Students, and oth' rs who desire to shorten their hours of sti 
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 HAMILTOM. LOCKE S OURICS 
 
 mm OF mmwi \imm 
 
 A GREAT AID TO STUDENTS. 
 
 The poet Milton says : "We do amiss to spend seven or eight years mere 
 together so imich miserable Latin and Greek as might be learned otherwise 
 delightfully in one year." 
 
 LATIN INTERLINEAR TRANSLATIONS. 
 
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 DEPARTMENT OF M 
 
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 beth, and by John Milton, the best Latvu scholar and tvriter of 
 in testimony of it John Locke says : " When by this way of interli 
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 will then hnotv it only by kotp: fright any one. This, when well e 
 is not of any moment against, but plainly for, this way of learning a 
 The languages are only to be learned- by BOTE, and he that speaks 1 
 has no other rule but that." In teacning classes by oral dictation, tt\ 
 present advantages that no others do. 
 
 CLARK'S PRACTICAL AND PROGRESSIVE LATIN GRAMIVI 
 
 Adapted to the Interlinear Series of Classics, and to all other 
 In one Tolume, Eoyal 12mo, Half Turkey. Price, $1.50. 
 
 The plan of this Grammar is altogether of a practical nature; for a 
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TUB 
 
 STANDARD SPEAKER; 
 
 CONTAININa 
 
 FOR DECLAMATION 
 
 lU SCHOOLS, ACADEMIES, LYCEUMS, COLLEGES i 
 
 KEWLY TKANSIiATED OR COMPIIiED FROM CELEBEATED ORATORS, AUTHORS, 
 AND POPTJLAR DEBATERS, ANCIENT AND MODERN, 
 
 A TREATISE ON ORATCEY AND ELOCUTION. 
 
 NOTES EXPLANATORY AND BIOGRAPHICAL. 
 
 By EPES SARGENT. 
 
 SIXTIETH EDITIOX, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 CHAKLES DeSILVER & SONfe, 
 
 PUBLISHERS. 
 
Entered lecording to A«t of Congrese, in the year eighteen hundrmi and fefSy. 
 two, Dy Epes S4RGENT, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court cf the Unite* 
 States, to- the Eastern District of Pennsylvania 
 
 ^ Many of tiie single pieces in this collection ar« prt>teoted S»/ che oopjiight 
 
PREPACE. 
 
 The distinguishing features of the present collection are, the unusuaJ 
 yanety and methodical arrangement of the materials ; a comprehensive 
 grouping, such as has not hitherto been attempted, of exercises from the 
 most celebrated orators and popular debaters of ancient and modern times : 
 the allotment of a liberal space to original translations from the French 
 and other languages ; and the introduction of notes, explanatory and bio- 
 graphical, with the dates of the birth and death of authors. Side by side 
 with those pieces of acknowledged excellence, that justify the title of the 
 work, wiD be found a large number that are now, for the first" time, pre 
 sented as exercises for recitation and declamation. In the case of selee 
 tions, care has been taken to collate them with the latest and mos' 
 authentic editions of the works from which they are extracted ; and thai 
 many current errors and mutilations have been avoided. 
 
 Of tie British parliamentary specimens, many are valuable, not onl) 
 as models of style, but as illustrating the early history of our own country 
 Much original research has been bestowed on this part of the volume. 
 The privilege of occasional compression beipg indispensable, it has been 
 exercised with as scrupulous a regard as possible to the integrity of the 
 text. Most of the extracts from Chatham, Pitt, Fox, and Sheridan ; 
 nearly all from Burke, Grattan, Curran, and Brougham ; all but one from 
 Canning and Macaulay ; and all from Vane, Meredith, Wilkes, Sheil, 
 Croker, Talfourd, Peel, Cobden, Palmerston, Russell and others, are now, 
 for the first time, introduced into a " Speaker." 
 
 Among the familiar masterpieces of American oratory will be found 
 many new extracts, not unworthy of the association. They belong to tlie 
 whole country, and no sectional bias has influenced the choice. 
 
 Of the brilliant specimens of the senatorial eloquence of France, all but 
 two have been translated expressly for this work. In the other depart- 
 ments of the volume, there has also been a considerable expenditure of 
 original editorial labor ; all the highly effective exercises from Massillou, 
 Hugj, Pichat, Mickiewicz, and many others, having been translated; 
 all those from Homer, Schiller, Delavigne, Bulwsr, Mazzini, Kossuth, and 
 
 t3 01 
 
^ PREI'4.CB. 
 
 Brovming , aiid nearly aU from Knowles, Croly, Horace Smith, and other, 
 together with the comic dialogues from Morton, Mathews, and Coyne 
 having been selected or adapted for this coUection. 
 
 It wiU be seen that the oratory of the ancients has supplied an unusua. 
 number of exer.cises. A certain novelty has, however, in many instances, 
 been imparted here, by original translations. We have had little in 
 modern times, to surpass the Philippics of Demosthenes or the Lrv 
 mvective of ^schines. The putative speeches from Livy, Tacitus, an^ 
 ^Uust, have been newly translated or adapted. In two or three instances, 
 the translation has been so liberal that a nearer relationship to the original 
 than that of a paraphrase has not been claimed. The speeches of Brutus 
 Cams Marms, Canuleius, Virginius, and others, have been expanded or 
 abridged, to serve the purpose of declamation. The two speeches of Spar- 
 tacus, that of Regulus, with several others, are now, for the first time, 
 pubhshed. The extracts from that strangely depreciated work, Cowper's 
 Homer, have the vivid simplicity and force of the original, and are among 
 he most appropriate exercises for elocution in the whole scope of Eng 
 lish blank verse. ^ ^ 
 
 Throughout the present volume, in deciding upon the insertion of a 
 piece, the question has been, not " Who wrote it? " or, "What country 
 produced It ? " but, " Is it good for the purpose ? " Like other arts, that 
 of eloquence IS unhedged by geographical lines ; and it is as inconsistent 
 with true culture, to confine pupils to American models in this art, as it 
 would be in sculpture or painting. While exercising great freedom of 
 range m selection, however, it has been the editor's study to meet all the 
 demands of a liberal patriotism ; to do justice to all" the noblest masters 
 of eloquence, and to all schools and Styles, from which a grace may be 
 borrowed ; and, above aU, to admit nothing that could reasonably offend 
 the ear of piety and good taste. 
 
 The Introductory Treatise embodies the views, not only of the editor 
 but of many of our most experienced and distinguished teachers, in regard 
 to the unprofitable character of those " systems " which profess to teach 
 reading and speaking by the rule and plummet of sentential analysis oi 
 rhetorical notation. Of these attempts the pupil may weU exclaim, in the 
 words of Cowper, ~ 
 
 ** Defend me, therefore, common sense, say I, 
 From reveries so airy, — from the toil 
 Of dropping buckets into empty wells. 
 And growing old in drawing nothing up ! *» 
 
 Tue preceptive portion of the Treatise presents no particular claim to origi 
 oality ; the object being merely to give ^ summary of all the discoveriei 
 and hints that can be serviceable to the student, in the development of 
 ttie vocal and elocutionary powers. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY TREATISE 
 
 
 Page 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Distinctness to be Studied, 
 
 .28 
 
 
 
 
 
 Oratory am"*t]!g tlie Ancients, . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Modulation of the Voice, . . 
 
 . . . .26 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ... .15 
 
 
 
 
 
 " from Bhakspeare, 
 
 . . . .28 
 
 
 
 
 Modern Oratory, 
 
 .... 16 
 
 
 
 
 
 Illustration from Shakspeare, 
 
 
 
 .... 16 
 
 
 . . . .29 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 .... 16 
 
 
 
 
 .... 36 
 
 
 
 Aniei''can Oratory, 
 
 .... 16 
 
 Illustration from Shakspeare, 
 
 . . . .SO 
 
 
 .... 16 
 
 " fromTalfourd, . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 .... 16 
 
 
 
 Mr. Webster's Opinion, . . • 
 
 .... 16 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ... .17 
 
 " B'om Shakspeare, . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Steele's Measure of Speech, . . 
 
 .... 18 
 
 Engraved Representations, 
 
 
 " System of Mai'ks, . . 
 
 . . 18,19 
 
 . . . .32 
 
 
 .... 19 
 
 
 ... .32 
 
 
 .... 19 
 
 
 
 Rules of Inflection, .... 
 " from Shakspeare, 
 
 . . 20,21 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Illustration from Shakspeare^ 
 
 
 
 ... .21 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Their Insufficiency, .... 
 
 ... 22 
 
 
 
 Wl?.ately's Objet^tions, . . . . 
 
 , 22,23 
 
 
 
 Failure of Walker's Method, 
 
 . 22, 23 
 
 
 
 
 ... .23 
 
 Dress and Manner, 
 
 . . . .'ift 
 
 
 ... .23 
 
 
 
 Attention the Seer ;t, . . 
 
 . . .23 
 
 
 
 
 .... 24 
 
 IV Strengthening the Voice, . , 
 
 
 John Quincy Adams, . 
 
 . . 24 
 
 Management of the Breath, . 
 
 . . .St> 
 
 Divisions of Elocution, 
 
 . . 24 
 
 
 . . .86 
 
 
 
 Reading Aloud, . 
 
 . . 30 
 
 
 
 
 . . 38 
 
 
 
 
 
 (mportaDC<} of Dictionarios, 
 
 . . 2A> 
 
 EXPLANATORr MaBKS, . 
 
 
CONTEXTS. 
 
 PAKT FIRST. 
 
 MORAL AND DIDACTIC 
 
 9, 
 10. 
 
 n 
 
 12. 
 
 13. 
 
 14. 
 15 
 
 16. 
 
 17. 
 18. 
 19 
 20. 
 
 21. 
 22 
 2.3 
 24 
 25 
 26 
 27 
 28 
 29 
 80 
 31 
 
 Truth, 
 
 Immortalify, . . . . , 
 
 Utility of the Bea-;itiful, 
 The Mind of Man, . 
 The Wor|d, .... 
 
 Mechanical Epoch, . 
 To-day, ...... 
 
 Dueiiist's Konor, , . 
 Bay Conceals what 
 
 Pag-e 
 
 Frayssinous, 37 
 . Massiilon, 38 
 . . Ruskin, 39 
 . . Akenside, 40 
 
 • . Ta/fourd, 41 
 . ■ Kennedy, 41 
 
 mtkins-ton, 42 
 
 • . England, 43 
 Night Reveals, 
 
 „ , Nichol, 44 
 
 Donnet, White 45 
 
 . Man s Material Triurophs, . . , Fayet, 45 
 
 fortitude, Anonymous, 46 
 
 . The Cmted States of Europe, . . Hu"-o 
 ■ The Peaci Oongress of the Union,' 
 „ . Everett, 48 
 
 TheSpmtofthe Age, . . . Beckwith,4:d 
 Mosea in Sight of the Promised Land, 
 XT : ■ Peabody, 50 
 
 Necessity of Law, Hooker, 50 
 
 Carlyle, 51 
 
 lo-morro\v, Cotton 5-' 
 
 Eloquence of Action, ... Webster, 53 
 Suicenty the Soul of Eloquence, Goethe, 53 
 The Christian Orator, . . Fillemain, S,i 
 Affectation in the Pulpit, . . . Covjper, 55 
 Utility of History, . . . . De Segur, 56 
 talse Coloring Lent co Wair, Chalmers, 57 
 Death's Final Conquest, . . . Shirley, 58 
 
 j^eligion, Lamartine, 58 
 
 The Saviour's Reply, Milton, 59 
 
 Nobihty of Labor, Dewey, 60 
 
 Labor is Worship, Osgood, 61 
 
 Moral and Physical Science, . . Chapin, 62 
 
 The Order Natui-e, Powe 63 
 
 Future Empire of our Language' 
 p, ' Bethune, 63 
 
 Compensations of the Imagination, 
 
 _ ^ Akenside, 64 
 
 ihe Great Distinction of a Nation, 
 urn i. ,^ , Channing, 65 
 
 What Makes a Hero, .... Taylor, 66 
 
 it a Last Hours of Socrates, 66 
 
 I'o ^ 9'"'^^' Yankee, 67 
 
 America's Contributions, Ferplanck, 68 
 rhe True King, ^t,^/ 69 
 
 40. Death is CompensatioR Rousseau 
 
 41. Fate of Charles Xn., . . .Johnson, 
 
 42. Our Duties, story, 
 
 43. Love of Country, . Montgomery 
 
 44. Natu)-e a Hard Creditor, . . Carly'e 
 
 45. Time's Midnight Voice, . . . Young 
 
 46. The Common Lot, . . 3Iontgomer%, 
 
 47. True Som-ce of Reform, . . Chapin 
 
 48. The Beacon Light, .... Pardoe 
 
 49. Cleoii and I, . Mackay, 
 
 50. Problem for the U. States, Boardman, 
 
 51. American Experiment, . . Everett 
 
 52. The Ship of State, Luni 
 
 ^2- Lines, Longfellow, 
 
 55. Death Typified by Winter, Thomson, 
 
 56. Religious Inducements, . . . James 
 
 57. Never Despair, Lovr 
 
 58. Charity, Talfourd, 
 
 59. The Battle-field, Bryant 
 
 60. Dizzy Activities, Everett 
 
 61. The Good Great Man, . . Coleridge' 
 
 62. Taxes, Sydney Smith, 
 
 63. The Press, Elliot, 
 
 o4. Defence of Poetry, . ... Wolfe 
 
 65. Great Ideas, Channing] 
 
 66. England, Elliot, 
 
 67. Hallowed Ground, .... Campbell, 
 
 68. Nature Proclaims a Deity, Chateau- 
 
 - briand, 
 
 69. What we owe the Sword, . . Grimke, 92 
 
 70. Abou Ben Adhem, Hunt, 93 
 
 71. Polonius to Laertes, . . Shakspeare 94 
 t'2. Where is he, Neele' 94 
 
 73. International Sympathies, Wayland, 9? 
 
 74. Worth of Fame, Bailli" 
 
 91 
 
 92 
 
 75. Frivolous Pleasures, .... Youn"- 
 "■"^ " Hiber, 97 
 
 97 
 
 6. For^^ 
 
 77. Science Religious, , . . Hitchcock. 
 
 78. Triumphs of the English Language, 
 
 Lyons, 93 
 
 /9. The Water Drinker, . . E. Johnson, 99 
 BO. The Days that are Gone, . Mackay, 100 
 81. The Work-sliop and Camp, .... 101 
 "2. The Wise Man's Prayer, Johnson, IM 
 
 98 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 MARTIAL AND POPULAR. 
 
 1 Scipio to his Army, Li^y^ 103 
 
 2 Hannibal to his Army, M., 104 
 
 3 Regulus to the Roman Senate, On'g^l, ]05 
 
 4. Leoiiidas to his Three Hundred, Pichnt, 107 
 
 5. Brutus over the dead Lucretia, Ortir'/ 
 
 and compiled, 107 
 
 6. Achilles' Reply, Cowper's Homer, 108 
 
 7. Hector's Re))uke, Id., ^09 
 
 8 H.ctor's lOxplcvit, /,/., no 
 
 8 f-ctor Slain, la., m 
 
 10 It leiiiachus to the Chiefs, Fenelon,U'.i 
 i\ Titus Quintiua . . Lii^y m 
 
 12. Cams Manus, SanH.<<t 
 
 13. Cuius Gracchus, .... KtioivU-.t 
 
 14. Galgacus, Tariius 
 
 15. Icilius on Virginia's Seizure, Bhir.aiilay 
 
 16. The Spartans' March, . . Hrmmis. 
 
 17. The Greeks' Return, ..... /,/., 
 18- Ode, Collins, 
 
 19. Virginius' Refusal to Claudius, Livy, 
 
 20. Canuleius against Patrician Arrogance, 
 
 21. Catiline to his Army, .... Jonson] 
 
 22. Spartacus to the Gladiators. Kellos/;, 
 
 , lift 
 
 116 
 , 117 
 ,118 
 , US 
 , 119 
 12« 
 12f, 
 
 12: 
 
 12" 
 12i 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Pag'e 
 
 B Iftpartacus to the Roman Envoys, Orig., 124 
 iL Marullus to the Romans, Shakspeare, 126 
 25. Brutus on Cajsar's Death, .... Id., 126 
 
 86. Mark Antony, " .... Id., 127 
 
 2T. Moloch's Address, Milton, 129 
 
 28. BeUal'8 Address, /d., 131 
 
 129. The Death of Leonidas, . . . Croly, 132 
 80. Catilme to the Gallic Conspirators, Id., 133 
 Bl. Catiline's Last Hai-angue, . ... Id., 134 
 82. The Bard's Summons, . . . Bulwer, 135 
 
 33. Caradoc to Cymi-ians, Id., 136 
 
 84. Alfred to his Men, .... Knowles, 137 
 36. Rienzi to the Romans, . . Mitford, 138 
 B6. The Patriot's Pass-word, iVibn^g-OTner*/, 139 
 
 87. Richard to the Princes, .... Scott, 140 
 38. Richmond to his Men, . Shakspeare, 141 
 49 Henry V. to his Men, .... Id., 142 
 
 Pa5 
 
 40. Battle of Ivry, Maca%i.ay, 143 
 
 41. Van Artevelde to Men of Ghent, Ta| tor, 146 
 
 42. Wat Tyler to the King, . . Southey, 146 
 
 43. The Soldier's Dream, . . . Campbel'. 14^ 
 
 44. Before Quebec, Wolfe, 14T 
 
 45. The American Flag, .... Drake, 143 
 
 46. To his Men, before the Battle of Long 
 
 Island, If'ashington, 150 
 
 47. To the Army of Italy, . . Napo.eon,l^Q 
 
 48. Byron to the Greeks, . Lamar tine, Ibl 
 
 49. Burial of Sir John Moore, . . Wolfe, Vol 
 
 50. Ilohenlinden, Camphell, 153 
 
 51. Song of Greeks, M., ].54 
 
 52. Fall of Warsaw, Id., lab 
 
 53. Marco Bozzaris, Halleck, l&a 
 
 54. The Seminole's Defiance . . Patten, 158 
 
 55. Battle Hymn, Ko^ner, 158 
 
 PART THIRD 
 
 SENATORIAL. 
 
 1 Against Philip, .... Demosthenes, 159 
 • Degeneracy of Athens, .... Id., 160 
 t.fmocracy hateful to Philip, . . /rf., 161 
 «. "Venality the Ruin of Greece, . . Id., 162 
 
 5. Demosthenes Denounced, Mschines, 163 
 
 6. Exordium, . • . . . . Demosthenes, 165 
 
 7. Public Spirit of Athenians, ... Id., 166 
 
 8. Demosthenes not Vanquished, . Id., 167 
 
 9. Catiline Denounced, .... Cicero, 168 
 
 10. Catiline Expelled, /d., 169 
 
 11. Verres Denounced, M., 170 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 12. Against the Nobility, &c., Mirabeau, 171 
 
 13. Neckei-'s Financial Plan, . . . Id., 172 
 
 14. Disobedience to National Assembly, 173 
 
 15. Reply, ' - - Id., 174 
 
 16. On being Suspected, U., 175 
 
 17. Eulogium on Franklin, .... Id., 177 
 
 18. Church and State, Id., 177 
 
 19. To the French, Vergniaud, 178 
 
 20. Terrorism of Jacobins, /d., 179 
 
 21. Against War, Robespierre, 180 
 
 22. Morality the Basis of Society, . /d., 181 
 
 23. Last Speech, Id., 182 
 
 24. To the Peers, Trilat, 183 
 
 25. The Republic, Lamartine, 185 
 
 26. Democracy adverse to Socialism, De 
 
 Tocqueville, 185 
 
 27. Practical Religious Instruction, Huq:o, 186 
 
 28- Necessity of Religion, Id., 187 
 
 29. Universal Suflfrage, Id., 188 
 
 50. Liberty the Press, Id., 189 
 
 A Republic or Monarchy, . . . /d., 190 
 8i The Two Napoleons, /d., 191 
 
 BRITISH. 
 
 53. The End of Govermnent. . . . Pym, 192 
 
 54. Defence, .... Earl of Strafford, 193 
 
 86. Reducing the Army, . . Pulteney, 195 
 BO. Against Richard Cromwell, . . f^ane, 196 
 
 87. How to make Patriots, . . . Waipole, 196 
 
 88. Against Pitt (Earl of Chatham), . Id., 197 
 
 89. Reply to Waipole, Earl of Chatham, 198 
 la Reply to GrenviUe, W., 199 
 
 41. Reconciliation with America, Chatham, 201 
 
 42. Repeal claimed as a Right, ... /d , 202 
 
 43. Lord North's Ministry, .... /d.,203 
 45. On Employing Indians, .... /d., 204 
 
 45. Ruinous Consequences, .... Id., 205 
 
 46. America Unconquerable, .... Id., 206 
 
 47. Frequent Executions, . . Meredith, 207 
 
 48. Parliamentary Innovations, Beaufoy, 208 
 
 49. Religious Persecution, . Cornptlaiion, 209 
 
 50. America's Obligations, .... Barri, 210 
 
 51. Reply to Lord North, Id., 21"« 
 
 52. Bold Predictions, Wilkes, 21^ 
 
 53. Conquest of Americans, . . . Id., 213 
 
 54. Reply to Duke of Grafton, Thurloic, 214 
 
 55. Present Popularity, Lord Mansfield, 214 
 
 56. Magnanimity in Politics, . . Burke, 215 
 
 57. American Enterprise, ..... W., 216 
 
 58. American Taxation, Id., 217 
 
 59. Despotism Unrighteous, ... Id., 218 
 
 60. Impeachment of Hastings, . . Id., 219 
 
 61. Peroration against Hastings, . . /d., 220 
 
 62. To the Bristol Electors, .... Id., 221 
 
 63. Marie Antoinette, Id., 222 
 
 64. Irish Rights, (Srattan, 223 
 
 65. Reply to Flood, Id., 224 
 
 66. National Gratitude, Id., 225 
 
 67. Catholic Disqualification, . . . Id., 226 
 
 68. Heaven on the Side of Principle, Id., 2^6 
 
 69. Against Corry, id., 227 
 
 70. Union with Great Britain, . . Id., 228 
 
 71. The Catholic Question, .... Id., 229 
 
 72. Religion Inaependent, .... Id., 230 
 
 73. Sectarian Tyranny, Id., 231 
 
 74. American War Denounced, . . Pitt, 232 
 
 75. Motion to Censure Ministry, . . Id., 232 
 
 76. Attempt to make him Resign, . /d., 233 
 
 77. Barbarism of Ancient Britons, . 7d., 234 
 
 78. Results of American War, . . . Fox, 235 
 
 79. AVashington's Foreign PoUcy, . /d., 23(!f 
 
 80. Liberty is Strength, Id., 237 
 
 81. Democratic Governments, . . Id., 238 
 
 82. Partition of Polanl, .... Id., 2:39 
 
 83. Atheist Government null, . Shertdan, 24C 
 
 84. Political Jobbing, Id., 241 
 
 85. Popular and Kingly Examples, . Id., 241 
 
 86. Reform in Parliament, . Lord Grey, 24S 
 
 87. Conservative Innovators, Wuskisnon, 243 
 
 88. The Pension Systera, . , . Curran. 'U* 
 
fin 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 90. 
 
 91. 
 
 92. 
 
 93. 
 
 hi. 
 
 Q& 
 
 96 
 
 97. 
 
 98. 
 
 99 
 iOO 
 hJl 
 1)2. 
 103 
 
 m. 
 
 1.^5. 
 IU6. 
 107 
 l'»8. 
 1)9. 
 liO. 
 111. 
 112. 
 113. 
 114. 
 115. 
 116. 
 117. 
 118. 
 119. 
 120. 
 121. 
 122. 
 123. 
 124. 
 125. 
 126. 
 
 127. 
 128. 
 129. 
 130. 
 131. 
 132. 
 133. 
 134. 
 135. 
 136. 
 137. 
 138 
 139 
 140. 
 141 
 142. 
 143. 
 
 Page 
 
 On Threats of Violence, . . Cwrraw, 245 
 Religious Distinctions, .... Id., 246 
 War witli France, .... Canning, 246 
 Bank-notes and Coin, .... Id., 247 
 Lord J. Russell's Motion, • . . Id., 248 
 Jlr. Tierney's Motion, .... Id., 249 
 
 Defence of Pitt, Id., 250 
 
 Measures, not Men, Id., 251 
 
 Balance of Power, Id., 252 
 
 Collision of Vices, Id., 253 
 
 England and America, Mackintosh, 254 
 Fate of Reformers, . . . Brougham, '2bb 
 Parliamentary Reform, .... Id., 256 
 Religious Liberty, , . . O^Connell, 257 
 Ii-ish Disturbance Bill, .... Id., 258 
 The Death Penalty, .... Byron, 259 
 Charges against Catholics, . SheiL 260 
 
 Irish Aliens, Id., 261 
 
 Irish Establishment, Id., 262 
 
 Repeal of Union, . . . . . Id., 263 
 
 England's Misrule, Id., 264 
 
 Civil War, . . . Lord Palmerston, 265 
 Reform, .... Lord J. Russell, 266 
 
 Irish Church, Blacaulay, 267 
 
 Hom-s of Labor, /rf., 268 
 
 Reform, to Preserve, Id., 269 
 
 Men always fit to be Free, . . Id., 210 
 Second Bill of Rights, .... Id., 210 
 Public Opinion, the Sword, . . Id., 271 
 A Government should Grow, . Id., 272 
 
 Reform irresistible, Id., 273 
 
 Reply to 119, Croker, 275 
 
 Perils of Reform, Id., 275 
 
 Copyright, Talfourd, 276 
 
 Literary Property, Id., 277 
 
 International Copyright, ... Id., 278 
 
 Legislative Union, Peel, 279 
 
 American Vessels, .... Cobden, 280 
 
 Resistance, Henry, 281 
 
 War inevitable, ........ Id., 282 
 
 Return of British Fugitives, . . Id.,1%Z 
 
 Supposed Speech, Otis, 284 
 
 For Independence, Lee, 285 
 
 Federal Constitution, . . Franklin, 286 
 
 God Governs, /</., 287 
 
 For a Declaration, .... Adams, 288 
 Conclusion of foregoing, . . . Id., 289 
 On Government, .... Hamilton, 290 
 
 U. S. Constitution, Id., 291 
 
 Aristocracy, Livingston, 292 
 
 Extent of Country, . . •. Randolph, 293 
 France and the U. S. Washingtori, 294 
 
 Foreign Influence, Id., 294 
 
 Sanctity of Treaties, .... Ames, 295 
 The British Treaty, Id., 296 
 
 144 The Strongest OoveriMaent, Je^crson, 29^ 
 I 145. Freedom of Judges, . . . Bayard, 291 
 
 ! 146. Judiciary Act, Morns. 29S 
 
 I 147. Free Navigation, Id., 300 
 
 148. Foreign Conquest, . . . Clinton, 301 
 
 149. Innovations, Madison, 302 
 
 150. Party Intempei-ance, . . . Gaston. 302 
 
 151. The Embargo, Quincy, 303 
 
 152. Disunion, Pinkney, 304 
 
 153. British Influence, . . J Randolph, 30f. 
 
 154. Greek Question, Id., 30d 
 
 155. Virginia Constitution, ..... Id., 307 
 
 156. Against Duelling, . . Compilation, 308 
 
 157. The Declaration, . . J. Q,. Adams, 309 
 
 158. Washington's Sword, &c., . . Id., 310 
 
 159. Union with Liberty, . . . Jackson, 311 
 
 160. War, Binney, 312 
 
 161. The Supreme Court, Id., 312 
 
 162. U. S. Constitution, .... Legari, 313 
 
 163. On Returning to the U. States, Id., 314 
 
 164. In Favor of War, 1813, . . . . CZ«y, 315 
 
 165. Jefferson Defended, Id., 316 
 
 166. Military Insubordination, . . . Id., 316 
 
 167. Noblest Pubhc Virtue, .... Id., 317 
 
 168. Expunging Resolution, .... Id., 318 
 
 169. Independence of Greece, . . . Id., 319 
 
 170. Prospect of War, Calhoun, 320 
 
 171. The Force Bill, Id., 321 
 
 172. Purse and Sword, Id., 322 
 
 173. Liberty the Meed, Id., 323 
 
 174. Popular Elections, . . . McDuffie, 324 
 
 175. Military Quahfications, . Sergeant, 325 
 
 176. Opposition, Webster, 326 
 
 177. Moral Force, /d., 327 
 
 178. Sympathy with South America, Id., 328 
 
 179. The Poor and Rich, Id., 329 
 
 180. Sudden Conversions, Id., 330 
 
 181- Constitution P'atform, .... Id., 331 
 
 182. Resistance to Oppression, . . . Id., 332 
 
 183. Peaceable Secession, Id., 333 
 
 184. Clay's Resolutltwio-, Id., 333 
 
 185. Justice to the HTiole, .... Id., 334 
 
 186. Matches and Over-matches, . . Id., 335 
 
 187. S. Carolina and Mass., .... Id., 336 
 
 188. Liberty and Union, Id., 338 
 
 189. Reply to Webster, .... HMine, 339 
 
 190. The South in 1776, Id., 340 
 
 191. The South in 1812, Id., 341 
 
 192. Defalcations, Prentiss, 342 
 
 193. American Laborers, . . , Naylor, 343 
 
 194. Fulton's Invention, . . . Hojf'man, 344 
 
 195. Sectional Services, .... Cashing, 345 
 
 196. National Hatreds, .... Choate, 346 
 
 197 . Precedents, Cass, 347 
 
 198. On Intervention, . . . J. Clemens, Z/k^ 
 
 200. Hazards of Prosperity, W. R. Smith, 349 
 
 201. Flogging in the Navy, . . Stockton, 350 
 
 202. Gov't Extravagance, . Crittenden, 362 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. 
 
 Paje 
 
 Liberty of the Press, .... Curran, 353 
 
 8. Mr. Rowan, /</., 353 
 
 B. Habeas Corpus Act, Id., 354 
 
 1. Appeal to lionl Avmimore, . . • Id., 355 
 6. On being fimid Guilty, . . . Emmet, 'ibi 
 6. Great Minds and Christianity, Erskine, 362 
 
 On Biadini; Judgment, . . Manqfield, 364 
 
 8. Defence of Peltier, . . . MMkintosh, 365 
 
 9. Instigators of Treason, . . . Wirt, 36« 
 
 10. Burr and Blennerhassetfc, . . . Id., 5.61 
 
 11. Reply to Wickham, Id., 36& 
 
 12. Guilt its ow-a Betrayer, . Webster, 369 
 
 13. Moral Powei, Mr, Lean, 37Q 
 
 14. The D«ath Penalty, Hugf, 8»« 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 n 
 
 PAKT FIFTH. 
 POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. 
 
 Page 
 
 1 Tts Exampla of America, . . Jeffrey, 373 
 
 5 Government Vigor, .... 5. Smith, 374 
 . 5. Rejection of Reform, Id., 374 
 
 ^ Address to Young Men, . . Mazzini, 375 
 &. Ai peal to Hungarians, . . Kossuth, 311 
 
 6 Ccatentmeut of Europe, .... Id., 378 
 
 7 Hungarian Heroism, Id., 379 
 
 8, In a Just Cause, Id., 379 
 
 9. Peace Inconsistent, Id., 380 
 
 10 The 22d Dec, ... Sir H. Bulwer, 381 
 
 11. Britisli Aggressions, . J. ^uincy, Jr., 382 
 
 12. Eloquence and Logic, . . . Preston, 383 
 
 13. Relief to Ireland, Prentiss, 384 
 
 14 Plea for the SaUor, . . Mount/ordy 
 
 Pa? 
 
 15. Relations to England, . . . Ever ett, 386 
 
 16. Great Examples, Eve? ett, 38? 
 
 17. V/iiat Good will the Monument do, /d., 38» 
 
 18. Revolutionary Veterans, . . Webster, 388 
 
 19. State Obligations, ....... Id.., S91 
 
 20. Fourth of July Id., 391 
 
 21. Apostrophe to Washington, . . Id., 393 
 
 22. Power of Public Opinion, .... Id., 394 
 
 23. Future of the U. States, . . . King, 395 
 
 24. Agricultural Interest, . . . Cushing, 396 
 
 25. European Struggles, .... Johnson, 396 
 
 26. Birth day of Washington, . Choate, 397 
 
 27. California's Prospects, . . . Bpunett, 398 
 
 28. Standard of Constitution, . . Webster, 399 
 
 PART SIXTH. 
 NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. 
 
 Pag-e 
 
 The Crucifixion, Croly, 401 
 
 Seventh Plague of Egypt, . . . Id., 403 
 Three Days of Columbus, Delavigne, 405 
 Destruction of the Philistines, Milton, 407 
 Sata,n's Encounter with Death, . Id., 408 
 Belshazzar's Feast, .... Hughes, 409 
 Bernardo del Carpio, . . . Hemans, 411 
 
 Casablanca, Id., 412 
 
 Rocks of My Country, Id., 413 
 
 The Two Homes, Id., 413 
 
 Invocation, Id., 414 
 
 Lochinvar, Scott, iU 
 
 Marmion taking Leave, .... Id., 416 
 
 Death of Marmion, Id., 417 
 
 Death of Bertram, ...... /d., 418 
 
 Love of Country, Id., 419 
 
 Baron's Last Banquet, . . . Greene, 420 
 How they brought the Good News 
 
 from Ghent to Aix, . . Browning, 421 
 The Soldier from Bingen, . Norton, 422 
 The Torch of Liberty, .... Moore, 424 
 Sailor-boy's Dream, .... Dimond, 425 
 Damon and Pythias, . . . Schiller, 427 
 
 The Battle, /d., 429 
 
 The aiov«, . , /d., 431 
 
 Pigs 
 
 25. Fate of V irginia, .... Macautay, 432 
 
 26. Horatius at the Bridge, .... Id., 433 
 
 27. Execution of Montrose, . . ^I'ioun, 435 
 
 28. Peace and War, Shelley, 437 
 
 29. * America to Britain, .... Allston, 438 
 .30. Old Ironsides, Holmes, 439 
 
 31. Ball at Brussels, Byron, 439 
 
 32. The Dying Gladiator, Id., 441 
 
 33. Degeneracy of Greece, /d., 441 
 
 34. Sennacherib, Id., 442 
 
 35. The Tempest stilled, Lyons, 443 
 
 36. Excelsior, Longfellow, 444 
 
 37. To the Rainbow, .... Campbell, 445 
 
 38. Glenara, /d., 446 
 
 39. The O'Kavanagh, Shea, 447 
 
 40. Ode on the Passions, . . . Collins, 448 
 
 41. The Greek and Turkman, . . Croly, 450 
 
 42. The Curse of Cain, Knox, 451 
 
 43. America, Berkeley, 45*4 
 
 44. The World for Sale, Hoyt, 452 
 
 45. Death of Gen. Taylor, . . . Conrad, 454 
 
 46. The Passage, . i"! ij^.. . . . Uhland, 455 
 
 47. Covu-age, . . f ; . . . Procter, 456 
 
 48. The Moor's Revengfe,' . Mickiewiez, 456 
 
 49. Charade on Campbell, .... Praed, 459 
 
 PART SEVENTH. 
 SCRIPTURAL AND DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 Page 
 
 1, Balaam's Prophecy 459 
 
 il Paul's Defence 460 
 
 i- Otnnjpotence of Jehovah, .... Job, 461 
 
 4. True Wisdom, Id., 462 
 
 5.. A Nation's Strength, .... Psalms, 463 
 
 5. E.xhortation to praise God, 463 
 
 T. Ib.« Joyful Messenger. . . Isaiah, 464 
 
 Ptn 
 
 8. Hymn of Our First Parents. . Milton, 464 
 
 9. Universal HjTiin, .... Thomson, 461 
 
 10. Chamouny, Coleridse, 467 
 
 11. The Dying Christian, Pope, 469 
 
 12. Life beyond the Tomb, . . . Beattie, 469 
 
 13. Forgiveness, Anon., 47« 
 
 14. The Chi-istian Life . . . Doddridif. 
 
I 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART EIGHTH. 
 RHETOP.ICAL AND DRAMATIC. 
 
 Page I Ptgt 
 
 1. Rome and Carthage, Hugo, ill \ 23. Brutus and Cassiua, . . Shaksptare., 491 
 
 2. Drones of tha Community, . Shelley, 472 24. Regrets of Drunkenness, .... Id., 
 
 8. Csesar's Passage of Rubicon, JSTno w/es, 473 25. Cassius instigates Brutus, ... Id., 500 
 4. Rolla's Address, 5Aerirfan, 473 ! 26. Cardinal Wolsey, , /d., 501 
 
 >6. Richelieu to the King, • . . Bulwer, 474 ' 27. Hamlet to the Players, Id., 502 
 
 6. Cromwv>ll by Coffin of Charles I., Id., 475 i 28. Hamlet's Soliloquy, Id., 50S 
 
 1. Virtue of Great Examples, . . Byron, 476 I 29. Not ashamed of his Trade, . Morton, 504 
 
 -.-^ Mai-ino Faliero to Conspirators, Id., 477 j 30. The Union and Government, . Simms, oOl 
 
 9. Marino Faiiero's Dying Speech, . Id., 478 | 31. Colonna to the King, SheiU 507 
 
 ^10. CatiUne to his friends, .... Croly, 480 ; 32.sifAddres3 to the Swiss, . . . Schiller, 508 
 
 11. Catihne's Defiance, Id., 481 j 33V Wm. Tell m Wait for Gesler, . . Id., 509 
 
 12. Pride of Ancestry, /d., 482 34. Wm. TeU's Escape, Id., 511 
 
 13. Lochiel's Warning, . . . Campbell, 483 : 35. Wallenstein's Soliloquy, . . . Id., 512 
 
 14. Van Artevelde's Defence, . . Taylor, 485 36. Belief in Astrology, Id., 513 
 
 15. Duty to One's Csuntry, . . . . More, 486 i 37- Grief of Bereavement, Id., bU 
 
 . . J.6. St. Pierre to Ferrardo, . . Knowles, 487 I 38. Priuli and Jaffier, ..... Otway, 514 
 
 17. Wm. Tell on Switzerland, .... Id., 488 j 39. Nothmg in it, Mathews, 517 
 
 18. Tell among the Mountains, . . . Id., 489 i 40. Moses at the Fan-, Coyne, 519 
 
 19. The Fractious Man, .... Brueys, 489 j 41. Van den Bosch and Artevelde, Taylor, 520 
 i». Balthazar and the Quack, . . Tobin, 491 42. The Weathercock, . . . Allingharn, 523 
 
 21. Erutus and Titus, Lee, 492 43." Saladm and Malek Adhel, ..... b2& 
 
 22. Cato's Soliloquy, Addison, 495 ' 44. Damon to Syracusans, . . . Banim^ 530 
 
 PAUT NINTH. 
 COMIC AND SATIRICAL. 
 
 Paj8 
 
 1. Speech of Buzfuz, Dickens, 531 
 
 2. Art of Book-keeping, .... Hood, 633 
 
 5. Magpie and Monkey, . . . Triarte, 534 
 4. Rich Man and Poor, , . Khemnitzer, 536 
 
 6. Whittling, J. Pierpont, 537 
 
 6. City Men in the Coimtry, . Holmes, 538 
 
 7. Fuss at Fires, Anon., 639 
 
 8. One Story 's Good till another is Told, 
 
 Swain, 640 
 
 t. The Great Musical Critic, 641 
 
 Page 
 
 10. Dramatic Styles, M2i 
 
 11. Merchant and Stranger, . H. Smith, 64?- 
 
 12. Victim of Reform, 544 
 
 13. Not Fine Feathers make Fine Birds, 54o 
 
 14. Culprit and Judge, . . Horace Smith, 546 
 
 15. Jester Condemned to Death, . . . Id., 547 
 
 16. Poet and Alchemist, /d., 547 
 
 17. Blindman's Buff, /</., 548 
 
 18. Farmer and Counsellor, Id., 549 
 
 19. Puff's Account of HunseU; Sheridan, 650 
 
 1^' PART TENTH. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Pa^e 
 
 •I Black Hawk to Gen. Street, 551 
 
 I Pushmataha to Sec. of War, 652 
 
 I Supposed Speech of Chief of Pacomtuo 
 
 Inclians, Everett, 652 
 
 i Logan to Lord Dummore, 653 
 
 I Moral Coimettca, . . . Abraee Smith, m 
 
 6. Pauper's Death-bed, . C. B. .*»Mf*ey, 66i 
 
 7. Hope, Surah ¥. Mams^ 554 
 
 8. Death, . fforoc* 55fl 
 
 9. Laohr3nnose Writew, , . . j . . §61 
 10. The gaoiituary, 
 
INDEX TO NAMES OE AUTHORS, ETC 
 
 Page 
 
 ftaBKXss, Reply Of, . . . . 108 
 
 iCAMS, JoHH, Supposed Speech of, . . 288 
 
 " " Couclusion, 289 
 
 iDAMS, J. Q., The Declaration, 309 
 
 " " " Washington and Franklin, 310 
 
 Adams, Sarah Hope, 
 
 A.DDISON, Cato's Soliloquy, 495 
 
 ffiscHiNES, Denunciation of Demosthenes, 163 
 
 A.KENSIDE, The Mind of Man, 40 
 
 " Compensations of Imagination, 64 
 
 Alfred, to his Troops, 137 . 
 
 Allingham, The Weathercock, 523 
 
 Allston, America to Britain, 438 
 
 Ames, Sanctity of Treaties, 295 
 
 " The British Treaty, . 296 
 
 ANONTMO0S, Fortitude, 46 
 
 " The Work-shop and Camp, . 101 
 
 " Forgiveness, 470 
 
 " Saladin and Malek Adhel, . . 525 
 " Fine Feathers and Birds, . . 546 
 Antony, Mark, on Caisar's Death, .... 127 
 
 Austin, Chironomia, 32 
 
 Attoon, Execution of Montrose, .... 435 
 
 Baillie, Worth of Fame, . 96 
 
 Balaam, Prophecy of, 459 
 
 Banim, Damon's Speech, 430 
 
 Barre, Isaac, America's Obligations, . . 210 
 " " Reply to Lord North, ... 211 
 
 Bayard, Freedom of Judges, 29-3 
 
 Bayly, T. II., The Pilot, 91 
 
 Beattie, Life beyond the Tomb, 469 
 
 Beaufoy, Parliamentary Innovations, . . 208 
 Becewith, Spirit of the Age against War, . 49 
 
 Belial, Address of, . 131 
 
 BexN'nett, California's Prospects, 398 
 
 Berkeley, America, 452 
 
 Bethone, Future Empire of our Language, 63 
 
 Binney, War, 312 
 
 " The Supreme Court, 312 
 
 Black Hawk, Speech of, 551 
 
 Boardman, Problem for the TJ. S., . . . . 78 
 BOWRING, Translation from Khemnitzer, . 536 
 
 BaooGEAM, Lord, Translation, 165 
 
 " " Translation, 167 
 
 " " Fate of Reformers, ... 255 
 
 " " Parliament Reform, . . 256 
 
 Bbowning, How News came to Ghent, . . 421 
 
 BmrSYS, The Fractious Man, 489 
 
 BatJTDS, On Lucretia's Death, 107 
 
 Brutus, Marcus, On Ceesar's Death, ... 126 
 
 Bkyant, The Battle Field, 85 
 
 Bulwer, Sir II., The 22d Dec, 381 
 
 Bui.WER, (See Lytton.) 
 
 IJtrKSE, Magnanimity in Politics, .... 215 
 
 " American Enterprise, 216 
 
 " A merican Taxation .217 
 
 Despotism Unngnieous, 218 
 
 '* Impeachment of Hastings, . , . .219 
 * P iteration against Hastu^S) • • • ^ 
 
 Burke, To Bristol Electors, 221 
 
 " IVftarie Antoinette, 225 
 
 Byron, Lord, Supposed Address to Greets, 151 
 " ■ " The Death-penalty, .... 259 
 " " Ball at Brussels, ..... 433 
 " The Dying Gladiator; . . .441 
 
 " " Sennacherib, 442 
 
 " " Great Examples, 473 
 
 " " Faliero to Conspirators, . . 477 
 " " Faliero's Dying Speech, . . 478 
 Caius Gracchus, Si)eech of, ... • ... 116 
 
 Caius Marius, Speech of, . ' 115 
 
 Calhoun, Prospect of War, 321 
 
 " The Force Bill, . 320 
 
 " Purse and Sword, ....... 321 
 
 " Liberty the Meed, 322 
 
 Campbell, Hallowed Ground, 91 
 
 " Soldier's Dream, 147 
 
 " HohenUnden, 153 
 
 " Song of Greeks, 154 
 
 " Fall of Warsaw, 155 
 
 " To the Rainbow, 445 
 
 " Glenara, 446 
 
 " Lochiel's Warning, 483 
 
 Canning, War with France, 246 
 
 " Bank-notes and Coin, .... , 247 
 " Lord J. Russell's Motion, . . . 248 
 
 Tierney's Motion, 249 
 
 " Defence of Pitt, 25C 
 
 " Measures, not Men, 251 
 
 " Balance of Power, 252 
 
 " Collision of Vices, 253 
 
 Canuleius, On the Patricians, 121 
 
 Carltle, Justice, 51 
 
 '•■ Nature a hard Creditor, .... 73 
 
 Cass, Precedents, 347 
 
 Catiline, to his Army, t • • l-^' 
 
 " Last Harangue, '. . . Vol 
 
 " To the Gallic Conspirators, . . . l;^ 
 " To his Friends, . ...... 482 
 
 " Defiance to the Senate 480 
 
 Cato, Soliloquy, 195 
 
 Chalmers, False Coloring lent to War, . . 67 
 Channing, Distinction of a Nation, ... 64 
 
 " Great Ideas, 88 
 
 Chapin, Science friendly to Freedom, . . 63 
 
 " True Source of Befonn, 76 
 
 Chateaubriand, Nature Proclaims a Deity, 92 
 Chatham, Earl of, Rei)ly to Walpole, . . 193 
 " " " Reply to GrenviUe, . 198 
 " " " Reconciliation, . . . 20f 
 
 " " " Repeal Claimed, ... 201 
 " " " Lord Nortli's Ministry, LOS 
 " " " Employing Ind ms, . 203 
 " " " Consequences, . . 204 
 
 * " " America, 205 
 
 Child, Mxs. L. M., Speech of Otis, .... £84 
 
 Ohoate, National Hatreds, .... . . 24<! 
 
 " Birthday of Washington, . . «» 
 
in 
 
 INDJSX TO NAMES 
 
 OF AUTHORS, ETC. 
 
 Page ) 
 
 CiCKRO, Catiltie Denounced, 168 
 
 " Catiline Expelled, 169 
 
 " Verres Denounced, 170 
 
 Olat, For the War of 18-13, 315 
 
 « Jefferson Defended, 316 
 
 Military Insubordination, 316 
 
 « > Noblest Public Virtue, 317 
 
 " Expunging Resolution, 318 
 
 " Independence of Greece, .... 319 
 
 Clemens, Intervfention, 348 
 
 Clinton, Foreign Conquest, 301 
 
 CoBDEN, American Vessels, 280 
 
 CoLEK^GE, The Good Great Man, .... 87 
 
 ^ Charaouny, 467 
 
 « Translations, . . . 612, 513, 514 
 Coi.UNS, Hov7 Sleep the Brave, . ... 120 
 " Ode on the Passions, . . . . • 448 
 OoMBE, On the Exercise of Speaking, ... 36 
 JoMPiLATiON, Religious Persecution, . . 209 
 " Against Duelling, . ... 308 
 
 Conrad, The Death of Taylor, 454 
 
 Cotton, To-morrow, 52 
 
 CowPER, Affectation in the Pulpit, .... 55 
 » Translations, . . 108, 109, 110, 111 
 Coyne, Moses at the Fair, ... • ... 519 
 Crittenden, Government Extravagance, . 351 
 
 Croker, Reply to Macaulay, 275 
 
 " Perils of Reform, 275 
 
 CiiOLY, Death of Leouidas, 131 
 
 " Catiline to the Conspirators, . . . 132 
 ■" Catiline's Last Harangue, . . . . 133 
 
 « The Cruciflxion, 401 
 
 " Seventh Plague of Egypt, .... 403 
 *' The Greek and Turkman, .... 450 
 
 " Catiline to his Friends, 480 
 
 " Catiline's Defiance, 481 
 
 " Pride of Ancestry, 482 
 
 C^XRAN, The Pension System, 244 
 
 " Threats of Violence, 245 
 
 " Religious Distinctions, 246 
 
 " Liberty of the Press, 353 
 
 " Mr. Rowan, 353 
 
 « Habeas Corpus Act, 354 
 
 " To Lord Avonmore, 355 
 
 CtJSHTNQ, Sectional Services, 345 
 
 " Agricultural Interest, 396 
 
 Delavigne, Thi-ee Days of Columbus, . . 405 
 
 Dbmosthenes, Against Philip, 159 
 
 " Degeneracy of Athens, . .160 
 "\ " Democracy Hateful to Philip, 161 
 
 " Venality the Ruin of Greece, 162 
 " Exordium on the Crown, . . 165 
 
 " Public Spirit, 166 
 
 " Not Vanquished by Philip, . 167 
 
 DkWet, Nobility of Labor, 60 
 
 Dickens, Speech of Buzfuz, 531 
 
 DiMOND, Sailor-boy's Dream, 425 
 
 Doddridge, The Christian Life, 470 
 
 pR/.KE, The American Flag, 148 
 
 Bllict, The Press, 88 
 
 " England, 90 
 
 BiiMKT, On being found Guilty, . . . j . 357 
 
 ' England, The Duellist, 43 
 
 Erskinb, Great Minds and Christianity, . 362 
 Everett, The Pea«e Congress of the Union, 42 
 " American Experiment, .... 78 
 " Dizzy Activities of the Times, . . 88 
 
 ** Relations to England, 386 
 
 ** ureat Examples, 387 
 
 " Civilizatii in of Africa . . .387 
 
 ♦* Good of the Monument, .... 388 
 •* Supposed Indian Speech, . . . 552 
 f ATET Man's Material Triumphs, .... 45 
 
 haiBLOS On Gesture, ... .32 
 
 releuLacb 13 to the AUied Chle&i, 113 
 
 Fox, The American War, ...... 231 
 
 Washington's Foreign Policy, . . 23d 
 
 Liberty is StrengU* 237 
 
 Democratic Governint,ut9, ..... 238 
 
 Partition of Poland, , . 239 
 
 Franklin, On the Federal Constituuan, . 288 
 
 " God Governs, 287 
 
 Fratsinnotjs, Truth 37 
 
 Galgacos, Speech of, 117 
 
 Gaston, Party Intemperancs, 302 
 
 Goethe, Smcerity the Soul of Eloquence, . 53 
 
 Grattan, Irish Rights, 22S 
 
 " Reply to Flood, 224 
 
 " - National Gratitude, 225 
 
 *' Catholic Disqualifications. . . . 226 
 " Heaven on the Side of Prir.ciple, 226 
 
 " Against Corry, 227 
 
 « Union with Great Britain, ... 228 
 " The Catholic Question, .... 229 
 
 " Religion Independent, 230 
 
 " Sectarian Tyranny, 231 
 
 Greene, Baron's Last Banquet, 420 
 
 Grey, Lord, Reform in Parliament, . . . 242 
 Grimke, The Sword, .......... 92 
 
 Halleck, Marco Bozzaris. 156 
 
 Hamilton, On Government, 290 
 
 " The Federal Constitution, ... 291 
 
 Hayne, Reply to Webster, 339 
 
 " The South in 1776, 340 
 
 " The South in 1812, 341 
 
 Heber, Forgive, 97 
 
 Hector, His Rebuke, 109 
 
 " His Exploit, 110 
 
 " Slain, Ill 
 
 Hemans, The Spartans' March, 119 
 
 " The Greeks' Return, ...... 119 
 
 " Bernardo del Carpio, 411 
 
 " Casablanca, • • • 412 
 
 " Rocks of my Country, ..... 413 
 
 " The Two Homes, 413 
 
 " Invocation, 414 
 
 Henry, Patrick, Resistance, 281 
 
 " " War Inevitable, .... 282 
 
 " " Return of Fugitives, . . 283 
 
 Hitchcock, Science Religious, 9» 
 
 Hoffman, Fulton's Invention, 344 
 
 Holmes, Old Ironsides, 4o9 
 
 " City Men in the Country, ... 558 
 
 Hood, Art of Book-keeping, 533 
 
 Hooker, Necessity of Law, 50 
 
 Homer, Achilles' Reply, 10-8 
 
 " Hector's Rebuke, 109 
 
 " Hector's Exploit, 110 
 
 " Hector Slain, Ill 
 
 Hoyt, The World for Sale, 452 
 
 HcGHES, Belshazzar's Feast, 4C8 
 
 H0GO, v., The United States of Europe, . 56 
 *' " Practical Religii>us Instruotioo, . 186 
 
 " " Necessity of Religion, 187 
 
 " " Universal Sufifrage, 188 
 
 " " Liberty of the Press, 189 
 
 " " Repu))lic or Monarchy, .... 190 
 
 " " The Two Napoleons, 191 
 
 " " The Death-penalty, 371 
 
 " " Rome and Carthage, 471 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, Abou Ben Adhem, 93 
 
 » " The Ti-ue King, 61 
 
 HUSKISSON, The Consfrvntive Innovator, . 243 
 
 IciLiiis, On Virginia's Scix.me, 118 
 
 Jackson, ITniim with Liberty, 311 
 
 James, J. A., Inducements to Religion, . 83 
 Jefferson, The Strongest Government, . 297 
 Jeffrey, The Jixample of America, . 373 
 Job, True Wisdom, ... . 463 
 " A Nation'* Strength, ... 4M 
 
INDEX TO NAMES 
 
 OF AUTHORS, ETC. 
 
