..- !SITY OF 
 - -08NIA 
 
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada in the year one 
 thousand, eight hundred and seventy-four by SYDEXHAM HO\TE, in 
 the Office of the Minister of Agriculture and Statistics at Ottawa. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 For a long time Mr. Howe looked forward to having 
 a few years of leisure during which he might be able to 
 complete, and present to the Public in two or three 
 volumes, several unfinished literary efforts, together 
 with a number of his smaller poems written in moments 
 of leisure snatched at intervals from the engrossing 
 occupation of a very active political life. His sudden 
 and untimely death unhappily prevented the realization 
 of .this idea, but his family, desiring to carry out, as far 
 as it is in their power, what he wished to accomplish, 
 have determined to publish one volume of selections 
 from his works, that under happier circumstances would 
 have appeared in a larger and more complete form. 
 These selections embrace a number of short poems on 
 various subjects, many of which were written in early 
 life, some portions of an unfinished poem entitled 
 " Acadia," together with the essay read on the tercen- 
 tenary of Shakspeare in Halifax in 1864, and now out 
 
 711 
 
ff 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 of print, and several other essays ; the whole forming 
 a volume that will fairly illustrate the varied phases 
 of Mr. Howe's literary genius, and that it is hoped 
 and believed will be prized by his many friends 
 throughout the Dominion. 
 
ACAD1A. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 Where does the Sun its richest radiance shed ? 
 Where are the choicest gifts of Nature spread ? 
 On what blest spot does ev'ry simple flower 
 Bear to the sense a charm of magic power, 
 While Fancy clothes with beauty every hill 
 And music murmurs o'er each crystal rill ? 
 Where all the eye surveys can charms impart 
 That twine, unbroken, round the generous heart ? 
 'Tis where our household Gods securely stand 
 In the calm bosom of our native land, 
 Where rest the honor'd ashes of our Sires, 
 Where burn, undimm'd, our bright domestic fires, 
 Where we first heard a Mother's silvery tone, 
 And felt her lips, enraptured, meet our own, 
 Where we first climb'd a doting Father's knee 
 And cheer'd his spirit with our childish glee. 
 
 Yes, there's a feeling, that, from pole to pole, 
 To one dear spot still fondly links the soul, 
 Exiled from Home Foscari pined and died, 
 And as the Hebrew, by Euphrates side, 
 Thought of the scenes that blest his childish hours, 
 Canaan's verdant groves and rosy bowers, 
 The founts of feeling, fill'd in other years, 
 Pour'd o'er his wasted cheek a flood of tears. 
 
Acadia. 
 
 The wand'ring Swiss, as through the world he roves 
 
 Sighs to behold the Alpine land he loves ; 
 
 And ev'n Lapland's rude, untutored child,- 
 
 With icy pinnacles around him piled, 
 
 Slumbers in peace upon his lichens grey, 
 
 Though the gaunt wolf howls round him for his prey. 
 
 And bless the feeling, for it ever leads 
 To sacred thoughts and high and daring deeds ; 
 'Twas that illumed his eye when Nelson fell, 
 'Twas that which urged the unerring shaft of Tell, 
 Inspired the plaintive and the patriot strains 
 That Burns pour'd freely o'er his native plains, 
 And breathes the influence of its sacred fire 
 O'er many a chord of Moore's seraphic lyre. 
 With daring hand that feeling bids me now 
 Twine a rude wreath around my Country's brow, 
 And tho' the flowers wild and simple be, 
 Take, my Acadia, those I twine for thee. 
 
 Pearl of the West since first my soul awoke 
 And on my eyes thy sylvan beauties broke, 
 Since the warm current of my youthful blood 
 Flow'd on, thy charms, of mountain, mead, and flood 
 Have been to me most dear. Each winning grace 
 E'en in my childish hours I loved to trace, 
 And, as in Boyhood o'er thy hills I strode, 
 Or on thy foaming billows proudly rode, 
 At ev'ry varied scene my heart would thrill, 
 For, storm or sunshine, 'twas my Country still. 
 And now, in riper years, as I behold 
 Each passing hour some fairer charm unfold, 
 
Acadia. 
 
 In ev'ry thought, in ev'ry wish I own, 
 In ev'ry prayer I breathe to Heaven's high throne 
 My Country's welfare blends and could my hand 
 Bestow one flower't on my native land, 
 Could I but light one Beacon fire, to guide 
 The steps of those who yet may be her pride, 
 Could I but wake one never dying strain 
 Which Patriot hearts might echo back again, 
 I'd ask no meed no wreath of glory crave 
 If her approving smile my own Acadia gave. 
 
 What though the Northern winds that o'er thee 
 
 blow 
 
 Borrow fresh coolness from thy hills of snow, 
 And icy Winter, in his rudest form, 
 Breathes through thy vallies many a chilling storm 
 Still there. is health and vigor in the breeze 
 Which bears upon its wing no fell disease 
 To taint the balmy freshness of the air 
 And steal the bloom thy hardy children wear. 
 No with'ring plague spreads o'er thy smiling plains 
 Its sickening horrors and soul sickening pains j 
 No wild tornado, with its voice of wrath, 
 Spreads desolation in its fearful path ; 
 No parching Simoom's warm and sickly breath 
 Casts o'er thy hills the pallid hues of death ; 
 But Health thy rosy youth to labour cheers 
 And teaches age to brave the blight of years. 
 
 And when mild Spring, with all her magic powers, 
 Spreads o'er the land her simple robe of flowers, 
 
8 Acadia. 
 
 And fairy zephyrs softly steal along 
 Sweet as the mingled melody of song, 
 And Heaven's unclouded and inspiring ray 
 O'er wave and mountain lingering, loves to play, 
 And gentle streamlets through the valley rove, 
 And Birds repeat their tender notes of love, 
 And clad in green thy teeming vales appear, 
 Oh ! then, Acadia, thou art doubly dear. 
 
 'Tis Spring ! 'tis Spring ! stern Winter's reign is 
 
 o'er, 
 
 And North winds bend our forest groves no more. 
 Now life and beauty breathe on ev'ry hill, 
 Bidding each heart with hope and gladness thrill. 
 In flowery valley, and in leafy grove, 
 Man reads in glowing lines his Maker's love ; 
 Hears the bright stream its joyous anthem raise, 
 While gently swelling ocean hymns His praise. 
 
 The Mayflower buds in simple beauty bring 
 Home to the heart the first glad thoughts of Spring ; 
 A herald more attractive never bore 
 Tidings to man of pleasure yet in store, 
 Gently reposing on its mossy bed, 
 In modest loveliness it rears its head, 
 And yields its fragrance to the wanton air 
 That lifts its leaves 'to rest and revel there. 
 Long may we greet its charms at early morn ; 
 Long may its buds Acadia's wilds adorn ; 
 Long may its tints, so delicately rare, 
 Rival the bloom her lovely daughters wear. 
 
Acadia. 9 
 
 Fancy ne'er painted to the son of song 
 Scenes to which more of Nature's charms belong, 
 The towering Pines a brighter dress assume 
 The dark green Fir puts on a richer bloom : 
 The Maple's purple blossoms now appear, 
 And the Birch spreads its verdant leaflets near 
 The Spruce throws off its dark hued Winter dress 
 The Poplar blooms in passing loveliness 
 The stately Hemlock and the spreading Beech, 
 Their branches o'er the gentle waters reach, 
 While the Oak boughs, which many a storm have braved, 
 In graceful majesty are proudly waved ; 
 The bending Sumach and the downy Palm, 
 The stately Ash, lend every grove a charm ; 
 The Alder's tassels wave with every breath 
 The Laurel spreads seductive flowers of death 
 The leafy Withe and Juniper are seen 
 Waving above the fadeless evergreen, 
 While the sweet Fern and aromatic Bay 
 Shed perfume for the breeze to bear away. 
 
 Wild flowers and bursting buds are gaily spread 
 In rich luxuriance whereso'er we tread, 
 The milk-white Stars are sprinkled o'er the ground 
 The rosy Clover spreads its fragrance round, 
 While here and there the Buttercup displays 
 Its golden bosom to the Sun's bright rays, 
 And azure Violets, whose cerulean dye 
 Boasts of a deeper blue than Beauty's eye. 
 Each lovely flower, and tall majestic tree 
 Speak to the Spirit, gentle Spring, of thee. 
 
io Acadia. 
 
 There the smooth lake its glassy bosom shows, 
 Calm as the wearied spirit's last repose ; 
 Here frowns the beetling rock high o'er the tide, 
 Fanned by the branches of the forest's pride ; 
 Here gently sloping banks of emerald dye 
 Kiss the pure waves that on them softly lie, 
 While buoyant flowers, the lakes' unsullied daughters, 
 Lift their bright leaves above the sparkling waters. 
 There foams the torrent down the rocky steep, 
 Rushing away to mingle with the deep, 
 Shaded by leaves and flowers of various hues ; 
 Here the small rill its noiseless path pursues, 
 While in its waves wild buds as gently dip 
 As kisses fall on sleeping Beauty's lip. 
 
 So blooms our country and in ages past, 
 Such the bright robe that Nature round her cast, 
 Ere the soft impress of Improvement's hand, 
 By science guided, had adorned the land ; 
 Ere her wild beauties were by culture graced, 
 Or art had touched what Nature's pencil traced j 
 When on her soil the dusky Savage stray'd, 
 Lord of the loveliness his eye survey'd ; 
 When through the leafy grove and sylvan dell, 
 His fearful shout or funeral chant would swell, 
 While death notes breathed on every passing gale, 
 And blood bedew'd the flowers that sprung along the vale. 
 
 But let us pause, nor deem the labor vain, 
 O'er scenes which never can return again. 
 From shore to shore see stately woods extend, 
 And to the wave their verdant shadows lend, 
 
Acadia. 1 1 
 
 No treacherous steel assails their stems of pride, 
 To God they bow, but stoop to none beside, 
 And 'neath the shelter of these ancient groves, 
 The Cariboo with fearless footstep roves, 
 Or the gay Moose in jocund gambol springs, 
 Cropping the foliage Nature round him flings. 
 No gallant sails o'er ocean's bosom sweep, 
 No keel divides the billows of the deep 
 That fling o'er rock and shoal their dizzy spray,' 
 Or, softly murmuring, seek some lonely bay. 
 
 But see, where breaking through the leafy wood, 
 The Micmac bends beside the tranquil flood, 
 Launches his light canoe from off the strand, 
 And plies his paddle with a dexterous hand ; 
 Or, as his bark along the water glides, 
 With slender spear his simple meal provides ; 
 Or mark his agile figure, as he leaps 
 From crag to crag, and still his footing keeps, 
 For fast before him flies the desp'rate Deer, 
 For life is sweet, and death she knows is near. 
 No hound or horse assist him in the chase, 
 His hardy limbs are equal to the race, 
 For, since he left, unswathed, his mother's back 
 They've been familiar with each sylvan track ; 
 They've borne him daily, as they bear him now, 
 Swift through the wood, and o'er the mountain's brow- 
 But mark his bow is bent, his arrow flies, 
 And at his feet the bleeding victim dies. 
 
 While o'er the fallen tenant of the wild 
 A moment stands the forest's dusky child 
 
1 2 Acadia. 
 
 From his dark brow his long and glossy hair 
 
 Is softly parted by the gentle air. 
 
 The glow of pride has flush'd his manly cheek, 
 
 And in his eye his kindled feelings speak. 
 
 For, as he casts his proud and fearless glance, 
 
 O'er each fair feature of the wide expanse, 
 
 The blushing flowers the groves of stately pine 
 
 The glassy lakes that in the sunbeams shine 
 
 The swelling sea the hills that heavenward soar 
 
 The mountain stream, meandering to the shore 
 
 Or hears the birds' blythe song, the woods' deep torn 
 
 He feels, yes proudly feels, 'tis all his own. 
 
 Thus, as the am'rous Moor with joy survey'd 
 The budding beauties of Venetia's maid, 
 Drank in the beamings of her love lit eye, 
 Her bosom's swell, the music of her sigh 
 He felt, and who can tell that feeling's bliss, 
 Moor though he was, her beauties all were his. 
 
 With practised skill he soon divides his prey, 
 Then to his home pursues his devious way 
 Through many an Alder copse, and leafy shade, 
 And well known path by former ramble made, 
 To where a little cove, that strays between 
 Opposing hills, adds beauty to the scene 
 Which natures hand has negligently dressed 
 With charms well suited to the Indian's breast. 
 
 The Camp extends along the pebbly shore, 
 A sylvan city, rude as those of yore, 
 By Patriarch* hands within the desert built, 
 
Acadia. 1 3 
 
 When fresh from Eden's joys and Eden's guilt. 
 
 Like those, 'tis man's abode where round him twine 
 
 Those ties that make a wilderness divine. 
 
 No architectural piles salute the sky, 
 
 No marble column strikes the gazer's eye, 
 
 The solemn grandeur of the spacious hall, 
 
 The stuccoed ceiling and the pictured wall, 
 
 Art's skilful hand may sedulously rear, 
 
 The simple homes of Nature's sons are here. 
 
 Some slender poles, with tops together bound, 
 And butts inserted firmly in the ground, 
 Form the rude frames o'er which are closely laid 
 Birch bark and fir boughs, forming grateful shade, 
 And shelter from the storm, and sunny ray 
 Of summer noon, or winter's darker day. 
 A narrow opening, on the leeward side, 
 O'er which a skin is negligently tied, 
 Forms the rude entrance to the Indian's home 
 Befitting portal for so proud a dome. 
 A fire is blazing brightly on the ground 
 The motley inmates scatter'd careless round. 
 Some strip the maple, some the dye prepare, 
 Or weave the basket with assiduous care ; 
 Others, around the box of bark entwine 
 Quills, pluck'd from off the " fretful porcupine," 
 And which may form, when curiously inlaid, 
 A bridal offering to some dark-eyed maid. 
 Some shape the bow, some form the feather'd dart, 
 Which soon may quiver in a foeman's heart. 
 The Squaws proceed, upon the coals to broil, 
 
14 Acadia. 
 
 Steaks cut from off the newly furnished spoil, 
 And these with lobsters, roasted in the shell, 
 And eels, by Indian palates loved so well, 
 Complete their frugal feast, for sweet content, 
 Which thrones have not, makes rich the Indian's tent. 
 
 As to the West the glorious Sun retires, 
 The Micmacs kindle up their smouldering fires, 
 The aged Chiefs around the tents repose, 
 The dark Papoose to laugh and gambol goes ; 
 While youths and maidens to the green advance, 
 And clustering round, prepare them for the dance. 
 Nor smile ye modern fair, who float along, 
 The dazzling spirits of the nightly throng, 
 Wafted by mingled music's softest tone, 
 With fashion's every grace around ye thrown, 
 Smile not at those, who, ere your sires were born, 
 Danced on the very spot you now adorn, 
 Kindling, with laughing eyes, love's hallow'd fire, 
 And swelling gallant hearts with fond desire. 
 
 Crossing his legs upon a mossy seat, 
 With maple wand a youth begins to beat 
 On some dried bark, with measured time and slow, 
 A soft low tune his voice's solemn flow 
 Mingling with every stroke. The dance begins, 
 Not such as now the modern fair one wins 
 To mazy evolutions, wild and free, 
 Where forms of radiant beauty seem to be 
 Like heavenly planets, whirling round at will, 
 Yet by fixed laws controll'd and govern'd still, 
 
Acadia. 1 5 
 
 But slow and measured as the music's tone, 
 
 To which the dancers first beat time alone, 
 
 Murm'ring a low response. A broken shout, 
 
 To mark the changing time, at times rings out, 
 
 When all is soft, and faint, and slow again, 
 
 Till, by degrees, the music's swelling strain, 
 
 Sweeps through the Warriors' souls with rushing tide, 
 
 Rousing each thought of glory and of pride ; 
 
 Then, while the deeds of other days return, 
 
 By music's power clothed in words that burn, 
 
 When ev'n the Dead, evoked by mem'ry's spell, 
 
 Burst into life, to fight where once they fell, 
 
 A savage joy the dancers' eyes bespeak, 
 
 A deeper tinge pervades each maiden's cheek, 
 
 The glossy clusters of their long dark hair 
 
 Are floating wildly on the ev'ning air, 
 
 As from the earth, with frantic bounds they spring, 
 
 And rock and grove with shouts of triumph ring. 
 
 Thus we may see the River steal along 
 
 Noiseless and slow, till growing deep and strong, 
 
 Its turbid waters foam, and curve, and leap, 
 
 Dashing with startling echo down the steep. 
 
 For ages thus, the Micmac trod our soil, 
 The chase his pastime, war his only toil, 
 'Till o'er the main, the adventurous Briton steer'd, 
 And in the wild, his sylvan dwelling rear'd, 
 With heart of steel, a thousand perils met, 
 And won the, land his chidren tread on yet. 
 
 When first the Micmac's eye discerned the sail 
 
1 6 Acadia. 
 
 Expanding to the gentle southern gale, 
 He started wildly up the mountain side, 
 And look'd with doubting gaze along the tide, 
 Deeming he saw some giant sea bird's wing / 
 Cleave the light air, and o'er the waters fling 
 Its feathery shadow. As the Bark drew nigh, 
 He thought some spirit of the deep blue sky 
 Had, for a time, forsook its peerless home 
 With the red Hunter o'er the wilds to roam 
 Or that a God had left his coral cave, 
 To breathe the air, and skim along the wave. 
 Lost in amaze the lordly savage stood 
 Conceal'd within the foliage of the wood, 
 And watch'd the proud Ship, as she wing'd her way, 
 Till she cast anchor in the shelter'd bay. 
 But, when the white man landed on the shore, 
 His dream of Gods and Spirits soon was o'er, 
 He saw them rear their dwellings on the sod 
 Where his free fathers had for ages trod ; 
 He saw them thoughtlessly remove the stones 
 His hands had gather'd o'er his parents' bones ; 
 He saw them fell the trees which they had spared, 
 And war, eternal war, his soul declared. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 As Britain's Son hangs o'er the Historic page, 
 Fraught with the records of a darker age, 
 When o'er his feeble land each wand'ring horde 
 Of rude Barbarians roved, with fire and sword, 
 
Acadia. 1 7 
 
 When freedom's shrine, by lawless power profaned, 
 
 With many a gory sacrifice was stain'd, 
 
 While foul oppression o'er the spirit threw 
 
 The gloomy influence of its sombre hue. 
 
 He lifts his eye, and sees his flag unfurl'd, 
 
 The hope the guide the glory of a world, 
 
 Surveys the fabric, splendid and sublime, 
 
 Whose arch, like Heaven's, extends from clime to clime 
 
 Whose pillars, like the dreadful angel, stand 
 
 On the deep sea, as firm as on the land, 
 
 While 'neath the dome the sun of Science gleams. 
 
 Religion cheers Imagination dreams, 
 
 The Muse's Lyre ennobling thoughts recalls, 
 
 And Art his treasures hangs around the walls. 
 
 Struck with the change, his tears embalm the dead 
 
 Whose patriot blood on many a field was shed, 
 
 Whose fervid eloquence the land awoke, 
 
 Whose gifted minds oppression's fetters broke, 
 
 Who, like the fire by night, the cloud by day, 
 
 Out from the realms of bondage led the way \ 
 
 Who reared, by ceaseless toil, the glorious pile 
 
 Beneath whose shade reposing millions smile. 
 
 Thus, while Acadia's charms my eye surveys, 
 My soul, unbidden, turns to other days, 
 When the stout-hearted rear'd amidst the wood, 
 Their sylvan Homes, and by their thresholds stood 
 With stern resolve the savage tribes to brave, 
 And win a peaceful dwelling, or a grave. 
 Gone are the Patriarchs but we still may weep 
 Where " the forefathers of our Hamlets sleep." 
 
 2 
 
1 8 Acadia. 
 
 For us they freely pour'd life's crimson tide, 
 For us they labor'd, and for us they died. 
 And though they rest in no time honor'd tomb, 
 Acadia's wild flowers o'er their ashes bloom. 
 Oh ! could they now her smiling fields behold, 
 While in the breezes wave their crops of gold, 
 While on her thousand hills, her children stand, 
 And Peace and Plenty crown the happy land, 
 T would glad their Spirits, like some Seraph's strain 
 To know they had not toiled, and died in vain. 
 
 They felled the forest trees with sturdy stroke, 
 The virgin soil, with gentle culture broke, 
 Scatter'd the fruitful seeds the stumps between, 
 And Ceres lured to many a sylvan scene. 
 Then rose the Log House by the water side, 
 Its seams by moss and sea weed well supplied, 
 Its roof with bark o'erspread its humble door 
 Hung on a twisted withe the earth its floor, 
 With stones and harden'd clay its chimney form'd, 
 Its spacious hearth by hissing green wood warmed. 
 Round which, as night her deep'ning shadows throws, 
 The Hamlet's wearied inmates circling close. 
 The sturdy settler lays his axe aside, 
 Which all day long has quell'd the forest's pride. 
 The wooden cleats that from the walls extend, 
 Receive his gun, his oft tried faithful friend, 
 Which crowns, his frugal board with plenteous meals, 
 And guards his rest when sleep his eye-lids seals. 
 
 As cautiously the miser locks his store, 
 
Acadia. 1 9 
 
 The anxious parent barricades the door, 
 Then, having cleansed the balsam from his palm, 
 He bends him down, to where with cheek as calm 
 As summer ev'nings close, his Infant lies 
 Breathing as softly as a floweret sighs, 
 And while a father's transports swell his breast, 
 A kiss upon its coral lips is press'd. 
 A look of earnest rapture fondly given, 
 A prayer, in silent gladness, breathed to Heaven. 
 Meanwhile his wife, the mother of his child, 
 His dear companion in the dreary wild, 
 Spreads o'er his humble board their ev'ning fare, 
 And soothes his spirit with assiduous care, 
 Returns with grateful lips and fond embrace, 
 The kiss imprinted on her Babe's sweet face. 
 And while her eye betrays a mother's pride. 
 Points to her first-born, standing by her side, 
 Who waits the signal to his arms to spring, 
 And round his neck with filial transport cling. 
 
 Their supper o'er, the grace with fervor said ; 
 Another log upon the fire is laid, 
 And, as the blaze its cheering light bestows, 
 The happy pair their seats together close, 
 The Father's arm, the Mother's waist entwines, 
 While on their knees the fair-haired Boy reclines, 
 A prattling go-between, whose heart o'erflows, 
 Exchanging kisses each in turn bestows, 
 And oft he begs the story nightly told, 
 Of monstrous giants slain by Jack the bold ; 
 Or begs his mother to repeat, once more, 
 
2O Acadia. 
 
 Some thrilling ballad from her fruitful store j 
 
 And as the simple notes melodious rise, 
 
 The tears, uncall'd, bedew the parents' eyes, 
 
 Whose thoughts are borne to scenes, now far away, 
 
 Where first their ears drank in that simple lay ; 
 
 While " absent friends," like spirits round them throng, 
 
 By Mem'ry painted with a tint as strong 
 
 As though but yesterday the joyous smile 
 
 Beam'd from those eyes, that, once in Albion's isle, 
 
 Their rays of gladness scatter'd o'er the flowers 
 
 Of hope and joy, in childhood's sportive hours. 
 
 Then, half forgetful of their present lot, 
 They rove o'er scenes that ne'er can be forgot, 
 The joys and griefs of life the light and shade 
 Of early thought, that ne'er from memory fade 
 Transport their spirits o'er the Atlantic's foam, 
 And bid them welcome to their island home. 
 As now their loved boy rests upon their knee, 
 They nestled once, as light of heart as he 
 Anon they stand beside the narrow bed, 
 And hear cold earth on aged temples spread, 
 And mark the bursting sob and tearful eye, 
 That send to their lone hearts a sad reply. 
 
 The scene is changed upon a verdant seat, 
 A glassy streamlet smiling at their feet, 
 Fast by a crumbling castle, where decay 
 With silent tooth gnaws stone by stone away, 
 A gallant oak, extending overhead, 
 To guard the simple flowers around them spread ; 
 
Acadia. 21 
 
 Clasp'd to each other's bosom they recline, 
 While, from each heart's unfathomable mine, 
 The wealth of mutual love, so long concealed, 
 By Passion's magic power is all revealed ; 
 And while their hearts with rapturous feelings swell, 
 Vows are exchanged they long had burned to tell. 
 
 And then on Albion's distant shore they stand, 
 And feel the parting grasp of many a hand, 
 And see kind eyes bedew'd with many a tear, 
 While fond farewells fall heavy on the ear, 
 And scenes they never shall behold again, 
 And thoughts that burn are thronging on the brain. 
 " Why do you weep ?" exclaims their gentle Boy, 
 Who knows not what obscures the general joy. 
 Who understands not how the shadowy past 
 O'er present bliss a sombre cloud may cast ; 
 The fond enquiry, and the anxious glance, 
 Arouse their spirits from their waking trance, 
 And absent friends, and Albion's polish'd isle, 
 Are banish'd by their prattling playmate's smile. 
 Then other thoughts succeed while Hope displays 
 The gifts prepared to gild their future days ; 
 And thus they muse, and plan now sad, now blest, 
 Till Nature warns them to their wonted rest. 
 
 For them no stately canopy is spread : 
 Dried fern and withered leaves compose their bed 
 Rough couch' but still their waning strength it cheers, 
 For Labour sweetens it, and Love endears. 
 How oft Ambition, on his softest down, 
 
2 2 Acadia. 
 
 Implores the God of Sleep his cares to drown : 
 How oft the anxious child of Commerce tries 
 To calm his thoughts and close his sleepless eyes, 
 While Slumber mocks his unavailing prayer, 
 And seeks the hut to strew its poppies there. 
 
 Why starts the mother from that soft repose ? 
 What means the horror that her looks disclose ? 
 Why are her children clasped with eager care, 
 While Hope seems wildly struggling with Despair ? 
 Why has the father seized the axe and knife, 
 Like one resolved to combat Death for Life, 
 And yield no vantage that his arm can hold 
 Though hungry wolves assail his gentle fold ? 
 Hark to that horrid and soul-piercing yell 
 That seems the war-cry of a fiend from Hell ; 
 That starts the raven from the lofty pine 
 On which he closed his wing at day's decline, 
 And echoing back from the surrounding hills, 
 The beating hearts in that lone cottage chills ; 
 For Hate, Revenge, and Murder's deepest tone, 
 Tell them the Micmac's toils are round them thrown. 
 
 From the wild covert of the forest shade, 
 By stealthy march their slow approach was made, 
 Now, by the spreading foliage concealed, 
 Now, by some sudden op'ning half revealed, 
 As to the settler's dwelling they drew nigh, 
 And gazed upon it with malignant eye. 
 'Twas yet high noon when it appeared in sight, 
 But for his work the Indian loves the night. 
 
Acadia. 23 
 
 In patient ambush scattered round they lay, 
 
 Content to linger ere they seized their prey. 
 
 They marked the settler at his weary moil, 
 
 And smiled to think how they'd repay his toil ; 
 
 Saw him partake the draught his boy would bring 
 
 To cheer his labor, from the crystal spring, 
 
 And vow'd, e'er morning's dawn, their souls should 
 
 laugh, 
 
 While the parch'd earth his blood should freely quaff ; 
 And when he sought his home at eventide, 
 To taste the pleasures of his dear fireside, 
 With ears attentive footsteps light and true, 
 And treacherous hearts, around the eaves they drew, 
 Listen'd the song the mother sung her child, 
 Heard the light converse that the hours beguiled, 
 And joyed to think the time would not be long 
 Ere midnight's cries would follow evening's song. 
 
 When sleep had closed the weary cottar's eyes, 
 They sought to take the slumberers by surprise 
 Essay'd the door, and then the window tried 
 With gentle pressure, studiously applied, 
 Nor knew how light a doting mother sleeps, 
 When near her babes its watch the spirit keeps. 
 The first faint whisper of alarm within, 
 Convinced them force, not fraud, their prey must win. 
 'Twas then their shout of fierce defiance rose, 
 While fast and vehement their heavy blows 
 On door and shutter diligently fell, 
 Each followed by a wild tumultuous yell ; 
 Nor are the inmates idle logs of wood, 
 
24 Acadia. 
 
 Trunks, cribs, whate'er can make defences good, 
 Are piled against the bars that still are true, 
 Despite the efforts of the howling crew. 
 This done, the gun is seized the Father fires, 
 Chance guides a groan one bleeding wretch ex- 
 pires. 
 
 Again he loads, again a savage dies 
 Again the yells upon the welkin rise, 
 Hope half persuades that till the dawn of day 
 The fierce besiegers may be kept at bay. 
 What scene so dark, what stroke of fate so rude, 
 That Hope cannot a moment's space intrude ? 
 But soon he flies, for now an Indian flings 
 Himself upon the roof, which loudly rings 
 To every stroke the polished hatchet lends ; 
 The bark which bears him, to the pressure bends, 
 It yields it breaks he falls upon the floor 
 One blow his fleeting term of life is o'er, 
 The settler's axe has dashed his reeking brain 
 Upon the hearth his soul had sworn to stain. 
 Fast through the breach two others downward leap, 
 But, ere they rise, a knife is planted deep 
 In one dark breast, by gentle Woman's hand, 
 Who, for her household, wields a household brand ; 
 The axe has clove the other to the chin. 
 But now, en masse, the shrieking fiends leap in, 
 Till wounded, faint, o'erpowered, the Father falls 
 And hears the shout of triumph shake his walls. 
 The wretched Mother from her babe is torn, 
 Which on a red right hand aloft is borne, 
 Then dashed to earth before its Parent's eyes, 
 
Acadia. 25 
 
 And, as its form, deform'd and quivering lies, 
 
 Life from its fragile tenement is trod, 
 
 And the bruised, senseless, and unsightly clod, 
 
 Is flung into the soft but bleeding breast 
 
 To which so late in smiling peace 'twas press'd. 
 
 Nor does the boy escape the smouldering fire 
 Is stirred, and, as its feeble flames aspire 
 In wanton cruelty they thrust his hands 
 Into the blaze, and on the reddening brands, 
 Like Montezuma bid him seek repose 
 As though his couch were but a perfumed rose. 
 Sated with blood, at length the scalps they tear 
 Ere life be yet extinct for these, with care, 
 The Indian tribes, like precious coins, retain 
 To count their victories, and the victims slain. 
 
 Now plunder follows death then one applies 
 Fire to the bed, from which the flames arise 
 Fiercely and fast, as anxious to efface 
 All record of so sad, so foul a place. 
 Around the cot the Indians form a ring, 
 And songs of joy and triumph wildly sing 
 With horrid gesture and demoniac strain, 
 Then plunge into the forest depths again. 
 
 Such are the scenes Acadia once display'd ; 
 Such was the price our gallant Fathers paid 
 For this fair land, where now our footsteps rove 
 From lake to sea, from cliff to shady grove, 
 Uncheck'd by peril, unrestrained by fear 
 Of more unfriendly ambush lingering near 
 3 
 
26 Acadia. 
 
 Than timid rabbits lurking in the fern 
 And peeping forth your worst intent to learn ; 
 Or mottled squirrel, frisking round the pines 
 To seek the buds on which he lightly dines ; 
 Or feather'd fav'rites, who, on ev'ry spray 
 Cheer and enchant with many a simple lay, 
 And though their plumage cannot boast the dyes 
 That deck the feather'd tribe 'neath milder skies, 
 Their ev'ning songs can sweeter strains impart 
 To charm the list'ning ear, or touch the heart. 
 
 While in her backward flight, the Muse essays 
 To paint the gloomy scenes of darker days, 
 The bloody strife, the discord, and the fears, 
 That soiled Acadia's infant face with tears 
 That checked improvement, kept repose at bay, 
 And frighten'd bright eyed science far away ; 
 Her vision rests with retrospective glance 
 Upon the stately Oriflamme of France, 
 As on the fresh'ning breeze each lilied fold, 
 Gleam'd in the ray of morning's dazzling gold, 
 And from Port Royal's rude but massy wall 
 Proud warning gave, that here the valiant Gaul 
 With England's Sovereign claim'd divided sway, 
 And strove from England's crown to tear away 
 This western gem then rayless and obscure, 
 Now, wrought by time, so precious and so pure. 
 
 In vain he strove in vain his thunder peal'd 
 O'er many a startled wave and gory field, 
 In vain his warriors trod Acadia's hills 
 
Acadia. 27 
 
 In vain their blood ran down the mountain rills 
 To lose its tint in Ocean's boundless wave, 
 As fades the purple cloud diffused o'er Heaven's blue 
 nave. 
 
 The alternate conquest, stratagem, 'and toil, 
 The leaguer'd fortress and the cruel spoil, 
 The patient ambush and the dire surprise, 
 The warrior's groan, the maiden's streaming eyes, 
 The Muse might paint of fair La Tour might tell, 
 Who bravely stood where sturdy warriors fell. 
 True to her faith, her country and her lord, 
 With high soul'd valor waved her husband's sword, 
 Spurn'd at the foe their worst revenge defied, 
 And check'd their power with all a woman's pride, 
 Till sold, betrayed, a cruel victor's hand 
 Tore from her gentle grasp the purple brand, 
 Forced her to view her faithful followers fall 
 Unarm'd, beside their long defended wall 
 Forced her the ignominous cord to wear, 
 Unseemly ornament of neck so fair. 
 
 O'er gallant d'Anville's fate the Muse might bend, 
 And freshening tints to fading memory lend 
 Might paint the fleet, as o'er the western waves 
 It bore the warriors to ignoble graves, 
 While hope, and joy, anticipations proud, 
 Swell'd the warm bosoms of the active crowd, 
 -Who in their-dreams, Acadia's bosom press'd, 
 And called it theirs. Within that bosom rest 
 Their mouldering bones their shatter'd ships repose 
 
28 Acadia. 
 
 Where Bedford's placid wave above them flows 
 
 Their disappointment, sufferings and despair, 
 
 The Muse reluctant leaves to dark Tradition's care. 
 
 For, ere a moment rests her wearied wing, 
 E'en sadder scenes across her spirit fling 
 Their sick'ning shades of anguish and of woe, 
 And bid her tears in sorrowing gushes flow. 
 Oh ! for the Bard of Auburn's melting strain ! 
 Oh ! for a Harp whose strings are tuned to pain, 
 To sing the horrors of that fatal day 
 When from their homes and country torn away, 
 The sons of Minas left Acadia's shore 
 To weep and wander, but return no more, 
 To rove o'er hills, and hear in every tone 
 Of whisp'ring winds " Oh ! these are not mine own ;" 
 To pluck from southern vales the fairest flowers, 
 And fling them by with thoughts of childhoods hours-^- 
 To mark strange forms to seek in vain to trace 
 Some sign of kindred in each unknown face, 
 To hear, where all are calm and joyous round, 
 A general discord in each social sound, 
 To feel what Exiles feel that earth's wide breast 
 Contains but one dear spot where they would rest, 
 A grave of native mould whose flow'ry sod 
 The buoyant steps of childhood lightly trod. 
 
 Methinks I see the sad and mournful throng, 
 With slow and measured footsteps move along 
 Now looking back, and, through the starting tear, 
 Gazing their last on all their hearts hold dear, 
 
Acadia. 29 
 
 The joyous streamlet, whose refreshing wave 
 Strength to their fainting spirits freely gave, 
 The budding corn they fondly hoped to reap, 
 The sportive flocks that round the pastures leap, 
 The verdant fields their toils had taught to bloom, 
 The stately woods, whose reverential gloom 
 A holy fervor to their prayers supplied, 
 As bow'd their knee at placid eventide. 
 Oh ! power divine ! that by a thousand ties 
 Can bind the heart to all that round it lies, 
 How many tender thoughts the bosom swell 
 When e'en to woods and wilds we say farewell. 
 
 Methinks as on the sorrowing Exiles move, 
 I see their pathway strewed by those they love, 
 Mark the pale cheek, the swoll'n and streaming eye, 
 And hear the bursting sob and thrilling cry ; 
 While aged temples to the dust are bow'd, 
 And wailing infants swell the mournful crowd ; 
 To Boyhood's breast the form of Beauty springs, 
 And round his neck with frantic fondness clings, 
 While looks that waft the eloquence of years, 
 From soul to soul, are beaming through their tears. 
 The Father stoops, while yet he may, to trace 
 His manly features in his infant's face, 
 To soothe the anguish of the heaving breast, 
 That form'd the pillow of his nightly rest, 
 And knows that ere a few short hours expire 
 His Wife will want a mate, his child a sire. 
 
 Methinks I hear the solemn hymn they sung, 
 
30 Acadia. 
 
 To calm the cries that through the welkin rung, 
 To raise their thoughts to Him whose willing ear 
 The Widow's moan and Orphan's sigh will hear. 
 Methinks I see the shining sails unfurl'd, 
 The azure waters by the zephyrs curl'd, 
 While far and wide the flickering flames arise 
 From burning cots, whose blaze the night defies, 
 While round their light the frighted watch dogs bay, 
 And seek the hearth where erst they loved to play. 
 
 But when the flowers shall o'er his ashes spring 
 Who now his country's charms essays to sing ; 
 When on the sod that decks his lowly rest 
 The wanderer's foot unconsciously is pressed ; 
 And when his spirit's dim and fading fire 
 Returns to Him who breathed it o'er the lyre ; 
 When his untutored verse and humble name 
 Not e'en a sigh from dreaming mem'ry claim ; 
 Still my Acadia, may the gentle gales 
 Fan into loveliness thy peaceful vales ; 
 Still may thy thousand streamlets raise their song 
 Of joyous music as they steal along ; 
 Still may the brilliant beams of science shine, 
 And learning's boundless stores of wealth be thine ; 
 Still may the muse, to simple nature true, 
 Her wreaths of fadeless verdure twine for you ; 
 Still may thy Fair neglecting flimsy art, 
 Charm by the holy magic of the heart ; 
 May manly breasts with noble feelings thrill 
 And freemen proudly roam o'er every hill ; 
 
Acadia. 31 
 
 And may the storms that rush o'er rock and wave 
 In their free passage never meet a slave. 
 
 ********* 
 
 Who has not marked with an admiring eye, 
 As storms and clouds obscured the arching sky, 
 The hostile elements their warfare cease 
 Assuming lovely forms and moods of peace ? 
 No longer harass'd by unsparing foes, 
 Thus has Acadia found a sweet repose : 
 War, and its scenes of hardship and of strife, 
 The ambush'd savage, and the bloody knife 
 The siege, repulse, the rescue and surprise, 
 The mothers' shriek, the maidens' piercing cries ; 
 The manly struggle, and the midnight fray, 
 With all their horrors, where, Oh ! where are they ? 
 Go seek the records of a fearful age 
 In dark Tradition's stores, or History's page, 
 Of scenes like these you now shall find no trace 
 On fair Acadia's calm and smiling face. 
 
 O'er the stout hearts that death and danger braved, 
 The flag of Britain soon victorious waved, 
 And races, hostile once, now freely blend 
 In happy union, each the others friend ; 
 Striving as nobly for the general good 
 As once their fathers strove in fields of blood. 
 Here England's sons, by fortune led to roam, 
 Now find a peaceful and a happy home ; 
 The Scotchman rears his dwelling by some stream, 
 So like to that which blends with boyhood's dream, 
 That present joys with old world thoughts combined 
 
32 Acactia. 
 
 Repress the sigh for those he left behind ; 
 
 And here the wanderer from green Erin's shore 
 
 Tastes of delights he seldom knew before. 
 
 He toils beneath no law's unequal weight, 
 
 No rival parties tempt his soul to hate ; 
 
 No lordly Churchman passes o'er his field, 
 
 To share the fruits the generous seasons yield. 
 
 With joy, Acadia welcomes to her strand 
 
 These venturous wanderers from their Fatherland 
 
 A Mother's love bestows with pride, beholds 
 
 Them mark the charms her simple form unfolds 
 
 Then to her breast with filial rapture cling, 
 
 And cast their lot beneath her pleasant wing. 
 
 With equal pride a numerous race she rears, 
 Sons of those sire's who braved the Indian spears ; 
 And those who've sprung from that devoted band, 
 Who, when rebellion reared its impious hand, 
 Spite of her faults, to Albion's standard true, 
 Fought 'neath its folds, till fate her power o'erthrew ; 
 Then sought amidst Acadia's wilds to claim 
 A Briton's feelings, and a Briton's name. 
 But see, extending upon every side, 
 Her Cottage Homes ! Acadia's noblest pride ; 
 There honest Industry, by daily toil, 
 Covers with fruits and flowers his native soil ; 
 And calm contentment, with an Angel's air, 
 And humble hopes, and smiling joys, are there. 
 
 But has not time that drowned the dim of arms, 
 Defaced Acadia's wild and simple charms, 
 
Acadia. 33 
 
 Broke the deep spells of woodland solitude, 
 And banished nature with a hand too rude ? 
 Oh ! no, together Art and Nature reign, 
 Smile on the mountain top and deck the plain ; 
 Though Labor's hand full many a scene has cleared, 
 Of all that erst upon its face appeared ; 
 Yet there are spots by Art still unprofaned 
 Where Nature reigns as ages since she reigned. 
 
 Such sweet Lochaber * Sydney's sylvan pride, 
 Lake of the woods, the forests gentle bride 
 It is thy lot to be ; Lifes bubbling stream 
 Must cease ere I forget the vivid dream 
 Of olden time, that tranced me as I stood, 
 Beneath the shadows of thine ancient wood. 
 Fresh is the vision, yes I see thee yet, 
 A sparkling Diamond in an Emerald set. 
 The morning's sun illumes thy placid wave 
 Where chaste Diana might her beauties lave, 
 Nor fear to be observed so deep profound 
 The lulling stillness that prevails around. 
 Winding, in graceful folds, 'twixt hills that rise 
 On either side, the fair Lochaber lies. 
 Now to the eye its glowing charms revealed, 
 Now, like a bashful Beauty, half concealed 
 Beneath the robe of spotless green she wears, 
 The rich profusion of a thousand years. 
 No axe profane has touched a single bough, 
 No sod has yet been broken by the plough ; 
 Far down the ancient trees reflected lie 
 Stem, branch, and leaf, like fairy tracery 
 
34 Acadia. 
 
 Wove round the homes of some enchanting race, 
 The guardian nymphs of this delightful place. 
 
 Such is the scene, beneath Canaan's height, 
 Where Nature seems to shrink from human sight ; 
 And shun the intruding step, and curious eye, 
 That seek to know where her deep mysteries lie. 
 There might you stand, beside that falling stream, 
 Nor ought of man or of his doings dream ; 
 While high above you towers the rifted rock, 
 Crowned by old groves, unscathed by tempest's shock 
 As from the steep its falling waters spring 
 And at your feet their broken foam wreaths fling. 
 
 'Tis evening, and the suns retiring ray 
 From rock and hill is fading fast away ; 
 Yet, like a friend who parts but for a while, 
 Wears, as he bids farewell, his sweetest smile. 
 The gentle breeze that blows from off the shore 
 Scarce curls the blue wave as it dances o'er. 
 With loaded bill the sea bird seeks its nest 
 To feed its young, or taste the sweets of rest. 
 Acadia's hardy son, with ready hand, 
 His frail bark launches from her rocky strand, 
 Hoists his white sail before the gentle wind 
 And leaves his humble home, far, far behind. 
 Born on the wave, accustomed to its swell, 
 His manly bosom loves its motion well. 
 His reckless spirit toil nor danger fears, 
 While for the sea his dauntless course he steers ; 
 Ocean and Ocean's storms he nightly braves, 
 For God has cast his bread upon the waves. 
 
Acadia. 35 
 
 As twilight fades, and all around is dark, 
 He furls his sail and moors his little bark ; 
 And 'as his line to ocean's depths descends 
 In patient hope he o'er the gunwale bends, 
 And if with plenty Heaven his prayers shall bless, 
 Heeds not the toil that's followed by success. 
 But if kind fortune should refuse to smile, 
 Thought, busy thought, will many an hour beguile j 
 The swelling billow rarely breaks his rest, 
 But seems the heaving of a mother's breast, 
 For now the moon is up, and all her pride 
 Of pomp and splendor rests upon the tide ; 
 Dear to the Lover is her silver gleam, 
 Dear, doubly dear, the Poet loves her beam ; 
 But, holier far, the charms her smiles impart, 
 To cheer the lonely Fisher's drooping heart. 
 
 But see, yon little cloud, slow rising o'er 
 The horizon's edge, is spreading more and more ; 
 Though but a speck, when first it met the eye, 
 'Tis stealing fast o'er all the bright blue sky, 
 Till like the conq'rers path, although we find 
 Beauty before, there's nought but gloom behind. 
 The winds are up, and o'er the arch of Heaven 
 With many a crash the fiery bolts are driven, 
 While waves o'er waves in Alpine grandeur rise, 
 As though they spurned the threatenings of the skies. 
 The Fisher's mooring parts, and high in air 
 His Bark is tost, but God he feels is there ; 
 Down in some frightful gulf it next descends, 
 But still on skill and coolness he depends. 
 
36 Acadia. 
 
 Back to the shore his prudent course he steers 
 And his heart gladdens as a light appears ; 
 But see, yon mighty wave comes rolling on, 
 Where is his Bark ? to ocean caves she's gone ; 
 And where is he ? wrapt in the billow's foam 
 While maddening thoughts of children and of home 
 Nerve his strong arm, and animate his soul 
 Life the rich prize, the shore the longed for goal 
 For oh ! tis hard upon the wave to die 
 With our own firelight gleaming in the eye. 
 
 But vain his struggles, for his shortening breath 
 And wearied limbs speak fearfully of death. 
 Ere light winged Hope deserts him, with a sigh, 
 He casts one earnest lingering look on high, 
 And that omniscient Eye which looks o'er all, 
 And even notes the tiny sparrow's fall, 
 Beholds and pities, and while life remains, 
 A billow wafts him and the beach he gains. 
 
 Lull'd on the lap of luxury and ease, 
 With cheeks unfann'd but by the mildest breeze, 
 The listless sons of wealth and pride repose 
 Nor heed the poor man's toil the poor man's woes. 
 Oh ! little think they, when the snows of Heaven 
 Around their sheltered homes are wildly driven ; 
 While round their warm and brightly burning fires 
 Wit lends its mirth, and Beauty's smile inspires ; 
 Oh ! little dream they then, how many poor 
 Industrious, active, children of the oar 
 Toil on the waste of waters while the hail, 
 
Acadia. 37 
 
 And sleet, and snow, their manly limbs assail ; 
 How many weeping wives, and children mourn, 
 The loss of those who never can return. 
 
 Inured to toil, familiar with the storm, 
 Around our coast these hardy boatmen swarm, 
 With nerves well strung to battle with the wave, 
 And souls as free as are the winds they brave. 
 Acadia loves to hear her rocky shores 
 Echo the music of their dashing oars ; 
 And hails the offspring of her sea girt strand 
 The strength, the pride, and sinews of her land. 
 
 But let the Muse the willing fancy bear 
 Home with the Boatman, and behold him there 
 Safe from the stormy peril of the deep, 
 With grateful heart he climbs the rocky steep, 
 To where, just clinging to the mountain side 
 His humble cot o'erlooks the troubled tide. 
 Through the clear pane he fondly stops to gaze, 
 And sees, around the cheerful fagot's blaze 
 His little happy flock, his hope and pride, 
 Whose laughing eyes adorn his fireside, 
 Two mend the net, a third, with wonder, reads 
 Of Crusoe's hairbreadth 'scapes and daring deeds, 
 And as strange scenes his infant thoughts beguile, 
 Half wishes he were cast on Crusoe's Isle. 
 
 With anxious brow that ill her care conceals, 
 The watchful- mother to the casement steals, 
 And tries to pierce, with an enquiring eye, 
 The frightful gloom that darkens earth and sky, 
 
38 Acadia. 
 
 Trembles at every gust that wildly raves, 
 While her thoughts fly to him upon the waves ; 
 As the wind rises, still her fears increase, 
 A step, a voice 'tis his, and all is peace. 
 
 Oh ! Love, in stately dome, or princely bower, 
 Man owns thy holy soul-subduing power, 
 Feels that the sweetest charm his spirit knows 
 From thy unsullied, sacred fountain, flows ; 
 For splendor sheds a cold and cheerless glare, 
 If Love diffuse no ray of gladness there ; 
 But, if you have a still more precious charm, 
 A smile more lovely, or a ray more warm, 
 Oh ! it is that which fondly lingers o'er 
 The rude and lowly cabins of the poor. 
 
 Their humble meal the mother now prepares, 
 O'er which they soon forget their former cares ; 
 The children's prattle crowns the parents' joy, 
 Who often dwell upon their wandering boy 
 For 'twas but yesternight that they received 
 News too delightful to be disbelieved. 
 Fraught with glad tidings from a distant land, 
 The letter trembled in the father's hand ; 
 The seal was broke, while all the little crowd 
 Around him press'd, to hear it read aloud, 
 For he, the cause of all their anxious fear, 
 In foreign lands had wander'd many a year, 
 Led by that ceaseless restlessness of soul, 
 Which still points onwards to some brighter goal. 
 O'er many lands his wayward steps had roved, 
 
Acadia. 39 
 
 Since last he bade farewell to all he loved. 
 
 They deemed him dead, and long had ceased to mourn, 
 
 Or look, or pray, or hope, for his return ; 
 
 And all they dared to think the scroll could tell, 
 
 Was where, and how, and when, the wand'rer fell. 
 
 But when the father's eye, undimmed by age 
 
 Had cast one hasty glance upon the page, j 
 
 And read " Dear Parents," with a burst of joy, 
 
 He cried, " 'tis from my Boy, my long lost Boy !" 
 
 While to each heart a throb of gladness sprung, 
 
 And prayers and praises faltered from each tongue. 
 
 But from the mother's lips no accents fell, 
 
 Though her eye beamed with more than words could tell ; 
 
 Had she not looked more earthly than the dead, 
 
 One might have thought her joyous soul had fled 
 
 And it had fled, on memory's airy wing, 
 
 Back to the past, round sacred hours to cling, 
 
 While many a feeling which despair had dried, 
 
 Rushed to her heart in one impetuous tide, 
 
 In thought, she saw her first born on her breast, . 
 
 And softly lull'd him to his evening rest, 
 
 In thought,- descended on her raptured ear 
 
 Those faint, first words, to mother's heart so dear, 
 
 While every smile he wore in boyhood's days, 
 
 Like magic sprung 'neath mem'ry's backward gaze, 
 
 'Till her tranced soul, recall'd from former years, 
 
 Was soothed and calm'd by one long burst of tears. 
 
 The letter told of much that he had viewed, 
 
 In busy crowjl, or trackless solitude 
 
 Of joys and perils, hours of bliss and pain, 
 
 But still his spirit sighed for home again. 
 
40 Sable Island. 
 
 For, though Acadia's sons may stray at times 
 To lands more fruitful, and to milder climes, 
 Still, though the flowers may richer odour breathe, 
 And, overhead, the vines their tendrils wreathe, 
 Though the sun's constant and serenest ray 
 O'er scenes of beauty fondly loves to stray 
 Though all that's fairest falls from Nature's hand, 
 The exile pines to tread his native land ; 
 Her rocky mountains, and her wintry storms, 
 Her fertile valleys, and her lovely forms, 
 Crowd on the mind with dreams of mighty power, 
 And cheer his heart in many a lonely hour. 
 
 SABLE ISLAND. 
 
 Dark Isle of Mourning aptly art thou named, 
 For thou hast been the cause of many a tear ; 
 
 For deeds of treacherous strife too justly famed, 
 The Atlantic's charnel desolate and drear ; 
 
 A thing none love though wand'ring thousands fear- 
 If for a moment rests the Muse's wing 
 
 Where through the waves thy sandy wastes appear, 
 'Tis that she may one strain of horror sing, 
 
 Wild as the dashing waves that tempests o'er thee fling. 
 
 The winds have been thy minstrels the rent shrouds 
 Of hapless barks, twanging at dead of night, 
 
 Thy fav'rite harp strings the shriek of crowds 
 Clinging around them feebly in their fright, 
 
Sable Island. 41 
 
 The song in which thou long hast had delight, 
 Dark child of ocean, at thy feasts of blood ; 
 
 When mangled forms, shown by Heaven's lurid light, 
 Rose to thy lip upon the swelling flood, 
 
 While Death, with horrid front, beside thee gloating 
 stood. 
 
 As lurks the hungry tiger for his prey, 
 
 Low crouch'd to earth with well dissembled mien, 
 Peace in his eye the savage wish to slay 
 
 Rankling around his heart so thou art seen 
 Stretch'd harmlessly on ocean's breast of green, 
 
 When winds are hush'd, and sleeps the placid wave 
 Beneath the evening ray whose glittering sheen 
 
 Gilds the soft swells thy arid folds that lave, 
 Unconscious that they cling around a yawning grave t 
 
 The fascination of the Siren's song, 
 
 The shadow of the fatal Upas tree ; 
 The Serpent's eye that lures the bird along 
 
 To certain doom less deadly are than thee 
 Even in thy hours of calm serenity, 
 
 When on thy sands the lazy seals repose, 
 And steeds, unbridled, sporting carelessly, 
 
 Crop the rank grass that on thy bosom grows, 
 While round the timid hare his glance of caution 
 throws. 
 
 But when thy aspect changes when the storm 
 Sweeps o'er the wide Atlantic's heaving breast ; 
 
 When, hurrying on in many a giant form, 
 The broken waters by the winds are prest 
 4 
 
42 Sable Island. 
 
 Roaring like fiends of hell which know no rest, 
 And guided by the lightning's fitful flash ; 
 
 Who dares look on thee then in terror drest, 
 As on thy length'ning beach the billows dash, 
 
 Shaking the heavens themselves with one long deaf'ning 
 crash.* 
 
 The winds are but thy blood-hounds, that do force 
 
 The prey into thy toils ; th' insidious stream f 
 Tnat steadily pursues its noiseless course, 
 
 Warmed by the glow of many a tropic beam, 
 To seas where northern blasts more rudely scream 
 
 Is thy perpetual Almoner, and brings 
 All that to man doth rich and lovely seem, 
 
 Earth's glorious gifts, its fair and holy things, 
 And round thy dreary shores its spoils profusely flings. 
 
 The stateliest stems the Northern forest yields, 
 The richest produce of each Southern shore, 
 
 * Those who have not personally witnessed the effects of a 
 storm upon this place, can form no adequate idea of its horrors. 
 The reverberated thunder of the sea, when it strikes this attenua- 
 ted line of sand, on a front of thirty miles, is truly appalling, and 
 the vibration of the Island under its mighty pressure, seems to 
 indicate that it will separate and be borne away by the ocean. 
 Haliburton. 
 
 t There is sufficient reason to believe that the Gulf Stream at 
 42 30 ', running E. N. E. occasions the waters of the St Lawrence, 
 running S. S. W., to glide to the westward. The strength of this 
 current has never been noticed, and three-fourths of the vessels 
 lost have been supposed to be to the eastward of the Island, when 
 in fact, they were in the longitude of it Ibid. 
 
