship rock'd with a reelino- ^ueed, —
And the mariner groaned, as wel. -„ ;;
For ever down as she plunged on her siae.
The dead face gleam'd from the briny tide
Bethink thee, mariner, well of the past ;
A voice calls loud for thee :
There's a stifled prayer, the first, the last ;
The plunging ship on her beams is cast, —
0, where shall thy burial be ?
Alone in the dark, alone as the wave,
To buffet the storm alone ;
To struggle aghast at thy watery grave.
To struggle, and feel there is none to save !
God shield thee, helpless one !
THE PERI'S BOON. 386
e stout limbs yield, for their strength is past ;
le trembliuii' hands on the deep are cast ;
le white brow gleams a moment more,
hen slowly sinks, — the struggle is o'er.
)own, down where the storm is hush'd to sleep,
Where the sea its dii-ge shall swell ;
*Vhere the amber drops for tliee shall weep,
\.nd the rose-lipp'd shell its music keep ;
There thou shalt slumber well.
The green and the pearl lie heap'd at thy side ;
rhey fell from the neck of the beautiful bride.
From the strong man's hand, from the maiden's brow,
As they slowly sunk to the wave below.
A peopled home is the ocean-bed ;
The mother and child are there:
The fervent youth and the hoary head,
The maid, with her floating locks outspread,
The babe, with its silken hair :
As the water moveth, they lightly sway,
And the tranquil lights on their features play :
And there is each cherish'd and beautiful form,
Away from decay, and away from the storm.
LI— THE PERI'S BOON.
THOMAS M00B&
Downward the peri turns her gaze,
And, through the war-field's bloody haze.
Beholds a youthful warrior stand,
Alone beside his native river, — i
The red blade broken in his hand, |
And the last arrow in his quiver.
"Live," said the conqu'rer, " live to share
The trophies and the crowns I bear."
Silent that youthful warrior stood — -
Silent he pointed to the "flood
All crimson with his country's blood,
Then sent his last remaining dart,
For uiiswei", to th' Invader's heart.
17
366 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
False flew tlie shaft, thongli pointed weL ;
The Tyrant lived, the Hero fell 1
Yet mark'd the peri where he lay,
And when the rush of war was past,
Swiftly descending on a ray
Of morning light, she caught the last —
Last glorious drop his heart had shed,
Before his free-born spirit fled !
" Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight,
My welcome gift at the C4ates ol' Light
Though foul are the drops that oft distil *
On tlie field of warfare, blood like this,
For Liberty shed, so holy is.
It would not stain the purest rill.
That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss !
Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphei-e,
A boon, an otiering, heaven holds dear,
'Tis the last libation Liberty draws.
From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!"
LII.— THE BARDS.
T. B. READ.
When the sweet day in silence hath departed,
And twilight comes, with dewy, downcast eyes,-
The glowing spirits of the mighty-hearted
Like stars around me rise. —
Spirits whose voices pour an endless measure,
Exhaustless as the Ibunts of glory are ;
Until my trembling soul, o'erswept with pleasure,
Throbs like a flooded star.
Old Homer's song, in mighty undulations.
Comes surging, ceaseless, up the oblivious main ; —
I hear the rivers from succeeding nations
Go answering down again : —
Hear Virgil's strain in changeful currents startling.
And Tasso's sweeping round through Palestine ;
THE BAUDS. 387
And Dante's deep and solemn river rolling
Through groves of nnidaight pine.
I hear the iron Norseman's numbers ringing
Through frozen Norway, like a herald's horn ;
And like a lark hear glorious Chaucer singing
Away in England's morn.
In Rhenish halls I hear the Pilgrim lover
Weave his wild story to the wailing strings,
'Till the young maiden's eyes are bi'imming over,
Like the sweet cup she brings.
And hear from Scottish hills the soul's unquiet,
Pouring in torrents their perpetual lays,
As their impetuous mountain runnels riot
In the long rainy days : —
The world-wide Shakspeare, the imperial Spenser,
Whose shafts of song o'ertop the angel's seats ; —
While delicate, as from a silver censer,
Float the sweet dreams of Keats !
Nor these alone ; for, through the growing present,
Westward the starry patli oi' Poesy lies —
Her glorious spirit, like the evening crescent.
Comes rounding up the skies.
I see the beauty which her light impartest !
1 hear the masters of our native song I
The gentle-hearted Allston, poet-artist;
And I)ana wild and strong.
And he, whose soul like angel harps combining,
Anthemed the solemn " Voices of the night."
I see fair Zophiel's radiant spirit shining,
Pale intellectual light.
And Brainard, Sands, whose sweet memento mod
Their own songs chime like melancholy bells,
And him who chanted Melanie's sad story
Along the Cascatelles.
388 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
And Bryant, in his own broad kingdom mildly
Walking by streams, through woods and summer fields ;
And iron-handed Whittier, when he wildly
The fiery falchion wields !
LIIL— DEATH OF ORISKA.
L. H. SIGOUENET.
Who is yon woman in her dark canoe,
Who strangely toward Niagara's fearl'ul gulf
Floats on unmoved ?
Firm and erect she stands,
Clad in such bridal costume as befits
Tlie daughter of a king. Tall, radiant plumes
Wave o'er her forehead, and the scarlet tinge
Of her embroidered mantle, flecked with gold.
Dazzles amid the flood. Scarce heaves her breast,
As though the spirit of that dread abyss,
In terrible sublimffy, had quelled
All thought of earthly things.
Fast by her side
Stands a young, wondering boy, and from his lips,
Half bleached with terror, steals the frequent sound
Of " Mother ! Mother !"
But she answereth not ;
She speaks no more to aught of earth, but pours
To the Great Spirit, fitfully and wild.
The dealh-sQjiig of her people. High it rose
Above the tumult of the tide that bore
The victims to their doom. The boy beheld
The strange, stei-n beauty in his mother's eye,
And held his breath with awe.
Her song grew faint, — •
And as the rapids raised their wiiitening heads,
Casting her light oar to the infuriate tide.
She raised him in her arms, and clasped him close.
Then as the boat with arrowy swiftness drove
On toward the uufathomed gulf, and the chill spray
Rose up in blinding showers, he hid his head.
Deep in the bosom that had nurtured him.
With a low, stifled sob.
ANXIE CLAVVILLE. 389
And thus tliey took
Their awful pathway to eternity.
One rip()le on the mighty river's brink.
Just wiien it, shuddering, makes its own dread plunge,
And at the foot of this most dire abyss
One flitting gleam — bright robe — and raven tress —
And feathery coronet — and all was o'er, —
Save the deep thunder of the eternal surge
Sounding their epitaph !
LIV.— AN:!fIE CLAYVILLE.
Very pale lies Annie Clayville ;
Still her forehead, shadow-crowned,
And the watchers hear her saying,
As they softly tread around':
" Go out, reapers, for the hill-tops
Twiidcle with the sunmier's heat ;
Lay out with your swinging cradles
Golden furrows of ripe wheat I
While the little laughing children
-iiightly mixing woi'k with play.
From beneath the long green wmrows.
Glean the sweetly scented hay ;
Let your sickles shine like sunbeams
In the silver flowing rye ;
Ears grow heavy in the cornfields
That will claim you by-and-by.
Go out, reapers, with your sickles,
Gather home the harvest store !
Little gleaners, laughing gleaners,
I shall go with you no more I"
Round the red moon of October
White and cold tlie eve-stars climb,
Birds are gone, anil flowers are dying ;
'Tis a lonesome, lonesome time.
Yellow leaves along the woodland
Surge to drift; tlie clm-bougli sways,
ALICE CART.
390 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Creaking at the homestead window
All the weary nights and days ;
Dismally the rain is falling,
Very dismally and cold.
Close, within the village grave-yai'd,
By a heap of freshest gronnd,
With a simple, nameless head-stone,
Lies a low and narrow mound ;
And the brow of Annie Clayville
Is no longer shadow-crowned.
Rest thee, lost one I rest thee calmly,
Glad to go where pain is o'er,
Where they say not, through the night-time,
" I am weary I" any more.
LV.— LITTLE KINDNESSES.
TALFOURD.
— In the sharp extremities of fortune
The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter
Have their own season. 'Tis a little thing
To give a cup of water ; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips.
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
More exquisite than when nectarine juice
Renews the joy of life in happiest hours.
It is a little thing to speak a phrase
Of common comfort, which by daily use
Has almost lost its sense ; yet on the ear
Of him who thought to die unmourn'd, 'twill fall
Like choicest music ; fill the glazing eye
With gentle tears ; relax the knotted liand
To know the bonds of fellowship again ;
And shed on the departing soul a sense.
More precious than the benison of friends
About the honored death-bed of the rich,
To him who else were lonely, that another
Of the great family is near and feels.
THE SPIRIT OF MY SONG. 391
LVL— THE SPIRIT OF MY SONG.
METTA V. FULLEft.
Tell me — have you ever met her —
Met the spirit of" my song —
Have her wave-like lootstejjs glided
Through the city's worldly throng ?
You will know her by a wreath,
Woven all of starry liglit,
That is lying 'mid her hair —
Braided hair as dark as night.
A short band of radiant summers
Is upon her forehead laid,
Twining half in golden sunlight,
Sleeping half in dreamy shade ;
Five white fingers clasp a lyre.
Five its silvery fingers M'ake,
And bewildering to the^soul
Is the music that they make.
Though her glances sleep like shadows,
'Neath each fallen, silken lash,
Yet, like aught that wakes resentment,
They magnificently flash.
Though you loved such dewy dream-light,
And such glance of sweet surprise,
You could never bear the scorn
Of those proud and brilliant eyes.
There's a bright and winning cunning
In her bright lip's crimson hue,
And a flitting tint of roses
From her soft cheek gleaming through ;
Do you think that you have met her ?
She is young, and pure and fair,
And she weaves a wreath of starlight
In her braided, ebon hair.
Often at her feet I'm sitting,
With my head upon her knee.
While sh<' tells me dreams of beauty
In low words of melody.
3Q2 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
And, when my unskilful fingers
Strive her silvery lyre to wake,
She will smooth my tresses, smiling
At the discord which I make.