 Pa.je 
 
 iomsoTS, Dr, Fate of Charles XII., ... 70 
 " " The Wise Man's Prayer, . . 102 
 Johnson, E., The Water Drinker, .... 99 
 Johnson, R., Eunjpe's Struggles, .... 396 
 JONSON, BiiN, Catiline to his Army, . . . 122 
 Kellogg, Spartacus to the Gladiators, . . 123 
 Kennedy, The Mecluiuical Epoch, .... 41 
 
 Khemnitzer, Rich and Poor, 536 
 
 Sing, Future of tlie U. S., 395 
 
 Biso-WTuEH, J. S., S!)eech of Caius Gracchus, 116 
 " " " Alfred to his Men, . . . 337 
 ^ u u u Caesar at the Rubicon, . . 473 
 M « " St. Pierre to Ferrardo, . . 487 
 " " " Wm. Tell on Svritzerland, 488 
 u u u fjyjj among the Mountains, 489 
 
 Knox, The Curse of Cain, 451 
 
 KORNER, Battle-liymn, 158 
 
 Kossuth, Appeal to the Hungarians, . . . 377 
 " Contentment of Europe, .... 378 
 
 " Hungarian Heroism, 379 
 
 " In a Just Cause, 379 
 
 " Peace inconsistent, 380 
 
 Lamartinb, Revolutionary Men, 58 
 
 " Byron to the Greeks, .... 151 
 
 " The Republic, 185 
 
 Lee, For Independence, 285 
 
 Lee, Nathanikl, Brutus and Titus, . . . 492 
 
 Legake, The S. Constitution, 313 
 
 " On Returning to the U. S., ... 314 
 
 Livingston, Aristocracy, 292 
 
 LiVY, Scipio to his Array, 103 
 
 " Hannibal to his Array, 104 
 
 " Titus Quintius to the People, . . . 114 
 " Virginius against Claudius, .... 120 
 " Canuleius against Patricians, . . . 121 
 
 Logan, Speech of, 553 
 
 Longfellow, Lines, 80 
 
 " Ex'celsior, 444 
 
 Lover, Never Despair, 84 
 
 LowTH, Translation from Isaiah, .... 464 
 
 LuNT, The Ship of State, 79 
 
 Lyons, Triumphs of English Language, . . 99 
 
 " The Tempest Stilled, 443 
 
 Lytton, Sir E. B., The Bard's Summons, . 135 
 " " " " Caradoc to Cymrians, . 136 
 " " " " Damon and Pythias, . 427 
 
 •ft « u « f£[^g Battle, 429 
 
 " " " Richelieu to the King, . 474 
 u u u u Cromwell at Coffin, . . 475 
 SiACACLAT, Icilius on Virginia's Seizure, . 118 
 
 " Battle of Ivry, 143 
 
 " Irish Church, 267 
 
 '* Hours of Labor, 268 
 
 *' Reform to Preserve, 269 
 
 " Men fit to be Free, 270 
 
 « Second Bill of Rights, . . . . 270 
 Public Opinion and the Sword, 271 
 " A Government should Grow, . 272 
 
 " Reform irresistible, 273 
 
 " Fate of Virginia, 432 
 
 " Horatius at the Bridge, . . . 433 
 
 It^CKAT, Cleon and I, 77 
 
 " The Days thi^t are Gone, .... 100 
 Mackintosh, England and America, . . .254 
 
 " Defence of Peltier, 365 
 
 Madison, Innovations, 302 
 
 Mamsfikld, Lord, Present Popularity, . . 214 
 " " Attempts to Bias, ... 364 
 
 SIarttllus, To the People, 126 
 
 Hassillon, Immortality, 38 
 
 Mathews, Nothing in it, 517 
 
 BlAzziin, Address to Young Men, .... 375 
 
 McDuFFiE, Popular Elections, 324 
 
 Mt:LEAN, Moral Power, 370 
 
 SlEaBDTJ!H, Frequent Executions 207 
 
 Par* 
 
 MiCKiEwicz, The Moor's Revenge, .... 45€ 
 
 Milton, The Saviom-'s Reply, 59 
 
 " Moloch's Address, ..... . 12* 
 
 " Belial's Address, 131 
 
 Destruction of the Philistines, . . 407 
 " Satan's Encounter with Death, . . 408 
 " Hymn of our First i^arents, . . „ 464 
 MiRABEAU, Against the Nobles, &c., . . . 171 
 
 " On Necker's Plan, .172 
 
 " Disobedience to the Assembly) 173 
 
 " Reply, 174 
 
 " On being Suspected, 175 
 
 " Eulogium on Franklin, . . . ,177 
 
 " Church and State, 177 
 
 MiTFORD, Rienzi to the Romans, 138 
 
 Montgomery, James, Love of Country, . . 72 
 " The (jommon Lot, . 7.5 
 " Patriot's Pass-word, 139 
 
 Moore, The Torch of Liberty 424 
 
 More, Duty to Country, • . . 486 
 
 Morris, Judiciary Act, 299 
 
 " Free Navigation, 300 
 
 Morton, Not ashamed of his Occupation, . 504 
 
 Mocntford, Plea for the Sailor, 385 
 
 Napoleon, To tiie Army of Italy, .... 150 
 
 Natlor, American Laborers, 343 
 
 Neelb, Where is he, ■. . . 94 
 
 NiCHOL, Day conceals, 44 
 
 Norton, The Soldier from Bingen, .... 422 
 
 NoYES, Translation from Job, 561 
 
 " Translation — True Wisdom, . . . 462 
 " Translation from Psalms, . . . ■ 463 
 O'Connbll, Religious Liberty, ..... 257 
 " Irish Disturbance Bill, . . . 25« 
 
 Osgood, Labor is Worship, 61 
 
 Otis, James, Supposed Speech of, ... . 284 
 
 Otway, PriuU and Jaffier, 614 
 
 Palmerston, Lord, Civil War, 265 
 
 Pardoe, The Beacon Light, 77 
 
 Patten, The Seminole's Defiance, .... 158 
 
 Paul, Defence, 460 
 
 Peabody, Moses, ,50 
 
 Peel, Legislative Union, 279 
 
 PiCHAT, Speech of Leonidas, 107 
 
 Pierpont, Whittling, 537 
 
 PiNKNEY, Disunion, 304 
 
 Pitt, American War Denounced, .... '232 
 " On the Censure of Ministry, . . . 232 
 " Attempt to make him Resign, . . 233 
 " Barbarism of Ancient Britons, . . 234 
 
 Pope, The Order of Nature, 63 
 
 " The Dying Christian, , 469 
 
 Praed, Charade, 458 
 
 Prentiss, S. S., Defalcations, ... . 342 
 " " " Relief to Ireland, . . 384 
 Preston, Eloquence and Logic, . , , S83 
 
 Procter, Courage, ■ . , . 456 
 
 PuLTENEY, Reducing the Army, 198 
 
 Pushmataha, Speech of, 653 
 
 Ptm, End of Government, ,192 
 
 QuiNCY, The Embargo, 303 
 
 QuiNCY, J., Jr., British Aggressions, , . 883 
 Randolph, E., Extent of Country, ... 293 
 Randolph, John, British Influence, ... 304 
 " " Greek Question, .... 306 
 
 " " Vkginia Constitution, . 307 
 
 Regulus, Speech of, 108 
 
 Richard, To the Princes of the Crusauie 140 
 
 Richmond, To his Men, 141 
 
 Rienzi, To the Romans, , . 138 
 
 Robespierre, Against War, ... 18fi 
 
 " Morality the Basis. ... 181 
 
 " Last Speech 183 
 
 Rousseau, Death, 69 
 
 Rush, On the Voice, ... .... . V 
 
ov 
 
 INDEX TO NAMES OF AUTHORS, ETU. 
 
 BrsKiN, TJdlity )f the Beautiful, 39 
 
 BcssELL, Lord J., Parliaxaent Reform, . . 266 
 
 Ballust, Caius Marius, 115 
 
 Schiller, Damon and Pythias, 427 
 
 The Ba. lie, 429 
 
 " The Glove, 431 
 
 " To the Swiss, 508 
 
 Tell in Wait for Gesler, .... 609 
 
 " Tell's Escape, . 511 
 
 " Wallenstein's Soliloquy, .... 612 
 
 " Belief in Astrology, 513 
 
 " Grief of Bereavement, .... 514 
 
 llciPio, to his Army, 103 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, Princes of Crusade, . 140 
 
 " " " Lochinvar, 415 
 
 " " " Marmion taking Leave, 416 
 " " " Death of Marmion, . . 417 
 " " " Death of Bertram, . . 418 
 " " " Loveof Country, . . .419 
 
 Segur, De, Utility of History, 56 
 
 Sergeant, Military Qualifications, .... 325 
 Shakspeake, Polonius to Laertes, .... 94 
 " MaruUus to the People, . . .126 
 " Brutus on Caesar's Death, . 126 
 
 " Mark Antony, 127 
 
 " Richmond to his Men, . . . 141 
 
 " Henry V. to his Men, ... 142 
 " Brutus and Cassius, .... 500 
 " Regrets of Drunkenness, . . 498 
 " Cassius instigates Brutus, . 500 
 
 « Cardinal Wolsey, 501 
 
 " Hamlet to the Players, . . . 502 
 " Hamlet's Soliloquy, .... 503 
 
 Shea, The O'Kavanagh, 447 
 
 Shelley, Peace and War, 437 
 
 " Drones of the Community, . . . 472 
 SiiEiL, Charges against Catholics, .... 260 
 
 " Irish Aliens, 261 
 
 " Irish Establishment, 262 
 
 " Repeal of Union, 263 
 
 " England's Misrule, 264 
 
 " Colonna to the King, 507 
 
 Sheridan, Atheistic Government, . . . 240 
 
 " Political Jobbing, 241 
 
 " People and King, 241 
 
 " Rolla to Peruvians, 473 
 
 " Puff's Account of Himself, . . 550 
 3HIRLEY, Death's Final Conquest, .... 58 
 SIMMS, The Union and Government, . . . 507 
 BiHTH, Horace, Merchant and Stranger, . 543 
 " " Culprit and Judge, . • . 546 
 " " Jester Condemned, . . . 547 
 " " Poet and Alchemist, . . . 547 
 " " Blindman's Buff, .... 548 
 " « Moral Cosmetics, .... 554 
 " « Farmer and Counsellor, . 549 
 
 - " " Death, 655 
 
 " " Lachrymose Writers, . . 556 
 
 " " The Sanctuary, 547 
 
 gMiTH, Sydney, Taxes, 87 
 
 " " Government Vigor, . . . 874 
 " " Rejection of Reform, ... 374 
 
 Smith, W. R., Prosperity, 349 
 
 gouTHEY, Wat Tyler to the King, .... 146 
 SfjOTHEY, Cakoline B., Paupcr's Death-bed, 554 
 
 8PABTAC03, To the Gladiators, 123 
 
 " To Roman Envoys, ..... 124 
 
 Shkagxte, Art, 80 
 
 Btselb, Measure of Speech, ....... 18 
 
 Stockton, Flogging in the Navy, .... 350 
 
 Story, Our Duties, 71 
 
 *TRAifFORi>, Earl of, Defence 193 
 
 IwAiN, 0-e Story 's Good, &c., 540 
 
 Tacitus, Speech of Galgacua, . . . lit 
 Talfoord, The World, .... . 41 
 
 " Charity, 84 
 
 " Copyright, 27a 
 
 " Literary Property, 2T. * 
 
 " International Copyright, . . . 27? 
 
 Taylor, What Makes a Hero, 66 
 
 " Van Artevelde to Men of Ghent, . 145 
 " Van Artevelde's Defence, .... 486 
 " Van den Bosch and Artevelde, . 526 
 
 Telemachus, To the Allies, 113 
 
 Thomson, Death Typified by Winter, . . 82 
 
 " Universal Hj-mn, 465 
 
 Thurlow, Lord, Reply, 214 
 
 TiTDS Quintius, Speech of, 114 
 
 ToBiN, Balthazar and the Quack, . . 491 
 
 Tocqdeville, De, Democracy, 185 
 
 Trelat, To the Peers, 183 
 
 Uhland, The Passage, ... 455 
 
 Vane, Against Richard Cromwell, .... 196 
 
 Vergniadd, To the French, 178 
 
 " Ten-orism of Jacobins, . . . 179 
 Verplanck, America's Contributions, . . 68 
 
 Virginia, Ballad of, 432 
 
 ViRGiNius, Against Claudius, 120 
 
 Villemain, The Christian Orator, .... 64 
 
 Walker, Rules of Inflection, 19 
 
 " On Gestm-(3, 33 
 
 " Failm-e of his Method, ..... 22 
 Walpole, How to make Patriots, .... 196 
 
 " Against Pitt, 197 
 
 Washington, To the Army, 150 
 
 " France and the U. S., . . . 294 
 " Foreign Influence, .... 294 ■ 
 
 Wat Tyler, Speech of, 146 
 
 Wayland, International Sympathies, . . 95 
 
 Webster, Eloquence of Action, 53 
 
 " Supposed Speech of J. Adams, . 288 
 
 " Opposition, 326 
 
 " Moral Force, 327 
 
 " Sympathy with South America, 328 
 
 " The Poor and Rich, 329 
 
 " Sudden Conversions, 330 
 
 " Constitution Platform, .... 331 
 " Resistance to Oppression, . . . 332 
 
 " Peaceable Secession, 333 
 
 " Clay's Resolutions, ...... 333 
 
 " Justice to the Whole, 334 
 
 " Matches and over Matches," . . 335 
 " S. CaroUna and Mass., .... 338 
 
 " Liberty and Union, 338 
 
 " Gviilt cannot keep its own Secret, 369 
 " To Revolutionai-y Veterans, . . 389 
 
 " State Obligations, 361 
 
 " Fourth of July, 391 
 
 " Apostrophe to Washii.gton, . . 333 
 " Power of Public Opinion, ... 394 
 " Standard of the Constitution, . 89Q 
 Whately, Against Artificial Elocution, . 22 
 
 White, J. Blanco, Sonnet, 46 
 
 Wilkes, Bold Predictions, 213 
 
 . " Conquest of Americans, .... 213 
 
 Wirt, Instigators of Treason, 368 
 
 " Burr and Blennerhassett, 367 
 
 " Reply to Wickham, 368 
 
 Withington, To-day, 43 
 
 Wolfe, Gen., To the Army before Quebec, 147 
 Wolfe, Charles, Defence of Poetry, . . 89 
 " " Burial of Sir J. Moore, . 16J 
 
 Yankee, To a Child, «7 
 
 YocNG, Time 's Midnight Voice, 74 
 
 " Frivolous Pleasures, 9"! 
 
 Yriarte, The Monkey and Magpie, . . Ul 
 
STANDARD SPEAKEH 
 
 INTRODUCTORY TREATISE. 
 
 I. ORATORY. 
 
 Oratory, which has its derivation from the Latin verb oro, signlfyirjg t« 
 plead, to beseech, may be defined the art of producing persuasion or convic- 
 tipn by means of spoken discourse. The word eloquence, in its primary sig- 
 nification, as its etymology implies, had a single reference to public speaking ; 
 but it is applied by Aristotle, as well as >'y modern writers, to compositions not 
 intended for public delivery. A similar extension of meaning has been 
 given to the word rhetoric, which, in its etymological sense, means the art of 
 the orator, but now comprehends the art of prose composition generally. 
 
 ORATORY AMONG THE AWCIENTS. 
 
 It is apparent, from the speeches attributed by Homer to the chiefs of the 
 Iliad, as well as by the commendations which he bestows on Nestor and 
 Ulysses for their eloquence, that the art of Oratory was early understood and 
 honored in Greece. But it was not till Demosthenes appea.red that Gre- 
 cian eloquence reached its perfection. Demosthenes, who, by the consent of 
 all antiquity, was the prince of orators, still maintains his preeminence. Of 
 his style, Hume has happily said : " It is rapid harmony, exactly adjusted to 
 the sense ; it is vehement reasoning, without any appearance of art ; it is 
 lisdain, anger, boldness, freedom, involved in a continued stream of argu- 
 ment ; and of all human productions, the orations of Demosthenes present to 
 is the models which approach the nearest to perfection." It is related of 
 this great orator, that, in his first address to the people, he was laughed at 
 •4nd_ interrupted by their clamors. He had a weakness of voice and a stam- 
 cuering propensity which rendered it difficult for him to be understood. By 
 Immense labor, and an undaunted perseverance, he overcame these defects , 
 md subsequently, by the spell of his eloquence, exercised an unparalleled sway 
 )ver that same people who had jeered at him when they first heard him speak 
 in public. The speeches of Demosthenes were not extemporaneous. There were 
 no writers of short-hand in his days ; and what was written could only come 
 from the author himself. 
 
 After the time of Demosthenes, Grecian eloquence, which was coeval with 
 Grecian liberty, declined with the decay of the latter. In Rom*- the military 
 •pirit 80 incompatible with a high degree of civil freedom, long checked thi 
 
16 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 growtti of that popular intelligence which is the only Element in which tbi 
 noblest eloquence is nurtured. Rhetoricians were baDlsheol from the country 
 as late as the year of the city 592. A few years subsequent W this period, 
 Ihe study of Oratory was introduced from Athens ; and it at length found a 
 zealous disciple and a consummate master in Cicero, whcJe fame is second 
 only to that of his Athenian predecessor. The main causes to which the 
 extraordinary perfection of ancient Oratory is to be ascribed are the great 
 pains bestowed on the education of the young in this most difficult art, and 
 the practice among speakers of preparing nearly all their finest ov(xiov£ 
 fcefore delivery. 
 
 MODERN ORATORY 
 
 In modern times, Oratory has not been cultivated with so much care «s 
 among the ancients. The diffusion of opinions and arguments by meauy of 
 the Press has, perhaps, contributed in some degree to its neglect. A speakev 
 is now mainly known to the public through the Press, and it is often more 
 important to him to be read than heard. Still, the power of Oratory m repub- 
 Ucan countries must always be immense, and the importance of its cultivation 
 must be pronortionata We see it flourish or decay according to the degree 
 ef freedom among the people, and it is a bad sign for a republic when Oratory 
 is slighted or undervalued. It was not till France began to throw oflt the 
 trammels of her monarchical system, that ehe produced a Mirabeau. Her 
 parliamentary annals will show that the eloquence of her National Assembly 
 Has been in proportion to the predominance of the element of constitutior aJ 
 freedom in her government. ^ a - 4.u 
 
 The struggle against incipient despotism in England, which resulted m the 
 execution of King Charles the First, was productive of some great bursts 
 eloquence from Vane, Pym, Eliot, and other champions of popular rights ; 
 Whose speeches, however, have been strangely slighted by the majority of 
 English critics. The latter part of the eighteenth century was illumined by thf 
 genius of Chatham, Pitt, Burke, Fox, Sheridan, and Grattan ; all of whoM 
 were roused to some of their most brilliant efforts by the arbitrary course of 
 government towards our ancestors of the American colonies. Ireland is well 
 represented in this immortal list. Her sons have ever displayed a true gemua 
 
 ^"^Thefittle* opportunity afforded for the cultivation of forensic or senatorial 
 eloquence by the different governments of Germany has almost entirely 
 checked its growth in that country ; and we may say the same of Italy, bpam 
 and Portucral, and most of the other countrie? of Europe. To the pulpit 
 Oratory of France, the illustrious names of Bossuet, Bourdaloue and MassiUon, 
 have given enduring celebrity ; and in forensic and senatorial eloquence, 
 France has not been surpassed by any modern nation. But it is only in her 
 intervals of freedom that her senatorial eloquence reaches . its high note. 
 
 The growth of eloquence in the United States has been such as to inspire th« 
 hope that the highest triumphs of Oratory are here to be achieved Already 
 we have produced at least two orators, Patrick Henry and Daniel Webster, to 
 
 horn none, since Demosthenes, in the authority, majesty and amplitude, of 
 i.ieir eloquence, can be pronounced superior. In proportion to the extent of 
 our cultivation of Oratory as an art worthy our entire devotion, must be our 
 Buocess in enriching it with new and precious contributions. And ot tne 
 tw wer of a noble Oratory, beyond its immediate circle of hearers, who can 
 doubt ' " Who doubts ? " asks Mr. Webster, " that, in our own struggle for 
 freedom and independence, the majestic eloquence of Chatham, the protound 
 reasoning of Burke, the burning satire and irony of Bai-re, had influence on 
 our fortunes in America ? They tended to diminish the confidence of the 
 British ministry in their hopes to subject us. There was not a reading man 
 Who did not struggle roore boldly for his rights when thoiw exhilaratrnfi 
 
ELOCUTION. 
 
 sonncli, attsrcd in the two houses of Parliament, reached him from across tht 
 jeas." 
 
 SUCCESS IN ORATORY. 
 
 For the attainment of the highest and most beneficent triumphs of th» 
 orator, no degree of labor can be regarded as idly bestowed. Attention, 
 energy -of will, daily practice, are indispensable to success in this high art 
 The author of " Self-Formation " remarks : " Suppose a man, by dint of med 
 itation on Oratory, and by his consequent conviction of its importance, to 
 have wrought himself up to an energy of will respecting it, — this is the life 
 and soul of his enterprise. To carry this energy into act, he should begin 
 VTith a few sentences from any speech or sermon ; he should commit them 
 thoroughly, work their spirit into his mind, and then proceed to evolve that 
 spirit by recitation. Let him assume the person of the original speaker, — put 
 himself in his place, to all intents and purposes. Let him utter everv sen- 
 tence, and every considerable member of it,— if it be a jointed one,— distinctly, 
 sustainedly, and unrespiringly ; suiting, of course, everywhere his tone and 
 emphasis to the spirit of the composition. Let him do this till the exercise shall 
 have become a habit, as it were, a second nature, till it shall seem unnatural 
 to him to do otherwise, and he will then have laid his corner-stone." 
 
 Quintilian tells us that it is the good man only who can become a great 
 orator. Eloquence, the selectest boon which Heaven has bestowed on man, 
 can never ally itself, in its highest moods, with vice. The speaker must be 
 himself thoroughly sincere, in order to produce a conviction of his sincerity in 
 the minds of others. His own sympathies must be warm and genial, if he 
 would reach and quicken those of his hearers. Would he denounce oppres- 
 sion ' His owfi heart must be free from every quality that contributes to 
 make the tyrant. Would he invoke mercy in behalf of a client ? He must 
 a:.mself be humane, generous and forgiving. Would he lash the guilty ? His 
 own life and character must present no weak points, to which the guilty may 
 point m derision. And not only the great orator, but the pupil who would 
 fittingly interpret the great orator, and declaim what has fallen from hib lips, 
 must aim at similar qualifications of mind and heart. 
 
 DIVISIONS OF ORATORY. 
 
 The Greeks divided discourses according to their contents, as relating to 
 precept, manners, and feelings ; and as therefore intended to instruct, to 
 please and to move. But, as various styles may oftentimes be introduced into 
 the same discourse, it is difficult to make a strictly accurate classification, 
 ihe modern division, into the eloquence of the Pulpit, the Bar, and the Senate, 
 18 hardly more convenient and comprehensive. 
 
 Oratory comprehends the four following divisions : invention, disposition, 
 Blocu^wn, and delivery. The first has reference to the character of the sen- 
 timents employed ; the second, to their arrangement, and the diction in which 
 t'^i^^^ clothed ; the third and fourth, to the utterance and action witfe 
 ^h\^h they are communicated to the hearer. It is the province of rhetoric to 
 pve rules for the invention and disposition of a discourse. It is with tha 
 -attor two divisions of Oratory that we have to deal in the present treatise 
 
 11. ELOCUTION. 
 
 Elocution is that pronunciation which is given to words when they are 
 wrranged into sentences, and form discourse It includes the tones of voice, 
 the utterance, and enunciation of the speaker, with the proper accorapani. 
 ments of countenance and gesture. The art of elocution may therefore 
 2 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 iefined to be that system of rules wliieh teaches us to pronounce written oi 
 Bxtemporaiieous composition with justness, energy, variety and ease ; an'l, 
 agreeably to this definition, good reading or speaking may be considered aa 
 that species of delivery which not only expresses the sense of the words so as 
 to be tarely understood, but at the same time gives them all the fcrc«, be&atjr 
 »ttd \ariety, of which they are susceptible. 
 
 ' ELOCUTION AMONG THE ANCIENTS, 
 
 fhi Greeks and Romans paid great attention to the study of elocutioa. 
 f hey distinguished the different qualities of the voice by such terms as hard, 
 smooth, sharp, clear, hoarse, full, slender, flowing, flexible, shrill, and rigid. 
 They were sensible to the alternations of heavy and light in syllabic utter- 
 ance ; they knew the time of the voice, and regarded its quantities in pronun- 
 ciation ; they gave to loud and soft appropriate places in speech ; they per- 
 ceived the existence of pitch, or variation of high and low ; and noted further 
 that the rise and Ml in the pronunciation of individual syllables are made by 
 a concrete or continuous slide of the voice, as distinguished from the dUcrete 
 notes produced on musical instruments. They designated the pitch of vocal 
 sounds by the term accent ; making three kinds of accents, the acute (') , the 
 grave C), and the circumflex('), which signified severally the rise, the fall, 
 And the turn of the voice, or union of acute and grave on the same syllable. 
 
 MODERN THEORIES OF ELOCUTION. THE MEASURE OP SPEECH. 
 
 For the modern additions to elocutionary analysis, we are indebted oainly 
 to the labors of Steele, Walker, and Dr. James Rush of Philadelphia. 
 
 The measure of speech is elaborately explained by Up Steele, in his " Pros- 
 odia Rationalis." According to his analysis, measure, as applied to speech, 
 consists of a heavy or accented portion of syllabic sound, and of a light_ or 
 unaccented portion, produced by one effort of the human voice. In forming 
 the heavy or accented syllable, the organs make a stroke or beat, and, however 
 instantaneous, are placed in a certain position, from which they must be removed 
 before they make another stroke. Thus, in the repetition of fast, fast, there 
 must be two distinct pulsations ; and a pause must occur betwixt the two, to 
 enable the organs to recover their position. But the time of this pause may 
 be filled up with a light syllable, or one under remission ; thus, faster, faster, 
 occupy the same time in the pronunciation as fast, fast. This remiss or light 
 action of the voice may extend to two and three syllables, as in circumstance, 
 infinitely, &c. The stroke or pulsative effort of the voice, then, can only U 
 on one syllable ; the remission of the voice can give several syllables after the 
 pulsation. Tliis pupation and remission have been illustrated by the plant- 
 ing and raising of the foot in walking ; hence the Thesis and Arsis of the 
 Greeks. The first is the pulsative, the second the remiss action. Now, apart 
 from the pauses of passion and connection, there must be frequent pauses 
 arising from the nature of the organs of speech ; these are denoted in exam- 
 ples marked, according to Steele's system, by the figure ^ , and the pulsatm 
 and remiss syllables by •.• and ... It has been said that the pulsative effort 
 ean be made only on one syllable ; if the syllable have extended quantity, if 
 may be pronounced both with the pulsative effort and die away in the rernis- 
 Pion ; but if it is short in quantity, a pause must occur before the pronun. 
 jlation of the next syllable. One syllable, then, may occupy what is called 
 a measure, the voice being either prolonged, or the time being made up with 
 a pause. This pause, as already remarked, is denoted by the figure [; a 
 repetition of the same figure is used to denote the longer pauses, which are 
 determined by passion, or the intimacy and remoteness of the sense. ^ Steele'* 
 •ysiem has been adopted by several teachers of elocution ; by Mr (Ihapnian 
 
ELEMENTS OF ELOCUTION. 
 
 iRi his Rhythmical Grammar, and by Mr. Barber, iu his Grammar of Eloca 
 don The following lines are marked according to Mr. Steele's plan 
 
 Arms and the | man I | sing | | who*^ | forced by | fate. 
 
 Hail I noly | light | offspring of | Heaven | first \ bom. | 
 
 "WALKEK'3 ELEMENTS OF ELOCUTION. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICB. 
 
 Towards tl*e close of the last century, Mr. John Walker, author of the excel- 
 ^J^t " Critical Pronouncing Dictionary-' which bears his name, promulgate 
 &!S analysis of vocal indection. He showed that the primary division of speak- 
 ing sounds is into the upward and downward slide of the voice ; and, that what- 
 ever other diversity of time, tone or force, is added to speaking, it mus! 
 necessarily be conveyed by these two slides or inflections, whicli are, there- 
 fore, the axis, as it were, on which the power, variety, and harmony of speak- 
 ing turn. In the following sentence: — "As trees and plants necessarily 
 arise from seeds, so are you, Antony, the seed of this most calamitous war," 
 — the voice slides up at the end of the first clause, as the sense is not per- 
 fected, and slides down at the completion of the sense at the end of the sen 
 tence. The rising slide raises expectancy in the mind of the hearer, and the 
 ear remains unsatisfied without a cadence. Walker adopted the acute accent 
 (') to denote the rising inflection, and the grave accent to denote the fall- 
 ing inflection ; as thus — 
 
 Does Cassar deserve fkme' or blame^ 1 
 
 Lvery pause, of whatever kind, must necessarily adopt one of tnese two 
 inflections, or continue in a monotone. Thus, when we ask a question without 
 the contrasted interrogative words, we naturally adopt the rising inflection on 
 the last word ; as, 
 
 Can Cassar deserve blame' 1 Impossible' ! 
 
 Bere blame — the last word of the question — has the rising inflection, con 
 trary to the inflection on tliat word in the former instance ; and impossible, 
 with the note of admiration, the falling. Besides the rising and falling inflec- 
 tion. Walker gives the voice two complete sounds, which he terms circumjlexes : 
 the first, which he denominates the rising circumf.e.x, begins with the falling 
 and ends with the rising on the same syllable : the second begins with the 
 rising and ends with the falling on the same syllable. The ) ising circum- 
 flex IS marked thus, the falling, thus, '\ The monotone, thus marked, 
 
 » denotes that there is no inflection, and no change of key. 
 
 Having explained the inflections. Walker proceeds to deduce the law of 
 dehvery from the structure of sentences, which he divides into compact, looxe, 
 direct periods, inverted periods, &c. By the term series, ho denotes aa 
 enumeration of particulars. If the enumeration consists of single wonis, it 
 IS called a simple series ; if it consists of clauses, it is called a coinpouni 
 tertes. When the sense requires that there should be a rising slide on tlifi 
 mt particular, the series is called a commencing series ; and when the eerieg 
 requires the falling slide on the last oarticular, it is termed a concludinA 
 uriei The simple commencing series is illustrated in the following sentea^e 
 sa-ping two (1' 2') members : — 
 
 " Honor' and shame' from no condition rise." 
 
 Jhe simple roncluding series is illustrated in the following sentence of foiu 
 (V 2 8 4* ) members- — "Remember that virtue alone is bmor', glorr 
 wealth , and happiness " 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Among the Euies laid down by Walker and his followers are the following, 
 which we select as the most simpi'e. The pupil must do^ take them, kowever 
 an infallible guide. Some are obvious enough ; but to others tb® excep. 
 tions are numerous, — so numerous, indeed, that they vonid be a burtliensom€ 
 charge to the memory. The Rules, however, may b<3 serviceable in cases 
 where the reader desires another's judgment in regard to the inflection of 
 voice that is most appropriate . 
 
 Rule I. When the sense is finished, the falling inJUction takes place as, 
 " Nothing valuable can be gained without labor\" 
 
 II. In a compact sentence, the voice slides up where the mean ing begim 
 ta be formed ; as, " Such is the course of nature', that whoever lives long, 
 must outlive those whom he loves and honors." 
 
 There are many exceptions to this rule. For instance, when a,n emphatic 
 woM is contained in the first part of the compact sentence, the filling inflec- 
 tion takes place ; as, " He is a traitor to his country\ he is a t.-aitor to the 
 human kind', he is a traitor to Heaven\ who abuses the talen:s which God 
 has given him." 
 
 III. In a loose sentence, the falling inflexion is required ; as, "It is of 
 the last importance to season the passions of a child with devo"'tion ; which 
 seldom dies in a mind that has received an early tincture of it" 
 
 IV. In a compound commencing series, the falling inflection takes plact 
 on every member but the last ; as, " Our disordered Ji9arts\ our guilty pas- 
 sions\ our violent prejudices^ and misplaced desires', ai^ the instruments of 
 the trouble which we endure." 
 
 V. In a compound concluding series, the falling infection takes place on 
 every member except the one before the last; as, " Chi'icer most frequently 
 describes things as they are^ ; Spenser, as we wish^ thfi.! to be ; Shakspeare, 
 as they would' be ; and Milton, as they ought^ to be." 
 
 VI. In a series of commencing members forming a crmax, the last mem- 
 ber, being strongly emphatic, takes a fall instead of a ri^e ; as, *' A youth\ a 
 bp/, a child\ might understand it." 
 
 VII. Literal interrogations asked by pronouns or adverbs {or questions 
 requiring an iminediaie answer) end with the falling inflection ; as, 
 " Where are you going^ ? What is your name^ ? " Questions asked by verbs 
 require the rising inflection, when a literal question is asked ; as, " Are you 
 coming' ? Do you hear' ? " 
 
 To these rules the exceptions are numerous, however. Emphasis breaks 
 through them continually ; as, 
 
 Was ever woman in this humor wooed' 1 
 Was ever woman in this humor won^ 1 
 
 VIII. The inflection which terminates an exclamation is regulated by the 
 common rules of inflection. This rule is, of course, broken through by pas- 
 tion, which has slides and notes of its own. As a general rule, it may be 
 stated that exclamations of surprise and indignation take a rising slide in 
 a loud tone ; those of sorrow, distress, pity and love, the rising slide in a 
 gentle tone ; and those of adoration, awe and despair, the falling infleZ' 
 lion. 
 
 IX. A7iy intermediate clause affecting the sen e of the sentence {genera!!^ 
 termed the modifying clause) is pronounced ir a different key from that iii 
 which the rest of the sentence is spoken. As th intermediate words are fre- 
 quently Lfie pivot on which the sense of the entence turns, the mind iu 
 directed to it by a change of voice. The voict finks at the beginning tf thf, 
 clause, but rises gradually towards the conclus m ; as, " Age, in a virtuous' 
 person, carries in it an authority which makes it preferable to all the plee* 
 lares of youth." 
 
 X. The Parenthesis is an intermediate clause, not necessary the aense 
 a it pronounced in a different key from that in which the sentence it prv 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN VOICE. 
 
 21 
 
 nouneed, in order to distinguish it from the body of the sentence ^ and it is 
 pronounced more quickly, thai the hearer may not be diverted by it into tor- 
 getting the ^connection of the. sentence. It generally terminates with the 
 injlection of the claii.se preceding it. When it contai7t,s a strongly emphdUc 
 VDora^ the falling inflection is necessary : 
 
 Let us (since life can little more sup^,.^ 
 Than just to look about us and to die) " 
 Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man ; 
 A mighty maze ! but not without a plan. 
 
 XI. An echo, or the repetition of a word or thought introductoi y to si im 
 particulars, requires the high rising inflection, and a long paxise after it. 
 This is frequently the language of excitement; the mind recurs to the excit- 
 ing idea, a7id acquires fresh intensity from the repetition of it ; as, " Can 
 Parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty as to give its sanction to 
 measures thus obtruded and forced upon it ? — Measures', my Lords, wluch 
 have reduced this late flourishing Kingdom to scorn and contempt." 
 
 XII. When words are in contradistinction to other words, either expressed 
 or understood, they are pronounced with einphatic force , when the contra 
 distinction is not expressed, the emphasis must be strong, so as to suggest 
 the word in contradistinction ; as, " How beautiful is nature in her wildest* 
 scenes ! " That is, not merely in her soft scenes, but even in her wildest 
 scenes. " It is deplorable when age' thus errs." Not merely youth, bat age. 
 
 XIJI^ J[ climax must be read or pronounced with the voice progressively 
 ascend' g to the last member • accompanied with the increasing eiiergy^ ani 
 fixation, r pathos, corresponding with the nature of the subject. 
 
 See, what a gi-ace was seated on this brow ! 
 Hyperion's curls'; the front of Jove himself; 
 An eye like JMars', to threaten and command'; 
 A station like the herald Mercury", 
 New lighted on a heaven-kissing hilP; 
 A combination' and a form' indeed, 
 Where every god' did seem to set his seal". 
 To give the world assurance of a man\ 
 
 rush's philosophy of THE HUMAN VOICB. 
 
 I>r. Rush, whose "Philosophy of the Human Voice" presents the moat 
 mixmiQ and scientific analysis of the subject that has yet appeared, adopts an 
 arrangement of the elementary sounds of our language into tonics subtonics 
 atonies and aspirates. He distinguishes the qualities of the voice under the 
 following heads : the Orotund, which is fuller in volume than the common 
 voice ; the Tremor ; the Aspiration ; the Guttural ; the Falsette ; and thQ 
 Whisper. The complex movement of the voice occasioned by the union of 
 the rismg and fallmg slides on the same long syllable he calls a wave. Ifc 
 IS termed by Steele and Walker the circumflex accent. Dr. Rush illustraief 
 the slides of_ the voice by reference to the Diatonic scale, consisting of a sue 
 cession of eight sounds, either in an ascending or descending series and 
 limbrju-,mg seven proximate intervals, five of which are Tones, and two 8omi» 
 Sones Each sound is called a Note ; and the changes of pitch from any one 
 cote to another are either Discrete or Concrete, and may be either rising cr 
 falling. Concrete changes of Pitch are called slides ; and of these movements 
 there are appropriated to speech the slides through five different intervals, — 
 the Semitone, the Second, the Third, the Fifth, and the Octave. By a carefal 
 analysis of the speaking voice, Dr. Rush shows that its movements can be 
 measured and set to the musical scale ; and that, however various the combi- 
 nations of thQm vocal movements may at first a-ppear, they may readily be 
 
82 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER^ 
 
 redAced to six, oaDcd Phrases of Melody. These are the Monoto.*e, the Ri8in| 
 and Falling Ditone, the Rising and Falling Tritone, and the Alternate Phrase. 
 By a more careful analysis, we ascertain that some of the simpler styles of 
 delivery take their character from the predominance of some one of these piu*a«eB 
 of melody. Thus we have the Diatonic Melody, the Melody of the Monotone, c-f 
 the Alternate Phrase, and of the Cadence ; and to these are added the Chro 
 matic Melody which arises from the predominance of the Semitone, and the 
 Brsken Melody. 
 
 INSUFFICIENCY OF ARBITRARY SYSTEMS OF ELOCUTION. 
 
 it would be impossible, in the space we have given to the subject, to do just- 
 ice to any one of these ingenious analyses; and it would be quite unprofitable 
 to enumerate the many systems that have been deduced from them up to th« 
 present time. The important question is. Do they establish, severally or collect- 
 ively, a positive science of elocution, which will justify the pupil in laboring 
 to master it in its details, and to accomplish himself according to its rules of 
 practice? We believe there are very few students, who have given much 
 time and attention to the subject, who will not render a negative reply. The 
 shades of expression in language are often so delicate and undistinguishable, 
 that intonation will inevitably vary according to the temperament of the 
 speaker, his appreciation of the sense, and the intensity with which he enteis 
 into the' spirit of what he utters. It is impossible to establish rules of mathe- 
 matical precision for utterance, any more than for dancing. Take the first line 
 of Mark Antony's harangue : 
 
 Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ! 
 
 An ingenious speaker will give, at one time, the falling inflection, and at 
 another the rising, to the word countrymen; and both modes shall seem 
 equally expressive and appropriate. Nay, he will at one moment place the 
 chief stress upon lend, and the next upon ears ; and he will make either mode 
 of rendering the verse appear appropriate and expressive. We do not deny 
 that there are passages in regard to which there can be little doubt as to the 
 inflection and emphasis to be employed; but these are precisely the passages 
 in reference to which rules are not needed, so obvious is the sense to every 
 intelligent reader, and so unerringly does nature guide us. 
 
 " Probably not a single instance," says Archbishop Whately, " could be 
 found, of any one who has attained, by the study of any system of instruction 
 that has appeared, a really good delivery; but there are many — probably 
 nearly as many as have fully tried the experiment — who have by this means 
 been totally spoiled." There is one principle, he says, radically erroneous, 
 which must vitiate every system founded on it, — the principle, ^' that, in 
 order to acquire the best style of delivery, it is requisite to study analyti- 
 cally the emphasis, tones, pauses, degrees of loudness, fyc, which give the 
 proper etfect to each passage that is well delis'ered; to frame Rules founded on 
 the obwervation of these; and then, in practice, deliberately and carefully to 
 conform the utterance to these rules, so as to form a complete artificial system 
 of Elocution." "To the adoption of any such artificial scheme there ar« 
 three weighty objections : first, that the proposed system must necessarily b« 
 ivipe rfect ; secondly, that if it were perfect, it would be a circuitous path to 
 the object in view; and thirdly, that even if both these objections were 
 removed, the object would not be effectually obtained." 
 
 The first of those objections, which is not denied by the most strenuciM 
 flidvocates of the artificial systems, would seem to be all-sufficient. Any number 
 of Rules must needs leave the subject incomplete, inasmuch as the analysis of 
 sentences, in their structure, and their relations to vocal inflection, may ba 
 Cftrned to almost any extent. Few Rules can be laid down to which many 
 ouforeseen exceptions cannot be made. Mr. Walker, in his " Rhetor-oal 
 
ARBITRA.iY SYSTEMS OF ELOCDTi-^N. 
 
 2h 
 
 Grammar/ * pnbLshed some years after his " Elements of EiUicnth^: had 
 been before ;he public, admits the practical failure of the systemd foui ' t»i on 
 his amilysis. "The sanguine expectations I had once entertained," ha days, 
 that this Analysis of the Human Voice would be received by the learned 
 with avidity, are now over." And, his imagination kindling at a ray of hope, 
 he adds : " It is not improbable that the active genius of the French, who ar« 
 ■0 remarkably attentive to their language, may first adopt this vehicle" of 
 inatruction in reading and speaking. But more than forty years have passed 
 iiace this suggestion was thrown out; and the French, so quick to adopf 
 improvements based on scientific analysis, have been as backw^ard as Walker's 
 awn countrymen in applying to practical uses his discovery. But although 
 Ike Science of Europe has weighed these artificial systems in the balance, and 
 found them wanting for practical purposes of instruction, the hope seems to 
 be entertained that Young America will not yet a while concur in the judg 
 ment. 
 
 "It is surely a circuitous path," says Archbishop Whately, "when the 
 learner is directed first to consider how each passage ought to be read (that 
 is, what mode of delivering each part of it would spontajieously occur to him, 
 if he were attending exclusively to the matter of it) ; then to observe all the 
 nodulatious, &c., of voice, which take place in such a delivery; then to note 
 these down, by established marks, in writing ; and, lastly, to pronounce 
 according to these marks." " Such instruction is like that bestowed by 
 Moliere's pedantic tutor upon his Bourgeois Gentilhomme, who was taught, 
 to his infinite surprise and delight, what configuratioutS of the mouth he 
 employed in pronouncing the several letters'of the alphabet, which he had been 
 accustomed to utter, all his life, without knowing how." 
 
 The labors of Steele, Walker and Rush, are important, and their analyses 
 of vocal expression may always be studied with profit. But the attempt to 
 egtablish a practical system of elocutionavy rules, which may be a consistent 
 and reliable guide to the pupil in reading aloud and in declamation, has been 
 eontinually baffled. The subject is not one that, in its nature, admits of a 
 resolution into rigid analytical rules. Thought and language being as various 
 as the minds of men, the inflections of the human voice must partake of their 
 plastic quality; and passion and genuine emotion must break through all the 
 rules which theorists can frame. Anatomy is a curious and a profitable 
 study; but what if we were to tell ^he pugilist that, in order to give a blow 
 with due effect, he ought to know how the muscles depend for their powers 
 of contraction and relaxation on the nerves, and how the nerves issue 
 from the brain and the spinal marrow, with similar facts, requiring, per- 
 haps, a lifetime of study for their proper comprehension, — would he not 
 laugh at us for our advice ? And yet, even more unreasonable is it to say, 
 that, to accomplish ourselves in reading and speaking, we must be able tc 
 classify a sentence under the head of " loose" or " compact," and their sub. 
 divisions, and then to glibly enunciate it according to some arbitrary rule, to 
 which, the probability is, there are many unsurmised exceptions. Whea 
 Edmund Keau thrilled the heart of a great audience with the tones cf inde- 
 scribable pathos which he imparted to the words, 
 
 *' Othello's occupation 's gone," 
 
 a Woald have puzzled him to tell whether the sentence was a " simple dscls*. 
 fttiT's" or an " imperfect loose." He knew as little of "intensive slides," 
 "bends," "sweeps," and "closes," as Cribo, the boxer, did of osteologj. 
 He studied the intonation which most touched his own heart ; and he gav« 
 it, reckless of rules, or, rather, guided by that paramount rcle, which seeks 
 tha highest triumphs of art in elocution in the most genuine utterances of 
 nature. 
 
 Attention is the secret of success in speaking, as in other departments of 
 buir.«i*n effort Si/ .isaao Newton was one day asked how he had discovereJ 
 
24 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 ihe true system of the universe. He replied, " By continually thmkiu| 
 apon it." He was frequently hea,rd to declare that, "if he had done thi 
 world any services, it was due to nothing but industry and patient thought, 
 that he kept the subject under consideration constantly before him, and 
 waited till the first dawning opened gradually, by little and little, into a full 
 and clear light." Attention to the meaning and full effect of what we utter 
 in Xoiamation will guide us, better than any system of marks, in a right dis- 
 position of emphasis and intiection. By attention, bad habits are detected 
 and repudiated, and happy graces are seized and adopted. Demosthenes had 
 a. habit of raising one shoulder when he spoke. He corrected it by sus- 
 pending a sword, so that the point would pierce the offending member when 
 smduly elevated. He had a defective utterance, and this he amended by 
 practising declamation with pebbles in his mouth. 
 
 Practice in elocution, under the guidance, if possible, of an intelligent in- 
 structor, will lead to more solid results than the most devoted endeavors to learn, 
 by written rules, what is above all human attempt at "circumscription and 
 confine." Possess your mind fully with the spirit of what you have to utter, 
 and the right utterance will come by practice. If it be a political speech of a 
 remarkable character, acquaint yourself * with the circumstances under which 
 it was originally uttered; with the history and peculiarities of the speaker; 
 and with the interests which were at stake at the time. Enter, with all the 
 warmth of your imaginative faculty, into the speaker's feelings; lose your- 
 self in the occasion; let his words be stamped on your memory; and do 
 not tire in repeating them aloud, with such action and emphasis as attention 
 will suggest and improve, until you have acquired that facility in the utter- 
 ance which is essential to an effective delivery before an audience. If it be a 
 poem which you have to recite, study to partake the enthusiasm which the 
 author felt in the composition. Let the poetical element in your nature be 
 aroused, and give it full play in the utterance of " thoughts that breathe, 
 and words that burn." 
 
 The practice of frequent public declamation in schools cannot be too much 
 commended. The advantages of such training, if not immediai/., will b€ 
 recognized later in life. In awakening attention, inspiring confidence, acquaint- 
 ing the pupil with the selectest models of Oratory, compelling him to try his 
 voice before an audience, and impressing him with a sense of the importance 
 of elocutionary culture, the benefits which accrue from these exercises are 
 inestimable. The late .John Quincy Adams used to trace to hia simple habit 
 of reciting, in obedience to his fi^ither, Collins' little ode, " Hoav sleep th« 
 brave," &c., the germ of a patriotic inspiration, the effects of which he felt 
 throughout his public career ; together with the early culture of a taste foi 
 lloeution, wliich was of great influence in shaping his future pursuits. 
 
 DIVISIONS OF ELOCUTION. 
 
 Elocution Is divided into Articulation and Pronunciation , Inflection sod 
 Modulation ; Emphasis ; Gesture. 
 
 ARTICULATION AND PRONUNCIATION. 
 
 Correct articulation is the most important exercise of the voice, and jf ik* 
 CiPgans of speech. A public speaker, possessed only of a moderate voice, if he 
 articulate correctly, will be better understood, and heard with greater pleasure, 
 than one who vociferates, without judgment. The voice of the latter may, 
 indeed, extend to a considerable distance, but the sound is dissipated in con 
 
 • As an assistance to the pupil in carrying out this reoommendation, the autho9 
 bos, in many instances, appended illustrative notes, or brief bi'igraphical sketoheii 
 JO tiie extracts from the speeches of graat orators. 
 
PRONUNCIATION. 
 
 2d 
 
 /usion. Of the formfti voice, not the smallest vibration is wasted every stroke is 
 f erceived at the utmost distance to which it reaches, and hence it may often 
 appear to penetrate even further than one which is loud, but badly articulated 
 " In just articulation," says Austin, " the words are not hurried over, not 
 precipitated_ syllable over syllable. They are delivered out from the lips. a» 
 beautiful coins, newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, 
 perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, sharp, in du« 
 succession, and of due weight." 
 
 Pronunciation points out the proper sounds of vowels and consonants, and 
 the distribution of accent on syllables. Articulation has a reference to the posi- 
 tions and movements of the organs which are necessary to the production of 
 those sounds with purity and distinctness; it also regulates the proportion 
 of the sounds of letters in words, and of words in sentences. Articulation and 
 pronunciation may thus be said to form the basis of elocution. An incorrect or 
 slovenly pronunciation of words should be carefully avoided. The most elo^ 
 quent discourse may be marred by the mispronunciation of a word, or by a 
 vicious or provincial accent. The dictionaries of Worcester or Webster, in 
 which the pronunciation is based mainly on the accepted standard of Walk*»r, 
 should be carefully consulted by the pupil, wherever he is doubtful in regard 
 to the pronunciation of a word, or the accent of a syllable. These dictiona- 
 ries also contain ample rules for the guidance and practice of the reader iu 
 the attainment of a correct pronunciation of the rudimental sounds of the 
 vowels and consonants. They should be carefully studied. A speaker who 
 eontinually violates the ear of taste by his mispronunciation must never hop« 
 to make a favorable impression upon an educated audience. 
 
 DEFECTS IN PRONUNCIATION. 
 
 The omission to sound the final in such words as moving, rising, as if 
 
 they were spelled niovin, risin, — is one of the most frequent defects which 
 irtattentive readers exhibit. A habit also DS-evaiis of slurring the full sound of 
 the italicised letter in such words as belief, Doiite, political, w/tisper, wAich; 
 several, every, deliverer, traveller; histoij, memorable, melody, philosophy; 
 society, variety, &g.; also of mufiiing the r in such words as alarm, reform, 
 arrest, warrior; omitting the e in the last syllable of sudden, mitten, &c.; 
 corrupting the a in musical, social, whimsical, metal, &c.; the't' in certainly,' 
 fountain, &c.; the last o in Bostan, notion, &o.; giving e the sound of u in 
 momentary, insolent, and the like; and a the same sound in jubilant, ar'-o- 
 gant, &c. ; giving the sound of er to the final termination of mch words aa 
 fellow, potato, folio?/;, hallow ,- giving to r in war, warlike, partial, &c , the 
 sound of w ; prolonging the sound of w in law;, flaw;, as if there were an r 
 tacked on at the end of the words; in such words as nature, creature, leo-is. 
 lature, &g., failing to give the full sound to the u and e of the last syllable 
 as they are sounded in pure, sv,re, &c.; giving to the a in scarce the sound 
 of m purse ; slurring the final o in occasion, invention, condition, &c.; giv- 
 ing the sound of u to the a in Indian; giving the sound of urn to the final m 
 m chasm, patriotiS7«, &c.; the sound of?: to the e in go-v^dness, matchless; the 
 sound of fie to the/w/ of awful, beautifwl, and the like. The c in the fii-gt 
 syllable of such words as terminate, mercy, perpetrate, &c., ought, according 
 to the stricter critics in elocution, to have the sound of e in merit, terror, &c 
 A habit of speaking through the nose, in the utterance of such words as no-o 
 •o?e, 13 pre /alent in New England, and should be overcome by all who roui(J 
 not make themselves ridiculous in educated society. 
 
 Otlier cour mou defects in pronunciation are thus satirized by Holraea 
 
 " Learning condemns, beyond the reach of hope, 
 The careless churl that speaks of soap for soap ; 
 Her edict exiles from her fair abode 
 Hw olowni^h voice that utters road for roaA j 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 fiess stem to him who calls his coat a coat. 
 And steers his boat, believing it a boat ; 
 She pardoned one, — our classic city's boast, — 
 Who said, at Cambridge, most instead of most ; 
 But knit her brows, and stamped her angry foot; 
 To hear a teacher call a root a root. 
 
 " Once more ; speak clearly, if you speak at ail ; 
 Carve every word before jou let it fall ; 
 Dpn't, like a lecturer or dramatic staa*. 
 Try over-hard to roll the British R ; 
 Do put your aosents in the proper spot ; 
 Don't — let me beg you — don't say " How 1 " for " \»Tiat I " 
 And, when you stick on conversation's bur?. 
 Don't strew your pathway with those drecidful ur^ ! ^ 
 
 It lb 6 beginning of a course of elocution, it is necessary that a jainutv attea 
 tit,n be paid to the producing of the exact sounds on the unaccer.teJ syllables, 
 and ooagb this maj be censured by many, as affected and ihe^^trical, it must 
 for a ciij^e, be encouraged. Most persons will give , the sound of a in accessory 
 distinctly aud purely, as the accent is on it; but, if the accent is on the second 
 syllable of a word beginning in the same way, as in accord, the greater numbei 
 of people would give the ac an obscure sound, as if the word were uccord. The 
 same remark holds with regard to the initial ab, ad, af, ag, al, am, an, ar, ap, 
 as, at, av, az, con, col, &c. ; e, de, re, i, in, o, oh, op, &c. Thus, the o in omen, 
 the e in exact, will be sounded correctly by most persons; but, in opinion^ 
 proceed, and emit, as the accent is shifted, these vowels would be generally 
 sounded upinion, pruceed, and imit. Through the same neglect, the second 
 in nobody is not sounded like the o in body, as it should be; and the a in cir- 
 cumstances is different from the a in circumstantial; — the former words being 
 Bounded nob'dy, circuir nces. The terminational syllables mejtt, 7iess, tion, 
 ly, ture, our, ous, en, tl, la, &c., are also generally given impurely, the 
 attention being directed principally to the previous accented syllable ; thus, 
 the word compliments is erroneously given the sound of complivdnts; nation^ 
 that of nashn ; only, onle (the e as in met) ; nature, natchvr ; valor, valer : 
 famous, f amass ; novel, novl ; chicken, chickn ; Latin, Latn. Sometimes, 
 the concluding consonant is almost lost in the unaccented syllable, while it id 
 preserved in the accented ; thus, in the noun subject, in which the accent is on 
 the first syllable, the t is scarcely sounded by many who would sound it in 
 the verb to subject, in which the accent is on the last syllable. In d and / 
 final, the articulation is not completed until the tongue comes off from the roof 
 of the mouth. Distinctness is gained by this attention to the quality of unac- 
 cented vowels, and to the clear and precise utterance of the consonants in 
 unaccented syllables. Care must be taken, however, that the pupil do not 
 enunciate too slowly. The motions of the organs must frequently be, rapid in 
 their changes, that the due propo.'tions of syllables may be preserved.. 
 
 As emphasis is to a sentence what accent is to words, the remarks which 
 hav3 been made on accented and unaccented syllables apply to words emphatic 
 and unemphutic. The unemphatic words are also apt to become inarticulate 
 from t've insufiicient force which is put upon them, and the vowel-souads, ai 
 hi can as, and the consonant d in and, &c., are changed or lost. In certain 
 Wor^ sucb as my, mine, thy, thine, you, your, the unemphatic pronuncia^ 
 Jaon is different from the emphatic, being sounded m.e,-min, the, tkm, ye, yur- 
 fts, this IS min own, this is yur own. In solemn reading, this abbreviate 
 pronunciation is avoided, and the words ^re pronounced as they are wheo 
 aingle. 
 