Sable Island. 43 
 
 The gathered harvests of a thousand fields, 
 
 Earn'd by man's sweat or paid for by his gore. 
 
 The splendid robes the cavern'd Monsters wore, 
 The gold that sparkled in Potosi's mine, 
 
 The perfumed spice the Eastern islands bore, 
 
 The gems whose rays like morning's sunbeams shine, 
 
 All all insatiate Isle these treasures all are thine. 
 
 But what are these, compared with the rich spoils 
 
 Of human hearts, with fond affections stored : 
 Of manly forms, o'ertaken by thy toils 
 
 Of glorious spirits, 'mid thy sands outpoured. 
 Thousands who've braved War's desolating sword, 
 
 Who've walk'd through earth's worst perils undismayed, 
 Now swell the treasures of thy ample hoard ; 
 
 Deep in thy vaults their whitening bones are laid, 
 While many a burning tear is to their mem'ries paid. 
 
 And oft as though you sought to mock man's eye 
 
 Thy shifting sands their treasured spoils disclose : $ 
 There may we some long-missing wreck descry, 
 
 Some broken mast, that once so proudly rose 
 Above the peopled deck ; some toy, that shows 
 
 The fate of her upon whose breast it hung, 
 But who now sleeps in undisturbed repose, 
 
 Where by the waves her beauteous form was flung, 
 May peace be with her manes the lovely and the 
 young. 
 
 t After a gale of wind human skeletons are sometimes exposed 
 to view, and timber, and pieces of wood, are disinterred which 
 have been buried for years. Haliburton. 
 
44. Sable Island. 
 
 Why does the Father, at the dawn of day, 
 
 Fly from his feverish couch and horrid dreams, 
 And up the mountain side pursue his way, 
 
 And turn to gaze upon the sea, which seems 
 Blent with the heavens until the gorgeous beams 
 
 Of the bright sun each cloud and wave reveal ? 
 Wlience comes the tear that o'er that pale cheek 
 streams 
 
 As, tired with gazing, on the earth he kneels, 
 And pours in prayer to God the anguish that he feels ? 
 
 Why does the matron heave that constant sigh ? 
 
 WTiy does she start at every distant sound ? 
 Her cheerful fire is blazing 'neath her eye, 
 
 Her fair and happy children sporting round, 
 Appealing to her heart at every bound, 
 
 While on her lap one rose-lipped babe reclines, 
 And looks into her face with joy profound. 
 
 But yet the mother secretly repines, 
 And through a tearful eye her spirit dimly shines. 
 
 Why does the maiden shun the giddy throng, 
 
 And find no pleasure in the festive hour ? 
 Strange that the mazy dance, and choral song, 
 
 O'er one so young should hold no spell of power. 
 Why droops her head, as in her fairy bower 
 
 Her lute is only tuned to sorrow's strain ? 
 Is there no magic in the perfumed flower, 
 
 To lure her thoughts from off the bounding main ? 
 Oh ! when shall joy return to that pure breast again ? 
 
Sable Island. 
 
 45 
 
 Canst thou not read this riddle, gloomy isle ? 
 
 Say when shall that old man behold his boy ? 
 When shall a son's glad voice a son's bright smile 
 
 Wake in that mother's heart the throb of joy? 
 When shall glad thoughts that maiden's hours employ ? 
 
 When shall her lover spring to her embrace ? 
 Ask of the winds accustomed to destroy 
 
 Ask of the waves which know their resting-place 
 And they in thy deep caves their early graves may 
 trace. 
 
 Farewell ! dark Isle the Muse must spread her wing, 
 
 To seek for brighter themes in scenes more fair, 
 Too happy if the strain she strove to sing, 
 
 Shall warn the sailor of thy deadly snare ; 
 Oh ! would the gods but hear her fervent prayer, 
 
 The fate of famed Atlantis should be thine 
 No longer crouching in thy dangerous lair, 
 
 But sunk far down beneath the 'whelming brine, 
 Known but to History's page or in the poet's line. 
 
46 The Stewiacke. 
 
 THE STEWIACKE. 
 
 [The River Stewiacke takes its rise in the high lands to the south- 
 ward of Mount Tom, and flowing for a distance of 40 miles through 
 one of our finest Agricultural settlements, empties into the Shu- 
 benacadie at Fort Ellis. The Inhabitants like those of Musquodo- 
 boit, whom they nearly resemble, are off -shoots from the Truro and 
 Onslow stock but preserve greater simplicity in dress, and man- 
 ners, than the present Inhabitants of those older Townships. The 
 writer of these lines has done but very imperfect justice to the 
 beauty of the Vale, or the sterling qualities of its Inhabitants ; but, 
 believing that there are not wanting in this Country, the materials 
 for poetry, he would fain stimulate others by a few rude illustrations 
 of that opinion.] 
 
 Flow on bright spirit of a pleasant vale 
 Type of the social life its fruits sustain : 
 With steady strength thy noiseless waves prevail 
 O'er links that check, and fret, but ne'er restrain 
 Thy gentle passage through the smiling plain ; 
 Till, blent with other streams, thy beauties fade, 
 Thy folds are lost within the boundless main : 
 As they who tread thy banks, in smiles arrayed, 
 Shall, mingling with their God, forget the forms he made. 
 
 Sweet River 'tis not that the sunbeams rest 
 Like Lovers' thoughts upon thy swelling tide, 
 Catching and shedding beauty nor that blest 
 By gushing streamlets from the mountain side, 
 Thou roll'st along in loveliness and pride, 
 That I, with such delight am ling'ring here ; 
 Not e'en the Elms that gracefully preside 
 Thy banks above, could start the grateful tear, 
 Nor all the emotions prompt that render thee so dear. 
 
The Stewiacke. 47 
 
 The fruitful fields that spread on either hand, 
 Won from the forest, by a hardy race ; 
 The Cottage Homes that near them meekly stand, 
 Where all my Country's features I can trace 
 Where life's best feelings have their dwelling place, 
 Its sterner virtues and endearments sweet, 
 Where health sits blooming upon every face, 
 And hearts with conscious independence beat, 
 These make me love, fair stream, thy sparkling wave to 
 greet. 
 
 Tho' richer harvests crown the slimy Nile, 
 A race of slaves are there the fruits to reap ; 
 Tho' clearer skies above the Tagus smile, 
 Let the degenerate hounds their river keep, 
 And make it still, with tears of blood to weep ; 
 Beside thy banks, Stewiacke, let me recline, 
 And in thy rural charms my senses steep, 
 For Freedom, Peace, Industry, all are thine, 
 And here Religion guards her meek and holy shrine. 
 
 Here dwell the gray haired Sires, who pleased, survey 
 Their children scattered o'er the fruitful soil ; 
 Who, looking back to many a weary day, 
 Yet feel themselves repaid for all their toil, 
 They know, when e'er they quit this " mortal coil," 
 A numerous progeny their steps shall tread, 
 Whose birthright, lawless power can ne'er despoil, 
 But who in peace will earn their daily bread, 
 And hallow in their lives the memories of the dead. 
 
48 The Stewiacke. 
 
 Here dwell the fruitful mothers, who supply 
 The tide of life that swells along the vale, 
 On whose chaste beds no blighting curses lie, 
 Whose hands ne'er tire whose spirits rarely fail. 
 Unlike the wretched beings, worn and pale, 
 Who, in the crowded city's poor retreats, 
 Hear with dismay, the newborn infant's wail, 
 And ill can spare the scanty food it eats, 
 While luxury's pamper'd steeds go prancing through trie 
 streets. 
 
 Here buoyant youths their hardy nurture speak, 
 With brows erect, and manners frank and free ; 
 The well knit frame, and ruddy sunburnt cheek, 
 Shew that the sons of sloth they scorn to be. 
 With grateful thoughts thy pleasant fields they see, 
 And, as their fathers sink into the grave, 
 Resting, sweet stream, their time worn forms by thee, 
 They think of all they dared of all they gave, 
 And go with cheerful hearts their lighter cares to brave. 
 
 And few there are in loneliness that ply 
 The varied labors that their hands employ ; 
 There's many a rosy lip and beaming eye, 
 And many a face all radiant with joy, 
 To catch the fancy of the sanguine boy, 
 And lure to love-walks by the River side. 
 No maidens these with idle fools to toy, 
 The slaves of fashion, or the dupes of pride, 
 But form'd true hearts to prize, and poor men's house- 
 holds guide. 
 
Melville Island. 49 
 
 Oh ! mighty Father, whose judicious hand 
 Taught this sweet Vale to " blossom as the rose," 
 Still bless with scenes like this my native land ; 
 Where'er a sparkling River onward flows, 
 Foster the habits that ensure repose, 
 And strike the gen'rous roots of virtue deep ; 
 O'er Luxury, and all its train of woes. 
 Let not my Country e'er have cause to weep, 
 But still its nerves of steel, and graceful vigor keep. 
 
 MELVILLE ISLAND. 
 
 Record of War, behold yon little Isle,* 
 Whose brow is crown'd by many a mouldering pile, 
 Where groups of buildings sinking to decay 
 Throw their dark shadows o'er the narrow bay, 
 Which, with a mirror's smoothness, brightly shines, 
 While the last ray of summer's sun reclines 
 Upon its placid breast where the blue sky, 
 And blended rocks, and groves, reflected lie. 
 As round the winding path we onward stroll 
 Beyond the Isle the Arm's clear waters roll, 
 Along whose eastern margin spots of green 
 And rural cottages fill up the scene. 
 No sound disturbs the cove where echo sleeps, 
 Unless some fish through the calm surface leaps ; 
 Perchance a gull, while high in air he soars, 
 
 * Melville Island was used as a prison during the war of 1812-15. 
 
 5 
 
50 Melville Island. 
 
 His wild and startling note of discord pours ; 
 Or the scared partridge, as she upward springs, 
 Breaks the deep silence with her noisy wings. 
 
 The Guard House there, with fissures well supplied 
 To point the ready gun on every side 
 Where walked the wakeful sentry day and night, 
 Lest some might strive to make a desperate flight 
 Where once the cup, the laugh, the jest, went round, 
 Is still and drear, unconscious of a sound 
 And the small spots which used to glow with flowers, 
 The soldier's pastime, in his leisure hours, 
 Redeem'd from rocks, with cultivation smiled, 
 And look'd the lovelier bosom'd in the wild, 
 With stubble, briars and brambles overgrown, 
 Nature may now reclaim them as her own. 
 
 We cross the bridge, where erst the cannon stood, 
 To guard the narrow passage o'er the flood. 
 Here Time, as with light wing he onward flew, 
 Has left his footprint upon all we view. 
 How changed how different everything appears 
 How all unlike the scenes of other years. 
 Each door which once was watch'd with jealous care, 
 Unhing'd, admits the balmy evening air. 
 The large red building which appeared alive 
 Some twelve years since, a perfect human hive. 
 Crowded and busy, where the eye might see 
 All save the calm contentment of the bee, 
 Now with its dreariness the heart appals, 
 So Still and lifeless are the silent walls ; 
 
Melville Island. 51 
 
 Each narrow window, and each iron bar, 
 Speak to the soul of all the ills of war. 
 
 The bugle note may elevate the soul, 
 The heart beat high while round the thunders roll, 
 The shout of triumph and the hard won field, 
 A glorious rapture to the warrior yield. 
 This is war's brightest side and still will charm 
 The youthful heart, while youthful hearts are warm. 
 But, the last groan of him who fights and falls, 
 And on his God to feed his orphans calls 
 The widow's anguish and the mother's sigh, 
 The shrieking maniac's wild and bitter cry, 
 And the lone prison, on the mind will urge 
 The truth, that War, in detail, is a scourge. 
 
 While o'er the spirit Mem'rys spell is cast, 
 We leave the present, to recall the past. 
 To the mind's eye how vividly appear 
 The busy crowds, which used to mingle here, 
 Doom'd to one common fate, to be confined, 
 And teach their manly souls to be resigned. 
 Although a prison, yet the little Isle 
 Was not a common gaol for culprits vile 
 No felon's foot its genial soil impressed, 
 No frightful dream here broke the murderer's rest 
 Their only crime who round its confines moved, 
 Was nobly daring in the cause they loved. 
 
 Here the grey vet'ran, marked with many a scar, 
 Deplored the sad vicissitudes of war ; 
 
52 Melville Islcwid. 
 
 He loved the cannon's glorious voice to hear, 
 The cry of " Board !" was music to his ear ; 
 If on his soul a ray of rapture beam'd, 
 'Twas-when his cutlass o'er his foeman gleamed; 
 Shipwreck'd he oft had been, but yet the sea 
 He fear'd not on its bosom he was free. 
 Unbending, and impatient of restraint, 
 How shall the Muse his manly anguish paint ? 
 When no spectator of his grief was near, 
 Down his brown cheek oft rolled the burning tear, 
 And his dark eye, which up to Heaven was turned, 
 Displayed the spirit that within him burned. 
 But, if some straggler should, by chance, intrude 
 Upon his restless, joyless, solitude, 
 He quickly dashed the tear-drop from his eye, 
 None saw him weep, or ever heard him sigh. 
 In the calm hours which Nature claimed for sleep, 
 E'en then, in dreams, his soul was on the deep, 
 The deck resounding to his measured tread, 
 His country's banner floating o'er his head, 
 His good ship scudding under easy sail, 
 While all around the laugh, the jest prevail ; 
 Or, if the God of dreams should strew a train 
 Of darker, bolder shadows o'er his brain, 
 His brow is knit his nervous, powerful, hand, 
 In fancied triumph grasps a well-known brand, 
 While locked with his, o'ertaken in the chase, 
 Some frigate lies, in deadly close embrace ; 
 Guns roar, swords flash, the dying and the dead, 
 Mangled and bleeding, o'er the deck are spread 
 While the fierce shout, and faint and feeble wail 
 
Melville Island. 53 
 
 Together mingled, float upon the gale ; 
 With nimble foot athwart the yard he runs, 
 Descends, and drives the foemen from their guns ; 
 'Midst blood and death their flag he downward tears, 
 And, in its place, his own loved banner rears. 
 His shouts of victory through the prison ring, 
 His startled comrades round his hammock bring, 
 While drops of sweat his manly temples lave, 
 His broad chest heaving like the troubled wave, 
 He starts -he wakes " Oh ! God, and can it be, 
 Am I a captive ? am I not at sea?" 
 
 Here the fond Father, from his home exiled, 
 In fancy fondled o'er his darling child, 
 Folded the little prattler in his arms, 
 And saw, as fathers do, unnumbered charms, 
 And made confinement's tedious moments less, 
 Tasting the bliss of sweet forge if ulnessl 
 
 Behold yon youth, whose brilliant, speaking, eye, 
 Is mildly, calmly, fixed on vacancy. 
 In vain Sol's loveliest beams around him play, 
 In vain the linnet pours her sweetest lay, 
 In vain his cheerful comrades, wandering near, 
 With mirth and gladness strive his soul to cheer, 
 He sees them not, nor hears their idle jests, 
 Fix'd as the rock on which his elbow rests, 
 And, while his head reclines upon his hand, 
 The boy is thinking of his own bright land ; 
 In fancy wandering round that happy home 
 He loved so much, ere honor bade him roam, 
 
54 Melville Island. 
 
 Where, while his eye with youthful ardour glowed, 
 
 A Father's hand a Father's sword bestowed, 
 
 And, as he gave it to the stripling, said : 
 
 " Behold, my boy, no spot is on the blade, 
 
 " Take it, and use it for thy country's weal, 
 
 " This arm, though feeble now, has proved the steel ; 
 
 " And when in peace you bring it home again, 
 
 " See that the blade wears no unworthy stain." 
 
 And well the youth obeyed the warrior's words. 
 Where flashed Britannia's best and brightest swords, 
 There his was wav'd and when Old England's sons 
 Drove Gallia's seamen from their silent guns 
 When British Tars, whom Valor could not check, 
 Forc'd ev'ry foeman from the quarter-deck 
 E'en when his chief, to stay the deadly strife, 
 And save an useless waste of human life, 
 Resigned his ship and sabre to the foes, 
 The Boy's red arm was dealing desperate blows, 
 His bright eye flashing with unearthly fire, 
 He thought of home, and of his gray-hair'd sire, 
 And when commanded to give up his brand, 
 He grasped it closer in his bloody hand, 
 Glanced o'er it once, nor stayed to look again, 
 But flung it wildly to the watery main, 
 And proudly uttered " only to the wave, 
 " Will I resign the sword a Father gave." 
 
 A Prisoner now, while stretched at length he lays, 
 And ponders o'er the themes of other days, 
 Perhaps the blessing which his mother gave 
 
Melville Island. 55 
 
 Ere he embark'd upon the mountain wave, 
 
 Is faintly, fondly, breathed into his ear, 
 
 And dims his hazel eye with many a tear ; 
 
 While thought on thought, at Mem'ry's bidding, springs, 
 
 Around his neck an only sister clings. 
 
 Those who have felt, alone can truly trace 
 
 A parting sister's lingering, fond, embrace, 
 
 While all the joys that guileless childhood knew, 
 
 By Mem'rys magic start upon the view ; 
 
 And the faint, feverish, tremulous "good bye !" 
 
 The heaving bosom, and the broken sigh, 
 
 The streaming tear the blanch'd and bloodless cheek, 
 
 Plainer than words a Sister's love bespeak ; 
 
 While hurried prayers to God's high throne ascend, 
 
 And call on Him to guide, protect, defend ; 
 
 While round each neck their youthful arms are cast, 
 
 And each fond look is destined for the last : 
 
 'Twas thus they parted, and when far from France, 
 
 Toss'd on the wave, that Sister's parting glance 
 
 Was with him still, and on the little Isle, 
 
 Would oft, from all around, his thoughts beguile. 
 
 At length the bland and halcyon smile of Peace 
 Shone forth, and caused the trump of War to cease. 
 As Spring's mild ray, while Earth's glad breast it warms, 
 Expels stern Winter, with his robe of storms. 
 What heartfelt rapture did that beauteous smile 
 Shed o'er each bosom upon Melville Isle. 
 "'Tis Peace f 'tis Peace," around the Island rings, 
 And blissful visions to each fancy brings. 
 The thoughts of home, of friends, of children, roll 
 
56 The Flag of Old England. 
 
 A tide of heavenly rapture round the soul. 
 Each trod the earth with firmer, manlier, tread, 
 No narrow bound before his footsteps spread ; 
 Each gave the little Isle a blithe good bye, 
 Joy in his heart, and freedom in his eye, 
 And, when to home and friends restored again, 
 Forgot Captivity, and all its pain. 
 
 How pure the bliss, how balmy the repose 
 Which, after all his toils and all his woes, 
 The weary traveller, doom'd no more to roam, 
 Tastes in the hallowed precincts of his home. 
 If of the joys the righteous share in Heaven, 
 One foretaste sweet to earthly man is given, 
 'Tis when his Cot his ark of hopes and fears, 
 After long absence to his view appears ; 
 'Tis when that form, the dearest and the best, 
 Springs to his arms and swoons upon his breast ; 
 When Woman's lip warm, passionate, and pure, 
 Is press'd to his as if its balm could cure 
 His wounded soul, if wound should there remain, 
 And charm it back to joy and peace again. 
 
 THE FLAG OF OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 [A Centenary Song, written for the one hundredth anniversary of 
 the landing of Lord Cormvallis at Halifax.] 
 
 All hail to the day when the Britons came over, 
 And planted their standard, with sea-foam still wet, 
 
 Around and above us their spirits will hover, 
 Rejoicing to mark how we honor it yet 
 
The Flag of Old England. 57 
 
 Beneath it the emblems they cherished are waving, 
 The Rose of Old England the roadside perfumes ; 
 
 The Shamrock and Thistle the north winds are braving, 
 Securely the Mayflower* blushes and blooms. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Hail to the day when the Britons came over, 
 
 And planted their standard with sea-foam still wet, 
 Around and above us their spirits will hover, 
 Rejoicing to mark how we honor it yet. 
 We'll honor it yet, we'll honor it yet, 
 The flag of Old England ! we'll honor it yet. 
 
 In the temples they founded, their faith is maintained, 
 
 Every foot of the soil they bequeathed is still ours, 
 The graves where they moulder, no foe has profaned, 
 
 But we wreathe them with verdure, and strew them 
 
 with flowers ! 
 The blood of no brother, in civil strife pour'd, 
 
 In this hour of rejoicing, encumbers our souls ! 
 The frontier's the field for the Patriot's sword, 
 
 And curs'd be the weapon that Faction controls ! 
 Chorus Hail to the day, &c. 
 
 Then hail to the day ! 'tis with memories crowded, 
 Delightful to trace 'midst the mists of the past, 
 
 Like the features of Beauty, bewitchingly shrouded, 
 They shine through the shadows Time o'er them has 
 casjt. 
 
 As travellers track to its source in the mountains, 
 
 * The Mayflower is the emblem of the Province of Nova Scotia. 
 
58 The Flag of Old England. 
 
 The stream, which far swelling, expands o'er the plains, 
 Our hearts, on this day, fondly turn to the fountains 
 Whence flow the warm currents that bound in our 
 
 veins. 
 
 Chorus Hail to the day, &c. 
 
 And proudly we trace them : No warrior flying 
 
 From city assaulted, and fanes overthrown, 
 With the last of his race on the battlements dying, 
 
 And weary with wandering, founded our own. 
 From the Queen of the Islands, then famous in story, 
 
 A century since, our brave forefathers came, 
 And our kindred yet fill the wide world with her glory, 
 
 Enlarging her Empire, and spreading her name. 
 Chorus Hail to the day, &c. 
 
 Ev'ry flash of her genius our pathway enlightens 
 
 Ev'ry field she explores we are beckoned to tread, 
 Each laurel she gathers, our future day brightens 
 
 We joy with her living, and mourn for her dead. 
 Then hail to the day when the Britons came over, 
 
 And planted their standard, with sea-foam still wet, 
 Above and around us their spirits shall hover, 
 
 Rejoicing to mark how we honor it yet 
 Chorus Hail to the day, &c. 
 
Our Fathers. 59 
 
 OUR FATHERS.* 
 
 Room for the Dead ! your living hands may pile 
 Treasures of Art the stately tents within ; 
 Beauty may grace them with her richest smile, 
 And Genius there spontaneous plaudits win. 
 But yet, amidst the tumult and the din 
 Of gathering thousands, let me audience crave : 
 Place claim I for the Dead 'twere mortal sin 
 When banners o'er our Country's treasures wave, 
 Unmark'd to leave the wealth safe garner'd in the Grave. 
 
 The Fields may furnish forth their lowing kine, 
 The Forest spoils in rich abundance lie, 
 The mellow fruitage of the cluster'd Vine 
 Mingle with flowers of every varied dye ; 
 Swart Artizans their rival skill may try, 
 And, while the Rhetorician wins the ear, 
 The pencil's graceful shadows charm the eye, 
 But yet, do not withhold the grateful tear 
 For those, and for their works, who are not here. 
 
 Not here ? Oh ! yes, our hearts their presence feel, 
 Viewless, not voiceless, from the deepest shells 
 On memory's shore harmonious echoes steal, 
 And names, which, in the days gone by, were spells, 
 Are blent with that soft music. If there dwells 
 The spirit here our Country's fame to spread, 
 
 * This poem was read at the opening of the first Provincial 
 Industrial Exhibition of Nova Scotia, October, 1854. 
 
60 Our Fathers. 
 
 While ev'ry breast with joy and triumph swells, 
 And earth reverberates to our measured tread, 
 Banner and wreath will own our reverence for the Dead. 
 
 Look up, their walls enclose us. Look around, 
 Who won the verdant meadows from the sea ? 
 Whose sturdy hands the noble highways wound 
 Through forests dense, o'er mountain, moor and lea ? 
 Who spanned the streams ? Tell me whose works 
 
 they be, 
 
 The busy marts where commerce ebbs and flows ? 
 Who quelPd the savage ? And who spared the tree 
 That pleasant shelter o'er the pathway throws ? 
 Who made the land they loved to blossom as the rose ? 
 
 Who, in frail barques, the ocean surge defied, 
 And trained the race that live upon the wave ? 
 What shore so distant where they have not died ? 
 In ev'ry sea they found a watery grave. 
 Honor, forever, to the true and brave, 
 Who seaward led their sons with spirits high, 
 Bearing the red-cross flag their fathers gave ; 
 Long as the billows flout the arching sky, 
 They'll seaward bear it still to venture, or to die. 
 
 The Roman gather'd in a stately urn 
 The dust he honor'd while the sacred fire, 
 Nourish'd by vestal hands, was made to burn 
 From age to age. If fitly you'd aspire, 
 Honor the Dead ; and let the sounding lyre 
 
Song for the %th June. 61 
 
 Recount their virtues in your festal hours ; 
 Gather their ashes higher still, and higher 
 Nourish the patriot flame that history dowers, 
 And, o'er the old men's graves, go strew your choicest 
 flowers. 
 
 SONG FOR THE STH JUNE. 
 
 Hail to the day when the Briton came o'er 
 
 And planted his flag where the Mayflower blows, 
 
 And gathered the blossoms, unheeded before, 
 To entwine with the Shamrock, the Thistle, and Rose. 
 
 Let us never forget, while our revels we keep 
 
 'Neath the shade of the green woods that hang over- 
 head, 
 
 The labors of those in our churchyards who sleep, 
 But fill up a bumper to honor the Dead. 
 
 Oh ! dear to our hearts is the land they bequeathed, 
 And the standard they reared proudly waves o'er us 
 yet; 
 
 While we gather and cherish the flowers they wreathed, 
 Let us never the graves of our fathers forget. 
 
 The}'- vanquished the forest to make us a home, 
 
 Though the knife of the savage defended each grove ; 
 
 And, while ocean's proud waves round our headlands 
 
 shall foam, 
 This day must be honored where'ever we rove. 
 
62 The Streams. 
 
 The valleys their garments of emerald wear, 
 The flocks on the mountains unherried repose, 
 
 And the songs of our maidens rise mirthful and clear 
 By the side of each stream in the starlight that flows. 
 
 The Cities are growing with wealth in their tram, 
 The Hamlet securely expands in the glen ; 
 
 And our white sails are glancing far over the main, 
 To the islands that nourish'd those stout hearted men. 
 
 Then fill up a bumper, uncovered, we'll name, 
 
 And drink to THE DEAD, and the day they've en- 
 deared ; 
 May the spirit they left, like a circle of flame, 
 
 Guard forever the homes and the standard they 
 rear'd. 
 
 THE STREAMS. 
 
 In joy and gladness on ye go 
 
 My country's pleasant streams ; 
 And oft through scenes as fair ye flow 
 
 As bless the Poet's dreams. 
 From hills, where stately forests rear 
 
 Their heads the breeze to brave 
 From dark morass, or fountain clear, 
 
 You roll to ocean's wave. 
 
The Streams. 63 
 
 The noble Lakes your strength supply, 
 
 And now the crystal spring, 
 Where undisturb'd the wild birds fly, 
 
 Or bathe the weary wing. 
 Through narrow gorges here you foam, 
 
 There down the valley rove, 
 Like youths who leave a quiet home, 
 
 The world's delights to prove. 
 
 A thousand ceaseless hymns of praise, 
 
 With music in each tone, 
 In mystic harmony you raise, 
 
 And heard by God alone. 
 But though to us it is not given, 
 
 The blended song to know, 
 Sweet sounds, that have the air of Heav'n 
 
 Delight us as ye go. 
 
 The granite cliff its shadow flings 
 
 Far down into the tide, 
 To deck your banks the flow'ret springs, 
 
 And scents ye as ye glide. 
 As through the spreading intervales 
 
 Your devious course you steer, 
 The waving grain your passage hails, 
 
 And flocks and herds appear. 
 
 And there the graceful Elms are found, 
 
 Your own peculiar tree ; 
 And there stout hearted men abound 
 
 The happy and the free. 
 
64 Thanksgiving Hymn. 
 
 And childhood's merry laugh is heard 
 
 Along the hills to float, 
 As, by the gentle breezes stirr'd 
 
 You waft his tiny boat. 
 
 Where youthful forms at eve repose. 
 
 And tales of passion tell, 
 While Beauty's cheek more beauteous grows, 
 
 And snowy bosoms swell 
 In joy and gladness there ye go, 
 
 My country's pleasant streams ; 
 And oft through scenes as fair ye flow, 
 
 As bless the Poet's dreams. 
 
 THANKSGIVING HYMN. 
 
 Almighty Father ! at Thy Throne 
 
 A grateful people kneel. 
 Father of Mercies, Thou alone 
 
 Canst compass what we feel. 
 
 We thank Thee for the pleasant land 
 
 In which our lots are cast ; 
 The guidance of Thy eydant hand 
 
 Through all its perils past. 
 
 We thank Thee for the forms that guard 
 
 The liberties we prize, 
 For every cherish'd old Church-yard, 
 
 Where rest the good and wise. 
 
Thanksgiving Hymn. 65 
 
 We thank Thee for the Altars free, 
 
 The Courts without a stain 
 The glowing page of History, 
 
 The Bard's heroic strain ; 
 
 The Martyr's death the Prophet's fire, 
 
 The Christian soldier's sword ; 
 But chiefly let our hearts aspire 
 
 To thank Thee for thy Word : 
 
 And for the hallow'd life and death 
 
 Of Him to guide us given : 
 The hopes that hang upon His breath, 
 
 The promised rest in Heaven. 
 
 For lesser mercies teach us too 
 
 The grateful song to raise : 
 Let all we think, and say, and do, 
 
 Be moulded to Thy praise. 
 
 We thank Thee for the daily bread, 
 
 That human life sustains ; 
 For flocks and herds profusely spread 
 
 O'er all our hills and plains. 
 
 We thank Thee for the wealth we bring 
 
 Up from the pregnant mine, 
 For ages stored each precious thing 
 
 Is ours, and yet is Thine. 
 6 
 
66 My Native Pines. 
 
 We thank Thee for the mighty deep, 
 To which our sons go down ; 
 
 For tranquil bays that calmly sleep 
 Beyond the tempest's frown. 
 
 We thank Thee for the stars above, 
 
 The flow'ry soil we tread, 
 For friendship's grasp the smile of love, 
 
 The song bird over head. 
 
 In prayer and praise our souls ascend 
 To Thy Almighty Throne ; 
 
 Father of Mercies guide and friend, 
 
 Our humble tribute own. 
 Dec. 8. 1868. 
 
 MY NATIVE PINES. 
 
 My native Pines my native Pines, 
 
 I love beneath your boughs to stray, 
 While morning's sun upon you shines 
 
 With bright, and warm, and fervid ray 
 For oh ! 'twas thus in childhood's hours, 
 
 I rov'd beneath them wild and free, 
 And gathered May's unsullied flowers, 
 
 That sprung around each forest tree. 
 
 My native Pines my native Pines, 
 While noon-day breezes steal along, 
 
 And 'neath your fringe my head reclines, 
 I love to hear your sylvan song. 
 
Fame. 07 
 
 For oft in youth my form I threw 
 
 Upon that soft and mossy bed, 
 While every gentle wind that blew, 
 
 Seem'd fairy music round me shed. 
 
 My native Pines my native Pines, 
 
 While Luna's soft and silv'ry beam, 
 In holy, bright, and dazzling lines, 
 
 Dwells on your boughs, I love to dream 
 Of those unclouded moonlight nights, 
 
 When youthful friends around me stood, 
 And all the blissful, dear delights, 
 
 We tasted in the lonely wood. 
 
 My native Pines my native Pines, 
 
 Your stately tops still proudly rear -, 
 Than blooming flow'rs or clustering vines. 
 
 To me your boughs are far more dear. 
 Your spreading branches still retain 
 
 Their verdant, bright, and emerald hue, 
 Oh ! could the feelings thus remain, 
 
 Which first my boyish bosom knew. 
 
 FAME. 
 
 And what is Fame ? Go seek some battle field, 
 Where the war trumpets deepest tones have pealed ; 
 Where to the winds proud banners were unfurled ; 
 Where met the mighty masters of the world, 
 While noble chargers shook the trembling ground, 
 
68 Fame. 
 
 And glittering swords a goodly harvest found ; 
 Where gallant spirits poured their latest breath 
 Secure of Fame, and smiling upon Death ; 
 Where Earth's sweet bosom, 'neath her childrens 
 
 wrath, 
 
 Seemed like the fell destroying Angel's path. 
 Here ask what Fame is, but shew no surprise 
 If Echo's voice alone to yours replies ; 
 Nor wonder if the winds steal calmly by, 
 And lovely flow'rets greet the raptured eye ; 
 While the glad warblers of the peaceful grove 
 Chaunt undisturbed their mutual songs of love. 
 Nay, murmur not that Nature hides the stains 
 Which Man has cast upon her smiling plains, 
 Leaving no trace to mark where armies stood, 
 And spreading flowers to cover fields of blood ; 
 NOT be surprised, if not a single name 
 Of warring thousands lives, -for this is Fame. 
 Or breathe the question o'er the mighty deep, 
 Within whose gloomy caverns millions sleep ; 
 Where they who startled Nations by their deeds, 
 Repose on beds of sand or tangled weeds ; 
 Where the proud chief, and war's poor menial slave, 
 Sleep in one vast, unfathomable grave ; 
 Where fleet met fleet, and man to battle sprung, 
 Till death-shouts o'er the placid waters rung ; 
 While 'mid the stifling clouds of sulphurous smoke, 
 The Cannon's voice in notes of thunder broke ; 
 Where the bright sabre, flashing to the sun, 
 Performed whate'er the bullet left undone, 
 And warriors, while it reddened with their blood, 
 
Fame. 69 
 
 Sank to repose beneath the peaceful flood, 
 
 And ere their bones had scarcely time to rot, 
 
 Their names, their deeds, were by the world forgot. 
 
 Then what is Fame ? Go ask yon orphan girl, 
 Whose brow, just breaking through the silky curl, 
 Is turned to Heaven in meek, imploring prayer, 
 In hopes to find another Father there ; 
 Whose little hands which once a parent grasped, 
 In bitter agony are firmly clasped ; 
 Whose guileless breast where joy erst built its bower, 
 Now owns griefs cold and desolating power ; 
 Whose eyes, on' which a Father fondly gazed, 
 Now dimmed with tears, before her God are raised ; 
 Whose cheeks, which used the rose's hue to wear, 
 Now pale and whitened, speak but of despair. 
 Oh ! she will tell you, it was Fame that wiled 
 The doting Father from his infant child, 
 That lured him to the wars beyond the wave, 
 And plunged him, nameless, in a bloody grave, 
 And left her desolate, without a home, 
 O'er life's unsafe and dangerous path to roam. 
 
 Or, ask the Mother, who has stolen her Boy, 
 The cherished source of all her future joy? 
 Whose step was lightest in the merry dance, 
 Whose eye beamed joy, whene'er it met her glance, 
 Who on her breast in childish pastime laid, 
 While through his flowing hair her fingers strayed ; 
 O'er whom she watched, prayed, wept, with aching 
 heart, 
 
70 Fame. 
 
 When sickness made her dread lest they might part ; 
 O'er whom she smiled with mingled joy and pain, 
 When health, returning, flushed his cheek again. 
 Yes, she, with all a mother's grief, will tell 
 How Fame enticed, and how he fought and fell ; 
 How that bright form a Mother's heart revered, 
 By blood and dust was blackened and besmeared ; 
 And how his tombless bones ungathered lie, 
 And bleach and moulder, 'neath a foreign sky. 
 
 Mark yonder maid, whose vacant, wandering 
 
 gaze, 
 
 O'er Earth and all its charms unconscious strays, 
 As if, for her, it owned no bower of rest, 
 No spell to calm the tumult of her breast ; 
 To whose dark eyes unearthly beams are given, 
 Whose tresses wave before the winds of Heaven. 
 Oh ! she was lovely once, yes, far more fair 
 Than any flower that scents the evening air ; 
 So pure, so stainless, while bright gleams of soul 
 Shed light, and life, and beauty, o'er the whole ; 
 But 'twas her lot to love the passion twined 
 Its holiest feelings round her spotless mind ; 
 And she was loved, as she deserved to be, 
 With all Youth's fervent, fond, idolatry ; 
 Hope sweetly smiled upon their future years, 
 When War's shrill trumpet sounded in their ears ; 
 He heard, and yielding to the lures of Fame, 
 Sighed for a laurel wreath, and deathless name ; 
 While with high hopes his ardent breast would swell 
 But, brief the tale he left her, fought, and fell 
 
La Tribune. ft 
 
 (As thousands do) unnoticed and unknown, 
 Remembered, loved, and wept by her alone ; 
 Though no proud volley echoed o'er his head, 
 Affection's silent tear for him was shed ; 
 And if no marble told his place of rest, 
 He still was shrined in lovely Woman's breast ; 
 And what can all Fame's empty joys impart 
 Like the pure homage of one guileless heart ? 
 
 Oh ! Fame, will man ne'er cease to bow the knee 
 Before thy bloody shrine, and strive to free 
 His spirit from thy heavy, galling, chain 
 Which bows it down to toil, and guilt, and pain ? 
 Can he not see that at thy Altars rise 
 No incense but of tears, and groans, and sighs ? 
 That Disappointment, Madness, and Despair, 
 Are the High Priests that love to linger there ? 
 June 5, 1826. 
 
 LA TRIBUNE. 
 
 The knell of death is on the blast, 
 
 The seas are wildly driven, 
 And those who cling around the mast, 
 
 Look up with prayers to Heaven. 
 
 While, every swelling dark-blue wave 
 
 Strikes terror to the eye 
 Of men who think they see their grave. 
 
 Yet feel 'tis hard to die. 
 
72 La Tribune. 
 
 And who, in such an awful hour, 
 Will dare approach the wreck ? 
 
 When He, who only has the power, 
 The waters will not check. 
 
 For oh ! the deep sea's sullen roar, 
 That sounds so fierce and loud, 
 
 And mountain waves, that lash the shore, 
 Appal the shrinking crowd. 
 
 But who his little bark has launch'd, 
 
 And to his oars has sprung ? 
 His cheek by age seems yet unblanch'd, 
 
 His brow is fair and young. 
 
 His light, and almost childish, form 
 
 Seems far too weak to brave 
 The fearful howling of the storm, 
 
 The terror of the wave. 
 
 But yet a high and fearless soul 
 
 Is glancing in his eye, 
 Which tells that he will reach the goal, 
 
 Or on the waters die. 
 
 His boat the billow proudly cleaves, 
 While bounding from the shore, 
 
 And those who on the beach he leaves, 
 Ne'er hope to see him more. 
 
Home. 73 
 
 But mark the sacred freight he bears 
 
 From off the troubled main, 
 Two human hearts what bliss is theirs ! 
 
 Restored to life again. 
 
 And oh ! what feelings swell the heart 
 
 Of that undaunted Boy ; 
 Could Roman triumphs e'er impart 
 
 So sweet a throb of joy ? 
 
 Acadia's child thy humble name 
 
 The Muse will long revere, 
 The wreath you nobly won from Fame 
 
 Shall bloom for many a year. 
 
 Long as the thoughts which swell'd thy breast, 
 
 The flame that lit thy eye, 
 Shall in our Country's bosom rest, 
 
 Thy name shall never die ! 
 
 HOME. 
 
 A spot there is, from public gaze retired, 
 Sought but by few, by fewer still admired, 
 Where Feeling's holy fountains sparkling play, 
 Illum'd by Reason's calm, yet brilliant ray ; 
 Where the tired spirit, wearied and oppressed 
 Far from the crowd may find its wished for rest ; 
 7 
 
74 To The Queen. 
 
 Where the heart's purest, best affections spring, 
 Round which the siren Hope, delights to cling ; 
 Where Genius loves his valued stores to shed, 
 And Fancy's rich, yet simple flowers, are spread ; 
 Where Dissipation, with her frenzied mien, 
 And sick'ning, tasteless joys, is never seen ; 
 To which, if sorrow comes, a sacred charm 
 Pours in its deepest wounds a healing balm ; 
 W T here Disappointment, robbed of half his care, 
 Forgets to point the pathway to Despair ; 
 Where, if a tear at times should dim the eye, 
 It beams the brighter when the tear is dry ; 
 Where, like the Indian altar's steady flame, 
 Love's fire burns on, from youth to age the same ; 
 So blest a spot, tho' o'er the world we roam, 
 We ne'er can hope to find, as Home, sweet Home. 
 
 TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 [Presented to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, at 
 "Windsor, by Lady Laura Phipps, in behalf of the ladies of 
 Hants county.] 
 
 Queen of the thousand Isles ! whose fragile form, 
 'Midst the proud structures of our Father Land, 
 Graces the throne, that each subsiding storm 
 That shakes the earth, assures us yet shall stand, 
 Thy gentle voice, of mild yet firm command, 
 
To The Queen. 75 
 
 Is heard in ev'ry clime, on ev'ry wave, 
 Thy dazzling sceptre, like a fairy wand, 
 Strikes off the shackles from the struggling slave, 
 And gathers, 'neath its rule, the great, the wise, the 
 brave. 
 
 But yet, 'midst all the treasures that surround 
 Thy Royal Halls, one bliss is still denied, 
 To know the true hearts at thy name that bound, 
 Which ocean from thy presence must divide, 
 Whose voices never swell the boisterous tide 
 Of hourly homage that salutes thy ear ; 
 But yet who cherish, with a Briton's pride, 
 And breathe to infant lips, from year to year, 
 The name thy budding virtues taught them to revere. 
 
 How little deem'st thou of the scenes remote, 
 In which one word, all other words above, 
 Of earthly homage seems to gaily float 
 On every breeze, and sound through every grove 
 A spell to cheer, to animate, to move 
 To bid old age throw off the weight of years, 
 To cherish thoughts of loyalty and love, 
 To garner round the heart those hopes and fears 
 Which, in our Western Homes, VICTORIA'S name en- 
 dears. 
 
 'Tis not that, on our soil, the measured tread 
 Of armed legions speaks thy sovereign sway, 
 'Tis not the huge leviathans that spread 
 Thy meteor flag above each noble bay, 
 
76 Making Land. 
 
 That bids the soul a forced obedience pay ! 
 The despot's tribute from the trembling thrall 
 No ! At our altars sturdy freemen pray 
 That blessings on VICTORIA'S head may fall, 
 And happy household groups each pleasing trait recall. 
 
 And gladly, with our Country's choicest flowers, 
 Thy Son and Heir Acadia's maidens greet, 
 Who shared thy roof, and deigns to honor ours 
 For moments rapt'rous, but alas ! how fleet ! 
 And if in future times the thoughts be sweet 
 To him, of humble scenes beyond the sea, 
 When turning home his mother's smile to meet, 
 And mingle with the high born and the free 
 We'll long remember Him who best reflected Thee ! 
 1860. 
 
 MAKING LAND. 
 
 [On viewing England for the first time.] 
 
 Land of my Fathers ! do I then behold 
 Thy noble outline rising from the sea ? 
 Is this the Isle of which such tales are told ? 
 Home of the wise, the valiant, and the free, 
 Dear to her sons, perchance as dear to me, 
 Whose tongue is her's and whose impetuous tide 
 Of life is of the sap of that great tree, 
 The trunk of which stands herg in all its pride, 
 For whose majestic limbs the world is scarce too wide. 
 
Making Land. 77 
 
 And is this England ? let more sail be spread, 
 The mother's breast invites her unknown child, 
 The glorious visions which his youth have fed, 
 Crowd on the mind and make him almost wild 
 With ecstacy, as, in the distance piled, 
 Her verdant cliff s in solemn grandeur rise : 
 By mixed emotions every sense beguiled, 
 The tears are standing in his straining eyes, 
 While all too slow each cloud the lagging breeze supplies. 
 
 And is this England ? Shall I shortly tread 
 The hallowed soil from which my Fathers came ? 
 Where sleep in honored graves, the mighty dead, 
 Who built the stately fabric of her fame, 
 And, in her Temples, still have kept the flame 
 Of Freedom burning on from age to age ? 
 How, like familiar words, each magic name, 
 In childhood conned from the historic page 
 Of Patriot, Warrior, Poet, Saint or Sage, 
 
 Comes back upon me now, while drawing near 
 The soil on which they labored, fought and sung ; 
 And shall I view the scenes they made so dear, 
 And stroll, entranced, their mouldering tombs among ? 
 Stand where, from craven John reluctant wrung, 
 The Charter's ample guards were first unroll'd, 
 Where, 'neath the Lion Banner, old and young, 
 The hardy Yeoman, Priest, and Baron bold, 
 A lesson gave their sons more precious far than gold ? 
 
 And shall I rove beside the very stream 
 
 Which Shakspeare loved ? beneath the trees recline, 
 
78 The Rhine. 
 
 That broke from his high brow the noonday beam, 
 Less radiant, aye, and almost less divine 
 Than were the gems from that exhaustless mine 
 The brow contained, whose wealth the world supplies, 
 Whose teeming fancies, like to generous wine, 
 Ripen with age ? Sweetest of England's ties, 
 Where'er her children live, there Shakspeare never dies. 
 
 On, on, good Bark ! I go where Milton sleeps, 
 Where Hampden's soul despotic power defied, 
 Where Nelson's urn a grateful Nation keeps, 
 Where Dryden wrote, and gallant Russell died, 
 Where in her ancient Temples, side by side, 
 The master spirits of my Country strove, 
 Where Fox and Chatham thundered in their pride, 
 Where Spencer lines of varied sweetness wove, 
 Where precious memories haunt each mountain, stream 
 
 and grove. 
 1838. 
 
 THE RHINE. 
 
 The Rhine the Rhine beneath me now, 
 
 A mighty volume pours, 
 Its source, the distant mountain's brow, 
 
 Its grave the northern shores. 
 By nations loved, by poets sung, 
 
 The noble stream goes by 
 By crumbling fane and tow'r o'erhung, 
 
 And cliffs that charm the eye. 
 
The Rhine. 79 
 
 But yet, three thousand miles away, 
 Some gentle streams there are, 
 
 That here, midst all this proud array, 
 To me are dearer far. 
 
 I see them winding through the vales 
 
 The Clover's breath perfumes, 
 Where, fluttering in the summer gales, 
 
 The scented Wild Rose blooms ; 
 And where the Elms, with graceful ease, 
 
 Their fringed branches droop ; 
 And where the tassell'd Alder trees 
 
 To kiss their waters stoop. 
 While, glittering in the rosy light 
 
 At day's serene decline, 
 They murmur onwards, calm and bright, 
 
 Those pleasant streams of mine. 
 
 I see them from the mountain gush, 
 
 Where wave the ancient woods 
 O'er rock and steeps impetuous rush, 
 
 To blend their sparkling floods. 
 Now wand'ring through the forest glade, 
 
 To sylvan lakes expand ; 
 In every form of beauty made, 
 
 To bless the pleasant land. 
 And, midst the charms that greet me here 
 
 Besi'de the swelling Rhine, 
 Their voices steal upon my ear, 
 
 Those far-off streams of mine. 
 
8o Coming Home. 
 
 What though no ruins* rise above 
 
 My Country's pleasant streams ; 
 Nor legends wild, of war or love, 
 
 Invoke the Poet's dreams. 
 No lawless power can there disturb 
 
 The Peasant's tranquil sleep ; 
 No towers,t the free-born soul to curb, 
 
 Frown o'er each lofty steep 
 Then, German, keep your Drachenfels,$ 
 
 Vine-clad and foaming Rhine, 
 The taint of bondage on them dwells, 
 
 Far happier streams are mine. 
 1838. 
 
 COMING HOME. 
 
 Mantled in snow, my native land, 
 
 I hail thee from the sea ; 
 Cheerless to others looks the strand, 
 
 But oh ! how dear to me. 
 
 My fellow-voyagers gaze and shrink, 
 
 As blows the breeze from shore, 
 With raptured pulse the air I drink 
 
 The Northern breeze once more. 
 
 * The remains of the old feudal castles are seen in gn , pro- 
 fusion, crowning the hills on both sides of the Rhine. 
 
 t A fortress, with a strong garrison, commands each large i ity on 
 this river. 
 
 \ The Dragon Rock, celebrated in Byron's Childe Harold, and 
 which forms a noble feature of the Rhine's sublime scenery. 
 
Coming Home. 81 
 
 They, thinking of their Southern homes, 
 
 And of the trellised vine ; 
 Wonder from icy shores there comes 
 
 Excited thought like mine. 
 
 As landmarks, they, thy headlands view, 
 
 Right glad to pass them by ; 
 To me they're pictures, stern, but true, 
 
 That charm and cheer the eye. 
 
 They cannot see the scenes beyond, 
 
 Of happy household mirth, 
 The skaters on the glittering pond, 
 
 The children round the hearth. 
 
 They cannot hear the merry cheer 
 
 Of coasters on the steep ; 
 They do not know how soundly here, 
 
 The free and happy sleep. 
 
 They cannot hear the peasant's axe 
 
 Sharp ringing through the groves, 
 Nor see the blazing fire he piles 
 
 To gladden those he loves. 
 
 The sleighs go through the crowded street, 
 
 Like swallows on the wing ; 
 Beneath the furs warm fingers meet, 
 
 Hark ! how the sleigh-bells ring. 
 
82 Saturday Night at Sea. 
 
 There's not a sound that cleaves the air 
 
 But music has for me ; 
 Nightly the warm hearts beating there, 
 
 Have blest me on the sea. 
 
 The stately piles of old renown 
 With reverent thought I've trod, 
 
 Where noble hearts have laid them down 
 With History and with God. 
 
 The crowded mart, the busy throng, 
 The gay and brilliant halls ; 
 
 The tramp of steeds, the voice of song, 
 The many-pictured walls, 
 
 Are all behind ; but, all before, 
 
 My native land I view ; 
 A blessing on her sea-girt shore, 
 Where toil the good and true. 
 January 25, 1862. 
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT AT SEA. 
 
 Sweethearts and Wives the Goblet pass 
 
 A Bumper let it be, 
 Bright eyes are sparkling through each glass 
 
 'Tis " Saturday night at sea." 
 
 The matron sits by her fireside, 
 
 Her children at her knee j 
 They're breathing prayers that we may glide 
 
 In safety o'er the sea. 
 
The Stormy Petrel. 83 
 
 The maiden droops in her shady bow'r 
 What cause of grief has she ? 
 
 The heart that heeds not bird or flow'r, 
 Is with us on the sea. 
 
 But, brighter hours are yet in store, 
 
 From ev'ry danger free, 
 We'll share the smiles of those on shore, 
 
 We toasted on the sea. 
 
 THE STORMY PETREL. 
 
 Away away o'er the deep blue wave, 
 
 I spread my froward wing, 
 And the Winter's gale as proudly brave 
 
 As the balmy airs of Spring. 
 
 A venturous life and gay I lead, 
 
 Whatever wind may blow, 
 There's a boundless sky above my head, 
 
 And boundless seas below. 
 
 Let the Birds of Land to homes repair 
 
 Beneath the greenwood tree, 
 The hunter's tube awaits them there 
 
 He dare not follow me. 
 
 I scorn the land and the landsman's hate, 
 
 The sailor's Bird am I ; 
 My life is charm'd, for he knows the fate 
 
 Of those by whom I die. 
 
84 The Stormy Petrel 
 
 In shady groves and woodland bower, 
 
 Let others rear the nest, 
 On the crested wave, in its wildest hour 
 
 I fold my wing to rest. 
 
 Though the hedge may boast its perfumed rose, 
 
 And clear the Streamlets shine, 
 Oh ! what are the joys of earth to those 
 
 That ev'ry hour are mine ? 
 
 The Linnet may list the Peasant's sigh 
 
 At rosy eventide, 
 I catch the glance of the Rover's eye, 
 
 As he clasps his sea borne Bride. 
 
 The Iceberg's dangerous track I mark, 
 
 Till it wastes beneath the sun, 
 And I float above the ravening Shark, 
 
 When his struggling prey is won ; 
 
 I mark the sport, when the black cloud scowls, 
 
 And the Tars aloft are sent, 
 And the sun-bleached sail, while the tempest howls, 
 
 From their hands like chaff is rent. 
 
 When the pumps are choked, and the gallant ship 
 
 Goes down to ocean's cave, 
 I flap my wing o'er her pennon's tip, 
 
 Ere it sinks beneath the wave. 
 
 When embattl'd fleets, in fierce array, 
 Their sulph'rous broadsides pour. 
 
The Coaster. 85 
 
 The varying fortunes of the day, 
 The belching cannons' roar, 
 
 The dying groan the rallying cry 
 The Boarder's desperate leap, 
 
 These are the scenes that glad my eye, 
 The wonders of the deep. 
 
 Then away away o'er the wave I'll rove 
 
 With restless wing and free, 
 The timid may seek the leafy grove, 
 
 Give me the stormy sea. 
 
 THE COASTER. 
 
 Though the idle may heed not, the wealthy despise 
 The race to which I and my fellows belong, 
 
 My voice o'er my own native waters shall rise, 
 And the deck of my shallop resound to my song. 
 
 Though my craft may be small, she is snug and she's trim, 
 And her crew are accustomed to battle the wave, 
 
 They are cheerful of heart, and athletic of limb, 
 And follow the business their bold fathers gave. 
 
 Through the , storm and the sleet of the winter we sail, 
 While the rich and the feeble on couches repose ; 
 
 There is health in our toil, and a charm in the gale, 
 And our courage still rises the harder it blows. 
 
86 The Coaster. 
 
 Every harbor from Sable to Canso's a home, 
 
 Every depth from the Banks to St. Lawrence we've 
 tried, 
 
 And we care not though round Labrador we may roam, 
 Or sweep on the strength of old Fundy's fierce tide. 
 
 Now wealth from the wave we draw forth with our lines. 
 
 And now with a cargo of produce we're stow'd, 
 Or having a full freight of coal from the mines, 
 
 We slowly sail on with our cumbersome load. 
 
 Though the Merchantman looks gay, her crew are but 
 
 slaves 
 
 And own not a stick of the vessel they steer, 
 Though the Frigate glides by, like the Queen of the 
 
 Waves, 
 We know that the cat and the bilboes are there. 
 
 Then who would exchange the rough life that we lead, 
 Joint owners at sea, and free sons of the soil, 
 
 At the bidding of others to labor and bleed 
 With but little of pleasure to sweeten our toil. 
 
 We build our own shallops, we rear our own crew, 
 And life has for us sweet endearment in store, 
 
 For though luxury's fetters our souls never knew, 
 Bright eyes bid us welcome when peril is o'er. 
 
 Thus we Coasters enrich the fair land that we love, 
 And if danger should threaten, the cutlass we'd seize, 
 
 And our hearts and our sinews in battle should prove, 
 That the spirit of freedom is nursed by the breeze. 
 
The Wild Cherry Tree. 87 
 
 THE SONG OF THE MICMAC. 
 
 Oh ! who on the mountain, the plain, or the wave, 
 With the arm of the Micmac will dare to contend ? 
 
 Who can hurl the keen spear with the sons of the brave 
 Or who can the bow with such energy bend ? 
 
 Who can follow the Moose, or the wild Cariboo, 
 With a footstep as light and unwearied as he ? 
 
