.. n -^ >t- ^"^^ m§>: .1' # %^ N^^ '%>. 9^ -^^'ZJ ^y ^ >^ ^■^ * S.^ <^ %, -v^^'" ^^'F'^^^'- ►^ '^z^. ^0O v> ^> .0 o V^ '^. ^^C ^0 l/>,^ p <: x^^' ' ^ :> * ^ " ^- --^^ ^^. ^ .00 .. -^c ^^ y o ^ "%^'0' c^:^:^- ^^' o.^ iarpt's §tanbar^ Stilts of SptciIurs--|Io. 2 THE INTERMEDIATE STANDARD SPEAKER, C O N T A I N I X (3 PIECES FOR DECLAMATION IN SCHOOLS, COLLEGES, ETC. I^TTRODTTCTOKY, on SUPPLELIENTAUT, TO THE STAIIDAK.D SPEAKER r.Y EPES SAEGENT, AFTHOR OF "THE STANDARD SIEAKER, THE STAiXDARI) SEUIES OF READEKJ ETC. ETC. PHILADELPHIA: PUBLISnED BY CHARLES DESILVEE. 185t. krgtnt's StanliarJj ^nxt& at Spakers. THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Imperial 12mo. 55« pp. THE INTERMEDIATE STANDARD SPEAKER. THE PRIMARY STANDARD SPEAKER. Eor youngest pupils. The last-named work is in press. 16mo. 160 pp. PUBLISHED BY CHARLES DESILVER, ^X 253 Market St., Philadelphia. i be if (the latest and most successful.) THE STANDARD FIFTH READER. THE STANDARD FOURTH READER. THE STANDARD THIRD READER. THE STANDARD SECOND READER. Illustrated. THE STANDARD FIRST READER. Illustrated. To the above are now added THE STANDARD SPELLER. THE STANDARD PRIxMER. *'^' Teachers and committees who wish to have specimen copies of Sargent's Readers, &C-, with a view to their introduction into schools, can procure them gratis^ by sending stamps to prepay the postage. Postage on Fifth Reader, 24 cts., Foui'th, 18 cts.-, Third, 15 cts.-, Second, 12 cts. 5 First, 9 cts.j Speller, 12 cts. 5 Primer, 6 cts. Address THE publishers, PHILI>IPS, SAMPSON & CO., 13 Winter St., Boston. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, by Epes Sargent, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the District of Massachusetts. Publisliers and compilers are informed that many of the pieces in this collection are sul)ject to copf right. ELECTROTTED BY HOBART & ROBBINS, C6 CONGRESS STREET, BOSTON. PREFACE. The success of The Standard Speaker having been dch as to elicit from the public and the publisher a emand for a series of Speakers by the same author, and adapted to the different ages of pupils^ the present volume has been prepared. It forms the second of a series of three; of which The Standard Speaker is the largest and most comprehensive, and The Primary Standard Speaker the smallest and most simple. Eep- etitions of pieces are, with a few unimportant excep- tions, avoided in these books, so that they jointly present nearly all the approved gems of oratory, ancient and modern, and all the choicest lyrical and dramatic pieces in the English language, suitable for school delivery. It will be seen that considerable original effort, in the way of translation, adaptation, and alteration, has been expended on this work. Teachers of elocution are well aware that many excellent pieces, which a slight change would make appropriate as exercises for the young, are rendered useless because of their length, because of their episodical passages, or because of certain objectionable expressions which they may con- 4 PREFACE. tain. It is hoped that this general acknowledgment of the liberties that have been taken, where objections like these were to be removed, will be rightly received. The introductory matter is much of it compiled from the best authorities, and no other merit is claimed for it than that of careful appropriation. The translations from the Greek, Latin, and French, have, with two or three exceptions, been made ex- pressly for this w^ork. The present volume will be found fuller in the de- partment of dialogues, humorous pieces, r how to treat them " as friends." They have been twice told that '' in war " we know how to meet them as " enemies ; " and they will hardly ask another lesson, for it may be that, when the third trumpet shall sound, a voice will echo along their sea- girt cliffs — " The glory has departed ! " ciiarles sprague. VIII. — AMERICA'S TRIUMPHS, What were the victories of Pompey to the united achievements of our Washingtons and Montgomerys and Grreens, our Frank- lins and Jeffersons and Adams's and Laurens's, — of the senate of sages whose wisdom conducted, of the band of warriors whose valor accomplished, of the " noble army of martyrs " whose blood sealed and consecrated, the Eevolution of '76 ? What were the events of a few campaigns, however brilliant and successful, in the wars of Italy, or Spain, or Pontus, to by far the greatest era — excepting, perhaps, the Reformation — that has occurred in the political history of modern times, — to an era that has fixed forever the destinies of a whole quarter of the globe, with the numbers without number that are soon to inhabit it, and has already had, as it will probably continue to have, a visible influence upon the condition of society in all the rest ? Nay, what is there, even in the most illustrious series of vic- tories and conquests, that can jjistly be considered as affording, to a mind that dares to make a philosophic estimate of human affairs, a nobler and more interesting subject of contemplation and discourse than the causes which led to the foundation of this mighty empire ; than the wonderful and almost incredible history of what it has since done and is already grown to ; than the scene of unmingled prosperity and happiness that is opening and spread- ing all around us ; than the prospect, as dazzling as it is vast, that lies before us, the uncircumscribed career of ao-o-randizement and improvement which we are beginning to run under such happy THE PEACE OF THE NATIONS. 35 auspices, and with the advautage of having started at a point where it were well for the species had it been the lot of many nations even to have eiided their career I It is true, we shall not boast that the pomp of triumph has three hundred times ascended the steps of our capitol, or that the national temple upon its brow blazes in the spoils of a thousand cities. True, we do not send forth our prastors to plunder and devastate the most fertile and beautiful portions of the earth, in order that a haughty aristocracy may be enriched with booty, or a worthless populace be supplied with bread ; nor, in every region under the sun, from the foot of the Grampian hills to the land of frankincense and myrrh, is the spirit of man broken and debased by us beneath the iron yoke of a military domination. Xo ! oiir triumphs are the triimiphs ofreasoii, of happiness, of human natui-e. Our rejoicings are greeted with the most cordial sympathy of the cosmopolite and the philanthropist ; and the good and the wise all round the globe give us back the echo of our acclamations. It is the singular fortune, or, I should rather say, it is the proud dis- tinction of Americans, that, in the race of moral improvement which society has been every where running for some centuries past, we have outstripped every competitor, and have carried our insti- tutions, in the sober certainty of waking bliss, to a higher pitch of perfection than ever warmed the dreams of enthusiasm or the speculations of the theorist. hugh s. legake. IX. —THE PEACE OF THE NATIONS. Sir., there are considerations, springing from our situation and condition, which fervently invite us to take the lead in the great work of peace. To this should bend the patriotic ardor of the land ; the ambition of the statesman ; the efforts of the scholar ; the pervasive influence of the press ; the mild persuasion of the sanctuary ; the early teachings of the school. Here, in ampler ether and diviner air, are untried fields for exalted triumphs, more truly worthy the American name than any snatched from rivers of blood. War is known as the Last Reason of Kings, Let it be no reason of our Republic. Let us renounce and throw off, forever, the yoke of a tyranny more oppressive than any in the annals of the world. As those standing on the mountain-top first discern the coming beams of morning, let us, from the vantage- ground of liberal institutions, first recognize the ascending sun of a new era ! It is a beautiful picture in Grecian story, that there was, at 36 THE ROSTRUM. least, one spot, tlie small Island of Delos, dedicated to the gods, and kept at all times sacred from war, where the citizens of hos- tile countries met, and united in a common worship. So let us dedicate our broad country ! The Temple of Honor shall be sur- rounded by the Temple of Concord, so that the former can be entered only through the portals of the latter ; the horn of Abun- dance shall overflow at its gates ; the angel of Religion shall be the guide over its steps of flashing adamant : while, within, Jus- tice, returned to the earth, from her long exile in the skies, shall rear her serene and majestic front. And the future chiefs of the republic, destined to uphold the glories of a new era, unspotted by human blood, shall be " the first in Peace, and the first in the hearts of their countrymen." But while we seek these blissful glories for ourselves, let us strive to extend them to other lands. Let the bugles sound the Truce of God to the whole world, forever ! Let the selfish boast of the Spartan women become the grand chorus of mankind, that they have never seen the smoke of an enemy's camp. Let the iron belt of martial music which now encompasses the earth be exchanged, for a golden cestus of Peace, clothing all with celestial beauty. History dwells with fondness on the reverent homage that was bestowed by massacring soldiers on the spot occupied by the Sepulcher of the Lord. Vain man ! to restrain his regard to a few feet of sacred mould ! The whole earth is the Sepul- cher of the Lord ; nor can any righteous man profane any part thereof. Let us recognize this truth ; and now, on this Sabbath of our country, lay a new stone in the grand Temple of Universal Peace, whose dome shall be as lofty as the firmament of heaven, as broad and comprehensive as the earth itself. sumner. X. — . CATHOLIC DISQUALIFICATIONS. You complain of the violence of the Irish Catholic. Can you wonder he is violent ? It is the consequence of your own inflic- tion : *' The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear. The blood will follow where the knife is driven. ' ' Your friendship has been to him worse than hostility ; he feels its embrace but by the pressure of his fetters. I am only amazed he is not more violent. He fills your exchequer ; he fights your battles ; he feeds your clergy from whom he derives no benefit ; he shares your burdens ; he shares your perils ; he shares every Mi THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. 37 thing except your privileges ; — can you loonder he is violent ? No matter what his merit ; no matter what his claims ; no mat- ter what his services ; he sees himself a nominal subject and a real slave, and his children, the heirs, perhaps of his toils, per- haps of his talents, certainly of his disqualifications ; — can you wonder he is violent ? He sees every pretended obstacle to his emancipation vanished ; Catholic Europe your ally', the Bourbon on the throne, the Emperor a captive, the Pope a friend — the aspersions on his faith disproved by his allegiance to you against, alternately, every Catholic potentate in Christendom, and he feels himself branded with hereditary degradation ; — ca7i you wonder^ then^ that lie is violent ? He petitioned humbly ; his tameness was construed into a proof of apathy. He petitioned boldly ; his remonstrance was considered as an impudent audacity. He petitioned in peace ; he was told it was not the time. He petitioned in war ; he was told it was not the time. A strange interval, a prodigy in poli- tics, a pause between peace and war, which appeared to be just made for him, arose ; I allude to the period between the retreat of Louis and the restoration of Bonaparte : he petitioned then, and he was told it was not the time, ! shame ! shame ! shame ! — I hope he will petition no more to a parliament so equivocat- ing. However, I am not sorry they did so equivocate, because I think they have suggested one common remedy for the griev- ances of both countries, and that remedy is, a reform of tuat PARLIAMENT. CHARLES PHILLIPS. XI. —THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. Gentlemen, a most auspicious omen salutes and cheers us, this day. This day is the anniversary of the birth of Washington. Washington's birthday is celebrated from one end of this land to the other. The whole atmosphere of the country is this day redolent of his principles, — the hills, the rocks, the groves, the vales, and the rivers, shout their praises, and resound with his fame. All the good, whether learned or unlearned, high or low, rich or poor, feel this day that there is one treasure common to them all ; and that is the fame of Washington. They all recount his deeds, ponder over his principles and teachings, and resolve to be more and more guided by them in the future. To the old and the young, to all born in this land, and to all whose preferences have led them to make it the home of their 4 38 THE ROSTRUM. adoption, Washington is an exhilarating theme. Americans are proud of his character ; all exiles from foreign shores are eager to participate in admiration of him ; and it is true that he is, this day, here, every where, ail over the world, more an object of regard than on any former day since his birth. Gentlemen, by his example, and under the guidance of his pre- cepts, will we and our children uphold the constitution. Under his military leadership, our fathers conquered their ancient ene- mies ; and, under the outspread banner of his political and consti- tutional principles, will we conquer now. To that standard we shall adhere, and uphold it, through evil report and good report. We will sustain it, and meet death itself, if it come ; we will ever encounter and defeat error, by day and by night, in light or in darkness, — thick darkness, — if it come, till ** Danger's troubled night is o'er. And the star of peace return." XII. — UNITY OF OUR COUNTRY. WEBSTER. Our country, with all its sectional diversity of views and feel- ings, is one. It is one in the rich, manly, vigorous, expressive language we speak, which is become the vernacular tongue, as it were, of parliamentary eloquence, — the very oldest of constitu- tional freedom. It is one in the fame of our fathers, and in the historical reminiscences which belong to us as a nation. It is one in the political principles of republicanism ; one in the substan- tial basis of our manners ; one in the ties of friendship, affinity, and blood, binding us together, throughout the whole extent of the land, in the associations of trade, of emigration, and of marriage ; one in that g^.orious constitution, the best inheritance transmitted to us by our fathers, the monument of their wisdom and their vir- tue, under whose shelter we live and flourish as a people. To this great republic, union is peace, union is grandeur, union is power, union is honor, union is every thing which a free-spirited and mighty nation should glory to possess. To us all, next to independence, next to liberty, next to honor, be we persuaded that a cordial and abiding confederacy of the American people is the greatest of earthly goods. Here, in the eyes of our countrymen and of the world, with the Muse of History before us to record our deeds and our words, let us, like Hannibal, at the altar of his gods, swear eternal faith- fulness to our country, eternal hatred to its foes ! Show we, that ON A TASTE FOR READING. 39 we are wedded to the Union, for weal or for woe, as the fondest lover would hug to his heart the bride bound to him in the first bright ardor of young possession. We have not purposed to embark in this venture only to sail on the smooth surface of a summer sea, with hope and pleasure to waft us joyously along; but with resolved spirits, ready to meet, like true men, whatever of danger may descend upon our voyage, and to stand up gal- lantly for the treasure of honor and faith intrusted to our charge. Eally we, then, to the stripes and stars, as the symbol of glory to ug, and the harbinger of liberty to all the nations of the world ! So long as a shred of that sacred standard remains to us, let us cling to it, with such undying devotion as the Christian pilgrims of the Middle Ao-e cherished for the last frao^ment of the Cross. Let us fly to its rescue when periled, whether by foreign or domes- tic assault, as they did to snatch the Holy Sepulcher from the desecration of the Infidel ! caleb gushing. Xni.— ON A TASTE FOR READING. If I were to pray for a taste which should stand me in stead under every variety of circumstances, and be a source of happi- ness and cheerfulness to me through life, and a shield against its ills, however things might go amiss, and the world frown upon me, it would be a taste for reading. I speak of it, of course, only as a worldly advantage, and not in the slightest degree as superseding or derogating from the higher office and surer and stronger panoply of religious principles — but as a taste, an instrument and a mode of pleasurable gratification. Grive a man this taste, and the means of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of making a happy man, unless, indeed, you put into his hands a most perverse selection of books. You place him in contact with the best society in every period of history — with the wisest, the wittiest — with the tenderest, the bravest, and the purest characters that have adorned humanity. You make him a denizen of all nations — a cotemporary of all ages. The world has been created for him. It is hardly possible but the character should take a higher and better tone from the constant habit of associatino; in thouo-ht O CD with a class of thinkers, to say the least of it, above the aver- age of humanity. It is morally impossible but that the manners shouid take a tinge of good breeding and civilization from having constantly before one's eyes the way in which the best bred and the best informed men have talked and conducted themselves in their intercourse with one another. There is a gentle but per- 40 THE ROSTRUM. fectly irresistible coercion in a habit of reading well directed, over the whole tenor of a man's character and conduct, which is not the less effectual because it works insensibly, and because it is really the last thing he dreams of. It cannot, in short, be better summed up than in the words of the Latin poet : '* Emollit mo'res, neo si' nit es'se fe'ros." It civilizes the conduct of men, and suffers them not to remain barbarous. sir j. f. w. iiersckel. XIV. — NECESSITY OF AMERICAN 'FREEDOM. It is my belief, my hearers, that Providence has a great design for this continent, and for our generation. As the Jews of old, as the Apostles, as the Reformers, as our Fathers of 1776, so are we, as a race and as a nation, a peculiar people^ and called to a high and glorious destiny. We can not falter. We can not go back. We are shut up to the necessity of attempting great things. We must pluck up courage — put our trust in G-od, and go forward. Disciplined for centuries on the shores of the Ger- man ocean, and on the rock-bound coasts of Great Britain, our race struck some of its shoots in this land ; and here a people has grown up, having the wisdom of an old and the vigor of a new- born nation, to faifill this great design. We speak not thus from vanity. The only reason why it is so is to be found in the inscrutable ways and sovereign will of Heaven. It is our destiny. Our responsibilities are fearful ; but there is no escape. Our age, our race, our institutions, and the characteristics of our country, physical, intellectual, moral, and religious, — the helplessness and the sufferings of our fellow- men, groaning in chains and under grievous wrongs, — call us to a glorious destiny. YIq are hereditary freemen. We have never been in bondage to any man. The blood of the Celts, the Normans, the uncon- quered Saxons, before whom Caesar and Charlemagne alike re- coiled, mingle their heroic currents alike in our own veins, along with that great barbaric stream, which Rome herself could not withstand. These were our pri-me'val sires. And after them, in our line of succession, came the Puritans, the Covenanters, the Non-Conformists, and the Huguenots ; the founders of English liberty, and the men of the continental lleformation from Popery, and the men of '76: — heritage, descent, and destiny, alike glorious ! ' A necessity is laid upon us to live as freemen, or not to live DANGERS OF OUR PROSPERITY. 41 at all. Whoever else may forsake the sacred cause, of liberty, we at least must live where freemen live, or fall where freemen perish ! rev. wm. a. scott, d.d. XV. — DANGERS OF OUR PROSPERITY. The danger, my countrymen, is that we shall become intoxi- cated by our amazing physical triumphs. Because, within the memory of most of us, the lightning has been harnessed to the newsman's car, and the steam-engine has not only brought the ends of the earth into proximity, but has also provided a work- ing power, which, requiring no nutriment, and susceptible of no fatigue, almost releases living creatures from the necessity of toil, — because of these most marvelous discoveries, we are in danger of believing that like wonders may be achieved in the social and moral world. But be it remembered that, in all our discoveries, no substi- tute has been found for conscience, and no machine to take the place of reason. The telegraph cannot legislate, nor the loco- mbtive educate. The mind is still the mind, and must obey its own higher laws. Our most pressing needs are such as no mech- anism can supply. What we most lack is true, earnest, sincere, faithful, loyal, self-sacrificing men. Without these, it is in vain that we extend our territory from ocean to ocean, and quarry gold as we do rocks. These physical accessions, coming so sud- denly upon us, do but increase our peril. Adversity we might bear, and be the better for it. But how shall we bear this gush of seeming prosperity ? Seeming, I saj^, because time alone can determine whether it is real. If, my countrymen, with all these excitements, we do not be- come a nation of reckless adventurers, — gamblers, perhaps, would be the proper word, — if we do not cut ourselves entirely loose from our ancient moorino:s, but still hold fast to our intee- rity, our very continence will prove that there is still some ster- ling virtue left. For never was there so much reason for the prayer, " Deliver us from temptation." After all our conquests, the most difficult yet remains, — the victory over ourselves. We have now to answer, under untried difficulties, that gravest of questions, " What constitutes a State ? " And the answer must be like that which was given long, long ago : *' Not high-raised battlement or labored mound. Thick wall or moa^ted gate ; Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned ; Not bays and broad-armed ports. 42 THE ROSTRUM. Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride. No ; — men, high-minded men, — Men who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain." TIMOTHY WALKEH. XVL — MATERIALISM. Mention has been made of the word " materialisiii.'^^ I hold, sir, a maxim on this matter which personally I have felt of ex- ceeding consequence. It is time the truth had gone forth, to bo held as a maxim for evermore, that in proportion to the depth OF one's eaith, is the absence of uneasiness because of differ- ence OF OPINION. Materialism never arises from knoivledge ; it is, on the other hand, a certification of deficiency^ on the part of the mind cherishing it. It consists, not in the exposition of any positive knowledge, but in the dogmatic assertion, that beyond the line of such knowledge there lies nothing more. To deal with materialism, then, what is our course? Never to deny or undervalue truth distinctly laid down, but to deny that what is known is a limit : that the system pretending to be everything is, whatever its special value, the everything it pre- tends : not to imagine that man ought not to study, the laws of Nature, but to show him that beyond these, toward the region of sunset, there are powers which made and sustain even the entire of nature's fabric — an august Being — even the Father of our spirits — with whom, though the seasons change, and those stupendous orbs rest not in their courses, there is never variable- ness or shadow of turning. professor nichol. XVIL— FALSE NOTIONS OF OFFICE. Sir, it were melancholy, indeed, if the only path to true glory were through official distinction. Were this to become the uni- versal sentiment, I should tremble for the dignity of American character. Far distant be the day when we shall begin to value ourselves chiefly for what is extrinsic and factitious. What senti- ment can be more anti-republican ? I AM AN American citizen ! Is not this cnou^-h to boast of? or must we add, / have a commission — 1 have a diplovia — 1 carry loritten certificates of my respectability ? Time was when the exclamation, / am a Roman citizen! was a passport every IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICANS. 43 where ; and shall we, who acknowledge no aristocracy but that of nature, who respect no charter of nobility but that which the Almighty has given, by stamping us for men ; shall we, the PEOPLE, who call ourselves the fountain of ail honor, and those to whom we delegate authority our servants — shall we prostrate ourselves before the images our own fiat has set up ? ' Away with such a degrading thought ! We underrate our- selves as private citizens ; we fail in proper self-respect, when we ascribe so much consequence to badges and places. And the evil is most pernicious in its influence upon young men, because their eyes are most likely to be dazzled by the pomp and circumstance of office. It seems to me that patriotism could not breathe a purer prayer than that all our youth might grow up and enter upon life with a determination to respect themselves for what they are intrinsically, and not for what the suffrages of others may make them. The individual man, with his immortal hopes and ener- gies, would then be every thing, and the tinsel glories of station nothing. But now, " Proud man. Dressed in a little brief authority, Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven, As maiie the angels weep," TIMOTHY WALKER, XVIIL— IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICANS. Sir, the impressment of our seamen by Great Britain is an outrage to which we never can submit without national ignominy and debasement. This crime of impressment may justly be con- sidered — posterity will so consider it — as transcending the amount of all the other wrongs we have received. Ships and mer- chandise belong to individuals, and may be valued ; may be endured as subjects of negotiation. But men are the property of the nation. In every American face a part of our country's sovereignty is written. It is the living emblem — a thousand times more sacred than the nation's flag itself — of its character, its independence, and its rights. " But," say the British, " we want not your men ; we want only our own. Prove that they are yours^ and we will surrender them." Baser outrage ! more insolent indignity ! that a free-born American must be made to prove his nativity to those who have previously violated his liberty, else he is to be held for ever as a slave \ That before a British tribunal — a British boarding 44 THE ROSTRUM. officer — a free-born American must be made to seal up the vouchers of his lineage, to exhibit the records of his baptism and his birth, to establish the identity that binds him to his parents, to his blood, to his native land, by setting forth in odious detail his size, his age, the shape of his frame, whether his hair is long or cropped — his marks — like an ox or a horse of the manger — that all this must be done as the condition of his escape from the galling thraldom of a British ship ! Can we hear it, can we think of it, with any other than indignant feelings at our tarnished name and nation ? Sir, when this same insatiate foe, in the days of the Revolution, landed with seventeen thousand hostile troops upon our shores, the Congress of '76 declared our independence, and hurled defiance at the martial array of England ! And shall we now hesitate ? shall we bow our necks in submission ? shall we make an igno- minious surrender of our birthright under the plea that we are not prepared to defend it ? No, Americans ! Yours has been a pacific republic, and therefore has not exhibited military prepa- ration ; but it is a free republic, and therefore will it now, as before, soon command battalions, discipline, courage ! Could a general of old by only stamping on the earth raise up armies, and shall a whole nation of freemen, at such a time, know not where to look for them ? The soldiers of Bunker Hill, the soldiers of Bennington, the soldiers of the Wabash, the seamen of Tripoli, forbid it ! richard rush {Jiciyi, 1812). XIX. —WAR SOMETIMES A MORAL DUTY. Sir, I dissent from the resolutions before us. I dissent because they would pledge me to the utter repudiation of physical force, — at all times, in all countries, and under every circumstance. This I can not do ; for, sir, when national rights are to be vindicated, I do not repudiate the resort to physical force — I do not abhor the use of arms. There are occasions when arms alone will suf- fice ; — when political ameliorations call for a drop of blood — ay, for many thousand drops of blood. Opinion, I admit, sir, may be left to operate against opinion. But force must be used against force. The soldier is proof against an argument, but not against a bullet. The man that will listen to reason, let him be reasoned with. But it is only the weaponed arm of the patriot, that can prevail against battal- ioned despotism. Therefore, sir, I do not condemn the use of arms as immoral, nor do I conceive it profane to say, that the AGAINST UNDERHAND MEASURES. 45 King of Heaven, the Lord of Hosts, the God of Battles, be- stoAYS his benediction upon those who unsheathe the sword in the hour of a nation's peril. Be it in the defence, or be it in the assertion, of a people's lib- erty, I hail the sword as a sacred weapon ; and if it has some- times taken the shape of the serpent, and reddened the shroud of the oppressor with too deep a dye, yet, sir, like the anointed rod of the High Priest, it has at other times, and as often, blossomed into celestial flowers to deck the freeman's brow. Abhor the sword ? Stigmatize the sword ? No ! — for in the passes of the Ty-rof it cut to pieces the banner of the Bavarian, and through those craggy de-files' struck a path to fame for the peasant insurrectionist '^^ of Innsbruck ! Abhor the sword ? Stigmatize the sword ? No ! — for it swept the Dutch marauders out of the fine old towns of Belgium — scourged them back to their own phlegmatic swamps, and knocked their flag and scepter, their laws and bayonets, into the sluggish waters of the Scheldt.! Abhor the sword ? Stigmatize the sword ? No ! — for at its blow a giant nation started from the waters of the Atlantic, and by the redeeming magic of the sword, and in the quivering of its crimson light, the crippled colony sprang into the attitude of a proud republic — prosperous, limitless, and invincible ! THOMAS FKANCIS MEAGHES, XI^ — AGAINST UNT)EEHAND IMEASURES. Be VIEWING, sir, the political movements in Ireland for some years past, it would seem as if those principles of public virtue, which give to a people their truest dignity and their surest strength, had been systematically decried. Truth has been frittered away by expediency, generosity has been supplanted by selfishness, self-sacrifice has been lampooned as an ancient folly. To repeal the Union, we are told it is essential that repealers should take offices ! — to give the minister a decisive blow, it is expedient to equip the patriot hand with gold I Strenuously to oppose the minister, you must, first of all, beg of the minister, then be his very humble^ and, if possible, conclude with being his much obliged servant ! The financial statement between the two countries can not be properly made out, until some repeal account- * Andrew Hofcr, a gallant leader of the Tyrolese Tried by court-martial, he was shot by his country's oppressors, Feb. 20, 1810. •f Pronounced, vSkeit. 46 THE ROSTRUM. ant has had a friendly intercourse with the Treasury, and a pro- pitious acquaintance with the Mint ! Impoverished by the Union, beggared by the Union, driven to the last extremity of destitution by the Union, it is advisa- ble that we should prove all this to the minister and the parlia- ment, with our pockets full of salaries, and our family circum- stances in full bloom ! Denouncing the rapacity of England, we are to share her spoils ! Impeaching the minister, we are to become his hirelings ! Claim- ing independence, shouting for independence, foaming for inde- pendence, we are to crawl to the castle of the Lord Lieutenant, and there crave the luxuries and the shackles of the slave ! Thus we are told to act ! Thus we are implored to agitate ! This is the great, peaceful, moral, and constitutional doctrine ! This, the true way to make us the noblest people on the face of the globe, and restore Ireland to her place among the nations ! Mean, venal, and destructive doctrine ! — teaching the tongue that has burned and denounced, to cool and compliment I Mean, venal, and destructive doctrine ! — teaching the ]3eople, on their march to freedom, to kneel and grovel before the golden idol in the desert ! Mean, venal, and destructive doctrine ! — teaching whining, teaching flattery, teaching falsehood ! Scout it, spurn it, fling it back to the castle from whence it came ! — there let it lie, among the treasured instructions of tyranny, and the pre- cious revelations of treason ! ib. XXL— PATRIOTISM A REALITY. Sir, the pursuit of liberty must cease to be a traffic. It must resume among us its ancient glory — be with us an active hero- ism. Once for all, sir, we must have an end of this money-making in the public forum. We must ennoble the strife for liberty ; make it a gallant sacrifice, not a vulgar game ; rescue the cause of Ireland from the profanation of those who beg, and from the control of those who bribe ! Ah ! trust not those dull philosophers of the age, those wretched skeptics, who, to rebuke our enthusiasm, our folly, would per- suade us that patriotism is but a delusion, a dream of youth, a wild and glittering passion; that it has died out in this nine- teenth century ; that it can not exist with our advanced civiliza- tion — with the steam-en 2:ine and free trade ! False — false ! — The virtue that gave to Paganism its daz- zling lustre, to Barbarism its redeeming trait, to Christianity THE RESUKRECTIOX OF ITALY. 47 its heroic form, is not dead. It still lives, to preserve, to con- sole, to sanctify humanity. It has its altar in every clime — its worship and festivities. On the heathered hills of Scotland, the sword of Wallace is yet a bright tradition. The genius of France, in the brilliant literatm^e of the day, pays its high homage to the piety and heroism of the young Maid of Orleans. In her new sen- ate hall, England bids her sculptor place among the effigies of her greatest sons the images of Hampden and of Eussell. By the soft blue waters of Lake Lucerne stands the chapel of William Tell. At Innsbruck, in the black aisle of the old cathedi-al, the peasant of the Tvrol kneels before the statue of Andrew Hofer. In the great American republic — in that capital city which bears his name — rises the monument of the Father of his coimtrv. Sir, shall we not join in this glorious homage, and here in this island, consecrated by the blood of many a good and gallant man, shall we not have the faith, the duties, the festivities, of patriot- ism ? You discard the weapons of these heroic men — do not discard the virtues. Elevate the national character; confront corruption wherever it appears ; scourge it fi'om the hustings ; scourge it from the public forum ; and, whilst proceeding with the noble task to which you have devoted your lives and fortunes, let this thought enraptui-e and invigorate youi* hearts : That in seeking the independence of your country, you have preserved her virtue — preserved it at once from the seductions of a powerful minister, and fr'om the infidelity of bad citizens. ib. XXn. — THE EESURRECTIOX OF UXLY (1847). Sir, is there nothing in the events now transpii'ing around us to rouse Ireland fr'om her sleep — to stir the blood of her sons ? Beyond the Alps a trumpet calls the dead nations of Europe from their shrouds. Do you not hear it ? Does it not ring thi'ough the soul, and quiver through the brain ? Italy — at whose tombs the poets of the Christian world have ^inelt and received their inspiration — Italy, amid the ruins of whose Forum the orators of the world have learnt to sway the souls of men — Italy, from whose radiant skies the sculptor di'aws down the fii'e that quickens the marble into life — Italv. the brave, the beautiful, and the gifted — Italy is in arms ! Prostrate for centuries amid the dust of heroes, wasting silently away, she has started from her swoon ; for the vestal flame could not be extiQguished. Austria — old, decrepid, haggard thief, 48 THE EO STRUM. .i clotted with the costly blood of Poland — trembles as she sheathes her sword, and plays the penitent within the walls of Ferrara. Glory to the citizens of Eome, who have sworn that they prize liberty as a treasure to be battled for with their lives ! And glory to the maids and matrons of Rome, who bid the chivalry of their houses go forth in the righteous cause ! And what can Ireland do to aid this brilliant nation in her struggle ? In rags, in hunger, and in sickness, — sitting, like a widowed queen, amid the shadows of her pillar towers and the gray altars of a forgotten creed, — with two millions of her sons and daughters lying slain and shroudless at her feet, — what can this poor island do ? Weak, sorrowful, treasureless, as she is, I believe there are still a few rich drops within her heart that she can spare. Perish the law that forbids her to give more ! Perish the law that, having drained her of her wealth, forbids her to be the bold- est spirit in the fight ! Perish the law which, in the language of one whose genius I admire, but whose apostasy I shall never imi- tate, " converts the island which ought to be the most fortunate in the world into a receptacle of suffering and degradation — coun- teracting the magnificent arrangement of Providence— frustrating the beneficent designs of God ! '' ib. XXIII.— ENGLISH LEGISLATION — EUROPEAN EXAMPLES. Men of Ireland, a right noble philosophy has taught us that God has divided the world into those beautiful systems, called nations, each of which, fulfilling its separate mission, becomes an essential benefit to the rest. To this divine arrangement will you alone refuse to conform, — surrendering the position, renouncing the responsibility, which you have been assigned ? Shame upon you ! — Switzerland, without a colony, without a gun upon the seas, without a helping hand from any court in Europe, has held for centuries her footing on the Alps ; spite of the avalanche, has made her little territory sustain the children to whom she has given birth ; and, though a blood-red cloud is breaking, even whilst I speak, over one of her brightest lakes, be sure — whatever plague it may portend — be sure of this : the cap of foreign despotism will never gleam again in the market- place of Altorf. ^ Shame upon you ! Norway, with her scanty population, scarce a million strong, has kept her flag upon the Categat ; has reared a race of gallant sailors to guard her frozen soil ; year after year has nursed upon that soil a harvest to which the Swede can THE TRANSPOETATION OF >.nTCHEL. 49 lay no claim ; has saved lier ancieut laws, and to the spirit of liLT frank and hardy sons commits the freedom which she rescued from the allied swords when they hacked her crown at Frederick- Btadt ! Shame upon you ! Greece, " whom the Groth, nor Turk, nor Time hath spared," has torn the crescent from the Acrop'olis ; has crowned a king in Athens, whom she calls her own; has taught you that a nation should never die ; that not for an idle pageant has the blood of heroes flowed ; that not to vex a school- boy's brain, nor smoulder in a heap of learned dust, has the fire of heaven issued from the trib'une's tonone ! And you — you, who are eight millions strong — you, who have no avalanche to dread - — you, Vv'lio might cull a plenteous harvest fr'cm your soil, and with the sickle strike away the scythe of death — you, who have thus been prompted to all that is wise, generous, and great — you will make no efibrt ; you will whine, and beg, and skulk, in sores and rags, upon this favored land ; you will congregate in drowsy councils, and, when the very earth is loosening beneath your feet, you will respectfully suggest new clauses and amendments to some blundering bill; you will mort- gage ih.2 last acre of your estates ; you will bid a prosperous voyage to your last grain of corn; you will be beggared by the million ; you will perish by the thousand ; and the finest island which the sun looks down upon, amid the jeers and hootings of the world, will blacken into a plague-spot, a wilderness, a sepul- cher ! ib. XXrV.— TTTE TRANSPORTATION OF ]!tIITCHEL. Who speaks to Ireland of depression ? Banish it ! Let not the banners droop, let not the battalions reel, when the young chief is down ! You have to avenge that falL Until that fill shall have been avenged, a sin blackens the soul of the nation, and repels from our cause the sympathies of every gallant people. For one, I am pledged to follow him. Once again they shall have to pack their jury-box ; once again exhibit to the world the frauds and mockeries, the tricks and perjuries, upon which their power is based. In this island the English never — never shall have rest ! The work, begun by the Norman, never shall be completed ! G-eneration transmits to generation the holy passion which pants for liberty, which frets against oppression. From the blood which drenched the scafi'olds of 1798 the felons of this year have sprung. Should their blood flow, peace, and loyalty, and debasement, 5 50 THE KOSTKUM. may here, for a lime, resmne their reign ; the snows of a winter, the flowers of a summer, may clothe the proscribed graves ; but from those graves there shall hereafter be an armed resurrec- tion. Peace, loyalty, and debasement, forsooth ! A stagnant society, 'breeding in its bosom slimy, sluggish things which make their way by stealth to the surface, and there creep, cringe, and glitter in the glare of a provincial royalty ! Peace, loyalty, and debase- ment I A mass of pauperism, shoveled off the land, stocked in fever-sheds and poor-houses, shipped to Canadian swamps — rags, pestilence, and vermin ! Behold the rule of England, — and, in that rule, behold humanity dethroned, and Providence blas- phemed ! To keep up this abomination, they enact their laws of felony. To sweep away the abomination, we mxust break through their laws. Should tlio laws fail, they will hedge in the abomination with their bayonets and gibbets. These too shall give way before the torrent of fire which gathers in the soul of the people. The question so long debated — debated years ago on fields of blood — debated latterly in a venal senate amid the jeers and yells of faction - — the question as to who shall be the owners of this island, must be this year determined. The end is at hand, and SO — unite andv arm ! ib. XXV.— THE VOICE OF HISTORY. Of all the sciences, gentlemen, history is that which is always advancing. Mathematics and philosophical improvements may be long at a stand ; poetry and the arts are often stationary, often retrograde ; but every year, every month, every day, is contrib- uting its knowledge to the grand magazine of historical experi- ence. Look at vv^hat the last years have added, and behold how history accumulates as she rolls along — what new attractions she holds forth to mankind ! But with what an accession of beauty she invites us to the study of her charms, while she recounts the acts and the heroism of our own ancestry ! Let the energies of our country become extinct ; let her armies be overwhelmed ; let her navy become the spoil of the enemy and the ocean ; let the national credit become a byword ; let the last dregs of an exhausted treasury be wrung from her cof- fers ; let the constitution crumble ; let the enemy ride in her capital, and her frame fall asunder in political dissolution ; — then stand with history on one hand, and oratory on the other, over the OUR COMMON SCHOOLS. 51 graye in which her energies lie entombed, — and cry aloud ! Tell her that there was a time when the soul of a Briton would not bend before the congregated world ; tell her that she once called her sons around her, and wrung the charter of her liberties from a reluctant despot's hand ; tell her that she was the parent of the band of brothers that fought on Crispin's day ; tell her that Spain sent forth a nation upon the seas against her, and that Eng- land and the elements overwhelmed it ; tell her that six centu- ries were toiling to erect the edifice of her constitution, and that at length the temple arose ; tell that there are plains in every quarter of the globe where victory has buried the bones of her heroes ; *' That the spirits of her fathers Shall start from every wave, For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was thek grave ! ' ' Tell her that when the enemy of human liberty arose, the free- dom of the whole world took refuo;e with her ; that with an arm of victory, alone and unaided, she flung back the usurper, till recreant Europe blushed with shame ; — tell her all this ; and I say that the power of lethargy must be omnip'otent, if she does not shake the dust from her neck, and rise in flames of annihilat- ing vengeance on her destroyer. For the reader of history, every hero has fought, every phi- losopher has instructed, every legislator has organized. Every blessing was bestowed, every calamity was inflicted, for his information. In public, he is in the audit of his counselors, and enters the senate with Per'i-cles, Solon, and Lycurgus, about him ; in private, he walks among the tombs of the mighty dead ; and every tomb is an oraclOo But who is he that should pronounce this awakening call ? who is he whose voice should be the trumpet and war-cry to an enslaved and degraded nation ? — It should be the voice of such a one as he who stood over slumbering Greece, and uttered a note at which Athens started from her indolence, Thebes roused from her lethargies, and Macedon trembled. REV. CIIARLSS WOLES. XXVI. — OUS COMMON SCHOOLS. Sir, it is our common schools which give the keys of knowl- edge to the mass of the people. Our common schools are import- ant in the same way as the common air, the common sunshine, the common rain, — - invaluable for their commonness. They are the corner-stone of that municipal organization which is the char- 52 THE ROSTRUM. acteristic feature of our social system ; they are the fountain of that wide-spread intelligence which, like a moral life, pervades the country. From the humblest village school, there may go forth a teacher who, like Newton, shall bind his temples with the stars of 0-ri'on's belt ; with Herschel, light up his cell with the beams of before undiscovered planets; with Franklin, grasp the lightning. Co- lumbus, fortified with a few sound geographical principles, was, on the deck of his crazy caravel, more truly the monarch of Castile and Aragon, than Ferdinand and Isabella, enthroned beneath the golden vaults of the conquered Alhambra. And .Kobinson, with the simple training of a rural pastor in England, when he knelt on the shore of Delft Haven, and sent his little flock upon their Grospel errantry beyond the world of waters, exercised an influence over the destinies of the civilized world, which will last to the end of time. Sir, it is a solemn, a tender and sacred duty, that of educa- tion. What, sir, feed a child's body, and let his soul hunger ! pamper his limbs, and starve his faculties ! Plant the earth, cover a thousand hills with your droves of cattle, pursue the fish to their hiding-places in the sea, and spread out your wheat- fields across the plain, in order to supply the wants of that body which will soon be as cold and as senseless as the poorest clod, and let the pure spiritual essence within you, with all its glori- ous capacities for improvement, languish and pine ! What ! "build factories, turn in rivers upon the water-wheels, unchain the imprisoned spirits of steam, to weave a garment for the body, and let the soul remain unadorned and naked ! What ! send out your vessels to the farthest ocean, and make battle with the monsters of the deep, in order to obtain the means of lighting up jour dwellings and work-shops, and prolonging the hours of labor for the meat that perisheth, and permit that vital spark, which Grod has kindled, which He has intrusted to our care, to be fanned into a bright and heavenly flame, — permit it, I say, to languish and go out ! What considerate man can enter a school, and not reflect with awe, that it is a seminary where immortal minds are train- ing for eternity ? What parent but is, at times, weighed down with the thought, that there must be laid the foundations of a building which will stand, when not merely temple and palace, but the perpetual hills and adamantine rocks on which they rest, have melted away ! — tha t a light may there be kindled, which will shine, not merely when every artificial beam is extinguished, but when the afi"righted sun has fled away from the heavens ! I THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUEPv. 53 can add nothing, sir, to this consideration. I will only say, in conclusion. Education, — - when we feed that lamp, we perform the highest social duty ! If we quench it, I know not where (humanly speaking), for time or for eternity, — " I know not where is that Pro-me'the-an heat, That can its light relume ! " EDWARD EVERETT. XXVIL — THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUER. Sir, in the efforts of the people, — of the people struggling for^ their rights, — moving, not in organized, disciplined masses, but in their spontaneous action, man for man,^and heart for heart,—- there is something glorious. They can then move forward with- out orders, act together without combination, and brave the flaming lines of battle without intrenchm.ents to cover or walls to shield them. No dissolute camp has worn off from the feel- ings of the youthful soldier the freshness of that home, where his mother and his sisters sit waiting, with tearM eyes and aching hearts, to hear good news from the wars ; no long service in the ranks of a conqueror has turned the veteran's heart into mar- ble. Their valor springs not from recklessness, from habit, from indifference to the preservation of a life knit by no pledges to the life of others ; but in the strength and spirit of the cause alone, they act, they contend, they bleed. In this they conquer. The people always conquer. They always must conquer. Armies may be liefeated, kings may be overthrown, and new dynasties imposed, by foreign arms, on an ignorant and slavish race, that care not in what language the covenant of their sub- jections runs, nor in whose name the deed of their barter and sale is made out. But the people never invade ; and, when they rise against the invader, are never subdued. If they are driven from the plains, they fly to the m.ountainSo Steep rocks and everlasting hills are their castles ; the tangled, pathless thicket their palisado ; and nature, God, is their ally ! Now He over- whelms the hosts of their enemies beneath his drifting mountains of sand ; now He buries them beneath a falling atmosphere of polar snows ; He lets loose His tempests on their fleets ; He puts a folly into their counsels, a madness into the hearts of their leaders; He never gave, and never will give, a final triumph over a virtuous and gallant people, resolved to be free. ib, *' For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son. Though baffled oft, is ever won." 5^ • 54 THE ROSTRUM. XXVIIL— WAR UNSANCTIONED BY CHRISTIANITY. Where, sir, in what page of its records, does Cliristianitj sanction war ? Is it in the angels' song at the birth of Christ, " Grlory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men " ? Is it in the benediction promised by our Divine Lord on the peace-makers ? Is it in his command to love our enemies, and, when smitten on one cheek, to turn, without resistance or revenge, the other to the offender ? Is it, in short, in the whole genius and spirit of Christianity ? Is it not strange that Chris- tianity should have been eighteen centuries delivering its lessons in our world, and that men should be so ignorant of its nature and duties, as to need to be told that it is hostile to the spirit of war ? . It is this propensity to hostility, on the part of so many who profess Christianity, that has alienated so many from it, and fos- tered the infidelity of the age. How often are we met with the taunt, that Christendom has been as deeply involved in this dreadful practice as the pagan and Mahometan nations. We deplore the fact ; but we deny that it is sanctioned by the New Testament. Tell us not of the foul deeds that have been perpe- trated in the name of Christianity; — that her princes have been ambitious, and her priests rapacious ; that one has drawn the sword and unfurled the banner under the benediction of the other ; and that both have met in the camp, the crusade, and the battle-field, covered with blood, and reveling in slaughter. The question is not what her sacred name has been abused to sanc- tify; but has it been performed by her authority, has it accorded with her principles, and been congenial with her spirit ? Shall those who have violated her maxims, set at defiance her com- mands, despised her remonstrances, and stifled her cries, — shall they be allowed to plead her authority in justification of their doings? Not only Christianity herself, but common honesty says, No. I know very well there are four millions of men under arms in Europe ; I know also what a seemingly petty incident may call all those to deadly strife ; and it is quite possible, if not even probable, that a deadly struggle may impend. Still, the reign of peace is coming. Many a bright and beautiful day has been ushered in by a terrific thunder=storm, and while the thunders were rolling, day was advancing behind the cloud that sent them forth. Let Europe be again involved in battle and bloodshed, still here in this our congress is the dawn of the day of peace. Take courage, then, Christian brethren, in carrying on your paci- THE MOTHER OF EMPIRES. 55 fie schemes. Your children, or your children's children, may hear the last peals of war die away amid the shouts of uniYersal peace, and see the commencement of the millen nial period of gen- eral brotherhood, when Christians, blushing over the crimes of former generations, shall hasten to hide the memorials of their shame, and upon the anvil of revelation shall, with the brawny arra of reason, "beat the swords into plowshares, and the spears into pruning-hooks." key. john axgell james. XXIX.— THE MOTHER OF EjMPIRES. At the Pvailroad Celebration in Boston, September 10, 1851. Sir, it is impossible to live as long as I have in America with- out entering very keenly into the feelings of pride and gratifica- tion with which Americans, and Canadians too, talk of their country. It is wonderfully progressing, and has wonderful re- sources. But when I hear boastful langTiage indulged in, par- taking of a tone somewhat disparaging as respects other coun- tries, less advantageously situated, I cannot help thinking of an eloquent passage in the writings of my most eloquent friend, now no more, the late Dr. Chalmers, in which he refers to the simul- taneous discovery of the telescope and the microscope. He dilates in gorgeous and emphatic language upon the vast lights shed by each in its respective sphere upon the beneficence, the wisdom, and the power, of the Almighty. So would I say to such a speaker as I have just referred to : Sir, when you have satisfied your gaze by contem^'plating the magnificent scene spread out before you ; when, with the aid of the telescope, you have scanned those mighty prairies which the plowshare has not yet broken ; when you have cast your eye upon those boundless forests which the ax has not yet touched ; when you have traveled over those extensive territories which are underlain by valuable mineral fields which the cupidity of man has not yet rifled ; when you have gazed upon all these to your hearts content, just lay your telescope aside^ and take this little microscope from me, and I will show you a little island, far hidden behind that Eastern wave ; an island so diminutive that you might take it up bodily, and toss it into the lakes which lie between the Canadas and the United States, without filling them up ; but which, nevertheless, was the source whence came forth the valor and the might which laid on this continent the founda- tion of empires. 56 THE ROSTRUM. Permit me to say, in conclusion, that all history and all wis- dom have shown that without love of liberty, without respect for order and for law, you can have no sufficient security that your empire will prove enduring. lord elgin. • XXX. — SARCASMS AGAINST REFORM. Gentlemen, it is the fate of every good cause to encounter sarcasm. Let us remember that, to avoid this kind of attack, we must have on our side that which is impossible and contradic- tory ; that is, we ought to have for our allies' all th*e errors and all the passions which mislead the world ; we ought to clash with nothing,'* to deny nothing, to be in no one's way ; in a word, we ought to be nothing. Point me out the good cause which at its advent was not the object of raillery,! and which was not assailed by similar derision. Not one ! No, not one, from one end of history to the other. When the Truth Incarnate appeared in the world, when the Son of Grod descended upon earth, how was he received by micn ? With wrong, with sarcasm, with blas'phemy in their mouths, which they hurled at him. What did they say to him ? " Thou art thyself possessed of a devil, and dost thou cast out devils ? Phy- sician, cure thyself ! " Yes ! and at that awful and sublime moment when he was carrying out his devotedness to man, to the extreme limit even of self-sacrifice, at the moment of his death, what did the scoiFers shout in his ears ? ^ * He saved others ; himself he cannot save ! If thou art tlie Son of God, come down from the cross ! " Ah ! doubtless he had the power of doing so. He might, even in that moment of agony, have manifested himself in all his glory ; have confounded his enemies ; have overwhelmed and annihilated them with the dazzling blaze of his omnipotency. But no ; he would not. And what was his reply to sarcasm, and scorn, and con'tu-mely ? Not a word, but a fact. He died ! He, om^nip'otent as he was, remained motionless, nailed to the cross, and then gave up the ghost. Y\^ith divine calmness he completed his work. He did not save himself; he saved man. And this was his reply to sar- casm. Gentlemen, I do not compare, I do not presume to institute a comparison, between the work of the Hedeemer and that of our * Nothing, pronounce niithing ; nnyie, nun. f Pronounce ral lery. THE FUTURE OF AMERICA. 57 peace society. Such a comparison would not be permitted me. But our Divine Master set us an example ; and, as he has himself told us, he set us that example, that we should follow it. Let us do so, then ; let us do so perseveringly. In spite of all the raillery and sarcasm of the worldly wise, let us persevere in an enterprise which we know to be good and just, and which we think it is our duty to prosecute to the end. Yes, let us all persevere ; minis- ters of religion, instructors of youth, conductors of the public press ; let us persevere in the straight path of conscience and of truth, and let us not be one instant diverted from our purpose and our course by the fear of a sarcasm. Let us bring to bear all the influence that our speech or our pen may possess, to advance this great and sacred cause of permanent and universal peace FROM THE PHENCH OF REV. ATHANASE COQUERELo XXXI.— THE FUTURE OF AMERICA. Fellow-citizens, the houi*s of this day are rapidly flying, and this occasion ^ will soon be passed. Neither we nor our children can expect to behold its return. They are in the distant regions of futurity, they exist only in the all-creating power of God, who shall stand here, a hundred years hence, to trace, through us, their descent from the Pilgrims, and to survey, as we have now surveyed, the progress of their country during the lapse of a cen- tury. We would anticipate their concurrence with us in our sentiments of deep regard for our common ancestors. We would anticipate and partake the pleasure with which they will then recount the steps of New England's advancement. On the morn- ing of that day, although it will not disturb us in our repose, the voice of acclamation and gratitude, commencing on the rock of Plymouth, shall be transmitted through millions of the sons of the Pilgrims, till it lose itself in the murmurs of the Pacific seas. We would leave for the consideration of those who shall then occupy our places some proof that we hold the blessings trans- mitted from our fathers in just estimation ; some proof of our attachment to the cause of good government, and of civil and religious liberty ; some proof of a sincere and ardent desire to promote every thing which may enlarge the understandings and improve the hearts of men. And when, from the long distance of a hundred years, they shall look back upon us, they shall know, at least, that we possessed afiections, which, running back- * The centennial celebration of the Landing of the Pilgrims, Dec. 22, 1820, 58 THE ROSTRUM. ward and warming with gratitude for what our ancestors have done for our happiness, run forward also to our posterity, and meet them with cordial salutation, ere yet they have arrived on the shore of being. Advance, then, ye future generations ! We would hail you, as you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now fill, and to taste the blessings of existence where we are passing, and soon shall have passed, our own human duration. We bid you welcome to this pleasant land of the Fathers. We bid you welcome to the healthful skies and the verdant fields of New Eng- land. We greet year accession to the great inheritance which we have enjoyed. We welcome you to the blessings of good gov- ernment and religious liberty. We welcome you to the treasures of science and the delights of learning. We welcome you to the transcendent sweets of domestic life — to the happiness of kindred, and parents, and children. We welcome you to the immeasur- able blessings of rational existence, the immortal hope of Chris- tianity, and the light of everlasting truth ! webster. XXXII. — THE INTEMPERATE HUSBAND. It is, my friends, in the degradation of a husband by intempe- rance, above all, that she, who has ventured every thing, feels that every thing is lost. Woman, silent-suffering, devoted woman, here bends to her direst affliction. The measure of Mr woe is in truth full, whose husband is a drunkard. Who shall protect her, when he is her insulter, her oppressor ? What shall delight her, when she shrinks from the sight of his face, and trembles at the sound of his voice ? The hearth is indeed dark, that he has made desolate. There, through the dull midnight hour, her griefs are whispered to herself, her bruised heart bleeds in secret. There, while the cruel author of her distress is drowned in distant revel- ry, she holds her solitary vigil, waiting, yet dreading his return that will only wring from her by his unkindness tears even more scalding than those she sheds over his transgression. To fiing a deeper gloom across the present, memory turns back, and broods upon the past. Like the recollection to the sun-stricken pilgrim of the cool spring that he drank at in the morning, the joys of other days come over her, as if only to mock her parched and weary spirit. She recalls the ardent lover, whose graces won her from the home of her infancy ; the enraptured father, who bent with such delight over his new-born children ; and she asks if this can really be he — this sunken being, who has now nothing TAYLOPw AT BUENA VISTA. 59 fdr Ker but the sot's disgusting brutality — nothing for those abashed and trembling children, but the sot's disgusting example ! Can we wonder that, amid these agonizing moments, the tender cords of violated affection should snap asunder ? that the scorned and deserted wife should confess, '' there is no killing like that which kills the heart"? — that, though it would have been hard for her to kiss for the last time the cold lips of her dead husband, and lay his body for ever in the dust, it is harder to behold him so debasing life, that even his death would be greeted in mercy ? Had he died in the light of his goodness, bequeathing to his family the inheritance of an untarnished name, the example of virtues that should blossom for his sons and daughters from the tomb — though she would have wept bitterly indeed, the tears of grief would not have been also the tears of shame. But to behold him, fallen away from the station he once adorned, degraded from eminence to ignominy — at home, turning his dwelling to dark- ness, and its holy endearments to mockery — abroad, thrust from the companionship of the worthy, a self-branded outlaw — this is the woe that the wife feels is more dreadful than death, that she mourns over as worse than widowhood. CHARLES SPKAGUE. XXXIII. — TAYLOR AT BUENA WSTA. Perhaps in the history of the world the power of a single will was never more triumphantly exhibited than it was at Buena Vista. Taylor had been advised to fall back for safety on Mon- terey — stripped of some of his best troops, far advanced in the enemies' country, with an army numbering only about four thousand, and but one third of them regulars ; with no reserved force to support him ; with the intelligence brought in that Santa Axina, at the head of twenty thousand men, was marching against him ; then he took his position in a gorge of the Sierra Madre, and determined to meet the shock of battle. He would neither retreat nor resign ; he would fight. There flashed forth a great spirit ! The battle came ; the odds vv^ere fearful ; but who could doubt the result when American troops stood in that modern Thermopylae, and in the presence of such a leader? It was in vain that Mexican artillery played upon their ranks, or Mexican infantry bore down with the bayo- net, or Mexican lancers charged. The spirit of the great leader 60 THE EOSTRUM. pervaded the men who fought with him, and a single glance of his eye could reanimate a wavering column. Like Napoleon at the Danube, he held his men under fire because he was exposed to it himself; and like him, wherever he rode along the lines mounted on a white charger, a conspicuous mark for balls, men would stand and be shot down, but they would not give way. Of Taylor on that day it may be said, as it has been said of Lannes at Montebello, " He was the rock of that battle-field, around vfhich men stood with a tenacity which nothing could move. If he had fallen, in five minutes that battle would have been a rout." That battle closed Gen. Taylor's military career, and that battle alone gives him a title to immortality. H. W. HILLIARD. XXXIV. —LITERARY PURSUITS. You will perhaps be told, fellow-students, that literary pursuits will disqualify you for the active business of life. Heed not the idle assertion. Reject it as a mere imagination, inconsistent with principle, unsupported by experience. Point out to those who make it, the illustrious characters who have reaped in every age the highest honors of studious and active exertion. Show them Demosthenes, forging by the light of the midnight lamp those thunderbolts of eloquence which " Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece — To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne." Ask them if Cicero would have been hailed with rapture as the father of his country, if he had not been its pride and pattern in philosophy and letters. Inquire whether Cassar, or Frederick, or Bonaparte, or Wellington, or Washington, fought the worse be- cause they knew how to write their own commentaries. Hemind them of Franklin, tearing at the same time the lightning from heaven, and the scepter from the hands of the oppressor. Do they say to you that study will lead you to skepticism ? Recall to their memory the venerable names of Bacon, Milton, Newton, and Locke. Would they persuade you that devotion to learning will withdraw your steps from the paths of pleasure ? Tell them they are mistaken. Tell them that the only true pleas- ures are those which result from the diligent exercise of all the faculties of body, and mind, and heart, in pursuit of noble ends by noble means. Repeat to them the ancient apologue of the youthful Hercules, in the pride of strength and beauty, giving up his gen- DEFENSE OF MR. IVIADISON. 61 erous soul to the worship of yirtue. Tell them your choice is also made. Tell them, with the illustrious Eoman orator, you would rather be in the wrong with Plato, than in the right with Epicurus. Tell them that a mother in Sparta would have rather seen her son brought home from battle a corpse upon his shield, than dishon- ored by its loss. Tell them that your mother is -America, your battle the warfare of life, your shield the breastplate of Religion. A. H. EVEHETT. XXXV.— DEFENSE OF MH. MADISON. You object to Mr, Madison, the want of energy. The want of energy ! How has Mr. Madison shown it ? Was it in stand- ing abreast with the van of our Revolutionary patriots, and brav- ing the horrors of a seven years' war for liberty, while you were shuddering at the sound of the storm, and clinging closer with terror to your mothers' breasts ? V/as it, on the declaration of our independence, in being among the first and most effective agents in casting aside the feeble threads which so poorly con- nected the states together, and, in lieu of them, substituting that energetic bond of union, the Federal Constitution ? Was it in the manner in which he advocated the adoption of this substitute ; in the courage and firmness with which he met, on this topic, fought hand to hand, and finally vanquished, that' boasted prod- igy of nature, Patrick Henry ? Is this the proof of his want of energy? Or will you find it in the manner in which he watched the first movements of the Fed- eral Constitution ? He was then in a minority. Turn to the debates of Congress, and read his arguments : you will see how the business of a virtuous and able minority is conducted. Do you discover in them any evidence of want of energy ? Yos ; if energy consist, as you seem to think it does, in saying rude things, in bravado and bluster, in pouring a muddy torrent of coarse invective, as destitute of argument as unwarranted by provocation, you will find great evidence of want of energy in his speeches. But, if true energy be evinced, as we think it is, by the calm and dignified, yet steady, zealous, and persevering pursuit of an object, his whole conduct during that period is honorably marked with energy. And that energy rested on the most solid and . durable basis — conscious rectitude; supported by the most pro- found and extensive information, by an habitual power of inves- tigation, which unraveled, with intuitive certainty, the most 6 62 THE ROSTRUM, intricate subjects; and an eloquence, chaste, luminous, and cogent, which won respect, while it forced conviction. But what an idea is yours of energy ! You feel a constitu- tional irritability ; — you indulge it, and you call that indulgence energy! Sudden fits of spleen, transient starts of passion, wild paroxysms of .fury, the more slow and secret workings of envy and resentment, cruel taunts and sarcasms, the dreams of disor- dered fancy, the crude abortions of short-sighted theory, the delirium and ravings of a hectic fever, — this is your notion of energy ! Heaven preserve our country from such energy as this ! If this be the kind of energy which you deny to Mr. Madison, the people will concur in your denial. But, if you deny him that salutary energy which qualifies him to pursue his country's happiness and to defend her rights, we follow up the course of his public life, and demand the proof of your charge. WM. WIRT. XXXVI. — LAW THE POWER OF ALL. If, fellow-citizens, whenever the pride of a state is offended, or her selfishness rebuked, she may assume an attitude of defiance, may pour her rash and angry menaces on her confederated sisters, may claim a sovereignty altogether independent of them, and acknowledge herself to be bound to the Union by no ties but such as she may dissolve at pleasure, we do indeed hold our political existence by a most precarious tenure, and the future destinies of our country are as dark and uncertain as the past have been happy and glorious. Happy is that country, fellow-citizens, and only that, where the laws are not only just and equal, but supreme and irresisti- ble ; where selfish interests and disorderly passions are curbed by an arm to which they must submit. We look back with hor- ror and affright to the dark and troubled ages when a cruel and gloomy superstition tyrannized over the people of Europe ; dreaded alike by kings and people, by governments and individuals ; before which the law had no force, justice no respect, and mercy no influence. The sublime precepts of morality, the kind and en- dearing charities, the true and rational reverence for a bountiful Creator, which are the elements and the life of our religion, were trampled upon, in the reckless career of ambition, pride, and the lust of power. Nor was it much better when the arm of the warrior and the sharpness of his sword determined every ques- tion of right, and held the weak in bondage to the strong ; and the revengeful feuds of the great involved in one common ruin FATE OF THE INDIANS. 63 themselves and their humblest vassals. These disastrous days are gone, never to return. There is no power but the Law^ which is the power of all ; and those who administer it are the masters and the ministers of all. Joseph hopkinson. XXXVII.— FATE OF THE INDIANS. In the fate of the Aborigines ^ of our country — the Ameri- can Indians — there is much, fellow-citizens, to awaken our sym- pathy, and much to disturb the sobriety of our judgment ; much which may be urged to excuse their own atrocities ; much in their characters which betrays us into an involuntary admira- tion. If they had the vices of savage life, they had the virtues also. They were true to their country, their friends, and their homes. If they forgave not injury, neither did they forget kind- ness. If their vengeance was terrible, their fidelity and generosity were unconquerable also. Their love, like their hate, stopped not on this side of the grave. But where are they ? Where are the villages, and warriors, and youth? the sachems and tribes? the hunters and their families ? They have perished ! They are consumed. The wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty work. No, — nor famine nor war. There has been a mightier power, a moral canker, which hath eaten into their heart=cores — a plague, which the touch of the white man communicated — a poison, which betrayed them into a lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic fan not a single region which they may now call their own. Already the last feeble remnants of the race are preparing for their journey beyond the Mississippi. I see them leave their miser- able homes, the aged, the helpless, the women, and the warriors, "few and faint, yet fearless still." The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke no longer curls round their lowly cab- ins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step. The .white man is upon their heels, for terror or dispatch ; but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look of their deserted villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears ; they utter no cries ; they heave no groans. There is something in their hearts which passes speech. There is some- thing in their looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard necessity, which stifles both ; which chokes all utterance ; which has no aim or method. It is courage absorbed in despair. They linger but for a moment. Their look is onward. They have * Pronounced ah-o-rij'i-nts. 64 THE ROSTRUM. passed the fatiil stream. It shall never be repassed by them, — no, never. Yet there lies not between us and them an'impassa- ble gulf. They know and feel that there is for them still one remove farther, not distant, not unseen : it is to the general burial ground of their race. judge story. 1 XXXVIII. — MORAL ATTRIBUTES OF WASHINGTON. Sir, it was not solid information or sound judgment, or even that rare combination of surpassing modesty and valor, great as these qualities are, which gave Washington his hold on the re- gard, respect, and confidence, of the American people. I hazard nothing in saying that it was the high moral elements of his character, which imparted to it its preponderating force. " Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire, conscience,''^ was one of a series of maxims which he framed or copied for his own use, when a boy. He kept alive that spark. He made it shine before men. He kindled it into a flame which illumined his whole life. No occasion was so momentous, no circumstances were so minute, as to absolve him from following its guiding ray. Who ever thinks of Washington as a mere politician ? Who ever associates him with the petty arts and pitiful intrigues of partisan office-seekers or partisan office-holders? Who ever pic- tures him canvassing for votes, dealing out proscription, or doling out patronage ? And there was as little of the vulgar hero about him, as there was of the mere politician. At the head of a victorious army, of which he was the idol, — an army too often provoked to the very verge of mutiny, by the neglect of an inefficient govern- ment, — we find him the constant counselor of subordination, and submission to the civil authority. With the sword of a con- queror at his side, we find him the unceasing advocate of peace. Repeatedly invested with more than the power of a Roman Dic- tator, we see him receiving that power with reluctance, employ- ing it with the utmost moderation, and eagerly embracing the earliest opportunity to resign it. The offer of a crown could not, did not tempt him, for an instant, from his allegiance to liberty. He rejected it with indignation and abhorrence, and proceeded to devote all his energies, and all his influence, all his popularity, and all his ability, to the establishment of that republican system, of which he was, from first to last, the uncompromising advocate, and with the ultimate success of which he believed the best in- terests of America and of the world were inseparably connected. NEW ENGLANDERS IN NEW ORLEANS. 65 It is thus that, in contemplating the character of AVashington, the offices which he held, the acts which he performed, his suc- cess as a statesman, his triumphs as a soldier, almost fade from our sight. It is not the Washington of the Delaware or the Brandjwine, of Germantown or of Monmouth ; it is not Wash- ington the President of the Conyention, or the President of the Republic, which we admire. We cast our eyes over his life, not to be dazzled bj the meteoric luster of particular passages, but to behold its whole pathway radiant, radiant everywhere, with the true glory of a just, conscientious, consum'mate man ! Of him we feel it to be no exaggeration to say, that *' . . . . all the ends he aimed at Were his country's, his God's, and truth's." Of him we feel it to be no exaggeration to say, that he stands, upon the page of history, the great modern illustration and ex- ample of that exquisite and divine precept, which fell from the lips of the dying monarch of Israel, — " He that ruleth over men must be just, ruling in the fear of Grod ; and he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sim riseth, — even a morning without clouds." ROBT. C. WINTHROP. XXXIX. — NEW ENGLANDERS IN NEW ORLEANS. From an address before the New England Society, at New Orleans, Dec. 22, 1845. While we devote this day to the remembrance of our native land, we forget not that in which our happy lot is cast. We exult in the reflection, that, though we count by thousands the miles which separate us from our birthplace, still our country is the same. We are no exiles, meeting upon the banks of a for- eign river, to swell its waters with our homesick tears. Here floats the same banner which rustled above our boyish heads, except that its mighty folds are wider, and its glittering stars increased in number. The sons of New England are found in every State of the broad Eepublic. In the East, the South, and the unbounded West, their blood mingles freely with every kindred current. We have but changed our chamber in the paternal mansion ; in all its rooms we are at home, and all who inhabit it are our brothers. To us, the Union has but one domestic hearth ; its household gods are all the same. Upon us, then, peculiarly de- G6 THE ROSTRUM. volves the duty of feeding the fires upon that kindly hearth ; of guarding, with pious care, those sacred household gods. We can not do with less than the whole Union ; to us it admits of no division. In the veins of our children flows Northern and Southern blood. How shall it be separated ? Who shall put asunder the best affections of the heart, the noblest instincts of our nature ? We love the land of our adoption ; so do we that of our birth. Let us ever be true to both ; and always exert ourselves in maintaining the unity of our country, the integrity of the republic. Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden cord of Union ; thrice accursed the traitorous lips, whether of Northern fanat'ic or Southern demagogue, which shall propose its severance ! But no ! the Union can not be dissolved ; its for- tunes are too brilliant to be marred — its destinies too powerful to be resisted. Here will be their greatest triumph, their most mighty development. And when, a century hence, this Crescent City shall have filled her golden horns ; when within her broad-armed port shall be gathered the products of the industry of a hundred millions of freemen; when galleries of art and halls of learning shall have made classic this mart of trade ; then may the sons of the Pil- grims, still wandering from the bleak hills of the North, stand upon the banks of the Great River, and exclaim, with mingled pride and wonder, Lo ! this our country. When did the world ever witness so rich and magnificent a city, — so great and glo- rious a republic ? sargeant s. Prentiss. XL.— THE VOCATION OF THE MERCHANT. What is it, sir, but commerce, that .gives vigor to the civiliza- tion of the present day ? What is it but the world-wide exten- sion of commercial intercourse, by which all the products of the earth and of the ocean, of the soil, the mine, of the loom, of the forge, of bounteous nature, creative art, and untiring industry, are brought into the universal market of demand and supply ? No matter in what region the desirable product is bestowed on man by a liberal Providence, or fabricated by human skill. It may clothe the hills of China with its fragrant foliage ; it may glitter in the golden sands of California ; it may wallow in the depths of the Arctic seas ; it may whiten and ripen in the fertile plains of the sunny south ; it may spring forth from the flying shuttles of Manchester in P^nj^land, or Manchester in America ; THE VOCATION OF THE MERCHANT. 