 MODULATION OR MANAGEMENT OF THE VOICJB. 
 
 The modulation of the voice is one of the most important requisites' in i 
 ^lio speaker. Even to the private reader, who wishes to execute his tas> 
 
MODULATION OP THE VOICE. 
 
 27 
 
 pleasure to others, it is a necessary accomplishment. A. vjicp which 
 keeps long in one key, however correct the pronunciation, delicate thj inflec- 
 don, and just the emphasis, will soon tire the hearer. The voice has been 
 considered as capable of assuming three keys, — the low, the high, and the mid- 
 dle. This variety is undoubtedly too limited ; bat, for the first lessona of a 
 student, it may be useful to regard the classification. A well -trained voic« 
 is capable of ranging in these with various degrees of loudness, softness, stress, 
 ecntiuuity, and rapidity. 
 
 These dilferent stater, of the voice, properly managed, give rise to that strike 
 Ing and beautiful variety which is essential to eloquent delivery. The diiFe\ 
 euce between loud and soft, and high and low tones, should be well understood 
 Pian'y and forte have no relation to pitch or key, but to force and quantity 
 And, when applied to the voice, they relate to the body or volume which the 
 speaker or singer gives out. We can, therefore, be very soft in a high note, 
 and very \o\l^ in a lew one ; just as a smart stroke on a bell may have ex 
 actly the same note as a slight one, though it is considerably louder. It ought 
 to be a first principle, with all public readers and speakers, rather to begin 
 below the common level of the voice than above it. A good practical rule for 
 the speaker, in commencing, is to speak as if he would have his voice reach 
 those in the centre of the hall. He thus- will begin on a level tone, from which 
 he may easily rise. Some abrupt forms of speech require, however, a loud 
 tone of voice, even at the commencement, to give them their due eftect; as, for 
 instance : " How long, 0 Catiline ! wilt thou abuse our patience?" 
 
 The right assumption of the keya constitutes what may be termed the feeling 
 of a composition; — without it, acting is lifeless, and argument tiresome. It is 
 a want of this variety which distinguishes the inanimate speaker. His inflec- 
 tion may be correct, and have even what has been termed a musical cadence; 
 but, without this variety of key, ho must tire his audience. The elfect of a 
 taransiticn from the major to the minor key in music is not more striking than 
 the variety which the voice will occasionally assume. A change of key is gen- 
 erally necessary at the commencemeot of a new sentence. When, in the pre- 
 ceding sentence, the voice has sunk down towards the close, in the new sentence 
 It sometimes recovers its elasticity, and sometimes it continues in the depressed 
 note on which the preceding sentence terminates. 
 
 In common conversation, our tone is light, and appears to come from the 
 sip ; in serious and impressive speaking, it appears to be foi-med further back, 
 and is accompanied by a greater tension of the muscles of the throat. The 
 deeper formation of the voice is the secret of that peculiar tone which is found 
 in actors and orators of celebrity. Some have this voice n ttm-ally; but the 
 greater number must acquire it by assiduous practice. The pupil must be 
 required to speak " further down in the throat." This peculiar voice, which 
 is adapted to the expression of what is solemn, grand and exciting, " is formed 
 in those parts of the mouth posterior to the palate, bounded below by the root 
 of the tongue, above by the commencement of the palate, behind by the most 
 posterior part of the throat, and on the sides by the angles of the jaw. The 
 tongue, in the mean time, is hollowed and drawn back; and the mouth is 
 opene'.i in such a manner as to favor, as much as possible, the enlargement of 
 the cavity described." 
 
 LOW KEY. 
 
 To acquire strength and distinctness in this key, the remarks in the last 
 |>aragraph will be found useful. Nothing more unequivocally marks the fin- 
 ished speaker than a command over the low notes of his voice ; it is a raw 
 accomplishment, but one which is a most valuable principle in Oratory 
 Strengthening the low notes, after forming them, should be a great object witb 
 the master in Elocution ; but it too often happens that the acquisition of it 
 screaming high note is reckoned the desideratum in speaking. Th? difficulty 
 if being distinct aui audible in the low key is at first discouraging ; butpra<> 
 
28 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 tice will, m most cases, attain the object. Smiles in poetry fcim proM 
 examples for gaining a habit of lowering the voice. 
 
 He above the rest, 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
 Stood like a tower. His form had yet tv^t lost 
 All her original brightness, nor appeare,* 
 Less than archangel ruined, and the excess 
 Of glory obscured : as when the sun new-risen 
 ' Looks through the horizontal misty air 
 
 Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon. 
 In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
 On half the Nations, and with fear of change 
 Perplexes Monarchs. 
 
 ^ Til© following passage, in which King John takes Hubert aside, and tomptt 
 kim to undertake the death of Arthur, requires, in the enunciation, a full, aad' 
 Me tone of voice, in a low key : 
 
 K. John. I had a thing to say, — but let it go; 
 The sun is in the Heaven, and the proud day. 
 Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
 Is all too wanton and too full of gauds 
 To give me audience. If the midnight bell 
 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 Sound one unto the drowsy race of night: 
 If this same were a church-yard where we stand. 
 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; 
 — Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes. 
 Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
 Without a tongud, using conceit alone, — 
 Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words, — 
 Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day, 
 I would into thy bosora pour my thoughts. 
 But, ah ! I will not, — yet I love thee well ; 
 And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well ! 
 
 Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake. 
 Though that my death were adjunct to my act. 
 By Heaven, I 'd do 't ! 
 
 K. John. Do I not know thou wouldst % 
 Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
 On that young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend. 
 He is a very serpent in my way. 
 And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread. 
 He lies before me ! Dost thou understand me 1 
 Thou art his keeper. 
 
 Hub. And I '11 keep him so 
 That he shall not olfend your majesty 
 
 K. John. Death. 
 
 Hub. My Lord 1 
 
 K. John. A grave. 
 
 Hub. He shall not live. 
 
 K. John. Enough. 
 I could he merry now. Hubert, I love thee: 
 Well, I '11 not say what I 'ntend for thee; 
 Remember. Shakspeare's King John, Act lii. Seme ft 
 
 MIDDLE KEY. 
 
 Tys is the key of common discourse, and the key in which 8 speaker toust 
 •."ually deliver the greater part of his speech. Sheridan points out a simpl« 
 method of acquiring loudness n. this key. " Any one, who • hrough habit, 
 ^ fallen into a weak utterance, cannot hope suddenly to chan^ it be mufi 
 
MODULATION OF THE TOICE. 
 
 2h 
 
 (b it by degrees, and constant practice. I would theref^>re reoommend it tc 
 him that he should daily exercise himself in reading or repeating, in the hearing 
 of a friend ; and that, too, in a large room. At first, his friend should stand 
 at such a distance only as the speaker can easily reach, hi his usual manner ot 
 delivering himself. Afterwards, let him gradually increaoe his distance, and 
 the speaker will in the same gradual proportion increase the force of his 
 voice.'* In doing this, the speaker still keeps on the same tone of voice, 
 but gives it with greater power. It is material to notice, that a well-forme I 
 middle tone, and even a low one, is capable of filling any room ; and that th® 
 neglect of strengthening the voice in these leads a speaker to adopt the higli, 
 shouting note which is often heard in our pulpits. Hamlet's address to the 
 players should be mostly delivered in this middle key. 
 
 HIGH KEY. 
 
 This key of the voice, though very uncommon in level speaking or read 
 ing, ought to be practised, as it tends to give strength to the voice generally, 
 and as it is frequently employed in public speaking and declamation. Every one 
 can speak in a high key, but few do it pleasingly. There is a compression 
 necessary in the high notes, as well as the middle and low; this compression 
 distinguishes the vociferous passion of the peasant from that of the accomplished 
 actor or orator. The following passage will bear the most vigorous exercise of 
 the high key ; 
 
 Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold Yeomen ! 
 Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ; 
 Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood: 
 Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! — 
 A thousand hearts are great within my bosom; 
 Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; 
 Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George, 
 Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ' 
 Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms ! 
 
 It should be borne in mind, that it is not he who speaks the loudest who 
 can be heard the furthest. "It is a curious fact in the history of sound," 
 Bays a scientific observer, "that the loudest noises always perish on the, spot 
 where they are produced, whereas musical notes will be heard at a great 
 distance. Thus, if we approach within a mile or two of a town or village in 
 which a fair is held, we may hear very faintly the clamor of the multitude, 
 but more distinctly the organs, and other musical instruments, which are played 
 for their amusement. If a Cremona violin, a real Amati, oe played by 11«5 
 Bide of a modern fiddle, the latter will sound much louder than the former; 
 but the sweet, brilliant tone of the Amati will be heard at a distance the other 
 cannot reach. Dr. Young, on the authority of Durham, states that at Q braU 
 tar the hum-in voice may be heard at a greater distance than that oi any 
 other animal; thus, when the cottager in the woods, or the open plain, w-she? 
 to call hrr husband, who is working at a distance, she does not shout, but 
 pitches her voice to a musical key, which she knows from habit, and by thai 
 means reaches his ear. The loudest roar of the largest lion could not 
 penetrate so far. Loud speakers are seldom heard to advantage. Burke's 
 roice is said to have been a sort of lofty cry, which tended as much as the 
 fermality of his discourse in the House of Commons to send the members to 
 their dinner. Chatham's lowest whisper was distinctly heard. 'His middle 
 tones were sweet, rich and beautifully varied,' says a writer, describing the 
 orator; 'when he raised his voice to the highest pitch, the House was com- 
 pletely filled with the volume of sound; and the effect was awful, except 
 when he wished to cheer or animate — and then he had spirit-stirring notds 
 which were perfectly irresistible. The terrible, however, was his peculiar 
 power. Then the Hc-i«e sank before him; still, he «ras dignified, and, wondar 
 
so 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 fill as was his eloquence, it was attended with this important effect, tL«4t U 
 possessed every one with a conviction that there was something in him fia«t 
 than his words, — that the man was greater, infinitely greater, tiao tho 
 orator.' " 
 
 MONOTONE. 
 
 A monotone is intonation without change of pitch: that is, preserving • 
 falness of tone, without ascent or descent on the scale. It is no very difficult 
 matter to be loud in a high tone; but to be loud and forcible in a low 
 tone, requires great practice and management; th:s, however, may be facili- 
 tated by pronouncing forcibly at first in alow monotone. A monotone, thougii 
 in a low key, and without force, is much more sonorous and audible than when 
 the voice slides up and down at almost every word, as it must do to b« 
 various. This tone is adopted by actors when they repeat passages aside. It 
 conveys the idea of being inaudible to those with them in the scene, by being 
 in a lower tone than that used in the dialogue; and, by being in a monotone, 
 becomes audible to the whole house. The monotone, therefore, is an excellent 
 vehicle for such passages as require force and audibility in a low tone, and in 
 the hands of a judicious reader or speaker is a perpetual source of variety. It 
 is used when anything awful or sublime is to be expressed, as 
 
 0 ! when the last account twixt Heaven and earth 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 Witness against us to damnation. 
 
 The language of the ghost in Hamlet is mostly uttered in a deep monotone, 
 rhe following passage from Ion is' partly given in a solemn monotone : 
 
 Dark and cold 
 
 Stretches the path, which, when I wear the Crown, 
 
 1 needs must enter ; — the great Gods forbid 
 That thou shouldst follow it ! 
 
 The monotone is varied, in the itP'I-cized part, to the tone of pas^ionatt 
 emotion and supplication. 
 
 TIME. 
 
 Modulation includes, also, the consideration of time, which is natural m the 
 pronunciation of certain passages. The combinations, then, of pitch, force 
 and time, are extremely numerous : thus, we have low, loud, slow; low, soft, 
 Blow ; low, feeble, slow ; low, loud, quick, &c. ; middle, loud, slow ; middle 
 Boft, slow ; middle, feeble, slow, &c. Thus, we have a copious natural lari'. 
 guage, adapted to the expression of evei-y emotion and passion. 
 
 IMITATIVE MODULATION. 
 
 Motion and sound, in all their modifications, are, in descriptive reading, 
 more or less imitated. To glide, to drive, to swell, to flow, to skip, to whirl, 
 to turn, to rattle, &c.„ all partake of a peculiar moditi(5ation of voice. Thin 
 sxpression lies in the key, force, and time of the tones, and the forcible pro- 
 oranciation of certain letters which are supposed more particularly to eipreiM 
 tSse imitation. 
 
 Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows. 
 
 And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flowB; 
 
 But when loud surges lash the sounding shore. 
 
 The hoarse, rough verso should like the torrent roai 
 
 Whnn Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 
 
 TT'ft line too labors, and the words move slow; 
 
 Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 
 
 Fliee o'er the unbending cor n, and skims alone the maiu. 
 
PAUSES^ 
 
 Grammatical punctuation does not always demand a pause , and the time 
 ttf the pauses at various points is not correctly stated in many books on read- 
 ing. In some treatises, the pause at the period is described as being uni- 
 formly four times as long as that at a comma ; whereas, it is regulated entirely 
 Dy the nature of the subject, the intimacy or remoteness of the connection 
 between the sentences, and other causes. "I am convinced," says Mr. 
 Kiiowles, " that a nice attention to rhetorical punctuation has an extremelj 
 mischievoas tendency, and is totally inconsistent with nature. Give thf 
 sense of what you read — mind is the thing. Pauses are essential only wheet 
 the omission would obscure the sense. The orator, who, in the act of delrn v- 
 Lng himself, is studiously solicitous about parcelling his words, is ;mre tfi 
 .eave the best part of his work undone. He delivers words, not thoughts, 
 Deliver thoughts, and words will take care enough of themselves." 
 
 EMPHASIS. 
 
 By emphasis is meant that stronger and fuller sound of voice, by which in 
 reading or speaking, wo distinguish the accented syllable, or some word,' on 
 Which we design to lay particular stress, in order to show how it alfects the 
 rest of the sentence. On the right management of the' emphasis depend the 
 Whole life and spirit of every discourse. If no emphasis be placed on any 
 word, not only is discourse rendered heavy and lifeless, but the meaning left 
 often ambiguous. If the emphasis be placed wrong, we pervert and confound 
 the meaning wholly. In order to acquire the proper management of the 
 emphasis, then, the great rule, and, indeed, the only unexceptional rule, is, 
 that the speakcjr or reader study to attain a just conception of the force and 
 spirit of those forms of expression which he is to pronounce 
 
 To give a common instance : such a simple question as this, " Do you ride 
 to town to-day? " is capable of no fewer than four acceptations, according as 
 tne emphasis is differently placed on the words. If it be pronounced thus : 
 Do you ride to town to-day ? the answer may naturally be, No ; I send my 
 servant m my stead. If thus : Do you ride to town to-day ? Answer. No i 
 I intend to «;a//c. Do you ride io town to-day? No; I ride out into th« 
 iields. Do you ride to town to-cfai/ ? No; but I shalUo-wj or row. And there 
 S yet another expression that this little sentence is capable of, which would 
 oe given by placing the emphasis on the first word, do, being a necessary 
 entorcement of the question, if the person asked had evaded giving a reply 
 thus : "Z>o you ride to town to-day ? " The tone implying : Come, tell me at 
 once, do you, or do you not ? 
 
 There are four obvious distinctions in the sound of woras, with respect tc 
 force. First, the force necessary for the least important words, such as con- 
 junctions, particles, &c., which may be called feeble or unaccented. Second 
 the force necessary for substantives, verbs, &c., which may be called accented. 
 Inird, that force wh.ch is used for distinguishing some words from others 
 commonly called emphasis of force. Fourth, the force necessary for emphasis 
 of sense. Ag opposition is the foundation of all emphasis of Pense, whatever 
 words are contrasted with, contradistinjjuished from, or set in opposition to 
 pr^e another, they are always emphatic. Hence, whenever there is antithesis 
 m the sense, whether words or clauses, there ought to be emphasis in the nro- 
 nanciation. ^ ^ 
 
 The variations of emphasis are so numerous as to defy the formation 
 »f riiles that can be appropriate in all cases. Give a dozen well-traineo 
 slocutioaists a sentence to mark emphatically, and probabJy no two woul<; 
 perform the task precisely alike. 
 
 What though the field be lost 1 
 All is not lost ; the unconqueirable m \ 
 And study of 'n)enge, immortal fia^e. 
 
8& 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 
 
 And courage never to submit or yield, — ■ 
 Thca glory never shall His wrath or might 
 Extort from rru. 
 
 The following speech of Othello is an example of what is termed oumuU^ve 
 smphasis : 
 
 If thou dost slander her and torture me, 
 Never pray more ; abandon all remorse; 
 ' On horror's head horrors accumulate ; 
 
 Do deeds to make Heavev weep, all earth amazed — 
 For nothing canst thou to damnation add 
 Greater than this ! 
 
 III. GESTUKE. 
 
 Gestube, considered as a just and elegant adaptation of every part of the 
 feody to the nature and import of the subject we are pronouncing, has always 
 Deen considered as one of the most essential parts of Oratory. Cicero says, 
 that its power is even greater than that of words. It is the language of 
 nature in the strictest sense, and makes its way to the heart without the 
 utterance of a single sound. I may threaten a man with my sword by 
 speech, and produce little eifect ; but if I clap my hand to the hilt simulta- 
 aeously with the threat, he will be startled according to the earnestness of the 
 action. This instance will illustrate the whole theory of gesture. According 
 to Demosthenes, action is the beginning, the middle, and the end of Oratory. 
 
 To be perfectly motionless while we are pronouncing words which require 
 force and energy, is not only depriving them of their necessary support, but 
 rendering them unnatural and ridiculous. A very vehement address, pro- 
 nounced without any motion but that of the lips and tongue, would be a bur- 
 lesque upon the meaning, and produce laughter ; nay, so unnatural is this 
 total absence of gesticulation, that it is not very easy to speak in this manner. 
 As some action, therefore, must necessarily accompany our words, it is of the 
 utmost consequence that this be such as is suitable and natural. No matter 
 how little, if it be but akin to the words and passion ; for, if foreign to them 
 it counteracts and destroys the very intention of delivery. The voice and 
 gesture may be said to be tuned to each other ; and, if they are in a ditferent 
 key, as it may be called, discord must inevitably be the consequence. 
 
 " A speaker's body," says Fenelon, " must betray action when there ia 
 movement in his words ; and his body must remain in repose when what he 
 utters is of a level, simple, unimpassioned character. Nothing seems to vsxi 
 80 shocking and absurd as the sight of a man lashing himself to a fury in the 
 utterance of tame things. The more he sweats, the more he freezes my very 
 blood." 
 
 Mr. Austin, in his " Chironomia," was the first to lay down laws for th€ 
 regulation of gesture ; and nearly all subsequent writers on the subject have 
 borrowed largely from his work. He ilhistrates his rules by plates, showing 
 the different attitudes and gestures for the expression of certain emotions. 
 Experience has abundantly proved that no benefit is to be derived from thfl 
 •tmdy of these figures. They only serve as a subject for ridicule to boys; and 
 are generally found, in every volume in use, well pencilled over with satirical 
 marks or mottoes, issuing from the mouths of the still-looking gentlemen who 
 ftre presented as models of grace and expression to aspiring youth. 
 
 The following is an enumeration of some of the most frequent gestures, t« 
 which the various members of the body contribute : 
 
 The Head and Face. The hanging down of the head denotes shame, OJ 
 grief. The holding it up, pride, or courage. To nod forward, implies assent, 
 fo toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies bashful 
 ftiluess or languor. The head is averted in dislike or horror. It leans fop 
 vari in attention. 
 
GESTUItE AND ATTITtrUE. 
 
 33 
 
 Tl.e Eyes. The eyes are raised, in prayer. They weep^ in sorrow. Burn, 
 m anger. They are cast on vacancy, in thought, 'i'hey are thrown in differeat 
 directions, in doubt and anxiety. 
 
 The Jlxtus. The arm is projected forward, in authority Both arms src 
 spread extended, in admiratitsn. They are held forward, m imploring help 
 They both fall suddenly, in disappointment. Folded, thej ienote thv.ughtful 
 aess 
 
 ThrS Hands. The hand on the head indicates pain, i»r distress. On tic 
 tjres, shame. On the lips, injunction of silence. On the breast, it appeals t© 
 e-oascience, or intimates desire. The hand waves, or flourishes, in joy, or con 
 'empt. Both hands are held supine, or clasped, in prayer. Both descend 
 prone, in blessing. They are clasped, or wrung, in affliction. The outstretched 
 fiands, with the knackles opposite the speaker's tace, express fear, abhorrence, 
 rejection, or dismissal. The outstretched hands, with the palms toward the fac6 
 of the speaker, denote approval, acceptation, welcoming, and love. 
 
 The Body. The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown 
 back, pride. Stoopijig forward, condesu *ision , or compassion. Bending, 
 reverence, or respect. Prostration, the utmost humility, or abasement. 
 
 The Lower Limbs. Their firm position signifief courage, or obstinacy 
 Bended knees, timidity, or weakness. Frequent change, disturbed thoughts 
 They advance, in desire, or courage. Retire, in aversion, or fear. Start, in 
 terror. Stamp, in authority, or anger. Kneel, in -submission and prayer. 
 
 Walker says that we should be careful to let th( stroke of the hand which 
 marks force, or emphasis, keep exact time with tne force of pronunciation 
 that is, the hand must go down upon the emjhatic word, and no other 
 Thus, in the imprecation of Brutus, in Julius Caesar 
 
 When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
 To lock such rascal counters from nis friends, 
 Be ready, Gods, with ail your thunderbolts. 
 Dash him in pieces ! 
 
 Here, says Walker, the action of the arm which enforces the emphasis ought ■ 
 t« be so directed that the stroke of the hand may be given exactly on the 
 word dash ; this will give a concomitant action to the organs of pronunciation, 
 and by this means the whole expression wi\l be greatly augmented. 
 
 Archbishop Whately contends, on the contrary, that the natural order of 
 action is, that the gesture should precede the utterance of the words. " An 
 emotion, struggling for utterance, produces a tendency to a bodily gesture, to 
 express that emotion more quickly than words can be framed; the words fol 
 low as soon as they can be spoken. And this being always the case with a real, 
 earnest, unstudied speaker, this mode, of placing the action foremost, gives 
 (,'if it be otherwise appropriate) the appearance of earnest emotion actually 
 present in the mind. And the reverse of this natural order would alone be 
 sufficient to convert the action of Demosthenes himself into unsuccessful and 
 ridiculous mimicry." 
 
 Where two such authorities clash, the pupil's own good taste must give th« 
 to his decision. 
 
 ATTITUDE. 
 
 «^ fhe gracefulness of motion in the iiuman frame," says Austin, in hia 
 Cfliroaomia, " consists in the facility and security with which it is executed: 
 ftnd the grace of any position consists in the facility with which it can be 
 varied. Hence, in the standing figure, the position is graceful when the 
 iveight of the body is principally supported on one leg, while the other is so 
 placed as to be ready to relieve it promptly, and without eftbrt. The foot which 
 flastains the principal weight must be so placed that a perpendicular line, lei 
 ^11 from the pit of the neck, shall pass through the heel of that foot. Of 
 Bourse, thu centre of gravity of the body is, for the time, in that line; whUaJ 
 3 
 
54 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 the other foot assists merely for the purpose of keeping tha body balanced It 
 ihe positicn, and of preventing it from tottering. In the various positions oi 
 the feet, care is to be taken that the grace which is aimed at be attended with 
 simplicity. The position of the orator is equally removed from the awkward- 
 ness of the rustic, with toes turned in and knees bent, and from the affectation 
 of the dancing-master, whose position runs to the opposite extreme. The 
 orator is to adopt such positions only as consist with manly and simple grace. 
 The toes ar^ to be moderately turned outward, but not to be constrained; tha 
 limbs are to be disposed so as to support the body with ease, and to admit ot 
 flowing and graceful movement. The sustaining foot is to be planted firmly i 
 the leg braced, but not contracted; the other foot and limb must press lightly, 
 and be held relaxed, so as to be ready for immediate change and action. In 
 changing the positions of the feet, the motions are to be made with the utmost 
 simplicity, and free from the parade and sweep of dancing. The speaker must 
 advance, retirn, or change, almost imperceptibly; and it is to be particularly 
 observed that changes should not be too frequent. Frequent change gives the 
 idea of anxiety or instability, both of which are unfavorable." Nothing can bf 
 more unbecoming than for an orator to be constantly tripping from one si(.e 
 4)0 the other, on the stand, and walking so fast as to seem to outrun his speech 
 Such an orator was said, anciently, to run after a cause, instead of pleaduig 
 it; and it is stated of Flavins Virginius, that he asked a speaker, very much 
 addicted to this habit, how many miles he had spoken that day. Of an orator, 
 whose favorite action was rising on tiptoe, it was said, that he must have been 
 accustomed to address his audience over a high wall. 
 
 The bow of the speaker to his audience, previous to his speech, should be 
 graceful and dignified; as far removed from a careless, jerking abruptness, as 
 from a formal and unnecessary flourish. 
 
 REGULATION OF THE HANDS, ARMS, &C. 
 
 In Oratory, the regulation of the hand is of peculiar importance, not only as 
 it serves to express passion, but to mark the dependence of clauses, and to 
 interpret the emphasis. . All action without the hand, says Qumtihan, is weak 
 and crippled. The expressions of the hand are as varied as language. It 
 demands, promises, calls, dismisses, threatens, implores, detests, fears, ques- 
 tions, and denies. It expresses joy, sorrow, doubt, acknowledgment, depena- 
 ence, repentance, number and time. Yet, the hand may be so employed as 
 not only to become an unmeaning, but an inconvenient appendage. One 
 speaker may raise his hands so high that he cannot readily get them down. 
 One, cannot take them from his bosom. One, stretches them above his head; 
 and another lays about him with such vigor, that it is dangerous to be 
 within his reach. . . j t ij 
 
 In using the arms, a speaker should give his action in curves, and should 
 bear in mind that different situations call for more or less motion of the limbs. 
 The fingers of the hand should not be kept together, as if it were intended by 
 nature that they should unite; nor should they be held forth unmeaningly, 
 Uke a bunch of radishes; but they should be easily and naturally bent. _ 
 
 Tlie speaker who truly feels his subject will feel it to his very finger-tips, 
 %ud these last will take unconsciously the right bend or motion, btudy weU, 
 therefore, what you have to say, and be prepared to say it m earnest. _ 
 
 The hand and arm should usually be moved gracefully m semi-circlea, 
 ♦xcept m indicative j^assages, as thus : " X charm thy life ! Lord Cardi 
 nai, to you I «peak ! " To lay down rules as to how fixr the arms may be 
 extended, or to what elevation the hand may be raised, would be superfluous. 
 A speaker should avoid throwing his arms up, as if he were dettermined tc 
 fling them from him; and he should avoid letting them fall with a vicleno* 
 •ufitcijnt to bruise his thigh; yet it is mdispensable that the arm shouW &U 
 |.U(i that it shoul"' not remain pinioned to +he side. 
 
MODES OF IMPHOTING THE VOICE 
 
 ft is as esgeitial for a speaker to endeavor, by his appearance and manner, 
 to please the eye, as by his tones to please the ear. His dress sh)uld be decent 
 Mid unaffected. His position should be easy and graceful. If he stand in a 
 perfectly perpendicular posture, an auditor would naturally say, " He looks 
 hke a post." If the hands work in direct lines, it will give him the appear, 
 ance of a two-handled pump. The first point to be attained is to avoid awk 
 ward habits : such as resting the chief weight of the body first on one foot and 
 then on the other; swinging to and fro; jerking forward the upper part of 
 the body, at every emphatic word; keeping the elbows pinioned to the sides; 
 and sawing the air with one hand, with one unvaried and ungraceful motion. 
 A3 gesture is used for the illustration and enforcement of language, sc it 
 should be limited, in its application, to such words and passages as admit of or 
 require it. A judicious speaker will not only adapt the general style and 
 manner of his action to the subject, the place, and the occasion, but even 
 when he allows himself the greatest latitude, he will reserve his gesture, or, at 
 least, the force and ornament of^.it, for those parts of his discourse for which 
 he also reserves his boldest thoughts and his most brilliant expressions. 
 
 As the head gives the chief grace to the person, so does it principally con- 
 tribute to the expression of grace in delivery. It must be held in an erect and 
 natural position. For, when drooped, it is expressive of humilitv • when turned 
 upwards, of arrogance; when inclined to one side, it expresses languor; and 
 when stiff and rigid, it indicates a lack of ease and self-possession. Its move- 
 ments should be suited to the character of the delivery; they should accord with 
 the gesture, and fall in with the action of the hands, and the motions of the 
 body. The eyes, which are of the utmost consequence in aiding the expres- 
 sion of the orator, are generally to be directed as the gesture points; except 
 when we have occasion to condemn, or refuse, or to require any object to be 
 removed; on which occasion, we should at the same moment express aver- 
 sion in our countenance, and reject by our gesture A listless, inanimate 
 expression of countenance, will always detract from the effect of the most 
 eloquent sentiments, and the most appropriate utterance. 
 
 TRAINING AND STRENGTHENING THE VOICE. 
 
 In order to read and speak well, it is necessary to have all the vocal 
 elements under complete command, so that they may be duly applied when- 
 ever they are required for the vivid and elegant delineation of the sense and 
 sentiment of discourse. The student, therefore, should first practise on the 
 thirty-five alphabetic elements, in order to insure a true and easy execution 
 of their unmixed sounds. This will be of more use than pronouncing words 
 in which they occur; for, when pronounced singly, the elements will receive a 
 concentration of the organic effort, which will give them a clearness of sound 
 and a definite outline, if we may so speak, at their extremes, making a fine 
 preparation for their distinct and forcible pronunciation in the compounds of 
 speech. He should then take one or more of the compound sounds, and carry it 
 through all the degrees of the diatonic and concrete scales, both in an upward 
 and a downward direction, and through the principal forms of the wave. Ho 
 should next take some one familiar sentence, and practise upon it with every 
 variety of intonation of which it will admit. He should afterwards run through 
 the various vocal keys, and the forms of the cadence; and, lastly, he should 
 recite, with all the force that he can command, some passage which requires 
 great exertion of the voice. If he would acquire power and volume of utter- 
 ance, he must practise in the open air, with his face to the wind, his body 
 perfectly erect, his chest expanded, his tongue retracted and depressed, and 
 the cavity of his mouth as much as possible enlarged; and it is almost unnec- 
 «8_sa,ry to add, that anything which improves the general tone of the health 
 «nU proportionably affect the voice. If to this elementary practice the student 
 Wd a earef"!} and discriminating analysis of some of the best pieces which our 
 
^6 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 language oontains, both in prose and verse, and if he strenuousTj cr dca^w U 
 apply to them all the scientific principles which he has learned, there can b« 
 no doubt that he will acquire a manner of delivery which will do ampk 
 'ustice to any subject on which he may be called to exercise his voeai 
 Oowers. 
 
 In all reading and public speaking, the management of the breath rcquire« 
 great car3, so as not to be obliged to divide words from one another which 
 have su intipaate a connection that they ought to be pronounced in th® sam« 
 breath, and without the least separation. Many sentences are marred, and th« 
 force of the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the wrong place. 
 To avoid this, every one, while he is reading or speaking, should be careful to 
 provide a full supply of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great mistake 
 to imagine that the breath must be drawn only at the end of a period, when 
 the voice is allowed to fall. It may easily be gathered at intervals of the 
 period, when the voice is only suspended for a moment; and, by this manage- 
 ment, we may have always a sufficient stock for carrying on the longest 
 sentence, without improper interruptions. 
 
 The importance of a skilful management of the breath in utterance will be 
 made apparent by a little practice. It is a good exercise for the pupil to 
 repeat the cardinal numbers rapidly up to twenty, inhaling a full breath at the 
 commencement. He may, by practice, make his breath hold out till he reaches 
 forty and more, enunciating every syllable distinctly. • 
 
 It must always be part of a healthful physiological regimen to exercise the 
 voice daily, in reading or speaking aioud. The habit of Demosthenes, of walk- 
 ing by the sea-shore and shouting, was less important, in accustoming him tc 
 the sound of a multitude, than in developing and strengthening his vocal 
 organs. The pupil will be astonished to find how much his voice will gain 
 in power by daily exercise. " Reading aloud and recitation," says Andrew 
 Combe, " are more useful and invigorating muscular exercises thaa is gene- 
 rally imagined; at least, when managed with due regard to the natural powers 
 of the individual, so as to avoid effort and fatigue. Both require the varied 
 activity of most of the muscles of the trunk to a degree of which few are 
 conscious till their attention is turned to it. In forming and undulating the 
 voice, not only the chest, but also the diaphragm and abdominal muscles, are in 
 constant action, and communicate to the stomach and bowels a healthy and 
 agreeable stimulus." 
 
 Btow doubly important does the judicious and methodical exercise of the 
 7oice thus become to him who would make it at once an effective instrument 
 of conveying truth to his fellow-men, and of improving his own physical 
 itrength and capacity ! 
 
 EXPLANATORY MARKS 
 
 The length of a vowel is indicated by a horizontal Une^ (-) ever it; aa, ^ 
 tatlnus. Its shortness is marked by a curve (" ) ; as, Regulus. 
 
 If two vowels, which, in ordinary circumstances, form a diphthong, or ar« 
 Ukely to be fused together in their utterance, are to be pronounced separately 
 the second is marked with (") ; that is, a diajresis; as, atrial. This rul« 
 is not always observed in familiar instances. , • i. • 
 
 The acute accent (') is employed to indicate that the vowel over which it 
 » placed is not merged in the preceding syllable ; as, blessed, Tempe ; th« 
 accent showing that these words are to be pronounced in two syllablea. In 
 poetry, the past participle, which in prose is in one syllable, often has to M 
 pronounced in two, to preserve the harmony of the verse. 
 
THE 
 
 STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 MOKAL AND DIDACTIC. 
 
 1. TRUTH THE OBJECT OF ALL &TVJ)mS. — Original Translation 
 
 The supreme want, as well as the supreme blessing of man, is tru! a. 
 7es,_ truth in religion, which, in giving us pure and exalted ideas of the 
 Divinity, teaches us, at the same time, to render Him the most worthy' 
 and intelligent homage ; — truth in morals, which indicates their duties 
 t{» all classes, at once without rigor and without laxity ; — truth in 
 politics, which, in making authority more just and the people more 
 acquiescent, saves governments from the passions of the multitude, and 
 the m altitude from the tyranny of governments ; — truth in our legal 
 tribunals, which strikes Vice with consternation, reassures Innocence, 
 and accomplishes the triumph of Justice ; — trutli in education, which,' 
 bringing the conduct of instructors into accordance with their teachino-' 
 exhibits them as the models no less than the masters of infancy and 
 youth ; — truth in literature and in art, which preserves them from 
 the contagion of bad taste, from false ornaments as well as false 
 thoughts ; — truth in the daily commerce of life, which, in banishing 
 fraud and imposture, establishes the common security ; — truth in 
 everything, truth before everything, — this is, in effect, what the whole 
 human race, at heart, solicit. Yes, all men have a consciousness, that 
 truth is ever beneficent, and falsehood ever pernicious. 
 
 And, indeed, when none but true doctrines shall be universally 
 inculcated, — when they shall have penetrated all hearts, — when they 
 shall animate every order of society, — if they do not arrest all exut- 
 ing evils, they will have, at least, the advantage of arresting a great 
 many. They will be prolific in generous sentiments and^ virtuou? 
 actions , and the world will perceive that truth is, to the body sucial. 
 a principle of life. ^ But, if, on the other hand, error, in matters of 
 uapital import, obtain dominion in the minds of men, — especially of 
 those who are called to serve as guides and models, — it will mislead 
 and confound them, and, in corrupting their thoughts, sentiments an«i 
 wU, it will ^ecome a principle of dissolution and death. 
 
38 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 
 
 2. IMMORrALlTY. — Original Translation from Massillon. 
 
 Juan 3aptiste Massillon, one of the most eloquent preachers of any age, was bom in Pit* 
 ence, France, in 1663. lie became so celebrated for his eloquence, that he was called to Paris 
 (There he drew crowds of hearers. In 1717, he was made Bishop of Clermont ; and died, 1743- 
 
 If we wholly perish with the body, what an imposture is this whok 
 system of laws, manners and usages, on which human society is foitinded ! 
 [f vfQ wholly perish with the body, these maxims of charity, patience, 
 Justice, honor, gratitude and friendship, which sages have taught and 
 good men have nractised, what are they but empty words, possessing 
 0.0 real and binding efficacy? Why should we heed them, if in this life 
 only we have hope ? Speak not of duty. What can we owe to the 
 dead, to the living, to ourselves, if all are, or will be, nothing ? Who 
 shall dictate our duty, if not our own pleasures, — if not our own 
 passions ? Speak not of morality. It is a mere chimera, a bugbear 
 of human invention, if retribution terminate with the grave. 
 
 If we must wholly perish, what to us are the sweet ties of kindred ? 
 what the tender names of parent, child, sister, brother, husband, wife,, 
 or friend ? The characters of a drama are not more illusive We 
 have no ancestors, no descendants ; since succession cannot be predi- 
 cated of nothingness. Would we honor the illustrious dead ? How 
 absurd to honor that which has no existence ! Would we take thought 
 for posterity ? How frivolous to concern ourselves for those whose 
 end, like our own, must soon be annihilation ! Have we made a 
 promise ? How can it bind nothing to nothing ? Perjury is but a 
 jest. The last injunctions of the dying, — what sanctity have they 
 more than the last sound of a chord that is snapped, of an instru- 
 ment that is broken ? 
 
 To sum up all : If we must wholly perish, then is obedience to the 
 laws but an insensate servitude ; rulers and magistrates are but tne 
 phantoms which popular imbecility has raised up ; justice is an un- 
 warrantable infringement upon the liberty of men, — an imposition, a^n 
 usurpation ; the law of marriage is a vain scruple ; modesty, a prej- 
 udice ; honor and probity, such stuff as dreams are made of ; and 
 incests, murders, parricides, the most heartless cruelties, and the black- 
 est crimes, are but the legitimate sports of man's irresponsiole nature ; 
 while the harsh epithets attached to them are merely such as the 
 policy of legislators has invented, and imposed on the credulity of the 
 pooplo. 
 
 Here is the issue to which the vaunted philosophy of unbeliever 
 must inevitably lead. Here is that social felicity, that sway of rea- 
 won, that emancipation from error, of which they eternally prate, as 
 the fruit of their doctrines. Accept their maxims, and the whole 
 world falls back into a frightful chaos ; and all the relations of l-ife 
 are confounded ; and all ideas of vice and virtue, are reversed ; and 
 the most inviolable laws of society vanish ; and all moral disciplin« 
 perishes; and the government of states and nations has no longoi 
 any cement to uphold it ; and all the harmony of the body politin 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. RUSKIN. 
 
 becomes discord ; and the human race is no more thai an :jsseniblag€ 
 >jf reckless barbarians, shameless, remorseless, brutal, denaturalized, 
 with no other law than force, no other check than passion, no other 
 bond than irreligion, no other God than self! Such would be th© 
 world which impiety would make. Such would be this world, wcm 
 ft i>ftlief in God and immortality to die out of the human heart. 
 
 3. THE UTILITY OP THE BEAUHIYVL. — Jokn Eusktn. 
 
 Man's use and function — and let him who will not grant mc 
 this follow me no further — is to be the witness of the glory of God, 
 and to advance that glory by his reasonable obedience and resultant 
 happiness. Whatever enables us to fulfil this function is, in the pure 
 ind first sense of the word, useful to us. And yet people speak, ii 
 this working age, as if houses, and lands, and food, and raiment, were 
 done useful ; and, as if sight, thought and admiration, were all profit- 
 less : so that men insolently call themselves Utilitarians, who would 
 turn, if they had their way, themselves and their race into vegetables; 
 men who think, as far as such can be said to think, that the meat is 
 more than the life, and the raiment than the body ; who look to thf 
 earth as a stable, and to its fruit as fodder ; vine-dressers and hus 
 bandmen, who love the corn they grind, and the grapes they crush, 
 Detter than the gardens of the angels upon the slopes of Eden ; hewers 
 of wood and drawers of water, who think that the wood they hew, and 
 the water they draw, are better than the pine-forests that cover the 
 mountains like the shadow of God, and than the great rivers that move 
 like His eternity. And so comes upon us that woe of the preacher, 
 that though God " hath made everything beautiful in his time, also 
 He hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the 
 work that God maketh from the beginning to the end." 
 
 This Nebuchadnezzar curse, that sends us to grass like oxen, seems 
 to follow but too closely on the excess or continuance of national power 
 and peace. In the perplexities of nations, in their struggles for exist- 
 ence, — in their infancy, their impotence, or even their disorganization, 
 — they have higher hopes and nobler passions. Out of the suffering 
 (X)mes the serious mind ; out of the salvation, the grateful heart ; out 
 of the endurance, the fortitude ; out of the deliverance, the faith. 
 Deep though the causes of thankfulness must be to every people at 
 peace with others and at unity in itself, there are causes of fear also,' — 
 a fear greater than of sword and sedition, — that dependence on Goi 
 may be forgotten, because the bread is given and the water is sure ; 
 fchat gratitude to Him may cease, because His constancy of protectiou 
 has taken the semblance of a natural law ; that heavenly hope maj 
 grow faint amidst the full fruition of the world ; thar selfishness maif 
 take place of undemanded devotion, compassion be lost in vain-glory 
 and love in dissimulation ; that enervation may succeed to strength 
 •ipathy tG patience, and the noise of jesting words and the foulness oi 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 daik thoughts to the earnest purity of the girded loins and the hum 
 iiig lamp. Let us beware that our rest become not the rest of stoneak 
 which, so long as they are torrent-tossed and thunder-stricken, main 
 tain their majesty, but, when the stream is silent, and the storni passed^ 
 mffer the grass to cover them and the lichen to feed on them, 4ud are 
 ploughed down into dust. 
 
 4. THE WORLD WITHOUT AND WITHIN. — Thomas Noon Talfourdt. 
 
 Existence has become almost a different thing since it began with 
 some of us. It then justified its old similitude of a journey, — it quick- 
 ened with intellect into a march; it is now whirling with science and 
 speculation into a flight. Space is contracted and shrivelled up like a 
 scroll. Time disdains its old relations to distance. The intervals 
 between the " flighty purpose " and the " deed " are almost annihi- 
 lated ; and the national mind must either glow with generous excite- 
 ment, or waste in fitful fever. How important, then, is it, that 
 throughout our land the spiritual agencies should be quickened into 
 kindred activity ; that the few minutes of leisure and repose which 
 may be left us should, by the succession of those " thoughts which 
 wander through eternity," become hours of that true time which is 
 dialled in Heaven ; that thought, no longer circling in vapid dream, 
 but im.pelled right onward with divine energy, should not only out- 
 speed the realized miracles of steam, but the divinest visions of atmos- 
 pheric prophecy, and still " keep the start of the majestic world " ! 
 
 Mr. Canning once boasted, of his South American policy, that he 
 had " called a new world into existence, to balance the old." Ee it 
 your nobler endeavor to preserve the balance even between the world 
 within us and the world without us ; not vainly seeking to retard the 
 life of action, but to make it steady by Contemplation's innnorta. 
 freightage. Then may we exult, as the chariot of humanity flies 
 onward, with safety in its speed, — for we shall discover, like Ezekiei 
 of old, in prophetic vision, the spirit in its wheels. 
 
 All honor, then, to those who, amid the toils, the cares, and the 
 excitements, of a season of transition and struggle, would rescue the 
 golden hours of the youth around them from debasing pleasures and 
 more debasing sloth, and enable them to set to the world, in a great 
 crisis of . its moral condition, this glorious example of intellectual cour- 
 Ige and progress ! 
 
 6 THE MECHANICAL EPOCH. — Hon. John P. Kennedy. 
 
 The world is now entering upon the Mechanical Epoch. There ie 
 QOthing in the future more sure than the great triumphs which that 
 «poch 'is to achieve. It has already advanced to some glorious con 
 quests. What miracles of mechanical invention already crowd upon 
 OS ' Look abroad, and contemplate the infinite achievements of th« 
 
MJEAL AND 7>IDACTIC. — AKENSIDE. 
 
 4 
 
 steam power. Reflect a moment on all that has been done by the 
 railroad. Pause to estimate, if you can, with all the help of imagm&. 
 lion, what is to result from the agency now manifested in the oper- 
 ations of the telegraph. Cast a thought over the who.e field of 
 scientific mechanical improvement and its application to human wants, 
 m the last twenty years, — to go no further back, — and think what a 
 world it has made ; — how many comforts it has given to man, how 
 Jiany facilities ; what it has done for his food and raiment, for km 
 communication with his fellow-man in every clime, for his instructioD 
 .n books, his amusements, his safety ! — what new lands it has opened, 
 »vhat old ones made accessible ! — how it has enlarged the sphere of' 
 ^is knowledge and conversancy with his species ! It is all a great, 
 astounding marvel, a miracle which it oppresses the mind to think of. 
 It is the smallest boast which can be made for it to say that, in ail 
 desirable facilities in life, in the comfort that depends upon mechanism, 
 and in all that is calculated to delight the senses or instruct the mind, 
 the man of this day, who has secured himself a moderate competence, 
 IS placed far in advance of the most wealthy, powerful and princely 
 of ancient times, — might I not say, of the times less than a century 
 gone by ? 
 
 And yet we have only begun ; — we are but on the threshold of 
 this epoch. A great celebration is now drawing to a close, — the cel- 
 ebration, by all nations, of the new era. A vast multitude of alj 
 peoples, nations and_tongues, has been, but yesterday, gathered under 
 a magnificent crystal palace, in the greatest city of the world, to 
 illustrate and distinguish the achievements of art, — no less, also, to 
 dignify and exalt the great mechanical fraternity who have filled that 
 palace with wonders. Is not this fact, of itself, charged with a 
 volume of comment ? What is it but the setting of the great distinct- 
 ive seal upon the nineteenth century? — an advertisment of the fact 
 that society has risen to occupy a higher platform than ever before ? 
 --a proclamation from the high places, announcing honor, honor 
 immortal, to the workmen who fill this world with beauty, comfort and 
 power ; honor to be forever embalmed in history, to be perpetuated in 
 monuments, to be written in the hearts of this and succeeding geri- 
 
 6. THE MIND OF MAIH. — Mark Afcenside. Born, 1121 i died^im 
 
 Say, why was man so eminently raised 
 Amid the vast creation, — why ordained 
 Through life and death to dart his piercing eye. 
 With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame, — ' 
 But that th' Omnipotent might send him forth 
 In sight of mortal and immortal Powers, 
 As on a boundless theatre, to run 
 I'he great career of justice ; to exalt 
 His geuerous ^im to all diviner deeds * 
 
♦2 
 
 THE STANJ>i^,<0 SPEiKm 
 
 To chase eacfi partial purpose from his breast, 
 And through the mists of Passion and of Sense, 
 And through the tossing tides of Chance and Pain, 
 To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice 
 Of Truth and Virtue, up the steep ascent 
 Of Nature, calls him to his high reward, 
 The applauding smile of Heaven ? The high-born i05l 
 Disdains to rest her Heaven-aspiring wing 
 Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth 
 And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft 
 Through fields of air ; pursues the flying storm ; 
 Rides on the volleyed lightning through the Heavens 
 Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the Northern blast, 
 Sweeps the long tract of Day. 
 
 Mind, Mind alone (bear witness, Earth and Heaven*^ 
 
 The living fountains in itself contains 
 
 Of beauteous and sublime : here, hand in hand, 
 
 Sit paramount the Graces ; here, enthroned. 
 
 Celestial Venus, with divinest airs. 
 
 Invites the Soul to never-fading joy. 
 
 Look, then, abroad through Nature, to the rangt 
 Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres, 
 Wheeling unshaken through the void immense , 
 And speak, C man ! does this capacious scene 
 With half that kindling majesty dilate 
 Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose 
 Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate, 
 Amid the crowd of patriots, and his arm 
 Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, 
 When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud 
 On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel, 
 And bade the father of his country hail ? 
 For lo ! the tyrant prostrate in the dust, 
 And Rome again is free ! 
 
 7. THE TRUE TO-DAY —H. Withington. Born, 1818 ; diei, 1848. 
 
 All that there is in what we call To-day is in the life of thougnt 
 thought is the spirit's breath. To think is to live ; for he who thinki 
 not has no sense of life. Wouldst thou make the most of life. — 
 wouldst thou have the joy of the present, — let Thought's invisible 
 shuttles weave full in the loom of Time the moment's passing threadfi. 
 To think is to live ; but with how many are these passing hours as so 
 many loose filaments, never woven together, nor gathered, but scat- 
 tered, ravelling, so many flying ends, confused and worthless ! Time 
 and life, unfilled with thought, are useless, unenjoyed, bringing no 
 ple;isure for the present, storing no good for future neqd To-da^ if 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC- ENGLAND. 
 
 43 
 
 the golden chance, wherewith to snatch Thought's blftssed fniition, - 
 the joy of the Present, the hope of the Future. Thought makes tkt 
 time that is, and thought the eternity to come : 
 
 "0 bright presence of To-day, let me wrestle with thee, grarioiis angel; 
 I will not let thee go except thou bless me; bless me, then, To-day ' 
 0 sweet garden of To-day, let me gather of thee, precious Eden; 
 J have stolen bitter knowledge, give me fruits of life To-day. 
 
 0 true temple of To-day, let me worship in thee, glorious Zion; 
 
 1 find none other place nor time than where I am To-day. 
 
 0 living rescue of To-day, let me run into thee, ark of refuge; 
 
 1 see none other hope nor chance, but standeth in To-day. 
 
 0 rich banquet of To-day, let me feast upon thee, saving manna; 
 
 1 have none other food nor store but daily bread To-day." 
 
 8. THE DUELLIST'S IlOmB.. — Bishop England. Born, 1786; died, 1842. 
 
 Honor is the acquisition and preservation of the dignity of om 
 nature: that dignity consists in its perfection; that perfection is 
 round in observing the laws of our Creator ; the laws of the Creator 
 are the dictates of reason and of religion : that is, the observance of 
 what He teaches us by the natural light of our own minds, and by 
 the special revelations of His will manifestly given. They both con- 
 cur in teaching us that individuals have not the dominion of the-^ 
 own lives ; otherwise, no suicide would be a criminal. They concur 
 teaching us that we ought to be amenable to the laws of the societ 
 of which we are members ; otherwise, morality and honor would be 
 consistent with the violation of law and the disturbance of the social 
 system. ^ They teach us that society cannot continue to exist where 
 the public^ tribunals are despised or undervalued, and the redress of 
 injuries withdrawn from the calm regulation of public justice, for the 
 purpose of being committed to the caprice of private passion, and the 
 execution of individual ill-will ; therefore, the man of honor abides 
 by the law of God, reveres the statutes of his country, and is respect- 
 ful and amenable to its authorities. Such, my friends, is what the 
 reflecting portion of mankind has always thought upon the subject of 
 honor. This was the honor of the Greek ; this was the honor of the 
 Roman ; this the honor of the Jew ; this the honor of the Gentile ; 
 this, too, was the honor of the Christian, until the superstition and 
 barbarity of Northern devastators darkened his glory and degraded 
 Uis character. 
 
 Man, then, has not power over his own life ; much less is he jufjti- 
 ged in depriving another human being of life. Upon what grcund 
 can he who engages in a duel, through the fear of ignonony, lay 
 claim to courage ? Unfortunate delinquent ! Do you not see by how 
 many lir.ks your victim was bound to a multitude of others ? Does 
 his vain and idle resignation of his title to life absolve you from the 
 enormous claims which society has upon you for his services, ~ his 
 family for that support, of which you have robbed them, without youi 
 own enrichment ? Go. stand over that body ; call back tha^ sou. 
 
THE feTANiARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 whicls you have d riven ft-om its tenement ; take up that hand whicfc. 
 your pride refused to touch, not one hour ago. You have, in youf 
 ^ride and wrath, usurped one prerogative of God. You hare inflicted 
 death. At least, in mercy, attempt the exercise of another ; breathe 
 into those distended nostrils, — let your brother be once more a hving 
 Boul ! Merciful Father ! how powerless are we for good, but how 
 mighty for, evil ! Wretched man ! he does not answer, — he cannot 
 rise. All your efforts to make him breathe are vain. His soul is 
 already in the presence of your common Creator. Like the wretched 
 Cain, will you answer, " Am I my brother's keeper ? " Why do you 
 turn away from the contemplation of your own honorable work ? 
 Yes, go as far as you will, still the admonition will ring in your ears : 
 It was by your hand he fell! The horrid instrument of death is 
 still in that hand, and the stain of blood upon your soul. Fly, if you 
 will, — go to that house which you have filled with desolation. It is 
 the shriek of his widow, — they are the cries of his children, — the 
 broken sobs of his parent ; — and, amidst the wailings, you distinctly 
 hear the voice of imprecation on your own guilty head ! Will your 
 hmorable feelings be content with this ? Have you now had ahun* 
 d tnt and gentlemanly satisfaction ? 
 
 8. DAY CONCEALS WHAT NIGHT REVEALS. P. m'cAoZ. 
 
 Vast as our firmament may be, has it boundaries, or does it stretch 
 away into infinitude ? Are those awful spaces, that surround it on 
 every side, void, empty, — or are they tenanted by worlds and systems 
 similar to our own ? No wonder that a mind like Herschell's should 
 hayc r ashed to the conclusion that the space around our system was a 
 vault, in whose capacious bosom myriads of mighty clusters like our 
 own universe are placed. If it be true that this great scheme of ours 
 is simply that which Herschell first supposed it, but still a great, sep- 
 arate, distinct scheme, whose nature is, perhaps, more than anything 
 else, represented by these singular Nebulae, what must we think with 
 regard to it ? Surely it is, that notwithstanding its innnense difiusion, 
 its vast confines, the great space through which its different portioas 
 range, there must lie around it, on every side, vast untenanted spaces ; 
 and, if this be so, may it not be that amid all that space, also, there 
 are floating great schemes of being like ours, — schemes, I fsay, of 
 different shape, of different character, but lying in these vasi regions 
 of space like ours, — schemes quite as magnificent as that vast system 
 to which we ourselves belong ? If this be so, what a conception, in 
 regard to the material universe, must press itself upon our notice i 
 
 How strange that this Universe is only yet cognizable by one human 
 sense ! that the veil of the sun's light entirely conceals its wonden 
 from our view ! that, had the light of that Sun not been veiUid b^ 
 the curtain of night we had lived amid it and never have known of 
 the axiatence of the Stellar Universe ! May it not, then, be trao, thas 
 
MOKAI. AND DIDACTIC. 
 
 ^5 
 
 during midnight, wlf.en these infinite orbs apjy ai* to \m from thoii 
 anmeasured depths, --may it not be true that through ^eOs as thiu, 
 we are withheld now from the consciousness of other Universes, vasj 
 even aa the world of stars ? But, in reference to an idea sc lofty, le* 
 me use the lanmiao-e of a crreat mind : 
 
 o o o 
 
 " Mysterious Night ? when our first parent knew 
 
 Thee by report divine, and heard thy name. 
 
 Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, 
 
 ^his glorious canopy of light and blue '] 
 
 Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, 
 
 loathed in the rays of the great setting Qacno, 
 
 Hesperus and the hosts of Heaven came. 
 
 And, lo ! Creation widened in man's \'iew. 
 
 Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed 
 
 Within thy beams, 0 Sun ! or who could find. 
 
 Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood revealed. 
 
 That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind 
 
 Why do we, then, shun death with anxious strife 1 — 
 
 If Light can thus deceive, why may not Life 1 " 
 
 10. MAN'S MATERIAL TRIUMPHS. — Orig-ma/ Translation. 
 
 When we contemplate man in his relations to the rest of citation, 
 how lofty, in the comparison, appears his lot! He subdues all the pow- 
 ers of nature. He combines or separates them according to his wants- 
 — according to his caprices. Master of the earth, he covers it at wiW 
 with cities, with villages, with monuments, with trees, and with har- 
 vests. He forces all the lower animals to cultivate it for him, to serve 
 him for use or pastime, or to disappear from his domain. Master of 
 the sea, he floats at ease over its unfathomed abysses ; he places dylces 
 to its fury, he pillages its treasures, and he makes itss waves hia 
 highway of transportation from clime to clime. Master of the ele- 
 ments, fire, air, light, water, docile slaves of his sovereign will, are 
 imprisoned in his laboratories and manufactories, or harnessed to hie 
 cars, which they drag, invisible couriers, swift as thought ! 
 
 Wliat grandeur and what power, in a n-ail being of a day, a hardly 
 perceptible atom amid that creation, over which he acquires such em- 
 pire ! And yet this creature, so diminutive, so weak, has received an 
 intelligent and reasoning soul ; and, alone, among all the rest, enjoys 
 the amazing privilege of deriving from the Fountain of life and light 
 an intellectual radiance, in the midst of worlds whose glow is but the 
 pale reflex of material orbs. The empire of the world has been given 
 to him because his spirit, greater than the world, can measure, 
 a^lmire, comprehend, and explain it. Nature has been subjected to 
 him, because he can unveil the marvellous mechanism of her laws, 
 penetrate her profoundest secrets, and wrest from her all the treasures 
 which she holds in her bosom. Placed at such a height, man would 
 'ndee^. be perilously tempted; — giddy and dazzled, he wciild forgel 
 
 ♦ J= Blanco Whit© 
 
46 
 
 THE STANDAEr SPEAKER. 
 
 the adorable Benefa^^tor, who had made him so great, and admire ano 
 adore hinxself as the principle and the first source of his grandetir, 
 but that Divine Goodness has been quick to secure him from thh 
 danger, by graving in his being a law of dependence, of original in- 
 firmity, of which it is impossible for pride itself to efface the celestial 
 imprint. 
 
 And SO' has Nature been commissioned to render up her secrets and 
 her treasures with a reluctant hand, one by one, at the price of har- 
 assing labors and profound meditations ; to make man feel, at every 
 movement, that if she is obliged to succumb to his desires, she yields 
 less to his will than to his exertions ; — a sure sign of his dependence. 
 And so shall there be no progress, no conquests for man, which are no"t 
 at once i signal proof of his strength and his weakness, and which do 
 not bear the indelible impress at once of his power and his insuffi- 
 eieacy. 
 
 11. FORTITTTDE AMID TRIALS. — Anonymous. 
 
 0, NEVER from thy tempted heart 
 Let thine integrity depart ! 
 When Disappointment fills thy cup, 
 Undaunted, nobly drink it up ; 
 Truth will prevail, and Justice show 
 Her tardy honors, sure though slow. 
 
 Bear on — bear bravely on ! 
 
 Bear on ! Our life is not a dream, 
 Though often such its mazes seem ; 
 We were not born for lives of ease, 
 Ourselves alone to aid and please. 
 To each a daily task is given, 
 A labor which shall fit for Heaven ; 
 When Duty calls, let Love grow warm ; — 
 Amid the sunshine and the storm, 
 With Faith life's trials boldly breast, 
 And come a conqueror to thy rest. 
 
 Bear on — bear bravely on ! 
 
 12. THE UNITED STATES OP EUROPE — Original Translation 
 Prom Victor Hugo's Presidential Address at the Peace Congress, 1849. 
 
 A DAT will come when you, France, — you, Russia, — you, / t-aly 
 — yom, England, — you, Germany, — all of you. Nations of tiw Oon- 
 .inent, — shall, without losing your distinctive qualities &nd your 
 glorious individuality, blend in a higher unity, and form a European 
 fraternity, even as Normandy, Brittany, Burgundy, Lorraine, Alsace,* 
 %L the French provinces, have blended into France A day will yyme 
 
 ♦ Pronounced A^sasa. 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. HUGO. 47 
 
 W'hen war shall seem as absurd and impossible between Paris iihd Lon. 
 ioD, between Petersbui^g and Berlin, as between Rouen * and Amiens 1 
 between Boston and Philadelphia. A day will come when bullet* 
 %rid bombs shall be replaced by ballots, by the universal sufiVagcs cf 
 the People, by the sacred arbitrament of a great sovereign Senate 
 which ^ shall be to Eurcpe what the Parliament is to England, what 
 the Diet is to Germany, what the Legislative Assembly is to France. 
 A day will come when a cannon shall be exhibited in our museums, 
 m an instrument of torture is now, and men shall marvel that such 
 things could be. A day will come when shall be seen those two 
 tmmense groups, the United States of America and the United State® 
 of Europe, in face of each other, extending hand to hand over the 
 ocean, exchanging their products, their commerce, their industry their 
 arts, their genius, — clearing the earth, colonizing deserts, and ame- 
 horating creation, under the eye of the Creator. 
 
 And, for that day to arrive, it is not necessary that four hundred 
 years should pass : for we live in a fast time ; we live in a current of 
 events and of ideas the most impetuous that has ever swept along the 
 iN ations ; and at an epoch when a year may sometimes effect the work 
 of a century And to you I appeal, — French, Elnglish, Germans, 
 Kussians, bclaves, Europeans, Americans, — what have we to do to 
 hasten the coming of that great day ? Love one another ! To love 
 one another, m this immense work of pacification, is the best way of 
 aiding God For God wills that this sublime end should be accom- 
 plished. And, see, for the attainment of it, what, on all sides, He is 
 doing! bee what discoveries He causes to spring from the human 
 brain, all tending to the great end of peace ! What progress ! What 
 simplifications ! How does Nature, more and more, suffer herself to 
 be vanquished by man ! How doe3 matter become, more and more 
 the slave of intelligence and the servant of civilization ! How do tht 
 causes of war vanish with the causes of suffering ! How are remote 
 Nations brought near ! How is distance abridged! And how doe', 
 this abridgment make men more like brothers ! Thanks to railroads 
 Europe will soon be no larger than France was in the middle ages' 
 Jhanks to steamships, we now traverse the ocean more easily than we 
 could the Mediterranean once ! Yet a few years more, and the elec- 
 trie thread of concord shall encircle the globe, and unite the world ' 
 
 VVhen 1 consider all that Providence has done for us, and all that 
 pditicians nave done against us, a melancholy consideration presents 
 itsell We Jearn, from the statistics of Europe, that she now spend, 
 annua I Jy, for the maintenance of her armies, the sum of five hundred 
 millions of dollars. If, for the last thirty-two years, this enormous 
 sum had been expended m the interests of peace, - America n« can- 
 while aiding Europe, - know you what would have happened ? The 
 ^ of he world would have been changed. Isthmuses would haw 
 &eeo cut through; rivers would have been channelled; mountalni 
 ♦ Pronounced Rooang. ^ Ahmoeang, 
 
48 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 tunnelled. Raili-oads would have covered the two ccnllft^nts. The 
 merchant tonnage of the world would have increased a hundred-fold. 
 There would be nowhere barren plains, nor moors, nor marshes 
 Cities would be seen where now all is still a solitude. Harbors would 
 have been dug where shoals and rocks now threaten navigation. Asia 
 would be i-aised to a state of civilization. Africa would be restored 
 to man. Abundance would flow forth fronx every side, from all the 
 veins of the earth, beneath the labor of the whole family of man ; and 
 uiisery would disappear ! And, with misery, what would also disap. 
 pear ? Revolutions. Yes ; the face of the world would be changed. 
 ] nstead of destroying one another, men would peacefully people the 
 A' iste places of the earth. Instead of making revolutions, they would 
 establish colonies. Instead of bringing back barbarism into civi'iza- 
 tioo, they would carry civilization into barbarism. 
 
 (3, THE PEACE CONGRESS OF THE UNION. — ^dujurd Z'verett. June llth, 1860. 
 
 Among the great ideas of the age, we are authorized in reckoning 
 a growing sentim.ent in favor of peace. An impression is unquestion- 
 ably gaining strength in the world, that public war is no less reproach- 
 ful to our Christian civilization than the private wars of the feudal 
 ihieft in the middle ages. A Congress of Nations begins to be re- 
 garded as a practicable measure. Statesmen, and orators, and phi- 
 lanthropists, are flattering themselves that the countries of Europe, 
 which have existed as independent sovereignties for a thousand years, 
 and have never united in one movement since the Crusades, may be 
 Drought into some community of action for this end. 
 
 They are calling conventions, and digesting projects, by which 
 Empires, Kingdoms, and Republics, inhabited by different races of 
 men, — tribes of Slavonian, Teutonic, Latin, and mixed descent, — 
 speaking different languages, believing different creeds,— Greeks, Cath- 
 olics, and Protestants, men who are scarcely willing to live on the 
 same earth with each other, or go to the same Heaven, — can be made 
 to agree to some great plan of common umpirage. If, while these 
 sanguine projects are pursued, — while we are thinking it worth 
 while to compass sea and land in the expectation of bringing these 
 jarring nationalities into some kind of union, in order to put a stop to 
 war, — if, I say, at this juncture, the People of these thirty Unit'id 
 ferates, most of which are of the average size of a European King- 
 dom, destined, if they remain a century longer at peace with each 
 other, to equal in numbers the entire population of Europe ; States, 
 which, drawn together by a general identity of descent, language and 
 fiiith, have not so much formed as grown up into a National Confod- 
 eration, possessing in its central Legislature, Executive and Judi 
 diary, an efficient tribunal for the arbitration and decision of contro. 
 rersies, — an actual Peace Congress, clothed with all the pcwers of a 
 «)mmon Constitution and law and with a jurisdiction extending t« 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — BECKWITH. 49 
 
 the individual citizen (which this projected Congress of Nations does 
 liOt even hope to exercise), — if, while we grasp at this shadow of a 
 Congress of Nations, we let go of — nay, break up, and scatter to the 
 winds — this substantia] union, fhis real Peace Congress, which, for 
 sixty years, has kept the country, with all its conflictfng elements, in 
 a state of prosperity never before equalled in the world, we shall com- 
 mit a folly for which the language we speak has no name ; against 
 which, if we, rational beings, should fail to protest, the dumb stones 
 of yonder monument would immediately cry out in condeu) nation ' 
 
 14. THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE ADVERSE TO WAR.^Jtex,. ^. C. Beckwith. 
 
 War will yet cease from the whole earth ; for God Himself has said 
 it shall. As an infidel, I might doubt this ; but as a Christian, I can- 
 not. If God has taught anything in the Bible, He has taught peace ; 
 if He has promised anything there, He has promised peace, ultinjate 
 peace, to the whole world ; and, unless the night of a godless scepticism 
 should settle on my soul, I must believe on, and hope on, and work on, 
 until the Nations, from pole to pole, shall beat their swords into 
 ploughshares, their spears into pruning-hooks, and learn war no 
 more. _ Yes, Sir ; I see, or I think I see, the dawn of that coming day. 
 I see it in the new and better spirit of the age. I see it in the Press 
 the Pulpit, and the School. I see it in every factory, and steamship 
 and rail-car. I see it in every enterprise of Christian benevolence 
 and reform. I see it in all the means of general improvement, in 
 all the good influences of the age, now at work over the whole eartii, 
 Y es ; there is a spirit abroad that can never rest until the war-demur) 
 IS hunted frona the habitations of men. The spirit that is now push- 
 ing its enterprises and improvements in every direction ; the spirit that 
 is unfurling the white flag of commerce on every sea, and bartering 
 ite commodities in every port ; the spirit that is laying every power 
 of nature, as well as the utmost resources of human ingenuity, under 
 the largest contributions possible, for the general welfare of mankind , 
 the spirit that hunts out from your cities' darkest alleys the outcast^ 
 of poverty and crime, for relief and reform ; nay, goes down into the 
 barred and bolted dungeons of penal vengeance, and brings up its 
 sallous, haggard victims, into the sunlight of a love that pities even 
 wlule i1 smites ; the spirit that is everywhere rearing hospitals for 
 the S7ck retreatf for the insane, and schools that all but teach the 
 du^b tc speak, the deaf to hear, and the blind to see ; the spirit 
 that harnesses the fire-horse in his iron gear, and sends him pant- 
 ing, with hot but unwearied breath, across empires, and continents, 
 and sea£ ; the spirit that catches the very lightning of Heaven, and 
 makes it bear messages, swift, almost, as thought, from city to citv. 
 trom country to country, round the globe ; the spirit that subsidizes 
 all these to the godlike work of a world's salvation, and employs thein 
 to scatter the blessed truths of the Gospel, thick as leaves of autuu^u, 
 4 
 
50 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 or dew-drops of morning, all over the earth; the spirit that is at 
 bngth weaving the sympathies and interests of car -Vvhole race into the 
 web of one vast fraternity, and stamping upon it, or writing over it, 
 in characters bright as sunbeams, those simple yet glorious truths, 
 he fatherhood of God, and the brotherhood of man ; — is it pcesibie 
 for such a spirit to rest until it shall have swept war from the eartSk 
 forever ? 
 
 (6. MOSES IN SIGHT OF THE PROMISED LAND.— ^. B. O. Peabody. B. 1799 ; d. 184?- 
 
 The legislation of Moses ! Let me ask, what other legislation of 
 ancient times is still exerting any influence upon the world ? What 
 philosopher, what statesman of ancient times, can boast a single dis- 
 ciple now ? What other voice comes down to us, over the stormy 
 waves of time ? But this man is at this day, — at this hour, — eF''^,rt- 
 ing a mighty influence over millions ; the whole Hebrew Nation do 
 homage to his illustrious name. Though the daily sacrifice has ces sed, 
 and the distinction of the tribes is lost, — though the temple has not 
 reft one stone upon another, and the altar-fires have been extinguii hed 
 iong ago, — still, wherever a Jew is found, — and they are fcrund 
 wherever the foot of an adventurer travels, — he is a living monu]>tenf 
 of the power which this great Hebrew statesman still has over tk 
 minds and hearts of his countrymen. 
 
 And now let us take one glance at this prophet, at the close (>f a 
 life so laborious and honored. Up to his one hundred and twenti*-'t.h 
 year, his eye was not dim, nor had his strength abated. _ But now, 
 when he stands almost on the edge of the promised land, his last hour 
 of mortal life is come. To conduct his People to that land had been 
 his daily efi"ort, and his nightly dream ; and yet he is not permitted 
 to enter it, though it would never have been the home of Israel, but 
 for him. He ascends a mountain to die, and there the land of promise 
 spreads out its romantic landscape at his feet. There is Gilead, with its 
 deep valleys and forest-covered hills ; there are the rich plains and 
 pastures of Dan ; there is Judah with its rocky heights, and Jericho 
 A^ith its palm-trees and rose-gardens ; there is the Jordan, seen from 
 Lebanon downward, winding over its yellow sands ; the long blue Ime 
 of the Mediterranean can be seen over the mountain battlements of 
 the West. On this magnificent death-bed the Statesman of Israel 
 breathed his last. Lest the gratitude which so often follows the dead, 
 taough denied to the living, should pay him Divine honors, they buned 
 nim in darkness and silence ; and no man knoweth of his sep'ilcum 
 mto this day. 
 
 16. NECESSITY OF LAW. — Richard Hooker. Born, 1663 ; died. 1600 
 
 The stateliness of hoTises, the goodliness of trees, when we behold 
 khem, delighteth the eye; but that foundation which beareth up the 
 ^ne, that root which imnistereth unto the other nourishment and Ufa 
 
MOR^L ANE DIDACTIC. CARLYLB. 
 
 51 
 
 k m the bosom of the earth concealed; and if there be occasion at 
 any time to search into it, such labor is then, more necessary than 
 pleasant both to them which undertake it and for the lookers on 
 In like manner, the use and benefit of good laws, all that live under 
 them may enjoy with delight and comfort, albeit the grounds and first 
 origmaJ causes from whence they have sprung be unknown, as t') the 
 greatest part of men they are. 
 
 Since the time that God did first proclaim the edicts of His law 
 npon the world. Heaven and earth have hearkened unto His voice, and 
 ^eir labor hath been to do His will. He made a law for the rain : 
 He gave His decree unto the sea, that the waters should not pass His 
 commandment. Now, if Nature should intermit her course, and leave 
 altogetW, though it were for a while, the observation of her own 
 law; il those principal and mother elements of the world whereof 
 all things m this lower world are made, should lose the qualities 
 which now they have; if the frame of that Heavenly arch erected 
 over our heads should loosen and dissolve itself; if celestial spheres 
 should forget their wonted motions, and by irregular volubility turn 
 themselves any way as it might happen; if the prince of the lights 
 of Heaven,_ which now, as a giant, doth run his unwearied course 
 should, as it were through a lang-uishing faintness, begin to stand 
 and to rest himself ; if the moon should wander from her beaten way • 
 the times and seasons of the year blend themselves by disordered 
 and confused mixture; the winds breathe out their last ffasp • the 
 clouds yield no rain; the earth be defeated of Heavenly influence; the 
 truits ot the earth pme away, as chUdren at the withered breasts of 
 their mother, no longer able to yield them relief, — what would be- 
 come of man himself, whom these things do now all serve ? See we 
 not plainly that obedience of creatures unto the law of nature is the 
 stay ot the whole world ? 
 
 Of Law there can be no less acknowledged than that her seat is 
 the bosom of God; her voice the harmony of the world; all thincrg in 
 Heaven and earth do her homage; the very least as feeling her Sare 
 and the greatest as not exempted from her power. Both angels and 
 men, and cieatures of what condition soever, though each in di£Perem 
 sort and manner, yet all, with uniform consent, admiring her as the 
 (notner ot their peace and joy. 
 
 17. JUSTICE — Thomas Carlyle. 
 
 In this God's world, with its wild-whirling eddies and mad foam- 
 ooeans, where men and Nations perish as if without law, and judgment 
 for an unjust thing is sternly delay 3d, dost thou think that therein 
 therefore no justice ? It is what the fool hath said in his heart. It 
 
 what the wise, m all times, were wise because they denied, and 
 knew forever not to be I tell thee again there is nothing else bit 
 px.tice. One strong thing I find here below : the just thin|, ^he true 
 
92 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 thing. Mj friefid, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich truu 
 dling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires 
 visibly waiting ah€)ad of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory 
 on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy 
 baton, and say, " In God's name. No ! " Thy " succ<;ss ! ~ Poor 
 devil, what will thy success amount to ? If the thing is unjust, thoia 
 hast not succeeded ; no, not though bonfires blazed from North to 
 South, and bells rang, and editors wrote leading-articles, and the just 
 thing lay trampled out of sight, to all mortal eyes an abolished and 
 annihilated thing. Success ? — In few years thou wilt be dead and 
 gark — all cold, eyeless, deaf ; no blaze of bonfires, ding-dong of bells, 
 or leading-articles, visible or audible to thee again at all forever. What 
 kind of success is that ? 
 
 18. TO-'MORROW. —Nathaniel Cotton. Born, 1T07 ; died, 1788. 
 
 To-MORROw, didst thou say ? 
 Methought I heard Horatio say. To-morrow. 
 Go to — I will not hear of it — To-morrow ! 
 'T is a sharper, who stakes his penury 
 Against thy plenty, — who takes thy ready cash, 
 And pays thee naught, but wishes, hopes, and promises. 
 The currency of idiots, — injurious bankrupt, 
 That gulls the easy creditor ! — To-morrow ! 
 It is a period nowhere to be found 
 In all the hoary registers of Time, 
 Unless perchance in the fool's calendar. 
 Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society ~ 
 With those who own it. No, my Horatio, 
 'T is Fancy's child, and Folly is its father ; 
 Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless 
 As the fantastic visions of the evening. 
 
 But soft, my friend, — arrest the present moment 
 For be assured they all are arrant tell-tales : 
 And though their flight be silent, and their path 
 Trackless, as the winged couriers of the air. 
 They post to Heaven, and there record thy folly ; 
 Because, though stationed on the important watch, 
 Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel. 
 Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved. — 
 And know, for that thou slumberest on the guard, 
 Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar 
 For every fugitive ; and when thou thus 
 Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal 
 Of hoodwinked justice, who shall tell thy audit I 
 Then stay the present instant dear Horatio; 
 Imprint the marks of wisdom on ite wings * 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. GOETEB. 
 
 Tis of more worth thau Kingdoms ! far more precious 
 
 Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain. 
 
 0 ! let it not elude thj grasp ; but, like 
 
 The good old patriarch upon record, 
 
 Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee. 
 
 19. THE ELOQUENCE OF ACTION.— Danic/ TfTebster. 
 
 When piiblic bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, 
 «iheii great interests are at stake and strong passions excited, nothing 
 !s valuable in speech, further than it is connected with high intellect- 
 ual and moral endowments. Clearness, force and earnestness, are the 
 qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not 
 consist m speech. It cam )( t be brought from far i^abor and learn- 
 ing may toil for it, but tlo^ will toil m vam Words and phrases 
 may be marshalled in evoi way, but they cannot compass it. It 
 must exist in the man, in th^ subject, and in the occasion. AflFected 
 Dassion, intense expression, liie iomp of declamation, all may aspire 
 after it- -they cannox reach t It comes, if it come at all, like the 
 outbreaking of a fountain from ci.e earth, or the bursting forth of 
 volcamc fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces 
 taught m the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances 
 of speech, shock and disgust mtn, whei their own lives, and the fate 
 of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision 
 of the hour. Then, words have lost then power, rhetoric is vain, ana' 
 all elaborate oratory contemptible Kv. n genius itself then feels 
 rebuked and subdued, as in the piebence of higher qualities. Then, 
 patriotism is eloquent; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear 
 conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the 
 firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming 
 from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man 
 onward, right onward, to his object, — this, this is eloquence; or, rather, 
 it is something greater and higher than all eloquence, — it is action' 
 5«)ble, sublime, godlike action ! 
 
 aC. SINCERITY THE SOUL OF ELOQUENCE. - Goethe. Born, 1749; rf.ed, im 
 
 How shall we learn to sway the minds of men 
 
 By eloquence ^ to rule them, or persuade ? 
 
 Bo you seek genuine and worthy fame ? 
 Reason and honest feeling want no arts 
 
 Of utterance, — ask no toil of elocution ! 
 
 And, when you speak in earnest, do you need 
 A search for words ? 0 ! these fine holiday phrases. 
 In which you robe your worn-out commonplaces, 
 These scraps of paper which you crimp and curl. 
 
54 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKJJR. 
 
 And twist into a thousand idle shapes, 
 
 These filigree ornaments, are good for notiiing, • — 
 
 Cost time and pains, please few, impose on no om 
 
 Are unrefreshing, as the wind that whistles, 
 
 In autumn, 'mong the dry and wrinkled leaves. 
 
 If feeling does not prompt, in vain you strive. 
 
 If from the soul the language does not come, 
 
 By its own impulse, to impel the hearts 
 
 Of hearers with communicated power. 
 
 In vain you strive, in vain you study earnestly, — 
 
 Toil on forever, piece together fragments, — 
 
 Cook up your broken scraps of sentences. 
 
 And blow, with pu£&ng breath, a struggling light. 
 
 Glimmering confusedly now, now cold in ashes, — 
 
 Startle the school-boys with yom* metaphors, — 
 
 And, if such food may suit your appetite. 
 
 Win the vain wonder of applauding children ! 
 
 But never hope to stir the hearts of mew. 
 
 And mould the souls of m.any into one. 
 
 By words which come not native from the heart ! 
 
 21. THE CHRISTIAN OB.ATOH. — Original translation from Fillemain. 
 
 JSy the introduction of - Christianity, a tribune was erected, from 
 which the most sublime truths were boldly announced to all the world; 
 from which the purest lessons of morality were made famUiar to the 
 ignorant multitude ; a tribune so authoritative, so august, that before 
 it Emperors, soiled with the blood of the People, were humbled ; a 
 tribune so pacific and tutelary, that more than once it has given refuge 
 to its mortal enemies ; a tribune, from which many an interest, aban- 
 doned everywhere else, was long defended ; a tribune which, singly 
 and eternally, has pleaded the cause of the poor against the rich, of 
 the oppressed against the oppressor, and of man against himself. 
 
 There, all becomes ennobled and deified. The Christian, orator, 
 with his mastery over the minds of his hearers, elevating and startling 
 them by turns, can reveal to them a destiny grander than glory, or 
 terribler than death. From the highest Heavens he can draw down 
 an eternal hope to the tomb, where Pericles could bring only tributary 
 lamentations and tears. If, with the Roman orator, he commemorates 
 the warrior fallen on the field of battle, he gives to the soul of the 
 departed that immortality which Cicero dared promise only to his 
 renown, he charges Deity itself with the acquittal of a country's 
 gratitude. 
 
 Would the orator confine himself to evangelical preaching ? That 
 ecience of morals, that experience of mankind, those secrets of tlio 
 passions, which were the constant study of the philosophers and orators 
 »f antiquity, ought to be his, also, to command. It is for him, eve* 
 
MORAL Am DIDACTIC. COWPER, 
 
 Ob 
 
 OiOre tlian it was for them, to know all the windings of tbe huinan 
 Qeart, all the vicissitudes of the emotions, all the sensibilities of the 
 soul ; not with a view to exciting those violent aflfection;s, those popu^ 
 lar animosities, those fierce kindlings of passion, those fi]-es of ven 
 gcance and of hate, in the outbursts of which the triumph of ancieni 
 eloquence was attained ; but to appease, to soften, to purify, the soul 
 Armed against all the passions, without the privilege of availing hini- 
 self of any, he is obliged, as it were, to create a new passion, if hy 
 fchat name wo may profane the profound, the sublime sentiment, whicb 
 can alone vanquish and replace all others in the heart, — an intelli- 
 gent religious enthusiasm ; and it is that, which should impart to his 
 elocution, to his thoughts, to his words, rather the inspiration of a 
 prophet thai?, the art and manner of an orator. 
 
 ^ AIFECTATION IN THE PULPIT. — ^TiYftamCowjoer. Bom, 1731 ; died, ISOO 
 
 In man or woman, — but far most in man, 
 And most of all in man that ministers 
 And serves the altar, — in my soul I loathe 
 All afiectation. 'T is my perfect scorn ; 
 Object of my implacable disgust. 
 What ! — will a man play tricks, — will he indmge 
 A silly, fond conceit of his fair form. 
 And just proportion, fashionable mien, 
 And pretty face, — in presence of his God ? 
 Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, 
 As with the diamond on his lily hand, 
 And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, 
 When I am hungry for the bread of life ? 
 He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
 His noble office, and, instead of trutli, 
 Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock ! 
 Therefore, avaunt all attitude, and stare. 
 And start theatric, practised at the glass ! 
 I seek divine simplicity in him 
 Who handles things divine ; and all besides, 
 Though learned with labor, and though much admired 
 By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed, 
 To me is odious as the nasal twang 
 Heard at conventif le, where worthy men, 
 Misled by custom strain celestial themes 
 Through the pressed nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 
 
 I venerate the man whose heart is warm, 
 Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, 
 Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
 That he is honest in the sacred cause. 
 To such I render more than mere respect 
 
l-HE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Whose actions say that they respect themselves. 
 But loose in morals, and in manners vain, 
 In conversation frivolous, in dress 
 Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse ; 
 Frequent in park with lady at his side, 
 Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes • 
 J3ut rare at home, and never at his books, 
 Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card 
 Constant at routs, familiar with a round 
 Of ladyships — a stranger to the poor ; 
 « Ambitious of preferment for its gold ; 
 
 And well prepared, by ignorance and sloth, 
 
 By infidelity and love of world. 
 
 To make God's work a sinecure ; a slave 
 
 To his own pleasures and his patron's pride ; — 
 
 From such apostles, 0, ye mitred heads. 
 
 Preserve the Church ! and lay not careless hands 
 
 On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn ! 
 
 23, UTILITY OF HISTORY. — Ong-maZ Translation from De S^^ur. B. 1753; 1 ISSO. 
 
 Whatever your career, a knowledge of history will always be to 
 you a source of profit and delight. Examples strike deeper than 
 precepts. They serve as proofs to convince, and as images to attract. 
 History gives us the experience of tne world, and the collective reason 
 of ages. We are organizcl like men ol the remotest times ; we have 
 the same virtues and the same vices ; and. hurried forward, like them, 
 by our passions, we listen with distrust to those warnings of wisdom 
 which would thwart our inclinations. But History is an impartial 
 •nstructor, whose reasonings, which are facts, we cannot gainsay. It 
 exhibits to us the Past, to prefigure the*^ Future. It is the mirror of 
 truth. Nations and men, the most renowned, are judged in our eye& 
 from a point of time which destroys all illusion, and with a singleness 
 of purpose which no surviving interest can mislead. 
 
 Before the tribunal of History, conquerors descend from their tri- 
 impha] cars ; tyrants are no longer formidable by their satellites ; 
 prince)= appear before us unattended by their retinue, and stripped of 
 that false grandeur with which Flattery saw them invested. You 
 detest, without danger, the ferocity of Nero, the cruelties of Sylla, 
 the hypocrisy of Tiberius, the licentiousness of Caligula. If you 
 have seen Dionysius terrible at Syracuse, you behold him humbled at 
 Corinth. The plaudits of an inconstant multitude do not delude 
 your judgment in favor of the envious traducers of the good and 
 great , and you follow, with enthusiasm, the virtuous Socrates to his 
 prison, the just Aristides into exile. If you admire the valor of 
 Alexander on the banks of the xranicus, on the plains of Arbela, — 
 fou condenm, without fear, that iiimeasured ambition which hurr;e<J 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. CHALMERS. 
 
 57 
 
 *fiL to tto recesses of India, and that profligacy which, at L^bylon, 
 fcarnished the close of his career. The love of liberty, cherished bv 
 the Grreeks. may kindle your soul; but their jealousies, their fickle- 
 ness, their ingratitude, their sanguinary quarrels, their corruption of 
 manners, at once announce and explain to you their ruin. If Rome 
 with her colossal power, excite your astonishment, you shall not fail 
 mon to distinguish the virtues which constituted her grandeur, from 
 the vices which precipitated her fall. Everywhere shall you reax/. 
 £iize the proof of this antique maxim, that, in the end, only what Is 
 honest IS usexul; that we are truly great only through justice, and 
 entu-ely happy only through virtue. Time dispenses equitably its 
 recompenses and its chastisements; and we may measui-e the growth 
 and tne decline of a People by the purity or corruption of their morals. 
 Virtue IS the enduring cement of the power of Nations ; and without 
 tlia^, their ruin is inevitable ! 
 
 24. FALSE COLORING LENT TO WAR.-TAo^., Chalmers. Born, 1180 ; Uied, lUI 
 
 On every side of me I see causes at work which go to spread a 
 most delusive coloring over war, and to remove its shocking barbarities 
 to the back-ground of our contemplations altogether. I see it in the 
 history which tells me of the superb appearance of the troops, and th, 
 brilliancy of their successive charges. I see it in the poetry whicl 
 lends the magic of its numbers to the narrative of blood, and trans- 
 ports Its many admirers, as by its images, and its figures, and its nod 
 dmg plumes of chivalry, it throws its treacherous embellishments over 
 a scene of legalized slaughter. I see it in the music which represents 
 he progress of the battle; and where, after being inspired by the 
 trumpet-notes of preparation, the whole beauty and tenderness of a 
 drawing-room are seen to bend over the sentimental entertainment ; 
 nor do I hear the utterance of a single sigh to interrupt the death' 
 tones of the thickemng contest, and the moans of the wounded men, 
 as they fade away upon the ear, and sink into lifeless silence. 
 
 All, all, goes to prove what strange and half-sighted creatures wo 
 $,re. Were it not so, war could never have been seen in any other 
 aspect than that of unmingled hatefulness; and I can look to nothinc^ 
 but to the progress of Christian sentiment unon earth to arrest the 
 strong current of the popular and prevailing partiality for war. Tlieq 
 only will an imperious sense of duty lay the check of severe prin 
 iiip e on al the subordinate tastes and faculties of our nature. Then 
 mil glory be reduced to its right estimate, and the wakeful benevo- 
 (en^e of the (xospel, chasing away every spell, will be turned by the 
 ■.-3achory of no delusion whatever from its simple but sublime enter- 
 prises tor the good of the species. Then the reign of truth and quiet, 
 ness will be ushered into the world, and war -cruel, atrocious 
 mir^lenting war ^ wiU be stripped of its many and its bewildering 
 
68 
 
 THE P-TANBARD SPEAKER. 
 
 K> DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. —James Shirley. Bom, 1694 ; 4*ed,Wt 
 
 The glories of our blood and state 
 
 Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
 There is no armor against Fate ; 
 Death lays his icy hand on Kings ' 
 Sceptre, Crown, 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the field, 
 And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
 But their strong nerves at last must yield, — 
 They tame but one another still. 
 Early or late, 
 They stoop to Fate, 
 And must give up their conquering breath, 
 When they, pale captives, creep to Death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow ! — 
 
 Then boast no more your mighty deeds : 
 Upon Death's purple altar now 
 See where the victor-victim bleeds ! 
 All heads must come 
 To the cold tomb : 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 
 
 IB rXELIGION OF REVOLUTIONARY MEN. — Ori^-inaZ Adaptation from Lamardne 
 
 I KNOW — I sigh when I think of it — that hitherto the Frencli 
 People have been the least religious of all the Nations of Europe. 
 The great men of other countries live and die on the scene of history, 
 looking up to Heaven. Our great men live and die looking at the 
 c'pvctator ; or, at most, at posterity. Open the history of America 
 the history of England, and the history of France. Washington 
 and Franklin fought, spoke and sufiered, always in the name of God, 
 for whom they acted ; and the liberator of America died confiding to 
 God the liberty of the People and his own soul. Sidney, the young 
 martyr of a patriotism guilty of nothing but impatience, and who 
 iied to expiate his country's dream of liberty, said to his jailer, " I 
 fcioice that I die innocent toward the king, but a victim, resigned to 
 the King on High, to whom all life is due." The Repubncans of 
 Ororawell sought only the way of God, even in the blood of battles 
 but look at Mirabeau on the bed of death. " Orown me with flow 
 ers ' said he ; " intoxicate me with perfumes. Le^ me die to^ the 
 mund of delicious music." Not a word was there of God or of bii 
 
MuRAL AND DIDACTIC. — MILTON 
 
 5{f 
 
 own &oul! Sensual philosopher, supreme sensualism was hiH kst 
 desire m his agony ! Contemplate Madame Roland, the strong-hearted 
 woman of the Revolution, on the cart that conveyed her to death. 
 Not a glance toward Heaven ! Only one word for the earth she was 
 quittmg : " 0 Liberty, what crimes in thy name are committed ' " 
 Approach the dungeon door of the Girondins. Their last night is a 
 banquet, — their only hymn the Marseillaise ! Hear Danton on the 
 platform of the scaflfold : " I have had a good time of it ; let me go 
 to sleep." Then, to the executioner : "You will show my head to the 
 People; it is worth the trouble !" His faith, annihilation; his lust 
 sigh, vanity! 
 
 Behold the Frenchman of this latter age ! What must one think of 
 the religious sentiment of a free People, whose great figures seem tnu5 
 to march m procession to annihilation, and to whom death itself recally 
 neither the threatenings nor the promises of God ! The Republic 
 ot these men without a God was quickly stranded. The liberty, wou 
 by so much heroism and so much genius, did not find in France a con- 
 science to shelter it, a God to avenge it, a People to defend it, against 
 that Atheism which was called glory. All ended in a soldier, and 
 some apostate republicans travestied into courtiers. An atheistic 
 Kepublicamsm cannot be heroic. When you terrify it, it yields 
 When you would buy it, it becomes venal. It would be very foolish 
 00 immolate itself. Who would give it credit for the sacrifice, — the 
 People ungrateful, and God non-existent? So finish atheistic Lev- 
 olutions ' 
 
 n THE SAVIOUR'S REPLY TO THE TEMVTm.- John Milton. Bom,im ; die<t 
 
 Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth 
 
 For empire's sake, nor empire to affect 
 
 For glory's sake, by all thy argument. 
 
 Extol not riches, then, the toil of fools, 
 
 The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare ; more apt 
 
 To slacken Virtue, and abate her edge. 
 
 Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise 
 
 What if, with like aversion, I reject 
 
 Riches and realms ? Yet not, for that a Crown, 
 
 Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns, — 
 
 Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights • 
 
 For herein stands the virtue of a King, 
 
 That for the public all this weight he bears : 
 
 Yet he, who reigns within himself, and rules 
 Passions, desires and fears, is more a King ! 
 This, every wise and virtuous man attains, 
 Ajid who attains not, ill aspires to rule 
 Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes, - 
 Subject himself to anarchy within ! 
 To know, and, knowing, worship God aright 
 
60 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKDR. 
 
 fs yet Jtioie kingly : this attracts the soifl, 
 Governs the inner man, the nobler part 
 That other o'er the body only reigns, 
 And oft by force, which, to a generous mind 
 So reigning, can be no sincere delight. 
 
 They err who count it glorious to subdue 
 Great cities by assault. What do these worthica 
 But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter and enslave 
 Peaceable Nations, neighboring or remote 
 Made captive, yet deserving freedom more 
 Than those their conquerors, who leave behind 
 Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove. 
 And all the fxourishing works of peace destroy ; 
 Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods, 
 Great benefactors of mankind, deliverers. 
 Worshipped with temple, priest, and sacrifice ^ 
 One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other ; 
 Till conqueror Death discover them scarce men, 
 Rolling in brutish vices, and deformed, — 
 Violent or shameful death their due reward ! 
 But, if there be in glory aught of good, 
 It may by means far different be attained, 
 Without ambition, war, or violence ; 
 By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent. 
 By patience, temperance. 
 Shall I seek glory, then, as vain men seek, 
 Oft not deserved ? I jSeek not mine, but His 
 Who sent me ; and thereby witness whence I am ! 
 
 28. NOBILITY OP LABOR.— Rev. Orville Dewey. 
 
 1 CALL upon those whom 1 address to stand up for the noblity A 
 btoor. It is Heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let 
 aot that great ordinance be broken down. What do I say It it 
 broken down ; and it has been broken down, for ages. Let it, then, 
 be built up again ; here, if anywhere, on these shores of a sew 
 ^Torld, — of a new civilization. But how, I may be asked, is it 
 broken down ? Do not men toil ? it may be said. They do, indeed, 
 toil ; but they too generally do it because they must. Many submit to 
 it as, in some sort, a degrading necessity ; and they desire nothing so 
 much on earth as escape from it. They fulfil the great law of labor 
 in the letter, but break it in the spirit ; fulfil it with the muscle, but 
 break it with the mind. To some field of labbr, mental or manual, 
 every idler should fasten, as a chosen and coveted theatre^ of im- 
 provement. But so is he not impelled to do, under the teachings of 
 our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his 
 Rands, and blesses himself in his idleness. This way of thinking if 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — OSGOOD. 
 
 61 
 
 the heritage of tlie absurd and unjust feudal system, andf.i which 
 «erfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. 
 It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to 
 toil, art thou ? Ashamed of thy dingy work-shop and dusty labor^ 
 field ; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honorable thae 
 that of war ; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which 
 mother Nature has embroidered, midst sun and rain, midst fire arJ 
 steam, her own heraldic honors ? Ashamed of these tokens and titles, 
 and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity ? 
 It IS treason to Nature, — it is impiety to Heaven, — it is breaking 
 Heaven's groat ordinance. Toil, I repeat — toil, either of the braiij 
 of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood, the onlv true 
 aohility 
 
 29, LABOR IS WORSHIP. -Frances 5. Osgood. Born, 1812; died, 1850. 
 Laborare est orare— To labor is to pray. 
 
 Pause not to dream of the future before us; 
 Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er ua ; 
 Hark,^ how Creation's deep, musical chorus, 
 
 Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven ! 
 Never the ocean wave falters in flowing ; 
 Never the little seed stops in its growing ; 
 More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing, 
 
 Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. 
 
 " Labor is worship ! " — the robin is singing ; 
 
 " Labor is worship ! " — the wild bee is ringing : 
 
 Listen ! that eloquent" whisper upspringing 
 . Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart. 
 ' From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower ; 
 
 From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing flower ; 
 
 From the small insect, the rich coral bower ; 
 Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part. 
 
 Labor is life ! 'T is the still water faileth ; 
 
 Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ; 
 
 Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth ; 
 
 Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. 
 Labor is glory ! — the flying cloud lightens : 
 Only the waving wing changes and brightens 
 Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ; 
 
 Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in "Jam 
 Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us. 
 Rest from all petty vexations that meet us. 
 Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, 
 
 Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. 
 Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow 
 Work — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow - 
 
/ 
 
 B2 THE STA.NDARD SPEAKEll. 
 
 Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping-willow ! 
 Work with ? stout heart and resolute will ' 
 
 Labor is health . Lo ! the husbandman reaping, 
 How through his veins goes the life-current leaping 
 How his strong arm, in its stalwart pride sweeping, 
 
 . True as a sunbeam, the swift sickle guides ! 
 Labor is wealth — in the sea the pearl groweth ; 
 Kich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth ; 
 From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth ; 
 
 Temple and statue the marble block hides. 
 
 Droop not, though shame, sin and anguish, are round thoe 
 Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee ! 
 I^ook to yon pure Heaven smiling beyond thee ; 
 
 'Kest not content in thy darkness — a clod ! 
 Work — for some good, be it ever so slowly ; 
 Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ; 
 Labor ! — all labor is noble and holy ; 
 
 Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God ' 
 
 so. MORAL AND PHYSICAL SCIENCE FRIENDLY TO FREEDOM.— 12 ew.^J.ff. CAopin 
 
 No cause is so bound up with religion as the cause of political 
 libe-fty and the rights of man. Unless I have read history back- 
 ward, — unless Magna Charta is a mistake, and the Bill of Rights 
 a sham, and the Declaration of Independence a contumacious false- 
 hood, — unless the sages, and heroes, and martyrs, who have fought 
 and bled, were impostors, — unless the sublimest transactions in mod- 
 ern history, on Tower Hill, in the Parliaments of Londop, on the 
 sea-tossed Mayflower, — unless these are all deceitful, there is no 
 cause so linked with religion as the cause of Democratic liberty. 
 
 And, Sir, not only are all the moral principles, which we can ram- 
 mon up, on the side of this great cause, but the physical movements 
 Vf the age attend it and advance it. Nature is Republican. The dis- 
 coveries of Science are Republican. Sir, what are these new forces, 
 steam and electricity, but powers that are levelling all factitious dis* 
 tinctions, and forcing the world on to a noble destiny ? Have they 
 lot already propelled the nineteenth century a thousand years tihead I 
 What are they but the servitors of the People, and not A' a class \ 
 fJoes not the poor man of to-day ride in a car dragged by forces such 
 IS never waited on Kings, or drove the wheels of triumphal chariots ^ 
 Does he not yoke the lightning, and touch the magnetic nerves of the 
 grorld ? The steam-engine is a Democrat. It is the popular heart 
 hat throbs in its iron pulses. And the electric telegraph writes upon 
 rhe walls of Despotism, Mcnt, mene, tekel upkarsin ! There is a 
 process going on in the moral and political world, — like that ia 
 4he nhvsi^aJ world, — crumbling the old Saurian *()rms of j«ist ages, 
 
MORAL AISD DIDACTIC. -— BETHUNE. GS 
 
 ftfid breaking up old landmarks; and this moral process is ^^orUna 
 under Neapolitan dungeons and Austrian Thrones; and, Sir it wiU 
 tumble over jour Metternichs and Nicholases, and convert cour 
 Jc^ephs^mto fossils. I repeat it. Sir, not only are all the moral pria- 
 eijJesof the age, but ail the physical principles of nature, as develcned 
 by man, at work in behalf of freedom. ^ 
 
 Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behma 
 Powers that will work for thee j earth, air, and skies ; 
 There 's not a breathing of the common wind 
 That will forget thee ; thou hast great allies 
 
 Thy friends are exultations, agonies, 
 And love, and Man's unconquerable mind. 
 
 8.. THE ORDER OF NATVRB.- Alexander Pope. Born,im; 1744 
 
 All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
 HTiose body nature is, and God the soul ; 
 That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, 
 
 (xreat m the Earth, as in the ethereal frame, 
 Warms m the Sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
 ilows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, 
 
 Lives through all life, extends through all extent 
 
 Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
 
 Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 
 
 As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; 
 
 As full, as perfect, in yih Man that mourns, 
 
 As the rapt Seraph that adores and burns : 
 
 u "^i^^'u^ Si'eat, no small ; 
 
 He fills. He bounds, connects, and equals all 
 
 Cease, then, nor Order Imperfection name, — 
 Our proper bliss depends on what we blame 
 Know thy own point : This kind, this due degree 
 Vt blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee, 
 bubmit; — in this, or any other sphere, 
 becure to be as blest as thou canst bear, — 
 Safe m the hand of one Disposing Power, 
 Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. 
 Ail Nature is but Art, unknown to thee ; 
 All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see; 
 All Discord, Harmony not understood ; 
 All partial Evil, universa Good : 
 And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite, 
 One truth is clear ; Whatever is, is right. 
 
 ircTURE EMPIRE OP OUR LANGV AQE. - Rev. George W. Betkun. 
 
 . products Of the whole world are, or may soon be, found witbiD 
 «f blood, but not enough to impair the Anglo Saxon ascendency. The 
 
54 
 
 THE STAT«l/AKD SPEAKER. 
 
 Nation gitiw morally strong from its original elements. The gioa^ 
 work was delayed only by a just preparation. Now, God is bringing 
 hither the most vigorous scions from all the European stocks, to make 
 of them all one new man ; — not the Saxon, not the German, not the 
 Gaul, not the Helvetian, but the American. Here they will unite 
 one brotherhood, will have one law, will share one interest. Spread 
 over the vast region from the frigid to the torrid, from the Eastern 
 the Western Ocean, every variety of climate giving them choice of 
 pureuit and modification of temperament, the ballot-box fusing together 
 all rivalries, they shall have one national will. What is wanting m 
 one race will be supplied by the characteristic energies of the others , 
 and what is excessive in either, checked by the counter action of the 
 rest. Nay, though for a time the newly-come may retain their foreign 
 vernacular, our tongue, so rich in ennobling literature, will be the 
 tonone of the Nation, the language of its laws, and the accent of its 
 mafesty. Eternal God, who seest the end with the beginning. Thou 
 alone canst tell the ultimate grandeur of this People ! . , ^ , 
 
 Such, Gentlemen, is the sphere, present and future, in which God 
 calls us to work for Him, for our country, and for mankind. The 
 language in which we utter truth will be spoken on this Continent, a 
 century hence, by thirty times more millions than those dwelling on the 
 island of its origin. The openings for trade on the Pacific coast, and 
 the railroad across the Isthmus, will bring the commerce of the world 
 under the control of our race. The empire of our language will 
 follow that of our commerce ; the empire of our institutions, that oi 
 our language. The man who writes successfully for Ameriea will y^ 
 Bpeak for all the world. 
 
 33. COMPENSATIONS OF THE IMAGINATION. — JArenside. 
 
 O BLEST of Heaven, whom not the languid songs 
 
 Of Luxury, the Siren ! not the bribes 
 
 Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 
 
 Of pageant Honor, can seduce to leave 
 
 Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store 
 
 Of Nature fair Imagination culls 
 
 To charm the enlivened soul ! What though not ail 
 
 Of mortal offspring can attain the height 
 
 Of envied life ; though only few possess 
 
 Patrician treasures or imperial state ; • 
 
 Yet Nature's care, to all her children jusi, 
 
 With riclier treasures and an ampler state 
 
 Endows at large whatever happy man 
 
 Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, 
 
 The rural honors his ! Whate'er adorns 
 
 The princely dome, the column, and the arch, 
 
 The breathing marbles, and the sculptured gold* 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. CHANNINQ 
 
 65 
 
 Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, 
 
 His tuneful breast enjoys ! For him, the Spriiig 
 
 Distils her dews, and from the silken germ 
 
 Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him, the hand 
 
 Of Autunm tinges every fertile branch 
 
 With blooming gold, and blushes like the mom. 
 
 Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wmgs 
 
 And still new Beauties meet his lonely walk, 
 
 And Loves unfelt attract him Not a breeze 
 
 Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes 
 
 The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain 
 
 From all tlie tenants of the warbling shade 
 
 Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 
 
 Fresh pleasure, unreproved : nor thence partakes 
 
 Fresh pleasure only : for the attentive mind. 
 
 By this harmonious action on her powers. 
 
 Becomes herself harmonious. — Thus the men 
 
 ■\\Tiom Nature's works can charm, with God Himself 
 
 Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day, 
 
 With His conceptions, act upon His plan. 
 
 And form to His the relish of their souls. 
 
 M niE GREAT DISTINCTION OP A NATION. -?r. E. Channing. B. 1780 ; d 194a 
 
 The great distinction of a Nation— the only one worth possessing, 
 and which brings after it all other blessings — is the prevalence of 
 pure principle among the Citizens. I wish to belong to a State in 
 the character and institutions of which I may find a spring of im- 
 provement, which I can speak of with an honest pride ; m whose 
 records I may meet great and honored names, and which is fast mak- 
 hig the world its debtor by its discoveries of truth, and by an example 
 of virtuous freedom. 0, save me from a country which worships 
 wealth, and cares not for true glory ; in which intrigue bears rule ; in 
 which patriotism borrows its zeal from the prospect of office ; in which 
 hungry sycophants throng with supplication all the departments of 
 State ; in which public men bear the brand of private vice, and the 
 8<'at of Government is a noisome sink of private licentiousness a-i 
 public corruption. 
 
 Tell me not of the honor of belonging to a free country. I ask, 
 i>cs o.ir liberty bear gr.nerous fruits ? Does it exalt us in manlv 
 spirit, in public virtue, a.bove countries trodden under foot by De^5po^ 
 ism ? ^ TsU me not of the extent of our country. I care not how 
 large if is, if it multiply degenerate men. Speak not Df our pros- 
 verity. Better be one of a poor People, plain in manners, reverenc- 
 ing God, and respecting themselves, than belong to a rich country, 
 which knows no higher good than riches. Earnestly do I desire for 
 thifii "ountry, that, instead of copying Europe with an undiscermng 
 
66 
 
 THE STANDABD SPEAF15R. 
 
 mlity, il may have a character of ita own, correspoDding to 'lit 
 freedom and equality of our institutions. One Europe is enough. 
 One Paris is enough." How much to be desired is it, that, separated, 
 as we are, from the Eastern continent, by an ocean, we should be stili 
 more widely separated by simplicity of manners, by domestic parity, 
 by inward piety, by reverence for human nature, by moral indepe'Ed» 
 eaoe, b;^^ withstanding the subjection to fashion, and that debilitAtbt 
 lensuality, which characterize the most civilized portions of the Old 
 World ! Of this country, I may say, with peculiar emphasis, that its 
 happiness is bound up in its virtue ! 
 
 35. WHAT MAKES A '[lEROf — Henry Taylor. 
 
 What makes a hero ? — not success, not fame, 
 Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim^ 
 Of glutted Avarice, — caps tossed up in air, 
 Or pen of journalist with flourish fair ; 
 Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name — 
 
 These, though his rightful tribute,^ he can spare ; 
 His rightful tribute, not his end or aim. 
 Or true reward ; for never yet did these 
 Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease. 
 What makes a hero ? — An heroic mind, 
 Expressed in action, in endurance proved . 
 And if there be preeminence of right, 
 Derived through pain well suffered, to the height 
 Of rank heroic, 't is to bear unmoved, ^ 
 Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, 
 Not the brute fury of barbarians blind. 
 
 But worse — ingratitude and poisonous darts. 
 Launched by the country he had served and loved. 
 This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure. 
 This, in the strength of silence to endure, 
 A dignity to noble deeds imparts. 
 Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown • 
 This is the hero's complement and crown j 
 This missed, one struggle had been wanting still, — 
 One glorious triumph of the heroic will, 
 One self-approval in his heart of hearts. 
 
 86. THE LAST HOURS OF SOGB-AT^. — Original Adaptation. 
 
 Sof^RATES was the reverse of a sceptic. No man ever looked upon 
 life with a more positive and practical eye. No man ever pursued hia 
 mark with a clearer perception of the road which he was trav(»llmg. 
 No man e\er combined, in like manner, the absorbing enthusiasm of a 
 missionary, with the acuteness, the originality, the inventive rasouries. 
 
MORAL AND DIDACITC. YANKEE. 
 
 67 
 
 ftpd tne generalizing comprehension, of a pMlosopher. And yet this 
 man was condemned to death, — condemned by a hostile tribunal of 
 more than five hundred citizens of Athens, drawn at hazard from all 
 elates of society. A majority of six turned the scale, in the most 
 momentous trial that, up to that time, the world had witnessed. 
 And the vague charges on which Socrates was condemned were, that 
 he was a vum babbler, a corrupter of youth, and a setter-forth of 
 straige Gods! 
 
 It would be tempting to enlarge on the closing scene of his life, — a 
 scene which Plato has invested with such immortal glorv '; — on the 
 affecting farewell to the Judges; on the long thirty days which passed 
 in prison before the execution of the verdict ; on his playful equa^ 
 nimity, amid the uncontrollable emotions of his companions ; on the 
 gathering in of that solemn evening, when the fading of the sunset 
 hues on the tops of the Athenian hills was the signal that the last 
 hour was at hand ; on the introduction of the fatal hemlock ; the 
 immovable countenance of Socrates, the firm nand, and then the 
 burst of frantic lamentation from all his friends, as, with his habitual 
 ease and cheerfulness, he drained the cup to its dregs ; then the sol- 
 emn silence enjoined by himself ; the pacing to and fro; the stron<^ 
 religious persuasions attested by his last words ; the cold palsy of the 
 poison creeping from the extremities to the heart; the gradual torpor 
 ending in death ! But I must forbear. 
 