But of late days I have missed her —
The bright being of my love.
And perchance she's stolen pinions
And has floated up above.
Tell me — have you ever met her —
Met the spirit of my song —
Have her wave-like footsteps glided
Through the city's worldly throng ?
LVIL— POCAHONTAS.
GEORGE P. MORRIS.
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,
E,ock-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,
" It is your king's decree !"
He kissed away her tears of grief,
And set the captive free.
A SOLEMN CO^•CEIT. 393
'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.
LVIII.— A SOLEMN CONCEIT.
WM. MOTHERWELL.
Stately trees are growing.
Lusty winds are blowing,
And mighty rivers flowing
On, forever on.
As stately forms were growing,
As lusty spirits blowing.
And as mighty fancies flowing
On, forever on ; —
But there has been leave-taking,
Sorrow and heart-breaking.
And a moan, pale- Echo's making,
For the gone, forever gone I
Lovely stars are gleaming,
Bearded lights are streaming.
And glorious suns are beaming
On, forever on.
As lovely eyes were gleaming,
As wondrous lights were streaming,
And as glorious minds were beaming
On, forever on ; —
But there has been soul-sundering.
Wailing and sad wondering ;
For graves grow fat with plundering
The gone, forever gone I
We see great eagles soaring,
We hear deep voices roaring,
And sparkling fountains pouring
On, forever on.
As lofty minds were soaring,
As sonorous voices roaring.
And as s|)arkling wils were pouring
On, forever on ; —
17*
394 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
But, pinions have been sliedtlinj;,
And voiceless darkness spreading,
Since a measure Death's been treading
O'er the gone, forever gone I
Everything is sundering,
Every one is wondering,
And this huge globe goes thundering
On, forever on ; —
But, 'mid this weary sundering.
Heart-breaking, and sad wondei'ing,
And this huge globe's rude thundering
On, forever on,
I would that I were dreaming
Where little flowers are gleaming.
And the long green grass is streaming
O'er the gone, forever gone I
LIX.— THE DEPARTED.
PARK BENJAMIN
The departed I the departed !
They visit us in dreams.
And they glide above our memories,
Like shadows over streams ;—
But when the cheerful lights of home
In constant lustre burn,
The departed — the departed
Can never more return !
The good, the brave, the beautiful !
How dreamless is their sleep.
Where rolls the dirge-like music
Of the ever tossing deep, —
Or where the hurrying night-Avinds
Pale Winter's robes have spread
Above the narrow palaces,
Li the cities of the dead !
SEVENTY-SIX. 39!
I sometimes dream their pleasant-smiles
Still oil me sweetly fall !
Their tones of love I faintly hear
My name in sadness call.
I know that they are happy
AVith their angel phi mage on ;
But my heart is very desolate,
To think that they are gone.
LX.— SEVENTY-SIX.
W. C. BRTANT.
What heroes from the woodland sprung
When, through the fresh awakened land,
The thrilling cry of freedom rung.
And to the work of warfare sti ung
The yeoman's iron hand I
Hills flung the cry to hills around,
And ocean mart replied to mart
And streams, vi^hose springs were yet unfound,
Pealed far away the startling sound
Into the foi'est'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 lion-hearted men
To battle to the death.
Already had the strife begun ;
Already blood on Concord's plain
Along the springing grass had run.
And blood had flowed at Lexingion,
Like brooks oi' April rain.
396 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCR.
That death stain on the vernal sward
Hallowed to freedom all the shore ;
In fragments fell the yoke abliorred —
The footstep of a foreign lord
Profaned the soil no more.
LXL— THE HURRICANE.
W. 0. BRYANT
Lord of the winds I I feel thee nigh,
I know thy breath in the burning sky I
And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,
For the coming of the hurricane I
'&
And lo ! on the wing of the heavy gales,
Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails ;
Silent and slow, and terribly strong,
The mighty shadow is borne along.
Like the dark eternity to come ;
While the world below, dismayed and dumb.
Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere
Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.
They darken fast ; and 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 I he is come I 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 their dark embrace,
From mountain to mountain the visible space.
DEATH OF IIARRISOIf. 397
Darker — still d.arker I the whirlwinds bear
Tlie dust oi" the plains to the middle air :
And hark to the erasliinof, long and loud,
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud !
You may trace its path by the flashes that start
From the rapid M'heels where'er they dart,
As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,
And flood the skies with a lurid glow.
LXIL— DEATH OF HARRISON.
N. P. WILLIS.
What ! soar'd the old eagle to die at the sun I
Lies he stifi" with spread wings at the goal ho had won !
Are there spirits more blest than the " Planets of Even,"
Who mount to their zenith, then melt into Heaven —
No waning of fire, no quenching of ray.
But rising, still rising, when passing away ?
Farewell, gallant eagle I thou'rt buried in light I
God speed into iieaven, lost star of our night I
Death I DeatVi in the White House I A.h, never before,
Trod his skeleton foot on the President's floor!
He is look'd for in hovel, and dreaded in hall —
The king in his closet keeps hatchment and pall —
The youth in liis birth-place, the old man at home.
Make clean from the door-stone the path to the tomb ; —
But the lord of this mansion was cradled not here —
In a church-yard far off stands his beckoning bier.
He is here as the wave-crest heaves flashing on high —
As the arrow is stopp'd by its prize in the sky —
The arrow to earth and the foam to the shore —
Death finds them when swiftness and sparkle are o'er — •
But Harrison's deatli fills the climax of story —
He Went with iiis old stride — from glory to glory !
Lay his sword on his breast! Tliere's no spot on its blade
In whose cankering breath his bright lau*els will fade !
'Twas the first to lead on at humanity's call —
It was stay'd with sweet mercy when " glory" was all !
398 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
As calm in the council as gallant in war,
He fought for his country, and not its " hurrah !"
In the path of the hero witli pity he trod —
Let him pass — with his sword — to the presence of God !
What more ? Shall we on, with his ashes ? Yet, stay !
He liath ruled the wide realm of a king in his day !
At his word, like a monarch's, went treasure and latid —
The bright gold of thousands has pass'd through his hand-
Is there nothing to show of his glittering hoard ?
Nor jewel to deck the rude hilt of his sword —
No trappings ? — no horses ? — what had he, but now ?
On ! — on with his ashes I — he left but hls plough !
Brave old Cinciunatus ! Unwind ye his sheet I
Let him sleep as he lived — with his purse at his feet!
Follow now, as ye list ! The first mourner to-day
Is the nation — whose father is taken away !
Wife, children, and neighbor, may moan at his knell —
He was " lover and I'rieiid" to his coiuitry, as well !
For the stars on our banner, grown suddenly dim,
Let us weep,, in our darkness — but weep not for him I
Not lor him — who, departing, leaves millions in tears !
Not for him — who has died full of honor and years !
Not for him — who ascended Fame's ladder so high
From the round at the top he has stepp'd to the sky !
LXIIL— THE HAPPIEST LAND.
FROM THE GERMAN.
H. W. LONGFELLOW.
There sat one day in quiet,
By an ale-house on the Rhine,
Four hale and hearty fellows,
And drank the precious wine.
The landlord's daughter filled their cups,
Around the rustic board ;
Then sat they all so calm and still,
And spake not one rude word.
HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS. 399
But, when the maid departed,
A Swabiau raised his hand,
And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,
" Long live the Swabian land !
The greatest kingdom upon earth
Cannot with that compare ;
With all the stout and hardy men
And the nut brown maidens there."
" Ha I" cried a Saxon, laughing, —
And dashed his beard with wine ;
" I had rather live in Lapland,
Than that Swabian land of thine !
The goodliest land of all this earth,
It is the Saxon land I
There have I as many maidens
As fingers on this hand I"
" Hold your tongues ! both Swabian and Saxon !"
A bold Bohemian cries ;
" If there's a heaven upon this earth.
In Bohemia it lies.
There the tailor blows the flute,
And the cobbler blows the horn.
And the miner blows the bugle,
Over mountain gorge and bourne."
tfp if 7^ ^ g^ 7»
And then the landlord's daughter
Up to heaven raised her hand,
And said, " Ye may no more contend, —
There lies the happiest land I"
LXIV.— HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS.
AT THE COXSECUATION OF PULASKl's BANNER.
H. W. LONGFELLOW
Take thy banner I May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave ;
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the sabbath of our vale.
400 -» THE BOOK OF KLOQUENCE.
When the clarion's musiV thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.
Take thy banner I and beneath
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it ! — till our homes are free !
Guard it! — God will prosper thee I
In the dark and trying hour.
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.
o
Take thy banner I But, when night
Closes round the ghastly fight.
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Sp^re him I — By our holy vow.
By our prayers and many tears.
By the mercy that endears.
Spare him ! — he our love hath shared !
Spare him I — as thou wouldst be spared !
Take thy banner ! — and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier.
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet.
Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee.
LXV.— THE RED FISHERMAN.
W. M. PRAED
The abbot was weary as abbot could be.
And he sat down to rest on the stump of % tree :
When suddenly rose a dismal tone —
Was it a song, or was it a moan ?
" Oh, ho ! oh, ho !
Above, below I
Lightly and brightly they glide and go ;
The hungry and keen on the top are leaping.
The lazy and fat in the depths are sleeping ;
SIIYLOCK TO ANTONIO. . ^ 401
Fishing is fine when the pool is muddy,
Broiling is rich when the coals are ruddy !"
In a monstrous Iright, by the murky light,
He look'd to the left and he look'd to the right,
And what was the vision close before him.
That flung such a sudden stupor o'er him ?
'Twas a sight to make the hair uprise,
And the lite-blood colder run,
The startled priest struck hoth his thighs,
And the abbey clock struck one I
All alone by the side of the pool,
A tall man sat on a three-legg'd stool
Kicking his heels on the dewy sod,
And putting in order his reel and rod ;
K-ed were the rags his shoulders wore,
And a high red cap on his head he bore ;
His arms and his legs were long and bare ;
And two or three locks of long red hair
Were tossing about his scraggy neck.
Like a tatter'd flag o'er a splitting wreck.