67 tho great world-magnet of commerce attracts it all alike, and gathers it all up for the service of man. I do not speak of English commerce or American commerce. Such distinctions belittle our conceptions. I speak, sir, of com- merce in the aggregate ; the great ebbing and flowing tides of the commercial world ; the great gulf streams of traffic which flow round from hemisphere to hemisphere ; the mighty trade- winds of commerce, which sweep from the Old World to the New ; that vast aggregate system which embraces the whole family of man, and brings the overflowing treasures of nature and art into kindly relation with human want, convenience, and taste. In carrying on this system, think for a moment of the stupendous agencies that are put in motion. Think for a moment of all the ghips that navigate the sea. An old Latin poet, who knew no waters beyond those of the Mediterranean and Levant, says that the man must have had a triple casing of oak and brass about his bosom who first trusted his frail bark on the rao-ino- sea. How many thousands of vessels, laden by commerce, are at this moment navigating, not the narrow seas frequented by the nations, but these world-encompassing oceans ! Think next of the mountains of brick, and stone, and iron, built up into the great commercial cities of the world ; and of all the mighty works of ancient and modern contrivance and struc- ture — the moles, the lighthouses, the bridges, the canals, the roads, the railways, the depth of mines, the Titanic force of enginery, the delving plows, the scythes, the reapers, the looms, the electric telegraphs, the vehicles of all descriptions, which directly or indi- rectly are employed or put in motion by commerce ; and, last and most important, the millions of human beings that conduct, and regulate, and combine, these inanimate organic and mechan- ical forces. And now, sir, is it any thing less than a liberal profession, which carries a o[uick intelligence, a prophetic forecast, an indus- try that never tires ; and, more than all, and above all, a stain- less probity beyond reproach and beyond suspicion, into this vast and complicated system, and, by the blessing of Providence, works out a prosperous result? Such is the vocation of the merchant, the man of business, pursued in many departments of foreign and domestic trade, of fi-nance', of exchange, but all com- prehended under the general name of commerce ; all concerned in weaving the mighty net-work of mutually beneficial exchanges, which enwraps the world ! edward everett. 68 THE KOSTRUM. XLL — THE POWER OF JOURNALISM. Gentlemen, within my experience the press of the United States has grown from infancy to manhood — alike in power, in enterprise, and in knowledge. It has strengthened and enlarged itself with the country to which it belongs and which it typifies. From small beginnings it has won the proportions of a giant, reaching with its hundred hands over the whole domain of nature and of man : propelled by steam and ministered to by the light- ning, irresistible in its might ; restrained by law, and governed by intelligent and responsible moral agents, making this might subservient only to right. Such I know to be the general char- acter of the American press. The newspaper, indeed, is now one of the necessities of our existence. Journalism is an institution of the country. Per- haps unacknowledged, but not unfelt, it is every where present and every where influential. An eccentric but powerful writer (Carlyle) has maintained that even in England, where journalism has less scope than among us, the newspapers have superseded the parliament; that public opinion seeks its direction, and utters its voice, much more independently and effectively through the columns of a newspaper than through the wearying speeches of parliament-men. There is force, if not absolute truth, in the suggestion ; and it is not less true in this country than in Eng- land. And when, as occasionally happens in our congress, some accidental member, that has found a place there, assumes to Bpeak disparagingly of the press, and of editors as of a race infe- rior to themselves, it is impossible to refrain from a smile, at least, at such pretensions, or from ejaculating the poet's aspi- ration : "0, that some Power the gift would gi'e 'em. To see themselves as others see them ! ' ' The newspaper, sir, is, in this our day and our free republic, emphatically the exponent of that public opinio7i which is mis- tress of empire and of states. It is a power and an agency before which guilt, even though upon a throne, and surrounded with glit- tering bayoYiets, trembles. It plays in our modern society the part assigned in the old Grreek drama to inexorable fate. It is the ve'hement, stern, ever-present, and all-chastening element, which is around and above the hut of the peasant and the throne of the- czar, and which summons to the bar, and judges without fear or favor, the motives and the acts of sovereign and of sub- jects. It is, in one word, the Ncm'esis of the nations. PRESIDENT CHARLES KING. WASHINGTON S FAREWELL ADDRESS. 69 XLIL — VIOLATION OF ENGLISH PROMISES. My lord, the Irish. Catholics never, never broke their faith ; they never violated their plighted promise to the English. I appeal to history for the truth of my assertion. My lord, the English never, never observed their fiiith with us — they never performed their plighted promise ; the history of the last six hun- dred years proves the accuracy of my assertion. I will leave the older periods, and fix myself at the revolution. More than a hundred and twenty years have elapsed since the treaty of Lim- erick. That treaty has been honorably and faithfully performed by the Irish Catholics ; it has been foully, disgracefully, and directly violated by the English. English oaths and solemn en- gagements bound them to its performance : it remains still of force and unperformed ; and the ruffian yell of English treach- ery, which accompanied its first violation, has, it seems, been repeated even in the senate-house at the last repetition of the violation of that treaty. They rejoiced and they shouted at the perjuries of their ancestors ; at their own want of good faith or common sense. . Nay, are there not men present, who can tell us, of their own knov/ledge, of another instance of English treachery ? Was not the assent of many of the Catholics to the fatal — O ! the fatal measure of. the union! — purchased by the express and written promise of Catholic emancipation, made from authority by Lord Cornwaliis, and confirmed by the prime minister, Mr. Pitt? And has that promise been perforiHed ? Or, has Irish credulity afforded only another instance of English faithlessness ? Now, my lord, I ask this assembly whether they can confide in English promises ? I say nothing of the solemn pledges of individuals. Can you confide in the more than punic faith of your hereditary taskmasters ? Or shall we be accused of over- scrupulous jealousy, when we reject, with indignation, the con- tamination of English control over our church ? o'connell. XLIILt- WASHINGTON'S FAREWELL ADDRESS. Such, sir, as were the sentiments of "Washington in regard to the Union of these States, such should be the sentiments of Amer- icans, through all time. Consider his words in the memorable, the immortal Farewell Address ! Mark the spirit of patriotism — burning, ardent patriotism — breathing in every page and every line ! Read his words upon the vital importance of main- taining the Union ! 70 - THE KOSTRUM. " It is of infinite moment," he says, 'Hhat you should prop- erly estimate the immense value of your national Union, to your collective and individual happiness ; that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, and immovable attachment to it ; accustoming yourselves to think and speak of it as of the palladium of your political safety and prosperity; watching for its preservation with jealous anxiety ; discountenancing even a suspicion that it can in any event be abandoned ; and indignantly frowning upon the first attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various parts. " All obstructions to the execution of the laws, all combina- tions and associations, under whatever plausible character, with the real character to direct, control, counteract, or awe, the regular deliberation and action of the constituted authorities, are destructive of this fundamental principle, and of fatal tend- ency." These were his words : " It is of infinite moment that you should properly estimate the immense value of your national Union," — and Washington was no user of exaggerated expres- sions. Let us heed his words, my countrymen! Let us ever press up among the people in support of the grand and beautiful harmony of our fraternal political system ; and, taking counsel from the immortal hero, whose language I have quoted, let us rally in support of the constitution at whose creation he pre- sided, which was his great love and affection; and let us resolve to leave the glorious Union which he made, unprofaned and undismembered, to our posterity. rufus choate. XLIV. — FOR AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. I. From ^^ an Oration delivered at the State-honse in Philadelphia, to a very nu- merous audience, on Thursday, the 1st of August, 1776, by Samuel Adams,* member of the Greneral Congress, vtM'tiu*(»w \\y your r^upjuu't, lutvi^ vamuiiuHl a dingmou to lln^ iMiii.sh nahu\ iiliil nil o((^rii.s(ho)(^ to our jn^nl luton^HtH. 1 no iiuuo (l(\Mp(iiMl Uo\v lluiu I luivo ill llio roum^ oC ihof<<^ hmoihuI juul ^loriouH luui- tuutuuiH; )uit it U tov you to miy wiu^tluu' toMuorvow hIimII not umKo it uiy *luty*to tli^rtpulr. To-morit»Nv in yiuir hi.st day ; your laht olloitti iiiuHt thou ho wuuUk \X you put iovth your Htrougth. tho day iricuu' owu; it'yoii doHOvt mo, it in lont, To wiu it, 1 nhall bo tho tiif^t to load you ou, aiul tho lawt to lornako you. OoutUnuou, I hiaud \ip lu thin ooiitivit agaiurtt \\\o IVioudM and tUlloworrt ol' Mr. Pitt; iu\ an thoy jiartially do.*iiij;ua(t^ him, thi ** i\iuuortal" Htatortuiau, iu»\v uo uiivro, Immorfa/ \\\ i\\o uiiworir oT hin dt^votiMl inuuitry ! ]mfm*rf(*l iu tho avoiuuIh ol' lior hhunl- iiig lihortiisn! hnmintul iu tho ovuol \s\\x^ whioh f^prau^ iVvuu \m oohl, HUHon hndatiufs; tuuhitiou! immortal iu tht^ iuttdt^raldu taxoH, tho oo\u»th\srt huoln of doht, \vl\ioh thoNO wars havv^ tliuiii^ Ujuui UH, whirh tho yoiiugo.st uiau auioiu^^.nt uh will luM livo to 8(h> tho oud of! Jmrnmiitl m tho tvi\uu|dm of owv ouou^ioHi nm\ tho vuiu \\\\\A\ Mov^d and tvOHHuri^! Jmmitrhii iu tho alllirtiiiuH of Kui»;laml, and (hohumll h\\im of W IVioudn, tl\riMigh iUo wiudo vos\dtH of his* twouty yoavH* roi)i;u, IViUu tho tlrst rayw ol' favor with whioh a dolightod oourtgildml hi.s oarly a|>v>.Hta?Hy, U\ {\\o d<^adly «^laro wluoh is at thi?* In^taut owfit \»pou hivH i«uuo by tho b\iruiug^ ujotvopolia of ouv hv i\\Ay]^ H\it uiay \io mioIi iuuiuutality (^vor fdl to \\\\ \oi\ Lot vuo vuthov Uvo iuuooout aud iu^u^^niiUiH; aud \vhou» at h^st, I ooa^o to liorvo you, »ud to tbol lor youv Avrouga, \my I hnvo hu huiuhU' uiouiuuout iu s^iuuo ua\uolOvH!4 titouo, to toil tlu\t bouoath it ilimo roatfi iVom hi» labors iu Yo\ir norvioo ** au ouoiuy ot' tho iiuuiortMl HtHtoHumu, — a iVm\\\ ot jhh\oo «ud of tho ptH>|>la!" toui> nuouvaiAM. IHiw sutVoviu\?«4 of uu nuiuuU ntttui^, otHmmouod by i\^tou»por- »uoo, u\y tViotuiH, aro uot to bo oouifnuvd with thi> momJ ai>\>uios wl^ioh ovuivuIho tiu^ mvul. It i?* i\n iuuuvuMal b<>iu\»' who sins aud »ut!o\^5 and Hs4 hii* t^^vthly ho\^>»o d\i*j4ohH\s bo iii «p|ux>ttohiuj* tho iudii;\uout-HiNiit iu autioipaiiou of u u\isorabhN rtoruity. Wo " hi?i oaotivitw auvt iu auii^uivsh o( ^spirit olauk?* hi?* ohnlu.^ \\n^\ ^ ibv holp, Oon^oiouoo thuudors*, »\^u\m\^ ^^dn; wul ^9 tho g*ub* *'n^*» ^u^w^* uf ih** bvwivh^tf i^f M<^vw hft4\^». IIOlUiOKS AM) HONORS OK WAR. 83 opens beibrc him, ho rocoilB, and trcinblos, and w(h;j>h, iiiid pravH, and resolve;^, and promiBCH, and refbrmH, and "seeks it jet again,*' — again resolves, and weeps, and prays, and "seeks it jet again! " Wretehed man, he has plaeed himself in the hands of a giant, who never pities, and never relaxes his iron gripe. He may struggh); but he is in chains. Ho may cry for release; but it comes not, and lost ! lost ! may be inscribed upon the door- posts of his dwelling. In the mean time these paroxysms of his dying moral natnK; decline, and a fearful apathy, the harbinger of S[>iritual death, comes on. His resolution fails, his mental energy, and his vig- orous enterprise, — and norvouj^ irritation and depression ensue. The social affections lose tlnnr fullness and tenderness, and con- science loses its power, and the heart its sensibility, until all that was once lovely and of good report retires, and leaves the wret(!h abandoned to the appetites of a ruined animal. In this dej)lor- al)le condition, reputation expires, business ialters and becomes perplexed, and temptations to drink multiply as inclination to do so increases and the power of resistance declines. And now the vortex roars, and the strujrgling victim buffets the fiery wave with feebler stroke and waning supplication, until despair flashes upon his soul, and, with an outcry that pierces the heavens, he ceases to strive, and disappears! lyuas bjsecii£U. MI. ^HORKOllS AND HONORS OF AVAR. The miseries of war are miseries inflicted by man on man. They* bear the impress of cruelty, of hardness of heart. The distorted features, writhing franu\s, and shrieks of the wounded and dying, — these are not the chief honors of war; thc^y sink into unimportance compared with the infernal passions whic^h work this woe. Death is a light evil, when not joiru^d -with crime. That man, born of woman, bound by ties of brotherhood to man, and c()nnnand(?d, by an inward hiw and the voice of (^od, to love and do good, should, through selfishness, pride, or revenge, inflict these agonies, and shed these torrents of human blood, — here is an evil which (;ombines witli exquisite sufllering fiendish guilt. All other evils fade before it. The idea of honor is associated with war. But to whf)rH does the honor belong? H' to any, (certainly not to the mass of the people, but to those who are particularly engfigcnl in it. The mass of a people, who stay at home and hire others to fight ; who sleep in their warm beds and hire others to sleep on the cold 84 THE PtOSTRUM. and damp earth; who sit at their well-spread board, and hire oth- ers to take the chance of starving; who nurse the slightest hurt in their own bodies, and hire others to expose themselves to mortal wounds and to linger in comfortless hospitals; certainly this mass reap little honor from war. The honor belongs to those imme- diately engaged in it. Let me ask, then, what is the chief business of war? It is to destroy human life, to mangle the limbs, to gash and hew the body, to plunge the sword into the heart of a fellow-creature, to strew the earth with bleeding frames, and to trample them under foot with horses' hoofs. It is to batter down and burn cities, to turn fruitful fields into deserts, to level the cottage of the peasant and the magnificent abode of opulence, to scourge nations with famine, to multiply widows and orphans. Are these honorable deeds ? Were you called to name ex-ploits' worthy of demons, would you not naturally select such as these ? Grant that a necessity for them may exist ; it is a dreadful necessity, such as a good man must recoil from with instinctive horror ; and though it may exempt them from guilt, it cannot turn them into glory. We have thought that it was honorable to heal, to save, to mitigate pain, to snatch the sick and sinking from the jaws of death. We have placed among the revered benefactors of the human race the discoverers of arts which alleviate human sufierings; which prolong, comfort, adorn and cheer human life ; and if these arts be honorable, where is the glory of multiplying and aggravating tortures and death? DR. CHANNING. LIIL— SKEPTICISM OE THE AGE. It seems to me you lay your finger here on the heart of the world's maladies, when you call it a skeptical world. An insin- cere world ; a godless untruth of a world ! It is out of this, as I consider, that the whole tribe of social pestilences, French revolutions, chartisms, and what not, have derived their being, — their chief necessity to be. This must alter. Till this alter, nothing can beneficially alter. My one hope of the world, my inexpugnable consolation, in looking at the miseries of the world, is, that this is altering. Here and there, one does now find a man who knows, as of old, that this world is a truth, and no plausibility and falsity ; that he himself is alive, not dead or paralytic, and the v^^orld is alive, instinct with Godhood, beauti- ful and awful, even as in the beginning of days ! One man once knowing this, many men, all men, must, by and by, come to know THE SPIRIT OF PERSECUTION STILL EXTANT. 85 it. It lies there clear, for whosoever will take the spectacles off his eyes, and honestly look to know. Eor such a man the unbelieving century, with its unblessed products, is already past ; a new century is already come. The old unblessed products and performances, as solid as they look, are phantasms, preparing speedily to vanish. To this and the other noisy, very great looking Simula' crum, with the whole world huzzaing at its heels, he can say, composedly stepping aside, Thou art not true ; thou art not extant, only semblant ; go thy way ! Yes, hollow formalism, gross Benthamism, and other unheroic atheistic insincerity, is visibly and even rapidly declining. An unbelieving eighteenth century is but an excep- tion, — such as now and then occurs. I prophesy that the world will once more become sincere ; a believing world ; with many heroes in it, a heroic world ! It will then be a victorious world, — never till then. thomas carlyle. MV.— THE SPIRIT OF PERSECUTION STILL EXTANT. It is very difficult to make the mass of mankind believe that the state of things is ever to be otherwise than they have been accustomed to see it. I have very often heard old persons describe the impossibility of making any one believe that the American Colonies could ever be separated from this country. It was always considered as an idle dream of discontented poli- ticians, good enough to fill up the periods of a speech, but which no practical man, devoid of the spirit of party, considered to be within the limits of possibility. There was a period when the slightest concession would have satisfied the Americans ; but all the world was in heroics. One set of gentlemen met at the Lamb, and another at the Lion — blood-and-treasure men, breathing war, vengeance, and contempt; and in eight years afterwards, an awkward-looking gentleman in plain clothes walked up to the drawing-room of St. James's, in the midst of the gentlemen of the Lion and the Lamb, and was introduced as the ambassador fronn the United States of America, Mild and genteel people do not like the idea of persecution, and are advocates for toleration ; but, then, they think it no act of intolerance to deprive Catholics of political power. The his- tory of all this is, that all men secretly like to punish others for not being of the same opinion with themselves, and that this sort of privation is the only species of persecution of which the improved feeling and advanced cultivation of the age will admit. 8 86 THE ROSTRUM. Fire and fagot, chains and stone walls, have been clamored away ; nothing remains but to mortify a man's pride and to limit his resources, and to set a mark upon him by cutting him off from his fair share of political power. By this receipt insolence i^ gratified, and humanity is not shocked. The gentlest Protestant can see, with dry eyes. Lord Stourton excluded from Parliament, though he would abominate the most distant idea of personal cruelty to Mr. Petre. This is only to say that he lives in the nineteenth, instead of the sixteenth cen- tury, and that he is as intolerant in religious matters as the state of manners existing in his age will permit. Is it not the same spirit which wounds the pride of a fellow-creature on account of his faith, or which casts his body into the flames ? Are they any thing else but degrees and modifications of the same princi- ple ? The true spirit is to search after God and for another life with lowliness of heart ; to fling down no man's altar, to punish no man's prayer ; to heap no penalties and no pains on those solemn supplications which, in divers tongues and in varied forms, and in temples of a thousand shapes, but with one deep sense of human dependence, men pour forth to God. REV. SYDNEY SMITH. LV. — TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF PEACE. While we act, sir, upon the maxim '' In peace prepare for war, " let us also remember that the best preparation for war is peace. This swells your numbers ; this augments your means ; this knits the sinews of your strength ; this covers you all over with a panoply of might. And, then, if war must come in a just cause, no foreign state — no, sir, not all combined — can send forth an adversary that you need fear to encounter. But, sir, give us these twenty-five years of peace. I do believe, sir, that this coming quarter of a century is to be the most important in our whole history. I do beseech you to let us have these twenty-five years, at least, of peace. Let these fertile wastes be filled up with swarming millions; let this tide of emigration from Europe go on ; let the steamer, the canal, the railway, and especially let this great Pacific railway, subdue these mighty distances, and bring this vast extension into a span. Let us pay back the ingots of California gold with bars of Atlantic iron ; let agriculture clothe our vast wastes with waving plenty ; let the industrial and mechanic arts erect their peaceful fortresses at the waterfalls ; and then, sir, in the train of this growing population, let the printing-office, the lecture-room, the EFFECT OF AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS. 87 village school-house, and the village church, be scattered over the country. And in these twenty-five years we shall exhibit a spec- tacle of national prosperity such as the world has never seen on so hirge a scale, and yet within the reach of a sober, practical contemplation. edward everett. LVI.— EFFECT OF AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS. Over how broad a portion of the world, sir, have we extended the advantages we ourselves enjoy ! Our domain unites the noblest valley on the surface of the globe, competent to grow food for human beings many more than now dwell on the face of the earth, with an eastern wing fitted for the site of the principal manufacturing and commercial power of existing Christendom, and a western flank v/ell situated to hold the same position on the Pacific, when Asia shall renew her youth, and Australia shall have risen to the level of Europe. Bewildering, almost, is the suddenness of our expansion to fill these limits, and astounding are the phenomena that accompany this development. This day there stands before the councils of the nation, deputed to partici- pate in their deliberations, a young man^ born within sight of old Concord bridge, and educated under the institutions which Con- cord fight secured, who, when he revisits the old homestead, claims to represent a territory larger than France and the united British kingdom, — capable of containing, if settled to the present density of Great Britain, more than a hundred millions of souls, — a territory lately the joint inheritance of the Indian and the grisly bear, now outstripping, in its instant greatness, all re- corded colonies, — the Ophir of our age, richer than Solomon's, richer than the wildest vision that ever dazzled Arabian fancy. Occupying such a continent, receiving it consecrated by the toils and sufterings and outpouring of ancestral blood, which on the day we now commemorate began, how delightful is the duty which devolves on us, to guard the beacon-fire of liberty, whose flames our fathers kindled ! Suffer it not, my friends, — suffer it not, posterity that shall come after us, — to be clouded by domestic dissension, or obscured by the dank, mephitic vapors of faction ! Until now, its pure irradiance dispels doubt and fear, and revivi- fies the fainting hopes of downcast patriotism. For ever may it shine brightly as now ; for as yet its pristine luster fades not, but still flashes out the ancient, clear, and steady illumination, joy-giving as the blaze that, leaping from promontory to promon- * The representative from California. 88 THE ROSTRUM. tory, told the trmmph of Agamemnon over fated Troy ! It towers and glows, refulgent and beautiful, far seen by the tempest-tost on the sea of revolution, darting into the dungeons of gaunt de- spair beams whose benignant glory no lapse of time shall dim ; the wanderers in the chill darkness of slavery it guides, and cheers, and warms ; it fills the universe with its splendor. ROBERT RANTOUL. LVn.— VOYAGE OF THE MAYFLOWER. Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous vessel, the Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with- the prospects of a future State, and bound across the unknown sea. I behold it pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and win- ter surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the sight of the wished-for shore. I see them now, scantily supplied with provisions, crowded almost to suffocation in their ill-stored prison, delayed by calms, pursuing a circuitous route ; and now, driven in fury before the raging tempest, in their scarcely seaworthy vessel. The awful voice of the storm howls through the rigging. The laboring masts seem straining from their base ; the dismal sound of the pumps is heard ; the ship leaps, as it were, madly from billow to billow ; the ocean breaks and settles with ingulfing floods over the floating deck, and beats with deadening weight against the staggered vessel. I see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their all but desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after a ^ye months' passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth ; weak and exhausted from the voyage, poorly armed, scantily provisioned, depending on the charity of their shipmas- ter for a draught of beer on board ; drinking nothing but water on shore, without shelter, without means, surrounded by hostile tribes. Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any principle of human probability, what shall be the fate of this handful of adventurers ! Tell me, man of military science, in how many months were they ail swept off by the thirty savage tribes enu- merated within the boundaries of New England ! Tell me, poli- tician, how long did this shadow of a colony, on which your conventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on the distant coast ! Student of history, compare for me the baffled projects, the deserted settlements, the abandoned adventures, of other times, and find the parallel of this ! THE COMMON-SCllOOL SYSTEM. 89 Was it the winter's storm, beating upon the houseless heads of women and children ? — was it hard labor and spare meals ? — was it disease ? — was it the tomahawk ? — was it the deep mal- ady of a blighted hope, a ruined enterprise, and a broken heart, aching in its last moments at the recollection of the loved and left, beyond the sea ? — was it some or all of these united that hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy fate ? And is it possible that no one of these causes, that not all combined, were able to blast this bud of hope ? Is it possible that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, — so worthy, not so much of admira- tion as of pity, — there have gone forth a progress so steady, a growth so wonderful, an expansion so ample, a reality so import- ant, a promise, yet to be fulfilled, so glorious ? EDWARD EVEHETT. LVIII. — THE COMMON-SCHOOL SYSTEM. Mr. President and gentlemen, I thank you for the honor you have done me by calling upon me to respond to a sentiment in behalf of the common schools of New England. I am all the more thankful, because it is too late in the day to require a vin- dication of common schools as an institution established by the Pilgrim Fathers. In their minds education was an integral ele- ment of the great republican idea included in every conception they could form for the organization of a State. Sir, under their rigid exterior the Puritans cherished an intense, a Hebrew faith in Grod and in everlasting realities ; a faith such as shook the strings of David's harp, and fired the lips of th.e prophets. They were ever seeking to do God's will, and felt that God was with them. They did not seek for material success, but merely for the great elements of the permanent welfare of the individual and the State. They established and cherished the interests of education. It has been said that external circumstances favored the sin- gleness of purpose and the devotion to permanent realities by which they were distinguished. No doubt there is truth in this. Had they landed on a luxuriant shore, had golden placers opened before their feet, they might have been tempted to luxurious sen- suality, and the material scramble for this world's goods. But for them there was no luxury, and their reliance was upon the manly elements that grow up in suffering and privation to their full strength. The inclement winter, and the waves dashing upon their icy rocks, drove them back upon the soil, and enabled their vision to detect what were the qualitiBs that alone enable 8* 90 THE •ROSTRUM. man to assert his superiority over the elements, and wring the victory from the iron hand of nature. This brings up the great fact which this talking, philosophical, material age needs to have reiterated, that no great thing was ever wrought save by an intense religious faith. It was faith in Prov- idence, the faith that every hero maintains in great principles. I know that when we look into history we see more genial charac- ters than the Puritans ; but when we look for foundation-men, men who lay the Cyclopean base of a republic, they alone were the men worthy of the work. Grod ordains that a republic is not proclaimed from noisy barricades and polytechnic schools. It is found hewn out rough in the quarry of suffering and endur- ance, and is laid in resolution and in prayer. Grod appoints for it a granite soil and granite men. The Pilgrims builded better than they knew ; it was Grod that filled them with a great ideal, which they themselves did not comprehend. How else did they lay hold of the great fact that the state is more interested in the coming generation than in our own ? This was the idea that animated the hearts of the Pilgrims. I do not intend to attribute to them all the liberty and the great results which we behold around us. I know how much is due to the Hollander, how much to the generous toleration of Calvert. They are all so mixed up in our present institutions that, thank God ! it is impossible for any party to claim a per- sonal property in any part. But it is certain that here alone is a great and true republic. I do not forget Switzerland ; but still I say, that here alone is a republic endowed with the power of a great and progressive development. We must remember Italy, stricken down and oppressed ; France, where nothing is perma- nent, and where freedom is but a name ; and that other country, where the Danube rolls beside the graves of martyred heroes, and which sends out her most distinguished son^ and exile to plead her cause in a voice that shakes the nations. But here the only true republic has risen and expanded into greatness and power. If we ask whence springs this giant republic, we must look back to that grand historical picture, with its fringe of dark roots, its back-ground of tossing winter waves, with mothers shielding their babes from the icy cold, and fathers treading the crackling snow ! We must look back to that stern and manly peo- ple that laid there and then the foundation for free thought, free speech, and free schools. e. h. chapiNo * Kossuth, the Hungarian. PART SECOND. — THE BAR, L — RIGHT OF SELF-DEFENSE. IVom a speech before the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, 1806, at the trial of Thomas 0. Selfredge for shooting Charles Austin, who attacked him with a cowhide. The opposing counsel have contended, gentlemen of the jury, in order to establish the guilt of mj client, that the right of self- defense is not given by the law of civil society. It is founded, then, on the law of nature — a law of higher authority than any human institution. Surely I need not tell you that the naan who is daily beaten on the public exchange can not retain his standing in society by a resort to the laws. Recovering daily damages will rather aggravate the contempt of the community. It is a most serious calamity for a man of high qualifications for usefulness, of a delicate sense of honor, to be driven to the necessity of repelling a brutal personal attack — of saving himself from the profanation of a ruffian's blow. Yet, should it become inevitable, he is bound to defend himself like a man ; to summon all the energies of his soul, rise above ordinary maxims, poise him- self on his own magnanimity, and hold himself responsible only to his God. Whatever may be the consequences, he is bound to bear them ; to stand like Mount x\tlas, '' When storms and tempests thunder on his brow. And oceans break their billows at his feet." Do not believe that I am inculcating opinions tending to dis- turb the peace of society. On the contrary, they are the only principles that can preserve it. It is more dangerous for the laws to give security to a man disposed to commit outrages on the per- sons of his fellow-citizens, than to authorize those, who must oth- erwise meet irrep'arable injury, to defend themselves at every haz- ard. I will not, if I can help it, leave it in the power of any daring miscreant to mutilate, maltreat, or degrade me. I respect the laws of my country ; I revere the precepts of our holy reli- gion ; I should shudder at shedding human blood ; I would prac- tice moderation and forbearance, to avoid so terrible a calamity ; yet, should I ever be driven to that impassable point where degra- dation and disgrace begin, may this arm shrink palsied from its socket, if I fail to defend my. own honor I samuel dextek. 91 92 THE BAK. IL — THE NATURE OF JUSTICE. From the speech on the trial of Warren Hastings, June 6th, 1788. Let me caU the attention of the court to the magnificent par- agraph in which Mr. Hastings concludes his communication. It will give you some idea of this man's notions of justice. •' I hope," says Mr. Hastings, " it will not be a departure from offi- cial language to say, that the majesty of justice ought not to he approached without solicitation. She ought not to descend to inflame or provoke, but to withhold her judgment imtil she is called on to determine." Justice ought not to be approached without solicitation ! Justice ought not to descend ! But, my lords, do you, the judges of this land, and the expounders of its rightful laws, do you approve of this mockery, and call it justice ? No ! justice is not this halt and miserable object; it is not the inef- fective bauble of an Indian pagod; it is not the portentous phantom of despair ; it is not like any fabled monster, formed in the eclipse of reason, and found in some unhallowed grove of superstitious darkness and political dismay ! No, my lords. In the happy reverse of all these, I turn from this disgusting caricature to the real image ! Justice I have now before me, august and pure — the abstract idea of all that would be perfect in the spirits and the aspirings of men ; where the mind rises, where the heart expands ; where the countenance is ever placid and benign ; where her favorite attitude is to stoop to the unfor- tunate, to hear their cry and to help them ; to rescue and relieve, to succor and save ; majestic from its mercy, venerable from its utility; uplifted without pride, firm without obduracy; benefi- cent in each preference, lovely though in her frown ! On that justice I rely, deliberate and sure, abstracted from all party purpose and political speculation, not in words, but in facts. You, my lords, who hear me, I conjure, by those rights it is your best privilege to preserve ; by that fame it is your best pleasure to inherit ; by all those feelings which refer to the first term in the series of existence, the original compact of our nature, our controllins; rank in the creation. This is the call on all, to administer to truth and equity, as they would satisfy the laws; ay, as they would satisfy themselves with the most exalted bliss possible or conceivable for our nature, — the self -approving co7LSciousness of virtue^ when the condemnation we look for will be one of the most ample mercies accomplished for mankind since the creation of the world ! My lords, I have done. SHERIDAN. THE UNITED STATES AND THE CHEROKEES. 93 HI — THE UNITED STATES AND THE CHEROKEES. In the Supreme Court of the United States, January, 1831, in the case of the Cherokees against the State of Georgia. It is with no ordinary feelings that I am about to take leave of this cause. The existence of the remnant of a once great and mighty nation is at stake, and it is for your honors to say whether they shall be blotted out from the creation, in utter dis- regard of all our treaties. Their cause is one that must come home to every honest and feeling heart. They have been true and faithful to us, and have a right to expect a corresponding fidelity on our part. Our wish has been their law. We asked them to become civilized, and they became so. They have even adopted our resentments, and in our war with the Seminole tribes they voluntarily joined our arms, and gave effectual aid in driving back those barbarians from the very state that now oppresses them. They threw upon the field a body of men who proved, by their martial bearing, their descent from the noble race that were once the lords of these extensive forests. May it please your honors, this people have refused to us no gratification which it has been in their power to grant. They are here now in the last extremity, and with them must perish the honor of the American name for ever. Yf e have pledged, for their protection and for the guarantee of the remainder of their lands, the faith and honor of our nation — a faith and honor never sullied, nor even drawn into question, until now. We promised them, and they trusted us. They trust us still. Shall they be deceived? They would as soon expect to see their rivers run upwards on their sources, or the sun roll back in his career, as that the United States would prove false to them, and false to the word so solemnly pledged by their W^ashington, and renewed and perpetuated by his illustrious successors. With the existence of this people the faith of our nation, I repeat it, is fatally linked. The blow which destroys them quenches for ever our own glory ; for what glory can there be, of which a patriot can be proud, after the good name of his country shall have departed? We may gather laurels on the field, and trophies on the ocean, but they will never hide this foul and bloody blot upon our escutcheon. " Remember the Cherokee nation ! " will be answer enough to the proudest boast that we can ever make- — answer enough to cover with confusion the face and the heart of every man among us, in whose bosom the last spark of grace has not been extinguished. I will hope for better things. There is a spirit that will yet 94 THE BAR. save us. I trust that we shall find it here — here in this sacred court ; where no foul and malignant demon of party enters to darken the understanding, or to deaden the heart, but where all is clear, calm, pure, vital, and firm. I cannot believe that this honorable court, possessing the power of preservation, will stand by, and see these people stripped of their property, and extirpated from the earth, while they are holding up to us their treaties, and claiming the fulfillment of our engagements. If truth, and faith, and honor, and justice, have fled from every other part of our country, we shall find them here. If not, our sun has gone down in treachery, blood, and crime, in the face of the world ; and, instead of being proud of our country, as heretofore, we may well call upon the rocks and mountains to hide our shame from earth and from heaven. william wirt. iy._ IRISH RELIGIOUS DISSENSIONS. From a speech at tlie trial of O'Connell, 1843. Sir, religious conflicts have been our bane. We of Ireland are prevented by our wretched religious distinctions from coop- erating for a single object by which *the honor and substantial interests of our comitry can be promoted. Fatal, disastrous, detestable distinctions! Detestable, because they are not only repugnant to the genuine spirit of Christianity, and substitute for the charities of religion the rancorous antipa- thies of sect, but because they practically reduce us to a colonial dependency; make the Union a name; substitute for a real Union a tie of parchment which an event might sunder ; con- vert a nation into an appurtenance; make us the footstool of the minister, the scorn of England, and the commiseration of the world ! Ireland is the only country in Europe in which abominable distinctions between Protestant and Catholic are permitted to continue. In Germany, where Luther translated the Scriptures ; in France, where Calvin wrote the Institutes, — ay, in the land of the Dragonados and St. Barthojomews ; in the land from whence the forefathers of one of the judicial functionaries of this court, and the first ministerial officer of the court, were barbarously driven, — the mutual wrongs done by Catholic and Protestant are forgiven and forgotten ; while we, madmen that we are, arrayed by that fell fanaticism which, driven from every other country in Europe, has found a refuge here, precipitate ourselves upon each other in those encounters of sectarian ferocity, in which our TRIBUTE TO AMERICAN CLERGYMEN. 95 country, bleeding and lacerated, is trodden under foot. Yv^e con- vert the island that ought to be one of the most fortunate in the sea, into a receptacle of degradation and of suffering; counteract the designs of Providence, and enter into a conspiracy for the frustration of the beneficent designs of God. EICHARD LALOR SHIEL. Y.— TRIBUTE TO AMERICAN CLERGYMEN. Erom the speech in the Girard "Will Case. Sir, by the will of Mr. Grirard, no minister of the Gospel, of any sect or denomination whatever, can be authorized or allowed to hold any office within the college ; and not only that, but no minister or clergyman of any sect can, for any purpose whatever, enter within the walls that are to surround this college. Now, I will not arraign Mr. Girard or his motives for this. I will not inquire into Mr. Girard's opinions upon religion. But I feel bound to say, the occasion demands that I should say, that this is the most opprobrious, the most insulting and unmerited stigma, that ever was cast, or attempted to be cast, upon the preachers of Christianity, from north to south, from east to west, through the length and breadth of the land, in the history of the country. When have they deserved it? — where have they deserved it? — how have they deserved it ? They are not to be allowed even the ordinary rights of hospitality : not even to be permitted to put their foot over the threshold of this college ! Sir, I take it upon myself to say, that in no country in the world, upon either continent, can there be found a body of min- isters of the Gospel who perform so much service to man, in such a full spirit of self-denial, under so little encouragement from government of any kind, and under circumstances almost always much straitened and often distressed, as the ministers of the Gos- pel in the United States, of all denominations. They form no part of any established order of religion; they constitute no hierarchy ; they enjoy no peculiar privileges. In some of the States they are even shut out from all participation in the polit- ical rights and privileges enjoyed by their fellow-citizens. They enjoy no tithes, no public provision of any kind. Except here and there, in large cities, where a wealthy individual occasion- ally makes a donation for the support of public worship, what have they to depend upon ? They have to depend entirely on the voluntary contributions of those who hear them. And this body of clergymen have shown, to the honor of their own country, and to the astonishment of the hierarchies of the 96 THE BAR. Old World, that it is practicable in free governments to raise and sustain, bj voluntary contributions alone, a body of clergymen, wKich, for devotedness to their sacred calling, for purity of life and character, for learning, intelligence, piety, and that wisdom which Cometh from above, is inferior to none, and superior to most others. I hope that our learned men have done something for the honor of our literature abroad. I hope that the courts of justice and the members of the bar of this country have done some- thing to elevate the character of the profession of the law. I hope that the discussions in Congress have done something to meliorate the condition of the human race, to secure and extend the great charter of human rights, and to strengthen and advance the great principles of human liberty. But I contend that no literary efforts, no adjudications, no constitutional discussions, nothing that has been done or said in favor of the great inter- ests of universal man, has done this country more credit, at home and abroad, than the establishment of our body of clergy- men, their support by voluntary contributions, and the general excellence of their character for piety and learning. The great truth has thus been proclaimed and proved, — -a truth which I believe will, in time to come, shake all the hierar- chies of Europe, — that the voluntary support of such a minis- try, under free institutions, is a practicable idea, websteh. VI.— FORFEITURES IN TIME OF WAR. In the case of 'Hhe British Debts/' 1791. The first point, gentlemen of the jury, which I shall endeavor to establish, will be, that debts in common wars become subject to forfeiture ; and, if forfeited in common wars, much more must they be so in a revolutionary war, as the late contest was. In this war we had a right to consider British debts as subject to confiscation, and to seize the property of those who originated that war. Notwithstanding the equity and fairness of the debt when incurred, if the security of the property received was after- wards destroyed, the title has proved defective. The title was destroyed by the very men who come here now and demand pay- ment. For the long catalogue of offences committed against the citizens of America every individual of the British nation is accountable. How are you to be com-pen' sated for those depre- dations on persons and property ? Are you to go to England to find the very individual who did you the outrage, and demand THE PRESS THE PROTECTION OE THE PEOPLE. 97 satisfaction of him ? To tell you of snch a remedy as this, is add- ing insult to injury. Every individual is chargeable with national oifences. What vfould have been the consequences, sir, if we had been conquered ? Would we not have shared the fate of the people of Ireland ? A great part of that island was con-fis'cated, though the Irish people thought themselves engaged in a laudable cause. What confisccitions and punishments were inflicted in Scotland, the plains of Culloden and the neighboring gibbets would show you. Thank Heaven that the spirit of liberty, under the pro- tection of the Almighty, saved us from experiencing so hard a destiny ! Had we been subdued, would our debts have been saved ? Would it not have been absurd for the enemy to save debts, while they would have burned, hanged, and destroyed ? I would not have wished to live to see the sad scenes we should have experienced. Needy avarice and salvage cruelty would have had full scope. If it be allowed to the British nation to con-iis'cate, not only debts, but life, may we not confiscate — not life, for we never desire it ; but that which is the common object of confiscation — property, goods, and debts, which strengthen ourselves and weaken our enemies? If there ever was a case requiring the full use of all human means, it was ours in the late contest ; and, sir, I therefore maintain that we were v/arranted in confiscating the British debts. Patrick henry. VII.-— THE PRESS THE PROTECTION OE THE PEOPLE. At the trial of John Magee for a libel against the Duke of Richmond. The attorney-general has talked of his impartiality : he will suppress, he says, the licentiousness of the press. Gentlemen, the attorney "general was waited on, and respectfully requested to prosecute the Hibei^nian journal upon the terms of having the falsehood of certain libelous assertions first proved to him. I need not tell you he refused. These are not the libelers he prosecutes. Contrast the situation of my client with that of the propri- etor of the Hibernian journal. The one is prosecuted with all the weight and influence of the crown, the other pensioned by the ministers of the crown; the one dragged to your bar for the sober discussion of political topics, the other hired to disseminate the most horrid calumnies. Let the attorney-general now boast of his impartiality ; can you credit him on your oaths? Let 9 98 THE BAR. him talk of his veneration for the liberty of the press ; can yon believe him in your consciences ? Let him call the press the pro- tection of the people against the government. Yes, gentlemen, believe him when he says so ! Let the press he the protection of the people ! — he admits that it ought to be so. Will you find a verdict for him that shall contradict the only assertion upon which he and I, however, are both agreed ? Gentlemen, the attorney-general is bound by this admission. It is part of his case, and he is the prosecutor here. It is a part of the evidence before you, for he is the prosecutor. Then, gentlemen, it is your duty to act upon that evidence, and to allow the press to aiford some protection to the people. Is there amongst you any one friend, to freedom ? Is there amongst you one man who esteems equal and impartial justice, who values the people's rights as the foundation of private happi- ness, and who considers life as no boon without liberty? Is there amongst you one friend to the constitution ? — one man who hates oppression ? If there be, my client appeals to his kindred mind, and confidently expects an acquittal. There are amongst you men of great religious zeal — of much public piety. Are you sincere ? Do you believe what you profess ? With all this zeal, with all this piety, is there any conscience amongst you? Is there any terror of violating your oaths ? Ee ye hypocrites, or does genuine religion inspire you ? If you be sincere, if you have consciences, if your oaths can control your interests, then my client confidently expects an acquittal. If amongst you there be cherished one ray of pure religion, if amongst you there glow a single spark of liberty, if I have alarmed patriotism or roused the spirit of freedom in one breast amongst you, my client is safe, and his country is served. But, if there be none — if you be slaves and hypocrites — he will await your verdict, and des- pise it. DANIEL O'CONNELL. Vni. — ON BEING FOUND GUILTY OF TREASON. A JURY of my countrymen have found me guilty of the crime for which I stood indicted. For this I entertain not the slightest feeling of resentment towards them. Influenced, as they must have been, by the charge of the lord chief justice, they could have found no other verdict. What of that charge? Any strong- observations on it I feel sincerely would ill befit the solemnity of this scene ; but I would earnestly beseech of you, my lord, — you who preside on that bench, — when the passions and preju-. ON BEING FOUND GUILTY OF TREASON. 99 dices of this hour have passed away, to appeal to jour own con- science, and to ask of it, was your charge as it ought to have been, impartial and indifferent between the subject and the crown. My lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in me, and perhaps it may seal my fate. But I am here to speak the truth, whatever it may cost ; I am here to regret nothing I have ever done — to retract nothing I have ever said. I am here to crave, with no lying lip, the life I consecrate to the liberty of my coun- try. Far from it, even here — here, where the thief, the liber- tine, the murderer, have left their foot-prints in the dust ; here, on this spot, where the shadows of death surround me, and from which I see my early grave in an unanointed soil opened to re- ceive me — even here, encircled by these terrors, the hope which has beckoned me to the perilous sea upon which I have been wrecked still consoles, animates, enraptures me. iSTo, I do not despair of my poor old country — her peace, her liberty, her glory. For that country, I can do no more than bid her hope. To lift this island up, — to make her a benefactor to humanity, instead of being the meanest beggar in the world, to restore to her her native powers and her ancient constitution, — this has been my ambition, and this ambition has been my crime. Judged by the law of England, I know this crime entails the penalty of death ; but the history of Ireland explains this crime, and justifies it. Judged by that history, I am no criminal, I deserve no punishment. Judged by that history, the treason of which I stand convicted loses all its guilt, is sanctioned as a duty, will be ennobled as a sacrifice. With these sentiments, my lord, I await the sentence of the court. Having done what I felt to be my duty, — having spoken what I felt to be the truth, as I have done on every other occasion of my short career, — I now bid farewell to the country of my birth, my passion, and my death ; the country whose misfortunes have invoked my sympathies ; whose factions I have sought to still ; whose intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim ; whose freedom has been my fatal dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of the love I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought and spoke and struggled for her freedom, the life of a young heart, and with that life all the hopes, the honors, the endearments, of a happy and an honored home. Pronounce, then, my lords, the sen- tence which the laws direct, and I will be prepared to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its execution. I hope to be able, with a pure heart and perfect composure, to appear before a higher tribunal — a tribunal where a Judge of infinite good- 100 THE BAR. ness as well as of justice Yfill preside, and where, mjlord;^, many, many of the judgments of this world will be reversed. MEAGHER. IX.— PUBLIC SILENCE AT A TRIAL. From a speecli on the trial of Mr. Justice Johnson, Dublin, Feb. 4, 1805, for a libel on Lord Hardwicke, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. My lords, it has fallen to my lot, either fortunately or unfortunately, as the event may be, to rise as counsel for my client on this most important and momentous occasion. Sorry am I that the task has not been confided to more adequate pow- ers ; but, feeble as mine are, they will, at least, not shrink from it. I move you, therefore, that Mr. Justice Johnson be released from illegal imprisonment. I can not but observe the sort of scen'ic preparation with which this sad drama is sought to be brought forward. In part, I approve it ; in part, it excites my disgust and indignation. I observe, too, the dead silence into which the public is frowned by authority for the sad occasion. No man dares to mutter ; no newspaper dares to whisper that such a question is afloat. It seems an inquiry among the tombs, or, rather, in the shades beyond them. I am glad it is so ; I am glad of this factitious dumbness ; for if murmurs dared to become audible, my voice would be too feeble to drown them. But when all is hushed, when nature sleeps, the weakest voice is heard ; the shepherd's whistle shoots across the listening darkness of the interniinable heath, and gives notice that the wolf is upon his walk ; and the same gloom and stillness that tempt the monster to come abroad, facilitate the communication of the warning to beware. Yes, through that silence the voice shall be heard ; yes, through that silence the shepherd shall be put upon his guard ; yes, through that silence shall the felon savage be chased into the toil. Yes, my lords, I feel myself cheered and impressed by the composed and dignified attention with which I see you are dis- posed to hear me on the most important question that has ever been subjected to your consideration ; the most important to the dearest rights of the human being ; the most deeply interesting and animating that can beat in his heart, or burn upon his tongue. 0, how recreating is it to feel that occasions may arise in which the soul of man may reilssume her pretensions ; — in which she hears the voice of nature whisper to her, '' os homini sul- li'me dedit^ ccB-lumque tit-e'ri jussit I " — in which even I can look up with calm security to the court, and dow?i with the most THE PLAINTIFF DENOUNCED. 101 profound contempt upon the reptile I mean to tread upon. I say reptile, my lords, because, when the proudest man in society becomes so much the dupe of his childish malice as to wish to inflict on the object of his vengeance the poison of his sting, — to do a reptile's work, — he must shrink into a reptile's dimensions ; and, so shrunk, the only way to assail him is to tread upon him. CURRAN. X.— THE PLAINTIFF DENOUNCED. From the speech in the Wilkinson triaL GrENTLEMEN, although my clients are free from the charge of shedding blood, there is a murderer, and, strange to say, his name appears upon the indictment, not as a criminal, but a prosecutor. His garments are wet with the blood of those upon whose deaths you hold this solemn inquest. Yonder he sits, allaying for a moment the hunger of that fierce vulture. Conscience, by casting before it the food of pretended regret, and false but apparent eagerness for justice. He hopes to appease the manes of his slaughtered victims — victims to his falsehood and treachery — by sacrificing upon their graves a hecatomb of innocent men. By base misrepresentations of the conduct of the defendants, he induced his imprudent friends to attempt a vindication of his pretended wrongs, by violence and bloodshed. His clansmen gathered at his call, and followed him for vengeance ; but when the fight began, and the keen weapons clashed in the sharp con- flict, where was the wordy warrior? Ay, "where was Roderick then?" jS'o "blast upon his bugle horn" encouraged his com- panions as they were laying down their lives in his quarrel ; no gleam of his dagger indicated a desire to avenge their fall. With treacherous cowardice he left them to their fate, and all his vaunted courage ended in ignominious flight. Sad and gloomy is the path that lies before him. You will in a few moments dash, untasted, from his lips, the sweet cup of revenge, to quaff whose intoxicating contents he has paid a price that would have purchased the goblet of the Egyptian queen. I behold gathering around him, thick and fast, dark and corroding cares. That face, which looks so ruddy, and even now is flushed with shame and conscious guilt, will from this day grow pale, until the craven blood shall refuse to visit the haggard cheek. In his broken and distorted sleep his dreams will be more fearful than those of the " false, perjured Clarence ; " and around his waking pillow, in the deep hour of night, will flit the ghosts of his victims, of Meeks and of Rothwell, shrieking their curses in his shrinking ear. 9* 102 THE BAR. Upon his head rests not only the blood shed in this unfortunate strife, but also the soul-killing crime of perjury ; for, surely as he lives, did the words of craft and falsehood fall from his lips ere they were hardly loosened from the holy volume. But I dismiss him, and do consign him to the furies, trusting, in all charity, that the terrible punishment he must suffer from the scorpion-lash of a guilty conscience will be considered in his last account. ^ s. s. prentisg. XI. — CATHOLIC EMANCIPATION. From the speech in defense of Rowan, tried for libel. This paper, gentlemen of the jury, insists upon the necessity of emancipating the Catholics of Ireland, and that is charged sm a part of the libel. If they had waited another year, if they had kept this prosecution impending for another year, how much would remain for a jury to decide upon, I should be at a loss to discover. It seems as if the progress of public reformation was eating away the ground of the prosecution. Since the commence- ment of the prosecution, this part of the libel has unluckily received the sanction of the legislature. In that interval our Catholic brethren have obtained that admission, which it seems it was a libel to propose : in what way to account for this, I am really at a loss. Have any alarms been occasioned by the eman- cipation of our Catholic brethren ? Has the bigoted malignity of any individuals been crushed ? Or, has the stability of the government, or has that of the country, been weakened ? Or, is one million of subjects stronger than four millions? Bo you think that the benefit they received should be poisoned by the sting of vengeance? Do you think it wise or humane, at this moment, to insult them, by sticking up in a pillory the man who dared to stand forth their advocate ? I put it to your oaths ; do you think that a blessing of that kind, that a victory obtained by justice over bigotry and oppression, should have a stigma cast upon it by an ignominious sentence upon men bold and honest enough to propose that measure : to propose the redeeming of relio'ion from the abuses of the church : the reclaimincr of three millions of men from bondage, and giving liberty to all who had a right to demand it — giving, I say, in the so much censured words of this paper, giving " Universal Emancipation." I speak in the spirit of the British law, which makes liberty commensurate with and inseparable from British soil ; which proclaims even to the stranger and the so'journer, the moment he GOVERNMENT INFORMEllS. 103 sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy, and consecrated by the genius of universal eman- cipation. 2^0 matter in what language his doom may have been pronounced ; no matter what complexion incompatible with freedom an Indian or an African sun may have burnt upon him ; no matter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been cloven down ; no matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery ; — ■ the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust ; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty ; his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst fi-om around him ; and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of universal emancipation. CURRAN. v. — GOVERNMENT INFORMERS, Prom the speech at the trial of Finnerty. G-ENTLEMEN of the jury, it is not upon my client that you are sitting in judgment ; you are sitting in judgment upon the lives and liberties of the inhabitants of more than half of Ireland. You are to say that it is a foul proceeding to condemn the gov- ernment of Ireland. You are caHed upon, on your oaths, to say that the government is wise and merciful, the people prosperous Mad happy ; and that the statements of a contrary import are libelous and false. How could you reconcile with such a verdict the jails, the gibbets, the conflagrations, the murders, the proclamations, that we hear of every day ? What is the state of Ireland, and where shall you find the wretched inhabitant of this land ? You may fiai him, perhaps, in a jail, the only place of security — I had almost said of ordinary habitation ! If you do not find him there, you may see him flying with his family from the flames of his own dwelling, lighted to his dungeon by the conflagration of his hovel ; or you may find his bones bleaching on the green fields of his country ; or you may find him tossing on the surface of the ocean, and mingling his groans with tempests, less savage than his persecutors. Is this a " foul misrepresentatian "? Or can you, with these facts ringing in your ears, and staring in your face, say, upon your oaths, that they do not exist ? But the learned gentleman is further pleased to say, that the trav'erser has charged the government with the encouragement 104 THE BAR. of informers. This, gentlemen, is another small fact that you are to deny at the hazard of your souls, and upon the solemnity of your oaths. You are, upon your oaths, to say to the sister country, that the government of Ireland uses no such abominable instruments of destruction as informers. Let me ask you, hon- estly, what do you feel when, in my hearing, when, in the face of this audience, you are called upon to give a verdict that every man of us, ay, and every man of you, know, by the testimony of your own eyes, to be utterly and absolutely false ? I speak not now of the public proclamation for informers, with a promise of secrecy and of extravagant reward ; I speak not of the fate of those horrid wretches who have been so often trans- ferred from the table to the dock, and from the dock to the pil- lory ; I speak of what your own eyes have seen, day after day, during the course of this commission, from the box where you are now sitting ; — the number of horrid miscreants who acknowl- edged, upon their oaths, that they had come from the seat of government, — from the very chambers of the Castle, — where they had been v/orked upon, by the fear of death and the hope of compensation, to give evidence against their fellows ; that the mild, the wholesome, and merciful councils of this government are holden over these catacombs of living death, where the wretch, that is buried a man, lies till his heart has time to fester and dissolve, and is then dug up — a witness ! Is this a picture created by a hag-ridden fancy, or is it fact ? Have you not seen him, after his resurrection from that region of death and corruption, make his appearance upon the table, the living image of life and of death, and the supreme arbiter of both ? Have you not marked, when he entered, how the stormy wave of the multitude retired at his approach ? Have you not seen how the human heart bowed to the supremacy of his power, in the undissembled homage of deferential horror ? — how his glance, like the lightning of heaven, seemed to rive the body of the accused, and mark it for the grave, while his voice warned the devoted wretch of woe and death, — a death which no innocence can escape, no art elude, no force resist, no antidote prevent. There was an antidote — a juror's oath ! — but even that adaman- tine chain, that bound the integrity of man to the throne of eter- nal justice, is solved and molten in the breath that issues from the informer's mouth ; conscience swings from her moorings, and the appalled and affrighted juror consults his own safety in the surrender of the victim. curran. Traverser, a terra in law for one who traverses or opposes a plea or indict- ment. PART THIRD. - THE CAMP. I. — CATILINE TO HIS TROOPS, On many and great occasions, soldiers ! I haye known you brave and faithful ; and now the greatest and noblest undertaking of all invites us. You are at last aware of my designs. Rome's rulers must be changed. The enterprise is bold, — ay, some may call it rash, and denounce me as Catiline the conspirator. But my confidence in our venture increases daily, the more I reflect what our fate is likely to be if we do not vindicate our freedom by our own right hands. What is the condition of the republic ? Under the dominion of a haughty few, to whom kings yield their tributes and princi- palities their profits, all the rest of the people, whether noble or ignoble, are regarded as ihe mere vulgar by these stern, uncom- promising masters. Without influence, without authority, we, who, under the commonwealth, should be to them a terror, are a scorn. All honor, favor, power, wealth, are centered in them^ and in those whom they approve ; to us are left dangers, repulses, lawsuits, poverty ! How long will ye endure, bravest of men, this ignominy? How long will ye submit to despots like these ? Were it not better to die bravely, than drag cut a miserable and dishonored life, the sport of pride, the victims of disgrace ? Eut, by the faith of gods and men, victory is now in our own grasp ! Our strength is unimpaired, our minds energetic; theirs, enfeebled by age, emasculated by riches. All that is needed is a bold beginning \ the rest will follow of course. What man of any spirit can sit tamely down and see these lordly proprietors revel- ing in superfluous wealth ; wealth which they squander in ran- sacking the sea, in leveling mountains, while to us the common necessaries of life are wanting? Behold them, each with two or more superb palaces, while we hardly know where to lay our heads. Why, fellow-soldiers, when they buy pictures, statues, basso-relievos, they destroy the old to make way for the new. In every possible way do they lavish the gold wrung from the hard hand of toil ; and still their desires are unable to exhaust their means. But we -At home, we have only poverty; abroad, debts ; present adversity — - worse prospects. Is there indeed aught left us but our woe-stricken souls ? What, then, fellow-soldiers, shall we do? What but that 105 106 THE CAMP. which you have ever most desired ! Liberty is before your eyes ; and liberty will soon bring riches, glory, renown. These are the rewards that Fortune holds out to the victors. The time, the place, our dangers, our wants, the splendid spoils of war, exhort jou more than my words can do. As for myself, whether as a commander or a private soldier, make what use of me you will. Neither in soul nor in body will I be absent from your side ; arid you — you, I am persuaded, will prefer to command as rulers, rather than to obey as slavey. sallust [paraphrase from). IL — ALEXANDER THE GREAT TO HIS MEN. At length, fellow-soldiers, we enter on the last of our battles. How many regions have we traversed, looking forward to the victory which we must this day achieve ! We have crossed the Grran i-cus, we have climbed the ridges of Cilicia, we have passed through Syria and Egypt ; our very entrance into a country has been the signal of victory ; what more irresistible incitements could we have to confidence and glory ? The Persian fugitives, overtaken, rally and attempt to make head against us, simply because they can not fly. This is the third day that they have stood under their loads of armor, fixed in one position, scarcely surviving their terrors. What stronger proof of their desperate condition could they give than in burning their cities, and laying waste their fields ; thus acknowledging, in act, that whatever they cannot destroy must fall into our hands ! We hear of unknown tribes that have joined them, — tribes with barbarous names. Be sure, soldiers, their names are the most formidable part of them. But when were brave men scared by names? And how does it afiect the fate of this contest to know who are Scythians, or who Cadu- sians ? Obscurity is the lot of the ignoble. Heroes do not dwell in oblivion. These unwarlike hordes, dragged from their dens and caves, bring into the field — their alarming names! Well, even in names we can beat them ; for to such eminence in manly virtue have you arrived, that there is not a spot in the whole earth where the name of the Macedonians is not known and respected. Observe the wretched appointments of these barbarians. Some have no weapon but a dart ; others poise stones in a sling ; few have proper and efficient arms. There stands the larger moh — here stands the stronger arviy ! Soldiers! Intrepid sons of Macedonia! Your courage has CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGxVDE. 107 been tried in many a well-fought field ; nor do I ask you now to show once more that bravery which could defy all odds, unless you see me^ Alexander, your general, fighting to the last gasp, in front of the banners ! My scars I shall count as ornaments. What spoils we seize shall be bestowed in honoring and enriching 3^ourselves. Did Alexander ever stint you of your share ? Thus much to the brave. Should there be others here, — very few, if any, they must be, — let them consider, that, having advanced thus far, it is impossible for us to retreat. We must conquer — or we must perish. There is no alternative. Such is the extent of country to be retraced, so multiplied and difiicult are the rivers and mountains obstructing return, so hostile the tribes in our way, that we can cut a passage to our native land and our household gods no otherwise than by the sword. For- ward, then, Macedonians — forward to the field, and victory shall secure at once your glory and your safety ! QuiNTUS cuRTius {paraphrase from). III. „ CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA. Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the valley of Death, rode the six hundred. " Charge ! " was the captain's cry : theirs not to reason why ; theirs not to make reply ; theirs but to do and die ! Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them, volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell, boldly they rode and well ; into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of Hell, rode the six hundred. Flashed all their sabers bare, flashed all at once in air, saber- ing the gunners there, charging an army, while ail the world wondered. Plunged in the battery smoke, fiercely the line they broke ; strong was the saber-stroke, making an army reel, shaken and sundered. Then they rode back ; but not — not the six hundred ! Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon behind them, volleyed and thundered ; stormed at with shot and shell, they that had struck so well rode through the jaws of Death, half a league back again, up from the mouth of Hell, all that was left of them — left of six hundred! When can their glory fade? 0, the wild charge they made! — all the world wondered. Honor the charge they made — honor the Light Brigade ! Noble six hundred ! Alfred tennyson. / ft 108 THE CAMP IV, — ALASCO TO HIS COUNTKYMEN. Soldiers, the chief, Malinski, has betrayed His post, and fled. I would that every knave He has left behind might strip the patriot cloak And follow him. Such ruffian spirits taint The cause of freedom. They repel its friends, And so disfigure it by blood and violence, That good men start, and tremble to embrace it. But now, my friends, a sterner trial waits us : Within yon castle's walls we sleep to-night, Or die to-day before them. Let each man Preserve the order of advance, and charge As if he thought his individual sword Could turn the scale of fate. String every heart To valor's highest pitch ; — fight, and be free ! This is no commcn conflict, set on foot Eor hireling hosts to ply the trade of war. Ours is a noble quarrel. Vv^e contend Eor what 's most dear to man, wherever found — Eree or enslaved — a savage, or a sage ; — The very life and being of our country. 'T is ours to rescue from the oblivious grave, Where tyrants have combined to bury them, A gallant race, a nation, and her fame ; To gather up the fragments of our State, And in its cold, dismembered body breathe The living soul of empire. Such a cause Might warm the torpid earth, put hearts in stones, And stir the ashes of our ancestors, Till from their tombs our warrior sires come forth, E.ange on our side, and cheer us on to battle. Strike, then, ye patriot spirits, for your country ! Eight, and be free ! -— for liberty and Poland. shee. v. — A BATTLE-SONG FOR EHESDOM. Men of action ! men of might ! Stern defenders of the right ! Are you girded for the fight ? Have you marked and trenched the ground, Where the din of arms must sound, Ere the victor can be crowned ? SONG OF Marion's ivien. 109 Have you guarded well the coast ? Have jou marshaled all your host ? Standeth each man at his post ? Have you counted up the cost ? What is gained and what is lost. When the foe your lines have crost ? Gained — the infamy of fame. Gained — a dastard's spotted name. Gained — eternity of shame. Lost — desert of manly worth. Lost — the right you had by birth. Lost — lost ! — freedom for the earth. Preemen, up ! The foe is nearing ! Haughty banners high uprearing — Lo, their serried ranks appearing ! Freemen, on ! The drums are beatintr ! Will you shrink from such a ineeting ? Forward ! Give them hero greeting ! From your hearths, and homes, and altars, J3ackward hurl your proud assaulters. He is not a man that falters. Hush ! The hour of fate is nigh. On the help of God rely ! Forward ! We will do or die ! g. Hamilton. yi._S0NG OF MARION'S MEN. Our band is few, but true and tried, — our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles when Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good green wood, our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us as seamen know the sea. We know its walls of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery that little dread us near ! On them shall light, at midnight, a strange and sudden fear ; Yf hen, waking to their tents on fire, they grasp their arms in vain ; And they who stand to face us are beat to earth again ; And they who fly in terror deem a mighty host behind. And hear the tramp of thousands upon the hollow wind. 10 110 THE CAMP. Well knows the fair and friendly moon the band that Marion leads — The glitter of their rifles, the scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb across the moonlight plain ; 'T is life to feel the night-wind that lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp — a moment — and away, Back to the pathless forest, before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, grave men with hoary hairs : Their hearts are all with Marion, for Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band with kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, and tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, and lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton for ever from our shore. BRYANT. yil._ DARIUS TO HIS ARMY. This day, soldiers, will terminate or establish the largest empire that any age has known. But recently lords of all the climes from the Hellespont to the ocean, we have now to fight, not for glory, but for safety, and, for what we prize above safety — liberty ! If we can not make a stand here^ no place of retreat remains. By continued armaments every thing in our rear is exhausted. The cities are deserted. The very fields are aban- doned by their cultivators. Our wives and children, who have followed the levies, are but so many spoils prepared for the enemy, unless we interpose our bodies as a rampart before these dearest objects and pledges of affection. On my part, I have collected an army such as the largest plain can hardly contain. I have chosen a field of battle where our whole line can act. The rest depends on yourselves. Dare to conquer, and you will conquer ! We hear of the enemy's repu- tation. Heputation ! — As if that were a weapon which brave men had not learnt to despise ! These spacious plains expose the poverty of your foe — a poverty which the Cilician mountains concealed. We perceive thin ranks, wire-drawn wings, a center quite drained ; while their last line faces to the rear, in readiness to fly. If we but conquer now^ all the victories of the war will be transferred to us. The enemy have no place of refuge ; here the Euphrates bars them in, and there the Tigris. A heavy booty impedes their operations. Entangled in the spoils they have won from us, they may be easily overwhelmed ; and thus the means of our triumph will be its reward. HIGHLAND WAR-SONG. Ill Does a name startle you ? — the name of Alexander ? Let girls and cowards stand in awe of it ! Imprudent, reckless, absurd, our own irresolution, and not his courage, has been the cause of his successes hitherto. jSTothing that is not built on moderation can last. His prosperity has reached its height, and punishment now awaits his presumption. By our guardian deities, soldiers ! by the eternal fire car- ried before us on our altars ; by the dazzling sun which rises within the limits of my dominions ; by the immortal memory of Cyrus, who transferred the empire from the Medes and Lydians to the Persians ; by your hopes of freedom and your scorn of oppression, I con-jure' you to vindicate your name and nation from the last disgrace ! In your own right hands you carry liberty, power, and every future reliance. Whoever despises death, escapes it. Follow me, then, — for home and country, family and freedom, — follow me to the field ! QuiNTUS cuRTius {paraphrase fr 0771), VIII. — HIGHLAND WAE-SONG. Pibroch^ of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, summon Clan-Conuil. Come away, come away, hark to the summons ! Come in your war array, gentles and commons ! Come from deep glen, and from mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon are at Inverlochy ; Come every hill-plaid, and true heart that wears one. Come every steel-blade, and strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, the flock without shelter ; Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets and barges ; Come with your fighting gear, broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when forests are rended ; Come as the waves come, when navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, faster and faster. Chief, vassal, page and groom, tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come ; see how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle-plume, blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, knell for the onset ! SIR WALTER SCOTT. * A pibroch (pronounced pi'brok) is a martial air played with the bagpipe, Donuil, pronounce Don'nil. 112 THE CAMP. IX. — ARMINIUS TO HIS SOLDIERS. Soldiers and friends ! we soon shall reach the ground Where your poor country waits the sacrifice, The holiest offering of her children's blood ! ^ Here have we come, not for the lust of conquest. Not for the booty of the lawless plunderer ; No, friends, we come to tell our proud invaders That we will use our strength to purchase freedom ! Freedom — prime blessing of this fleeting life ! — Is there a man that hears thy sacred name, And thrills not to the sound with loftiest hope. With proud disdain of tyrant whips and chains ? Much-injured friends, your slavish hours are past ! Conquest is ours ! not that your German swords Have keener edges than the Roman falchions ; Not that your shields are stouter, nor your armor Impervious to the swift and deadly lance ; ' Not that your ranks are thicker than the Roman ; — No, no ; they will outnumber you, my soldiers ; — But that your cause is good ! They are poor slaves Who fight for hire and plunder, — pampered rufiians, Who have no souls for glory. We are Germans ; Who here are bound, by oaths indissoluble. To keep your glorious birthrights or to die ! This is a field where beardless boys might fight, And, looking on the angel Liberty, Might put such mettle in their tender arms That veteran chiefs would ill ward off their blows. I say no more, my dear and trusty friends ! Your glorious rallying^cry has music in it. To rouse the sleepiest spirit from his trance, — Eor Freedom and Germania ! murphy. X. — POLAND. Is Freedom's latest struggle o'er ? Is Poland fallen to rise no more ? Is Kosciusko's name forgotten ? Is the spirit fled, that once to deathless glory led, and never lessening fame ? No ! though the imperial Russ decree Poland shall never more be free, — she yet shall burst her chain, — again the sword of Free- dom wield, and in the blood-red battle-field her arch foe meet again. Who, but the driveling despots, dream, — all silent though HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS. 113 Sarmatia seem, — her noble spirit fied ? She sleeps a short and troubled sleep — but, when she wakes, let despots weep ! — 0, Poland is not dead ! Still, still, in Tyranny's despite, fair Lib- erty's all quenchless light shall stronger, brighter shine ! Fresh blood shall rush through Poland's veins, and Russia's self throw off her chains, and hail the maid divine ! Was Ostrolenska's fight in vain, — in vain the blood on Gro- chow's plain, like water freely poured ? And still must Kosci- usko's land be crushed beneath the withering hand of a barbarian lord ? Perish the thought ! our dawning day shall yet see Poland spurn the sway of Moscow's haughty czar. Till all the world shall own her free, or Time itself shall cease to be, her cry shall still be — War! XL — SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. Warriors and chiefs ! should the shaft or the sword Pierce me in leading the hosts of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path : Bury your steel in the bosoms of Grath ! Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, . Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet ! Mine be the doom, which they dared not to meet. Farewell to others, but never we part. Heir to my royalty, son of my heart ! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway. Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day ! byron. XII. — HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS AT THE SIEGE OF HARFLEUR. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead ! In peace, there 's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility : But when the blast of war blows in our ears. Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood. Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage : Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; Let it pry through the portage of the head, Like the brass cannon. 10^ 114 * THE CAMP. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To its fulP height ! On, on^ you noblest English, Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war proof I Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot ; Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and St, George ! SHAKSPEAKE. XIII. — GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE BALECAULIAt^S. Christian II., King of Denmark, having made himself master of Sweden, confined Grustavus at Copenhagen ; but he, making his escape, contrived to reach the Dalecarlian mountains, where he worked at the mines like a com- mon slave. Having seized a favorable opportunity, he declared himself to the miners and peasants, whom he incited to join his cause. Eortune -befriended him, and in the year 1527 he gained the throne of Sweden. Swedes ! countrymen ! behold at last, after a thousand dangers past, your chief, Gustavus, here ! Long have I sighed 'mid foreign bands, long have I roamed in foreign lands ; — at length, 'mid Swedish hearts and hands, I grasp a Swedish spear ! Yet, looking forth, although I see none but the fearless and the free, sad thoughts the sight inspires ; for where, I think, on Swedish ground, save where these mountains frown around, can that best heritage be found — the freedom of our sires ? — Yes, Sweden pines beneath the yoke ; the galling chain our fathers broke is round our country now ! On perjured craft and ruthless guilt his power a tyrant Dane has built, and Sweden's crown, all blood-bespilt, rests on a foreign brow. On you your country turns her eyes — on you, on you, for aid relies, scions of noblest stem ! The foremost place in roils of fame, by right your fearless fathers claim ; yours is the glory of their name — 't is yours to equal the?n. — As rushing down, when winter reigns, resistless to the shaking plains, the torrent tears its way, and all that bars its onward course sweeps to the sea with headlong force, — so swept your sires the Dane and Norse : — can ye do less than they ? Else ! reassert your ancient pride, and down the hills a living tide of fiery valor pour. Let but the storm of battle lower, back to his den the foe will cower ; — then, then shall Freedom's glorious hour strike for our land once more ! What ! silent — GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS. 115 motionless, ye stand ? Gleams not an eye ? Moves not a hand ? Think ye to fly your fate ? Or till some better cause be given, wait ye ? — Then wait ! till, banished, driven, ye fear to meet the face of Heaven ; — till ye are slaughtered, wait ! But no ! your kindling hearts gainsay the thought. Hark ! Hear that bloodhound's bay ! Yon blazing village see ! Rise, countrymen ! Awake ! Defy the haughty Dane ! Your battle- cry be Freedom ! We will do or die ! On ! Death or victory ! ^ XIV.-- GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS. A. D. 14, the Roman soldiers on the lower Rhine mutinied on receiving the news of the death of the Emperor Augustus, and the accession of Tibe- rius. According to Tacitus, the following speech, by German'icus, the consul, recalled the mutinous troops to their duty, and restored discipline. To this audience what name shall I give ? Can I call you soldiers ? Soldiers ! you who have beset with arms the son of your emperor — confined him in your trenches ? Citizens, can I call you ? you who have trampled under your feet the authority of the Senate ; who have violated the most awful sanctions, even those which hostile states have ever held in respect — the rights of ambassadors and the laws of nations ? Julius C^sar, by a single word, was able to quell a mutiny : he spoke to the men who resisted his authority : he called them Romans, and they returned to their allegiance. Augus- tus showed himself to the legions who fought at Actium, and the majesty of his countenance awed them into submission. The distance between myself and these illustrious characters I know is great ; and yet, descended from them, with their blood in my veins, I should resent with indignation a parallel outrage from the soldiers of Syria or of Spain ; and will you, men of the first and the twentieth legions, — the former enrolled by Tiberius himself, the other his constant companions in so many battles, and by him enriched with so many bounties, — will you thus requite his benefits ? From every other quarter of the empire Tiberius has received none but joyful tidings ; and must I wound his ears with the news of your revolt? Must he hear from me, that neither the soldiers raised by himself, nor the veterans who fought under him, are willing to own his authority ? Must he be told that neither exemptions from service, nor money lavishly bestowed, can appease the fury of ungrateful miCn ? Must I tell him that here centurions are butchered, trib'unes expelled, ambassadors 116 THE CAMP. imprisoned ; the camp and the rivers polluted with blood ; and that a E-oman general drags out a precarious existence; at the mercy of men implacable and mad ? Wherefore, on the first day that I addressed you, did you wrest from me that sword which 1 was on the point of plunging into my heart ? Ofiicious friends ! Greater was the kindness of that man who proffered me a sword. At all events, I should have fallen ere I had become aware of the enormities committed by my army. You would have chosen a general who, though he might leave my death unatoned for, would yet avenge the massa- cre of Varus and his three legions. May that revenge be still reserved for the Roman sword ! May the gods withhold from the Belgic states, though now they court the opportunity, the credit and renown of retrieving the Roman name, and of hum- bling the German nations ! May thy spirit, O, deified Augustus ! which is received into heaven, — thy image, my father Drusus ! — prevail with these soldiers, who, even now, I see, are touched with a noble remorse ! May your inspiration dispel the disgrace that sits heavy upon them ; and may the rage of civil discord discharge itself on the enemies of Rome ! tacitus. XV. — THE SONG OF MINA'S SOLDIERS. We heard thy name, O Mina ! Far through our hills it rang ; A sound more strong than tempests, More keen than armor's clang. The peasant left his vintage, The shepherd grasped the spear — W^e heard thy name, Mina ! The mountain bands are here. As eagles to the day-spring, As torrents to the sea, From every dark sierra So rushed our hearts to thee. Thy spirit is our banner, Thine eye our beacon-sign. *Thy name our trumpet, Mina ! The mountain bands are thine. MRS. IIEMANS. PART FOUR. — THE BEMA.^ L— AGAINST BRIBERY. It were better, Athenians ! to die ten thousand deaths, than to be guilty of a servile acquiescence in the usurpations of Philip. Not only is he no Grreek, and no way allied to Greece, but he sprang from a part of the barbarian world unworthy to be named — from Macedonia, where formerly we could not find a slave fit to purchase ! And why is it that the insolence of this man is so tamely tolerated ? Surely there must be some cause why the Grreeks, who were once so jealous of their liberty, now show themselves so basely submissive. It is this, Athenians 1 They were formerly impelled by a sentiment which was more than a match for Persian gold ; a sentiment which maintained the freedom of Greece, and wrought her triumphs by sea and land, over all hostile powers. It was no subtle or mysterious element of success. It was simply this : an abhorrence of trai- tors ; of all who accepted bribes from those princes who were prompted by the ambition of subduing, or the base intent of cor- rupting, Greece. To receive bribes was accounted a crim.e of the blackest die — a crime which called for all the severity of public justice. No petitioning for mercy, no pardon, was allowed. Those favorable conjunctures with which fortime often- times assists the supine against the vigilant, and renders men, even when most regardless of their interests, superior to those who exert their utmost efforts, could never b*e sold by orator or general, as in these degenerate days. Our mutual confidence, our settled hatred and distrust of all tyrants and barbarians, could not be impaired or turned aside by the force of money. But now, opportunity, principles, private honor, and the public good, are exposed to sale as in a market ; and in exchange we have that pernicious laxity which is destroying the safety, the very vitals, of Greece. Let a man receive a bribe, he is envied ; let him _confess it, he provokes laughter ; let him be convicted, he is pardoned ! His very accusation only awakens resentment, so thoroughly is public sentiment corrupted ! Richer, more powerful, better prepared, than ever before, we lose all our advantages through these traffickers in their country's welfare. * The Bema was a raised place, or step, from which the Athenian orators spoke, "We have included under this head a specimen of Roman oratory. 117 118 THE BEMA. How was it formerly? Listen to the decree which your ances- tors inscribed upon a brazen column erected in the citadel : " Let Arthmius of Zelia, the son of Pythonax, be accounted infamous, and an enemy to the Athenians and their allies, both he and all his race!" Then comes the reason of his sentence: "Because he brought gold from Media into Peloponnes'us." This is the decree. And now, in the name of all the gods, think upon it ! Think what wisdom, what dignity appeared in this action of our ancestors ! This receiver of bribes they declare an enemy to them and their confederates, and that he and his posterity shall be infamous ! And the sentence imported something more ; for, in the laws relating to capital cases, it is enacted, that " when the legal punishment of a man's crime can not be inflicted, he may be put to death." And it was accounted meritorious to kill him ! " Let not the infamous man," says the law, " be permitted to live;" implying that the citizen is free from guilt who executes this sentence ! Such was the detestation in which bribery was held by our fathers ! " K\A hence was it that the Greeks were a terror to the barbarians — not the barbarians to the Greeks ! Hence was it that wars were fair and open; that battles were fought, not with gold^ but steel ; and won, if won at all, not by treachery^ but by force of arms ! Demosthenes. II.__THE SUBVERSION OF THE CONSTITUTION. There are those who may ask you, Athenians, " What real advantage have we derived from the speeches of Demosthenes? He rises when he thinks proper ; he deafens us with his ha- rangues ; he declaims against the degeneracy of present times ; he tells us of the virtues of our ancestors ; he transports us by his airy extravagance ; he puffs up our vanity ; and then — he sits down." But, Athenians, could these my speeches produce but their due effect upon your minds, so incalculable would be the advan- tages conferred upon my country, that were I to attempt to speak them, they would seem visionary to many ; yet still must I assume the merit of doing some service by accustoming you to hear salutary truths. From the inveterate habit of listening to falsehoods — to every thing rather than your real interests — your ears have become distempered ; and they must first be cured, if your counselors would be of any real service to you and your country. My countrymen, vouchsafe me a patient hearing ! It lately INVECTIVE AGAINST DEMOSTHENES. 119 happened that certain persons "broke into the treasury; whereupon your speakers all instantly exclaimed, " Our free constitution is overturned ! Our laws are no more ! " Impossible ! I grant you, that those who are guilty of this crime justly deserve to die ! But, by such offenders, our constitution is not overturned. Again ; some oars have been stolen from our arsenal " Stripes and tortures for the villain ! Our constitution is subverted ! " This is the general cry. But what is my opinion ? This crim- inal, like the others, has deserved to die. But, if some are criminal, our constitution is not therefore subverted. There has been no man who has dared openly and boldly to declare in what case our constitution is subverted. But / shall declare it. When you, Athenians, become a helpless rabble, without conduct, without property, without arms, without order, without unanimity; when neither general nor any other person has the least respect for your decrees ; and when no man dares to inform you of this, your condition, to urge the necessary reformation, much less to exert his own efforts to effect it — then is your constitution subverted ! And this has been your case ! And now, be sure, my countrymen, that it is by arms we are to subdue our enemies — by arms we are to defend our State. It is not by our decrees that we can conquer. Assume your- selves the conduct of your own affairs. Do an equal duty, and share an equal glory ! In judgment, be ever humane ! In action, be ever terrible ! ib. ni.— INVECTIVE AGAINST DEMOSTHENES. To what causes, Athenians, is the prosperity or the calamity of a State to be ascribed ? To none so eminently as to its min- isters and generals. Turn your eyes on the state of Thebes. It subsisted once. It was once great. It had its soldiers and com- manders. There was a time when Pelop'idas led the "sacred band ; " when Epaminon'das and his colleagues commanded the army. Then did the Thebans gain the victory at Leuctra. Then did they pierce into the territories of La-ce-de'mon, before deemed inaccessible. Then did they achieve many and noble deeds. For what is the great security of every state and nation ? Grood generals and able ministers ! Let this be duly and attentively considered, and let us no longer suffer by the corrupt and pernicious conduct of Demos- thenes. Let it not be imagined that we shall ever want good men and faithful counselors. With all the generous severity of 120 THE BEMA. our ancestors, let us punish the man whose bribery, whose trea- son, are unequivocally detected ; who could not resist the tempta- tion of gold ; who in war has proved himself a coward, in his civil conduct a busybody ; who, when his fellow-citizens are called forth to meet their enemies in the field, flies from his post, and hides himself at home ; when the danger is at home, and his aid is demanded here, pretends that he is an ambassador, and runs from the city ! Let this man no longer amuse you with airy hopes and false representations, and promises which he forgets as soon as uttered ! Let not his ready tears and lamentations move you ! Reserve all your pity for your country : your country, which his prac- tices have undone — your country, which now implores you to save it from a traitor's hand. When he would waken all your sympathy for Demosthenes, then turn your eyes on Athens. Consider her former glory. Contrast it with her present degra- dation ! And ask yourselves, whether Demosthenes has been reduced to greater wretchedness by Athens, or Athens by Demos- thenes ! DINARCHUS. IV. _ AGAINST CATILINE. Conscript Fathers, a camp is pitched against the Roman repub- lic within Italy, on the very borders of Etruria. Every day adds to the number of the enemy. The leader of those enemies, the commander of that encampment, walks within the walls of Rome; *takes his seat in this senate, the heart of Rome ; and, with ven- omous mischief, rankles in the inmost vitals of the common- wealth. Catiline, should I, on the instant, order my lictors to seize and drag you to the stake, some men might, even then, blame me for having procrastinated punishment; but no man could criminate me for a faithful execution of the laws. They shall be executed. But I will neither act, nor will I suffer, without full and sufficient reason. Trust me, they shall be exe- cuted ; and then, even then, when there shall not be found a man so flagitious, so much a Catiline, as to say you were not ripe for execution. Was not the night before the last sufficient to convince you that there is a good genius protecting that republic, which a fero- cious demoniac is laboring to destroy? I aver, that on that same night jou and your complotters assembled. Can even your own tongue deny it ? Yet secret ! Speak out, man ; for, if you do not, there are some I see around me who shall have an agonizing proof that I am true in my assertion. REPLY TO iESCHINES. 121 Good and great gods, where are we ? What city do we inhabit? Under what government do we live ? Here — here, conscript fathers, mixed and mingled with us all — in the center of this most grave and venerable assembly — are men sitting, quietly incubating a plot against my life, against all your lives — the life of every virtuous senator and citizen; while I, with the whole nest of traitors brooding beneath my eyes, am parading in the petty formalities of debate ; and the very men appear scarcely vulnerable by my Voice, who ought long since to have been cut down with the sword. Proceed, Catiline, in your meritorious career ! Go where destiny and desire are driving you ! Evacu- ate the city for a season. The gates stand open. Begone ! What a pity that the Manlian army should look so long for their gen- eral ! Take all your loving friends along with you ; or, if that be a vain hope, take, at least, as many as you can, and cleanse the city for some short time. Let the walls of Rome be the mediators between me and thee ; for, at present, you are much too near. I will not suffer you ; I will not longer endure you ! Lucius Catiline, away ! Begin as soon as you can this shame- ful and unnatural war. Begin it, on your part, under the shade of every dreadfal omen ; on mine, with the sure and certain hope of safety to my country, and glory to myself : and, when this you have done, then, do Thou, whose altar was first founded by the founder of our state — Thou, the establisher of this city, pour out thy vengeance upon this man, and all his adherents ! Save us from his fury ; our public altars, our sacred temples, our houses and household gods, our liberties, our lives. Pursue, tutelar god ! pursue them, these foes to the gods and to goodness — these plunderers of Italy — these assassins of Rome! Erase them out of this life ; and in the next let thy vengeance follow them still, insatiable, implacable, immortal ! cicero. v. — REPLY TO ^SCHINES. Under what circumstances, Athenians, ought the strenuous and patriotic orator to appear ? When the state is in jeopardy, when the people are at issue with the enemy, then it is that his ve'hemence is timely. But now, when I stand clear on all hands, — by prescription, by judgments repeatedly pronounced, by my never having been convicted before the people of any offense, — and when more or less of glory has of necessity resulted to the public from my course — now it is that ^sohines turns up, and attempts to wrest from me the honors which you propose to bestow ! Personal spite and envy are at the bottom of all hia 11 122 THE BEMA. trumped-up charges, my fcllow-citizeiis ; and I proclaim him no true man. Consider, ^Eschines, whether you are not in reality the country's enemy, while you pretend to be only mine. Let us look at the acts of the orator rather than at the speech. He who pays his court to the enemies of the state does not cast anchor in the same roadstead with the people. Ke looks elsewhere than to them for his security. Such a man — mark me ! — am not I. I have always made common cause with the people, nor have I shaped my public course for my individual benefit. Can you say as much ? Can you ? You, vfho, instantly after the battle, re- paired as ambassador to Philip, the author of all our calamities ; and this after you had declared loudly, on previous occasions, against engaging in any such commission, — as all these citizens can testify ! What worse charge can any one bring against an orator than that his words and his deeds do not tally ? Yet you have been discovered to be such a man ; and you still lift your voice and dare to look this assembly in the face ! Think you they do not know you for what you are ? or that such a slumber and oblivion have come over them all as to make them forget the speeches in which, with oaths and imprecations, you disclaimed all dealings with Philip, and declared that I falsely brought this charge against you from personal enmity ? And yet, no sooner was the advice received of that fatal — ! that fatal — battle, than your asseverations were forgotten, your connection publicly avowed ! You affected to have been Philip's friend and guest. Such were the titles by which you sought to dignify your prostitution ! Eut read here the epitaph inscribed by the state upon the monument of the slain, that you may see yourself in it, JSschines, — unjust, calumnious, and profligate. Head ! " These were the brave, unknowing how to yield, Who, terrible in valor, kept the field Against the foe ; and, higher than life's breath Prizing their honor, met the doom of death, Our common doom — that Greece unyoked might stand, Nor shuddering crouch beneath a tyrant's hand. Such was the will of Jove 5 and now they rest Peaceful enfolded in their country's breast. The immortal gods alone are ever great, And erring mortals must submit to Fate.'* Do you hear, ^schines ? It pertains only to the gods to con- trol fortune and command success. To them the power of assur- ing victory to armies is ascribed, — not to the statesman, but to the gods. Wherefore, then, execrable wretch, wherefore upbraid me with what has happened ? Why denounce against me^ what may the just gods reserve for the heads of you and yours I DEMOSTHENES. PART FIFTH.— THE TRIBUNE.* L— THE DISOBEDIENCE OF MAGISTRATES. We have been told, gentlemen, that the magistrate is not bound to execute a law which he has not adopted. We are told that he is not obliged to adopt, as magistrate, a new law which does not suit him ; that, when he received his powers, he swore to render justice according to established laws. You now offer him new powers ; jou exact of him the application of new laws. What is his reply ? " I do not desire these powers. I do not engage to execute these laws." And I, in my turn, reply : These magistrates who are not willing to exercise those innctions that have reference to new laws, have they, in disobeying, abdicated their offices, and resigned their commissions? Unless they have done this, then is their conduct inconsistent with their principles. "We are justified," they say, " by our conscience, in disobeying the laws." Their conscience, like that of all men, is the result of their ideas, their sentiments, their habits of thought and action. Let them cease to be magistrates, these men who presume to regard the eternal rights of the people as "new laws; " — who reverence despotic authority, and whose conscience is wounded by the public liberty. Let them abdicate, and become once more as simple citizens ! Who will regret them ? Have not all the parliaments of the kingdom recognized the principle that the interruption of justice is a crime — that com- bined resignations are a forfeiture ? The magistrate, the soldier, every man who has public ftmctions to fulfill, may abdicate his place ; but can he desert his post ? Can he quit it in the criti- cal moment, at the approach of a combat, when his services are needed ? In such a moment, the refusal of the soldier would be an act of cowardice — the pretended scruples of magistrates would be a crime. The principle of these refractory officers is, that they will obey such laws only as suit them ; in other words, they will obey only themselves. If this be not a folly and a crime, what is our busi- ness here ? What need of legislation ? What is our power ? — * In the French National Assembly, every spealier Tvho formally addresses that body, instead of speaking from his place, as in the legislative halls of England and the United States, ascends a sort of elevated platform, called a t/ib'une, from which he harangues his hearers. 123 124 THE TRIBUNE. what the object of our labors? Let us hasten to repluiige into nothingness that constitution which has given birth to so many false hopes. Let the aurora of public liberty be eclipsed, and let the eternal night of despotism cover once more the earth. MIRABEAU. II. — REPLY TO AN ORDER THROUGH M. DE BBEZE, FROM THE KING, FOR THE DISPERSION OF THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY, JUNE 23D, 1789. The Commons of France have resolved to deliberate. We have heard the intentions that have been attributed to the king ; and you, sir, who can not be recognized as his organ to the National Assembly, — you, who have here neither place, voice, nor right to speak, — you are not the person to bring to us mes- sage of his. Gro, say to those who sent you, that we are here by the power of the people, and that we will not be driven hence save by the power of the bayonet. ib. III. --ON WAR BEING DECLARED. You owe it now to the nation, members of the Assembly, to take all means to assure the success of the great and terrible determination by which you have signalized this memorable day. Recall to mind the occasion of that general federation when all Frenchmen pledged their lives to the defense of liberty and the constitution. Kecall to mind the oath which you yourselves took on the fourteenth of January, to be buried under the ruins of this temple sooner than consent to the slightest capitulation, or to a sino;le modification of the constitution. What heart so frigid that it does not palpitate in this supreme crisis? What soul so abject that it does not mount, if I may so speak, even to heaven, upon the acclamations of the universal joy ? What man so apathetic that he does not feel his whole being expanded, and his energies uplifted far above the ordinary level of humanity, by a noble enthusiasm ? Ah ! then, give once more to France, to Europe, the imposing spectacle of a great national consecration. Revive that intrepid spirit, before which Bastilles were crumbled ! Let the whole empire, in every part, reecho those words sublime, "Liberty or death! The constitution! — the whole constitution, unmodified, — or death ! " Let these cries shake the very thrones in league against you ; let monarchs learn that they have reckoned in vain A ON THE PUNISHMENT OF LOUIS XVI. 125 upon our internal divisions ; that at a moment when the country is in danger, we are animated by one only passion — that of sav- ing her or perishing in her behalf ; that, finally, if, in the coming struggles, fortune should betray so righteous a cause as ours, our enemies may indeed have it in their power to insult our lifeless bodies, but never, never shall they profane one living Frenchman with their fetters ! ^ vergniaud. IY._ON THE PUNISHMENT OF LOUIS XVL To what punishment shall we condemn Louis the Sixteenth ? "The punishment of death is too cruel," says one. " No," says another, " life is more cruel still ; let him live." Advocates of the king, is it from pity or from cruelty that you wish to with- draw him from the penalty of his crimes ? For my part, I abhor the punishment of death, inflicted so unsparingly by your laws, and I have for Louis neither love nor hatred ; I hate only his crimes. I asked for the abolition of the punishment of death in the Assembly which you still call Constituent, and it is not my fault if the first principles of reason appeared to it moral and political heresies ; but, if you never thought of renouncing them in favor of so many unfortunate men, whose offenses are less theirs than those of the government, by what fatality do you remember them only to plead the cause of the greatest of all criminals ? You demand an exception to the punishment of death for him alone who can render it legitimate ! Yes, the punishment of death, in general, is a crime ; and, for this reason alone, that, according to the indestructible principles of nature, it can be justified only in the cases where it is necessary for the security of individuals or of society. Now, the public security never calls for it against ordinary offenses, because society can always pre- vent them by other means, and put it out of the power of the guilty to be dangerous ; but a dethroned king in the bosom of a revolution, which is nothing less than cemented by laws, — a king whose name alone brings down the plague of war upon the agi- tated nation, — neither imprisonment nor exile can render his existence a matter of indifference to the public welfare ; and this cruel exception to ordinary laws, which justice avows, can only be imputed to the nature of his crimes. I pronounce with regret this fatal truth; but Louis must die, because the country must * ''These lyric words of Yergniaud," says Lamartine, ''resounded at Ber- lin and Vienna." The campaign was opened b}' France before Prussia and Austria had completed their armaments. 11=^ 126 THE TRIBUNE. live. A people at peace, free and respected within and without, might listen to the advice which is given you to be generous ; but a people whose liberty is still disputed, after so many sacri- fices and combats, can not afford to do so. robespierre. v. — ON BEING CALLED AN ARISTOCRAT. You have called me an a-ris'tocrat. Listen to my reply. My only aristocracy is the superiority which industry, frugality, per- severance, and intelligence, will always assure* to every man in a free state of society. I belong only to those privileged classes to which you may all belong in your turn. The privileges are not created for us, but created by us. Our wealth is our own ; we have ma^e it. Our ease is our own ; we have gained it by the sweat of our brows, or by the labor of our minds. Our posi- tion in society is not conferred upon us, but purchased by our- selves, — with our own intellect, application, zeal, patience, and industry. If you remain inferior to us, it is because you have not the intellect or the industry, the zeal or the sobriety, the patience or the application, necessary to your advancement. This is not our fault, but your own. You wish to become rich, as some men do to become wise ; but there is no royal road to wealth, any more than there is to knowledge. You sigh for the ease and repose of wealth, but you are not willing to do that which is necessary to procure them. The husbandman who will not till his ground shall reap nothing but thistles and briers. You think that there must be something- wrong in human society, if you do not become wealthy and powerful ; but what right have you to expect — you idlers and drones in the hive — you shall always be fed on the honey and sweets of life ? What right have you, who do nothing for your- selves, your families, your country, or your kind, to imagine that you will be selected for public favor, confidence, and reward ? I am not an aristocrat in that sense of the term in which it may be applied in absolute governments, or under imperial rule ; but, if by an aristocrat you mean a man who has earned his pro- motion by his labor, his honors by his toils, and his wealth by his industry, 0, then, indeed, I am an aristocrat ; and, please God, I will always remain so. The distinctions in human society displease you, because you have not the talent or the industry to amend your own position. You are too idle to labor, and too proud to beg ; but I will endeavor to take care that you shall not rob mo. I throw back, then, with indignation and resents UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE. 127 ment, the charge which is made. I belong to the middling classes of society. I have been selected by my fellow-citizens as one of their representatives ; and, by the blessing of Heaven, I vnll represent them. casimir perkier. VI. — UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE. Gentlemen, one great object of the Revolution of February was to establish universal suffrage ; and you would now restrict, abridge, and mutilate it ! Have you considered well what you are about ? This law, which gives a share in the popular sov- ereignty to the down-trodden victim of social and political distinc- tions — to the desperate man, ready for revolt — what does it say to him but this, — " Vote ! No more fighting ! " Universal suf- frage says to all, " Ee ye tranquil ! Are ye not sovereign ? When you have voted, the sovereignty has spoken." The right of insurrection is abolished by the right of suffrage. It is the overthrow of violence and brute force ; the end of the material, and the beginning of the moral fact. And now it is proposed to abolish this sacred right ; and, consequently, to reinstate the abominable and impious right of insurrection ! And why, ye ministers and men of state, who govern, why do you attempt this aggression upon popular rights ? Why do you engage in this mad enterprise ? It is because the people have seen fit to deem worthy of their votes men whom you judge worthy of your insults ! It is because they have presumed to compare your promises with your acts. It is because they do not find your administration altogether sublime. It is, finally, because they have dared to give you their advice peaceably, through the ballot-box, and have not prostrated themselves at your feet ! And, consequently, you wax indignant and angry. You cry out, " Society is in danger ! We will chastise you, people ! We will punish you, people ! We will take you in hand ! " And so, like that maniac, of whom History tells, you beat the ocean with rods ! And so, you launch at us your poor little laws, so furious and so feeble ! And so, you defy the spirit of the age, defy the good sense of the public, defy the democracy, and tear your unfortunate finger-nails against the granite of universal suffrage ! You, who believe yourselves the conservative upholders of society, are the most dangerous of revolutionists ; — the most dangerous, because, in your simplicity, you make revolutions without seeing it, without wishing it, and without knowing it — 128 THE TRIBUNE. nay, wishing all the while to do something very different. Go on, gentlemen ! Disfranchise, if you will, three millions of voters, four millions, nay, eight millions, out of nine ! Get rid of all these. The result will be the same. What you can not get rid of is your own fatal incapacity and ignorance ; your own antipathy toward the people, and theirs toward you ! What you can not get rid of is the time that marches and the hour that sounds ; the earth that revolves ; the onward movement of ideas ; the crippled pace of prejudice ; the widening gulf between you and the age, between you and the coming generation, between you and the spirit of liberty, between you and the spirit of philosophy ! What you can not get rid of is this palpable fact, that while you pass on one side, the nation passes on the other ; that what is for you the east, is for her the west ; and that while you turn your back on the future, this great people of France, their foreheads all bathed in light from the day-spring of a new humanity, turn their back on the past ! VICTOR HUGO. VII. — THE DEATH PENALTY. I REGRET, gentlemen, that this question of the abolition of capital punishment — the most important question, perhaps, of all before this body — comes up at a time when we are little prepared for its discussion. For myself, I have but few words to say on the subject, but they will proceed from convictions profound and long entertained. You have established the inviolability of the domicil ; we ask you to establish an inviolability higher and more sacred — the inviolability of human life! Gentlemen, a constitution, and, above all, a constitution made by France and for France, is necessarily an important step in civilization. If it is not that, it is nothing. Consider, then, this penalty of death. What is it but the special and eternal type of barbarism ? Where- ever the penalty of death is most in vogue, barbarism prevails. Wherever it is rare, civilization reigns. Gentlemen, these are indisputable facts. The modification of the penalty was a great forward step. The eighteenth century, to its honor, abolished the torture. The nineteenth century will abolish the death penalty ! You may not abolish it to-day. But, doubt not, you will abolish it to- morrow ; or else your successors will abolish it. You have inscribed at the head of the preamble of your constitution the words, " In presence op God ; " and would you begin by depriv- REASONS OF STATE. 129 ing that God of the right which to Him only belongs — the right of life and death ? Grentlemen, there are three things which are God's, not man's : the irrev'ocable, the irrep'arable, the indis'soluble. Woe to man if he introduces them into his laws ! Sooner or later they will force society to give way under their weight ; they derange the equilibrium essential to the security of laws and of morals ; they take from human justice its proportions; and then it happens, — think of it, gentlemen ! — it happens that the law revolts the conscience ! I have ascended this trib'une to say but a word, a decisive word, and it is this : After the Revolution of February came a great thought to the French people. The day after they had burned the Throne, they sought to burn the Scaffold ! But this sublime idea they were prevented from carrying into execution. In the first article of this constitution you have consecrated the people's first thought ; you have cast dcncn the Throne ! Now consecrate its second thought, and cast down the Scaffold ! I vote for the entire abolition of the penalty of death. VICTOR HUGO {Sqit, 15, 1848). VIIL— REASONS OF STATE. Under the modest title of a law of deportation^ the measure before us, gentlemen, would, in fact, restore the penalty of death for political offenses — a penalty which, to their lasting glory, the people of France abolished in the revolution of February. To banish a man to Madagascar, or to the Marquesas, what is it but to reestablish the penalty of death ? The climate contributes its malignity, exile its crushing dejection, the dungeon its despair. In the place of one executioner, there are three. Ah ! it is something worse than the scaffold ! It is death without a last look at the sky of one's country ! Gentlemen, you will reject this law ; you will confirm that grand principle, the abolition of the death penalty for political offenses, — a principle which emanated from the large, generous heart of the people, in their moment of triumph and of power. You will not give the lie to that which was even something more than a cry of the popular conscience — to that which was the cry of the human conscience. - \ Conscience. Ah ! I know there are certain profound states- men — men very wise (in their own conceit), very practical, very sagacious — who smile whenever this word conscience is mentioned in political discussions. They oppose to our word 130 THE TRIBUNE. co7iscience the overpowering phrase of reasons of state. They tell us that we know nothing of business ; that we are destitute of political sense ; that we are not safe, sober, practical men ; and they call us — as the severest stigma they can invent — poets ! They affirm that what we find, or believe we find, in our con- science^ our faith in progress, in justice, in the amelioration of laws and of manners, our aspirations for liberty, for human im-=- provement, for national grandeur, are all very well, no doubt, in themselves, but lead, in the attempt to apply them practically, to illusions and chimeras ; and that, above and beyond all these considerations, we must be guided on real occasions by reasons of state I Reasons of state ! Ah ! a fine phrase, that ! Just now, amid the interruptions from opponents with v/hich I have been honored, I heard those sounding words — reasons of state ! But let us examine them — these "reasons of state." Let us review some of the measures to which they have given birth.Y I open history, and I see, along the line of the ages, all the acts of baseness, infamy, rascality, cowardice, cruelty, which have been authorized or committed under the plea of reasons of state ! Marat invoked these reasons, as well as Louis the Eleventh ; they were quoted to justify the enormities of the Revolution, as well as the massacres of St. Bartholomew. " Reasons of state ! " Those reasons erected the guillotines of Robespierre, and are now erecting the gibbets of Haynau. Ah ! my heart revolts at all this. I would have neither the policy of the guillotine, nor the policy of the gibbet ; neither Marat nor Haynau — nor your law of deportation ! And, come what may, whenever in critical moments an inspiration or a counsel is needed, I am of those who will never hesitate between that virgin, whom we call conscie?ice, and that polluted hag, whom yoic call reasons of state ! Gentlemen, there is such a thing as political reprisals. ! you murmur at that ! Then it is against history that you mur- mur. Of all the men who have had the direction of government or of public opinion during the last sixty years in France, there is not one — hear you ? — not one, who has not, sooner or later, been precipitated from his high place. The names which remind us of great triumphs remind us of great catastrophes also. He who was Lafayette is soon a captive at Olmutz ; he who was Napoleon is soon an exile at St. Hefena. Examine — consider ! Who recovered the throne in 1814? The exile of Hartwell ! Who reigned after 1830 ? The pro'script of Reichenau, — to-day the banished monarch of Claremont ! Who governs at this mo- ment ? The prisoner of Ham ! Now make laws of proscription, now restore the death penalty for political offenses, if you will — if you dare • ib. PART SIXTH. —THE JLOOR OF PARllAME.XT. ^' I._ON CONSTITUTIONAL RESISTANCE. January 22, 1770. I THANK Grod, my lords, for having thus long preserved me, inconsiderable as I am, to take a part upon this great occasion, and to contribute my endeavors, such as they are, to restore, to save, to confirm, the constitution. My lords, I need not look abroad for grievances. The grand capital mischief is fixed at home. It corrupts the very foundation of our political exist- ence, and preys upon the vitals of the state. The constitution has been grossly violated. The constitution at this moment STANDS violated. Until that wound is healed, until the griev- ance is redressed, it is in vain to recommend union to Parliament, in vain to promote concord among the people. If we mean seriously to unite the nation within itself, we must convince the people that their complaints are regarded, that their injuries shall be redressed. On that foundation, I would take the lead in recommending peace and harmony to them ; on any other, I would never wish to see them united again. If the breach in the constitution is effectually repaired, the people will of themselves return to a state of tranquillity; if not, MAY DISCORD PREVAIL EOR EVER ! I know to what point this doctrine and this language will appear directed ; but I have the principles of an Englishman, and I utter them without appre- hension or reserve. The crisis is indeed alarming : so much the more does it require a prudent relaxation on the part of govern- ment. If the king's servants will not permit a constitutional ques- tion to be decided on according to the forms and on the principles of the constitution, it must then be decided in some other man- ner ; and rather than it should be tamely given up, rather than the nation should surrender their birthright to a despotic minis- ter, I hope, my lords, old as I am, I shall see the question brought to an issue, and fairly tried between the people and government. My lords, this is not the language of faction. Let it be tried by that criterion by which alone we can distinguish what is factious from what is not, by the principles of the English constitution. I have been bred up in these principles, and I know that when the liberty of the subject is invaded, and all redress denied him, resistance is justifiable. lord Chatham. 131 132 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. n. — IN FAVOR OF COERCINa THE COLONIES. February 7, 1775. My lords, we are reduced to the alternative of adopting coercive measures, or at once submitting to a dismemberment of the empire. Consider the question in ever so many Hghts, every middle way will speedily lead you to either of these extremities. The supremacy of the British legislature must be complete, entire, and unconditional ; or, on the other hand, the colonies must be free and independent. The claim of non-taxatvyn is a renunciation of your author- ity. If the doctrine be just, it extends to the right of separating from you, and establishing a new republic. It is to the last degree monstrous and absurd to allow that the colonists are enti- tled to legislate for themselves on one subject, and not on all. If they have any such privilege, the defense of it would justify resistance ; and I have not yet heard any noble lord say that their resistance would not be rebellion. I admit the impolicy of the taxes imposed in 1767, which have been the cause of the troubles and confusion which we now deplore. They irritated the colonists, cramped our own com- merce, and encouraged smuggling for the benefit of our commer- cial rivals. But the course was to petition for their repeal, and not to treat them as illegal. Concession now is an abdication of sovereignty. All classes will feel severely the effects of war, and no one can answer for its events. The British forces may be defeated ; the Americans may ultimately triumph. But are you prepared to surrender without striking a blow ? The question being whether the right of the mother-country shall be resolutely asserted or basely relinquished, I trust there can be no doubt that your lordships are prepared firmly to dis- charge your duty, convinced that the proper season for clemency is when your efforts have been crowned with victory. LOUD MANSFIELD. IIL — ON TAXING AMERICA. My lords, you have no right to tax America. I have searched the matter ; — I repeat it, you have no right to tax America. The natural rights of man and the immutable laws of nature are all with that people. Much stress is laid upon the supreme legislative authority of Great Britain, and so far as the doctrine is directed to its proper object I accede to it. But it is equally true, according to all approved writers upon government, that no THE MEASURES AGAINST AMERICA. 133 man, agreeably to the principles of natural or civil liberty, can be divested of any part of his property without his consent. ' But some gentlemen tell us, seriously, that administration must reduce the Americans to obedience and submission ; that is, you must make them absolute and infamous slaves, and then — what ? — we will, say they, give them full liberty. Ay, is this the nature of man ? No, my lords ; I would not trust myself, American as I am, in this situation. I do not think I should, in that case, be myself for giving them their liberty. No ; if they submitted to such unjust, such cruel, such degrading slavery, I should think they were made for slaves, that servility was suited to their nature and genius. I should think they would best serve this country as our slaves — that their servility would be for the benefit of Grreat Britain ; and I should be for keeping such Cappadocians^- in a state of servitude, such as was suited to their constitution, and such as might redound much to our advantage. My lords, some noble lords talk much of resistance to acts of Parliament. King, lords, and commons, are fine-sounding nam.es ; but, my lords, acts of Parliament have been resisted in all ages. King, lords, and commons, m.ay become tyrants as well as others. Tyranny in one or more is the same : it is as lawful to resist the tyranny of many as of one. Somebody once asked the great Mr. Selden in what law-book, in what records, or archives t of state, you might find the law for resisting tyranny. " I don't Imow," said Mr. Selden, " whether it is worth your while to look deeply into the books upon this matter ; but I '11 tell you what is most certain, that it has always been the 'custom of England,' and the ' custom of England' is the law of the land." I end, my lords, as I began : you have no right to tax Amer- ica; — the natural rights of man, and the immutable laws of nature, are ail with that people. lord camden (Jan. 20, 1775). lY. — THE MEASURES AGAINST AMERICA. SiK, what foundation have we for our claims over America ? Y^^hat is our right to persist in such cruel and vindictive meas- ures against that loyal, respectable people ? They say you have no right to tax them without their consent. They say truly. Bepresentation and taxation must go together ; they are insepar- able. Yet there is scarcely a man in our streets, though so poor as scarcely to be able to get his daily bread, but thinks he is the * The people of Cappadocia, in Asia Minor, petitioned the Romans to send them a king. | Pronounced a/kives. 12 134 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. legislator of America ! In the last Parliament, all was anger — all was rage. Si'ne clade victoria^ was the cry ! The Amer- icans were abused, misrepresented, and traduced, in the most atro- cious manner, in order to give a color to, and urge on the most precipitate, unjust, cruel, and vindictive measures that ever dis- graced a nation. But how have this respectable people behaved under all their grievances? With unexampled patience, with unparalleled wisdom ! I know, sir, that no one will avow that he advised, or that he was the author of these measures ; every one shrinks from the charge. But somebody has advised his majesty to these meas- ures ; and if his majesty continues to hear such evil counselors, his majesty will be undone. He may, indeed, wear his crown, but, the American jewel out of it, it will not be worth the wear- ing. What more shall I say? I must not say the king is betrayed ; but this I will say, the kingdom is ruined ! Bepeal, therefore, my lords! But bare repeal will not be enough. It will not satisfy this enlightened and spirited people. What ! repeal a bit of paper ! repeal a piece of parchment ! That alone will not do, my lords. You must go through the work ; you must declare you have no right to tax. Then they may trust you. Then they will have some confidence in you. You must repeal their fears and resentments, and then you may hope for their love and gratitude. There is no time to be lost. Every moment is big with dan- gers. While I am speaking, the decisive blow may be struck, and millions involved in the consequence. The very first drop of blood will make a wound which years, perhaps ages, may not heal. It will be an immedicab' i-le mdnus ; a rancorous, malig- nant, corroding, incurable wound ! Sir, I would not encourage America to proceed beyond the true line. I reprobate all acts of violence. But when her inherent constitutional rights are invaded, then I own myself an American ; and, feeling myself such, shall, to the verge of my life, vindicate those rights against all men who strive to trample on or oppose them ! lord Chatham (1775). v.— AGAINST TAXING AMERICA. You have an act of Parliament stating that it is expedient to raise a revenue in America. Sir, leave America, if she has taxable matter in her, to tax herself. Be content to bind the Americans by laws of trade ; you have always done that. Let ON THE AMERICAN WAR. 135 this be your reason now for binding tkeir trade. Do not bur- then them by taxes; you were not used to do so from the beginning. Let this be your reason for not taxing. These are the arguments of states and kingdoms. Leave the rest to the schools ; for there only they may be discussed with safety. But if, intemperately, unwisely, fatally, you sophisticate and poison the very source of government, by urging subtle deduc- tions, and consequences odious to those who govern, from the unlimited and illimitable nature of supreme sovereignty, you will teach them by these means to call that sovereignty itself in ques- tion. When you drive him hard, the boar will surely turn u]3on the hunters. If that sovereignty and their freedom can not be reconciled, which will they take ? They will cast your sov- ereignty in your face. No body will be argued into slavery. Sir, let the gentlemen on the other side call forth all their ability ; let the best of them get up, and tell me, what one char- acter of liberty the Americans have, and what one brand of slavery they are free from, if they are bound in their property and indus- try by all the restraints you can imagine on commerce, and at the same time are made pack-horses of every tax you choose to impose, without the least share in granting them. When they bear the burdens of unlimited monopoly, will you bring them to bear the burdens of unlimited revenue too ? The Englishman in America will feel that this is slavery; — that it is legal slavery, will be no compensation either to his feelings or his under- standing ! BURKE. YI._ON THE AMERICAN ^YAR, DEC. 11th, 1777. • My lords, I contend that we have not procured, nor can we procure, any force sufficient to subdue America ; it is monstrous to think of it. Ministers have been in error ; experience has proved it ; and, what is worse, in that error they persist. They told you in the beginning that fifteen thousand men would traverse America, with scarcely the appearance of interruption. Two campaigns have passed since they gave us this assurance ; treble that number has been employed ; and one of your armies, which composed two thirds of the force by which America was to be subdued, has been totally destroyed, and is now led captive through those provinces you call rebellious. Those men whom you called cowards, poltroons, runaways, and knaves, are become victorious over your veteran troops ; and, in the midst of victory and the flush of conquest, have set ministers an example of moderation and magnanimity. 136 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. My lords, no time should be lost which may promise to improve this disposition in America, unless, by an obstinacy founded in madness, we wish to stifle those embers of affection which, after all our savage treatment, do not seem as yet to be entirely extin- guished. While, on one side, we must lament the unhappy fate of that spirited officer Mr. Burgoyne, and the gallant troops under his command, who Y^ere sacrificed to the wanton temerity and ignorance of ministers, we are as strongly impelled, on the other, to admire and applaud the generous and magnanimous conduct, — ^,the noble friendship, brotherly affection, and human- ity, of the victors, who, condescending to impute the horrid orders of massacre and devastation to their true authors, supposed that, as soldiers and Englishmen, those cruel excesses could not have originated with the general, nor were consonant to the brave and humane spirit of a British soldier, if not compelled to it as an act of duty. They traced the first cause of those diabolical orders to their source ; and, by that wise and generous interpre- tation, granted their professed destroyers terms of capitulation, which they could be only entitled to as the makers of fair and honorable v/ar. My lords, I should not have presumed to trouble you, if the tremendous state of this nation did not, in my opinion, make it necessary. Whether or not the day of retribution is at hand, when the vengeance of a much-injured and afflicted people will fall heavily on the authors of their ruin, I am strongly inclined to believe, that before the day to which the proposed adjournment shall arrive, the noble earl who moved it will have just cause to repent of his motion. lord Chatham. VIL — RIGHT OF AMERICAN TAXATION. The colonies complain that they have not the characteristic mark and seal of British freedom. They complain that they are taxed in a Parliament in which they are not represented. Sir, I am resolved this day to have nothing to do with the question of the right of taxation. I do not examine whether the giving away a man's money be a power excepted and reserved out of the general trust of government ; or whether, on the contrary, a right of taxation is necessarily involved in the general principle of legislation, and inseparable from the ordinary supreme power. These are deep questions, where great names militate against each other ; where reason is perplexed, and an appeal to author- ities only thickens the confusion. For high and reverend authori- ties lift up their heads on both sides ; and there is no sure footing ENGLISH LIBERTY IN AMERICA. 137 in the middle. This point is the " great Serbonian bog, betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old, where armies whole have sunk." I do not intend to be overwhelmed in that bog, though in such respectable company. The question with me is, not whether you have a rijht to render your people miserable, but whether it is not your interest to make them happy. It is not what a lawyer tells me I Tiiay do, but what humanity, reason, and justice, tell me I ought to do. Is a politic act the worse for being a generous one ? Is no con- cession proper, but that which is made from your want of right to keep what you grant ? Or does it lessen the grace or dignity of relaxing in the exercise of an odious claim, because you have your evidence-room full of titles, and your magazines stuffed with arms to enforce them ? What signify all those titles, and all those arms ? Of what avail are they, when the reason of the thing tells me that the assertion of my title is the loss of my suit, and that I could do nothing but wound myself by the use of my own weapons ? I am not determining a point of law ; I am restoring tran- quillity. And the general character and situation of a people must determine what sort of government is fitted for them. That point nothing else can or ought to determine. My idea, there- fore, without considering whether we yield as m^atter of right, or grant as matter of favor, is to admit the people of our American colonies into an interest in the constitution ; and, by recording that admission in the journals of Parliament, to give them as strong an assurance as the nature of the thing will admit, that we mean for ever to adhere to that solemn declaration of systematic indulgence. burke. Vm. — ENGLISH LIBERTY IN AMERICA. America, gentlemen say, is a noble object ; it is an object well worth fighting for. Certainly it is, if fighting a people be the best way of gaining them. But, sir, in the character of the Americans a love of freedom is the predominating feature which marks and distinguishes the whole ; and, as an ardent is always a jealous affection, your colonies become suspicious, restive, and untractable, whenever they see the least attempt to wrest from them by force, or shuffle from them by chicane, what they think the only advantage worth living for. This fierce spirit of liberty is stronger in the English colonists, probably, than in any other people of the earth ; and this from a great variety of powerful causes. 12^ 138 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. First, the people of the colonies are descendants of Englishmen. England, sir, is a nation which still, I hope, respects, and formerly adored her freedom. The colonists emigrated from you when this part of your character was most predominant ; and they took this bias and direction the moment they parted from your hands. They are, therefore, not only devoted to liberty, but to liberty according to English ideas, and on English principles. Abstract liberty, like other mere abstractions, is not to be found. Liberty inheres in some sensible object ; and you know, sir, that the great contests for freedom in this country were, from the earliest times, chiefly upon the question of taxing ; maintaining that the people must in effect possess the power of granting their own money, or no shadow of liberty could subsist. The American colonists draw from you, as with their life- blood, these ideas and principles. Their love of liberty, as with you, fixed on this specific point of taxing. Liberty might be safe, or might be endangered, in twenty other particulars, with- out their being much pleased or alarmed. Here they felt its pulse ; and as they found that beat, they thought themselves sick or sound. The temper and character vfhich prevail in our colonies are, I am afraid, unalterable by any human art. We can not, I fear, falsify the pedigree of this fierce people, and persuade them that they are not sprung from a nation in whose veins the blood of freedom circulates. The language in which they would hear you tell them this tale would detect the imposition ; your speech would betray you. An Englishman is the unfittest person on earth to argue another Englishman into slavery. ib. IX. —THE LABORING POOR. The gentleman has spoken of '' the laboring poor." Sir, the laboring people are poor only because they are numerous. Num- bers, in their nature, imply poverty. In a fixir distribution among a vast multitude, none can have much. That class called the rich is so extremely small, that if all' their throats were cut, and a distribution made of all that they consume in a year, it would not give a bit of bread and cheese for one night's supper to those who labor. The vigorous and laborious class have lately got from the hon ton of the humanity of this day this name of the " laboring poor." We have heard many plans for the relief of the " laboring poor." This puling jargon is not as innocent as it is foolish. Li meddling THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. 189 with great aifairs, weakness is ever innoxious. Hitherto the name of poor, in the sense in which it is used to excite compas- sion, has not been used for those who can^ but for those who can not labor ; for the sick and infirm, for orphan infancy, for hm- guishing and decrepit age. But when we affect to pity as poor those who must labor, or the world can not exist, we are triflinfr with the condition of mankind. Sir, it is the common doom of man, that he must eat his bread by the sweat of his brow, that is, by the sweat of his body, or the sweat of his mind. If this toil was inflicted as a curse, it is, — as might be expected from the Father of all blessings, — it is tempered with many alleviations, many comforts. Every attempt to fly from it, and to refuse the very terms of our exist- ence, becomes much more truly a curse ; and heavier pains and j)enalties fall upon those who would elude the tasks which are put upon them by the great Master of the world. Sir, I do not call a healthy young man, cheerful in mind, and vigorous in his arms, — I can not call such a man "poor. I can not pity my kind, as a kind, merely because they are men. This affected pity only tends to dissatisfy them with their condition, and to teach them to seek resources where no resources are to be found, — in something else than their own industry, frugality, and sobriety. IB. X.— THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. You will remember, gentlemen, that in the beginning of the American war (that era of calamity, disgrace, and downfall — an era which no feeling mind will ever mention without a tear for England) you were greatly divided. A very strong body, if not the strongest, opposed itself to the madness which every art and every power were employed to render popular. This oppo- sition continued till after our great but most unfortunate victory on Lono: Island.^ Then all the mounds and banks of our con- stancy were borne down at once, and the frenzy of the American war broke in upon us like a deluge. This victory, which seemed to put an immediate end to all difficulties, perfected us in that spirit of domination which our unparalleled prosperity had but too long nurtured. Our headlong desires became our politics and our morals. All men who wished for peace, or retained any sentiments of moderation, were overborne or silenced. But time * In August, 17T6, the British followed up their success by the occupation of New York. 140 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. at length has made us all of one opinion ; and we have all opened our eyes on the true nature of the American war — of all its successes and all its failures. Do you remember our commission ? We sent out a solemn embassy across the Atlantic Ocean, to lay the Crown, the Peer- age, the Commons of Grreat Britain, at the feet of the American Congress. My Lord Carlisle, once the mover of a haughty ad- dress against America, was put in the front of this Embassy of Submission. Mr, Eden was taken from the office of Lord Suffolk, to whom he was then Under-Secretary of State ; from the office of that Lord Suffolk who, but a few weeks before, in his place in Parliament, did not deign to inquire where " a congress of va- grants " was to be found. This Lord Suffolk sent Mr. Eden to find these " vagrants," without knowing where his majesty's generals were to be found, who were joined in the same commis- sion of supplicating those whom they were sent out to subdue. They enter the capital of America only to abandon it ; and these assertors and representatives of the dignity of England, at the tail of a flying army, let fly their Parthian shafts of memo- rials and remonstrances at random behind them. Their promises and their offers, their flatteries and their menaces, were all despised ; and we were saved the disgrace of their formal recep- tion, only because the American Congress scorned to receive them ; whilst the state-house of independent Philadelphia opened her doors to the public entry of the ambassador of France. From war and blood we went to submission, and from submission plunged back again to war and blood, to desolate and be deso- lated, without measure, hope, or end ! I am a royalist — I blushed for this degradation of the Crown. I am a Whig — I blushed for the dishonor of Parliament. I am a true English- m.an — I felt to the quick for the disgrace of England. I am a Lian — I felt for the melancholy reverse of human affairs in the fall of the first power in the world, ib. XL — ON THE EXPULSION OF WILKES, 1763. My lokds, let us be cautious how we admit an idea that our rights stand on a footing different from those of the people. Let us be cautious how we invade the liberties of our fellow-subjects, however mean, however remote ; for, be assured, my lords, that in whatever part of the empire you suffer slavery to be estab- lished, whether it be in America or in Ireland, or here at home, you will find it a disease which spreads by contact, and soon reaches from the extremities to the heart. The man who has lost ON THE CATHOLIC QUESTION. 141 his owii freedom becomes, from that moment, an instrument in the hands of an ambitious prince, to destroy the freedom of others. These reflections, my lords, are but too applicable to our pres- ent situation. The liberty of the subject is invaded, not only in provinces, but here at home. The English people are loud in their complaints; they proclaim, with one voice, the injuries they have received ; they demand redress ; and, depend upon it, ray lords, that one way or other they will have redress. They will never return to a state of tranquillity until they are redressed. Nor ought they : for, in my judgment, my lords, — and I speak it boldly, — it were better for them to perish in a glorious con- tention for their rights, than to purchase a slavish tranquillity at the expense of a single iota of the constitution. Let me entreat your lordships, then, in the name of all the duties you owe to your sovereign, to your country, and to yourselves, to perform that office to which you are called by the constitution, by inform- ing his majesty truly of the condition of his subjects, and of the real cause of their dissatisfaction. lord Chatham. XII. — ON THE CATHOLIC QUESTION. Sir, whenever one sect degrades another on acoount of reli- gion, such degradation is the tyranny of a sect. TVhen you enact that, on account of his religion, no Catholic shall sit in Parlia- ment, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that no Catholic shall be a sheriff, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that no Catholic shall be a general, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. For the benefit of eleven hundred, to disqualify four or five millions, is the insolent effort of bigotry, not the benignant pre- cept of Christianity ; and all this, not for the preservation of their property, for that was secured ; but for intolerance, for avarice, for a vile, abominable, illegitimate and atrocious usurpa- tion. The laws of God cry out against it ; the spirit of Chris- tianity cries out against it ; the laws of England, and the spirit and princi23les of its constitution, cry out against such a system. Whenever you attempt to establish your government, or your property, or your church, on religious restrictions, you establish them on a false foundation, and you oppose the Almighty ; and, though you had a host of miters on your side, you banish God from your ecclesiastical constitution, and freedom from your political. I know the strength of the cause I support ; it will walk the 142 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. earth and flourisli when dull declamation shall be silent, and the pert sophistry that opposed it shall be forgotten in the grave. Sir, I appeal to the hospitals which are thronged with the Irish who have been disabled in your cause ; and to the fields of Spain and Portugal, yet drenched with their blood ; and I turn from that policy which disgraces your empire, to the spirit of civil freedom that formed it. That is the charm by which your kings have been appointed, and in whose thunder you ride the waters of the deep. I invoke these principles, and I call upon you to guard your empire in this perilous moment, — to guard it from religious strife, and from that death-doing policy which would teach one part to cut the throats of the other, in a metaphysical, ecclesiastical, unintelligible warfare. I call upon you to guard your empire from such a calamity, and to rescue four millions of your fellow-subjects from a senseless, shameless, diabolic oppres- sion. HENRY GRATTAN. XIIL— THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOOLMASTER. Sir, there is nothing which the adversaries of improvement are more wont to make themselves merry with, than what is termed the " march of intellect ; " and here I will confess that I think, as far as the phrase goes, they are in the right. It is a very absurd, because a very incorrect expression. It is little calculated to describe the operation in question. It does not pic- ture an image at all resembling the proceeding of the true friends of mankind. It much more resembles the progress of the enemy to all improvement. The conqueror moves in a march. He stalks onward with the " pride, pomp, and circumstance of war ; " banners flying, shouts rending the air, guns thundering, and martial music pealing, to drown the shrieks of the wounded, and the lamentations for the slain. Not thus the schoolmaster in his peaceful vocation. He medi- tates and purposes in secret the plans which are to bless man- kind ; he slowly gathers round him those who are to further their execution; he quietly, though firmly, advances in his humble path, laboring steadily, but calmly, till he has opened to the light all the recesses of ignorance, and torn up by the roots all the weeds of vice. His is a progress not to be compared with any thing like a march ; but it leads to a far more brilliant triumph, and to laurels more imperishable than the destroyer of his spe- cies, the scourge of the world, ever won. Such men — men deserving the glorious title of Teachers of Mankind — I have found, laboring conscientiously, though, per- ON AVAR WITH FRANCE OR AMERICA. 143 haps, obscurely, in their blessed vocation, wherever I have gone. I have found them, and shared their fellowship, among the dar- ing, the ambitious, the ardent, the indomitably active French ; I have found them among the persevering, resolute, industrious Swiss ; I have found them among the laborious, the warm-hearted, the enthusiastic Germans ; I have found them among the high- minded but enslaved Italians ; and in our own country, God be thanked, their numbers every where abound, and are every day increasing. Their calling is high and holy ; their fame is the prosperity of nations ; their renown will fill the earth in after ages, in pro- portion as it sounds not far off in their own times. Each one of these great teachers of the world, possessing his soul in peace, performs his appointed course, awaits in patience the fulfillment of the promises, and, resting from his labors, bequeaths his memory to the generation whom his works have blessed, and sleeps under the humble but not inglorious epitaph, commemo- rating " one in whom mankind lost a friend, and no man got rid of an enemy." lord brougham. XIV. — ON WAR WITH FRANCE OR AMERICA. You have now two wars before you, of which you must choose one, for both you can not support. The war against America is against your own countrymen — you have stopped me from say- ing against your fellow-subjects; that against France is against your inveterate enemy and rival. Every blow you strike in America is against yourselves ; it is against all idea of reconcil- iation, and against your own interest, though you should be able, as you never will be, to force them to submit. Every stroke against France is of advantage to you : America must be con- quered in France ; France never can be conquered in America. The war of France is a war of interest ; it was her interest which first induced her to engage in it, and it is by that interest that she will measure its continuance. Turn your face at once against her; attack her wherever she is exposed ; crush her com- merce wherever you can ; make her feel heavy and immediate distress throughout the nation : the people will soon cry out to their government. The war of the Americans is a war of passion. It is of such a nature as to be supported by the most powerful virtues, love of liberty and of their country ; and, at the same time, by those passions in the human heart which give courage, strength, and 144 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. perseverance, to man, the spirit of revenge for the injuries jou have done them, of retaliation for the hardships you have inflicted on them, and of opposition to the unjust powers you have exer- cised over them. Every thing combines to animate them to this war, and such a war is without end; for whatever obstinacy enthusiasm ever inspired man with you will now find in America. No matter what gives birth to that enthusiasm, whether the name of religion or of liberty, the effects are the same ; it inspires a spirit which is unconquerable, and solicitous to undergo difficulty, danger, and hardship : and as long as there is a man in America, a being formed such as we are, you will have him present himself against you in the field. ciiarles james fox (1778). XV. _ THE IMPOLICY OF INJUSTICE. The march of the human mind is slow. Sir, it was not until after two hundred years discovered, that, by an eternal law, Providence had decreed vexation to violence, and poverty to rapine. Tour ancestors did, however, at length open their eyes to the ill-husbandry of injustice. They found that the tyranny of a free people could of all tyrannies the least be endured ; and that laws made against a whole nation were not the most effect- ual methods for securing its obedience. Accordingly, in the twenty-seventh year of Henry the Eighth, the course was entirely altered. With a preamble stating the entire and perfect rights of the crown of England, it gave to the Welsh all the rights and privileges of English subjects. A political order was established; the military power gave way to the civil ; the marches were turned into counties. But that a nation should have a right to English liberties, and yet no share at all in the fundamental security of these liberties, the grant of their own property, seemed a thing so incongruous, that eight years after, that is, in the thirty-fifth of that reign, a complete and not ill-proportioned representation by counties and boroughs was bestowed upon Wales by act of Parliament. From that moment, as by a charm, the tumults subsided. Obedience was restored. Peace, order, and civilization, followed in the train of liberty. When the day-star of the English constitution had arisen in their hearts, all was harmony within and without : Simul alba nautis, Stella refulsit, De'fiuit saxis agitatus humor ; Con^cidunt venti, faglunt'que nu^bes, Et mi nax (quod sic volu-eVe) ponto Uuda recumbit. THE BANK OF ENGLAND. 145 Are not the people of America as much Englishmen as the Welsh ? The preamble of the act of Henry the Eighth says, the Welsh speak a language no way resembling that of his maj- esty's English subjects. Are the Americans not as numerous? The people of Wales can not amount to above two hundred thousand — not a tenth, part of the number in the colonies. Is America in rebellion ? Wales was hardly ever free from it. My resolutions go to establish the equity and justice of a tax- ation of America by grants and not by imposition; to admit the legal competency of the colony assemblies for the support of their government in peace, and for public aids in time of war ; to acknowledge that this legal competency has had a dutiful and beneficial exercise ; and that experience has shown the benefit of their grants, and the futility of parliamentary taxation as a method of supply. These solid truths compose six fundamental propositions; six massive pillars of strength, sufficient, I think, to support the temple of British concord. BURKE {March, 1775). XVI. — THE BANK OF ENGLAND. Vi^HiLE the Bank of England continues in its present state of dependence on the minister, it is impossible to hope, Mr Speak- er, that public credit can be restored, and the funds raised. Last year, much was said in the newspapers about the connection between the right honorable gentleman and the bank. It was said that the banns had been forbidden. The conduct of the chan- cellor of the exchequer showed that he cultivated the connection on account of the lady's dowry, not for the comfort of her society. The advances made by the bank to government occasioned the first stoppage, and now three millions are again to be advanced without any security whatever. If the directors do not insist on some security for their repayment, they will be guilty of a gross breach of duty, and the most culpable neglect of the inter- est of their constituents. It seems that the bank is to be the new temple of Janus — ever shut in time of war. While war continues we must be contented to view the meager paper profile ; nor will we be per- mitted to contemplate the golden bust till the return of peace. The French directory are thus to have the keys of the bank, which can not be opened till they grant permission. Sir, it is mere cant and delusion to talk any longer of giving 13 146 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. up a part to preserve the whole, that we must leave both our liberty and property unmortgaged to posterity. If I am called upon to pay a shilling to preserve a pound, this is intelligible ; but if I am called upon twenty times successively for my shil- ling, it is ridiculous to tell me of giving up a part for the pres- ervation of the whole. This will not do ; and, as a worthy baronet said on another occasion, "if it is so often repeated, it comes to be no joke." Sir, this kind of paradoxical insult can not long be endured. It will not do to tell us that sending millions of money to Ger- many for the defense of this country is true economy ; that to lop off the most valuable of our liberties is to preserve the con- stitution ; that not to pay its lawful creditors is to support the credit of the bank ; and to introduce a general disclosure of income is to protect property. This is the last stage of such delusion. The tricks have been too often repeated to elude the most inattentive observation. While the affairs of this country continue in the same hands, they can not be administered wisely or well. The country can not have confidence in a system always unsuccessful, now hopeless ; and the dismissal of ministers must be the preliminary step to any vigor of system, any prospect of peace. Sheridan. XVIL— JUSTICE TO ROMAN CATHOLICS. On moving for a committee on the Roman Catholic claims, February 28, 1821. Sir, on the part of the Roman Catholics, I will be bold to say, that they harbor no principle of hostility to our Establish- ment. What have they said or done, since the period of the Revolution, to show that they mean to touch the Establishment? "Let them swear what they will," it is said, "the Catholics must break their oaths, and our Establishment must be endangered." The right honorable gentleman maintains, that he is authorized by his views to exclude them from this State on principles that V70uld make them unworthy of any State. Sir, I cannot find, in the large volume of human nature, any principle which calls upon the Roman Catholic to subvert that fytnto by whose laws he is protected, merely that the heads of his priests may be decorated with a miter ! And the right honorable gentleman must excuse me if I say, that he equally mistakes the institutions of man and the principles of human action. The Catholic does not indulge the chimerical notion of heaving the British constitution from its basis, that his priest may wear lawn sleeves and a miter. If, however, he is excluded from the privi- THE DELIVERANCE OF EUROPE. 147 leges of the State merely on account of his religion ; if he is made an invidious exception in a country which permits the tal- ents and virtues of all other men to advance them to the highest honors; and if this exception extend to his posterity, — '^ nati natorum et qui iiascentur ah illis,^'' — he will indeed have a suffi- cient motive to aim at the destruction of that State which heaps upon him only so heavy a load of injustice. Sir, I would unite the Catholic by every affection and every good feeling of his nature, by every motive that can operate upon his heart and head, by every obligation that can bind his conscience, and every argument that can convince his understand- ing ; not so much by adding to his power, as by removing every offensive exclusion, every unworthy distinction. I do not propose here to strike the shackle from his limbs, for he is free ; but to remove the brand from his forehead, for he is stigmatized. I would not have him a marked man and a plotting sectary, but would raise him to the proudest rank that man can attain, to the rights and privileges of a free-born subject. Do not, I entreat you, as sincere friends to the Protestant establishment, do not reject this appeal for justice and grace. Do not drive your Roman Catholic brother from your bar a discontented sectary. Do not tell him who wishes to be a friend, that he is, and ou^yht to be, an enemy. w. c. plunkett. XVni. — THE DELIVERANCE OF EUROPE. That we have objects, great and momentous objects, in our view, there is no man that must not feel. I can have no diffi- culty in declaring that the most complete and desirable termina- tion of the contest would be the deliverance of Europe. I am told, indeed, that there are persons who affect not to understand this phrase ; who think there is something confused, something involved, something of a studied ambiguity and concealment, in it. I can not undertake to answer for other gentlemen's powers of comprehension. The map of Europe is before them. I can only say that I do not admire that man's intellect, and I do not envy that man's feelings, who can look over that map without gathering some notion of what is meant by the deliverance of Europe. I do not envy that man's feelings who can behold the sufferings of Switzerland, and who derives from that sight no idea of what is meant by the deliverance of Europe. I do not envy the feelings of that man who can look without emotion at Italy, — plundered, insulted, trampled upon, exhausted, covered with ridicule, and horror, and devastation, — who can look at all this, 148 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. and be at a loss to guess what is meant by the deliverance of Europe ! As little do I envy the feelings of that man who can view the people of the Netherlands driven into insurrection, and struggling for their freedom against the heavy hand of a merci- less tyranny, without entertaining any suspicion of what may be the sense of the word deliverance ! Does such a man contemplate Holland groaning under arbi- trary oppressions and exactions ? Does he turn his eyes to Spain trembling at the nod of a foreign master ? And does the word deliverance still sound unintelligibly in his ear ? Has he heard of the rescue and salvation of Naples by the appearance and the triumphs of the British fleet ? Does he know that the monarchy of Naples maintains its existence at the sword's point ? And is his understanding and is his heart still impenetrable to the sense and meaning of the deliverance of Europe ? Sir, that we shall succeed in effecting this general deliverance, I do not pretend to affirm. That in no possible case we should lay down our arms and conclude a peace before it is fully effected, I do not mean to argue. But that this is the object which we ought to have in view, even if we look to our own safety only, — that of this we ought to accomplish as much as our means, our exertions, our opportunities, will allow, — I do most anxiously contend. If circumstances should unhappily arise to make the attainment of the object hopeless, it will be time enough when they do arise to give up the hopes of attaining it. But do not let us run before misfortune ; do not let us presume disappoint- ment, and anticipate the necessity of disgrace. GEORGE CANNING. XIX.