 0 for a modern spirit like his ! 0 for one hour of Socrates ! 0 
 tor one hour of that voice whose questioning would make men see 
 what they knew, and what they did not know ; what they meant, and 
 what they only tkouffht they meant ; what they believed in truth, and 
 what they only believed in name ; wherein they agreed, and wherein 
 they differed. That voice is, indeed, silent ; but there is a voice m 
 each man's heart and conscience, which, if we will, Socrates has taught 
 us to use rightly. That voice still enjoins us to give to ourselves a 
 reason for the hope that is in us,— both hearing and asking questions, 
 it tells us, that the fancied repose which seif-iuquiry disturbs is more 
 than compensated by the real repose which it gives ; that a wise ques- 
 tioning is the half of knowledge ; and that a life without self-examin^ 
 atiQi IS no life at all. 
 
 37. TO A CHILD. — F5n,lsc. 
 
 Things of high import sound I in thine ears, 
 
 Dear child, though now thou mayst not feel their power; 
 
 But hoard them up, and in thy coming years 
 
 Forget them not, and when earth's ten pt/sts lower, 
 
 A talisman unto thee shall they be, 
 
 To give thy weak arm strength — to make thy dim eyes seo. 
 Seek Truth, — that pure celestial Truth, — whose birth 
 VV'as m the Heaven of Heavens, clear, sacred, shrined 
 
68 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 In lleason's light. — Not oft she visits earth, 
 
 But her majestic port, the willing mind, 
 Through Faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy som, 
 Nor faint, though Error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll 
 
 ■^Q free — not chiefly from the iron chain, 
 
 ' But from the one which Passion forges — be 
 The master of thyself. If lost, regain 
 
 The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free. 
 Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet. 
 And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. 
 
 Seek Virtue. Wear her armor to the fight ; 
 
 Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, 
 Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might 
 
 By each contending, turbulent ill of life. 
 Seek Virtue. — She alone is all divine ; 
 
 And having found, be strong, in God's own strength and thiQft. 
 
 Truth — Freedom — Virtue — these, dear child, have power, 
 
 If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain. 
 And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour ; 
 
 Neglect them — thy celestial gifts are vain — 
 In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled ; 
 Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled, 
 
 38. AMERICA'S CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE WORLD. -Gu«an C. Verplanek. 
 
 What, it is asked, has this Nation done to repay the world for the 
 t>enefit8 we have received from others? — Is it nothmg for the uni- 
 rersal good of mankind to have carried into successful operation a 
 Bvstem of self-government,— uniting personal liberty, freedom of opm- 
 ion, and equality of rights, with national power and digmty, — such as 
 nad before existed only in the Utopian dreams of philosophers ? is it 
 nothing, in moral science, to have anticipated, in sober reality numer- 
 ous- plans of reform in civil and criminal jurisprudence, which are, 
 Dut now received as plausible theories by the politicians and econo- 
 2iii£t3 of Europe? Is it nothing to have been able to call forth, on 
 every emergency, either in war or peace, a body of talents always 
 equal to the difficulty? Is it nothing to have, in Jess than half a 
 century, exceedingly improved the sciences of political ecciomy, ot 
 law, and of medicine, with all their auxiliary branches- to have 
 enriched human knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass ot 
 .iseful facts and observations, and to have augmented the power and 
 the comforts of civilized man by miracles of mechanical invention ? 
 Is it nothing to have given the world examples of disinterested patri- 
 r,tism, of political wisdom, of public virtue; of Icarmng, eloquencQ 
 wj4 valor, never exerted save for some praiseworthy end? it u 
 
MORAL AND Dli ACTIO. ROUSSEAU. 
 
 89 
 
 Bufl&cient to have briefly suggested these considerations; every mind 
 would anticipate me in filling up the details. 
 
 No, Land of Liberty ! — thy children have no cause to blush for 
 Giee. What, though the arts have reared few moimments among 
 us, and scarce a trace of the Muse's footstep is found in the paths of 
 our forests, or along the banks of our rivers, — yet our soil has beun 
 consecrated by the blood of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of 
 peace. Its wide extent has become one vast temple, and hallowed 
 asylum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the persecuted of 
 oveiy sect, and the wretched of all Nations. Land of Eefuge, — 
 Land of Benedictions ! — Those prayers still arise, and they still are 
 heard : " May peace be within thy walls, and plenteousness within thy 
 palaces ! " " May there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and m 
 complaining, in thy streets ! " " May truth flourish out of the earth, 
 and righteousness look down from Heaven ! " 
 
 39. THE TRUE KINQ. — Translated from Seneca, by Leigh Hunt. 
 
 'Tis not wealth that makes a King, 
 Nor the purple coloring ; 
 Nor a brow that 's bound with gold, 
 ^or gate on mighty hinges rolled. 
 
 The King is hb, who, void of fear, 
 Looks abroad with bosom clear ; 
 Who can tread ambition down. 
 Nor be swayed by smile or frown ; 
 Ncr 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 headlong thunder-light, 
 Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade, 
 With onward 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. 
 
 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 that royalty. 
 
 10 DEATH IS COMPENSATION — Original Trans, from Rousseau. B. m2} A im 
 
 The more intimately I enter into communion with myself, — thf 
 wore I consult my own intelligence, — the more legibly do I find writ- 
 
"0 
 
 THE STANDARD 8PBAKEK. 
 
 ten in soui these words : Be just, and thou shali e e happt 
 But let I.1S not base our expectations upon the present state of things, 
 The wi'ikcd prosper, and the just remani oppressed. At this fras- 
 tration of our hopes, our indignation is kindled. Conscience takea 
 umbrage, and murmurs against its Author , it murmurs, lliou hast 
 deceived me!"' — "I have deceived thee, say'st thou^ How dost 
 thou know it ? Who has proclaimed it to thee ? Is thy soul anni- 
 bilisted ? Hast thou ceased to exist ? 0, Brutus ) 0, my son SoE 
 not thy noble life by turning thine own hand against it. Ijeave not 
 thy hope and thy glory with thy mortal body on the field of Philip 
 Why dost thou say, virtue is nothing, when thou goest to enjoy th«. 
 price of thine ? Thou goest to die, thou thinkest ; no, thou goest to 
 live, and it is then that I shall fulfil all that I have promised thee." 
 
 One would say, from the murmurs of impatient mortals, that God 
 owed them recompense before merit, and that He ought to requite 
 their virtue in advance. 0 ! let us first be good, and afterwards we 
 shall be happy. Let us not exact the prize before the victory, nor the 
 wages before the labor. It is not on the course, says Plutarch, thai? 
 the conquerors in our games are crowned ; it is after they have gone 
 ever it. If the soul is immaterial, it can survive the body ; and, in 
 that survival. Providence is justified. Though I were to have no 
 other proof of the immateriality of the soul than the triumph of the 
 wicked and the oppression of the just in this world, that spectacle 
 alone would prevent my doubting the reality of the life after death. 
 So shocking a dissonance in this universal harmony would make me 
 seek to explain it. I should say to myself : " All does not finish for 
 "ZiQ with this mortal life ; what succeeds shall make concord of what 
 Tent before." 
 
 U. FATE OF CHARLES THE TWELFTH.— Somuef ./oAnsow. Born, 1709? died. 17S4. 
 
 On what foundation stands the warrior's prida 
 How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide ' 
 A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 
 No dangers fright him, and no labors tire ; 
 O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 
 Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain ; 
 No joys to him pacific sceptres yield. 
 War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field , 
 Behold surrounding Kings their powers combine. 
 And one capitulate, and one resign ; 
 Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms m vain , 
 »' Think nothing gained," be cries, " till naught remaip • 
 On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, 
 And all be mine beneath the Polar sky." 
 The march begins in military state, 
 And Nations on his eye suspended wa5t 
 Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — BTORF. 
 
 71 
 
 And "Winter barricades the realms of Frc«.t ; 
 
 He comes — nor want nor cold his course delay - 
 
 Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day! 
 
 The vanquished hero leaves his broken bauds, 
 
 And shows his miseries in distant lands ; 
 
 Conaemned a needy supplicant to wait, 
 
 While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 
 
 But did not Chance at length her error mend 
 
 Did no subverted empire mark his end ? 
 
 Bid rival monarchs give the fatal wound ? 
 
 Or hostile millions press him to the ground ? 
 
 His fall was destined to a barren strand, 
 
 A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; 
 
 He left the name, at which the world grew pale, 
 
 To point a moral, or adorn a tale ! 
 
 42. OUR DUTIES TO THE REPUBLIC— Jud^e Story. Born, 1779 ; died, 1846 
 
 Thu Old World has already revealed to us, in its unsealed books, the 
 beginning and end of all its own marvellous struggles in the cause of 
 liberty. Greece, lovely Greece, 
 
 " The land of scholars and the nurse of arms,'* 
 
 where Sister Republics, in fair procession, chanted the praises of lib« 
 erty and the Gods, — where and what is she ? For two thousand 
 years the oppressor has ground her to the earth. Ber arts are m 
 more. The last sad relics of her temples are but the barracks of a 
 ruthless soldiery. The fragments of her columns and her palaces are > 
 in the dust, yet beautiful in ruins. Slie fell not when the mighty 
 were upon her. Her sons were united at Thermopylae and Marathon , 
 and the tide of her triumph rolled back upon the Hellespont. She 
 was conquered by her own factions. She fell by the hands of her 
 own People. The man of Macedonia did not the work of destruction. 
 It was already done, by her own corruptions, banishments, and dis- 
 sensions. E-ome, republican Rome, whose eagles glanced in the rising 
 and setting sun, — where and what is she? The eternal city yet 
 remains, proud even in her desolation, noble in her decline, venerable 
 in the majesty of religion, and calm as in the composure of death. 
 The malaria has but travelled in the paths worn by her destroyers. 
 More than eighteen centuries have mourned over the loss of her 
 empire. A mortal disease was upon her vitals before Csesar had 
 crossed the Rubicon ; and Brutus did not restore her health by the 
 deep probings of the Senate-chamber. The Goths, and Vandals, 
 and Huns, the swarms of the North, completed only what was already 
 begun at home. Romans betrayed Rome. The Legions were boughi 
 and sold ; but the People offered the tribute money. 
 
 We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last experiment 
 yf self-government by the Pe/)ple, We have begun it urder cii-cum- 
 
n 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 $tanecs of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor o) 
 youth. Our growth has never been checked by the oppressions^ oi 
 tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vicei 
 or luxuries of the Old World. Such as we are, we have been from the 
 beginning, — simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government, 
 and to self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us and any formi- 
 dable foe: Within our own territory, stretching through many degree? 
 of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and 
 many means of independence. The Government is mild. The Press 
 Is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every 
 home. What fairer prospect of success could be presented ? What 
 means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end ? What niore is 
 necessary than for the People to preserve what they have themselves 
 created ? Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. 
 It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of both 
 oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Europe, and warmed 
 the sunny plains of France and the low lands of Holland. It has 
 touched the philosophy of Germany and the North; and, mo^dng 
 onward to the South, has opened to Greece the lessons of her bet- 
 ter days. Can it be that America, under such circumstances, can 
 oetray herself? Can it be that she is to be added to the cataLgu6 
 or Republics, the inscription upon whose ruins is : _ They were. Bin 
 THEY ARE NOT ? Forbid it, my countrymen ! Forbid it, Hca\OD ' 
 
 43. LOVE OF COUNTRY AND WWE,. — James Montgomery 
 
 There is a land, of every land the pride. 
 Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; 
 Where brighter suns dispense serener light. 
 And milder moons emparadise the night ; — 
 There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
 A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. 
 Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
 His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
 While ii? his softened looks benignly blend 
 The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend ; — 
 " Where shall that layid, that spot of earth, be found ' 
 Art thou a man ? — a patriot ? — look around ! 
 0, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam. 
 That land thy country, and that spot thy home ! 
 
 On Greenland's rocks, o'er rude Kamschatka's plaina 
 In pale Siberia's desolate domains ; 
 When the wild hunter takes his lonely way, 
 Tracks through tempestuous snows his savage prey, 
 Or, wrestling with the might of raging seas, 
 Where round the Pole the eternal billows freczn. 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — CARLYLE. 
 
 "3 
 
 PJucks from their jaws the stricken whale, in vain 
 Plunging down headlong through the whirling main 5 
 His wastes of snow are lovelier in his eye 
 Than all the , flowery vales beneath the sky , 
 And dearer far than Caesar's palace-dome, 
 His cavern-shelter, and his cottage-home. 
 
 O'er China's garden-fields and peopled floods, 
 Id California's pathless world of woods ; 
 Round Andes' heights, where Winter, from his thro£se 
 Looks down in scorn upon the Summer zone ; 
 By the gay borders of Bermuda's isles, 
 Where Spring with everlasting verdure smiles ; 
 On pure Madeira's vine-robed hills of health ; 
 In Java's swamps of pestilence and wealth ; 
 Where Babel stood, where wolves and jackals drink 
 'Midst weeping willows, on Euphrates' brink ; 
 On darmel's crest ; by Jordan's reverend stream, 
 Where Canaan's glories vanished like a dream ; 
 Where Greece, a spectre, haunts her heroes' graves, 
 And Home's vast ruins darken Tiber's waves ; • 
 Where broken-hearted Switzerland bewails 
 Her subject mountains and dishonored vales ; 
 Where Albion's rocks exult amidst the sea, ' 
 Around the beauteous isle of Liberty ; — 
 Man, through all ages of revolving time, 
 Unchanging man, in every varying clime. 
 Deems his own land of every land the pride, 
 Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; 
 His home the spot of earth supremely blest, 
 A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest ! 
 
 44. NATURE A HARD CREDITOR. — TAomos Car/z/.'e. 
 
 Nature admits no lie. Most men profess to be aware of this. Out 
 few in any measure lay it to heart. Except in the departments of 
 mere material manipulation, it seems to be taken practically as if thi£ 
 grand truth were merely a polite flourish of rhetoric. Nature keeps 
 silently a most exact Savings-bank and official register, correct to the 
 most evanescent item, Debtor and Creditor, in respect to one and all 
 of us ; silectly marks down. Creditor by such and such an unseen act 
 of veracity and heroism ; Debtor to such a loud, blustery blunder, 
 twenty-seven million strong or one unit strong, and to all acts and 
 words and thoughts executed in consequence of that, — Debtor, Debtor, 
 Debtor, day after day, rigorously as Fate (for this is Fate that is writ^ 
 ing) ; and at the end of the account you will have it all to pay, my 
 friend ; — there is the rub ! Not the infinitesimallest fraction of a far- 
 thing but will be found marked tb^^re, for you and against you ; and 
 
74 
 
 THE STANDARL! SPEAKER. 
 
 with the due rate of interest you will have to pay it, neatly, ojmpletely 
 us sure as you are alive. You will have to pay it even in money, if 
 you live : and, poor slave, do you think there is no payment but i| 
 money ? There is a payment which Nature rigorously exacts of men 
 and also of Nations, — and this I think when her wrath is sternest,— 
 in tlio shape of dooming you to possess money : — to possess it ; to havr 
 
 * your bloatbd vanities fostered into monstrosity by it ; your foul paBsioiiS 
 blown into explosion by it; your heart, and, perhaps, your very stomach, 
 mined with intoxication by it ; your poor life, and all its manful activ- 
 
 ' ities, stunned into frenzy and comatose sleep by it ; — in one word, a8 
 the old Prophets said, your soul forever lost by it : your soul, so that, 
 through the Eternities, you shall have no soul, or manful trace of ever 
 having had a soul ; but only, for certain fleeting moments, shall have 
 had a money-bag, and have given soul and heart, and (frightfaller still) 
 stomach itself, in fatal exchange for the same. You wretched mortal, 
 stumbling about in a God's Temple, and thinking it a brutal Cookery- 
 shop ! Nature, when her scorn of a slave is divinest, and blazes like 
 the^blinding lightning against his slavehood, often enough flings him a 
 bag of money, silently saying : " That ! Away ; thy doom is that ! ^ 
 
 45. miE'B MIDNIGHT VOICE. —Edward Fowng-. Born, 1681 ; died, 1786 
 
 Creatiov sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse 
 Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause, 
 An awfal pause ' prophetic of her end. 
 
 The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, 
 But from its loss. To give it, then, a tongue, 
 Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 
 I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 
 It is the knell of my departed hours. 
 Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood 
 It is the signal that demands despatch : 
 How much is to be done ! My hopes and fears 
 Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 
 Look down ~ on what ? a fathomless abyss ! 
 A dread eternity ! How surely mine ! 
 And can eternity belong to me. 
 Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? 
 
 How poor, how rich, how abject, how augusu, 
 How 3on plicate, how wonderful, is man ! 
 How passing wonder He who made him such ! 
 Who centred in our make such strange extremes • 
 From difierent natures marvellously mixed, 
 Connection exquisite of distant worlds ! 
 Distinguished link in being's endless chain ' 
 Midway from nothing to the Deity ! 
 A beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt ' 
 
MOilAL AND PIDACTlC. MONTGOMERr. 
 
 rhough sullied, and dishonored, still divine 
 Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! 
 An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! 
 Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! 
 A worm ! a god ! — I tremble at mj self. 
 And in myself am lost ! At home a stranger, 
 Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, 
 And wondering at her own : how Reason reels ! 
 0 what a miracle to man is man. 
 Triumphantly distressed ! What joy, what dread 
 Alternately transported, and alarmed ! 
 "V^liat can preserve my life, or what destroy ? 
 An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave ; 
 Legions of angels can't confine me there ! 
 Even silont night proclaims my ^oul immortal ! 
 
 46. THE COMMON LOT. -- Jam^o Montgomery. 
 
 Once, in the flight of ages past. 
 
 There lived a man ; and Who was He ? 
 Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast, 
 
 That Man resembled Thee. 
 Unknown the region of his birth, 
 
 The land in which he died unknown : 
 His name has perished from the earth ; 
 
 This truth survives alone : — 
 
 That joy and grief, and hope and fear, 
 
 Alternate triumphed in his breast ; 
 His bliss and woe, — a smile, a tear ! — 
 
 Oblivion hides the rest. 
 The bounding pulse, the languid limb, 
 
 The changing spirit's rise and fall ; 
 We know that these were felt by him, 
 
 For these are felt by all. 
 
 He suffered, — but his pangs are o'er ; 
 
 Enjoyed, — but his delights are fled ; 
 Had friends, — his friends are now no mor« 
 
 And foes, — his foes are dead. 
 He loved, — but whom he loved the grave 
 
 H^,th lost in its unconscious womb : 
 0, she was fair ! — but naught could save 
 
 Her beauty from the tomb. 
 
 He saw whatever thou hast seen ; 
 
 Encountered all that troubles thee : 
 He was — whatever thou hast been : 
 
 He is — what thou shalt be. 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 The rolling seasons, day and night, 
 
 Sun, moon and stars, the earth and mM% 
 
 Ere while his portion, life and light, 
 To him exist in vain. 
 
 The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye 
 
 That onoe their shades and glory threw 
 Have left in yonder silent sky 
 
 No vestige where they flew 
 The annals of the human race. 
 
 Their ruins, since the world began, 
 Of him afford no other trace 
 
 Than this, — There lived a Man ■ 
 
 47. THE TRUE SOURCE OF REFORM. — Rev. E. H. Chaptn. 
 
 Tub gieat element of Reform is not born of human wisdom , it does 
 ,,B;t draw its life from human organizations. I find it only in Gkris- 
 jpiANiTi. " Thy kingdom come ! " There is a sublime and pregnant 
 Durden in this Prayer. It is the aspiration of every soul that goes 
 forth in the spirit of Reform. For what is the significance of this 
 Prayer ? It is a petition that all holy influences would penetrate and 
 Bubdue and dwell in the heart of mc^n, until he shall think, and speak, 
 and do good, from the very necessity of his being. So^ would the 
 institutions of error and wrong crumble and pass away. So would sin 
 die out from the earth ; and the human soul living in harmony with 
 the Divine Will, this earth would become like Heaven. It is too late 
 for the Reformers to sneer at Christianity, — it is foolishness for them 
 to reject it. In it are enshrined our faith in human progress, — our 
 confidence in Reform. It is indissolubly connected with all that is 
 hopeful, spiritual, capable, in man. That men have misunderstood it, 
 and perverted is true. But it is also true that the noblest efforts 
 for human melioration have come out of it, — have been based upon it. 
 Is it not so ? Come, ye remembered ones, who sleep the sleep of the 
 Just, — who took your conduct from the line of Christian Philosophy 
 . — come from your tombs, and answer ! 
 
 Come, Howard, from the gloom of the prison and the taint of the 
 lazar-house, and show us what Philanthropy can do when imbued with 
 the spirit of Jesus. Come, Eliot, from the thick forest where the red 
 man listens to the Word of Life ; — come, Penn, from thy sweet eoun- 
 feel and weaponless victory, — and show us what Christian Zeal and 
 Christian Love can accomplish with the rudest barbarians or the fiercest 
 hearts. Come, Raikes, from thy labors with the ignorant and the 
 poor, and show us with what an eye this Faith regards the lowest and 
 least of our race ; and how diligently it labors, not for the body, not for 
 the rank, but for the plastic soul that is to course the ages of immor- 
 tility. And ye, who are a great number, — ye nameless onea, — who 
 liave done good in your narrow spheres, ccntei.; to forego renown oo 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. MACKAT. 
 
 larth, and seeking your Keward in the Record on High, — come And teL 
 as how kindly a spirit, how lofty a purpose, or how strong a courage 
 the Religion ye professed can breathe into the poor, the hiunble, and 
 the weak. Go forth, then. Spirit of Christianity, to thy great work 
 of Reform ! The Past bears witness to thee in the blood of thy mar 
 tyrs, and the ashes of thy saints and heroes ; the Present is hopeiii! 
 because of thee ; the Future shall acknowledge thy omnipotence. 
 
 48. THE BEACON LIGHT. — Mm Parrfoc. 
 
 Darkness was deepening o'er the seas, and still the hulk drove on ; 
 No sail to answer to the breeze, — her masts and cordage gone ; 
 Gloomy and drear her course of fear, — each looked but for a grave,-- 
 'When, full in sight, the beacon light came streaming o'er the wave. 
 
 Then wildly rose the gladdening shout of all that hardy crew ; 
 Boldly they put the helm about, and through the surf they flew. 
 Storm was forgot, toil heeded not, and loud the cheer they gave, 
 As, full in sight, the beacon light came streaming o'er the wave. 
 
 A nd gayly of the tale they told, when they were safe on shore ; 
 How hearts had sunk and hopes grown cold amid the billow's roar 
 When not a star had shone from far, by its pale beam to save ; 
 Then, fiill in sight, the beacon light came streaming o'er the wave. 
 
 Thus, in the night of nature's gloom, when sorrow bows the heart, — 
 When cheering hopes no more illume, and prospects all depart, — 
 Then, from afiir, shines Bethleaem's star, with cheering light to save . 
 And, full in sight, its beacon light comes streaming o'er the grave. 
 
 49. « CLEON and I.» — Charles Mackay. 
 
 Cleon hath a million acres, — ne'er a one have I » 
 Cleon dwelletb in a palace, — in a cottage, I ; 
 Cleon hath a dozen fortunes, — not a penny, I ; 
 But the poorer of the twain is Cleon, and not I. 
 
 Cleon, true, possesseth acres, — but the landscape, I ; 
 Half the charms to me it yieldeth money cannot buy ; 
 Cleon harbors sloth and dulness, — freshening vigor, I ; 
 He in velvet, I in fustian, — richer man am I. 
 
 Cleon is a slave to grandeur, — free as thought am I ; 
 Cleon fees a score of doctors, — need of none have I. 
 Wealth-surrounded care-environed, Cleon fears to die ; 
 Death may come, — he '11 find me ready, — happier man am L 
 
 Cleon sees no charms in Nature, — in a daisy, I ;• 
 
 Cleon hears no anthems ringing in the sea and sky 
 
 Nature sings to me forever, — earnest listener I ; 
 
 State for state, with all attendants, who would change ? Not I 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 50. Tim PROBLEM FOR THE UNITED STATES. — IZei;. Hemy A. Boardman. 
 
 This Union cannot expire as the snow melts from the rock, or a star 
 disappears from the firmament. When it falls, the crash will be heard 
 in all lands. Wherever the winds of Heaven go, that will go, bear- 
 ing sorrow and dismay to millions of stricken hearts ; for the subver- 
 sion of this Government will render the cause of Constitutional Libertj 
 hopeless throughout the world. W^hat Nation can govern itself, i f tbii 
 Nation cannot ? What encouragement will any People have to esta,b- 
 Hsh liberal institutions for themselves, if ours fail ? Providence has 
 laid upon us the responsibility and the honor of solving that problem 
 in which all coming generations of men have a profound interest, — 
 whether the true ends of Government can be secured by a popular 
 representative system. In the munificence of His goodness. He put 
 us in possession of our heritage, by a series of interpositions scarcely 
 less signal than those which conducted the Hebrews to Canaan ; and 
 He has, up to this period, withheld from us no immunities or resources 
 which might facilitate an auspicious result. Never before was a Peo- 
 ple so advantageously situated for working out this great problem in 
 favor of human liberty ; and it is important for us to understand that 
 the world so regards it. 
 
 If, in the frenzy of our base sectional jealousies, we dig the gi'ave 
 of the Union, and thus decide this question in the negative, no tongue 
 may attempt to depict the disappointment and despair which will go 
 along with the announcement, as it spreads through distant lands. It 
 will be America, after fifty years' experience, giving in her adhesion 
 to the doctrine that man was not made for self-government. It will 
 be Freedom herself proclaiming that Freedom is a chimera ; Liberty 
 ringing her owji knell, all over the globe. And, when the citizens or 
 mhjects of the Governments which are to succeed this Union shall 
 visit Europe, and see, in some land now struggling to cast ofl" its fet- 
 ters, the lacerated and lifeless form of Liberty laid prostrate under 
 the iron heel of Despotism, let them remember that the blow whicb 
 lestroyed her was inflicted by their own country. 
 
 ** So the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain, 
 No mor6 through rolling clouds to soar again, 
 Viewed his own feather ou the fatal dart, 
 And winged the shall that qiwvered in his heart. 
 Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel 
 He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel; 
 While the same plumage that had warmed his nest 
 Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast." 
 
 51. THE AMERICAN EXPERIMENT OF SELF-GOVERNMENT. Edward Everett 
 
 We are summoned to new energy and zeal by the high nature of 
 the experiment we are appointed in Providence to make, and tho 
 grandeur of the theatre on which it is to be performed. At a moment 
 of deep and general agitation in the Old World, it pleased Heaven to 
 r»p«D this last refuge of humanity, TVc ftttemrt Vap Vvegrun and is 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. LUNT. 
 
 79 
 
 going OD, iar fi-om foreign corruption, on the broadest scale, anJ andsi 
 the most benignant prospects ; and it certainly rests with us to solve 
 the great problem in human society, — to settle, and that forever, the 
 momentous question, — whether mankind can be trusted with a pureJ) 
 popular system of Government ? 
 
 ^ One might almost think, without extravagance, that the departoti 
 wise and good, of all places and times, are looking down from their 
 happy seats to witness what shall now be lone h^^ us that they who 
 lavished their treasures and their blood, of old, — who opake and wrote, 
 who labored, fought and perished, .in the one great cause of Freedom 
 and Truth, — are now hanging, from their orbs on high, over the last 
 solemn experunent of humanity. As I have wandered over the spots 
 once the scene of their labors, and mused among the prostrate columns 
 nf ^ their senate-houses and forums, I have seemed almost to hear a 
 voice from the tombs of departed ages, from the sepulchres of the 
 Nations which died before the sight. They exhort us, they adjure us, 
 to be faithful to our trust. They implore us, by the long trials of 
 struggling humanity ; by the blessed memory of the departed ; by the 
 dear faith which has been plighted by pure hands to the holy cause 
 of truth and man ; by the awful secrets of the prison-house, where the 
 sons of freedom have been immured ; by the noble heads which have 
 been brought to the block ; by the wrecks of time, by the eloquent 
 ruins of Nations, — they conjure us not to quench the light which is 
 rising on the world. G-reece cries to us by the convulsed lips of her 
 poisoned, dying Demosthenes ; and Rome pleads with us in the mute 
 persuasion of her mangled Tully. 
 
 52. THE SHIP OF STATE.— Rev. Wm. P. Lunt. 
 
 Break up the Union of these States, because there are acknowledged 
 evils in our system ? Is it so easy a matter, then, to make everything 
 in the actual world conform exactly to the ideal pattern we have con- 
 ceived, in our minds, of absolute right ? Suppose the fatal blow were 
 struck, and the bonds which fasten together these States were severed, 
 would the evils and mischiefs that would be experienced by those wha 
 are actually members of this vast Republican Community be all thai 
 would ensue ? Certainly not. We are connected with the several 
 Nations and Races of th^ world as no other People has ever been con- 
 nected. We have opened our doors, and invited emigration to our 
 soil from all lands. Oar invitation has been accepted. Thousands 
 Kave come at our bidding. Thousands more are on the way. Other 
 thoinsands still are standing a-tipt do on the shores of the Old Worl<i, 
 eager to find a passage to the land where bread may be had for lab^.r, 
 and where man is treated as man. In our political family almost aJi 
 Nations are represented. The several varieties of the race are here 
 Bubjected to a social fusion, out of which Providence designs to form 
 ft " new man." 
 
 We are ir this way teaching the world a great lesson, — namely 
 
80 
 
 THE STA^a)ATlD SPEAKER. 
 
 that men of different languages, habits, manners and creeds, can !iT€ 
 too-ether,and vote together, and, if not pray and worship together, yet 
 in'^near vicinity, and do all in peace, and be, for certam purposes at 
 least, one People. And is not this lesson of some value to the world, 
 especially if we can teach it not by theory merely, but through a sue 
 cessful example ? Has not this lesson, thus conveyed, some connec* 
 tion with the world's progress towards that far-off period to which the 
 buman mind looks for the fnlfilment of its vision of a perfect socia. 
 state ? It may safely be asserted that this Union could not be dis- 
 Bolved without disarranging and convulsing every part of globe. 
 N )t in the indulgence of a vain confidence did our fathers build the 
 Ship of State, and launch it upon the waters. We will exclaim, in tb« 
 scble words of one of our poets : ^ 
 
 " Thou, too, sail on, 0 Ship of State ! 
 Sail on, 0 Union, strong and great ! 
 Humanity with all its fears. 
 With all the hopes of future years, 
 Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
 We know what Master laid thy keel, 
 What Worlunen wrought thy ribs of steel, 
 Who made each mast, and sail, and rope. 
 What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 
 In what a forge and what a heat 
 Were shaped the anchors of thy hope • 
 Tear not each sudden sound and shock, — 
 'T is of the wave and not the rock; 
 'T is but the flapping of the sail, 
 And not a rent made by the gale ! 
 In spite of rock and tempest roar. 
 In spite of false lights on the shore. 
 Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 
 Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee. 
 Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears. 
 Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
 Are all with thee,— are all with thee ! " 
 
 53. KBH. — Charles Sjirague. 
 
 When, from the sacred garden driven, 
 
 Man fled before his Maker's wrath, 
 An angel left her place in Heaven, 
 
 And crossed the wanderer's sunless path. 
 T was Art ! sweet Art ! New radiance broKt 
 
 Where her li^ht foot flew o'er the ground; 
 And thus with seraph voice she spoke, — 
 
 " The curse a blessing shall be found." 
 
 She led him through the trackless wild, 
 
 Where noontide sunbeam never blazed ; / 
 The thistle shrank, the harvest smiled, 
 
 And Nature gladdened as she grazed. 
 
 • H. W. Longfellow 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — BAYLl 
 
 Earth's thousand tribes of living things, 
 Al Art's command, to him are given , 
 
 The village grows, the city spnngs, 
 
 And point their spires of faith to Heaveii. 
 
 He rends the oak, and bids it ride, 
 
 To guard the shores its beauty graced ; 
 He smites the rock, — upheaved in pride. 
 
 See towers of strengtii and domes of taste : 
 Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal. 
 
 Fire bears his banner on the wave, 
 He bids the mortal poison heal, 
 
 And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. 
 
 He plucks the pearls that stud the deep, 
 
 Admiring Beauty's lap to fill ; 
 He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep, 
 
 And mocks his own Creator's skill. 
 With thoughts that fill his glowing soul, 
 
 He bids the ore illume tht page, 
 And, proudly scorning Time's control, 
 
 Commerces with an unborn age. 
 
 In fields of air he writes his name, 
 
 And treads the chambers of the sky , 
 He reads the stars, and grasps the flame 
 
 That quivers round the Throne on high 
 In war renowned, in peace sublime, 
 
 He moves in greatness and in grace ; 
 His power, subduing space and time, 
 
 Links realm to realm, and race to race. 
 
 54. THE PILOT. — Thomas Haynes Bayly. Bom, 1797 ; died, 1839 
 
 0, PiiX)T ' 't is a fearfiil night, — there 's danger on the deep ; 
 I '11 come and pace the deck with thee, — I do not dare to sleep. 
 Go down ! the sailor cried, go down ; this is no place for thee : 
 Pe^r not ; but trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst be 
 
 Ah ! pilot, dangers often met we all are apt to slight, 
 
 And thou hast known these raging waves but to subdue theii migkl 
 
 It is not apathy, he cried, that gives this strength to me : 
 
 Peai not but trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst be. 
 
 Oil such a night the sea engulfed my father's lifeless form ; 
 My only brother's boat went down in just so wild a storm • 
 And such, perhaps, may be my fate ; but still I say to thee, 
 Pear not l^ut trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst b©. 
 6 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 DEATH TYPIFIED BY WINTER. — James Thomson. Born, IVOO ; died, IT 
 
 'T IS done ! — dread Winter spreads his latest glooma 
 And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year. 
 How djJd the vegetable kingdom he.^ ) 
 How du b the tuneful ! Horror viae extends 
 His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! 
 See here thy pictured life : — pass some few years, 
 Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength 
 Thv sober Autumn fading into age, 
 And pale concluding Winter comes, at last, 
 And shuts the scene. Ah ! whither now are fled 
 Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes 
 Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? 
 Those restless cares ? those busy bustling days ? ^ 
 Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughte 
 Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ? 
 All now are vanished ! Virtue sole survives. 
 Immortal, never-failing friend of man, 
 His guide to happiness on high. And see !^ 
 'T is come, the glorious morn ! the second birth 
 Of Heaven and Earth ! Awakening Nature heaw 
 The new-creating word, and starts to life, 
 In every heightened form, from pain and death 
 Forever free. The great eternal scheme 
 Involving all, and in a perfect whole 
 Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads. 
 To Reason's eye refined clears up apace. 
 Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, 
 Confounded in the dust, adore that Power 
 And Wisdom oft arraigned : see now the cause, 
 Why unassuming Worth in secret lived, 
 And died neglected : why the good man's share 
 In life was gall and bitterness of soul : ^ 
 Why the lone widow and her orphans pined, 
 In starving solitude ; while Luxury, 
 In palaces, lay straining her low thought. 
 To fbrm unreal wants : why Heaven-born Truth. 
 And Moderation fair, wore the red marks 
 Of Superstition's scourge : why licensed Pain 
 That cruel spoiler, that embosomed foe, 
 Embittered all our bliss. Ye good distressed, 
 Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 
 Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while. 
 And what your bounded view, which only saw 
 A little part, deemed Evil, is no more ! 
 The storms of Wintry Time will quickly puMl, 
 And one unboumJed Spring encircle all. ' 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — JAMES. 
 
 83 
 
 66 INDUCE^li^NTS TO EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION. - /o/i^ Angell James 
 
 Inducements! Can it be necessary to offer these? What! Is 
 not the bare mention of religion enough to rouse every soul, who 
 anderstands the meaning of that momentous word, to the greatest 
 intensity of action ? Who needs to have spread out before him tho 
 demonstrations of logic, or the persuasions of rhetoric, to move hiiu t© 
 seek after wealth, rank, or honor ? Who, when an opportunity pre- 
 Bents itself to obtain such possessions, requires anything more than an 
 appeal to his consciousness of their value to engage him in the pursuit ? 
 Tlie very mention of riches suggests at once to man's cuoiditv a thou- 
 sand arguments to use the means of obtaining them. What intense long, 
 ings rise in the heart ! What pictures crowd the imagination ! What 
 a spell comes over the whole soul ! And why is there less, — yea, 
 why IS there not intensely more, than all this, at the mention of the 
 word religion, — that term which comprehends Heaven and earth, 
 time and eternity, God and man, within its sublime and boundless 
 meaning ? If we were as we ought to be, it would be enough only to 
 whisper in the ear that word, of more than magic power, to engao-e 
 all our faculties, and all their energies, in the most resolute purpose, 
 the most determined pursuit, and the most entire self-devotement. 
 Inducements to earnestness in religion! Alas! how low we have 
 sunk, how far have we been paralyzed, to need to be thus stimu- 
 lated ! . 
 
 ^ Is religion a contradiction to the usual maxim, that a man's activity 
 m endeavoring to obtain an object is, if he understand it, in exact pro- 
 portion to the value and importance which he attaches to it ? Are 
 Heaven, and salvation, and eternity, the only matters that shall reverse 
 this maxim, and make lukewarmness the rule of action ? By what 
 thunder shall I break in upon your deep and dangerous sleep ? 0 
 revolve often and deeply the infinite realities of religion ! Most sub^ 
 jects may be made to appear with greater or less dignity, according to 
 the greater or less degree of importance in which the preacher places 
 them. Pompous expressions, bold figures, lively ornaments of elo- 
 quence, may often supply a want of this dignity in the subject dis- 
 cussed. But every attempt to give importance to a motive taken from 
 eternity is more likely to enfeeble the doctrine than to invigorate it. 
 Motives of this kind are self-sufficient. Descriptions the most simple 
 and the most natural are always the most pathetic or the most terrify- 
 ing; nor can I find an expression more powerful and emphatic than 
 that i(f Paul, " The things which are not seen are eternal." What 
 wore could the tongues of men and the eloquence of angels say? 
 'Eternal things"! Weigh the import of that phrase, "eternal 
 things. The history of Nations, the eras of time, the creation of 
 worlds, all fade into insignificance, — dwindle to a point, attenuate to 
 a shadow, — compared with these " eternal things." Do you believe 
 them ? If not, abjure your creed, abandon your belief. Be consistent, 
 Mid let tl:ie stupendous vision which, like Jacob's ladder, rests jts foo< 
 
84 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 on earth and places its top in Heaven, vanish in thm air ! But if yon 
 do believe, say what ought to be the conduct of him who, to his own 
 conviction, stands with hell beneath him, Heaven above him, and eter. 
 nity before him. By all the worth of the immortal soul, by all 
 the blessings of eternal salvation, by aU the glories of the uppei 
 world, by all the horrors of the bottomless pit, by all the agei 
 ©f eternity and by aU the personal interest you have in these mimit* 
 realities, I cor. jure you to be in earnest in personal religion ! 
 
 57. NEVER DESPAIR. — Samuel Lover. 
 
 O, NEVER despair ! for our hopes, oftentime,^ 
 Spring swiftly, as flowers in some tropical clime, ^ 
 Where the spot that was barren and scentless at mght 
 Is blooming and fragrant at morning's first light ! 
 The mariner marks, when the tempest rings loud, 
 That the rainbow is brighter, the darker the cloud; 
 Then, up ! up ! — never despair ! 
 
 The leaves which the sibyl presented of old. 
 Though lessened in number, were not worth less gold ; 
 And though Fate steal our joys, do not think they 're the befi\, 
 The few she has spared may be worth all the rest. 
 Good fbrtune oft comes in adversity's form, 
 And the rainbow is brightest when darkest the st»rm; 
 Then, up ! up ! — never despair ! 
 
 And when aU creation was sunk in the flood, 
 Subhme o'er the deluge the patriarch stood ! 
 Though destruction around him in thunder was hurled, 
 Undaunted he looked on the wreck of the world ! 
 For, high o'er the ruin, hung Hope's blessed form. — 
 The rainbow beamed bright through the gloom of tlxe storm 
 Then, up ! up ! — never despair ! 
 
 58. CHARITY. — Tfeomcw Noon Talfourd. 
 
 The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter 
 Have their own season. 'T is a little thmg 
 To give a cup of water ; yet its draught _ 
 Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, 
 May give a shock of pleasure to the frame 
 More exquisite than when nectarean juice 
 Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. 
 It is a little thing to speak a phrase 
 Of common comfort, which, by daily use, 
 Has almost lost its sense ; yet on the ear 
 Of him who thought to die unmourned, twiU taU 
 
MOKAL AND DlDAOriC. BRYANT 
 
 Like choicest music ; £Q1 the glazing eye 
 With gentle tears ; relax the knotted hand 
 To know the bonds of fellowship again; 
 And shed on the departing soul a sense 
 More precious than the benison of friends 
 About the honored death-bed of the rich, 
 To him who else were lonely, — that anothei 
 Of the great family is near, and feels. 
 
 59. THE BATTLE-FIELD. — William Cullen Bryant 
 
 Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
 Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, 
 
 And fiery hearts and armed hands 
 Encountered in the battle-cloud. 
 
 Ah ! never shall the land forget 
 
 How gushed the life-blood of her brave, — 
 Gushed, warm with hope and valor yet, 
 Upon the soil they fought to save. 
 
 Now all is calm, and fresh, and still ; 
 
 Alone the chirp of flitting bird, 
 And talk of children on the hill, 
 
 And bell of wandering kine, are heard. 
 
 No solemn host goes trailing by 
 
 The black-mouthed gun and staggering waia 
 Men start not at the battle-cry ; — 
 
 0, be it never heard again ! 
 
 Soon rested those who fought, — but thou, 
 Who minglest in the harder strife 
 
 For truths which men receive not now, 
 
 Thy warfare only ends with life. 
 
 A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
 Through weary day and weary year ; 
 
 A wild and many-weaponed throng 
 Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 
 
 Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof. 
 And blench not at thy chosen lot . 
 
 The timid good may stand aloof, 
 
 The sage may frown, — yet faint thou not* 
 
 Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, 
 The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn , 
 
86 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 
 The victory of endurance born. 
 
 Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again i 
 The eternal years of God are hers ; 
 
 But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, 
 And dies among his worshippers. 
 
 Yea, though thou die upon the dust, 
 
 When those who helped thee flee in fear - 
 
 Die full of hope and manly trust. 
 Like those who fell in battle here,— 
 
 Another hand thy sword shall wield. 
 Another hand the standard wave. 
 
 Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
 The blast of triumph o'er thy grave ! 
 
 60. THE DIZZY ACTlTITIES OF THE TIMES.— £dward Everest. 
 
 We need the spirit of 75 to guide us safely amid the di?zy aotiv 
 jties of the times. While our own numbers are increasing in aa 
 UDexampled ratio, Europe is pouring in upon us her hundreds of 
 thousands annually, and new regions are added to our domain, which 
 we are obliged to count by degrees of latitude and longitude. In the 
 mean time, the most wonderful discoveries of art, and the most myste- 
 rious powers of nature, combine to give an almost fearful increase to 
 the intensity of our existence. Machines of unexampled complica- 
 tion and ingenuity have been applied to the whole range of human 
 industry: we rush across the land and the sea by steam; we cor- 
 respond by magnetism ; we paint by the solar ray ; we count the 
 beats of the electric clock at the distance of a thousand miles ; we 
 annihilate time and distance ; and, amidst all the new agencies of 
 communication and action, the omnipotent Press — the great engine 
 of modern progress, not superseded or impaired, but gathering new 
 power from all the arts— is daily clothing itself with louder thunders. 
 While we contemplate with admiration — almost with awe — the 
 mighty influences which surround us, and which demand our coopera- 
 tion and our guidance, let our hearts overflow with gratitude to the 
 patriots who have handed down to us this great inheritance. ^ Let us 
 strive to furnish ourselves, from the storehouse of their example, with 
 the principles and virtues which will strengthen us for the perform- 
 ance of an honored part on this illustrious stage. Let pure patriot- 
 ism add its bond to the bars of iron which are binding the continent 
 together ; and, as intelligence shoots with the electric spark from 
 ocean to ocean, let public spirit and love of country catch from heart 
 to heart 
 
MORAI AND DIDACTIC. SYDNEY SMITH. 
 
 ei THE GOOD aUEAT MAN.— 5. T. Coleridge. Born, 1770 ; died. 183t 
 
 " How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits 
 
 Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains ! 
 It seems a story from the world of spirits 
 When any man obtains that which he merits, 
 
 Or any merits that which he obtains." 
 For shame, my friervd ! — renounce this idle strain ! 
 What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain ? 
 Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain. 
 Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ? 
 Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. 
 Hath he not always treasures, always friends. 
 The good great man ? Three treasures, — love, ana light 
 
 And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath ; 
 And three fast friends, more sure than day or night, — 
 
 Himself, his Maker, and the Angel Death. 
 
 62. TAXES THE PRICE OF GLORY.— iZet;. Sijdney Smith. Born, 1768 ; Jierf,1845. 
 
 John Bull can inform Jonathan what are the inevitable coiise« 
 qaences of being too fond of Glory : — Taxes ! Taxes upon every 
 article which enters into the mouth, or covers the back, or is placed 
 under the foot ; taxes upon everything which it is pleasant to see, 
 hear, feel, smell, or taste ; taxes upon warmth, light, and locomotion ; 
 taxes on everything on earth, and the waters under the earth; on 
 everything that comes from abroad, or is grown at home; taxes on 
 the raw material ; taxes on every fresh value that is added to it by 
 the industry of man ; taxes on the sauce which pampers man's appe- 
 tite, and the drug that restores him to health ; on the ermine which 
 decorates the Judge, and the rope which hangs the criminal ; on the 
 poor man's salt, and the rich man's spice ; on the brass nails of the 
 coffin, and the ribbons of the bride ; — at bed or board, couchant or 
 levant, we must pay. 
 
 ^ The school-boy whips his taxed top ; the beardless youth manages 
 his taxed horse, with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road ; — and the dying 
 Englishman, pouring his medicine, which has paid seven per cent., into 
 a spoon that has paid fifteen per cent., flings himself back upon his 
 chintz-bed, which has paid twenty-two per cent., makes his will on 
 an eight-pound stamp, and expires in the arms of an apothecary, who 
 has paid a license of a hundred pounds for the privilege of putting 
 him to death. His whole property is then immediately taxed from 
 two to ten per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for 
 burying hun in the chancel ; his virtues are handed down to posterity 
 on taxed marble ; and he is then gathered to his fathers,- to be taxed 
 no more, 
 
 In addition to all this, the habit of dealing with large sums will 
 make the Government avaricious. and profuse; and the system itself 
 
88 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 will infallibly generate the base vermin of spies and inforuers^ and » 
 Btill more pestilent race of political tools and retainers of the meanest 
 and most odious description; — while the prodigious patronage which 
 the collecting of this splendid revenue will throw into the hands of 
 Ooverimient will invest it with so vast an influence, and hold out 
 such means and temptations to corruption, as all the virtue and publi® 
 spirit, even of Republicans, will be unable to resist. Every "wiSG Jon 
 fttban should remember tbis! 
 
 63. THE SHHSS.— Adaptation from Ebenezer Elliot. Born, K8a; died, \W) 
 
 God said — " Let there be light ! " 
 Grim darkness felt His might, 
 And fled away : 
 Then startled saas and mountains cold 
 ? jone forth, all bright in blue and gold, 
 And cried — " 'T is day ! 't is day ! " 
 
 " Hail, holy light ! " exclaimed 
 The thunderous cloud that flamed 
 O'er daisies white ; 
 And lo ! the rose, in crimson dressed, 
 Leaned sweetly on the lily's breast, 
 
 And, blushing, mui-mured — " Light " 
 
 Then was the skylark born ; 
 Then rose the embattled corn ; | 
 Then floods of praise < 
 Flowed o'er the sunny hills of noon ; 
 And then, in stillest night, the moon 
 Poured forth her pensive rays. 
 
 Lo, Heaven's bright bow is glad 
 Lo, trees and flowers, all clad 
 In glory, bloom ! 
 And shall the immortal sons of God 
 Be senseless as the trodden clod, 
 And darker than the tomb ? 
 
 No. by the mind of man ! 
 By the swart artisan ! 
 We will aspire ! 
 Our souls have holy light within, 
 And every form of grief and sin 
 Shall see and feel its fire. 
 
 By all we hope of Heaven, 
 The shroud of souls is riven * 
 Mind, mind alone 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — CHANNING. 
 
 89 
 
 Is light, and hope, and life, and power ! 
 Earth's deepest night, from this blessed hour,— 
 The night of mind, — is gone ! 
 
 " The Press ! " all lands shall sing ; 
 The Press, the Press we bring, 
 All lands to bless. 
 0, pallid Want ! 0, Labor stark ! 
 Behold ! we bring the second ark ! 
 The Press, the Fress, the Press ! 
 
 64. A DEFENCE OF VOETRY. — Rev. Charles Wolfe. Born, 1791; rfierf, 1823. 
 
 Believe not those who tell jou that Poetry will seduce the youth- 
 fill mind from severe occupations. Didactic Poetry not only admits, 
 but requires, the cooperation of Philosophy and Science. And true 
 Poetry must be always reverent. Would not an universal cloud settle 
 upon all the beauties of Creation, if it were supposed that they had 
 not emanated from Almighty energy ? In works of art, we are not 
 content with the accuracy of feature, and the glow of coloring, until 
 we have traced them to the mind that guided the chisel, and gave the 
 pencil its delicacies and its animation. Nor can we look with delight 
 on the features of Nature, without hailing the celestial Intellio-ence 
 that gave them birth. The Deity is too sublime for Poetry to doubt 
 His existence. Creation has too much of the Divinity insinuated into 
 her beauties to allow Poetry to hesitate in her creed. She demands 
 no proof. She waits for no demonstration. She looks, and she 
 believes. She admires, and she adores. Nor is it alone with natural 
 religion that she maintains this intimate connection ; for what is the 
 Christian's hope, but Poetry in her purest and most ethereal essence ? 
 
 From the beginning she was one of the ministering spirits that 
 stand round the Throne of God, to issue forth at His word, and do 
 His errands upon the earth. Sometimes she has been the herald of 
 an offending nation's downfall. Often has she been sent commissioned 
 to offending man, with prophecy and warning upon her lips. At 
 other times she has been intrusted with " glad tidings of great joy.*= 
 Poetry was the anticipating Apostle, the prophetic Evangelist, whose 
 feet " were beautiful upon the mountains ; " who published salvatioa 
 who said unto Zion, " Thy God reigneth ! " 
 
 65. GREAT IDEAS. — /Zcv. W. E. Channtng. 
 
 What is needed to elevate the soul is, not that a man should know 
 all that has been thought and written in regard to the spiritual nature, 
 not that a man should become an Encyclopedia, but that the Great 
 Ideas in which all discoveries terminate, which sum up all sciences 
 which the philosopher extracts from infinite details, may be compre- 
 hended and felt It is not the quantity, but the quality of knowJ 
 edge, which determ^-es the mind's dignity. A man of immenjw 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKEll. 
 
 information may, througli tLe T?»Bnt of large and comprehe. «5iYe ideaa 
 be far inferior in intellect to a laborer, wko, with little knowledge, has 
 yet seized on great truths. For example, I do not expect the laborer 
 to study theology in the ancient languages, in the writings of the 
 Fathers, in the history of sects ; nor is this needful. All theology 
 scattered as it is through countless volumes, is summed up in the idea 
 of God ; and let this idea shine bright and clear in the laborer's soul 
 and he has the essence of theological libraries, and a far higher ligh^ 
 than has visited thousands of renowned divines. A great mind l<» 
 formed by a few great ideas, not by an infinity of loo£=e details. 
 
 I have known very learned men who seemed to me very poor in 
 uitellect, because they had no grand thoughts. What avails it that a 
 man has studied ever so minutely the histories of Greece and Rome, 
 if the Great Ideas of Freedom, and Beauty, and Valor, and Spiritual 
 Energy, have not been kindled, by those records, into living fires in 
 his soul ? The illumination of an age does not consist in the amount 
 of its knowledge, but in the broad and noble principles of which that 
 knowledge is the foundation and inspirer. The truth is, that the most 
 laborious and successful student is confined in his researches to a very 
 few of God's works ; but this Imiited knowledge of things may still 
 suggest universal laws, broad principles, grand ideas ; and these ele- 
 vate the mind. There are certain , thoughts, principles, ideas, which 
 by their nature rule o^'jr all knowledge, which are intrinsically glori- 
 ous quickening, all-con^prehending, eternal ! 
 
 66. ENGLAND. — IJZ^enezer EKzo?. 
 
 ' Nurse of the Pilgrim Sires, who sought, beyond the Atlantic foam, 
 For fearless truth and honest thought, a refuge and a home ! 
 Who would not be of them or thee a not unworthy son. 
 That hears, amid the chained or free, the name of Washington ? 
 
 Cradle of Shakspeare, Milton, Knox! King-shaming Cromwell's 
 throne ! 
 
 Home of the Russells, Watts, and Lockes Earth's greatest are thine 
 own ! 
 
 And shall thy children forge base chains for men that would be free \ 
 No ! by the Eliots, Hampdens, Vanes Pyms, Sidneys, yet to be ! 
 No ! For the blood which kings have gorged ha th made their victims 
 wise; 
 
 While every lie that Fraud hath forged veils wisdom from his eyes. 
 But time shall change the despot's mood ; and IMind is mightiest then, 
 When turning evil into good, and monsters into men. 
 
 If round the soul the chains are bound that hold the world in thrall, — 
 If tyrants laugh when men are found in brutal fray to fall, — 
 Lord ! let not Britain arm her hands, her sister states to ban ; 
 But bless through her all other lands — Thy family of Man ' 
 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC. CAMPBELL. 9\ 
 
 For freedom if thy Hampden fought, for peace if Falkjand fell, — 
 For peace and love if Bentham wrote, and Burns sang wildly well, - 
 Let Knowledge, strongest of the strong, bid hate and discord cease 
 Be this the burden of her song, — " Love, Liberty, and Peace ! " 
 
 Then, Father, will th-e Nations all, as with the sound of seaa, 
 
 In universal festival, sing words of joy, like these : — 
 
 Let each love all, and all be free, receiving as they give ; 
 
 Lord ' Jesus died for Love and Thee ! So let Thy children liT6 1 
 
 67 VUAT'S QROJJNDf —Thomas Campbell. Born, HIT ; died, im, 
 
 VV HAT 's hallowed ground ? Has earth a clod 
 Its Maker meant not should be trod 
 By man, the image of his God, 
 
 Erect and free, 
 Unscourged by Superstition's rod 
 
 To bow the knee ? 
 
 What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
 'T is not the sculptured piles you heap : 
 In dews that Heavens far distant weep, 
 
 Their turf may bloom ; 
 Or Genii twine beneath the deep 
 
 Their coral tomb. 
 
 But strew his ashes to the wind. 
 
 Whose sword or voice has saved mankind, — - 
 
 And is he dead, whose glorious mind 
 
 Lifts thine on high ? 
 To live in hearts we leave behind. 
 
 Is not to die ! 
 
 Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right ? — 
 He 's dead alone that lacks her light ! 
 And murder sullies, in Heaven's sight, 
 
 The sword he draws : — 
 What can alone ennoble fight ? — 
 
 A noble cause ! 
 Give that ; and welcome War to brace 
 Her drams ! and rend Heaven's welkin spaoe 
 The colors planted face to face, 
 
 The charging cheer, 
 Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase. 
 
 Shall still be dear ! 
 
 And place our trophies where men kneei 
 To Heaven ! — But Heaven rebukes my zeal 
 The cause of truth and humaa weal, — 
 0 God above ' — 
 
92 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAREll. 
 
 Transfer it from the sword's appeal 
 To peace and love ! 
 
 Peace, love, — ■ the cherubim that join 
 Their spread wings o'er devotion's shrine, 
 Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, 
 
 When they are not ; 
 The heart alone can make divine 
 
 Eeligion's spot ' 
 
 What 's hallowed ground ? 'T is what gives birth 
 To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! 
 Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! go forth 
 
 Earth's compass round ; 
 And your high priesthood shall make earth 
 
 All hallowed ground ! 
 
 68. NATURE PROCLAIMS A D'ESTi.— Chateaubriand. Born, Vim; dieJ, 184S 
 
 There is a God! The herbs of the valley, the cedars of the 
 mountain, bless Him ; the insect sports in His beam ; the bird sings 
 Him in the foliage ; the thunder proclaims Him in the Heavens , 
 the ocean declares His immensity; — man alone has said, there is 
 no God! Unite in thought at the same instant the most beauti- 
 ful objects in nature. Suppose that you see, at once, all the hours 
 of the day, and all the seasons of the year : a morning of spring, 
 and a morning of autumn; a night bespangled with stars, and a 
 night darkened by clouds ; meadows enamelled with flowers ; forests 
 hoary with snow ; fields gilded by the tints of autumn, — then alone 
 you will have a just conception of the universe ! While you are 
 gazing on that sun which is plunging into the vault of the West, 
 another observer admires hira emerging from the gilded gates of 
 the Fast. By what inconceivable power does that aged star, which is 
 sinking fatigued and burning in the shades of the evening, reappear 
 at the same instant fresh and humid with the rosy dew of the morn- 
 Ing ? At every hour of the day, the glorious orb is at once rising, 
 resplendent as noon-day, and setting in the west ; or, rather, our sensi>« 
 deceive us, and there is, properly speaking, no East or West, no North 
 M South in the world. 
 
 69. WnAT WE OWE TO THE SWORD. — T. S. Grimki. Born., 1778; died, 1834. 
 
 To the question, " what have the People ever gained but by Revo- 
 lution." I answer, boldly. If by Revolution be understood the law of 
 the Sword, Liberty has lost far more than she has ever gained by it. 
 I'he Stvord was the destroyer of the Lycian Confederacy and the 
 Achaean league. The Sword alternately enslaved and disenthralled 
 rbsbes and Athens, Sparta, Syracuse and Corinth. The Sword of 
 Rome conquered every other free State, and finished tho murder 0/ 
 
MORAL ANE DIDACTIC. — HLTsl 
 
 9S 
 
 &bert7 in the ancient world, by destroying h^^rself. TVbit but th<» 
 Swojd, in modern times, annihilated the Republics of Italy, tha Hanse. 
 atic townS; and the primitive independence of Ireland, Wales and 
 Scotland ? What but the Sword partitioned Poland, assassinated the 
 rising liberty of Spain, banished the Huguenots from France, and 
 made Cromwell the master, not the servant, of the People ? And what 
 but the Sword of Republican France destroyed the Independence of 
 half of Europe, deluged the continent with tears, devoured its niilliona 
 upon millions, and closed the long catalogue of guilt, by founding and 
 defending to the last the most powerful, selfish, and insatiable of mil- 
 itary despotisms ? 
 
 The Sword, indeed, delivered Greece from the Persian invaders, 
 expelled the Tarquins from Rome, emancipated Switzeiland and Hol- 
 land, restored the Bruce to his Throne, and brought Charles to the 
 scaffold. And the Sword redeemed the pledge of the Congress of 
 '76, when they plighted to each other " their lives, their fortunes, 
 and their sacred honor." And yet, what would the redemption of 
 that pledge have availed towards the establishment of our present 
 Government, if the spirit of American institutions had not been both 
 the birthright and the birth-blessing of the Colonies ? The Indians, 
 the French, the Spaniards, and even England herself, warred in vain 
 against a People, born and bred in the household, at the doL^estic 
 altar, of Liberty herself. They had never been slaves, for they were 
 born free. The Sword was a herald to proclaim their freedom, but it 
 neither created nor preserved it. A century and a half had already 
 beheld them free in infancy, free in youth, free in early manhood. 
 Theirs was already the spirit of American institutions ; the spirit of 
 Christian freedom, of a temperate, regulated freedom, of a rational 
 civil obedience. , For such a People, the Sword, the law of violence, 
 did and could do nothing, but sever the bonds which bound her colo- 
 nial wards to their unnatural guardian. They redeemed their pledge. 
 Sword in hand ; but the Sword left them as it found them, un- 
 changed in character, — freemen in thought and in deed, iastinct wit.ii 
 the .inimortal spirit of American institutions ! 
 
 ABOTJ BEN KDRmi. — Leigh Hunt 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 
 Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
 And saw within the moonlight of his room, 
 Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 
 An angul writing in a book of gold. 
 Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
 And, to the presence in the room, he said, 
 " What writest thou ? " The vision raised its head, 
 And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 
 A-nswered, ' The names of those who love the Lord ! 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 •* And is mine one ? " asked Abou. — Nay, not so,*' 
 
 Replied the angel. Abou spake more low, 
 
 But cheerly still ; and said — " I pray thee, then, 
 
 Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 
 
 The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 
 
 It came again, with a great wakening light, 
 
 Aiid showed the names whom love of God had blest • 
 
 And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ! 
 
 POLONIUS TO LAERTES. — William Shakspeare. Born, 1564 ; ditd 1816. 
 
 My blessing with you ! 
 And these few precepts in thy memory 
 Look thou charac'ter. Give thy thoughts no ton^nie 
 Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar : 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in. 
 Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice ; 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
 But not expressed in fancy ; rich, not gaudy : 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
 And they in France, of the best rank and station, . 
 Are most select and generous chief in that. 
 Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend. 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.' 
 This above all, — to thine own self be tmo, 
 A.nd it must follow, as the night the day. 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 
 72 WHERE IS HE? — Henry iV^ee/e. Born, 1798 ; died, im 
 " Man giveth up the ghost, and where is be ? " 
 
 * And where is he ? " Not by the side 
 
 Of her whose wants he loved to tend'; 
 Not o'er those valleys wandering wide. 
 
 Where, sweetly lost, he oft would wend. 
 Thfit form beloved he marks no more ; 
 
 Those scenes admired no more shall see , 
 "^ose scenes are lovely as before, — 
 
 And she as f ar, — but where is he ' 
 
MORAL AN! DIDACTIC WAYLAND. 
 
 No, no ! the radiance is not dim, 
 
 That used to gild his favorite hill - 
 The pleasures that were dear to him 
 
 Are dear to life and nature still 
 But, ah ! his home is not as fair 
 
 Neglected must his garden be 
 The lilies droop and wither there 
 
 And seem to whisper, Where is he ? 
 
 His was the pomp, the crowded hall 
 
 But where is now his proud display ? 
 His riches, honors, pleasures, — all. 
 
 Desire could frame ; but where are they 
 And he, as some tall rock that stands, 
 
 Protected by the circling sea, 
 Sftrrounded by admiring bands. 
 
 Seemed proudly strong, — and where is 
 
 The church-yard bears an added stone ; 
 
 The fire-side shows a vacant chair ; 
 Here Sadness dwells, and weeps alone ; 
 
 And Death displays his banner there ! 
 The life has gone ; the breath has fled ; 
 
 And what has been no more shall be ; 
 The well-known form, the welcome tread, 
 
 0 ! where are they ? A\A where is he ? 
 
 73. GROWTH OF INTERNATIONAL SYl^lPATBms. - President TFaylana. 
 
 In many raspects, the Nations of Christendom collectively are 
 becommg somewhat analogous to our own Federal Rep..blic. Anti- 
 quated distinctions are breaking away, and local animosities are sub 
 siding. The common people of different countries are knowino- each 
 other better esteeming each other more, and attaching themselves to 
 each other by various manifes'':ations of reciprocal good will. It ia 
 true, every nation has still it? separate boundaries and its individual 
 interests ; but the freedom of commercial intercourse is allowing those 
 interests to adjust themselves to each other, and thus rendering the 
 wauses of collision of vastly less frequent occurrence. Local questions 
 are becoming of less, and general questions of greater importance 
 Ihanks be to God, men have at last begun to understand the right** 
 md feel for the wrongs of each other ! Mountains interposed do not 
 60 much make enemies of nations. Let the trumpet of alarm be 
 sounded, and its notes are now heard by every nation, whether of 
 l^urope or America. Let a voice borne on tiie feeblest breeze tell 
 th^t the rights of man are in danger, and it floats over valley and 
 mountain, across continent and ocean, until it hoB vibrated on the ear 
 ot the remotest ^weVer in Christendom. Let the arm {"»r>pressio» 
 
96 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 6e raised to crusli the feeblest nation on earth, and there will be heard 
 everywhere, if not the shout of defiance, at least the deep-toned mur 
 mur of implacable displeasure. It is the cry of aggrieved, insulted, 
 much-abused man. It is human nature waking m her might from thfl 
 slumber of ages, shaking herself from the dust of antiquated institu« 
 tions, girding herself for the combat, and going forth conquering and 
 to conquer and woe unto the man, woe unto the dynasty, woe watA 
 the party, and woe unto the policy, on whom shall fall the scathe 
 fici blighting indignation ! 
 
 74 THE WORTH OF ^A^ilE. —Joanna Baillie. Born, 1165', deed, 18j» 
 
 0 ! WHO shall lightly say that Fame 
 Is nothing but an empty name, 
 Whilst in that sound there is a charm 
 The nerves to brace, the heart to warm, 
 As, thinking of the mighty dead, 
 
 The young from slothful couch will start, 
 And vow, with lifted hands outspread, 
 
 Like them to act a noble part ! 
 
 O ! who shall lightly say that Fame 
 
 Is nothing but an empty name. 
 
 When, but for those, — our mighty dead« 
 
 All ages past, a blank would be. 
 Sunk in oblivion's murky bed, — 
 
 A desert bare, a shipless sea ? 
 They are the distant objects seen, — 
 The lofty marks of what hath been. 
 
 0 ! who shall lightly say that Fame 
 Is nothing but an empty name, 
 When memory of the mighty dead 
 
 To earth-worn pilgrim's wistful eye 
 The brightest rays of cheering shed. 
 
 That point to immortality ? 
 
 A twinkling speck, but fixed and bright, 
 
 To guide us through the dreary night, 
 
 Each hero shines, and lures the soul 
 
 To gain the distant, happy goal. 
 For is there one who, musing o'er the grave 
 Where lies interred the good, the wise, the brave, 
 Can poorly think, beneath the mouldering heap. 
 That noble being shall forever sleep ? 
 No , saith the generous heart, and proudly swells, — 
 " Though his cered corse lies here, with Grod his spirit dwelU" 
 
MORAL AND DIDjidTIC. HEBEK 97 
 
 75. THE PURSUrr OF FRIVOLOUS PLEASURES. — Young 
 
 O, THE dark days of vanity ! while here 
 Uqw tasteless, and how terrible when gone ! 
 Gone ! they ne'er go ; when past, they hauut us still j 
 The spirit walks of every day deceased, 
 And smiles an angel, or a ftiry frowns. 
 Nor death nor life delights us. If time past 
 And time possest both pain us, what can please 
 That which the Deity to please ordained. 
 Time USED ! The man who consecrates his hours 
 By vigorous effort and an honest aim. 
 At once he draws the sting of life and death ; 
 He walks with Nature, and her paths are peace. 
 
 Ye well arrayed ! ye lilies of our land ! 
 Ye lilies male ! who neither toil nor spin 
 (As sister lilies might), if not so wise 
 As Sqlomon, more sumptuous to the sight ' 
 Ye delicate ! who nothing can support, 
 Yourselves most insupportable ! for whom 
 The winter rose must blow, the Sun put on 
 A brighter beam in Leo ; silky-soft 
 Favonius breathe still softer, or be chid ; 
 And other worlds send odors, sauce, and song, 
 And robes, and notions, framed in foreign looms,—' 
 0 ye Lorenzos of our age ! who deem 
 One moment unamused a misery 
 Not made for feeble man ; who call aloud 
 For every bauble drivelled o'er by sense 
 For rattles and conceits of every cast , 
 For change of follies and relays of joy, 
 To drag your patient through the tedious length 
 Of a short winter's day, — say, Sages, say ! 
 Wit's oracles ! say, dreamers of gay dreams ! 
 How will ye weather an eternal night, 
 Where such expedients fail • 
 
 76. forgive. - Rishop Heber. Born, 1783 ; died, 1826. 
 
 0 God ! my sins are manifold; against my life they cry, 
 And all my guilty deeds foregone up to Thy temple fly. 
 Wilt ihjM release my trembling soul, that to despair is driven ? 
 Forgive! " a blessed voice replied, "and. thou shalt be forgiven." 
 
 My foemen. Lord, are fierce and fell ; they spurn me in their pride 
 ITiey render evil for my good ; my patience they deride • 
 Arise :^ my King ! and be the proud in righteous ruin driven \ — 
 Forgive ! " the awful answer came, " as thou wouldst be forgiven " 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Seven times, 0 Lord. I 've pardoned them ; seven times they 've euined 
 
 rhev practise still to work me woe, and triumph m ray pain , _ 
 rfut let them dread my vengeance now, to just resentment dnyen 
 « Forgive ! " the voice in thunder spake, or never be forgiven! 
 
 77. TRITE SCIENCE OUGHT TO BE Ti^UBWUS. - PreHdenI HIKM 
 
 I AM far from maintaining that science is a sufficient guide U. 
 religion. On the other hand, if left to itself, as I fully admit, 
 
 « It leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind." 
 Nor do I maintain that scientific truth, even when properly appre- 
 ciated, will compare at all, in its influence upon the human 
 those peculiar and higher truths disclosed by Eevelation. AH I con- 
 Ind for is, that scientific truth, illustrating as it does the divme char- 
 acter plan and government, ought to fan and feed the flame of true 
 ^e y in the hearts of its cultivators. He, therefore who knows the 
 To I of science, ought most pK^werfuUy to feel this religious influence^ 
 He is not confined, like the great mass of men, to the outer court of 
 Nature's magnificent temple; but he is admitted to the mtcrior, and 
 allowed to trace its long halls, aisles and galleries, and ga^e upon its 
 1 fty domes and arches nay, as a priest he enters theym*aZ« the 
 holy of holies, where sacred fire is always burmng upon the altaj 
 where hovers the glorious Schekinah; and where, from a full orche - 
 to anthem of praise is ever ascending. _ Petrified indeed, must 
 be his heart, if it catches none of the inspiration of such a spot. He 
 Lhtt« go forth from it, among his fellow-men with radiant glory 
 on his face, like Moses from the holy mount. He who sees most of 
 God in His works ought to show the stamp of Divmity upon his 
 character, and lead an eminently holy life. . , , . 
 
 Yet it is only a few gifted and adventurous mmds that are able, trom 
 some advanced mountain-top, U> catch a glimpse of the entire stream 
 truth, formed by the harmonious union of all principles ami flow- 
 ing on Majestically into the boundless oc<«m of knowledge he 
 ilnite miid. But when the Christian philosopher shall be pemittod 
 to resume the study of science in a future world, with powers of 
 bvestl^tion enlarged and clarified, and all obstaeles removed, he will 
 S et tro^e onlard the various ramifications of truth, till they «mt^ 
 ^to higher and higher principles, and become one m t^at cent^ of 
 Ltres? the Pivine Mind. That is the Ocean from which all truth 
 rSy sprang, and to which it ultimately return. To mce out 
 Te^shorL of that shoreless Sea, to m«.sure ts measured extent^ and 
 ,to fathom its unfathomable depths, wil be the noble and the Joyour 
 Lk of eternal ages. And yet eternal ages may pass by and «« th« 
 woitk only begun ! 
 
MOKAL DIDACTTO. JOHNSON. 
 
 78. TRIUMPHS OP THB ENGLISH LANGUAGE. -«,„. J. g l^^, 
 
 TT'jf"'! f ?• bards, -let harps and hearts be strung. 
 
 To ce ebrate the trmmphs of our own good Saxon tongue ! * 
 
 It ^ with PKEEDO.V, Thought and Truth, to rouj and^ th. 
 
 Sttut Albion hears its household lays on every surf-wom shore 
 And Scotland hears its echoing far 'as Orkney's breakTroar ' 
 It chmbs Nevr England's rooky steeps as victor mounte aXolie 
 Niagara knows and greets the voice, still mightier than its oZ!' 
 
 ^LT^ "^^""^ P''*^ -^"^P Weak Canadian plains 
 
 And where on Esseqmbo's banks, eternal Summer reigns ^ 
 It tracks the loud swift Oregon, through sunset valley! rkled 
 .4nd soars where California brooks wash down their saK gold 
 It kindles realms so far apart, that while its praise you sin.. 
 These m^ay^be clad with Autumn's fruits, an'd thos^ „ithXers of 
 
 It quickens lands whose meteor lights flame in an Arctic skv 
 And lands for wbch the Southern' Cross hangs orbU tro^high 
 It goes with all that Prophets told, and righteous Kings desired • 
 With al that great Apostl^ taught, and glorious Ss aXir^l. 
 
 W h S,T'' ^""^ "'"i Milton's lofT;^i;d ; 
 
 With Alfreds laws, and Newton's lore, to cheer and bless mankind 
 
 79. THE WATER-DRINKER -E. Johnson 
 
 0 WATER for me » bright water for me, 
 And wme for the tremulous debauchee. 
 Water cooleth the brow, and cooleth the brain, 
 And maketh the faint one strong again : 
 
 l^Tl 'n '^T ^^'^ brfeze from the , 
 All freshness, like infant purity : 
 
 water, bright water, for me, for me. 
 
 Wwe wme, giye wine, to the debauchee ^ 
 
THE STANDARD SPEARER. 
 
 Fill to the brim ! fill, fill to the brim ; 
 
 Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim ! 
 
 For my hand is steady, my eye is true. 
 
 For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew. 
 
 0, water, bright water 's a mine of wealth, 
 
 And the ores which it yieldeth are vigor and health. 
 
 So wat^r, pure water, for me, for me ' 
 
 And wine for the tremulous debauchee 
 
 Fill again to the brim, — again to the brim ! 
 For water strengtheneth life and limb ! 
 To the days of the aged it addeth length, 
 To the might of the strong it addeth strength ; 
 It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight, 
 'T is like quafl&ng a goblet of morning light . 
 So, water, I will drink nothing but thee, 
 Thou parent of health and energy ! 
 
 When over the hills, like a gladsome bride, 
 Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride, 
 And, leading a band of laughing hours, 
 Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers, 
 0 ! cheerily then my voice is heard 
 Mingling with that of the soaring bird, 
 Who flingeth abroad his matin loud. 
 As he freshens his wing in the cold, gray cloud. 
 
 But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew. 
 
 Drowsily flying, and weaving anew 
 
 Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea. 
 
 How gently, 0 sleep, fall thy poppies on me J 
 
 For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright. 
 
 And my dreams are of Heaven the livelong night. 
 
 So hurrah for thee, Water ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Thou art silver and gold, thou art riband and star 
 
 Hurrah for bright water ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 80. THE DAYS THAT ARE GONE. — Charles Mackay 
 
 Who is it that mourns for the days that are gone, 
 When a Noble could do as he liked with his own ? 
 When his serfs, with their burdens well filled on their banks 
 Never dared to complain of the weight of a tax ? ' 
 When his word was a statute, his nod was a law, 
 And for aught but his " order " he cared not a straw ? 
 When each had his dungeon and racks for the poor, 
 And a gibbet to hang a refractory boor ? 
 
 They were days when the oword settled questions of right 
 And Falsehood was first to monopolize might ; 
 
MORAL /.ND DIDACTly 
 
 When Law never dreamed it was good to relent, 
 '^r thought it less wisdom to kill than prevent; 
 When Justice herself, taking Law for her guiae, 
 Was never appeased till a victim had died ; 
 And the stealer of sheep and the slayer of men 
 Were strung up together, again and again. 
 
 They were days when the Crowd had no freedom of speech, 
 
 And reading and writing were out of its reach ; 
 
 When Ignorance, stolid and dense, was its doom, 
 
 And Bigotry swathed it from cradle to tomb ; 
 
 When the Few thought the Many mere workers for them, 
 
 To use them, and when they had used, to contemn ; 
 
 And the Many, poor fools ! thought the treatment their due 
 
 And crawled in the dust at the feet of the Few ! 
 
 No ! The Present, though clouds o'er her countenance roll, 
 
 Has a light m her eyes, and a hope in her soul ; 
 
 And we are too wise like the Bigots to mourn 
 
 For the darkness of days that shall never return. 
 
 Worn out and extinct, may their history serve 
 
 As a beacon to warn us, whenever we swerve, 
 
 To shun the Oppression, the Folly and Crime, 
 
 That blacken the page of that Record of Time. 
 
 Their chivalry lightened the gloom, it is true, 
 
 And Honor and Loyalty dwelt with the Few; 
 
 But small was the light, and of little avail, 
 
 Compared with the blaze of our Press and our Rail; ■ 
 
 buccess to that blaze ! May it shine over all, • 
 
 Till Ignorance learn with what grace she may fall, 
 
 And fly from the world with the sorrow she wrought. 
 
 And leave it to Virtue and Freedom of Thought 
 
 81. TEE WORK-SHOP AND THE G^MV. -For a Mechanic Ce.X 
 
 The Camp has had its day of son<y : 
 
 The sword, the bayonet, the plume. 
 Have crowded out of rhyme too long 
 
 The plough, the anvil, and the loom ! 
 O, not upon our tented fields 
 
 Are Freedom's heroes bred alone 
 The training of the Work-shop yields 
 
 More heroes true than War has known 
 
 Who drives the bolt, who shapes the steel, 
 May, with a heart as valiant, smite, 
 
 AS he who sees a foeman reel 
 
 In blood before his blow of might ' 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 llie skill that conquers space and time, 
 That graces life, that lightens toil, 
 
 May spring from courage more sublime 
 Than that which makes a realm its spoil 
 
 T^et Labor, then, look up and see 
 
 His craft no pith of honor lacks ; 
 The soldier's rifle yet shall be 
 
 Less honored than the woodman's axe I 
 Let Art his own appointment prize ; ^ 
 
 Nor deem that gold or outward height 
 Can compensate the worth that lies 
 
 In tastes that breed their own delight. 
 
 And may the time draw nearer still, 
 
 When men this sacred truth shall heed 
 That from the thought and from the will 
 
 Must all that raises man proceed ! 
 Though Pride should hold our calling low 
 
 For us shall duty make it good ; 
 And we from truth to truth shall go. 
 
 Till life and death are understood. 
 
 82. THE WISE MAN'S PRAYER.— Dr. Samuel Johnson 
 
 Inquirer, cease ! petitions yet remain 
 Which Heaven may hear ; — nor deem religion val® 
 Still raise for good the supplicating voice, ^ 
 But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice 
 Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar 
 The secret ambush of a specious pray'r ; 
 Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, 
 Secure, whate'er He gives. He gives the best. 
 Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires, 
 And strong devotion to the skies aspires. 
 Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind, 
 Obedient passions, and a will resigned : 
 For love, which scarce collective man can fill ; 
 For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill ; 
 For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, 
 Counts death kind Nature's signal for retreat : 
 These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain ; 
 ■These goods He grants who grants the power to gWB 
 With these, celestial Wisdom calms the mind, 
 And makes the happiness she does not find. 
 
PART SECOND. 
 
 MARTIAL AND POPULAR. 
 
 1. SCIPIO TO HIS ABMY.~ Abridgment from Livy. 
 
 ,^^!ZV\^''^^^^ of Ticinus, B. C. 218, in which the Carthaginians, under Hamiba] we« 
 ffctonous. The speech of the latter, on the same occasion, follows. ^amjoaj, wew 
 
 ^ Not because of their courage, 0 soldiers, but because an eno-axrpmnnt 
 IS now inevita!)le, do the enemy prepare tor battle. Two-thirds of the!/ 
 infantry and cavalry have been lost in the passage of the Alps. Thost 
 who survive hardly equal in number those who have perished 
 fehould any one say, » Though few, they are stout and irresistible,'" J 
 reply, -Not so! They are the veriest shadows of men - wretches 
 emaciated with hunger, and benumbed with cold; bruised and 
 enfeebled among the rocks and crags; theb- joints frost-bitten, their 
 smews stiffened with the snow, their armor battGred and shivered 
 their horses lame and powerless. Such is the cavalry, such the in- 
 fantry, against which you have to contend ; — not enemies, but shreds 
 and remnants of enemies ! And I fear nothing more, than that when 
 you have fought Hannibal, the Alps may seem to have been before- 
 hand, and to have robbed you of the renown of a victory. But per- 
 haps it was fitting that the Gods themselves, irrespective of hui^an 
 aid, should commence and carry forward a war against a leader and a 
 people who violate the faith of treaties; and that we, who next to 
 the Gods have been most injured, should complete the contest thus 
 commenced, and nearly finished. 
 
 I would, therefore, have you fight, 0 soldiers, not only with that 
 spirit with which you are wont to encounter other enemies, but with a 
 certain indignation and resentment, such as you might experience if 
 you should see your slaves suddenly taking up arms against you. Wo 
 might hav- slain these Carthaginians, when they were shut up in 
 ±iryx, by hunger, the most dreadful of human tortures. We might 
 have carried over our victorious fleet to Africa, and, in a few days 
 have destroyed Carthage, without opposition. V/e yielded to their 
 prayors for pardon; we released them from the blockade ; we made 
 peace with them when conquered ; and we afterwards held them under 
 our protection, when they were borne down by the African war Ij^ 
 return for these benefits, they come, under the leadership of a, hot- 
 brained youth to lay waste our country. Ah ! would that the con^ 
 test on your side were now for glory, and not for safety ! R. is not 
 
1^0^ THE STANDARD SIEARER 
 
 for th". possession of Sicily and Sardinia, but for Italy, that you must 
 ficlit : noT is there another army behind, which, should we fail to con- 
 juer, can resist the enemy ; nor are there other Alps, during the 
 «e of which, fresh forces may be procured. Here, ^o^'^. ll^'' 
 le must maice our stand. Here we must fight, as if we fought before 
 the walls of Rome ! Let every man l^ear in mind, it is not only hu 
 own person, but his wife and children, he must now defend. Nor 
 Z thought of them alone possess his mind Let him remcml>er 
 that the li«man Senate -the Roman People -are lookmg, wi h 
 anxious eyes, to our exertions ; and that, as our jalor and our strength 
 BhaU this day be, such will be the fortune of Rome -such the wel- 
 fare — nay, the very existence, of our country . 
 
 2. HANNIBAL TO HIS AEKY.-^*ri<iirmenl from Livy. 
 
 Heke, soldiers, you most either conquer or die. On the right and 
 left two seas enclose you ; and you have no ship to fly to for escape 
 The river Po around you, - the Po, larger and more impetuous than 
 the Rhone, - the Alps behind, scarcely passed by you when fresh and 
 vigorous, hem you in' Here Fortune h.^ granted you the term.r^ 
 t;°D of Vour labors; here she will bestow a reward worthy of the 
 service you have undergone. All the spoils that Rome has amassea 
 ly so mLy triumphs will be yours. Think not that, - F0P«™ 
 this war is great in name, the victory will be difficult -' rom the 
 Pillars of Hercules, from the ocean, from the remotest limits of the 
 world over mountains and rivers, you have advanced victonous 
 Lough the fiercest Nations of Gaul and Spam And with whom 
 are jon now to fight ? With a raw army, which tins very summer 
 wa^ beaten, conquered, and surrounded; an «f "T"! 
 
 leader and he to tliem ! Shall I compare myself, almost born, and 
 e^rS nly bred, in the tent of my father, that illustrious commander, - 
 myfelf, the conqueror, not only of the Alpine Nations but of the 
 A^ps themselves, -myself, who was, the P»P;l,°f y°'^, f ' '^^'l I 
 became your commander, - to this six months' general ? or shall I 
 
 '"or:h:: ^r^t^ft:.: my eye. I behold all full of courage 
 and strength : -a veteran infantry ; a most gal ant cavalry ; you.^our 
 allies, most faithful and valiant; you, Caithagimans, whon not on^ 
 your oountry's caase, but the justost anger, impels to battk. Ihe 
 Jalor, the confidence of invaders, are ever greater than tho^ of the 
 aefei4ive party. As the assailants in this war, we pour down, w th 
 S e standai-ds. upon Italy. We briiig the war. Sufi-ering, mjur, 
 and uidi-^nity, Bre our minds. First they demanded me your leadei, 
 ?^^^p Sin^r'it; and then all of you,whohad ^-^^-".f.^^^^^^' 
 And had we been given up, they woiUd have visited us with the 
 ^vo^e ftortures. gruel and haughty Nation - Ey^'-y f 'ng mu^ 
 00 yo,^s, and at y»«r disposal ! You are to prescribe to us w.td 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — REG ULUS. 
 
 105 
 
 Khora we snaL aave war, with whom peace ! You are to ami us m 
 by the bo:mdaries of mountains and rivers, which we must not pass ' 
 But you —you are not to observe the limits yourselves have an-* 
 pointed! " Pass not the Iberus!'> -What next? " Saguntum is on 
 tiie Iberus. You must not move a step in any direction '" — Is it a 
 Bmail thing that you have deprived us of our most ancient provinces. 
 feicilyandSardmia? Will you take Spain also? Should we yield 
 bpam, you will cross over into Africa. Will cross, did I say ? Thev 
 
 Splinr""* ^^"^ ^'''''''^ ''''^ ^^^^ther to 
 
 Soldiers, there is nothing left to us, in any quarter, but what we 
 can vindicate with our swords. Let those be cowards who have 
 Bomething to look back upon ; whom, flying through safe and unmo- 
 lested roads, their own country will receive. There is a necessity for 
 us to be brave There is no alternative but victory or death ; and, if it 
 
 ^''r. 9 n^f -' ^^"^ '^''^^^ ""^^ ^^^^^^ encounter it in battle than in 
 flight i Ihe immortal Gods could give no stronger incentive to vie 
 tory ^ Let but these truths be fixed in your minds, and once again ^ 
 proclaim, you are conquerors ! 
 
 3. REGULUS TO TIIE ROJIAN SENATE. - Ori^-ma^. 
 
 Ill does it become me, 0 Senators of Rome ! — ill does it become 
 Kegulus, — after having so often stood in this venerable Assembly 
 clothed with the supreme dignity of the Republic, to stand before 
 you a captive — the captive of Carthage ! Though outwardly I am 
 tree, — though no fetters encumber the limbs, or gall the flesh — vet 
 the heaviest of chains, — the pledge of a Roman Consul, — makes me 
 the bondsman of the Carthaginians. They have my promise to return 
 to them, m the event of the failure of this their em*bassy. My life 
 IS at their mercy. My honor is my own ; — a possession which no 
 reverse of fortune can jeopard; a flame which imprisonment cannot 
 Btilie, time cannot dim, death cannot extinguish. 
 
 Of the train of disasters which followed close on the unexampled 
 Buccesses of our arms, — of the bitter fate which swept ofl" the flower 
 ot our soldiery, and consigned me, your General, wounded and sense- 
 less, to Carthaginian keeping, — I will not speak. For five years a 
 rigorous captivity ha^ been my portion. For five years, the society of 
 family and friends, the dear amenities of home, the sense of freedom 
 and the sight of country, have been to me a recoUection and a dream, 
 — no more ! But during that period Rome has retrieved her defeats 
 8be nas recovered under Metellus what under Regulus she lost. She 
 has routed armies. She has taken unnumbered prisoners. She has 
 Btruck terror to the hearts of the Carthaginians; who have now sent 
 me hither with their Ambassadors, to sue for peace, and to propose 
 that, m exchange for me, your former Consul, a thousana common! 
 prison*3rs of war shall be given up. You have heard the Amba&sa 
 
[06 THE STAND ASD SPEAKEK. 
 
 ilors Their intimations of some unimaginable horror - - I Know not 
 Rrhat —impending over myself, should I fail to induce you to accept 
 their terms, have strongly moved your sympathies in my behalf 
 Another appeal, which I would you might have been spare d, has lent 
 force to their suit. » A wife and children, threatened with widowhooa 
 and orphanage,' weeping and despairing, have knelt at your feet, on thft 
 very threshold of the Senate-chamber. -(Conscript Fathers! Shall 
 ^lot Reo-ulus be saved? Must he return to Carthage to meet the 
 --ruolties which the Ambassadors brandish before our eyes?— With 
 one voice you answer, No ! — Countrymen ! Friends ! For all that I 
 have sufiered — for all that I may have to suffer — I am repaid in 
 the compensation of this moment! Unfortunate, you may hold me; 
 but, (3, not undeserving! Your confidence in my honor survives ail 
 the ruin that adverse fortune could inflict. You have not forgotten 
 the Dast. Republics are not ungrateful ! May the thanks ]. cannot 
 litter hvimr down blessings from the Gods on you and Rome !J 
 
 Conscript Fathers ! There is but one course to be pursued. Aban- 
 lon all thoucrht of peace. Reject the overtures of Carthage ! Reject 
 them wholly and unconditionally! What! Give back to her a 
 thousand able-bodied men, and receiv^ in return this one attenuated, 
 war-worn, fever-wasted frame, — this weed, whitened m a dungeons 
 darkness, pale and sapless, which no kindness of the sun, no 
 softness of the summer breeze, can ever restore to health and vigor i 
 It must not — it shall not be ! 0 ! were Regfilus what he was once, 
 before captivity had unstrung his sinews and enervated his limbs, 
 h3 might pause, — he might proudly think he were well worth a 
 thousand of the foe ; — he might say, " Make the exchange ! Rome 
 shall not lose by it!" But now — alas! now 't is gone, -that 
 impetuosity of strength, which could once make him a leader indeed, 
 to penetrate a phalanx or guide a pursuit. His very armor would be 
 a burthen now. His battle-cry would be drowned m the dm of the 
 onset. His sword would fall harmless on his opponent's shield. J3ut, 
 if he cannot live, he can at least die, for his country ' Do^ not deny 
 him this supreme consolation. Consider : every indignity, every 
 torture, which Carthage shall heap on his dying hours, will be better 
 than a trumpet's call to your armies. They will remember only 
 Regains, their fellow-soldier and their leader. They will forget hia 
 deftats. They will regard only his services to the Republic iunis, 
 Sardinia, Sicily, - every well-fought field, won by hs blood and 
 theirs — will flash on their remembrance, and kindle their avenging 
 wrath' And so shall Regains, though dead, fight as he never fought 
 
 befor- against the foe. ht -i c^^ 
 
 Conscript Fathers ! There is another theme. My family -- for- 
 give the thought! To you, and to Rome, I confide them. I leave 
 them no legacy but my name, — no testament but ray example. 
 
 AmbassSiors of Carthage I have spoken; though not as you 
 expected. I am your captive. Lead me back to whatever fate may 
 await me. Doubt not that you shall find, to Roman hearts, countxjf 
 ^ dearer than life, and integrity more precious thau freedom ! 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — BRUTUS 
 
 * LEONILAS TO HIS THREE HUNDRED. _ On.nnaZ Translation from Pickat. 
 
 Ye men of Sparta listen to the hope with which the Gois inspire 
 Leonidas ! Consider how largely our death maj redound to the glorv 
 and benefit of our country. Against this barbarian King, who, in hi? 
 battle array, reckons as many nations as our ranks do soldiers, what 
 could united Greece effect? In this emergency there is need that 
 ^me unexpected power should interpose itself; — that a valor and 
 devotion unknown hitherto, even to Sparta, should strike, amaze, 
 eonfound this ambitious Despot ! From our blood, here freely shed 
 
 7^' t n ^^''""^ P^"^^""' '""^^^^^ ^^^'^0^ 0^ patriotism, pro- 
 ceed. To Greece It shall teach the secret of her strength: to the 
 l ersians, the certainty of their weakness. Before our scarred and 
 bleeding bodies, we shall see the great King grow pale at his own 
 victory, and recoi affrighted. Or, should he succeed in forcing the 
 pass ofThermopylae, he will tremble to learn, that, in marching upo« 
 ^^.if T V ^?^'t" ihou^^nd., after us, equally prepared for 
 death. ^ Ten thousand, do I say? 0, the swift contagion of a^generou. 
 enthusiasm! Our example shall make Greece all fertile in heroe. 
 An avenging cry shall follow the cry of her affliction. Countrv • 
 Independence! ^rom the Messenian hills to the Hellespont, every 
 heart shall respond; and a hundred thousand heroes, with one sacred 
 accord, shall arm themselves in emulation of our unanimous death. 
 Hiese rocks shall give back the echo of their oaths. Then shall our 
 little band, — the brave three hundred, — from the world of shades 
 revisit the scene; behold the haughty Xerxes, a fagitive, re-cross tS 
 Hellespont m a frad bark ; while Greece, after eclipsing the mos 
 glorious of her exploits, shall hallow a new Olympus in the mound 
 
 that mvpra nny +nTviKo ^ ^^u-uu 
 
 Yes, fellow-soldiers, history and posterity shall consecrate our ashes 
 merever courage is honored, through all time, shall Thermopyl^ and 
 the Spartan three hundred be remembered. Ours shaU be an immor- 
 tality such as no human glory has yet attained. And when ages shall 
 have swept by and Sparta's last hour shall have come, then, even 
 m her rums shall she be eloquent. Tyrants shall turn away from 
 them, appalled ; but the heroes of liberty — the poets the sais fh« 
 historians of all time-shall invoke and bless tL Lm^^^^^^^^^ Z 
 gaUant three hundred of Leonldas ! ^ 
 
 6. BRUTUS OVER THE DEAD LUCRETIA. - Original and Comp^.ea. 
 
 You are amazed, 0 Eomans! even amid the general horror ai 
 ter\ i^^'iw ^^^"^ ^^^^ bit^^rto only i 
 
 n-/ ; .1 J-u f ^^"g^^ge bearing of a man 
 
 R ?rV-^' p ^^^^^^ ^^"^^ fr^^ ? I that fc^^ ; 
 
 Brutus bids Rome be free ! If he has played the fool, it was to sd a 
 wise man's opportumty Here he throws off the mask of madness 
 L^-.trT^. l^T. now, your countryman, who calls upon you, b| 
 this lOQCcent blood, to swear eternal vengeance against kings ' 
 
IQ^ THE STANDARD SPEAK.EK. 
 
 Look, Romans! turn your eyes on tliis sad spectacle 'ht 
 aaughtei- of Lucretius, Collatmus' wife ! By her own hand she died 
 See there a nc.ie lady, whom the ruffian lust of a Tarqum reduced to 
 the necessity of being her own executioner, to attest her mnocence 
 fl,>spitably entertained by her as her husband's kmsman, Sextus, the 
 .erfidiousVest, became her brutal ravisher The chaste, the genorou« 
 Lcretia, could not survive the outrage. Heroic matron ! But cm^ 
 )nly treated as a slave, life was no longer endurable! And it .he, 
 with her soft woman's nature, disdained a life, that depended Dn a 
 tyrant's wiU, shall we — shall men, with such an example betoro 
 their eyes, and after five-and-twenty years of ignominious servitude 
 -shall we, through a fear of death, delay one moment to assert our 
 freedom ? No, Romans ! The favorable moment is come The tnrio 
 IS — now ! Fear not that the army will take the part of their ben- 
 erals, rather than of the People. The love of liberty is natural to all ; 
 and ;our fellow-citizens in the Camp feel the weight of oppression as 
 sensibly as you. Doubt not they wHl as eagerly sei.:e the opportunity 
 of throwing off their yoke. u^„^ 
 
 Courage, Romans! The Gods are for us! those (^ods whose tem- 
 pies and "altars the impious Tarquin has profaned. By the blood of 
 the wronged Lucretia, I swear, - hear me, ye Powers Supreme ! - 
 this blood, which was once so pure, and which nothing but roy"ny 
 could have polluted, - 1 swear that I will pursue to the ^^^f^f^^'^ 
 Tarquins, with fire and sword ; nor will I ever suffer any one of that 
 family, or of any other family whatsoever, to be King m Rome . — 
 On to the Forum! Belr the body hence, high in the pnbhc Jiew 
 through all the streets ! On, Romans, on! The fool shall set jox^ 
 free ! ^ ■ 
 
 » REPLY OF ACHILLES TO THE ENVOYS OP AGAMEMNON, SOLlCrilNG i BXO 
 9 uiiit-iix yj o^GlUATlQ^.—Cowper's Homer. 
 
 ■ I MUST with plainness speak my fixed resolve ; 
 For I abhor the man, — not more the gates 
 Of hell itself! — whose words belie his heart. 
 So shall not mine ! My judgment undisguised 
 Is this : that neither Agamemnon me , 
 Nor all the Greeks shall move ! For ceaseless M 
 Wins here no thanks ; one recompense awaits 
 The sedentary and the most alert ! 
 The brave and base in equal honor stand, — 
 And drones and heroes fall unwept alike ' 
 I, after all my labors, who exposed 
 My life continual in the field, have earned 
 No very sumptuous prize ! As the poor bird 
 Gives to her unfledged brood a morsel gained 
 After long search, though wanting it herself, 
 So I have worn out many sleepless nights. 
 And waded deep through many a bloody day 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. HOMW^ 
 
 In "battle for their wives. I have dest^eJ jLliDj;\^^ jv'V 
 
 Twelve cities with my fleet ; and twelv^^ve one 
 
 On foot contending, in the fields of Troy/^^ v. "^^^J^^" 
 
 From all these cities precious spoil T took ^^^^jLJIvJ Ql^' 
 
 Abundant, and to Agamemnon's hand ^'^^'SSs^s^Sii?-^ 
 
 Gave all the treasure. He within his ships 
 
 Abode the while, and, having all received, 
 
 Little distributed, and much retained. 
 
 He gave, however, to the Kings and Chiefs 
 
 A portion, and they keep it. Me alone, 
 
 Of all the Grecian host, hath he despoiled ! 
 
 My bride, my soul's delight, is in his hands ! 
 
 Tell him my reply : 
 
 And tell it him aloud, that other Greeks 
 May indignation feel like me, if, armed 
 Always in inipudence, he seek to wrong 
 Them also. Let him not henceforth presume — 
 Canine and hard in aspect though he be — 
 To look me in the face. I will not share 
 His counsels, neither will I aid his works. 
 Let it suffice him, that he wronged me once, — 
 Deceived me once ; — henceforth his glozing arts 
 Are lost on me ! But, let him rot in peace, 
 Crazed as he is, and, by the stroke of Jove, 
 Infatuate ! I detest his gifts ! — and him 
 So honor as the thing which most I scorn ! 
 And would he give me twenty times the worth 
 Of this his offer, — all the treasured heaps 
 WTiich he possesses, or shall yet possess. 
 All that Orchomenos within her walls. 
 And all that opulent Egyptian Thebes 
 Receives, — the city with a hundred gates, 
 Whence twenty thousand chariots rush to war, — 
 And would he give me riches as the sands, 
 And as the dust of earth, — no gifts from him. 
 Should soothe me, till my soul were first avenged 
 For all the offensive license of his tongue. 
 I will not wed the daughter of your Chief, — 
 Of Agamemnon. Could she vie in charms 
 With golden Venus, — had she all .the skill 
 Of blue-eyed Pallas, — even so endowed. 
 She were no bride for me ! 
 Bear ye mine answer back. 
 
 HECTOR'S KEBUKE TO POLYDAM AS. — Cou-per^ /fowift-. i^ia^sA. 
 
 PoLYDAMAS to dauutlcss Hoctor spake : 
 Oittimes in council, Hector, thou art wont 
 
lie 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 To censure me, although advising well 
 Yet hear my best opinion once again . 
 l^rooeed we not in our attempt against 
 The Grecian fleet. The omens we have seen 
 All urge against it. When the eagle flew, ^ 
 Clutching the spotted snake, then dropping it 
 Into the open space between the hosts, 
 Troy's host was on the left. Was this propitionf 
 No. Many a Trojan shall we leave behind, 
 Slain by the Grecians in their fleet's defence^ 
 An augur skilled in omens would expound 
 This omen thus, and faith would win from all. 
 
 To whom dark-louring Hector thus replied : 
 Polydumas ! I like not thy advice ; 
 Thou couldst have framed far better ; but if this 
 Be thy deliberate judgment, then the Gods 
 Make thy deliberate judgment nothing worth, 
 Who bidd 'st me disregard the Thunderer's firm 
 Assurance to myself announced, and make 
 The wild inhabitants of air my guides, 
 Which I alike despise, speed they their course 
 With right-hand flight toward the ruddy East, 
 Or leftward down into the shades of eve ! 
 Consider we the will of Jove alone. 
 Sovereign of Heaven and Earth. Omens abound ; 
 But the best omen is our country's cause.* 
 Wherefore should fiery war thy soul alarm ? 
 For were we slaughtered, one and all, around ^ 
 The fleet of Greece, thou need'st not fear to die, 
 Whose courage never will thy flight retard. 
 But if thou shrink thyself, or by smooth speech 
 Seduce one other from a soldier's part, 
 Pierced by this spear incontinent thou diest ! 
 
 l HECTOR'S EXPLOIT AT THE BARRIERS OF THE GRECIAN FIEET.^ Idem 
 
 So hung the war in balance, — 
 Till Jove himself, superior fame, at length. 
 To Priameian Hector gave, who sprang 
 First through the wall. In loAy sounds thai reached 
 Their utmost ranks, he called on all his host : 
 
 Now press them ! now, ye Trojans, steed-renowned, 
 Rush on ! break through the Grecian rampart ! hurl 
 At once devouring flames into the fleet ! 
 
 Such was his exhortation. They, his voice 
 
 • The nobleness of this reply may have been paralleled, but not Burpaawd. In 
 struts of B ioceeding times. 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — HOMER. 
 
 AH hearing, with close-ordered ranks, direct 
 Bore on the barrier, and up-swarming showed 
 On the high battlement their glittering spears. 
 But Hector seized a stone ; of ample base, 
 But tapering to a point; before the gate 
 It stood. No two men, mightiest of a land 
 (Such men as now are mighty), could with ease 
 Have heaved it from the earth up to a wain ; 
 He swung it easily alone, — so light 
 The son of Saturn made it in his hand. 
 As in one hand with ease the shepherd" bears 
 A ram's fleece home, nor toils beneath the wniehi. 
 bo Hector, right toward the planks of those 
 Majestic folding-gates, close-jointed, firm 
 And solid, bore the stone. Two bars within 
 Their corresponding force combined transverse 
 To guard them, and one bolt secured the bars. 
 He stood fast by them, parting wide his feet 
 ^or 'vantage sake, and smote them in the midst. 
 He burst both hinges ; inwai-d fell the rock 
 Ponderous, and the portals roared ; the bars 
 Endured not, and the planks, riven by the force 
 Of that huge mass, flew scattered on all sid^^s. 
 In leaped the godlike Hero at the breach, 
 
 oomy as night in aspect, but in arms 
 All-dazzling, and he grasped two quivering spears 
 Him entering with a leap the gates, no force 
 Whate'er of opposition had repressed, 
 Save of the Gods alone. Fire filled his eyes", 
 Turning, he bade the multitude without 
 Ascend the rampart ; they his voice obeyed ; 
 Part climbed the wall, part poured into the gate 
 I he (xrecians to their hollow galleys flew, 
 Scattered ; and tumult infinite arose. 
 
 9. HECTOR SLAIN BY ACHILLES. -Co w,;,er', homer 
 
 Bright as among the stars the star of all, 
 Most radiant Hesperus, at midnight moves, 
 So in the right hand of Achilles beamed 
 His brandished spear, while, meditating woe 
 To Hector, he explored his noble form, 
 Seeking where he was vulnerable most.' 
 But every part, his dazzling armor, torn 
 From brave Patroclus' body, well secured. 
 Save wheie the circling key-bone from the neck 
 Di^oms the shoulder there his throat appeared 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Wtence injured life with swiftest flight escapee. 
 Achilles, plunging in that part his spear, 
 Impelled it through the yielding flesh beyond. 
 The ashen beam his power of utterance left 
 Still unimpaired, but in the dust he fell 
 And the exulting conqueror exclaimed 
 
 But Hector ; thou had'st once far other hopes, 
 And, stripping slain Patroclus, thought'st thee safe. 
 Nor cared'st for absent me. "Fond dream and vam ! 
 I was not distant far. In yonder fleet 
 He left one able to avenge his dea th, ^ 
 And he hath slain thee. Thee the dogs shall rend 
 Dishonorably, and the fowls of air,— 
 But all Achaia's host shall Mm entomb ! 
 
 To whom the Trojan Chief languid replied : 
 By thy own life — by theirs who gave thee birth — 
 And by thy knees — 0 ! let not Grecian dogs 
 Rend and devour me ; but in gold accept 
 And brass a ransom at my father's hands, 
 And at my mother's an illustrious price. 
 Send home my body ! — grant me burial rites 
 Among the daughters and the sons of Iroy ! 
 
 To whom, with aspect stern, Achilles thus i 
 Dog ! neither knees nor parents name to me ! 
 I would my fierceness of revenge were such 
 That I could carve and eat thee, to whose arms 
 Such griefs I owe ; so true it is and sure 
 That none shall' save thy carcass from the dogs ! 
 No, trust me, would thy parents bring me, weighed, 
 Ten — twenty — ransoms, and engage, on oath, 
 To add still more ; — would thy Dardanian Sire, 
 Priam, redeem thee with thy weight in gold, — 
 Not even at that price would I consent 
 That she who bare should place thee on thy bier. 
 With lamentation I Dogs and ravemng fowls 
 Shall rend thy body, while a shred remains ! 
 
 Then, dying, warlike Hector thus replied 
 Full well I knew before how suit of mine ^ 
 Should speed, preferred to thee. Thy heart is steel 
 But 0! while yet thou liv'st, think, lest the Gods 
 Requite thee on that day, when, pierced thyself, 
 By Paris and Apollo, thou shalt fall, 
 Brave as thou art, before the Scaean gate ! 
 
 He ceased ; and death involved him dark around. 
 His spirit, from his limbs dismissed, the house 
 Of Adcs sought, mourning, in her descent, 
 Youth's prime and vigor lost, — disastrous doom 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — PENELON. 
 
 But him though dead, Achilles thus bespake ; 
 I)ie thou ! M/ death shall find me at what hour 
 Jove gives commandment, and the Gods above 
 
 a XEIEMACmiS TO THE ALLIED CHIEFS. -^^ene.on. ^o.„, 1651 ; uil 
 Original Abridgment. 
 
 Fellow-solmers and confederated chiefs ' I mt vn,- If „ 
 «an deserved to We the weapon of stratagem S decei't taZI 
 against h.m, ,t ,s he who has used it himself so often - the S 
 
 stn*t„''d"bTloultterb';'fraidt Tf r — - P-MiL? 
 of Adrastus without ^l^'J.^:, I^t 
 presen attempt to punish him is unwarrantable. You have " wo " 
 of the W^iZ' a depo.sit in lheTaS 
 
 Seri'ditrrhirUet::; ;i sst "LTf^ 
 
 still subsisting; and the Gods'haye nottrgXTjour oal 
 .i^trS^^^^^^ fhaS\n^t.t tred o^Sg t 
 
 frus you What security can you ever give for Ir Ld fall 
 A solemn treaty ? You have trampled one under f J fn oath - 
 
 defied the 7X ir''"'' -rr^ ™^ P™fi'*. »d have 
 
 jreoSry:^.£; 
 
 Id astus HeTll'^rP'"-. P^'-j"^ ^ '^1 triumphT 
 
 Aarastns ! He will not need to attack you himself ynnr own 
 teeasions your own mistrusts, your own duplicity wOl be yo^ 
 
 ^ °. Z''"'*^' '•^"^"'^'^ "magnanimity and wbdom 
 nenu^d and brave governing uncounted thousands, _ despir^rC 
 amiisel of a you h ! To whatever extremity war may reduce v , W 
 
 dC;ir~if%''"^^'"^ t'f- forl^^e ran';t'^ 
 
 despair. But f you once pass the barrier of honor and integrity, 
 
 ^jrj:^Z^T^^ . - -ther ree:stfblis^: 
 
 the ruin 
 
 that coiifideuoe without which*-;;" T4ir of imll^r ^ «d 
 nor can you briug men back to the reverence of tto v ,U"h ch ™u 
 have taught them to despise. What have you to fear / ll notour 
 eomage equal tc victory, without the aid of fraud ? Your o™ poC 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Mv"^ thrimp^L Adr'a^tuB, is In our power, provided - 
 
 Sded "dain to imitate the cowardice and treachery «hich 
 
 have sealed his ruin ! 
 
 U TITTTS QTTINTIUS AGAINST QUARRELS BETWEEN THE SENATE 
 U. Tirbb uuiiMxu^ PEOPLE. — ^6rid§7nen« /row LiuJ/. 
 