 Who can bring down the Loon with an arrow so 'true, 
 Or paddle his bark o'er as stormy a sea ? 
 
 WTio can traverse the mountain or swim the broad lake ? 
 
 Who can hunger and thirst with such fortitude bear ? 
 Or who can the Beaver as skilfully take ? 
 
 Or the Salmon so nimbly transfix with his spear ? 
 
 And if the wild war whoop ascends on the gale, 
 Who can with the Micmac the tomahawk wield ? 
 
 Oh ! when was he known in the combat to quail ? 
 Whoe'er saw him fly from the red battle field ? 
 
 Free sons of the forest, then peal forth the song, 
 Till each valley and rock shall of victory tell. 
 
 And the ghosts of our heroes, while flitting along 
 With triumph shall smile on the spots where they fell. 
 
 THE WILD CHERRY TREE. 
 
 Child of the 'wilderness gladly I see 
 
 Thy blossoms unfolding on hill-side and lea ; 
 
 By streamlet and river thy white veil is spread, 
 
The Wild Cherry Tree. 
 
 Where the Witch Elm looks lovingly down on thy head ; 
 
 In the depth of the forest the Moose turns aside 
 
 To gaze on thy branches with pleasure and pride ; 
 
 And the Salmon leaps higher, if lit by the beam 
 
 Of noontide, you gracefully droop o'er the stream. 
 
 Oh ! dear to all nature, but dearer to me 
 
 Is the pride of the Spring time the Wild Cherry Tree. 
 
 Storm-tested, the Oak on the mountain top grows, 
 And the date of its seedling no living man knows j 
 The Maple, in Autumn, is lovely to view, 
 And the tremulous Aspen, that shakes off the dew ; 
 Like a Temple the Pine Grove invites us to prayer, 
 And we worship 'midst beauty and solitude there ; 
 By the Beech in the pastures, 'tis pleasant to lean, 
 And the Fir, through the snow wreath, looks cheery and 
 
 green. 
 
 Though highly I prize them, yet dearer to me 
 Is the pride of the Spring time, the Wild Cherry Tree. 
 
 The Laurel's pink blossoms look gay on the moor, 
 The Larch's red berries droop round the church door ; 
 The Alder Clumps, dress'd in their tassels, are fine, 
 And the Rockets, the Windfalls with beauty enshrine ; 
 The wings of each zephyr the Bay-leaf perfumes, 
 And, rich in its odors, the modest Fern blooms. 
 Oh ! countless the blossoms the woodlands display, 
 And varied the scents on the night air that stray 
 From childhood I loved them but dearer to me 
 Is the delicate flower of the Wild Cherry Tree. 
 
The Micmac. 89 
 
 J blooms on the barren it smiles through the grove, 
 It hangs o'er the path where the young lovers rove ; 
 Like a sweet flag of truce, at the Pensioner's door, 
 It gladdens his eye when life's warfare is o'er ; 
 Round the Emigrant's clearing, far back in the wild 
 It catches the eye of each frolicksome child, 
 And the Indian draws, in the gloomiest hour 
 New health from its bark, and gay thought from its 
 
 flower. 
 
 And black eyes will sparkle, whenever they see, 
 Festoon'd round the Wigwam, the Wild Cherry Tree. 
 
 Fair child of the woodland, wherever I roam, 
 I ne'er can forget that you bloom'd round my home ; 
 That the brow of that sister I've wept o'er for hours, 
 Was crown'd with thy berries, and wreath'd with thy 
 
 flowers. 
 That the roads where we rambled, the knolls where we 
 
 stood 
 
 While our voices in gladness rang clear through the wood, 
 That the spots which, love hallow'd, still verdant appear, 
 Unchanged in a feature undimmed by a tear, 
 Were graced by thy presence, and come back to me 
 When Spring decks in blossoms the Wild Cherry Tree, 
 
 THE MICMAC. 
 
 Though o'er Acadia's hills and plains 
 The wand'ring Micmac listless strays, 
 
 While scarce a single trace remains 
 Of what he was in other days. 
 8 
 
The Micmae. 
 
 And though he now an outcast seems 
 
 Upon the lands his Fathers trod, 
 And his dark eye no longer beams 
 
 With pride which bent but to his God, 
 
 Though the fire-water's deadly wave 
 Which even pride could not control, 
 
 Has drown'd each feeling high that gave 
 Such innate grandeur to his soul ; 
 
 There was a time when Nature's child 
 With nobler port and manner bore him, 
 
 And ranged with joy his native wild, 
 
 Or slept with Heaven's blue curtain o'er him. 
 
 Long ere the white man's axe was heard 
 
 Resounding in the forest shade, 
 Long ere the rifle's voice had stirr'd 
 
 The stillness of the Sylvan glade, 
 
 Ere Science, with her plastic hand, 
 
 And Labor, with his patient toil, 
 Had changed the features of the land, 
 
 And dispossess'd him of the soil. 
 
 Then let fair Fancy change the scene, 
 While gazing on the Micmac's brow, 
 
 And showing what he once has been, 
 Make us forget what he is now. 
 
Glide merrily on my little skiff. 91 
 
 MY FATHER. 
 
 [These lines were written at the age of 16, and published in 
 the Weekly Chronicle, in 1821.] 
 
 His form, combining health and ease, 
 
 And features form'd by Heaven to please, 
 
 His face is placid. In his mien 
 
 Meekness and Charity are seen. 
 
 If you could view his polish'd mind, 
 
 Religion's self is there combined 
 
 With grace, and truth, and manly pride, 
 
 Which to Religion are allied, 
 
 You'd find, if you his life could scan, 
 
 " God's noblest work, an honest man." 
 
 GLIDE MERRILY ON MY LITTLE SKIFF. 
 
 Glide merrily on, my little skiff, 
 O'er waves lit up by Luna's smile, 
 
 There lies no shoal or rugged cliff 
 Between thee and yon fairy Isle. 
 
 Skim lightly o'er the glittering tide, 
 The stars shall be our lamp the while, 
 
 And bear me quickly to the side 
 Of her I love on yonder Isle. 
 
 The Miser doats upon his store, 
 
 And dreams the Warrior's heart beguile, 
 If fate bestows, I'll ask no more 
 
 Than her who lives on yonder Isle. 
 1827. 
 
92 To My Wife. 
 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 My gentle Wife, though girlhood's peach-like bloom 
 Perchance is passing from thy cheek away, 
 And though the radiance that did erst illume 
 Thine eye be temper'd by a milder ray ; 
 And though no more youth's airy visions play 
 Around thy heart, or flutter through thy brain, 
 Still art thou worthy of the Poet's lay, 
 Still shall my spirit breathe the Lover's strain, 
 And, if approved by thee, not breathed perhaps in vain. 
 
 E'en as the Painter's or the Sculptor's eye 
 Dwells on some matchless vision which combines 
 All that they deem of Beauty, ere they try 
 By inspiration's aid, to catch the lines. 
 To deck earth's highest and her holiest shrines, 
 So did I oft my boyhood's heart beguile 
 With one fair image, and the glowing mines 
 Of Ind would have been freely given the while, 
 To bid that being live to glad me with her smile. 
 
 But when in maiden loveliness you came, 
 Giving reality to all the fair 
 
 And graceful charms that, blent with woman's name, 
 Had seem'd too rich for earthly forms to wear. 
 Yet stood beside me in the twilight there 
 Then came the agony, to artists known, 
 The dread that visions so surpassing rare 
 May fade away, and ne'er become their own, 
 And leave their hearts to mourn, all desolate and lone. 
 
To My Wife. 93 
 
 Thou wert the guiding star whose living beam 
 Flash'd o'er Youth's troubled thoughts and vague 
 
 desires ; 
 
 Something of thee was blent with ev'ry dream 
 That fed Ambition's fierce but smother'd fire's. 
 The gentle fancies Poesy inspires 
 The hopes and fears of Manhood's early dawn, 
 That lent their witchery to youthful lyres, 
 Were of thy guileless fascinations born, 
 And threw their spells around the fount whence they 
 
 were drawn. 
 
 If in my youthful breast one thought arose 
 That had a trace of Heav'n, it caught its hue 
 From the instinctive virtue that o'erflows 
 Each word and act of thine, and if I threw 
 Aside those base desires that sometimes drew 
 My spirit down to earth's unhallow'd bowers, 
 'Twas when I met, or heard, or thought of you, 
 Or roved beside you, in those ev'ning hours, 
 Beneath the boughs that waved wide o'er your Island 
 flowers. 
 
 Thou canst remember can'st thou e'er forget, 
 While life remains, that placid summer night 
 When, from the thousand stars in azure set, 
 Stream'd forth a flood of soft subduing light, 
 And o'er our heads, in Heaven's topmost height, 
 The moon moved proudly, like a very Queen, 
 Claiming all earthly worship as her right, 
 And hallowing, by her power, the peaceful scene 
 Spread out beneath her smile, so tranquil and serene. 
 
94 To My Wife 
 
 Then, as you wander'd, trembling, by my side, 
 Gush'd forth the treasured tenderness of years ; 
 And your young ear dr^nk in the impetuous tide 
 Of early passion boyhood's hopes and fears 
 Afnrm f d with all the energy of tears. 
 And then love wove around our hearts a chain 
 Which ev'ry passing moment more endears 
 Mingling our souls, as streams that seek the plain, 
 Through wastes and flowers to pass, but never part 
 again. 
 
 Years have gone by since then and I have seen 
 Thy budding virtues blossom and expand ; 
 Still, side by side, amidst life's cares we've been, 
 And o'er its verdant spots roved hand in hand ; 
 And I have marked the easy self-command 
 That every thought and movement still pervades 
 The gen'rous nature and the liberal hand 
 The glance that gladdens me, but ne'er upbraids, 
 And the confiding soul whose faith faints not nor fades. 
 
 Like to the young bard's Harp, whose magic tone 
 Delights, yet startles, when he strikes the strings, 
 And stirs his soul with rapture all its own 
 As an unpractised hand he o'er it flings, 
 Thy heart was once to me. But now its springs 
 Of deepest feeling I have known so long, 
 Its treasured stores of rich and holy things, 
 Its sweetest chords round which soft accents throng, 
 That life becomes to me like one inspiring song. 
 
To My Wife. 95 
 
 Nor think, my love, that time can ever steal 
 Its sweetness from me. Years may wander by, 
 And in their course the frolic blood congeal, 
 Or dim the lustre of that hazel eye. 
 But, even then, with proud idolatry 
 On that pale cheek and wasted form I'll gaze, 
 And wander backward to those scenes where I 
 Bent o'er them first, in youth's primeval days 
 Where memory all her wealth of hoarded thought dis- 
 plays. 
 
 The lonely beach on which we often roved, 
 And watched the moonbeams flickering on the sea 
 The ancient trees, whose grateful shade we loved, 
 The grassy mounds where I have sat by thee 
 The simple strains you warbled, wild and free. 
 The tales I loved to read and you to hear, 
 With every glance of thine so linked shall be, 
 That every passing day and circling year, 
 Shall to my faithful heart my early love endear. 
 
 I'll paint you as you bloom'd in that sweet hour, 
 When friendly faces beamed on every side, 
 And, drooping like a frail but lovely flower, 
 'Fore God and man you claimed to be my bride, 
 Or, as you now, with all a mother's pride, 
 Fold to your beating breast your darling child ; 
 And thus, though years beneath our steps may glide, 
 My fancy still, by mem'ry's power beguiled, 
 Shall whisper : Thus she looked 'twas thus in youth 
 
 she smiled. 
 July, 1832. 
 
96 To My Sister Jane. 
 
 TO MY SISTER JANE. 
 [Written at Musquodoboit, after the elections, in 1847.] 
 
 Sister mine, I'm home at last, 
 
 Life's severest conflict's o'er, 
 The seals are set upon the past, 
 And, like a tempest-shaken mast, 
 That press of sail, and shot, and blast, 
 
 Have spared to reach the friendly shore, 
 Conscious of neither warp nor strain, 
 And draped with bunting once again ; 
 Be mine, the task, my dearest Jane, 
 Forgetting ocean's helter-skelter, 
 To deck the port I've toiled to shelter. 
 
 Sister mine, when April showers 
 
 Strewed with buds each woodland glade, 
 Our hearts expanding like the flowers, 
 
 A tryst betwixt us two was made, 
 How kept, you know ; or, by this token, 
 You rather know how it was broken. 
 When summer came, and you were free, 
 
 No hour had I to call my own ; 
 And now the sunny hours have flown, 
 The cares of life environ thee. 
 Another year must pass, ere we, 
 With tearful eyes and full hearts yearning, 
 Our steps to keep that tryst are turning. 
 Would we had kept it, sister mine, 
 
 And looked into each other's faces, 
 For I would mark, with jealous care, 
 
To My Sister Jane. 97 
 
 The slightest touch, the faintest traces 
 That Time, upon that form of thine 
 
 Has left, and miser-like, compare 
 The treasure spared, with what I knew 
 When first his light wing o'er us flew. 
 We cannot meet, but yet our souls 
 
 Ever commingle day and night, 
 The past our current thought controls, 
 
 Our hearts are mutual in our dreams, 
 At times how sombre, then how bright, 
 
 We climb the hills, and trace the streams 
 In which we used to take delight, 
 Recalling scenes receding ever, 
 And forms, to be forgotten never ! 
 
 That circle first, beside the sea, 
 So dearly loved by you and me, 
 On which, as in Art's grandest themes, 
 The light of love divinely beams, 
 From one whose gracious presence seems 
 To bless the Earth, and charm the Air, 
 And shed effulgence everywhere. 
 Oh ! how we loved him, love him now, 
 Our noble Father. By his side 
 My Mother, who my faults would chide, 
 With cares domestic on her brow, 
 More wayward, and of sterner mood, 
 But ever provident and good ; 
 Hating all shams, and looking through 
 The Beautiful, to find the True, 
 
98 To My Sister Jane. 
 
 Sits knitting by the window pane, 
 Can you not see her, dearest Jane ? 
 
 The Cottage too, its ashes now 
 
 Are borne on every idle wind, 
 The walls are down, and not a tree 
 
 We loved remains, but yet how soon 
 We can replace it on the brow 
 
 Of that sweet knoll, and, if inclined, 
 Restore it all, as you and me 
 
 Prized it all earthly piles aboon. 
 
 The dear old place, so quaint and queer, 
 Our home for many a pleasant year. 
 By Pine Groves from the world shut out, 
 And battlemented round about 
 With rude stone walls, that cleared the soil, 
 
 And shelter to the bushes yielded, 
 Where grew our treasures, precious spoil, 
 
 From cutting winds securely shielded. 
 The Lilac Hedge, rememberest thou, 
 
 That wandering lovers used to rifle. 
 The Barn, and then the old red Cow 
 
 That gave us syllabubs, and trifle ? 
 See'st thou the Apple Trees in bloom, 
 
 Or leaves with Cherries gaily braided ? 
 The stiff old Poplars grim and high, 
 Like sentinels dropped from the sky, 
 
 To guard the door they never shaded. 
 
 Half hid 'neath Blackberries and Roses, 
 The crystal Spring is yet o'erflowing ; 
 
To My Sister Jane. 99 
 
 Unlike Narcissus, we can gaze, 
 
 And by the light of other days, 
 
 Find in its depths vain thoughts to smother, 
 
 And still more dearly love each other. 
 
 The Lawn, with Oak trees round the edges, 
 
 Sister mine, how oft we've trod, 
 North the Currants formed the hedges, 
 
 South the Maples worshipped God ; 
 Lovely when the sap was flowing, 
 Lovelier still in Autumn glowing, 
 Smiling when the Sun caressed them, 
 When the Frosts in purple dressed them, 
 Smiling still as we should smile, 
 Looking heavenward all the while, 
 Though the Frosts have sometimes found us 
 With our kindred falling round us. 
 
 The " Arm," upon it be my blessing, 
 
 Yet in beauty ebbs and flows ; 
 Labor's hands its shores are dressing, 
 Crime, upon its margin pressing, 
 
 Sad purgation undergoes. 
 Carriage drives are formed and forming, 
 
 Where our feet but pathways found, 
 And the Boutelliers * are storming 
 
 With the pick our berry ground. 
 But the water yet remaineth 
 
 Blue and cheery as before, 
 Not a' cove but still retaineth 
 
 Wavelets that we loved of yore, 
 * A family living in the neighbourhood. 
 
100 To My Sister Jane. 
 
 - -if* 
 
 Lightly up the rock-weeds lifting, 
 
 Gently murmuring o'er the sand, 
 Like romping girls each other chasing, 
 
 Ever brilliant, ever shifting, 
 Interlaced and interlacing, 
 
 Till they sink upon the strand. 
 
 Sweet the voice of music sounds 
 
 On that lovely bay at night 
 
 When, as the oar the water wounds, 
 
 'Tis bathed with phosphorescent light. 
 And the Indian's torch, afar 
 Glimmers like a fallen star. 
 Pleasant was it to behold 
 The veil of fog, at morning rolPd 
 By the sun from off that bay, 
 While it like a mirror lay ; 
 Bridal vesture drawn aside, 
 Never lovelier looked the bride. 
 
 Pleasant was it, Sister mine, 
 When the evening sun would shine 
 
 Down the " Arm " in all his splendor, 
 Like a lover, warmer growing, 
 As the hour approached for going ; 
 
 Then, as grew the tints more tender, 
 Pleasant 'twas to see him fade 
 In rosy bowers his beams had made, 
 Lighting with his sweetest smile, 
 What appeared his funeral pile, 
 As the Monarch we are told 
 Midst " barbaric pearls and gold," 
 
To My Sister Jane. 101 
 
 On the couch his hand had fired, 
 Like a reveller expired. 
 
 Could we have kept our treasures round us 
 
 Till the parting hour, dear Jane, 
 Oh how rich the year had found us, 
 
 How exulting then the strain ; 
 But of loving, count the cost 
 In the treasures we have lost. 
 
 Nearly all that stood around us 
 
 In the sunlight on that shore, 
 All that to that Cottage bound us, 
 
 To the grave have gone before. 
 As we gaze upon the Ocean, 
 
 Calm and tranquil as it lies, 
 Who can check our souls' emotioa ? 
 
 Who shall dry our tearful eyes ? 
 
 The sea has pictures, Art might sigh for, 
 
 Grand and terrible and true, 
 Tableaux that our thoughts enthrall, 
 Scenes that Memory can recall, 
 Vividly each tint retaining 
 Till our senses, over-straining 
 
 Clutch the very forms we view. 
 
 Those we've nestled and would die for. 
 Two such pictures hang, unfading, 
 
 In our hearts, my dearest Jane ; 
 How intense the depth of shading, 
 
 Every ray of light is pain ; 
 But the pleasant faces round us, 
 
To Susan Ann. 
 
 And the happy homes we share 
 Win us from the thoughts that wound us, 
 And forbid us to despair. 
 
 Sacred are the dead who've perished 
 
 On the land and on the main, 
 Be their mem'ries ever cherished, 
 
 But to Joy let's turn again ; 
 Good, and dutiful, and true, 
 Toil your girls to comfort you, 
 And my children full of grace 
 Make my Home a holy place, 
 Where work and study, thought and play, 
 Alternate, wile the hours away. 
 Come and see us, Sister mine, 
 
 Welcome shall your footsteps be 
 Merry eyes will brighter shine, 
 
 Eager arms be stretched for thee 
 Come, and she, who, by my side, 
 From the hour I claimed my bride 
 Has bred my chicks, and made the nest 
 Ever jocund, ever blest, 
 Shall strain you to the heart I've proved, 
 And tell you how your brother loved. 
 
 TO SUSAN ANN. 
 
 Though but a few short days have flown 
 
 Since down your cheek the tear drops strayed, 
 
 And round your neck my arm was thrown, 
 And fond " goodbyes " were ling'ring said ; 
 
To Susan Ann. 103 
 
 And though 'twill not be long till I 
 
 Shall bound again to your embrace ; 
 When joy shall light your hazel eye, 
 
 And banish sorrow's ev'ry trace. 
 
 At morn your look of love I miss 
 Your voice's music all day long ; 
 
 At eve your chaste and balmy kiss 
 The touching music of your song. 
 
 The silent pressure of your hand, 
 Your spotless bosom's gentle swell 
 
 And wanting these, I long to stand 
 Once more within their magic spell. 
 
 The Oak its, branches flings on high, 
 The lovely River rolls and shines, 
 
 The morning breezes softly sigh 
 Among the stately forest Pines. 
 
 The Birds are pouring forth their lays, 
 The wild Rose scents the balmy air, 
 
 And the bright Sun's unclouded rays 
 Are shedding beauty everywhere. 
 
 Tho ' grand the scenes, I tread the while, 
 And fair the flowers o'er which I roam, 
 
 I long to meet your placid smile 
 
 And sigh for Home my happy Home. 
 
104 
 
 OH THINK NOT THAT MY HEART CAN E'ER. 
 
 Oh ! think not that my heart can e'er 
 
 Before another's altar bow, 
 Or that you'll cease to be as dear 
 
 To that fond heart as you are now. 
 
 Oh ! think not when we shortly sever, 
 
 Another's form will dearer be, 
 Oh ! no, 'tis you and you forever 
 
 My bosom's idol still must be. 
 
 For while existence I can claim, 
 In my heart's core you'll be enshrined, 
 
 In death I'll breathe your much loved name 
 The dearest, far, I leave behind. 
 
 You bid me think of you no more, 
 
 But can I from my bosom tear 
 The thoughts of her I must adore, 
 
 Whose image still lies buried there ? 
 
 Oh ! what is all this world can give 
 Of riches, splendor, pleasure, pride, 
 
 If she, for whom alone we live, 
 
 Her heart, her smile has still denied ? 
 
 What are Ambition's charms to me? 
 
 Altho ' my mind they oft beguile, 
 What are they all if wanting thee ? 
 
 What are they worth without your smile ? 
 
Nay, chide me not. 105 
 
 Oh ! if your heart must ne'er be mine, 
 
 To one more worthy be it given, 
 And that each blessing may be thine 
 
 Shall be my constant prayer to Heaven. 
 1823. 
 
 NAY, CHIDE ME NOT. 
 
 Nay, chide me not, although I take, 
 With trembling lip, one holy kiss, 
 
 For naught on Earth can e'er awake 
 A throb of joy so pure as this. 
 
 One instant on those lips to dwell, 
 
 Which none before have dared to press \ 
 
 One instant feel that bosom swell 
 Responsive to my fond caress ; 
 
 While in your mild, expressive eye, 
 And on that beauteous brow of thine, 
 
 And on that cheek, where roses lie, 
 I read, your trusting heart is mine. 
 
 Oh ! lovely are the mellow beams 
 
 Of Summer's Sun at evening straying, 
 
 And soothingly the Moonlight gleams 
 
 When o'er the sleeping Wave 'tis playing ; 
 
 And beauteous are the Forest flowers 
 When fresh from Flora's hand they spring, 
 
 And, dear are childhood's early hours 
 Round which the memory loves to cling. 
 
io6 The Beach. 
 
 Yes, these have charms, yet purer still 
 
 To youthful hearts a joy is given, 
 Which touches with a deeper thrill, 
 
 Which, snatched on Earth, still tastes of Heaven. 
 
 Then chide me not, altho' I take 
 
 With trembling lip one holy kiss 
 For naught on Earth can e'er awake 
 
 A throb of joy so pure as this. 
 1827. 
 
 THE BEACH. 
 
 The Moonbeams slept upon the Wave 
 Which scarce a wand'ring zephyr curl'd, 
 
 And with their silvery brightness gave 
 Dreams of a fairer, holier world. 
 
 The distant Isles their shadows threw, 
 Dark'ning the water's fair expanse, 
 
 While Nature's placid stillness drew 
 By witchery forth the Soul's romance. 
 
 A rapture o'er our spirits broke 
 Till that still hour unknown before, 
 
 And many a thought which love awoke 
 Was utter'd on that lovely shore. 
 
 For wild and lonely was the scene 
 
 On which the sacred beams descended, 
 
 Rock, Isle and Wave, and Forest green, 
 In lights and shades were softly blended. 
 
Thd Time may steal the roseate blush. 107 
 
 Along the pebbly Beach we stray'd, 
 
 And gazed upon the shining Sea, 
 And rais'd our eyes to Heaven, and pray'd 
 
 As bright and calm our lives might be. 
 
 The drowsy world had sought repose, 
 No wandering footstep lingered near 
 
 To check thy song, which sweetly rose 
 Like fairy music on the ear. 
 
 Your cheek was pillow'd on my breast, 
 
 My arm around you fondly clung, 
 And, as the Bird bends o'er its nest, 
 
 In hope and joy o'er thee I hung. 
 
 And from the glorious bright array 
 Which Nafure spread before the sight, 
 
 Turn'd, half unconsciously away, 
 To watch your eye's unsullied light. 
 
 The Pilgrim, thus, 'midst fairest bowers, 
 
 One cherish'd, deep sensation feels, 
 Nor heeds the rich and fragrant flowers, 
 
 While to his guardian Saint he kneels. 
 1827. 
 
 THO' TIME MAY STEAL THE ROSEATE BLUSH. 
 
 Tho' Time may steal the roseate blush 
 
 On which I now so fondly gaze, 
 Its sternest power can never crush 
 
 The love which lit my youthful days. 
 
io8 Thd Time may steal the roseate blush. 
 
 Your cheek may blanch, your eye grow dim, 
 Your clustering locks with sorrow fade, 
 
 But still you'll be as dear to him 
 
 Who on your breast in Boyhood laid. 
 
 Who, o'er you bent whole happy hours, 
 Or round your form enraptured clung, 
 
 While Love and Hope transformed to flowers 
 The sharpest thorns that near him sprung, 
 
 Who, in his childish heart would cherish 
 Bright thoughts that kindled at your name, 
 
 Who'd rather Life and Peace should perish, 
 Than try to quench the glowing flame. 
 
 Who, when the warm and genial tide 
 Of youthful blood, flowed fresh and free, 
 
 Was only happy by your side, 
 
 Was never blest till loved by thee. 
 
 Time may steal on, and Age advance, 
 Affection's rays will brighter beam, 
 
 I'll love your eye's mild mellow'd glance, 
 As now I love its sparkling gleam. 
 
 And though the hand of Age may press 
 
 Its furrows on your gentle brow, 
 In meek and faded loveliness 
 
 'Twill be as dear as it is now. 
 
Song. 109 
 
 The glow of Mind, the Spirit's light, 
 Which Time or Age can never take, 
 
 Will still shine on, undimmed and bright, 
 And many a holy rapture wake. 
 
 And Mem'ry will recall the hours 
 
 When side by side we sought the grove, 
 
 And there in Nature's beauteous bowers, 
 Poured forth our vows of mutual love. 
 
 While to my bounding heart I held 
 All that to that fond heart was dear, 
 
 And your unsullied bosom swelled 
 
 With Love, unchecked by doubt or fear. 
 
 And thus, while Mem'ry's power shall last, 
 Time ne'er can break Love's flowery chain 
 
 That links the present with the past, 
 
 And brings youth's pleasures back again. 
 1827. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Oh ! calm be your rest may the Spirit of Dreams 
 In her gayest attire, steal over your brain, 
 
 Till the splendor of morning's enlivening beams, 
 Awakes you with smiles to bewitch us again. 
 
 Oh ! calm be your rest may each vision that springs, 
 Be bright -as the hues which o'er Eden were spread, 
 
 While Sleep, from his lightest and downiest wings 
 Around you his slumber-st'eep'd poppies shall shed. 
 
no The Birth Day. 
 
 Oh ! calm be your rest while your lids gently close, 
 Like the leaves of the Lily when sunlight has flown, 
 
 And a flush, like the delicate tint which the Rose 
 Wears at eve, o'er your cheek in its stillness is thrown. 
 
 Oh ! calm be your rest may your thoughts steal along 
 If in sleep they intrude, like some silvery rill, 
 
 Which at night never ceases to murmur its song, 
 But wanders 'mid blossoms and flow'rets still. 
 
 Oh ! calm be your rest but while kneeling in prayer, 
 When the glow of devotion is kindled most bright, 
 
 Let a thought of your lover be lingering there, 
 
 And his name, 'mid your orisons, fondly take flight. 
 
 THE BIRTH DAY. 
 
 Believe me, love, I've kept the day, 
 But not with noise or glee 
 
 I've cheer 'd my heart, though far away, 
 With quiet thoughts of thee. 
 
 I have not breathed thy name above 
 The wine-cup's sparkling tide 
 
 But oh ! I've dreamt of all the love, 
 I've shared when by thy side. 
 
 The glowing picture of thy youth, 
 
 In maiden charms attired ; 
 The vows of tenderness and truth 
 
 Thy modest worth inspired, 
 
The Wedding Day. in 
 
 The ardent hopes, the anxious fears, 
 
 That mark our wedded lot 
 The sweet delights of by-gone years 
 
 These have not been forgot. 
 
 But o'er my head, and on my brain, 
 They've crowded thick and fast, 
 
 Until I've tasted o'er again, 
 
 Each joy that crowned the past. 
 
 Then trust me, love, I've kept the day, 
 
 But not with noisy glee 
 I've cheered my heart, though far away, 
 
 With quiet thoughts of thee. 
 May 12, 1834. 
 
 THE WEDDING DAY. 
 
 This sunny morn this sunny morn, 
 
 How fair a dream it brings 
 How bright the thoughts, of Mem'ry born, 
 
 It o'er the Spirit flings. 
 
 Methinks I still can see thee stand, 
 With pure and 'stainless brow, 
 
 Methinks I press your plighted hand. 
 And hear your nuptial vow. 
 
 While down your cheek the gushing tear, 
 
 By mingled feelings stirred, 
 Rolled in its pearly brightness there 
 
 At every solemn word 
 
1 1 2 The Wedding Day. 
 
 That broke the thousand sinless charms 
 Round childhood's dwelling thrown, 
 
 And took you from parental arms 
 To give you to my own. 
 
 Methinks your cheek this morn appears 
 
 To bear its bridal hue, 
 Your eye the soften'd radiance wears 
 
 That then it mildly threw. 
 
 Methinks the kiss your lip bestows, 
 Thrills through my spirit now 
 
 Like that, which, spite the blush that rose, 
 Then crown'd our marriage vow. 
 
 And though along Life's varied way 
 We've met some cares the while, 
 
 I still can see our Wedding Day 
 Reflected in your smile. 
 
 Though e'en the chilly hand of Death 
 Has crush'd one tender flower. 
 
 Its memory, like the perfume's breath, 
 But sanctifies this hour. 
 
 And still as time this morning brings, 
 
 May ev'ry year disclose 
 The depths of those unsullied springs 
 
 Whence young affection flows. 
 February 2nd, 1830. 
 
To Ellen. 113 
 
 TO ELLEN. 
 
 My gentle child my gentle child, 
 
 I scarcely knew how dear 
 Thou wert, while in my arms you smiled, 
 
 Or laughed and gambol'd near. 
 
 But now, that thou art far away, 
 
 And I am all alone, 
 I long to join you at your play, 
 
 And catch each tender tone. 
 
 To hear you call " Papa !" once more, 
 
 To dance you on my knee, 
 Or hear your whispered " yes !" breathed o'er, 
 
 The tales I'd tell to thee. 
 
 I long around my neck to feel 
 
 Your little hands entwine, 
 And from your lips sweet kisses steal, 
 
 And pay you back with mine. 
 
 But many a vale and mountain wild, 
 
 As here I sadly roam, 
 Divide me from my gentle child, 
 
 And from my happy home. 
 
 A thousand infant forms appear, 
 
 Lit up by laughing eyes, 
 But still my Ellen is not here, 
 
 And still her father sighs. 
 10 
 
H4 A Love Song. 
 
 I see the happy parent fold 
 His darling to his breast ; 
 
 But when shall I my babe behold, 
 My beautiful and blest ? 
 
 A LOVE SONG. 
 
 My Mary's eyes my Mary's eyes 
 What would I give, to be where they 
 
 Are looking blue as summer skies, 
 And shedding joy with ev'ry ray ? 
 
 And then her little rosy lip, 
 
 That breathes my name with such a grace, 
 If I could now its nectar sip, 
 
 T'would brighten up this lonely place. 
 
 There's music in her roughest tone, 
 There's magic in her ev'ry motion. 
 
 I'd rather be with her alone, 
 
 Than sailing on this tedious ocean. 
 
 Oh ! could I fold her to my breast, 
 And feel her arms my neck entwine, 
 
 I'm sure I'd be so nearly blest 
 I would not, for a week, repine. 
 
 Perhaps you'll think, so warms my song, 
 
 That I some naughty tricks have taught her- 
 
 But Mary is but two feet long, 
 
 My smiling, darling, blue eyed, daughter. 
 
The Unseen Babe. 115 
 
 THE UNSEEN BABE. 
 
 God's blessing on the Baby Boy 
 
 Its Father ne'er caress'd. 
 How much of sadness and alloy 
 Are blent with every thrill of joy 
 
 That agitates my breast, 
 
 While o'er earth's fairest scenes I roam 
 
 And feast my raptured eyes, 
 As thoughts of thee unbidden come, 
 To win me to the quiet home 
 
 In which the New Born lies ? 
 
 What would I give, at this still hour, 
 
 For but a glance at thee ? 
 Hast thou a spell of magic power, 
 Thou delicate and fragile flower 
 
 That sleeps beyond the sea, 
 
 That thus my waking thoughts you share, 
 
 And mingle in my dreams ? 
 For, like a Spirit of the air, 
 O'er all that's rich, and grand, and rare, 
 
 Some fancied feature beams. 
 
 I stood on Snowdon's topmost height, 
 
 And far beneath me lay 
 A thousand hills in all their might, 
 Tinged with the sunset's rosy light, 
 
 A fair and proud array ; 
 
n6 The Unseen Babe. 
 
 But by thy cradle then to kneel, 
 
 And gaze upon thy face ; 
 Thy little hand in mine to feel, 
 To make a Father's first appeal 
 
 Thy answering smile to trace 
 
 Could I have turn'd, such bliss to know, 
 
 To spend one hour with thee, 
 The splendid scene that lay below, 
 Loch, va4e, and stream, and sunset's glow 
 Few charms had had for me. 
 
 O'er sweet Killarney's placid breast, 
 
 My bark this moment roves. 
 And never did my spirit rest 
 On scene, by Heaven more richly blest, 
 With all the wand'rer loves. 
 
 But there's a chamber far away, 
 A mother's glance of pride 
 Familiar forms, that, wondering, pray 
 That they with " Brother " still may play, 
 That haunt me as I glide. 
 
 And thus it is, go where I will. 
 
 Where'er my footsteps roam, 
 A Cherub face is with me still, 
 Mingling with rapture's wildest thrill, 
 
 And beckoning me home. 
 
 1839 
 
TO JANE. 
 
 Sister mine, I'm on the sea 
 
 In mid ocean once again, 
 Amidst the waves I think of thee, 
 
 My ever noble Sister Tane. 
 
 Like a matron, myriad breasted, 
 
 Ocean's billows rise and fall, 
 Roundly swelling, curled and crested, 
 
 Heavenly blue o'er arching all. 
 
 Living seems the World of Waters 
 Grandly throbbing 'neath the eye. 
 
 Waves on Waves, like Neptune's Daughters, 
 Dance and frolic 'neath the sky. 
 
 Intensely varied the expression, 
 
 Movements rapid as the wind. 
 Soaring thought and sad depression, 
 
 Flying o'er the gazer's mind. 
 
 Mirror'd on the waves of Ocean, 
 
 I my Sister's form can trace, 
 With reverent love and deep devotion, 
 
 On the Clouds I see her face. 
 
 See her as I saw her first, 
 
 Juno's form, and neck, and brow, 
 
 Then when Time has done his worst, 
 I see her as I know her now. 
 
ii8 To Jane. 
 
 Ever Queen like, graceful good 
 
 Ruling gently all around, 
 As before my eyes she stood, 
 
 On " the Arm's " enchanted ground. 
 
 As she stood beneath the Willow 
 
 In the dear old poplin dress, 
 As she smoothed my nightly pillow, 
 
 With thoughtful word and kind caress. 
 
 As, in white, she went that day 
 
 From the scenes her girlhood knew, 
 
 Unconscious of the weary way, 
 
 That Fate with carking cares would strew. 
 
 As, in matron pride, she shone 
 
 When Johnny's cherub face was near, 
 
 As she mourned when he was gone 
 The early lost to both so dear. 
 
 As she looked when Sarah left us 
 Ne'er to bless our sight again, 
 
 Dearly loved and early 'reft us, 
 Doomed to die upon the main. 
 
 As she ever, Sister kindest, 
 
 Bravest, best, has been to me, 
 Ever to my faults the blindest, 
 Comes she now upon the sea. 
 
 Silver'd o'er the locks of raven 
 
 Black that bound her youthful brow, 
 
 Lines of suffering, deeply graven, 
 Change the sweet expression now. 
 
To Jane. 1 1 9 
 
 But her form, erect as ever, 
 
 And her gracious style and mien, 
 
 Time himself shall blight them never, 
 She shall live and die a Queen. 
 
 Not like her who, sorrow stricken, 
 Built her throne her knees beneath, 
 
 But howe'er the dark clouds thicken 
 Crowned by Heaven with duty's wreath. 
 
 Yes ! my dearest, thou hast ever 
 
 Duty's pathway bravely trod 
 Swerving from the precepts never 
 
 Of your Father and your God. 
 
 Like the billow's restless motion 
 
 My unquiet life has been, 
 Grand and stormy as the Ocean 
 
 Bits of blue and sun between. 
 
 With the tides of conflict swerving, 
 High of heart and stern of will, 
 
 Thou, however tried, deserving 
 Heaven's serenest pleasures still. 
 
 They are coming, Sister mine, 
 Not on Earth they come to thee, 
 
 Hov'ring, now, thy Spirit fine 
 From our midst prepares to flee 
 
 To the realm where half our treasures, 
 
 Safely garnered in the sky, 
 Wait to greet with endless pleasures 
 
 Her whose eyes were rarely dry. 
 
120 
 
 TO SOPHIA. 
 
 Lady, the verse which I have promised long 
 And still delay'd the Muse would gladly pay, 
 But, those bright thoughts which are the soul of Song, 
 Those feelings which inspire the Poet's lay, 
 With Boyhood's years have long since passed away, 
 And may not, cannot, be recalled again : 
 The busy World, and all its strange array 
 Of cares, hopes, labors, and excitements vain. 
 Weigh on the heavy heart, and overload the brain. 
 
 Else easy were the task, a Poet's dream 
 Might well be woven round a form like thine, 
 Well might his spirit, kindled by the beam 
 Of that dark eye, flash o'er the graceful line, 
 And all a Lover's hopes and fears entwine 
 With the bright flowers Imagination rears ; 
 An humble aim such, Lady, shall be mine 
 Though Friendship's lay more cold than Love's 
 
 appears, 
 
 Oh ! may the prayer it breathes cling round thy future 
 years. 
 
 May thy path onwards through the Vale of Life 
 Lie through its pleasant scenes where all is fair j 
 May that pure spirit that now shuns the strife, 
 The converse, the contagion, and the glare 
 Of Fashion and her votaries to share 
 The joys that from the heart more freshly spring, 
 Ne'er fade beneath the with'ring blight of care ; 
 May Peace, Love, Friendship, each their offerings bring. 
 And, round thee, gentle girl, their fairest treasures fling. 
 
To a Lady. 121 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 [In answer to a charge of Flattery.] 
 
 Oh ! 'tis not Flatt'ry though I own 
 That thus to ramble on with thee 
 
 (Save Nature's presence) all alone 
 Has many a pleasing charm for me. 
 
 To watch the flush that feeling throws 
 In roseate tints upon your cheek, 
 
 Or catch the unsullied thought that flows 
 In every artless word you speak. 
 
 To mark the smile those lips impart 
 That bright and airy form to view 
 
 Or hold communion with a heart 
 To Virtue's holiest impulse true. 
 
 Nay, there's a spell of secret power 
 
 Charming each word and look of thine, 
 
 That haunts my Mem'ry since the hour 
 Your eyes first opened upon mine ; 
 
 A spell, that- all my Spirit's Pride 
 (Which fancied coldness once awoke) 
 
 With many a struggle strove to hide, 
 But, never, for an instant broke. 
 
 A spell, which Time nor Absence ne'er 
 Could for a single moment sever, 
 
 Which to my heart has grown so dear 
 'Tis twined around its core for ever. 
 
122 To M. J. K. 
 
 TO M. J. K. 
 
 High of Heart ! though some may sneer, 
 Tread thy path and have no fear 
 Bow thy thoughts to Life's dull duties, 
 Feast thine eye on Nature's beauties, 
 Brood not o'er thine hours of sadness 
 Till the soul is stung to madness 
 Heavy clouds which hover o'er us 
 Tell of sunshine yet before us 
 Without the Artist's depth of shade 
 No noble picture e'er was made- 
 Corn grows but on the furrowed soil 
 And Virtue springs from care and toil 
 Then clear thy brow oh Maiden fair 
 And tune thy Harp to lighter air. 
 
 I, like you, have mourned the Dead, 
 Scalding tears have o'er them shed ; 
 Noble stems have fallen round me 
 Rending ties which strongly bound me 
 To Life's dear departed hours 
 Delicate and fragile flowers, 
 On my breast, have drooped and paled, 
 Till their fragrance had exhaled, 
 And gently to the skies ascended 
 With Heaven's incense meekly blended. 
 
 Bowed, and crushed, and hardly knowing, 
 While my cup was overflowing, 
 If my Soul its depths could drain 
 And wake to Life and Joy again. 
 
To M. J. K. 123 
 
 I have stood the Dead beside 
 And my tears of sorrow dried, 
 Gazed upon my broken tree, 
 O'er my flow'ret bent the knee, 
 Till high Resolve has come like balm 
 The bruised Spirit's pulse to calm, 
 And voices whispered from on high 
 " Thy Native Country cannot die." 
 
 These still survive, nor e'er can perish 
 The feeling which her offspring cherish 
 For every wild and rocky strand, 
 Which girds and guards our Native Land, 
 For every hill-top, forest-crowned, 
 For every stream which winds around 
 The Cottage Homes that deck the vale, 
 For every white adventurous sail 
 That cheers the blue surrounding sea, 
 And wafts the children of the free. 
 
 Be thine the task, whate'er betide, 
 
 To dash the gushing tear aside, 
 
 To raise the rich ennobling Song 
 
 Such hallowed feelings to prolong 
 
 To turn, from musing on the Dead, 
 
 To paint the charms around thee spread 
 
 To let thy gentle Spirit beam 
 
 On forest tree, and sparkling stream ; 
 
 Till as the Sunbeam woke of old, 
 
 Soft music in the Statue cold, 
 
 Thy Genius with its touch of fire 
 
 Shall patriotic thought inspire, 
 
124 To Mary. 
 
 To every scene new charms impart, 
 And melt in Song the coldest heart. 
 June, 1845. 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 Oh ! blame me not, Mary, for gazing at you, 
 
 Nor suppose that mv thoughts from the Preacher 
 were straying. 
 
 Trio* I stole a few glances believe me 'tis true 
 They were sweet illustrations of what he was saying. 
 
 Fot r when he observed that Perfection was not 
 To be found upon Earth for a moment I bent 
 
 A look upon you and could swear on the spot, 
 That perfection in Beauty was not what he meant. 
 
 An.<J when, with emotion, the worthy Divine 
 
 On the doctrine of loving our neighbors insisted, 
 
 I fIt if their forms were as faultless as thine, 
 I could love every soul of them while I existed. 
 
 Mary, I'm sure 'twas the fault of those eyes 
 'Twas the lustre of them to the error gave birth 
 That, while he spoke of Angels that dwelt in the Skies, 
 I was gazing with rapture at one upon Earth. 
 
To Ann. 125 
 
 TO ANN. 
 
 It is said in the Scripture, who weds will do well, 
 
 But who does not is certain of bliss ; 
 Yet believe me, dear Ann, if the truth I must tell, 
 
 You will gain very little by this. 
 
 You have spread every lure and left nothing untried, 
 
 A helpmate to gain it is true ; 
 And although no fond partner reclines by your side, 
 
 Living single 's no Virtue in you. 
 
 OH ! IT WOULD MORE THAN TRANSPORT BE. 
 
 Oh ! it would more than transport be, 
 That light and airy form to press 
 
 At midnight hour, when none but me 
 Were near to own its loveliness. 
 
 While all those rapture-giving charms, 
 Which well might lead a Saint astray, 
 
 Were circled in these trembling arms, 
 Or on this beating bosom lay. 
 
 To meet that eye's warm, glowing glance, 
 To feel that cheek on me recline, 
 
 And, to complete the blissful trance, 
 Your sweet lips gently press'd to mine. 
 
126 Oh ! it would more than Transport be. 
 
 Oh ! Pleasure should our Idol be, 
 And Love would every Joy refine 
 
 Our sighs, breathed short and rapturously, 
 The incense offered at her Shrine. 
 
 To pass an hour of bliss of love 
 Of rapture on that beauteous breast ; 
 
 Oh ! nought on Earth and nought above 
 Can form so sweet a place for rest. 
 
 While Cynthia's mild and soft'ningbeam 
 Would heighten all our ecstacies ; 
 
 For never shone her silver gleam 
 On fairer form or brighter eyes. 
 
 Oh ! let the Eastern Sages tell 
 Of Joys their Paradise contains, 
 
 Where Love and Peace together dwell, 
 And ever-varying Pleasure reigns. 
 
 Where all is fresh and fair and lignt, 
 While sweetest fragrance fills the air, 
 
 And all that's beautiful and bright 
 Is delicately mingled there. 
 
 To me your eyes are brighter still, 
 And what so fragrant as your sighs ? 
 
 Let Orientals dream at will, 
 
 Thy breast shall be my Paradise. 
 
Lines written in an Album. 127 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 If, on the page where Beauty's gaze 
 
 A new attraction still discovers 
 In Friendship's dearly valued praise, 
 
 Or tributes from more ardent Lovers ; 
 
 A Stranger, dare a thought to trace, 
 
 A hasty stanza rudely wreathe, 
 Before he leaves thy dwelling place, 
 
 For thee, fair Jane, a prayer he'll breathe. 
 
 He will not praise the youthful form 
 
 Where health is blent with fairy lightness, 
 
 Nor linger, with a verse too warm, 
 
 Upon that eye's unclouded brightness : 
 
 The lip, like some sweet instrument, 
 
 That music gave whene'er 'twas stirred 
 
 The gentle soul, that feeling lent 
 To every gay or thoughtful word ; 
 
 All these to younger Bards belong, 
 
 Whose hearts are fresh, whose hands are free, 
 The burthen of the Stranger's song, 
 
 Shall only be a prayer for thee. 
 
 Oh ! may the gracious God above, 
 Who reared so sweet a forest flower, 
 
 For Age to bless, and Youth to love, 
 Protect thee to thy latest hour. 
 
128 To Valentine. 
 
 May smiles still deck that speaking face, 
 And, if, at times, a tear should start, 
 
 Let it leave no unlovely trace 
 
 To show there's sorrow at the heart. 
 
 That Peace and Love your path may strew, 
 The World its brightest aspect wear, 
 
 And Hope and Joy still smile on you, 
 Shall be the Stranger's fervent prayer. 
 
 * TO VALENTINE 
 
 Not with the general crowd, behind thy bier, 
 In mourning weeds, lost Artist, could I tread, 
 
 Nor can I now enforce one fruitless tear, 
 
 Though standing by thy moist and narrow Bed. 
 
 I would not, if I could, thy Form restore, 
 To toils that task'd it far beyond its strain ; 
 
 Nor win thy Spirit back, now free to soar, 
 To struggle in the world's harsh strife again. 
 
 Unfitted thou the thorny steeps to dare, 
 Where Lucre dazzles, and where Fame is won, 
 
 Not thine the vaunt that makes the vulgar stare : 
 Art's unpretending, artless, genuine son. 
 
 Self-taught, without the coarseness which betrays 
 The sturdy nurture humble life imparts ; 
 
 Self-poised, yet shrinking from the flickering rays, 
 Which Fortune flung thee but by fits and starts. 
 
 * The Artist who painted his Father's Picture. 
 
To Valentine. 129 
 
 Loving the Pencil for its innate power, 
 
 To seize and consecrate what others love 
 
 Pure thoughts, and childlike, were thy richest dower, 
 Thou noble man, yet gentle as the Dove. 
 
 Poor Valentine ! The easel vacant seems, 
 
 A Rembrandt shadow clouds thy dwelling place, 
 
 But, breaking through, a light from Heaven still beams 
 To soothe us with the blended tints we trace. 
 
 Thou art not lost : like odors breathing round, 
 Thy modest virtues still shall grace thy home ; 
 
 And praise of thee shall ever sweetly sound 
 To those you cherish'd wheresoe'r they roam. 
 
 What they have lost, perhaps, I better know 
 That o'er me bends the Father's face and form 
 
 You rescued for me, many a year ago, 
 
 Benignly smiling through Life's ev'ry storm. 
 
 Would I could trace a likeness that should last, 
 
 For them to gaze upon in after years, 
 For then the bitterness of Death were past 
 
 And Hope would spring exulting from their tears. 
 
 TO 
 
 [Written for a lady whose only brother was about to sail on a long 
 voyage.] 
 
 Farewell ! my Brother, since 'tis so 
 Our hearts must bend to Fate's decree ; 
 
 But, when to brighter shores you go, 
 And sunnier climes still think of me. 
 
130 To 
 
 When tost upon the stormy wave, 
 
 Or when 'neath spreading Palms you roam, 
 Recall the kiss your Sister gave, 
 
 And let it turn your thoughts to Home. 
 
 Where swiftly flew our childhood's hours, 
 When side by side we fondly strayed, 
 
 And culled Acadia's simple flowers, 
 
 Or, on the greensward, thoughtless played. 
 
 Where oft you've lain upon this breast, 
 And often I've reposed on thine 
 
 Where oft my lips that cheek have press'd, 
 And yours have fondly dwelt on mine. 
 
 If I was sad, my transient grief 
 Whate'er its cause was felt by you, 
 
 If you were pained, 'twas some relief, 
 To know your Sister shared it too. 
 
 Still hand in hand, we roved along, 
 Or sat beside our cheerful board, 
 
 Together heard the Linnet's song 
 Of love, at rosy morning poured. 
 
 Together pluck'd the Evergreen, 
 
 And round our brows its foliage wreathed, 
 Together knelt, when, all unseen, 
 
 Our evening orisons were breathed. 
 
 Together marked the billows' foam, 
 The southern gales would fling in air. 
 
To Sarah. 131 
 
 Nor dreamed I then, that far from Home 
 The Wave my Brother's form would bear. 
 
 But, since we part, farewell ! farewell ! 
 
 Yet ere from my embrace you break, 
 To tempt the Ocean's fearful swell, 
 
 A Sister's parting blessing take : 
 
 Oh ! may that Eye which beams above, 
 Still watch your path upon the Main, 
 
 And, to the few you dearly love, 
 
 Light you in Health and Peace again. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 [A word that must be. Byron.~\ 
 
 Farewell to thee Sister, it may be forever, 
 
 These moments of Friendship perhaps are our last, 
 
 And our hearts, by the framing of Fortune, may never 
 Be blest with one hour like those which have pass'd. 
 
 Farewell ! though each feeling of Love and Affection, 
 Which Friendship has taught in our bosoms to swell, 
 
 And which long have encircled our youthful connexion, 
 Should burst at our parting, dear Sister, Farewell. 
 
 TO SARAH. 
 
 Forgive me, Maiden, if a word of mine, 
 One idle word has caused a moment's pain, 
 
 And take this hasty, penitential line 
 
 In pledge your friend will ne'er offend again. 
 
132 The Birth-day. 
 
 Perhaps, the sweet familiar name you wear, 
 Prompted a brother's free and careless tone, 
 
 Perhaps, presuming on the love you bear 
 
 To one who from my childhood I have known, 
 
 I chafed your spirit with a thoughtless jest, 
 
 And made you sad when most I wish'd you gay, 
 
 And scarcely felt how much my words express'd, 
 Till more was said than e'er I meant to say. 
 
 But oh ! forgive me though the time is past, 
 When I could worship such a form as thine, 
 
 For love like yours set Life upon a cast, 
 
 And all Ambition's dreams and cares resign. 
 
 To kiss that polish'd, intellectual brow, 
 
 That speaking eye's mild radiance to behold, 
 
 And hear, from lips like thine, the maiden vow, 
 To youthful hearts more dear than Ophir's gold. 
 
 Though these are not for me, I still revere 
 The form of beauty and the soul of grace ; 
 
 In such an eye I would not wake a tear, 
 Or cast one shadow over such a face. 
 
 THE BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 My Birth-day is it ? Take a kiss, 
 
 Thou junior of my line ; 
 The thirteenth ! yes, by George it is ; 
 
 And I am fifty-nine. 
 
The Birth-day. 133 
 
 Come hither, Boy, and let us dream 
 
 Of birth-days long gone by ; 
 Cloudless and merry many seem, 
 
 And some that make me sigh. 
 
 My first was stormy, wind North-west 
 
 The gathering snow-drifts piled ; 
 But cosy was the Mother's breast, 
 
 Where lay the new-born child. 
 
 And ever kind and ever true 
 
 That Mother was to me, 
 As yours has ever been to you, 
 
 And will for ever be. 
 
 And thirteen times the day came round, 
 
 Within that happy home ; 
 The " North West Arm's " enchanted ground, 
 
 Ere I began to roam. 
 
 'Midst Trees, and Birds, and Summer Flowers, 
 
 Those fleeting years went by ; 
 With sports and books the joyous hours, 
 
 Like lightning seemed to fly. 
 
 The Rod, the Gun, the Spear, the Oar, 
 
 I plied by Lake and Sea 
 Happy to swim from shore to shore, 
 
 Or rove the Woodlands free. 
 
 To skim the Pond in W 7 inter time, 
 
 To pluck the flowers of Spring, 
 'Twas then I first began to rhyme, 
 
 And verses crude to string. 
 
134 The Birth-day. 
 
 You see the Picture o'er the fire, 
 
 That smiles upon us now, 
 The pleasant face we still admire 
 
 The broad and noble brow 
 
 Stamp'd by the Maker's hand with lines, 
 That he who runs may read, 
 
 The Christian Patriarch, there he shines, 
 In thought, in word, in deed. 
 
 He was my playmate in those years, 
 My Father, friend, and guide, 
 
 I shared his smiles, and dried his tears, 
 Was ever at his side. 
 
 And oh ! my boy, when Death shall come 
 
 And close my eyelids dim, 
 May you, where'er your footsteps roam, 
 
 Love me as I loved him. 
 
 My next ten Birth-days Labor claimed, 
 And hard I work'd, my son ; 
 
 But still at something higher aimed 
 Whene'er my toil was done. 
 
 I work'd the Press from morn till night, 
 And learn'd the types to set, 
 
 And earn'd my bread with young delight, 
 As you will earn it yet. 
 