It might be time, or it might be trouble,
Had bent that stout back nearly double,
Sunk in their deep and hollow sockets
That blazing couple of Coiigreve rockets,
And shrunk and slirlvell'd that tawny skin,
'Till it hardly cover'd the bones within.
The line the abbot saw him throw
Hud been fashion'd and form'd long ages ago
And the hands that worked his foreign vest
Long ages ago had gone to their rest :
You would have sworn, as you look'd on them,
He had fished in the flood with Ham and Shera !
LXVL— SHYLOCK TO ANTONIO.
SioNioR. Antonio, many a time and oft,
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys, and my usances ;
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug;
For suirurance is the badge of all our tribe
SHAESPKABE.
402 .» THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gabardine,
And all for use of that which is mine own.
"Well then, it now appears, you need my help :
Go to then ; you come to me, and you say,
SJii/lock, we would Itave moneys; You say so/
You that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold ; moneys is your suit.
What should I say to you ? Sliould I not say,
Hath a dog money ? is it jJossible,
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key,
With bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say thus,
Fair sir ; you spit on me on Wednesday last ;
You sjnirned me such a day ; another ti??ie
You call'd me — dog ; and for these courtesies
Til lend you thus much 7noncys ?
LXVIL— SPEECH OF ROBESPIERRE.
COLERIDCK.
Once more befits it that the voice of Truth,
Fearless in innocence, though leaguer'd round
By envy and her hateful brood of hell.
Be heard amid this hall ; once more befits
Tlie patriot whose pi'ophetic eye so oft
Has pierced through faction's veil, to flash on crimes
Of deadliest import.
Soul of my honor'd friend !
Spirit of Marat, upon thee 1 call —
Thou know'st me faithful, know'st with what warm zeal
I urged the cause of justice, stripp'd the mask
From faction's deadly visage, and destroy'd
Her traitor brood. Whose patriot arm hurl'd down
Hebert and Rousin, and the villain friends
Of Danton, foul apostate I thou who long
Mark'd Treason's form in Liberty's fair garb.
Long deluged France with blood, and durst defy
Omnipotence I but 1, it seems, am false I
I am a traitor too 1 I — Robespierre I
MORNING MEDITATIONS. * 403
I — at whose name the dastard despot brood
Look pale with fear, and call on saints to help them !
Who dares accuse me ? who shall dare belie
My spotless name ? Speak, ye accomplice band,
Of what am I accused ? of what strange crime
Is Maximilian Robespierre accused
That through this hall the buzz of discontent
Should murmur ; who shall speak ?
LXYiii— mor:^ing meditations.
THOMAS HOOD.
Let Taylor 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 sueh like hums.
They smell of sweet herbs at the morning prime ;
Only lie long enough, and bed becomes
A bed of thyme
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,
Bc'spriuklcd by the rosy-fingered girl —
What then — if I prefer my pillow dear
To early j'^sarl 7
Ml/ stomach is not ruled by other men's,
And grumbling for 3, season, quaintly bogs —
Wherefore should miser rise before the hens
Have laid their eggs.
404 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Why from a comfortable pillow start,
To see i'aint flushes iu the east awaken ?
A fig, say I, for any streaky part,
Excepting bacon.
An early riser, Mr. Grey 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 sjjp,
But I'm no climbing boy, and Mall not bo
All up — all up.
So here I'll lie, my morning calls deferring,
'Till something to the stroke of noon ;
A man that's fond precociously of stirring,
Must be a sjyoon.
LXIX.— THE CRYSTAL FOUNTAIN.
CONVERSATION BETWEEN AN ANXIOUS MOTHER AND A POLICEMAN AT THE
world's exhibition. FROM PUNCH.
ANONYMOUS.
" Good policeman, tell me, pray
Has my daughter passed this way ?
You may know her by her bonnet,
Yellow shawl, and brooch upon it,
Far and near I've sought the girl ;
I have lost her in the whirl :
Do you think she yonder goes.
Where the Crystal. Fountain flows ?"
" Ma'am," says he, " on this here ground,
Whatsomdever's lost is found ;
Rest quite heasy. in your mind,
I your daughter soon will find !
Though she's got to forrin lands,
Hicy-^urgs or Hegypt's, sands.
Still, depend on't, soon she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows !
THE CRYSTAL FOUNTAIN. 405
" Perhaps Italian h'art attracts
Her, or them there flowers hi wax.
May be she has got hup stairs
In amoufr they heasy chairs ;
And hke Gulhver is sleeping,
Where them Lillipnshum's creeping :
But she'll wake, and then she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows !
" Yet, good ma'am, I should explain,
She may stop a bit in Spain ;
Smelling of them Porto snufls.
Looking at the Turkish stuffs,
Or if warm, a Chiiiy i'an,
Offered by the Tartar man,
Will refresh her as she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows !
" She may see the silver things.
Little watches, chains and rings ;
Or may-hap, ma'am, she may stray,
Where the monster horgans play ;
Or the music of all sorts.
Great and small pianny forts.
May detain her as she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows !
" Or she may have gone in hope
Of a patent henvelope
To take home, — and if she's able,
Try to see the Homan table ;
Or insist on one peep more.
At the sparkling Koh-hi-nore ;
Then, the chance is, on she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows I"
"Well, policeman, certainly
You're the man to have an eye
Over such a place as this,
And to find a straying Miss I
Pray, good man, my daughter tell.
When she hears them riiig the bell,
I shall find her, if sbe goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flo-ws 1"
40C , THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LXX.— SONG OF STEAM.
GEO. W, CUTTEB.
When I saw an army upon the land,
A navy upon the seas,
Creepiufj along, a snail-like band,
Or waiting a wayward breeze ;
When I saw the peasant faintly reel,
With the toil he faintly bore.
As constant he turned at the tardy wheel,
Or tugged at the weary oar ;
When I measured the panting courser's sneed,
The flight of the carrier dove,
As they bore a law a king decreed,
Or the lines of impatient love ;
I could not but think how the world would feel,
As these were out-stripped afar.
When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or chained to the flying car I
Ha ! ha ! ha I They found me at last ;
They invited me forth at length ;
And I rushed to my throne with a thunder-blast,
And laughed in my iron strength ;
Oh I then you saw a wondrous change
On earth and the ocean wide.
Whence now my fiery armies range.
Nor wait for wind or tide.
Hurrah I hurrah I the waters o'er,
The mountains steep decline ;
Time — space have yielded to my power^
The world — the world is mine I
The giant streams of the queenly West,
And the Orient floods divine.
The Ocean pales where'er I sweep,
To hear my strength rejoice.
And monsters of the briny deep,
Cower, trembling, at my voice.
THE STORMING OF MONTEREY. 407
I carry the wealth and the lord of the earth,
The thoughts of the godlike mind,
The wind lags after my going forth,
The lightning is left behind.
In the darksome depth of the fathomless mine,
My tireless arm doth play,
Where the rocks ne'er saw the sun's decline,
Or the dawn of the glorious day ;
I bring earth's glittering jewels up
From the hidden cave below,
And I make the fouutaiirs granite cup
With a crystal gush o'ei'flow.
I blow the bellows, I forge the steel
In all the shops of trade ;
I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel
Where my arms of strength are made ;
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint,
I curry, I spin, I weave ;
And all the doings I put in print,
On every Saturday eve.
I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay,
No bones to be " laid on the shelf,"
And soon I intend you may " go and play," —
While I manage the world myself
But harness me down with your iron bands ;
Be sure of your curb and rein ;
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands.
As the tempest scorns a chain.
LXXL— STORMING OF MONTEREY.
CHARLES FfiNNO HOFFMAW.
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.
408 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
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 the strongest lay,
We swooped his flanking batteries past,
And braving full their murderous blast,
Stormed home the towers of Monterey.
Oar banners on those towers wave.
And there our evening bugles play.
Where orange boughs above their grave
Keep green the memory of the brave
Who fought and fell at Monterey.
We were not many — we M'ho 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.
LXXIL— ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA.
J. G. ■WHITTIER.
Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away,
O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array.
Who is losing ? who is winning ? are they far, or come they
Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we
hear
ANGKLS OF BUENA VISTA. 409
" Down the hills of Angcstiira still the storm of battle rolls ;
Blood is fiowiiig, men are dying ; God have mercy on their
souls I
Who is losing ? who is winning ? — " Over hill and over plain,
I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain
rain."
Holy Mother I keep our brothers ! Look, Ximena, look once
more :
" Still I see the fearful M'hirlwind rolling darkly as before,
Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and Ibeman, foot and
horse.
Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its
mountain course."
Look forth once more, Ximena! "Ah! the smoke has
rolled away ;
And I sec the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray.
Hark ! that sudden blast of bugles I there the troop of Minon
wheels ;
There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their
heels."
" .lesu, pity I how it tliickens ! now retreat and now advance !
Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging
lance I
Down they go, the brave young riders ; horse and foot to-
gether fall ;
Like a ploughshare in its fallow, through them ploughs the
Northern ball."
Nearer came the storm, and nearer, rolling fast and fright-
ful on :
" Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost and who
has won."
" Alas I alas I I know not, friend and foe together fall,
O'er the dying rush the living ; pray, ray sisters, for them
all 1"
" Lo I the wind the smoke is lifting : Blessed Mother save
my hrain !
I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of
slain.
18
410 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Now they staggei", blind and bleeding ; now they fall, and
strive to rise ;
Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our
eyes 1
Look forth once more, Ximena I " Like a cloud before the
wind
Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death
beliind ;
Ah ! tliey plead in vain for mercy ; in the dust the wounded
strive ;
Hide your faces, holy angels I oh, thou Christ of God, for-
give!"
Sink, oh Night, among thy mountains I let the cool, gray
shadows fall ;
Dying brothers, fighting demons — drop thy curtain over all !
Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle
rolled.
In its sheath the sabref rested, and the cannon's lips grew
cold.
But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued.
Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint, and
lacking food ;
Over weak and suflering brothers with a tender care they
hung.
And the dying foeman bless'd them in a strange and North-
ern tongue.
Not wholly lost, oh Father I is this evil world of ours ;
Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eden
flowers ;
From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send their
prayer.
And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air !