— THE VOTE BY BALLOT. Sir, it is said that the morals of the people would be affected by clandestine voting. We are told that it would conduce to the propagation of the most pernicious habits ; that falsehood and dissimulation would be its natural results; men would make promises which they had no intention of keeping, and suspicion and mistrust would arise where confidence and reliance now hap- pily prevail. Sir, I am persuaded that promises spontaneously made, flowing from a free and unbiased volition, would be observed under the ballot as faithfully as they now are ; and, with regard to promises purchased from corruption or wrung from fear, they belong to that class of engagements of whose inchoate^ depravity the profligate performance is the infamous consummation. * Pronounced in'ko'Ote. THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL. 149 I am well aware that, generally speaking, citations from the writers of antiquity are little applicable to our system of govern- ment and our code of morality. The opinions of men wlio lived two thousand years ago have little weight ; but there is a pas- sage with reference to the morality of the ballot, in a speech of the great Athenian, which I have never seen quoted, so forcible and so true that I shall be excused for advertino* to it : o " If," says Demosthenes, in his speech on the False Embassy, addressing an assembly of five hundred judges who were to vote by ballot, " if there be any man here sufficiently unfortunate to have been betrayed into a corrupt engagement to vote against his conscience and his country, let him bear in mind that to the fulfill- ment of that promise he is not bound ; that those with whom he has entered into that profligate undertaking will have no cogni- zance of its performance, but that there is a divinity above us who will take cognizance of his thoughts, and know whether he shall have falfilled that duty to his country which is paramount to every other obligation. Your vote is secret. You have noth- ing to apprehend ; for safety is secured to you by the wisest regulation which your lawgivers ever yet laid down." To all times and to all countries the principle thus powerfully expressed is appropriate. A dishonorable contract is void, and to the discharge of a great trust impunity should be secured. The franchise, you often tell us, is a trust granted ; but for whom ? If for the proprietor of the soil, if for the benefit of the landlord, if it is in him indeed that the beneficial interest is vested, by all means let the vote be public, and let the real owner of the vote have the fullest opportunity of knowing with what fidelity the offices of servitude have been performed ; but if the franchise is a trust for the benefit of the community, and if the publicity of its exercise conduces to its violation, then, in the name of common consistency, do not insist upon our adherence to that system of voting by which the object you have, or ought to have, most of all at heart, is so manifestly countei^acted. SHIEL. XX. —THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL. I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this house ; I do not rise to supplicate you to be merciful towards the nation to which I belong — towards a nation which, though subject to England, yet is dis- tinct from it. It is a distinct nation. It has been treated as such by this country, as may be proved by history, and by seven hundred years of tyrannv. I call upon this house, as you value 13'^ 150 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. the liberty of England, not to allow the present nefarious bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties of England, the liberty of the press, and of every other institution dear to Englishmen. Against the bill I protest in the name of the Irish people, and in the face of heaven. I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful assertions that grievances are not to be complained of, that our redress is not to be agitated ; for, in such cases, remonstrances can not be too strong, agitation can not be too violent, to shovf to the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what tyranny the people suffer. There are two frightful clauses in this bill. The one which does away with trial by jury, and which I have called upon you to baptize. You call it a court-martial — a mere nickname ; I stigmatize it as a revolutionary tribunal. What, in the name of heaven, is it, if it is not a revolutionary tribunal ? It annihilates the trial by jury ; it drives the judge from his bench, — the man who, from experience, could weigh the nice and delicate points of a case ; who could discriminate between the straightforward testimony and the suborned evidence ; who could see, plainly and readily, the justice or injustice of the accusation. It turns out this man, who is free, unshackled, unprejudiced, who has no previous opinions to control the clear exercise of his duty. You do away with that which is more sacred than the throne itself; — that for which your king reigns, your lords deliberate, your commons assemble. If ever I doubted before of the success of our agitation for repeal, this bill, this infamous bill, the way in which it has been received by the house, the manner in which its opponents have been treated, the personalities to which they have been subjected, the yells with which one of them has this night been greeted, — all these things dissipate m.y doubts, and tell me of its complete and early triumph. Do you think those yells will be forgotten ? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and insulted country? — that they will not be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty hills ? 0, they will be heard there ; yes, and they will not be forgotten ! The youth of Ireland will bound with indignation; they will say, "We are eight millions ; and you treat us thus, as though we were no more to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey ! " I have done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience and my country. I have opposed this measure throughout ; and I now protest against it as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, unjust; as establishing an infamous precedent by retaliating crime against crime ; as tyrannous, cruelly and vindictively tyrannous. DANIEL O'CONNELL. THE LICENSE OF OPPOSITION, 151 XXL — THE LICENSE OF OPPOSITION. Gentlemen, all power is, or ought to be, accompanied by responsibility. Tyranny is irresponsible power. This definition is equally true, whether the power be lodged in one or many ; — whether in a despot, exempted by the form of government from the control of the law; or in a mob, whose numbers put them beyond the reach of law. Idle, therefore, and absurd, to talk of freedom where a mob domineers ! Idle, therefore, and absurd, to talk of liberty, when you hold your property, perhaps your life, not indeed at the nod of a despot, but at the will of an inflamed, an infuriated populace ! I trust there are few, very few, reasonable and enlightened men ready to lend themselves to projects of confusion. But I confess I very much wish that all who are not ready to do so would consider the ill effect of any countenance given, publicly or by apparent implication, to those whom, in their hearts and judgments, they despise. I remember that most excellent and able man, Mr. Wilberforce, once saying, in the House of Com- mons, that he " never believed an opposition really to wish mis- chief to the country; that they only wished just so much mischief as might drive their opponents out, and place themselves in their room." Now, gentlemen, I can not help thinking that there are some persons tampering with the question of reform something in the same spirit. They do not go so far as the reformers ; they even state irreconcilable differences of opinion ; but to a certain extent they agree, and even cooperate with them. They coop- erate with them in inflaming the public feeling, not only against the government, but against the support given by Parliament to that government, in the hope, no doubt, of attracting to them- selves the popularity which is lost to their opponents, and thus being enabled to correct and retrieve the errors of a displaced administration. Vain and hopeless task, to raise such a spirit and then to govern it ! They may stimulate the steeds into fury, till the chariot is hurried to the brink of a precipice, but do they flatter themselves that they can then leap in, and, hurling the incompe- tent driver from his seat, check the reins just in time to turn from the precipice, and avoid the fall ? I fear they would attempt it in vain. The impulse, once given, may be too impetuous to be controlled ; and, intending only to change the guidance of the machine, they may hurry it and themselves to irretrievable destruction. geouge canning. 152 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. XXIL — IRISH " ALIENS. ' ' In reply to Lord Lyndhurst (1837), who had stigmatized the Irish as aliens. There is a man of great abilities — not a member of this house, but whose talents and boldness have placed him in the topmost place in his party — who has been heard to speak of the Irish as " aliens.^*' Disdaining all imposture, and abandoning all reserve, he distinctly and audaciously tells the Irish people that they are not entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen ; that they are ''6zZie7Z5." Aliens? Good heavens ! Was Arthur, Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords, and did he not start up and exclaim, "'Hold ! I have seen the aliens do their dutyV* The " battles, sieges, fortunes that he has passed," ought to have come back upon him. He ought to have remembered that, from the earliest achievement in which he displayed that military genius which has placed him foremost in the annals of modern warfare, down to that last and surpassing combat, which has made his name imperishable, — from Assaye to Waterloo, — the Irish sol- diers, with whom your armies are filled, were the inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with which his unparalleled successes have been crowned. Whose were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera through the phalanxes that never reeled in the shock of war before ? What desperate valor climbed the steeps and filled the moats of Badajos?^ All, all his victories should have rushed and crowded back upon his memory ; Yimiera, Badajos, Sala- manca, Albue'ra, Toulouse ; and, last of all, the greatest — Tell me, for you were there, — I appeal to the gallant soldier before me (Sir Henry Hardinge), who bears, I know, a generous heart in an intrepid breast ; — tell me, for you must needs remem- ber, — on that day, when the destinies of mankind were trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers ; when the artillery of France, leveled with the precision of the most deadly science, played upon them ; when her legions, incited by the voice, inspired by the example, of their mighty leader, rushed again and again to the onset, - — tell me if, for an instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be lost, the '' aliens " blenched ! And when, at lenof'th, the moment for the last decisive movement had arrived ; when the valor, so long wisely checked, was at last let loose ; when with words familiar, but immortal, the great captain com- manded the great assault, — tell me if Catholic Ireland with less heroic valor than the natives of your own glorious isle pre- cipitated herself upon the foe ! The blood of England, Scotland, * Pronounced Bad'a-hos. JUSTICE TO EAST INDIANS. 153 Ireland, flowed in the same stream, drenched the same field. When the chill morning dawned, their dead lay cold and stark together ; in the same deep pit their bodies were deposited ; the green corn of spring is now breaking from their commingled dust ; the dew falls from heaven upon their miion in the grave ! Par- takers in every peril, in the glory shall we not be permitted to participate ? — and shall we be told, as a requital, that we are estranged from the noble country for whose salvation our life- blood was poured out ? SHIEL. XXni.— THE LOVE OF POPULARITY. The honorable gentleman who opened the debate on the other side of the house, on the first day of this lengthened discussion, was pleased to ask me, in terms of great civility and kindness, whether I do not love popularity. Sir, I am not insensible to the good opinion of honorable men, such as he who put to me this question. I am not insensible to the good will of an en- lightened community. The man who disregards it is not worthy to hold a high official station in a country which boasts a popular constitution. I have encountered too many of the vicissitudes of public life, not to know how to meet censures which I am conscious I do not deserve. On the other hand, I desire to retain popularity ; but I would hold it honorably, or not at all. " Laudo maiientem ; " or, to use the more beautiful paraphrase of Dryden : " I can applaud her, — when she 's kind ; But when she dances in the wind, And shakes her wings, and will not stay, — I puff the runagate away. ' ' Yes, sir, I love, I covet, I enjoy popularity ; but I will not court it by the surrender of my conscientious judgment, or by the sacrifice of my settled opinions. canning. XXW.— JUSTICE TO EAST INDIANS. Sir, are we to keep the people of India ignorant in order that we may keep them submissive ? Or do we think we can give them knowledge without awakening ambition ? Or do we mean to awaken ambition and to provide it with no legitimate vent ? Who will answer any of these questions in the affirmative ? Yet one of them must be answered in the affirmative by every person who maintains that we ought permanently to exclude the natives 154 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. of India from high office. I have no fears. The path of duty is plain before us : and it is also the path of wisdom, of national prosperity, of national honor. Sir, what is that power worth which is founded on vice, on ignorance, and on misery ? — which we can only hold by violating the most sacred duties which, as governors, we owe to the gov- erned? — which, as a people blessed with far more than an ordi- nary measure of political liberty and of intellectual light, we owe to a race debased by three thousand years of despotism and priestcraft ? Ah ! sir, we are free, we are civilized, to little purpose, if we grudge to any portion of the human race an equal measure of freedom and civilization ! Sir, it may be that by good government we may educate our subjects of India into a capacity for better government ; it may be that, having become instructed in European knowledge, they may, in some future age, demand European institutions. Whether such a day will ever come I know not. But never vf ill I attempt to avert or retard it. Whenever it comes, it will be the proudest day in English history. To have found a great people sunk in the lowest depths of slavery and superstition, to have so ruled them as to have made them desirous and capable of all the priv- ileges of citizens, would, indeed, be a title to glory all our own. The scepter may pass away from us. Unforeseen accidents may derange our most profound schemes of policy. Victory may be inconstant to our arms. But there are triumphs which are followed by no reverses. There is an em.pire exempt from all natural causes of decay. These triumphs are the pacific triumphs of reason over barbarism ; that empire is the imperish- able empire of our arts and our morals, our literature and our laws ! MACAULAY (1833). XXV. — THE JEWS' DISABILITIES BILL. The question before us is. Shall Jews be admitted to the priv- ilege of sitting in Parliament ? That they wish to have access to this privilege has already been shown ; it now remains to show that some harm is calculated to result from that admission. Unless this is shown, the refusal is neither more nor less than 'persecution. My honorable friend put a different interpretation on this word persecution ; but when we come to define the sense, it must be found that we are only quibbling about a word. With some persons, perhaps, burning would be persecution, while the screwing of thumbs would not be persecution ; others may call THE jews' disabilities BILL. 155 the screwing of thumbs persecution, and deny the justice of that expression applied to whipping. But, according to my impres- sion, the infliction of any penalties on account of religious opin- ions, and on account of religious opinions alone, comes within the meaning of the term persecution. It is as much persecution in principle as an auto da fe ; the only difference is in degree. No argument can be adduced in favor of the mildest degree of this injustice, which, logically speaking, though not morally, indeed, might not be used with equal force in favor of the most cruel inflictions from similar motives. If it was to be full and entire persecution, after the example of our ancestors, I could understand it. If we were called on to revert to the days when, as a people, the Jews were pillaged, their warehouses torn down, their every right sacrificed, the thing would be comprehensible. But this is a delicate persecu- tion, with no abstract rule for its guidance. All that the house has been told is, that the Jews are not Christians, and that, therefore, they must not have power. But this has not been declared openly and ingenuously, as it once was. Formerly, the persecution of the Jews was, at least, consistent. The thing was once made complete by taking away their property, their liberty, and their lives. My honorable friend is now equally vehement as to taking away their political power ; and yet, no doubt, he would shudder at what such a principle might really take away. The only power that my honorable friend seems to wish to deprive the Jews of is to consist in maces, gold chains, and skins of parchment with pieces of wax dangling at the end of them. But he is leaving them all the things that bestow real power. He allows them to have property, and in these times property is power, mighty and overwhelming power ; he allows them to have knowledge, and knowledge is no less power. Then why is all this power poisoned by intolerance ? Why is the Jew to have the power of a principal over his clerk, of a master over his servant, of a landlord over his tenant — why is he to have all this which is power, and yet to be deprived of the fair and natural consequences of this power ? A Jew may be the richest man in England ; he may possess the whole of London ; his interest may be the means of raising this party or depressing that ; his influence may be of the first consequence in a war which shall shake all Europe to its center ; his power may assist or retard the greatest plans of the greatest prince ; he may make members of Parliament ; and yet, with all this, confessed, acknowledged, undenied, he is not to have the power of sitting in Parliament himself ! IB. 156 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. XXVL — THE AMERICANS NOT REBELLIOUS. On the Address to the King, February 2, 1775. Sir, tlie noble lord has endeavored, by every light into which he can throw the question, to prove that the resistance of the Americans, though it has gone no further than votes and resolu- tions, is actual and open rebellion. I think, sir, that there is no difficulty in proving the direct contrary position. Against what is it that the Americans rebel ? Do they deny allegiance to his majesty ? Are they in arms in opposing the king's troops ? By what explanation or by what misconception their conduct is now to be branded with so violent and so fatal an epithet, I can not apprehend. You passed acts, at the last session, which overturned all legal semblance of a constitution in one of their provinces ; and you utterly ruined"^ the capital of the empire in that part of the world, by way of punishing the insolence of a mob. You executed those acts by force of arms. The people of the colonies, thinking themselves tyrannically used, convened a General Congress. The deputies met in that Congress, and came to resolutions full of duty and allegiance to the king, and respect towards Parliament. And we, the Parliament of Great Britain, are now to overlook the conduct of the Congress, and search for proofs of rebellion among the American mobs and the colony newspapers I And these last have been actually laid before us as state papers! Yet, in the action of these mobs, and in the expressions of these newspapers, is not rebellion to be found. It must be by the most sophistical of all arguments that such a deduction is to be drawn, A people governed by a constitution subordinate to our own, pro- fessing loyalty and obedience to the king, and using no violence against his troops, nor being any where in arms, can not, but by the utmost perversion of sense and expression, be denominated rebels. I insist that America is not in a state of rebellion. I insist that every appearance of riot, disorder, tumult, and sedition, which the noble lord has so faithfully recounted from newspapers, arises not from disobedience, treason, or rebellion, but is created by the conduct of those who would establish a despotism in the land ; ay, sir, of those whose views are manifestly directed to the reduction of America to the most abject state of servility, as a preFude to the realizing the same atrocious system in the mother country. Joseph dunning. * Parliament shut up the port of Boston, March, 1774. PART SEVENTH. — THE FLOOR OP CONGRESS. I. — ON THE BRITISH TREATY, 1796. The treaty is bad, fatally bad, is the cry. It sacrifices the interest, the honor, the independence, of the United States, and the faith of our engagements to France. If we listen to the clamor of party intemperance, the evils are of a number not to be counted, and of a nature not to be borne, even in idea. The language of passion and exaggeration may silence that of sober reason in other places. It has not done it here. The question here is, whether the treaty be really so very fatal as to oblige the nation to break its faith. This, sir, is a cause that would be dishonored and betrayed if I contented myself with appealing only to the understanding. That faculty is too cold, and its processes are too slow, for the occasion. I desire to thank God that, since he has given me an intellect so fallible, he has impressed upon me an instinct that is sure. On a question of shame and honor, reasoning is sometimes useless, and worse. I fisel the decision in my pulse ; if it throws no light upon the brain, it kindles a fire at the heart. It is not easy to deny, it is impossible to doubt, that a treaty imposes an obligation on the American nation. It would be childish to consider the President and Senate obliged, and the nation and House free. What is the obligation ? Perfect or imperfect ? If perfect, the debate is brought to a conclusion. If imperfect, how large a part of our faith is pawned ? Is half our honor put at risk, and is that half too cheap to be redeemed ? How long has this hair-splitting subdivision of good faith been discovered, and why has it escaped the researches of the wi'iters on the law of nations ? Shall we add a new chapter to that law, or insert this doctrine as a supplement to, or, more properly, a repeal of, the ten commandments ? The consequences of refusing to make provision for the treaty are not all to be foreseen. By rejecting it, vast interests are committed to the sport of the winds ; chance becomes the arbiter of events, and it is forbidden to human foresight to count their number, or measure their extent. Before we resolve to leap into this abyss, so dark and so profound, it becomes us to pause and reflect upon such of the dangers as are obvious and inevitable. If this assembly should be wrought into a temper to defv these 14 137 158 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. consequences, it is vain, it is deceptive, to pretend that we can escape them. It is worse than weakness to say that as to public faith our vote has already settled the question : another tribunal than our own is already erected. The public opinion, not merely of our own country, but of the enlightened world, will pronounce a judgment that we can not resist, that we dare not even affect to despise. fisher ames. II. _ WAR WITH GREAT BRITAIN, 1812. If we are not fully prepared for war, let the sublime fact be soon exhibited, that a free and valiant nation, with our numbers, and a just cause, is always a powerful nation — is always ready to defend its essential rights ! In the Congress of 1774, among other arguments used to prevent a war, and discourage separa- tion from Great Britain, the danger of having our towns battered down and burnt was zealously urged. The venerable Christo- pher Gadsden, of South Carolina, rose and replied to it in these memorable words: " Our seaport towns, Mr. President, are com- posed of brick and wood. If they are destroyed, we have clay and timber enough in our country to rebuild them. But, if the liberties of our country are destroyed, where shall we find the mpvterials to replace them?" During the siege of Boston, General Washington consulted Congress upon the propriety of bombarding the town. Mr. Han- cock was then President of Congress. After General Washing- ton's letter was read, a solemn silence ensued. This was broken by a member making a motion that the house should resolve itself into a committee of the whole, in order that Mr. Hancock might give his opinion upon the important subject, as he was so deeply interested from having all his estate in Boston. A fter he left the chair, he addressed the chairman of the committee of the whole in the following words : " It is true, sir, nearly all the property I have in the world is in houses and other real estate in the town of Boston; but, if the expulsion of the British army from it, and the liberties of our country, require their being burnt to ashes, issice the order for that purpose immediately y What inspiring lessons of duty do examples like these incul- cate ! War, fellow-citizens, is not the greatest of evils. Sub- mission to injustice is worse. Loss of honor is worse. A peace purchased by mean and inglorious sacrifices is worse. I am no apologist of war. It should be the last resort of nations. It brings tremendous evils in its train. It foments some of the worst passions of our nature, even as it sometimes develops the THE LABORING CLASSES. 159 most heroic virtues. But an ignoble peace is more demoralizing than a sanguinary war. It is an incubus on a nation's character, in the oppression of which every true patriot must share ; till he could almost exclaim, with disgraced Cassio, " ! I have lost my reputation. I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, lago, my reputation ! " BIl#WN. IIL — NATIONAL OBLIGATIONS. I DIFFER, Mr. Chairman, from the honorable gentleman from Massachusetts, who denies that sympathy ought to be felt for the children of deceased officers, who may be in want. Those chil- dren have not served us, it is true ; but their fathers who did are beyond the reach of our gratitude, and the transfer of the feel- ing is natural and just. Public benefits bestowed on the children of the deceased father encourages him who is alive in the dis- charge of his duty, by the purest of all motives — paternal affec- tion ; and that legislation must be unwise, indeed, that fails to enlist, in support of the State, all the best impulses of humanity. Let that republic get on as it can, where the veteran, blind, maimed, and poor, like Belisarius, is forced to apply to public charity for support ! Let that republic get on as it can, where contracts are broken, and public beneficence refused; where nothing is given but what is in the bond — and that is frequently refused ! Let that republic get on as it can ! It will never produce any thing great ; its career will be short and inglorious ; its fall certain and unpitied ; its history remembered as a warn- ing, not as an example ; and the names of its legislators and statesmen buried in the oblivion to which their false economy tends to consign the memory of those who have established its freedom, or defended it from aggression. May our republic show, by its decision on this bill, that it has a higher destiny, and that it is guarded as well by liberality and honor, as by justice ! EDWARD LIVINGSTON {Jan, 15, 1827). lY. _THE LABORING CLASSES. Sir, it is an insult to our laboring classes to compare them with the debased poor of Europe. Why, sir, we of this country do not know what poverty is. "We have no poor in this country, in the sense in which that word is used abroad. Every laborer, even the most humble, in the United States, soon becomes a capi- 160 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. talist, and even, if he choose, a proprietor of land; for the TYest, with all its boundless fertility, is open to him. How can any one dare to compare the mechanics of this land (whose inferiority, in any substantial particular, in intelligence, in virtue, in wealth, to the other classes of our society, I have yet to learn) with that race of outcasts, of which so terrific a picture is presftited by recent writers — the poor of Europe? — a race among no inconsiderable portion of whom famine and pestilence may be said to dwell continually ; many of whom are without morals, without education, without a country, without a God ! and may be said to know society only by the terrors of its penal code, and to live in perpetual war with it. Poor bondmen ! mocked with the name of liberty, that they may be sometimes tempted to break their chains, in order that, after a few days of starvation in idleness and dissipation, they may be driven back to their prison-house to take their shackles up again, heavier and more galling than before; severed, as it has been touchingly expressed, from nature, from the common air, and the light of the sun ; knowing only by hearsay that the fields are green, that the birds sing, and that there is a per fume in fiowers ! And is it with a race whom the perverse institutions of Europe have thus degraded beneath the condition of humanity that the advocates, the patrons, the protectors, of our working-men, pre- sume to compare them ? Sir, it is to treat them with a scorn at which their spirit should revolt, and does revolt. HUGH S. LEUAKE. V._ON THE EMBARGO. The gentleman from North Carolina exclaimed, the other day, in a strain of patriotic ardor, " What ! shall not our laws be executed ? Shall their authority be defied ? I am for enforcing them, at every hazard." I honor that gentleman's zeal, and I mean no deviation from that true respect I entertain for him, when I tell him that in this instance ^' his zeal is not according to knowledge." I ask this house, is there no control to its authority, is there no limit to the power of this national legislature ? I hope I shall offend no man, when I intimate that two limits exist — ^ nature and the constitution. Should this house undertake to declare that this atmosphere should no longer surround us, that water should cease to flow, that gravity should not hereafter operate, that the needle should not vibrate to the pole, — sir, I hope I shall not offend — I think I may venture to affirm that, NATIONAL GLORY. IGl such a law to the contrary notwithstanding, the air would con- tinue to circulate; the Mississippi, the Hudson, and the Potomac, would roll their floods to the ocean ; heavy bodies continue to descend, and the mysterious magnet hold on its course to its celestial cyn'osure. Just as utterly absurd and contrary to nature is it to attempt to prohibit the people of New England, for any considerable length of time, from the ocean. Commerce is not only associated with all the feelings, the habits, the interests and relations, of that people, but the nature of our soil and of our coasts, the state of our population and its mode of distribution over our territory, render it indispensable. We have five hundred miles of 3ea-coast, all furnished with harbors, bays, creeks, rivers, inlets, basins, with every variety of invitation to the sea, with every species of facility to violate such laws as these. Our peo- ple are not scattered over an immense surface, at a solemn dis- tance from each other, in lordly retirement, in the midst of extended plantations and intervening wastes ; they are collected on the margin of the ocean, by the sides of rivers, at the heads of bays, looking into the water, or on the surface of it, for the incitement and the reward of their industry. Among a people thus situated, thus educated, thus numerous, laws prohibiting them from the exercise of their natural rights will have a binding effect not one moment longer than the pub- lic sentiment supports them. Gentlemen talk of twelve revenue cutters additional, to enforce the embargo laws. Multiply the number by twelve, multiply it by a hundred, join all your ships of war, all your gun-boats, and all your militia, — in despite of them all, such laws as these are of no avail, when they become odious to public sentiment. josiah QUINCY (Nov. 28, 1808). VL— NATIONAL GLORY. We are asked what have we gained by the war ? I have shown that we have lost nothing in rights, territory, or honor; nothing for which we ought to have contended, according to the principles of the gentlemen on the other side, or according to our own. Have we gained nothing by the war ? Let any man look at the degraded condition of this country before the war, the scorn of the universe, the contempt of ourselves, and tell me if we have gained nothing by the war. Is there a man who would not desire a participation in the national glory acquired? Yes, national glory, which, however the expression may be condemned by some, must be cherished 14^ 162 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. by every genuine patriot. What do I mean by national glory? Glory such as Hull, Jackson, and Perry, have acquired. And are gentlemen insensible to their deeds — to the value of them in ani- mating the country in the hour of peril hereafter? Did the battle of Thermop'ylge preserve Greece but once? Whilst the Missis- sippi continues to bear the tributes of the Iron Mountains and the Alleghanies to her Delta and to the Gulf of Mexico, the 8th . of January shall be remembered, and the glory of that day shall stimulate future patriots, and nerve the arms of unborn freemen in driving the presumptuous invader from our country's soil. Gentlemen may boast of their insensibility to feelings inspired by the contemplation of such events. But I would ask, does the recollection of Bunker's Hill, Saratoga, and Yorktown, afford them no pleasure ? Every act of noble sacrifice to the country, every instance of patriotic devotion to her cause, has its beneficial influence. A nation's character is the sum of its splendid deeds; they constitute one common patrimony, the nation's inheritance. They awe foreign powers, they arouse and animate our own people. Do gentlemen derive no pleasure from the recent transactions in the Mediterranean ? Can they regard unmoved the honorable issue of a war in support of our national rights, declared, prose- cuted, and terminated by a treaty, in which the enemy submitted to a carte hlanche^ in the short period of forty days? The days of chivalry are not gone. They have been revived in the person of Commodore Decatur, who, in releasing from infidel bondage Christian captives, the subjects of a foreign power, and restoring them to their country and friends, has placed himself beside the most renowned knights of former times. I love true glory. It is this sentiment which ought to be cherished; and, in spite of cavils, and sneers, and attempts to put it down, it will finally conduct this nation to that height to which God and nature have destined it. clay. VII. — IN FAVOR OF FREE TRADE. Sir, next to the Christian religion, I consider free trade in its largest sense as the greatest blessing that can be conferred upon any people. Hear, sir, what Patrick Henry, the great orator of Virginia, whose soul was the very temple of freedom, says on this subject : i' Why should we fetter commerce? If a man is in chains, he * Pronounced kart hlansh — the a in hlansh having its sound as in father, and the V. having a slightly nasal sound. EUROPEAN EXAMPLES . 163 droops and bows to tlio earth, because his spirits are broken ; but let him tivist the fetters from his legs^ and he will stand erect. Fetter not commerce ! Let her be as free as the air. She will range the whole creation, and return on the four winds of heaven to bless the land with plenty/* But it has been said that free trade would do very well if all nations would adopt it ; but, as it is, every nation must protect itself from the effect of restrictions by countervailing measures. I am persuaded, sir, that this is a great, a most fatal error. If retaliation is resorted to for the honest purpose of producing a redi'ess of the grievance, while adhered to no longer than there is a hope of success, it may, like war itself, be sometimes just and necessary. But if it have no such object, " it is the unprofitable combat of seeing which can do the other the most harm." The case can hardly be conceived in which permanent restric- tions, as a measure of retaliation, could be profitable. In every possible situation, a trade, whether more or less restricted, is profitable, or it is not. This can only be decided by experience ; and if the trade be left to re^^ulate itself, water would not more naturally seek its level, than the intercourse adjust itself to the true interest of the parties. Sir, as to this idea of the regulation by government of the pursuits of men, I consider it as a remnant of barbarism, dis- gracefiil to an enlightened age, and inconsistent with the first principles of rational liberty. I hold government to be utterly incapable, from its position, of exercising such a power wisely, prudently, or justly. Are the rulers of the world the deposita- ries of its collected wisdom ? Sir, can we forget the advice of a great statesman to his son: "G-o, see the world, my son, that you may learn with how little wisdom mankind is governed.'' And is our own government an exception to this rule ? Or do we not find here, as every w^here else, that "Man. proud man. Dressed in a little brief authority, ■ Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven, As make the angels weep." HAYNE. VIII. — EUROPEAN EXAMPLES. A continuation of the preceding speech. The gentleman has appealed to the example of other nations, on the subject of free trade. Sir, they are all against him. They have had restrictions enough, to be sure, but they are get- 164 . THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. ting heartily sick of them, and in England, particularly, would willingly get rid of them if they could. We have been assured, by the declaration of a minister of the crown, from his place in Parliament, " that there is a growing conviction, among all men of sense and reflection in that country, that the true policy of all nations is to be found in unrestricted industry.'' Sir, in England they are now retracing their steps, and endeavoring to relieve themselves of the system as fast as they can. Within a few years past, upwards of three hundred statutes, imposing restric- tions in that country, have been repealed. Sir, the experience of France is equally decisive. Bonaparte's effort to introduce cotton and sugar has cost that country mil- lions ; and, but the other day, a foolish attempt to protect the iron mines spread devastation through half of France, and nearly ruined the wine-trade, on which one fifth of her citizens depend for subsistence. As to Spain, unhappy Spain, fenced round with restrictions, her experience one would suppose would convince us, if any thing could, that the protecting system in politics, like bigotry in religion, is utterly at war with sound principles and a liberal and enlightened policy. Sir, I say, in the words of the philosophical statesman of England, " leave a generous nation free to seek their own road to perfection." Thank Grod, the night is passing away, and we have lived to see the dawn of a glorious day. The cause of free trade must and will prosper, and finally triumph. The political economist is abroad ; light has come into the world ; and, in this instance, at least, men will not " prefer darkness rather than light." Sir, let it not be said, in after times, that the statesmen of America were behind the age in which they lived ; that they initiated this young and vigorous country into the enervating and corrupting practices of European nations ; and that, at the moment when the whole world were looking to us for an exam- ple, we arrayed ourselves in the cast-off follies and exploded errors of the Old World, and, by the introduction of a vile system of artificial stimulants and political gambling, impaired the healthful vigor of ih.Q body politic, and brought on decrepitude jind premature dissolution. " IB. IX. — SMUGGLING CAUSED BY HIGH DUTIES. The gentleman complains of frauds upon the revenue, and fraudulent invoices, and smuggling ; but it is his system which has produced these evils. Smuggling, from the very nature of SMUGGLING CAUSED BY HIGH DUTIES. 165 things, must exist, when the duties exceed the risk and expense of the illicit intercourse. For a season, sir, the high moral sense of a young and uncorrupted people may oppose some obstacle to these practices. Xo government on earth can prevent them. Napoleon, in the plenitude of his power, was unable to maintain his continental system. His prohibitions and restrictions were constantly violated with impunity. Yes, sir, he who sported with kingdoms, who constructed thrones upon the ruins of empires, and appointed the officers of his household to fill them ; whose armies were his custom-house officers, who drew his cordons around the nations which he conquered, was utterly unable to put down the great principles of free trade. It has been well said, sir, " that when all Europe was obedient to his nod, the smuggler disputed his commands, set at naught his edicts, laughed to scorn his power, and overthrew his policy." How is it with England, that sea-girt isle, surrounded with a thousand ships, and thirty thousand guardians of her revenue ? Sir, do we not all know that smuggling is there a profitable trade, and that the revenue laws of England are constantly violated with impunity ? And how is it in Spain? A modern traveler asserts that there are a hundred thousand persons in that unhappy country who live by smuggling, and that there are thirty thousand others paid by the government to detect their practice, but who are in a league with the offenders ; and, as to the condition of things in our own country, the gentleman has told us a tale this day, which, if he be not himself deceived, shows what fearful progress these practices have already made. The time was when smuggling was absolutely unknown any where in this country, as it still is in the Southern States. It is your protecting system which has introduced it. It is the natural consequence of high duties. The evil was foretold ; and, as we predicted, it has come upon us. The protecting system has already, in the minds of many, removed the odium which formerly rested on this practice. It was but the last year that a distin- guished senator rose up in his place here and held this language : " Your tariff policy compels respectable men to violate your law; you force them to disregard its injunctions, in order to elude its oppressions." It was his perfect conviction that there was not a virtuous man throuofhout the Union who would now think it criminal to smuggle into the country every article con- sumed in it. And why ? Because you force them to it in self- defense. Sir, when these sentiments shall become prevalent, what think 166 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. you will become of that system ? How long will it last, after the payment of duties shall come to be considered as a badge of servitude ? ib. X._ON INTERNAL IMPROVEMENTS. House of Representatives, Jan., 1819. On this subject of national power, what can be more important than a perfect unity in every part, in feelings and sentiments ? And what can tend more powerfully to produce it, than overcom- ing the effects of distance? No country, enjoying freedom, ever occupied any thing like as great an extent of country as this republic. One hundred years ago, the most profound philoso- phers did not believe it to be even possible. They did not sup- pose it possible that a pure republic could exist on as great a scale, even, as the island of Great Britain. What then was con- sidered as chimerical, we have now the felicity to enjoy: and, what is most remarkable, such is the happy mould of our govern- ment, so we]] are the state and general powers blended, that much of our political happiness draws its origin from the extent of our republic. It has exempted us from most of the causes which distracted the small republics of antiquity. Let it not, however, be forgotten, let it be forever kept in mind, that it exposes us to the greatest of all calamities, — next to the loss of liberty, and even to that in its consequences, — dis- union. We are great, and rapidly, I was about to say fearfully, growing. This is our pride and our danger, our weakness and our strength. Little does he deserve to be intrusted with the liberties of this people, who does not raise his mind to these truths. We are under the most imperious obligation to counter- act every tendency to disunion. The strongest of all cem'ents is, undoubtedly, the wisdom, jus- tice, and, above all, the moderation of this house ; yet the great subject on which we are now deliberating, in this respect, deserves the most serious consideration. Whatever impedes the intercourse of the extremes with this, the center of the republic, weakens the Union. The more enlarged the sphere of commer- cial circulation, the more extended that of social intercourse — the more strongly we are bound together, the more inseparable are our destinies. Those who understand the human heart best know how power- fully distance tends to break the sympathies of our nature. Nothing, not even dissimilarity of language, tends more to estrange man from man. Let us, then, bind the republic together EFFECT OF OUR NAVAL VICTORIES. 16T with a perfect system of roads and canals ! Let us conquer space ! It is thus the most distant part of the republic will be brought within a few days' travel of the center ; it is thus that a citizen of the West will read the news of Boston still moist from the press. J. C. CALHOUN. XL— EFFECT OF OUR NAVAL VICTORIES. This country is left alone to support the rights of neutrals. Perilous is the condition, and arduous the task. We are not intimidated. We stand opposed to British usurpation, and by our spirit and efforts have done all in our power to save the last vestiges of neutral rights. Yes, our embargoes, non-intercourse, non-importation, and, finally, war, are all manly exertions to pre- serve the rights of this and other nations from the deadly grasp of British maritime policy. But, say our opponents, these efforts are lost, and our condition hopeless. If so, it only remains for us to assume the garb of our condition. We must submit, humbly submit, crave pardon, and hug our chains. It is not wise to provoke where we can not resist. But first let us be well assured of the hopelessness of our state before we sink into submission. On what do our opponents rest their despondent and slavish belief? On the recent events in Europe ? I admit they are great, and well calculated to impose on the imagination. Our enemy never presented a more impos- ing exterior. His fortmie is at the flood. Bat I am admonished by universal experience that such prosperity is the most precari- ous of human conditions. From the flood the tide dates its ebb. From the meridian the sun commences his decline. Depend upon it, there is more of sound philosophy than of fiction in the fickle- ness which poets attribute to fortune. Prosperity has its weak- ness, adversity its strength. In many respects, our enemy has lost by those very changes which seem so very much in his favor. He can no more claim to be struggling for existence ; no more to be fighting the battles of the world in defence of the liberties of mankind. The magic cry of " French influence " is lost. In this very hall, we are not strangers to that sound. Here, even here, the cry of " French influence," that baseless fiction, that phan- tom of faction now banished, often resounded. I rejoice that the spell is broken by which it was attempted to bind the spirit of this youthful nation. The minority can no longer act under cover, but must come out and defend their opposition on its own intrinsic merits. 168 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. Our example can scarcely fail to produce its effects on other nations interested in the main tenance of maritime rights. But if, unfortunately, we should be left alone to maintain the contest, and if — which may Heaven forbid! — necessity should compel us to yield for the present, yet our generous efforts will not have been lost. A mode of thinking and a tone of sentiment have gone abroad which must stimulate to future and more successful struggles. What could not be done with eight millions of peo- ple will be done with twenty. The great cause will never be yielded ; no, never, never ! I hear the future audibly announced in the past, in the splendid victories over the Guerriere,* Java, and Macedonian. We and all nations, by these victories, are taught a lesson never to be forgotten. Opinion is power. The charm of British naval invincibility is gone. ib. XIL— OUR NATIONAL CITIZENSHIP. Sir, proud as I am of the title of citizen of Virginia, grateful as I am for the unmerited favor which that honored mother has shown me, I yet feel, with the Father of the Country, that " the just pride of patriotism is exalted " by the more comprehensive title of citizen of the United States, — that title which gives me a share in the common inheritance of glory which has descended to us from our Revolutionary sages, patriots, and heroes ; that title which enables me to claim the names of the Butledo-es, the Pinckneys, and the Sumpters, of South Carolina, of the Hancocks, the Adamses, and the Otises, of Massachusetts, and all the other proud names which have illustrated the annals of each and all of these States, as " copatriot with my own." In reviev\^ing, Mr. President, the fundamental tenets of that new school of constitutional law, which has sprung up within the last four or j&ve eventful years of our political history, I have endeavored to show that they have no foundation whatever in any just view of the constitution, — that they are directly at war with the cotemporary understanding and expositions of its founders, and that they derive no countenance whatever from the principles of that genuine republican school, which reestablished the constitution in its purity, after the temporary perversions to which it had been subjected. These modern doctrines, I do firmly believe, are, in their tendency, utterly subversive of that happy system of government, * Pronounced Gerry air. AVAR UNDER THE GUISE OF PEACE. 169 the preservation of which is not only the sole security for liberty with us, but the last hope of freedom throughout the world. If, in the depth of these convictions, I shall have fallen into a warmer tone of discussion than is my habit, it will be attributed, 1 trust, to its true cause, and not to any want of proper respect or kind feeling towards the members, one and all, of this body. Sir, we live in times when it is a solemn duty which every man owes his country to speak his opinions, without disguise or equivocation, even at the risk of giving offense to some of those whom it would be his greatest pleasure, as well as highest ambi- tion, to content in all things. I have been already admonished, sir, that a sword is, at this moment, suspended over my head, which may descend and ^ever the worthless thread of my political existence, for the act of public duty I am now performing. Sir, if it should be so, I shall have at least one consolation, the con- sciousness of having fallen in the defence of the constitution of my country, and of that liberty which is indissolubly connected with it. WM. C. RIVES (1833). Xin.— WAR UNDER THE GUISE OF PEACE. Sir, I have been exceedingly struck, while listening to gentle- men, with the fact that while the ends and objects at which they aim are all so pacific, their speeches are strewn and sown thick, broad-cast, with so much of the food and nourishment of war. Their ends and objects are peace — a treaty of peace ; but their means and their topics wear a certain incongruous grimness of aspect. The " bloom is on the rye ; " but, as you go near, you see bayonet-points sparkling beneath, and are fired upon by a thousand men in ambush ! The end they aim at is peace ; but the means of attaining it are an offensive and absui-d threat. I declare, sir, that while listening to senators whose sincerity and patriotism I can not doubt, and to this conflict of topics and objects with which they half-bewilder me, I v/as forcibly reminded of that consum'mate oration in the streets of Rome, by one who " came to bury Caesar, not to praise him." He did not wish to stir up any body to mutiny and rage ! 0, no ! He would not have a finger lifted against the murderers of his and the people's friend — not he ! He feared he wronged them. Yet who has not admired the exquisite address and the irresistible effect with which he returns again and again to " sweet Csesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths," and puts a tongue in each, — to the familiar mantle, first worn on the evening of the day his great friend overcame the Nervii, now pierced bv the cursed steel of 15 170 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. Oassius, of the envious Casca, of tlic weli-beloved Brutus, — to his legacy of drachmas, arbors, and orchards, to the people of 'Rome, whose friend, whose benefactor, he shows to them, all marred by traitors, — till the mob break away from his words of more than fire, with : " ^Ye will be reyenged ! — Revenge ' About ! Seek — burn — lire — lull — slay ! — let not a traitor live ! ' ' Antony was insincere. Senators are wholly sincere. Yet the contrast between their pacific professions and that revelry of belligerent topics and sentiments which rings and flashes in their speeches here, half suggests a doubt to me, sometimes, whether they or I perfectly know what they mean or what they desire. They promise to show you a garden ; and you look up to see nothing but a wall " with dreadful faces thronged, and fiery arms ! " They propose to teach you hov/ peace is to be preserved ; and they do it so exquisitely that you go away half inclined to issue letters of marque and reprisal to-morrow morning. The proposition is peace ; but the audience rises and goes off with a sort of bewildered and unpleasing sensation, that if there were a thousand men in all America as well disposed as the orator, peace might be preserved ; but that, as the case stands, it is just about hopeless ! I ascribe it altogether to their anxious and tender concern for peace, that senators have not a word to say about the good she does, but only about the danger she is in. They have the love of compassion, not the love of desire. Not a word about the countless blessings she scatters from her golden urn ; but only " the pity of it, lago ! the pity of it ! " to think how" soon the dissonant clangor of a thousand brazen throats may chase that bloom from her cheek, — " And Death's pale flag be quick advanced there." e here can say one thing and mean another ; cant, and nothing directly said. '' The dial s but pointed full upon the stroke of murder." ciioate. Sir, no one here can say one thing and mean another ; yet much *may be meant, and nothing directly said. '' The dial spoke not, Xiy. -- DESTINY OF THE UNITED STATES. One of England's own writers has said : " The possible destiny of the United States of America, as a nation of one hundred millions of freemen, stretching fi^om the Atlantic to the Pacific, living under the laws of Alfred, and speaking the language of Shakspeare and Miltcn, 13 nn august conception." Sir, it is an WAR CONSEQUENT ON DISSOLUTION. 171 august conception, finely embodied ; and I trust in God that it will, at no distant time, become a reality. I trust that the world will see, through all time, our people living not only under the laws of Alfred, but that they will be heard to speak, throughout our wide-spread borders, the language of Shakspeare and Milton. Above all, is it my prayer that, as long as our posterity shall continue to inhabit these mountains and plains, and hills and valleys, they may be found living under the sacred institutions of Christianity. Put these things together, and what a picture do they present to the mental eye ! Civilization and intelligence started in the East ; they have traveled, and are still traveling, westward ; but when they shall have completed the circuit of the earth, and reached the extremest verge of the Pacific shores, then, unlike the fabled god of the ancients, who dipped his glowing axle in the western wave, they will take up their permanent abode ; then shall we enjoy the sublime destiny of returning these blessings to their ancient seat ; then will it be ours to give the priceless benefits of our free institutions, and the pure and healthful light of the Grospel, back to the dark family which has so long lost both truth and freedom ; then may Christianity plant herself there, and while with one hand she points to the Polynesian isles, rejoicing in the late-recovered treasure of revealed truth, with the other present the Bible to the Chinese. It is our duty to aid in this great work. I trust we shall esteem it as much our honor as our duty. Let us not, like some of the British missionaries, give them the Bible in one hand and opium in the other, but bless them only with the pure word of truth. I hope the day is not distant, — soon, soon may its dawn arise ! — to shed upon the farthest and the most benighted of nations the splendor of more than a tropical sun. H. W. HILLIARD. Xy. — WAE CONSEQUENT ON DISSOLUTION. Mr. President, I have said what I solemnly believe — that the dissolution of the Union and war are identical and insepara- ble ; that they are convertible terms. Such a war, too, as that would be, following the dissolution of the Union ! Sir, we may search the pages of history, and none so furious, so bloody, so implacable, so exterminating, from the wars of Greece down, including those of the commonwealth of England, and the revolu- tion of France — none, none of them raged with such violence — none was ever conducted with such bloodshed and enormities as 172 THE FLOOll OF CONGRESS. must attend that war whicli shall follow the disastrous event — if that event ever happen — of dissolution. And what would be its termination ? Standing armies and navies, to an extent draining the revenues of each portion of the dissevered empire, would be created ; exterminating wars would follow, — not a war of two or three years, but of interminable duration, — exterminating wars would follow, until some Philip or Alexander, some Csesar or Napoleon, would rise to cut the Grordian knot, and solve the capacity of man for self-government, and crush the liberties of both the dissevered portions of this Union. Can you doubt it ? Look at history — consult the pages of all history, ancient or modern ; look at human nature ; look at the character of the contest in which 3^ou would be engaged in the supposition of a war following the dissolution of the Union, such as I have sug- gested, and I ask you if it is possible for you to doubt that the final but perhaps distant termination of the whole will be some despot treading down the liberties of the people ? — that the final result will be the extinction of this last glorious light which is leading all mankind, who are gazing upon it, to cherish hope and anxious expectation that the liberty which prevails here will sooner or later be advanced throughout the civilized world ? Can you lightly contemplate the consequences ? Can you yield yourself to a torrent of passion, amid dangers which I have de- picted in colors far short of what would be the reality, if the event should ever happen ? I con-jure' gentlemen, — whether from the South or the North, — by all they hold dear in the world, by all their love of liberty, by all their veneration for their ancestors, by all their regard for posterity, by all their gratitude^ to Him who has bestowed upon them such unnumbered blessings, by all the duties which they owe to mankind, and all the duties which they owe to themselves, — by all these considerations I implore them to pause — solemnly to pause — at the edge of the precipice, before the fearful and disastrous leap is taken in the yawning abyss below, which will inevitably lead to certain and irretrievable destruc- tion. And, finally, I implore, as the best blessing which heaven can bestow upon me on earth, that if the direful and sad event of the dissolution of the Union shall happen, I may not survive to behold the sad and heart-rendins: spectacle. clay. * The long u in such words as aratUude, duty^ student, tumult, &c., has a y sound, as in mute. But after r in the same syllable long u has the sound of long 00 in food ; as in rule, brute, rude, intrude, Slq, ON THE FOUCE BILL. 173 XVL — ON THE FORCE BILL. For what purpose is the unlimited control of the purse and of the sword to be placed at the disposition of the executive ? To make war against one of the free and sovereign members of this confederation, which the bill proposes to deal with, not as a State, but as a collection of banditti or outlaws ; thus exhibiting the impious spectacle of this government, the creature of the States, making war against the power to which it owes its existence. Do I say that the bill declares war against South Carolina ? No ! It decrees a massacre of her citizens ! War has something ennobling about it, and, with all its horrors, brings into action the highest qualities, intellectual and moral. It was, perhaps, in the order of Providence, that it should be permitted for that very purpose. But this bill declares no war, except, indeed, it be that which savages wage ; a war, not against the community, but the citizens of whom that community is composed. Eut I regard it as worse than savage warfare — as an attempt to take away life, under the color of law, without the trial by jury, or any other safeguard which the constitution has thrown around the life of the citizen ! It authorizes the President, or even his depu- ties, when they may suppose the law to be violated, without the intervention of a court or jury, to kill without mercy or discrim- ination. It has been said, by the senator from Tennessee, to be a meas- ure of peace ! Yes, such peace as the wolf gives to the lamb, the kite to the dove ! Such peace as E^ussia gives to Poland, or death to its victim ! A peace by extinguishing the political existence of the State, by awing her into an abandonment of the exercise of every power which constitutes her a sovereign com- munity ! It is to South Carolina a question of self-preserva- tion ; and I proclaim it, that, should this bill pass, and an attempt be made to enforce it, it will be resisted at every hazard — even that of death itself ! Death is not the greatest calamity ; there are others, still more terrible to the free and brave, and among them may be placed the loss of liberty and honor. There are thousands of her brave sons who, if need be, are prepared cheerfully to lay down their lives in defense of the State, and the great principles of constitutional liberty for which she is contending. Grod forbid that this should become necessary ! It never can be, unless this governnaent is resolved to bring the question to extremity; when her gallant sons will stand prepared to perform the last duty — to die nobly ! calhoun. 15# 174 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. XVIL — THE PUBLIC LAND BILL. Mr. President, I rise to ask leave to introduce a bill to appro- priate, for a limited time, the pro'ceeds of the sales of the public lands of the United States, and for granting lands to certain States. Sir, I have ever regarded with feelings of the pro- foundest regret the decision which the President of the United States felt himself induced to make on the bill of 1833. If that bill had passed, about twenty millions of dollars would have been, during the last three years, in the hands of the several States, applicable by them to the beneficent purposes of internal improvement, education, or colonization. What immense bene- fits might not have been diffused throughout the land by the active employment of that large sum ! What new channels of commerce and communication might not have been opened 1 What industry stimulated, what labor rewarded ! How many youthful minds might have received the blessings of education and knowledge, and been rescued from ignorance, vice, and ruin ! How many descendants of Africa might have been transported from a country v/^here they never can enjoy political or social equality, to the native land of their fathers, where no impedi- ment exists to their attainment of the highest degree of elevation, intellectual, social, and political — where they might have been successful instruments, in the hands of God, to spread the reli- gion of his Son, and to lay the foundation of civil liberty ! But, although wo have lost three precious years, the Secretary of the Treasury tells us that the principal of this vast sum is yet safe ; and much good may still be achieved with it. The spirit of improvement pervades the land in every variety of form, — active, vigorous, and enterprising, wanting pecuniary aid as well as intelligent direction. The States are strengthening the Union- by various lines of communication thrown across and through the mountains. As the general government withholds all direct agency from these truly national works, and from all new objects of internal improvement, ought it not to yield to the States, what is their own, the amount received from the public lands ? It would thus but execute faithfully a trust expressly created by the original deeds of cession, or resulting from the treaties of acquisition. With this ample resource, every desirable object of improvement, in every part of our extensive country, may in due time be accomplished. Placing this exhaustless fund in the hands of the several members of the confederacy, their common federal head may address them in the gloAving language of the British bard, and THE PERMANENCE OF .\xMERICAN LIBERTY. 175 '* Bid harbors open, public Tvays extend. Bid temples worthier of our God ascend. Bid the broad arch the dangerous flood contain, The mole projecting break the roaring main. Back to his bounds their subject sea command. And roll obedient rivers through the land. CLAY. XVni.— THE PERMANENCE OF AMERICAN LIBERTY, The election of a chief magistrate by the mass of the people of an extensive community was, to the most enlightened nations of antiquity, a political impossibility. Destitute of the art of printing, they could not have introduced the representative prin- ciple into their political systems, even if they had understood it. In the very nature of things, that principle can only be coex- tensive with popular intelligence. In this respect, the art of printing, more than any invention since the creation of man, is destined to change and elevate the political condition of society. It has given a new impulse to the energies of the human mind, and opens new and brilliant destinies to modern republics, which were utterly unattainable by the ancients. The existence of a country population, scattered over a vast extent of territory, as intelligent as the population of the cities, is a phenomenon which was utterly and necessarily unknown to the free states of antiquity. All the intelligence which controlled the destiny and upheld the dominion of republican Kome was confined to the walls of the great city. Even when her domin- ion extended beyond Italy to the utmost known limits of the inhabited world, the city was the exclusive seat both of intelli- gence and empire. Without the art of printing, and the conse- quent advantages of a free press, that habitual and incessant action of mind upon mind, which is essential to all human im- provement, could no more exist among a numerous and scattered population, than the commerce of disconnected continents could traverse the ocean without the art of navigation. Here, then, is the source of our superiority, and our just pride as a nation. The statesmen of the remotest extremes of the Union can converse together, like the philosophers of Athens in the same portico, or the politicians of Rome in the same forum. Dis- tance is overcome, and the citizens of Georgia and of Maine can be brought to cooperate in the same gi-eat object, with as perfect a community of views and feelings as actuated the tribes of Rome in the assemblies of the people. It is obvious that liberty has a more extensive and durable foundation in the United States 176 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. than it ever has had in any other age or country. By the rep- resentative principle, — a principle unknown and impracticable among the ancients, — the whole mass of society is brought to operate in constraining the action of power, and in the conserva- tion of public liberty. G. m'duffie. XIX. — OBJECTS OF THE MEXICAN WAR. Sir, I propose to hold a plain talk to-day ; and I say that, according to my best judgment, the object of this bill is pat- ronage, office, the gratification of friends. This very measure for raising ten regiments creates four or five hundred officers, — colonels, subalterns; and not them only, — for all these I feel some respect, — but there are also paymasters, contractors, persons engaged in the transportation service, commissaries, even down to sutlers, et id onme genus^ people who handle the public money without facing the foe, one and all of whom are true -descendants, or, if not, true representatives of Ancient Pistol, who said, " I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. ' ' Sir, I hope, with no disrespect for the applicants and the aspirants, and the patriots (and among them are some sincere patriots) who would fight for their country, and those others who are not ready to fight, but who are willing to be paid, — with due respect for all of them according to their several degrees and their merits, I hope they will all be disappointed. I hope that, as the pleasant season advances, the whole may find it for their interest to place themselves, of mild mornings, in the cars, and take their destination to their respective places of honorable pri- vate occupation and of civil employment. They have my good wishes that they may find the way to their homes from the Av- enue and the Capitol, and from the purlieus of the President's house, in good health themselves, and that they may find their families all very happy to receive them. But, sir, to speak more seriously, this war was waged for the object of creating new States on the southern frontier of the United States out of Mexican territory, and with such population as could be found resident thereupon. I have opposed this object. I am against all accessions of territory to form new States. And this is no matter of sentimentality, which I am to pa- rade before mass-meetings or before my constituents at home. It is not a matter with me of declamation or of regret, or of expressed repugnance. It is a matter of firm, unchangeable purpose. I UNJUST NATIONAL ACQUISITIONS. 177 yield nothing to the force of circumstances that have occurred, or that I can consider as likely to occur. And therefore I say, sir, that if I were asked to-day whether, for the sake of peace, I would take a treaty for adding two new States to the Union on our southern border, I would say No ! — distinctly, No ! And I wish every man in the United States to understand that to be my judgment and my purpose. I said upon our southern border, because the present proposi- tion takes that locality. I would say the same of the western, the north-eastern, or of any other border. I resist to-day, and for ever, and to the end, any proposition to add any foreign terri- tory, south or west, north or east, to the States of this Union as they are constituted and held together under the constitution. Sir, I see well enough all the adverse indications. But I am sustained by a deep and a conscientious sense of duty ; and while supported by that feeling, and while such great interests are at stake, I defy auguries, and ask no omen but my country's cause ! WEBSTER. XX. — UNJUST NATIONAL ACQUISITIONS. I. Mr. President, the uneasy desire to augment our territory has depraved the moral sense and blighted the otherwise keen sagac- ity of our people. Sad, very sad, are the lessons which Time has written for us. Through and in them all I see nothing but the inflexible execution of that old law which ordains, as eternal, the cardinal rule, " Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods, nor any thing which is his." Since I have lately heard so much about the dismemberment of Mexico, I have looked back to see how, in the course of events, which some call '' Providence," it has fared with other nations who engaged in this work of dis- memberment. I see that in the latter half of the eighteenth century, three powerful nations, Russia, Austria, and Prussia, united in the dismemberment of Poland. They said, too, as you say, "It is our destiny." They "wanted room." Doubtless each of these thought, with his share of Poland, his power was too strong ever to fear invasion, or even insult. One had his California, another his New Mexico, and the third his Vera Cruz. Did they remain untouched and incapable of harm ? Alas ! no — far, very far, from it. Retrib'utive justice must fulfill its destiny too. A very few years pass off, and we hear of a new man, a Corsican lieutenant, the self-named " armed soldier of 178 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. Democracy," Napoleon. He ravages Austria, covers her land with blood, drives the Northern Caesar from his capital, and sleeps in his palace. Austria may now remember how her power trampled upon Poland. Did she not pay dear, very dear, for her California? But has Prussia no atonement to make ? You see this same Napoleon, the blind instrument of Providence, at work there. The thunders of his cannon at Jena ^ proclaim the work of retri- bution for Poland's wrongs; and the successors of the Great Frederick, the drill-sergeant of Europe, are seen flying across the sandy plains that surround their capital, right glad if they may escape captivity and death. But how fares it with the Autocrat of Russia ? Is he secure in his share of the spoils of Poland? No. Suddenly we see, sir, six hundred thousand armed men marching to Moscow. Does his Vera Cruz protect him now ? Far from it. Blood, slaugh- ter, desolation, spread abroad over the land ; and, finally, the conflagration of the old commercial metropolis of Russia closes the retribution : she must pay for her share in the dismember- ment of her impotent neighbor. II. Mr. President, a mind more prone to look for the judgments of Heaven in the doings of men than mine can not fail, in all unjust acquisitions of territory, to see the providence of God. When Moscow burned, it seemed as if the earth was lighted up, that the nations might behold the scene. As that mighty sea of fire gathered and heaved and rolled upward, and yet higher, till its flames licked the stars, and fired the whole heavens, it did seem as though the God of the nations was writing, in characters of flame, on the front of His throne, that doom that shall fall upon the strong nation which tramples in scorn upon the weak. And what fortune awaits him, the appointed executor of this work, when it was all done ? He, too, conceived the notion that his destiny pointed onward to universal dominion. France was too small, — Europe he thought should bow down before him. But as soon as this idea takes possession of his soul, he too becomes powerless. His Ter'minus must recede too. Bight there, while he witnessed the humiliation, and, doubtless, medi- tated the subjugation of Bussia, He who holds the winds in His fist, gathered the snows of the North, and blew them upon his * Pronounced Ya'na. A HIGHWAY TO THE PACIFIC. 179 six hundred thousand nieu. Thej fled, — they froze, — they per- ished. And now the mighty Napoleon, who had resolved on universal dominion, Ae, too, is summoned to answer for the violation of that ancient law, "Thou shalt not covet any thing which is thy neighbor's." How is the mighty fallen! He, beneath whose proud footstep Europe trembled, he is now an exile at Elba, and now, finally, a prisoner on the rock of St. HeFena, — and there, on a barren island, in an unfrequented sea, in the crater of an extinguished volcano, there is the death-bed of the mighty con- queror. Ail his annexations have come to that ! His last hour is now at hand ; and he, the man of destiny^ he who had rocked the world as with the throes of an earthquake, is now power- less, still, — even as the beggar, so he died. On the wings of a tempest that raged with unwonted fury, up to the throne of the only Power that controlled him while he lived, went the fiery soul of that wonderful warrior, another wit- ness to the existence of that eternal decree, that they who do not rule in righteousness shall perish from the earth. He has found "room," at last. And France, she too has found "room." Her " eagles" now no longer scream along the banks of the Danube, the Po, and the Borys'thenes. They have returned home, to their old aerie, between the Alps, the Rhine, and the Pyrenees. So shall it be with yours. You may carry them to the loftiest peaks of the Cordif leras ; they may wave, with insolent triumph, in the halls of the Montezumas ; the armed men of Mexico may quail before them : but the weakest hand in Mexico, uplifted iu prayer to the God of Justice, may call down against you a Power in the presence of which the iron hearts of your warriors shall be turned into ashes ! thomas corwik. XXL — A HIGHWAY TO THE PACIFIC. Mr. President, 1 go for a national highway from the Missis- sippi to the Pacific. And I go against all schemes of individu- als or of companies, and especially those who come here and ask of the Congress of the United States to give themselves and their assigns the means of making a road and taxing the people for the use of it. If they should make it, they are to tax us for the use of it — tax the people eight or ten millions a year for using the road which their own money built. A fine scheme, that ! But they would never build it, neither themselves nor their assigns. It would all end in stockjobbing. I repudiate the whole idea, sir. I go for a national highway — no stock- jobbing. 180 THE FLOOE, OF CONGRESS. We find all the localities of the country precisely such as a national central road would require. The bay of San Francisco, the finest in the world, is in the center of the western coast of North America ; it is central, and without a rival. It will accommodate the commerce of that coast, both north and south, up to the frozen regions, and down to the torrid zone. It is cen- tral in that respect. The commerce of the broad Pacific Ocean Yfill center there. The commerce of Asia will center there. Follow the same latitude across the country, and it strikes the center of the valley of the Mississippi. It strikes the Missis- sippi near the confluence of all the great waters which concen'r trate in the valley of the Mississippi. It comes to the center of the valley. It comes to St. Louis. Follow the prolongation of that central line, and you find it cutting the heart of the great States between the Mississippi Eiver and the Atlantic Ocean. Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, a part of Yirginia, Kentucky, and Penn- sylvania, — they are all traversed or touched by that great central line. We own the country, from sea to sea, — from the Atlantic to the Pacific, — and upon a breadth equal to the length of the Mississippi, and embracing the v/hole temperate zone. Three thousand miles across, and half that breadth, is the magnificent j^arallelogram of our domain. We can run a national central road through and through the v/hole distance, under our flag and under our- laws. Military reasons require us to make it; for -troops and munitions must go there. Political reasons require us to make it ; it will be a chain of union between the Atlantic and Pacific States. Commercial reasons demand it from us ; and here I touch a boundless field, dazzling and bewildering the imag- ination from its vastness and importance. The trade of the Pacific Ocean, of the western coast of North America, and of eastern Asia, will all take its track ; and not only for ourselves, but for posterity. Sir, in no instance has the great Asiatic trade failed to carry the nation or the people which possessed it to the highest pinna- cle of wealth and power, and with it to the highest attainments of letters, art, and seience. And so will it continue to be. An American road to India, through the heart of our country, will revive upon its line all the wonders of which we have read, and eclipse them. The western wilderness, from the Pacific to the Mississippi, will spring into life under its touch. A long line of cities will grow up. Existing cities will take a new start. The state of the world calls for a new road to India, and it is our destiny to give it — the last and greate;:;t. Let us act up to the great- THE CAPITOL OR THE CONSTITUTION. 