 In the dull metal that I moved 
 
 For many a weary hour, 
 I found the Knowledge that I loved, 
 
 The Life, the Light, the Power. 
 
The Birth-day. 135 
 
 But something more turned those young days 
 
 Of steady toil to joy 
 Something we both may kindly praise, 
 
 Your Mother's smile, my Boy. 
 
 And now that I am growing old, 
 
 My Lyre but loosely strung, 
 For God's best gift my thanks be told, 
 
 I loved while I was young. 
 
 For five-and-thirty years that love 
 
 My varied life has cheer'd, 
 Through all its mazes deftly wove, 
 
 The light by which I steer'd. 
 
 Each birth-day brought its glad increase, 
 
 Whatever fortune came ; 
 In storm or sunshine war or peace, 
 
 That smile was still the same. 
 
 Birth-days there were when both were sad, 
 When loved ones went to Heaven ; 
 
 On this, thank God, our hearts are glad, 
 To Joy let this be given. 
 
 And, youngster, when in after years, 
 
 Your son sits on your knee, 
 Half smiling through the starting tears, 
 
 Then think of '63. 
 
 Dec. 13, 1863. 
 
1 36 To Woman. 
 
 WRITTEN IN A BIBLE. 
 
 [Given to Georgina Osmond, daughter of my landlady in Sloane 
 Street, London, for whom I was -persuaded to stand Godfather in 
 1851.] 
 
 When you can read, my Georgie dear, 
 
 This Book I hope you'll prize, 
 And then, though I should not be here, 
 You'll learn to love, and duly fear, 
 
 God Father in the skies. 
 
 TO WOMAN. 
 
 There is a flower whose never-fading bloom 
 
 Cheers man's rough path from childhood to the tomb ; 
 
 In simple loveliness its fragrance throws 
 
 Alike o'er India's sands, and Zembla's snows ; 
 
 In every valley of Earth's varied breast, 
 
 On ev'ry mountain high, and rocky crest, 
 
 Fragrant, in spotless purity it springs, 
 
 And o'er the heart its softening influence flings. 
 
 That flower is Woman first in Eden's bowers 
 
 She lent her smile to cheer Man's lonely hours ; 
 
 And when Transgression forced him to the wild, 
 
 He still forgot his woes when Woman smiled, 
 
 And wiped away the unavailing tear 
 
 When her soft accents broke upon his ear. 
 
 And still she cheers and charms her soothing voice 
 
 Still breathes delight to bid our souls rejoice ; 
 
 And cares and griefs, like morning vapors, fly 
 
 Before the magic of her radiant eye. 
 
Woman. 137 
 
 Touched by her plastic hand, Life's sharpest stings 
 Are turned to harmless, if not holy, things. 
 And where could Man his fevered temples rest, 
 Or seek repose, if banished from her breast ? 
 
 How many lingering recollections play 
 Around the heart, of Childhood's early day, 
 Like music wafted from a distant shore 
 Where we once trod, but ne'er can visit more. 
 How oft in thought we meet that wakeful eye 
 Which watch'd our slumbers ! hear the heavy sigh 
 That told an anxious Mother's hopes and fears, 
 Or feel our cheeks still moisten'd by her tears ! 
 Who that around a Mother's neck has clung 
 Can e'er forget the thrilling airs she sung, 
 While on her lap, in sportive mirth reclined, 
 Her matron locks about his finger twined, 
 She fondly clasped her dear delighted boy, 
 Her full heart bounding with a holy joy, 
 And her raised eye, so eloquently mild, 
 Asked of her God a blessing for her child ? 
 
 And oh ! how long a Sister's silvery tone 
 Hangs round the heart with music all its own. 
 Years may sweep on, her rosy cheek may fade, 
 In the cold earth her youthful form be laid, 
 The heart which throbbed against our boyish breast 
 Be seared and broken still, like something blest, 
 Her image, conjur'd up by Memory's spell, 
 Comes from the tomb, of happier hours to tell, 
 Of scenes of innocent and early joy, 
 Unstained by aught of passion's base alloy, 
 12 
 
I3&' What is a Friend. 
 
 Of looks Of love, and words of fondness spoken 
 Long, long, before that tender heart was broken. 
 
 Oh ! lovely Woman, 'tis to thee we owe 
 Each charm that robs the world of half its woe ; 
 Thine is the smile that gilds our early days, 
 Thy accents form our Manhood's noblest praise ; 
 Thy gentle hand, when Age has stolen our bloom, 
 Can strew with peace the borders of the tomb. 
 Who deem thee false, have never felt the power 
 Of Woman's faith, in Sorrow's darkest hour 
 Have never known how steadfastly she clings 
 E'en round the basest and the worst of things ; 
 Nor flies, though all beside the world have fled ; 
 Nor shrinks, though death hangs o'er her by a thread. 
 
 WHAT IS A FRIEND? 
 
 What is a Friend ? A being who 
 
 Through all the changes Time may bring, 
 
 E'en though our joys may be but few, 
 Will still around us fondly cling. 
 
 Who on Youth's bright and brilliant morn, 
 A dearer charm to pleasure lends ; 
 
 Whose smile can sweeten and adorn 
 Each gift that Heaven so kindly sends. 
 
 Whose approbation onward cheers 
 Our souls in Manhood's busy strife, 
 
 Through scenes of toil, and woe, and tears, 
 Gilding the darkest shades of Life. 
 
The Promise. 139 
 
 Who shares our joys if Fortune smiles, 
 And shrinks not should she darkly low'r, 
 
 But with a hallowed balm beguiles 
 The anguish of each trying hour. 
 
 And if we win a wreath from Fame, 
 
 Whose heart with joy and pride will thrill 
 
 And e'en through guilt, and sin, and shame 
 Will shield, excuse, and love us still. 
 
 And when by Death we're called away 
 From all our joys and sorrows here, 
 
 Will often to our Mem'ry pay 
 The tribute of a burning tear. 
 
 THE PROMISE. 
 
 [While rambling through the County of Sydney, I was forced, 
 by heavy rains, to seek shelter in a Log House, with a family who 
 had seen better days, but who, from the pressure of misfortune, 
 had been obliged to settle in the forest. From the old lady, who 
 was at her wheel, I learned the family history. Three of her 
 daughters had married within a few months after the clearing was 
 begun. " While we were all together," said she, "we were com- 
 pany for each other but when the girls were married, the old 
 man began to lose heart for he thought the others would go too, 
 and we should be left alone in the wilderness. But Agnes cheered 
 him up, and promised to stay with him three years at least. That 
 time is past but she has kept her word, though she might, if she 
 chose, have been married long since." There was something to 
 my mind, exceedingly touching in this voluntary surrender of the 
 
140 The Promise. 
 
 prospects and pleasures of youth, for the solace and support of 
 age ; and if I have not done justice to the subject, it is certainly 
 not because it is unpoetical. I had passed the place some years 
 before, about the time when it is probable the promise had been 
 made. On my second visit, the hopes which I have attributed to 
 the girl had been partially realized, and a few years more will 
 probably place the family in a situation of great comfort and inde- 
 pendence.] 
 
 Nay, do not droop, my Father, I will stay, 
 Though all should leave thee midst the black'ning trees j 
 I will not go, though better prospects tempt 
 To homes where less of hardship and of toil 
 Perchance await me. I will not forsake 
 The hut, which Age and Fortune's sad decline 
 Forced thee within the Wilderness to rear. 
 Then do not droop, my Father check the sigh 
 That o'envrought feelings, woven from former wrecks 
 And present desolation, vainly prompt. 
 We may be happy here and that which seems 
 A curse, may yet o'erflow with lasting joys. 
 Trust me it shall though now our clearing wears 
 A dreary aspect though burnt logs and stumps 
 Deform the scene, and leave but scanty space 
 On which the grain its treasures may unfold, 
 (Our only hope when Summer's past away ;) 
 Though our Log Hut but poor defence affords 
 Against the rain, or Winter's searching blast, 
 (Unlike the ample home of other days,) 
 Yet never droop, my Father ; we will toil 
 With steady aim, and meek undaunted hearts, 
 Until the Wild shall " blossom as the rose," 
 And plenty crown our hospitable board. 
 
The Promise. 141 
 
 From morn till eve shall Agnes at your side 
 Your spirit soothe and every labor share ; 
 Attentive still, each step, each thought to save, 
 And chase the shadows from thy anxious brow. 
 Over the wounds that Poverty inflicts 
 Upon the noble mind, I'll pour the balm 
 That from youth's sanguine disposition springs, 
 And catch each fugitive delight, and bid 
 It nestle where Despair so lately dwelt. 
 
 Though no society, nor books, nor friends, 
 Here in the Wilderness their pleasures strew, 
 We'll have no lonely hours nor ever sigh 
 For what, by Providence, has been denied. 
 The sense of mutual cares, and toils, and hopes, 
 Our hearts shall knit, with an enduring tie 
 Promiscuous friendships never yet could boast ; 
 And as we meet beside the Winter fire, 
 You shall dispense, from out your ample stores, 
 Instruction to your daughter ; by whose smile 
 All that you've seen and read, shall be revived. 
 Thus I shall grow in knowledge, while you learn 
 In turning o'er the leaves of Mem'ry's tome 
 To sweeten every bitter thought they yield, 
 By glad recurrence to the present joy. 
 
 Then do not droop, my Father. 
 
142 The Three Flowers. 
 
 THE THREE FLOWERS. 
 
 Flowers strew the earth, as stars the sky, 
 And on them rests the human eye 
 
 With exquisite delight. 
 Their perfume haunts the air we breathe, 
 And graceful hands their petals wreathe 
 
 Round fairy forms at night. 
 The glowing forest's solemn shade, 
 
 The rugged mountain's brow 
 Where Man, of Nature half afraid 
 Allured and charmed, but yet dismayed 
 Flora with graceful skill can braid 
 
 As only she knows how. 
 
 Around the mansions of the great, 
 
 Festooned with artful care : 
 Lending their sweetness to the weight 
 
 Of fetid city air. 
 
 They tempt the lily heads of those 
 Whose blush might almost shame the rose ; 
 They win the wandering outcast's gaze 
 To rural scenes and brighter days, 
 
 And hang like Spirits every where. 
 Between the gentle and the vile, 
 
 On human pride, and sin, and care, 
 
 On pampered ease, and gaunt despair, 
 With equal grace they smile. 
 
 Note. This was simply introductory; the intention being to 
 present three flowers as types of three fair woman. 
 
To Mrs. Norton. 143 
 
 Of all that ever smiled on me, 
 
 Three Flowers I still retain ; 
 In an old volume lie the three, 
 
 Crushed, faded, scentless, ne'er again 
 To court or charm the wanton air ; 
 Unconscious why I keep them there 
 As is the volume, quaint and old, 
 Whose leaves their pretty wrecks enfold. 
 
 Wrinkled and dusty, old and brown, 
 Three times a year that book comes down 
 
 And rests upon my knee ; 
 And when with moist and thoughtful face, 
 I rise to put it in its place, 
 
 I feel as sad as you will be, 
 When I have shook your tears in showers, 
 By telling what the faded flowers 
 
 So often tell to me. 
 
 TO MRS. NORTON.* 
 
 [At Lady Palmerston's Soiree.] 
 
 Lady, how eagerly I thread the maze 
 Of rank and beauty, 'till thy noble form 
 Stands full before me 'till at last I gaze, 
 In joy and thankfulness, to find the storm 
 That shook the fruit profusely, spared the tree ; 
 To realize my dreams of time and thee 
 
 * Mrs. Norton was a Granddaughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan 
 and Aunt to the present Earl Dufferin. 
 
144 To Mrs. Norton. 
 
 To find the eye still bright, the cheek still warm, 
 The regal outlines swelling, soft and free, 
 And lit by luminous thoughts, as I would have them be. 
 
 Unconscious thou, how, far beyond the wave, 
 The lowest murmur of thy softest strain 
 In early life articulate music gave 
 To thousands, who, when agony and pain 
 Shook every tremulous string, yet sigh'd again, 
 That ever sorrow should the notes prolong. 
 Unconscious thou, that 'midst the light and vain, 
 The Stranger turns him from the glittering throng, 
 In Mem'ry's stores to hoard the graceful Child of Song. 
 
 How oft, in weariness, we turn away 
 
 From what we've sought, from picture, fane, or 
 
 stream ; 
 
 But well dost thou the ling'ring glance repay 
 With full fruition of the fondest dream ; 
 The light that o'er the billows used to beam, 
 Lodged in a stately tower. The minstrel's smile 
 Is sweeter than her Song the playful theme 
 Of early genius, even less versatile 
 Than are the matron charms that Soul and Sense 
 beguile. 
 
 The Maple, in our Woods, the frost doth crown 
 With more resplendent beauty than it wears 
 In early Spring. Its sweetness cometh down 
 But when the Woodman's stroke its bosom tears. 
 And thus, in spite of all my doubts and fears, 
 I joy to see thy ripened beauties glow 
 
The Blue Nose. 145 
 
 'Neath sorrow's gentle touch that more endears ; 
 To feel thy strains will all the sweeter flow 
 From that deep wound that did not lay thee low. 
 
 TO FANCY. 
 
 Oh ! come, fair Fancy, dwell with me, 
 Thou airy, lovely child of Heaven ! 
 
 Let all thy brilliant witchery 
 
 To soothe and cheat my soul be given. 
 
 Come from your dwelling in the skies, 
 Your ever-varying beauteous home ; 
 
 Which the mild rainbow canopies, 
 
 Round which bright wayward Planets roam. 
 
 Oh ! take my heart, and bind it still 
 With thy deluding rapturous spell ; 
 
 You know each chord that makes it thrill, 
 And you alone can touch them well. 
 
 Come let us rove together now, 
 
 Too soon, I fear, we'll have to part, 
 
 When sorrow stamps my boyish brow, 
 And chills the current at my heart 
 
 THE BLUE NOSE. 
 
 AIR. Bumper of Burgundy. 
 
 Let the Student of Nature in rapture descant 
 On the Heavens' cerulean hue ; 
 
146 Friendship's Garden. 
 
 Let the Lover indulge in poetical rant, 
 When the eyes of his Mistress are blue. 
 
 But fill high your glasses fill, fill to the brim, 
 
 I've a different toast to propose : 
 While such eyes, and such skies, still are beaming for him, 
 
 Here's a health to the jolly Blue Nose. 
 
 Let the Frenchman delight in his vine-covered vales, 
 Let the Greek toast his old classic ground ; 
 
 Here's the land where the bracing Northwester prevails, 
 And where jolly Blue Noses abound. 
 
 Long long may it flourish, to all of us dear, 
 Loved and honored by hearts that are true ; 
 
 But, should ever a foe chance his nose to show here 
 He shall find all our Noses true Blue. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP'S GARDEN. 
 
 'Twas on a lovely summer day 
 Folly, Philosophy, and Reason, 
 
 To Friendship's Garden took their way, 
 Where fruits and flowers were in season. 
 
 All that the nicest taste could please, 
 All that the eye could fancy fair, 
 
 Was hanging on the bending Trees, 
 Or sprung in rich profusion there. 
 
Tears. 147 
 
 Philosophy, with cautious eye, 
 
 Could neither fancy fruit or flower 
 
 In all the last, he thorns would spy, 
 And all the first, he fear'd were sour. 
 
 And Folly rambled on the while, 
 
 Each gaudy flow'ret heedless choosing \ 
 
 Plucking each fruit that seem'd to smile, 
 Unconscious she her time was losing. 
 
 But gentle Reason smiling went 
 
 And chose the flowers that grew retired ; 
 
 Whose leaves a pleasing perfume lent, 
 To heighten what their charms inspired. 
 
 When Friendship mark'd them onward straying, 
 Her arm round Reason's neck she threw, 
 
 And press'd her to her bosom, saying 
 My bowers are only meant for you. 
 
 TEARS. 
 
 Tears glisten in our mtant eyes 
 
 When first upon the light they break ; 
 
 Tears flow, as, ere the spirit flies, 
 A last leave of the world we take. 
 
 Tears trickle o'er the cheek of age,' 
 
 When, looking round for those who shed 
 
 Sweet flowers to cheer his pilgrimage, 
 He finds them number'd with the dead. 
 
148 The Travellers. 
 
 Tears flow, while at the sacred shrine 
 In Bridal vestments Beauty bows, 
 
 And calls on Heaven, with rites divine, 
 To listen and record her vows. 
 
 Tears tremble in the Mother's eyes 
 
 While bending o'er her infant sleeping, 
 
 His Father's smile she fondly spies, 
 This is the luxury of weeping. 
 
 Tears start, when at Fate's stern command, 
 From those we love we're forced to part, 
 
 And wander to some distant land 
 With heavy and repining heart. 
 
 And Oh ! what tears of joy bedew 
 The wanderer's eyes when safe returning, 
 
 He clasps the loved, the hallow'd few, 
 And sees his Cottage fire still burning. 
 
 And there are tears yes, bitter tears, 
 Which, like the torrent, fiercely roll, 
 
 Telling of guilt, remorse, and fears, 
 The burning lava of the soul. 
 
 THE TRAVELLERS. 
 
 As gallant Barks, on Ocean's tide 
 When summer breezes blow, 
 
 Oft meet and journey side by side, 
 Communing as they go ; 
 
To the Moose. 149 
 
 But soon, by varying wind and wave, 
 
 Are parted on the Main, 
 The stormy seas alone to brave, 
 
 And never meet again. 
 
 So we, by happy fortune thrown 
 
 On Pleasure's crowded ways, 
 While brilliant scenes around us shone, 
 
 Have spent some joyous days. 
 
 But soon to different havens bound 
 
 A separate course we steer, 
 And where shall meet, in life's dull round, 
 
 The circle gather'd here ? 
 
 We may not meet, but yet those hours 
 
 So blest to each and all, 
 So strew'd with variegated flowers, 
 
 The spirit may recall. 
 
 On distant shores, when memory warms 
 
 Till life's unsunn'd decline, 
 We'll round us bring the friendly forms, 
 
 That parted on the Rhine. 
 
 TO THE MOOSE. 
 
 [In the Jardin Des Plantes.] 
 
 Wild native of the western woods, 
 
 I grieve to see thee here, 
 Far from the hills, and groves, and floods, 
 
 To both of us so dear. 
 
156 To the Moose. 
 
 What evil stroke to bondage gave 
 That gaunt but agile frame ? 
 
 Curse on the mercenary slave, 
 That sold thee to this shame. 
 
 Wast thdu in full career o'erthrown, 
 
 Wounded, but not to die, 
 Or, lured by notes adroitly blown,* 
 
 Didst read the sylvan lie ? 
 
 Or wast thou caught in tender years, 
 And brought from o'er the sea, 
 
 To grow, in agony and tears, 
 The idler's sport to be ? 
 
 Poor captive ! would that we had met 
 
 Upon our native hills ; 
 But here to see thee thus beset, 
 
 My soul with sorrow fills. 
 
 The tiger roars within his cage, 
 
 The lion shakes his mane, 
 And tries the bars with baffled rage, 
 
 Then sinks to sleep again. 
 
 In far off scenes, I never scann'd, 
 These monsters pant to roam, 
 
 But thou art from my own fair land, 
 And speak to me of home. 
 
 * A Common mode of luring the moose is to imitate the call of 
 his mate by blowing through a trumpet made of birch bark. 
 
The Talbots. 151 
 
 We've roamed beneath the same tall trees, 
 Plunged in the same bright streams, 
 
 Both hear the murmur'd tones of these, 
 And see them in our dreams. 
 
 Thy thoughts, like mine, are far away, 
 
 By western lake and grove, 
 Where, free as air, we loved to stray, 
 
 Where now our kindred rove. 
 
 I go once more those scenes to tread, 
 
 But, thou a prisoner here, 
 Must heave the sigh and droop the head, 
 
 And feel the captive's fear. 
 
 Be mocked by idlers every hour, 
 
 That dare not, in the wild, 
 Unarmed, attempt to show their power, 
 
 Or check the forest's child. 
 
 Farewell poor Moose I would my hand 
 
 Could set the captive free 
 But often in our own dear land, 
 
 My thoughts shall turn to thee. 
 
 1838. 
 
 THE TALBOTS. 
 
 [The French were engaged in the siege of Castillon, when Talbot 
 marched against them. His first approach drove in the Franc 
 Archers. This success emboldened him to attack the intrenched 
 camp of the French. Though now eighty years of age, Talbot on 
 
152 The Talbots. 
 
 foot led his men of arms to the assault The fight was bravely 
 sustained on both sides, until the English General was struck 
 down by a culverin. His son, Lord Lisle, flung himself on the 
 body of his parent "Fly, my son :" said the expiring Talbot, "the 
 day is lost It is your first action, and you may without shame 
 turn your back to the enemy." Lord Lisle, nevertheless, with thirty 
 nobles of England, was slain before the body of Talbot Crowe's 
 History of France^ 
 
 " Fly, fly my son," old Talbot said, 
 
 " The day can ne'er be ours ; 
 " I feel 'tis not for us to spread 
 
 " Our banner o'er yon towers. 
 
 " Then fly, you can without a stain, 
 
 "You're but a youthful Knight, 
 " And yet may live, renown to gain, 
 
 " In many a gallant fight. 
 
 " Your Mother sits within our Hall, 
 
 " Your Sister at her knee ; 
 " And tho' on this rough field I fall, 
 
 " They still can cling to thee. 
 
 " For thou canst arm my Yeomen bold, 
 " And bid my hearthstone blaze ; 
 
 " And Talbot's name and power uphold, 
 " In England's happier days. 
 
 " I will not fly," the youth replied, 
 
 " No tongue shall ever say 
 " That while my Father bravely died, 
 
 " I turned and fled away. 
 
The Talbots. 153 
 
 " Could all the fame of after years 
 
 Efface so deep a stain ? 
 " Could piles of dead, and streams of tears, 
 
 "Brin^ honor back again ? 
 
 "Thy dying breath wouid curse thy son 
 
 " My Mother's tearless eye 
 " Could ne'er, in gladness, look upon 
 
 " The Knight who feared to die. 
 
 "My Sister's hand would seize the blade 
 
 "Which I had thrown aside, 
 " And come t'appease thy gallant shade, 
 
 " And die where you had died. 
 
 " Then fare thee well, my noble Sire, 
 
 " But ere your eyelids close, 
 " Mark Talbot's sword and soul of fire 
 
 " Deal vengeance on your foes. 
 
 " Our blood in France may mingle here, 
 
 "Our whit'ning bones decay ; 
 " But English hearts shall aye revere. 
 
 " The mem'ry of this day. 
 
 " Then raise my banner proud and high. 
 
 " Strike Knights, and Yeomen true ; 
 " Let England be our battle cry 
 
 "Once, more, brave Sire, adieu." 
 
 He said and o'er his Father's form, 
 He stood in youthful pride, 
 
154 Cornelias Answer. 
 
 And braved the battle's fiercest storm, 
 And still the foe defied. 
 
 His eye was like a beacon fire 
 His sword the lightnings beam, 
 
 That bade the daring foe retire, 
 Or die beneath its gleam. 
 
 Then backward rolled the power of France, 
 
 A moment kept at bay 
 But soon unnumbered hosts advance, 
 
 And join the fatal fray. 
 
 Shadow'd by swords encompass'd round 
 
 By many a levelled spear, 
 He died within the human mound 
 
 His arm had toiled to rear. 
 1827. 
 
 CORNELIA'S ANSWER. 
 
 To the Campanian Lady, who, after making an ostentatious 
 display of her jewels, expressed a wish to see those of the Roman 
 
 matron. 
 
 t 
 
 Oh ! precious are the brilliant things 
 That in earth's peaceful bosom lie, 
 
 And bright the beams the Diamond flings, 
 In radiant lustre on the eye. 
 
Cornelias Answer. 155 
 
 Rich are the Ruby's dazzling gleams, 
 And pure the Pearl's unfading ray, 
 
 And mellow are the golden beams 
 That round the costly Topaz play. 
 
 There's light in many a sparkling gem, 
 And wealth in many a precious stone, 
 
 But let them deck the diadem, 
 
 And blaze around the monarch's throne. 
 
 Cornelia never casts a thought 
 
 On baubles valueless as these, 
 Such gems by Monarch ne'er were bought 
 
 As nightly deck Cornelia's knees. 
 
 Elastic forms, bright eyes of flame, 
 
 And souls lit up by Nature's fire, 
 Which point the glowing path to fame 
 
 And still to glory's meed aspire. 
 
 Hearts that through battle, toil or death, 
 In virtue's cause would nobly stand, 
 
 And proudly yield their latest breath 
 To guard their own, their native land. 
 
 Such are the gems Cornelia owns, 
 
 From such she claims her dearest joys, 
 
 For what are all earth's precious stones, 
 
 Compared with these my Boys my Boys ? 
 
 1827. 
 
156 Cincinnatus 
 
 CINCINNATUS. 
 
 The purple robe was o'er him flung 
 They haiPd him Chief in Rome 
 
 But yet a tear unbidden sprung, 
 He sigh'd to leave his home. 
 
 He look'd to Heaven it sweetly smiled, 
 He look'd to Earth and there 
 
 The flowers of Spring, untrained and wild, 
 Shed fragrance on the air; 
 
 A stream beside his Cottage stray'd, 
 
 And murmur'd as it went ; 
 The Birds, in varied plumes arrayed, 
 
 Their gentle music lent. 
 
 All Nature seem'd at peace, the breeze ; 
 
 That lightly wander'd by, 
 Scarce shook the foliage of the trees, 
 
 'Twas soft as Beauty's sigh. 
 
 " And who would leave a scene like this, 
 
 " To tread the battle field, 
 " And change life's peaceful hours of bliss, 
 
 " For all that war can yield ! 
 
 " There's music in the charging note, 
 
 l ' To Warrior's spirits dear ; 
 " But sweeter airs at evening float 
 
 " In mingled softness here. 
 
To the Mayflower. 157 
 
 " The shouts of triumph loud and long, 
 
 " May ring o'er earth and sea : 
 ' But yet Attilia's evening song 
 
 " Has sweeter charms for me." 
 
 'Twas no unmanly childish fear 
 
 That bade his spirit sigh ; 
 But thoughts like these, which swell'd the tear, 
 
 That dimm'd the Roman's eye. 
 
 TO THE MAYFLOWER 
 
 Lovely flow'ret, sweetly blooming 
 'Neath our drear ungentle sky 
 
 Shrinking, coy, and unassuming 
 From the gaze of mortal eye. 
 
 On thy bed of moss reposing, 
 Fearless of the drifting snow, 
 
 Modestly thy charms disclosing, 
 
 Storms but make them brighter glow, 
 
 Spring's mild, fragrant, fair attendant, 
 Blooming near the greenwood tree, 
 
 While the dew-drop, sparkling, pendant, 
 Makes thee smile bewitchingly. 
 
 Oh! I love to look upon thee, 
 Peeping from thy close retreat, 
 
 While the sun is shining on thee, 
 And thy balmy fragrance greet. 
 
158 To the Linnet. 
 
 View exotics, proudly growing 
 On the shelter'd, mild parterre, 
 
 But, if placed where thou art blowing 
 Would they bloom and blossom there ? 
 
 April's breeze would quickly banish 
 All the sweets by them display'd, 
 
 Soon each boasted charm would vanish, 
 Every cherish'd beauty fade. 
 
 Scotia's offspring first and fairest, 
 
 Nurst in snows, by storms caress'd 
 Oh! how lovely thou appearest 
 # When in all thy beauty dress'd. 
 
 Red and white, so sweetly blending. 
 
 O'er thy fragrance throw a flush 
 While beneath the dew-drop bending, 
 
 RivalPd but by beauty's blush. 
 
 Welcome little crimson favor 
 To our glades and valleys wild 
 
 Scotia ask'd, and Flora gave her, 
 Precious boon, her fairest child. 
 
 TO THE* LINNET 
 
 Oh! fear me not, sweet little Bird, 
 Nor quit the bough for me, 
 
 But let your evening song be heard 
 Of artless minstrelsy. 
 
To the Linnet. 159 
 
 Think not I wish to do you harm 
 
 Or drive you from the spray, 
 In hopes your song my thoughts may charn 
 
 I'm listening to your lay. 
 
 Oh! sing the saddest, wildest strain 
 You've e'er been taught by grief, 
 
 And chaunt it o'er and o'er again 
 'Twill give my soul relief. 
 
 If you have watched a Parent dear 
 
 Whose life was on the wane, 
 The mournful song pray let me hear, 
 
 You sang to soothe his pain. 
 
 If you have seen his eyelids close 
 
 Without the power to save, 
 Warble the lay, 'twill bring repose, 
 
 You sang beside his grave. 
 
 How oft by yonder aged tree, 
 
 My Father at my side, 
 I've listen'd -many an hour to thee 
 
 At silent eventide. 
 
 For then, the merriest roundelay 
 
 You sang on summer eve 
 Was welcome, to a heart so gay 
 
 It knew no cause to grieve. 
 
 E'en yet your simple strain I love 
 Altho' by care oppress'd, 
 
160 To the Fire-fly. 
 
 To hear thee warbling as I rove 
 Relieves my aching breast. 
 
 Then fear me not, sweet little Bird 
 Nor quit the bough for me, 
 
 But let your evening song be heard 
 Of artless minstrelsy. 
 
 TO THE FIRE-FLY. 
 
 Little Insect, brightly gleaming 
 Through the murky shades of night, 
 
 Most assiduously beaming 
 All around thy transient light. 
 
 Still at eve, through air careering, 
 Though the scene be e'er so dark, 
 
 Yet your little light appearing, 
 Shines a gay resplendent spark. 
 
 Shine again, thou pretty meteor, 
 
 Though the night be drear and damp, 
 
 Lovely, lucid, speck of Nature 
 Light again thy little lamp. 
 
 Spread again thy airy pinion, 
 Let thy ray once more appear, 
 
 Come, dame Fortune's favor'd minion, 
 Learn a moral lesson here. 
 
The Deserted Nest. 161 
 
 Lull'd on luxury's lap supinely, 
 
 What avails your worldly pelf, 
 Though through life you glide divinely, 
 
 Yet you live but for yourself. 
 
 View this little Fly, commencing 
 
 Undisturb'd, his evening flight, 
 To proud man a ray dispensing 
 
 Gen'rous Fly to guide him right. 
 
 With the little God has given, 
 
 And to worldly troubles blind 
 He lights his taper up at even, 
 
 Sparkles, flies, and is resigned. 
 
 THE DESERTED NEST. 
 
 Deserted nest, that on the leafless tree, 
 Waves to and fro with every dreary blast, 
 
 With none to shelter, none to care for thee, 
 Thy day of pride and cheerfulness is past. 
 
 Thy tiny walls are falling to decay, 
 
 Thy cell is tenantless and tuneless now, 
 
 The winter winds have rent the leaves away, 
 And left thee hanging on the naked bough. 
 
 But yet, deserted nest, there is a spell 
 E'en in thy loneliness, to touch the heart, 
 
 For holy things within thee once did dwell, 
 The type of joys departed now thou art. 
 14 
 
1 6-2 To a Rose 
 
 With what assiduous care thy framers wrought, 
 With what delight they viewed the structure rise, 
 
 And how, as each some tiny rafter brought, 
 Pleasure and hope would sparkle in their eyes. 
 
 Ah ! who shall tell when all the work was done, 
 The rapt'rous pleasure that their labors crown'd, 
 
 The blissful moments Nature for them won, 
 And bade them celebrate with joyous sound. 
 
 A Father's pride a Mother's anxious care, 
 Her flutter'd spirits, and his gentlest tone, 
 
 All, all, that wedded hearts so fondly share, 
 To thee deserted nest, were surely known. 
 
 Then though thy walls be rent, and cold thy cell, 
 And thoughtless crowds may hourly pass thee by, 
 
 Where love, and truth, and tenderness did dwell, 
 There's still attraction for the Poet's eye. 
 
 TO A ROSE. 
 [On an Opera Dancer's Skirt.] 
 
 Sweet Rose that each voluptuous whirl 
 
 With deeper blushes dyes, 
 As soars yon frail but lovely girl 
 With locks of jet and teeth of pearl, 
 
 Before our wondering eyes. , 
 
 I wish thy leaves had perished where 
 In innocence they bloom'd, 
 
To a Rose. 163 
 
 Wasting upon the desert air 
 Their charming tints and perfume rare, 
 Nor to this fate been doom'd. 
 
 How oft upon the Rose I've dwelt 
 
 With exquisite delight, 
 How oft to catch its odor knelt, 
 But ne'er the mix'd sensations felt, 
 
 It conjures up to-night. 
 
 I've seen it nestling in the lace 
 
 The timid Maid had thrown 
 Above the snowy orbs of grace 
 Where sin had found no resting place, 
 
 Nor broke the virgin zone. 
 
 Above the Bride's unsullied brow 
 
 I've seen it lightly wove, 
 While solemn word and whisper'd vow, 
 The cheerful scene's before me now, 
 
 Gave latitude to love. 
 
 I've seen it scatter'd o'er the tomb 
 
 Where little children lay, 
 Type of their beauty and their bloom, 
 Their withering charms and early doom, 
 
 As fair and fleet as they. 
 
 Whenever met, the Rose has been 
 
 My cherish'd fav'rite flower ; 
 The ornament of every scene, 
 With vermeil tint and foliage green, 
 
 And beauty for its dower. 
 
1 64 The Wreath. 
 
 But, dangling to that gauze-like dress 
 
 That scarce a limb conceals, 
 That woos, in very wantonness, 
 The fetid zej5hyr's rude caress, 
 And every charm reveals. 
 
 It seems to feel the sad disgrace, 
 
 And blushes deeper red ; 
 Another round it may not trace, 
 Its leaves, dishonor'd, o'er the place 
 
 In parting showers are shed. 
 
 1838. 
 
 THE WREATH. 
 
 Yes, keep the Wreath, and let it be 
 'Twixt you and me a gentle token 
 
 Of sunny hours, spent joyously, 
 
 And merry thoughts, in friendship spoken ; 
 
 Of bursting buds, and opening Spring, 
 Of flowers round our footsteps wreathing ; 
 
 Of Robin Red Breasts on the wing, 
 And trees balsamic odors breathing. 
 
 Of gushing streamlets, winding down 
 The mountain sides as we ascended, 
 
 Sparkling their last, before the brown 
 And turbid waters with them blended. 
 
To the Town Clock. 165 
 
 Of starlight night, and homeward ride 
 
 Beside the lonely Avon River, 
 Then keep the Wreath, whate'er betide, 
 
 And sometimes think upon the giver. 
 
 FALMOUTH, May id. 1869. 
 
 TO THE TOWN CLOCK. 
 
 Thou grave old Time Piece, many a time and oft 
 
 I've been your debtor for the time of day ; 
 And every time I cast my eyes aloft, 
 
 And swell the debt I think 'tis time to pay. 
 Thou, like a sentinel upon a tower, 
 
 Hast still announced "the enemy's" retreat, 
 And now that I have got a leisure hour, 
 
 Thy praise, thou old Repeater, I'll repeat. 
 
 A very striking object, all must own, 
 
 For years you've been, and may for years remain, 
 And though fierce storms around your head have blown, 
 
 Your form erect, and clear and mellow tone, 
 Despite their violence, you still retain. 
 
 A " double face," some foolishly believe, 
 
 Of gross deception is a certain sign ; 
 But thy four faces may their fears relieve, 
 
 For who can boast so frank a life as thine. 
 You ne'er disguised your thoughts for purpose mean, 
 
 You ne'er conceal'd your knowledge from the crowd, 
 Like knaves and asses that I've sometimes seen, 
 
 But what you knew with fearlessness avow'd. 
 
1 66 To the Town Clock. 
 
 Time, with his scythe, could never mow you down, 
 
 Though you could cut him up in fragments small 
 Showing his halves and quarters to the* town, 
 
 Old Quarter Master General for us all. 
 Though unambitious, still the highest place 
 
 All ranks and classes cheerfully resign, 
 And " looking up to thee,' 1 feel no disgrace 
 
 If to " look down on them " thou dost incline. 
 While some the Graces seek, 
 
 And others love the Muse's rosy bowers/ 
 Thou art content from week to week, 
 
 To revel with the ever fleeting Hours. 
 
 How many curious scenes and odd displays 
 
 You've gazed upon, since first you took your stand ; 
 How many sad, how many brilliant days, 
 YouVe had a hand in Oh ! that you could hand 
 
 Your knowledge down 
 Your Log your Album all your observations, 
 
 Jokes and remarks, on what you've heard and seen ; 
 If besides "note of time," your cogitations 
 On all the doings that in time have been 
 
 You had recorded, 
 No book would sell so well 
 
 About the town, 
 Nor any author be so well rewarded. 
 
 What various feelings, in the human heart, 
 
 Thy tones have stirred ; 
 How hast the Lover curs'd thee, when he heard 
 Thy voice proclaiming it was time to part. 
 
 With what a start 
 
To the Town Clock. 167 
 
 Of quick delight, about to be set free, 
 The schoolboy heard you say that it was three; 
 But then, next morning, how he'd sigh and whine 
 When you as frankly told him it was nine; 
 Oh ! cruel Clock ! thus carelessly to shout it, 
 
 If e'er you'd play'd 
 
 At Ball, or By the Way, on the Parade, 
 You never would have said one word about it. 
 
 To wretch, condemn'd for flagrant crimes to swing, 
 What horrid anguish would thy clear tones bring, 
 
 Telling his hour ! 
 
 But, to the pilloried scoundrel, placed on high, 
 Round whom stale fish and rotten eggs did fly 
 
 A fearful shower ! 
 
 Whose dodging shoulders, and averted eye, 
 Half uttered prayer, or sharp and piercing cry, 
 
 Betray'd his fears ; 
 
 Who thought " his hour " would surely last all day, 
 Sweet was thy welcome voice, when it did say 
 
 The storm about his ears 
 Should cease and die away. 
 
 How oft hast thou observ'd the hapless wight, 
 
 Who'd toil'd, and raked, and scraped, from morning 
 
 light, 
 
 Till nearly three; 
 And yet had not enough his Note to pay, 
 
 Turn round to thee ; 
 
 While throbbing brow, and nervous gait did say, 
 Hold hold good Clock, another quarter stay 
 For if I cannot raise, or beg or borrow, 
 
1 68 To the Town Clock. 
 
 My credit will have died before tomorrow, 
 For this I do assure you's, my "last day." 
 The Sun stood still, at Joshua's command, 
 Oh ! be as kind, or I can never stand; 
 Ah ! do if you of pity have one drop, 
 If you " go on," by Heaven I'll have " to stop," 
 
 How many dashing blades have gone to pot, 
 
 Who sought on Folly's files the first to be ; 
 But never one, of all the precious lot, 
 
 Could live, old friend, so long " on tick " as thee. 
 The cunning fellows, too, thou put'st to shame, 
 
 Who scheme, and plot, and plan from morn till eve 
 Thy " wheels within wheels " always go the same, 
 
 While they, some " screw loose " failing to perceive, 
 On ev'ry side their wreck'd machinery leave. 
 
 A good example 
 To all the idle chaps about the town, 
 
 Who trample 
 On precepts by economists set down, 
 
 You always gave ; 
 
 Your " hands " were going night and day ; 
 From year to year you toil'd away 
 
 Like any slave ; 
 
 Your limbs from heavy weights no hour were free 
 And " Sunday dawned no holiday to thee." 
 You " the whole figure " went while others faltered, 
 And howsoe'er times changed, your time ne'er altered. 
 
A Toast. 169 
 
 A TOAST 
 
 Here's a health to thee Tom,* a bright bumper we drain 
 To the friends that our bosoms hold dear, 
 
 As the bottle goes round, and again and again 
 We whisper "we wish he were here." 
 
 Here's a health to thee Tom, may the mists of this earth 
 
 Never shadow the light of that soul 
 Which so often has lent the mild flashes of mirth 
 
 To illumine the depths of the Bowl. 
 
 With a world full of beauty and fun for a theme, 
 
 And a glass of good wine to inspire, 
 E'en without thee we sometimes are bless'd with a gleam 
 
 That resembles thy spirit's own fire. 
 
 
 
 Yet still, in our gayest and merriest mood 
 
 Our pleasures are tasteless and dim, 
 For the thoughts of the past, and of Tom that intrude, 
 
 Make us feel we're but happy with him. 
 
 Like the Triumph of old where the absent one threw 
 
 A cloud o'er the glorious scene, 
 Are our feasts, my dear Tom, when we meet without you, 
 
 And think of the nights that have been. 
 
 When thy genius, assuming all hues of delight, 
 Fled away with the rapturous hours, 
 
 * " Tom" was Judge Haliburton, better known as Sam Slick the 
 Clockmaker. 
 
170 The Fancy Ball No i. 
 
 And when wisdom, and wit, to enliven the night, 
 Scatter'd freely their fruits and their flowers. 
 
 When thy eloquence played round each topic in turn, 
 
 Shedding lustre and life where it fell, 
 As the sunlight, in which the tall mountain tops burn, 
 
 Paints each bud in the lowliest dell. 
 
 When that eye, before which the pale Senate once quailed 
 
 With humor and deviltry shone, 
 And the voice which the heart of the patriot hailed, 
 
 Had mirth in its every tone. 
 
 Then a health to thee, Tom, ev'ry bumper we drain 
 
 But renders thy image more dear, 
 As the bottle goes round, and again, and again, 
 
 We wish, from our hearts, you were here. 
 
 THE FANCY BALL. No. I. 
 
 Oh ! were you at the Fancy Ball, 
 
 Or did the pastime see, man 
 The stately old Masonic Hall 
 
 Lit up with life and glee, man ? 
 How lived you through the waltz's whirl, 
 
 Or stood the Polka's tread, man 
 Is not some gay, bewitching girl, 
 
 Still dancing in your head, man? 
 
 I've just escaped, as well I might, 
 
 I fled the scene uproarious 
 As many a stalwart, thirsty wight, 
 
The Fancy Ball No i. 171 
 
 Was fast becoming glorious, 
 With life I fled but jupons court, 
 
 Symmetric limbs revealing, 
 And busts, where Love himself might sport, 
 
 Yet through my brain are stealing. 
 
 The music's wild voluptuous swell 
 
 My waking senses scatters, 
 And my poor heart, by many a Belle, 
 
 Is torn all into tatters. 
 I've kept the field, with sword in hand, 
 
 When bullets round me hurtled ; 
 But how the devil could I stand 
 
 Limbs so adroitly kirtled. 
 
 Eyes "raining influence," were there, 
 
 And cheeks that shamed the roses ; 
 With sylph-like forms, surpassing fair, 
 
 Small feet, and powdered noses. 
 Old maids, well rouged, I might defy, 
 
 Their airs and vain pretences 
 From Mrs. R's bewitching eye 
 
 The soul has no defences. 
 
 The Quakeress a thought too old, 
 
 Howe'er the spirit move her 
 But Jessica's bright eyes are roll'd 
 
 And all the world must love her. 
 Of little girls,, a score I passed, 
 
 They put me in a flutter, 
 With budding charms, expanding fast, 
 
 They " smelt of bread and butter. " 
 
172 The Fancy Ball No i. 
 
 A Knight of Malta struts along, 
 
 And makes the heathen stagger 
 I'll back against his weapon strong, 
 
 That dark eyed maiden's dagger. 
 Sarmatia's widow, young and fair, 
 
 Could I her fate control 
 I'd revel in those beauties rare, 
 
 Nor rove from Pole to Pole. 
 
 Bluff Harry, every inch a King, 
 
 A pair of black eyes prizes, 
 And quits, full oft, the glittering ring, 
 
 And to the dais rises. 
 Crush'd by his helmet, staggers round 
 
 The Trooper young and slender, 
 And ever looking on the ground, 
 
 Revolves the young Pretender. 
 
 Prince Hal, with sprightly step, goes down, 
 
 And well sustains his part 
 But girls beware, who stole a Crown, 
 
 Perhaps may steal a heart ; 
 A Cossack bold, with visage grim, 
 
 Looks at the dance Shakspearian, 
 When supper's served just look at him, 
 
 He'd pass for a Hungerian. 
 
 Good Fisherman, with sky-blue shirt, 
 
 Thy net is wanted here, 
 To guard each enterprising Flirt 
 
 From " loose fish " wandering near. 
 
The Fancy Ball No 2. 173 
 
 But faith I'm off my brave Maltese 
 Before I quit the scene, 
 
 Some scarlet skiffs are on the seas, 
 Just watch that Algerine. 
 
 THE FANCY BALL. No. 2. 
 
 Joy rules the hour the Fancy Ball 
 Invites us all to pleasure 
 
 Who would not answer to the call, 
 And tread one jocund measure. 
 
 Teh fathoms deep let Care go down 
 Beneath the sparkling tides 
 
 Where Strife and Envy sink and drown, 
 And Beauty's smile presides. 
 
 The lamps are lit, and Music's swell 
 
 Voluptuous fills the Hall, 
 And, yielding to the magic spell, 
 
 Let's view the Fancy Ball. 
 
 Not Xerxe's eye, from Salamis, 
 Such countless tribes discerned 
 
 Not Peter's army equall'd this, 
 Nor Joseph's coat when turned. 
 
 Turks and Albanians, Suliotes, Poles, 
 And Indians from the mountain, 
 
 They gleam and rush and past us roll, 
 Like bubbles in a Fountain. 
 
174 The Fancy Ball No 2. 
 
 Who have we here, bold " Robin Hood," 
 
 Array'd in kirtle green ; 
 But Cupid has a shaft as good, 
 
 Young ribs to glance between. 
 
 John Chinaman, in rich costume, 
 To trade comes o'er the sea j 
 
 Heart whole he paces round the room, 
 Yet does it to a T. 
 
 With stalwart limbs and ample chest, 
 
 Springs forth the Matadore, 
 No bull he fears, but by my crest, 
 
 He can't abide a bore. 
 
 Well dress'd and stately, Charles sustains 
 
 With ease, his kingly part, 
 His head is safe, but faith he strains 
 
 That blonde too near his heart. 
 
 What ho ! Sir Miner, pick in hand, 
 
 You're countermined, I fear, 
 The Safety Lamps of all your band 
 
 Could not protect you here. 
 
 Of proud Venetia's noblest son 
 
 Behold the stately mien, 
 Joy comes, but when the revel's done 
 
 His heart's not in the scene. 
 
 The Course is clear who'll win, who'll win ? 
 A Gallop off they roll * 
 
The Fancy Ball No 2. 175 
 
 Good Jockey hold that Filly in 
 She'll bolt, upon my soul. 
 
 See, see, they fly, round, round, they go, 
 
 Some lady's lost a garter ; 
 That girl, who thinks she's caught a beau 
 
 Has only caught a Tartar. 
 
 Sage William Penn must go the pace, 
 
 That brawny maid will prove him, 
 Who'll take the odds, he'll win the race 
 
 For flesh and spirit move him. 
 
 Bright Flower Girls, full half a score, 
 
 Exhibit Fancy's freaks, 
 We prize above their gather'd store 
 
 The roses on their cheeks. 
 
 With " Jupon court and juste corset," 
 
 Yon Regimental daughter, 
 Whene'er she turns her eyes this way, 
 
 Dooms all our hearts to slaughter. 
 
 Perhaps I might withstand her glance, 
 
 Her smile I do not dread, 
 But, whirling in the mazy dance 
 
 Her foot just turns my head. 
 
 Art, o'er that antique Dame has thrown, 
 
 The air of days gone by, 
 Yet cannot curb the heaving zone 
 
 Nor cloud that rolling eye. 
 
176 Toms Apology. 
 
 Young Demoiselle, from Chizetcook, 
 To sell your egg prepare, 
 
 I'll buy it spite your merry look, 
 If you the yolk (yoke) will share. 
 
 The Queen of Sheba Queen of Love, 
 May joy and bliss betide her ; 
 
 But Charlie boy be on the move, 
 There's Solomon beside her. 
 
 See gentle Night, our hearts assail, 
 
 So modest, yet so gay, 
 If shadow'd by her mystic veil 
 
 Who'd ever wish for day ? 
 
 FEBRUARY, 1850. 
 
 TOM'S APOLOGY. 
 
 [The son of Judge Haliburton (The Clockmaker) very early 
 evinced a taste for musical composition, so strong, that he deserted 
 all the sports of boyhood to sit for hours at the piano. This 
 decided bias towards a pursuit but little adapted to the circum- 
 stances of a new country, occasioned much parental anxiety. The 
 following verses were written for Tom, on 'his presenting the 
 writer with an original air :] 
 
 Oh ! tempt me not with meaner joys, 
 
 Nor frown, if I decline 
 The sports so lov'd by other Boys 
 
 The World of Sound is mine. 
 
Once more I put my Bonnet on. 177 
 
 I care not for the busy crowd 
 
 Where noisy mirth prevails, 
 Where peals of laughter, long and loud, 
 
 Swell Pleasure's glittering sails. 
 
 The idle jest, the vacant mind, 
 
 Let others freely share, 
 In Music's spells I still can find 
 
 Delights more rich and rare. 
 
 Oh ! let me yet each note prolong, 
 
 And treasure every tone 
 That haunts the magic realms of Song 
 
 And make them all my own. 
 
 Just as the birds that Heavenward soar 
 
 The troubled earth above 
 From brighter regions catch and pour 
 
 The simple strains they love. 
 
 ONCE MORE I PUT MY BONNET ON. 
 
 Once more I put my bonnet on, 
 
 And tie the ribbons blue, 
 My showy poplin dress I don, 
 
 That's just as good as new^ 
 And smooth and stately as a swan 
 
 Go sailing to my pew. 
 
178 Once more I put my Bonnet on. 
 
 Once more, Ah ! me, how oft, how oft, 
 
 Shall I the scene repeat ? 
 With graceful ease and manner soft 
 
 I sink into my seat, 
 And round the congregation waft 
 
 The sense of odors sweet. 
 
 A finer form, a fairer face 
 Ne'er bent before the stole, 
 
 With more restraint, no spotless lace 
 Did firmer orbs control, 
 
 I shine, the Beauty of the place, 
 And yet I look all soul. 
 
 When to the sinful people round 
 
 My pitying glances rove 
 The dewy tints of Heaven's profound 
 
 Seem in my eyes to move, 
 Too sorrowful their hearts to wound, 
 
 And hardly asking love. 
 
 And thus for four long years I've sat, 
 My gloves without a crease, 
 
 For two of them I wore a hat, 
 For one a blue pelisse, 
 
 When will the wicked know what's what, 
 The weary heart have peace ? 
 
 My head gear twenty times I've changed, 
 Worn Park flowers in Spring, 
 
 Wheat ears in Autumn, re-arranged, 
 Tried birds of every wing, 
 
Once more I put my Bonnet on. 1 79 
 
 Bade that from Paradise estranged 
 Its lustre o'er me fling. 
 
 But yet, as " nether millstones " hard 
 
 The hearts of men appear, 
 Smooth shaved, " or bearded like the pard * 
 
 They're worse from year to year. 
 My " virtue is its own reward," 
 .I'm sitting single here. 
 
 The Rector's eyes, a brilliant pair, 
 
 Lit up with love divine, 
 Beaming with inspiration rare, 
 
 And phrenzy very fine, 
 Like nestling birds from upper air, 
 
 Would gently droop to mine. 
 
 What could I think, as day by day 
 
 His gaze more earnest grew, 
 Till half the girls began to say 
 
 He neither cared nor knew, 
 Though all the Church should go astray 
 
 If he could save my pew. 
 
 I read divinity by reams, 
 
 The Bible got by heart, 
 I studied all the Church's "Schemes," 
 
 Prepared to play my part 
 Of Rector's wife, as well beseems 
 
 A lady of high Art. 
 
1 80 Once more I put my Bonnet on. 
 
 But, let the truth at once be told, 
 Religion's cause was nought, 
 
 For Twenty Thousand Pounds in gold 
 The Rector's heart was bought, 
 
 And I was most completely sold, 
 The Blackbird was not caught. 
 
 The Curate's hair was crisp and brown, 
 
 His color very high ; 
 His ample chest came sloping down, 
 
 Antinous-like his thigh, 
 Sin shrank before his gathered frown, 
 
 Peace whispered in his sigh. 
 
 So young ! I hoped his steps to guide 
 From error's devious way ; 
 
 By bad example sorely tried, 
 I feared the youth might stray ; 
 
 To life's allurements opening wide 
 Become an easy prey. 
 
 I did my best, I watched and prayed, 
 
 His ardent soul to save, 
 But by the sinful flesh betrayed, 
 
 What could I do but rave ? 
 Ten stone of blonde, in lace arrayed 
 
 Walked with him down the nave. 
 
 If Gospel truth must now be told 
 
 I've selfish grown of late, 
 The Banker next though somewhat old, 
 
Once more I put my Bonnet on. 1 8 1 
 
 And limping in his gait, 
 And quite as yellow as his gold, 
 I thought to animate. 
 
 I'm sure my Note he would have " done " 
 With " two good names " upon it ; 
 
 I do not think he ever run 
 His eye glass o'er my sonnet, 
 
 Or counted, in the morning sun 
 The feathers in my bonnet. 
 
 The widowed Judge I next essayed, 
 
 His orphans kindly viewing, 
 Read Black stone nearly through 'tis said, 
 
 All gaudy dress eschewing ; 
 But, am I doomed to die a maid ? 
 
 Not yet he comes a wooing. 
 
 Once more I'll put my bonnet on 
 
 And tie the ribbons blue ; 
 My showy poplin dress I'll don, 
 
 That's just as good as new, 
 And smooth and stately as a swan 
 
 Go sailing to my pew. 
 
 Merchants and Lawyers, half a score, 
 
 Bow on their hats to pray, 
 Tho' scattered round, I'm very sure 
 
 They always look my way. 
 I'll re-appear, encore ! encore ! 
 
 Who shall I catch to-day ? 
 
1 82 A New Member. 
 
 A NEW MEMBER. 
 
 [During a discussion in the House of Assembly a large dog made 
 good his entrance and walked about the House, apparently 
 astonished at the singularity of his situation. The following lines 
 were suggested by the incident] 
 
 Why, Rover, by what wily art 
 
 Did you get entrance here ? 
 By playing well a Patriot's part, 
 
 And wasting bread and beer ? 
 
 By kissing each Elector's wife, 
 
 And flirting with his sister, 
 And swearing that, upon your life, 
 
 Your heart could ne'er resist her ? 
 
 Did you shake many a voter's hand, 
 
 And tell full many a story 
 For days upon the hustings stand, 
 
 And bow to Whig and Tory ? 
 
 While rights, and liberties, and laws 
 
 Were always on your tongue, 
 Enlisting hundreds in your cause, 
 
 You'd just as soon have hung ? 
 
 And now you're here, come tell us, pray, 
 
 Which side you mean to sit 
 What part do you intend to play, 
 
 A Dummy or a Wit ? 
 
 Will you seek fame like H. and B., 
 By making lengthy speeches, 
 
A New Member. 183 
 
 Or range upon the side of D. 
 When 'gainst our punch he preaches ? 
 