ENTRY OF THE AUSTRIANS INTO NAPLES. 411
LXXIII.-ENTRY OF THE AUSTRIAN'S INTO NAPLES.
THOM/VS MOORE.,
Ay — down In tlie dnf?t with them, shaves as they are,
From this hour let the bhiod in their dastardly veins,
That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war
Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains.
On, on hke a cloud, through their heautiful vales,
Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them o'er —
Fill, till uj) tlieir wide sunny waters, ye sails
From each slave-mart of Europe, and shadow their shore !
Let their fate be a mock-word, let men of all lands, .
Laugh out, with a scorn tli.it shall ring to the poles,
When eacli sword that the cowards let fall from their hands,
Shall be Ibrged into fetters to enter their souls.
And deep, and more deep, as the iron is driv'n.
Base slaves I let the whet of their agony be.
To think — as the Doom'd often think of that heav'u
They had once within reach — that they inlght have been
free.
When the world stood in hope — when a spirit, that breathed \
Th' fresh hour of tlie olden time, whisper'd about ;
And the swords of all Italy, half-way unsheath'd.
But waited one conquering cry, to flash out I
\^'lien around you the shades of your m.ighty in fame,
Filicajas and Petrarchs seem'd bursting to view,
And their words, and their warnings, like tongues of bright
flame
Over Freedom's apostles, fell kindling on you !
Oh shame ! that in such a proud moment of life.
Worth the hist'ry of ages, when had you but hurl'd
One bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife
Between freemen and tyrants had spread through the world.
That then — oh ! disgrace upon manhood — ev'n then
You should falter, should cling to your pitiful breath ;
412 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Cow'r down into beasts, when you might have stood men,
And prefer the slave's life of prostration to death.
1\ is strange, it is dreadful ; — shout, Tyranny, shout
Through your dungeons aud palaces, " Freedom is o'er;"^
It diere lingers one spark of her life, tread it out,
'^nd return to your empire of darkness once more.
LXXIV— FORGIVE AND FORGET.
M. F. TUPPER.
Whem streams of unkindness as bitter as gall,
Bubble up from the heart to the tongue,
And meekness is writhing in torment and thrall,
By the bunds ol' Ingratitude wrung, —
la the heat of injustice, unwept and unfair,
While the anguish is festering yet.
None, none but an angel, or f-iod, can declare
" I now can forgive and foi'get."
But, if the bad spirit is chased from the heart,
And the lips are in penitence steep'd.
With the wrong so repented the wrath will depart,
Though scorn on injustice were heaped ;
For the best compensation is paid for all ill,
When the cheek with contrition is wet,
And every one feels it is possible still,
At once to forgive and forget.
To forget ? It is hard for a man with a mind,
However his heart may forgive,
To blot out all perils and dangers behind,
And but for the future to live :
Then how shall it be ? for at every turn
Recollection the spirit will fret,
And the ashes of injury smoulder and burn,
Though we strive to forgive and forget.
Oh, hearken I my tongue shall the riddle unseal,
«And mind shall be partner with heart,
While thee to thyself 1 hid Conscience reveal,
And show thee how evil thou arl ;
ROBERT BURNS. 413
Eememlier tliy follies, thy sins, ami — thy cruiies,
How vast is that infinite debt !
Yet mercy hath seven by seventy times
Been swift to forgive and forget I
Brood not on insults or injuries old,
For thou art injurious too, —
Count not their sum till the total is told,
For thou art unkind and untrue :
And if all thy harms are forgotten, forgiven,
Now mercy with justice is met,
Oh, who would not gladly take lessons of heaven,
Nor learn to forgive and forget ?
Yes, yes ; let a man, when his enemy weeps,
Be quick to receive him, a friend ;
For thus on his head in kindness he heaps
Hot coals, — to refine and amend ;
And hearts that are Christian more eagerly yearn,
As a nurse on her innocent pet,
Over lips that, once bitter, to penitence turn,
And whisper, Forgive and forget.
LXXV.— ROBERT BURNS.
J. MONTGOMERY,
What bird, in beauty, flight, or song.
Can with tlie Bard compare.
Who sang as sweet, and soar'd as strong.
As ever child of air !
His plume, his note, his form, could Burns
For whim or ])leasure change ;
He was not one, but all by turns ;
With transMiigration strange !
The BlacAbird, oracle of spring
When (lovv'd his inorai lay ;
The Swallow wlieefing on the wing,
Capriciously at play :
414 TH£ BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
The Humming-bird, from bloom to bloom,
Inhaling heavenly balm ;
The Raven, in the tempest's gloom ;
The Halcyon, in the calm :
In " aiild kirk Alloway," the owl
At witching time oi' night ;
By " boniiie Doon," the earliest Fowl
That caroU'd to the light.
N
He was the Wren amidst the grove,
When in his homely vein ;
At Baanockburn the Bird of Jove,
With thunder in his train :
The Woodlark, in his mournful hours ;
The Gokl finch, in his mirth ;
The Thrush, a spendthrift of his powers,
Enrapturing heaven and earth ;
The Swan, in majesty and grace,
Contemplative and still :
But roused, — no Falcon, in the chase.
Could like his satire, kill.
The Linnet in simplicity,
In tenderness the Dove ;
But more than all beside was he
The Nightingale in love.
o
Oh, had he never stoop'd to shame,
Nor lent a charm to vice.
How had devotion loved to name
That Bird of Paradise I
Peace to the dead I — In Scotia's choir
Of Minstrels great and small,
He sprang from his spontaneous fire.
The Phcenix of them all.
OLD IRONSIDES. 415
LXXVL— OLD IRONSIDES.
O. W. HOLMES.
Aye, tear her tattered ensijrn down I
. Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in tlie 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 I
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood
AVhere knelt the vanquished foe.
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below.
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee ; —
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea !
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 I
LXXVII.— THE LAST LEAF.
I SAW him once before
As he passed by the door,
And again
The j)avem(!iit stones resound
As he tolters o'er the ground
With liis cane.
O. V,'. HOLMEi
416 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Thpy say that in his prime
Ere the priuiinc-kiiifc of time
Cut hiin down,
Not a better man was found
By the crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets
And he looks at all he meets
So forlorn,
And he shakes his feeble head,
- That it seems as if he said,
" They are gone."
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a yeajr
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said, —
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago, —
That he had a Eoman nose
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff'.
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here ;
But the old three-cornered hat.
And the breeches, and all that.
Are so queer I
THE EXGLISH TONGTE. 41?
And if I should live to he
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring, —
Let tliem smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I clinjj.
LXXVIIL— THE ENGLISH TONGUE.
J. G. SAXE.
Lv ancient times, I've heard my grandam tell,
Young maids were taught to read, and write, and spell ;
(Neglected arts I once learned by rigid rules
As prime essentials in the ' common schools.')
"Well taught beside in many a useful art
To mend the manners and improve the heart ;
Nor yet unskilled to turn the busy wheel,
To ply the shuttle and to twirl the reel.
Could thi-ifty tasks with cheerful grace pursue,
Tiiemselves ' accomplished,' and their duties too.
Of tongues, each maiden had but one, 'tis said,
(Enough, 'twas thought to serve a ladies' head,)
I3ut that was English, — great and glorious tongue ;
That Chatham spoke, and Milton, Shakspeare, sung ;
Let thoughts, too idle to be fitly dressed
In sturdy Saxon, be in French expressed ;
Let lovers breathe Italian, — like, in sooth.
Its singers, soft, emasculate, and smooth ;
But for a tongue, whose ample powers embrace
Beauty and force, sublimity and grace.
Ornate or plain, harmonious, yet strong.
And formed alike for eloquence and song,
Give me the English, — aptest tongue to paint
A sage or dunce, a xillain or a saint.
To spur the slothful, coiuisel the distressed,
To lash the oppressor, and to soothe the oppressed,
To lend fantastic Humor free.st scope,
To marshal all his laughter-moving troop,
Give Pathos power, and Fancy lightest wings.
And Wit his merriest whims and keenest stings !
18*
418 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LXXIX.— MONODY ON SAMUEL PATCH.
ROBERT C. SANna.
Toll for Sam Patch ! Sam Patch, who jumps no more,
Tliis or the worhl to eoine. Sam Patch is dead !
The vulgar pathway to the unknown shore
Of dark futurity, he wouhl not tread.
No friends stood sorrowing round his dying bed ;
Nor with decorous woe, sedately stepp'd
Behind his corpse, and tears by retail shed; —
The mighty river, as it onward swept.
In one great, wholesale sob, his body drown'd and kept.
Sam was a f )ol. But the large world of such
Has thousands — better taught, alike absurd.
And less sublime. Of fame he soon got much,
Where distant cataracts spout, of him men heard.
Alas for Sam I Had he aright preferr'd
The kindly element, to which he gave
Himself so fearlessly, we had not heard
That it was now his winding-sheet and grave.
Nor sung 'twixt tears and smiles, our recpiiem for the bravo
Death or Victory
Was his device, "and there was no mistake,"
Except his last ; and then he did but die,
A blunder which the wisest men will make.
Aloft, whei-e mighty floods the mounlains break,
To stand, the target often thousand eyes.
And down into the coil and water-quake
To leap, like JMaia's offspring, from the skies —
For this, all vulgar flights he ventured to despise.
And while Niagara prolongs its thunder.
Though still the rock primeval disappears,
And naiions change their bounds — the theme of wonder
Shall Sam go down the cataract of long years ;
And if there be sublimity in tears.
Those shall be precious which the adventurer shed
When his frail star gave way, and waked his fears
Lest by the ungenerous crowd it might be said.
That he was all a hoax, and that his pluck had fled.
THE WAR CROSS. 419
But, ere he leap'tl, lie begg'd of those who made
Money by his dread venture, tliat if he
Should perish, such collection should be paid
As might be pick'd up from the " company"
To his mother. This, his last request, shall be —
Tliough she who bore him ne'er his fate should know —
An iris, glittering o'er his memory,
"When all the streams have wcru their barriers low,
And, by the sea drunk up, forever cease to flow.