181 ness of the occasion, and sliow ourselves worthy of the extraor- dinary circumstances in which we are placed, by securing while we can an American road to India, central and national, for our- selves and our posterity, now and hereafter, for thousands of years to come. t. h. benton. XXIL— THE CAPITOL OR THE CONSTITUTION. Sir, the senator from Massachusetts has expressed a preference for the constitution to the capitol of his country. He has dared to declare that he prized the magna chart a ^ of American liberty — the sacred bond of our union, the tie which binds together twelve millions of freemen — above the stones and mortar which compose the crumbling mass within whose walls we are assembled. *^ The very head and front of his offending hath this extent y no more." Now, grant, sir, that in his judgment, as well as that of many here, the very existence of our liberties is involved in the surrender of the principle he contended for ; grant that the concentration of legislative and executive power in the hands of a single man is the death-blow to the constitution, and that the senator was right in considering the proposed appropriation as establishing the very principle which gave that fatal blow ; and who is he that, thus believing, would support that proposition because the guns of the enemy were battering at the walls of the capitol ? Where, sir, is the coward — where is the traitor who would not rather see the capitol than the constitution of his country in ruins? or who would lend himself to the establishment of a despotism among us, with a view to save this building for the des- pot to revel in? Sir, in the days when Themis' to-cles led the Athenians to victory at Safamis, he advised them to surrender their capitol for the preservation of the constitution of their country. That gallant people rose under the impulse of patriot- ism as one man, and with a stern resolution to yield life itself rather than abandon their liberties, and surrender the proud priv- ilege of legislating for themselves to the delegate of a Persian despot, who offered them ^' all their own dominions, together with an accession of territory ample as their wishes, upon the single condition that they should receive law and suffer him to preside in Grreece." At that eventful period of their history, Crys'ilus alone proposed the surrender of their constitution to save the capitol ; and they stoned him to death. The public indignation * Pronounced rna'/na har'ta, 16 182 THE FLOOU OF CONGRESS. was not yet satisfied ; for the Athenian matrons then rose and inflicted the same punishment on his wife. Leaving their capitol and their noble city, rich as it was in the productions of every art, and glittering all over with the proudest trophies and the most splendid temples in the world ; deserting, in the cause of free government, the very land that gave them birth, they em- barked on board their ships, and fought that battle, the name of which has made the bosoms of freemen to thrill with sympathy in all succeeding ages, and shall cause the patriot's heart to beat higher with emotion through countless ages to come. JOHN M. CLAYTON. XXm.— PEACEABLE SECESSION IMPOSSIBLE, Mr. President, I should much prefer to have heard from every member on this floor declarations of opinion that this Union could never be dissolved, than the declaration of opinion by any body that, in any case, under the pressure of any circumstances, such a dissolution was possible. I hear with distress and anguish the word " secession," especially Avhen it falls from the lips of those who are patriotic, and known to the country, and known all over the world for their political services. Secession ! Peaceable secession ! Sir, your eyes and mine are never destined to see that miracle. The dismemberment of this- vast country without convulsion! The breaking up of the fountains of the great deep without ruffling the surface ! Who is so foolish — I beg everybody's pardon — as to expect to sec any such thing ? Sir, he who sees these States novf revolving in harmony around a common center, and expects to see them quit their places and fly off without convulsion, may look the next hour to see the heavenly bodies rush from their spheres, and jostle against each other in the realms of space, without causing the crush of the universe. There can be no such thing as a peaceable secession. Peaceable secession is an utter impossibility. Is the great con- stitution under which we live, covering this whole country, is ic to be thawed and melted away by secession, as the snows on the mountain melt under the influence of a vernal sun, disappear almost unobserved, and run off? No, sir ! No, sir! I will not state what might produce the disruption of the Union ; but, si:*, I see as plainly as I see the sun in heaven, what that disruption itself must produce ; I see that it must produce war, and such a war as I will not describe, in its tioo-fold character. WEBSTER. PERMANENCY OF STATES. 183 XXIV. — PERMANENCY OF STATES. Mr.. President, it has always seemed to me to be a grateful reflection, that, however short and transient may be the lives of individuals, States may be permanent. The great corporations that embrace the government of mankind, protect their liberties, and secure their happiness, may have something of perpetuity, and, as I might say, of earthly immortality. For my part, sir, I gratify myself by contemplating what in the future will be the condition of that generous State which has done me the honor to keep me in the counsels of the country for so many years. I see nothing about her in prospect less than that which encircles her now. I feel that when I and all those that now hear me shall have gone to our last home, and afterwards, when mould may have gathered upon our memories, as it will have done upon our tombs, that State, so early to take her part in the great contest of the Revolution, will stand, as she has stood and now stands, like that column which, near her capital, perpetuates the memory of the first great battle of the Revolution, firm, erect, and im- movable. I believe, sir, that if commotion shall shake the country, there will be one rock for ever, as solid as the granite of her hills, for the Union to repose upon. I believe that, if disasters arise, bringing clouds which shall obscure the ensign now over her and over us, there will be one star that will but burn the brighter amid the darkness of that night ; and I believe that, if in the remotest ages (I trust they will be infinitely remote !) an occa- sion shall occur when the sternest duties of patriotism are de- manded and to be performed, Massachusetts will imitate her own example ; and that, as at the breaking out of the Revolution she was the first to offer the outpouring of her blood and her treas- ure in the struggle for liberty, so she will be hereafter ready, when the emergency arises, to repeat and renew that offer, with a thousand times as many warm hearts, and a thousand times as many strong hands ! ib. XXV. — LIBERTY OF SPEECH. Important, sir, as I deem it to discuss, on all proper occa- sions, the policy of the measures at present pursued, it is still more important to maintain the right of such discussion in its full and just extent. Sentiments lately sprung up, and now growing fashionable, make it necessary to be explicit on this point. The more I perceive a disposition to check the freedom 184 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. of inquiry by extravagant and unconstitutional pretenses, the firmer shall be the tone in which I shall assert, and the freer the manner in which I shall exercise it. It is the ancient and undoubted prerogative of this people to canvass public measures, and the merits of public men. It is a " home-bred right," a fireside privilege. It hath ever been en- joyed in every house, cottage, and cabin, in the nation. It is not to be drawn into controversy. It is as undoubted as the right of breathing the air, or walking on the earth. Belonging to private life as a right, it belongs to public life as a duty ; and it is the last duty which those whose representative I am shall find me to abandon. Aiming at all times to be courteous and temperate in its use, except when the right itself shall be ques- tioned, I shall then carry it to its extent. I shall place my- self on the extreme boundary of my right, and bid defiance to any arm that would move me from my ground. This high, constitutional privilege I shall defend and exercise within this house, and without this house, and in all places ; in time of peace, and in all times. Living, I shall assert it; and, should I leave no other inheritance to my children, by the bless- ing of Grod I will leave them the inheritance of free principles, and the example of a manly, independent, and constitutional defense of them. ib. XXVI. — SECRET AND PROSCRIPTIVE SOCIETIES. I AM not allowed, sir, to reach the merits of the question before the Senate without alluding to the body of men who bear the name of " Know Nothings." They are said to have contrived their disguise with so much ingenuity that even a person who is not a novitiate can not disclaim a knowledge of their cere- monies and principles, without implying his communion and mem- bership with them. Nevertheless, sir, I must be permitted to deny all connection with this new order. I am under no respon- sibility for its doings, and I have not the least sympathy with its principles or sentiments. I belong to one voluntary association of men ; one which has to do with spiritual affairs — it is a branch of the Christian church. That association is an ope?i one; it performs all its rites and gives all its instructions with publicity; it invites every man to come in and partake of its privileges. I belong to one temporal society of men, and that is the polit- ical party which embodies most fully and truly, according to my notions, though, I confess, very inadequately, the principles of < POLICY OF ROADS. 185 the Declaration of Independence and of the Constitution of the United States. This also is an open association. All its transactions are conducted in broad daylight ; and it invites all citizens to cooperate with it in maintaining good government and advancing the cause of human nature. These two are^ the only voluntary associations to which I now belong, or ever have belonged, since I became a man ; and, unless I am bereft of reason, they are the only associations of men to which I shall ever suffer myself to belong. Secret societies, sir ? — Before I would place my hand between the hands of other men in a secret Lodge, Order, Class, or Coun- cil, and, bending my knee before them, enter into combination with them for any object, personal or political, good or bad, I would pray to Grod that that hand and that knee might be par- alyzed, and that I might become an object of the pity, and even of the mockery, of my fellow-men. Swear, sir ? — I, a man, an x\.merican citizen, a Christian, swear to submit myself to the guidance and direction of other men, surrendering my oivn judgment to their judgment, and my own conscience to their keeping ? No, sir, no ! Proscribe a man, sir, because he was not born in the same town, or county, or state, or country, in which I was born? \Yhy, sir, I do most earnestly and affectionately advise all per- sons, hereafter to be born, that they be born in the United States ; and, if they can, without inconvenience, to be born in the State of New York, and thus avoid a great deal of trouble for themselves and for others. Mr. President, you now know the leno-th and the breadth of my connection with the new and mysterious Order of patriots, the Know Nothings ! w. ii. ssward. XXVn. — POLICY OF ROADS. It would be difficult, Mr. President, to exaggerate the influ- ence of roads as a means of civilization. This, at least, may bo said : Where roads are not, civilization can not be ; and civil- ization advances as roads are extended. By roads, religion and knowledge are diffused ; intercourse of all kinds is pro- moted ; the producer, the manufacturer, and the consumer, are all * Pronounce are like the letter r ; been, bm ; aga,in, agen. Give short e in yet, get, &o., its true sound. Say catch, not ketch; just, not jest. In several words (but not in all) like evil, even, heaven, &g., the vowel before the final consonant is unsounded. Give the ph in sphere its / sound. The t and e in 4fften should be unsounded. 16^ 186 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. brought nearer together; commerce is quickened; markets are opened; property, wherever touched by these lines, is changed, as by a magic rod, into new values ; and the great current of travel, like that stream of classic fable, or one of the rivers of our own California, hurries in a channel of golden sand. The roads, together with the laws of ancient Rome, are now better remembered than her victories. The Flaminian and Ap- pian ways, once trod by returning proconsuls and tributary kings, ijtill remain as beneficent representatives of her departed grand- eur. Under Grod, the road and the schoolmaster are the two chief agents of human improvement. The education begun by the schoolmaster is expanded, liberalized, and completed, by inter- course with the world ; and this intercourse finds new opportu- nities and inducements in every road that is built. Our country has already done much in this regard. Through a remarkable line of steam communications, chiefly by railroad, its whole population is now, or will be soon, brought close to the borders of Iowa. The cities of the southern seaboard — Charles- ton, Savannah, and Mobile — are already stretching their lines in this direction ; while the traveler from all the principal points of the northern seaboard — from Portland, Boston, Providence, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington — now passes without impediment to this remote region, traversing a territory of unexampled resources, at once a magazine and a granary, — the largest coal-field, and at the same time the largest corn-field of the known globe, — winding his way among churches and school-houses, among forests and gardens, by villages, towns, and cities, along the sea, along rivers and lakes, with a speed which may recall the gallop of the ghostly horseman in the ballad : '' Fled past on right and left how fast Each forest, grove, and bower ! On right and left fled past how fast Each city, town, and tower ! '^ Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they speed. Splash ! splash ! along the sea ! " On the banks of the Mississippi he is now arrested. The pro- posed road in Iowa will bear the adventurer yet further, to the banks of the Missouri ; and this distant giant stream, mightiest of the earth, leaping from its sources in the Bocky Mountains, will be clasped with the Atlantic in the same iron bracelet. In all this I see not only further opportunities for commerce, but a new extension to civilization, and increased strength to our national Union. SUMNER. THE OREGON SETTLEMENT. 187 XXVni.— THE OREGON SETTLEMENT. It would seem that the white race alone received the divine command to subdue and replenish the earth ; for it is the only race that has obeyed it — the only one that hunts out new and distant lands, and even a new world, to subdue and replenish. Starting from western Asia, taking Europe for their field, and the sun for their guide, and leaving the Mongolians behind, they arrived, after many ages, on the shores of the Atlantic, which they lit up with the lights of science and religion, and adorned with the useful and the elegant arts. Three and a half centuries ago, this race, in obedience to the great command, arrived in the New World, and found new lands to subdue and replenish. Even four-score years ago the philosophic Burke was considered a rash man because he said the English colonists would top the Alle- ghanies, and descend into the valley of the Mississippi, and occupy without parchment, if the crown refused to make grants of land. What was considered a rash declaration eighty years ago, is old history in our young country at this day. I cannot repine, sir, that this capitol has replaced the wigwam, this Christian people replaced the savages, white matrons the red squaws, and that such men as Washington, Franklin, and Jeffer- son, have taken the place of Powhatan, Opechonecanough, and other red men, however respectable they may have been as savages. Sir, the apparition of the van of the Caucasian race, rising upon the Oriental nations in the east, after having left them on the west, and after having completed the circumnavigation of the globe, must wake up and animate the torpid body of old Asia. Our position and policy will commend us to their hospitable reception ; political considerations will aid the action of social and commercial influences. Pressed upon by the great powers of Europe, — the same that press upon us, — they must in our approach see the advent of friends, not of foes ; of benefactors, not of invaders. The moral and intellectual superiority of the white race will do the rest ; and thus the youngest people and the newest land will become the reviver and the regenerator of the oldest. It is in this point of view, and as acting upon the social, political, and religious condition of Asia, and giving a new point of departure to her ancient civilization, that I look upon the settlement of the Columbia River by the van of the Caucasian race as the most momentous human event in the history of man since his disper- sion over the face of the earth. t. h. benton. PART EIGHTH.— THE STAGE. I.__-THE CONSPIKATORS OF PALERMO. MONTALBA, GUIDO, PKOCIDA, RAIMOND. Proclda. Welcome, my brave associates ! — We can share The wolf's wild freedom here. The oppressor's haunt Is not 'midst rocks and caverns. — Art thou here, With thy deep wrongs and resolute despair, Childless Montalba ? Montalba {advancing). He is at thy side. Call on that desolate father, in the hour When his revenge is nigh. Pro, Art thou, too, here, Gruido, the exile from thy mountain home ? Guido, Even ^o. I stood Last night before my own ancestral towers, An unknown outcast, while the tempest beat -^ On my bare head — what recked it ? — There was joy Within, and revelry. They little deemed Who heard their melodies. But there are vows Known to the mountain-echoes. Pro'cida ! Call on the outcast when revenge is nigh. P7^o. I knew a young Sicilian, one whose heart Should be all fire. On that most guilty day. When, with our martyred Con'radfn, the flower Of the land's knighthood perished, he of whom j I speak, a weeping boy. Stood by the scaffold, with extended arms. Calling upon his father, whose last look Tarned full on him its parting agony. Doth he remember still that bitter hour ? Gui. He bears a sheathless sword ! — Call on the orphan when revenge is nigh. Pro. Our band shows gallantly — but there are men Who should be with us now, had they not dared In some wild moment of festivity To give their full hearts wav, and breathe a wish ' 18S THE CONSPIRATORS OF PALERMO. 189 For freedom ! — But have they not Brothers or sons amongst us ? Gui, Look on me ! I have a brother, a young, high-souled boy, His doom is sealed With theirs of whom you spoke ; and I have knelt — Ay, scorn me not ! 't was for his life — I knelt E'en at the viceroy's feet, and he put on That heartless laugh of cold malignity We know so well, and spurned me. But the stain Of shame like this takes blood to wash it off, And thus it shall be canceled ! — Call on me, When the stern moment of revenge is nigh. Pro, I call upon thee now ! — now — now — before The majesty of yon pure Heaven, whose eye Is on our hearts, whose ric^hteous arm befriends The arm that strikes for freedom ; speak ! decree The fate of our oppressors. Mont, Let them fall When dreaming least of peril ! Hide the sword With a thick veil of myrtle, and in halls Of banqueting, where the full wine-cup .shines Red in the festal torch-light ; meet we there, And bid them welcome to the feast of death. Raimond. Must innocence and guilt Perish alike ? Mont, Who talks of innocence ? When hath their hand been stayed for innocence ? Let them all perish ! — Heaven will choose its own. Let them all perish ! — And if one be found Amid our band, to stay the avenging steel For pity or remorse, or boyish love, Then be his doom as theirs ! — Why gaze ye thus ? Brethren, what means your silence ? Qui, Be it so ! If one amongst us stay the avenging steel For love or pity, be his doom as theirs ! Pledge we our faith to this ! Rai. Our faith to this I No ! I but dreamed I heard it ! — Can it be ? My countrymen, my father ! — Is it thus That freedom should be won ? — Awake ! Awake To loftier thoughts ! — Lift up, exultingly, On the crowned heights, and to the sweeping winds, 190 THE STAGE. Your glorious banner ! — Let your trumpet's blast Make the tombs thrill with echoes ! Call aloud, Proclaim from all your hills, the land shall bear The stranger's yoke no longer ! — What is he Who carries on his practiced lip a smile, Beneath his vest a dagger, which but waits Till the heart bounds with joy, to still its beatings ? That which our nature's instinct doth recoil from, And our blood curdle at, — ay, yours and mine, — A murderer ! — Heard ye ? — Shall that name with ours Go down to after days ? — 0, friends ! a cause Like that for which we rise hath made bright names Of the elder time as rallying-words to men, Sounds full of might and immortality ! And shall not ours be such ? Mont. Fond dreamer, peace ! Fame ! What is fame ? — Will our unconscious dust Start into thrilling rapture from the grave, At the vain breath of praise ? — I tell thee, youth, Our souls are parched with agonizing thirst. Which must be quenched, though death were in the draught • We must have vengeance, for our foes have left No other joy unblighted. Pro, ! my son, The time is past for such high dreams as thine. Thou know'st not whom we deal with. Knightly faith, And chivalrous "^ honor, are but things whereon They cast disdainful pity. We must meet Falsehood with wiles, and insult with revenge. Rai, Procida, know, I shrink from crime alone. 0, if my voice Might yet have power amongst j^ou, I would say, Associates, leaders, be avenged ! but yet As knights, as warriors ! Mont, Peace ! have we not borne The indelible taint of con tumely and chains ? We are not knights and warriors. Our bright crests Have been defiled and trampled to the earth. Boy ! we are slaves — and our revenge shall be Beep as a slave's disgrace. Rai. Why, then, farewell ; I leave you to your counsels. He that still * The ch in chivalry, chiv'alroiLs, kQ., has the sound of sJu Caesar's message to cato. 191 Would hold his lofty nature undebased, And his name pure, were but a loiterer here. Dearer than vengeance — ay, than freedom, dearer Is honor to me. And so, fare ye well. MRS. HEMANS (altered). n. — a^SAR'S MESSAGE TO CATO. BECIUS AND CATO. Decius. Caesar sends health to Cato. Cato. Could he send it To Cato's slaughtered friends, it would be welcome. Are not your orders to address the Senate ? Dec, My business is with Cato. Caesar sees The straits to which you 're driven ; and, as he knows Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. Cato. ^Ij life is grafted on the fate of Rome. Would he save Cato ? Bid him spare his country Tell your dictator this : and tell him, Cato Disdains a life which he has power to offer. Dec. Rome and her senators submit to C^sar ; Her generals and her consuls are no more, Who checked his conquests, and denied his triumphs. Yfhy will not Cato be this Caesar's friend ? Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urged forbid it. Dec. Cato, I 've orders to expostulate. And reason with you, as from Mend to friend. Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head, And threatens every hour to burst upon it ; Still may you stand high in your country's honors : Do but comply and make your peace with Caesar, Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato, As on the second of mankind. Cato. No more ; I must not think of life on such conditions. Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your virtues, And therefore sets this value on your life : Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship, And name your terms. Cato. Bid him disband his legions. Restore the commonwealth to liberty, Submit his actions to the public censure, And stand the judgment of a R.oman Senate ; Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend. 192 THE STAGE. | -1 Dec, Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom — j Cato. Nay, more, — though Cato's voice was ne'er employed \ To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, • Myself will mount the Rostrum in his favor, ' And strive to gain his pardon from the people. - Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. \ Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. \ Dec. What is a Roman, that is Caesar's foe ? \ Cato. Greater than Csesar : he 's a friend to virtue. - Dec. Consider, Cato, you 're in Utica, ] And at the head of your own little Senate ; You don't now thunder in the Capitol, j With all the mouths of Rome to second you. ] Cato. Let him consider that who drives us hither ; | 'T is Caesar's sword has made Rome's Senate little, And thinned its ranks. Alas ! thy dazzled eye ■ | Beholds this man in a false glaring light, | Which conquest and success have thrown upon him; '\ Didst thou but view him right, thou 'dst see him black i With murder, treason, sacrilege, and — crimes ^ That strike my soul with horror but to name them. j I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch i Beset with ills, and covered with misfortunes ; But, as I love my country, millions of worlds Should never buy me to be like that Caesar. Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Caesar, For all his generous cares and proffered friendship ? Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain ; Presumptuous man ! the gods take care of Cato. Would Caesar show the greatness of his soul, Bid him employ his care for these my friends, And make good use of his ill-gotten power. By sheltering men much better than himself. addison. III.__COIlIOLANUS AND AUFIDIUS. The passages enclosed between brackets in the following scene are by Shaks- peare ; the rest, with a few alterations, are by Thomson. Coriolaniis. I plainly, Tullus, by your looks perceive You disapprove my conduct. Aufidius. I mean not to assail thee with the clamor Of loud reproaches and the war of words ; But, pride apart, and all that can pervert CORIOLANUS AND AUFIDIUS, 19B The light of steady reason, here to make A candid, fair proposal Cor. Speak, I hear thee. Auf. 1 need not tell thee, that I have performed My utmost promise. Thou hast been protected ; Hast had thy amplest, most ambitious wish ; Thy wounded pride is healed, thy dear revenge Completely sated ; and, to crown thy fortune, At the same time thy peace with Rome restored. Thou art no more a Yolscian, but a Eoman. Keturn, return ; thy duty calls upon thee Still to protect the city thou hast saved ; It yet may be in danger from our arms. Retire : I will take care thou may'st with safety. Cor. With safety ? — safety ? Thinkest thou that I, Coriolanus, of Co-ri'oli, Will stoop to thee for safety ? — No : my safeguard Is in myself, a bosom void of fear. O, 't is an act of cowardice and baseness To seize the very time my hands are fettered By the strong chain of former obligation, The safe, sure moment, to insult me. Safety ! — Were I now free, as on that day I was, When at Corioli I tamed thy pride, This had not been. Auf Thou speakest the truth : it had not. O, for that time again ! Propitious gods, If you will bless me, grant it ! Know, for that, For that dear purpose, I have now proposed Thou shouldst return ; I pray thee, Marcius, do it ; And we shall meet again on nobler terms. Cor, Till I have cleared my honor in your council, And proved before them all, to thy confusion, The falsehood of thy charge, — as soon in battle I would before thee fly, and howl for mercy, As quit the station they 've assigned me here ! Auf Thou canst not hope acquittal from the Volscians. Cor. I do : — nay, more, expect their approbation, Their thanks. I will obtain them such a peace As thou durst never ask ; a perfect union Of their whole nation with imperial Eome, In all her privileges, all her rights ; By the just gods, I will ! — What wouldst thou more ? Auf What would I more, proud Roman ? This I would — 17 194 THE STAGE. Fire the cursed forest, where these Eoman wolves Haunt and infest their nobler neighbors round them ; Extirpate from the bosom of this land A false, perfidious people, who, beneath The mask of freedom, are a combination Against the liberty of human kind — The genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers. Cor, The seed of gods ! — 'T is not for thee, vain boaster,- 'T is not for such as thou, so often spared By her victorious sword, — to speak of Rome But with respect, and awful veneration. Whate'er her blots, whate'er her giddy factions, There is more virtue in one single year Of Roman story, than your Volscian annals Can boast through all their creeping, dark duration. Auf, I thank thy rage : — This full displays the traitor. [ Cor. Traitor ! How now ? Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. Cor, Marcius ! Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius : dost thou think I '11 grace thee ..with that robbery, thy stolen name, Coriolanus, in Oorioli? You lords, and heads of the state, perfidiously He has betrayed your business, and given up, For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, — I say, your city, — to his wife and mother ; Breaking his oath and resolution like A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting Counsel of the war : but at his nurse's tears He whined and roared awa}^ your victory; That pages blushed at him, and men of heart Looked wondering at each other. Cor. Hearest thou, Mars? Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears ! Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy ! 0, slave ! — Cut me to pieces, Volsces ; men and lads. Stain all your edges on me. Boy ! False hound ! If you have writ your annals true, 't is there, That, like an eagle in a dove-cot, I Fluttered your Volscians in Corioli. Alone I did it. Boy !] — But let us part, Lest my rash hand should do a hasty deed My cooler thought forbids. THE RESOLVE UF REGULUS. 195 Auf. I court The worst thy sword can do ; while thou from me Hast nothing to expect but sore destruction. Quit, then, this hostile camp : once more I tell thee, Thou art not here one single hour in safety. [Cor, that I had thee in the field, With six Aufidiuses, or more — thy tribe ! — To use my lawful sword !] IV —THE RESOLVE OF REGULUS. Reg'ulus, a Roman consul, haying been defeated in battle and taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, was detained in captivity five years, and then sent on an embassy to Rome to solicit peace, under a promise that he would return to Carthage if the proposals were rejected. These, it was thought, he would urge in order to obtain his own liberty ; but he urged contrary and patriotic measures on his countrymen ; and then, having carried his point, resisted the persuasions of his friends to remain in Rome, and returned to Carthage, where a martyr^s death awaited him. Some writers say that he was thrust into a cask covered over on the inside with iron spikes, and thus rolled down hill. The following scene presents Regulus just as he has made known to his friends in Rome his resolution to return to Carthage, L Enter EEGULUS, followed by SERTORIUS. ' Sertorius. Stay, Roman, in pity ! — if not for thy life, For the sake of thy country, thy children, thy wife. Sent, not to urge war, but to lead Rome to peace, Thy captors of Carthage vouchsafed thee release. Thou return'st to encounter their anger, their rage ; — No mercy expect for thy fame or thy age ! Regulus, To my captors one pledge, and one only, I gave : To RETURN, though it were to walk into my grave ! No hope I extended, no promise I made, Rome's Senate and people from war to dissuade. If the vengeance of Carthage be stored for me now, I have reaped no dishonor, have broken no vow, Sert. They released thee, but dreamed not that thou wouldst fulfill A part that would leave thee a prisoner still ; They hoped thy own danger would lead thee to sway The councils of Rome a far different way ; Would induce thee to urge the conditions they crave, If only thy freedom, thy life-blood, to save. Thought shudders, the torment and woe to depict Thy merciless foes have the heart to inflict ! Remain with us, Reg'ulus ! do not go back ! 196 THE STAGE. No hope sheds its ray on thy death-pointing track ! Keep faith with the faithless? The gods will forgive The balking of such. 0, live, Regains, live ! Reg, With the consciousness fixed in the core of my heart, That I had been playing the perjurer's part ? With the stain ever glaring, the thought ever nigh, That I owe the base breath I inhale to a lie ? 0, never ! Let Carthage infract every oath, Be false to her word and humanity both. Yet never will I in her infamy share, Or turn for a refuge to guilt from despair ! Serf, 0, think of the kindred and friends who await To fall on thy neck, and withhold thee from fate; 0, think of the widow, the orphans to be. And let thy compassion plead softly with me. Reg, 0, my friend, thou canst soften, but canst not subdue : To the faith of my soul I must ever be true. If my honor I cheapen, my conscience discrown, All the graces of life to the dust are brought down ; All creation to me is a chaos once more — No heaven to hope for, no God to adore ! And the love that I feel for wife, children, and friend, Has lost all its beauty, and thwarted its end. Serf. Let thy country determine. Reg, My country? Her will, Were I free to obey, would be paramount still. I go to my doom for my country alone ; My life is my country's ; my honor, my own ! Sert. 0, Regulus ! think of the pangs in reserve ! Reg. What menace should make me from probity swerve? Sert. Refinements of pain will these miscreants find To daunt and disable the loftiest mind. Reg. And 't is to a Roman thy fears are addressed ! Sert. Forgive me. I know thy unterrified breast. Reg, Thou know'st me but human — as weak to sustain xAlS thyself, or another, the searchings of pain. This flesh may recoil, and the anguish they wreak Chase the strength from my knees, and the hue from m}^ cheek ; But the body alone they can vanquish and kill; The spirit immortal shall smile at them still. Then let them make ready their engines of dread, Their spike-bristling cask, and tbeir torturing bed ; Still Regulus, heaving no recreant breath. Shall greet as a friend the deliverer Death ! ANTUXr AND VENTIDIUS. 19' Their cunning in torture and taunt shall defy, And hold it a joj for his country to die ! original. v.— ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS. Enter X^TO^Y^ 'Right, meeting VENTIDIUS, who enters Left. Antony. Art thou Yentidius ? Yentidius. Are you Antony ? I 'm iiker what I was, than you to hiru When that I left you last. Ant. I 'm angry. Yen, So am I. Ant. I would be private ; leave me. Yen, Sir, I iove you, And therefore will not leave you. Ant. Will not leave me ? Where have you learnt that answer ? Who am I ? Yen. My emperor ; the man I love next heaven. If I said more, I think 't were scarce a sin ; You 're all that 's good and noble. Ant. All that 's wretched ! You will not leave me, then ? Yen. 'T was too presuming To say I would not, but I dare not leave you ; And 't is unkind in you to chide me hence So soon, when I so far have come to see you. Ant. Now thou hast seen me, art. thou satisfied ? For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough; And, if a foe, too rftuch. Yen, Look, emperor, this is no common dew ; I have not wept these forty years ; but now My mother comes afresh into my eyes ; I can not help her softness. Ant. Sure, there 's contagion in the tears of friends. See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 't is not For my own griefs, but thine. Nay, father Yen, Emperor ! Ant, Emperor ! Why, that 's the style of victory. The conquering soldier, red with unfelt wounds, Salutes his general so ; but never more Shall that sound reach my ears. I lost a battle. Yen. So has Julius done. ^4??/. Thou favor'stme, and speak'.st not half thou think'st ; 17. 198 • THE STAGE. Eor Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly : But Antony Ven. Nay, stop not ! Ant, Antony — - (Well, tkou wilt have it) — like a coward, fled, — Eled while his soldiers fought ; fled first, Yentidius. Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave. I know thou cam'st prepared to rail. Ven, I did. Ant, I 'il help thee. I have been a man, Yentidius. Ve?i, Yes, and a brave one ; but Ant, I know thy meaning. But I have lost my reason, have disgraced The name of soldier with inglorious ease. In the full vintage of my flowing honors Sat still, and saw it pressed by other hands. Fortune came smiling to my youth, and wooed it ; And purple greatness met my ripened years. Ven, You are too sensible already Of what you Ve done, too conscious of your failings ; And, like a scorpion, whipped by others first To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge. Ant, Dost thou think me desperate Without just cause ? No ; when I found all lost Beyond repair, I hid me from the world. And learned to scorn it here ; which now I do So heartily, I think it is not worth The cost of keeping. Ven, Caesar thinks not so. He '11 thank you for the gift he could not take. You would be killed like Tully, would you ? Why, then, Hold out your throat to Csesar, and die tamely. Arit, No, I can kill myself; and so resolve. Ven, I can die with you too, when time shall serve ; But fortune calls upon us now to live. To fight, to conquer. A7it, Sure thou dream'st, Yentidius. Veil, No ; 't is you dream ; you sleep away your hours In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy. Up, up, for honor's sake ! Twelve legions wait you, And long to call you chief. Ant, Y/here left you them ? Ven, 1 say, in Lower Syria. A?it, Brinoj 'em hither ; There may be life in these. ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS. 199 Yen. They will not come. Ant, Why didst thou mock my hopes with promised aids, To double my despair ? They 're mutinous. Ve7i, Most firm and loyal. Ant, Why did they refuse to march ? Ven, They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. Ant, What was 't they said ? Ven, They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. Why should they fight, indeed, to make her conquer, And make you more a slave ? Ant. You grow presumptuous. Yen. I take the privilege of plain love to speak. Ant. Plain love ! Plain arrogance, plain insolence ! Thy men arc cowards ; thou an envious traitor. 0, that thou wert my equal, — great in arms As the first Csesar was, — that I might kill thee Without stain to my honor i Yen. You may kill me. You have done more already — called me traitor. Ant, Art thou not one ? Ye7i. For showing you yourself, Which none else durst have done ? But had I been That name, which I disdain to speak again, I needed not have sought your abject fortunes, Come to partake your fate, to die with you. What hindered me to have led my conquering eagles To fill Octavius' bands ? I could have been A traitor then, — a glorious, happy traitor ; And not have been so called. A7it, Forgive me, soldier ; I 've been too passionate. Yen. You thought me false ; Thought my old age betrayed you. Kill me, sir ! Pray, kill me ! Yet you need not ; your unkindness Has left your sword no work. Ant, I did not think so ; I said it in my rage. Pr'ythee, forgive me. {They shake hands.] Thou shalt behold me once again in iron ; And, at the head of our old troops, that beat The Parthians, cry aloud. Come, follow me ! Yen. 0, now I hear my emperor ! In that word Octavius fell. A7it, 0, thou hast fired me ! My soul 's up in arms. 200 THE STAGE. And mans each part about me. Once again The nobleness of fight has seized me. Come on, my soldier ! Our hearts and arms are still the same. I long Once more to meet our foes, that thou and I, Like Time and Death, marching before our troops, May drag fate on with us, mow out a passage, And, entering where the utmost squadrons yield, Begin the noble harvest of the field. DRYDEN (altered.) VI. — THE GAMBLER'S SON. ORIGINAL TRANSLATION. M. de Ferrieres (pronounced Ferryair), after years of extreme poverty, has risen suddenly to opulence. His son, George, returns home from sea, and questions his father as to the source of his wealth. The father evades his inquiries. George follows him to the gaming-table, sees him play with M. Dubourg, and win all his money, and satisfies himself that his father cheated at cards. He stands overwhelmed, and, in the following scene, intimates to his father what he has discovered. If convenient, there should be a table on the stage, with a pack of cards on it, an^ a chair on either side of the table. Enter M. DE F. first. Left; then GEORGE, Right. M. de Ferrieres. What would you, GFeorge ? George. (Aside.) How shall I broach it ? M. de F. You tremble, my son ! What's the matter? George. [Looking around kzm.) No one can enter ? Are we sure of that ? M. de F. Why all these precautions ? George. {With much emotion.) Bid Dubourg lose all — all — at cards ? Did you win his all ? M. de F. The luck went against him. George. (Mustering courage.) But that money — you will give it back to him ? M. de F, How ? George. You will give it back to him — will you not ? M. de F. Are you mad ? George. ! keep it not, my father ! Keep it not ! Dubourg is a merchant. He must have that money in order to meet his engagements. Without it he is ruined. (Jive it him back. It is all I ask. M. de F. (Looking at him ivith surprise.) 1 do not under- stand you. George. (Aside.) Yes, it is my duty ! (Aloud.) You must renounce all that you won from Dubourg ; absolutely, you must. THE gambler's SON. 201 M. de F. The more I look at jou, the more am I astonished. Are you in your senses, George ? This paleness — these convul- sive movements — What has happened to you ? George. I am very wretched ! M. de JP. Are you suffering ? George. More than I can tell. M, de F, You alarm me ! What profound despair ! Speak, George ! George, I shall never be able — M, de F, It is I who beseech you — I, your father. George, (Recoiling,) My father ! M, de F, You repel me, my son. George, 0, misery ! M, de F. Have I ever failed in a father's love and care ? From your youth upwards have you not found me your best friend ? George, Ah, yes ! I have not forgotten the days of my childhood. Often do I remember me of the lessons you used to instill when we dwelt in our humble hut. Every principle of honor and of vg^ue — it is from you that I have received it ; and nothing is forgotten. M, de F. You know it; yon were the object of my tender- ness ; all my hopes reposed on you. George, Yes ! You would say to me in those days, " My * son, whatever may be your fate, remember that he is never with- out consolation who keeps his conscience pure ! " You said it, my father, and I remember it well. M, de F, George, that state of destitution and wretchedness, to which I had reduced you and your mother, — how did I reproach myself with it ! That horrible poverty — that absolute want — what torture ! And what regrets did I experience because of you, whose heritage I had so foolishly dissipated ! George, Did I ever utter a complaint ? Did I ever reproach you with our misfortunes — our poverty ? Have I not alwaj^s cherished, respected, served you ? M, de F, Yes, George is a good son ; he is no ingrate ; he will not heedlessly wound a father's heart. George, No, no ! Only one boon. M, de F, Speak, my son. George, That money of Dubourg's — M, de F, [Angrily.) Again you recur to it ! George, Do you not remember those words which you added to your lessons ? " All that now remains to us, my son, is honor ! " M, de F, Doubtless. But how wretched, George, had you been without this change of fortune which time has brought ! 202 THE STAGE. George, This fortune — its source ? Tell me wheDce jou — M, de F, (Interrupting him.) Never could you have pre- sumed to marry her you love ; never would a career have been opened to you ; you would have had no means of exercising your talents, no resources ! You do not realize the humiliation which poverty brings with it in an age like ours, where favor and con- sideration are measured according to the amount of gold one has ; where the virtues are repulsed, merit disdained, talent ignored, unless intrigue or fortune open the way. With gold one has every thing- — without it, nothing. George. (Aside.) All is now explained. (Aloud.) Ah, well ! my choice is made : indigence and probity. M. de F. Indigence — the return of all those sufferings you once experienced ? Can aught be worse ? George. Yes — dishonor. M. de F. (Aside.) I tremble. (Aloud.) What would you say? George, That there is no wretchedness equal to mine, sir ! M. de F. " Sir ? " (He gives his hand to his^n, who takes it with a disordered air.) George. Hear me. Can you imagine all which that man suffers who sees in a single day the overthrow of all that he believed in — the destruction of what he had regarded, up to that moment, as the summit of his hopes and affections ; who sees the past rendered hateful, the future desperate, since he can trust no longer in all that he had adored and respected ? Love, honor, ye sole blessings which make life precious, ye are gone — gone for ever ! M. de F, George ! George. Do you comprehend, sir, this misfortune without con- solation ? A son who cherished, who revered his father, who bore with pride an honorable name — ah, well ! this son — he must now blush for evermore, and repulse that man whom he had learned to venerate and love. M. de F. Gracious powers ! George. Aj, sir ; for he knows all. M. de F. What knows he ? George. He knows that yonder, at that table, an old friend was ruined by him. M. de F. And if hazard did it all ? George. No, sir, no ; that old friend was deceived — was swindled. M. de F. Swindled ? George ! You believe it ? George. Ah ! 't is that belief is the burthen of my woe ! THE GAjMBLER'S sok, 203 M, de F. And if it were not true ? George. [Producing a pack of cards.) That pack of cards — M. de F. What of them? George. They are — they are — 0, shame I I can not say it ! M. de F. Ah ! you know not what real misery is. George. I know what honor is, and I will not permit — M. de F. Would you ruin me ? George. Shall I let you dishonor me ? 0,1 have no longer a father ! The name he gave me, here I give him back. I am but an orphan, without a home, without means ; but still — still, sir, I have a conscience left, and what that dictates I will obey to the death ! Farewell ! M. de F. What would you, unhappy boy ? Is it not enough that I am humbled thus ? — that you see me blush and tremble before you — before my son ? What would you more ? Gro ! I fear you not ! [He produces a pistol.) I fear nothing ! George. [Placing himself before him.) I, too, sir, am without fear ; and to me life is hateful. M. de F. '^flaat sayest thou ? Be mine alone the — George. [ Wresting the pistol from him.) My father ! M. de F. I am no longer thy father. George. [Rushing to his arms.) Yes, yes ! You are my father still. M. de F. 0, anguish insupportable ! George. All may be repaired. Go where you will, your son will follow. This city — we must quit it. This money — it must be restored — must be restored, I say. Happiness shall yet be ours. Do not hesitate, my father ! M. de F. Think you I have never anticipated a situation like this ? But fate has driven me on. George. What would you say ? M. de F. In our old house, beneath that humble roof where I suffered so much, my passion for play, that deadly passion which had devoured my substance, was not quite extinct. I sought in secret to satisfy it ; often, to find the opportunity, I had to have recourse to men of the lowest o;rade, to vao-abonds and ignoble gamblers. Yes, George, yes — I, the Count de Fer- rieres — I, your father, played with such ! They taught me terri- ble secrets. And yet I did not think to make use of them. But I returned one day to Paris, and there tried my fortune. It proved favorable. Considerable sums successively came to rean- imate my hopes. I still was guiltless. But no, no ! my heart was no longer so. The greed of gold had filled it wholly. Am- bition, vanity, the need of luxury, all contributed to my infatua- 204 THE STAGE. tion. One day — hear me — one day I lost. Your mother had just come to occupy this hotel which I had prepared for her ; already the story, adroitly spread, had given our neighbors the idea that I was rich. Well, I lost. Must I, then, always be the fool of fortune ? I had felt the pangs of poverty ; I had seen her suffer whom I loved ; I had seen two children, thy brothers, pushed by misery into the tomb ; friends, society, rank, all had then disappeared. And must there now be a repetition of all these woes ? No, no ! cried I ; it must not be. It is too much. I can no longer be a loser ; and a loser I was no longer ! George, Ah ! the fatal, fatal step ! But, come ! We must retrace it. You will make restitution of all you have won unfairly ; you will do it, my father ? M, de F. Ay, call me father, and do with me what you will. George. It is bravely said. Come on ! Know'st thou where I shall guide thee ? Back, back to poverty and — honor, my father ! M, de F, Lead on ! original translation. VIL— SIR EDWARD MORTIMER AND WILFORD. JiJnter first SIR E., Left; then WILFORD, Right. Sir Edward, Wilford, is no one in the picture-gallery ? Wilford, No — not a soul, sir — not a human soul ; None within hearing, if I were to bawl Ever so loud. Sir E, Wilford, approach me. — What am I to say For aiming at your life ? Do you not scorn me, Despise me for it? Wil, I!_0, sir. Sir E, You must ; For I am singled from the herd of men, A vile, heart-broken wretch ! Wil. Indeed, indeed, sir. You deeply wrong yourself. — Your equal's love. The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of gratitude, All follow you ; and I — I owe you all, — I am most bound to bless you ! Sir E. Mark me, Wilford. — I know the value of the orphan's tear. The poor man's prayer, respect from the respected ; I feel to merit these, and to obtain them, SIR EDWARD MORTIMER AND WILFORD. 205 Is to taste here below that thrilling cordial, Which the remunerating angel draws From the eternal fountain of delight, To pour on blessed souls that enter heaven. I feel this — I ! How must my nature, then, Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand In human blood ! And yet, it seems, this day I sought your life. 0, I have suifered madness ! None know my tortures — pangs ; but I can end them, — End them as far as appertains to thee. I have resolved it : fearful struggles tear me ; But I have pondered on't, and I must trust thee. Wil, Your confidence shall not be — Sir E, You must swear. Wil, Swear, sir ! Will nothing but an oath, 'then — Sir E, No retreating. Wil, [After a pause.) I swear, by all the ties that bind a man, Divine or human, never to divulge ! Sir E. Remember, you have sought this secret, — yes. Extorted it. — I have not thrust it on you. 'Tis big with danger to you; and to me. While I prepare to speak, torment unutterable. Know, Wilford, that — WiL Dearest sir. Collect yourself; this shakes you horribly. — ■ You had this trembling, it is scarce a week. At Madam Helen's. Sir E, There it is. Her uncle — Wil, Her uncle ! Sir E, Him — - she knows it hot, — none know it : You are the first ordained to hear me say, I am - — his murderer ! WiL 0, heaven! Sir E. His assassin ! Wil. What ! You that — mur — the murder — I am choked ! Sir E. Honor — thou blood-stained god ! ^ at whose red altar Sit war and homicide, ! to what madness Will insult drive thy votaries ! Heaven bear witness ! In the world's range there does not breathe a man. Whose brutal nature I more strove to soothe, With long forbearance, kindness, courtesy, Than his who fell by me. — But he disgraced me, Stained me! — 0, death and shame ! the world looked on And saw this sinewy savage strike me down ; 18 206 THE STAGE. Kain blows upon me, drag me to and fro On the base earth, like carrion. — Desperation, In every fiber of my frame, cried Vengeance ! I left the room which he had quitted. Chance (Curse on the chance !), while boiling with my wrongs. Thrust me against him, darkling, in the street. — I stabbed him to the heart ; and my oppressor Kolled lifeless at my foot! [Crosses to R.) WiL (L.) 0, mercy on me ! How could this deed be covered ? Sir E. Would you think it? — E'en at the moment when I gave the blow, Butchered a fellow-creature in the dark, I had all good men's love. — But my disgrace, And my opponent's death thus linked v/ith it. Demanded notice of the magistracy. They summoned me, as friend would summon friend, To acts of import and communication. — We met ; and 'twas resolved, to stiiie rumor. To put me on my trial. No accuser, No evidence appeared, to urge it on ; 'Twas meant to clear my fame. How clear it, then? How cover it ? you say. — Why, by a lie, — Gruilt's offspring and its guard ! I taught this breast, Which truth once made her throne, to forge a lie, — This tongue to utter it ; rounded a tale, Smooth as a seraph's song from Satan's mouth ; So well compacted, that the o'er-thronged court Disturbed cool justice in her judgment-seat, By shouting " Innocence ! " ere I had finished. — The court enlarged me ; and the giddy rabble Bore me in triumph home. — Ay, look upon me ! I know thy sight aches at me. WiL Heaven forgive you ! It may be wrong : indeed, I pity you. Sir E. I disdain all pity. I ask no consolation ! Idle boy ! Thinkst thou that this compulsive confidence Was given to move thy pity ? Love of fame (For still I cling to it) has urged me thus To quash the curious mischief in its birth ; Hurt honor, in an evil, cursed hour. Drove me to murder, — lying ; — 't would again ! My honesty — sweet peace of mind — all, all SIR EDWARD MORTIMER AND WILFORD. 20T Are bartered for a name. — I will maintain it ! Should slander whisper o'er my sepulcher, And my soul's agency survive in death, I could embody it with heaven's lightning, And the hot shaft of my insulted spirit Should strike the blaster of my memory Dead in the church-yard ! Boy, I would not kill thee : Thy rashness and discernment threatened danger ; To check them, there was no way left but this, Save one — your death. You shall not be my victim. Wil. My death 1 — What ! take my life — my life, to prop This empty honor ! Si?' E. Empty ! — Groveling fool 1 {Crosses to L.) WU. {R.) I am your servant, sir, child of your bounty, And know my obligation. — I have been Too curious haply, — 'Tis the fault of youth ; I ne'er meant injury. — If it would serve you, I would lay down my life — I 'd give it freely. Could you, then, have the heart to rob me of it ? You could not — should not. Sir _E. How ! Wil, You dare not. Sir E. Dare not ! Wil. Some hours ago you durst not. Passion moved you ; Eeflection interposed, and held your arm. But, should reflection prompt you to attempt it, My innocence would give me strength to struggle. And wrest the murderous weapon from your hand. How would you look to find a peasant boy Return the knife you leveled at his heart. And ask you which in heaven would show the best, — A rich man's honor, or a poor man's honesty ? Sir E. 'T is plain 1 dare not take your life. — To spare- it, I have endangered mine. — But dread my power : You know not its extent. — Be warned in time ; Trifle not with my feelings. — Listen, sir : Myriads of engines, which my secret working Can rouse to action, now encircle you. Your ruin hangs upon a thread ; provoke me. And it shall fall upon you. Dare to make The slightest movement to awake my fears. And the gaunt criminal, naked and stake-tied, Left on the heath to^blister in the sun. Till lingering death shall end his agony. 208 THE STAGE. Compared to thee, shall seem more enviable Than cherubs to the cursed! WtL 0, misery! Discard me, sir ; I must be hateful to you. Banish me hence ' I will be mute as death ; But let me cjuit your service. Sir E. Never ! Fool ! To buy this secret, you have sold yourself, — Your movements, eyes, and most of all your breath, From this time forth, are fettered to my will. COLMAN, VIII . — HOTSPUR. Enter KING HENRY, L., followed by HOTSPUR. K, Henry. Why, yet you do deny your prisoners, Unless at our own charge we ransom straight Your brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ! No ; on the barren mountains let him starve ! For I shall never hold that man my friend, Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost To ransom home revolted Mortimer, Hotspur. Revolted Mortimer ! He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, But by the chance of war. Then let him not be slandered with revolt. K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him. Art thou not ashamed ? But, sirrah, henceforth Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer. Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, Or you shall hear in such a kind from me As will displease you. [Exit King Henry, R.) Hot. (R.) And if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them. I will after straight. And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. Enter WORCESTER, L. Worcester. What ! drunk with choler ? Hot. Speak of Mortimer? Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul Want mercy, if I do not join with him ! In his behalf, I '11 empty all these veins. And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust. HOTSPUR. 209 But I will lift the down- trod Mortimer As high in the air as this unthankful king — As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke ! [Crosses L.) Wor. {K) Who struck this heat up? Hot, He will, forsooth, have all mj prisoners ; And when I urged the ransom once again Of my wife's brother, then his cheek looked pale ; And on mj face he turned an eye of death, Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. {Crosses R.) Therefore, I say Wor, (L.) Peace, cousin, say no more : And now I will unclasp a secret book, And to your quick-conceiving discontents I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous ; As full of peril and adventurous spirit As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud. On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. Hot. If he fall in, good-night ! — or sink or swim, — Send Danger from the east unto the west. So Honor cross it from the north to south, And let them grapple : — ! the blood more stirs To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. Wor, [Aside.) Imagination of some great ex-ploit' Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. Hot, Grood heaven ! methinks it were an easy leap, To pluck bright Honor from the pale-faced moon ; Or dive into the bottom of the deep. Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned Honor by the locks ; So he that doth redeem her thence might wear, Without corrival, all her dignities. But out upon this half-faced fellowship ! Wor. (Aside.) He apprehends a world of figures here. But not the form of what he should attend. {Aloud.) Grood cousin, give me audience for a while. Hot, I cry you mercy. Wor, Those same noble Scots, That are your prisoners — Hot. I '11 keep them all ; [Crosses and recrosses.) He shall not have a Scot of them — not one : No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : I '11 keep them, by this hand. Wor. You start away, 18^ 210 THE STAGE. And lend no ear unto my purposes. — Those prisoners you shall keep. Hot. Nay, I will ; that 's flat : — He said he would not ransom Mortimer ; Eorbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; Eut I will find him when he lies asleep, And in his ear I '11 holla Mortimer ! {Crosses and recrosses.) Nay, I '11 have a starling shall be taught to speak Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, To keep his anger still in motion. Wor, Hear you, cousin, a word. Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy. Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke. And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales, — But that I think his father loves him not, And would be glad he met with some mischance, I 'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale. Wor, Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you, When you are better tempered to attend. Why, what a wasp-tongued and impatient fool Art thou, to break into this woman's mood. Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ! Hot. Why, look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods, Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke ! In Bichard's time What do you call the place ? — A plague upon 't ! it is in Gloucestershire ; — 'T was where the madcap duke his uncle kept — His uncle York ; — where I first bowed my knee Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 'Sblood ! when you and he came back from Ravenspurg. Wor. At Berkley Castle. Hot. You say true. Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! Look, — " when his infant fortune came to age," And, — " gentle Harry Percy," — and, " kind cousin ! " — 0, out upon such cozeners ! — Heaven forgive me ! — G-ood uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. Wor, Nay, if you have not, to 't again ; I '11 stay your leisure. Hot. I have done, in sooth. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, I '11 steal to Qlondower and Lord Moriluicr, SPARTACUS AND JOVIUS. 211 Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once (As I will fashion it), shall happily meet, To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms. Hot, Uncle, adieu. let the hours be short, Till fields, and blows, and groans, applaud our sport ! SHAKSPEARE {altered). IX. — SPARTACUS AND JOVIUS. Enter SPARTACUS, L., JOVIUS, R. Spartaciis. Speak, Roman ! wherefore does thy master send Thy gray hairs to the " cut-throat's " camp ? Jovius, Brave rebel — ' Spart. Why, that 's a better name than rogue or bondman ; But in this camp I am called General. -^ 1 Jov. Brave G-eneral, — for, though a rogue and bondman, i As you have said, I '11 still allow you General, ! As he that beats a consul surely is. j Spart. Say two — two consuls ; and to that e'en add i A proconsul, three prastors, and some generals. Jov. Why, this is no more than true. Are you a Thracian ? \ Spart. Ay. j Jov. There is something in the air of Thrace I Breeds valor up as rank as grass. 'T is pity I You are a barbarian. ; Spart. Wherefore ? ■; Jov. Had you been born \ A Boman, you had won by this a triumph. Spart. I thank the gods I am barbarian ; ; For I can better teach the grace-begot ; And heaven-supported masters of the earth i How a mere dweller of a desert rock ] Can bow their crowned heads to his chariot-wheels, j Their regal necks to be his stepping-blocks. i But come, what is thy message ? Jov. Julia, niece Of the prgstor, is thy captive. i Spart. Ay. j Jov. For whom | Is offered in exchange thy wife, Senona, And thy young boy. \ Spart. Tell thou the praetor, Roman, i The Thracian 's wife is ransomed. Jov. How is that ? 212 THE STAGE. Spart. R-ansomed, and bj tlie steel, from out the camp Of slaughtered Grellius ! {Pointing off.) Behold them, Iloman ! Jov, [Looking as Spart. points,) This is sorcery ! But name a ransom for the general's niece. spart. Have I not now tho, praetor on the hip ? He would, in his extremity, have made My wife his buckler of defence ; perhaps Have doomed her to the scourge ! But this is Boman. Now the barbarian is instructed. Look ! I hold the prsetor by the heart ; and he Shall feel how tightly grip barbarian fingers. Jov. Men do not v\'-ar on women. Nam.e her ransoiu. Spart. Men do not war on women ! Look you : One day I climbed up to the ridgy top Of the cloud-piercing Hsemus, where, among The eagles and the thunders, from that height, I looked upon the world, as far as where, Wrestling with storms, the gloomy Euxine chafed On his recoiling shores ; and where dim Adria In her blue bosom quenched the fiery sphere. Between those surges lay a land, might once Have matched Elysium ; but Borne had made it A Tar'tarus. Li my green youth I looked From the same frosty peak where now I stood, And then beheld the glory of those lands. Where Peace was tinkling on the shepherd's bell And singing with the reapers. Since that glad day, Bome's conquerors had passed With withering armies there, and all was changed. Peace had departed ; howling War was there. Cheered on by Boman hunters. Then, methought, E'en as I looked upon the altered scene. Groans echoed through the valleys, through which ran Bivers of blood, like smoking Phleg'ethons ; Fires flashed from burning villages, and Famine Shrieked in the empty corn-fields ! Women and children. Bobbed of their sires and husbands, left to starve — These were the dwellers of the land ! Say'st thou Bome wars not, then, on women ? Jov. This is not to the matter. Spart. Now, by Jove, It is ! These things do Bomans. But the earth Is sick of conquerors. There is not a man, Not Ptoman, but is Bome's extremest foe : THE SIEGE OF GHENT. 213 And such am I ; sworn from that hour I saw Those sights of horror, while the gods support me, To wreak on Rome such 'havoc as Rome wreaks, Carnage and devastation, woe and ruin. Why should I ransom, when I swear to slay ? Begone I This is my answer ! bird. X.— -THE SIEGE OF GHENT. Enter f.r St VAN DEN BOSCH, R.; then VAN ARTEVELDE, L, Vail den Bosch. What ho I Ym\ Artevelde. Artevelde, Who calls ? Bosch, 'Tisl. Thou art an early riser, like myself; Or is it that thou hast not been to bed ? Art, What are thy tidings ? Bosch. Nay, what can they be ? A page from pestilence and famine's day-book. So many to the pest-house carried in. So many to the dead-house carried out, — The same dull, dismal, horrible old story. Art. Be quiet ; listen to the westerly wind, And tell me if it brins's thee nothino; new. Bosch. {Listening. ) Naught to my ear, save howl of hungry dog That hears the house is stirring : nothing else. Art. No — now — I hear it not myself ; no — nothing. The city's hum is up ; but ere you came 'T was audible enough. Bosch. In Heaven's name, what ? Art. A horseman's tramp upon the road from Bruges. Bosch. Why, then, be certain 'tis a flag of truce ! If once he reach the city, we are lost. ^^ Nay, if he be but seen, our danger 's great. What terms so bad they would not swallow now ? Let 's send some trusty varlets forth at once To cross his way. Art. And send him back to Bruges ? Bosch. Send him to — heaven — and that 's a better place. Art. Nay, softly, Yan Den Bosch ; let war be war, But let us keep its ordinances. Bosch. Tush! I say, but let them see him from afar, 214 THE STAGE. And in an hour shall we, bound hand and foot, ^ Be on our way to Bruges."^' Art, Not so, not so. My rule of governance has not been such As e'er to issue in so foul a close. Bosch, What matter by what rule thou mayst have governed ? Think'st thou a hundred thousand citizens Shall stay the fury of their empty maws Because thou 'st ruled them justly ? Art, It may be That such a hope is mine. Bosch, Then thou art mad, And I must take this matter on myself. (^Crosses L.) Art, (R.) Hold, Van den Bosch ! I say this shall not be. I must be madder than I think I am Ere I shall yield up my authority, Which I abuse not, to be used by thee. Bosch. This comes of lifting dreamers into power ! I tell thee, in this strait and stress of famine, The people, but to pave the way for peace, Would instantly dispatch our heads to Bruges. Once and again I warn thee that thy life Hangs by a thread. Art, Why, know I not it does ? What hath it hung by else since Utas' eve ? Did I not, by mine own advised choice, Place it in jeopardy for certain ends? And what were these ? — To prop thy tottering state ? To float thee o'er a reef, and, that performed, To cater for our joint security? No, verily ; not such my high ambition ! I bent my thoughts on yonder city's weal ; I looked to give it victory and freedom ; And, working to that end, by consequence, Erom one great peril did deliver thee, Not for the love of thee or of thy life, Which I regard not, but the city's service ; And if, for that same service, it seem good, I will expose thy life to equal hazard. Bosch. Thou wilt? Art. I will. Bosch. Truly ! to hear him speak ! What a most mighty emperor of puppets * Pronounce Broozh. Pronounce Bosch, Bosk, THE SIEGE OF GHENT. 215 Is this that I have brought upon the board ! But how if he that made it should unmake ? Art, Unto His sovereignty who truly made me With infinite humility I bow ! Both, both of us are puppets, Yan den Bosch ; Part of the curious clock-work of this world ; We scold, and squeak, and crack each other's crowns ; And if, from twitches moved by wires we see not, I were to toss thee from this steeple's top, ^ I should be but the instrument — no more — The tool of that chastising Providence Which doth exalt the lowly, and abase The violent and proud. But let me hope Such is not mine appointed task to-day. Thou passest in the world for worldly-wise. Then, seeing we must sink or swim together, What can it profit thee, in this extreme Of our distress, to wrangle v.ith me thus For my supremacy and rule ? Thy fate, As of necessity bound up with mine, Must needs partake my cares. Let that suffice To put thy pride to rest till better times. Bosch, Tush, tush ! Yan Artevelde ; thou talk'st and talk'st, And honest burghers think it wondrous fine ; But thou mightst easi'lier, with that tongue of thine, Persuade yon smoke to fly i' the face o' the Avind, Than talk away my wit and understanding. I say yon herald shall not enter here. Art. I know, sir, — no man better, — where my talk Is serviceable singly, where it needs To be by acts enforced. I say, beware. And brave not mine authority too far. Bosch. Hast thou authority to take ni}^ life ? What is- it else to let yon herald in To bargain for our blood ? Art, Thy life again ! ^ Why, what a very slave of life art thou I Look round about on this once populous town ; Not one of these innumerous house-tops But hides some spectral form of misery, Some peevish, pining child, and moaning mother, Some aged man that in his dotage scolds. Not knowing why he hungers ; some cold corse That lies unstraightened where the spirit left it. 216 THE STAGE. Look round, and answer what thy life can be To teli upon the balance of such scales. I too would live — I have a love for life — But rather than to live to charge my soul With one hour's lengthening out of woes like these, I 'd leap this parapet with as free a bound As e'er was school-boy's o'er a garden wall. Bosch, I 'd like to see thee do it. Art, I know thou wouldst. But for the present be content to see My less precipitate descent ; for, lo ! There comes the herald o'er the hill ! {Exit, R.) Bosch. Beshrew thee ! Thou shalt not have the start of me in this. (Calls.) Van Artevelde ! What ho ! Beware ! Beware, I say ! {Follows hastily.) HENRY TAYLOR. XL — SYLVESTER DAGGERWOOD. FUSTIAN and DAGGERWOOD discovered ; FUSTIAN sittiricj in one chair, DAG- GER WOOD asleep in another. The clock strikes eleven. Fustian. Eight, nine, ten, eleven ? Zounds ! eleven o'clock, and here I have been waiting ever since nine for an interview with the manager. {A servant crosses.) Hark ye, young man, is your master visible yet ? Servant. Sir ? Fus. I say, can I see your master ? Serv. He has two gentlemen with him at present, sir. Fus. Ay, the old answer ! Who is this asleep here in the chair ? Serv. 0, that, sir, is a gentleman who wants to come out. Fus. Gome out ! then wake him, and open the door. Upon my word, the greatest difficulty in this house is to get in. Serv. Ha, ha ! I mean he wants to appear on the stage, sir : 'tis Mr. Sylvester Daggerwood, of the Dunstable company. Fus. ho ! a country candidate for a London truncheon — a sucking Prince of Denmark, He snores like a tinker : fatigued with his journey, I suppose. Serv. No, sir. He has taken a nap in this room for these five mornings, but has not been able to obtain an audience here yet. Fus. No, nor at Dunstable, neither, I take it. SYLVESTER DAGaERWOOD. 21T Serv, I am so loth to disturb him, poor gentleman, that I never wake him till a full half-hour after mj master is gone out. Ftis, Upon my honor, that 's very obliging ! I must keep watch here, I find, like a lynx. Well, friend , you '11 let your master know Mr, Fustian is here, when the two gentlemen have left him at leisure. Serv, The moment they make their exit. [Exit.) Fus, Make their exit ! This fellow must have lived here some time, by his language, and 1 11 warrant him lies by rote, like a parrot. (Sits down and pulls out a manuscripts) If I could nail this manager for a minute, I 'd read him such a tragedy ! Baggerwood, [Breaming,) Nay, and thou 'It mouth — I'll rant as well as thou. Fus. Eh ! he 's talking in his sleep ! Acting Hamlet before twelve tallow candles in the country. Ba.g. "To be, or not to be" . , . Fus. Yes, he 's at it : let me see, ( Turning over the leaves of his play,) I think there 's no doubt of its running. Bag, (Breami7ig>) " That 's the question " . . . " who would fardels bear" . . . Fus. Zounds ! There 's no bearing you ! — His grace's patron- age will fill half the boxes, and I '11 v/arrant we '11 stuff the critics in the pit. Bag, {Breavmig .) " To groan and sweat. When he himself might his quietus make," Fus. Quietus ! I wish, with all my heart, I could make yours. — The Countess of Crambo insists on the best places for the first night of performance : she '11 sit in the stage-box. Bag, {Still dreaming.) " With a bare bodkin ! " Fus. 0, the deuce, there 's no enduring this ! Sir, sir, do you intend to sleep any more ? Bag, {Waking,) Eh! what? when? Methought I heard a voice say, " Sleep no more ! " Fus, Faith, sir, you have heard something very like it ; that voice was mine. {They rise.) Bag, Sir, I am your servant to command, Sylvester Dagger- wood, whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of June, by particu- lar desire of several persons of distinction. You 'd make an excellent Macbeth, sir. Fus. Sir ! Bag, Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep, balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course — nay, and sometimes 19 218 THE STAGE. Ker first course, too — when a dinner is unavoidably deferred, by your humble servant, Sylvester Daggerwood. Fus, I am very sorry, sir, you should ever have occasion to postpone so pleasant a performance. Dag, Eating, sir, is a most popular entertainment, for man and horse, as I may say ; but I am apt to appear nice, sir ; and, somehow or other, I never could manage to sit down to dinner in bad company. Fus. Has your company been bad, then, of late, sir ? Dag, Very bad, indeed, sir — the Dunstable company, where I have eight shillings a week, four bits of candle, one wife, three shirts, and nine children. Fus. A very numerous family. Dag, A crowded house, to be sure, sir, but not very profitable. Mrs. Daggerwood, a fine figure, but, unfortunately, stutters, so of no use in the theatrical line ; children too young to make a debut, except my eldest. Master Apollo Daggerwood, a youth only eight years old, who has twice made his appearance in Tom Thumb, to an overflovv^ing and brilliant barn — house, I mean — wdth unbounded applause. Fus. Have you been long on the stage, Mr. Daggerwood ? Dag. Fifteen years since I first smelt the lamp, sir ; my father was an eminent button-maker, at Birmingham, and meant me to marry Miss Molly Mop, daughter to the rich director of coal works at Wolverhampton ; but I had a soul above buttons, and abhorred the idea of a mercenary marriage. I panted for a liberal profession, so ran away from my father, and engaged with a traveling company of comedians. In my travels I had soon the happiness of forming a romantic attachment with the present Mrs. Daggerwood, wife to Sylvester Daggerwood, your humble servant to command, whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of June, by desire of several persons of distinction ; so you see, sir, I have a taste. Fus. Have you ? Then sit down and I '11 read you my tragedy. I 'm determined some one shall hear it before I go out of this house. [Sits down) Dag. A tragedy ! Sir I '11 be ready for you in a moment ; let me prepare for woe. {Takes out a very ragged pocket -handker- chief.) " This handkerchief did an Egyptian to my mother give." Fus. Faith, I should think so ; and, to all appearance, one of the Norwood party. Dag. Now, sir, for your title, and then for the drardatis per so TUB. (Sits.) Fus. The title, I think, will strike ; the fashion of plays, you SYLVESTER DAGGERWOOD. 219 know, is to do away with old prejudices, and to rescue certain characters from the illiberal odium with which custom has marked them. Thus we have a generous Israelite, an amiable cynic, and so on. Now, sir, I call my play " The Humane Footpad." Bag. What? Fus. There 's a title for you ! Is n't it happy ? Eh ! how do you like my " Footpad " ? Dag. Humph ! I think he '11 strike — but, then, he ought to be properly executed. Fus. 0, sir, let me alone for that. An exception to a general rule is the grand secret of dramatic composition. Mine is a free- booter of benevolence, and plunders with sentiment. Dag. There may be something in that, and, for my part, I was always with Shakspeare — "Who steals my purse, steals trash." I never had any weighty reasons for thinking other- wise. Now, sir, as we say, please to " leave off your horrible faces, and begin." Fus. My horrible faces ! Dag. Come, we '11 to 't like French falconers. Fus. [Reading.) Scene first. ... A dark wood, night. Dag. A very awful beginning. Fus. {Reading.) The moon behind a cloud. Dag. That 's new. An audience never saw a moon behind a cloud before — but it will be very hard to paint. Fus. Don't interrupt ; where was I ? ^ — ! behind a cloud. Dag. " The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces — " Fus. Hey, the deuce ! What are you at ? Dag. Beg pardon ; but that speech never comes into my head but it runs away with me. Proceed. Fus. Enter. (Reading.) Dag. " The solemn tem^ples." Fus. Nay, then, I 've done. Da^g. So have I. I 'm dumb. Fus. Enter Egbert, musing. (Reading.) Dag. 0. P.?^ Fus. Pshaw ! what does that signifj^ ? Dag. Not much. ..." the great globe itself." Fus. (Reading.) Egbert, musing. Clouded in night I come — Dag. (Starting up.) " The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples," &c. &c. &c. Fus. (Gets up.) He's mad ! a bedlamite ! raves like a Lear, and foams out a folio of Shakspeare without drawing breath ! I 'm almost afraid to stop in the room with him. * Stage initials for Ojjposite Prompter. 220 THE STAGE. Enter SERVANT. 1 I 'm glad you 're come, friend ! Now I shall be delivered ; your master would be glad to see me, I warrant. Servant, My master is just gone out, sir. Fus, Gone out ! Dag, " 0, day and night, but this is wondrous strange." Fus, What ! without seeing me, who have been waiting for him these three hours ? Bag, Three hours ! — pooh ' I Ve slept here these five morn- ings, in this old arm-chair. Fus, Pretty treatment ! Pretty treatment, truly ! to be kept here half the morning, kicking my heels in a manager's ante- room, shut up with a mad Dunstable actor. Bag. Mad ! Zounds, sir ! I 'd have you to know that "when the wind is northerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw." Fus. Tell your master, friend, tell your master, — but no matter ; he don't catch me here again, that 's all. I '11 go home, turn my play into a pageant, put a triumphal procession at the end on 't, and bring it out at one of the winter theaters. [Exit.) Bag. Young man, you know me. I shall come to my old chair again to-morrow, — but must go to Dunstable the day after, for a week, to finish my engagement. Wish for an interview — inclination to tread the London boards, and so on. You remem- ber my name — Mr. Sylvester Daggerwood, whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of June^ by particular desire of several persons of distinction. Serv. I shall be sure to tell him, sir. Bag, " I find thee apt ; And duller wouldst thou be than the fat weed That rots itself at ease on Le'the's wharf, Wouldst thou not stir in this." Open the street door. Go on ! I '11 follow thee. colman. XII. — PAUL PRY. Enter DOUBLEDOT and SIMON, L. Bouhledot, Plague take Mr. Paul Pry! He is one of those idle, meddling fellows, who, having no employment themselves, are perpetually interfering in other people's afiairs. Simo?i, Ay, and he 's inquisitive into all matters, great and small. Bouh. Inquisitive ! Why, he makes no scruple of questioning you respecting your most private concerns. Then he will weary you to death with a long story about a cramp in his leg, or the PAUL PRY. 221 loss of a sleeve-button, or some such idle matter. And so he passes his days, " dropping in," as he calls it, from house to house at the most unreasonable times, to the annoyance of every family in the village. But 1 11 soon get rid of him. Enter PRY, L., vnth umbrella^ which he places againat the wail. Pry. Ha ! how d' ye do, Mr. Doubledot ? Doub. Very busy, Mr. Pry, and have scarcely time to say " Pretty well, thank 3^0." [Turns from him as if writing in memorandum, hook. Simon advances.) Pry. Ha, Simon ! you here ? Kather early in the morning to be in a public house. Been taking a horn, eh ? Sent here with a message from your master, perhaps ? I say, Simon, when this wedding takes place, I suppose your master will put you all into new liveries, eh? Simon. Can't say, sir. Pry. Well, I think he might. (Touches Suioia^B sleeve.) Be- tween ourselves, Simon, it won't be before you want 'em, eh? Simon. That 's master's business, sir, and neither yours nor mine. Pry. Mr. Simon, behave yourself, or I shall complain of you to the colonel. By the way, Simon, that 's an uncommon fine leg of mutton the butcher has sent to your house. It weighs thirteen pounds five ounces. Doub. And how do you know that ? Pry. I asked the butcher. I say, Simon, is it for roasting or boilino: ? Sim.07i. Half and half, with the chill taken ofi". There 's your answer. (Exit Simon, R.) Pry. That 's an uncommon ill-behaved servant ! Well, since you say you are busy, I won't interrupt you ; only, as I was passing, I thought I might as well drop in. Doub. Then you may now drop out again. The London coach will be in presently, and — Pry- ^0 passengers by it to-day, for I have been to the hill to look for it. Doub. Did you expect any one by it, that you were so anxious ? Pry. No ; but I make it my business to see the coach come in every day. I can't bear to be idle. Doub. Useful occupation, truly ! Pry. Always see it go out ; have done so these ten years. Doub. [Going up.) Tiresome blockhead ! Well; good-mom-» ing to you. 19* 222 THE STAGE. Pry. Good-=-moriiing, Mr. Doubledot. Your tavern doesn't appear to be very full just now. Douh, No, no. Fry. Ha ! you are at a heavy rent ? {Pauses for an ansiaer after each question.) I 've often thought of that. No support- ing such an establishment without a deal of custom. If it 's not an impertinent question, don't you find it rather a hard matter to make both ends meet when Christmas comes round ? Douh, If it is n't asking an impertinent question, what 's that to you? Pry. 0, nothing; only some folks have the luck of it: they have just taken in a nobleman's family at the opposition house, the Green Dragon. Dcrah. What 's that ? A nobleman at the Grreen Dragon ! Pry. Traveling carriage and four. Three servants on the dickey and an outrider, all in blue liveries. They dine and stop all night. A pretty bill there will be to-morrow, for the servants are not on board wages. T^ovl). Plague take the Grreen Dragon 1 How did you dis= cover that they are not on board wages ? Pry. I was curious to know, and asked one of them. You know I never miss any thing for want of asking. 'T is no fault of mine that the nabob is not here, at your house. Bouh. Why, what had you to do with it ? Pry. You know I never forget my friends. I stopped the carriage as it was coming down the hill — brought it to a dead stop, and said that if his lordship — I took him for a lord at once — that if his lordship intended to make any stay, he could n't do better than go to Doubledot's. Boub. Well? Pry. Well, — would you believe it? — out. pops a saffron- colored face from the carriage window, and says, " You 're an impudent rascal for stopping my carriage, and I '11 not go to Doubledot's, if there 's another inn to be found within ten miles of it ! " Douh. There, that comes of your confounded meddling ! If you had not interfered I should have stood an equal chance with the Green Dragon. Pry. I 'm very sorry ; but I did it for the best. Boub. Did it for the best, indeed ! Deuce take you! By your officious attempts to serve, you do more mischief in the neigh- borhood than the exciseman, the apothecary, and the attorney, all together. Pr2j. Well, there 's gratitude! Now, really, I must go. Good- morning. {Exit Paul Pry.) GUSTAVUS AND CRISTIERN. 