 And will you kick, and bark and bite, 
 When Road Votes come before ye, 
 
 Or put the Council all to flight, 
 Whene'er the fit comes o'er ye ? 
 
 Will you stand up, ten times at least, 
 
 To speak on every question, 
 And give the House a glorious feast, 
 
 Enough to check digestion ? 
 
 Or will you sit your sixty days * 
 
 For Five-and-Thirty Guineas, 
 And ne'er attempt your voice to raise 
 
 Like many other ninnies ? 
 
 * Formerly members of the House of Assembly received 35 
 guineas for the session, which was supposed to last 60 days, 
 
1 84 Epigrams. 
 
 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 [On being told by a Lady that the face was an index tv the 
 mind.] 
 
 Although you protest it again and again, 
 I still must believe you are jesting, 
 
 For what must thy exquisite volume contain 
 When the Index is so interesting ? 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 Tim says that the maid who first kindled a flame 
 Of desire in his heart was called Patience by name, 
 But at length Tim discovered this beautiful creature, 
 Who was patience by name was impatience by nature. 
 
 THE ROSE AND THE THORN. 
 
 Thy vermeil cheeks, Janette, I swear, 
 Deep blushing as the morn, 
 
 Like two fair rose buds do appear, 
 Thy nose portrays the thorn. 
 
Epigrams. 185 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 [Whose eyes were remarkably small.] 
 
 Your little eyes, with which, fair maid, 
 Strict watch on me you're keeping, 
 
 Were never meant to look, I'm 'fraid 
 They're only fit lor peeping. 
 
 PRECEPT AND EXAMPLE. 
 
 Renounce the world, old Cassock cries, 
 
 With vice and folly it abounds ; 
 But yet, in worldly vanities, 
 
 Cassock spends Twenty Thousand Pounds. 
 
 ON A MISER. 
 
 [Who was very ugly.] 
 
 " He grinds the faces of the poor," 
 Said Ned with solemn tone. 
 
 ' Does he ?" said Dick. " I'm very sure 
 He'd better grind his own." 
 
 16 
 
E'SSAYS. 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 [An Oration delivered before the St. George's Society, Halifax, 
 N. S. April 23, 1864.] 
 
 Not quite two thousand years ago, in a small village 
 of Judea, a poor Carpenter's wife was blessed with a son, 
 who grew to manhood beneath his reputed father's roof 
 who wrote nothing which has been preserved, who 
 died young, and who but for four or five years ap- 
 peared conspicuously on the stage of public life. 
 
 This divine man so lived, for that short space of time, 
 that by the dignity of his person the grace and fasci- 
 nation of his manner the purity and simplicity of his 
 life the splendor of his eloquence the novelty of his 
 doctrines the miraculous power which he displayed, he 
 so alarmed the hierarchs and bigots of his day, that they 
 put him to death, to extirpate what they conceived to be 
 a pestilent heresy dangerous to existing institutions. 
 
 A few short discourses one new commandment 
 some exquisite parables a few noble bursts of righteous 
 indignation a fervent prayer here and there two or 
 three touching lamentations some simple reproofs 
 and a few beautiful illustrations of his courtesy to 
 women and children, and of his sympathetic considera- 
 tion for the wants and weaknesses of his fellow men, 
 are all that remain to us of the Biography and recorded 
 speech of this poor youth. 
 
 Yet every Sabbath, all over the Christian world, 
 millions of people assemble to do honor to this person 
 
1 90 Shakspeare. 
 
 to repeat his words to ponder upon his life, and to 
 endeavour to mould the growing generations by his 
 example. We, in view of the miracles he wrought and 
 of the wisdom of his teaching, acknowledge his divine 
 origin and attributes ; but millions, who regard him only 
 as a man, are yet won to daily and weekly recognition 
 of the holiness of his life the wisdom of his words, 
 and of the self-sacrificing spirit in which he died for the 
 redemption and security of his fellow-men. 
 
 How many Emperors, Kings, Conquerors, Tyrants, 
 have lived and died within these two thousand years, 
 for whom no festivals are kept whose example no man 
 quotes whose wisdom no man ponders. Their mailed 
 figures, as they appear in history, seem to shake the 
 earth, their pride to flout the skies their policy to 
 cover the globe. Yet there they lie, the best of them 
 with their marble or bronze hands folded on- their stone 
 sarcophagi, looking up to the Heaven they outraged, and 
 challenging from the earth which they devastated but 
 scanty notice or recognition. From all which we 
 gather, shutting divinity out of the question, that the 
 world knows and will ever know its benefactors from its 
 oppressors that the beauty of holiness outlasts mere 
 earthly splendor that the still small voice of wisdom 
 will go echoing through the hearts of successive genera- 
 tions, whom the hoarse command of authority cannot 
 stir. 
 
 A little more than a century ago, a child was born in 
 the cottage of a poor Scotch peasant in Ayrshire, and 
 but a few years have passed since the Centennial 
 Anniversary of that boy's birth was kept throughout the 
 
Shakspeare. 191 
 
 civilized world. You kept it here. I was not present, 
 but I read the account of your celebration with interest 
 and pride. Throughout the British Empire all over 
 this continent, wherever the British races mingle and 
 British literature is read, bonfires blazed and cities were 
 illuminated Balls were given, and Dinners and Suppers 
 were enlivened by the songs of Burns, or by sentiments 
 uttered in his praise. I happened to be in Boston, the 
 city that, next to Halifax and London, for many reasons, 
 I like the best, and where I feel the most at home. 
 Two festivals were held, one at the Revere House by 
 the North British Society, the other at the Parker House, 
 by the leading literati of New England. I was honored 
 by invitations to both, and at both witnessed the 
 enthusiasm of the hour, and the intellectual affluence 
 of the community. The Governor of the State, the 
 Mayor of the City, the leading Merchants and Bankers, 
 the Professors of Cambridge, Whittier and Emerson, 
 Holmes and Hilliard, Fields and 1 Whipple, and a score 
 more of men who give animation to the social, and fire 
 to the public life of the old Bay State, were there ; and 
 we all lifted our voices to honor the memory of that 
 poor Scotch Peasant, and bowed our heads in reveren- 
 tial thankfulness above his literary remains. What we 
 were doing in Boston, you were doing here, and the 
 intellectual and appreciative all over the world were 
 doing in the same spirit on the same occasion. 
 
 Now, how did it happen that the noble and the high- 
 born, the Scholar, the Novelist, the Historian, the 
 Statesman, the Poet, all mingling with the joyous accla- 
 mations of those wider classes that come more nearly 
 
1 92 Shakspeare. 
 
 down to his own worldly station, gave point and signifi- 
 cance to festivals got up to honor the memory of a poor 
 Ploughman a century after he had passed away ? The 
 man was no saint sharp of speech, and loose of life, 
 at times he had tried the patience of many friends, and 
 made many enemies. He had lived and died in poverty ; 
 his errors, whatever they were, being veiled by no 
 drapery of convention, nor refined away by the ordinary 
 accessories of elegant self-indulgence. He left behind 
 him no relatives who could defend his memory no sect 
 to battle for his opinions no wealth to purchase venal 
 advocacy no station or organized influence to disarm 
 independent criticism. How was it then, that all the 
 world, by a simultaneous impulse, moved as one man to 
 do honor, on the same day, to the memory of this poor 
 Scotch Ploughman ? 
 
 It was because, long after he was dead, and his faults 
 and follies were forgotten, it was discovered (as it had 
 been before by a few keen sighted and appreciative 
 friends who knew and loved him) that in this man's soul 
 there had been genuine inspiration that he was a 
 patriot an artist that by his genius, and independent 
 spirit, he had given dignity to the pursuits by which the 
 mass of mankind live, and quickened our love of nature 
 by exquisite delineation. It was found that hypocrisy 
 stood rebuked in presence of his broad humor that 
 he had put one lyric invocation into the mouth of a 
 dead warrior that would be worth to his country, in any 
 emergency, an army of ten thousand men that he had 
 painted one picture of his country's rural life, so touch- 
 ing and so true, that it challenged for her the respect 
 
Shakspeare. 193 
 
 of millions who knew her not; and gave character and 
 refinement to the thoughts of those who knew her best. 
 
 What has become of the wrangling race of bloody 
 Chieftains, whose mutual slaughter and mutual perfidy, 
 Tytler so well describes ? With the exception of Wallace 
 and Bruce, we would not give the Ayrshire Ploughman 
 for a legion of them. What has become of the drowsy 
 Holy Willies, whose interminable homilies made the 
 Sabbath wearisome, in Burns' time, and the gospel past 
 finding out ? They are dozing in the churchyards, as 
 their congregations dozed in the churches ; and no one 
 asks to have them waked up by a festival ; yet the man 
 they denounced, and would have burnt if they could, 
 shows his " Cottar's Saturday night " to the admiring 
 world and puts them all to shame. 
 
 Three hundred years ago (1564) William Shakspeare, 
 whose Birth Day we have met to celebrate, was born, of 
 comparatively obscure parentage, at Stratford-upon- 
 Avon, a small English village. His father John 
 Shakspeare, dealt in wool, and though at one period 
 of his life he had been better off, was, before the Poet's 
 death, so poor as to be exempted from the payment of 
 local assessments. His mother, Mary Arden, was des- 
 cended from a family some members of which had 
 served the office of Sheriff, and brought to her husband, 
 as dower, 65 acres of land and 6 13 4 in money. 
 Our Poet was the eldest of ten children. Before he was 
 three months old the Plague ravaged his native village, 
 carrying off a seventh part of its population, but seems 
 to have spared his family. He was educated at the 
 Free School of Stratford, till withdrawn to assist his 
 
 '7 
 
1 94 Shakspeare. 
 
 father, whose circumstances were becoming straitened. 
 At eighteen he married Anne Hatheway, and com- 
 menced business for himself, but, being arrested with 
 some other youngsters for Deer Stalking in Sir Thomas 
 Lucy's Park, to escape the law he fled to London, and 
 joined a company of Players. He became an Actor, a 
 Dramatist, a Poet, a Theatrical Manager, won the favor 
 of the Earl of Southampton, and of Queen Elizabeth. 
 He earned a competence,and after the death of the 
 virgin Queen retired to his native village, where he pur- 
 chased a handsome house and enjoyed' an income of 
 ^"300 a year. He had three children. He died on his 
 birth-day, the 23rd of April, at the early age of 53. 
 
 This is nearly all that is known, with certainty, of 
 the marvellous man whose Tri-Centenary we have met 
 to celebrate. The very acute editor of one of the 
 latest and finest collections of his works, thus mourns 
 over the paucity of material for any authentic and 
 enlarged Biography : " That William Shakspeare was 
 born at Stratford-upon-Avon ; that he married, and had 
 three children ; that he wrote a certain number of 
 Dramas ; that he died before he had attained to old 
 age, and was buried in his native town, are positively 
 the only facts in the personal history of this extra- 
 ordinary man, of which we are certainly possessed ; 
 and if we should be solicitous to fill up this bare and 
 most unsatisfactory outline, we must have recourse to 
 the vague reports of unsubstantial tradition, or to the 
 still more shadowy inferences of lawless and unsatis- 
 factory conjecture." 
 
Skakspeare. 195 
 
 Whether Shakspeare actually held gentlemen's horses 
 at the door of the Theatre before he became an Actor 
 how much or how little he knew of Latin $r Greek, 
 or of any foreign language ; to what books he was 
 indebted for his plots, his conceits, or his imagery, are 
 questions which we linger not to-day to ask or to answer. 
 Have not these, and other kindred themes of specula- 
 tion and conjecture, for more than a century furnished 
 employment for ingenious critics and commentators ? 
 We must brush them aside. If we stood by the grave of 
 Richard Cceur de Leon, we should not pause to enquire 
 who taught him tricks of fence, or of what nutriment his 
 muscle had been formed ; and, standing beside the 
 grave of this great Englishman, it is enough for us to 
 know that he lived, and died, and made the universe 
 his heirs. 
 
 This man founded no sect, sat on no throne, con- 
 ducted no government, led no army, upheaved no 
 ancient dominion. How is it, then, that three hundred 
 years after he has been dead and buried, in a Province 
 of which he never heard which was a wilderness 
 for two hundred years after he was born how happens 
 it, that in a city not founded for a century and a half 
 after he was in his grave, we are assembled to hold high 
 festival on this man's natal day ? How does it occur 
 that the highest in military rank and civic station comes 
 here at the head of all that is distinguished by culture 
 and refinement, to do honor to the memory of Shak- 
 speare? that the Parliament adjourns that the Courts 
 are closed that business is suspended that the place 
 where "merchants most do congregate" is deserted 
 
196 Shakspeare. 
 
 and that all ranks and classes, by a common impulse, 
 have gathered here to do honor to this man's memory? 
 As your procession moved through the streets, the scene 
 was most imposing, and now I can scarcely see your 
 heads for banners consecrated to every branch of our 
 nationality, and to every form of Christian benevolence. 
 Faces as fresh as Rosalind's, and eyes as bright as 
 Juliet's, smile approbation or rain influence on this 
 scene, until the heart dances at the sight of an intel- 
 lectual community doing homage to Genius by methods 
 the most graceful, and with a unanimity that is 
 marvellous. 
 
 On Saturday evening this Hall resounded with the 
 music interspersed through Shakspeare's Plays. Mr. 
 Passow will presently delight us with some readings. 
 We shall plant an Oak on the sunny side of our Pro- 
 vincial Building, in commemoration of this Tri-Centen- 
 ary celebration, and close the day with the " feast of 
 reason and the flow of soul." To-night we re-assemble 
 here, to enjoy a second time the delightful entertain- 
 ment which the Officers and Soldiers of the garrison 
 have kindly consented to repeat. 
 
 But, after all, what is our poor Festival, rich in sin- 
 cerity and enthusiasm though it be, compared with 
 what we know will elsewhere make this day memorable. 
 All over the British Islands, all over the British Empire, 
 it will be kept as a holiday, and enlivened with all that 
 intellect of the highest order can contribute, or art the 
 most chastened, yet elaborate, combine. 
 
 In the great Metropolis of the World, whose financial 
 pulsations are marked by millions where war or peace 
 
Shakspeare. 197 
 
 for half the universe, trembles in the hourly vibrations 
 of human thought where men battle for wealth, and 
 distinctions and worldly power, with an intensity pro- 
 portioned to the value of the prizes to be won ; even 
 there on this day the great heart of the Empire will be 
 stilled for a time, that all the world may witness how 
 profound is the impression which the genius of Shak- 
 speare has made in that Imperial City, where for 
 centuries his Dramas have nightly contributed to the 
 intellectual life of the population. 
 
 At Stratford, the Birth Place of the Poet, a Pavilion 
 has been erected which will hold 5,000 people 550 
 musicians have been engaged ; and Concerts, Oratorios, 
 Balls, and Theatrical performances, will gather together, 
 for a week's unmixed enjoyment, an assemblage not 
 more distinguished by wealth and station, than remark- 
 able for intellectual culture and shrewd knowledge of 
 books and men. 
 
 But not only in England will this day be kept. In 
 Ireland, where the memories of her Poets, and Drama- 
 tists, and Orators are treasured as the richest element 
 of national life, the great Englishman, who was loved 
 and honored by them all, will be this day crowned with 
 the deepest verdure, and hailed by universal acclama- 
 tion. Scotland will put aside her theology and meta- 
 physics, and the fiery cross, with Shakspeare's name 
 upon it, will be sped from city to city, and from moun- 
 tain to mountain, rousing the clans to rivalry with all- 
 the world. Bonfires will blaze upon Ben Nevis and 
 Ben Venue ; and the bones of her great Poets will stir 
 beneath the marble monuments that national gratitude 
 
198 Shakspeare. 
 
 has reared above them, in recognition of the merits of 
 this great master of our tongue. 
 
 All over the Empire in the great Provinces of the 
 East in the Australian Colonies at the Cape in the 
 West Indies in the neighboring Provinces of Canada 
 and New Brunswick no less than in the Summer Isles, 
 where, if Prospero's wand no longer waves, we have 
 Moore's warrant, and our own experience, to assure us 
 that Miranda's fascinations may yet be found ; wherever 
 British communities have been formed, and British 
 civilization has been fostered, will this day be honored, 
 and the memory of this great man be " in their flowing 
 cups freshly remembered." 
 
 If our American cousins, North and South, do not 
 keep this Festival as they kept that in honor of Burns, 
 it will not be from want of inclination, or from igno- 
 rance of the merits of the great Dramatist whose works 
 they read, appreciate, act, and quote, with an admira- 
 tion as intense and with a familiarity as ready as our 
 own. Engaged in these " great wars," which, from their 
 magnitude of proportion, ought "to make ambition 
 virtue," and which another Shakspeare, half a century 
 hence, will be required to illustrate, they may not have 
 leisure for any but military celebrations; but of this 
 we may be assured, that Shakspeare has gone with the 
 camp furniture of every regiment, into the field, 
 whether North or South of the Potomac ; and that his 
 glorious pages have cheered the bivouac and the hos- 
 pital, whenever the tedious hours of inaction were to be 
 wiled away, or the " ills that flesh is heir to," and which 
 combats surely bring, have had to be endured. 
 
Shakspeare. 1 99 
 
 Nor will these manifestations be confined to the lands 
 which the British races inhabit. All over the continent, 
 where Shakspeare is known as we know Goethe or 
 Voltaire where his works have been translated and 
 illustrated by men the most discriminating and profound, 
 this day will be honored, and his name, making the 
 circuit of " the great globe itself," will not only awake 
 the " drum beat " which indicates the waving lines of 
 British power and dominion, but the echoes of warm 
 hearts and sympathetic natures in every quarter of the 
 earth. 
 
 Shakspeare left behind him, when he died, thirty- 
 seven Dramas, and a few Poems. Upon these his 
 reputation rests ; but it is curious to reflect how tardy 
 the world, now so unanimous in its verdict, was in 
 recognizing its benefactor. That Queen Elizabeth, and 
 the brilliant men by whom she was always surrounded, 
 applauded his Plays in the old Globe Theatre which he 
 managed, and enjoyed his Poems in their studious 
 hours, we have authentic record. That the sturdy 
 middle-class of English society for whom his Plays were 
 written, wept and laughed three centuries ago, exactly 
 as we weep and laugh, no man can doubt. That the 
 critics in the pit wondered then, as now, at the fertility 
 of his invention, while the gods in the gallery roared at 
 his inexhaustible humor, are facts which we may 
 assume to lie upon the surface of all safe speculation. 
 But how did it happen, that for more than a century his 
 works appear to have passed from the minds of men, 
 and that his reputation, like the aloe, took a hundred 
 years to bloom ? Who can safely answer this question ? 
 
2OO Shakspeare. 
 
 For more than two centuries, the European races trod 
 the soil of Nova Scotia without perceiving the gold that 
 lay beneath their feet ; the Temple Church was buried 
 in rubbish for more than a century, till its beautiful 
 proportions, and elegant ornamentation were redeemed 
 and restored by a tender and loving process, akin to 
 that by which the Dramatic Works of Shakspeare have 
 been redeemed and illustrated. 
 
 The Poet appears to have taken but little pains to 
 ingratiate himself with posterity. Though he published 
 his Poems, which went through several editions, during 
 his lifetime, but few of his Dramatic Works were 
 printed, while he lived. The whole were collected and 
 published by his fellow comedians seven years after his 
 death. 
 
 But in 1623, the year in which they were published, 
 the world was beginning to be busy about other things 
 than stage plays and dead Poets. That great Historical 
 Drama, in many Acts, of which England was to become 
 the Theatre, was in course of preparation. James the 
 First, with his pedantic learning, haughty favorites, and 
 high prerogative notions, was passing away, amidst a 
 storm of Parliamentary Eloquence more intensely ex- 
 citing even than Dramatic Literature. Elliot and Pym, 
 Hampden and Vane, were unfolding the grievances of 
 England as Mark Antony bared the wounds of Cagsar 
 in the forum. The first Act closed with the death of 
 James two years after the publication of Shakspeare's 
 . Plays, and Charles the First ascended the throne ii 
 1625. 
 
 Bye and bye money was wanted for foolish Continental 
 
Shakspeare. 201 
 
 wars, and the Commons of England were determined 
 that the redress of grievances and supplies should go 
 together. The Star Chamber was busy with arrests and 
 thumbscrews, and Laud was busy dictating to all earnest- 
 minded Englishmen how they should worship God, and 
 what they should believe. The " times are out of joint," 
 and sweet Will Shakspeare must wait awhile for 
 recognition 
 
 " Till the hurly burly's done, 
 And the battle's lost and won." 
 
 Then Ship Money is demanded and resisted, and 
 Charles comes down to seize the members in the Com- 
 mons House of Parliament. Then Prynne's ears are 
 cut off in the Pillory, and the leaders of the people are 
 fined and imprisoned ; and now the action of the great 
 Drama becomes intensely exciting the Counties begin 
 to arm, and Hampden lives in the saddle. The King's 
 Standard is set up, and a rough looking soldierly man, 
 with broad shoulders, a huge head, and some pimples 
 on his face, begins to attract attention, as Washington 
 did long after when a man of action was required. By 
 1642, nineteen years after Shakspeare's Plays were 
 printed, the Cavaliers and Roundheads are fairly at it. 
 Then come Edgehill, Marston Moor, and Naseby. 
 Hampden and Falkland are dead, Laud and Wentworth 
 executed. People are too busy making history to care 
 much about representations of it, and Shakspeare must 
 sleep on. 
 
 The slovenly looking soldier with the broad chest 
 has come to the front, and, at the head of a marvellous 
 
2O2 Shakspeare. 
 
 regiment of cavalry, has trampled down, on every battle 
 field, everything opposed to him. People may be 
 excused for not thinking of Shakspeare, with such a 
 phenomenon as Cromwell, in living flesh and blood, 
 treading the stage before their eyes. 
 
 Then come the capture of the King and his execu- 
 tion Irish and Scotch wars, Drogheda and Dunbar, 
 more materials for History rapidly accumulating. 
 Then there are pestilent Dutchmen Von Tromp, De 
 Witt and De Ruyter, in the Channel with 120 ships, 
 prepared to land and burn all the Theatres and other 
 property of the nation ; and Shakspeare must be quiet 
 while Monk and Deane, and other gallant Englishmen, 
 sweep this nuisance out of the narrow seas. And 
 swept it was by the besom of destruction, and no 
 brooms have been hoisted in the Channel since. 
 
 And bye and bye there is peace at home and abroad, 
 and the Lord Protector, with John Milton for his Secre- 
 tary 7 , and John Howe for his Chaplain, is standing on 
 the place where the Throne of England stood, known 
 of all men as a redoubtable soldier and a most wary 
 politician. But Oliver, though he loved a grim joke 
 at times, and could snatch off his son Richard's wig at 
 a wedding, or smear Dick Martin's face with ink after 
 signing the Death Warrant, was no favorer of stage 
 plays, and it behoved Will Shakspeare to be quiet until 
 he had made his exit. 
 
 England was parcelled out into Districts, and a stern 
 Major General of the true Cromwellian stamp, ruled 
 over each, with orders to pull down the May-poles, close 
 up the Theatres, and set amusing vagabonds : ^ the 
 
Shakspeare. 203 
 
 stocks. " There were no more cakes and ale," and if 
 "ginger" was "hot "in anybody's "mouth" the less 
 he said about it the better. 
 
 But England is nothing if she be not "merrie." She 
 had prayed and fought her way to freedom, as she 
 thought, but here were new forms of restraint, and a 
 tyranny more irksome than that from which she had 
 escaped. Better pay Ship Money, and lose an ear 
 once in a while, than have no more village sports and 
 city recreations. The Queen has been in mourning but 
 for two short years, yet John Bull grumbles at the 
 gloom. All places of public amusement have been 
 open, and everybody, outside of the Royal circle, has 
 done just as he pleased ; yet something was wanting 
 while the Queen was sad, and a cheerful Sovereign 
 is as necessary to England as a Free Press and a 
 Free Parliament. Cromwell, with all his sagacity, 
 and bewildered in the theological fogs of the period, 
 did not understand this. He died, and "apres mois 
 le deluge." The reaction of cheerfulness came with 
 the Restoration the Theatres were re-opened and the 
 May-poles went up again. And now, one might 
 fairly assume, that Shakspeare's hour had come. But 
 it did not. 
 
 Charles, who had been twelve years an exile, if he 
 had not lost his English cheerfulness, had become a 
 foreigner in all his tastes. The men who had shared 
 his expatriation, had learned to speak and write and 
 think in French and other foreign languages; and 
 foreign literature dramatic literature especially, which 
 day by day beguiled the tedious hours of banishment, 
 
204 Shakspeare. 
 
 had become a necessary of life. Foreign tastes came 
 back with the Court, and were of course cultivated by 
 the higher classes. 
 
 How was it with the great body of the people ? The 
 Wars of the Roses had ceased to interest them. They 
 had had a Civil War of their own, brought home to their 
 very doors with stern reality. What were the fictitious 
 sorrows of dethroned monarchs, compared with the 
 real tragedy behind Whitehall ? The ravings of Mar- 
 garet and the lamentations of Constance were forgotten 
 in presence of Henrietta Maria, with her children in 
 her hand, taking leave of the Royal Husband she was 
 to behold no more. The men who had seen a. charge 
 of the Ironsides were not easily stirred by a flourish of 
 trumpets on the stage ; and those who had seen Hamp- 
 den, Rupert, Essex, Ireton, and Desborough, in the 
 saddle, required no poet to show them what the men 
 and horses were like that broke the French at Agincourt 
 and Poictiers. And so sweet Will Shakspeare slept on 
 through the Restoration as he had done through the 
 Protectorate, until the Court of England was composed 
 of men and women who had been bred at home who 
 could relish English humor and English sentiment ; 
 and a sturdy middle class had grown up, who had 
 wondered at Milton and laughed at Hudibras till they 
 were weary of both ; and had begun to long for some- 
 thing less exaggerated, and more germane to the realities 
 of every day human life. The Puritan Warriors and 
 Cavaliers had passed off the scene ; and, to the new 
 generation, who knew them not, both Civil Wars were 
 alike historical : while the Feudal chivalry of York and 
 
Shakspeare. 205 
 
 Lancaster, as drawn by Shakspeare, seemed, of the two 
 battalia, the most picturesque. 
 
 Another King had been driven out the people had 
 seized the purse strings Responsible Government was 
 established " the liberty of unlicensed Printing " had 
 been secured, and glorious John Dryden, Prior and 
 Ben Johnson, had taught the People of England the 
 flexibility and music of our mother tongue; and 
 Bunyan, Locke, De Foe and Addison, had shown how 
 all-sufficient it was for the expression of arguments the 
 most subtle, and for the highest flights of the most 
 luxuriant imagination. 
 
 Then the discovery was made that a dead English- 
 man, who had been buried a hundred years, had left 
 to his countrymen a literary treasure of inestimable 
 value. What was Caesar's legacy of seventy-five 
 drachmas to each of the citizens of Rome ? here was 
 a treasure inexhaustible, and capable of sub-division 
 among the British races to the end of time. What 
 were Caesar's 
 
 " walks, 
 
 His private arbors, and new planted orchards, 
 On this side Tiber ? " 
 
 Here were the gardens of the Hesperides, richer in 
 enchantment than the bowers of Calypso and Armida 
 orchards, where " apples of gold in pictures of silver " 
 were hung within the reach of all arbors that a Mus- 
 sulman warrior would die to inherit, with Imogene and 
 Thasia, Cressida and Titania, Portia and Jessica, 
 Helena, Cordelia, Olivia and Beatrice, flitting through 
 
206 Shakspeare. 
 
 the foliage, with fascinations ever varying, and smiles 
 that could never fade. 
 
 With a spirit of deep reverence and unselfish love 
 did the great Poets and Critics of modern England 
 address themselves to the task of exhuming this 
 treasure, and making known to their countrymen its 
 extent and value. Foremost in this good work were 
 Rowe and Theobold, Pope, Warburton and Johnson ; 
 and after them have come critics and commentators by 
 the score, till every obsolete phrase has been explained, 
 every old work translated into current English, every 
 blemish detected, every beauty brought to the surface. 
 In this labor of love, Goethe, and Schlegel and Vol- 
 taire, and the finer minds of Continental Europe, have 
 labored with diligence and often with keen discrimina- 
 tion, until the subject has been exhausted, and now no 
 wise man looks for a new fact or for a plausible 
 suggestion. 
 
 A brillant series of great actors and actresses have 
 devoted their lives to the study of Shakspeare's Plays, 
 and have won fortune and high distinction by their 
 illustration. Garrick, Mrs. Siddons, the Keans and 
 Kembles, Macready, and many other brilliant Artists, 
 have, for a hundred and fifty years, presented to 
 succeeding generations the master-pieces of this great 
 Dramatist. Yet "custom cannot stale his infinite 
 variety," and still " excess of appetite grows by what it 
 feeds on." 
 
 During these hundred and fifty years the genius of 
 Shakspeare has kept possession of the public mind, 
 appealed to by rivals in every walk of literature, and it 
 
Shakspeare. 207 
 
 may be safely said that no book except the Bible, has 
 taken a hold of it so universal and so firm. Tried by 
 every test, read in the light of ancient and modern 
 literature, Shakspeare has riot only held his own, but 
 has steadily risen in general estimation. 
 
 Within the period which has passed since he lived 
 and wrote, the Classics, redeemed from the wrecks of 
 ancient civilization, have been edited with care and 
 elegantly translated into every modern language. JEs- 
 chylus and Euripides, Plautus and Terence, can now be 
 read with as much facility as Shakspeare. The great 
 dramatists of France, appealing to a population to 
 whom theatricals and bread are the necessaries of life, 
 have constructed Tragedies of stately severity, and 
 lighter pieces in every vein of humor. Alfieri, in Italy, 
 and Calderon and Lope de Vega, in Spain, have 
 presented their master-pieces to the admiring world. 
 Schiller's great Dramas, beautifully rendered into English 
 by Joanna Bailley, have enriched the literature of Ger- 
 many ; while in our own country Addison, Congreve, 
 Younge, Home, and Otway ; Byron, Shelley, Talfourd 
 and Knowles, with all the phases of modern civilization 
 expanding before them, with free access to all the 
 treasures of ancient and modern literature, and with 
 the "moving accidents by flood and field" which 
 history and biography have accumulated in those three 
 hundred years, have done their best ; and each has won 
 a place in the loving hearts touched by their genius 
 and refined and elevated by the exquisite harmony of 
 their verse. But which of all these men would we 
 venture to put beside Shakspeare ? If they were all 
 
208 Shakspeare. 
 
 assembled here to-day, they would confess their several 
 obligations to the great Poet, who " exhausted worlds 
 and then imagined new," and join with us in crowning 
 him as the great master of their art. 
 
 Now what is the secret of this great success of this 
 universal homage ? Who shall give the answer ? The 
 ocean with its majestic waves, fathomless depths, and 
 ever receding outlines, who can measure or define? 
 The starry heavens are incomprehensible to the astrono- 
 mer, who can weigh the planets, as to the peasant who, 
 in simple love and reverence, sees them shine above his 
 head. The incendiary, who destroyed the Temple of 
 Diana, could not comprehend the secret of that universal 
 admiration which made his act a sacrilege and a crime. 
 We stand beside Niagara, or beneath the dome of 
 St. Peter's, or St. Paul's, and are overpowered by a 
 sense of sublimity and beauty, for which we thank God, 
 but which it is extremely difficult to analyze. We hang 
 over a beautiful statute, or gaze at a fine picture, but 
 are lost and bewildered when we come to describe why 
 it touches our feelings, or excites our involuntary 
 admiration. 
 
 If the phenomena of nature, the sublimities of archi- 
 tecture, and the miracles of high art, thus impress and 
 confound us, we can readily understand how it is that 
 we stand awe-struck and bewildered in presence of a 
 writer who is at once a creator and an artist ; at whose 
 command " cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces '' 
 spring out of the earth who sets the sublime " artillery 
 of Heaven " to music who presents to our admiring 
 gaze forms that would defy the chisel of Canova or the 
 
Shakspeare. 209 
 
 pencil of Sir Peter Lely ; who sketches scenery with 
 the warmth of Claude and the dripping softness of 
 Gainsborough ; who reasons like a philosopher, speaks 
 like a statesman, and jests like a King's fool ; who infuses 
 life into the dead bones of History : clothes Warriors 
 and Kings and Prelates with living flesh and blood ; and 
 makes them unfold their policy as though he had been 
 familiar wkh their counsels, and act and speak as though 
 a Photographer and Reporter had been present all the 
 time. We accept this man as a gift from the all-bountiful 
 Creator, but we cannot comprehend him, or fathom the 
 secret springs of his ascendancy and power. 
 
 The reason why Englishmen should love him, as the 
 Scotch do Burns, and the Irish Moore, may not be far 
 to seek. He has won the first place in universal 
 literature for his country, and he has won it, so far as 
 any body can discover, without ever having been out of 
 England. He seems to have been beloved by his 
 cotemporaries, and those who knew him best. Though 
 honored with the favor of his Sovereign and the pat- 
 ronage and friendship of Southampton, he was not 
 spoilt. " I loved the man," said old Ben Johnson who 
 knew him well, "and did honor his memory, on this 
 side of idolatry as much as any. He was indeed 
 honest, of an open and free nature, had an excellent 
 fancy, brave notions and gentle expressions." " Gentle 
 Shakspeare," the " Swan of Avon," " Sweet Will " 
 these were the endearing names given to him by his 
 cotemporaries, and they have come down to us as the 
 best evidence that can be furnished of the personal 
 qualities he displayed. 
 
 18 
 
2 TO Shakspeare. 
 
 That he was a dear lover of his country who can 
 doubt? With what pride and exultation and entire 
 confidence he speaks of her fortunes and her future, at 
 a time when her great career of conquest and of Empire 
 had hardly begun : 
 
 "This royal throne of kings, this sceptred Isle, 
 This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
 This other Eden, demi-paradise ; 
 This fortress, built by Nature for herself 
 Against infection and the hand of war ; 
 This happy breed of men, this little world ; 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
 Or as a moat defensive to a house, 
 Against the envy of less happy lands ; 
 This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
 This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
 Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth , 
 Renown'd for their deeds as far from home, 
 (For Christian service and true chivalry,) 
 As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry 
 Of the world's Ransom, blessed Mary's son, 
 This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, 
 Dear for her reputation through the world." 
 
 Again, he calls her " our sea-walled garden," which 
 she has remained, thank God, to this hour. And 
 again : 
 
 "That water-walled bulwark, still secure 
 And confident from foreign purposes. 
 This England never did (nor never shall) 
 Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror." 
 
 Shakspeare had seen the proud Spanish Armada, with 
 its 130 ships of war, its 2,650 " great guns," and 
 
Shakspeare. 2 1 1 
 
 30,000 men, scattered by the hand of Providence, and 
 by the valor of Drake and Howard ; and he might well 
 exult in the valor of his countrymen and in the impreg- 
 nability of the "little island" that he loved. Could 
 he see her now, with her 670 war ships, her well 
 disciplined army and her 150,000 volunteers, he would 
 not be less confident in her destiny. 
 
 How like the blast of a trumpet has the magnificent 
 speech which Shakspeare puts into the mouth of our 
 Fifth Harry on the eve of the Battle of Agincourt, rung 
 through the hearts of Englishmen in all parts of the 
 world ! At Torres Vedras, at Waterloo, at Inkermann, 
 at Lucknow and Delhi, wherever our countrymen have 
 been far from home and hard bestead,. Shakspeare's 
 glorious thoughts have been uppermost in their minds. 
 
 The time may come, in these British Provinces, when 
 we may be called upon to test the purity of our 
 lineage and " the metal of our pastures ; " and when 
 it comes, let us hope that Shakspeare's invocation may 
 not be lost upon us. Our volunteers and militiamen 
 show well upon parade, in their " gayness " and their 
 " gilt," but when the " working day " comes, and they 
 
 " are all besmirch'd 
 With rainy marching in the painful field,' 
 
 let us hope that they will emulate the valour of the 
 Mother Isles, without a Westmoreland wish to have 
 " more men from England, 
 
 Shakspeare's National Dramas are a valuable addition 
 to the History of our country. An Admiral of some 
 celebrity declared that he read nothing else. I have 
 read nearly all the works of our popular Historians, but 
 
2 1 2 Shakspeare. 
 
 how few of them paint the scenes they describe with 
 the vividness of Shakspeare ? and where is there one 
 that presents the men of by-gone periods with the same 
 dramatic power? Hundreds of illustrations could be 
 given. Take Hume's account of Buckingham's intrigues 
 to secure the Throne for Richard, with that which the 
 Duke himself gives of the scene at the Guildhall ; or 
 contrast his description of the murder of the young 
 Princes with that in which Shakspeare shows us how 
 
 " the murderers, 
 
 Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, 
 Melting with tenderness and mild compassion 
 Wept like two children, in their death's sad story, 
 " O thus," quoth Dighton, " lay the gentle babes," 
 " Thus, thus," quoth Forrest, " girdling one another 
 " Within their alabaster innocent arms : 
 " Their lips were four red roses on a stalk 
 " Which in their summer oeauty kissed each other. 
 " A book of prayers on their pillow lay ; 
 " Which once," quoth Forrest, " almost changed my mind," 
 " But, O the devil " there the villain stopped ; 
 When Dighton thus told on " we smothered 
 " The most replenished, sweet work of nature, 
 " That, from the prime creation, e'er she framed." 
 Hence both are gone, with conscience and remorse 
 They could not speak ; and so I left them both 
 To bear these tidings to the bloody king." 
 
 Here we have the whole scene. This is the picture 
 that all Painters copy, and when we visit the Chamber 
 in the Tower, or recall this touching event in English 
 History, it is with Shakspeare's and not Hume's 
 language in our thoughts. 
 
 The same may be said of the ten National Dramas, 
 
Shakspeare. 213 
 
 including seven Reigns, and spreading over a period of 
 three hundred years. The portions of History which 
 Shakspeare has illustrated are invariably those into 
 which we have the clearest insight, and to which we 
 return again and again with interest deepening as we 
 read. 
 
 Of Queen Elizabeth we have only the Christening 
 benediction and a fine foreshadowing at the close of 
 Henry the 8th, but what would we not give for a Drama 
 by Shakspeare, in which the two rival Queens, with 
 Cecil and Walsingham, Raleigh and Essex, Bothwell 
 and Rizzio, were sketched with the distinctness of the 
 Yorkists and Lancastrians of an earlier period ? And 
 coming down to the later Civil Wars, how hard we find 
 it, without Shakspeare's guidance and portraiture, to 
 gather from all the historians and biographers (and 
 they are numerous enough) the same vivid realistic 
 notions of Cromwell and Monk, of Rupert, Ireton, 
 Waller, Fleetwood, and other Cavaliers and Parliamen- 
 tarians, that he has given us of Hotspur, Falconbridge, 
 Warwick, or John of Gaunt. 
 
 But we are not only indebted to Shakspeare for 
 clearer views of English History, but for some marvel- 
 lous delineations of stirring events and portraitures of 
 remarkable men in times more remote. Plutarch and 
 Livy are highly dramatic and picturesque, and yet we 
 rise from the perusal of their charming volumes with a 
 dreamy and indistinct impression of the scenes they 
 describe, and of the characters they portray. There 
 is a haze of remote antiquity which we cannot com- 
 pletely penetrate ; and the stately language they 
 
X 2 1 4 Shakspeare. 
 
 employ, while it fascinates, often elevates us above the 
 range of practical business, and the point of view from 
 which a clear insight can be had into the affairs of 
 common life. 
 
 Shakspeare, in Julius Caesar and Coriolanus, takes 
 us to Rome, and gives us the very spirit of the scenes 
 that he animates with real bustling human beings. We 
 hear the mob roaring in the streets the orators speak- 
 ing in the forum we almost touch their robes and feel 
 their warm breath upon our faces. The topics are 
 different, but the men are perfectly present to our 
 senses, as an English mob would be shouting in Charing 
 Cross, or Lord Derby or John Bright speaking in 
 Parliament. His Greeks are just as life-like. When 
 an Englishman reads Homer, though he is charmed by 
 the rapidity and variety of movement, and by the 
 exquisite skill of the versification, the celestial machinery 
 is a sad drawback. We should take but little interest 
 in a charge of cavalry at Balaclava, or in a fight between 
 King and Heenan, if Juno were to interpose a cloud, 
 or catch up a pugilist, when the Russians or the Ameri- 
 can were getting the worst of it. In Troilus and 
 Cressida there are no Gods and Goddesses : but Greeks 
 and Trojans, so life-like and natural, that we hear them 
 rail, and jest, mourn, and make love, as though our 
 own blood relations or familiar friends were conducting 
 the dialogues ; and when the combats begin, whether 
 single or general, it is stern, English, hand to hand 
 fighting, by the heady currents of which we are swept 
 along, till we almost bet the odds, and clap our hands 
 with excitement, as the blows are struck or the charges 
 
Shakspeare. 215 
 
 are delivered and sustained. By the aid of Shakspeare 
 I can see the burly form of Ajax, in action or repose 
 as distinctly as I can see Shaw the Life Guardsman. 
 Hector's plume is as much a reality to me as General 
 Doyle's, and Astyanax, introduced by the Bard of Avon, 
 is a genuine English Baby. 
 
 But wherever he wafts us it is the same. We revel 
 in the warm air of Cyprus and drink the Greek wine 
 with Cassio we float down the Nile with Cleopatra 
 or stand upon the blasted Heath with Macbeth ; and our 
 difficulty is not so much to realize the scene as to get 
 back to full possession of our identity, and to be sure 
 that we are not a part of it. 
 
 Of the Dramas which are not simply historical but 
 "of imagination all compact," I have left myself no 
 time to speak. But what could I say if I had the whole 
 afternoon ? Volumes have been written about them, 
 and the subject is still fresh and new. " To gild refined 
 gold, to paint the lily or add a perfume to the violet," 
 we have warrant for believing " is wasteful and ridicu- 
 lous excess." All I will say is, that from boyhood 
 upwards these great masterpieces have been a study and 
 a delight. They have won me from the distraction of 
 State cares when these were most perplexing they have 
 charmed the evil spirit out of* me often when I would 
 have hurled a javelin or launched a sarcasm. Their 
 harmonies have interlaced the wildest discords, and 
 lent a silver edging to the darkest clouds of a some- 
 what stormy life. 
 
 Shakspeare's minor poems would form a charming 
 subject for a separate paper. They are less known than 
 
216 Shakspeare. 
 
 his Dramas, but are not less deserving of constant study 
 by all who desire to comprehend the whole scope of the 
 great Artist's power, or who desire to enjoy the melli- 
 fluous sweetness and flexibility of "our land's lan- 
 guage." 
 
 But it may be asked, of what use are these celebra- 
 tions ? They have many uses. Wherever God, for his 
 own wise purposes, has endowed a human being with 
 great powers, and these have been wisely used, it 
 behoves us reverently to discern and to acknowledge 
 the Divine afflatus. It is becoming and proper also that 
 we should offer up the tribute of grateful hearts to the 
 mighty dead whose works live after them. More people 
 have seen Shakspeare's Dramas acted than now inhabit 
 the British Islands ; and millions, who have perhaps 
 never entered a theatre, have yet read his works with 
 infinite instruction and delight. Is it too much, then, 
 to dedicate one day in three centuries to mutual felici- 
 tations for this special gift ? The Bird, that hangs by 
 our casement, charms us twenty times a week, by his 
 sweet notes, to involuntary gratitude to the Creator, who 
 smoothed his plumage and made his voice so clear ; and 
 shall we not be thankful for that sweet Songster, whose 
 music has been throughout life a solace and an inspira- 
 tion ? Oh ! yes, ingratitude was the sin by which the 
 Angels fell ; and if, as a people, we would prosper or 
 aspire, let us not be ungrateful. 
 
 If it be permitted to the Bard of Avon to look down 
 upon the earth this day, he will see his " sea-walled 
 garden" not only secure from intrusion, but eve"ry foot 
 of it embellished with all that wealth can accumulate or 
 
Shakspeare. 2 1 7 
 
 art display. But he will see more he will see her 
 " happy breed of men " covering the seas and planting 
 the universe j rearing free communities in every quarter 
 of the globe ; creating a literature which every year 
 enriches ; and moulding her institutions to the easy 
 government of countless millions by the light of large 
 experience. He will see more. He will see the three 
 kingdoms, hostile or disjointed at his death, united by 
 mutual interests, and forming together a great centre of 
 power and dominion ; bound in mutual harmony and 
 dependence by networks of iron roads and telegraphic 
 communications, and by lines of floating palaces con- 
 necting them with every part of the world. 
 
 He will behold, wielding the sceptre of this wide 
 dominion, a Lady to whom his own panegyric on his 
 great Patroness, may, without flattery, be applied 
 
 She shall be 
 
 A pattern to all princes living with her, 
 And all that shall succeed. Sheba was never 
 More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue 
 Than this pure soul shall be. All princely graces 
 That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
 With all the virtues that attend the good, 
 Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her, 
 She shall be loved and feared ; her own shall bless her ; 
 Her foes shall be like a field of beaten corn. 
 And hang their heads with sorrow, Good grows with her ; 
 In her days every man shall eat in safety, 
 Under his own vines, what he plants, and sing 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors. 
 God shall be truly known ; and those about her 
 From her shall read the perfect ways of honor, .., 
 And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
 
2 1 8 Shakspeare. 
 
 He will see no barren virgin on the Throne, but a 
 Queen whose children are to embellish the courts of 
 Europe, and to whose bright succession there is a 
 princely Heir in whom all his mother's graces and his 
 father's virtues are combined 
 
 Seeing all this, and knowing that the races, by whom 
 this Throne is upheld, have lived upon his thoughts, and 
 more than realized his patriotic prophecies, it is fitting 
 also that Shakspeare should know that his intellectual 
 supremacy is acknowledged that, as civilization widens 
 his fame extends ; and that, committed to the keeping 
 of an enterprising and energetic people, his memory will 
 follow the course of Empire till time shall be no more ! 
 
 14 
 A TOAST 
 
 Here's a health to thee Tom,* a bright bumper we drain 
 To the friends that our bosoms hold dear, 
 
 As the bottle goes round, and again and again 
 We whisper "we wish he were here." 
 
 Here's a health to thee Tom, may the mists of this earth 
 
 Never shadow the light of that soul 
 Which so often has lent the mild flashes of mirth 
 
 To illumine the depths of the Bowl. 
 
 With a world full of beauty and fun for a theme, 
 
 And a glass of good wine to inspire, 
 E'en without thee we sometimes are bless'd with a gleam 
 
 That resembles thy spirit's own fire. 
 
 Yet still, in our gayest and merriest mood 
 
 Our pleasures are tasteless and dim, 
 For the thoughts of the past, and of Tom that intrude, 
 
 Make us feel we're but happy with him. 
 
ELOQUENCE. 
 
 [A Lecture delivered before the Literary Society, Halifax N. S. 
 September, 1845.] 
 
 Mr President, I come, in obedience to the expressed 
 wish of this Society, to offer my contribution to the 
 common stock of knowledge. While others have given 
 of their great abundance, I, like the widow in Holy Writ, 
 must claim to have the insignificance of my offering 
 pardoned, for the cheerfulness and sincerity with which 
 it is bestowed. 
 
 At the early meetings of this Institution, I was an 
 occasional attendant ; and although of late, pressed by 
 other avocations, I have been something of a truant, I 
 have constantly heard of its well-doing, and have never 
 ceased to feel an interest in its progress. 
 
 The design of its formers was I believe to establish 
 a school of Eloquence, in which young men of the 
 Industrial Classes might meet, on leisure evenings, to test 
 each other's powers, and improve each other's minds. 
 Such objects would seem to be praiseworthy ; and your 
 experience proves, that to a reasonable extent, they have 
 been attained. Truth has often been struck out here 
 by the collision of opinion the imagination has spread 
 its noblest plumage, when fluttered by the breath of 
 generous emulation ; and the untutored have sometimes 
 risen to a height of genuine Eloquence, prompted by 
 innate good taste, and the impetuous feelings of the 
 heart, often without any strict analysis of the rules by 
 
220 Eloquence. 
 
 which the emotions they felt enabled them to act upon 
 the understandings and the feelings of others. 
 
 Thus far then your meetings have been productive of 
 pleasure and improvement. But that you may elevate 
 the standard both of recreation and utility, it is 
 necessary that you should ever have before you a clear 
 perception of the true nature of the art you assemble to 
 cultivate ; and have deeply engraven upon your minds a 
 few simple principles which are too apt to be overlooked 
 amidst the jargon of rhetorical speculations. It would 
 seem to be not an inappropriate occupation of your time 
 to call your attention to these at the opening of a new 
 course ; and to endeavor to invite enquiry, rather by 
 the simplicity than the profundity of my illustrations. 
 
 But first, it may be necessary to vindicate our claim to 
 deal with such topics as these to assert our right to 
 study and employ the art which is to become our 
 theme. 
 
 There may be some here, there certainly are many 
 elsewhere, who believe that Eloquence is above the 
 sphere of the mass of mankind, who belong to the 
 industrious and productive classes. These in their social 
 and political system, they condemn to a life of labor ; 
 and if they call them from it, for a moment, it is but as 
 listeners, to be moved or influenced by the Eloquence of 
 the more favored classes to wonder at their wisdom and 
 to bow to their commands. The Deity, however, has 
 made no such partial subdivision of his gifts. Man, by 
 the strong hand of power, or the accidental arrangements 
 of society, may divide the earth, but the realms of 
 intellect and knowledge are the undivided property of 
 
Eloquence. 221 
 
 all. The facts, treasured by the industry of the whole 
 human race, are spread like a repast, before the human 
 family. Individual use or appropriation, increases 
 rather than diminishes the common stock : the poor 
 man may become rich in knowledge, while the wealthy 
 is poor indeed ; he who owns a fertile country may be 
 unable to reckon his income, while the poorest man 
 upon his estate can measure the heavens and calculate 
 the contents of the earth. The sensibilities of the 
 elevated in rank, may be deadened and obtuse, while 
 the peasant's heart may respond to the most delicate 
 and kindly emotions. The inspiration, which cometh 
 from on High, may fail to unlock the icy egotism of a 
 haughty soul (as the sun-burst thaws not the lofty 
 mountain peak) while it wakes the lowly nature to 
 enthusiasm, to eloquence, to song. 
 
 Thanks be to God, then, that, in treating of 
 Eloquence in tracing it to its sources in employing 
 its powers, to elevate and improve each other, we are 
 not exceeding our privilege, or committing an intellec- 
 tual trespass. 
 
 But, it may be said, if Eloquence be of a nature so 
 catholic and universal, how does it happen that so few 
 orators have appeared in any age or nation. The answer 
 is simple, but yet does not circumscribe our common 
 rights. Eloquence, like Poetry, in its higher moods, is 
 the gift of Heaven, and the gift is too precious to be 
 profusely squandered. There may be few poets and 
 fewer orators in any age or nation, but these few may 
 spring from the industrial classes, and therefore have 
 they a common interest in the discovery of this great 
 
222 Eloquence. 
 
 gift, and a common right to improve it by assiduous 
 and successful cultivation. 
 
 But, assuming that to these classes Eloquence was to 
 be a gift denied, still they would have a deep interest in 
 the study of it in the correct appreciation of the 
 nature and value of those tests by which its genuine 
 character may be ascertained. Eloquence influences 
 more or less, every moral, economic, and political ques- 
 tion, which involves the welfare and security of those 
 who live by labor. By one speech each man's worldly 
 possessions may be swept away by one speech his 
 country may be involved in irremediable ruin ; and one 
 sermon, showy, declamatory, but unsound, may shatter 
 his nerves, or cloud his reason. Those whose temporal 
 and eternal welfare may be so largely influenced by 
 Eloquence, even though they may never become 
 eloquent themselves, ought to learn to judge of the per- 
 formances of others by whom they maybe safely guided 
 or egregiously misled. The Lo ! here, and the Lo ! 
 there, of oratorical pretence, is sounding continually in 
 the people's ears. There is as much spurious oratory 
 passing current in the world, just now, as there is 
 spurious coin. ' The ring of true metal almost every ear 
 can detect ; nor would it be much more difficult, even 
 for simple people to judge of genuine Eloquence, were 
 the laws by which they are urged to decide less volumi- 
 nous and contradictory. But there is no end to the 
 making of laws, nor to the confusion which the manu- 
 facture produces. The laws of Rhetoric have increased 
 in proportion to all the others ; until, while rules for 
 making good speeches have been steadily accumulating, 
 
Eloquence. 223 
 
 the number of good ones made is proportionally on the 
 decrease. 
 
 An old friend of mine, alluding to the increase of the 
 Statute Book, which he declared his inability any longer 
 to. cope with, observed, laying his hand on his heart, 
 "but I have a little law-maker in here, and I must trust 
 " to him to keep me out of law." I must confess that 
 when sometimes seeking for the sources of true Eloquence 
 and puzzled with the logicians and* rhetoricians, and 
 sophists, I have been tempted to close the books, and 
 turning in upon my own thoughts, to seek for some 
 simple standard, by which to form my own taste, and 
 find my own way. Many of you, I doubt not, have done 
 the same ; but there may be others to whom a very 
 simple rule may be of service, if, upon reflection, it is 
 found to be of any value. 
 
 If asked then by any youth in this assembly, how he 
 should become an effective, and impressive public 
 speaker, I would answer 
 
 " Speak the truth and feel it." 
 
 I know of no rule better than this I know of none so 
 good. I think it is fortified by all the best examples, 
 and includes the pith and essence of all that has been 
 written by the best critics. 
 
 A practiced speaker may utter what is untrue, and 
 may not feel at all ; but the impression he makes will 
 be in proportion to the probability of the facts he 
 assumes, the plausibility of his reasoning, and the 
 apparent earnestness of his manner. So universally is 
 this the case, that the very exceptions may be said to 
 
224 Eloquence. 
 
 prove the rule, and may embolden any man, however 
 unskilful, who is strong in the truth, and really in 
 earnest, to beat down all the guards, and finally over- 
 come the most cunning rhetorician. The actor, it may 
 be said, declaims what has no foundation in fact, and 
 cannot believe in the reality of what he utters ; but, it 
 will be found, that, just in proportion as the scene is 
 true to nature, the sentiments noble and elevated, and 
 the actor is really convulsed by the passion he deli- 
 neates, will be the depth and overpowering character of 
 the impression made upon the audience. The orator 
 must really feel what the actor feigns, or he must 
 become an actor, and feign so adroitly what he ought 
 to feel as to create the belief that he is indeed in 
 earnest. This will ever be a task of great difficulty and 
 delicacy ; the safer course, for plain men dealing with 
 the practical business of life, is 
 
 "To speak the truth and feel it." 
 
 Let it not be supposed that this rule is too simple, and 
 includes too little of labor and research. There may 
 be cases, in which a few words, embodying an important 
 truth, or a noble sentiment, and spoken with dignity 
 and force, may carry a point more surely, and produce 
 a more powerful effect, than the most skilful and 
 elaborate oration. Of this character was the address of 
 Rochejacquelaine to the Vendeans : 
 
 " If I advance, follow me if I fall, avenge me if I 
 fly, slay me." 
 