Therefore it is considered, that Sam Patch
Shall never be forgot in prose or rhyme ;
His name shall be a portion in the batch
Of the heroic dough, which baking Time
Kneads for consuming ages, — and the chime
Of ikine's old bells, long as they truly ring,
Shall tell of him ; he dived lor the sublime.
And Ibund it. Thou, who with the eagle's wing,
Being a goose, wouldst fly, — dream not of such a thing !
LXXX.— THE WAR CROSS.
•WALTER SCOTT.
The cross, thus formed, he held on high.
With wasted hand and haggard eye,
And strange and mingled leeliiigs woke,
While his anathema he s[)oke.
" Woe to the clansman who shall view
This symbol of sepulchral yew,
Forgetiul that its branches grew
Where weep the heavens tlieir holiest dew
On Alpine's dwelling low I
Deserter of his chieftain's trust.
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust,
But from his sires and kindred thi'ust,
Eacli chiiisinan's execration just
Shall doojn him wrath and woe."'
He paused — the word the vassals took,
With Ibrward step and fiery look,
On high their native brands they shook,
Tlieir clattering targets wililiy sliook ;
And first, in murmur low,
420
THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Then, like the billow in his course,
That far to seaward finds his source,
And flings to shore his mustered force,
Burst, with loud roar, their ansM^er hoarse,
" Woe to the traitor, woe I"
Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew,
The joyous wolf Irom covert drew,
The exulting eagle screamed afar —
They knew the voice of Alpine's war.
LXXXI— SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD IIL
SHAKSrEAEE.
Was ever woman in this humor woo'd 1
Was ever woman in this humor won ?
I'll have her, — but I will not keep her long.
What ! I, that killed her husband, and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate ;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by ;
With God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
And I no friends to back my suit withal
But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing !
Ha!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury ?
A sweeter, and a lovelier gentleman, —
Framed in the prodigality of nature,
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right loyal, —
The sjDacious world cannot again afford :
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince.
And made her widow to a woful bed ?
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety ?
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus ?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while :
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
MAllliaV LEE. 421
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
And eutertaiu a score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body ;
Since 1 am crept in favor with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But, first, I'll turn yon fellow in his grave ;
And then return lamenting to my love. —
iSliine out, fair sun, till 1 have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.
LXXXII— MATHEW LEE.
R. U. DANA.
Who's sitting on that long, black ledge,
Which makes so i'ar out in the sea ;
Feeling the kelp-weed on its edge ?
Poor, idle Mathew Lee I
So weak and pale ? A year and little more,
And bravely did he lord it round tins shore I
And on the shingles now he sits.
And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands;
Now walks the beach ; then stops by fits,
Aud scores the smooth, wet sauds ;
Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut, that bounds
The isle ; then home from many weary rounds.
He views the ships that come and go.
Looking so like to living things.
I 'tis a proud and gallant show
Of bright and broad-spread wings,
Making it light around them as they keep
Their course right onward through the unsounded deep
And where the far-off sand-bars lift
Their backs in long and narrow line
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift.
And send the sparkling brine
Injo the air ; tlien rush to mimic strife —
Glad creatures of the sea, and lull ot liie —
, I"
422 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
But not to Lee. Tie sits alone ;
No I'ellowsliip or joy for him.
Borne down by woe, he makes no moan,
Though tears will sometimes dim
That asking eye. 0, how his worn thoug;h.ts crave-
Not joy again, but rest within the grave.
The rocks are dripping in the mist
Tliat lies so heavy oil" the sliore ;
Scarce seen the running breakers ; — list
Their dull and smother'd roar I
Lee hearkens to tlieir voice. — " I hear, I hear
Your call. — Not yet 1 — 1 know my tnne is near !'
A sweet, low voice, in starry nights,
Chants to his ear a plaining song;
Its tones come winding up the heights,
Telling of woe and wrong ;
And he nuist listen, till the stars grow dim.
The song that gentle voice doth sing to him.
In thick dark nights he'd take his seat
High up the clills, and leel them shake,
As swung the sea with heavy beat
Below — and hear it break
With savage roar, then pause and gather strength,
And then, come tumbling in its swollen length.
But he no more shall haunt the beach,
Nor sit upon the tall clilfs crown,
Nor go the round of all that reach,
Nor feebly sit him down.
Watching the swaying weeds ; — another day.
And he'll have gone far hence that dreadlul way.
LXXXIII.— THE SEVEN AGES.
SHAKSPEARE.
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 rnany parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, tlie infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms :
AMBITION. 423
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning tiice, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school : And then, the lover;
Sighing like furnace, with a wolul 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 ;
His fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of I'ormal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances.
And so he plays his part : The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and sjipper'd pantaloon ;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ;
His youthful hose Avell sav'd, a world tuo 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 mei'e oblivion ;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
LXXXIV.— AMBITION.
N. P. WILLIS,
What is amhillon? 'Tis a glorious cheat I
Angels of light walk not so dazzlingly
The sapphire walls of Heaven. The unsearch'd mine
Hath not such gems. Earth's constellated thrones
Have not such pomp of purple and of gold.
It hath no features. In its face is set
A mirror, and the gazer sees his own.
It looks a god, but it is like lu nisei f .'
It hath a mien of empery, and smiles
Majestically sweet — but how like liim !
It fuUovvs not with fortune. It is seen
Rarely or never in the rich man's hall.
It seeks the charnher of the gifted boy,
And lifts his humble window, and comes in.
42 i THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
The narrow walls expand, and spread away
Into a kingly palace, and the roof
Lifts to the sky, and unseen fingers work
The ceiling with rich blazonry, and write
His name in burning letters over all.
And ever, as he shuts his wilder'd eyes,
The phantom comes and lays upon his lids
A spell that murders sleep, and in his ear
Whispers a deathless word, and on his brain
Breathes a fierce thirst no water will allay.
He is its slave heiicetbrth ! -His days are spent
In chaining down his heart, and watching where
To rise by human weakness. His niirhts
Bring him no rest in all their blessed hours.
His kindred are forgotten or estranged ; -
Unhealthful fires burn constant in his eye ;
His lip grows restless, and its smile is curl'd
Half to scorn — till the bright, fiery boy,
That was a daily blessing but to see,
His spirit was so bird-like and so pure,
Is frozen, in the very Hush of youth.
Into a cold, care-irctted, heartless man I
LXXXV.— THE CONTRAST.
ALFRED B. STREET.
A LAKE is slumbering in the wild-wood depths,
Picturing naught upon its polish'd glass
But the long stretching and contracting shades
That change as change the hours : its sullen tones
Blending but with the forest's daylight songs
And midnight bowlings o'er the leafy waste,
Curls a light thread of smoke — a hunter's fire ;
And 'mid the lilies' floating golden globes,
Spangling the margin, where the ripples play
And melt in the silver, rocks his bark canoe.
A few years circle by. The talisman
Of toil has Avaved above this forest-scene.
Rich meadows, spotted with dense waving woods,
Slope to the sun-lit surface of the lake,
THE riLGRIM'S FUNERAL. 425
Whose plasliings mingle with the village-din,
A rural low and bleat. Where ciirl'd that smoke,
Glitter white walls, and cluster roofs of men,
With terraced gardens, leaning to the wave,
Religion rearing spires, and Leamiiiig domes.
To the bright skies that arch this Eden-spot.
The rude canoe has vanisli'd, but swift keels
Wave joyous o'er the smiling, sparkling flood
Th.it lies in calm obedience at the feet
Of those that freed it from its dunireon-shades.
LXXXVI.— THE PILGRIM'S FUNERAL.
JOHN U BRYANT.
It was a wintry scene.
The hills were whitened o'er,
And the chill north-winds were blowing keen
Along the rocky shore.
Gone was the wood-bird's lay,
That the summer forest fills,
And the voice of the stream has pass'd away
From its path among the hills.
And the low sun coldly smil'd
Through the boughs of the ancient wood,
Where a hundred souls, sire, wife, and child
Around a coffin stood.
They raised it gently up.
And, through the untrodden snow,
They bore it along, with a solemn step,
To a woody vale below.
And grief was in each eye.
As they moved towards the spot.
And brief, low spec^ch, and tear and sigh
Told that a friena was not.
When they laid his cold corpse low
In its dark and narrow cell.
Heavy the miuglcd earth and snow
Upon liis CdfTin iill.
426 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Weepinjr, lliey pass'd away,
And left him there alone,
With no mark to tell where their dead friend lay,
But the mossy forest stone.
When the winter storms v/ere jrone,
And the strange hii'ds sung around,
Green grass and violets sprung upon
That spot of holy ground.
And o'er him giant trees
Their pi-oud arms toss'd on high.
And rustled music in the hreeze
That wander'd through the sky.
When these were overspread
With the hues that Autumn gave,
They bow'd them in the wind, and shed
Their leaves upon his grave
These woods are perish'd now,
And that humble grave forgot,
And the yeoman sings, as he drives his plough
O'er that once saci-ed spot.
Two centuries are flown
Since they laid his cold corpse low.
And his bones are moulder'd to dust, and stroAvn
To the breezes long ago.
c
And they who laid tliem there,
That sad and sufi'ering train,
Now sleep in dust, — to tell us where,
No letter' d stones remain.
Their memory remains,
And ever shall remain,
More lasting than the aged fanes
Of Egypt's storied plain.
MAKCH. 427
LXXX VII.— MARCH.
^ ARTHUR C. COXK.
March — march — mar(;h !
Makiiio; sounds as they tread,
Ho-ho ! how they step,
Going down to the dead I
Every stride, every tramp.
Every ioott'all is nearer ;
And dimmer each lamp,
As darliness oiows drearer;
But ho I how they inarch,
Making sounds as tliey tread ;
But ho ! how they step,
Going duwu to the dt-ad !
March — marcli — marcli !
Making sounds as they tread,
HiJ-ho I how they Jaugli,
Going down to the dead !
How they \vhirl — how they trip,
How they smile — how they dally,
How blithesome they skip,
Going down to the valley ;
Oli-ho, how they march.
Making sounds as they tread ;
Ho-ho, how they skip,
Going down to the dead I
March — march — march I
Earth groans as they tread I
Each carries a skull ;
Going down to the dead !
Every stride — every stamp,
Every footfall is bolder ;
'Tis a skeleton's tramp.