223 Douh. I 'm rid of him at last, thank fortune ! (Pry reenters.) Well, what now ? Pry. I 'ye dropped one of my gloves. Now, that 's yery odd — here it is in my hand all the time ! Doub, Gro to confusion ! (Exit), Pry, Come, that 's ciyil ! If I were the least of a bore, now, it would be pardonable — but Hullo ! There 's the postman ! I wonder whether the Parkins's haye got letters again to-day. They haye had letters eyery day this week, and I can't for the life of me think what they can — [Feels hastily in his pockets.) By the way, talking of letters, here 's one I took from the postman last week for the colonel's daughter, Miss Eliza, and I haye always forgotten to giye it to her. I dare say it is not of much importance. [Peeps into it — reads,) "Likely — unexpected — affectionate." I can't make it out. No matter ; I '11 contrive to take it to the house — though I 'ye a deal to do to-day. [Runs off and returns.) Bear me ! I had like to haye gone without my umbrella. john poole {altered). XIII. — GUSTAVUS AND CRISTIEEN. Enter GUSTAyUS, Right, CRISTIEEN, Left. Cristiern. How now, Grustayus ? An insurgent ? Thou ? In arms against me — me, thy lawful king ? Hast counted well the chances ? Are the lives Of my misguided people held so light That thus thou 'dst push them on the keen rebuke Of guarded majesty; where justice waits. All awful and resistless, to assert The impervious rights, the sanctitude of kings, And blast rebellion ! Gustuvus, Justice, sanctitude. And rights ! 0, patience ! Rights ! what rights, thou tyrant ? Yes, if perdition be the rule of power, If wrongs give right, 0, then, supreme in mischief, Thou wert the lord, the monarch of the world, Too narrow for thy claim ! But if thou think'st That crowns are vilely propertied, like coin, To be the means, the specialty of lust. And sensual attribution ; if thou think'st That empire is of titled birth or blood ; That nature, in the proud behalf of one, Shall disenfranchise all her lordly race, 224 THE STAGE. And bow her general issue to the yoke Of private domination ; then, thou proud one, Here know me for thy king. Howe'er, be told. Not claim hereditary, not the trust Of frank election ; Not even the high anointing hand of Heaven, Can authorize oppression, give a law For lawless power, wed faith to violation, On reason build misrule, or justly bind Allegiance to injustice. Tyranny Absolves all faith ; and who invades our rights, Howe'er his own commence, can never be But a usurper. But for thee — for thee There is no name. Thou hast abjured mankind. Dashed safety from thy bleak, unsocial side. And waged wild war with universal nature. Cris. Licentious traitor ! thou canst talk it largely. Who made thee umpire of the rights of kings. And power, prime attribute — as on thy tongue The poise of battle lay, and arms offeree, To throw defiance in the front of duty ? Look round, unruly boy ! Thy battle comes Like raw, disjointed mustering, feeble wrath, A war of waters, borne against the rock Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe, And shiver in the toil. Gus. Mistaken man! I come empowered and strengthened in thy weakness ; For though the structure of a tyrant's throne Bise on the necks of half the suffering world, Fear trembles in the cem'ent ; prayers, and tears, And secret curses, sap its mouldering base, And steal the pillars of allegiance from it ; Then let a single arm but dare the sway, Headlong it turns and drives upon destruction. Cris, Profane, and alien to the love of Heaven ! Art thou still hardened to the wrath divine. That hangs o'er thy rebellion ? Know'st thou not Thou art at enmity with grace, cast out. Made an anath'ema, a curse enrolled Among the faithful, thou and thy adherents Shorn from our holy church, and offered up As sacred to perdition ? G71S. Yes, I know, THE WILL. 225 When such as thou, with sacrilegious hand, Seize on the apostolic kej of heaven, It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves To shut out virtue, and unfold those gates That Heaven itself had barred against the lusts Of avarice and ambition. Soft and sweet, As looks of charity, or voice of lambs That bleat upon the mountains, are the words Of Christian meekness ! mission all divine ! The law of love sole mandate. Cris, No more of this ! Grustavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace, And hold thy motions in the sphere of duty, Acceptance might be found. Gtcs, Imperial spoiler ! Grive me my father, give me back my kindred. Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans, Grive me the sons in whom thy ruthless sword Has left our widows childless ! Mine they were, Both mine, and every Swede's, whose patriot breast Bleeds in his country's woundings. 0, thou canst not, Thou hast outsinned all reckoning ! Grive me, then, My all that's left — my gentle mother, there. And spare yon little trembler ! Cris. Yes, on terms Of compact and submission. Gus, Ha! with thee? Compact with thee ? and meanest thou for my country, — Compact, submission, thraldom, for my country, — - For Sweden ? No ! So hold my heart but firm, Although it wring for 't, though blood drop for tears. And at the sight my straining eyes start forth — All of my kin that's left shall perish first ! BROOKE (altered). XIY. — THE WILL. Characters. — SWIPES, a brewer ; CURRIE, a saddler; FRANK MILLINGTON, and 'squire DRAWL. Enter SWIPES, R., CURRIE, L. Swipes, A sober occasion this, brother Currie ! Who would have thought the old lady was so near her end ? Currie, Ah ! we must all die, brother Swipes. Those who live loncjest outlive the most. 226 THE STAGE. Swipes, True, true ; but, since we must die and leave our earthly possessions, it is well that the law takes such good care of us. Had the old lady her senses when she departed? Cur. Perfectly, perfectly. 'Squire Drawl told me she read every word of her last will and testament aloud, and never signed her name better. Swipes. Had you any hint from the 'Squire what disposition she made of her property ? Cur. Not a whisper ! the 'Squire is as close as a miser's purse. But one of the witnesses hinted to me that she has cut off her graceless nephew with a shilling. Swipes. Has she ? Good soul ! Has she ? You know I come in, then, in right of my wife. Cur. And I in my oivn right ; and this is, no doubt, the rea- son why we have been called to hear the reading of the will. 'Squire Drawl knows how things should be done, though he is as air-tight as one of your own beer=barrels, brother Swipes. But here comes the young reprobate. He must be present, as a mat- ter of course, you know. {Enter Frank Millington, R.) Your servant, young gentleman. So, your benefactress has left you, at last ! Swipes. It is a painful thing to part with old and good friends, Mr. Millington. Frank. It is so, sir ; but I could bear her loss better, had I not so often been ungrateful for her kindness. She was my only friend, and I knew not her value. Cur. It is too late to repent. Master Millington. You will now have a chance to earn your own bread. Sivipes. Ay, ay, by the sweat of your brow, as better people are obliged to. You would make a fine brewer's boy, if you were not too old. Cur. Ay, or a saddler's lackey, if held with a tight rein. Frank. Gentlemen, your remarks imply that my aunt has treated me as I deserved. I am above your insults, and only hope you will bear your fortune as modestly, as I shall mine submissively. I shall retire. [As he is going, R., enter 'Squire Drawl, R.) ^Squire. Stop, stop, young man ! We must have your pres- ence. Good-morning, gentlemen ; you are early on the ground. Cur. I hope the 'Squire is well to-day. ''Squire. Pretty comfortable for an invalid. Swipes. I trust the damp air has not affected your lungs. ''Squire. No, I believe not. Y^ou know I never hurry. Slow and sure is my maxim. Well, since the heirs at law are all THE WILL. 227 convened, I shall proceed to open the last will and testament of jour deceased relative, according to law. Swipes, (While jfAe 'Squire is breaking the seal.) It is a try- ing scene to leave all one's possessions, 'Squire, in this manner ! Cur, It really makes me feel melancholy when I look round and see every thing but the venerable owner of these goods. Well did the preacher say. All is vanity ! ■Squire, Please to be seated, gentlemen. [All sit. — The 'Squire ^2^^^ on his spectacles^ and reads slowly.) "Imprimis: Whereas my nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience and ungrateful conduct, has shown himself unworthy of my bounty, and incapable of managing my large estate, I do hereby give and bequeath all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, moneys, and property, both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt-street, brewer, and Christopher CuiTie, of Fly- court, saddler." ('Squire takes off his spectacles to- wipe them,) Swipes, {Dreadfully overcome.) Grenerous creature ! kind soul ! I always loved her. Cur. She was good, she was kind ! She was in her right mind. Brother Swipes, when we divide, I think I will take the mansion-house. Swipes, Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Currie ! My wife has long had her eye upon that, and must have it. {Both i^ise.) Cur. There will be two words to that bargain, Mr. Swipes ! And, besides, I ought to have the first choice. Did not I lend her a new chaise every time she wished to ride ? And who knows what influence Swipes, Am I not named first in her will ? And did I not furnish her with my best small beer for more than six months ? And who knows Frank, Gentlemen, I must leave you. {Going.) ^Squire. ( Wiping his spectacles, and putting them on.) Pray, gentlemen, keep your seats. I have not done yet. {All sit.) Let me see ; where was I? — Ay, — " All my property, both per- sonal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt-street, brewer js ; Swipes, Yet 'Squire, "And Christopher Currie, Fly-court, saddler " Cur, Yes ! ^Squire, " To have and to hold in trust, for the sole and ex- clusive benefit of my nephew, Francis Millington, until he shall have attained the age of twenty-one years ; by which time I hope he will have so far reformed his evil habits, as that he may safely 228 THE STAGE. be intrusted with, the large fortune which I hereby bequeath to Mm." Swipes. What 's all this ? You don't mean that we are hum- bugged ? In trust ! — how does that appear ? Where is it ? ^Squire, (Pointing to the parchment.) There ! In two words of as good old English as I ever penned. Cur. Pretty well too, Mr. 'Squire, if we must be sent for to be made a laughing-stock of! She shall pay for every ride she had out of my chaise, I promise you ! Swipes. And for every drop of my beer. Fine times, if two sober, hard-working citizens are to be brought here to be made the sport of a graceless profligate ! But we will manage his property for him, Mr. Currie ! We will make him feel that trustees are not to be trifled with ! Cur. That will we ! ^Squire. Not so fast, gentlemen; for the instrument is dated three years ago, and the young gentleman must already be of age, and able to take care of himself. Is it not so, Francis ? Frank. It is, your worship. ^Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to the breaking of this seal according to law, you are released from any further trouble in the premises. XY. — THE DEBTOR AND THE DUN. Enter REMNANT, R.^ Remnant. Well, I am resolved I '11 collect my bill of Col. Blar- ney this time. He shan't put me off again. This is the twentieth time, as I 'm a sinner, that I have dunned him ! His smooth words shan't humbug me now. No, no ! Eichard Remnant is not such a goose as to be paid in fine words for fine clothes. [Takes out a long bill^ and unrolls it.) A pretty collection of items, that ! Why, the interest alone would make a good round sum. But hark ! He is coming. [Hastily rolls up the bill^ and returns it to his pocket.) Enter COL. BLARNEY, R. Blarney. Ah ! my dear Hemnant, a thousand welcomes ! How delighted I am to see you ! And what stupidity on the part of my people not to make you enter at once ! True, I had given orders that they should admit nobody; but those orders *' The initials R. and L. stand for the Kight and Left of the stage, facing the audience. THE DEBTOR AND TPIE DUN. 229 did not extend to jou, my dear sir, for to you I am always at home. Rem. Much obliged, sir. [Fumhling in his pocket for his hUl) Blar. (Calling to his servants). What ho ! John ! Martha ! confound you ! I will teach you to keep my friend Remnant kicking his heels in the entry ! I will teach you to distinguish among my visitors ! Ee7n, Indeed, sir, it is no sort of consequence. Blar. Eut it is consequence ! To tell you — you, one of my best friends — that I was not in ! Rem, I am your humble servant, sir. (Drawing forth Mil.) I just dropped in to hand you this little — Blar. Quick, there, quick ! A chair for my friend Remnant ! Rem. I am very well as I am, sir. Blar. Not at all I I would have you seated. Rem, It is not necessary. (Servant hands a common chair.) Blar. Rascal ! — - not that ! An arm-chair ! Rem. You are taking too much trouble. (An arm-chair is placed for him.) Blar. No, no ; you have been walking some distance, and require rest. Now be seated. Rem. There is no need of it — I have but a single word to say. I have brought — Blar. Be seated, I say, I will not listen to you till you are seated. Rem. Well, sir, I will do as you wish. (Sits.) I was about to say — Blar. Upon my word, friend Remnant, you are looking remarkably well. Rem, Yes, sir, thank heaven, I am pretty well. I have come with this — Blar. You have an admirable stock of health — lips fresh, skin ruddy, eyes clear and bright — really — Re?7i. If you would be good enough to — Blar. And how is Madam Remnant? Rem. Quite well, sir, I am happy to say. Blar. A charming woman, Mr, Remnant ! A very superior woman. Rem. She will be much obliged, sir. As I was saying — Blar. And your daughter, Claudine, how is she ? Rem. As well as can be. Blar. The beautiful little thing that she is I I am quite in love with her. 20 230 THE STAGE. Rem. You do us too much honor, sir. I — you — Blar, And little Harry — does he make as much noise as ever, beating that drum of his ? Rein. Ah, yes ! He goes on the same as ever. But, as I was saying — Blar. And your little dog. Brisk, — does he bark as loud as ever, and snap at the legs of your visitors ? Rem. More than ever, sir, and we don't know how to cure him. He, he ! But I dropped in to — Blar. Do not be surprised if I want particular news of all your family, for I take the deepest interest in all of you. Rem. We are much obliged to your honor, much obliged. I — Blar. [Giving his hand.) Your hand upon it, Mr. Bemnant. Don't rise. Now, tell me, do you stand well with people of quality ? — for I can make interest for you among them. Rem. Sir, I am your humble servant. Bla7\ And I am yours, with all my heart. [Shaking hands again.) Rem. You do me too much honor. Blar. There is nothing I would not do for you. Rem. Sir, you are too kind to me. Blar. At least I am disinterested; be sure of that, Mr. Bemnant. Rem. Certainly I have. not merited these favors, sir. But, Blar. Now I think of it, will you staj- mikI sup with me? — without ceremony, of course. Rem. No, sir, I must return to my shop ; I should have been there before this. I — Blar. What ho, there ! A light for Mr. Bemnant ! and tell the coachman to bring the coach and drive him home. Rem. Indeed, sir, it is not necessary. I can walk well enough. But here — [Offering bill.) Blar. ! I shall not listen to it. Walk ? Such a night as this ! I am your friend, Bemnant, and, what is more, your debtor — your debtor, I say — all the world may know it. Rem. Ah ! sir, if you could but find it convenient — Blar. Hark ! There is the coach. One more embrace, my dear Bemnant ! [Shakes hands again.) Take care of the steps. Command me always ; and be sure there is nothing in the world I would not do for you. There ! Good-by. [Exit Bemnant, coiiditcted by Col. B.) ALTERED FROM MOLIERE. THE CHOLERIC FATHER. 281 XVI. — THE CHOLERIC FATHER. Enter SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE, L. ; CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE, R. Capt. Absolute. Sir, I am delighted to see you here, and look- ing so well ! Your sudden arrival at Eath made me apprehen- sive for jour health. Sir Anthony. Yerj apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. What, you are recruiting here, hey ? Capt. A. Yes, sir, I am on duty. Sir A. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did not expect it ; for I was going to write to you on a little matter of business. Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and infirm, and shall not probably trouble you long. Capt. A. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong and hearty, and I pray fervently that you may continue so. Sir A. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my heart. Well, then. Jack, I have been considering that I am so strong and hearty, I may continue to plague you a long time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income of your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit. Capt. A. Sir, you are very good. Sir A, And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my boy make some figure in the world, I have resolved, therefore, to fix you at once in a noble independence. Capt. A. Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Yet, sir, I pre- sume you would not wish me to quit the army ? Sir A. ! that shall be as your wife chooses. Capt. A. My wife, sir ? Sir A. Ay, ay, settle that between you. Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say ? Sir A. Ay, a wife : why, did not I mention her before ? Capt. A. Not a word of her, sir. Sir A. Odd so ! I mustn't forget her, though. Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is by a marriage ; the fortune is saddled with a wife : but I suppose that makes no difference ? Capt. A, Sir, sir ! you amaze me ! Sir A. Why, what 's the matter? Just now you were all gratitude and duty. Capt. A. I was, sir ; you talked to me of independence and a fortune, but not a word of a wife. Sir A. Why, what difference does that make ? Odds life, sir ! if you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock on it, as it stands. 232 THE STAGE. Capt. A, Pray, sir, who is the lady ? Sir A, What 's that to you, sir ? Come, give me your prom- ise to love and to marry her directly. Capt. A. Sure, sir, that is not very reasonable, to summon my affections for a lady I know nothing of ! Sir A. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable in you to object to a lady you know nothing of ! Capt, A. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for all, that in this point I can not obey you. Sir A. Harkye, Jack ; I have heard you for some time with patience — I have been cool, quite cool ; but take care ; you know I am compliance itself, when I am not thwarted ; no one more easily led, when I have my own way ; but don't put me in a frenzy ! Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it ; in this I can not obey you. Sir A. Now, hang me, if ever I call you Jack again while I live ! Capt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me. Sir A. Sir, I won't hear a word — not a word ! — not one word ! So, give me your promise by a nod, and I '11 tell you what. Jack, — I mean, you dog, — if you don't, by Capt. A. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugliness ; to Sir A. Zounds ! sirrah ! the lady shall be as ugly as I choose : she shall have a hump on each shoulder ; she shall be as crooked as the crescent ; her one eye shall roll like the bull's in Cox's mu-se'um ; she shall have a skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew ; — she shall be all this, sirrah ! yet I '11 make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty ! [Crosses and recrosses.) Capt A. This is reason and moderation, indeed ! Sir A^ None of your sneering, puppy ! — no grinning, jacka- napes ! Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor for mirth in my life. Sir A. 'T is false, sir ! I know you are laughing in your sleeve ; I know you '11 grin when I am gone, sirrah I Capt. A, Sir, I hope I know my duty better. Sir A. None of your passion, sir ! none of your violence, if you please ! It won't do with me, I promise you. Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. Sir A. I know you are in a passion in your heart ; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog ! But it won't do I Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my word SCENE FROM THE RIV^ALS. 233 Sir A. So, jou will fly out I Can't you be cool, like me ? What good can passion do ? Passion is of no service, you impu- doDt, insolent, overbearing reprobate ! There, you sneer again ! Don't provoke me ! But you rely upon the mildness of my temper, you do, you dog ! you play upon the meekness of my disposi- tion ! Yet, take care ; the patience of a saint may be overcome at last ! But mark ! I give you six hours and a half to consider of this : if you then agree, without any condition, to do every thing on earth that I choose, why, I may, in time, forgive you. If not, zounds ! don't enter the same hemisphere with me ! don't dare to breathe the same air or use the same light with me ; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own ! I '11 strip you of your commission : I '11 lodge a five-and-three-pence in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest ! I '11 disown you, I '11 disenherit you ! and hang me, if ever I call you Jack again ! {Exit.) Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father ! I kiss your hands. X\t:I._ SCENE FROM THE RWALS. \^There should be. a table, on the stage, with pen ^ ink, and paper ; also two chairs.'\ Enter SIR LUCITIS, R. ', MR. ACRES, X. Sir Liicius. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you ! Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hand ! Sir L. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so suddenly to Bath ? Acr. Faith ! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a-lantern, and find myself in a quagmire at last. In short, I have been very ill used, Sir Lucius. I don't choose to mention names, but look on me as on a very ill-used gentleman. Sir L. Pray, Vv^hat is the case ? — I ask no names. Acr. Mark me, Sir Lucius : I fall as deep as need be in love with a young lady ; her friends take my part ; I follow her to Bath, send word of my arrival, and receive answer, that the young lad}^ is to be otherwise disposed of. — This, Sir Lucius, I call being ill used. Sir L. Yery ill, upon my conscience. — Pray, can you divine the cause of it ? Acr. Why, there 's the matter : she has another lover, one Beverly, who, I am told, is now in Bath. — Odds slander and lies ! he must be at the bottom of it. 20* 284 THE STAGE. Sir L. A rival in the case, is there ? — and you think he has supplanted you unfairly ? Act, Unfairly ? — to be sure he has. He never could have done it fairly. Sir L. Then 5 sure, you know what is to be done ! Acr, Not I, upon my honor ! Sir L, We wear no swords here, but you understand me, Acr. What! fight him? Sir L, Ay, to be sure ! What can I mean else ? Acr, But he has given me no provocation. Sir L, Now, I think he has given you the greatest provoca- tion in the world. Can a man commit a more heinous^ oiFence against another than to fall in love with the same woman ? 0, it is the most unpardonable breach of friendship ! Acr, Breach of friendship ! Ay, ay ; but I have no acquaint- ance with this man. I never saw him in my life. Sir L. That 's no argument at all ; he has the less right, then, to take such a liberty. Acr, Why, that 's true. I grow full of anger, Sir Lucius ! I fire apace ! Odds hilts and blades ! I find a man may have a deal of valor in him, and not know it ! But could n't I contrive to have a little right of my side ? Sir L, What signifies rights when your honor is concerned ? Do you think Achilles,! or my little Alexander the Great, ever inquired where the right lay ? No, they drew their broad=s words, and left the lazy sons of peace to settle the justice of it. Acr, Your words are a grenadier's march to my heart ! 1 believe courage must be catching ! — I certainly do feel a kind of valor rising, as it were — a kind of courage, as I may say. Odds flints, pans, and triggers ! I '11 challenge him directly. Sir L. Ah, my little friend ! If I had Blunder bicss-Hall here, I could show you a range of ancestry, in the 'Trigger line, that would furnish the New Boom ; every one of whom had killed his man ! For, though the mansion-house and dirty acres have slipt through my fingers, I thank heaven our honor and the family-pictures are as fresh as ever. Acr, 0, Sir Lucius ! I have had ancestors, too ! — every man of 'em colonel or captain in the militia ! ■— Odds balls and bar- rels ! say no more — I 'm braced for it. The thunder of your words has soured the milk of human kindness in my breast ! — As the man in the play says, '' I could do such deeds— " •Sir L. Come, come, there must be no passion at all in Ihe case ; these things should always be done civilly. * Pronounce hanus, f Pronounce A-kiVles, SCENE FROM THE RIVALS. 285 Act, I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius ! I must be in a rage ! Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you love me. Come, here 's pen and paper. {Sits down to write.) I would the ink were red ! Indite, I say, indite ! How shall I begin ? Odds bullets and blades ! I '11 write a good bold hand, however. Sir L. Pray, compose yourself. Acr. Come, now, shall I begin with an oath ? Sir L, Pho, pho ! do the thing decently. Begin now : Sir Acr. That 's too civil by half. Sir L. To preve7it the confusion that might arise — Acr. Well. Sir L. From our doth addressing the same lady — Acr. Ay, there 's the reason — same lady. — Well. Sir L. I shall expect the favor of your company — Acr. Zounds ! I 'm not asking him to dinner ! Sir L. Pray, be easy. Acr. Well, then, honor of your company — Sir L. To settle our pretensions^ — Acr, Well. Sir L. Let me see ; ay, King's-Mead-fields will do ; in King^ s-Mead-Jields. Acr. So, that 's done. Well, I '11 fold it up presently. My own crest — a hand and dagger — shall be the seal. {Rises.) Sir L. You see, now, this little explanation will put a stop at once to all confusion or misunderstanding that might arise between you. Acr. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding. Sir L. Now I '11 leave you to fix your own time. Take my advice, and you '11 decide it this evening, if you can ; then, let the worst come of it, 't will be off your mind to-morrow. Acr. Very true. Sir L. So I shall see nothing more of you, unless it be by letter, till the evening. I would do myself the honor to carry your message ; but, to tell you a secret; I believe I shall have just such another affair on my own hands. There is a gay cap- tain here, who put a jest on me lately at the expense of my coun- try ; and I only want to fall in with the gentleman, to call him out. Acr. 'By my valor, I should like to see you fight first ! Odds life ! I should like to see you stand up to shoot him, if it was only to get a little lesson ! sheridan. 236 THE STAGE. XVIII. — PEDANTS SEEKING PATRONAGE. [E,. stands for the right of tlie stage, facing the audience ; L. for the left; 0. for the center.'\ Characters. — DIGIT, a mathematician ; he has a folio volume under his arm, and wears a very seedy black coat, SESQUIPEDALIA, a linguist and philoso- pher ; he wears spectacles, cind carries a cane. TRILL, a musician J he has a roll of music, to which he occasionally refers. DRONE, a servant, slow of motion and slow of speech. The scene is supposed to be in the ante-room of Mr, Mor- reWs house. "^ E7iter DIGIT, L, Digit. If theologians are in want of a proof that mankind are daily degenerating, let them apply to me, Archimedes t Digit. I can furnish them with one as clear as anv demonstration in t/ Euclid's third or fifth book ; and it is this, — the growing inat- tention to the sublime and exalted science of mathematics. 0, that the patriotic inhabitants of this extensive country should suffer so degrading a circumstance to exist ! Why, yesterday, I asked a lad of fifteen which he preferred, algebra or geometry, and he told me — 0, horrible ! —he told me he had never stud- ied either ! I was thunderstruck, I was astonished, I was petri- fied ! Never studied geometry ! never studied algebra ! — and fifteen years old ! The dark ages are returning. Heathenish obscurity will soon overwhelm the world, unless I do something immediately to enlighten it : and for this purpose I have now applied to Mr. Morrell, who lives here, and is celebrated for his patronage of learning and learned men. I wish somebody would come. [Looks off R., a)id calls.) Who waitB there? Enter DRONE, R. Is Mr. Morrell at home ? Drone. Can't say ; s'pose he is; indeed, I am sure he is — or was just now. On the vfhole, I rather think he is. Digit. Why, I could solve an equation while you are answer- ing a question of five words, — I mean if the unknown terms were all on one side of the equation. Can I see him ? * It is important, in the delivery of dialogues, in order to prevent con- fusion, to have the places of entrance and exit, whether right or left, well understood beforehand ; also to have every crossing of the stage marked and understood. Unless this is done, awkwardness will be produced by an unex- pected movement. In some of the dialogues the editor has inserted the proper marks ; in others, the speakers are left to arrange them. The animation and naturalness of a dialogue often depend upon proper and expressive movements across the p.tage, or to and fro. t Pronoiiacjd Ar-ke~?nc'des. PEDANTS SEEKING PATRONAGE. 237 Drone, There is nobody in this house by the name of Quation. Digit, [Aside.) Now, here 's a fellow that can not distinguish between an algebraic term and the denomination of his master ! — I wish to see Mr. Morrell upon an affair of infinite import- ance, — ahem ! Drone. 0, very likely, sir. I will inform him that Mr. Qua- tion wishes to see him {mimicking) upon an affair of infinite importance, — ahem ! Digit. No, no ! Digit — Digit. My name is Digit. Drone. 0, Mr. Digy-Digy. Yery likely. [Exit Drone, i,) Digit. [Alone.) That fellow is certainly a negative quantity. He is minus common sense. If this Mr. Morrell is the man I take him to be, he can not but patronize my talents. Should he not, I don't know how I shall obtain a new coat. I have worn this ever since I began to write my theory of sines and cotangents ; and my elbows have so often formed right angles with the plane surface of my table, that a new coat or a parallel patch is very necessary. But here comes Mr. Morrell. Enter SESQTJIPEDALIA, L, Sir [bowing low), I am your most mathematical servant. I am sorry, sir, to give you this trouble ; but an affair of consequence — [pulling the rags over his elbows) — an affair of consequence, as your servant informed you — Sesqiiipedalia, Servus nnn est milii, Dom'i-ne ; that is, I have no servant, sir. I presume you have erred in your calculation ; and — Digit, [R.) No, sir. The calculations I am about to present you are founded on the most correct theorems of Euclid. You may examine them, if you please. They are contained in this small manuscript. [Producing a folio.) . Sesq. Sir, you have bestowed a degree of interruption upon my observations. I was about, or, according to the JjRtm8,fu-ti6- rus sum, to give you a little information concerning the luminary who appears to have deceived your vision. My name, sir, is Tul- lius Maro Titus Crispus Sescjuipedalia ; by profession a linguist and philosopher. The most abstruse points in physics or meta- physics are to me transparent as ether. I have come to this house for the purpose of obtaining the patronage of a gentleman who befriends all the literati. Now, sir, perhaps I have induced conviction, in mente tua, that is, in your mind, that yom^ calcu- lation was erroneous. Digit, Yes, sir ; as to your, person, I was mistaken ; but my calculations, I maintain, are correct, to the tenth part of a circu- lating decimal. 238 THE STAGE. Sesq. But what is the subject of jour manuscript? Have you discussed the infinite divisibility of matter ? Digit. No, sir ; I can not reckon infinity ; and I have nothing to do with subjects that can not be reckoned. Sesq. Why, I can reckon about it. I reckon it is divisible ad infini'tum. But perhaps your work is upon the materiality of light ; and if so, which side of the question do you espouse ? Digit. 0, sir, I think it quite immaterial. Sesq. "What ! light immaterial ! Do you say light is imma- terial ? Digit. jSTo ; I say it is quite immaterial which side of the question I espouse. I have nothing to do with it. And, besides, I am a bachelor, and do not mean to espouse any thing at present. Sesq. Do you write upon the attraction of cohesion ? You know, matter has the properties of attraction and repulsion. Digit. I care nothing about matter, so I can find enough for mathematical demonstration. Sesq, I can not conceive what you have written upon, then. ! it must be the centrip'etal and centrifugal motions. Digit. {Peevishly.) No, no ! I wish Mr. Morrell would come ! Sir, I have no motions but such as I can make with my pencil upon my slate, thus. [Figuring upon his hand.) Six, minus four, plus two, equal eight, minus six, plus two. There, those are my motions. Sesq. ! I perceive you grovel in the depths of arithmetic. 1 suppose you never soared into the regions of philosophy. You never thought of the vacuum which has so long filled the heads of philosophers. Digit. Yacuiim ! [Putting his hand to his forehead.) Let me think. Sesq. Ha ! What ! have you got it sub inanu, that is, under your hand ? Ha, ha, ha ! Digit. Eh ! under my hand ? What do you mean, sir ? — that my head is a vacuum ? Would you insult me, sir ? — insult Archimedes Digit ? Why, sir, I '11 cipher you into infinite divisibility! I'll set you on an inverted cone, and give you a centripetal and centrifugal motion out of the window, sir ! I '11 scatter your solid contents ! [Crosses to L.) Sesq. [R.) Da veniam, that is, pardon me ! it was merely a lapsus lingucB, that is — Digit. [L.) Well, sir, I am not fond of lapsus lingucBS, at all, sir. However, if you did not mean to offend, I accept your apology. I wish Mr. Morrell would come ! Sesq. But, sir, is your work upon mathematics ? PEDANTS SEEKING PATRONAGE. 239 Digit, Yes, sir. In this manuscript I have endeavored to elucidate the squaring of the circle. Sesq, But, sir, a square circle is a contradiction in terms. You can not make one. Digit. I perceive you are a novice in this sublime science. The object is to find a square which shall be equal to a given circle ; which I have done by a rule drawn from the radii of the circle and the diag'onal of the square. And by my rule the area of the square will equal the area of the circle. Sesq, Your terms are to me incomprehensible. Diagonal is derived from the Grreek. Dia and gonia, that is, " through the corner." But I don't see what it has to do with a circle ; for, if I understand aright, a circle, like a sphere, has no corners. Digit, You appear to be very ignorant of the science of numbers. Your life must be very insipidly spent in poring over philosophy and the dead langTiages. You never tasted, as I have, the pleasure arising from the investigation of a difficult problem, or the discovery of a new rule in quadratic equations. Sesq. Poh ! poh ! {Crosses to i., and hits Digit on the leg with his cane.) Digit. [Crossing to R.) 0, you villain ! Sesq. (i.) I wish, sir, — Digit. (R.) And so do I wish, sir, that that cane was raised to the fourth power, and laid over your head as m^any times as there are units in a thousand! ! ! Sesq. (C.) Did m.y cane come in contact with the sphere of attraction around your shin ? I must confess, sir, — Enter TRILL, L. But here is Mr, Morrell, SaVve Domi-ne ! Sir, your servant. Trill. (L.) Which of you, gentlemen, is Mr. Morrell? Sesq. (C.) ! neither, sir. I took you for that gentleman. Trill, j^o, sir ; I am a teacher of music. Flute, harp, viol, violin, violoncello ,=^ organ, or any thing of the kind ; any instru- ment you can mention. I have just been displaying my powers at a concert, and come recommended to the patronage of Mr. Morrell. Sesq. For the same purpose are that gentleman and myself here. Digit. {R. — Still rubbing his shin.) ! ! Trill. Has the gentleman the gout? I have heard of its being cured by music. Shall I sing you a solo ? Hem ! hem ! (Clears his throaty a7id begins to sing.) Faw — * Pronounced ve-o-lon-chel'lo. Sound ph as/ in .sphere and symphony. 240 THE STAGE, ^ Digit, Hold ! If we must have a solo^ let it be sung 50 low tliat 1 can't hear it. I want none of your tunes. I 'd make that philosopher sing, though, and dance, too, if he had n't made a vulgar fraction of my leg. Sesq. In vtr-i-tate^ that is, in truth, it happened /o/?^e, that is, by chance. TrilL (Talking to himself.) If B be flat, me is in E. Digit, (To Sesq.) Ay, sir; this is only an in tegral part of your conduct ever since you came into this house. You have continued to multiply your insults in the abstract ratio of a geo- metrical progression, and at last have proceeded to violence. The dignity of Archimedes Digit never experienced such a reduc- tion descending before. Trill. ( To himself,) Twice jfe sol la^ and then comes me again. Digit. If Mr. Morrell does not admit me soon, I '11 leave the house, while my head is on my shoulders. Trill, G-entlemen, you neither keep time nor chord. But, if you can sing, we will try a trio before we go. Sesq, Can you sing an ode of Horace or Anac're-on? I should like to hear one of them. Digit, I had rather hear you sing a demonstration of the forty=seventh proposition, first book. Trill, I never heard of those performers, sir; where do they belong ? Sesq, They did belong to Italy and Greece. Trill, {Crosses to R.) Ah ! Italy ! There are our best mas- ters, such as Morelli and Fuselli. Can you favor me with some of their compositions ? Sesq. [L.) 0, yes ; if you have a taste that way, I can ' furnish you with them, and with Virgil, Sallust, Cicero, Caesar, and Quintilian ; and I have an old Greek Lexicon which I can spare. Trill, Ad lih'itum^ my dear sir, they will make a handsome addition to my musical library. Digit, (C.) But, sir, what pretensions have you to the patron- age of Mr, Morrell ? I don't believe you can square the circle. TrilL Pretensions, sir! I have gained a victory over the great Tantamarrarra, the new opera-singer, who pretended to vie with me. 'T was in the symphony of Handel's Oratorio of Saul, Avhere, you know, every thing depends upon the tempo giusto, and where the primo should precede in smorgando^ and the secondo, agitati. But he was on the third ledger line, I was an octave below, when, with a sudden appoggiatura^ I rose to D in olt^ and conquered him. I THE POLITICAL BORE. 241 Enter DRONE, R. Drone, Mj master says how he will wait on you, gentlemen. Digit, What is your name, sir ? Drone. Drone, at your service. Digit, No, no ; you need not drone at my service. A very applicable name, however. Sesq, Drone ? That is derived from the Grreek Draon, that is, flying or moving swiftly. Trill, He seems to move in andante measure, that is, to the tune of Old Hundred. Drone. Very likely, gentlemen. Digit. Well, as I came first, I will enter first. Sesq. Eight. You shall be the antecedent, I the subsequent, and Mr. Trill the consequent. Trill. Right. I was always a man of consequence. — Fa, sol, la. Fa, sol, & c. [Exeunt^ R. , followed by Drone, who mimics them. ) ANON. XIX.— THE POLITICAL BORE. QUIDNUNC and FEEBLE. Enter FEEBLE, X. He stops, C, feels his pulse ^ and shakes his head — then takes a vial from his pocket, pours a few drops on a lump of sugar, and swallows it. As soon as he hears QLTDNUNC'S voice, he starts with disgust towards R. The whole of QUIDNUNC'S frst speech is uttered off the stage. There should be a chair a little to the right of the center. Quidnunc. {Without.) Hold your tongue, you foolish fellow ! he '11 be glad to see me. Brother Feeble ! brother Feeble ! Feeble. (R.) I was just going to bed. Bless my heart, what can this man want ? I know his voice. I hope no new misfor- tune brings him at this hour. Enter QUIDNUNC, L. Quid. Brother Feeble, I give you joy ! the nabob 's demol- ished. Hurra ! Feeb. Lack-a-day, Mr. Quidnunc ! How can you serve me thus? Quid. Suraja Dowla is no more ! Hurra ! [Crosses the stage to L., then back again to R.) Feeb. Poor man ! he 's stark, starino; mad. Quid. Our men diverted themselves with killing their bul- locks and their camels, till they dislodged the enemy from the sotagon, and the counterscarp, and the bungalow — 21 242 THE STAGE. Feeb, I '11 hear the rest to-morrow morning. ! I 'm ready to die ! Quid. Odds-heart, man, be of good cheer ! [Slapping Fee- ble on the back,) The new nabob, Jaffer Alley Cawn, has acceded to a treaty, and the English company got all their rights in the Phiemad and the Fushbulhoornons. Feeb. But, dear heart, Mr. Quidnunc, why am I to be dis- turbed for this ? Quid. We had but two seapoys killed, three chokeys, four gaul-walls, and two zemindars. Hurra ! Feeb. Would not to-morrow morning do as well for this ? Quid. Light up your windows, man ! — light up your win- dows ! Chandernagore is taken ! Hurra ! - Feeb. Well, well ! I 'm glad of it. Grood-night. [Going, R.) Quid. Here — here 's the " Grazette." [Produces news- paper.) Feeb. O, I shall certainly faint ! [Sits down.) Quid. Ay, ay, sit down, and I '11 read it to you. Here it is : " On the lOth the action commenced. Suraja Dowla drew up his men on the right of the bungalow, about" — (Feeble rises and moves away, R.) Nay, don't run away: I 've mere news to tell you. There 's an account from Williamsburgh, in America. The superintendent of Indian affairs — Feeb. Dear sir ! dear sir ! [Avoiding him.) Quid. He has settled matters with the Cherokees — [Follow- ing him about the stage.) Feeb. Enough, enough! [Moving aivay.) Quid. In the same manner he did before with the Catawbas. (Following him.) Feeb. Well, well ! — your servant. [Moving off.) Quid. So that the white inhabitants — {Following him.) Feeb. I wish you would let me be a quiet inhabitant of my own house ! Quid. So that the white inhabitants will now be secured by the Cherokees and the Catawbas — Feeb. You had better go home, and think of appearing before the commissioners. Quid. Go home ! No, no ! I '11 go and talk the matter over at our coffee-house. [Going, L.) Feeb. Do so, do so ! Quid. [Tur?iing back.) I had a dispute about the balance of power. [Takes chair a?id sits, C.) Pray, now, can you tell — Feeb. I know nothing of the matter/* MONEY MAKES THE MARE GO. 243 Quid. Well, another time will do for that. (Rises,) I have a great deal to say about that. {Goi?ig — returns.) Right! I had like to have forgot. There's an erratum in the last " Gazette." Feeb. With all mj heart ! Quid, Page 3, 1st col., 1st and 3d lines, for hmnbs read booms. Feeb. Read what you will ! Quid. Nay, but that alters the sense, you know. Well, now, your servant. If I hear any more news, I '11 come and tell you. Feeb. For heaven's sake, no more ! Quid. I '11 be with you before you 're out of your first sleep. Feeb. Grood-night, good-night ! [Hurries off, R.) Quid. {Screaming after him.) I forgot to tell you — the Em- peror of Morocco is dead. So, now I have made him happy, I '11 go and call up my friend Razor, and make him happy, too ; and then I '11 go and see if any body is up at the coffee-house, and make them all happy there, too. [Exit, L.) XX. — MONEY MAKES THE MARE GO. Enter DERBY, R., a7id SCRAPEWELL, L. Derby. Good-morning, neighbor Scrapewell. I have half a dozen miles to ride to-day, and should be extremely obliged to you if you would lend me your gray mare. Scrapewell. I should be happy, friend Derby, to oblige you ; but I 'm under the necessity of going immediately to the mill with three bags of corn. My wife wants the meal this very morning. Ber. Then she must want it still, for I can assure you the mill does not go to-day. I heard the miller tell Jotham Sleek that the water was too low. Scrape. You don't say so ! That is bad, indeed ; for, in that case, I shall be obliged to gallop off to town for the meal. My wife would comb my head for me, if I should neglect it ! Ber. I can save you this journey, for I have plenty of meal at home, and will lend your wife as much as she wants. Scrape. Ah ! neighbor Derby, I am sure your meal will never suit my wife. You can't conceive how whimsical she is. Ber. If she were ten times more whimsical than she is, I am certain she would like it ; for you sold it to me yourself, and you assured me that it was the best you ever had. Scrape. Yes, yes, that 's true, indeed ; I always have the best of every thing. You know, neighbor Derby, that no one is more ready to oblige a friend than I am ; but I must tell you, the 244 THE STAGE. mare tkis morning refused to eat hay ; and, truly, I am afraid she Vv^ill not carry you. Der. 0, never fear ; I will feed her well with oats on the road. Scrape, Oats ! neighbor ; oats are very dear. Ber, Never mind that. When I have a good job in view, I never stand for trifles. Scrape, Eut it is very slippery ; and I am really afraid she will fall and break your neck. Ber, Give yourself no uneasiness about that. The mare is certainly sure-footed ; and, besides, you were just now talking of galloping her to town. Scrape, Well, then, to tell you the plain truth, though I wish to oblige you with all my heart, my saddle is torn quite in pieces, and I have just sent my bridle to be mended. Der, Luckily, I have both a bridle and a saddle hanging up at home. Scro.pe, Ah ! that may be ; but I am sure your saddle will never fit my mare. Der, Why, then I '11 borrow neighbor Clodpole's. Scrape, Clodpole's ! his will no more fit than yours will. Der, At the worst, then, I will go to my friend 'Squire Jones. He has half a score of them ; and I am sure he will lend me one that will fit her. Scrape, You know, friend Derby, that no one is more willing to oblige his neighbors than I am. I do assure you the beast should be at your service, with all my heart ; but she has not been curried, I believe, for three weeks past. Her foretop and mane want combing and cutting very much. If any one should see her in her present plight, it would ruin the sale of her. Der, ! a horse is soon curried, and my son Sam shall dis- patch her at once. Scrape, Yes, very likely ; but I this moment recollect the creature has no shoes on. Der, Well, is there not a blacksmith hard by ? Scrape, What ! that tinker of a Dobson ? I would not trust such a bungler to shoe a goat ! No, no , none but uncle Tom Thumper is capable of shoeing my mare. Der. As good luck would have it, then, I shall pass right by his door. Scrape, [Calling off, L,) Timothy ! Timothy ! i:nter TIMOTHY, L, Here 's neighbor Derby, who wants the loan of the gray mare, to ride to town to-day. You know the skin was rubbed off her back MONEY MAKES THE MAKE GO. 245 last week a hand's breadth or more. (He gives Tim a wink.) However, I believe she is well enough bj this time. (Tim shakes his head,) You know, Tim, how ready I am to oblige my neigh- bors. And, indeed, we ought to do all the good we can in this world. We must certainly let neighbor Derby have her, if she will possibly answer his purpose. Yes, yes ; I see plainly, by Tim's countenance, neighbor Derby, that he 's disposed to oblige you, I would not have refused you the mare for the worth of her. If I had, I should have expected you would have refused me in your turn. None of my neighbors can accuse me of being backward in doing them a kindness. Come, Timothy, what do you say? Timothy, (L.) What do I say, father ? Why, I say, sir, that I am no less ready than you are to do a neighborly kindness. But the mare is too used-up to make the journey to town to-day. About a hand's breadth, did you say, sir ? Why, the skin is 'torn from the poor creature's back of the bigness of your broad- brimmed hat ! And, besides, I have promised her, as soon as she is able to travel, to Ned Saunders, to carry a load of apples to the market. Scrape. (C) Do you hear that, neighbor? I am very sorry matters turn out thus. I would not have disobliged you for the price of two such mares. Believe me, neighbor Derby, I am really sorry, for your sake, that matters turn out thus. Der. (R,) And I as much for yours, neighbor Scrapewell ; for, to tell you the truth, I received a letter this morning from old G-riffin, who tells me, if I will be in town this day, he will give me the refusal of all that lot of timber which he is about cutting down upon the back of Cobblehill ; and I intended you should have shared half of it, which would have been not less than fifty dollars in your pocket. But, as your — Scrape. Fifty dollars, did you say ? Der. Ay, truly did I ; but, as your mare is out of order, I '11 go and see if I can get old Roan, the blacksmith's horse. Scrape. Old Roan ! My mare is at your service, neighbor. Here, Tim, tell Ned Saunders he can't have the mare. Neighbor Derby wants her ; and I won't refuse so good a friend any thing he asks for. Der. But what are you to do for meal ? Scrape. My wife can do without it this fortnight, if you want the mare so long. Der. But, then, your saddle is all in pieces. Scrape. I meant the old one. I have bought a new one since, and you shall have the first use of it. 246 THE STAGE Der. Apxd jou would have me call at Thumper's, and get her shod? Scrape, 'No, no ! I had forgotten to tell jou that I let neigh- bor Dobson shoe her last week, by way of trial ; and, to do him justice, I must own he shoes extremely well. Der, But, if the poor creature has lost so much skin from off her back — Scrape. Poh, poh ! That is just one of our Tim's large stories. I do assure you it was not at first bigger than my thumb-nail ; and I am certain it has not grown any since. Der. At least, however, let her have something she will eat, since she refuses hay. Scrape. She did, indeed, refuse hay this morning ; but the only reason was, that she was crammed full of oats. You have nothing to fear, neighbor ; the mare is in perfect trim ; and she will skim you over the ground like a bird. I wish you a good journey and a profitable job. Come, come along to the barn. This way, neighbor, this way ! [He pulls Derby off, L., and Tim follows . ) berquin. XXI.— HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER. :Enter GLENDOWEK, R., PERCY, L. Glendower, Hail, good cousin Percy ! hail, good cousin Hotspur ! — For, by that name, as oft as Lancaster" Doth speak of you, his cheeks look pale, and, with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. Hotspur. And you — in the other place, as often as he hears Owen Grlendower spoken of. Glen, I can not blame him. At my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets ; and at my birth The fram.e and huge foundation of the earth Shaked like a coward. Hot, Why, so it would have done At the same season if your mother's cat Had but kittened, though yourself had never been born. Glen. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. Hot, And I say, the earth was not of my mind. If you suppose as fearing you it shook. Glen, The heavens were all on fire ; the earth did tremble. Hot. O ! then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER. 247 ! And not in fear of your nativity. | Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth j In strange eruptions ; oft the teeming earth I Is with a kind of colic pinched and vexed j Ey the imprisonment of unruly wind I Within her held, which, for enlargement striving, ; Shakes the old beldamed earth, and topples down ] Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth, | Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, i In passion shook. i Glen, Cousin, of many men j I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave { To tell you once again, that at my birth [ The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; \ The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds "Were strangely clamorous in the frighted fields. ! These signs have marked me extraordinary, ] And all the courses of my life do show i I am not in the roll of common men. \ Where is he living, — clipped in with the sea j That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland, — ■ Who calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? j And bring him out that is but woman's son . Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, \ Or hold me pace in deep experiments. \ Hot, I think there is no man speaks better Welsh, Glen. 1 can speak English, lord, as well as you ; '■ For I was trained up in the English court, j Where, being but young, I framed to the harp | Many an English ditty, lovely well, ] And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, — , I A virtue that was never seen in you. ; Hot, Marry, and I 'm glad of it, with all my heart. ] I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew ! ! Than one of those same meter ballad-mongers ; j I 'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turned, \ Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree ; • ; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, \ Nothing so much as mincing poetry. I 'T is like the fDrced gate of a shuffling nag ! j Glen. {Crosses to L.) I can call spirits from the vasty deep. ^ Hot. {Crosses to R.) Why, so can I, or so can any man : i But will they come, when you do call for them ? ; Glen. Why, I can teach you to command the devil. , i ( J 248 THE STAGE. Hot, And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil Bj telling truth : Tell truth and shame the devil. If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, And I '11 be sworn I have power to shame him hence. ! while you live, Tell truths and shame the devil. Glen, Come, come ! [Crosses to R.) No more of this unprofitable chat. (Exit, R,) , Hot, No more, and welcome, Owen Glendower ! {Laughing.) He can " call spirits from the vasty deep ! " 1 'd like to see him do it. I tell you what, — He held me last night at the least nine hours In reckoning up the several devils' names That were his lackeys : I cried "humph," and " well, go to," But marked him not a word. ! he 's as tedious As is a tired horse, a railing wife ; Worse than a smoky house ; I had rather live With cheese and garlic, in a windmill, far, Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, In any summer-house in Christendom ! (Exit, L,) SHAKSPEARE (^altered), XXIL— DAVID AND GOUAH. Enter GOLIAH, L, Goliah, Where is the mighty man of war, who dares Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief? What victor-king, what general drenched in blood, Claims this high privilege ? What are his rights ? What proud credentials does the boaster bring To prove his claim ? What cities laid in ashes, What ruined provinces, what slaughtered realms, What heads of heroes, or what hearts of kings, In battle killed, or at his altars slain, Has he to boast ? Is his bright armory Thick^set with spears; and swords, and coats of mail, Of vanquished nations, by his single arm Subdued? Where is the mortal man so bold. So much a wretch, so out of love with life. To dare the weight of this uplifted spear ? Come, advance ! Philistia's gods to Israel's ! Sound, my herald, Sound for the battle straight ! Enter DAVID, R. David, Behold thy foe ! Gol. I see him not, DAVID AND GOLIAH, 249 Dav, Behold him here ! GoL Say, where? Direct my sight. I do not war with boys. DaVo I stand prepared ; thy single arm to mine. Gol. Why, this is mockery, minion ! it may chance To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee; But tell me who, of all this numerous host, Expects his death from me ? Vf hich is the man Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance ? Dav, The election of my sovereign falls on me. Gol, On thee ! on thee ! by Bagon, 't is too much ! Thou curled minion ! thou a nation's champion ! 'T would move my mirth at any other time ; But trifling 's out of tune. Begone, light boy ! And tempt me not too far. {Crosses to R.) Dav, {Crosses to L.) I do defy thee. Thou foul idolater ! Hast thou not scorned The armies of the living God I serve ? By me He will avenge upon thy head Thy nation's sins and thine ! Armed with His name, Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe That ever bathed his hostile spear in blood. GoL Indeed ! 't is wondrous well ! Now, by my gods ! The stripling plays the orator ! Yain boy ! Keep close to that same bloodless war of words, And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue- valiant warrior ! Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung Of idle field-flowers ? Where thy wanton harp. Thou dainty-fingered hero ? — But I will meet thee. Thou insect warrior ! since thou darest me thus ! Already I behold thy mangled limbs. Dissevered each from each, ere long to feed The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well ! Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks. And toss in air thy head all gashed with wounds. Dav, Ha ! say'st thou so ? Come on, then ! Mark us well. Thou comest to me with sword, and spear, and shield ! In the dread name of Israel's Grod I come; The living Lord of hosts, whom thou defiest ! Yet, though no shield I bring, — no arms, except These five smooth stones I gathered from the brook, With such a simple sling as shepherds use, — Yet all exposed, defenseless as I am. The Grod I serve^hall give thee up a prey 250 THE STAGE. To my victorious arm. This day I mean To make the uncircumcised tribes confess There is a God in Israel. I will give thee, Spite of thy vaunted strength and giant bulk, To glut the carrion kites. Nor thee alone ; The mangled carcasses of your thick hosts Shall spread the plains of Eiah ; till Philistia, Through all her trembling tents and flying bands, Shall own that Judah's God is God indeed ! I dare thee to the trial ! Got, Follow me. In this good spear I trust. (Exit, L. Dav. 1 trust in heaven ! The God of battles stimulates my arm, And fires my soul with ardor not its own. (Exit, L. HANNAH MORE. XXIII. — INDIGESTION. Scene, DR. GREGORY'S study, A table, C, and chair, R. and L. Enter PA- TIENT, L.f a plump Glasgow merchant . DR. GREGORY discovered reading, R, Patient. Good-morning, Dr. Gregory ! I 'm just come into Edinburgh about some law business, and I thought when I was here, at any rate, I might just as weel take your advice, sir, about my trouble. Doctor, Pray, sir, sit down. (Patient sits, L.) And now, my good sir, what may your trouble be ? Pa. Indeed, doctor, I 'm not very sure ; but I 'm thinking it 's a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of pinkling about my stomach ; — I 'm just na right. Dr. You are from the west country, I should suppose, sir ? P«. Yes, sir, from Glasgow. Dr, Ay; pray, sir, are you a glutton? Pa, Heaven forbid, sir ! I 'm one of the plainest men living in all the west country. Br, Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard ? Pa, No, Dr. Gregory ; thank Heaven, no one can accuse me of that ! I 'm of the dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder ; so you may suppose I 'm na drunkard. Dr, I '11 suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of life. I 'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I should wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink. When do you breakfast, and what do you take at it ? INDIGESTION. 251 Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock ; take a cup of coffee, and one or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kip- pered salmon, or, may be, both, if they 're good, and two or three rolls and butter. Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast? Pa, 0, yes, sir ! but I don't count that as any thing. Dr. Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. Vf hat kind of a dinner do you make ? Pa. 0, sir, I eat a very plain dinner, indeed. Some soup, and some fish, and a little plain roast or boiled ; for I dinna care for made dishes ; I think, some way, they never satisfy the appetite. Dr. You take a little pudding, then, and afterwards some cheese ? Pa. 0, yes ! though I don't care much about them. Dr. You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese ? Pa. Yes, one or the other ; but seldom both. Dr. You west-country people generally take a glass of High- land whiskey after dinner. Pa. Yes, we do ; it 's good for digestion. Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner ? Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry ; but I 'm indifferent as to wine during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer. Dr. What quantity of port do you drink ? Pa. 0, very little; not above half a dozen glasses or so. Dr. In the west-country, it is impossible, I hear, to dine with- out punch ? Pa. Yes, sir : indeed, 't is punch we drink chiefly ; but, for myself, unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that 's moderate. Dr. 0, exceedingly moderate, indeed ! You then, after this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter ? Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the even- ing letters. Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose ? Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to tak supper ; just something before going ta bed ; — a rizzered haddock, or a bit of toasted cheese, or a half-hundred of oysters, or the like o' that, and, may be, two thirds of a bottle of ale ; but I tak no regular supper. Dr. But you take a little more punch after that ? Pa. No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I tak a tumbler of warm whiskey-toddy at night ; it is lighter to sleep on. 252 THE STAGE. Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your every- day life ; but, upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little ? Pa. No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with me, or I dine out, which, as I am a sober family man, does not often happen. Dr. Not above twice a week ? Fa. No ; not oftener. Dr. Of course you sleep well, and have a good appetite ? Fa. Yes, sir, thank Heaven, I have ; indeed, any ill health that I have is about meal-time. Dr. {Rising with a severe air — the Patient also rises. ) Now, sir, you are a very pretty fellow, indeed ! You come here and tell me you are a moderate man ; but, upon examination, I find, by your own showing, that you are a most voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man ; yet, by your own showing, you are a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, and a guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat indigestible suppers, and swill toddy to force sleep. I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can stand this ? Go home, sir, and leave your present course of riotous living, and there are hopes that your stomach may recover its tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors. Fa. I 'm sure, doctor, I 'm very much obliged to you. ( Taking out a bundle of hank-notes.) I shall endeavor to — Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me : — put up your money, sir. Do you think I'll take a fee for telling you what you know as well as myself? Though you're no physician, sir, you are not altogether a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or, take my word for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase. Fa. Thank you, doctor, thank you. Grood-day, doctor. {Exit^ R.^ followed by Doctor.) ANON. XXIV. — NORVAL. Enter first GLENALVON, L. ; then NORVAL, R. The latter seems looking off at some distant object. Glenalvon. [Aside.) His port I love : he 's in ^ proper mood To chide the thunder, if at him it roared. [Aloud.) Has Nerval seen the troops ? Norval. The setting sun With yellow radiance lightened all the vale, And as the warriors moved, each polished helm, Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams. NORVxVL. 253 The hill they climbed, and, halting at its top, Of more than mortal size, towering they seemed A host angelic, clad in burnino* arms. Glen, Thou talk'st it well ; no leader of our host In sounds more lofty talks of glorious war. Norv, If I should e'er acquire a leader's name, My speech will be less ardent. Novelty Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration Yents itself freely ; since no part is mine Of praise pertaining to the gi-eat in arms. Glen, You wrong yourself, brave sir ; 3'our martial deeds Have ranked you with the great. But mark me. Nerval, Lord Randolph's favor n©w exalts your youth Above his veterans of famous service. Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you. Grive them all honor : seem not to command, Else they will hardly brook your late-sprung power. Which nor alliance props nor birth adorns. Norv. Sir, I have been accustomed, all my days. To hear and speak the plain and simple truth ; And though I have been told that there are men Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn, Yet in such language I am little skilled ; Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel. Although it sounded harshly. Why remind Me of my birth obscure ? Why slur my power With such contemptuous terms ? Gle7i. I did not mean To gall your pride, which now I see is great. Norv, My pride ! Gleii, Suppress it, as you wish to prosper ; Your pride 's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake, I will not leave you to its rash direction. If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men, Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn ? Norv. A shepherd's scorn ! {Crosses, L.) Glen, (R.) Yes, if you presume To bend on soldiers those disdainful eyes As if you took the measure of their minds, And said in secret. You 're no match for me. What will become of you ? Norv, Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? Glen, Ha ! dost thou threaten me ? Norv. Didst thou not hear ? 22 254 THE STAGE. Glen, Unwillingly I did ; a nobler foe Had not been questioned thus ; but such as thou — Now, Whom dost thou think me ? Glen, Norval. Norv. So I am — And who is Nerval in Glenalvon's eyes ? Glen, A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy ; At best no more, even if he speaks the truth. Norv, False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth ? Glen. Thy truth ! thou 'rt all a lie ; and basely false Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. Norv. If I were chained, unarmed, or bedrid old, Perhaps I should revile ; but, as I am, I have no tongue to rail. The humble Nerval Is of a race who strive not but with deeds. {Crosses, R.) Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valor, And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword, I 'd tell thee — what thou art. I know thee well. Glen. (L.) Dost thou not know Glenalvon born to command Ten thousand slaves like thee ? Norv. Villain, no more ! Draw and defend thy life. I did design To have defied thee in another cause ; But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee. Now for my own and Lady Handolph's wrongs ! {Both draw their swords,) Enter LORD RANDOLPH, R. Lord Randolph. Hold ! I command you both ! the man that stirs Makes me his foe. Norv. {€.) Another voice than thine That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. Glen. Hear him, my lord ; he 's wondrous condescending ! Mark the humility of shepherd Nerval ! Norv. Now you may scoff in safety. Lord R. {R.) Speak not thus, Taunting each other, but unfold to me The cause of quarrel ; then I judge betwixt you. Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much, My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment. I blush to speak : and will not, can not speak The opprobrious words that I from him have borne. To the liege lord of my dear native land SEEKING SERVICE. 265 I owe a subject's homage ; but even him And his high arbitration I 'd reject ! Within my bosom reigns another lord — Honor ! sole judge and umpire of itself. If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph, Revoke your favors, and let Nerval go Hence as he came ; alone — - but not dishonored ! Lord R. Thus far I 'il mediate with impartial voice ; The ancient foe of Caledonia's land Now waves his banner o'er her frighted fields ; Suspend your purpose till your country's arms Repel the bold invader ; then decide The private quarrel. Glen. I agree to this. Norv, And I. (Lord R. retires up.) Glen. Nerval, Let not our variance mar the social hour, Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph. Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow ; Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame. Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentment ; When we contend again, our strife is mortal. {Exeunt Lord R., Glen., Norv., L.) HOME. XXV. — SEEKING SERVICE. \^Two chairs on the stage, R. C. and L. C] Enter MR. DEPUTY BULL, R. Enter THOMAS, i. Thomas. Here 's a man, sir, come after the footman's place. Bull, I hope he is more civil than the last fellow. Does he seem modest ? Thomas. 0, yes, sir ; h^ 's an L^ishman. Bull. Well, we are used to them in the Bull family. Let me see him. [Exit Thomas, L.) I hope I shall be able to keep a servant, at last. They are all so provokingly saucy to me, because I have been a grocer. Enter LOONEY MACTWOLTER, L. So you want a place ! Looney. You may say that, with your own ugly mouth ! Bull. My ugly mouth ! You have been in service before ? 256 THE STAGE. Loo. Does a duck swim ? Bull. Whom have you lived with ? Loo. I lived with the Mactwolters nineteen years, and then they turned me off. Bull, The Mactwolters ! Why did they turn you off? Loo. They went dead. Bull. That 's an awkward way of discharging a servant. Who were they ? Loo. My own beautiful father and most beautiful mother. They died of a whiskey fever, and left myself, Looney Mactwolter, heir to their estate. Bull. They had an estate, it seems. Loo. Yes ; they had a pig. Bull. Umph ! But they died, you say, when you were nine- teen. What have you been doing ever since ? Loo. I 'm a physicianer. Bull. A physician, is it, you mean ? Loo. Yes ; I 'm a cow-doctor. Bull, And what brought you here ? Loo, Hay-making. I 've a fork below ; hire me, then I '11 have a knife to it, and prettily I '11 toss about your beef, Mr. Bull! Bull. I don't doubt you. This fellow would make the steaks disappear, with a vengeance ! What can you do as a footman ? Can you clean plate ? Loo. Clean a plate ! Botheration, man ! would you hire me for your kitchen-maid ? I can dirty a plate with any body in the parish. Bull. Do you think, now, Looney, you could contrive to beat a coat ? Loo. Faith, can I, in the Connaught fashion. Bull. How 's that ? Loo. With a man in it. Och ! Let me alone for dusting your ould jacket, Mr. Bull ! Bull. Confound this fellow, I say ! Loo. Be aisy, and I '11 warrant we '11 agree. Grive me what I ax, and we '11 never tumble out about the wages. Reenter THOMAS, L. Thomas. Here 's another man come after the place, I believe, sir. Bull. Another man ! Let me see him. (Exit Thomas, L.) Loo. Faith, now, you '11 bother yourself betwixt us. You '11 be like a cat in a tripe-shop, and not know where to choose. SEEKING SERVICE. 257 Eiiter JOHN LUMP, L, Lump. Be jou Mr. Bull, zur ? Bull. Yes ; I am the Deputy. Lump. ! if you are nothing but the deputy, I '11 jjicle here till I see Mr. Bull himself. Bull. Blockhead ! I am himself — Mr. Deputy Bull. Loo. Arrah ! can't you see, man, that this ugly ould gentle- man is himself? Bull. Hold your tongue, Mr. Looney Mactwolter ! What 's your name ? Lump. John. Bull. John what ? Lump. JSTo ; not John What, but John Lump. Bull. And what do you want, John Lump ? Lump. Why, I 'se come here, zur — but as we be upon a bit o' business, I '11 let you hear the long and short on 't, (Drawing a chair and sitting down.) I 'se corned here, zur, to hire myself for your sarvant. Bull. Ah ! but you don't expect, I perceive, to have any standing wages. Loo. (Branding a chair and sitting d.own.) Are n't you a pretty spalpeen, now, to squat yourself down there in the presence of Mr. Deputy Bull ? Bull. Now, here 's a couple of scoundrels ! Loo. Don't be in a passion with him. Mind how I '11 lam liim politeness ! Bull. G-et up directly, you villain, or — Loo. Not before Mr. Lump. See how I '11 give him the polish. Bull. If you don't get up directly, I '11 squeeze your heads together like two figs in a jar ! Lump. [Rising^ 0, then, it be unmannerly for a footman to rest himself, I suppose ! Loo. [Rising.) To be sure it is ; no servant has the bad manners to sit before his master, but the coachman. Lump. I ax your pardon, zur ; I 'se but a poor Yorkshire lad, traveled up from Doncaster Eaces ; I 'se simple, but I 'se willing to learn. Bull. Simple and willing to learn ? Two qualities, Master Lump, which will answer my purpose. (Lump stand.s hack.) Loo. Mind what you 're after going to do, Mr. Deputy Bull ! If you hire this fellow from the Donkey Races, when Looney Mactwolter is at your elbow, I '11 make free to say, you 're mak- ing a complete Judy of yourself. 22* 258 THE STAGE. Bull. You do make free, with, a vengeance ! Now, I '11 make free to say, get out of my house, you impudent cow-doctor ! Loo. You 're no scholard, or you 'd larn how to bemean your- self to a physicianer. Arrah ! Is n't a cow-doctor as good as you, you ouid figman ? Bull. Old figman ! This rascal, too, quizzing my origin ! G-et down stairs, or — Loo. Don't come over me with the pride of your staircase, for had n't my father a comfortable ladder to go up and down stairs with ? Take Mr. Lump into your dirty sarvice, and next time I 'm after meeting him, I '11 thump Mr. Lump, or Mr. Lump shall thump Mr. Looney Mactwolter ! [Exit, L. Exeunt Eull and Lump, R.) COLMAN. XXVL— THE DUEL.* Enter SIK LUCIUS O'TRIGGER, X., with pistols, followed by ACRES. Acres. (L.) By my valor, then. Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and aims ! — I say it is a good dis- tance. Sir Lucius. {R.) Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me. — Stay, now — I '11 show you. [Measures paces along the Jioor.) There, now, that is a very pretty distance -— a pretty gentleman's distance. Acr. (R.) Zounds ! we might as well fight in a sentry-box ! I tell you. Sir Lucius, the further he is ofi*, the cooler I shall take my aim. Sir L. (L.) Faith! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if he was out of sight ! Acr. No, Sir Lucius ; but I should think forty or eight-and- thirty yards — Sir L. Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense ! Three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. Acr. Odds bullets, no ! — by my valor ! there is no merit in killing him so near ! Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot : — a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me ! Sir L. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you ? Acr. I am much obliged to you. Sir Lucius — but I don't understand *Sco par^c 233. THE DUEL. • 259 Sir L. Why, you may think there 's no being shot at with- out a little risk ; and if an unlucky bullet should carry a qui- e'tus with it — I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters. Acr. A quietus ! * Sir L. For instance, now — if that should be the case — would you choose to be pickled and sent home ? — or would itO be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey ? — I 'm told there is yery snug lying in the Abbey. Acr, Pickled ! — Snug lying in the Abbey ! — Odds tremors ! Sir Lucius, don't talk so ! Sir L, I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an * affair of this kind before. Acr, No, Sir Lucius, never before. Sir L. Ah! that's a pity! — there 's nothing like being used to a thing. Pray, now, how would you receive the gentleman's shot? Acr. Odds files ! — I 've practiced that — there. Sir Lucius — there. {Puts himself in an attitude.) A side front, hey ? I '11 make myself small enough : I '11 stand edgeways. Sir L, Now — you 're quite out — for if you stand so when I take my aim — [Leveling at him.) Acr. Zounds ! Sir Lucius — are you sure it is not cocked? Sir L. Never fear. Acr. But — but — you don't know — it may go off of its own head ! Sir L. Pooh ! be easy. Well, now, if I hit you in the body, my bullet has a double chance ; for, if it misses a vital part of your right side, 't v/ill be very hard if it don't succeed on the left, W Acr. A vital part ! Sir L. But, there, fix yourself so — (placing him) — let him see the broadside of your full front ; there, now, a ball or two may pass clean through your body, and never do any harm at all. Acr. Clean through me ! — a ball or two clean through me ! Sir L. Ay, may they ; and it is much the genteelest attitude into the bargain. Acr. Look'ee, Sir Lucius ! I 'd just as iieve be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel one ; so, by my valor ! I will stand edgeways. Sir L. {Looking at his watch.) Sure, they don't mean to dis- appoint us. Ha! no, faith; I think I see them comJng. [Crosses to R.) Acr. (L.) Hey ! — v/hat ! — coming ! — 260 THE STAGE. Sir L. Ay. Who are those yonder, getting over the stile ? Acr. There are two of them, indeed ! Well — let them come — hey. Sir Lucius ! we — we — we — we — won't run ! Sir L. Run ! Acr. No, — I say, — we won't run, by niy valor ! Sir L. What 's the matter with you ? . Acr, Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — my dear Sir Lucius ! but I — I — I don't feel quite so bold, somehow, as I did. Sir L. 0, fy ! Consider your honor. Acr. Ay — true — my honor. Do, Sir Lucius, edge in a word or two every now and then about my honor. Sir L. Well, here they 're coming. {Looking R.) Acr. Sir Lucius, if I wa'n't with you, I should almost think I was afraid ! If my valor should leave me ! — Yalor will come and go. Sir L. Then pray keep it fast while you have it. Acr. Sir Lucius, I doubt it is going ! — yes — my valor is certainly going ! — it is sneaking off ! I feel it oozing out, as it were, at the palms of my hands ! Sir L. Your honor ! your honor ! Here they are. Acr. 0, mercy ! — now — that I was safe at Clod Hall ! o; could be shot before I was aware ! (Sir Lucius takes Acres hy the arm, and leads him reluctantly off, it.) sheridan. XXYIL — THE IMAGmARY SICK MAN. Enter BURLY, X., and SERVANT, R. Burly. Can I see your master ? Servant. Master can't see any body, sir, except a doctor. Bur. Why, what 's the matter? Ser. Why, you see, ever since he had that large fortune left him, master has a fancy that he has all sorts of complaints on him, and that he is n't long for this world. Bur. Poor Fidget ! Has such been the effect of his good fortune? Well, tell him that an old friend whom he hasn't seen for ten years wishes to see him. Ser. It 's no use, sir. Unless you be a doctor of some sort, he '11 shut the door on you. Bur. {Aside.) A doctor of some sort ! Let me see. I surely am a sort of a doctor. Did n't I physic Prince Sackatoo, the black steward on board the Thunder Cloud, for an attack of colic ? And have n't I a vial of nux vom'ica, that my good aunt gave me? To be sure I am a sort of a doctor ! [AJoud.) Tell THE IMAGINARY SICK MAN. 261 jour master that Doctor Bughumm, late physician to his hio-h- ness Prince Sackatoo, has called to see him. Ser. Ay, sir ; he '11 see Doctor Bughumm, and no mistake. [Exit R.) Bur. Now, with the knob of my cane to my nose, thus, I think I may pass muster. J^nier TIDGET, R. Sir, your obedient servant. I have the honor of addressing Mr. Frederic Fido-et, I believe. Fidget. Why, Burly, is this you ? Bur. Sir! Fidg. Excuse me, doctor, but, really, your resemblance to an old friend of mine is very remarkable. Bur. Very probable, sir ; I am often mistaken for other peo- ple. But look at me well, sir, and tell me what age you take me to be. Fidg. Well, sir, I should think you might be about twenty- two or twenty-three. Bur. Ha, ha ! Sir, I was ninety-five last Christmas. Fidg. Ninety-five ? Impossible ! Bur. It 's as true, sir, as that you are a sick man. Why, sir, you see in me one of the wonderful effects of my art — of my system of practice. Fidg. Upon my word, you are a very young-looking man for ninety-five. Bur. Sir, I am a traveling physician, and pass from city to city, from country to country, in search of distinguished sub- jects, for whose benefit I may put in practice some of the won- derful secrets I have discovered in medicine. Sir, I disdain to trouble myself with ordinary maladies — with common fevers, colds, and such bagatelles. I seek such maladies as are pro- nounced incurable by other physicians : a good desperate case of cholera, or of dropsy — a good plague — a good hopeless case of fever or inflammation. It is such cases that I seek, and in such that I triumph ; and I only wish, sir, that you had a complica- tion of all these maladies upon you, and were given over by all other physicians, in order that I might show you the excellence of my remedies, and do you a service. (Crosses to R.) Fidg. (L.) Eeally, sir, I am much obliged for this visit, for I am in a bad way, and the doctors give me no relief. Bur. Sir, let me feel your pulse. [Feels his pulse.) Don't be alarmed, sir. No matter how it beats — the worse the better. Ah ! this pulse does n't yet know who has got hold of it. It is a bad pulse — a very bad pulse. 262 THE STAGE. Fidg. I was sure of it, doctor, and yet there are those who make light of it. Bur. Who attends you now ? Fidg, Doctor Purjum. Bur. His name is n't on my tablets in the list of great physi- cians. What does he say ails you ? Fidg. He says my liver is affected ; others say, my spleen. Bur. They are all ignoramuses ! The trouble is in your lungs. Fidg. (Very loud.) In my lungs? Bur. Yes, allow me. [Taps Mm on the breast.) Don't you feel a sort of tenderness — a pain there ? Fidg. Well, doctor, I don't perceive that I do. Bur. Is it possible you don't? {Gives him something of a thump.) Fidg. ! now I do, doctor. You almost doubled me up. Bur, I knew it was the lungs ! Fidg, Well, doctor, I don't know but you are right. Is there any other inquiry ? Bur, Yes. What are your symptoms ? Fidg, An occasional head-ache. Bur. Exactly. The lungs. Fidg. I have now and then a sort of mist before my eyes. Bur. All right. The lungs. Fidg. I have a sort of a feeling at my heart. Bur, Of course you have. The lungs, I say. Fidg, Sometimes I have a lassitude in all my limbs. Bur. Well and good. The lungs again. Fidg. And sometimes I have a sort of colicky pain here- abouts. Bur. No doubt of it. The lungs. You have an appetite for what you eat ? Fidg, Yes, doctor. Bur, The lungs. You don't object to a little wine? Fidg. Not at all, doctor. Bur. The lungs. You are a little drowsy after eating, and are glad of a nap ? Fidg. Yes, doctor. Bur. The lungs, the lungs, I tell you ! T\niat does your phy- sician order for you by way of nourishment? Fidg. He prescribes a plain porridge. Bur. The ignoramus ! (Crosses and recrosses,) Fidg. Some chicken. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. Now and then, some veal. THE IMAGINARY SICK MAN. 263 Bur. The ignoramus ! Fid^\ Boiled meats, occasionallj. Bur. The ignoramus ! ^ Fide/. Fresh eggs. Bur, The ignoramus ! Fidg. And at night some stewed prunes, to keep nij bowels in good order. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. And, above all, if I take wine, I must take it well diluted with water. Bur. Ignorans\ ignoi^aiiticn^ ig7ioranti^ simus ! Your phy- sician is a blockhead ! Throw his physic to the dogs ! Thi'ow your wine out of the window. Eat coarse bread, vegetables, fruits — as much as you want. Gret a trotting-horse. Take plenty of exercise. Fidg. Exercise ! Dear doctor, I have n't stirred out of the house for a month. It would be the death of me ! Bur. Allow me to be the judge of that. Sir, I have n't been physician in chief to Prince Sackatoo for nothing. I do not mean, sir, that you should do all these things until I have for- tified you with some of my medicines. [Takes out vial of homcB' opathic inedicines.) Behold those little glob'ules ! Fidg. Shall I take them all at a dose ? Bur. All ? Three of them, my dear sir, put under a moun- tain, would work it from its base ! [Gives him three.) Swallow them. Don't be afraid ! Should they prove too powerful, I have an antidote at hand. Fidg. [Sivallows them.) There is nothing unpleasant in the taste. Bur, No ; nor in the effect, you '11 find. Don't you begin to feel a thrill, as it were — a sort of expansion — a sort of — eh? — that you haven't felt before ? [Slaps him on hack.) Fidg. ! my dear doctor, that was rather hard ! But, really, I do begin to feel a change — a sort of — Bur, Exactly. You feel stronger. Fidg. I do, indeedo Bur. More wide awake, Fidg. I do. Bur, Let me see you walk. Fidg, [Walks briskly across stage.) There! I haven't walked like that these six weeks. Bur, To be sure you have n't ! Xow for the trotting-horse ! Come with me. I will accompany you. Come on. 264 THE STAGE. Fidg. Doctor, the effect is wonderful. Venerable man! Ninety -five, did you say ? Bur. Ninety -five and a fraction. — But wait till you see me * on horseback ! [Exeunt^ arm in arm^ Z.) moliere {altered). XXVIIL— BRUTUS OVER THE BODY OF LUCRETIA. Thus, thus, my friends, fast as our breaking hearts Permitted utterance, we have told our story. And now, to say one word of the imposture, The mask necessity has made me wear. When the ferocious malice of your king — King do I call him ? — when the monster, Tarquin, Slew, as you most of you may well remember. My father, Marcus, and my elder brother, Envying at once their virtues and their wealth. How could I hope a shelter from his power But in the false face I have worn so long ? Would you know why Brutus has summoned you ? Ask ye what brings him here ? Behold this dagger, Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen corse ! See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death \ She was the mark and model of the time ; The mould in which each female grace was formed, The very shrine and sacristy of virtue ! The worthiest of the worthy ! Not the nymph Who met old Numa in his hallowed Avalk, And whispered in his ear her strains divine. Can I conceive beyond her ! The young choir Of vestal virgins bent to her ! 