 That of Hegetorides, the Tharian citizen, who at the 
 risk of his life proposed the repeal of an impolitic law. 
 
Eloqtience. 225 
 
 "Fellow Citizens, I am not ignorant of the fate 
 which awaits me ; but I am happy to have the power 
 to purchase, by my death, your preservation. I there- 
 fore counsel you to make peace with the Athenians." 
 
 That of Scjevola, to the King of Tuscany, when his 
 hand was burning : 
 
 " Learn how little those regard pain who have before 
 their eyes immortal glory." 
 
 Volumes of words could not have produced the 
 effect of these short sentences, which any man of 
 ordinary intellectual powers, without study or premedi- 
 tation, might have uttered. Whence the electrical 
 effects, precipitating masses of half armed Peasants 
 upon the bayonets of disciplined Soldiery, in the one 
 case ; and in the others, preserving the lives of the 
 speakers, doomed to apparently certain death ? These 
 men spoke the truth, or showed, by their courage and 
 elevation of soul, by the imposing energy and earnest- 
 ness of their elocution, that they felt what they said 
 that they were in earnest. 
 
 What a noble sentence was that spoken by Nelson, 
 from the masthead of the Victory, when going into 
 action : " England expects every man to do his duty ; " 
 and every man did it. Why ? Because he knew that 
 Nelson was in earnest ; that he felt what he said ; that 
 he would lead the way into the thickest of the fight, 
 and lay down his life for his Country. That bit of 
 bunting, then, was truly eloquent, because he who 
 hoisted it was a man to suit the action to the word. 
 But suppose it to have been hoisted by a poltroon a 
 man of no mark, or likelihood or experience ; though 
 
226 Eloquence. 
 
 none could have objected to the sentiment, very few 
 could have been warmed by its utterance. Its influ- 
 ence was electrical, because every sailor in the fleet 
 saw Nelson standing on the quarter-deck, his eye 
 flashing with patriotic ardor, and his shattered frame 
 ready to enforce the signal with its last pulsation. 
 
 You will perceive then, that something more than 
 mere earnestness of manner is required to give effect 
 even to such short sentences as these. To attain their 
 object, there must be something in the life, the posi- 
 tion, the achievements, of the party who speaks, to 
 give to his audience a guarantee of earnestness and 
 sincerity. For the absence of these nothing can com- 
 pensate. So live then my young friends, that when a 
 great truth, a noble and elevated sentiment, rises to 
 your lips, it may find an audience predisposed to feel 
 that it is not out of place. 
 
 It is a mistake to suppose that genuine Eloquence is 
 confined to the Pulpit, the Forum, or the floors of 
 Parliament. There are a thousand situations in 
 which a good and a brave man, by a few words well 
 chosen, spoken with earnestness, and deriving weight 
 from personal character, may serve himself, his neighbor, 
 or his country. Treating of the most ordinary of these 
 occasions, Bacon hath well said : " Discretion of 
 speech is more than eloquence ; " and " to speak agree- 
 ably to him with whom we deal, is more than to speak 
 in good words or in good order." There is room for 
 the best kinds of oratory in pleading the cause and 
 stating the claims of the humble in the ordinary affairs 
 of life. How often will a word flash truth into the 
 
Eloquence. 227 
 
 coarse or selfish mind ; a look, or a gesture, put aside 
 some petty oppression. And, in these cases, what 
 weight is given to words by a conviction of earnestness, 
 of deep feeling, by the guarantee of an upright and 
 guileless life. 
 
 There is room for Eloquence by the fireside, and in 
 the social circle, in soothing the infirmities of age, and 
 in opening the minds and stimulating the ambition of 
 the young. To my eyes there is no more beautiful 
 picture than that of " an old man eloquent," pouring, 
 with all the fervor of affection, the treasures of expe- 
 rience into the minds of children clinging round his 
 knees, in whose transparent features he reads the story 
 of his early love and of his checkered life. Yes, 
 there is perhaps a picture more attractive ; it is that 
 of an ingenuous youth, who, as that old man declines 
 to second child-hood, rouses his dormant powers by 
 apt discussion, or new intelligence ; and supplies from 
 his teeming stores the oil, without which the flickering 
 lamp of intellect would scarcely shed a ray. 
 
 How weightily fall that old man's words, when his 
 children feel that he is in earnest, and that they have 
 the pledge of a well-spent life for the sincerity of his 
 convictions. But who shall paint the smile which lights 
 up that venerable countenance, as the patriarch, strain- 
 ing each rigid sense, recognizes in every tone and 
 gesture, in each elevated sentiment and well selected 
 fact uttered by the boy, indications of intelligence and 
 enthusiasm, -which assure him that the fire of his 
 intellect and the manly qualities of his nature, will 
 survive, for the use of his country and the illustration 
 
228 Eloquence. 
 
 of his name, when his bones are mouldering in the 
 grave. 
 
 There may be few, here, who are born to be great 
 orators. I trust there are many who will realize these 
 pictures ; and some, who, if occasion present themselves, 
 will show how truly eloquent men become, who, in a good 
 cause, back their words with heroic self-devotion. 
 
 You will expect me to apply my rule to Eloquence in 
 its more extended sense, and I shall endeavor to do so 
 bye and bye ; although I must confess that I love to 
 linger upon the less pretending, domestic, and, if you 
 will, inferior departments of the art. Perhaps it may 
 be that I feel my inability to cope with critics by whom 
 the high road has been beaten, and am more at my 
 ease in the byways. It may be that I would rather 
 have you all good men and true, able " to give a reason 
 for the faith that is in you," and to speak a word in 
 season, without dissimulation and without fear, than 
 have two or three of you distinguished rhetoricians, 
 able to maintain either side of any question, and not 
 much caring which side you take. It may be that I 
 overvalue this essential element of sincerity ; but I 
 cannot bring myself to believe that there is any true 
 Eloquence without it. I would rather listen to Sterne's 
 Starling, mournfully singing, " I can't get out," than 
 read the most pathetic description of unreal misery that 
 rhetorician ever uttered. 
 
 I will not go to the length of saying that Lord Nelson 
 was a greater master of Eloquence than Demosthenes, 
 although I might almost prove it, from the rhetoricians 
 themselves, who define oratory to be " the art of per- 
 
Eloquence. 229 
 
 It was the design of the great Athenian to 
 persuade his countrymen to win battles, not to lose 
 them ; to secure the liberties of Athens against the 
 encroachments of Philip, not to fall, after a few vain 
 struggles, prostrate at his feet. In all the great objects 
 for which he spoke, passing over the temporary excite- 
 ment which he created, Demosthenes signally failed. 
 It is almost profanation to say, that he was not in 
 earnest in anything, except in the desire to make good 
 speeches, which he did ; but that if he had spoken less, 
 and died on the Macedonian spear, with one terse, 
 vehement, national sentiment on his lips, in all pro- 
 bability the liberties of his country would have 
 flourished half a century longer. Demosthenes filled 
 his mouth with pebbles, declaimed by the sea shore, 
 gesticulated with drawn swords suspended above his 
 shoulders, but threw his shield over his head and fled, 
 when his sincerity, the real depth of his feelings, came 
 to be proven. The Athenians admired the orator, but 
 could not depend on the man ; and probably thought 
 that if they were all slain in defending the liberties of 
 their country there would be nobody left to admire the 
 next oration, in which Demosthenes should undertake 
 to persuade the people to do what he shrunk from 
 doing himself. Lord Nelson would have spoken a 
 single line, but he would not have left Philip a single 
 sail in the Classic seas. With that line spoken in 
 earnest and backed by his own high spirit, he would 
 have accomplished more than Demosthenes with his 
 studied orations. 
 
 If then, Campbell is right in saying, that "Eloquence 
 
2 30 Eloquence. 
 
 in its greatest latitude, denotes that art or talent by 
 which a discourse is adapted to its end ;" or if the 
 object of oratory be the "production of belief;" or if 
 rhetoric be " the art of persuasion ;" in either or all of 
 these cases, Nelson may, perhaps, be considered the 
 more eloquent of the two. At all events, if I had my 
 choice, I would rather have one practical and sincere 
 man, like Nelson, in Nova Scotia, with his heart on his 
 lips, and his life in his hand, than a dozen Rhetoricians, 
 with mouths full of pebbles, uttering " sound and fury, 
 signifying nothing." 
 
 This may be a harsh judgment of Demosthenes, 
 whose speeches are the highest models of rhetorical 
 composition worthy of all imitation and all praise. 
 He doubtless was a sincere man, to the whole extent 
 that he knew his own nature ; but incapable of that 
 heroic self-devotion which he inculcated as a duty upon 
 others, which was the true Eloquence his country 
 required, and without which she could not be saved. 
 To give full effect to the Eloquence, not only the action 
 of the body, but the action of the life must be suited 
 to the word. Elliot, dying in prison, pleaded more 
 eloquently for the liberties of England, than Elliot 
 declaiming in the House of Commons. Chatham, 
 falling in the House of Lords, touched the hearts of 
 his countrymen more keenly than his noblest passage, 
 delivered in the plenitude of his matchless powers. 
 Had Demosthenes rounded his periods with a heroic 
 death, his name would have "fulmined over Greece" 
 with a majesty which even his oratory, almost divine 
 as it was, could never reach. 
 
Eloquence. 231 
 
 Take a few more instances of the effect of sincerity, as 
 an essential element of successful oratory. Some of 
 the most beautiful are to be found in Holy Writ. 
 
 When Nathan spoke these words to David, there was 
 something exquisitely touching in the picture which he 
 drew ; 
 
 " There were two men in one city ; one rich and the 
 other poor." 
 
 "The rich man had exceeding many flocks and 
 herds." 
 
 " But the poor man had nothing, save one little ewe- 
 lamb, which he had bought and nourished up ; and it 
 grew up together with him and his children ; it did eat 
 of his own meat, and drink of his own cup, and lay in 
 his bosom, and was unto him as a daughter." 
 
 "And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and 
 he spared to take of his own flock, and of his own 
 herd, to dress for the wayfaring man that was come 
 unto him ; but took the poor man's lamb, and dressed 
 it for the man that was come to him." 
 
 There may be finer things than this in classic oratory 
 and poetry, but I must confess that I know not where 
 to find them. Who can wonder while he beholds in his 
 mind's eye, " the little ewe lamb," lying in " the poor 
 man's bosom," that David was moved to terrible indig- 
 nation, and said : 
 
 " As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this 
 thing shall surely die." 
 
 All this is beautiful, and natural ; but when the poor 
 Prophet, moved by a sense of duty, and holding his life 
 in his hand, as the gauge of his sincerity and deep 
 
232 Eloquence. 
 
 conviction turns to the great King, and pointing his finger 
 at him, pronounces these terrible words, " Thou art the 
 man ! " the whole scene rises in oratorical sublimity, 
 to the level of any passage, in any language. 
 
 Why is this ? Because Nathan risks all dares all, 
 from a sense of moral obligation, because he " speaks 
 the truth, and feels it." Because to him, whatever men 
 most value, the pride of place, the favor of a mighty 
 monarch, nay, life itself, are perilled by the expression 
 of virtuous emotion, and a vindication of the eternal 
 principles of justice. 
 
 We have had some dissolute monarchs on the throne 
 of England, and I have searched among the divines for 
 parallel reproof to this, but I have looked in vain ; and 
 therefore it is, that while this short sermon has lived for 
 centurieg, and will be read to the end of time, many of 
 their gilt-edged volumes of discourses, perfect in rhe- 
 torical proportion but which they did not feel, are mould- 
 ering on the shelves. 
 
 It may be said that Absalom defeats my theory, for 
 though a dissimulator from the first, " he stole the hearts 
 of the men of Israel." He did, but it was by a consum- 
 mate imitation of truth, aided by elevated rank, and 
 the most rare intellectual and physical endowments. 
 Absalom was the Alcibiades, the George the Fourth of 
 his day with "fascination in his very bow." 
 
 " In all Israel there was none to be found so much 
 praised as Absalom, for his beauty ; from the sole of 
 his foot to the crown of his head there was no blemish 
 in him." 
 
 When such a man, the heir apparent, stood in the 
 
Eloquence. 233 
 
 King's gate, descanting on the grievances of Israel, 
 shaking hands with the Jews, and regretting that he was 
 not a judge, it is not to be wondered at that he had 
 influence. But this proves, not that he was an orator, 
 but that the people had not the sense to detect the 
 artifices of the showy and plausible rhetorician. Had 
 they applied the true tests to Absalom ; had they asked, 
 Has not this man slain his brother? Is he not 
 stirring up sedition against his father ? Can a monster, 
 so unnatural, be a safe leader, and a good judge ? 
 Absalom would have exhausted his rhetorical arts in 
 vain. 
 
 There is a fine oratorical scene in the Old Testament, 
 where Solomon, having completed the Temple, "stands 
 before the Altar of the Lord in the presence of all Israel, 
 and, spreading forth his hands to Heaven," beneath 
 that gorgeous structure, which had cost him eleven years 
 of toil and anxiety, upon which "thirty thousand men had 
 labored ; which had exhausted the forests of Lebanon 
 and the gold of Ophir, puts up that memorable 
 prayer, filled with devotion to his Maker, and solemn 
 admonition to his people. Here, again, it is his 
 sincerity, the utter negation of self, which is most to be 
 admired, and gives the highest, charm to the perform- 
 ance. Though he has just reared a noble pile, the 
 wonder of his age and nation, and was about to sacrifice 
 two and twenty thousand oxen, and one hundred and 
 twenty thousand sheep to distinguish its dedication, not 
 a vainglorious word escapes him. He even attributes 
 the original design to his parent ; and when invoking 
 the presence and the benediction of his Heavenly 
 
 20 
 
234 Eloquence. 
 
 Father, and contrasting the eternal temples, not made 
 with hands, with his highest architectural conception, he 
 checks himself and exclaims : 
 
 " But will God indeed dwell on the earth ? Behold 
 the heaven, and heaven of heavens cannot contain thee ; 
 how much less this house that I have builded ? " 
 
 There are few things finer than that burst of Job's, 
 whose sincerity we cannot doubt, where, after portray- 
 ing the abject misery of his present condition, he turns, 
 with the eye of faith, to the promises of a Saviour : 
 
 " Know now that God hath overthrown me and hath 
 compassed me with his net." 
 
 " He hath also kindled his wrath against me, and he 
 counteth me unto him as one of his enemies." 
 
 " He hath put my brethren far from me, and my 
 familiar friends have forgotten me." 
 
 " They that dwell in mine house, and my maids, 
 count me as a stranger : I am an alien in their sight." 
 
 " I called my servant, and he gave me no answer ; 
 I entreated him with my mouth." 
 
 " My breath is strange to my wife, though I entreated 
 for the children's sake of mine own body." 
 
 " Yea, young children despised me ; I arose, and they 
 spake against me." 
 
 " All my inward friends abhorred me ; and they whom 
 I loved are turned against me." 
 
 What a picture of utter loathsomeness and personal 
 desolation is here. How strangely it contrasts with 
 Nathan's sketch of the poor man, surrounded by all the 
 kindly charities of life, with the pet lamb lying in his 
 bosom. 
 
Eloquence. 235 
 
 Yet, when Job rouses himself, and peering through 
 the darkness of his present condition, beholds the 
 brightness of the Saviour's glory, there is an oratorical 
 elevation in his hope, which casts even Nathan's 
 indignation into the shade. We no longer see a broken- 
 hearted old man, covered with sores, but behold a 
 Prophet of the Lord, glowing with holy inspiration : 
 
 " Oh, that my words were now written ! Oh, that they 
 were printed in a book ! " 
 
 " That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in 
 the rock forever." 
 
 " For I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he 
 shall stand at the latter day upon the earth." 
 
 " And though, after my skin, worms destroy this body, 
 yet in my flesh shall I see God." 
 
 But, it may be said, what have these passages to do 
 with oratory ? Much ; the painting in both is admirable, 
 and the rhetorical bursts taken in connection with the 
 positions of the speakers, are magnificent. Besides : it 
 may be as well to show that the sermons of those who 
 boldly reprove great men live longer than the fulsome 
 adulation of the sycophant ; and that there is no situa- 
 tion, however loathsome or abject, to which a human 
 being may be reduced, to which strong inspiration and 
 elevated sentiment may not lend dignity and grace. 
 
 In reading the New Testament, how often we are 
 struck with fine oratorical passages and imposing posi- 
 tions. How often is the interest deepened, if not wholly 
 created, by a conviction of perfect earnestness in the 
 speakers. The Apostles were no mere teachers of 
 rhetoric, visiting different cities, to display their skill in 
 
236 Eloquence. 
 
 reasoning upon indifferent topics with equal ability and 
 ease. They were men dealing with the highest interests 
 of humanity who " spoke the truth, and felt it." There 
 is no mannerism, no mere tinsel ornament, no shrink- 
 ing, no fear. Whether surrounded by the infuriated 
 Jews, or the wondering Gentiles in the synagogues, on 
 the hill side, or before the judgment seat of Kings, 
 we find them self-possessed and eloquent. It may be 
 said they were inspired I grant it : but I hold that a 
 firm conviction of the importance of great truths, ever 
 has brought, and ever will bring, sufficient inspiration 
 to make men eloquent in their promulgation and 
 defence. I say a firm conviction, because men may 
 accept truth, without feeling its value very intensely, and 
 such will ever lack the inspiration to proclaim it to suffer 
 to die for it. Such may be cold rhetoricians and 
 elegant mannerists, but they will never be eloquent, or 
 produce any enduring or permanent impression. 
 
 Let us test the correctness of this observation by refer- 
 ence to some of the successors of the Apostles, who were 
 no otherwise inspired. Show me a successful preacher 
 of the Gospel, who has produced any remarkable effect 
 in the religious world, and I will show you a man 
 thoroughly in earnest. Take St. Patrick for an example, 
 and you will find that he was not only eloquent, but that 
 his oratory gushed out from a heart, filled to overflowing 
 with fervent piety, in which reverence for the Most 
 High was blent with an enlarged philanthropy ; so that 
 every word he uttered was enforced by purity of life, 
 and nobleness of soul. Think you, if he had been a 
 mere rhetorician apt at scholastic disputation, but 
 
Eloquence. 237 
 
 living, like many a modern prelate, in luxury and pro- 
 fusion, on princely revenues, drawn from the sweat of 
 poor men's brows, that he would have converted a 
 kingdom to Christ ? No : hundreds who may have 
 believed the truth, but did not feel it, have tried that 
 experiment, and what is the result ? That the people 
 have left the trained rhetoricians, with their senior 
 wrangler's diplomas in their pockets, and have gone to 
 hear genuine Eloquence, from the poor self-denying 
 priest, or dissenting clergyman, over the way. 
 
 What was the secret of John Knox's success in Scot- 
 land? Again the answer is, he was in earnest: so 
 much in earnest, that even the first principles of 
 rhetorical science were constantly violated by the coarse- 
 ness and intemperance of his manner. To him the 
 delicate proprieties of life, the artificial divisions of 
 society, the triumphs of architecture, " thrones, princi- 
 palities and powers " were as nothing, when they 
 appeared to dam up, or discolor the waters of life. It 
 was in vain that the clang of murderous weapons broke 
 upon his ear that glaived hands menaced, and noble 
 brows were bent. " Wist ye not that I must be about 
 my Father's business," was the prevailing sentiment of 
 the enthusiast, as he turned from or defied such vanities 
 as these. The smile of that royal beauty so winning 
 and resistless, which, faintly reflected by the pencil, 
 we love at this very hour, fell on the torrent of Knox's 
 eloquence, as the sunbeam falls upon Niagara ; revealing 
 it maybe, its' depth and volume, but powerless to change 
 its current, or quell the deafening thunder of its roar. 
 
 The Scottish hills were filled with orators of this 
 
238 Eloquence. 
 
 class during the persecutions ; whose spirit and whose 
 principles survive them, and whose memories will 
 probably haunt the heather while it grows. These 
 were no subtle schoolmen, trained to artistic disputation 
 they were men who had "embraced the truth, and 
 felt it;" who preached upon the hillside where they 
 were prepared to die ; who poured forth the truths they 
 felt with beautiful simplicity, with the bay of the slot 
 hound, and the tramp of dragoons, sounding in their 
 ears. These men were listened to, believed, and loved, 
 because they were in earnest; and many became 
 orators, as the dumb son of Crcesus learned to speak, 
 from the strength of the domestic affections, and the 
 perils of the hour. So it ever will be. Eloquence must 
 gush out of the warm heart. We drink the water that is 
 trained through leaden pipes ; but when a country is to 
 be irrigated, or overflowed, the supply must come from 
 the heavens, or well from the fathomless fountains 
 which no human eye can trace. 
 
 How was it that John Wesley created, not a mere 
 contemptible schism, but a great moral revolution in the 
 Protestant Church ? That he founded a new order of 
 Christian ministers, and sent them, not only all over 
 the civilized, but into the remotest corners of the 
 heathen world ? How is it that his hymns were sung 
 this week by millions of people called by his name, in 
 thousands of churches that were not in existence when 
 he was born ? How is it that an organized church 
 government, perfect in all its parts, radiating from ' a 
 common centre, and including members of every clime 
 and country, bids fair to perpetuate his system and 
 
Eloquence. 239 
 
 immortalize his name ? You may tell me because he 
 was a great scholar, and a great orator, but I tell you it 
 is because JohnWesley was in earnest ; because he felt 
 the truths he preached ; because he strictly conformed 
 to the requirements of the system he promulgated ; 
 because in the whole tenor of his life, he suited the 
 action to the word. 
 
 To him it could never be said : 
 
 " But, good, my brother, 
 Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 Show me the steep and thorny way to Heaven, 
 Whilst like a pufFd and reckless libertine, 
 Himself the primrose paths of dalliance treads, 
 And recks not his own rede." 
 
 Take another instance. The captivity of the Holy 
 Sepulchre, and the cruelties practised by the Saracens 
 upon Christian pilgrims, were truths known to all 
 Europe in 1092. Peter the Hermit was not the only 
 man who knew them, but he was perhaps the only man 
 who felt them deeply ; who made them the subject of 
 his daily thought, and nightly meditations ; who, not 
 only comprehended the whole scope and nature of the 
 grievances, but had the courage, and energy, and 
 self-devotion, to grapple with it. With such a theme, 
 little more was required to make him truly eloquent ; 
 and, by the united testimony of cotemporaries, truly 
 eloquent he was. The man was in earnest ; he felt the 
 truths he uttered. His very earnestness and enthusiasm 
 supplied all deficiencies. He was the true fiery cross ; 
 
240 Eloquence. 
 
 and, as he passed from city to city, and country to 
 country, the souls of men kindled, until Europe was in 
 a flame. The Peasant beat his ploughshare into a 
 weapon ; the Baron ceased from rapine and violence, 
 to assume the symbols of Salvation ; and Monarchs 
 left their Kingdoms to the government of Heaven, 
 while they crossed the seas, to purchase eternal life by 
 the thrust of lance and stroke of sword. Peter was no 
 cold and formal rhetorician, but a man of action and 
 desperate courage ; ready to lead the way he pointed, 
 to do what he advised should be done. His very 
 defects, as a warrior and leader, arose from the excess 
 of those qualities which made his oratory so over- 
 whelming ; a disregard of difficulties, in his reverence 
 for his cause, and his firm reliance upon the direct 
 interposition of Providence. If his sermons have not 
 been preserved, history records, on many a sad and 
 many a brilliant page, the singular effects they pro- 
 duced. Fleets were constructed, and armies marshalled, 
 as if by magic ; the best blood of Europe was poured 
 out like rain upon the sands of Palestine ; the 
 enthusiasm of the Moslem was met by enthusiasm 
 higher than his own ; a new road to Heaven was 
 opened, by which " strong men armed " might enter. 
 Thrones were shaken, and Principalities founded ; and 
 out of this military chaos, with its worldly policy blent 
 with religious excitement, came more extended know- 
 ledge, and the nascent principles of freedom and 
 civilization. We turn back to trace the origin of these 
 mighty movements, and we find a poor monk, with a 
 coarse frock over his shoulders and a rope around his 
 
Eloquence. 241 
 
 waist, but with his whole frame convulsed with the 
 reality of his emotions, and his whole soul speaking, 
 with what Shakspeare calls 
 
 " The heavenly rhetoric of the eye." 
 
 I doubt if Wolsey was ever so truly eloquent as after 
 his fall ; when on that journey to York, which was to 
 be his last but one, he preached to the people, and 
 blessed the little children who flocked around him. 
 While struggling up the steep ascent of worldly great- 
 ness, he had been 
 
 " Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading. 
 I' the presence 
 
 He would say untruths, and be ever double 
 Both in his words and meaning." 
 
 Genuine Eloquence wants no such aids, and eschews 
 such practices. But when he fell, when he had 
 exclaimed,- 
 
 " Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye. 
 I feel my heart new opened " 
 
 he rose in eloquence as rapidly as he declined in 
 power, and he who was deemed no longer suitable for 
 an earthly minister became a true minister of Heaven. 
 Then it was that he gave such lessons as these : 
 
 " Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear not, 
 
 21 
 
242 Eloquence. 
 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy Country's, 
 Thy God's and Truth's." 
 
 Then it was, that, as the courtiers fled his presence, 
 the people gathered round him ; to hear those precious 
 words of wisdom in which there were no double 
 meanings ; to be moved by Eloquence, bursting from 
 an overcharged heart, and pregnant with the realities 
 of vast experience, and moving vicissitudes of fortune. 
 
 Thus far I have drawn my illustrations from the 
 Sacred Volume, and from the lives of those who have 
 been its distinguished expounders. I have done So 
 without reference to the sub-divisions of the Christian 
 family ; thank God, there is nothing sectarian in 
 oratory. The fountain from which true Eloquence 
 flows, is not part of the Church property of any 
 denomination. One spire after another may attract the 
 lightning, or be shaken by the thunder, but the home 
 of both is in the cloud which floats above them all so 
 is it with that Divine afflatus, that kindling inspiration, 
 which descends at times for the purification of all 
 sects, but which no sectarian can confine in the hollow 
 of his hand. 
 
 If it should not seem out of place, nor savor of 
 irreverence, I would pause for a moment to consider 
 the Great Founder of the Christian Family, in the 
 purely oratorical phases of his earthly story. Veiling 
 our eyes for a moment to his Divine perfections, to his 
 astounding miracles, let us regard him .as a man, 
 reasoning with men, and influencing them, through the 
 senses, by the power of language. I must confess that 
 
Eloquence. 
 
 judging from the scanty memorials that remain to us, 
 I have ever regarded Christ as the Prince of orators j 
 and, reflecting on the limited amount of these, when I 
 have heard persons mourning over the loss of classic 
 treasures, coveting a book of Livy, or a speech of 
 Bolingbroke, I have involuntarily sighed for the lost 
 biography and oratory of our Saviour. 
 
 What we have is all-sufficient to enable us to judge 
 of the rest. Like the fragments of a noble statue, the 
 lines of beauty we can trace determine the exquisite 
 character of the whole. But one saying of Jesus is 
 recorded until his baptism by John. Yet we are told 
 by Luke, that 
 
 " The Child grew, and waxed strong in the Spirit, 
 filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was upon 
 him." 
 
 > How often, among his youthful companions, and in 
 the domestic circle, must that strong spirit have flashed 
 out, and that knowledge have overflowed ! Yet the 
 apples of wisdom, borne by the green tree, are forbidden 
 fruit to us. None have been preserved. What they 
 were like, however, we may gather from that most 
 touching incident of His early life, when, about twelve 
 years old, Joseph and Mary lost Him, and turning 
 back to Jerusalem, " found Him in the Temple sitting in 
 the midst of the Doctors both hearing them, and asking 
 them questions. And all that heard Him were 
 astonished at His understanding and answers." What 
 a scene : what a discussion must that have been, where 
 the Jewish Doctors were confounded by a child of 
 twelve years old ! From this period till He was thirty, 
 
244 Eloquence. 
 
 all His eloquence is lost to us ; though it is recorded, 
 that He " increased in wisdom and stature, and in favor 
 with God and man." 
 
 The power of His eloquence may be judged by the 
 fact, that, after the Temptation, while we behold him 
 irt his mere human and intellectual character " there 
 went out a fame of Him through all the region round 
 about Galilee, and He taught in their synagogues, 
 being glorified of all." Talk of the lost treasures of 
 literature, I would give the whole, and a cartload of 
 sermons into the bargain, for but one of these dis- 
 courses to the Galileans. The burden of but one is 
 preserved by Mark ; and when I have sought to call up 
 before my mind's eye the figure of a perfect orator, I 
 have imagined Christ with the Divine inspiration 
 shining through those noble features, and animating 
 that graceful form to which the highest skill of the artist 
 can do but feeble justice, and an awe-struck auditory 
 clustering round, as those fearful words, uttered as He 
 only could pronounce them, sounded in their ears : 
 
 " The Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent ye, and 
 believe the Gospef." 
 
 His subsequent discourses, which have been pre- 
 served, to say nothing of their Divine wisdom and 
 inspiration, and regarding them in their rhetorical 
 character, are masterly specimens of oratory : the 
 purest morals being adorned with the highest imagina- 
 tion, without one violation of good taste, or one 
 superfluous word. Though we might dwell on this 
 theme for hours, and illustrate it by the whole New 
 Testament, I shall content myself with two extracts. 
 
Eloquence. 245 
 
 The first is the opening passage from the Sermon on 
 the Mount : 
 
 " Blessed are the poor in spirit : for their's is the 
 kingdom of Heaven." 
 
 " Blessed are they that mourn : for they shall be 
 comforted." 
 
 "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the 
 earth." 
 
 "Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after 
 righteousness : for they shall be filled." 
 
 " Blessed are the merciful : for they shall obtain 
 mercy." 
 
 " Blessed are the pure in heart : for they shall see 
 God." 
 
 " Blessed are the peacemakers : for they shall be called 
 the children of God." 
 
 " Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteous- 
 ness' sake : for their's is the Kingdom of Heaven." 
 
 We, who have had this message of mercy sounding in 
 our ears from childhood, till constant familiarity has 
 partially deadened our perception of its spirit, conden- 
 sation, energy, and beauty, can form no idea of the 
 feelings which it was calculated to excite in the poor 
 and unlettered auditory, whose country was groaning 
 under a foreign yoke ; whose city was torn by factions ; 
 and whose minds were perplexed by the rhetorical 
 flourishes of the teachers of rival sects, who were equally 
 blind guides to the people ; and who only agreed 
 in making them toil, that those who perplexed their 
 understandings, might sit in the uppermost seats at 
 
246 Eloquence. 
 
 feasts, and revel in the odor of a sanctity that was 
 assumed. 
 
 When, turning upon these blind guides, how fearful 
 is that burst of oratory, in which they are denounced ! 
 Cicero's, " How long, O Catiline," sinks into insignifi- 
 cance before it : 
 
 " Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites \ 
 for ye shut up the Kingdom of Heaven against men : for 
 ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that 
 are entering, to go in. 
 
 * Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites I 
 for ye devour widow's houses, aud for a pretence make 
 long prayers; therefore ye shall receive the greater 
 damnation. 
 
 " Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites \ 
 for ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte ; 
 and when he is made, ye make him twofold more the 
 child of hell than yourselves. 
 
 " Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites 1 
 for ye pay tithes of mint, and anise, and cummin, and 
 have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, 
 mercy, and faith. 
 
 " Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites \ 
 for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed 
 appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead 
 men's bones and all uncleanness." 
 
 In the whole range of human invective, where shall 
 we find such terrible oratory as this? And when 
 thundered, for the first time, in the ears of men swollen 
 with pride and self importance, strong in their mere 
 worldly wisdom, and mistaking their ceremonial obser- 
 
Eloquence. 247 
 
 vances for genuine piety, the scene must have been one 
 to which our feeble imaginations can never do justice. 
 
 In passing from the oratory of the .Saviour, I need 
 hardly remind you that his example confirms, rather than 
 weakens, the maxim with which I set out. Who can 
 doubt that he was ever in earnest ? That he spoke the 
 truth, we know ; that he felt it, a Christian audience 
 will not readily disbelieve. 
 
 Two questions will probably arise in many minds : 
 
 But WHAT is TRUTH ? and 
 
 How far may Art assist Nature, in rendering its 
 utterance pleasing and impressive ? 
 
 To answer these questions, we should require to enter 
 upon the broad field of oratory, redolent of perfume, and 
 cultivated to luxuriance by the sister arts of rhetoric and 
 logic. This task will probably be assumed by some 
 more experienced guide ; if not, we may devote to it 
 some other evening. To essay it now, would be to 
 violate a fundamental rule of the art we seek to teach, 
 by trespassing on the time of an audience already 
 sufficiently weary. 
 
THE MORAL INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 
 
 [ A Lecture delivered before the Halifax Mechanic's Institute, 
 September 1836.] 
 
 I trust that my fair countrywomen will not suppose 
 that the idea of preparing a paper, addressed especially 
 to them, originated in a disparaging estimate of their 
 understandings ; or in any distrust of their inclination 
 and ability to partake largely of the wholesome 
 philosophic and literary fare furnished by those who 
 cater for the weekly feasts provided at this Institute. 
 I hope also that they will not suspect me of a design to 
 waste this leisure hour in vain trifling, and mawkish 
 compliment foreign to the avowed objects for which 
 we meet, and insulting to the good taste of such an 
 audience as is here assembled. 
 
 My object in appearing before you this evening is 
 very different. The design of this paper originated in 
 a conviction of the immense moral influence which 
 females as a class possess ; in a high appreciation of 
 this power, and a desire to give it a bearing, so far as 
 circumstances permit on the character and prosperity 
 of our common country. Pardon me, if I venture to 
 assert, that there are many females in Nova Scotia 
 nay, that there may possibly be some in this audience 
 who are not duly sensible of the extent of this influence, 
 nor of the paramount obligation which it imposes. 
 Nor is this surprising. The recognition of great 
 principles, the growth of public spirit, (the want of 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 249 
 
 which in this community has often been lamented here) 
 is generally slow in a new country. Men themselves 
 are often but tardy scholars of what they should learn 
 and practice without delay ; and though each may 
 not be indisposed to " do the State some service," their 
 collective duties to society are often ignorantly or 
 indifferently put aside ; while their vague designs, 
 and languid determinations, assume no palpable or 
 profitable form. 
 
 If this be true as respects the lords of creation, to 
 whom the portals of colleges are open, whose self- 
 examinations are prompted by the seclusion of 
 academic groves, whose minds are informed, and 
 faculties quickened, by those studies and that training 
 which are essential to success in the professions, or in 
 the active business of life, how much more may 
 " gentle woman " be excused for a less early appreci- 
 ation of her moral power in the State, and of the high 
 duties imposed by its possesion. But in a new country, 
 as I have often told you, much depends on early 
 impressions and determinations ; and the sooner both 
 sexes understand the natural boundaries of their 
 influence and their obligations, and become feelingly 
 alive to the reputation and advancement of the land in 
 which they live, the sooner will it flourish ; the more 
 rapid will be the growth of that public spirit, or rather 
 public virtue, the fruitful parent of high thoughts, 
 amiable qualities, noble actions, and valuable institu- 
 tions. 
 
 Strongly impressed by this belief, I endeavoured 
 some year or two ago, to kindle the fire of honorable 
 
250 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 enterprise in the minds of my young friends of my own 
 sex, by a few simple appeals and historic illustrations. 
 The same motives which induced me to address them, 
 urge me now, ladies, to address you; and to solicit 
 your attention to some views, which, if not novel, are 
 well meant ; and in the exhibition of which I have 
 studied simplicity rather than effect the ornament of 
 common sense, rather than the pomp and grace of 
 language. 
 
 It is a common error, one extensively propagated 
 by the overbearing and self-sufficient of our sex that 
 women's thoughts should be bounded by her household 
 cares ; that these alone should engross her time ; and 
 that all matters of literature, science, politics, and 
 morals, should be carefully eschewed as any infringe- 
 ment on man's exclusive monopoly of these, would at 
 once detract from the softer graces of the female 
 character, and endanger the balance of domestic 
 subordination. On the other hand, the more reckless 
 and daring apostles of the rights of women, have 
 contended for a measure of liberty so large, for a 
 participation in masculine thoughts and employments, 
 so extensive and so gross, that they have made but few 
 converts to their theories, and are not likely ever to 
 persuade a whole people to bring them into practice. 
 
 Let us not be led away by either extreme ; but while 
 we preserve inviolate the delicacy and freshness of the 
 female character, that which is the presiding spirit of 
 domestic life, and gives to it its holiest and most 
 inexpressible charm ; let women exercise that legitimate 
 and rational influence on all the great interests of 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 251 
 
 society, to which they are entitled, by their knowledge, 
 their talents, and their virtues"; and especially by the 
 deep stake they have in the general happiness and 
 prosperity, not only now but in all succeeding times. 
 
 Before explaining how I think this influence may be 
 brought to bear on the advancement of our own 
 Province, let me turn your attention to the direction of 
 the Female character in other countries ; to its bearing 
 on their history and institutions ; to the excitements 
 it held forth to genius and valor ; and the fidelity with 
 which it followed out the great objects and prevailing 
 impulses of the age. 
 
 The favorite pursuit, the passion, the business, if you 
 will, of most ancient, and indeed of most modern 
 nations, of which we have any authentic accounts, 
 appears to have been War. However the motives may 
 have varied, or the principles on which these contests 
 were conducted may have differed ; vibrating as they 
 did, between the bloody exterminations of the Scythian 
 and the courtly politeness of Chivalry ; still War was 
 the great end and aim of life ; the highest honors of 
 the State were to be won in battle ; a man's wealth 
 was estimated by the wounds upon his body, or the 
 numbers he had slain. So prevalent and so exciting 
 was this warlike spirit, that no nation was secure that 
 did not possess courage, discipline, and experience, 
 superior to its immediate neighbors. Wars were' 
 continually declared or courted, in order to acquire or 
 test these qualities ; and the whole system of education 
 was framed to prepare youth for the tented field, and 
 teach them that it was more honorable to die fighting 
 
252 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 bravely in their ranks, than to live a life of cowardice 
 and ease, earning for their families no honor, and 
 performing no service to their country. 
 
 Remember that we are not now approving of the 
 conduct of these semi-barbarous ages, but looking at 
 their spirit and institutions, in order to trace the influ- 
 ence of the female character upon them, and to show 
 how much they were indebted to that influence for 
 the self-devotion they exhibited, and the glory they 
 achieved. It would not be wise, because it would not 
 be delicate, to examine minutely the bearing of ancient 
 laws and customs on the liberty and privileges of the 
 female sex ; but this I think I may venture to assert, 
 that in ancient, as in modern times, the influence which 
 women exercised upon the spirit of their age, on the 
 character and fortunes of their country, was in exact 
 proportion to the consideration in which they were 
 held, and the rational freedom they enjoyed. 
 
 When treated as slaves and inferior beings, they have 
 invariably degenerated, as man himself does when so 
 treated, in body and in mind. But when regarded as 
 rational beings ; as the friends and companions of the 
 other sex ; as the wives and mothers of warriors and 
 statesmen ; they have constantly shown an elevation of 
 soul ; a susceptibility to the impressions of patriotism 
 and national glory ; a readiness to sacrifice even the 
 heart's best affections to the interests of their country, 
 and the reputation of those they loved, which justifies 
 the high place that they occupy in the history of the 
 more civilized nations of antiquity ; and satisfies us, 
 that had the general mind in some of them had a wiser 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 253 
 
 and less sanguinary direction, female influence would 
 have fostered the arts of Peace as assiduously as it 
 cultivated and transmitted the sentiments and impres- 
 sions essential to a state of War. 
 
 How much of the spirit of ancient Sparta breathes, 
 even at this day, from the noble answer of the mother 
 of Cleomenes, when her son had been promised succor 
 by Ptolemy, King of Egypt, on condition that he would 
 send his parent and children as hostages. After 
 much irresolution and visible sorrow, .he ventured to 
 communicate the sad alternative, when she replied 
 " Was this the thing which you have so long hesitated 
 to communicate ? Why do you not immediately put us 
 on board a ship and send this carcase of mine where 
 you think it may be of most use to Sparta, before age 
 renders it good for nothing and sinks it in the grave ? " 
 Being on the point of embarking, she took her son 
 alone into the Temple of Neptune, where, seeing him 
 in great emotion and concern, she threw her arms 
 about him and said "King of the Lacedaemonians, 
 take care that when we go out no one perceives us 
 weeping, or doing anything unworthy of Sparta. This 
 alone is in our power; the event is in the hand of 
 God." After her arrival in Egypt, hearing that Cleo- 
 menes, though desirous to treat with the Achaeans, was 
 afraid to put an end to the War without Ptolemy's 
 consent, she wrote to desire him " to do what he thought 
 most advantageous and honorable for Sparta, and not 
 for the sake of an old woman and a child to live in 
 constant fear of Ptolemy." 
 
 Though often apparently wrapt up in the honor of 
 
254 The Moral influence of Women. 
 
 the individual they loved, there was, in the breasts of 
 these Spartan dames, a regard to the reputation of the 
 State, triumphing over every feeling of mere family 
 pride. The Mother of Brasidas, enquiring of some 
 Amphipolitans whether her son had died honorably, 
 and as became a Spartan, they loudly extolled his 
 merit and said there was not such a man left in Sparta: 
 upon which she replied "say not so my friends ; for 
 Brasidas was indeed a man of honor, but Lacedaemon 
 can boast of many better men than he." 
 
 When their city was threatened by Pyrrhus, and the 
 Lacedaemonians proposed to send off their women to 
 Crete, Archidamia, entering the Senate with a sword in 
 her hand, complained of the mean opinion which they 
 entertained of the women, if they imagined that they 
 would survive the destruction of Sparta. This appeal 
 prevailed, and as soon as the works necessary for 
 defence were commenced, the matrons and maids 
 devoted themselves to labor. Those that were intended 
 for the fight, they advised to repose themselves ; and, 
 in the meantime, they undertook to finish a third part 
 of the trench, which was completed before morning. 
 At daybreak the enemy was in motion upon which 
 the women armed the youth with their own hands, and 
 gave them the trench in charge, exhorting them to 
 guard it well, and representing how delightful it would 
 be to conquer in the view of their country, or how 
 glorious to expire in the arms of their mothers and 
 their wives, when they had met their death as became 
 Spartans. And for two days they contrived to aid 
 and encourage them ; and by their conduct, saved 
 
The Moral Influence of Women 255 
 
 the city from pillage and their persons from dis- 
 honor. 
 
 In that scene in Glover's Leonidas, where the devoted 
 warrior parts from his wife and children though the 
 positive certainty of death makes grief predominate over 
 every other feeling in her, bosom for the time the 
 arguments he addresses to her, show what were, to a 
 Grecian woman under such circumstances, the true 
 sources of comfort and consolation : 
 
 " Wherefore swells afresh 
 That tide of woe ? Leonidas must fall. 
 Alas ! far heavier misery impends 
 O'er thee and these, if, softened by thy tears, 
 I shamefully refuse to yield that breath, 
 Which Justice, Glory, Liberty and Heaven, 
 Claim for my country, for my sons and thee. 
 Think on my long unaltered love. Reflect 
 On my paternal fondness. Hath my heart 
 E'er known a pause in love, or pious care ? 
 How shall that care, that tenderness be shown, 
 Most warm, most faithful ? When thy husband dies 
 For Lacedaemon's safety, thou wilt share, 
 Thou and thy children, the diffusive good. 
 I am selected by the immortal Gods 
 To save a People. Should my timid heart 
 That sacred charge abandon, I should plunge 
 Thee too in shame and sorrow. Thou wouldst 
 
 mourn 
 
 With Lacedaemon, would with her sustain 
 Thy painful portion of oppression's weight. 
 
256 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 Behold thy sons, now worthy of their name, 
 Their Spartan birth. Their glowing bloom would 
 
 pine 
 
 Depress'd, dishonored, and their youthful hearts 
 Beat at the sound of Liberty no more. 
 On their own merit on their father's fame, 
 When he the Spartan freedom hath confirmed, 
 Before the world illustrious will they rise 
 Their country's bulwark, and their mother's joy." 
 
 The effect of this reasoning is told in the lines that 
 follows : 
 
 " Here paused the patriot. In religious awe 
 Grief heard the voice of Virtue. No complaint 
 The solemn silence broke." 
 
 I might turn your attention to many other passages, 
 illustrative of the influence of the female character, in 
 what Thomson calls 
 
 " The man-subduing City, which no shape 
 
 Of pain could conquer, nor of pleasure charm," 
 and where 
 
 " The tender mother urged her son to die." 
 
 But let us pass on to Rome, where we shall find the 
 same high estimation of valor, military conduct and 
 devotion to the service of the State, under different laws 
 and modifications, but fostered and strengthened in the 
 same manner, by the powerful stimulants of female 
 tuition and influence. How much of the national 
 character is exhibited in the matron Cornelia's reproach 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 257 
 
 to her sons, " that she was still called the mother-in-law 
 of Scipio, and not the mother of the Gracchi;" a 
 reproach, however, which, at a later period, they nobly 
 wiped away. We can see in her presentation of these 
 very sons whom she was thus privately exciting, but 
 of whose characters she had formed a just idea to the 
 vain lady of Campania, as her richest jewels, the very 
 pulsations, so to speak, of the whole female heart of 
 ancient Rome. 
 
 Indeed, we cease to wonder at the heroic deeds and 
 sentiments of the men, when we contemplate the 
 characters of the women. The account which Plutarch 
 gives of the conduct of Portia, when she distrusted her 
 own courage to preserve the dreadful secret which she 
 saw was preying on the mind of her husband, will help 
 to explain my meaning. She secretly gave herself a 
 deep flesh wound, which occasioned a great effusion of 
 blood, extreme pain, and a consequent fever. Brutus 
 was sincerely afflicted for her ; and. as he attended her 
 in the height of her pain, she thus spoke to him : 
 
 " Brutus, when you married the daughter of Cato, you 
 did not, I presume, consider her merely as a female 
 companion, but as the partner of your fortunes. You 
 indeed have given me no reason to repent my marriage ; 
 but what proof, either of affection or fidelity, can you 
 receive from me, if I may neither share in your secret 
 griefs, nor in your secret counsels ? I am sensible that 
 secrecy is not the characteristic virtue of my sex ; but, 
 surely our natural weakness may be strengthened by a 
 virtuous education, and by honorable connections ; and 
 Portia can boast that she is the daughter of Cato and the 
 
 22 
 
258 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 wife of Brutus. Yet even in these distinctions I placed 
 no absolute confidence till I tried and found that I was 
 proof against pain." She then showed him her wound, 
 .and informed him of her motives ; upon which Brutus 
 was so struck with her magnanimity, that, with lifted 
 hands, he entreated the Gods "to favor his enterprise, 
 and enable him to approve himself worthy of Portia." 
 The resolute conduct of this noble woman, who 
 swallowed fire rather than survive the death of her 
 husband, on the failure of his enterprise, proves that 
 this was no domestic i%se, but a manifestation of spirit 
 and integrity, characteristic of the country and the age. 
 It was said of Marcius Coriolanus, that his great 
 actions were not so much performed for the love of his 
 country as "to please his mother." Shakspeare has 
 caught the true spirit of this lady's character ; and as 
 the sentiments he puts into her mouth are chiefly 
 borrowed from authentic history, embellished of course 
 by poetic language, I may be pardoned for quoting a 
 few lines from him. It is that passage in the play which 
 precedes the visit of Valeria : 
 
 " The noble sister of Publicola, 
 The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle, 
 That's curded by the frost from purest snow. 
 And hangs on Dian's temple." 
 
 " When yet," says Volumnia, speaking of her distin- 
 guished offspring, " he was but tender bodied, and the 
 only son of my womb ; when youth, with comeliness, 
 plucked all gaze his way ; when, for a day of King's 
 entreaties, a mother would not sell him an hour from 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 259 
 
 her beholding-^I, considering how honor would become 
 such a person ; that it was no better than picture-like 
 to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, was 
 pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to find 
 fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence he 
 returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, 
 daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he 
 was a man-child, than now, in seeing he had proved 
 himself a man." 
 
 " Virgilia. But had he died in the business, Madam, 
 how then ?" 
 
 " Volumnia. Then his good-report should have been 
 my son ; I therein would have found issue. Hear me 
 profess sincerely ; had I a dozen sons, each in my love 
 alike, and none less dear than thine and my good 
 Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their 
 country, than one voluptuously surfeit out of action." 
 
 And again, carried away by her own enthusiasm, she 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum ; 
 
 See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair ; 
 
 As children from a bear, the Voices shunning him : 
 
 Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus 
 ' Come on you cowards you were got in fear, 
 
 Though you were bora in Rome. 5 His bloody 
 brows 
 
 With his mailed hand then wiping, forth he goes, 
 
 Like to a harvestman, that's tasked to mow 
 
 Or all, or lose his hire." 
 Vir. His bloody brow ! Oh Jupiter, no blood ! 
 
260 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 Vol. Away, you fool ! It more becomes a man 
 Than gilt his trophy. The breasts of Hecuba, 
 When she did suckle Hector, looked not lovelier 
 Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood, 
 At Grecian swords contending. 
 
 Vir. Heaven bless my lord from fell Aufidius. 
 
 Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee and 
 tread upon his neck." 
 
 There spoke the true spirit of ancient Rome. Nor is 
 it a matter of wonder that a people nourished, educated 
 and excited, by such a race of women, became the 
 conquerors and masters of the world. The wonder 
 would have been, had they belied in the field the 
 admirable training of the domestic hearth. 
 
 But the Roman women did not only encourage their 
 husbands and children to fight bravely in war, but 
 to preserve an unblemished reputation for integrity at 
 home. They applauded their disregard of the paltry 
 temptations of society, and fixed their attention on the 
 nobler qualities of the understanding and the heart, 
 and on the attainment of the solid honors of the State. 
 " There were not fewer," says Plutarch, " than sixteen 
 of the ^lian family and name, who had only a small 
 house and one farm among them ; and in this house 
 they all lived with their wives and many children. 
 Here dwelt the daughter of ^Emilius, who had been 
 twice Consul, and had triumphed twice, not ashamed of 
 her husband's poverty, but admiring that integrity 
 which kept him poor." 
 
 I might turn your attention to many other passages, 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 261 
 
 highly illustrative of the moral influence of the female 
 character in ancient Greece and Rome to the spirited 
 reply of Gorgo ; the courage of Ccelia, who swam the 
 river at the head of the Roman virgins, under a shower 
 of darts : or the self devotion of Arria, who plunged a 
 dagger into her own breast, to teach her husband how 
 to die ; but we have not time to dwell longer here, and 
 I think the illustrations I have chosen are amply 
 sufficient for my purpose. For they teach us this great 
 lesson, that two of the foremost nations of antiquity 
 were as much indebted to their women, as to their men, 
 for the extended influence, and exalted reputations they 
 achieved. We cannot, perhaps, at this distance of 
 time, say which is entitled to the largest share of praise 
 for originating and strengthening those sentiments of 
 exalted courage and patriotic self devotion, which 
 were the fruitful sources of private honor and public 
 advantage ; but the rational conclusion is, that they 
 were mutually cultivated and inspired ; that where 
 woman's softer nature shrunk from the idea of peril, 
 and the consequences of exposing those she loved, the 
 patriot lord and father, as in the case of Leonidas, 
 inculcated lessons of firmness and public virtue ; and 
 where man himself required a spur to his ambition, it 
 was supplied by Cornelia's taunt, or Volumnia's ardent 
 praise. 
 
 We need not dwell on the dark period which 
 succeeded the fall of the Roman Empire. That the 
 influence of woman was felt upon it ; that its horrors 
 were mitigated by her gentle ministrations, by her 
 natural tendernes of heart, we cannot doubt; for, to 
 
262 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 believe otherwise, would be to question the known 
 characteristics of the sex in every country and in every 
 age. But let us pass on to that period when the 
 business of conquest having ended, the feudal system 
 arose in every country in Europe, and upon the genius 
 of which it will be seen that women exercised the most 
 admirable and extraordinary influence. 
 
 It is the custom to mourn over the fall of the Roman 
 Empire. But when we contemplate the general 
 corruption, the social slavery and degradation of the 
 mass, the depravity and cruelty of the few, to whom 
 birth, wealth, or audacity, had given power, we almost 
 feel thankful for that tide of rude but comparatively 
 virtuous barbarians, by whom its whole boundaries were 
 overflowed, and cease to regret that knowledge and 
 those refinements which were so interwoven with 
 cruelty, imbecility and vice. And it is pleasing to turn 
 from the female character, soiled as it was in the latter 
 days of the Empire by the operation of vile laws and 
 customs, the influence of luxury, and the general 
 corruption of morals and manners, to the simple 
 dignity which it maintained in the fastnesses of the 
 North, and in those remote regions to which the term 
 barbarian was applied. " It was, in truth," says Mills, 
 in his History of Chivalry, "the virtue of the sex, and 
 not any occasional or accidental opinion, that raised 
 them to their high and respectable consideration. The 
 Roman historian marked it as a peculiarity among the 
 Germans, that marriage was considered by them a 
 sacred institution, and that a man confined himself to 
 the society of one wife. The mind of Tacitus was filled 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 263 
 
 with respect for the virtuous though unpolished people 
 of the North ; and, reverting his eyes to Rome, the 
 describer of manners becomes the indignant satirist, 
 and he exclaims that " no one in Germany dares to 
 ridicule the Holy Ordinance of Marriage, or call an 
 infringment of its laws a compliance with the manners 
 of the age." It is evident from all the accounts we 
 have that women among these northern nations, while 
 they preserved a virtuous simplicity of manners, stim- 
 ulated their husbands and lovers to disregard death, 
 and to seek for renown, in those rude contests which, 
 commenced by the encroaching spirit of the ancient 
 Romans, ended but in the downfall of their widely 
 extended power. Plutarch gives an account of a battle 
 between the army of Marius and the Cimbri in which 
 the latter were beaten. When driven back upon their 
 encampments, they found their women standing in 
 mourning by their carriages, who killed those that fled 
 some their husbands, others their brothers, and some 
 their fathers. They strangled their children with their 
 own hands, and threw them under the wheels and the 
 horses' feet. And Strabo, I think it is, who mentions, 
 that such of them as were taken prisoners wished to be 
 placed among the Vestal Virgins, binding themselves 
 to perpetual chastity ; and had recourse to death, as 
 the last refuge of their Virtue, when their request was 
 refused. That hardy tribes, nurtured and encouraged 
 by such women, should subdue a people, however rich 
 in numbers, wealth, and ancient reputation, after 
 discipline had faded, corruption become general, and 
 the female character shorn of its dignity ceased to 
 
264 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 exercise moral influence, or even to procure respect, 
 cannot be a matter of surprise. But it is curious to 
 mark how, as the feudal system arose out of the turbid 
 waves of northern conquest, women not only preserved 
 her ancient purity and influence, but brightened into a 
 being more elevated and refined than she had ever 
 been in the world's early history, and secure at last, of 
 her own just rights and natural station, shed over 
 hundreds of thousands of mailed warriors an influ- 
 ence the most salutary and benign. 
 