 Though I am comcions of no fault, 0 Romans, i' i^^^^f, 
 at^st shame I have come forward to l^-l ^^^y;^^^::^^ 
 Been it- posterity will know it - that, ™ j, ^ ,„a 
 
 L'^^ishoSd^ed.inniy^ird^^ 
 
 „ostdasta«Uy — J^Z^^^^^^^^^ If you, Romans, 
 
 Trtt bir m%Cit <>oa-or m^ make yo^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 offences ! - only may you repent. No, Romans the conM 
 
 enemies is not from a belief m their own themselves 
 
 granted Tribunes Yon -ere ^ger to ^^ve De^mv _ ^ 
 ^^^XtelrSlf^the-tl^t te these dissension.. Wl^n 
 
 t^Z^, SdS t:fd in .J., the whol, 
 
 country laid waste with fire and . ; , g^eui the spell 0< 
 
 Extinguish, 0 Romans, these fetal . , '^jf you 
 
 this enchantment, which ren e^^^^^^^^ 
 
 md put to flight these ravagers of our teintoiies, ana 
 9wn cities the terror of wai 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAJR. — salluST. XI 5 
 
 statues " they exclaim ■' IT» at "us. He has no faniUi 
 
 cestors " WhatTen' Wnr'? 7"* "'"^''-ious line cf ai 
 
 »es, help figJy„Ltt"ies» tut ''"T°'^ "oti°nles. 
 these, irt the perilous houA' R » • ^""^ '° "PP^^l to 
 
 . men, to intruft th: of^^u "™Ttr"'' 
 
 cation for it would be the virtue of h s f„ °f T 71 ""'^ "l"*"^- 
 and unexperienced butofnm.t ,1 ^''rf^'^'-s ! to one untried 
 
 Bhow a solitary scar bit " lmhf% "'"' ^T''^' ""^^ """l-l 
 not the first rudinenl of CrK/ ""''''^^ "''"knew 
 Truly I have known of such hX',, ! P'" '''''^-* '° P'^'^igrees! 
 
 considerations, to a comrTand fc^Me^ 
 
 when the n>o,nent for acStri -ed e IS i^'th'"^'' " ' 
 and trepidation, to mve to ,o,„p infl • their ignorance 
 
 Plebeii theWer1^;%?er;:o':Znf°^^-'" son. despised 
 
 , thesTttlll^eT'te^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 read, I have achieved or sha ed if wt^l "P^"™'' 
 books, r have seen written on ba tl. fi U .u"^ ''f " ^"t'-^" 
 object to my humbir birth t?"'''-''"''^'' ™'"> »d Wood. They 
 tentobjectio^nl I^n^ml'JiL s^e ^^wLfe S'^^^^^ M 
 (bear witness, Gods!), -where but in thl -l "^'^ "^^ 
 
 lodged? and where hi dishnnn. h V" ^ P'"*' 1^'^ "o^ility be 
 his unworthy deel' ? Te fthe/e' r^Ws ^tTl """^'^ '"^"''°''> " 
 haughty lineage could not mT. ,t ^^faction, their 
 
 never make ml base noble- my hun-ble birth could 
 
 I profess no indifference to noble descent T* ;» j • 
 number great men among one's aneestrv R,,, I, T** "".'"S ^ 
 dwarfed in the comparison it sho.tu h„ ' "l'? ^ descendant ia 
 
 a boa.t. These PatrSs'cannot ' ■ u ^ 'haa 
 
 titles of nobility da e fern Lell^^^^^^^ "-'V ^''"'^> *heir 
 myself have rendered. Ld .'f T T"'"' ""^i^l- ^ 
 
 I can show the standards the atlr "° '^""'•S' ' 
 
 have wrested from th UlisCd ' ^ 
 fvounds received in combat,°nrtL • '^'"'^ -^^y 
 
 statues! These the honor 4„La^^^^^^^^ i"™ "J 
 
 8nce,Iike theirs; but earned bv t^I '«"'«f<3ental inherit, 
 
 douds of dust and sea^ of blood . ^ ™lor; amid 
 
 effeminate Patricians Tho w™,U ' ^ "^^'tion, in wnich these 
 have never da™d to' app j e^'ec™, 
 Romans, are «v credeE. '"i; ' ''•^f ^P^^tators ! Here. 
 
116 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 HL CAIUS ORVCCHUP. cited before the censors, Ai-PEAIfl TC 
 IS. CAIUS Adaptation from J. S. ^ 
 
 It appears 
 [ am cited here because I have returned 
 Without my General's leave, and for the crime 
 Of having raised the tumult at Fregella. ^ 
 First, with the first. I have remained my time 
 Nay, I have over-served it by the laws, — 
 The laws which Caius Gracchus dares not break. 
 But, Censors, let that pass. I will propose 
 A better question for your satisfaction : — 
 " How have I served my time ? " I 'H answer that : — 
 " How have I served my time ? For mine own gain, 
 Or that of the Republic ? " What was my office ? 
 Qusestor. What was its nature ? Lucrative, — 
 So lucrative, that all my predecessors 
 Who went forth poor returned home very rich. 
 I went forth poor enough. 
 But have returned still poorer than I went. 
 Ye citizens of Rome, behold what favor 
 Your masters show your brethren ! I have borne 
 My country's arms with honor ; over-served 
 My time ; returned in poverty, that might 
 Have amassed treasures, — and they thus reward me : - 
 Prefer a charge against me without proof, 
 Direct or indirect ; without a testimony, 
 Weighty or light ; without an argument, 
 Idle or plausible ; without as much 
 Of feasibility as would suffice ^ 
 To feed suspicion's phantom ! Why is this ? 
 How have I bought this hatred ? When my brother, 
 Tiberius Q-racchus, fell beneath their blows, 
 I called them not assassins ! When his friends 
 Fell sacrifices to their after-vengeance, 
 I did not style them butchers ' — did not name them 
 ' The proud, perfidious, insolent Patricians ! 
 Ye men of Rome, there is no favor, now. 
 For justice ! Grudgingly her dues are granted ! 
 Your great men boast no more the love of country. 
 They count their talents; measure their domains; 
 Enlarge their palaces ; dress forth their banquets ; 
 Awake their lyres and timbrels; and with their floodi 
 Of ripe Falernian drown the little left 
 Of virtue ! — Romans, I would be your Tribune. 
 Fear not. Censors ! I would raise no tumult ; 
 This hand 's the first to arm against the man 
 Whoe'er he be, that favors civil discord * 
 
PARTIAL AND POPULAR. — TACITOS. 
 
 I have no gust for blood, nor for oppression . ' ' ' 
 i sacrifice to Justice and to Mercv ' 
 
 Th. wVl.r Vi^^! • ^^'^^^^^ right the guard • 
 The wealth, the happiness, the freedom of ^ 
 
 Sold ^t""" ■ ^^^'".^^ ^'^^'^^ tl^em, 
 
 •^d them corrupted them from the pure letter ? 
 Why do they guard the rich man's cloak from a rent, 
 And tear the poor man's garment from his back ? 
 Why are they, m the proud man's grasp, a sword. 
 And m the hand of the humble man, a r;ed ? ' 
 
 i)emand them m my country's sacred name! 
 btill silent ? Reckless still of my appeal ? 
 KomanF ' I ask the office of your Tribune ! 
 
 1. GALaACIIS TO THE CALE^^^^^LTI;".,,, 
 
 =t= riE^^cr^rfrf r ^^^^ 
 
 coTeted by their ranaoitv tT a- poverty are alike 
 
 '^resnnieIfXeprl^S\I\T^f' *» make seiz- 
 
 a desert, they Xt ^eao;* ^ ' t'"'? ™ta 
 
 r^xxTe^t^fr^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ter^„j-h/rr^ ftS- — 
 
 .hed tears oStaIn T thelr^Juc^^ Twt''" ''t' T\'' 
 
THE STANDARD gPEAKER- 
 
 the very line of the enemy we shall find friends Britom, ^^^^ 
 
 (,auls the rrermans, will recognize their own cause n ours. Here ii 
 a laL her ' an army ! There are tributes, and levies and badges 
 of trvM^^ which to assume, or to trample under foot 
 
 tever, Ses now in^the power of your arms Forth then, Oaledon^^^^^ 
 ^ the Md! Think of your ancestors! Think of your descendante > 
 
 i&. ICILIUS ON VIRGINIA'S SEIZURE. - T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 Now by your children's cradles, — now, by your fathers' gravos, 
 Be men to-dny, QuirTtes, or be forever slaves ! 
 "s did Servius give us laws ? For this did T--rece bleed^^ 
 For this was the great vengeance wrought on Tarqums evil seed I 
 F , tb^s did those false sons make red the axes of their sire ? 
 For this did Scaevola's right hand hiss in the Tuscan fire^? 
 Shall the vile earth-tbx awe the race that stormed he ^'^^^ f^l , 
 Shall we, who co^ald not brook o- lord c.ouch to the w^^^^^^ Ten« 
 0 for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate s wilK 
 
 0 for the tents which in old time whitened the Sacred tLU ! 
 
 In those brave days our fathers stood fimi y, side by side ; 
 
 They faced the Mercian fury ; they tamed the Fabian prme ; 
 
 They drove the fiercest Quinctius an outcast for h from Rome 
 
 They sent the haughtiest Claudius with shivered fasces home. 
 
 But what their care bequeathed us, our madness flung away . 
 
 All the ripe fruit of threescore years was Wig^^ted m a day. 
 
 Exult, ye proud Patricians! The hard-fought fight is o ex. 
 
 ^strove for honors, - 't was in vain : for freedom, - 't is no nora 
 
 No crier to the polling summons the eager throng ; 
 
 No Tribune breathes the word of might, that guards the weaK fron« 
 
 Our veiTWts, that were so high sink down beneath your will. 
 Rrches, and lands, and power, and state -ye have them.~-k«ej 
 
 them still. , , 
 
 Still keep the holy fillets ; still keep the purple gown. 
 The axes and the curule chair, the car and laurel crown 
 Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is done, 
 Stm fin your garners from the soil which our good swords have won. 
 But by the Shades beneath us, and by the Gods above. 
 Add not mito your cruel hate your yet more cruel love 
 Have ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage springs 
 From Consuls, and High Pontiife, and ancient Alban kings? 
 Then lea-c the poor Plebeian his single tie to lile-- 
 The sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wite 
 
 glntk speech, the balm for aW his vexed soul endures. 
 The kiss, in which he half forgets even such a yoke as yours. 
 SHU let the maiden's beauty swell the father's bi^ast w,th pnd« 
 Still let the bridegroom's arms enfold an unpolluted bride 
 
MARTIAL ANP POPULAR. — HEMiNS. Hj 
 
 Spare il> the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame, 
 lhat turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard^s blood to flame 
 Lest when our latest hope is fled, ye taste of otr despair, ' 
 And learn, by proof, in some wild hour, how much the wretched dare 
 
 13 THE SPARTANS' MARCH.-f.,^c^■a^.^«n.. Born, m,; aie^, IBS, 
 
 wMedtft^^xc^^^^^^^^^^ -ys Thucydidos, because the, 
 
 Bi<x«l Of flutes a,id soft recorders charg.ng-step >vas made to the Doria^ 
 
 T WAS morn upon the Grecian hills, where peasants dressed the vine. 
 SurJight was on Cith^ron's rills, Arcadia's rocks and pines. 
 And brightly through his reeds and Hwer,, Eurotas wandered by. 
 ^^hen a sound arose from Sparta's towers of solemn harmony. ^ 
 \\ as It the hunter's choral strain, to the woodland-goddess poured ? 
 Did virgm hands, m Pallas' fane, strike the full-sounding chord ? ' 
 But hehns were glancing on the stream, spears ranged in close array 
 And shields flung back a glorious beam to the morn of a fearS'ay 
 And the mountam echoes of the land swelled through the deep-blue sify 
 ;W hile io soft strains moved forth a band of men that moved to die 
 Thj marched not with the trumpet's blast, nor bade the horn peal out 
 And the laurel-groves, as on they passed, rung with no battle shout ! 
 
 l\7Z^^^ '^'T'' TT ^^"^^ ""'^^ i^P^Jse hicb 
 
 And still .r^^'f' "1^'^' ^r*^" '^-^ of liberty ! 
 
 And still sweet flutes, their path around, sent forth ^olian breath • 
 They needed not a sterner sound to marshal them for death ' 
 bo moved they ca mly to their field, thence never to return * 
 bave bringing back the Spartan shield, or on it proudly borne ' 
 
 17. THE GREEKS' RETURN FROM B ATTLE. - /i^d. 
 
 lo ! they come, they come I garlands for eveiy shrine ! 
 Swn' S It ^T-^'"^ ^'"^^ • ^^^"S roses, pour ye wine ! 
 
 Sing It where oliyes wave, and by the glittering sea, 
 
 mfrvZ T ' ^'^^^ ^'^ is free ! 
 
 HnJ^I J ! ^•'''''"g. ^<'<^ the spears that light the deep ! 
 
 vl !lft Tf^"f P"'' tl^^ l^'ls °f battle sweep - 
 
 B«h hath brought back his shield ; - maid, greet thy lover home ' 
 Mother, W that proud fieId,-Io ! thy son is come ! ' 
 
 Wlio murmured of the dead? Hush, boding voice ! We know 
 rhat many a .hming head lies in its glory low 
 
 ™ '''~es tOKlay ! They shall have their pn« ere lona 
 Aci 1 nower all hearts to sway, in ever-burning song ^ ^ '™» 
 
12Q THE STANDARD SPEAKE&. 
 
 But mm shed flowers, pour wine, to hail the conquerors horm 
 Bring wreaths for every shrine, — lo ! they come, they com* 
 
 18, ODE. — William Collins. Born. 1720 , diect, 1756. 
 
 How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
 By all their country's wishes blest ! 
 When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
 Returns to deck their hallowed mould, 
 She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
 Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 
 
 By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
 By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
 There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
 To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 
 And Freedom shall a while repair, 
 To dwell, a weeping hermit, there. 
 
 U VmaiNIUS AS tribune, refuses the appeal OE APPIUS CLA-JDIIJB 
 U V in^i-iyLUi^ _ ^^.^.^^i Puraphrase from Livy. 
 
 1 AFFIRM, 0 Romans, that Appius Claudius is the only rnan not 
 entitled to a participation in the laws, nor to the common privileges ol 
 fvU or human society. The tribunal over which, as perpetual Decemvir 
 he presided, was made the fortress of all viUames. A despiser of Go^ 
 and\iien, he vented his fury on the properties and persons of ci izens, 
 threateninc^ all with his rods and axes. Executioners, not Lictois, 
 His passions roaming from rapm^ /o ir^rd^^^ 
 from murder to lust, he tore a free-born maiden as ^he we^^ ^ 
 prisoner of war, from the embraces of me, her father before the 
 ^yes of the Roman People, and gave her to his creature, the purveyor 
 of his secret pleasures ! Ye heard, my countrymen, the cruel decree, 
 SrusLision. Ye beheld the t^-^.^f the fatW armed 
 against his daughter. Armed against, do I say ? No bj 
 aLed in her hehalf^^^.n^. it was to rescue ^^^^^^ 
 honor, tliat I sheathed in her mnocent bosom the knife ! heara 
 the tyrant, when the uncle and the betrothed hiisband of Virginia 
 rlJZ ifeless body, order them to be taken off to prison Yes 
 Eans even at tha^ragical moment, the miscreant Claud^^^^ 
 more moved by the disappointment of his gross sensual appetite than 
 by the untimely death of the unoffending victim ! 
 ^ And Appius Claudius now appeals ! You hear his word. 1 
 ftnneal ' " This man, who, so recently, as Decemvir, would have con- 
 a free-born maiden to bonds and to dishonor, utters tliat sacred 
 'expression that safeguard of Roman liberty, ^ " I appc. ! c may 
 ve stand awc-struck and silent, 0 my countrymen! see, at 
 
 fength that there are Gods who overlook human affairs ; that there i 
 iuch a thias; as retribution ! Ye see that punishment must soonei 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — LITY. 22] 
 
 a!^ fin II !. ^ ' protection of the People" 
 
 And finally, the man who used to call the prison the fitting domicUe of 
 ^e Koman commons shall now find that it was built for S also 
 Wherefore, Appius Claudius, though thou shouldst appeal Sn Tnj 
 agam to me the Tribune of the People, I will as ofterrefef thee "o 
 
 itfiLZ " "t'^' °^ ^ froe person to slavery 
 
 And mnce thou wilt not go before a Judge, well knowing that S 
 
 p^r^rtdrmS"' ' 
 
 20. CANULEIUS AGAINST PATRICIAN ARROGANCE 
 Original Parapiirase from Livy. 
 
 d.3!JV' ^ tl^^t Patridan arrogance h,« 
 
 denied to us the rights of a common humanity. What do we new 
 demand ? F.rst, the right of intermarriage ; and then, thL the People 
 may confer honors on whom they please.^ And why, h, the Lme of 
 
 reiused < Why, tor claiming them, was I near being assaulted iu,t 
 now, m the senat«.house ? Will the city no longer sLid - wffl C 
 
 rercluldto™';r'r",T? t™J''=" «h;il no longe 
 
 and bv f ' Gonsulsliip? Truly these Patricians will, by 
 and by, begrudge us a participation in the light of day ; they w Z 
 
 StTof t = ™ share^withThem the 
 
 tafiulty of speech ; that we wear the forms of human beings ' But T 
 cry them mercy. They tell „s it is contrary to religion ?hat a P I 
 i"tr^rt2,°i1 ' 'T'^^ ^-P'ig- g/wforMs" 
 
 tL„T' I 7 1. ? 7'" ^''y this pretence to the facts ' 
 
 pS '"^ *" ™^ to the commentaries of the 
 
 f^t of t^e wn ^°'"^?r™•^ ""^i^"^. in ~n with he 
 rest of the world, we well know. We know that there were Kinc.» 
 before thei^ were Consuls in Rome. We know that Consuk pS; 
 no prerogative, no digmty, not formerly inherent in Kings We^kr' 
 
 lofa PrriVifTf"/'' "'"''^ "Ot oZ 
 
 not a Patrician, but not even a citizen ; that Lucius Tarquinius who 
 wa^ not even of Italian extraction, was made King; tha SeV^^ 
 
 u.^ Tn'Vo '"'^e''- '""^ State are withheld from 
 
 7 u\f intermarriage of members of their order with Plebeian 
 
 ^an thlrvvh" "T, '^t'^ '■^^'Snity, a more humiliating t 7t 
 l>an this ? \\h, not legislate against our living in the .same neigb 
 
I '22 THiii STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Mrhood, dwelling under the same skies, walking the same sartht 
 Ifrnominy not to be endured ! Was it for this we expelled Kmgs 
 Was it for this that we exchanged one master for many ? .^o . 
 Let the rights we claim be admitted, or let the Patricians fight the 
 battles of the State themselves. Let the public offices be open txi 
 all • let every invidious law in regard to marriage be abolished ;^ or, 
 oy the Gods of our fathers, let there be no levy of troops to achieve 
 victories, in the benefits of which the People shall not most anipiy 
 and equally partake ! 
 
 I) CATILINE TO HIS ARMY, NEAR F^SUK*:.— Ben Jonson. Born, 1574 5 died l«3l 
 A paraphrase of the celebrated speech which Sallust attributes to Catiline, previous toth* 
 5J;g?.gemem which euded in the rout of his army, and his own death. 
 
 I NEVER yet knew. Soldiers, that in fight 
 
 Words added virtue unto valiant men ; 
 
 Or that a General's oration made 
 
 An army fall or stand : but how much prowess, 
 
 Habitual or natural, each man's breast 
 
 Was owner of, so much in act it showed.^ 
 
 Whom neither glory nor danger can excite, 
 
 'T is vain to attempt with speech. 
 
 Two armies wait us, Soldiers ; one from Rome 
 
 The other fror the provinces of Gaul. 
 
 The sword must now direct and cut our passage. 
 
 I only, therefore, wish you, when you strike, 
 
 To have your valors and your souls about you ; 
 
 And think you carry in your laboring hands 
 
 The things you seek,— glory and liberty ! 
 
 For by your swords the Fates must be instructed ! 
 
 If we can give the blow, all will be safe ; 
 We shall not want provision, nor supplies ; 
 
 The colonies and free towns will lie open ; 
 Where, if we yield to fear, expect no place, 
 Nor friend, to shelter those whom their own fortune 
 And ill-used arms have left without protection. 
 
 You might have lived in servitude or exile, 
 Or safe at Home, depending on the great. 
 But that you thought those things unfit for men ; 
 And, in that thought, my friends, you then were variant . 
 F)r no man ever yet changed peace for war 
 But he that meant to conquer. Ilold that purpose. 
 Meet the opposing army in that spirit. 
 There 's more necessity you should be such. 
 In fighting for yourselves, than they for others. 
 He 's base who trusts his feet, whose hands are arm«t 
 
 Mcthinks I see Death and the Furies waiting 
 What we will do, and all the Heaven at leisure 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. 
 
 123 
 
 B'or the great spectacle. Praw, then, jour sworda , 
 And, should our destiny begrudge our virtue 
 The honor of the day, let us take care 
 To sell ourselves at such a price as ma^ 
 Undo the world to buy us ! 
 
 22. SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA - E. Kellogg. 
 
 It had been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentulus, returning vitli 
 Tnctorious eagles, had amused the populace with the sports of the 
 amphitheatre to an extent hitherto unknown even in that luxurious 
 city. Ihe shouts of revelry had died away ; the roar of the lion had 
 ceased ; the last loiterer had retired from the banquet ; and the lights 
 m the palace of the victor were extinguished. The moon, piercin Ahe 
 tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drops on the corslet of the 
 Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of the Vulturnus with a 
 wavy, tremulous light. No sound was heard, save the last sob of some 
 retiring wave, telling its story to the smooth pebbles of the beach • 
 and then all was still as the breast when the spirit has departed In 
 the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a band of gladiators were assem- 
 bled; their muscies still knotted with the agonv of conflict, the foam 
 upon their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on their brows: when 
 bpartacus, starting forth from amid the throng, thus addressed them : 
 Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call Mm chief who for 
 twelve ong years, has met upon the are'na every shape of man or 
 beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never vet 
 lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say, that ever, 
 m public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tK)no-ue, let 
 him stand forth, and say it. If there be three in all your company 
 dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I wa^ 
 not always thus, — a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more sav- 
 age men! My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled amonc. 
 .he vme-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran 
 quiet as the brooks by which I sported ; and when, at noon, I gath- 
 ered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's 
 flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the 
 pastime We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together 
 our rustic mea One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we 
 were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage mv 
 grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon, and Leuctra ;'and 
 how, m ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile cf the 
 mcuntams, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know whai 
 war was ; but my cheeks burned, I knew not why, and I clasped the 
 knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair from 
 off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, 
 and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. That very 
 night, the Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had 
 nounshed nie trampled by the hoof of the war-horse; the bleedin^ 
 body 0. mv father flung amidst the blazing rafters of our (Veiling • " 
 
i24 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 " To»day I killed a man in tlie arena ; and, when I broke his h6k 
 met-clasps, behold ! he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly 
 gasped, and died ; — the same sweet smile upon his lips that . had 
 marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lotty chh to 
 pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph . 
 I told the;prsetor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and 
 brave ; and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it 
 on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, 
 amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all 
 the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgms they call \ es. 
 tals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare spojt forsooth, 
 to see Kome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight ot that 
 piece of bleeding clay ! And the praetor drew back as I were pollu- 
 tion,and sternly said, — ' Let the carrion rot; there are no noble 
 men but Romans !' And so, Mhw-gladiators, must you, and so must 
 £ die like do^s. 0, Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a tender nurse 
 ti me. Ay !°thou hast given, to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd 
 lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles oi iron 
 and a heart of flint ; taught him to drive the sword through plaited 
 mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow ot his ioe ;. 
 — to ffaze into the glaring eye-balls of the fierce Numidian lion, even 
 as a boy upon a laughing girl! And he shall pay thee back, until the 
 yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy lite- 
 blood lies curdled ! , ^^ n 
 
 " Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! The strength of brass 
 is in your toughened sinews ; but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, 
 breathinLr sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily 
 fino-ers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. 
 Ha'J-k ' hear ye yon lion' roaring, in his den ? 'Tis three days since he 
 tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he shaU break his fast upon yours, — and 
 a dainty meal for him ye will be ! jjlf ye are beasts, then stand here 
 like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife ! If ye are men. — M^ 
 low me ! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there 
 do bloody work, as did your sires at Old Thermopylae ! Is Sparta dead # 
 Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch 
 and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash O, com- 
 Hides ' warriors ! Thracians ! — if we must fight, let us fight tor our- 
 nelves ' If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors! it 
 we must die, let"^e under the clear sky, by the bright waters, m 
 uobb, honorable battle ! " ' 
 
 23. SPARTACUS TO THE ROMAN ENVOYS IN ETRDRIA.— Orig-ina 
 
 Envoys of Rome, the poor camp of Spartacus is too much honoreO 
 .n your presence. And does Rome stoop to parley with the escape.! 
 "rladiator, with the rebel ruffian, for whom heretofore no slight 
 Boon too scornful ? You have come, with steel in your right hand, 
 ind with gold in your left. What heed we give the former, ask 
 
MARTIAL .ND POPULAfl. I2fe 
 
 Cossimus ask Clauaius ; ask Varinms ; ask the bones of your legiona 
 that fertilize the Lucanian plains. And for your gold — would ye 
 kDcw what we do with that, — go ask the laborer, the trodden poor 
 the helpless and the hopeless, on our route ; ask all whom Eoman 
 tyranny had crushed, or Roman avarice plundered. Ye have seen 
 me before : but ye did not then shun my glance as now. Ye have 
 seen me in the arena, when I was Rome's pet ruffian, daily smeared 
 with blood of men or beasts. One day — shall I forget it ever ? — 
 were present ; — I had fought long and well. Exhausted as I was 
 your munerdtor, your lord of the games, bethought him, it were an 
 equal match to set against me a new man, younger and lighter than 
 I, but fresh and valiant. With Thracian sword and buckler, forth he 
 came, a beautiful defiance on his brow ! Bloody and brief the fight 
 "He has It!" cried the People; ^Wmbet / hahei But still he 
 lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held him, gashed and taintinn-, 
 m my power. , I looked around upon the Podium, where feat yoiTr 
 Senators and men of State, to catch the signal of release, of mercy. 
 But not a thumb was reversed. To crown your sport, the vanquished 
 man must die ! Obedient brute that I was, I was about to slay him, 
 when a few hurried words — rather a welcome to death than a plea 
 for lite — told me he was a Thracian. I stood transfixed. The 
 arena vanished. I was in Thrace, upon my native hills ! The sword 
 dropped from my haPxds. I raised the dying youth tenderly in my 
 arms 0, the magnanimity of Rome ! Your haughty leaders, en- 
 raged at being cheated of their death-show, hissed^their disappoint- 
 ment, and shouted, "Kill! " I heeded them as I would heed the 
 howl of wolves. Kill — They might better have asked the 
 
 mother to kill the babe, -smiling in her face. Ah! he was already 
 wounded unto death ; and, amid the angry yells of the spectators, he, 
 ai, ^ ™ scourged for disobedience. I shall not forget 
 
 It. Should memory fail, there are scars here to quicken it. 
 
 Well; do not grow impatient. Some hours after, finding myself 
 with seventy fellow-gladiators, alone in the amphitheatre, the laborma 
 thought broke forth in words. I said, — I know not what. I only 
 know that, when I ceased, my comrades looked each other m the 
 tace — and then burst forth the simultaneous cry— "Lead on' lead 
 on, 0 Spartacus ! " Forth we rushed, — seized what rude weapons 
 enhance threw m our way, and to the mountains speeded. There 
 day by day, our little band increased. Disdainful Rome sent after us 
 a handful of her troops, with a scourge for the slave Spartacus. 
 Iheir weapons soon were ours. She sent an army ; and down from 
 Old Vesuvius we poured, and slew three thousand. Now it was Spar- 
 tacus the dreaded rebel ! A larger army, headed by the Praetor, was 
 sent, and routed ; then another still. And always I remembered thaV, 
 tierce cry, riving my heart, and calling me to " kill ! » In three 
 patched battles, have I not obeyed it ? And now afi-righted Rome 
 
128 
 
 THE STANDAB^^ SPEAKER 
 
 Bends her two Consuls, and puts forth all her strength bj ^and and sea 
 as if a Pjrrnus or a Hannibal were on her borders ! 
 
 Envoys of Rome ! To Lentulus and Gellius bear this message : 
 '* Their graves are measured ! " Look on that narrow stream, a siivei 
 thread, high on the mountain's side ! Slenderly it winds, but soon is 
 swelled by others meeting it, until a torrent, teirible and ^strong, it 
 sweeps to' the abyss, where all is ruin. So Spartacus comes on ! Bo 
 swells his force, — small and despised at first, but now resistless I 
 On, on to Rome we come ! The gladiators come ! Let Opulence 
 iremble in all his palaces ! Let Oppression shudder to think the 
 oppressed may have their turn ! Let Cruelty turn pale at thought of 
 redder hands than his ! 0 ! we shall not forget Rome's many les- 
 sons. She shall not find her training was all wasted upon indocile 
 pupik. Now, begone ! Prepare the Eternal City for our games ' 
 
 24. MARULLTJS TO THE ROMAN POPtfLACE.— 5/taA:s;?eare., 
 
 Wherefore rejoice that Caesar ccmes in triumph ? 
 What conquest brings he home ? 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot- wheels ? 
 You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ' 
 0, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome ! 
 Knew ye not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
 Have you climbed up to walk and battlements, 
 To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
 Your infants in your arras, and there have sat 
 The life-long day, with patient expectation, 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome ; 
 And when you saw his chariot but appear, 
 Have you not made an universal shout, 
 That Tiber trembled underneath her banks 
 To hear the replication of your sounds, 
 Made in her concave shores ? 
 And do you 7iow put on your best attire ? 
 And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way, 
 That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 
 Begone ! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees 
 Pray to the Gods to intermit the plague 
 That needs must light on this ingratitude ! 
 
 i5. MARCUS BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF C2ES>hB..—Shakspeart. 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause ; and bt 
 nlent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor; and bavi9 
 respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in youi 
 Tisdoni and a\^'ake youi- senses, that you may the better judger If 
 
MARTLiI, AKh POPULAR. — SHAKSPEARIS. (27 
 
 strth^aVZh *M ^rn^'-^">'^^-rfnend of Caesar's., to Mm 1 
 say, that Bmtus love to Caesar was not less than his. If then that 
 
 rill r ^""v^' I l^^e^ i^ome more. Had yon 
 
 rather Caesar were hvinxr, and die all skvp^ fK^n +1,0 I n 
 
 dead, to live al, freemen!' As c4r lotneX^yrhi^^'H 
 he was fortuBate, I rejo ce at it; as he was valiant, I honor hiT 
 ^ he w<« an>b.t.ous, I slew him. There are tears for Us We • ic^ 
 
 Whot hre^so^'basHLt'" M T'^'I -bi'tS 
 »yno IS nere m base, that would be a bondman ? If any sneak ■ frr 
 
 ^m^T .^^^"i? 'l.l^-^ - that ZVC be ; 
 
 woman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so 
 VTle that will not love his country ? If any sneak • for hil T, r 
 offended. I pause for a reply ^' ^ ' " ^"^ ^ 
 
 r^L^ - was 
 
 Ct-ZaTrff ^-^h-n not? iA^tll thtl 
 
 aepart . ihat, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome I havs 
 
 S ^^^^^ pi-- --t;7to 
 
 26 MARK ANTONY TO THE PEOPLE. ON CESAR'S DEATH. -5.a.«^«,^ 
 
 Friends Romans, Countrymen! lend me your care 
 
 I come to bury C^sar, not to praise him. 
 
 Ihe evil that men do lives after them ; 
 
 The good is oft interred with their bones : 
 
 bo let It be with Caesar ! Noble Brutus 
 
 Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : 
 
 If It were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
 
 And grievously hath Caesar answered it ' 
 
 Here under leave of Brutus, and the rest ~ 
 i^or Brutus is an honorable man ! 
 So are they all ! all honorable men,— 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me.— 
 
 But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 
 And Brutus is an honorable man ! 
 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome. 
 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: 
 
 Old this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
 
 Wlien that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept 
 
 ^mbition should be made of sterner stuff ' 
 
 Vet Brutus mys he was ambitious . 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 And Brzitus is an honorable man ! 
 
 You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, 
 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 
 Which he did thrice refuse : was this amHtion ?— 
 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 
 And sure he is an honorable man ! 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; 
 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 
 You all did love him once ; not without cause : 
 
 What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him I 
 
 0 judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
 
 And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me : 
 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar ; 
 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. — 
 
 But yesterday, th^ word of Caesar might 
 Have stood against the world ; — now lies he there, 
 And none so poor to do him reverence ! 
 
 0 masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
 
 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
 Who, you all know, are honorable men ! — 
 
 I will not do them wrong : I rather choose 
 To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you. 
 Than I will wrong such honorable men ! — 
 But here 's a parchment with the seal of Caesar, — 
 I foand it in his closet, — 't is his will ! 
 Let but the commons hear this testament, — 
 Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, — 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's woun(2s 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
 Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 
 Unto their issue ! 
 
 If you have tears, prepare to shed them now 
 You all do know this mantle : I remember 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on : 
 'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent,- 
 That day he overcame the Nervii ! — 
 Look! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through t 
 See what a rent the envious Casca made ! — 
 Through this, — the well-beloved Brutus stabbed 
 And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it ! 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
 If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no I 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — MILTON. 
 
 129 
 
 Judge, 0 ye Gods, how dearly Caosar loved him! 
 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all ! 
 
 tor when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 
 Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart 
 
 And, in his mantle nmffling up his face 
 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statue, ~ 
 
 Which all the while ran blood ! — great Csesar fell > 
 
 0, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 
 Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down ; 
 
 Whilst bloody treason flourished over us ! 
 
 0, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel 
 
 The dint of pity : these are gracious drops ! 
 
 Kind souls ! what ! weep you when you but behold 
 
 Our Ciesar's vesture wounded ? — look you here ! 
 
 Here is himself, — marred, as you see, by traitors ! 
 
 Good friends ! sweet friends ! let me not stir you up 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny ! 
 They that have done this deed are honorable ! 
 What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, 
 That made them do it : they are wise and honorable, 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
 But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 
 That love my friend, — and that they know full well 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him, — 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth. 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
 To stir men's blood : I only speak right on. 
 I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, — poor, poor, dumb roo^itia 
 And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus, 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
 Would rufile up your spirits, and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
 The stones of Borne to rise and mutiny ! 
 
 27. MOLOCH TO THE FALLEN ANGELS —Milton. 
 
 My sentence is for open war : of wiles, 
 More unexpert, I boast not : them let those 
 Contrive who need, or when they need ; not now. 
 For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest, 
 Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait 
 The signal to ascend, sit lingering here 
 Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-plaoe 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, 
 
 I'he prison of His tyranny who reigns 
 
 By our delay ? No, — let us rather choose, 
 
 Ai-nied with hell-flames and fury, all at once 
 
 O'er Heaven's high towers to force resistless way> 
 
 Turning our tortures into horrid arms 
 
 Against the Torturer ; when to meet the noise 
 
 Of His almighty engine He shall hear 
 
 Infernal thunder ; and, for lightning, see 
 
 Black fire and horror shot with equal rage^ 
 
 Among His angels ; and His Throne itself 
 
 Mixed with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire, 
 
 His own invented torments. But perhaps 
 
 The way seems difficult and steep, to scale 
 
 With upright wing against a higher foe. 
 
 Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 
 
 Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, 
 
 That in our proper motion we ascend 
 
 Up to our native seat : descent and fall 
 
 To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, 
 
 When the fierce Foe hung on our broken rear 
 
 Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, 
 
 With what compulsion and laborious flight 
 
 V/e sank thus low ? The ascent is easy, then : — 
 
 The event is feared : — should we again provoke 
 
 Our Stronger, some worse way His wrath may find 
 
 To our destruction ; if there be in hell 
 
 Fear to be worse destroyed. — What can be worse 
 
 Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned. 
 
 In this abhorred deep, to utter woe, 
 
 V/here pain of unextinguishable fire 
 
 Must exercise us without hope of end. 
 
 The vassals of His anger, when the scourge 
 
 Inexorable and the torturing hour 
 
 Call us to penance ? More destroyed than thus, 
 
 We should be quite abolished, and expire. 
 
 What fear we, then ? What doubt we to incense 
 
 His utmost ire ? which, to the height enraged, 
 
 Will either quite consume us, and reduce 
 
 To nothing this essential, — happier far, 
 
 Than miserable to have eternal being; — 
 
 Or, if our substance be indeed divine, 
 
 And cannot cease to be, we are at worst, 
 
 On this side nothing : and by proof we fee. 
 
 Our power sufficient to disturb His Heaven. 
 
 And with perpetual inroads to alarm. 
 
 Though inaccessible, His fatal Throne : 
 
 Which, if not victory is yet revenge 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. MILTON. 
 
 28. BELIAL'S ADDRESS, OPPOSING W AH. -Milton 
 
 I SHOULD be much for open war, 0 Peers, 
 As not behind in hate, if what was urged, 
 Main reason to persuade immediate war. 
 Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast 
 Ominous conjecture on the whole success ; — 
 When he, who most excels in fact of arms, 
 In^ what he counsels, and in what excels. 
 Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair 
 And utter dissolution, as the scope 
 
 Of all his aim, after some dire reveno-e ' 
 
 First, what revenge ? — The towers of Heaven are 
 With armed watch, that render all access 
 Impregnable : oft on the bordering deep 
 Lncamp their legions : or, with obscure win^, 
 bcout far and wide into the realm of nieht, 
 bcornmg surprise. - Or, could we break our way 
 i3y force, and, at our heels, all hell should rise. 
 With blackest insurrection, to confoun'd 
 Heaven's purest light; yet our great Enemy, 
 All incorruptible, would, on His throne, 
 ^it unpolluted ; and the ethereal mould, 
 ^capable of stain, would soon expel 
 Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, 
 Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 
 Is fiat despair: we must exasperate 
 Ihe Almighty Victor to spend all His rage, 
 And that must end us ; that must be our cure, — 
 
 Ihough full of pain, this intellectual bein^, 
 
 Ibose thoughts that wander through eternity — - 
 
 lo perish rather, swallowed up and lost 
 
 In the wide womb of uncreated night 
 
 Devoid of sense and motion? — And who knows, 
 
 lict this be good, whether our angry Foe 
 
 Cap give it, or will ever ? How He can. 
 
 Is H^jubtful ; that He never will, is sure. 
 
 Will He so wise, let loose at once His ire 
 
 ^ehke through impotence, or unaware, 
 
 lo give His enemies their wish, and end 
 
 Ihem in His anger, whom His anger savas 
 
 To punish endless ? _ Wherefore cease we, then ? 
 
 bay they, who counsel war : " we are decreed. 
 
 Keserved, and destined to eternal woe : 
 
 Whatever doing, what can we suffer more. 
 
 What can wt .uffer worse ? " Is this, then, worst. 
 
 rbus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms « 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 W hat when we fled amaiij, pur&ued and struck 
 With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought 
 The deep to shelter us ? this hell then seemed 
 A refuge from those wounds ! or when we lay 
 Chained on the burning lake ? that sure was worse. 
 What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, 
 Awaked, should blow them into seven-fold rage, 
 And plunge us in the flames ? or, from above. 
 Should intermitted vengeance arm again 
 His red right hand to plague us ? what, if all 
 Her stores were opened, and this firmament 
 Of hell should spout her cataracts of fii-8, 
 Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall 
 One day upon our heads ? while we, perhaps 
 Designing or exhorting glorious war, 
 Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, 
 Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey 
 Of racking whirlwinds ; or forever sunk ^ 
 Under yon boiling ocean, wrapped in chains ; 
 There to converse with everlasting groans, 
 XJnrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, 
 Ages of hopeless end ? — this would be worse. 
 War, therefore, open or concealed, alike 
 My voice dissuades. 
 
 29. THE DEATH OE LEONID AS. — Bfeu. George Croljf. 
 
 It was the wild midnight, — a storm was in the sky, 
 
 The lightning gave its light, and the thunder echoed by ; 
 
 The torrent swept the glen, the ocean lashed the shore, — 
 
 Then rose the Spartan men, to make their bed in gore ! 
 
 Swift from the deluged ground, three hundred took the shield 
 
 Then, silent, gathered round the leader of the field. 
 
 He spoke no warrior-word, he bade no trumpet blow ; 
 
 But the signal thunder roared, and they rushed upon the foe. 
 
 The fiery element, showed, with one mighty gleam, 
 
 Bampart and flag and tent, like the spectres of a dream. 
 
 All up the mountain side, all down the woody vale, 
 
 AL by the rolling tide, waved the Persian banners pale. 
 
 And King Leonidas, among the slumbering band, 
 
 Sprang foremost from the pass, like the lightning's living brand 
 
 Then double darkness fell, and the forest ceased to moan. 
 
 But Ihere came a clash of steel, and a distant dying groan. 
 
 Anon, a trum])et blew, and a fiery sheet burst high, 
 
 That o'or the midnight threw a blood-red canopy. 
 
 A host glared on the hill ; a host glared by the bay ; 
 
 But the Greeks rushed onward stilJ like leopards in theii plai 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — CROLT. Igg 
 
 The air wns aU a yell, and the earth was all a flame, 
 Where the Spartan's bloody steel on the silken turbans came 
 And still the Greek rushed on, beneath the fiery fold, 
 Till, like a rising sun, shone Xerxes' tent of gold 
 
 rhey found a royal feast, his midnight banquet, there ! 
 And the treasures of the East lay beneath the Doric spear 
 ihen sat to the repast the bravest of the brave ' 
 That feast must be their last, that spot must be their grave 
 They pledged old Sparta's name in cups of Syrian wine, 
 And the warrior's deathless fame was sung in strains divine, 
 ihey took the rose-wreathed lyres from eunuch and from slave. 
 And taught the languid wires the sounds that Freedom gave. 
 
 now the morning star crowned (Eta's twilight brow. 
 And the Persian horn of war from the hill began to blow • 
 Up rose the glorious rank, to Greece one cup poured high. 
 Then, hand m hand, they drank, — " To Immortality ! '' 
 Fear on King Xerxes fell, when, like spirits from the tomb, 
 With shout and trumpet-knell, he saw the warriors come ; 
 l^ut down swept aU his power, with chariot and with charge: 
 Down poured the arrowy shower, till sank the Dorian targe. 
 They marched within the tent, with all their strength unstrung: 
 lo Greece one look they sent, then on high their torches flumr : 
 lo Heaven the blaze uprolled, like a mighty altar-fire ; 
 And the Persians' gems and gold were the Grecians' funeral pyra 
 Their King sat on his Throne,'his Captains by his side, 
 While the flame rushed roaring on, and their psean loud replied ! 
 Thus fought the Greek of old ! Thus will he fight again ! 
 bhalJ not the self-same mould bring forth the self-same men ? 
 
 18 CATILINE TO THE GALLIC CONSPIRATORS. -Original Adaptatton f om Cr,l^ 
 
 Men of Gaul ! 
 
 What would you give for Freedom ? 
 
 For Freedom, if it stood before your eyes ; 
 For Freedom, if it rushed to your embrace ; 
 For Freedom, if its sword were ready drawn 
 To hew your chains off" 2 
 
 Ye would give death or life ! Then marvel not 
 
 lhat I am here — that Catiline would join you! — 
 
 The great Patrician ? — Yes — an hour ago — 
 
 But now the rebel ; Rome's eternal foe. 
 
 And your sworn friend ! My desperate wrong 's my pled« 
 
 There s not in Rome, — no — not upon the earth, 
 
 A man so wronged. The very ground I trea^ 
 
THE STAJNDAJID SPEAKER. 
 
 Is grudged me. — Chieftains ! ere the moon be do?ftt» 
 
 My land will be the Senate's spoil ; my life, 
 
 The mark of the first villain that will stab 
 
 For lucre. — But there 's a time at hand ! — Gaze on 
 
 If I had thought you cowards, I might have come 
 
 And told you lies. But you have now the thing 
 
 I am ; — Rome's enemy, — and fixed as fate 
 
 To you and yours forever ! 
 
 The State is weak as dust. 
 
 Rome 's broken, helpless, heart-sick. Vengeance sits 
 
 Above her, like a vulture o'er a corpse. 
 
 Soon to be tasted. Time, and dull decay. 
 
 Have let the waters round her pillar's foot ; 
 
 And it must fall. Her boasted strength 's a ghost 
 
 Fearful to dastards ; — yet, to trenchant swords, 
 
 Thin as the passing air ! A single blow, 
 
 In this diseased and crumbling state of Rome, 
 
 Would break your chains like stubble. 
 
 But " ye 've no swords " ! 
 
 Have you no ploughshares, scythes ? 
 
 When men are brave, the sickle is a spear ! 
 
 Must Freedom pine till the slow armorer 
 
 Gilds her caparison, and sends her out 
 
 To glitter and play antics in the sun ? 
 
 Let hearts be what they ought, — the naked earth 
 
 Will be their magazine ; — the rocks — the trees — 
 
 Nay, there 's no idle and unnoted thing, 
 
 But, in the hand of Valor, will out-thrust 
 
 The spear, and make the mail a mockery ! 
 
 31. CATILINE'S LAST HARANGUE TO HIS ARMY.-/d. 
 
 Brave comrades ! all is ruined ! I disdain 
 To hide the truth from you. The die is thrown 
 And now, let each that wishes for long life 
 Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome. 
 Ye are all free to go. — What ! no man stirs • 
 Not one ! — a soldier's spirit in you all ? 
 Give mo your hands ! (This moisture in my eyea 
 Is womanish — 't will pass.) My noble hearts ! 
 Well have you chosen to die ! For, in my mind, 
 The grave is better than o'erburthened life ; — 
 Better the quick release of glorious wounds, 
 Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues ; — 
 Better the spear-head quivering in the heart, 
 Than daily struggle against Fortune's curse ; — 
 Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood, 
 To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge 
 
MARTIAl AND POPULAR. — BULWER 
 
 Id poverty, dull pain, and base decay.— 
 Once more, I say, — are ye resolved ? 
 Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms 
 That he would love to die in, — for, this hour, 
 We storm the Consul's camp. — A last farewell ! 
 When next we meet, we '11 have no time to look, 
 How parting clouds a soldier's oountenance : — 
 Few as we are, we '11 rouse them with a peal 
 That shall shake Rome ! — 
 
 Now to your cohorts' heads , — the word 's — Revenpi 
 
 THE BARD'S SUMMONS TO WAR. -5zr Edward Bulwer Lytton 
 
 Leaning against a broken parapet. 
 
 Alone with Thought, mused Caradoc the Bard, 
 When a voice smote him, and he turned and met 
 
 A gaze, prophetic in its sad regard. 
 Beside him, solemn with his hundred years. 
 Spoke the arch hierarch of the Cymrian seers : 
 
 " In vain through yon dull stupor of despair 
 Sound Geraint's trump and OT^aine's battle-cry ; 
 
 In vain where yon rude clamor storms the air, 
 The Council Chiefs stem maddening mutiny ; 
 
 From Trystan's mail the lion heart is gone, 
 
 And on the breach stands Lancelot alone ! 
 
 " Drivelling the wise, and impotent the strong ! 
 
 Fast into night the life of Freedom dies ; 
 Awake, Light-Bringer, wake, bright soul of song » 
 
 Kindler, reviver, re-creator, rise! 
 Crown thy great mission with thy parting breath, 
 And teach to hosts the Bard's disdain of death ! 
 
 *' So be it, 0 voice from Heaven," the Bard replied 
 " Some gratefiil tears may yet embalm my name; 
 
 Ever for human love my youth hath sighed, 
 And human love's divinest form is fame. 
 
 Is the dream erring ? shall the song remain ? 
 
 Say, can one Poet ever live in vain ? " 
 
 Then rose the Bard, and smilingly unstrung 
 His harp of ivory sheen, from shoulders broad 
 
 Kissing the hand that doomed his life, he sprun 
 Light from the shattered wall, — and swiftly ''strode 
 
 Where, herdlike huddled in the central space, 
 
 Drooped, in dull pause, the cowering populace. 
 
 Slow, pitying, soft it glides, — the liquid lay,— 
 Sad with the burthen of the Singer's soul ; 
 
136 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Tnto the heart it coiled its lulling way , 
 
 Wave upon wave the golden river stole ; 
 Hushed to his feet forgetful Famine crept, 
 And Woe, reviving, veiled the eyes that wept. 
 Then stern, and harsh, clashed the ascending stram, 
 Telling of ills more dismal yet in store ; 
 ' Rough with the iron of the grinding chain, 
 Dire with the curse of slavery evermore ; 
 Wild shrieks from lips beloved pale warriors hear, 
 Her child's last death-groan rends the mother's ear 
 Then trembling hands instinctive griped the swords , 
 
 And men unquiet sought each other's eyes ; — 
 Loud into pomp sonorous swell the chords ! 
 
 Like linked legions march the melodies ! 
 Till the full rapture swept the Bard along, 
 And o'er the listeners rushed the storm of song ! 
 And the Dead spoke ! From cairns and kingly graves, 
 
 The Heroes called ; — and Saints from earliest shrinet 
 And the Land spoke ! — Mellifluous river-waves ; 
 
 Dim forests awful with the roar of pines ; 
 Mysterious cave^, from legend-haunted deeps ; 
 And torrents flashing from untrodden steeps ; — 
 The Land of Freedom called upon the Free ! 
 
 All Nature spoke ; the clarions of the wind : 
 The organ swell of the majestic sea ; 
 
 The choral stars ; the Universal Mind 
 Spoke, like the voice from which the world began, 
 " No chain for Nature and the Soul of Man ! " 
 As leaps the war-fire on the beacon hills, 
 
 Leapt in each heart the lofty flame divine ; 
 As into sunlight flash the molten rills. 
 
 Flashed the glad claymores, lightening line on line ; 
 From cloud to cloud as thunder speeds along, 
 From rank to rank rushed forth the choral song. 
 Woman and child — all caught the fire of men ; 
 
 To its own Heaven that Alleluia rang ; 
 Life to the spectres had returned again ; 
 
 And from the grave an armed Nation sprang ! 
 
 n CARADOC, THE BARD TO THE CYMRIANS. —Sir E. Bulwer Lyttan 
 No Cymrian bard, by the primitive law, could bear weapons. 
 
 Hark to the measured march ! — The Saxons come ! 
 
 The sound earth quails beneath the hollow tread ' 
 Your fathers rushed upon the swords of Rome 
 
 And climbed her war-«hips, when the Caesar fled 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — KNOWLES. 
 
 Die Saxons come ! why wait within the wall ? 
 They scale the mountain : — let its torrents fall ! 
 Mark, ye have swords, and shields, and armor, yb 
 
 No mail defends the Cymrian Child of Song ; 
 But where the warrior, there the Bard shall be ! 
 
 All fields of glory to the bard belong ! 
 His realm extends wherever godlike strife * 
 Spurns the base death, and wins immortal life 
 Unarmed he goes — his guard the shield of all. 
 
 Where he bounds foremost on the Saxon spear ! 
 Unarmed he goes, that, falling, even his fall 
 
 'Shall bring no shame, and shall bequeath no fear ! 
 Does the song cease ? — avenge it by the deed, 
 And make the sepulchre — a Nation freed ! 
 
 i ALFRED THE GREAT TO HIS MEN. ~ Oris inal Adaptation from Knou>le» 
 
 My friends, our country must be free ! The land 
 
 Is never lost that has a son to right her, 
 
 And here are troops of sons, and loyal ones ! 
 
 Strong in her children should a mother be : 
 
 Shall ours be helpless, that has sons like us ? 
 
 God save our native land, whoever pays 
 
 The ransom that redeems her ! Now, what wait we ? — 
 
 For Alfred's word to move upon the foe ? 
 
 Upon him, then ! Now think ye on the things 
 
 You most do love ! Husbands and fathers, on 
 
 Their wives and children ; lovers, on their beloved; 
 
 And all, upon their country ! When you use 
 
 Your weapons, think on the beseeching eyes, 
 
 To whet them, could have lent you tears for water ' 
 
 O, now be men, or never ! From your hearths 
 
 ihrust the unbidden feet, that from their nooks 
 
 Drove forth your aged sires — your wives and babes .' 
 
 Ihe couches, your fair-handed daughters used 
 
 To spread, let not the vaunting stranger press 
 
 Weary from spoiling you ! Your roofs, that hear 
 
 Ihe wanton not of the intruding guest, 
 
 That mocks their masters, — clear them for the sake 
 
 Of the manhood to which all that 's precious clings 
 
 l^lse perishes. The land that bore you — 0 ! 
 
 Do honor to her ! Let her glory in 
 
 Your breeding ! Rescue her ! Revenge her, — or 
 
 Ne er call her mother more ! Come on, my frienda 
 
 And, where you take your stand upon the fieH 
 
 However jou advance, resolve on this, 
 
IHE STANLARD SPEAKEK 
 
 'Diat you ivill ne'er recede, while from the tongues 
 Of age, and womanhood, and infancy, 
 The helplessness, whose safety in you lies, 
 Invokes you to be strong ! Come on ! Come on ^ 
 I '11 bring you to the foe ! And when you meet liinij^ 
 Strike hard ! Strike home ! Strike while a dying blow 
 fs in an arm ! Strike till you 're free, or fall ; 
 
 36. KimZl TO TIIE ILOMANS:. — Mary Russell Mit ford. 
 
 Friends ! 
 
 I come not here to talk. Ye know too well 
 
 The story of our thraldom. We are slaves ! 
 
 The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
 
 A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 
 
 Falls on a slave : not such as, swept along 
 
 By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 
 
 To crimson glory and undying fame, — 
 
 But case, ignoble slaves ! — slaves to a horde 
 
 Of petty tyrants, feudal despots ; lords, 
 
 Rich in some dozen paltry villages ; 
 
 Strong in some hundred spearmen ; only great 
 
 In that strange spell — a name ! Each hour, dark fraud 
 
 Or open ra'^ine, or protected murder, 
 
 Cry out against them. But this very day, 
 
 An honest man, my neighbor, — there he stands, — 
 
 Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 
 
 The badge of Urslni ! because, forsooth. 
 
 He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 
 
 Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 
 
 At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, 
 
 And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not 
 
 The stain away in blood ? Such shames are commcn. 
 
 I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye 
 
 I had a brother once, a gracious boy, 
 
 Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope. 
 
 Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was the look 
 
 Of Heaven upon his face, which limners give 
 
 To the beloved disciple. How I loved 
 
 That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years 
 
 Brother at once and son ! He left mj side, 
 
 A summer bloom on his fair cheeks — a smilt 
 
 Parting his innocent lips. In one short houi, 
 
 The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
 
 The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 
 
 For vengeance ! Bouse, ye Ronians ! Bouse, ye slavw 
 
 Have ye brave sons ? — Look in the next fierce brawl 
 
 To aeo them die ' Have ye fair daughters 1 — Look 
 
Martial and popular.— Montgomery. "SS 
 
 To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 
 Dishonored ; and, if ye dare call for justice. 
 Be answered by the lash ! Yet, this is Rome, 
 ^at sate on her seven hills, and from her throne 
 Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet, we are Romans 
 Why, m that elder day, to be a Roman 
 Was greater than a King ! And once again — 
 Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
 Of either Brutus ! — once again I swear 
 The Eternal City shall be free ! 
 
 — <d> _ — 
 
 36. THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORT).- James Montgomery 
 
 " Make way for liberty ! " he cried, - 
 Made way for liberty, and died ! 
 
 In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, 
 
 A living wall, a human wood ; 
 
 Impregnable their front appears. 
 
 All horrent with projected spears. 
 
 Opposed to these, a hovering band 
 
 Contended for their father-land , 
 
 Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke 
 
 From manly necks the ignoble yoke ; 
 
 Marshalled once more at Freedom's call, 
 
 They came to conquer or to fall. 
 
 And now the work of life and death 
 
 Hung on the passing of a breath ; 
 
 The fire of conflict burned within • 
 
 The battle trembled to begin ; 
 
 Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, 
 
 Point for assault was nowhere found ; 
 
 Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, 
 
 The unbroken line of lances blazed ; 
 
 That line 't were suicide io meet. 
 
 And perish at their tyrants' feet. 
 
 How could they rest within their graves, 
 
 To leave their homes the haunts of slaves ? 
 