With a skull on his shoulder ;
But ho ! how he steps
With a high-tossing head,
That clay-cover'd bone.
Going down to tlie dead.
428 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
LXXX VIII.— THE LAST DAYS OF AUTUMN.
JAMES G. PEECIVAU
Now the growing year is over,
And the shepherd's tinkUng bell
Faintly from its winter cover
Rings a low farewell : —
Now the birds of Autumn shiver,
Where the withered beach-leaves quiver,
O'er the dark and lazy river,
In the rocky dell.
Now the mist is on the mountains,
Reddening in the rising sun ;
Now the flowers around the fountains
Perish one by one : —
Not a spire of grass is growing,
But the leaves that late were glowing,
Now its blighted green are strewing
With a mantled dun
Now the torrent brook is stealing
Faintly down the furrow'd glade —
Not as when in winter pealing,
Such a din is made.
That the sound of cataracts falling
Gave no echo so appalling,
As its hoarse and heavy brawling
In the pine's black shade.
Darkly blue the mist is hovering
Round the clifted rock's bare height-
All the borderuig mountains coveriirg
With a dim, uncertain light : —
Now, a fresher wind prevailing,
Wide its heavy burden sailing,
Deepens as the day is failing,
Fast the gloom of night.
Slow the blood-stain'd moon is riding
Through the still and hazy air,
Like a sheeted spectre gliding
In a torch's glare : —
MUSIC OF THE NIGHT. 429
Few the hours, her li^ht is jriven —
Mingling clouds of tempest driven •
O'er the mourning face of heaven,
All is blackness thei-e.
LXXXIX.— MUSIC OF THE NIGHT.
JOHN NEAL.
There are harps that complain to the presence of night,
To the presence of night alone —
In a near and unchangeable tone —
Like vi'inds, full of sound, that go whispering hv,
As if some immortal had stoop'd from the sky.
And breathed out a blessing — and flown !
Yes ! harps that complain to the breezes of night,
To the breezes of night alone ;
Growing fainter and fainter, as ruddy and bright
The sun rolls aloft in his drapery of light.
Like a conqueror shaking his brilliant haiir
And flourishing robe, on the edge of the air !
Burning crimson and gold
On the clouds that unfold,
Breaking onward in flame, while an ocean divides
On his right and his left— So the Thunderer rides,
When he cuts a bright path through the heaving tides,
Rolling on, and erect, in a charioting throne I
Yes I strings that lie still in the gushing of day,
That awake, all alive, to the breezes of night.
There are hautboys and flutes too, forever at play,
When the evening is near, and the sun is away.
Breathing out the still hymn of delight.
These strings by invisible lingers are play'd —
By spirits, unseen, and unknown,
But thick as the stars, ail this music is made;
And these flutes, alone.
In one sweet dreamy tone,
Are ever hi(jwn,
Forever and forever.
430 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
The livelong night ye hear the sound,
Like distant waves flowing round
In ringing caves, while heaven is sweet
"With crowding tunes, like halls
Where fountain-music falls,
And rival minstrels meet.
XC— MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.
GEORGE D. PEEXTIUB.
The trembling dew-drops fall
Upon the shutting flowers ; like souls at rest,
The stars shine gloriously : and all
Save me, are blest.
Mother, T love thy grave !
The violet, with its blossoms blue and mild,
Waves o'er thy head ; when shall it wave
Above thy child ?
'Tis a sweet flower, yet must
Its bright leaves to the coming tempesi bow ;
Dear mother, 'tis thine emblem ; dust
Is on thy brow.
And I could love to die :
To leave untasted life's dark, bitter streams —
By thee, as erst in childhood, lie,
And share thy dreams.
And I must linger here,
To stain the plumage of my sinless years.
And mourn the hopes to childhood dear
With bitter tears.
Aye, I must linger here,
A lonely branch upon a wither'd tree,
Whose last frail leaf, untimely sere,
Went down with thee I
"passing away." 431
Oft, from life's wilhci-'d bowrr,
In still coniuumiou with the past, I turn,
Ami muse on thee, the only flower
In memory's urn.
And, when the evening pale,
Bows, like a mourner, on the dim, blue wave,
I stray to hear the night-winds wail
Around thy grave.
Where is thy spirit flown?
I gaze above — thy look is imaged there ;
I listen — and thy gentle tone
Is on the air.
0, come, v/liile here I press
My brow uj)on thy grave ; and in those mild
And thrilling tones of tendeiniess,
Bless, bless thy child I
Yes, bless your weeping child ;
And o'er thy urn — religion's holiest shrine —
0, give his spirit, uudefih'd,
To blend with thine.
XCI.—" PASSING AWAY."
JOHN PIERPONT.
Was it the chime of a tiny bell,
Tliat came so sweet to my dreaming ear, —
Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell
That he winds on the beacii. so mellow and clear,
When the winds and the waves lie together asleep,
And the moon and the I'airy are watching the deep,
She dispensing her silvery liglit.
And he, his notes as silvery quite,
While the boatman listens, and ships his oar,
To catch the music that comes from the shore ? —
Hark I the not,es, on my ear that phiy,
Are set to words : — as they float, they say,
" Passing away ! passing away !"
432 THK BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
But no ; it was not a fairy's shell,
Blown on tlie beach, so mellow and clear ;
!Nor was it the tongue of a silveiy bell,
Striking the hour, that fiird my eai-,
As I lay in ray dream ; yet was it a chime .
That told of the flow of the stream of time.
For a beautiful clock from the ceiling huug,
And a plump little girl, for a pendulum swung ;
(As you've sometimes seen, in a litlle ring
That hangs in his cage, a Canary bird swing ;)
And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet,
And, as she enjoy'd it, she seem'd to say,
" Passing away 1 passing away I"
0, how bright were the wheels, that told
Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow !
And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold,
Seemed to point to the girl below.
And lo I she had changed ; — in a few short hours
Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers,
That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung
This way and that, as she, dancing, swung
In the fulness of grace and womanly pride,
That told me she was soon to be a bride ; —
Yet then, when expecting her happiest day,
In the same sweet voice I heard her say,
" Passing away ! passing away !"
While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, a shade
Of thought, or care, stole softly over,
Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made,
Looking down on a field of blossoming clover.
The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush
Had something lost of its brilliant blush ;
And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels,
That marched so calmly round above her.
Was a little dimm'd, — as when evening steals
Upon noon's hot face : Yet one couldn't but love her.
For she looked like a mother, whose first babe lay
E-ock'd on her breast, as she swung all day ; —
And she seem'd in the same silver tone to say,
" Passing away 1 passing away 1"
SnAKSPE.VRE ODE. 433
While yet I look'd, what a chang-e there came !
Her eye Avas quench'd, and her cheek was waa :
Sloopiug: and staii'd was her wither'd frame,
Yet, just as busily, swung she on ;
The garland beneath her had fallen to dust ;
The wheels above her were eaten with rust ;
The hands, that over the dial swept,
Grew crooked and tarnish'd, but on they kept,
And still there came that silver tone
From the shrivell'd lips of the toothless crone, —
(Let me never forget till my dying day
The tone or burden of her lay.) —
" Passing away I passing away I"
XCIL— SHAKSPEARE ODE.
CHAELKS SPRAGUE.
God of the glorious lyre I
Y/liose notes of old on lofty Pindus rang,
While Jove's exulting choir
Caught the glad echoes and responsive sang —
Come ! bless the service and the shrine
We consecrate to thee and thine.
Fierce from the frozen north,
When Havoc led his legions forth,
O'er Learning's sunny groves the dark destroyer spread :
In dust the sacred statue slept,
Fair Science round her altar wept, ^
And Wisdom cowl'd his head.
At length, Olympian lord of morn,
The raven veil of night was torn,
When, through golden clouds descending,
Thou didst hold thy radiant flight,
O'er Nature's lovely pageant bending.
Till Avon rolled, all sparkling to thy sight I
There, on its bank, beneath the mulberry's shade,
Wrapp'd in young dreams, a wild-eyed minstrel stray'd.
19
434 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Lighting thei-e, and lingering long,
Thou didst teach the burd his song ;
Tliy fingers strung his sleeping shell,
And round his brow a garland curl'd ;
On his lips thy spirit tell,
And bade him wake and warm the world !
Then SHAKSPEAr;E rose !
Aei-oss the trembling strings
His daring baud he flings,
And, lo I a new creation glows I
There, clustering round, submissive to his will,
Fate's vassal train his high commands lulfil.
Madness, with his frightful scream.
Vengeance, leaning on his lance.
Avarice, with his blade and beam.
Hatred, blasting with a glance ;
Hemorse, that weeps, and Rage, that roars.
And Jealousy, that dotes, but dooms, and jnurders, yet adores.
Mirth, his face with sunbeams lit.
Waking Laughter's merry swell,
Arm in arm, with fresh-eyed Wit,
That waves his tingling lash, while Folly shakes his bell.
Despair, that haunts the gurgling sti'eam,
Kiss'd by the virgin moon's cold beam.
Where some lost maid wild chnplets wreathes,
And, swan-like, there her own dirge breathes.
Then, broken-hearted, siidis to rest.
Beneath the bubbling wave that shrouds her maniac breast.
Young love, with eye of tender gloom,
Now droo])iug o'er the hallowed tomb
Where his plighted victims lie — ■
Where they met, but met to die :
And now, when crimson buds are sleeping,
Through the dewj'^ arbor peeping.
Where Beauty's cliild, the frowning world forgot.
To youth's devoted tale is listening,
Eapture on her dark lash glistening, [spot.
While fairies Leave their cowslip cells and guard the happy
DESTRUCTION OF THE UNIVERSE. 435
XCIIL— THE IVY AND THE WINE.
PHILIP J. BAILEY.
W^ELL might the thoughtful race of old
With ivy twine the head
Of him they hail'd their god of wine, —
Thank (jod I the lie is dead :
For ivy climbs the crumbling hall
To decollate decay,
And ppreads its dark, deceitful pall
To hide what wastes away.
And wine will circle round the brain—-
As ivy o'er the brow,
Till what could once see far as stars
Is dark as death's eye now.