 As polygamy was unknown to the manners of the 
 northern tribes, so was it repudiated and contemned in 
 the countries which they conquered ; and when this 
 sentiment became strengthened and confirmed by the 
 spread of Christianity, women began, by their plastic 
 power, to soften and refine the rude men and ruder 
 manners of that barbarous age. War was still, if we 
 except a few Italian and German cities, the great busi- 
 ness of life j and though the sex were neither sufficiently 
 powerful, nor perhaps sufficiently enlightened, to subdue 
 this warlike spirit, with which their very natures were 
 imbued, and with the triumphs and pageantries of which 
 their childish footsteps were surrounded ; still while 
 they urged their husbands and lovers, as the Spartan, the 
 Roman, and Teutonic maids and matrons had done, to 
 fight bravely for their country, and seek glory in the 
 tented field, they inspired them with sentiments in which 
 courage was singularly blended with poetry and religion ; 
 with a repugnance to mere savage warfare ; a love of 
 mercy, a high sense of honor, respect for the plighted 
 word, and veneration for the name of woman ; until the 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 265 
 
 beautiful laws and graceful embellishments of chivalry 
 were introduced, to mitigate the horrors and hide the 
 deformity of never-ending war. If the temple of Janus 
 was rarely shut, its portal was hung with flowers. 
 
 " Chivalry," says Mills, " held out the heart-stirring 
 hope that beauty was the reward of bravery. A valiant 
 but landless knight, was often hailed by the whole 
 martial fraternity of his country as worthy the hand of 
 a noble heiress, and the King, could not in every case, 
 bestow her on some minion of his court. Woman was 
 sustained in her proud elevation by the virtues which 
 chivalry required of her ; and man paid homage to her 
 mind, as well as to her beauty. She was not the mere 
 object of pleasure, taken up or thrown aside as passion 
 or caprice suggested, but being the formation of honor, 
 her image was always blended with the fairest visions of 
 his fancy, and the respectful consideration which she 
 therefore met with, showed she was not an unworthy 
 awarder of fame. Fixed by the gallant warriors of 
 chivalry in a nobler station than that which had been 
 assigned to her by the polite nations of antiquity, all the 
 graceful qualities of her nature blossomed into beauty ; 
 and the chastening influence of feminine gentleness and 
 tenderness was, for the first time in his history, experi- 
 enced by man." 
 
 I might entertain you for hours with the personal 
 achievements and adventures of females, gleaned from 
 the Poets and Chroniclers of the middle ages ; for it 
 was no uncommon thing for ladies of peerless beauty 
 and of the highest rank, favored by the quaint disguises 
 and courteous usages of the time, to clothe themselves 
 23 
 
266 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 in armor, break a lance in the lists, draw their swords 
 in the cause of the oppressed, or set an example by their 
 courage and humanity, in the more extended scenes of 
 general warfare, of those qualities, that as a class they 
 encouraged, and which by both sexes were so highly 
 prized. 
 
 The victory of the English over the Scotch at Neville 
 Cross is mainly attributed to the spirited demeanor of 
 Phillippa, wife of Edward the Third, who, in a peril- 
 ous moment, when the King, her husband, was far away, 
 and the fate of England in her hands, rode through the 
 ranks, and by her exhortations and promises, nerved the 
 hearts of her yeomen and chivalry for the struggles of a 
 great occasion, From the History of Scotland I might 
 borrow the details of that memorable siege sustained by 
 Black Agnes, the lady of the Earl of March, in the 
 castle of Dunbar, which she defended against the 
 bravest warriors of England, beating them back from 
 her walls, and mocking them with bitter jests. And 
 the varied adventures of the heroic Countess of Mount- 
 ford, of whom it was said by Froissart, that, " she had 
 the courage of a man and the heart of a lion," would, 
 had we room for them, afford a striking illustration. 
 Her noble defence of Brittany against the whole power 
 of France ; her pathetic appeal to her soldiers, holding 
 her infant son in her arms, from which the Austrian 
 Queen at a later period may have borrowed, in address- 
 ing the Estates of Hungary ; her able dispositions, her 
 gallant sortie, her heroic constancy, and above all, her 
 spirited bearing upon that element so potent in subduing 
 both sexes, when attacked by the Spanish fleet on her 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 267 
 
 passage to England ; indeed every incident of her 
 astonishing career, had we leisure to trace them, would 
 show the immense influence which females must have 
 had, in bracing the spirits of men, and prompting to 
 those deeds of almost superhuman valor and address, 
 that distinguished the middle age, and which amidst 
 more tranquil scenes, we often contemplate with a 
 strange mixture of wonder and unbelief. " In the 
 crusades," says the author from whom I have repeat- 
 edly borrowed, "parties of fair and noble women 
 accompanied the chivalry of Europe to the Holy Land, 
 charming the seas to give them gentle pass, and bind- 
 ing up the wounds of husbands and brothers after a well 
 foughten field with the bold Mussulman. Sometimes 
 they wielded the flaming brand themselves, and the 
 second crusade in particular was distinguished by a troop 
 of ladies, harnessed in armor of price, and mounted on 
 goodly steeds." Such of my fair hearers as have read 
 Tasso's " Jerusalem delivered," and Scott's " Count 
 Robert of Paris," will readily understand how the influ- 
 ence of these acts and sacrifices would be blazoned and 
 reproduced, by men of genius and imagination the 
 Troubadors and Novelists of the period until courage 
 became instinctive, and the man was despised who did 
 not possess those qualities for which woman herself was 
 so distinguished. 
 
 I must confess, however, that I admire less those 
 voluntary exhibitions of courage in the field, than the 
 more delightful, because softer, more natural, more 
 feminine influences ; which the females of the feudal 
 times exercised, from the privacy of home, on the 
 
268 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 manners and spirit of the age. What a splendid light 
 is thrown upon these by the answer of the French 
 hero, Du Guesclin, when our Edward demanded how 
 he could pay the immense ransom which he himself 
 had fixed. " I know a hundred Knights of Brittany/' 
 said he, "who would sell their possessions for my 
 liberation ; and there is not a woman sitting at her 
 distaff in France, who would not labor with her own 
 hands to redeem me from yours." 
 
 But while the women inspired the men with courage, 
 and prompted the spirit of adventure, courtesy and 
 humanity were enforced by their noble examples and 
 gentle ministrations. " In the wars of the Guelphs and 
 Ghibellines, the Emperor Conrad, as an offended 
 Sovereign, had refused all terms of capitulation to the 
 garrison of Winnisburg ; but as a courteous Knight, he 
 permitted the women to depart with such of their 
 precious effects as they themselves could transport. 
 The gates of the town were thrown open, and a long 
 procession of matrons, each bearing a husband, or a 
 father, or a brother, on her shoulders, passed in safety 
 through the applauding camp." The Knight who was 
 stained with crime ; who was false to his religion, his 
 country, or his friend ; who took an unchivalric advan- 
 tage, or broke his plighted faith, won no word of 
 woman's praise, no favor in her bower. 
 
 By such sweet influences, aiding and strengthening 
 the benign precepts of Christianity, continents that 
 were once savage and unlettered have become civilized 
 and refined. The spirit of peace, sustained by the 
 experience of all history, has spread her wings above 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 269 
 
 the nations ; war is no longer esteemed as an amuse- 
 ment, and except when waged in defence of some great 
 principle of civil or religious liberty, scarcely tolerated 
 as an occupation. The industry, the skill, the genius 
 of mankind, have been turned into different channels. 
 Nations seek renown by the cultivation of the arts of 
 peace, the creation of just laws and noble institutions ; 
 and those who, under a different dispensation, would 
 have been first in the lists, and foremost in the tented 
 field, seek in the higher regions of intellectual achieve- 
 ments, a more useful and durable renown. And it is 
 delightful to reflect, nay, to feel, that the encouraging 
 efforts of that Being who formerly sent man forth to 
 battle with the infidel, now lures him on in his warfare 
 with ignorance and prejudice ; that the greenest laurel 
 earned in the paths of peace, won by the triumphs of 
 the mind, is that which drops from woman's hand, 
 freshened by her tears, or hallowed by her sweetest 
 smile. 
 
 In the mighty revolutions by which these astonishing 
 results have been produced, woman has had her part, 
 and is entitled to her share of praise. If, as I believe, 
 the diffusion of Christianity be at the root of all these 
 political and social ameliorations ; that they spring up 
 as natural consequences, from the divine spirit of justice 
 and of love, which an almighty mind has breathed into 
 the scriptures, let it not be forgotten that females were 
 " last at the cross and earliest at the tomb ;" and that, 
 throughout those long ages of persecution, in which the 
 humane and devout Christian had to struggle for his 
 rights and his opinions, whether with the infidel, or 
 
270 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 with those misguided zealots, who, naming the name 
 of Christ, and professing, under various titles, to be his 
 followers, regarded persecution as a duty, let it, I say r 
 be remembered, that in almost every one of those 
 scenes of religious suffering, some Sophronia or Columba 
 has nerved the hearts of men by her fortitude, and 
 sealed her convictions with her blood. 
 
 The cause of civil liberty also, in every quarter of the 
 globe, has been as largely indebted to the operation of 
 female influence. Woman's tenderness of heart makes 
 her the natural enemy of the oppressor, the soother and 
 inspirer of the oppressed. In those exciting epochs of 
 modern history wh : ch are emphatically said to have 
 "tried men's souls," whether in the British Isles, 
 France, Poland, Switzerland, Italy or Spain, not only 
 have women exercised, well and wisely, through the 
 varied channels of social life, an encouraging and 
 salutary influence, but have often set an example of 
 heroism and self-devotion, which has thrilled through 
 the hearts of a whole people, and challenged the 
 admiration of a world. A Joan of Arc has never been 
 wanting to deliver a Kingdom ; a Charlotte Corday to 
 poniard a tyrant ; an Augustina to save a City, or a 
 Lady Russel to grace the last hours of a patriot's life, 
 by tenderness and elevation of soul. 
 
 Of the blessings secured by these trials and sacrifices, 
 we are admitted to a full participation ; while the art, 
 the science, and the literature, every department of 
 which has been enriched by the Mores, the Barbaulds, 
 the Porters, the Montagues, the Martiheaus, the 
 Somervilles, the Hemans', and a long line of amiable 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 271 
 
 women of talent, have descended to us with our 
 language, and comprise by no means the least valuable 
 portion of the high privileges and intellectual treasures 
 which we inherit from our Fatherland. And it is for 
 us to consider ; it is for you, ladies, especially, to reflect 
 how you can best pay to posterity what you owe to the 
 genius and spirit of the past. 
 
 Pardon me if I conclude this paper by reminding you, 
 that to a great extent, you have the destinies of Nova 
 Scotia in your hands. And let me conjure you never 
 to undervalue the character of your own influence or 
 the extent of your moral obligations. Look at the 
 little Province which, small as it is, some of us are 
 proud to call our own ; its narrow boundaries, girded 
 by the seas, and surrounded on every side by extensive, 
 populous and powerful states. What resources has 
 such a country to sustain her against the gigantic 
 influences with which she must hourly contend ? None, 
 but the character, the intelligence, the energy and self- 
 devotion of her people. Let it be your constant aim, 
 your study, your pride, my countrywomen, to cultivate 
 these qualities, and to inspire your brothers, husbands, 
 lovers, and children with the sentiments from which 
 they spring. Without throwing aside the modest 
 deportment of the sex ; without stepping over the 
 bounds of masculine thought and occupation ; without 
 neglecting those household cares and feminine accom- 
 plishments, for the want of which no public service 
 could atone, let a regard for your country's welfare, its 
 reputation, its prosperity, be ever present to your 
 minds ; and let some portion of your time, and the 
 
272 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 whole weight of your moral influence, bear steadily on 
 the means of its improvemnt. 
 
 A Nova Scotian matron need, not as the Spartan or 
 Roman did, urge her husband on to battle and conquest, 
 because " a change has come over the spirit of the 
 world's dreams ; " but she may show him, that, as these 
 states were preserved, enlarged and rendered illustrious, 
 by discipline and valor, so must ours be strengthened 
 and elevated by an assiduous cultivation of the arts of 
 peace. If he complains that our boundaries are con- 
 tracted, let her tell him, that, with industry and good 
 husbandry, there is land enough to support millions 
 of men ; and that if this were exhausted, the whole 
 world is the freehold of a commercial people the seas 
 but the high roads which conduct to their domains. 
 Let her remind him that a country possessed of science 
 and enterprise, can multiply physical power as she will ; 
 that, if she be but rich in intellect, in creative genius 
 and steady application she may strengthen herself 
 indefinitely with nerves of iron, and muscles of steam, 
 and condense the energy and productive power of 
 myriads within the compass of a few miles. 
 
 The Nova Scotian mother, too, may do her part, 
 while the graceful forms of childhood glide around 
 her knees, and the ductile elements of the youthful 
 mind are forming beneath her eye ; she may inculcate 
 not only the ordinary principles of morals, but those 
 lessons of public virtue applicable to the situation 
 of the country and the probable duties of life which, 
 like bread cast upon the waters, will come back to her 
 in pride and admiration, after many days. There is a 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 273 
 
 younger class, whose influence is chiefly felt in that 
 opening dawn of manhood, when the heart is most 
 susceptible to impressions, when the good and evil 
 principles may be said to struggle most fiercely for the 
 mastery over our nature ; and when a word, a glance, a 
 noble sentiment uttered on a summer's eve, may turn 
 the scale in favor of public spirit and honorable ambi- 
 tion ; and if my young friends knew how powerful is 
 their influence at that age, and on such occasions, they 
 would not fail to smile away the sloth, the senseless and 
 besotted pride, the inveterate idleness and inanity of 
 mind, by which too many of our young men are beset ; 
 and which rarely fails to ripen into grovelling vice, and 
 ruinous dissipation. Beauty, leading youth to the shrine 
 of public virtue, is no fable in the world's history ; and 
 there is no reason why in Nova Scotia it may not be 
 amply realized. Let them teach the idlers and triflers 
 of our sex, that our country has neither hands nor mind 
 to spare ; that their favors are to be won by public 
 service, by conquests in the regions of mind ; by trophies 
 won in the ranks of patriotism, literature, science and 
 art ; by what the poet beautifully styles " those glorious 
 labors which embellish life." Nor need my fair friends 
 trust to personal charms alone to sustain this influence ; 
 without any dereliction of domestic duty, without sacrific- 
 ing one feminine grace, one modest attraction, they may go 
 before their brothers, friends and lovers, as some of 
 them have already done into those delightful regions. 
 Science and History will disclose to them rich sources 
 of illustration; and the pen and the pencil become 
 eloquent, when other fascinations fail. 
 
274 The Moral Influence of Women. 
 
 Be it yours, then, ladies, now that the times have 
 changed, to win with these gentler weapons as the 
 martial heroines of the middle ages did with lance and 
 sword a right to stimulate and reproach the other sex, 
 where they fall short of the requirements of patriotism 
 and ambition ; and, as they led the way to rescue the 
 sepulchre of our Lord from the infidel, lead you the way 
 to vindicate those admirable precepts and principles of 
 justice, toleration and truth, which he left for our direc- 
 tion, but which, by the corruption and weakness of our 
 nature, are so frequently sullied and profaned. And 
 believe me, that while you thus wander in the " pleasant 
 ways of wisdom," general admiration and a deathless 
 name are not beyond your reach ; for even the deeds of 
 Jean of Mountfort, as they did less good, shall fade 
 from the world's memory before Mrs. Hemans' moral 
 songs. 
 
 I do not ask you to put on an affectation of art, 
 destructive of the freshness of nature. I seek not to 
 entice you from the gentle thoughts and appropriate 
 occupations of home ; but, as the Greek and the Roman 
 caught the spirit which led him on to victory and 
 renown, amidst the relaxations and delights of social 
 intercourse, so would I have my youthful countrymen 
 catch from your enthusiasm, the energy and determina- 
 tion of which Nova Scotia stand so much in need. I 
 would make beauty's flashing eye, and encouraging 
 smile, at once the beacon and reward of public virtue 
 and honorable exertion. I would have woman breathe 
 around her an atmosphere in which idleness, ignorance 
 and selfishness, could not for an hour exist; but in 
 
The Moral Influence of Women. 275 
 
 which science and literature, high thoughts and honor- 
 able enterprises, would blossom and flourish till they 
 overspread the land : not choking the domestic affec- 
 tions, or curbing the rational pleasures and enjoyments 
 of life ; but giving to them a dignity, a grace, a charm, 
 in the highest degree attractive ; while they result in an 
 abundant measure of collective reputation and improve- 
 ment. 
 
 Could I but see these sentiments diffused throughout 
 the land, generally appreciated and acted upon by the 
 females of Nova Scotia, I should laugh to scorn every 
 sentiment of despondency and alarm. The present 
 would be viewed with satisfaction ; the future bounded 
 by hope. Though the existing race of men might be 
 ignorant or indifferent, I should know that another was 
 Springing up, which, from the cradle to the tomb, would 
 be subjected to a training and an influence, the most 
 admirable and inspiring ; and which must ultimately 
 rival the boast of the Athenian, by converting a small 
 Province into a powerful and illustrious State. 
 
ADDRESS. 
 
 {Delivered at the Howe Festival, Framingham, Massachusetts, 
 August 31, 1871.] 
 
 Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen : 
 
 To be invited to address such an audience as this, in 
 the centre of intellectual New England, I regard as a 
 great distinction. Yet the position has its drawbacks. 
 The committee have announced an " Oration ; " but a 
 simple and good-humored introduction to the business 
 of the day is all that I shall attempt If disposed to 
 be more ambitious, and to try a bolder flight, I should 
 be afraid to risk comparisons, that you would not fail to 
 institute, and which I am not vain enough to challenge. 
 You have not forgotten the stately and nervous argu- 
 ments of Webster, or the polished elocution and silvery 
 voice of Everett ; and though those masters of the art 
 have passed away, you can still sit at the feet of 
 Emerson, listen to the fiery declamation of Phillips, 
 wonder at Lowell's marvellous felidty of phrase and 
 luxuriance of illustration, and fold to your hearts, with 
 a love akin to worship, our good friend Oliver Wendell 
 Holmes. Let us thank God for these great lights, 
 which have diffused or are still shedding their radiance 
 over the industrial and intellectual life of a great nation ; 
 but this is a family party, and as a member of the 
 family, I throw myself upon your indulgence. We are 
 here not to make a parade of our eloquence, if we 
 
Howe Festival. 277 
 
 have any, but to spend a day in holy brotherhood and 
 sweet communion. 
 
 Drawn from many States and Provinces, but spring- 
 ing from a common stock, we meet for peaceful and 
 legitimate purposes, to grasp each other's hands, to 
 look into each other's faces, to study each other's forms 
 and to mark how the fine original structure of the race 
 has borne change of aliment, diversity of climate, and 
 the wear and tear of sedentary or active life, amidst the 
 rapid mental and bodily movement of the fast age in 
 which we live. 
 
 These family gatherings were, I believe, first sug- 
 gested in New England, and their success is to be 
 traced to the natural outcrop of feelings that are very 
 rational. A wise nation preserves its records, gathers 
 up its muniments, decorates the tombs of its illustrious 
 dead, repairs its great public structures, and fosters 
 national pride and love of country, by perpetual refer- 
 ences to the sacrifices and glories of the past. But, 
 divide the nation by households, and under every roof 
 you will find, let national pride be ever so strong, that 
 family pride, the interest in the narrower circle that 
 bears a common name, is quite as active. Our litera- 
 ture is filled with types of the septs, and clans, and 
 families, into which the wide world is divided, and who 
 cling to their old recollections and traditions with 
 marvellous tenacity. 
 
 In the British Islands this family sentiment finds 
 vent, and expands itself with great luxuriance and 
 grace, under the shelter of the law of primogeniture. 
 Emerson, in his delightful book on England, tells us 
 
278 Howe Festival. 
 
 that there are " three hundred palaces," scattered all 
 over the face of that country. A great many of these 
 are comparatively modern structures, reared by the 
 merchant princes and great manufacturers of England, 
 who, in comparatively modern times, have been enriched 
 by the abounding commerce and restless industry of a 
 great and prosperous empire. 
 
 But by far the larger number are the growth of 
 centuries ; " the stately homes of England," where her 
 historic families, many of them older than the Conquest, 
 store up and preserve all that can illustrate the brilliant 
 and heroic qualities of the race, and prompt to the 
 highest order of emulation. Many of these old struc- 
 tures, such as Warwick Castle, the stronghold of the 
 king-maker, and Alnwick, the seat of " the stout Earls 
 of Northumberland," though converted into luxurious 
 modern residences, and embellished with all that high 
 art in these recent times can furnish, occupy the 
 commanding sites which made them formidable cen- 
 turies ago, and wear the outward semblance of strong 
 mediaeval fortresses, from which a stone has scarcely 
 been removed. In many other cases the stern front of 
 war has been softened and toned down by the gradual 
 process of decay, the luxuriance of vegetation, or by 
 improvements, which have placed modern structures, of 
 vast proportions, upon the old feudal sites, replete with 
 every convenience for ease and comfort, which, from 
 the thickness of the walls, and the defensive character 
 of the design, could not always be commanded in the 
 old feudal castles. 
 
 But whether the style of the structure be ancient or 
 
 
Howe Festival. 279 
 
 modern, it is surrounded by an estate, which, from 
 generation to generation, has belonged to one family 
 been known by one name, and the honse, whatever 
 the style Of architecture may be, is filled with all that 
 can illustrate the manhood and the intellectual vigor of 
 that family, from its rise, amidst the convulsions of 
 some shadowy by-gone age, down to the hour in which, 
 with mingled wonder and admiration, we survey the 
 marvellous results of a system not recognized by the 
 institutions under which we live. 
 
 That those families should desire to preserve their 
 estates intact, and gather around them the evidences of 
 their antiquity and achievements, is not at all surprising 
 when we reflect, that a very large proportion of them are 
 inseparably interwoven with the great events which have 
 made the history of their country memorable ; and the 
 valuable services rendered to the nation by many of 
 these families, not only throw around their country 
 seats and personal relics an indescribable charm, but 
 give them a strong hold on the affections of the people. 
 
 A Stanley won the field of Flodden. One of the 
 Talbots, who led the English forces in France, and 
 fought against Joan of Arc, was the victor in forty- 
 seven battles and dangerous skirmishes. The Percys 
 have seven times driven back the tide of foreign 
 invasion, and for eight hundred years have stood in 
 the front of resistance to legal tyranny : and, say the 
 writers from whom I quote,* " One Russell has staked 
 his head for the Protestant faith : a second the family 
 
 * Sandford and Townshend's Governing Families of England. 
 
280 Howe Festival. 
 
 estates in successful resistance to a despot ; a third has 
 died on the scaffold for the liberties of Englishmen ; a 
 fourth has aided materially in the revolution which sub- 
 stituted law for the will of the sovereigns ; a fifth spent 
 his life in resisting the attempt of the House of 
 Brunswick to rebuild the power of the throne, and gave 
 one of the first examples of just religious government 
 in Ireland ; and a sixth organized and carried through 
 a bloodless but complete transfer of power from his 
 own order to the middle classes." 
 
 These are eminent services, and we cannot wonder 
 that the family seats, where such men were bred, are 
 religiously preserved by their descendants, and regarded 
 with deep interest by the nation. 
 
 There is no name more familiar to Americans than that 
 of Lord North, who, under George the Third, conducted 
 for many years, the disastrous War which was only 
 closed by the establishment of the Independence of 
 these United States. How few of all the able and 
 distinguished men, who, on your side, led in that great 
 struggle, have left behind them homes that have been 
 preserved, properties still undivided, or common centres 
 where their pictures, books, and family muniments 
 have been treasured up, to keep alive for succeeding 
 generations the memory of their martial or diplomatic 
 achievements ! By the personal exertions of Everett, 
 Mount Vernon has been preserved ; and, to their 
 honor be it spoken, the Adams family, by a rare exhibi- 
 tion of heriditary qualities, have held their property 
 and maintained their positions in the highest circles of 
 political and social elevation. But nearly all the others, 
 
Howe Festival. 281 
 
 though honorably known to history, have passed away, 
 and have left no property to embellish the scenery, no 
 rallying places for their descendants, no familiar 
 evidences of their existence. 
 
 In the heart of Oxfordshire stands Wroxton Abbey, 
 the seat of the Norths. It is an old ecclesiastical 
 structure, turned into a modern residence of surpassing 
 beauty, where all that is antique is preserved with 
 religious care, and gracefully interwoven with whatever 
 can administer to refined luxury and convenience. It 
 is surrounded by forty thousand acres of the best land 
 in England. The outlying farms are cultivated by a 
 prosperous tenantry, whose families have occupied the 
 same lands for centuries, many of whom keep hunters 
 worth five hundred guineas, and pay a thousand sover- 
 eigns a year annual rent. Ancestral trees older than 
 the Abbey, fling their shadows down upon sinuous 
 walks and carriage drives that appear almost endless ; 
 whilst every window in the house looks out upon 
 verdant lawns, well-kept gardens, or clumps of tree 
 roses, interspersed with masses of evergreens, the 
 preservation of which is so much favored by the moist 
 climate of England. 
 
 The Baroness North, grand-daughter of Lord North 
 of the Revolutionary War, and her husband, Colonel 
 North, reside on this beautiful estate ; and while 
 distinguished for the largeness of heart and great 
 hospitality which become their stations, are not 
 unmindful of the hereditary obligation which devolves 
 upon them to treasure, to enlarge, and to transmit to 
 their descenants, all that can illustrate the daily life, 
 
 24 
 
282 Howe Festival. 
 
 the personal traits, or the distinguished services of the 
 house to which they belong, in all its branches. 
 
 You are aware that the family of the Norths was 
 interwoven with the Guildfords and Greys. The 
 hundred rooms and long corridors of Wroxton tell the 
 family story, from its foundation in 1496 to the present 
 hour. Beautiful women, in the costume of the period 
 in which they flourished children of all ages eminent 
 Lawyers, Privy Councillors, Soldiers, Ambassadors and 
 Judges, line the walls of every staircase and of every 
 room. 
 
 Many of these pictures are valuable as works of art, 
 but their chief value is in the record they supply of 
 forms long past away, of features that cannot be 
 reproduced, and for the facilities they afford to every 
 rising generation to study and transmit the family story, 
 by the aid of authentic materials, which in our countries, 
 and under our systems, we can very rarely supply. 
 
 Two or three rooms in this old house deeply inter- 
 ested me. One was Lord North's Library, in which 
 ever}'- book that he had ever owned or handled has 
 been preserved. Though unsuccessful as a War 
 Minister, he was a scholar and a wit, and many of the 
 Volumes are rare editions, or presentation copies, 
 enriched by autographs or annotations. 
 
 A small room, opening from the library, was Lord 
 North's study. A very remarkable likeness of him 
 Overhangs and looks down on the table at which he 
 wrote his despatches. The inkstand, and I might 
 almost add the pens with which they were written have 
 been preserved. 
 
Howe Festival. 283 
 
 A bedroom in this fine old edifice interested me even 
 more deeply. I slept one night in it without knowing 
 to whom it had belonged. It was a stately chamber, 
 hung with arras, greatly faded, with quaint old andirons 
 in an open fireplace, a low bedstead with high posts ; 
 and all the furniture though admirably preserved, 
 bearing the unmistakable impress of antiquity. To my 
 great surprise I was told, on coming down to breakfast 
 the following morning, that I had occupied the apart- 
 ment of Lady Jane Grey, and slept in her bed, nothing 
 having been changed in the room since her death, but 
 the bed linen, which had worn out. I am not quite 
 sure that I ever slept so soundly in the same apartment 
 a second night as I did the first. Visions of the beati- 
 ful martyr to misplaced ambition seemed ever flitting 
 round me, and I sometimes fancied that the grim 
 headsman, with his axe, was lingering in the long 
 shadows flung out by the massive walls. 
 
 A volume might be written descriptive of the beauties 
 of Wroxton, and of the treasures of art and of biogra- 
 phy which it contains, and yet it is a comparatively 
 modern edifice, nor do the Norths trace back their 
 lineage nearly so far as many of the great Historic 
 families of England. 
 
 But I have taken this single house to show you how 
 strong is the family sentiment in our mother country, 
 and to answer, in advance, those who would smile at 
 our humble endeavors to engraft upon our democratic 
 institutions some graceful forms of development for a 
 yearning that is universal, and for the outcrop of feel- 
 ings as old as history. 
 
284 Howe Festival. 
 
 Neither in the United States, nor in Canada, is any 
 provision made for this development. By our old laws 
 two-thirds of the real estate were given to the eldest 
 son, but modern legislation has swept this provision 
 away, and property is now equally divided in all our 
 States and Provinces. The universal feeling sustains 
 this condition of the law ; entails are discouraged, and 
 fortunes are earned only to be distributed, often with a 
 rapidity that far outruns the process of accumulation. 
 A spendthrift is too apt to follow a miser, and the thrift- 
 less, bred in luxurious homes, otten seem to have come 
 into the world for no other purpose than to scatter 
 what the industrious have earned, and to disperse, with- 
 out a thought of name or race, all that their fathers 
 prized, and in which their descendants, if not below the 
 ordinary scale of humanity, would be sure to take an 
 interest. 
 
 The democratic system, which prevails all over this 
 continent, cannot be changed. It has its advantages, 
 and the evils arising from the law of primogeniture can- 
 not be veiled, even by the graceful surroundings to 
 which I have referred ; and the practical question which 
 we have met here to endeavor to solve is this, Can we 
 without disturbing the law, or disregarding the common 
 sentiment of the continent, keep alive our family name 
 trace back our family story, and while dividing our 
 property among our children, divide with them also all 
 that we have been able to learn, to authenticate, and to 
 transmit, of the family from which they have sprung ? 
 
 May we not do more ? May we not so pass this day 
 as to make it a festival in the finest sense of the term 
 
Howe Festival. 285 
 
 to the repetition of which the thousands who bear our 
 name will look forward with intense delight ? 
 
 In England the Howes have lived and flourished for 
 centuries. The Howe banner hangs as high, in Henry 
 VII's chapel, as any other evidence of honorable service, 
 and the battle of the first of June will be remembered 
 so long as the naval annals of England last. In the old 
 French wars, for the possession of this continent, one 
 Howe fell at Ticonderoga, and another was killed on 
 the Nova Scotia frontier. In the Revolutionary War 
 the Howes were not fortunate. I have heard my father 
 describe Sir William, as he saw him leading up the 
 British forces at the battle of Bunker Hill, with the bullets 
 flying like hail around him. But I am apprehensive 
 that in that old war God was not " on the side of the 
 strongest columns," and that the time had arrived, 
 when the peopling and development of N a continent 
 could not be postponed by the agencies of fleets and 
 armies . 
 
 The Howes, who have been ennobled, trace their 
 family back to the reign of Henry VIII., and seem to 
 have held estates in Somersetshire, Gloucester, Wiltshire, 
 Nottingham, and Fermanagh in Ireland. Jack Howe, 
 as he was familiarly called, who was a member of Par- 
 liament in the reigns of William and Anne, was a fluent 
 speaker, and, like a good many other people in those 
 days, had a great dislike to standing armies. His son, 
 who sat for Nottingham in the Convention Parliament, 
 was one of those who established the liberties of 
 England, in 1688. 
 
 But many branches of the family are scattered all 
 
286 Howe Festival. 
 
 about England. I found three Howes, bearing my own 
 family Christian names, lying side by side in the church 
 yard at Newport, in the Isle of Wight, and I learned 
 that in the western end of the Island a family of honest 
 farmers, who are all Howes, have been living there on 
 the same land, beyond the memory of man. 
 
 I found three others, all males, lying just inside the 
 grave-yard at Berwick-on-Tweed. I could not hear of 
 any Howes in the neighborhood, and I took it for 
 granted that they must have been killed in some old 
 border fight, which is not at all improbable if they 
 came from the south side of the stream. 
 
 But, passing over the nobles and the plebeians of 
 England, I must confess that there is one Howe of 
 whom we may all be proud. This is John Howe, who 
 was Chaplain to Oliver Cromwell, and whose fine form 
 and noble features are preserved in some of the old 
 engravings. He must have been an eloquent preacher, 
 for he won his place by a sermon which the Protector 
 happened to hear. That he was a fine scholar, and 
 learned theologian, is proved by the body of divinity, 
 written in classic English, which he has left behind him. 
 That he was a noble man is proved, also, by a single 
 anecdote which is preserved to us. On one occasion 
 he was soliciting aid or patronage for some person 
 whom he thought deserving, when Cromwell turned 
 sharply round, and, by a single question, let a flood of 
 light in upon the disinterestedness and amiability of his 
 character, which will illuminate it in all time to come. 
 " John," said the Protector, " you are always asking 
 something for some poor fellow ; why do you never ask 
 
Howe Festival. 287 
 
 anything for yourself ? " My father's name was John, 
 and I have often tried to trace him back to this good 
 Christian, whose character, in many points, his own 
 so much resembled. I may hazard one observation, 
 before passing from the English Howes, and it is this : 
 that the present possessor of the peerage had better be- 
 stir himself, and do something to add lustre to his coro- 
 net, or else we Howes in America will begin to think 
 it has dropped on an inactive brain. He rights no 
 battles he writes no books he makes no speeches, 
 and although I believe he is a very amiable person, and 
 was a great friend of the late Queen Dowager, I beg to 
 enter my protest against the apparent want of patriot- 
 ism, or mental activity, which this very supine recipient 
 of hereditary rank seems to display. 
 
 But, passing over the Howes who have figured, or 
 still dwell, on the other side of the Atlantic, I take it 
 for granted that the whole of this vast audience are de- 
 scended from those who settled in New England between 
 1630 and 1657. It would appear, by the circular kind- 
 ly sent to me by your secretary, that there were seven 
 of these, although my father used to tell me that there 
 were but four. Two of them, Joseph of Boston, and 
 Abraham of Watertown, may have been sons of some 
 of the others, if they married early, which is probable : 
 but I take the list as I find it, and to me it is full of 
 interest. What was the Old World about when these 
 men came to America ? Why did they come ? are ques- 
 tions that naturally occur to us. In 1629, Charles the 
 First dissolved his Parliament, and no other was called 
 in England till the Long Parliament met in 1640. 
 
288 Howe Festival. 
 
 During the eleven years which intervened, we all know 
 what was going on in England. Laud was Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, Strafford was first Minister, and that 
 hopeful experiment was being tried, of ruling without 
 Parliaments, which ended in the wreck and ruin of the 
 monarchy. Within these eleven years five of the seven 
 Howes were settled in New England, and the reason- 
 able presumption is that they found old England to hot 
 for them. 
 
 They had no fancy for paying ship money on compul- 
 sion, for having their ears cropped, or for standing in 
 the pillory for the free expression of opinions ; and per- 
 haps foreseeing what was coming, they accomplished 
 what it is said Cromwell, Hampden, and others at one 
 time meditated, and reached America before the Civil 
 War began. The earlier battles of Worcester and 
 Edgehill were fought in 1642, and before this five of the 
 Howes had made good their lodgment in America. If 
 the two who date from 1652 and 1657 were not born in 
 this country, they may have taken the field ; but of the 
 fact we have no authentic record. 
 
 It is enough for us to know that these ancestors of 
 ours were God-fearing, worthy men, sprung from the 
 sturdy middle class of English civic and rural life, who 
 left their native country, not because they did not love 
 it, but because they could not stay there without mean 
 compliance and tame submission to usurped authority. 
 We would perhaps have been just as well pleased had 
 they remained behind, and struck a few manful blows 
 for the liberties of England ; but we must accept the 
 record as we find it, with this source of consolation, that 
 
Howe Festival. 289 
 
 no brother's blood was upon their hands when they 
 landed in America. 
 
 That they were men of worth and intelligence, there 
 is proof enough. They were freemen, and proprietors, 
 in the townships where they settled ; selectmen, repre- 
 sentatives, officers, Indian commissioners, and seem to 
 have brought from the old country, in fair measure, the 
 common sense, industry and thrift, so much needed by 
 the emigrant. That they were men of fine proportions 
 and of sound constitutions, I may infer from the audi- 
 ence before me, and from the fact, which your secretary 
 has recorded, that five of these old worthies left forty- 
 four children behind them. 
 
 That those " forefathers of our hamlets " set us a 
 good example, their simple records prove. That the 
 Howe women have been fruitful, and the men vigorous, 
 is consistent with all I know of their descendants on this 
 continent, and this vast audience, where forms of manly 
 beauty and female loveliness abound, shows me that in 
 physical proportions and feminine attraction the race 
 has been well preserved. 
 
 But in these sound bodies are there sound minds ? 
 What of the intellectual qualities and mental develop- 
 ment of the family ? Have our women been born " to 
 suckle fools, and chronicle small beer?" Have the 
 men displayed the energy and capacity for affairs 
 demanded of them by the free and rapidly expanding 
 communities in which they lived ? It is only by the 
 mutual interchange of fact and thought, at such a 
 gathering as this, that we can answer these questions to 
 our own satisfaction. But if I were challenged by the 
 
 2 5 
 
290 Howe Festival. 
 
 trans-atlantic branches of the family to bear testi 
 mony upon these points, I think, even with my 
 limited knowledge of your country, I could produce a 
 group of eloquent senators, eminent soldiers, distin- 
 guished philanthropists, and successful business men, to 
 prove conclusively that, in these United States, the race 
 has not declined. 
 
 In turning to the Provinces it must be borne in mind 
 that but one of all the Howes in these States took 
 the British side in the Revolutionary War. Of my father 
 I spoke, some years ago, at Faneuil Hall, and my good 
 friend Lorenzo Sabine (one of the best writers and most 
 accomplished statesmen produced in the Eastern States) 
 has kindly embodied what was said in the second edition 
 of his Lives of the Loyalists, to which I must refer those 
 who take interest in the British American branch of the 
 family. To-day I have leisure to say only this, that if 
 it be permitted to the saints in Heaven to revisit the 
 scenes they loved, and to hover over the innocent 
 reunions of their kindred, my father's spirit will be here, 
 gratified to see that the family, divided by the Revolu- 
 tion, is again united, and that his son, to use the language 
 which Burns puts into the mouth of the peasant woman 
 in his Cottar's Saturday Night, is " respected like the 
 lave." 
 
 Of the past history of the family, on both sides of the 
 Atlantic, we may be justly proud. That the present is 
 full of hope and promise this great festival assures us. 
 For the future I have no fears. We meet to gather up 
 the fragmentary biographies of the family, and to 
 encourage each other in well-doing, that the family may 
 
Howe Festival. 291 
 
 not decline. By honest industry and manly exercises 
 we must see to it that the race is well preserved, and by 
 careful cultivation that the brain is well developed. 
 Savage, in his Genealogical Dictionary, tells us that 
 seven of the Howes, prior to 1834, had graduated at 
 Harvard University, and twenty-three at other colleges 
 in New England. Nearly all the Howes, that I have 
 ever known, were dear lovers of books, and reasonably 
 intelligent. To keep abreast with the active intellect of 
 the age we must be students still. We inherit a rich 
 and noble language. We are the " heirs," says Pro- 
 fessor Greenwood, " of all the ages in the foremost files 
 of time." " Knowledge," Disraeli tells us, " is like the 
 mystic ladder in the Patriarch's dream. Its base rests 
 on the primeval earth its crest is lost in the shadowy 
 splendor of the empyrean ; while the great authors, who 
 for traditionary ages, have held the chain of science and 
 philosophy, of poesy and erudition, are the angels 
 ascending and descending the sacred scale, and main- 
 taining, as it were, the communication between man and 
 Heaven." 
 
 But we must not be mere students. This is not an 
 age wherein people should be content to see visions and 
 dream dreams. The work of the world is before us, and 
 on this continent there is work enough and to spare for 
 centuries to come. We must do our share of it, and the 
 family will be judged by the style and manner in which 
 it is done. The Scotch have a familiar phrase, " Put a 
 stout heart to a stiff brae : " and Goethe tells us, " All 
 I had to do I have done in kingly fashion. I let tongues 
 wag. What I saw to be the right thing that I did." 
 
292 Howe Festival. 
 
 May your hearts be ' stout " when the " braes " are 
 "stiff." Let the world take note of you that you are 
 good husbands, good fathers, good citizens, and true 
 and honorable men ; that your descendants may come 
 up here to Framingham, looking back at this festival as 
 though from its fruits it were worth a repetition ; and 
 come, not to glorify a mere name, that has no signifi- 
 cance, but to see that an honorable name, which they 
 inherit, is kept untarnished, and transmitted with new 
 lustre to their children. 
 
 But let us hope that these family meetings may be 
 made to subserve a higher purpose than the mere 
 renewal of broken ties of relationship in limited circles. 
 May they not embrace a wider range, ascend to a higher 
 elevation, and have a tendency to draw together, not 
 only single families, but that great family that the 
 unhappy events which led to the Revolutionary War 
 divided into three branches ? 
 
 Germany had its Seven Years' War, and its Thirty 
 Years' War, to say nothing of centuries of rivalries and 
 divisions, and yet a common sentiment, " the Father- 
 land," is rapidly uniting all who speak its language, 
 love its literature, and are proud of its martial achieve- 
 ments. The Civil Wars of France have been endless, 
 and yet the common ties of literature and language, 
 however rudely those of brotherhood are broken at 
 times, draw the whole people together ; and, though 
 Kings and Emperors, Republics and Communes, pass 
 away, under them all the common sentiment is, " Vive 
 la France !" and this is the cry of a united people, when 
 each system in its turn has been overthrown. 
 
Howe Festival. 293 
 
 Great Britain and the United States have had eleven 
 years of war, eight at the Revolution and three in the 
 foolish struggle which lasted from 1812 to 1815. What 
 are eleven years in history ? Your own Civil war lasted 
 nearly four, and more men were killed in it than Great 
 Britain and the United States could ever put into the 
 field in those old contests which sensible men every- 
 where remember only to regret. You hope to be, and I 
 trust the hope may be realized, a united people. Why 
 should not the the three great branches of the British 
 family unite, our old wars and divisions to the contrary 
 notwithstanding? This is "a consummation devoutly 
 to be wished." Ocean steamers, railroads, cheap 
 postage and telegraphs, make a union possible ; and 
 gatherings such as this may hasten on the time, when, 
 living under different forms of government, and each 
 loyal to the institutions it prefers, the three great 
 branches of the British family may not only live in per- 
 petual amity, but combine to develop free institutions 
 everywhere and to keep the peace of the world. 
 
 Such a union, to be permanent, must be based on 
 mutual respect, and on a just appreciation of the posi- 
 tion and resources of each branch of the Great Family. 
 The marvellous growth and vast resources of these 
 United States are frankly acknowledged by every 
 rational English and British American man that I know. 
 That your country contains nearly forty millions of 
 people, as intelligent, industrious, inventive, and martial, 
 as any other equal number on the face of the earth, we 
 frankly admit ; but I am often amused at the style of 
 exaggeration adopted in this country, and at the mode 
 
294 Howe Festival. 
 
 in which we Britishers are talked of on platforms, and 
 in circles not over well-informed. Four millions of free- 
 men on the other side of the line, who govern them- 
 selves, and who can change their rulers when 
 Parliament sits, any night of the year, by a simple reso- 
 lution ; who could declare their independence to-morrow, 
 or join the United States, if so inclined, are often spoken 
 of as serfs and bondmen, because they do not care to 
 rupture old relations, and go in search of political 
 guarantees, which, by their own firmness and practical 
 sagacity, they have already secured. That we are not 
 laggards and idlers over the border may be gathered from 
 the growth of our cities, and from the rapid develop- 
 ment of our industry in all its branches. Though but a 
 handful of people commenced to clear up our country at 
 the close of the Revolutionary War; we have already a 
 population more numerous than Scotland, and have 
 peacefully organized into provinces a territory more 
 extensive than the United States, larger than the whole 
 Empire of Brazil ; the volume of our trade has increased 
 to $120,000,000 ; and the mercantile marine of the North- 
 ern Provinces places them in the rank of the fourth 
 maritime country in the world. My own native Pro- 
 vince, I am proud to say, takes the lead in this honor- 
 able form of enterprise. Nova Scotia owns more than 
 a ton of shipping for every man, woman, and child on 
 her soil. The babe that was born yesterday is repre- 
 sented by a ton of shipping that was built before it was 
 born. 
 
 But are the British Islands so decrepit and effete as 
 we sometimes hear in this country? Is the empire 
 
Howe Festival. 295 
 
 which is sustained by the two other branches of the 
 family, unworthy of the friendship of these United 
 States ? Would it not bring its share of everything that 
 constitutes national greatness into the union of which I 
 have spoken? Republican America, impoverished by 
 the war of Independence, loaded with debt, having a 
 great country to explore, finances to reorganize, institu- 
 tions to consolidate, and a navy to create, has done her 
 work in the face of the world in a manner that chal- 
 lenges its respect and admiration. Her contributions to 
 literature, her able judges, sagacious statesmen, eloquent 
 orators, acute diplomatists, and eminent soldiers and 
 sailors, have won for her a place in civilization and 
 history which all British Americans - and Englishmen 
 proudly acknowledge. You are " bone of our bone," 
 and as one of your Commodores exclaimed, when lend- 
 ing a helping hand to Englishmen in the Chinese rivers, 
 " blood is thicker than water," and the laurels you win, 
 and the triumphs you achieve, even at our expense, but 
 illustrate the versatility and vigor of the life-currents 
 which we share. 
 
 Now let us see what the elder branch of the family has 
 been about for the last eighty years, and whether, as we 
 approach the fountain-head, the stream shows less 
 animation. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, 
 all London was built of wood, and thirty years after the 
 Howes settled in New England, four hundred streets and 
 thirteen thousand houses were consumed in the great 
 fire. In 1783, the population did not exceed six hun- 
 dred thousand, and the docks were not yet constructed. 
 By the time I saw London first, in 1839, the population 
 
296 Howe Festival. 
 
 had increased to a million-and-a-half : but within the 
 last third of a century the numbers have swelled to 
 about four millions, so that the metropolis of our empire is 
 nearly as large as the cities of New York, Brooklyn, 
 Philadelphia, St. Louis, Chicago, Baltimore, Boston, 
 Cincinnati, New Orleans, San Francisco, and Buffalo, all 
 put together. 
 
 At the close of the Revolutionary War, the British 
 Empire was assumed to be on the decline. Thirteen 
 noble provinces had just been lost. She had been 
 humiliated by land and sea. Her power on the 
 American Continent had been shaken to its foundation. 
 Her great rival had defeated and triumphed over her ; 
 and, with her capital imperilled by mobs, and her 
 treastiry loaded down with debt, she had but a grim 
 outlook for the future, at that disastrous period. But 
 the people around the old homestead were not discour- 
 aged. The brain power was not exhausted, nor the 
 physical forces spent. They went on thinking, working, 
 and fighting, as though, like Antaeus, they gathered 
 strength from their fall ; and now at the end of four- 
 fifths of a century, let us see what they have accom- 
 plished. On this continent, profiting by the lessons of 
 the past, and learning the science of colonial govern- 
 ment, they have planted and fostered great provinces as 
 populous as those they lost. They have explored and 
 planted Australia and New Zealand, conquered an 
 empire in the East, taken Singapore, the Mauritius, 
 British Guiana, and Hong Kong, and now, instead of 
 the few feeble colonies left to them, in 1783, when 
 this country broke away, they have nearly seventy great 
 
Howe Festival. 297 
 
 provinces and dependencies, scattered all over the 
 world, to whom Webster's " drum-beat " is familiar ; 
 which contain a population of hundreds of millions, and 
 secure to the Mother Islands an abounding commerce, 
 independent of all the rest of the world ; but which 
 they threw open to free competition, with a somewhat 
 chivalrous confidence in their own resources. 
 
 Of the men produced in these modern days, why 
 should I weary you with a bead-roll ? Nelson and 
 Wellington, Clive and Napier, stand in the front of a 
 noble army of warriors, who have carried the Red Cross 
 Flag by land and sea ; and under its ample folds great 
 statesmen have remodelled their institutions, reformed 
 their laws, enlarged the franchise, limited the preroga- 
 tive, and laid the foundations of civil and religious 
 liberty broad and deep. Nor have the Mother Islands 
 hung their harps upon the willows ; while their 
 engineers have covered the ocean with lines of steam- 
 ships, and their architects have embellished the scenery 
 with noble structures, their great writers have remod- 
 elled history, and the melodious strains of Scott and 
 Byron, of Hemans and Campbell, have been heard 
 above the din of workshops that never tire, the ebb and 
 flow of capital enlarging with each pulsation, and the 
 gradual unfolding of that marvellous web and woof of 
 finance, whose meshes envelop the world, 
 
 I have but little more to say. If it be wise to gather 
 the Howes together, and renew old family ties, how 
 much more important will it be to bring together the 
 three great branches of the British family, and unite 
 them in a common policy, as indestructible as their 
 
298 Howe Festival. 
 
 language, as enduring as the literature they cannot 
 divide ! 
 
 Out of such a union would flow the blessing of 
 perpetual peace, for no foreign power would venture to 
 assail us, and we would be sufficiently strong to be 
 magnanimous when international difficulties arose. 
 Ships enough to keep the peace of the seas would be 
 all we should require. With a landwehr of millions in 
 reserve, our standing armies might be reduced to the 
 minimum of cost. Capital would ebb and flow freely 
 over the whole confederacy : our transports, instead of 
 carrying war material, might carry the surplus popula- 
 tion to the regions where labor was wanting and land 
 was cheap ; ocean telegrams would come down to a 
 penny rate ; and our national debts would disappear, 
 by the gradual increase of the population, and the 
 growth of the general prosperity. May the great Father 
 of Mercies hear our prayers, and so overrule our 
 national counsels, that we may come to be one people, 
 living under different forms of government it may be, 
 but knit together by a common policy, based upon an 
 enlightened appreciation of each other's strength, and 
 on a sentiment of mutual esteem. 
 
299 
 
 THE LOCKSMITH OF PHILADELPHIA. 
 (A Tale.) 
 
 In the sober looking city of Philadelphia, there dwelt, 
 some years ago, an ingenious and clever mechanic 
 named Amos Sparks, by trade a locksmith. Nature had 
 blest him with a peculiar turn for the branch of busi- 
 ness to which he had been bred. Not only was he 
 skilled in the manufacture and repair of the various 
 articles that in America are usually regarded as "in the 
 locksmith line," but, prompted by a desire to master the 
 more abstruse intricacies of the business, he had studied 
 it so attentively, and with such distinguished success 
 that his proficiency was the theme of admiration, 
 not only with his customers and the neighborhood, but 
 all who took an interest in mechanical contrivances in 
 the adjoining towns. His counter was generally strew- 
 ed with all kinds of fastenings for doors, trunks, and 
 desks, which nobody but himself could open ; and no 
 lock was ever presented to Amos that he could not 
 pick in a very short time. Like many men of talent in 
 other departments Amos Sparks was poor. Though a 
 very industrious and prudent man, with a small and 
 frugal family, he merely eked out a comfortable exist- 
 ence but never seemed to accumulate property. 
 Whether it was that he was not of the race of money- 
 grubs, whose instinctive desire of accumulation forces 
 them to earn and hoard without a thought beyond the 
 
3OO The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 
 
 mere means of acquisition, or whether the time occupied 
 by the prosecution of new inquiries into still undiscov- 
 ered regions of his favorite pursuit, and in conversation 
 with those who came to inspect and admire the fruits of 
 his ingenuity, were the cause of his poverty, we cannot 
 undertake to determine; but perhaps various causes 
 combined to keep his finances low, and it was quite as 
 notorious in the city that Amos Sparks was a poor man, 
 as that he was an ingenious and decent mechanic. w But 
 his business was sufficient for the supply of his wants 
 and those of his family, so he studied and w r orkcd on 
 and M r as content. 
 
 It happened that in the Autumn of 18 a merchant 
 in the city, whose business was rather extensive, and 
 who had been bustling about the Quay, and on board 
 his vessels all the morning, returned to his counting- 
 house to lodge several thousand dollars in the Philadel- 
 phia Bank, to retire some paper falling due that day, 
 when to his surprise he found that he had either lost or 
 mislaid the key of his iron chest. After diligent search 
 with no success he was led to conclude that, in drawing 
 out his handkerchief he had dropped the key in the 
 street or perhaps into the dock. What was to be clone ? 
 It was one o'clock, the Bank closed at three, and there 
 was no time to advertise the key, or to muster so large 
 a sum as that required. In his perplexity the merchant 
 thought of the poor locksmith; he had often heard of 
 Amos Sparks ; the case seemed one peculiarly adapted 
 to a trial of his powers, and being a desperate one, 
 if he could not furnish a remedy, where else was 
 there a reasonable expectation of succor ? A clerk was 
 
The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 301 
 
 hurried off for Amos, and, having explained the difficul- 
 ty, speedily reappeared, followed by the locksmith with 
 his implements in his hand. A few minutes sufficed 
 to open the chest, and the astonished merchant glanced 
 from the rolls of bank notes and piles of coin strewed 
 along the bottom, to the clock in the corner of his 
 office, which told him that he had still three quarters of 
 an hour ; with a feeling of delight and exultation, like 
 one who had escaped from an unexpected dilemma by a 
 lucky thought, and who felt that his credit was secure 
 even from a momentary breath of suspicion. He 
 fancied he felt generous as well as glad, and determined 
 that it should be a cash transaction. 
 
 " How much is to pay, Amos ?" said he, thrusting his 
 hand into his pocket. 
 
 " Five Dollars, Sir," said Sparks. 
 
 " Five Dollars ? why, you are mad, man ; you have 
 not been five minutes doing the job. Come" (the 
 genuine spirit of traffic, overcoming the better feelings 
 which had momentary possession of his bosom,) " I'll 
 give you five shillings." 
 
 " It is true," replied the locksmith, " that much time 
 has not been employed ; but remember how many long 
 years I have been learning to do such a job in five 
 minutes or even to do it at all. A doctor's visit may last 
 but one minute ; the service he renders may be but 
 doubtful when all is done, and yet his fee would be as 
 great, if not greater than mine. You should be willing 
 to purchase my skill, humble as it may be, as you would 
 purchase any other commodity in the market, by what 
 it is worth to you." 
 
302 The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 
 
 " Worth to me," said the merchant with a sneer, " well, 
 I think it was worth five shillings, I could have got a 
 new key made for that, or perhaps, might have found 
 the old one." 
 
 " But could you have got the one made or found the 
 other, in time to retire your notes at the Bank ! Had I 
 been disposed to wrong you, taking advantage of your 
 haste and perplexity I might have bargained for a much 
 larger sum, and as there is not another man in the city 
 who could have opened the chest, you would gladly 
 have given me double the amount I now claim." 
 