0, my countrymen, You all can witness that when she went forth. It was a holiday in Bome. Old age Forgot its crutch, labor its task ; all ran ; And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried, " There, there 's Lucretia ! " Now look ye where she lies. That beauteous flower, that innocent, sweet rose, Torn up by ruthless violence ! — gone, gone ! Say, would ye seek instruction ? would ye seek What ye should do ? Ask ye yon conscious walls, And they will cry. Revenge ! Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove O'er her dead father's corse ; 't will cry, llevenge ! Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge ! SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III. 265 Go to the tomb of Tarquin's murdered wife, And the poor queen, who loved him as her son — Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge ! The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heavens, The gods themselves, shall justify the cry, And swell the general sound — Revenge ! Revenge ! J. II. PAYNE. XXIX. — THE USES OF ADVERSITY. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile. Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these wpods More free from peril than the envious court ? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam. The seasons' difference, — as, the icy fang « And churlish chiding of the winter's wind. Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, This is no flattery ; — these are counselors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head : And this our life, exempt from public haunts. Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. shakspeare. XXX. — SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD HI, Was ever woman in this humor wooed ? Was ever woman in this humor won ? I '11 have her ; but I will not keep her long. What ! I, that killed her husband, and Ms father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; With cui'ses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of my hatred by ; With Grod, her conscience, and these bars, against me. And I no friends to back my suit withal, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, — And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing ! — Ha ! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabbed in my angry mood, at Tewksbury ? 23 266 THE STAGE. A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, — Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right loyal, — The spacious world can not again afford. And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince. And made her widow to a woeful bed ? — On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety ? On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus ? My dukedom to a beggarly den'ier, I do mistake my person all this while. Upon my life, she finds, although I can not. Myself to be a marvelous proper man. I '11 be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain a score or two of tailors. To study fashions to adorn my body. Since I am crept in favor with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost. But, first, I '11 turn yon fellow in his grave ; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass ! shakspeare. XXXI. — EALCONBRIDGE TO KING JOHN. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds out But Dover Castle ; London hath received, Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers. Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone To offer service to your enemy ; And wild amazement hurries up and down The little number of your doubtful friends. But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? Be great in act as you have been in thought ! Let not the world see fear and sad distrust Govern the motions of a kingly eye. Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire : Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow Of bragging horror. So shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviors from the great, Grow great by your example, and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution. Away, and glister like the god of war When he intendeth to become the field ! hamlet's soliloquy. 267 Show boldness and aspiring confidence. What ! shall they seek the lion in his den, And fright him there ? and make him tremble there? 0, let it not be said ! Forage, and run To meet displeasure further from the doors ! And grapple with him ere he come so nigh. ib. XXXIL— HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. To bo, or not to be, that is the question : Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer The slinks and arrows of outrao;eous fortune. Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. And, by opposing, end them ? To die, — to sleep, — No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, — 't is a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, — to sleep : — To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there 's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There 's the respect That makes calamity of so long life : For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con tu-mely The pangs of disprized love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes. When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear. To groan and sweat under a weary life. But that the dread of something after death — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveler returns — puzzles the will. And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all ; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; And enterprises of great pith and moment, • With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. IB. 268 THE STAGE. XXXIII. —HAMLET'S ADDRESS TO THE PLAYERS. Speak tlie speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trip- pingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. ! it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant. It out-herods Herod : pray you, avoid it. Be not too tame, neither ; but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, — with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature : for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of play- ing, whose end, both at the first and now, was, and is, to hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature ; to shov,^ virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this OA^erdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, can not but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one must, in your allowance, o'er- weigh a whole theater of others. ! there be players, that I have seen play, - — and heard others praise, and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Chris- tians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. IB. XXXiy. — SOLILOQUY OF MACBETH. If it were done when 't is done, then 't were well It were done quickly : if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We 'd jump the life to come. But, in these cases, We still have judgment here ; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which being taught, return To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice CATO OYER THE DEAD BODY OF HIS SON. 269 Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice To our own lips. He 's here in double trust : First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door. Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off : And pity, like a naked new-born babe. Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye. That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Yaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, And falls on the other. - IB. XXXV. — CATO OVER THE DEAD BODY OF HIS SON". The opening line of the following should be uttered with emotion, and with eyes and hands elevated. At the second line the speaker may take a step forward, as if to meet the body. He is to imagine friends around him, and, in places, to address them. The beautiful climax, beginning *' The mistress of the world/' &g , should be spoken with animation; the voice rising at each successive step of the climax. In the sixth line from the end of the extract, at the words ^' brave youth," the speaker may point to where the dead body is supposed to lie. Thanks to the Gods ! my boy has done his duty. Welcome, my son ! here lay him down, my friends, Full in my sight ; that I may view at leisure The bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds. How beautiful is Death when earned by Yirtue ! T\^ho would not be that youth I what pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country ! Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends ? I should have blushed if Cato's house had stood Secure and fl.ourishec\jn a civil war. Fortius, behold thy brother, and remember Thy life is not thy own, when Eome demands it. Alas, my friends ! Why niourn you thus? Let not a private loss Afflict your hearts. 'T is Rome requires our tears. The mistress of the world, the seat of empire, 23* 270 THE STAGE. The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods, That humbled "^ the proud tyrants of the earth. And set the nations free, — Rome is no more ! 0, liberty ! 0, virtue ! 0, my country ! Whate'er the Koman virtue has subdued, The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Caesar's ! For him the self-devoted Decii died, The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquered : Even Pompey fought for Caesar. 0, my friends! How is the toil of fate, the work of ages. The Roman empire fallen ! 0, cursed ambition ! Fallen into Caesar's hands ! our great forefathers Had left him naught to conquer but his country. Lose not a thought on me, — I 'm out of danger : Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand. Caesar shall never say, " I conquered Cato ! " But, ! my friends, your safety fills my heart With anxious thoughts : a thousand secret terrors Rise in my soul: how shall I save raj fi'iends? 'T is now, Caesar, I begin to fear thee ! Farewell, my friends ! If there be any of you Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Know, there are ships prepared by my command (Their sails already opening to the winds) That shall convey you to the wished for port. Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you ? The conqueror draws near. Once more, farewell I If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet In happier climes, and on a safer shore. Where Caesar never shall approach us more. There the brave youth, with love of virtue fired. Who greatly in his country's cause expired. Shall know he conquered. The firm patriot there. Who made the welfare of mankind his care. Though still by Faction, Vice, and Fortune crost. Shall find the generous labor — was not lost. addison. XXXVI. ^SOLILOQUY OF VAN ARTEVELDE. Say that I fall not in this enterprise, — Still must my life be full of hazardous turns, And they that house with me must ever live In imminent peril of some evil fate. — * The h m this word is now sounded by the best speakers. CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. 271 Make fast the doors ; lieap wood upon the fire ; Draw in your stools, and pass the goblet round, And be the prattling voice of children heard. Now let us make good cheer But what is this ? Do I not see, or do I dream I see, A form that midmost in the circle sits Half visible, his face deformed with scars. And foul with blood ? — ! yes, — I know it — there Sits Danger, with his feet upon the hearth ! The dweller in the mountains, on whose ear The accustomed cataract thunders unobserved, — The seaman, who sleeps sound upon the deck, Nor hears the loud lamenting of the blast, Nor heeds the weltering of the plangent wave, — These have not lived more undisturbed than I. But build not upon this ; the swollen stream May shake the cottage of the mountaineer. And drive him forth ; the seaman, roused at length, Leaps from his slumber on the wave-washed deck ; And now the time comes fast when here in Grhent He who would live exempt from injuries Of armed men must be himself in arms. This time is near for all, — nearer for me. I will not wait upon necessity. And leave myself no choice of vantage-ground. But rather meet the times where best I may. And mould and fashion them as best I can. HENllY TAYLOR. XXXVII. — CATILINE'S DEFIANCE To the Roman Senate on the following decree being read by the Consul : " Lucius Sergius Catiline, by the decree of the Senate, you are declared an enemy and an alien to the State, and banished from the territory of the Commonwealth." Banished from Eome ! — what 's banished but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe ? " Tried and convicted traitor ! " ^ — Who says this ? Who '11 prove it, at his peril, on my head ? Banished ? — I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain ! I held some slack allegiance till this hour — But 710W my sword 's my own. Smile on, my lords ! * He here quotes the words cf Cicero against him. 272 THE STAGE. I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, To leave you in your lazy dignities. But here I stand and scoff you : — here I fling Hatred and full defiance in your face. Your Consul 's merciful. For this all thanks. He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. " Traitor ! " I go — but I return. This — trial ! ^ Here I devote your Senate ! I Ve had wrongs. To stir a fever in the blood of age. Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel. This day 's the birth of sorrows ! — This hour V work Will breed proscriptions. — Look to your hearths, my lords. For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods. Shapes hot from Tar'tarus ! — all shames and crimes ; — Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; Naked Rebellion, with the torch and ax. Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave ! REV. GEORGE CROLY. - XXXVIII. — CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON THE I3IM0IITALITY OF THE SOUL. [The speaker has a scroll in his hand.'\ It must be so ! — Plato, thou reasonest well ! Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire. This longing after immortality ? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror. Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'T is the Divinity that stirs within us ; 'T is Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity ! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! Through what variety of untried being. Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass ! The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. * lie ynits a scornful emphasis on this word tn.-.I, as if it were a misnomer, DANIEL ON BEING DOOMED TO DEATH. 273 Here will I hold. If there 's a Power above us, — And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her works, — He must delight in virtue ; And that which He delights in must be happy. But when ? or where ? — This world was made for Caesar. I 'm weary of conjectures this must end them. {Laying his hand on his sword,) Thus am I doubly armed : my death ^ and life,t My bane and antidote, are both before me. This in a moment brings me to an end ; But this informs me I shall never die. The soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grrow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; But thou shalt fiourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. ADDISON. XXXIX. — DANIEL ON BEING DOOMED TO DEATH. And what is death, my friends, that I should fear it ? To die ! why, 't is to triumph : 't is to join The great assembly of the good and just ; Immortal worthies, heroes, prophets, saints ! 0, 'tis to join the band of holy men, Made perfect by their sufferings ! 'Tis to meet My great progenitors ; 't is to behold The illustrious patriarchs — those with whom the Lord Deigned hold familiar converse ! 'T is to see Blessed Noah and his children ; once a world. 'Tis to behold (0 ! rapture to conceive !) Those we have known and loved and lost below ! Behold Azariah and the band of brothers Who sought in bloom of youth the cruel flames ! Nor shall we see heroic men alone, Champions who fought the fight of faith on earth, — But heavenly conquerors, and angelic hosts, Michael and his bright legions, who subdued The foes of Truth ! To join their blest employ Of love and praise ! to the high melodies * The sword, f The scroll. 274 * THE STAGE. Of choirs celestial to attune mj voice Accordant to the golden harps of saints To join in blest hosannas to their king ! Whose face to see, whose glorj to behold, Alone were heaven, though saint or seraph none Should meet our sight, and Grod alone were there ! This is to die ! Who would not die for this ? Who would not die, that he might live for ever ? MRS. H. MORE. XL. — THE QUALITY OF MERCY. The quality of mercy is not strained ; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed : It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. 'T is mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. His scepter shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings : But mercy is above his sceptered sway. It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest Grod's When mercy seasons justice. shakspeare. XLL — OTHELLO'S FAREWELL. ! NOW for ever Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue ! 0, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance, of glorious war ! And, ! ye mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone ! ib. PART NINTH. — HUMOROUS PIECES- I.— AN ORATOR'S FIRST SPEECH IN PARLIA]VIENT. The virgin member takes his honored place, While beams of modest wisdom light his face : Multum in parvo ^ in the man you isee ; He represents — the people's majesty ! Behold their choice ! the pledged, midst many a cheer, To give free trade, free votes, free bread and beer ! Blest times ! He sits at last within the walls Of famed St. Stephen's venerated halls ! 0, shades of Pitt and Fox ! is he within The House of Commons ? How his senses spin ! Proud man ! has he then caught the Speaker's eye? No, not just yet ; but he will, by and by. I wonder if there are reporters here ! In truth there are, and hard at work ; don't fear, O, happy man ! By the next post shall reach Your loved constituents the maiden speech. The Press (great tell-tale ! ) will to all reveal How you have — spoken for your country's weal ! In gaping wonder will the words be read, " The new M. P.,t Lord Noodle, rose and said ! " This pillar of the nation rises now. And toward the Speaker makes profoundest bow. Unused to so much honor, his weak knees Bend with the weight of senate dignities. He staggers — almost falls — stares — strokes his chin — Clears out his throat, and ventures to begin. " Sir, I am sensible " — (some titter near him) — " I am, sir, sensible " — " Hear ! hear ! hear ! hear him ! " Now bolder grown, for praise mistaking pother, He lifts one arm, and spouts out with the other. "I am, sir, sensible — I am, indeed — That, though — I should — want — words — I must proceed ; And, for the first time in my life, I think — I think — that — no great orator — should — shrink — * Much in little. t M. P. is the abbreviation for member of Parliament ; but the letters here ! are to be spoken. 275 "^ 276 HUMOROUS PIECES. And, therefore, — Mr. Speaker — I, for one — Will speak out freely — Sir — / ^ve not yet done. Sir, in the name of those enlightened men Who sent me here to speak for them — why, then To do my duty — as I said before — To my constituency — I 'll say no more." ALEXANDER BELL. II. ^ YORKSHIRE ANGLING. It happened once tha£ a young Yorkshire clown, but newly come to far-famed London town, was gaping round at many a wondrous sight, grinning at all he saw, with vast delight ; attended by his terrier Tyke, who was as sharp as sharp may be ; and thus the master and the dog, d' ye see, were very much alike. After wandering far and wide, and seeing every street and square, — the parks, the plays, the Queen, and the Lord Mayor, with all in which your " Cockneys " place their pride ; — and, being quizzed by many a city spark for coat '^ of country cut and red-haired pate, he came at length to noisy Billingsgate. He saw the busy scene with mute surprise, opening his ears and wondering eyes at the loud clamor, and the monstrous fish, here- after doomed to grace full many a dish. Close by him was a turbot on a stall, which, with stretched mouth, as if to pant for breath, seemed in the agonies of death, 'Said Lubin, " What name, zur, d' ye that fish call ? " "• A tur- bot," answered the sarcastic elf; " ^jiat^ you see — -so something like yourself" '' W ye think," said Lubin, " that he '11 bite ? " " Why," said the fishman, with a roguish grin, " his mouth is open; put your finger in and then you '11 know." " Why, zur," replied the wight, '' I shouldn't like to try ; but there 's my Tyke shall put his tail there, an' you like." " Agreed," rejoined the man, and laughed delight. Within the turbot's teeth was placed the tail, and the fish bit with all its might. ' The dog no sooner felt the bite, than off" he ran, the dangling turbot holding tight. The astonished man began most furiously to bawl and rail ; but, after numerous escapes and dodgings, -Tyke safely got to Master Lubin's lodg- ings. Thither the fishmonger in anger flow. Says Lubin, " Lun- non tricks on me won't do ! I 'ze come from York to queer such fiats as you ; and Tyke, my dog, is Yorkshire, too ! " Then, laughing at the man, who sneaked av/ay, he had the fish for din- ner that same day. * Give the oa, in this word, the full sound of long o^ in note^ ttc. Speakers are apt to shorten it. BEAUTIES OF THE LAW. 277 III.— SYMPATHY. A KNIGHT and a lady once met in a grove, While each was in quest of a fugitive love ; A river ran mournfully murmuring by, And they wept in its waters for sympathy. "0, never was knight such a sorrow that bore ! " "0, never was maid so deserted before ! " " From life and its woes let us instantly fly, And jump in together for company." They searched for an eddy that suited the deed, But here was a bramble, and there was a weed ; ^' How tiresome it is ! " said the maid, with a sigh ; So they sat down to rest them in company. They gazed on each other, the maid and the knight ; And they did not seem very averse to the sight : " One mournful em^brace," said the youth, " ere we die ! " So, kissing and crying, kept company. "0, had I but wooed such an angel as you ! " " 0, had but my swain been one quarter as true ! " " To miss such perfection how blinded was I ! " Sure, now they were excellent company. At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear : " The weather is cold for a watery bier. When the summer returns we may easily die ; Till then let us sorrow in company." bishop iieber. IV. — BEAUTIES OF THE LAW. I. — BULLUM versus BOATUM. What a profound study is the law ! How shall I deuno it ? Law is — law. Law is — law ; and so forth, and hereby, and aforesaid, provided always, nevertheless, notwithstanding. Law is like a country dance ; people are led up and down in it till they are tired. It is like physic ; they that take the least of it are best off. Law is like a homely gentlewoman ; very well to follow. Law is like a scolding wife ; very bad when it follows us. Law is like a new fashion ; people are bewitched to get into it : it is' also like bad weather ; most people are glad when they get out of it. We shall now mention, in illustration, a case that came before us, — the case of BuUum versus Boatum. It was as follows: 24 278 HUMOROUS PIECES. There were two farmers — farmer A and farmer B. Farmer A was seized or possessed of a bull ; farmer B was seized or pos- sessed of a ferry-boat. Now, the owner of the ferry-boat, having made his boat fast to a post on shore, with a piece of hay twisted rope-fashion, or, as we say, vulgo vocato, a hay-band, — after he had made his boat fast to the aforesaid post (as it was very nat- ural for a hungry man to do) went up town to dinner. Farmer A's bull (as it was natural for a hungry bull to do) came down town to look for a dinner ; and, observing, discovering, seeing, and spying out, some turnips in the bottom of the ferry-boat, the bull scrambled into the ferry-boat, ate up the turnips, and, to make an end of his meal, fell to work upon the hay-band. The boat, being eaten from its moorings, floated down the river with the bull in it: it struck against a rock, beat a hole in the bottom of the boat, and tossed the bull overboard; whereupon, the owner of the bull brought his action against the boat for running away with the bull. The owner of the boat brought his action against the bull for running away with the boat. And thus notice of trial was given, Bullum versus Boatum, Boatum versus Bullum. The counsel for the bull began with saying, " My lord, and you, gentlemen of the jury, we are counsel in this cause for the bull. We are indicted for running away with the boat. Now, my lord, we have heard of running horses, but never of running bulls before. Now, my lord, the bull could no more run away with the boat than a man in a coach may be said to run away with the horses ; therefore, my lord, how can we punish what is not punishable ? How can we eat what is not eatable ? Or, how can we drink what is not drinkable ? Or, as the law says, how can we think what is not thinkable ? Therefore, my lord, as we are counsel in this cause for the bull, if the jury should bring the bull in guilty, the jury would be guilty of a bull." The counsel for the boat observed, that the bull should be non- suited, because, in his declaration, he had not specified what color he was of; for thus wisely, and thus learnedly, spoke the counsel : " My lord, if the bull was of no color, he must be of some color ; and, if he was not of any color, what color could the bull be of ? '' I over-ruled this motion myself, by observing the bull was a white bull, and that white is no color ; besides, as I told my brethren, they should not trouble their heads to talk of color in the law, for the law can color any thing. This cause being afterwards left to a reference, upon the award, both bull and boat were acquitted, it being proved that the tide of the river carried them both away ; upon which I gave it as my opinion, that, as the tide of the river carried both bull and boat BEAUTIES OF THE LAW. 279 away, both bull and boat had a good action against the water- bailiff. My opinion being taken, an action was issued, and, upon the traverse, this point of law arose : How, wherefore, and whether, why, when, and what, whatsoever, whereas, and whereby, as the boat was not a compos mentis evidence, how could an oath be administered ? That point was soon settled by Boatum's attorney declaring that, for his client, he would swear any thing. The water-bailiffs' charter was then read, taken out of the oriodnal record in true law Latin ; which set forth in their dee- laration, that they were carried away either by the tide of flood or the tide of ebb. The charter of the water-bailiff was as fol- lows : " AqucE hailiffi est irmgistratus in choici, sapor omnihcs fishibus qui kabuerunt finos et scalos, claws, shells, et tales, qui swimmare in freshibus, vel saltibus riveris, lakos, pondis, canal- ibus et well-boats^ si've oysteri, prawni, ivhitini, shrimpi, turhutus solus;'" that is, not turbots alone, but turbots and soles both together. But now comes the nicety of the law ; for the law is as nice as a new-laid egg. Bullum and Boatum mentioned both ebb and flood, to avoid quibbling ; but, it being proved that they were carried away neither by the tide of flood nor by the tide of ebb, but exactly upon the top of high water, they were non- suited ; but, such was the lenity of the court, that, upon their paying all costs, they were allowed to begin again de novo. II. DANIEL versus DISHCLOTH. We shall now consider the law (as our laws are very consider- able, both in bulk and number) according as the statutes declare ; considerandi, considerando, consider andum, and not to be med- dled with by those that don't understand 'em. Law always expresses itself with true grammatical precision, never confounding moods, cases, or genders, except, indeed, when a woman happens accidentally to be slain ; then the verdict is always brought in manslaughter. The essence of law is altercation ; for the law can altercate, fulminate, deprecate, irritate, and go on at any rate. The quint- essence of the law has, according to its name, ^\q parts. The first is the beginning or incipiendum ; the second, the uncertainty or dubitandum ; the third, delay or puzzleenAuvi ; fourthly, replication without endum ; and fifthly, vionstrum et horrendum ; all which are exemplified in the following case of Daniel against Dishcloth. — Daniel was groom in the same family wherein Dishcloth was cook -maid ; and Daniel, returning 280 HUMOROUS PIECES. home one day fiiddled, stooped down to take a sop out of the dripping-pan : Dishcloth pushed him into the dripping-pan, which spoiled his clothes ; and he was advised to bring his action against the cook-maid, the pleadings of which were as follow : The first person who spoke was Mr. Serjeant Snuffle. He began, saying : " My lo'd, since I have the honor to be pitched upon to open this cause to your lo'dship, I shall not impertinently presume to take up any of your lod'ship's time by a roundabout circumlocutory manner of speaking or talking, quite foreign to the purpose, and not any way relating to the matter in hand. I shall, I will, I design to show what damages my client has sus- tained hereupon, whereupon, and thereupon. Now, my lo'd, my client being a servant in the same family with Dishcloth, and not being at board wages, imagined he had a right to the fee-simple of the dripping-pan ; therefore he made an attempt on the sop with his right hand, which the defendant replevied with her left, tripped us up, and tumbled us into the dripping-pan. Now, in 'Broughton's E^eports,' Slack versus Smallwood, it is said, primus strocus^ si'ne jocus^ ahsolutits est provocus (that is, the first stroke, without joke, gives the provoke). Now, who gave the j!?rmz^5 strocus^— who gave the first offense ? Why, the cook. She brought the dripping-pan there ; for, my lo'd, though we will allow, if we had not been there, we could n't have been thrown down there, yet, my lo'd, if the dripping-pan had not been there for us to have tumbled down into, we could not have tumbled into the dripping-pan." The next counsel on the same side began with : " My lud, he who makes use of many words to no purpose has not much to say for himself; therefore I shall come to the point at once; at once and immediately shall I come to the point. My client was in liquor; the liquor in him serving an ejectment upon his under- standing, common sense was nonsuited, and he was a man beside himself ; as Dr. Biblibus declares, in his dissertation upon Bump- ers, in the 139th fol. vol. of the Abridgment of the Statutes, p. 1286, where he says that a drunken man is homo duplicans, or a double man ; not only because he sees things double, but also because he is not as he should be, profecto ipse he ; but is as he should not be, defecto tipse he^ The counsel on the other side rose up gracefully, playing with his ruffles prettily, and tossing the ties of his wig about emphat- ically. He began with : " My lud, and you, gem'men of the jury, I humbly do conceive, I have the authority to declare, that I am counsel in this case for the defendant ; therefore, my lud, I shall not flourish away in words ; words are no more than filigree FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. 281 work. Some people may think them an embellishment ; but to me it is a matter of astonishment how any one can be so imper- tinent, to the detriment of all rudiment. But, my lud, this is not to be looked at through the medium of right and wrong ; for the law knows no medium, and right and wrong are but its shad- ows. Now, in the first place, they have called a kitchen my client's premises. Now, a kitchen is nobody's premises. A kitch- en is not a ware-house nor a wash-house, a brew-house nor a bake- house, an inn-house nor an out-house, nor a dwelling-house ; no, my lud, 't is absolutely and bo'na fi'de neither more nor less than a kitchen, or, as the law more classically expresses it, a kitchen is, camera necessaria pro usus cookare ; cum saucepannis, steiv- pannis, scullero^ dressero, coal holo^ stovis, svioak-jacko ; pn'o roastandum^ hoilanduvi^ fryandum^ et plum-pudding -aiidiLvi mix- aiidum ; pro turtle-saupos^ calves-head-asldhus^ cian calipee et calepashihus. Eut we shall not ayail ourselves of an alibi, but admit of the existence of a cook-maid. Now, my lud, we shall take it upon a new ground, and beg a new trial ; for, as they haye curtailed our nam.e from plain M^ry into Moll, I hope the court will not admit of this ; for, if the court were to allow of mistakes, what would the law do ? For, when the law don't find mistakes, it is the business of the law to make them." Therefore, the court, after due consideration, allowed the par- ties the liberty of a new trial ; for the law is our liberty, and it is happy for us we have the liberty to go to law. G. A. STEVENS. v. — FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. Ben Battle was a soldier bold, and used to war's alarms : But a cannon-ball took of his legs, — so he laid down his arms t Now, as they bore him off the field, said he, "Let others shoot. For here I leave my second leg, and the Forty-second Foot ! ' ' The army surgeons made him limbs : said he, *' They 're only pegs But there 's as wooden members quite as represent my legs ! " Now, Ben he loved a pretty maid ; her name was Nelly Gray ; So he went to pay her his devoirs, when he 'd devoured his pay ! But when he called on Nelly Gray, she made him quite a scoff, And when she saw his wooden legs, began to take them off ! " 0, Nelly Gray ! 0, Nelly Gray ! is this your love so warm ? The love that loves a scarlet coat should be more uniform ! ' ' Said she, ** I loved a soldier once, for he was blithe and brave ; But I shall never have a man with both legs in the grave ! Before you had these timber toes, your love I did allow, But then, you know, you stand upon another footing now ! " 24^ ■ 282 HUMOROUS PIECES. ''0, false and fickle Nelly Gray ! I know why you refuse : Though I 've no feet, some other man is standing in my shoes ! I wish I ne'er had seen your ^ice ; but, now, a long farewell ! For you will be my death ; — alas ! you will not be my JSTell ! " Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, his heart so heavy got. And life was such a burden grown, it made him take a knot ! So round his melancholy neck a rope he did entwine. And, for his second time in life, enlisted in the Line ! HOOD. yi._THE POETASTER'S FIRST TRAGEDY. [The speaker enters with a roll of manuscript in his hand, from which he reads the fourth stanza.] '^0, PROUD am I, exceeding proud, I 've mustered the elite ! * I '11 read them my new tragedy — no ordinary treat ; It has a deeply-stirring plot ; — the moment I commence. They '11 feel for my sweet heroine an interest intense ; It never lags, it never flags, it can not fail to touch ! Indeed, I fear the sensitive may feel it over much : But still a dash of pathos with my terrors I combine. The bright reward of tragic bard — the laurel will be niine ! '' Place chairs for all the company ; and, ma'am, I really think. If you don't send that child to bed, he will not sleep a wink; I know he'll screech like any thing before I 've read a page : My second act would terrify a creature of that age ^* And should the darling, scared by me, become an imbecile. Though flattered at the circumstance — how sorry I should feel ! What ! won't you send the child to bed ? Well, madam, we shall see — Pray take a chair, and now prepare the laurel crown for me ! " Have all got pocket-handkerchiefs? Your tears will fall in streams Place water near to sprinkle over any one who screams. And pray, good people, recollect, when what I 've said controls Your sympathies, and actually harrows up your souls. Remember (it may save you all from suicide or fits) 'Tis but a mortal man who opes the flood-gates of his wits ! Retain your intellects to trace my brightest gem (my moral), And, when I 've done, I 'm very sure you '11 wreathe my brow with laurel. *' Hem — Act the first, and Scene the first — a wood — Bumprumpti enters, Bnmprumpti speaks : * And have I, then, escaped from my tormentors ? Revenge ! revenge ! 0, were they dead, and I a carrion crow, I 'd pick the flesh from oif their bones, I 'd sever toe from toe ! Shall fair Fryfitta, pledged to me, her plighted vow recall. And wed with hated Snookums, or with any man at all ? No ! — rather perish earth and sea, the sky, and — all the rest of it — For wife to me she swore she 'd be, and she must make the best of it.' " {Here the bard gesticulates a moment in dumb shoiu^ as if reading — then puts up the manuscript,) *- Pronounced d-leet'. f^ SOnilOWS OF WERTER. 283 Through five long acts — 0, very long ! — the happy bard proceeds ; Without a pause, without applause, scene after scene he reads ! That silent homage glads his heart ! it silent well may be : Not one of all his slumbering friends can either hear or see ! The anxious matron is asleep ! the Beau beside the Fair ! The dog is sleeping on the rug ! the cat upon the chair ! Old men and babes — the footman, too ! — 0, if we crown the bard. We '11 twine for him the poppy wreath — his only fit reward ! T. H. BAYLY, Vn.— THE EXCELLENT MAN. They gave me advice and counsel in store, Praised me and honored me, more and more ; Said that I only should " wait a while," Offered their patronage, too, with a smile. But, with all their honor and approbation, I should, long ago, have died of starvation, Had there not come an excellent man, Who bravely to help me along began. Good fellow ! he got me the food I ate ; His kindness and care I shall never forget ; Yet I can not embrace him, — though other folks can^ For I myself am this excellent man ! H. heine. Vm. — SOUUOWS OF WERTER. Werter had a love for Charlotte, Such as words could never utter ; Would you know how first he met her ? She was cutting bread and butter. Charlotte was a married lady, And a moral man was Werter, And, for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her. So he sighed, and pined, and ogled, And his passion boiled and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled. Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person. Went on cutting bread and butter. THACKERAY. 284 HUMOROUS riECES, IX. —THE POET AND THE CHEMIST. There was a chemist once, who had a mighty faith in the elixir yitse ; and, though unflattered. by the dimmest glimpse of success, he still kept groping and grubbing in his dark vocation, stupidly hoping to find the art of changing metals, and guineas coin from pans and kettles, by mystery of transmutation. A starving poet took occasion to seek this conjuror's abode, — 'not with encomiastic ode, or laudatory dedication, but with an offer to impart, for twenty pounds, the secret art, which should procure, without the pain of metals, chemistry, and fire, what he so long had sought in vain, and gratify his heart's desire. The money paid, our bard was huiTied to the philosopher's sanctorum; who, somewhat sublimized, and flurried out of his chemical decorum, crowed, capered, giggled, seemed to spurn his crucibles, retort, and furnace, and cried, as he secured the door, and carefully put to the shutter, " ]S"ow, now, the secret I im- plore I Out with it — speak — discover — utter ! " With grave and solemn look, the poet cried : " List — 0, list ! for thus I show it : — let this plain truth those ingrates strike, who still, though blessed, new blessings crave : That we may all have lohat we like^ simply by liking what ive have^ X. — LODGINGS FOR SIXGLE GEXTLE:MEX. Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, Has seen " lodoingrs to let " stare him full in the face. Some are good, and let dearly ; while some, 't is well known Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone. Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely, Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only ; But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun, Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one. He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated ; But, all the night long, he felt fevered and heated ; And, though heavy to weigh as a score of fat sheep. He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep. Next night 't was the same ! — and the next ! and the next ! He perspired like an ox ; he was nervous and vexed ; Week after week, till, by weekly succession. His weaklv condition was past all expression. ORATOR PUFF. 285 In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him ; For his skin " like a lady's loose gown " hung about him. He sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny, " I 've lost many pounds — make me well — there 's a guinea." The doctor looked wise : — ''A slow fever," he said ; Prescribed sudorifics, — - and going to bed. " Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, " are humbugs ! I 've enough of them there, without paying for drugs ! " Will kicked out the doctor : but, when ill indeed, E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed ; So, calling his host, he said, " Sir, do you know I 'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago ? " Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will, with a grin, " That with honest intentions you first took me in ; But from the first night — and to say it I 'm bold — I 'ye been so very hot, that I am sure I caught cold ! " Quoth the landlord, " Till now I ne'er had a dispute — I 've let lodgings ten years, I 'm a baker to boot ; In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven ; And your bed is immediately — over my oven." "The oven!" says Will. — Says the host, "Why this passion? In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. Why so crusty, good sir ?" " Zounds \ " cried Will, in a taking, " Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking ? " Will paid for his rooms : — - cried the host, with a sneer, " Well, I see you 've been going away half a year." " Friend, we can't well agree ; — yet no quarrel," Will said , " But I 'd rather not perish, while you make your bread." COLMAN. XI. — ORATOR PUFF. Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice, The one squeaking thus, and the other down so ; In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, For one half was B alt, and the rest Gr below. 0! 0! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator 's surely enough. 286 HUMOROUS PIECES. But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns, So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs. That a wag once, on hearing the orator say, *' My voice is for war," asked him, " Which of them, pray ? " 0! 0! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator 's surely enough. Keeling homewards, one evening, top-heavy with gin, And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, He tripped near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, " Sinking fund " the last words as his noddle came down. 0! 0! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator 's surely enough. '^ Help, help ! " he exclaimed, in his he-and-she tones, " Help me out ! help me out ! — I have broken my bones ! " " Help you out ! " said a Paddy, who passed ; " what a bother ! Why, there 's two of you there ; can't you help one another ? " O! 0! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator's surely enough. THOMAS MOORE. XIL^THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECAEY. A MEMBER of the ^sculapian line lived at Newcastle-upon- Tyne : no man could better gild a pill, or make a bill, or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister ; or draw a tooth out of your head ; or chatter scandal by your bed ; or spread a plaster. His fame full six miles round the country ran ; in short, in reputation he was solus : all the old women called him " a fine man ! " His name was Bolus. Benjamin Bolus, though in trade (which oftentimes will genius fetter), read works of fancy, it is said, and cultivated the " belles lettres,^'' ^ Bolus loved verse ; — and took so much delight in 't, all his prescriptions he resolved to write in 't. No opportunity he e'er let pass of writing the directions on his labels in dapper couplets, like Gay's Fables, or, rather, like the lines in Hudibras. He had a patient lying at death's door, some three miles from the town, — it might be four, — to whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article — in pharmacy that 's called cathartical : and on the label of the stuff he wrote this verse, which one would think was clear enough, and terse, — " When taken, To he well shaken^ * In both these French words the s is unsounded. THE KEMOVAL. 287 Next morning early Bolus rose, and to the patient's house he goes, upon his pad, who a vile trick of stumbling had : but he arrived, and gave a tap, between a single and a double rap. The servant lets him in, with dismal face, long as a courtier's out of place, — portending some disaster. John's countenance as rueful looked and grim, as if the apothecary had physicked him, and not his master. ''Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said. John shook his head. " Indeed ! — hum ! — ha ! — that 's very odd ! — He took the draught ? " — John gave a nod. — " Well ? — how ? — what then? — speak out, you dunce!" "Why, then," says John, " we shook him once." — " Shook him ! how ? how ? " friend Bolus stammered out. — " We jolted him about." "What! shake the patient, man! — why, that won't do." "No, sir," quoth John, "and so we gave him two." "Two shakes! 0, luckless verse ! 'T would make the patient worse ! " "It did so, sir, and so a third we tried." — "Well, and what then ? " — " Then, sir, my master — died ! " colman. XIII. — THE REMOVAL. A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade, — By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made, — Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town, Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy and pull down. This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate ; But, alas ! when he entered he found it too late ; For in each dwelt a smith ; — a more hard-working two Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe. At six in the morning, their anvils, at work, Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk. " These fellows," he cried, " such a clattering keep, That I never can get above eight hours of sleep." From morning till night they keep thumping away, — No sound but the anvil the whole of the day ; His afternoon's nap and his daughter's new song Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong. He offered each Yulcan to purchase his shop ; But, no ! they were stubborn, determined to stop : At length (both his spirits and health to improve) He cried, " I '11 give each fifty guineas to move." 288 HUMOROUS PIECES. " Agreed ! " said the pair ; " that will make us amends." ^' Then come to my house, and let us part friends : You shall dine ; and we '11 drink on this joyM occasion, That each may live long in his new habitation." He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale ; He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale ; So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest Would take from him noise, and restore him to rest. ** And now," said he, " tell me, where mean you to move? I hope to some spot where your trade will improve." "Why, sir," replied one, with a grin on his phiz, " Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his ! " ANON. XIV. —THE RETOET. One day, a rich man, flushed with pride and wine, — Sitting with guests at table, all quite merry, — Conceived it would be vastly fine To crack a joke upon his secretary. *' Young man," said he, " by what art, craft, or trade, Did your good father earn his livelihood ? " " He was a saddler, sir," the young man said, " And in his line was always reckoned good." " A saddler, eh ? and had you stufted with Grreek, Instead of teaching you like him to do ! And pray, sir, why did not your father make A saddler, too, of you ? " At this each flatterer, as in duty bound. The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length, the secretary, bowing low. Said (craving pardon if too free he made), " Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade." ^' My father's trade? Why, sir, but that 's too bad ! My father's trade ! Why, blockhead, art thou mad ? My father, sir, was never brought so low. He was a gentleman, I 'd have you know ! " " Indeed ! excuse the liberty I take ; But, if your story 's true, How happened it your father did not make A gentleman of you? " anon, (altered.) THE VISIT OF ST. NICHOLAS. 289 XV. — THE VISIT OF ST. NICHOLAS. 'T WAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring — not even a mouse : The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, Yv^hile visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap. Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap. When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Grave tlie luster of midday to objects below ; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must bo St. Nick ! ' More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name :* " Now, Dasher ! now. Dancer ! now, Prancer ! now, Yixen ! On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Dunder and Blixen ! To the top of the porch ! to the top of the wall ! Now, dash away ! dash away ! dash away, all ! " As dry leaves, that before the wild hurricane fly. When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky,, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas, too J And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fiir from his head to his foot. And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot ; A bundle of toys was flung on his back. And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack ; His eyes, how they twinkled ! his dimples, how merry ! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow. And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow ; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth. And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. 25 290 HUMOROUS PIECES. He had a broad face, and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, — a right jolly old elf, — And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all his stockings ; then turned with a jerk, And, laying his finger aside of his nose. And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle. And away they all flew like the down of a thistle ; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, " Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night ! " CLEMENT C. MOORE. XVI. — BEAUTY, WIT, AND GOLD. In a bower a widow dwelt ; At her feet three suitors knelt ; Each adored the widow much. Each essayed her heart to touch ; One had wit, and one had gold, And one was cast in beauty's mould ; Gruess which was it won the prize, Purse, or tongue, or handsome eyes ? First appeared the handsome man, Proudly peeping o'er her fan ; Red his lips, and white his skin, — Could such beauty fail to win ? Then stepped forth the man of gold ; Cash he counted, coin he told. Wealth the burden of his tale, — Could such golden projects fail ? Then the man of wit and sense Wooed her with his eloquence. Now she blushed, she knew not why ; Now a tear was in her eye ; Then she smiled, to hear him speak ; Then the tear was on her cheek ; Beauty^ vanish ! Gold, depart ! Wit has won the widow's heart ! 3ioore. # THE RAZOR- SELLER. 291 XVIL — THE TIPPLER CONFOUNDED. Out of the tavern I've just stepped to-night : Street ! you are caught in a very bad pMght : Right hand and left hand are both out of place — Street, you are drunk, 't is a very clear case ! Moon, 't is a very queer figure you cut ; One eye is staring, while t' other is shut. Tipsy, I see ; and you 're greatly to blame ; Old as you are, 't is a horrible shame ! Then the street-lamps, what a scandalous sight ! None of them soberly standing upright ; Rocking and staggering ; why, on my word, Each of the lamps is as drunk as a lord ! All is confusion : — now, is n't it odd ? I am the only thing sober abroad ! Sure it were rash with this crew to remain, — Better go into the tavern again. XVni. — THE RAZOR-SELLER. A FELLOW, in a market-town, most musical, cried " Razors I " up and down, and offered twelve for eighteen-pence ; which cer-i tainly seemed wondrous cheap, and, for the money, quite a heap, as every man should buy — with cash and sense. A country bumpkin the great offer heard : poor Hodge, who suffered by a thick, black beard, that seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose. With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid, and proudly to himself, in whispers, said, '' This rascal stole the razors, I suppose ! No matter if the fellow be a knave, provided that the razors shave ! It sartirdy will be a monstrous prize." So, home the clown with his good fortune went, smiling — in heart and soul content — and quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes. Being well lathered from a dish or tub, Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub, just like a hedger cutting furze. 'T was a vile razor — then the rest he tried. All were impostors. " Ah I " Hodge sighed, " I wish my eighteen-pence were in my purse ! " In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, he cut, and dug, and winced, and stamped, and swore ; brought blood, and danced, gaped, grinned, and made wry faces, and tried each razor's body o'er and o'er ! His muzzle, formed of opposition 292 HUMOROUS PIECES. stuff, erect and wiry, \YOuld not lose its rulT ; so kept it — laugh- ing at the steel and suds. Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws, vowing the direst vengeance, with clinched claws, on the vile cheat that sold the goods. " E-azors ! a vile confounded dog ! Not fit to scrape a hog ! " Hodge sought the fellow — found him, and began — ** Perhaps, Master E.azor-rogue, to you 't is fun, that people flay themselves out of their lives. You rascal ! for an hour have I been grub- bing, giving my scoundrel whiskers here a scrubbing, with razors just like oyster-knives. Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave, to cry up razors that can't shave." " Friend," quoth the razor-merchant, " I 'm no knave. As for the razors jou have bought, upon my word, I never thought that they would shave." — " Not think they 'd shave ! " cried Hodge, with wondering eyes, and voice not much unlike an Indian yell. ^' What were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries. — *' Made I " quoth the fellow, with a smile, — " to sell ! " WOLCOTT {altered). XIX. — THE DIRECTING . POST. In winter, once, an honest traveling wight Pursued his road to Derby, late at night ; 'T was very cold, the wind was bleak and high, And not a house nor living thing was nigh ; At length he came to where some four roads met, — it rained, too, and he was completely wet, — And, being doubtful which way he should take, He drew up to the finger-post to make It out — and after much of poring, fumbling, Some angry oaths, and a great deal of grumbling, 'T was thus the words he traced — " To Derby — five." — *' A goodly distance yet, as I 'm alive ! " But on he drove a weary length of way. And wished his journey he 'd delayed till day : He wondered that no town appeared in view, — The wind blew stronger, it rained faster, too, — When, to his great relief, he met a man : " I say, good friend, pray tell me, if you can, How far is 't hence to Derby ? " " Derby, hey ! Why, zur, thee be'est completely come astray _, This y'ant the road." " Why, zounds, the guide-post showed 'To Derby, five,* — and pointed down this road ! " ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. 293 " Ay, hang it, that may be, for jou maun know, The post it war blown down last night, and so This morn I put it up again, but whether — As I can't put great A and B together — The post is right, I 'm zure I can not zay : The town is just five miles the other way." anon. XX. — ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. And thou hast walked about (how strange a story !) In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago ; When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And Time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous. Speak ! for thou long enough hast acted dummy ; Thou hast a tongue, — come, let ns hear its tune ; Thou 'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy ! Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, Eut with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features. Tell us, for doubtless thou canst recollect, To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame ? Was Cheops ^ or Ce-phre'nes architect Of either pyi^amid that bears his name ? Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer ? Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer ? Perhaps thou wert a mason, and forbidden By oath to tell the mysteries of thy trade ; Then say what secret melody was hidden In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played ? Perhaps thou wert a priest, and hast been dealing In human blood, and horrors past revealing. Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat. Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass ; Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat, Or defied thine own to let Queen Dido pass, Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, A torch at the great temple's dedication. * The ch in this word has the sound of/:. 25^ 294 HUMOROUS PIECES. I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, Has any Roman soldier mauled or knuckled. For thou wert dead and buried, and embalmed, Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled ! Antiquity appears to have begun Long after thy primeval race was run. Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen. How the world looked when it was fresh and young, And the great deluge still had left it green ; Or was it then so old that history's pages Contained no record of its early ages ? Still silent, incommunicative elf! Art sworn to secrecy ? then keep thy vows ; But prythee tell us something of thyself, Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house ! Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered, What thou hast seen, what strange adventures numbered. Since first thy form was in this box extended, We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations ; The Roman empire has begun and ended, ^ New worlds have risen — we have lost old nations — And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a frao-ment of thv flesh has crumbled. Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head. When the great Persian conqueror, Camby'ses, . Marched armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread, O'erthrew Osiris,. Orus, Apis, Isis, And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, The nature of thy private life unfold : A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast. And tears adown thy dusty cheek have rolled. Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face ? What was thy name and station, age and race ? Statue of flesh — Immortal of th'fe dead ! Imperishable type of evanescence ! Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed, And standest undecayed within our presence. THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE. 295 Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning, When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning ! Why should this worthless tegument endure, If its undying guest be lost for ever ? 0, let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In living virtue ; that, when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume, The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom ! HORACE SMITH. XXL— THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE. A PUPIL of the ^sculapian school,! ambitious to get on a little faster in physic, asked (if not againsi the rule) ;. that he might pay a visit with his master to his next patieni. The master gave consent, so off they went; and now, before the day had fled, behold them at a sick man's bed. ; The master-doctor solemnly perused' the patient's face, and o'er his symptoms mused ; ; looked wise, said nothing — an unerring way, when people nothing have to say ; — then felt his pulse and smelt his cane — and paused, and blinked, and smelt again, and went through all the customary motions, — maneuvers that for Death's platoon are meant ; a kind of a " Make ready and pre- sent," before the fell discharge of pills and potions. At length the patient's wife he thus addressed : " Madam, your husband's danger 's great, and (what will never his complaint abate) the man's been eating oysters, I perceive." " Dear ! you 're a witch, I verily believe ! " madam replied, and to the truth confessed. Skill so prodigious Bobby, too, admired, and home returning of the sage inquired how these same oysters came into his head. " Psha ! my dear Bob, the thing was plain ; sure that can ne'er distress thy brain; I saw the shells lie underneath the bed." So, wise by such a lesson grown, next day Bob ventured forth alone, and to the self-same sufferer paid his court. But soon, with haste and wonder out of breath, returned the stripling minister of death, and to his master made this dread report : " Why, sir, we ne'er can keep that patient under! Zounds ! such a maw I never came across ! The fellow must be dying, and no wonder, for hang me if he h^s n't eat a horse ! " " A horse ! " the elder man of physic cried, as if he meant his pupil to deride. " How came so wild a notion in your head ? " " How ! think not in my duty I was idle ; like you, I took a peep beneath the bed, and there I saw a saddle and a bridle I " ANON, {altered)^ 296 HUMOROUS PIECES. XXII.— TH^^ MODERN PUFFING SYSTEM. FROM AN EPISTLE TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. Unlike those feeble gales of praise Which critics blew in former days, Our modern puffs are of a kmd That truly, really, " raise the wind ; " And since they Ve fairly set in blowing, We find them the best " trade- winds " going. What steam is on the deep — and more — Is the vast power of Puff on shore ; Which jumps to glory's future tenses Before the present even commences, And makes " immortal " and " divine " of us Before the world has read one line of us. In old times, when the god of song Drove his own two-horse team along. Carrying inside a bard or two Booked for posterity " all through," — Their luggage, a few closed-packed rhymes (Like yours, my friend, for after-times), — So slow the pull to Fame's abode. That folks oft slumbered on the road ; And Homer's self, sometimes, they say, Took to his night-cap on the way. But, now, how different is the story With our new galloping sons of glory. Who, scorning all such slack and slow' time, Dash to posterity in no' time ! Raise but one general blast of Puff To start your author — that 's enough ! In vain the critics, set to watch him, Try at the starting-post to catch him : He 's off— the puffers carry it hollow — The critics, if they please, may follow. Ere they 've laid down their first positions. He 's fairly blown through six editions ! In vain doth Edinburgh^ dispense Her blue-and-yellow pestilence * An allusion to the FAinhurgh Rcviciv, the Edinburgh edition of which has blue covers, backed with yellow. PREACHING VERSUS PRACTICE. 297 (That plague so awful, in mj time, To young and touelij sons of rhyme) ; — The Quarterly, at three months' date, To catch the Unread One, comes too late ; And nonsense, littered in a hurry. Becomes " immortal," spite of Murray.^ moore. XXrn. — MY LITTLE COUSINS. Laugh on, fair cousins, for to you all life is joyous yet ; Your hearts have all things to pursue, and nothing to regret ; And every flower to you is fair, and every month is May ; You 've not been introduced to Care, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day! Old Time will fling his clouds ere long upon those sunny eyes ; The voice, whose every word is song, will set itself to sighs ; Your quiet slumbers, — hopes and fears will chase their rest away ; To-morrow you '11 be shedding tears, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! O, yes ; if any truth is found in the dull schoolman's theme, ■ — If Friendship is an empty sound, and Love an idle dream, ■ — If Mirth, youth's playmate, feels fatigue too soon on life's long way. At least he '11 run with you a league, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! Perhaps your eyes may grow more bright as childhood's hues depart; You may be lovelier to the sight, and dearer to the heart ; You may be sinless still, and see this earth still green and gay ; But what you are you will not be, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! O'er me have many winters crept, with less of grief than joy ; But I have learned, and toiled, and wept, — I am no more a boy ! I 've never had the gout, 't is true ; my hair is hardly gray ; But now I can not laugh like you, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! I used to have as glad a face, as shadowless a brow ; I once could run as blithe a race as you are running now ; But never mind how I behave, — don't interrupt your play. And, though I look so very grave, laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! PRAED, XXIV. —PREACHING VERSUS PRACTICE. A YOUNGSTER at school, more sedate than the rest, Had once his integrity put to the test ; His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob, And asked him to go and assist in the job. He was shocked, sir, like you, and answered, "0, no ! What ! rob our good neighbor ? I pray you, don't go I Besides, the man 's poor, his orchard 's his bread ; Then think of his children, for they must be fed." * Murray, the publisher of the London Quarterly Review. 298 HUMOROUS PIECES. *' You speak very fine, and you look very grave, But apples we want, and apples we '11 have : If you will go with us, why, you '11 have a share ; M If not, you shall have neither apple nor poar." They spoke, and Tom pondered — "I see they will go : Poor man ! what a pity to injure him so ! Poor man ! I would save him his fruit, if I could, But my staying behind will now do him no good. " If the matter depended alone upon me, His apples might hang till they dropped from the tree ; But since they will take them, I think I '11 go, too ; He will lose none by me, though I get a few." His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan ; He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. , COWPER. XXV. — THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK. O ! THE old, old clock, of the household stock, Was the brightest thing and neatest ; Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold. And its chime rang still the sweetest. 'T was a monitor, too, though its words were few, ! Yet they lived, though nations altered ; And its voice, still strong, warned old and young, When the voice of friendship faltered ! " Tick, tick," it said ; " quick, quick, to bed, — For ten I 've given warning ; Up, up, and go, or else you know You '11 never rise soon in the morning ! " A friendly voice was that old, old clock. As it stood in the corner smiling. And blessed the time with a merry chime. The wintry hours beguiling ; But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock, As it called at daybreak boldly. When the dawn looked gray o'er the misty way, And the early air blew coldly. " Tick, tick," it said ; *' quick out of bed, For five I 've given warning ; You '11 never have health, you '11 never get wealth. Unless you 're up soon in the morning." CHARLES SWAIN. PART X. — LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. I.— THE DEUM. Yonder is a little drum, hanging on the wall ; Dusty wreaths and tattered flags round about it fall. A shepherd youth on Cheviot's hills watched the sheep whose skin A cunning workman wrought, and gave the little drum its din : And happy was the shepherd-boy whilst tending of his fold, Nor thought he there was in the world a spot like Cheviot's wold. And so it was for many a day ; but change with time will come ; And he — (alas for him the day !) — he heard the little drum. " Follow," said the drummer-boy, " would you live in story ! For he who strikes a foeman down wins a wreath of glory." '' Rub-a-dub ! a7Z6^ rz^^ -<2-^2^5 /"* the drummer beats away — The shepherd lets his bleating flock on Cheviot wildly stray. On Egypt's arid wastes of sand the shepherd now is lying ; Around him many a parching tongue for " water " faintly crying : 0, that he were on Cheviot's hills, with velvet verdure spread, Or lying 'mid the blooming heath where oft he made his bed ! Or could he drink of those sweet rills that trickle to its vales, Or breathe once more the balminess of Cheviot's mountain gales ! At length upon his wearied eyes the mists of slumber come. And he is in his home again — till wakened by the drum ! "Take arms! take arms!" his leader cries; "the hated foe- man 's nigh ! " Guns loudly roar, steel clanks on steel, and thousands fall to die. The shepherd's blood makes red the sand: "0! water — give me some ! My voice might reach a friendly ear — but for that little drum! " 'Mid moaning mxcn, and dying men, the drummer kept his way, And many a one by " glory " lured did curse the drum that day. " Rub-a-dub ! and rub-a-dub ! '^ the drummer beat aloud — The shepherd died ! and, ere the morn, the hot sand was his shroud. And this is " glory " ? ^ — Yes ; and still will man the tempter follow, Nor learn that glory, like its drum, is but a sound — and hollow. ANON, {altered), * The speaker may here imitate the action of a drummer. ^ 299 300 n.— BELSHAZZAEo The midniglit liour was drawing on ; Hushed in repose lay Babylon. But in the palace of the king The herd of courtiers shout and sing : There, in his royal banquet-hall, Belshazzar holds high festival. The servants sit in glittering rows, The beakers are drained, the red wine flows ; The beakers clash, and the servants sing, — A pleasing sound to the moody king. The king's cheeks flush, and his wild eyes shine ; His spirit waxes bold with wine ; Until, by maddening passion stung, He blasphemes God with impious tongue ; And his proud heart swells as he wildly raves, 'Mid shouts of applause from his fawning slaves. He spoke the word, and his eyes flashed flame ! The ready servant went and came ; Vessels of massy gold he bore, Jehovah's temple's plundered store. And, seizing a consecrated cup, The king, in his fury, fills it up : He fills, and hastily drains it dry, — From his foaming lips leaps forth the cry, " Jehovah ! at thee my scorn I fling ! I am Belshazzar, Babylon's king ! " Yet scarce had the impious words been said, When the king's heart shrank with a secret dread Suddenly died the shout and yell — A death-like hush on the tumult fell. And, lo ! on the wall, as they gazed aghast, What seemed like a human hand went past. And wrote — and wrote, in sight of all, Letters of fire upon the wall i The king sat still, with a stony look, — His trembling knees with terror shook : The menial throng nor spoke nor stirred ; Fear froze their blood, — no sound was heard ! The Magians came ; but none of all Could read the vrnting^ on the wall. THE RED KING S WARNING. 301 At length, to solve those words of flame, Fearless, but rtieek, the prophet came ; One glance he gave, and all was clear ! " King ! there is reason in thy fear ; Those words proclaftn, thy empire ends — The day of wrath and woe impends : Weighed in the balance, wanting found, Thou and thy kingdom strike the ground." — That night, by the servants of his train, Belshazzar, the mighty king, was slain ! HEINE {altered), m.— THE RED EING'S WARNING. Historians relate that the dearth of William Riifu«, in the New Forest, was preceded by several predictions clearly announcing his fate. With hound and horn the wide New Forest rung, When William Rufas, at the bright noon-day, Girt by his glittering train, to saddle sprung, And to the chase spurred forth his gallant gray. O'er hill, o'er dale, the hunters held their track; But that gray courser, fleeter than the wind, Was foremost still — and as the king looked back, Save Tyrrell, all were far and far behind. Slow through a distant pass the train defiled ; Alone the king rode on — when in mid course, Lo ! rushed across his path a figure wild. And on his bridle-rein with giant force Seized ^ then swift pointing to a blighted oak. Thus to the astonished king his warning spoke. " Curb thy race of headlong speed ! Backward, backward turn thy steed ! Death is on thy onward track, — Turn, O, turn thy courser back ! " See'st thou. King, yon aged tree, — Blighted now, alas ! like me ? Once it bloomed in strength and pride, And my cottage stood beside ; — "Till on Hastings' fatal field England's baleful doom was sealed ! * The right hand should be here thrust forward, as in the act of grasp- ing the bridle, while the other hand should be extended, pointing to the supposed object. — There should be a suspensive pause at "Seized." 26 302 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. Till the Saxon stooped to own Norman lord on English throne ! " Where the forest holds domain, Then were fields of golden grain; Hamlets then and churches stood Where we see the wide waste wood. " But the Norman kino; must here Have his wood to hunt his deer. What were we ? He waved his hand, And we vanished from the land. " Fiercely burned my rising ire When I saw our cots on fire ! When ourselves were forced to fly, Or to beg, or rob, or die ! " Then on William's head abhorred, Then my deepest curse I poured. Turning to this aged oak. Thus in madness wild I spoke : *' * Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, Grant an injured Saxon's prayer ! Ne'er may one of William's race Pass alive this fatal place ! " ' Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, Grive a sign ye grant my prayer ! Give ! 0, give ! ' While yet I spoke, Lightning struck yon witness oak ! " Shun, King ! thy certain lot ! Fly with speed the fatal spot ' Here to death thy uncle passed ; Here thy nephew breathed his last ! " Yes, my curse has worked too well ! Sorrow seized me when they fell. Would, 0, would I might revoke What in madness wild I spoke ! Monarch ! to my words give heed, Backward, • — backward turn thy steed ! Danger, death, beset thee round ; Chase not on the fated ground ! " ENTRY OF THE AUSTRIANS INTO NAPLES. 303 " Away," fierce William cried, " ill-boding seer ! TKink'st thou to strike thy sovereign's heart with fear ? — Think'st thou with idle threats to bar my way ? — — I scorn thy warning ! — On ! my gallant gray ! " He plunged his spurs deep in his courser's side, When from the blighted oak, as he advanced, Right to the monarch's heart an arrow glanced : The blood gushed forth, — he fell ! — he groaned ! — he died ! ANON, {altered). IV. —ENTRY OF THE AUSTRIANS INTO NAPLES. Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are ! From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins, That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains ! / ^ On, on, like a cloud, through their beautiful vales, ^ Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them o'er ! — Fill, fill up their wide sunny waters, ye sails, From each slave=mart of Europe, and shadow their shore ! Let their fate be a mock-word ; let men of all lands Laugh out, with a scorn that shall ring to the poles, When each sword that the cowards let fall from their hands Shall be forged into fetters to enter their souls ! And deep, and more deep, as the iron is driven, >u.L ^ Base slaves ! let the whet of their agony be, J S^ To think — as the doomed often think of that heaven They had once within reach — that they might have been free ! I When the world stood in hope, — when a spirit, that breathed The fresh hour of the olden time, whispered about, And the swords of all Italy, half-way unsheathed, fJ £ But waited one conquering cry, to fiash out, — -^ § When around you the shades of your mighty in fame, Filicajas and Petrarchs, seemed bursting to view. And their words and their warnings, like tongues of bright flame Over Freedom's apostles, fell kindling on you, — 0, shame! that in such a proud moment of life, Worth the history of ages, when had you but hurled One bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife Between freemen and tyrants had spread through the world, - 304 LYKICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. That tiien — ! disgrace upon manhood ! — even then You should falter, should cling to your pitiful breath, — Cower down into beasts, when you might have stood men, And prefer the slave's life of prostration to death ! It is strange, it is dreadful ; — shout, Tyranny ! shout Through your dungeons and palaces, " Freedom is o'er ! " Tf there lingers one spark of her life, tread it out, And return to your empire of darkness once more ! mooee. v. — "BREAKERS AHEAD." I ne'eh can forget it, that night of dismay ; Its horrors still rise in appalling array. No ; were I to live to a patriarch's age, 'T will still be recorded in memory's page : Still rings in my ears the announcement so dread, Once heard, ne'er forgotten, of " breakers ahead ! " The breeze that kissed lightly the face of the deep Its billows seemed scarcely to wake from their sleep, And gayly our bark, like a swan in its pride, Was slowly and gracefully breasting the tide, When the voice of the mariner heaving the lead Rang forth the alarm of " breakers ahead ! " There was rushing on deck, there was running below, There was terror and madness, the frenzy of woe, The scream of dismay that pierced wildly the air. The agonized dumbness of silent despair ; And many a slumberer sprang from his bed, Half conscious, but echoing '^ breakers ahead ! " There was bending of knees, there were efforts to pray, From lips unaccustomed that tribute to pay ; While the triumph of faith in that moment was seen. In meek resignation depicted serene ; The calm, of the soul o'er the features was spread, — It heard without ^shrinking of " breakers ahead ! " There were pleadings for mercy, and vows without end. Petitions, and promises life to amend : "0, save us — we perish ! " the heart-broken cry ; "0, save us, poor sinners, unfitted to die ! " With ravings of soul, fit to waken the dead, All wrung by the warning of '' breakers ahead ! " TRUE COURAGE. LEONIDAS. 305 Grod, in thy mercy, give us to discern Thy judgments impending, thy warnings to learn ; From reckless contempt of thy word and thy will Let thy Spirit of comfort deliver us still ; And faith in the Saviour, for sinners who bled, Be our safeguard and refuge 'mid " breakers ahead ! " COL. BLACKER. VI.— TRUE COURAGE. Onwards ! throw all terrors off ! \ Slight the scorner, scorn the scoff! In the race, and not the prize, Grlory's true distinction lies. Triumph herds with meanest things, — Common robbers, vilest kings, Midst the reckless multitude ! But the generous, but the good, Stand in modesty alone, Still serenely struggling on, Planting peacefully the seeds Of bright hopes and better deeds. Mark the slowly-moving plough : Is its day of victory now ? It defiles the emerald 'sod, 'Whelms the flowers beneath the clod. Wait the swiftly coming hours, — Fairer green and sweeter flowers, Richer fruits, will soon appear. Cornucopias of the year ! bowring. VII.— LEONIDAS. Shout for the mighty men Who died along this shore, ■ — Who died within this mountain's glen ! For never nobler chieftain's head Was laid on Valor's crimson bed? Nor ever prouder gore Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day Upon thy strand, Thermopylge ! 806 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. Shout for the mighty men, Who on the Persian tents. Like lions from their midnight den Bounding on the slumbering deer, E-ushed — a storm of sword and spear ; — Like the roused elements Let loose from an immortal hand, To chasten or to crush a land ! But there are none to hear ; Greece is a hopeless slave. Leonidas ! no hand is near To lift thy fiery falchion now : No warrior makes the warrior's vow Upon thy sea-washed grave. The voice that should be raised by men Must now be given by wave and glen. And it is given ! — the surge, The tree, the rock, the sand, On Freedom's kneeling spirit urge, In sounds that speak but to the free, The memory of thine and thee ! The vision of thy band Still gleams within the glorious dell Where their gore hallowed, as it fell ! And is thy grandeur done ? Mother of men like these ! Has not thy outcry gone Where Justice has an ear to hear ? Be holy ! Grod shall guide thy spear, Till in thy crimsoned seas Are plunged the chain and scimitar ; Greece shall be a new-born star ! croly. VIIL — THE FALL OF D'ASSAS. Alone, through gloomy forest shades, A soldier went by night ; No moonbeam pierced the dusky glades^ No star shed guiding light. Yet, on his vigil's midnight round. The youth all cheerly passed ! Unchecked by aught of boding sound That muttered in the blast. THE FOURTH OF JULY. 307 4 Where were his thoughts that lonely hour ? — In his far home, perchance — His father's hall, his mother's bower — 'Midst the gay vines of France. Hush ! hark ! did stealing steps go by ? Came not faint whispers near? No ! — The wild wind hath many a sigh Amidst the foliage sere. Hark ! yet again ! ■ — and from his hand What grasp hath wrenched the blade ? 0, single, midst a hostile band. Young soldier, thou 'it betrayed ! " Silence ! " in under-tones they cry, " No whisper ! — not a breath ! The sound that warns thy comrades nigh Shall sentence thee to death ! " Still at the bayonet's point he stood, And, strong to meet the blow. He shouted, mid his rushing blood, " Arm ! arm ! Auvergne ! ^ — the foe ! " The stir, the tramp, the bugle-call — He heard their tumults grow ; And sent his dying voice through all, — " Auvergne I Auvergne ! — the foe ! " MRS. HEMANS. IX. — THE FOUETH OF JULY. To the sages who spoke, to the heroes who bled, To the day and the deed, strike the harp-strings of glory ! Let the sons; of the ransomed remember the dead, And the tongue of the eloquent hallow the story ! O'er the bones of the bold Be that story long told, And on Fame's golden tablets their triumphs enrolled, Who on Freedom's green hills Freedom's banner unfurled, And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world ! They are gone — mighty men ! — and they sleep in their fame Shall we ever forget them? 0, never! no, never! * Pronounced O-v'ern. 308 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. Let our sons learn from us to embalm each great name, And the anthem send down, — " Independence forever ! " Wake, wake, heart and tongue ! Keep the theme ever joung ; Let their deeds through the long line of ages be sung, Who on Freedom's green hills Freedom's banner unfurled, And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world ! CHARLES SPRAGUE. X.