Then dash the cup down I 'tis not worth
A soul's great sacrifice :
The wine will sink into the earth,
The soul, the soul, — must rise.
XCIV.— DESTRUCTION OF THE UNIVERSE.
PHILIP J. BAILET.
'Tis earth shall lead destruction ; she shall end.
The stars shall wonder why slie comes no more
On her accustomed orbit, and the sun
Miss one of his eleven of light ; the moon.
An orphan orb, shall seek for eai'th for aye,
Through time's untrodden depths, and find her not;
No more shall morn, out of the holy east.
Stream o'er the amber air her level light ;
Kor evening, with the spectral fingers, draw
Her fitar-spreut curtain round the head of earth ;
Her footsteps never thence again shall grace
The bine sublime of heaven. Her grave is dug.
I see the stars, night-clad, all gathering
In long and dark procession. Death's at work.
And, one by one, shall all yon wandering worlds,
436 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
Whether in orbed path they roll, or trail,
In an iui"«tirnable length of light,
Their golden train of tjesses after them.
Cease ; and the sun, centre and sire of light,
The keystone of the world-built arch of heaven,
Be left in burning solitude. The stars,
Which stood as thick as dew-drops on the fields
Of heaven, and all they comprehend shall pass.
The spirits of all worlds shall all depart
To their great destinies.
XCV.— MAZEPPA.
BTRON.
' Bring forth the horse I' — the horse was brought ;
In truth he was a noble steed,
A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
Who leok'd 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 —
'Tvvas but a day he had been caught ;
And snorting, with erected manor
And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
In the full foam of wrath and dread
To me the desert-born M'as led :
They bound me on, that menial throng,
Upon his back with many a thong ;
Tlien loosed him with a sudden lash —
Away ! — away ! — and on we dash I —
Torrents less rapid and less rash.
Away ! — away ! — My breath was gone —
I saw not where he hurried on :
'Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
And on he foarn'd — away I — away ! —
The last of human sounds which rose.
As I was darted from my foes.
Was the wild shout of savage laughter,
Which on the wind came roaring after
MAZF.PPA. 437
A moment from that rabble rout :
With sudden via-ath I wrenched my head,
And snapp'd the cord, which to the mane
Had bound my neck in Heu of rein,
And, writhing half my form about,
Howl'd back my curse, but 'midst the tread,
The thunder of my courser's speed.
Perchance they did not hear nor heed :
It vexes me — for I would fain
Have paid their insult back again.
1 paid it well in after days :
There is not of that castle-gate, •
Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight.
Stone bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left ;
Nor of its fields a blade of grass,
Save what grows on a ridge of wall,
Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall :
And many a time ye there might pass,
Nor dream that e'er that fortress was :
I saw its turrets in a blaze,
Their crackling battlements all cleft.
And the hot lead pour down like rain
From off the scorch'd and blackening roof,
Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.
They little thought that day of pain.
When launch'd, as on the lightning's flash,
They bade me to destruction dash.
That one day I should come again,
With twice five thousand horse, to thank
The Count for his uncourteous ride.
Thpy play'd me then a bitter prank,
^\^hen, with the wild horse for my guide,
They bound me to his foaming flank :
At length I play'd them one as frank —
For time at last sets all thinjrs even — ■
And if we do but watch the hour.
There never yet was human power
Which could evade, if unforgivcn.
The patient search and vigil long
Of him wlio treasures up a wrong.
438 THE BOOK OF ELOQUKNCE.
XCVI.— UNIVERSALITY OF POETRY.
JAMES G. PERCIVAL
The world is full of poetry — the air
Is living with its spirit; and the waves
Dance to the music of its melodies,
And sparkle in its brightness. Eiirth is veil'd,
And mantled with its beauty ; and the walls,
That close the universe with crystal in,
Are eloquent with voices, that proclaim
The unseen glories of immensity.
In harmonies, too perfect, and too high,
For aujrht but beings of celestial mould,
And speak to man in one eternal hymn,
Unfading beauty, and unyielding power.
The year hads round the seasons in a choir
Forever charming, and forever new.
Blending the grand, the beautiful, the gay,
Tlie mournful, and the tender, in one strain,
Which steals into tlie heart, like sounds, that rise
Far ofl^, in moonlight evenings, on the shore
Of the wide ocean, resting after storms ;
Or tones, that wind around the vaulted roof,
And pointed arches, and retiring aisles
Of some old, lonely minster, where the hand,
Skilful, and moved, with passionate love of art,
Plays o'er the higher keys, and bears aloft
The peal of bursting thunder, and then calls.
By mellow touches, from the sol'ter tubes,
Voices of melting tenderness that blend
AVith pure and gentle musings, till the soul,
Cominiugling with the melody, is borne,
Kapt, and dissolved in ecstacy, to heaven.
XCVII.— GREECE.
He who hath bent him o'er the dead,
Ere the first day of death is fled,
The first dark day of nothingness.
The lust of danger and distress,
BYRON.
FAME.
439
(Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,)
And inark'd the mild angelic air,
The rapture of repose that's there,
The fix'd, yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek,
And — but for that sad shrouded eye
That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
And but for that chill, changeless brow,
Where cold obstruction's apathy,
Appals the gazing mourner's heart,
As if to him it could impart
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; ^
Yes, but for these, and these alone,
Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour
He still might doubt the tyrant's power;
So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd,
The first, last look by death reveal'd I
Such is the aspect of this shore ;
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more !
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair.
We start, for soul is wauling there.
Hers is the loveliness in death.
That parts not quite with parting breath ;
But beauty with that fearful bloom.
That hue which haunts it to the tomb,
Expression's last receding ray,
A gilded halo hovering round decay,
The farewell beam of leeling past away !
Spark of that fiame, perchance of heavenly birth,
Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth !
XCVIir.— FAME.
What is the end of fame ? 'tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper ;
Some liken it to climbing uj) a hill,
Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapor;
BYROIf.
440 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
For this men write, speak, preach, and liei-oesklll ;
And bards burn what they call their " midnight taper"
To have, when the original is dust,
A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.
Wliat are the hopes of man ? old Egypt's king,
Cheops, erected the first pyramid
And largest, thinking it was just the thing
To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid ;
But somebody or other, rummaging,
Bui"glariously broke his coffin's lid.
Let not a monument give you or me hopes,
Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops.
XCIX— FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY.
THOMAS HOOD.
Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms :
But a cantion-hall took ofl' his legs,
So he laid down his arms I
JSTow as they bore him oft" the field,
Said he, "Let others shoot,
For here I leave my second leg.
And the Forty-second Foot I"
The army surgeons made him limbs :
Said he, — " They're only pegs :
But there's as wooden members quite,
As represent my legs I"
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid,
Her name was N lly Gray ;
So he went to pay her his devoirs,
When he'd devoured his pay I
But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoft'.
And when she saw liis wooden legs;
Began to take them ofll
'J
THE HAT REGAINED 441
" 0, Nelly Gray ! 0, Nelly Gray !
Is this your love so warm ?
The love that loves a scarlet coat,
Should be more uniform !"
Said she, " T loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave ;
But I shall never have a man
With both legs in the grave I
" Before you had these timber toes,
Your love I did allow,
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now I"
" 0, false and fickle Nelly Gray ;
I know why you reluse : —
Though I've no feet — some other man
Is standing in my shoes !
" I wish I ne'er had seen your face ;
But, now, a long farewell !
For you will be my death ; — alas !
You will not be my Nell .'"
Now when he went from Nelly Gray,
His heart so heavy got.
And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot !
So round his melancholy neck,
A rope he did entwine.
And, for his second time in life,
Enlisted in the Line I
C— THE HAT REGAINED.
EFJECTED ADDRESSEI
Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat,
But, leaning (brward, Jennings lost his hat :
Down from the gallery the beaver Hew,
And spurned the one to settle in the two.
ID*
442 THE HOOK OF ELOQUENCK.
How shall he act ? Pay at the gallery door
Two shillings for what cost, when new, but four ?
Or till hall-price, to save his shilling, wait,
And gain his hat again at half-past eight ?
Now, while his fears anticipate a thief,
John Mullins whispers, " Take my handkerchief"
" Thank you," cries Pat ; " but one won't make a line."
*' Take mine," cried Wilson ; and cried Stokes, " Take mine."
A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties,
AV-'here Spitalfields with real India vies.
Like Iris' bow, down darfs the painted clue,
Starred, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and blue.
Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new.
George Green below, with palpitating hand,
Loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band —
Up soars the prize I The youth with joy unfeigned,
Regained the felt, and felt what he regained.
While to the applauding galleries grateful Pat
Made a low bow, and touched the ransomed hat.
ex.— CAPTURE OF THE ALHAMBRA.
ANONYMOUS,
Why need I tell of the affray,
The dreadful deeds of that famed day ;
Of the bright field o'erspread
With the down-trodden knights and grooms,
Helms, turbans, spears, and dripping plumes,
The dying and the dead.
Of Spain's loud war-note risinsf o'er
The wild, shrill lelica of the Moor,
Of wail and feeble moan, ^
Of shout that loud of triumph told,
Of taunting laugh and fiend-like yell,
And curse, and stifled groan :
Crescent, and Cross, and banner rent,
Lance, scimitar together blent.
Of ringing plate and steel,
Of splintered corselet, battered casque,
Of those that scorned their lives to ask,
Beat down by hoof and heel.
THE SEER. 4ii
Upon the totterinji: walls of strife,
Christian and Moslem, life for life,
Vengeance for vengeance due.
Of woman's shriek and startling cry,
Rising and blending feai-fully
With oath and imprecation high.
The din of battle through ;
While shattered tower gave back again
The echo of each warlike strain,
" Strike for Castile I St. James for Spain !"
" Allah ! il Allah, hu !"
Of deadly thrusts, and rain-like blows,
Of steeds without their riders, those
Unheeded left to die ;
Of death-cold brow and deep gashed breast,
A bloody scarf and dented crest,
Blanched lip and glassy eye I
Why tell of these ; enough to say,
For Ferdinand 'twas a glorious day :
The Moor was conquered in the fight ;
The Christian banner waved that night
Above the city's lofty walls ;
The Spaniard trod the Alhambra halls ;
The blow was struck, the deed was done,
Grenada from the Moslem won.