 " Double the amount ! why the man's a fool, here are 
 five shillings," said the merchant, holding them in his 
 hand with the air of a rich man taking advantage 
 of a poor one who could not help himself ; " and if you 
 do not choose to take them, why, you may sue as soon 
 as you please, for my time is too precious just now to 
 spend in a matter so trifling." 
 
 " I never sued a man in my life," said Sparks, "and I 
 have lost much by my forbearance." "But," added he, 
 the trodden worm of a meek spirit beginning to recoil, 
 " you are rich are able to pay, and although I will not 
 sue you, pay you shall." 
 
 The words were scarcely spoken when he dashed 
 down the lid of the chest, and in a moment the strong 
 staples were firmly clasped by the bolts below, and the 
 gold and bank notes were hidden as effectually as 
 though they had vanished like the ill-gotten hoards in 
 the fairy tale. 
 
 The merchant stood aghast. He looked at Amos, 
 and then darted a glance at the clock, the hand was 
 
The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 303 
 
 within twenty minutes of three, and seemed posting 
 over the figures with the speed of light. What was to 
 be done. At first he tried to bully, but it would not 
 do. Amos told him if he had sustained any injury, 
 " he. might sue as soon as he pleased, for his time was 
 too precious just now to be wasted in trifling affairs," 
 and, with a face of unruffled composure, he turned on 
 his heel and was leaving the office. 
 
 The merchant called him back, he had no alter- 
 native, his credit was at stake, half the city would 
 swear he had lost the key to gain time, and because 
 there was no money in the chest ; he was humbled by 
 the necessity of the case, and handing forth the five 
 dollars, " There Sparks," said he, " take your money and 
 let us have no more words." 
 
 "I must have ten dollars now," replied the lock- 
 smith ; " you would have taken advantage of a poor 
 man ; and besides opening your strong box there I 
 have a lesson to give you which is well worth a trifling 
 sum. You would not only have deprived me of what 
 had been fairly earned, but have tempted me into a 
 lawsuit which would have ruined my family. You will 
 never in future presume upon your wealth in your 
 dealings with the poor without thinking of the lock- 
 smith, and these five dollars may save you much sin 
 and much repentance." 
 
 This homily, besides being preached in a tone of 
 calm deliberation, which left no room to hope for any 
 abatement, had exhausted another minute or two of the 
 time already so precious ; for the minutes, like the 
 Sibyl's books, increased in value as they diminished in 
 
304 The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 
 
 number. The merchant hurriedly counted out the ten 
 dollars, which Amos deliberately inspected to see that 
 they belonged to no broken Bank, and then deposited 
 in his breeches pocket. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, be quick, man, I would not 
 have the Bank close before this money is paid for fifty 
 dollars," exclaimed the merchant. 
 
 " I thought so, " was the locksmith's grave reply ; but 
 not being a malicious or vindictive man, and satisfied 
 with the punishment already inflicted, he delayed no 
 longer, but opened the chest, giving its owner time to 
 seize the cash and reach the Bank, after a rapid flight, 
 a few minutes before it closed. 
 
 About a month after this affair the Philadelphia Bank 
 was robbed of coin and notes to the amount of fifty 
 thousand dollars. The bars, of a window had been cut, 
 and the vault entered so ingeniously, that it was evident 
 that the burglar had possessed, besides daring courage, 
 a good deal of mechanical skill. The police scoured 
 the City and country round about, but no clue to the 
 discovery of the robber could be traced. Everybody 
 who had anything to lose, felt that daring and 
 ingenious felons were abroad who might probably pay 
 them a visit ; all were therefore interested in their 
 discovery and conviction. Suspicions at length began 
 to settle upon Sparks. But yet his poverty and known 
 integrity seemed to give them the lie. The story of 
 the iron chest, which the merchant had hitherto been 
 ashamed, and Amos too forgiving to tell, for the latter 
 did not care to set the town laughing, even at the man 
 who had wronged him, now began to be noised abroad. 
 
The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 305 
 
 The merchant, influenced by a vindictive spirit, had 
 whispered it to the Directors of the Bank, with sundry 
 shrugs and inuendoes, and, of course, it soon spread far 
 and wide, with all sorts of extravagant variations and 
 additions. Amos thought for several days that some 
 of his neighbors looked and acted rather oddly, and he 
 missed one or two who used to drop in and chat almost 
 every afternoon ; but, not suspecting for a moment that 
 there was any cause for altered behaviour, these matters 
 made but a slight impression on his mind. In all 
 such cases the person most interested is the last to 
 hear disagreeable news; and the first hint that the 
 locksmith got of the universal suspicion, was from the 
 officer of police, who came with a party of constables 
 to search his premises. Astonishment and grief were 
 of course the portion of Amos and his family for that 
 day. The first shock to a household who had derived, 
 even amidst their humble poverty, much satisfaction 
 from the possession of a good name a property that 
 they had been taught to value above all earthly treas- 
 ures may be easily conceived. To have defrauded a 
 neighbor of sixpence would have been a meanness no 
 one of them would have been guilty of, but fifty 
 thousand dollars, the immensity of the sum seemed to 
 clothe the suspicion with a weight of terror that nearly 
 pressed them to the earth. They clung to each other 
 with bruised and fluttered spirits while the search was 
 proceeding, and it was not until it was completed and 
 the officer declared himself satisfied that there was 
 none of the missing property on the premises, that they 
 began to rally and look calmly at the circumstances 
 26 
 
306 The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 
 
 which seemed, for the moment, to menace the peace 
 and security they had previously enjoyed. 
 
 " Cheer up, my darlings," said Amos, who was the 
 first to recover the sobriety of thought that usually 
 characterized him, " cheer up, all will yet be well ; it is 
 impossible that this unjust suspicion can long hover 
 about us. A life of honesty and fair dealing will not be 
 without its reward : there was perhaps something in my 
 trade, and the skill which long practice had given me 
 in it, that naturally enough led the credulous, the 
 thoughtless, and perhaps the mischievous, if any such 
 there be connected with this inquiry, to look towards 
 us. But the real authors of this outrage will probably 
 be discovered soon ; for a fraud so extensive will 
 make all parties vigilant, and if not, why then, when 
 our neighbors see us toiling, at our usual occupations, 
 with no evidence of increased wealth or lavish expen- 
 diture on our persons or at our board, and remember 
 how many years we were so occupied and so attired, 
 without a suspicion of wrong doing, even in small 
 matters, attaching to us, there will be good sense, and 
 good feeling enough in the City to do us justice." 
 
 There were sound sense and much consolation in this 
 reasoning : the obvious probabilities of the case were 
 in favor of the fulfilment of the locksmith's expectations. 
 But a scene of trial and excitement, of prolonged agony 
 and hope deferred, lay before him, the extent of which 
 it would have been difficult if not impossible for him 
 then to have foreseen. Foiled in the search, the Direct- 
 ors of the Bank sent one of their number to negotiate 
 with Amos ; to offer him . a large sum of money, and a 
 
The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 307 
 
 guarantee from further molestation, if he would confess, 
 restore the property, and give up his accomplices, if any 
 there were. It was in vain that he protested his inno- 
 cence, and avowed his abhorrence of the crime; the 
 Banker rallied him on his assumed composure, and 
 threatened him with consequences, until the locksmith, 
 who had been unaccustomed to dialogues founded on 
 the presumption that he was a villain, ordered his 
 tormentor out of his shop, with the spirit of a man who, 
 though poor, was resolved to preserve his self-respect, 
 and protect the sanctity of his dwelling from impertinent 
 and insulting intrusion. 
 
 The Banker retired, baffled and threatening ven- 
 geance. A consultation was held, and it was finally 
 decided to arrest Sparks, and commit him to prison, in 
 the hope that by shutting him up, and separating him 
 from his family and accomplices, he would be less upon 
 his guard against the collection of evidence necessary to 
 a conviction, and perhaps be frightened into terms, or 
 induced to make a full confession. This was a severe 
 blow to the family. They could have borne much 
 together, for mutual counsel and sympathy can soothe 
 many of the ills of life : but to be divided to have the 
 strongest mind, around which the feebler ones had been 
 accustomed to cling, carried away captive to brood, in 
 solitary confinement, on an unjust accusation, was 
 almost too much when coupled with the cloud of sus- 
 picion that seemed to gather about their home and infect 
 the very air they breathed. The privations forced upon 
 them by the want of the locksmith's earnings were 
 borne without a murmur, and out of the little that could 
 
308 The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 
 
 be mustered, a portion was always reserved to buy some 
 trifling but unexpected comfort or luxury to carry to the 
 prison. 
 
 Some months having passed without Sparks having 
 made any confession, or the discovery of any new fact 
 whereby his guilt might be established, his persecutors 
 found themselves "reluctantly compelled to bring him to 
 trial. They had not a tittle of evidence, except some 
 strange locks and implements found in the shop, and 
 which proved the talent but not the guilt of the 
 mechanic. Yet these were so various, and executed with 
 such elaborate art, and such an evident expenditure of 
 labor that but few, either of the judges, jury, or specta- 
 tors, could be persuaded that a man so poor would have 
 devoted himself so sedulously to such an employment, 
 unless he had some other object in view than mere 
 instruction or amusement. His friends and neighbors 
 gave him an excellent character ; but on their cross- 
 examination all admitted his entire devotion to his 
 favorite pursuit. The counsel for the Bank exerted 
 himself with consummate ability; calculating in some 
 degree on the state of the public mind, and the influence 
 which vague rumours, coupled with the evidence of the 
 mechanic's handicraft exhibited in Court, might have on 
 the mind of the jury, he dwelt upon every ward and 
 winding, on the story of the iron chest, on the evident 
 poverty of the locksmith, and yet his apparent waste of 
 time, if all this work were not intended to ensure success 
 in some vast design. He believed that a verdict would 
 be immediately followed by a confession, for he thought 
 Amos guilty, and he succeeded in making the belkf 
 
The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 309 
 
 pretty general among his audience. Some of the jury 
 were half inclined to speculate on the probabilities of a 
 confession, and, swept away by a current of suspicion, 
 were not indisposed to convict without evidence, in order 
 that the result might do credit to their penetration. 
 But this was impossible, even in an American Court in 
 the good old times of which we write. Hanging persons 
 on suspicion, and acquitting felons because the mob 
 think murder no crime, are modern inventions. The 
 charge of the Judge was clear and decisive : he 
 admitted that there were grounds of suspicion that 
 there were circumstances connected with the prison- 
 er's peculiar mode of life that were not reconcil- 
 able with the lowness of his finances \ but yet, of direct 
 testimony there was not a vestige, and of circumstantial 
 evidence there were not only links wanting in the 
 chain, but in fact there was not a single link extending 
 beyond the locksmith's dwelling. Sparks was accord- 
 ingly acquitted ; but as no other clue was found to direct 
 suspicion, it still lay upon him like a cloud. The vin- 
 dictive merchant and the dissatisfied bankers did not 
 hesitate to declare, that, although the charge could not 
 be legally brought home, they had no doubt whatever of 
 his guilt. This opinion was taken up and reiterated, 
 until thousands who were too careless to investigate the 
 story, were satisfied that Amos was a rogue. How 
 could the character of a poor man hold out against the 
 deliberate slanders of so many rich ones ? 
 
 Amos rejoiced in his acquittal as one who felt that the 
 jury had performed a solemn duty faithfully, and who 
 was glad to find that his personal experience had 
 
3io The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 
 
 strengthened, rather than impaired, his reliance on the 
 tribunals of his country. He embraced his family, as 
 one snatched from great responsibility and peril, and 
 his heart overflowed with thankfulness, when at night 
 they were all once more assembled round the fireside, the 
 scene of so much happiness and unity in other days. 
 But yet Amos felt that though acquitted by the jury he 
 was not by the town. He saw that, in the faces of some 
 of the jury and most of the audience, which he was too 
 shrewd an observer to misunderstand. He wished it 
 were otherwise ; but he was contented to take his chance 
 of some subsequent revelation, and if it came not, of 
 living down the foul suspicion which Providence had 
 permitted, for some wise purpose, to hover for a while 
 around his name. 
 
 But Amos had never thought of how he was to live. 
 The cold looks, averted faces, and rude scandal of the 
 neighborhood, could be borne, because really there was 
 some excuse to be found in the circumstances, and 
 because he hoped that there would be a joyful ending of 
 it all at some future day. But the loss of custom first 
 opened his eyes to his real situation. No work came to 
 his shop. He made articles but could not sell them ; 
 and, as the little money he had saved was necessarily 
 exhausted in the unavoidable expenses of the trial, the 
 family found ft impossible, with the utmost exertion and 
 economy to meet their current outlay ; one article of 
 furniture after another was reluctantly sacrificed, or some 
 ittle comfort abridged, until, at the end of months of 
 degradation and absolute distress, their bare board was 
 spread within bare walls, and it became necessary to 
 
The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 3 1 1 
 
 beg, to starve, or to remove. The latter expedient had 
 often been suggested in family consultations, and it is 
 one that in America is the common remedy for all great 
 calamities. If a man fails in a city on the seaboard, he 
 removes to Ohio ; if a clergyman offers violence to a 
 fair parishioner, he removes to Albany, where he soon 
 becomes " very much respected ; " if a man in Michigan 
 whips a bowie knife between a neighbor's ribs, he 
 removes to Missouri. So that in fact a removal is "the 
 sovereign'st thing on earth " for all great and otherwise 
 overwhelming evils. The Sparks' would have removed, 
 but they clung to the hope that the real perpetrator 
 would be discovered, and the mystery cleared up : and 
 besides, they thought it would be an acknowledgment of 
 the justice of the general suspicion, if they turned their 
 backs and fled. They lived upon the expectation of 
 the renewed confidence and companionship of old 
 friends and neighbors, when Providence should deem 
 it right to draw the veil aside. But to live longer in 
 Philadelphia was impossible, and the whole family pre- 
 pared to depart ; their effects were easily transported, 
 and, as they had had no credit since the arrest, there was 
 nobody to prevent them from seeking a livelihood else- 
 where. 
 
 Embarking in one of the river boats they passed up 
 the Schuylkill and settled at Norristown. The whole 
 family being industrious and obliging, they soon began 
 to gather comforts around them ; and as these were not 
 imbittered by the cold looks and insulting sneers of the 
 vicinage, they were comparatively happy for a time. 
 But even here there was for them no permanent place of 
 
3 1 2 The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 
 
 rest. A merchant passing through Norristown on his 
 way from the capital to the Blue Mountains, recognized 
 Sparks and told somebody he knew that he wished 
 the community joy of having added to the number of 
 its inhabitants the notorious locksmith of Phila- 
 delphia. The news soon spread, the family found 
 that they were shunned, as they had formerly been 
 by those who had known them longer than the good 
 people of Norristown, and had a fair prospect of 
 starvation opening before them. They removed again. 
 This time there was no inducement to linger, for 
 they had no local attachment to detain them. 
 They crossed the mountains, and descending into the 
 vale of the Susquehanna, pitched their tent at Sunbury. 
 Here the same temporary success excited the same 
 hopes, only to be blighted in the bud, by the breath of 
 slander, which seemed so widely circulated as to leave 
 them hardly any asylum within the limits of the State. 
 We need not enumerate the different towns and villages 
 in which they essayed to gain a livelihood, were sus- 
 pected, shunned and foiled. They had nearly crossed 
 the State in its whole length, been driven from Pitts- 
 burgh, were slowly wending their way further west, 
 and were standing on the high ground overlooking Mid- 
 dleton, as though doubtful if there was to be rest for the 
 soles of their feet even there ; they hesitated to try a 
 new experiment. Sparks seated himself on a stone 
 beneath a spreading sycamore his family clustered 
 round him on the grass they had travelled far and 
 were weary ; and without speaking a word, as their eyes 
 met and they thought of their prolonged sufferings and 
 
The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 313 
 
 slender hopes, they burst into a flood of tears, in which 
 Sparks, burying his face in the golden locks of the sweet 
 girl who bowed her head upon his knee, joined audibly. 
 
 At length, wiping away his tears, and checking the 
 rising sobs that shook his manly bosom, " God's will be 
 done, my children," said the locksmith, "we cannot 
 help weeping, but let us not murmur ; our Heavenly 
 Father has tried and is trying us, doubtless for some 
 wise purpose, and if we are still to be wanderers and 
 outcasts on the earth let us never lose sight of his 
 promise, which assures us of an eternal refuge in a 
 place where the wicked cease from troubling and the 
 weary are at rest I was, perhaps, too proud of that 
 skill of mine ; too apt to plume myself upon it above 
 others whose gifts had been less abundant ; to take all 
 the credit and give none to Him by whom the human 
 brain is wrought into mysterious adaptation to particular 
 sciences and pursuits. My error has been that of wiser 
 and greater men, who have been made to feel that what 
 we cherish as the richest of earthly blessings sometimes 
 turns out a curse." 
 
 To dissipate the gloom which hung over the whole 
 party, and beguile the half hour that they intended to 
 rest in that sweet spot, Mrs. Sparks drew out a Phila- 
 delphia newspaper, which somebody had given her upon 
 the road, and called their attention to the Deaths and 
 Marriages, that they might see what changes were taking 
 place in a city that still interested them though they 
 were banished for ever from its borders. She had 
 hardly opened the paper when her eye glanced at an 
 article which she was too much excited to read. Amos, 
 
314 The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 
 
 wondering at the emotion displayed, gently disengaged 
 the paper and read " BANK ROBBERY SPARKS NOT THE 
 MAN." His own feelings were as powerfully affected as 
 his wife's, but his nerves were stronger, and he read out, 
 to an audience whose ears devoured every syllable of 
 the glad tidings, an account of the conviction and 
 execution of a wretch in Albany, who had confessed 
 among other daring and heinous crimes, the robbery of 
 the Philadelphia Bank, accounting for the dissipation of 
 the property, and entirely exonerating Sparks, whose 
 face he had never seen. These were " glad tidings of 
 great joy " to the weary wayfarers beneath the sycamore, 
 whose hearts overflowed with thankfulness to the Father 
 of Mercies, who had given them strength to bear the 
 burden of affliction, and had lifted it from their spirits 
 ere they had been crushed beneath the weight. Their 
 resolution to return to their native city was formed at 
 once, and before a week had passed they were slowly 
 journeying to the capital of the State. 
 
 Meanwhile an extraordinary revulsion of feeling had 
 taken place at Philadelphia. Newspapers and other 
 periodicals, which had formerly been loud in condemna- 
 tion of the locksmith, now blazoned abroad the robber's 
 confession, wondered how any man could ever have been 
 for a moment suspected upon such evidence as was 
 adduced at the trial; drew pictures of the domestic 
 felicity once enjoyed by the Sparks', and then painted, 
 partly from what was known of the reality and partly 
 from imagination, their sufferings, privations, and 
 wrongs, in the pilgrimage they had performed in fleeing 
 from an unjust but damnatory accusation. The whole 
 
The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 315 
 
 city rang with the story ; old friends and neighbors who 
 had been the first to cut them, now became the loud and 
 vehement partisans of the family. Everybody was 
 anxious to know where they were. Some reported that 
 they had perished in the woods; others that they 
 had been burnt on a prairie ; while not a few believed 
 that the locksmith, driven to desperation had first des- 
 troyed the family and then himself. All these stories of 
 course created as much excitement as the robbery of the 
 Bank had done before, only that this time the tide set 
 the other way ; and by the time the poor locksmith and 
 his family, who had been driven like vagabonds from 
 the city, approached its suburbs, they were met, congra- 
 tulated and followed by thousands, to whom, from the 
 strange vicissitudes of their lot, they had become objects 
 of interest. In fact, their's was almost a triumphal 
 entry, and as the public always like to have a victim, 
 they were advised on all hands to bring an action 
 against the Directors of the Bank ; large damages would, 
 it was affirmed, be given, and the Bank deserved to 
 suffer for the causeless ruin brought on a poor but 
 industrious family. 
 
 Sparks was reluctant to engage in any such proceed- 
 ings ; his character was vindicated, his business restored ; 
 he occupied his own shop, and his family were comfort- 
 able and content. But the current of public opinion 
 was too strong for him. All Philadelphia had deter- 
 mined that the bankers should pay. An eminent 
 lawyer volunteered to conduct the suit and make no 
 charge if a liberal verdict were not obtained. The lock- 
 smith pondered the matter well : his own wrongs he 
 
3 1 6 The Locksmith of Philadelphia. 
 
 freely forgave ; but he thought that there had been a 
 readiness to secure the interests of a wealthy corpora- 
 tion by blasting the prospects of a humble mechanic, 
 which, for the good of society, ought not to pass unre- 
 buked ; he felt that the moral effect of such a prosecu- 
 tion would be salutary, teaching the rich not to presume 
 too far upon their affluence, and cheering the hearts of 
 the poor while suffering unmerited persecution. The 
 suit was commenced and urged to trial, notwithstanding 
 several attempts at compromise on behalf of the Bank. 
 The pleadings on both sides were able and ingenious ; 
 but the counsel for the plaintiff had a theme worthy of 
 the fine powers he possessed; and at the close of a 
 pathetic and eloquent declamation, the audience, which 
 had formerly condemned Amos in their hearts without 
 evidence, were melted to tears by a recital of his suffer- 
 ings ; and when the jury returned with a verdict of Ten 
 Thousand Dollars damages against the Bank, the lock- 
 smith was honored by a ride home on their shoulders, 
 amidst a hurricane of cheers. 
 
317 
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 Delivered before the Young Men's Christian Association, Ottawa, 
 February 27, 1872. 
 
 Mr. Chairman, Ladies, and Gentlemen, 
 
 When a Veteran, in the decline of life, undertakes to 
 address a body of young men just entering upon its 
 active duties, his heart is apt to be too full for utter- 
 ance. The past comes rushing by, as the impetuous 
 tides of Fundy roll round the base of Blomidon, and 
 the mind's eye vainly endeavors to " look through the 
 blanket of the dark," and estimate, for others, the 
 nature and extent of those perils which youths are 
 sure to encounter, and which, by the goodness of God, 
 rather than by any skill or wisdom of his own, he may 
 have happily escaped. But how rare the instances 
 where experience has been gained without hazard 
 where the helping hand of Providence has always been 
 stretched out; where the battle of life has been fought 
 without a wound ; and it is this conviction that makes 
 me tremble at the task I have assumed to-night, how- 
 ever gladly I would make it a labor of love. To me 
 the battle of life has been no boy's play, and I address 
 you with a vivid impression of the work that lies before 
 you, and of the dangers which beset the paths you are 
 to tread, however they may be fenced by a mother's 
 prayers or a father's watchful forethought. 
 
 But let us brush aside these depressing feelings, in 
 
318 Address. 
 
 which memories of the past and apprehensions for the 
 future are strangely interwoven, and face the duties of 
 the hour, that it may not be wasted. By you the battle 
 of life must be fought. Why should I discourage you ? 
 Believe me, I would not. Nay, if permitted, I would 
 fight it all over again. There is no strength where 
 there is no strain : seamanship is not learned in calm 
 weather : and, born of the vicissitudes and struggles of 
 life, are the wisdom, the dignity, and the consolations, 
 which in all your cases, I trust, may distinguish its 
 decline. 
 
 In addressing such a Society as this I- am relieved 
 from many apprehensions. Your organization protects 
 you from much evil and many dangers. I take it for 
 granted that the Young Men's Christian Association of 
 Ottawa is a worthy and fruitful branch of that wide 
 spread and invaluable Association, which is to be found 
 in full activity, not only in all the large cities of this 
 continent, but within the mother isles, and almost all 
 the provinces of the British Empire. 
 
 This Association, if I comprehend aright its history 
 and its objects, is neither sectarian nor political. It 
 excludes no man on account of his creed, his origin, 
 or his party leanings. It is neither Monarchical, Re- 
 publican, nor Aristocratic. It will live and flourish 
 though Dynasties decay and Cabinets be overthrown. 
 Its limits are not defined by geographical lines, nor its 
 resources affected by financial convulsions. It has no 
 secrets like masonry. Its aims and its objects are dis- 
 tinct and above board. Its regalia are the ornaments 
 of a meek and quiet spirit. It recognizes the Creator 
 
Address. 319 
 
 and the Saviour, and seeks to throw around young men, 
 as they grow up, the restraints and the protection of 
 mutual encouragement and watchfulness, that the snares 
 of life may be avoided, and that reverence and respect 
 for the higher principles of morality may be interwoven 
 with its daily duties. 
 
 These Societies live and flourish on the voluntary 
 principle. Their taxes are self-imposed. There is no 
 jobbery or corruption. No sacerdotal or ministerial dis- 
 tinctions to aspire to no high salaries to enjoy no 
 patronage to divide no uniform by which its members 
 can be distinguished from the rest of the communities, 
 in whose midst they live and labor for the common 
 good. Looking into your young faces, I am disarmed 
 of half my fears for the future, by the strength and 
 vitality of those relations to each other which you have 
 already formed, and by the high standards of moral 
 obligation and Christian duty everywhere recognized by 
 the wide spread Association to which you belong. 
 
 To make its Members moral and respectable are the 
 chief objects of this organization. But pardon me if 
 I venture to suggest, that without weakening these main 
 springs of action, you should aim at even a wider range 
 of thought, and cherish aspirations that may fit you for 
 the noblest fields of action. I would have the young 
 men of Ottawa not only dutiful and good, but refined, 
 accomplished, and intellectual ambitious to make the 
 political Capital of the country the home of the Arts, 
 the literary centre of the Confederacy, the fountain 
 head of elevated thought and laudable ambition. She 
 can only attain this rank by the combined and persistent 
 
320 Address. 
 
 efforts of the men who come here to claim citizenship, 
 or who have been been bred within her limits. 
 
 Nature has been very bountiful to Ottawa. Built 
 upon a dry limestone formation the site is elevated and 
 healthy. At the head of navigation on the River from 
 which it takes its name, the City commands free water 
 communication with the St. Lawrence ; and, by the aid 
 of its Canals, with the great Lakes above, and with the 
 Gulf below. The Rideau Canal gives it easy access to 
 the country through which that work has been con- 
 structed, with Kingston and with Lake Ontario; and 
 the main River, with its twenty tributaries, draining a 
 country of vast extent, brings into the City's bosom not 
 only the boundless wealth of those great plantations 
 which God has given her as an inheritance, but the 
 agricultural products, won from a fertile soil, to which 
 the tide of immigration is being annually attracted as 
 the forest recedes before the axe of the lumberman. 
 The Canada Central Railway, and the Ottawa Naviga- 
 tion Company, give you easy access to this region for 
 150 miles, and the time is rapidly approaching when 
 the whole Country around Lake Nipissing will be en- 
 livened by population, whose business must ebb and 
 flow through this city, following the line of the great 
 water communication which nature has already provi- 
 ded, or of that national highway, which, before long, 
 will connect the Atlantic with the Pacific. 
 
 Though Ottawa, in point of natural scenery, cannot 
 compare with Quebec, which has no rival on this con- 
 tinent, and although I prefer my native City of Halifax, 
 with its varied aspects, and fine sea views, still, for an 
 
Address. 321 
 
 inland town, it is richly endowed and not unattractive 
 to the eye. The Laurentian range gives it a fine bold 
 background, a little too far removed ; but the two 
 rivers, winding round and through the city, afford 
 glimpses of water in endless variety, that relieve the 
 eye where the land is most level and monotonous. The 
 looks-out from Kingston, over the harbour a"nd sur- 
 rounding forts, and from the table land behind Hamil- 
 ton, over Burlington Bay, are fine, but are scarcely sur- 
 passed by those up and down the river, from the cliffs 
 behind the Parliament house ; or the view, which' one 
 catches of a summer evening, from the Sapper's bridge, 
 with the spires of the Cathedral on one side, and the 
 Public Buildings on the other, the canal at your feet, 
 and the river and the mountains beyond. 
 
 With waterfalls Ottawa is richly endowed. The twin 
 falls of the Rideau give us those of the Genesee and 
 of the Minnehaha in our very midst ; and the Chau- 
 diere, where the main River tumbles over the rocks to a 
 lower level, would perhaps impress us more if it were 
 not so near and familiar ; and if the skill and enterprise 
 of our great manufacturers had not transformed a scene 
 of natural beauty into one of such varied industry, that 
 what man has supplemented to nature's handiwork 
 appears to be the most wonderful part of the turbulent 
 combination. Here is the centre of that great industry 
 which maintains an army of men in the woods all win- 
 ter, and in the mills and on the watercourses all sum- 
 mer, which has already built a city where there was but 
 a scattered hamlet within the memory of the present 
 generation, and which is destined, with the aid of the 
 
322 Address. 
 
 government expenditure, to ensure the growth and 
 prosperity of Ottawa for many years to come. 
 
 When I first saw this city, ten years ago, the weather 
 was bad, the public buildings were in course of con- 
 struction, unsightly and unfinished. The materials 
 required for their completion, were being dragged 
 through the streets, cut up into ruts and mud-holes, or 
 were lying about the banks in the most admired dis- 
 order. The impression left was unfavorable, and was 
 often frankly expressed, during the animated political 
 discussions which followed that visit. Since then the 
 public buildings have been finished, and are certainly 
 not inferior to any to be found on this continent. The 
 streets are improved, and the city doubled in size ; and 
 a three years' residence has enabled me to make my- 
 self familiar with its scenery, its climate, and resources, 
 and it gives me pleasure now to correct any hasty pre- 
 judices or prepossessions that I may have formed in a 
 single afternoon. 
 
 But apart from the attractions of its scenery, or the 
 extent of its industrial resources, Ottawa presents to 
 young men advantages that are rarely found in any 
 other city of its size on this continent, or anywhere 
 else. The administration of the government requires 
 the presence in your midst, of some three hundred per- 
 sons who are, or ought to be, gentlemen. I will not 
 venture to assert that they all are. The Civil Service 
 of the Dominion, like all other services, has perhaps its 
 black sheep, men who have found their way into it with 
 but slight appreciation of the high spirit, gentle man- 
 ners, and prudent conduct, so eminently required of 
 
Address. 323 
 
 public officers in all the Departments ; but, taken as 
 a whole, it constitutes a valuable addition to the society 
 of a growing city like Ottawa. I speak not now of the 
 ministers, who come and go, but of the permanent 
 officers who reside here, who must live and die among 
 you, be your exemplars, companions, and guides, and I 
 am gratified to know that the Civil Service includes 
 men of wide experience, of varied accomplishments, 
 of profound erudition, and stern integrity men whom 
 it is a privilege to live with, and whose examples I 
 advise you to imitate. 
 
 But you have other advantages. Once a year, at 
 least for eight or ten weeks, Parliament assembles here, 
 and the young men of Ottawa can see, hear and 
 associate with the picked and prominent men of all the 
 Provinces, gathered from the highest ranks of social and 
 political life in the wide expanse of territory that lies 
 between the Islands of Cape Breton and Vancouver. The 
 sayings and doings of these men, filtered through the news- 
 papers, in telegraphic or condensed Parliamentary reports, 
 convey, even to their own constituents, but faint and 
 shadowy outlines of the scenes in which they wrestle and 
 debate. But to you, who can sit above their heads, mark 
 every gesture, vibrate with every tone, to whom the sarcasm 
 comes with a flash as vivid as lightning, and the bursts 
 of eloquence are as voluble as thunder to you the 
 nightly debate brings reality and distinctness, intensely 
 to be enjoyed and never to be forgotten. 
 
 Even where debates are fully and correctly reported, 
 they are read at a distance with a calm pulse and are rarely 
 long remembered. You or I would find Henry the VIII, 
 
324 Address. 
 
 played at the Princess's Theatre, with all the advan- 
 tages of brilliant elocution and fine scenery, a very 
 different affair from the same play read in the closet. 
 Rebecca, looking out from the casement at Torqulstone, 
 hearing every battle cry, and seeing every blow struck, 
 would never forget the siege, that you or I, charmed for 
 the moment by Scott's marvellous word painting, throw 
 aside when the last page of Ivanhoe has been read. 
 You have the political arena before you night after 
 night the combatants, who are myths and shadows to 
 people at a distance, are realities to you. Men who are 
 moulding the future, and perhaps are to figure in history, 
 are there, at your feet, making sport for you, as Sampson 
 did for the Philistines, often as blind perhaps, but 
 fortunately, with no power to pull the structure about 
 your ears. 
 
 The Houses of Parliament, then, are great Schools of 
 Oratory for the young men of Ottawa. They are 
 something more. They are halls where the great in- 
 terests of the Country, its resources, wants, and develop- 
 ment, are talked over and explained by the most 
 capable and intelligent men that the six Provinces 
 can produce ; and, if you are wise, my young friends, 
 you will, as often as you can, without neglecting other 
 indispensable duties, avail yourselves of the privileges, 
 which youths at a distance may envy you, but can very 
 rarely enjoy. 
 
 To be a fluent and easy speaker is a great accom- 
 plishment. The man who can think upon his legs, and 
 express his thoughts with energy and ease, doubles his 
 power for good or evil in the community in which he 
 
Address. 325 
 
 lives, and carries with him abroad a passport to cultiva- 
 ted and intellectual society of the utmost value. Almost 
 every winter night the young men of Ottawa can take 
 lessons in oratory, in the Commons or in the Senate. 
 Their own good sense will teach them to distinguish 
 what is grotesque and absurd, from what is impressive 
 and worthy of imitation ; and my advice to you is, not 
 to neglect opportunities which circumstances so favor- 
 ably present, and even if politics never attract you into 
 the National arenas, you will find that the graceful 
 elocution which gives animation and wins deference at 
 the festive board or at the fireside, gives power and 
 influence at those gatherings where men must congre- 
 gate to transact the business of life. 
 
 But Ottawa has, for its crowning glory and advantage, 
 the custody of the Parliamentary Library which the 
 liberality of the Nation has provided, and which has 
 been selected and arranged by Alpheus Todd, one of 
 the most amiable and accomplished men to be found on 
 either Continent. The great Libraries of London and 
 Paris are of course more extensive and complete than 
 our own. The City Library at Boston, and the Astor 
 Library at New York, admirably selected and most 
 spiritedly sustained, are creditable to those great cities. 
 I need not weary you with comparisons, but when I say 
 that our Parliamentary Library includes 70,000 volumes, 
 that it exhausts the classics and current literature of 
 France and England that every book worth reading, 
 ever published in America, is to be found upon its 
 shelves that the best works of Continental Europe, 
 and of the East are there, either in the original, or in 
 
326 Address. 
 
 the most approved translations that all the periodicals, 
 from the first number to the last, invite us to sharpen 
 our critical taste and store our minds with information ; 
 and when I add, that, so soon as the new wing of the 
 Parliament Buildings is completed, this great collection 
 will be housed with a magnificence, and displayed with 
 facilities for reference, worthy of all praise, I shall but 
 convey to intelligent strangers abroad a feeble idea of 
 the intellectual aids and advantages which the youth of 
 Ottawa enjoy, superior as they are to those within the 
 reach of the studious within hundreds of other cities of 
 larger population. 
 
 To the Giver of all Good the young men of Ottawa 
 should daily offer up thanks and praise for the mercies 
 and advantages by which they are surrounded. They 
 have a healthy climate, and occupy the centre of a wide 
 tract of country, drained by great rivers, and filled with 
 natural resources. They have a body of trained and 
 accomplished men, and their families, to associate with 
 they have the two branches of the Legislature for schools 
 of instruction, and they have the Parliamentary Library 
 in their midst, a great store house from whence to draw 
 intellectual life without effort or expense. 
 
 Now my young friends, let me say that the worst 
 return you could make for these blessings, would be to 
 show a callous indifference to the bounties of Providence, 
 and not to acknowledge and illustrate them in your daily 
 lives and conversation. 
 
 When Ottawa was selected for the seat of Govern- 
 ment, other cities, of older growth, and of larger popu- 
 lation, Montreal, Quebec, Kingston and Toronto, were 
 
Address. 327 
 
 compelled to make sacrifices for her benefit ; and now 
 that Confederation has been established, Halifax, Fred- 
 ericton and Victoria have been somewhat shorn of 
 influence and advantages which they formerly enjoyed. 
 The population of those cities may reasonably demand, 
 not only that the youth of Ottawa shall not be unmind- 
 ful of those sacrifices, but that they shall rise to the 
 level of intellectual life, and varied accomplishment, 
 which ought to distinguish the Federal Capital of the 
 Union. They may be reasonably patient while the 
 elements of society, thrown in here by new political 
 combinations, fuse, assimilate and assume new forms of 
 development, but they will not be patient, if, ten years 
 hence, it should be discovered that their contributions 
 have been thrown away that Ottawa is, after all, but 
 an outside Bcetian region, where lumber is manufac- 
 tured, where books are not read or written, which 
 produces no princely merchants, no orators or artists, no 
 learned professors or divines ; which draws pecuniary 
 resources and intellectual life from all the other 
 cities of the Confederacy, and gives nothing in return. 
 Now my young friends, you must see to it, and others 
 like you, that Ottawa does not incur the great mis- 
 fortune of losing the crown that she has won. Trust 
 me her glories will pass away if they are proved to be 
 undeserved. If, when the Confederacy comes to take 
 stock, as it will every eight or ten years, it discovers, 
 that not only is Ottawa far behind, in material growth 
 and business activity, but in the culture, refinement, 
 broad views and cosmopolitan spirit, which ought to 
 distinguish the Capital of a great nation. 
 
328 Address. 
 
 The Jew went up to Jerusalem, and the Mahom- 
 edan turned his face towards Mecca, because those 
 cities were the fountain heads of the spiritual life 
 and soul-stirring theology upon which they relied 
 for their salvation. It remains to be seen whether 
 Ottawa can take rank as the foremost city of 
 the Dominion, worthily advancing its banner and 
 upholding its reputation, where good work is to be 
 done, a good example is to be set, or sound principles 
 require advocacy and illustration. The beautiful piles 
 of masonry on the cliffs above will not save her from 
 abandonment if her sons fail to make her what she 
 ought to be the fountain head of intellectual life for 
 half a continent the model city, to which men's eyes 
 will turn for inspiration and guidance ; where elegance 
 of manners and simplicity of attire shall be woman's 
 highest distinctions ; and where a man, in the lowest 
 grade of the Civil Service, or in the humblest walk of 
 life, can challenge respect by the culture which marks 
 the gentleman the broad views which include the great 
 interest of the whole Confederacy, and by that hearty 
 sympathy with the feelings, and even the prejudices of 
 all the Provinces, which can alone reconcile them to the 
 sacrifices they have made, and unite them round a 
 common centre by ties more enduring than the clauses 
 of an Act of Parliment. 
 
 Before passing to other topics, I may be permitted to 
 say that if Ottawa is to take the rank that it ought to 
 hold, its ratepayers and municipality must evince more 
 enterprise and circumspection. The debates in their 
 City Council and in their School Boards should be 
 
Address. 329 
 
 redeemed from puerility and bad language. The City 
 should be drained and cleansed, or cholera will scourge 
 it ; flanked as it is on both sides by square miles of 
 piled lumber, the fate of Chicago is in store for it, if an 
 efficient supply of water is not speedily introduced ; and 
 the streets should be planted without delay, that the 
 present generation may enjoy the luxury of shade in 
 the hot summer months, and of shelter from the biting 
 blasts of winter when they come. 
 
 In almost all our northern cities we are far behind 
 our Republican neighbors in arbori-culture. For the 
 first fifty years, in the settlement of a new country, 
 trees are regarded as man's natural enemies. They 
 shelter the savage and they cumber the land, and, as in 
 the " forest primeval " they protect each other, and 
 grow spindling and tall, they are of little use when the 
 groves are broken, and are rarely preserved. To cut 
 them down and burn them up seems a labor of love. 
 The old States and Provinces passed through this 
 iconoclastic period a century in advance of us. They 
 commenced to replant trees about the time when we 
 seriously began to cut them down, and, now, nearly all 
 their cities and towns are planted. " A thing of beauty 
 is a joy forever," and what more beautiful than a fine 
 shade-tree ? An old gentleman, three parts of a century 
 ago, planted three or four elms on the front street of 
 Windsor, the shire town of the county I represent. 
 They have shaded and embellished it for fifty -years, 
 and I never pass under them without blessing the -old 
 man's memory. 
 
 How prettily are all the towns and villages around 
 
330 Address. 
 
 Boston shaded. What debts of gratitude do the people 
 of New Haven, Salem, Richmond," Portland and Cleve- 
 land owe to the liberality and forethought of the wise 
 old men who embellished their streets, disarmed the 
 winter winds, and have endowed, with a luxuriance of 
 umbrageous beauty, the retreats of erudition and the 
 busy marts of trade. 
 
 Ottawa must be planted. Colonel By, who laid it 
 out, evidently meant that it should be. The streets are 
 straight and wide. There is room enough everywhere 
 for trees, and for an abounding commerce and a busy 
 population. Ottawa must be planted, drained, protected 
 from fire, and then, when the Dominion Government 
 has enclosed and ornamented the public grounds, as it 
 must do without delay, the city will, in outward sem- 
 blance at least, begin to wear the aspect which strangers 
 expect to see when they come to visit the Capital of a 
 great Confederacy. 
 
 In the promotion of these objects, of proved utility 
 and municipal concern, the members of this Society can 
 greatly aid, as they bring their cultivated minds to bear 
 upon the masses around them ; but they must not stop 
 short at city limits, nor allow their mental horizon to be 
 circumscribed by the boundaries even of the Capital of 
 their country. They must think in wider circles, and, 
 rising to the height of the main arguments upon which 
 the Confederation Act was based, they must regard 
 British America as a whole, and demand that, equitably 
 and honorably, its population shall be dealt with as 
 brethren having common rights and one nationality. 
 The miserable sneer about " Parish Politics," applied to 
 
Address. 331 
 
 the smaller provinces by a Canadian some time ago, 
 was inspired by a spirit the very opposite of that which 
 the young men of Canada should cultivate, if this 
 Confederacy is to be kept together. It was forgotten, 
 let us hope, as soon as uttered, and ought never to be 
 repeated. A province should not be judged by size, 
 but by the mental calibre of the men who represent her. 
 Ontario should get credit for an idiot, if she prefers to 
 send him to Parliament instead of to a lunatic asylum ; 
 and British Columbia, if she has got an able man, should 
 not have his value estimated by the extent of her 
 population. 
 
 I have said, that to meet the requirements of your 
 position you must endeavour to grasp the whole Domi- 
 nion ; and, let me add, that in no country that I have 
 ever heard or read of, in ancient or modern times, was 
 the strain on the mental and bodily powers of the whole 
 population greater than it is in this Dominion. We 
 cannot afford to have a laggard, an idler, or a coward. 
 There are not four millions of us, all told, and we have 
 undertaken to govern half a continent, with forty 
 million of ambitious and aggressive people on the other 
 side of a frontier three thousand miles long. If each 
 British American could multiply himself fivefold, we 
 should not have more than half the brain power and 
 physical force necessary to keep our rivals in check, 
 and to make our position secure. 
 
 To enable us correctly to estimate our true position, 
 
 it will be only necessary to enquire into the reasons why 
 
 " France, with a warlike population of thirty millions, 
 
 studded with fortresses, and with its Capital elaborately 
 
33 2 Address. 
 
 protected by the highest engineering skill, was, during 
 the last summer, overrun, beaten down, and amerced in 
 hundreds of millions of pounds by the victorious Prus- 
 sians. What is the secret, the explanation, of the 
 extraordinary military phenomena which have startled 
 the whole world in the year 1871? Why, simply that 
 the Prussians contrived to have one man and a half, 
 and sometimes two to one, on almost every battlefield 
 where they met their enemies. Whether they were 
 better prepared, whether their combinations were more 
 scientific, or their strategy was more perfect, may be 
 matter of controversy; but, as far as I have been 
 enabled to study the aspects of the war, the French were 
 simply overpowered because they were outnumbered. 
 
 Now, in any contest with our neighbors assuming 
 that we are united to a man, if the enemy knows his 
 business, and the Republicans have had more experi- 
 ence than we have had in the art and practice of war, 
 we must expect to have ten men to one against us 
 ten needle-guns, or Snider's, or Enfield's, whatever the 
 weapons may be, so that you will perceive that we must 
 face at least five or six times the odds by which the 
 French were overpowered. But this is not the worst of 
 it. Ten children are born on the other side of the line 
 for one that is born on this ; and, however, we may 
 change the proportions by increased energy, five emi- 
 grants go to the United States for one that comes to 
 Canada, so that at the end of every decade, the dispro- 
 portions with which we have to wrestle now, will be 
 multiplied to our disadvantage. 
 
 We may disregard this state of things, overlook these 
 
Address. 333 
 
 inequalities, and live in a fool's paradise of imaginary 
 security ; but, if we are wise, we will face our dangers, 
 and prepare for them, with a clear appreciation of their 
 magnitude. 
 
 But, it may be said, are we not part and parcel of a 
 great Empire upon which the sun never sets, which 
 contains three hundred millions of people, whose wealth 
 defies estimate, whose army is perfect in discipline ; 
 whose great navy dominates the sea. What have we to 
 fear when this great Empire protects us ? This was 
 our ancient faith, and proud boast under every trial. 
 In the full belief that they were British subjects, that 
 the allegiance which they freely paid to the Crown of 
 England entitled them to protection, our forefathers 
 helped to conquer, overrun and organize these Provin- 
 ces. Every settler who broke into the forest, every 
 mariner who launched his bark upon the ocean, every 
 fisherman who dropped his lead upon the banks, toiled 
 with a sense of security that never wavered. For more 
 than a century our people having sung their national 
 anthem, and turned their faces to the sea " with that 
 assured look faith wears," and have never doubted of 
 their destiny, or faltered in their allegiance to the 
 British Empire. 
 
 But of late new doctrines have been propounded in 
 the Mother Country. The disorganization of the 
 Empire has been openly promulgated in leading and 
 influential organs of public sentiment and opinion. 
 Our brethren within the narrow seas have been coun- 
 selled to adopt a narrow policy, to call home their 
 legions, and leave the outlying provinces without a 
 
334 Address. 
 
 show of sympathy or protection ; and under the influ- 
 ence of panic, and imaginary battles of Dorking, troops 
 are to be massed in the British Islands, and their shores 
 are to be surrounded by ironclads. One Cabinet 
 Minister tells us that British America cannot be 
 defended, and another, that he hopes to see the day 
 when the whole continent of America will peacefully 
 repose and prosper under Republican institutions. And 
 a third, on the eve of negotiations which are to involve 
 our dearest interests, strips Canada of every soldier, 
 and gathers up every old sentry box and gun carriage 
 he can find, aud ships them off to England. 
 
 I do not desire to anticipate the full and ample 
 discussion which Parliament will give to England's 
 recent diplomatic efforts to buy her own peace at the 
 sacrifice of our interests, or of that Comedy of Errors 
 into which she has blundered ; but this I may say, that 
 the time is rapidly approaching when Canadians and 
 Englishmen must have a clear and distinct understand- 
 ing as to the hopes and obligations of the future. If 
 Imperial policy is to cover the whole ground, upon the 
 faith of which our forefathers settled and improved, 
 then let that be understood, and we know what to do. 
 But if "shadows, clouds, and darkness" are to rest 
 upon the future if thirty millions of Britons are to 
 hoard their " rascal counters " within two small islands, 
 gather round them the troops and war ships of the 
 Empire, and leave four millions of Britons to face 
 forty millions, and to defend a frontier of three thous- 
 and miles, then let us know what they are at, and our 
 future policy will be governed by that knowledge. No 
 
Address. 335 
 
 Cabinet has yet dared to shape this thought and give it 
 utterance. Leading newspapers have told us that our 
 presence within the Empire is a source of danger, and 
 that the time for separation is approaching, if it has not 
 already come. Noble lords and erudite commoners 
 have sneeringly told us that we may go when we are 
 inclined. As yet, neither the Crown, the Parliament, or 
 the people of England have deliberately avowed this 
 'policy of dismemberment, although the tendency \of 
 English thought and legislation daily deepens the con- 
 viction that the drift is all that way. We must wait, 
 my young friends, for further developments, not without 
 anxiety for the future, but with a firm reliance on the 
 goodness of Providence, and on our own ability to so 
 shape the policy of our country as to protect her by 
 our wit, should Englishmen, unmindful of the past, 
 repudiate their national obligations. 
 
 In the meantime, let us pray that our women may be 
 fruitful, that our numbers may increase, and let every 
 young Canadian feel that his country has not a man to 
 spare for the follies that enervate, and the vices that 
 degrade. See to it that the hardy exercises of the 
 country do not decline. Work is the universal strength- 
 ener of those who live by manual labor ; and those 
 whose occupations are sedentary, should counteract the 
 tendency of such pursuits by the habitual resort to those 
 pastimes which give vivacity to the spirit and energy to 
 the frame. To ride well, to row, to swim, to shoot, are 
 essential parts of a gentleman's education in every 
 country ; and to skate, to fence, to spar, and to handle 
 the racket and the cricket bat with skill and dexterity, 
 
336 Address. 
 
 are not only accomplishments which young men should 
 cultivate for the pleasure they yield, but for the health 
 and vigor they infuse, when our muscles are relaxed 
 and our minds enfeebled by the indoor employments 
 which sap the springs of life. 
 
 But brains are not less required for the development 
 and elevation of this great country than physical force. 
 Canada cannot afford to have one drone in the intel- 
 lectual hive. There never was a country with so many 
 natural resources flung broadcast before so limited a 
 population. Forests of boundless extent a virgin soil 
 to be measured by millions of square miles the richest 
 fisheries in the world mines the value of which no 
 man can estimate and water power running to waste 
 everywhere, but in a few favored spots where the vag- 
 rant streams have been harnessed to machinery and 
 turned to profitable account. The Inland Provinces 
 are enlivened by great Lakes and Rivers, and the 
 Maritime are surrounded by the sea, where the carrying 
 trade of the world invites to enterprise and adventure, 
 and where, as the argosies multiply in numbers and 
 value, a hardy population are nurtured, that, if England 
 knew how to train and handle them, would not only 
 defend their headlands but man her Ironclads, and help 
 her to maintain the dominion of the seas upon which 
 her insular security depends. 
 
 That the most may be made of these great natural 
 resources, British America requires the active intellects 
 of all her children, aided by the highest mental culture. 
 The idler and the vagrant are simply traitors to the 
 Country of their birth: I do not linger to indicate the 
 
Address. 337 
 
 directions in which any of you should think and labor. 
 Kind parents and guardians have already placed the 
 Members of this Society on the paths of duty, and on 
 the roads to knowledge. I may be permitted to say 
 this, however, that whatever may be the chosen pursuit, 
 work will: be found the secret of success, and that he 
 will be most successful who takes the highest style of 
 minds that have elevated and adorned his particular 
 walk of life for examples to guide and cheer him 
 on his way. Young men who devote their energies 
 to trade should study the biographies of those Merchant 
 Princes, who, in all ages have wedded commerce to 
 literature and the arts, founded or embellished Cities, 
 and have become benefactors to the race. 
 
 Young men intended for the professions should, in 
 like manner, aspire to be something more than Quacks 
 and Drones and Pettifoggers. The highest names in 
 medicine, the great sages of the law, the pulpit orators 
 who have rivalled the prophets of old, by their elevation 
 of thought and luxuriance of illustration, should be 
 hung around their chambers and be ever present to 
 their minds. With respect to manners and deportment 
 but little need be said. I assume that you will conduct 
 yourselves like gentlemen, and in conclusion, have only 
 to say, in the language which Shakspeare puts into the 
 mouth of Wolsey. 
 
 " Let all the ends you aim at 
 
 "Be your country's, your God's and Truth's," 
 
 that the parents who dearly love you may be honored 
 by your behavior, and that the rising generations who 
 come after you may be inspired by your example? 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE, 
 
 Acadia, ... 5 
 
 Sable Island, 40 
 
 The Stewiacke, 46 
 
 Melville Island, 49 
 
 The Flag of Old England, 56 
 
 Our Fathers, 59 
 
 Song for 8th June, 61 
 
 The Streams, 62 
 
 Thanksgiving Hymn, 64 
 
 My Native Pines, 66 
 
 Fame, 67 
 
 La Tribune, 71 
 
 Home, 73 
 
 To the Queen, 74 
 
 Making Land, 76 
 
 The Rhine, 78 
 
 Coming Home, 80 
 
 Saturday Night at Sea, . . , . . . . . 82 
 
 The Stormy Petrel, 83 
 
 The Coaster, 85 
 
 The Song of the Micmac, 87 
 
 The Wild Cherry Tree, 87 
 
 The Micmac, 89 
 
 My Father, 91 
 
 Glide merrily on my Little Skiff, 91 
 
 To my Wife, 92 
 
340 Index. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 To my sister Jane, 96 
 
 To Susan Ann, 102 
 
 Oh think not that my heart can e'er, . . .104 
 
 Nay, chide me not, 105 
 
 The Beach, 106 
 
 Tho' Time may steal the roseate blush, . .107 
 
 Oh Calm be your rest, 109 
 
 The Birth Day, 1834, . . . . . . . .no 
 
 The Wedding Day, in 
 
 To Ellen, 113 
 
 A Love Song, . ... 114 
 
 The Unseen Babe, 115 
 
 To Jane, 117 
 
 To Sophia, 120 
 
 To a Lady (in answer to a charge of flattery), 121 
 
 To M. J. K., 122 
 
 To Mary, 124 
 
 To Anne, 125 
 
 Oh ! It would more than transport be, . .125 
 
 Lines written in an Album, 127 
 
 To Valentine, 128 
 
 Farewell my Brother, 129 
 
 Farewell, 131 
 
 To Sarah, 131 
 
 The Birth Day, 1863, 132 
 
 Written in a Bible, 136 
 
 Woman, 136 
 
 What is a friend, 138 
 
 The Promise, - ... 139 
 
 The Three Flowers, 142 
 
Index. 341 
 
 PAGE, 
 
 To Mrs. Norton, 143 
 
 To Fancy, 145 
 
 The Blue Nose, 145 
 
 Friendship's Garden, 146 
 
 Tears, 147 
 
 The Travellers, . .' . 148 
 
 The Moose in the Jardin des Plantes, . . .149 
 
 The Talbots, 151 
 
 Cornelia's Answer, 154 
 
 Cincinnatus, 156 
 
 To the Mayflower, 157 
 
 To the Linnet, 158 
 
 To the Firefly, 160 
 
 The Deserted Nest, 161 
 
 To a Rose on an Opera Dancer's skirt, . .162 
 
 The Wreath, 164 
 
 To the Town Clock, ........ 165 
 
 A Toast, 169 
 
 The Fancy Ball, No. i, 170 
 
 " " 2, . . . 173 
 
 Tom's Apology, 176 
 
 Once morel put my bonnet on, 177 
 
 A New Member, i82_ 
 
 Epigrams, 184 
 
 Shakspeare Oration, 189 
 
 Lecture on Eloquence, 219 
 
 Lecture on the Moral Influence of Woman, . 248 
 Address at the Howe Family Gathering, . .276 
 
 The Locksmith of Philadelphia, (a tale), . . 299 
 
 Address, 317