— THE SEED OF FREEDOM'S TREE. Stanzas to the memory of the Spanish patriots, killed in resisting the Regency and the Duke of Angouleme. Brave men, who at the Trocade'ro fell Beside your cannons, conquered not, though slain, There is a victory in dying well For Freedom, — and ye have not died in vain ; For, come what may, there shall be hearts in Spain To honor, ay, embrace your martyred lot, Cursing the bigot's and the Bourbon's chain, And looking on your graves, though trophied not, As holier hallowed ground than priests could make the spot ! What though your cause be baffled, freemen cast In dungeons, dragged to death, or forced to flee ? Hope is not withered in Affliction's blast ; The patriot's blood 's the seed of Freedom's tree ! And short your orgies of revenge shall be. Cowled demons of the Inquisitorial cell ! Earth shudders at your victory ! for ye Are worse than common fiends from heaven that fell, The baser, ranker sprung Autochthones^ of hell ! Gro to your bloody rites again ! Bring back The hall of horrors and the assessor's pen, Recording answers shrieked upon the rack ! Smile o'er the gaspings of spine-broken men ! Preach, perpetrate damnation in your den ! — Then let your altars, ye blasphemers ! peal With thanks to Heaven, that let you loose again. To practice deeds with torturing fire and steel No eye may search, no tongue may challenge or reveal ! * Pronounced or-tok'tho-neez. The word means of the land itself y or aborigi- nal inhabitants ; natives of the soil as distinguished from settlera. THE mariner's SONG. 309 Yet, laugh not in your carnival of crime Too proudly, ye oppressors ! Spain was free ! Her soil has felt the footprints, and her clime Been winnowed by the wings of Liberty ; And these, even parting, scatter, as they flee, Thoughts, influences, to live in hearts unborn ; Opinions that shall wrench the prison-key From Persecution, show her mask ofi'-torn. And tramp her bloated head beneath the foot of Scorn ! Glory to those that die in this great cause ! Kings, bigots, can inflict no brand of shame. Or shape of death, to shroud them from applause : No ! manglers of the martyr's earthly frame I Your hangmen fingers can not touch his fame. Still in your prostrate land there shall be some Proud hearts, the shrines of Freedom's vestal flame. Long trains of ill may pass unheeded, dumb ; But Vengeance is behind, and Justice is to come ! CAMPBELL. XL— THE MARINER'S SONG. A WET sheet and a flowino^ sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast ; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. " ! for a soft and gentle wind ! " I heard a fair one cry ; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high ; And white waves heaving high, my boys, The good ship tight and free. The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There 's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud ; And hark the music, mariners, The wind is piping loud ; 310 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free, While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. allan Cunningham, XIL — THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Ye who love the haunts of Nature, love the sunshine of the meadow, love the shadow of the forest, love the wind among the branches, and the rain-shower and the snow-storm, and the rush- ing of great rivers through their palisades of pine-trees, and the thunder in the mountains, whose innumerable echoes flap like eagles in their eyries,* — listen to these wild traditions, to this Song of Hiawatha ! 1 Ye who love a nation's legends, love the ballads of a people, that, like voices from afar ofl^, call to us to pause and listen, speak in tones so plain and childlike, scarcely can the ear dis- tinguish whether they are sung or spoken, — listen to this Indian legend, to this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, who have faith in Grod and Nature, who believe that in all ages every human heart is human ; that, in even savage bosoms, there are longings, yearn- ings, strivings, for the good they com^prehend not ; that the feeble hands and helpless, groping blindly in the darkness, touch God's right hand in the darkness, and are lifted up and strength- ened, — listen to this simple story, to this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye who sometimes in your rambles through the green lanes of the country, where the tangled barberry-bushes hang their tufts of crimson berries over stone walls gray with mosses, pause by some neglected grave-yard, for a while to muse and ponder on a half-effaced inscription, writ with little skill of song-craft, homely phrases, but each letter full of hope and yet of heart-break, full of all the tender pathos of the Here and the Hereafter, — stay and read this rude inscription, read this song of Hiawatha ! LONGFELLOW. XIIL — THE GRAVE. Blest are the dormant In death ! They repose From bondage and torment, From passions and woes, * Pronounced d'riz, f Pronounced He-a-wa'tha, the second a as mfall. THE TWO RETURNED TOURISTS 311 From the yoke of the world and the snares of the traitor ! The grave, the grave is the true liberator ! Griefs chase one another Around the earth's dome ; In the arms of our mother Alone is our home. Woo pleasure, ye triflers ! The thoughtful are wiser ; The grave, the grave is their one tranquillizer ! Is the good man unfriended On life's ocean-path, Where storms have expended Their turbulent wrath ? Are his labors requited by slander and rancor ? The grave, the grave is his sure bower-anchor ! To gaze on the faces Of lost ones anew — To lock in embraces The loved and the true — Were a rapture to make even Paradise brighter ; The grave, the grave is the great reiiniter ! Crown the corpse, then, with laurels, — - The conqueror's wreath ! Make joyous with chorals The chamber of death ; And welcome the victor with cymbal and psalter — The grave, the grave is the only exalter ! S. A. WAHLMANN. XW. — THE TWO RETURNED TOURISTS. Two travelers through the gateway went To the glorious Alpine world's ascent : The one, he folloFcd Fashion's behest, The other felt the glow in his breast. And when the two came home again, Their kin all clustered round the men : 'T was a buzz of questions on every side. " And what have you seen ? — do tell ! " they cried. The one with yawning made reply : '* What have we seen ? — • Not much have I ! 812 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. n Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams, '' Blue sky and clouds, and sunny gleams." The other, smiling, said the same ; But with face transfigured and eye of flame : " Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams ! Blue sky and cloud, and sunny gleams ! " FROM THE GERMAN, BY C. T. BROOKS. XV. — RIENZI TO THE ROMAN CONSPIRATORS IN 1847 BoMANS ! look round jou — on this sacred place There once stood shrines, and gods, and godlike men. What see you now ? — what solitary trace Is left of all that made Bome's glory then ? The shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount bereft Even of its nanie — and nothing now remains But the deep memory of that glory, left To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains ! But shall this be ? Our sun and sky the same, — Treading the very soil our fathers trod, — What withering curse hath fallen on soul and frame, What visitation hath there come from God, To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves. Here, on our great forefathers' glorious graves ? It can not be ! Eise up, ye mighty dead, — If we, the living, are too weak to crush These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire tread. Till all but Bomans at Bome's tameness blush ! Happy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes. Where only date-trees sigh, and serpents hiss ! And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes For the stork's brood, superb Per-sep'olis ! Thrice happy both, that your extinguished race Have left no embers — no half-living trace — No slaves, to crawl around the once proud spot, Till past renown in present shame 's forgot ; While Borne, the queen of all, whose very wrecks, If lone and lifeless through a desert hurled, Would wear more true magnificence than decks The assembled thrones of all the existing world — Bome, Bome alone is haunted, stained, and cursed, Through every spot her princely Tiber laves, THE POUNDER. 313 By living human things — the deadliest, worst, This earth engenders — tyrants and their slaves ! And we — 0, shame ! — we, who have pondered o'er The patriot's lesson, and the poet's lay ; Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore, Tracking our country's glories all the way — Even we have tamely, basely kissed the ground, Before that tyrant power, that ghost of her, The world's imperial mistress — sitting, crowned And ghastly, on her mouldering sepulcher ! But this is past ! — too long have lordly priests And priestly lords led us, with all our pride Withering about us, — like devoted beasts. Dragged to the shrine, with faded garlands tied. 'Tis o'er — the dawn of our deliverance breaks ! Up from his sleep of centuries awakes The Genius of the old republic, free As first he stood, in chainless majesty. And sends his voice through ages yet to come, Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal Rome ! THOMAS MOORE. XVI. — THE POUNDER. *' I have read, friend Sancho, that a certain Spanish knight, whose name was Diego Perez de Vargas, having broken his sword in the heat of an engage- ment, piilled up by the roots a wild olive-tree, — or at least tore down a massy branch, — and did such wonderful execution, crushing and grinding so many Moors with it that day, that he won himself and his posterity the surname of The Pounder, or Bruiser," — Don Quixote. The Christians have beleaguered the famous walls of Xe'res ; Among them are Don Alvar and Don Diego Perez, And many other gentlemen, who, day succeeding day, Give challenge to the Saracen and all his chivalry.* When racjes the hot battle before the crates of Xeres, By trace of gore ye may explore the dauntless path of Perez. No knight like Don Diego, no sword like his is found. In all the host, to hew the boast of Paynims to the ground. It fell one day, when furiously they battled on the plain, Diego shivered both his lance and trusty blade in twain; * This word being derived from the French, the ch should have the sound of sh. Pronounced sJuv'ahy, 27 314 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. The Moors that saw it shouted, for esquire none was near, To serve Diego at his need with falchion, mace, or spear. Loud, loud he blew his bugle, sore troubled was his eye, But, by God's grace, before his face there stood a tree full nigh ; An olive-tree with branches strong, close by the wall of Xeres, ■ — '^ Yon goodly bough will serve, I trow," quoth Don Diego Perez. A gnarled branch he soon did wrench down from that olive strong. Which o'er his head-piece brandishing, he spurs among the throng; Ah ha ! full many a pagan must in his saddle reel ! What leech may cure, what beadsman shrive, if once that weight ye feel ? But when Don Alvar saw him thus bruising down the foe, Quoth he, " I 've seen some flail-armed men belabor barley so ; Sure, mortal mould did ne'er enfold such mastery of power ; Let 's call Diego Perez the pounder from this hour ! " LOCKHART. XVII. — BALBOA'S DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC. From San Domingo's crowded wharf Fernandez' vessel bore. To seek in unknown lands afar the Indian's golden ore ; And, hid among the freighted casks, where none might see or know. Was one of Spain's immortal men, three hundred years ago. But when the fading town and land had dropped below the sea, He met the captain face to face, and not a fear had he ! *' What villain thou ? " Fernandez cried ; "and wherefore serve us so ? " — " To be thy follower," he replied, — three hundred years ago. He wore a manly form and face, a courage firm and bold. His words fell on his comrades' hearts like precious drops of gold : They saw not his ambitious soul ; he spoke it not — for, lo I He stood among the common ranks, three hundred years ago. But when Fernandez' vessel lay at golden Darien, A murmur, born of discontent, grew loud among the men ; And with the word there came the act ; and with the sudden blow. They raised Balbo'a from the ranks, three hundred years ago. And while he took command beneath the banner of his lord, A mighty purpose grasped his soul, as he had grasped his sword : He saw the mountain's far blue height whence golden waters flow ; Then with his men he scaled the crags, three hundred years ago. THE DAYS OF YOUTH. 315 He led them up through tangled brakes, the rivulet's slidmg bed, And through the storm of poisoned darts, from many an ambush shed ; He gained the turret crag, alone, — and wept to see below An ocean, boundless and unknown, three hundred jears ago. And while he raised upon the height the banner of his lord, The mighty purpose grasped him stiil, as still he grasped his sword ; Then down he rushed with all his men, as headlong rivers flow, And plunged breast-deep into the sea, three hundred years ago. And while he held above his head the conquering flag of Spain, He waved his gleaming sword, and smote the waters of the mai^i : For Kome ! for Leon ! for Castile ! thrice gave the cleaving blow ; And thus Bal-bo'a claimed the sea, three hundred years ago. T. B. READ. XVin.— THE DAYS OF YOUTH. Give me, ! give me back the days When I — I, too, was young, And felt, as they now feel, each coming hour, New consciousness of power. ! happy, happy time, above all praise ! Then thoughts on thoughts and crowding fancies sprung, And found a language in unbidden lays ; Unintermitted streams from fountains ever flowing ! Then, as I wandered free, In every field, for me Its thousand flowers were blowing ! A veil through which I did not see, A thin veil o'er the world was thrown, — In every bud a mystery ! Magic in every thing unknown ! The field, the grove, the air, was haunted, And all that age has disenchanted ! Yes ! give me — give me back the days of youth, Poor, yet how rich ! — my glad inheritance The inextinguishable love of truth. While life's realities were all romance ! Give me, ! give youth's passions unconfined, The rush of joy that felt almost like pain. Its hate, its love, its own tumultuous mind ; — Give me my youth again ! GOETHE (translated by ATister}, 316 LYUICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. XIX. — THE VENGEANCE OF JVIUDAEA. To the eliase goes Eoclrigo,'^ with hound and with hawk ; But what game he desires is revealed in his talk : " 0, in vain have I slaughtered the Infants of Lara ; There 's an heir in his hall, — there 's the stripling Mudura, — There 's the son of the renegade, — spawn of Mahoun : If I meet with Mudara, my spear brings him down." While Rodrigo rides on in the heat of his wrath, A stripling, armed cap-a-pee, crosses his path : " Good-morrow, young esquire." — " Grood-morrovr, old knight." " "Will you ride with our party, and share our delight? " — " Speak your name, courteous stranger," the young man replied; *' Speak your name and your lineage, ere with you I ride." — " My name is Eodrig©," thus answered the knight ; " Of the line of old Lara, though barred from my right ; For the kinsman of Salas proclaims for the heir Of our ancestor's castles and forestries fair A stripling, a renegade's offspring — Mudara, — Whom I 'il send, if I can, to the Infants of Lara." — " I behold thee, disgrace to thy lineage ! — with joy I behold thee, thou murderer ! " answered the boy : *' The stripling you curse, you behold him in me ; But his brothers' avenger that stripling shall be. Draw ! for I am the renegade's offspring — Mudara, — We shall see who inherits the life-blood of Lara ! " — " I am'^armed for the forest chase — not for the fight ; Let me go for my shield and my sword," cries the knight. — " Now the mercy you dealt to my brothers of old, — Be the hope of that mercy the comfort you hold ! Die, foeman to Sancha — die, traitor to Lara ! " As he spake, there was blood on the spear of Mudara. LOCKHART {altered). XX.— THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. Stay, jailer ! stay, and hear my woe ! He is not mad who kneels to thee ; For what I 'm now too well I know. And what I was — and what should be ! * The i in this word has the sound of long e, as in me. THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. 31 I '11 rave no more in proud despair — My language shall be mild, though sad ; But yet I '11 firmly, truly swear, I am not mad ! I am not mad ! My tyrant foes have forged the tale, Which chains me in this dismal cell ! My fate unknown my friends bewail — ! jailer, haste that fate to tell ! ! haste my father's heart to cheer ; His heart at once 't will grieve and glad, To know, though chained a captive here, 1 am not mad ! I am not mad ! He smiles in scorn — he turns the key — He quits the grate — I knelt in vain ! His glimmering lamp stiil, still I see — 'T is gone — and all is gloom again ! Cold, bitter cold ! — no warmth, no light ! Life, all thy comforts once I had ! Yet here I 'm chained, this freezing night, Although not mad ! no, no — not mad ! 'T is sure some dream — some vision vain ! What ! I — the child of rank and wealth — Am I the wretch who clanks this chain. Bereft of freedom, friends, and health ? Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fied. Which never more my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head ! But 't is not mad ! it is not mad ! Hast thou, my child, forgot e'er this A parent's face, a parent's tongue ? 1 '11 ne'er forget thy parting kiss, Nor round my neck how fast you clung ! Nor how with me you sued to stay, Nor how that suit my foes forbade ; Nor how — I '11 drive such thoughts away — They '11 make me mad ! they '11 make me mad ! Thy rosy lips, how sweet they smiled ! Thy mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! None ever saw a lovelier child ! And art thou now for ever gone ? 27^ 318 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. And must I never see thee more, My pretty,^ gracious, noble lad ? — I will be free ! Unbar the door ! I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 0, hark ! what mean those yells and cries ? His chain some furious madman breaks ! He comes ! I see his glaring eyes ! Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes ! Help ! help ! — he 's gone ! 0, fearful woe, Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! My brain, my brain ! I know, I know, I am not mad — but soon shall be ! Yes, soon ; for, lo ! now, while I speak, Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! He sees me — now, with dreadful shriek, He whirls a serpent high in air ! Horror ! the reptile strikes his tooth Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ! Ay, laugh, ye fiends ! I feel the truth ! Your task is done — I 'm mad ! I 'm mad ! M. G. LEWIS {altered). XXI.— SEIZE THE PRESENT HOUR. Enjoy the present smiling hour. And put it out of fortune's power ! The tide of business, like the morning stream. Is sometimes high, and sometimes low, And always in extreme. Now with a noiseless gentle course It keeps within the middle bed ; Anon it lifts aloft the head. And bears down all before it with impetuous force ; And trunks of trees come rolling down ; Sheep and their folds together drown : Both house and homestead into seas are borne ; And rocks are from their old foundations torn ; And woods, made thin with winds, their scattered honors mourn. Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call to-day his own : He who, secure within, can say, * Pronounced prit'ty. — -See Sargent's Standard Speller, p. 44. FLORA MACIVOR S STOIMONS. 319 To-MOSROTV, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day ! Be fair or foul, or rain or shine, The joys I hate possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not heaven itself upon the past has power ; But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour. Fortune, that with malicious joy Does man, her slave, oppress, Proud of her office to destroy, Is seldom pleased to bless : Still various, and inconstant still. But with an inclination to be ill. Promotes, degrades, delights in strife, And makes a lottery of life. I can enjoy her while she 's kind; But when she dances in the wind. And shakes her wings and will not stay, I puff the runagate away : The little or the much she gave is quietly resigned : Content with poverty, my soul I arm ; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm. What is 't to me, who never sail in her unfaithful sea, If storms arise, and clouds grow black ; If the mast split, and threaten wreck ? Then let the greedy merchant fear For his ill-gotten gain ; And pray to gods that will not hear, While the debating winds and billows bear His wealth into the main. For me, secure from fortune's blows, Secure of what I cannot lose. In my small pinnace I can sail. Contemning all the blustering roar : And running with a merry gale. With friendly stars my safety seek Within some little winding creek, And see the storm ashore. drtden. XXn. — FLORA IVIACIVOR'S SIBOIONS. There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the G-ael. A stranger commanded — it sank on the land. It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand ! 320 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless clay-more' is but reddened with rust ; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse, Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone. That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past, The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; Grlen-aradale's peaks are illumed with the rays. And the streams of Glen-fin'nan leap bright in the blaze. O, high-minded Mo'ray ! — the exiled ! — the dear ! — In the blush of the dawning the Standard uprear ! Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly. Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh ! Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break, Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? That dawn never beamed on your forefathers' eye But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die. Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake ! 'T is the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; 'T is the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to the hall, 'T is the summons of heroes for conquest or death. When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath ; They call to the dirk, the clay-more', and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire ! May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire ! Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore ! Or die, like your sires, and endure it no more ! SIR WALTER SCOTT. XXm. — THE LORD OF BUTRAGO. (The incident to which the following ballad relates is supposed to have occun*ed on the famous field of Aljubarrota, where King Juan the First, of Castile, was defeated by the Portuguese. The king, who was at the time in a feeble state of health, exposed him- self very much during the action ; and, being wounded, had great difiiculty in making his escape. The battle was fought A. D. 1385. ** Your horse is faint, my king — my lord ! Your gallant horse ls sick, — His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick ; BERNARDO AND ALFONZO 321 Mount, mount on mine, — 0, mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly ! Or in my arms I '11 lift your grace, — their trampling hoofs are nigh ! " My king — my king ! you 're wounded sore : the blood runs from your feet ; But only lay a hand before, and I '11 lift you to your seat : Mount, Juan, for they gather fast ! I hear their coming cry ! Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy — I '11 saye you, though I die ! " Stand, noble steed ! this hour of need be gentle as a lamb : I '11 kiss the foam. from off thy mouth — thy master, dear, I am ! Mount, Juan, mount ! whate'er betide ; away the bridle fling. And plunge the rowels in his side 1 My horse shall save my king ! " Nay, never speak ; my sires. Lord King, received their land from yours, And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine secures : If I should fly, and thou, my king, be found among the dead, How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head ? " Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain, Ajid say, There 's one who ran away when our good king was slain ! I leave Diego in your care ; you '11 fill his father's place : Strike, strike the spur, and never spare ! God's blessing on your grace ! " So spake the brave Montanez, — Butrago's lord was he, — And turned him to the coming host in steadfastness and glee ; He flung himself among them as they came down the hill ; He fought — he died, but not before his sword had drunk its fill ! LOCKHART. XXIY. — BERNARDO ANT) ALFONZO.* Have ye heard of King Alfonzo — how he pledged his royal truth To restore Bernardo's father, Don Sancho, to the youth ? But when Bernardo, full of hope, came forth his sire to hail. He found his stiffened corpse instead, on horseback, clad in jnail ! With some good ten of his chosen men Bernardo hath appeared. Before them all in the palace hall, the lying king to beard : With cap in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverend guise, But ever and anon he frowned, and flame broke from his eyes ! " A curse upon thee," cries the king, *' who com'st unbid to me ! But what from traitor's blood should spring, save traitor like to thee ? His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart, — perchance our champion brave May think it were a pious part to share Don Sancho 's grave." — " Whoever told this tale the king, hath rashness to repeat," Cries Bernard; — ** here my gage I fling before the liar's feet ! No treason was in Sancho's blood, — no stain in mine doth lie : Below the throne what knight will own the coward calumny ? * To introduce the subject more distinctly to the hearer, we have added the first stanza above to Lockhart's admirable version. 322 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. *' Ye swore, upon your kingly faith, to set my fiither free ; But, curse upon your paltering breath ! the light he ne'er did see : He died in dungeon cold and dim, by Alfonzo's base decree ; And visage blind, and stiffened limb, were all they gave to me. " The king that swerveth from his word hath stained his purple black : No Spanish lord will draw the sword behind a liar's back. But noble vengeance shall be mine ; an open hate I '11 show; — The king hath injured Carpio's line, and Bernard is his foe ! " — " Seize — seize him ! " loud the king doth scream : " there are a thousand here ; Let his foul blood this instant stream ! — What ! caitiffs, do ye fear ? Seize, seize the traitor ! " But not one to move a finger dareth : Bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth. He drew the falchion from its sheath, and held it up on high ; * And all the hall was still as death. — Cries Bernard, " Here am I ; And here 's the sword that owns no lord, excepting Heaven and me : Fain would I know who dares its point, — king, conde, or grandee." Then to his mouth his horn he drew — (it hung below his cloak) ; His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke. With helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake. And back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false king to quake. '' Ha ! Bernard ! " quoth Alfonzo, «' what means this warlike guise? Ye know full well I jested ; — ye know your worth I prize ! " But Bernard turned upon his heel, and, smiling, passed away : Long rued Alfonzo and Castile the jesting of that day ! LOCKHART, XXV. — REGULUS.t Urge me no more — your prayers are in vain, And even the tears ye shed ; When Reg'ulus can lead again The bands that once he led ,* When he can raise your legions slain On swarthy Lybia's fatal plain To vengeance from the dead ; Then will he seek once more a home, And lift a freeman's voice in Rome ! * Here is an opportunity for the picturesque imitative action of drawing a sword and holding it up on high. But the action, if ventured on at all, must be correctly imitative. The left hand should first rise to the hip, as if to hold the scabbard ; and the right arm, in drawing the sword, must not be curved across the body, but straightly drawn out, as if it had a yard of steel behind it. The speaker should rise to his full height, and stretch his arm up perpendicularly (the hand closed as if grasping a sword), while uttering Bernard's splendid defiance. t See the story of Regulus, page 195. REGULUS. 323 Accursed moment ! when I woke From faintness all but death, And felt the coward conqueror's yoke Like venomed serpents wreathe Kound every limb ! — If Up and eye Betrayed no sign of agony, Inly I cursed my breath ! — Wherefore, of all that fought, was I The only wretch who could not die ? To darkness and to chains consigned, The captive's blighting doom, I recked not ; — could they chain the miiid^ Or plunge the soul in gloom ? And there they left me, dark and lone, Till darkness had familiar grown ; Then from that living tomb They led me forth, — I thought to die, — ! in that thought was ecstasy ! But no — kind Heaven had yet in store For me, a conquered slave, A joy I thought to feel no more, Or feel but in the grave. They deemed perchance my haughtier mood Was quelled by chains and solitude ; That he who oTice was brave — Was I not brave ? — had now become Estranged from honor as from Rome ! They bade me to my country bear The offers these have borne ; — They would have trained my lips to swear, Which never yet have sworn ! Silent their base commands I heard ; At length, I pledged a Roman's word Unshrinking to return. 1 go, prepared to meet the worst. But I shall gall proud Carthage first ! They sue for peace, — I bid you spurn The gilded bait they bear ! I bid you still, with aspect stern. War, ceaseless war, declare ! 324 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. Fools that they were, could not mine eye, Through their dissembled calmness, spy The struggles of despair ? Else had they sent this wasted frame, To bribe you to your country's shame ? Your land — (I must not call it mine ; No country has the slave ; His father's name he must resign, And even his father's grave — But this not now) — beneath her lies Proud Carthage and her destinies : Her empire o'er the wave Is yours ; she knows it well — and you Shall know, and make her feel it, too ! Ay, bend your brows, ye ministers Of coward hearts, on me ! Ye know no longer it is hers, The empire of the sea ; — Ye know her fleets are far and few, Her bands, a mercenary crew ; And Rome, the bold and free, Shall trample on her prostrate towers, Despite your weak and wasted powers. One path alone remains for me ; — My vows were heard on high. Thy triumphs, Rome, / shall not see, For I return to die. Then tell not 7ne of hope or life ; I have in Rome no chaste, fond wife, No smiling progeny. One word concenters for the slave — Wife, children, country, all the grave DALE. XXVL — WHAT MAKES A KING.* 'T IS not wealth that makes a king, Nor the purple's coloring. Nor a brow that 's bound with gold. Nor gates on mighty hinges rolled. * This beautiful piece is a translation of part of a chorus in Seneca's Thyestes. WHAT MAKES A KING. 325 The king is he who, void of fear, Looks abroad with bosom clear ; Who can tread ambition down. Nor be swayed by smile or frown ; Nor for all the treasure cares That mine conceals or harvest wears, Or that golden sands deliver, Bosomed in a glassy river. What shall move his placid might ? Not the headlonn; thunder-lio-ht, Nor the storm that rushes out To snatch the shivering waves about, Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade, With forward lance, or fiery blade. Safe with wisdom for his crown, He looks on all things calmly down ; He welcomes fate, when fate is near, Nor taints his dying breath with fear. Grant that all the kings assemble, At whose head the Scythians tremble ; — Grant that in the train be they Whom the Red Sea shores obey. Where the gems and crystal caves Sparkle up through purple waves ; Bring with these the Caspian stout, Who scorns to shut the invader out ; . And the daring race that tread The rocking of the Danube's bed ; With those again, where'er they be, Who, lapped in silken luxury, Feed to the full their lordly will ; — The noble mind is monarch still. No need has he of vulgar force, Armor or arms, or chested horse, Nor all the idle darts that light From Parthian in his feigned flight. Nor whirling rocks from engines thrown That come to shake whole cities down. No ! — to fear not earthly thing, This it is that makes the king ; And all of us, whoe'er we be, May carve us out this royalty. leigh hunt. 28 326 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. XXVIL — ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN. When the last sunshine of expiring day In summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower ? 'T is not harsh sorrow — but a tenderer woe, Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below ; Felt without bitterness — but full and clear ; A sweet dejection — a transparent tear, Unmixed with worldly grief or selfish stain, Shed without shame, and secret without pain. Even as the tenderness that hour instills When summer's day declines along the hills. So feels the fullness of our heart and eyes When all of Genius which can perish dies ! Almighty spirit is eclipsed — a power Hath passed from day to darkness — to whose hour Of light no likeness is bequeathed — no name, Focus at once of all the rays of Fame ! The flash of Wit, the bright Intelligence, The beam o£ Song, the blaze of Eloquence, Set with their sun — but still have left behind The enduring produce of immortal Mind ; Fruits of a genial morn and glorious noon, A deathless part of him who died too soon. Ye orators ! whom yet our councils yield. Mourn for the veteran hero of your field ! The worthy rival of the wondrous Three,^ Whose words were sparks of immortality ! Ye bards ! to whom the drama's muse is dear, He was your master — emulate him here ! Ye men of wit and social eloquence ! He was your brother — bear his ashes hence ! While powers of mind ahnost of boundless range, Complete in kind, as various in their change, — While Eloquence, Wit, Poesy, and Mirth, That humbler harmonist of care on earth. Survive within our souls, — while lives our sense Of pride in Merit's proud preeminence, * Pitt, Fox, and Burke. FAITH. HELVELLYN. 327 Long shall we seek his likeness — long in vain, And turn to all of him which may remain, Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, And broke the die — in moulding Sheridan ! byron. XXVIIL — FAITH. Ye who think the truth ye sow Lost beneath the winter snow, Doubt not, Time's unerring law Yet shall bring the genial thaw, God in Nature ye can trust : Is the G-od of Mind less just? Read we not the mighty thought Once by ancient sages taught ? Though it withered in the blight Of the mediaeval night. Now the harvest we behold ; See ! it bears a thousand fold. Workers on the barren soil. Yours may seem a thankless toil ; Sick at heart with hope deferred, Listen to the cheering word : Now the faithful sower grieves ; Soon he '11 bind his golden sheaves. If Grreat Wisdom have decreed Man may labor, yet the seed Never in this life shall grow, Shall the sower cease to sow ? The fairest fruit may yet be born On the resurrection morn ! fritz. XXIX. —HELVELLYN. In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, acd of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful dog, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland, I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide ; All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling, And, starting around me, the echoes replied. 328 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather. Where the pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay, Like the corpse of an outcast, abandoned to weather. Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended. And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ? When the wind waved his garment, how oft did^ thou start ? How many long days and long weeks didst thou number. Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? And, ! was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er him. No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him — Unhonored the pilgrim from life should depart ? When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded. The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall ; With scutcheons of silver the coSin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming ; In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming ; Ear adown the lono; aisle sacred music is streaming;, Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When 'wildered he drops from some cliff huge in stature. And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch, by this desert lake lying. Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying. With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, Li the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. SIR WALTER SCOTT. XXX. — THE STATUE OF THE BELVIDERE APOLLO. Heard ye the arrow hurtle in the sky? Heard ye the dragon monster's deathftil cry ? In settled majesty of calm disdain. Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain, ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 329 The heavenly archer stands ^ — no human birth, No perishable denizen of earth ; Youth blooms immortal in his beardless face, A god in strength, with more than godlike grace ; All, all divine ; no struggling muscle glows, Through heaving vein no mantling life-blood flows ; But, animate with deity alone, In deathless glory lives the breathing stone. Bright kindling with a conqueror's stern delight, His keen eye tracks the arrow's fateful flight ; Burns his indignant cheek with vengeful fire, And his lip quivers with insulting ire : Firm fixed his tread, yet light, as when on high He walks the impalpable and pathless sky ; The rich luxuriance of his hair, confined In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind. That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold. Proud to display that form of faultless mould. Mighty Ephesian ! t with an eagle's flight Thy proud soul mounted through the fields of light, Viewed the bright conclave of heaven's blest abode, And the cold marble leapt to life a god. Contagious awe through breathless myriads ran, And nations bowed before the work of man. For mild he seemed, as in Elysian bowers, Wasting in careless ease the joyous hours ; Haughty, as bards have sung, with princely sway Curbing the fierce, flame -breathing steeds of day ; Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep ^y holy maid on Delphi's haunted steep, 'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove, Too fair to worship, too divine to love. milman. XXXI.— ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. Boll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin ; his control Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain * The Apollo is in the act of watching the arrow with which he slew the serpent Python. t Agasias of Ephesus. 28* 330 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoflined, and unknown. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving ; — boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee. Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers; — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror, 't was a pleasing fear ; For I was, as it were, a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here^ byron. XXXIL— THE STORY OF GINEVRA. She was an only child, her name Grinevra, The joy, the pride, of an indulgent father : And in her fifteenth year became a bride, Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. She was all gentleness, all gayety. Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. But now the day was come, — the day, the hour ; Now frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time, The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum ; And, in the luster of her youth, she gave Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco. G-reat was the joy ; but at the nuptial feast, When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried, *' 'T is but to make a trial of our love ! " And filled his glass to all ; but his hand shook, COLUMBUS IN CHAINS. 331 And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 'T was but that instant she had left Francesco, Laughing and looking back, and flying still. Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger ; But now, alas ! she was not to be found ; Nor, from that hour, could any thing be guessed, But that she was not ! Weary of his life, Francesco flew to Yenice, and, embarking, Flung it away in battle with the Turk. The father lived, and long might you have seen An old man wandering as in quest of something ; Something he could not find, he knew not what. When he was gone, the house remained a while Silent and tenantless ; then went to stransjers. Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten. When on an idle day, — a day of search 'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, — That mouldering chest was noticed, and 't was said, By one as young, as thoughtless, as Ginevra, *• Why not remove it from its lurking-place ? " 'T was done as soon as said ; but, on the way, It burst — it fell ; and, lo ! a skeleton. With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, A golden clasp clasping a shred of gold. All else had perished, save a wedding ring And a small seal, — her mother's legacy, — Engraven with a name, — thaname of both, — " Grinevra." There then she had found a grave ! Within that chest had she concealed herself. Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy. When a spring lock, that lay in ambush there, Fastened her down for ever ! samuel Rogers. XXXIII. — COLUMBUS IN CHAINS. And this, Spain ! is thy return For the new world I gave ! Chains ! — this the recompense I earn ! The fetters of the slave ! Yon sun that sinketh 'neath the sea Rises on realms I found for thee. 332 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. I served thee as a son would serve ; I loved thee with a father's love ; It ruled my thought, and strung my nerve, To raise thee other lands above, That thou, with all thy wealth, might be The single empress of the sea. For thee my form is bowed and worn With midnight watches on the main; For thee my soul hath calmly borne Ills worse than sorrow, more than pain ; Through life, whate'er my lot mxight be, I lived, dared, suffered, but for thee. My guerdon ? — 'T is a furrowed brow, Hair gray with grief, eyes dim with tears, And blighted hope, and broken vow. And poverty for coming years, And hate, with malice in her train : — What other guerdon ? — Yiew my chain ! Yet say not that I weep for gold ! No, let it be the robber's spoil. — Nor yet, that hate and malice bold Decry my triumph and my toil. — I weep but for Spain's lasting shame ; I weep but for her blackened fame. No more. — The sunlight leaves the sea ; Farewell, thou never-dying king ! Earth's clouds and changes change not thee, And thou — and thou, — • grim, giant thing, Cause of my glory and my pain, — Farewell, unfathomable main ! MISS JEWSBURY {altered). XXXIV. — MODERN GREECE. The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and sung ; Where grew the arts of war and peace ; Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ; Eternal summer gilds them yet — But all, except their sun, is set ! MODERN GREECE. 333 The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame jour shores refuse : Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than jour sires' " Islands of the blessed." The mountains look on Marathon, And Marathon looks on the sea : And musing there an hour, alone, I dreamed — that Grreece might still be free ! For, standing on the Persian's grave, I could not deem mjself a slave. A king sat on the rockj brow T\Tiich looks o'er sea-born Sal'amis ; And ships, bj thousands, laj below, And men, in nations — all were his ! He counted them at break of da j — And when the sun set, where were thej ? And where are thej ? and where art thou, Mj countr J ? — On thj voiceless shore The heroic laj is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thj Ijre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'T is something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame. Even as I sing, suffuse mj face ; For what is left the poet here ? — For Greeks, a blush ! — for Greece, a tear ! Must we but weep o'er dajs more blest ? Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled ! Earth I render back from out thj breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the Three Hundred, grant but three, To make a new Thermopjlse ! What, silent still ? and silent all ? — Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, " Let one living head. But one arise, — we come, we come ! " — 'T is but the livins: who are dumb. 334 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. In vain ! in vain! — Strike other chords,—- Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, And shed the blood of — Scio's vine ! Hark ! rising to the ignoble call, How answers each bold bacchanal ! You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet ; Where is the Pyrrhic phal'anx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one ? You have the letters Cadmus gave — Think ye he meant them for a slave ? Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells : In native swords, and native ranks. The only hope of courage dwells ; But Turkish force, and Latin fraud. Would break your shield, however broad. Place me on Sunium's marble steep. Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; There, swan-like, let me sing and die : A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! byron. XXXV. ^ THE CEUCIFESION. I ASKED the heavens ; — " What foe to God had done This unexampled deed ? " The heavens exclaim, " 'T was man ; and we in horror snatched the sun From such a spectacle of guilt and shame." I asked the sea ; — the sea in fury boiled, And answered, with his voice of storms, — " 'T was man ; My waves in panic at his crime recoiled. Disclosed the abyss, and from the center ran." I asked the earth ; — the earth replied, aghast, " 'T was man ; and such strange pangs my bosom rent, That still I groan and shudder at the past." To man, gay, smiling, thoughtless man, I went, And asked him next : — he turned a scornful eye, Shook his proud head, and deigned me no reply. MONTaOMERY. THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 336 XXXVI. — THREE WORDS OF STRENGTH. There are three lessons I would write — Three words — as with a burning pen, In tracings of eternal light, Upon the hearts of men. Have Hope ! — Though clouds environ now, And gladness hides her face in scorn, Put thou the shadows from thy brow — No night but hath its morn. Have Eaith ! — Where'er thy bark is driven — The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth — Know this : God rules the hosts of heaven. The inhabitants of earth. Have Love ! — Not love alone for one. But man, as man, thy brother call. And scatter like the circling sun Thy charities on all. Thus grave these lessons on thy soul, — Hope, Faith, and Love, — and thou shalt find Strength when life's surges rudest roll. Light when thou else wert blind. XXXVII. —THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. Mr. Key, the author of the following noble stanzas, had left Baltimore in a cartel, or ship sent for exchange of prisoners, for the purpose of effecting the release of a friend on board the British fleet. He was compelled to remain on board the cartel, under the eye of the British, while the latter bombarded Fort Henry. Mr. Key paced the deck of his ship all night, fearing the effect of the attack on the American fort. He saw our flag waving as the sun went down, and occasionally, by the light of bursting shells, after dark ; but, as the bombardment was continued during the night, he feared that we might have surrendered. What was his joy, '^ at the morning's first dawn," on seeing that " our flag was still there ! " The attack on Baltimore had failed. He embodied his emotions, on the spur of the moment, in this immortal song. This was in the year 1814. 0, SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming; And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air. Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ? ! say, does that Star-Spangled Eanner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? 336 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES, -j On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, gfl What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, ^ As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses ? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam. In full glory reflected now shines on the stream : 'T is the Star-Spangled Banner ! — 0, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more ? Their blood hath washed out their foul footstep's pollution ! No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave ; And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! O, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation ! Blessed with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just. And this be our motto, " In God is our trust," — And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! F. S. KEY, XXXVIIL — THE CHAMOIS'^' HUNTER. Night gloomed apace, and dark on high The thousand banners of the sky Their awful width unfurled. Veiling Mont Blanc's majestic brow, That seemed, among its cloud-wrapt snow, The ghost of some dead world, — When Pierre, the hunter, cheerly went To scale the Catton's battlement Before the peep of day. He took his rifle, pole, and rope — His heart and eyes alight with hope. He hasted on his way. * Pronounced sham'o-a ; the last a broad, as infall. THE CHAMOIS HUNTER. 337 He crossed the vale — he hurried on — He forded the cold ArVe-ron — The first rough terrace gained ; Threaded the fir-wood's gloomy belt, And trod the snows that never melt, And to the summit strained. And now he nears the chasmed ice ; He stoops to leap, and in a trice His foot hath slipped ! — 0, heaven ! He hath leaped in, and down he falls Between those blue, tremendous walls, Standing asunder riven ! But quick his clutching, nervous grasp Contrives a jutting crag to clasp. And thus he hangs in air ; — O, moment of exulting bliss ! Yet hope, so nearly hopeless, is Twin-brother to despair. He looked beneath, — a horrible doom ! Some thousand yards of deepening gloom Where he must drop to die ! He looked above, and many a rood Upright the frozen ramparts stood, Around a speck of sky. There two long dreadful hours he hung, And often, by strong breezes swung. His fainting body twists ; Scarce can he cling one moment more — His half-dead hands are ice, and sore His burning, bursting wrists. His head grows dizzy — he must drop : He half resolves ; — but stop, 0, stop ! Hold on to the last spasm ! Never in life give up your hope : Behold ! behold ! a friendly rope Is dropping down the chasm ! They call thee, Pierre ! See, see them here ; Thy gathered neighbors far and near : Be cool, man — hold on fast ! 29 338 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. And so from out that terrible place, With death's pale hue upon his face. They drew him up at last. And home he went, an altered man, For many harrowing terrors ran Through his poor heart that day : He thought how all through life, though young, Upon a thread, a hair, he hung, Over a gulf midway : He thought what fear it were to fall Into the pit that swallows all, Un winged with hope and love : And when the succor came, at last, O, then he learnt how firm and fast Was his best Friend above. m. f. tupper. XXXIX. — ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. SEPTEMBER, 1782. Toll for the brave ! the brave that are no more ! All sunk beneath the wave, fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave, whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, and laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds, and she was overset ; Down went the Eoyal George, with all her crew complete ! Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought — his work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; no tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; she ran upon no rock. His sword was in his sheath, his fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down with twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, once dreaded by our foes, And mingle with our cup the tear that England owes ! Her timbers yet are sound, and she may float again. Full charged with England's thunder, and plow the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, his victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred shall plow the wave no more. COWPER. THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. • 3S9 XL. — ^' THE TEMPEST STILLED." The strono: winds burst on Judah's sea. Far pealed the raging billow, The fires of heaven flashed wrathfulij, When Jesus pressed his pillow. The light frail bark was fiercely tossed, From surge to dark surge leaping, For sails were torn and oars were lost, Yet Jesus still lay sleeping. When o'er that bark the loud waves roared, And blasts went howling round her. Those Hebrews roused their wearied Lord, — " Lord ! help us, or we founder ! " He said, " Ye waters, peace, be still ! " The chafed waves sank reposing, As wild herds rest on field and hill. When clear, calm days are closing. And, turning to the startled men Who watched that surge subsiding, He spoke in mournful accents then These words of righteous chiding : "0, ye, who thus fear wreck and death, As if by Heaven forsaken, How is it that ye have no faith. Or faith so quickly shaken ? " Then, then those doubters saw with dread The wondrous scene before them ; Their limbs waxed faint, their boldness fled, Strange awe stole creeping o'er them : "This, this," they said, ''is Judah's Lord, For powers divine array him ; Behold ! he does but speak the word. And winds and waves obey him ! " REV. J. G. LYONS. XLL — THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. I SAW him on the battle-eve, When like a kino; he bore him : Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave, And prouder chiefs, before him. 340 'LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. • ^ The warrior and the warrior's deeds, The morrow and the morrow's meeds, — No daunting thought came o'er him \ He looked around him, and his eye Defiance flashed to earth and sky. He looked on ocean, — its broad breast Was covered with his fleet : On earth, — and saw from East to West His bannered millions meet ; While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast, Shook with the war-cry of that host, The thunder of their feet ! He heard the imperial echoes ring, — He heard, B.nd felt himself a king. I saw him next alone : — nor camp Nor chief his steps attended ; Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp With war-cries proudly blended. He stood alone, whom Fortune high So lately seemed to deify ; He, who with Heaven contended. Fled like a fugitive and slave ! — - Behind, the foe ; before, the wave ! He stood — fleet, army, treasure, gone — Alone, and in despair ! But wave and wind swept ruthless on, For they Yveie monarchs there ; And Xerxes, in a single bark, Where late his thousand ships were dark, Must all their fury dare. What a revenge, a trophy, this, For thee, immortal Saiamis ! miss jewsbury. XLII. — TRUE AND FALSE VALOR. True valor springs from reason, And tends to perfect honesty. The scope Is always honor and the public good. Valor in private quarrels is no valor ; No, not for reputation ! That 's man's idol Set up 'gainst Grod's, the maker of all laws, TRUE AND FALSE VALOR. 241 Who hath commanded us we shall not kill ; And yet we say we must for reputation ! What honest man can either fear his own, Or else will hurt another's reputation? Fear to do base, unworthy things, is valor ! I never thought an angry person valiant ; Virtue is never aided by a vice ; And 't is an odious kind of remedy To owe our health to a disease. If it proceed from passion, not from judgment, Brute beasts have valor — wicked persons have it. So in the end where it respects not truth Or public honesty, but mere revenge, The ignorant valor. That knows not why it undertakes, but does it To escape the infamy merely, — Valor that lies in the eyes of the lookers on, — Is worst of all. The things true valor 's exercised about Are poverty, restraint, captivity. Banishment, loss of children, long disease : ^ The least is death. Here valor is beheld ; And as all knowledge, when it is removed, Or separate from justice, is called craft, Bather than wisdom ; so a mind affecting Or undertaking dangers for ambition. Or any self-pretext, not for the public. Deserves the name of daring, not of valor ; And over-daring is as great a vice As over-fearing — ay, and often greater. But, as it is not the mere punishment, But the cause, that makes the martyr, so it is not Fighting, or dying, but the manner of it. Benders a man himself. A valiant man Ought not to undergo, or tempt a danger. But worthily, and by selected ways : He undertakes with reason, not by chance. His valor is the salt to his other virtues ; They are all unseasoned without it. The attendants Or the concomitants of it are his patience. His magnanimity, his confidence. His constancy, security, and quiet ; He can assure himself against all rumor, — Despairs of nothinoj, laughs at contumelies, 29* 842 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. As knowing himself advanced in a height Where injury cannot reach him, nor aspersion Touch him with soil ! ben JONSON (^altered). XLIII. — THE CURSE OF KEHAMA. I CHARM thy life from the weapons of strife, from stone and from wood, from fire and from blood, from the serpent's tooth, and the beasts of blood ; from sickness I charm thee, and time shall not harm thee, but earth, which is mine, its fruits shall deny thee ; and water shall hear me, and know thee and fly thee, and the winds shall not touch thee when they pass by thee ; and the dews shall not wet thee, when they come nigh thee ; and thou shalt seek death to release thee in vain ; thou shalt live in thy pain, while Kehama shall reign, with a fire in thy heart and a fire in thy brain ; and sleep shall obey me, and visit thee never, and the curse shall he on thee for ever and ever ! southey. XLIV. — COMBAT OF FITZ-JAMES AND RODERICK. The chief in silence strode before, And reached the torrent's sounding shore ; And here, at length, his course he staid, Threw down his target and his plaid, And to the Lowland warrior said : " Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust ; This murderous chief, this ruthless man, This head of a rebellious clan. Hath led thee safe through watch and ward, Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. Now, man to man, and steel to steel, A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel ! See, here, all vantageless I stand. Armed, like thyself, with single brand ! For this is Coilantogle ford. And thou must keep thee with thy sword." The Saxon paused : — "I ne'er delayed When foeman bade me draw my blade : Nay, more, brave chief, I vowed thy death ! Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, COMBAT OF FITZ-JAMES AND KODERICK. 343 And m J deep debt for life preserved, A better meed have well deserved. Can nauo^ht but blood our feud atone ? Are there no means ? " — " No, stranger, none ! — Not jet prepared ? By heaven, I change My thought, and hold thy valor light, As that of some vain carpet-knight, Who ill deserved my courteous care. And whose best boast is but to wear A braid of his fair lady's hair ! " — " I thank thee, Eoderick, for the word ; It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ! For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein. Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone ! Yet think not that by thee alone, Proud chief, can courtesy be shown : Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast. But fear not — doubt not — what thou wilt — We try this quarrel hilt to hilt ! " Then each at once his falchion drew. Each on the ground his scabbard threw ; Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, As what he ne'er might see again. Then, foot, and point, and eye opposed, In dubious strife they darkly closed. Ill fared it then with Bhoderick Dhu, That on the field his targe he threw ; Whose brazen studs, and tough bull-hide, Had death so often dashed aside : For, trained abroad his arms to wield, Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. He practiced every pass and ward, To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael * maintained unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood ; * Pronounced gale. 344 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. No stinted draught, no scanty tide, — The gushing flood the tartans dyed. Fierce Roderick felt the flital drain, And showered his blows like wintry rain ; And, as firm rock, or castle roof, Against the winter-shower is proof. The foe, invulnerable still. Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand ; And, backward borne upon the lea, Brought the proud chieftain to his knee. " Now, yield thee, or, by Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade ! '' *' Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! Let recreant yield, who fears to die." Like adder darting from his coil. Like wolf that dashes through the toil. Like mountain-eat who guards her young, Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung ; Received, but recked not of, a wound, And locked his arms his foeman roimd. Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel Through bars of brass and triple steel ! They tug, they strain ! Down, down they go, The G-ael above, Fitz-James below. The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed ; His knee was planted on his breast ; His clotted locks he backward threw, "^ Across his brow his hand he drew, From blood and mist to clear his sight ; Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright ! But hate and fury ill supplied The stream of life's exhausted tide. And all too late the advantage came. To turn the odds of deadly game ; For, while the dagger gleamed on high. Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye. Down came the blow ! but in the heath The erring blade found bloodless sheath. THE PLACE TO DIE. HIGHLAND CORONACH. 345 The struggling foe may now unclasp The fainting chief's relaxing grasp. Unwounded from the dreadful close, But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. SIR TTALTER SCOTT. XLV. — THE PLACE TO DIE. . ^, r^ . > How little recks it where men die, when once the moment 's j^ast In which the dim and glazing eye has looked on earth its last ; Whether beneath the sculptured urn the coffined form shall rest, Or, in its nakedness, return back to its mother's breast ! Death is a common Mend or foe, as different men may hold, And at its summons each must go, the timid and the bold ; But when the spirit, free and warm, deserts it, as it must, What matter where the lifeless form dissolyes again to dust ? 'T were sweet, indeed, to close our eyes with those we cherish near, And, wafted upwards by their sighs, soar to some calmer sphere ; But whether on the scaffold high, or in the battle's van, The fittest place where man can die is where he dies for man ! DUBLIN NATION. XLVL — HIGHLANT) CORONACH, OR FUNERAL SONG. He is gone on the mountain, he is lost to the forest. Like a summer-dried fountain, when our need was the sorest. The fount, reappearing, from the rain-drops shall borrow ; But to us comes no cheering, to Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper takes the ears that are hoary. But the Yoice of the weeper wails manhood in glory ; The autumn winds, rushing, waft the leaves that are serest, But our flower was in flushincf when blightino: was nearest. Fleet foot on the corei,^ sage counsel in cumber, Bed hand in the foray, how sound is thy slumber ! Like the dew on the mountain, like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, thou art gone, and for ever ! SIR WALTER SCOTT. * Pronounced cor'rd. The corei is the hollow side of the hill, where game usually lies. 346 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. XLVII. — BE PATIENT. Be patient, 0, be patient ! put jour ear against the earth ; Listen there how noiselessly the germ of the seed has birth ; How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its little way, Till it parts the scarcely broken ground, and the blade stands up in the day ! Be patient, 0, be patient ! the germs of mighty thought Must have their silent undergrowth, must under ground be wrought ; But as sure as ever there 's a Power that makes the grass appear, Our land shall b^ green with Liberty, the blade-time shall be here. Be patient, 0, be patient ! go and watch the wheat-ears grow ! So imperceptibly, that ye can mark nor change nor throe ; Day after day, day after day, till the ear is fully grown ; And then, again, day after day, till the ripened field is brown. Be patient, 0, be patient ! though yet our hopes are green. The harvest-fields of Freedom shall be crowned with the sunny sheen : Be ripening ! be ripening ! mature your silent way. Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire, on Freedom's harvest-day ! Dublin nation. XL VIII. — JAFEAR : AN EASTERN TRADITION. Jaffar', the Barmekide, the good vizier, The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer, — Jafiar was dead, slain by a doom unjust ! And guilty Ha'roun, sullen with mistrust Of what the good and e'en the bad might say, Ordained that no man living, from that day. Should dare to speak his name, on pain of death : — All Araby and Persia held their breath. All but the brave Mondeer. He, proud to show How far for love a grateful soul could go, And facing death for very scorn and grief (For his great heart wanted a great relief), Stood forth in Bagdad daily in the square, Where once had stood a happy house ; and there Harangued the tremblers at the scimitar On all they owed to the divine Jaffar'. " Bring me the man ! " the calif cried. — The man Was brought, was gazed upon. The mutes began THE AMERICAN HERO. 347 To bind his arms. '' Welcome, brave cords ! " cried he ; " From bonds far worse Jaffar' delivered me; From wants, from shames, from loveless household fears ; Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears ; Restored me, loved me, put me on a par With his great self. — How can I pay Jaffar '? " Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss, Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate Might smile upon another half as great. And said : " Let worth grow frenzied, if it will ; The calif's judgment shall be master still. Go ; and, since gifts thus move thee, take this gem, The richest in the Tartar's diadem, And hold the giver as thou deemest fit." " Gifts ! " cried the friend. He took ; and, holding it* High toward the heaven, as though to meet his star. Exclaimed, "This, too, I owe to thee, Jafiar ! " LEIGH HUNT. XLIX. — THE AMERICAN HERO.'^ Why should vain mortals tremble at the sight of Death and Destruction in the field of battle. Where blood and carnage clothe the ground in crimson Sounding with death-groans ? Death will invade us by the means appointed. And we must all bow to the king of terrors ; Nor am I anxious, if I am prepared. What shape he comes in. Infinite Goodness teaches us submission, Bids us be quiet under all His dealings, Never repining, but for ever praising God our Creator. Then to the wisdom of my Lord and Master I will commit all that I have or wish for : Sweetly as babes sleep will I give my life up. When called to yield it. *Wri14'«n in the time of tbe American Revolution, at Nonvich, Conn., October, 1775. 348 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. Now, Mars, I dare thee, clad in smoky pillars, Bursting from bomb-shells, roaring from the cannon, Rattling in grape-shot like a storm of hailstones, Torturing ether ! While hostile hearts quick palpitate for havoc, Let slip your bloodhounds, — ay, your British lions, — As Death undaunted, nimble as the whirlwind, Frightful as demons ! Let ocean waft on all your floating castles, Fraught with destruction horrible in nature ; Then, with your sails filled by a storm of vengeance, Bear down to battle. From the dire caverns made by ghostly miners, Let the explosion, dreadful as volcanoes. Heave the broad town, with all its wealth and people, Quick to destruction. Still shall the banner of the King of Heaven Never advance where I 'm afraid to follow ! While that precedes me, with an open bosom, War, I defy thee ! Nathaniel niles. L. — THE STRUGGLE FOR FAME. If thou wouldst win a lasting fame, — If thou the immortal wreath wouldst claim, And make the future bless thy name, — Begin thy perilous career ; Keep high thy heart, thy conscience clear, And walk thy way without a fear. And if thou hast a voice within. That ever whispers, " Work and win," And keeps thy soul from sloth and sin ; — If thou canst plan a noble deed, And never flag till it succeed, Though in the strife thy heart should bleed ; If thou canst struggle day and night, And, in the envious world's despite, Still keep thy cyn'osure in sight ; — THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. §49 If thou canst bear the rich man's scorn, Nor curse the day that thou wert born To feed on husks, and he on corn ; — If thou canst dine upon a crust, And still hold on with patient trust, Nor pine that fortune is unjust ; — If thou canst see, with tranquil breast, The knave or fool in purple dressed. Whilst thou must walk in tattered vest ; — If thou canst rise ere break of day, And toil and moil till evening gray, At thanldess work, for scanty pay ; — If in thy progress to renown Thou canst endure the scoff and frown Of those who strive to pull thee down ; — If thou canst bear the averted face, The gibe, or treacherous embrace, Of those who run the self-same race ; — If thou in darkest days canst find An inner brightness in thy mind, To reconcile thee to thy kind : — Whatever obstacles control, Thine hour will come — go on — true soul ! Thou 'It win the prize, thou 'It reach the goal. If not — what matters ? Tried by fire, And purified from low desire, Thy spirit shall but soar the higher. Content and hope thy heart shall buoy, And men's neglect shall ne'er destroy Thy secret peace, thy inward joy ! CHARLES MACKAY. Ll. — THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. The eyes of thousands glanced on him, as mid the cirque he stood, Unheeding of the shout which broke from that vast multitude. The prison damps had paled his cheek, and on his lofty brow Corroding care had deeply traced the furrows of his plow. 30 SoO LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. Amid the crowded cirque he stood, and raised to heaven his eje/ For well that feeble old man knew they brought him forth to die ! Yet joy was beaming in that eye, while from his lips a prayer Passed up to heaven, and faith secured his peaceful dwelling there. Then calmly on his foes he looked ; and, as he gazed, a tear Stole o'er his cheeks ; but 't was the birth of pity, not of fear. He knelt down on the gory sand — once more he looked toward heaven ; And to the Christian's Grod he prayed that they might be forgiven. But, hark ! another shout, o'er which the hungry lion's roar Is heard, like thunder, mid the swell on a tempestuous shore ! And forth the Lybian savage bursts - — rolls his red eyes around ; Then on his helpless victim springs, and beats him to the ground. Short pause was left f«r hope or fear ; the instinctive love of life One struggle made, but vainly made, in such unequal strife ; Then with the scanty stream of life hi^ jaws the savage dyed ; While, one by one, the quivering limbs his bloody feast supplied. Rome's prince and senators partook the shouting crowd's delight ; And Beauty gazed unshrinkingly on that unhallowed sight. But say, what evil had he done ? — what sin of deepest hue ? — A blameless faith was all the crime that Christian martyr knew ! But where his precious blood was spilt, even from that barren sand, There sprang a stem, whose vigorous boughs soon overspread the land : O'er distant isles its shadow fell ; nor knew its roots decay. Even when the Roman Cesar's throne and rule had passed away. UEV. HAMILTON BUCHANAN. LIL — THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ; 'tis at a white heat now. The windlass strains the tackle-chains, the black mound heaves below ; And ved and deep a hundred Teins burst out at every throe : It rises, roars, rends all outright — 0, Vulcan, what a glow ! 'T is blinding white, 't is blasting bright ; the high sun shines not so ! As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow Sinks on the anvil, all about the faces fiery grow. " Hurra ! " they shout, " leap out, leap out ! " bang, bang, the sledges go ! Leap out, leap out, my masters ! leap out, and lay on load ! Let 's forge a goodly anchor — a Bower thick and broad : For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow I bode ; And I see the good ship riding all in a perilous road, The low reef roaring on her lea ; the roll of ocean poured, From stem to stern, sea after sea : the mainmast by the board ; DIBXIE OF ALARIO5 TfLK VISIGOTH. 351 The bulwarks down ; the rudder gone ; the boats stove at the chains ; But, courage still, brave mariners ! — the Bower yet remains, And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye pitch skj^-high ; Then moves his head, as though he said, ** Fear nothing ; here am I ! " Swing in your strokes in order — let foot and hand keep time ! Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime ; But while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden be. The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we ! Strike in, strike in ! the sparks begin to dull their rustling red ; Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped : Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay ; Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here For the yeo heave-o, and the heave-away, and the sighing seamen's cheer. 0, trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me. What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea ! 0, deep sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as thou ? The hoary monsters' palaces ! methinks what joy 'twere now To go plump plunging down amid the assembly of the whales. And feel the churned seo, round me boil beneath their scourging tails ! 0, broad-armed fisher of the deep, whose sports can equal thine ? The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons that tugs thy cable line ; And night by night 't is thy delight, thy gloryi^ay by day, Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to play ; But, shamer of our little sports ! forgive the name I gave : A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine office is to save. g. FERGUSON, LIII. — DIBGE OF ALABIC,* THE VISIGOTH. When I am dead, no pageant train Shall waste their sorrows at mj bier, Nor worthless pomp of homage vain Stain it with hypocritic tear ; For I will die as I did live, JSTor take the boon I can not give. Ye shall not raise a marble bust Upon the spot where I repose ; Ye shall not fawn before my dust, In hollow circumstance of woes ; Nor sculptured clay, with lying breath, Insult the clay that moulds beneath. Ye shall not pile, with servile toil, Your monuments upon my breast ; Nor yet within the common soil Lay down the wreck of power to rest, I * Alaric stormed and spoiled the city of Rome, and was afterwards buried in the channel of the river Busentinus, the water of which had been diverted from its course that the body might be interred. 352 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. Where man can boast that he has trod On him that was " the scourge of Glod." But ye the mountain stream shall turn, And lay its secret channel bare, And hollow, for your sovereign's urn, A resting-place for ever there ; Then bid its everlasting springs Flow back upon the King of Kings ; And never be the secret said. Until the deep give up his dead. My gold and silver ye shall fling Eack to the clods that gave them birth ; — The captured crowns of many a king, The ransom of a conquered earth : For e'en though dead, will I control The trophies of the Capitol. But when beneath the mountain tide Ye 've laid your monarch down to rot, Ye shall not rear upon its side Pillar or mound to mark the spot : For long enough the world has shook Beneath the terrors of my look; And now that I have run my race, The astonished realms shall rest a space. My course was like a river deep, And from the northern hills I burst, Across the world in wrath to sweep. And where I went the spot was cursed ; Nor blade of grass again was seen Where Alaric and his hosts had been. See how their haughty barriers fail Beneath the terror of the Goth ! Their iron-breasted legions quail Before my ruthless sabaoth ! ^ And low the Queen t of empires kneels, And grovels at my chariot-wheels ! Not for myself did I ascend In judgment my triumphal car ; 'Twas Grod alone on high did send The avenging Scythian to the war, * A Hebrew word, signifying armies, hosts. f Rome. THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOTS. 35^ To shake abroad, with iron hand, The appointed scourge of His command. With iron hand that scourge I reared O'er guilty king and guilty realm ; Destruction was the ship I steered, And Vengeance sat upon the helm ! When launched in fury on the flood, I plowed my way through seas of blood, And in the stream their hearts had spilt Washed out the long arrears of guilt ! Across the everlasting Alp I poured the torrent of my powers, And feeble Ca3sars shrieked for help In vain within their seven-hilled towers ! I quenched in blood the brightest gem That glittered in their diadem ; And struck a darker, deeper dye In the purple of their majesty ; And bade my northern banners shine Upon the conquered Palatine,* My course is run — my errand done : I go to Him from whom I came ; But never yet shall set the sun Of glory that adorns my name ; And Roman hearts shall long be sick, When men shall think of Alaric. My course is run — my errand done ; But darker ministers of fate. Impatient, round tho eternal throne, And in the caves of vengeance, wait. And soon mankind shall blanch away Before the name of At'tila. edwarb everett. LIV.—THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. Here halt we our march, and pitch our tent, On the rugged forest ground, And light our fire with the branches rent By the winds from the beeches round. * The Palatine was one of the seyen hills of Rome. Augustus had hia palace here. 30^ 354 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. Wild storms have torn this ancient wood, But a wilder is at hand, With hail of iron and rain of blood, To sweep and scathe the land. How the dark waste rings with voices shrill, That startle the sleeping bird ! To-morrow eve must the voice be still, And the step must fall unheard. The Briton lies by the blue Champlain, In Ticonderoga's towers ; And ere the sun rise twice again. The towers and the lake are ours ! Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides Where the fire-fiies light the brake : A ruddier juice the Briton hides In his fortress by the lake. Build high the fire, till the panther leap From his lofty perch in fright ; And we '11 strengthen our weary arms with sleep, For the deeds of to-morrow night. bryant. LV. — THE PROSPECT OF IMMORTALITY. Unfading Hope ! when life's last embers burn, — When soul to soul, and dust to dust, return, — Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour : O, then thy kingdom comes. Immortal Power ! What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life's eternal day : — Then — then, the triumph and the trance begin. And all the phoenix spirit burns within ! 0, deep-enchanting prelude to repose ! The dawn of bliss ! the twilight of our woes ! Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh. It is a dread and awful thing to die ! — Mysterious worlds, untraveled by the sun. Where Time's fiir-wanderino; tide has never run ! From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres, A> warning comes, unheard by other ears : THE PROSPECT OF IMMORTALITY. 355 'T is Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust ; And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod The roaring waves, and called upon his God, With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss. And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss. Daughter of Faith, awake ! arise ! illume The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! Melt and dispel, ye specter-doubts, that roll Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul I Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, Chased on his night-steed by the star of day ! The strife is o'er, — the pangs of nature close. And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, The noon of heaven, undazzled by the blaze. On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky, Float the sweet tones of star-born melody. Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, When Jordan hushed its waves, and midnight still Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill ! Soul of the just ! companion of the dead ! Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled ? Back to its heavenly source thy being goes, Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose • Doomed on his airy path a while to burn, And doomed, like thee, to travel and return ; — Hark ! from the world's exploring center driven, With sounds that shook the firmament of heaven, Careers the fiery giant, fast and far, On bickering wheels and adamantine car ; From planet whirled to planet more remote. He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ; But wheeling homeward, when his course is run, Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun. So hath the traveler of earth unfurled Her trembling wings, emerging from the world ; And, o'er the path by mortal never trod, Sprung to her source — the bosom of her God ! CAMPBELL. 856 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. LVI.— THE SONG OF THE CORNISH MEN. When Sir Jonathan Trelawny, one of the seven bishops, was committed to the Tower, in 1688, during the religious persecutions under King James, the men of the county of Cornwall, in England, rose one and all, and marched as far as Exeter on their way to free him from prison. It is' said that the following song, which was sung all over the county, had great effect in alarming the government, and staying the course of persecution. A GOOD sword and a trusty hand, A merry heart and true, — King James's men shall understand What Cornish lads can do. And have they fixed the where and when ? And shall Trelawny die ? Here 's thirty thousand Cornishmen Will see the reason why ! Out spake their captain, brave and bold, A merry wight was he : " If London's Tower were Michael's hold, We 11 set Trelawny free ! ** We '11 cross the Taraar, land to land ; The Severn is no stay ; All side by side, and hand to hand, — And who shall bid us nay ? *' And when we come to London wall, A pleasant sight to view. Come forth, come forth, ye cowards all, To better men than you ! " Trelawny, he 's in keep and hold ; Trelawny, he may die ; But here *s thirty thousand Cornish bold Will see the reason why ! " LVII. — DREAMS. O ! THERE is a dream of early youth, And it never comes again ; 'T is a vision of light — of life — of truth- That flits across the brain : THE murderer's CONFESSION. 357 And love is the theme of that early dream — So warm, so wild, so new, That in all our after life I deem That early dream we rue. ! there is a dream of maturer years, More turbulent by far — 'T is a vision of blood, and of woman's tears, For the theme of that dream is war ; And we toil in the field of danger and death, And we shout in the battle array. Till we find that fame is a bodiless breath. That vanisheth away. O ! there is a dream of hoary age ; 'Tis a vision of gold in store — Of sums noted down in a figured page, To be counted o'er and o'er ; And we fondly trust in our glittering dust, As a refuge from grief and pain, Till our limbs are laid on that cold bed Where the wealth of the world is vain And is it thus from man's birth to his grave, In the path which we all are treading ? Is there naught in his wild career to save From remorse and self-upbraiding ? O, yes ! there 's a dream so pure, so bright, That the being to whom it is given ^ ^ » , ^ Path bathed in a sea of living light, ,!i\ ly ^^ And the theme of that dream is Heaven. LVIII. — THE MURDERER'S CONFESSION I PAUSED not to question the devil's suggestion, But o'er the clifi*, headlong, the living was thrown ; — A scream and a* ^ ' xH ■^>. . 'K <' -.^ i "^ -^ '^ ^, '/ ^ ''t. •'bo'' c5 -^^ ■^ on;^ ^^x.''' a'^ "^^^ •^^..<^'* \c,^^ .^^% ^^%. }>'-^.. 'i ^^ ^--^"' >9 ^ V%M^N^^ r^ >»> ^- 'rf-.