CIL— THE SEER.
J. G. WniTTIEB.
I HEAR the far-off voyager's horn,
I see the Yankee's trail ;
His foot on every mountain pass.
On every stream his sail.
He's whittling round St. Mary's falls,
Upon his loaded wain ;
He'.s leaving on the pictured rocks
His fresh tobacco stain.
I hear the mattock in 1he mine,
The axe stroke in the dell.
The clamor from the Indian lodge,
The JesLiit's ciiapul bell.
44'i V THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
I see the swarthy trappers come
From Mississippi's springs ;
The war-chiefs with their painted bows,
And crest of eagle wings.
Behind the scared squaw's birch canoe,
The steamer smokes and raves ;
And city lots are staked i'or sale
Above old Indian graves.
By forest, lake, and waterfall,
I see the pedlar's show —
The mighty mingling with the mean,
The lofty with the low.
I hear the tread of pioneers
Of nations yet to be ;
The first low wash of waves that soon
Shall roll a human sea.
The rudiments of empire here
Are plastic yet and warm ;
The chaos of a mighty world
Is rounding into form.
Each rude and jostling fragment soon
Its fitting place shall find —
The raw material of a State,
Its music and its mind.
And western still, the star, which leads
The New World in its train,
Has tipped with fire the icy spears
Of many a mountain-chain.
The snowy cones of Oregon
Are kindled on its way ;
And California's golden sands
Gleam brighter in its ray.
cm.— EVENING.
'TwAS sunset's hallow'd time — and such an eve
JAMES K. PAULDINGk j
Might almost tempt an angel heaven to leave.
Never did brighter glories greet the eye.
Low in the warm and ruddy western sky :
■J
EVENING. 445
Nor the light clouds at summer eve unfold
More varied tints of purple, red, and gold.
Some in the pure, translucent, liquid breast
Of crystal lake, fast anchor'd seem'd to rest,
Like golden islets scatter'd far and wide,
By elfin skill in fancy's fabled tide,
Where, as wild eastern legends idly feign,
Fairy, or genii, hold despotic reign.
Others, like vessels gilt with burnished gold,
Their flitting, airy way are seen to hold.
All gallantly equipp'd witli streamers gay,
While hands unseen, or chance directs their way ;
Around, athwart, the pure ethereal tide.
With swelling purple sail, they rapid glide,
Gay as the bark where Egypt's wanton queen
Reclining on the deck was seen.
At which as gazed the uxorious Roman fool.
The subject world slipped from his dotard rule.
Anon, the gorgeous scene begins to fade,
And deeper hues the ruddy skies invade ;
The haze of gathering twilight nature shrouds,
And pale, and paler wax the changeful clouds.
Then sunk the breeze into a breathless calm ;
The silent dews of evening dropp'd like balm ;
The hungry night-hawk from his lone haunt hies,
To chase the viewless insect through the skies ;
The bat began his lantern-loving flight,
The lonely whip-poor-will, our bird of night.
Ever unseen, yet ever seeming near,
His shrill note quaver'd in the startled ear ;
The buzzing beetle forth did gaily hie,
With idle hum, and careless, blundering eye ;
The little trusty M'atchman of pale night,
The firefly, trimm'd anew his lamp so bright,
And took his merry airy circuit round
The sparkling meadow's green and fragrant bound,
Where blossom'd clover, bathed in palmy dew,
In fair luxuriance, sweetly blushing grew.
440 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
CIV.— MANFRED'S SOLILOQUY.
BYEON.
The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful I
I Hnger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath been to me a more famihar face
Than that of man : and in her starry shade
Of dim and sohtary loveliness,
I learn'd the language of another world.
I do remember me, that in my youth,
When I was wandering, — upon such a night
I stood within the Coliseum's wall,
'Midst the chief relics of almighty Eome ;
The trees which grew along the broken arches
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars
Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar
The watch-dog bay'd beyond the Tiber ; and
More near from out the Caesars' palace came
The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly,
Of distant sentinels the fitl'ul song
Begun and died upon the gentle wind.
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach
Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet they stood
Within a bowshot — Where the C^sars dwelt,
And dwell the tuneless birds of niglit, amidst
A o-rove which springs through levell'd battlements,
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths,
Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth ; —
But the gladiator's bloody Circus stands,
A noble wreck in ruinous perfection !
While Caisars' chambers and the Augustan halls,
Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. —
And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which soften'd down the hoar austerity
Of rugged desolation, and fiU'd up.
As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries,
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
And making that which was not, till the place
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old ! —
The dead, but scejitred sovereigns, who still rule
Our spirits from their urns. —
THE GUERILLA. 447
CV.— THE MOONLIGHT MARCH.
I SEE them on tlieir winding way,
About their ranks the moonbeams play ;
Their lofty deeds and daring high
Blend with the notes of victory.
And waving arms, and banners bright,
Are glancing in the mellow light :
They're lost — and gone, the moon is past,
The wood's dark shade is o'er them cast ;
And fainter, fainter, fainter still
The march is rising o'er the hill.
Again, again, the pealing drum,
The clashing horn — they come, they come ;
Through rocky pass, o'er wooded steep
In long and glittering files they sweep.
And nearer, nearer, yet more near,
Tlieir softened chorus meets the car ;
Forth, forth, and meet them on their way ;
The trami)luig hoofs brook no delay ;
With thrilling fife and pealing drum.
And clashing horn, they come, they come.
HEBCa.
CYI.—THE GUERILLA.
JOHN G. C. BRAINAR**
Though friends are false, and leaders fail,
And rulei-s quake with fear ;
Though tamed the shejjherd in the vale,
Though slain the mountaineer ;
Though Spanish beauty fill their arms,
And Spanish gold their purse —
Sterner than wealth's or war's alarms
Is the wild Guerilla's course. '
No trumpets range us to the fight :
No signal sound of drum
Tells to the foe, that, in their might.
The hostile squadrons come.
44B THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
No sunbeam glitters on our spears,
No warlike tramp of steeds
Gives warning — for the first that hears
Shall be the first that bleeds.
The night-breeze calls us from our bed,
At dew-fall forms the line,
And darkness gives the signal dread
That makes our ranks combine :
Or should some straggling moonbeam lie
Oil copse or lurking hedge,
'Twould flash but Irom a Spaniard's eye,
Or iirom a daefger's edge.
*eo ^^tD
'Tis clear in the sweet vale below.
And misty on the hill ;
The skies shine mildly on our foe,
But lour upon us still.
This gathering storm shall quickly burst
And spread its terrors far.
And at its front we'll be the first,
And with it go to war.
CVII.— I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.
THOMAS HOOD
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 1 often wish the night
Had borne my breath away I
I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white.
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light !
EARTH'S ANGELS. 449
The li]acs where the robin bviilt,
And where my brother set
The liburnam on his birth-day —
The tree is living yet !
I remember, I remember,
When 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 1
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 farther ofi' from heaven
Than when I was a boy.
CVIII.— EARTH'S ANGELS.
ANONyMOng.
Why come not spirits from the realms of glory,
To visit earth as in days of old ?
The times of sacred writ, and ancient story ;
Is heaven more distant, or is earth more cold ?
Oft have I watched, when sunset clouds, receding,
Waved like rich banners of a host gone by.
To catch the gleam of some white pinion speeding
Along the confines of the glowing sky.
And oft, when midnight stars, in distant chillncss,
Were calmly burning, listened late and long :
But nature's pulse beat on, with solemn stillness,
Bearing no echo of the serapk's song.
450 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.
To Bethlehem's air was their last anthem given,
When other stars before that One grew dim ?
Was their last presence known in Peter's prison ?
Or where exulting martyrs raised the hymn ?
And are they all within their veil departed ?
There gleams no wing along the empyrean now ;
A.nd many a tear from human eyes has started,
Since angel touch has calmed a mortal brow.
Yel earth has angels, though their forms are monlded
But of such clay as fashions all below —
Though harps are wanted, and bright pinions folded,
We know them by the love-light on their brow.
I have seen angels by the sick one's pillow —
Theirs was the soft tone and the soundless tread —
Where smitten hearts were drooping like the willow,
They stood between the living and the dead.
And if my sight, by earthly dimness hindered,
Beheld no hovering cherubim in air,
I doubt not, for their spirits knew their kindred,
They smiled upon the wingless watchers there.
There have been angels in the gloomy prison —
In crowded halls — by the lone widow's hearth ;
And where they passed, the fallen have uprisen —
The giddy paused, the mourner's hope had birth.
I have seen one, whose eloquence commanding
Roused the rich echoes of the hvmnan breast ;
The blandishment of ease and wealth withstanding.
That hope might reach the suHering and opprest.
And by his side there moved a form of beauty,
Strewing sweet flowers along his path of life.
And, looking up with meek and love-lent duty ;
I called her angel, and he called her wife.
Oh, many a spirit walks the earth unheeded.
That, when the veil of sadness is laid down,
Shall soar aloft, with pinions unimpeded,
And wear its glory like a starry crown.
ADDRESS TO SPAIN. 451
CIX.— ADDRESS TO SPAIN.
BYRON.
Awake, ye sous of Spain ! awake ! advance I
Lo ! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries ;
But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance.
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies :
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies.
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar:
In every peal she calls — " Awake ! arise I"
- Say is her voice more feeble than of yore,
"When her Avar-song was heard on Andalusia's shore ?
o
Hark I heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ?
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath "i
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ;
Nor saved your brethren eie they sank beneath
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? the fires of death,
The bale-fires flash on high : — from rock to rock
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe,
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc,
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock
Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands,
His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun,
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ;
Eesllcss it rolls, now fix'd, 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 belbre his shrine the blood he deems most sweet.
Three hosts combine to ofier 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 Ibnd ally
Tliat fights f()r 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 eaeli pretends to gain.
462 THE BOOK OF ELOQUEXCK.
There shall they rot — Ambition's honor'd fools !
Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay !
Vain sophistry I 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 compass aught that hails their sway ?
Or call with truth one span of earth their own,
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone
THE END.
1
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