 Would they not feel their children tread, 
 
 With clanking chains, above their head * 
 
 It must not be ; this day, this hour, 
 
 Annihilates the invader's power I 
 
 All Switzerland is m the field. 
 
 She will not fly ; she cannot yield • 
 
140 
 
 THM STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 She must not fall ; her better fate 
 Here gives her an immortal date,, 
 Few were the numbers she could boast 
 But every freeman was a host, 
 And felt as 't were a secret known 
 That one should turn the scale alone 
 While each unto himself was he 
 On whose sole arm hung Victory. 
 
 It did depend on one, indeed ; 
 
 Behold him, — Arnold Winkelried ! 
 
 There sounds not to the trump of Fame 
 
 The echo of a nobler name. 
 
 Unmarked, he stood amid the throng, 
 
 In rumination deep and long. 
 
 Till you might see, with Sudden grace, 
 
 The very thought come o'er his face ; 
 
 And, by the motion of his form, 
 
 Anticipate the bursting storm ; 
 
 And, by the uplifting of his brow, 
 
 Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. 
 
 But 't was no sooner thought than done, -— 
 
 The field was in a moment won ! 
 
 " Make way for liberty ! " he cried, 
 
 Then ran, with arms extended wide, 
 
 As if his dearest friend to clasp ; 
 
 Ten spears he swept within his grasp. 
 
 " Make way for liberty ! " he cried ; 
 
 Their keen points crossed from side to side ; 
 
 He bowed amongst them, like a tree, 
 
 And thus made way for liberty. 
 
 Swift to the breach his comrades fly, — 
 
 " Make way for liberty ! " they cry. 
 
 And through the Austrian phalanx dart, 
 
 As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart 
 
 While, instantaneous as his fall, 
 
 Eout, ruin, panic, seized them all . 
 
 An earthquake could not overthrow 
 
 A city with a surer blow. 
 
 Thus Switzerland again was free 
 
 Thus Death made way for liberty 1 
 
 W. RICHARD TO THE PRINCES OF THE CRUSADE.— 5ir Walter Scotl B 1771 , i ISSa 
 
 And is it even so ? And are our brethren at such pains to note th« 
 uifirmities of our natural temper, and the rough precipitance of our zeal, 
 which may have sometimes urged us to issue commands when thert 
 was little time to hold council ? I could not have thought that ofteocea. 
 
MARTIAL AND POPUl^AE. SHAKSPBaRB. 
 
 Hi 
 
 "asual and unpremeditated, like mine, could find sucli deep loot in th« 
 hearts of my allies in this most holy cause, that, for m^ sake, they 
 should withdraw their hand from the plough when the furrow was 
 near the end ; for my sake, turn aside from the direct path to Jeru- 
 salem, which their swords have opened. I vainly thought that my 
 small services might have outweighed my rash errors; that, if it 
 were remembered that I pressed to the van in an assault, it would not 
 be forgotten that I was ever the last in the retreat ; that, if I ele- 
 vated my banner upon conquered fields of battle, it was all the advan- 
 tage I sought, while others were dividing the spoil. I may liave 
 called the conquered city by my name, but it was to others that I 
 yielded the dominion. If I have been headstrong in urging bold 
 counsels, I have not, methinks, spared my own blood, or my people's, 
 in carrying them into as bold execution ; or, if I have, in the hurry 
 of march or battle, assumed a command over the soldiers of others, 
 such have ever been treated as my own, when my wealth purchased 
 the provisions and medicines which their own sovereigns could not 
 procure. 
 
 But it shames me to remind you of what all but myself seem to have 
 forgotten. Let us rather look forward to our future measui^es ; and, 
 believe me, brethren, you shall not find the pride, or the wrath, or the 
 ambition of Kichard, a stumbling-block of offence in the path to 
 which religion and glory summon you, as with the trumpet of an 
 archangel ! 0, no, no ! never would I survive the thought that my 
 frailties and infirmities had been the means to sever this goodly fellow- 
 ship of assembled princes. I would cut off my left hand with my 
 right, could my doing so attest my sincerity. I will yield up, volun- 
 tarily, all right to command in the host even mine own liege subjects. 
 They shall be led by such sovereigns as you may nominate ; and their 
 King, ever but too apt to exchange the leader's baton for the adven- 
 turer's lance, will serve under the banner of Beauseant among the 
 Templars, — ay, or under that of Austria, if Austria will name a 
 brave man to lead his forces. Or, if ye are yourselves a- weary of this 
 war, and feel your armor chafe your tender bodies, leave but with 
 Kichard some ten or fifteen thousand of your soldiers to work out the 
 accomplishment of your vow ; and, when Zion is won, — when Zion 
 is won, — we will write upon her gates, not the name of Richard 
 Plantagenet, but of those generous Princes who intrusted him with 
 she means of conquest ! 
 
 (8 THE EARL OP RICHMOND TO HIS ARMY. — Shakspear 6. 
 
 More than I have said, loving countrymen. 
 The leisure and enforcement^ of the time 
 Forbids to dwell on. Yet remember this : - 
 God, and our good cause, fight upon our side , 
 The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls, 
 Like high-reai-ed bulwarks, stand before oar faces 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Richard except, those whom we fight against 
 
 Had rather have us win than him they follow. 
 
 For what is he they follow ? Truly, gentlemen. 
 
 A bloody tyrant and a homicide ; 
 
 One raised in blood, and one in blood established; 
 
 One that made means to come by what he hath, 
 
 And slaughtered those that were the means to help hini 
 
 A base, foul stone, made precious by the foil 
 
 Of England's chair, where he is falsely set ; 
 
 One that hath ever been God's enemy. 
 
 Then, if you fight against Grod's enemy, 
 
 God will, in justice, guard you as his soldiers ; 
 
 If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, 
 
 You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; 
 
 If you do fight against your country's foes, 
 
 Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire 
 
 If you do fight in safeguard of your wives. 
 
 Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; 
 
 If you do free your children from the sword. 
 
 Your children's children quit it in your age. 
 
 Then, in the name of God and all these rights, 
 
 Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. 
 
 For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 
 
 Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face ; 
 
 But, if I thrive, the gain of my attempt. 
 
 The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
 
 Sound drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully : 
 
 God, and St. George ! Kichmond and victory ! 
 
 39. HENRY V. TO HIS BOLDIE^S.—Shakspeare. 
 
 What 's he that wishes for more men from England ? 
 My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my fair cousin ; 
 If we are marked to die, we are enow 
 To do our country loss ; and if to live. 
 The fewer men, the greater share of honor. 
 I pray thee do not wish for one man more. 
 By J ove, I am not covetous of gold ; 
 Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; 
 It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; — 
 Such outward things dwell noi in my desires : 
 But if it be a sin to covet honor, 
 I am the most ofiending soul alive. 
 No, 'faith, ray Lord, wish not a man from England : 
 I would not lose, methinks, so great an honor 
 As only one man more wourld share from me, 
 For the best \ ope I have. 0 ! do not wish one raort 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — MACAU; 
 
 Rather, proclaim it, Westmoreland, through m 
 lhat he, which hath no stomach to this fi 
 Let hmi depart; his passport shaL be made, 
 And crowns for convoy put intc his purse • 
 We would not die in that man's company 
 That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
 
 This day is called the feast of Crispian 
 He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
 WiJl stand a tip-toe when this day is named. 
 And rouse him at the name of Crispian • 
 He that outlives this day, and sees old ao-e, 
 Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors, 
 And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian ! 
 Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. 
 Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot 
 But he '11 remember, with advantages. 
 What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, 
 familiar m his mouth as household words, — 
 Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, 
 Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,— 
 Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. 
 Ihis story shall the good man teach his son : 
 And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by. 
 From this day to the ending of the world, 
 But we in it shall be remembered ; 
 We few, we happy few, we band of brothers : 
 ^or he, to-day that sheds his blood with me, 
 bhall be my brother : be he ne'er so vile, 
 Ihis day shall gentle his condition. 
 And gentlemen in England, now a-bod, 
 bhall think themselves accursed they were not here: 
 And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks 
 lhat fought with us upon St. Crispian's day/ 
 
 40. THE BATTLE OP IJRY.-T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ' 
 And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre . 
 Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, 
 llirough^thyjo^^ green, and sunny vales, 0 pleasant W of 
 
 And ^hou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the water., 
 .^gain let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourdng daughters^ 
 As thou wert constant m our ills, be joyous in our foy, 
 
 Hurr.t ; ? ^^^^^^ chance of war 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ' for Ivry and Kiog Henry of Navarre ' 
 
144 
 
 THE STANI>ARD SPEA&ER 
 
 0 . how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day. 
 We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; 
 With all its priest-led citizens, and all its ^-ebel peers, 
 And Appanzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears 1 
 There rode the brood of flilse Lorraine, the curses of our land ! 
 And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; 
 And, as we' looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood 
 And good Joligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; 
 And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 
 To fiijht for His own holy Name, and Henry of Navarre. 
 
 The King has come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, 
 
 And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest . 
 
 He looked upon his People, and a tear was in his eye ; 
 
 He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 
 
 Eight graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 
 
 Down all our line, in deafening shout, " God save our lord, the King! 
 
 " And if my standard-bearer fall, — as fall full well he may, 
 
 For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, — 
 
 Press where ye see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war. 
 
 And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre." 
 
 Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din 
 Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin ' 
 The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, ,^ > 
 With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almajnie. 
 Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
 Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance ! 
 A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, 
 A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest 
 And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, 
 Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 
 
 Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned his roin. 
 D'Aumale hath cried for quarter — the Flemish Count is slain ; 
 Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Bi«-.ay gale ; 
 The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail 
 And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van 
 « Remember St. Bartholomew ! " was passed from man to man , 
 But out spake gentle Henry, then, — " No Frenchman is my foe ; 
 Down, down with every foreigner ! but let your brethren go." 
 0 ' was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 
 As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre 
 
 Ho! maidens of Vienna ! Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! 
 
 Weep, weep and rend yr.ur hair for those who never shall rsturn . 
 
 Ho ! Philip, send for cliarity thy Mexican pistoles. 
 
 That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souis 
 
MARTIAii AND POPULAR. TAYLOR. 
 
 145 
 
 He gallant nobles of the League, look that jour arms be bright . 
 Ho birghers of St. Geneneve, keep watch and ward to-nio-ht ' 
 For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the sla^ 
 And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the bi ave. 
 ThiQ glorj to His holy name, from whom all glories are ! 
 imd ^hry to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre ! 
 
 41. PUILIP VAN ARTEVELDE TO THE MEN OF GHENT. -jyenry Taylot 
 
 Sirs, ye have heard these knights discourse to you 
 Of your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers 
 The worthy leaders ye have lately lost. 
 True,^ they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs ; 
 And ill would it become us to make light 
 Of the great loss we Scoffer by their fall 
 They died like heroes ; for no recreant step 
 Had e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear, 
 No base despair, no cowardly recoil. 
 They had the hearts of freemen to the last, 
 And the free blood that bounded in their veins 
 Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy. 
 But had they guessed, or could they but have dreamed, 
 The great examples which they died to show 
 Should fall so fiat, should shine so fruitless here, 
 That men should say, " For liberty these died, ' ' 
 Wherefore let us be slaves," — had they thought this, 
 O, then, with what an agony of shame. 
 Their blushing faces buried in the dust, 
 Had their great spirits parted hence for Heaven ♦ 
 
 What ! shall we teach our ch.roniclers henceforth 
 To write, that in five bodies were contained 
 The sole brave hearts of Ghent ! which five defunct, 
 The heartless town, by brainless counsel led, 
 Delivered up her keys, stript off her robes, 
 And so with all humility besought 
 Her haughty Lord that he would scourge her lighi]v 
 It shall not bo — no, verily ! for now, 
 Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, 
 Mine eye can single out full many a man 
 Who lacks but opportunity to shine 
 As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell. 
 
 But, lo! the Earl is "mercifully minded "! 
 And, surely, if we, rather than revenge 
 The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame, 
 And fall upon our knees, and say we Ve sinned, 
 fhen will my Lord the Earl have mercy on ua, 
 A.nd pardon us our strike for liberty ' 
 10 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 O, Sirs ! look round you, lest ye be deceived 
 
 Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, 
 
 Forgiveness may be written with the pen, 
 
 But°think not that the parchment and mouth pardoE 
 
 Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart. 
 
 There 's that betwixt you been which men remember 
 
 Till they forget themselves, till all 's forgot, - 
 
 Till the"'deep sleep falls on them in that bed 
 
 From which no morrow's mischief rouses them. 
 
 There 's that betwixt you been which you yourseives 
 
 Should ye forget, would then not be yourselve?. , 
 
 For must it not be thought some base men's souls 
 
 Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out, 
 
 If, in the coldness of a craven heart. 
 
 Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man 
 
 For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes ! 
 
 V^JS TYLER'S ADDRESS TO THE KISQ. — Robert Southey. B. 1774; d. I 
 
 King of England, 
 Petitioning for pity is most weak, — 
 The sovereign People ought to demand justice. 
 I lead them here against the Lord's anointed, 
 Because his Ministers have made him odious ! 
 His yoke is heavy, and his burden grievous. 
 Why do ye carry on this fatal war, 
 To force upon the French a King they hate ; 
 Tearino- our young men from their peaceful homes, 
 Forcing his hard-earned fruits from the honest peasant 
 Distressing us to desolate our neighbors ? 
 Why is this ruinous poll-tax imposed. 
 But to support your Court's extravagance, 
 And your mad title to the Crown of France ? 
 Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils, 
 Petitioning for pity ? King of England, 
 Why are we sold like cattle in your markets. 
 Deprived of every privilege of man ? 
 Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet, 
 And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that beats us 
 You sit at ease in your gay palaces : _ 
 The costly banquet courts your appetite ; 
 Sweet music soothes your slumbers : we, the while, 
 Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food, 
 And sleep scarce sheltered from the cold night wmd, 
 Whilst your wild projects wrest the little froir. us 
 Which might have cheered the wintry hours of age ! 
 The Parliament forever asks more money; 
 
MARHAL and fOPULAR. WOLFE. 147 
 
 We toil and sweat for money for your taxes ; 
 
 Where is the benefit, - what good reap we 
 
 trom all the counsels of your government? 
 
 Ihmk you that we should quarrel with the French ? 
 
 VV hat boots to us your victories, your dory ? 
 
 pay, we fight, — ,jou profit at your ease* ' 
 Vo you not clann the country as your own « 
 Do you not call the venison of the forest, 
 1 he birds of Heaven, your own ?_ prohibiting us, 
 w\ V xt"^^ ""^^^ seize the prey 
 
 Which Nature offers ? King ! is all this just ? 
 Think you we do not feel the wrongs we sufier ? 
 Ihe hour of retribution is at hand 
 And tyrants tremble, - mark mc'lving of England 
 
 AndThfJ? iT' «ig^t-cloud had lowered, 
 
 Ana the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky • 
 
 And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, 
 Ihe weary to sleep, and the wounded to die 
 
 When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
 
 A, I f Z :'T''''^ ^^^^^ ^^'^^ g^^^-^^ed the slain, 
 At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw 
 
 And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again. . 
 Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array, 
 
 i^ar, far I had roamed on a desolate track • 
 1 was autumn, _ and sunshine arose on the way 
 
 To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back 
 I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 
 
 In life s morning march, when my bosom was youncr 
 I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft 
 
 And knew the sweet strain that the corn-rolpers sung. 
 Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore 
 
 From my home and my weeping friends never to part • 
 My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er ' 
 
 And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of'heart 
 Stay stay with us, - rest, thou art weary and worn » ' 
 And fam was their war-broken soldier to stay 1 ' 
 But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn 
 And the voice m my dreammg ear melted away. 
 
 ^ fO THE AKM. BEFORE QHEBEC, 1759.-^... 3,^^ 
 
 Oie'spTrHnTL^lsS^^^^ "T^^^ fellow-soldie'rs, or 
 P-Lurenter;rr-l-tt.a 
 
148 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKEU. 
 
 sarmounted ; and the city of Quebec, the object of all our toils, aow 
 stands in full view before us. A perfidious enemy, who have darea tc 
 exasperate you by their cruelties, but not to oppose you on equaJ 
 ground, are now constrained to face you on the open plam, without 
 ramparts or intrenchments to shelter them. 
 
 You know too well the forces which compose their army to dreaxl 
 tbeir superior numbers. A few regular troops from old France, weak- 
 ened }>y hunger and sickness, who, when fresh, were unable to with- 
 stand the British soldiers, are their General's chief dependence. Those 
 numerous companies of Canadians, insolent, mutinous, unsteady, and 
 ill-disciplined, have exercised his utmost skill to keep them together to 
 this time ; and, as soon as their irregular ardor is damped by one firm 
 fire, they will instantly turn their backs, and give you no further 
 trouble but in the pursuit. As for those savage tribes of Indians, 
 whose horrid yells in the forests have struck many a bold heart with 
 affright, terrible as they are with a tomahawk and scalping-kmfe _ to a 
 flying and prostrate foe, you have experienced how little their ferocity is 
 to be dreaded by resolute men upon fair and open ground : you can 
 now only consider them as the just objects of a severe revenge for the 
 unhappy fate of many slaughtered countrymen. ^ 
 
 This day puts it into your power to terminate the fatigues ot a siege 
 which has so long employed your courage and patience. Possessed 
 with a full confidence of the certain success which British valor must 
 gain over such enemies, I have led you up these steep and dangemua 
 rocks, only solicitous to show you the foe within your reach, ihe 
 impossibility of a retreat makes no difference in the situation of men 
 resolved to conquer or die : and, believe me, my friends, if your con- 
 quest could be bought with the blood of your General, he would most 
 ebserfullj resign a life which he has long devoted to his country, 
 
 i& THE AMERICAN FLAG. —J. R. Drake. Born, 1795 ; died, 1820 
 
 When Freedom, from her mountain height, 
 
 Unfurled her standard to the air, 
 She tore the azure robe of night, 
 
 And set the stars of glory there. 
 She mingled with its gorgeous dies 
 The milky baldric of the skies, 
 And striped its pure celestial white, 
 With streakings of the morning light 
 Then, from his mansion in the sun, 
 She called her eagle bearer down. 
 And gave into his mighty hand 
 The symbol of her chosen land. 
 Majestic monarch of the cloud, 
 
 Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
 To hear the tempest trumpings loud 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — DRAKE. 
 
 And see the lightning lances driven. 
 When strive the warriors of the storm, 
 
 And rolls the thunder-drum of Heavesa, 
 Child of the Sun ! to thee 't is given 
 
 To guard the banner of the free ; 
 To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
 To ward away the battle-stroke ; 
 And bid its blendings shine afar, 
 Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 
 
 The harbingers of victory ! 
 
 Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
 The sign of hope and triumph high. 
 When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
 And the long line comes gleaming on, — - 
 Ere yet the life-blood, warm and°wet,' 
 Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,— 
 Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
 To where thj sky-born glories burn ; 
 And, as his springing steps advance, 
 Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
 And, when the cannon-mouthings loud 
 Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
 And gory sabres rise and fall 
 Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 
 Ihen shall thy meteor glances glow, 
 
 And cowering foes shall fall beneath 
 Mch gallant arm that strikes below 
 
 That lovely messenger of death. 
 Flag of the seas ! on ocean's wave 
 Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave 
 When Death, careering on the gale, 
 Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
 And frighted waves rush wildly back, 
 Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
 Each dying wanderer of the sea 
 Shall look at once to Heaven and thee: 
 And smile to see thy splendors %, 
 In triumph, o'er his closing eye. 
 
 Flag of the free heart's hope and home 
 ±sy angel hands to Valor given ! 
 
 Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 
 And all thy hues were born in Heaven 
 
 i^orever float that standard sheet ! 
 
 Where breathes the foe but falls before ruu 
 A /^^^ soil beneath our feet, 
 And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us t 
 
^fy^ THE STANDARD SPEAKER 
 
 ™ ™ -™ ■ 
 
 The time is now near at hand which must prohably determm. 
 whether Americans are to be freemen or toes ; whether they are to 
 ^vranY pZe ty they can call their own ; whether the,r houses and 
 Ss are to be iuaged and destroyed, and themselves consigned t« a 
 ["wretcheLsrfrom which no human efforts will IcUver them 
 The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the cour 
 j iic tate 01 rai""'" q j ^1 umelentrng enemj 
 
 ?irl:5tel:'c:orb';ave resistance, or the most abject sul. 
 mission We haye, therefore, to resolve to conquer or to die. 
 
 Our own^ our country's honor, calls upon us for a — s and 
 maS"; eTerUon; and i/ we Xl?" 
 
 ■u^=e,'"a:^d\S:fi^^ 
 
 is, to animate and encourage us to great ^"^^ nob e act^n^^^^ The eyes 
 
 mmmsm 
 
 only, and tney navo endeavor to intimidate 
 
 various occasions by a ^^ppo ed with firmness and cool- 
 
 their men are conscious ot it ; and, ir opposca witu v„^^U,lo-fl 
 
 until he is sure of doing execution. 
 
 «, TO THE ARMY OF ITALY, MAY 15, im. -Napoleon Bonaparte. B. 1769 jd. 1821 
 Original Translation. 
 
 S-^natSS^lS^^^^ 
 'F^ct^kilan ^ yours; and over all ^om^-^^^^^^f '^^^^^^^ 
 
 %Stwl:e«S.^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
MiiHTIAL AND POPULAR. LAMAMZNE. 
 
 151 
 
 daj Tho^vvauntedrampartsof Italy proved insufficient, ^ou trav 
 ersed them as rapidly as you did the Apennines. Successes sa 
 Qumci'ous and brilliant have carried joy to the heart of your country 
 Your representatives have decreed a festival, to be celebrated in ali 
 the communes of the Republic, in honor of your victories. There will 
 jour fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, all who hold you dear, reioict. 
 over your trmmphs, and boast that you belong to them 
 
 Yes, Soldiers, you have done much ; but much still remains for you 
 to do. bhall^ It be said of us that we knew how to conquer, but not 
 to profit by vic-tory ? Shall posterity reproach us with having found 
 a Capua m Lombardy ? Nay, fellow-'soldiers ! I see you alreadv 
 eager to cry " to arms ! " Inaction fatigues you; and days lost to 
 glory are to you days lost to happiness. Let us, then, be-one ! We 
 have yet many forced marches to make ; enemies to vanquish ; laurels 
 to gather; and injuries to avenge! Let those who have sharpened 
 the poniards of civil war in France, who have pusillanimously assassi- 
 nated our Ministers, who have burned our vessels at Toulon — le< 
 them now tremble ! The hour of vengeance has knolled ' 
 
 But let not the People be disquieted. We are the friends of everT 
 People: and more especially of the descendants of the Brutuses, the 
 bciDios and other great men to whom we loot as bright exemplars. To 
 reestablish the Capitol ; to place there with honor the statues of the 
 neroes who made it memorable; to rouse the Roman People, un- 
 nerved by many centuries of oppression, - such will be some of the 
 fruits of our victories They will constitute an epoch for posterity, 
 loyou, Soldiers will belong the immortal honor of redeeming the 
 fairest portion of Europe. The French People, free and respected by 
 he wnole world, shall give to Europe a glorious peace, which shah 
 mdemmfy It for all the sacrifices which it has borne, the last ciz 
 years. Then, by your own firesides you shall repose ; and your fellow- 
 
 48. LORD BYRON TO THE GREEKS. - Alphonse De Lamartine. 
 Original Translation. 
 
 A STRANGER to jour dime, O men of Greece ! — born under a sun 
 less pure of an ancestry less renowned, than youi-s,-I feel how 
 unworthy .s the^offering of the life I bring you- you, who numb^ 
 kin^ heroes and demi-gods, among your progenitors^ But, through 
 out the world wherever the lustre of your history has shed its rays 
 -wherever the heart of man has thrilled at the thought of g orZr 
 nd h °f misfortune, -Greece may'count I frLd 
 
 ^d her children an avenger. I come not here in the vain hone to 
 -timulate the courage of men already roused and resolved OnTso^ 
 cry remained for you, and you have uttered it. Your lanrnm^c ha^ 
 »ow one only word - Liberty - Ah! what other invSofn^ 
 
f52 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 
 
 the men of Sparta — of Athens — to bid them rise? Ihese Wu4 
 Heavens, these mountains, these waters, — here , are your orators — 
 here is your present Demosthenes ! Wherever the eye caa range, 
 wherever the feet can tread, your consecrated &:)il recounts a ^tri- 
 umph or a glorious death. From Leuctra to Marathon, every mch 
 of ground responds to you — cries to you — for vengeance! liberty 
 !;rlory ' virtue ! country ! These voices, which tyrants cannot stifle, 
 demand, — not words, but steel. 'T is here ! Receive it ! Arm . Lek 
 the thirsting earth at length be refreshed with the blood of^her op- 
 pressors' What sound more awakening to the brave than the clank 
 of his country's fetters ? Should the sword ever tremble m your 
 0-rasr), remember yesterday ! think of to-morrow ! t i u 
 
 ° For myself, in return for the alliance which I bring you, 1 ask but 
 the recompense of an honorable grave. I ask but the privilege of 
 shedding my blood with you, in your sacred cause. I ask but to 
 know, in dying, that I too belong to Greece — to liberty ! Yes, might 
 the Pilgrim hope that, on the pillars of a new Parthenon, his name 
 might, one day, be inscribed,— or, that in the nobler mausoleum ot 
 your hearts his memory might be cherished, — he were well content. 
 The tomb where Freedom weeps can never have been prematurely 
 reached by its inmate. Such martyrdom is blessed, indeed. Whal 
 bigaer fortune can ambition covet? 
 
 ). BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE, 1809 —Rev Charles Wolfe. 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
 As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 
 
 Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
 O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 
 
 We buried him darkly, at dead of night, 
 
 The sods with , our bayonets turning ; 
 l5y the struggling moonbeams' misty light, 
 
 And the lantern dimly burning. 
 
 No useless coffin enclosed his breast. 
 
 Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we wound him ; 
 
 But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest, 
 With his martial cloak around him. 
 
 Few and short were the prayers we said. 
 
 And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
 But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead 
 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 
 We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 
 
 And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 
 That the foe and the stranger wouM tread o'er \m head» 
 
 Ani we far awa/ on the billow ! 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — CAMPBELL, 
 
 Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone, 
 
 And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
 But little he 'ii reck, if they let him sleep on, 
 In the grave where a Briton has laid him ! 
 
 But half of our heavy task was done, 
 
 When the clock struck the hour for retiring 
 
 And we heard the distant and random gun. 
 That the foe was sullenly firing. 
 
 Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
 
 From the field of his fame, fresh and gory ! 
 
 We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, 
 But we left him — alone with his glory ! 
 
 m. THE BATTLE 0¥ HOHENLINDEN, 1800. — TAoTrcoa CampbeU 
 
 On Linden when the sun was low, 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow 
 At id dark as winter was the flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 But Linden saw another sight, 
 When the drum beat at dead of night, 
 Commanding fires of death to light 
 The darkness of her scenery. 
 
 By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, 
 Each warrior drew his battle-blade. 
 And furious every charger neighed, 
 To join the dreadful revelry. 
 
 Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 
 Then rushed the steeds to battle driven, 
 And louder than the bolts of Heaven 
 Far flashed the red artillery. 
 
 And redder yet those fires shall glow 
 On Linden's hills of blood-stained snow , 
 And darker yet shall be the flow 
 Of Iser rolling rapidly. 
 
 T is morn ; but scarce yon lurid sun 
 Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
 While furious Frank and fiery Hun 
 
 Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 
 
 The combat deepens. On, ye brave 
 Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
 Wav?, Munich, all thy banners wave 
 
 Ard charge with all thy chivilry » 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Ah ! few shall part where many meet 
 The snow shall be their winding-sbjset. 
 And every turf beneath their feet 
 
 Sha^l be a soldier's sepulchre 
 
 61 &ONG OP THE GREEKS 1S22. — Thomas Campbell. 
 
 Again to the battle, Achaians ! 
 
 Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance , 
 Qui land, — the first garden of Liberty's tree, — 
 It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free 
 
 For the cross of our faith is replanted. 
 
 The pale dying crescent is daunted, 
 And we march that the foot-prints of Mahomet's siaves 
 May be washed out in blood from our forefathers' gravefc 
 
 Their spirits are hovering o'er us, 
 
 And the sword shall to glory restore us. 
 
 Ah ! what though no succor advances, 
 Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances 
 
 Are stretched in our aid ? — Be the combat our owu ! 
 
 And we Tj perish or conquer more proudly alone ; 
 For we 've sworn by our country's assaulters, 
 3y the Ttrgins they've dragged from our altars, 
 
 Sy our"" massacred patriots, our children in chains. 
 
 By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins, 
 That, living, we will be victorious. 
 Or that, dying, our deaths shall be glorious. 
 
 A breath of submission we breathe not : 
 The sword that we 've drawn we will sheathe aot 
 Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid. 
 And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade. 
 Earth may hide, waves engulf, fire consume us, 
 But they shall not to slavery doom us : 
 If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves : — 
 But we 've smote them already with fire on the waves, 
 And new triumphs on land are before us ; — 
 To the charge ! — Heaven's banner is o'er us. 
 
 This day — shall ye blush for its story ? 
 
 Or brighten your lives with its glory ? — 
 Our women — 0, say, shall they shriek in despair. 
 Or embrace us from conquest, with wreaths in their hair ? 
 
 Accursed may his memory blacken. 
 
 If a coward there be that would slacken 
 Till we 've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth 
 Being sprung from, and named for, the gfod-like of earth 
 
MARTIAL AND POPULAR.— CAMPBELL. 
 
 158 
 
 Strike home ! — and the world shall revere ns 
 As heroes descended from heroes. 
 
 Old Greece lightens up with emotion ! 
 
 Her inlands, her isles of the ocean, 
 Fanes rebuilt, and fair towns, shall with jubilee ring-, 
 And the Nine shall new hallow their Helicon's spring. 
 
 Our hearths shall be kindled in gladness, 
 ^ That were cold, and extinguished in sadness 
 Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white waving aima 
 Smgmg joj to the brave that delivered their charms,— 
 
 When the blood of jon Mussulman cravens 
 
 Shall have crimsoned the beaks of our ravens ! 
 
 52. FALL OF WARSAW, 1794. - Thomas Campbell. 
 
 0 ! SACRED Truth ! thv triumph ceased a while, 
 And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 
 When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wara 
 Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars 
 Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn. 
 Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn ! 
 Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
 Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 
 
 Warsaw's last champion from her heights surveyed 
 Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid — 
 0 Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save! 
 Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
 Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains. 
 Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains I 
 By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, 
 And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! 
 
 He said; and on the rampart heights arrayed 
 His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed ; 
 
 Firm paced and slow, a horrid front they form. 
 
 Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; ' 
 
 Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly,— . 
 
 "Revenge, or death ! " — the watchword and reply ; 
 
 Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm. 
 
 And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm \ 
 In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ' 
 
 From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew ,~ 
 
 0 ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
 
 Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
 
 Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
 
 Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 
 
 Propped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear 
 
56 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Olosed her bright eye, and curbed her high career 
 Hope for a seascn, bade the world farewell, 
 And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciusko fell ! 
 
 0 righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave, 
 Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? 
 Where was thine arm, 0 vengeance ! where thy rod, 
 That smote the foes of Sion and of God ? 
 
 Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
 Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 
 Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, 
 Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 
 Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 
 And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
 0 ! once again to Freedom's cause return 
 The patriot Tell,— the Bruce of Bannockburn 
 
 Yes, thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 
 That man hath yet a soul, — and dare be free f 
 A little while, along thy saddening plains, 
 The starless night of Desolation reigns ; 
 Truth shall restore the light by Nature given. 
 And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven ! 
 Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled, 
 Her name, h3r nature, withered from the world ' 
 
 53 MARCO B0Z2JkB.IS, —Fitz-Greene Halleck. 
 
 Ma TO Bozzaris, the Epaninonaas of modern Greece, fell In a night attack apon the Turkic 
 »Sp at KS the site of the ancient Plat^a, August 20, 1823, and expired mJLe a.omeat d 
 Kiy. Hi3 last words were : - To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a paia. 
 
 At midnight, in his guarded tent, 
 
 The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
 When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
 
 Should tremble at his power : 
 In dreams through camp and court he bore 
 The trophies of a conqueror ; 
 
 In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
 Then wore his monarch's signet ring, — 
 Then pressed that monarch's throne,^ — a king 
 As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing 
 
 As Eden's garden bird. 
 
 An hour passed on, — the Turk awoke • 
 
 That bright dream was his last ; 
 He woke, to hear his sentries shriek, — 
 " To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! thi Greek ' 
 He woke, to die midst flame and smok^, 
 And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 
 
 And death-shots falling thick and fast 
 
MARTIAL AND POPOLAR. — HALLECK, 
 
 As lightnings from the mountain cloud , 
 And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 
 
 Bozzaris cheer his band : — 
 " Strike — till the last armed foe expires ! 
 Strike — for your altars and your fires ! 
 Strike — for the green graves of your sires . 
 
 God, and your native land I " 
 
 They fought, like brave men, long and well ; 
 
 They piled the ground with Moslem slain ; 
 They conquered ; but Bozzaris fell, 
 
 Bleeding at every vein. 
 His few surviving comrades saw 
 His smile, when rang their proud hurrah, 
 
 And the red field was won ; 
 Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
 Calmly, as to a night's repose, 
 
 Like flowers at set of sun. 
 
 Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 
 
 Come to the mother's when she feels 
 For the first time her first-born's breath ; 
 
 Come when the blessed seals 
 That close the pestilence are broke. 
 And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
 Come in Consumption's ghastly form. 
 The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
 Come when the heart beats high and warm, 
 
 With banquet song, and dance, and win0,-iss 
 And thou art terrible : the tear, 
 The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier 
 And all we know, or dream, or fear. 
 
 Of agony, are thine. 
 
 But to the hero, when his sword 
 
 Has won the battle fbr the free. 
 Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
 And in its hollow tones are heard 
 
 The thanks of millions yet to be. 
 Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 
 
 Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
 Rest thee : there is no prouder grave, 
 
 Even in her own proud clime. 
 
 We tell thy doom without a sigh , 
 For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's^" 
 One of the few, the immortal names, 
 
 That were not boi'n to die ! 
 
15 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKE2. 
 
 54 THE SEMINOLE'S DEFIANCE. — G. W. Patten 
 
 Blaze, with your serried columns ! I \? ill not bend the knee ; 
 The shackle ne'er again shall bind the arm which now is free ! 
 I 've mailed it with the thunder, when the tempest muttered low , 
 And 77here it falls, ye well may dread the lightning of its blow. 
 [ 've scared you in the city ; I 've scalped you on the plain ; 
 Gro, count your chosen where they fell beneath my leaden rain ! 
 [ scorn your proffered treaty ; the pale-face I defy ; 
 Revenge is stamped upon my spear, and " blood " my battle-cry ! 
 
 Some strike for hope of booty ; some to defend their all ; — 
 
 I battle for the joy I have to see the white man fall. 
 
 I love, among the wounded, to hear his dying moan, 
 
 And catch, while chanting at his side, the music of his groan. 
 
 Ye 've trailed me through the forest ; ye 've tracked me o'er the stream 
 
 And struggling through the everglade your bristling bayonets gleam 
 
 But I stand as should the warrior, with his rifle and his spear ; 
 
 The scalp of vengeance still is red, and warns you, — " Come not here ! 
 
 Think ye to find my homestead ? — I gave it to the fire. 
 
 My tawny household do ye seek ? — I am a childless sire. 
 
 But, should ye crave life's nourishment, enough I have, and good ; 
 
 I live on hate, — 't is all my bread ; yet light is not my food. 
 
 I loathe you with my bosom ! I scorn you with mine eye ! 
 
 And I '11 taunt you with my latest breath, and fight you till I die ! 
 
 [ ne'er will ask for quarter, and I ne'er will be your slave ; 
 
 But I '11 swim the sea of slaughter till I sink beneath the wave ! 
 
 66. BATTLE HYMN. — Theodore Korner. Born, 1791 ; fell in battle, 1813. 
 
 Father of earth and Heaven ! I call thy name ! 
 
 Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll ; 
 My eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame ; 
 
 Father ! sustain an untried soldier's soul. 
 
 Or life, or death, whatever be the goal 
 That crowns or closes round the struggling hour, 
 
 Thou knowest, if ever from my spirit stole 
 One deeper prayer, 't was that no cloud might lower 
 On my young fame ! — 0 hear ! God of eternal power ! 
 
 Now for the fight ! Now for the cannon-peal ! 
 
 Forward, — through blood, and toil, and cloud, and fir« 
 Glorious the shout, the shock, the crash of steel, 
 
 The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire ! 
 
 They shake ! like broken waves their squares retire ! 
 On them, hussars ! Now give them rein and heel ; 
 
 Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire : 
 Earth cries for blood ! In thunder oil them wheel ! 
 This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph-seal 
 
TART THIRD. 
 
 SENATORIAL. 
 
 1. AGAINST PHILIP. -Dem»«4™.,. Original T,an,lalU,n. 
 
 .■iira\T4S:r;irii*o! "s? ?L!tfsrL°;t'? i-" "°* ^« -^^ 
 
 vhocgh his lun-» were \7eak hi^ pvHr., if ^ • he determined to study elDouence. 
 
 impediments heovZ 'n^Ilf^^^^^^ his gestures awkwid. ^Tbesa 
 
 don, alarmed the Greci-.-n stated ^Jl^o t t|ie encroachments of Philip, Kin- of Mace- 
 
 ■ of harangues, so celebrat^rtha^ s^m?l« r:^.'^^' --^^^e^bis countrymen to resistance by a sS 
 lnfluence%yhich he a^quTred hf emp Iv^^^ T'l^ef- "^'^^ ^^^"^^ Philippics. S 
 
 come down of his cowardice anrv^S^bdl^^^^^^^ 'r^' charges that have 
 
 «lgMh and m„,h Philippic,, Si/,, io^ Le^hS « :TT'J'°''J''^ 
 Cro™, are chiefly tra„Wfrom Sti*vcSt?SlS Vvyy^S^TcrSf "'^ °° 
 
 Begin 0 Men of Athens, by not despairing of your situation how 
 ever deplorable it may seem; for the%ery cause of C form^ 
 reyerses oilers the best encounxgement for the future/°L how 
 fce tr*""'""''' ^ brought about your disasters' 
 
 If these had come upon you in spite of your £ost strenuous eirti^n ' 
 hen only might all hopes of an amelioration in your affdrs ab"n' 
 du?W m ?' H «™"try"^»-' when^ will y fd 
 
 R?;' ■ ^"ly- » «™nt ! or else, by jLter neces 
 
 lor my^,ell, 1 can conceive of no necessity more ursjent to free snnk 
 than the pressure of dishonor. Tell me, is it your wfeh to go atou 
 FlT'u^""' ™^ »o««"»ally, asking, '.y/iXs there 
 
 new ? Ah ! what should there be new if not tl nt I ul ^ • 
 «>uld _r Athens, and lord it over gT^ e ? " Is p\iKd'" 
 
 are ^uteTe^h^r to W ^"^^ « Athenia'ns, that non of you 
 
(60 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Lei, us but attack, 0, Athenians, and the war itself will disclose the 
 enemy's weak point. But, if we tarry at home, lazily listening ta 
 Bpeech-makers, in their emulous abuse of one another, never, — no. 
 never, shall we accomplish a single necessary step ! . i • 
 
 Some among you, retailing the news, affirm that Philip is plotting 
 with Lacedsemon the ruin of Thebes and the dismemberment of our 
 democracies; others make him send ambassadors to the Great King; 
 others tell he is fortifying 'places in lUyria. All have their differ- 
 ent stories. For myself, Athenians, I do, by the Gods, believe that 
 this man is intoxicated by his magnificent exploits ; I believe that a 
 thousand dazzling projects lure his imagination ; and that, seeing no 
 barrier opposed to his 'career, he is inflated by success. But, trust me, 
 he does not so combine his plans that all our fools of low degree may 
 penetrate them; which fools — who are they but the gossips? If, 
 leavin<y them to their reveries, we would consider that this man is our 
 enemy^ — our despoiler, — that we have long endured his insolence ; 
 that all the succors, on which we counted, have been turned against 
 as; that henceforth our only resource is in ourselves ; that, to refuse 
 now to carry the war into his dominions, would surely be to imposo 
 upon us the fatal necessity of sustaining it at the gates of Athens • 
 — if we would comprehend all this, we should then know what it im- 
 ports us to know, and discard all idiot conjectures. For it is not your 
 duty to dive into the future ; but it does behoove you to look in the face 
 the calamities which that future must bring, unless you shake off your 
 present heedless inactivity. 
 
 2. DEQENERACT OF ATHENS. — DemosiAenes. Original Translation. 
 
 Contrast, 0 men of Athens, your conduct with that of your an 
 cestors. Loyal towards the People of Greece, religious towards tht, 
 Gods, faithful to the rule of civic equality, they mounted, by a siir4 
 path, to the summit of prosperity, mat is your condition, under 
 your present complaisant rulers ? Is it still the same ? Has it m any 
 respect changed ? In how many ! I confine myself to this simple 
 fact: Sparta prostrate, Thebes occupied elsewhere, — with no power 
 capable of disputing our sovereignty, — able, in fact, m the peaceable 
 possession of our own domains, to be the umpire of other Nations, — 
 what have we done? We have lost our own provinces; and dissi 
 pated, with no good result, more than fifteen hundred talents ; the 
 allies which we had gained by war your counsellors have deprived us 
 of by peace; and we have trained up to power our formidable tor. 
 Whosoever denies this, let him stand forth, and tell me where, then, 
 has this Philip drawn his strength, if not from the very bosom of 
 
 Athens ? , , i • * • . 
 
 Ah ' but surely, if abroad we have been weakened, our interior 
 administration is more flourishing. And what are the evidences of 
 this ? A few whitewashed ramparts, repaired roads, fountains, baga. 
 
SENATOEIAl. DEMOSTHENES. Jgl 
 
 seilw ' Turn — turn your eyes on the functionaries, to whom we 
 we these vaaitjes. This one lr,as passed from mise,; t^ opuhnZ 
 hat one, from obscanty to splendor. Another has buUt for Sf 
 sumptuous palaces, wh,ch look down upon the edifices of the Se 
 Indeed, the more the public fortunes have declined, the more C 
 .ter, ascended. Tell us the meaning of these contracts! Why 
 hat formerly all pro«T,ered, while now all is in jeopardy ^ ^It T 
 because formerly the feople, itself, daring to wage war, was the maL 
 er of .ts fi,nct,onaries, the soyoreign dispenser°of all firor ^ 
 because md.vidual citizens wore then glad to receive from the Peonk 
 honors, magistracies benefits. How Ire the times chanled' 
 favors are in the gift of our functionaries ; everything is undo; thtil 
 ^ntro; while you -you, the People !- enervated fn your habitT 
 mutilated m your means, and weakened in your allies stand 1 ke 
 so many supernumeraries and lackeys, too happy f yon worthy 
 chiefs distribute to you the fund for the theatre -if they thTow to 
 you a meagre pittance! And-la.t degree of baseness !- you ki" 
 the hand wmoh thus makes largess to you of your own ! Do the 
 not imprison you within your own wallsf beguile you te your n^P 
 tame you and fashion yon to their yoke? Never! 0 'never oT a 
 
 unworthy actions ! The life is necessarily the image of the heart And 
 your degeneracy -by Heaven, I should not be suro'ised if I in 
 
 WeTil'ht'r toTt^™' ^^P""" ^^'l'- those'; 
 
 nave biought you to it, to your resentment ! To be candid franknes, 
 of peech does not every day gain the entrance of your ears and 
 that you suffer it now, may well be matter of astonishment! ' 
 
 3. A DEMOCRACY HATEFUL TO PHILIP. OrV„,i TranslCo.. 
 
 e.Zf'^ PT'"™, 7™' 0 Athenians, who think to con- 
 
 found a speaker by asking,^ What, then, is to be done ? " To which 
 
 testable tact, that Philip has broken your treaties, _ that he ha.« 
 doc bred war against you. Let us have no more crimination and 
 
 our Iibeity-our neniocratic system. For the destruction of that 
 all his snares are laid, all his projects are shaped ' And in thi« 
 « he no consistent ? He is well aware that, thoCh he shou d sui 
 lugate all the rest of Greece, his conquest ^uld be insetre whik 
 your Democracy stands. He knows th'at, should he xperience on 
 
J 02 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Of those reverses to which the lot of humanity is so liaolc, it would 
 be int^ your arm? that all those Nations, now forcibly held ua<ier hii 
 yoke, would rush. Is there a Tyrant to be driven back ? - Athens 
 in tVo field ! Is there a People to be enfranchised ? -ho. Alliens, 
 prompt to aid ! What wonder, then, that Philip should be impatier^ 
 while Athenian liberty is a spy upon his evil days ?^ Be sure U mj 
 Bountrymcn, that he is your irreconcilable foe ; that it is against Ath^ 
 3113 that he musters and disposes all his armaments; against Athene 
 that all his schemes are laid. . . n n^^^ 4^ 
 
 What, then, ought you, as wise men, convmced of these tiuttis, w 
 do ^ Yon ought to shake off your fatal lethargy, contribute accord- 
 ing to your means, summon your allies to contribute ^^^^'^^ 
 ures to retain the troops already under arms ; so that, if Philip has an 
 army prepared to attack and subjugate all the Greeks, you may al o 
 have^ one ready to succor and to save them. Tell me not of the 
 trouble and expense which this will involve. I grant al^ - Jj^t 
 consider the dangers that menace you, and how much you wiU ^e the 
 eainers by engaging heartily, at once, m the general cause, indeed 
 Should some God assure you that, however inactive and —^-^ 
 you might remain, yet, in the end, you should not be molested by 
 Philip, still it would be ignominious,--be witness. Heaven. --It 
 would be beneath you - beneath the dignity of your State -beneath 
 The glory of your ancestors - to sacrifice, to your own selfish repose, 
 the interests of all the rest of Greece. Rather would I perish than 
 recommend such a course ! Let some other man urge it upon you, it 
 he will ; and listen to him, if yo. can. But, if my ^-timents are 
 yours, -if you foresee, as I do, that the more we leave Philip 
 to extend his conquests, the more we are fortifying an enemy whom 
 sooner or later, we must cope with, - why do you hesitate ? What 
 wait you? When will you put forth jonr strength 1 WW t^e 
 constraint of necessity? What necessity do you wait? Can there 
 be a greater for freemen than the prospect of dishonor ? Do you wait 
 for that? It is here already; it presses - it weiglis on us now. 
 Now, did I say? Long since -long since, was it before us, face to 
 face True, there is still another necessity in reserve— the necessity ot 
 blows and stripes! Wait you for ^/.m ? The Gods forbid ' 
 The very words, in this place, are an indignity ! 
 
 4. VENALITY THE RUIN OF GREECE. -W. Original Translation. 
 
 If ever, 0 men of Athens, the People of Greece felt the rigor of 
 your rule, or of that of Sparta, their masters were at least their 
 Sntrym;n. But where is our just indignation against Philip a^^^^ 
 ais usurpations? -Philip, who is no Greek, and no way allied to 
 S^e"ph::ip,whois not even a Barbarian of illustrious origin, 
 kit a miserable Macedonian, born in a country where not even a 
 decent Slav, could be procured ! And yet, has he not extoted hi» 
 
SENATOEIAL. — jESCHlNES 
 
 r^urct» of outage against us? Without mentiomiig too Grecian 
 
 SlTft 7. .^"^ ^''^ ^ ™' -von himself to p?^ 
 
 Bde at the )'y*ian games, a celebration exclusively national V And 
 
 Ltrnf tT'"''' "^"T f^T"^ '^'^^^ crowns 
 
 Master of Ihermopyhe, and of all the passes of Greece, does he not 
 hold these p-#^ by his garrisons and foreign troops? Does he not 
 place goverrws over Thessaly, at his pleasure ? Has he not wres^ 
 fechmus from the Thebans ? Is he not, at this moment, on his ma^ 
 against By™tmm - Byzantium, the ally of Athens ! And if such 
 
 And no-v, why is all this ? For, not without a cause could Greece 
 
 IS h. re. Once, 0 Athenians, in the hearts of all our People a senfi- 
 ment pr'-sided which is paramount no more; a sentiment wh^ch to 
 hTinI "^"a ^"'T fr«c, and Iivincible 
 
 min andTfvTh ' ^ .1°^°^ sentiment has brought down 
 ram and left the country m the dust. What was it — this senti 
 
 N: it'w^r"'"' ' ft -btle policy o?Sta?e 
 
 No It was a universal hatred for the bribed traitors, in L pay of 
 hose Powers, seeking to subdue or dishonor Greece! Venali[y w 
 a capital oifence, and punished with the extremest rigor. pZZn 
 pa lia^ion, were not thought of. And so, orators and |enerals ouTd 
 not with impunity barter those favorable conjunctures which Fortune 
 oftentim^^ presents to negligence and inactivity, against vigilance and 
 
 lyiants and Barbarians, all the guarantees of liberty, were inac- 
 ces^le to the power of gold. But now all these are off rid for Je 
 
 mota sThich 1' ^Y' ^ f ™ l'^™ ™PO'-t-tion of 
 
 exhMt r"^';"; f^/^'"*'"?. »d roying Greece. What do they 
 exhibit I Envy, for the recipient of base bribes ; derision, should he 
 towal Ms"""'' Pr*."'«l^°«l'J,I'« be convicted; and l-eseutmen 
 co^ption ^ ™>-'J. ti-^ laxities which engender 
 
 in In ISf '"jT^.i"' ™ ™™™ '•««0"'-ces of war, 
 
 monrt;,ffl. ^ r% !?y^"**g'=,^ paralyzed, crushed, by an infa, 
 mons traffic. And all this you behold with your own eres, and my 
 tetimony m regard to it is quite superfluous ! J- ' my 
 
 * ~he™ ™™ce"d._^,.1.,„„«. ^,^.„^ 
 
 ,«»r f"^ ?™the„es boasts to you, 0 Athenians, of his Democratic 
 
 be, but what he really ,s ; _ redoubtable in words, impotent m deeds 
 plausible m speech, perfidious in action. As to hiL coLge - hThe 
 
 fiy the laws of Athens, the man who refuses to bear arms, the eowari 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 .he desefter of his post in battle, is excluded from all share in tht 
 piiMic deliberations — denied admission to our religious rites, m6 
 rendered incapable of receiving the honor of a crown Yet now it i£ 
 proposed to crown a man whom your laws expressly disqualify 
 
 Which, think you, was the more worthy citizen, — TheniLstocles.whc 
 commarided your fleet when you vanquished the Persian at Salamis,. 
 or Demosthenes the deserter ? — Miltlades, who conquered the barba- 
 rian^ at Marathon, or this hireling traitor ?— AristTdes, suriiamed the 
 Just, or Demosthenes, who merits a far different suniame ? By all 
 the Gods of Olympus, it is a profanation to mention m the same breath 
 this monster and those great men ! Let him cite, if he can, one among 
 them all to whom a crown was decreed. And was Athens ungrate- 
 ful? No' She was magnanimous ; and those uncrowned citizens were 
 worthy of Athens. They placed their glory, not in the letter ot a 
 decree, but in the remembrance of a country, of which they had mer 
 ited well, — in the living, imperishable remembrance ! 
 
 And now a popular orator — the mainspring of our calamities — a 
 deserter from the field of battle, a deserter from the city - claims ot 
 us a crown, exacts the honor of a proclamation ! Crown Imn ? Fro- 
 claim Ms worth ? My countrymen, this would not be to exalt Demos- 
 thenes but to degrade yourselves, - to dishonor those brave men who 
 perished for you in battle. Crown Mm/ ShaU recreancy wm 
 what was denied to their devotion? This would mdeed be o msult 
 the memory of the dead, and to paralyze the emulation ot the iivmg . 
 
 When Demosthenes tells you that, as ambassador, he wrested 
 Byzantium from Philip, — that, as orator, he roused the Acarnanians, 
 and subdued the Thebans, — let not the braggart impose on you He 
 aatters himself that the Athenians are simpletons enough to believe 
 him —as if in him they cherished the very genius of persuasion, 
 instead of a vile calumniator. But, when, at the close of his defence, 
 he shall summon to his aid his accomplices in corruption, imagine then 
 0 Athenians, that you behold, at the foot of this tribune, from which 1 
 now address you, the great benefactors of the Republic arrayed against 
 them Solon, who environed our liberty with the noblest institutions, 
 — Solon, the philosopher, the mighty legislator, — with that benignity 
 BO characteristic, implores you not to pay more regard to the honeyed 
 phrases of Demosthenes than to your own oaths your own laws. 
 Aristides, who fixed for Greece the apportionment of her contributions, 
 fnd whos; orphan daughters were dowered by the People, is move^ to 
 indignation at this prostitution of justice, and exclaims: ^ Thmk on 
 vour fathers ! Arthmius of Zelia brought gold from Media into orrecce. 
 Ld for the act, barely escaped death in banishment ; and now Demo8. 
 thenes, who has not merely brought gold, but who received it as the 
 price of treachery, and still retains it, — Demosthene^ it is unblush 
 S proposed to invest with a golden crown ! " From those who 
 fell at Marathon and at Platoea-from Theimstocles - from the very 
 Bcpxilchres of your ancestors — issues the protesting groan ot conioui. 
 nation and rebuke 1 
 
BENATORIAL. DEMOSTHENES. 165 
 
 ft ^ORDmM.-Demostkenes on ae Crown. Lord BrougUm^s T '^^jUz<.^. 
 
 ^Isohines became a sti4uous -idvoca e of< oL, on? '^'1^'^ ^n^:'^"- ^^'^ ^^^'^^ Philip, 
 lately in favor of active resi^l^^r Af^^^^^^^^^^ be-in,^ as resS 
 
 irith the repairiiijr. of tlie fortifications of (-Hp p ^^T"f^' ^^^mosthenes was intrusted 
 
 of which he paid three fron h ow Zrse Pt*^ f^h °^ ^-^'^ ^hi'-^^^" talents, 
 
 ^oted him. ^Eschines L ntained hat nndP, ^ proposed that a ^^olden crown should hi 
 brought a suit nomina l^St S^^^^ "^""T'^' ^"^^^1. and 
 
 causes, the trial was delayed ef.ht yeafs ' if last it c^^^^^^ Demosthenes From various 
 groat effort. But Demosthenes was hTeskV;h1; u V>! '^'^^^on;' f«^cuser's speech was a 
 
 t*.rs," is the phrase which LoS a pHes o t^^^^ T^^' ^^'^^^^'^^^ ^'^^ 
 
 acquitted by a considerable majority/^sclS wSt Ctesiphon wa* 
 
 set up a school of rhetoric. He once read thP mUIf .f i^ ban shment at Rlodes, where hs 
 their expressing theii- ad^-ation of It hfsaS ' ^^^^ Demosthenes to his pupils. Upon 
 
 tbe lion hLmselt7" ^-^"o^^ said, What would you have thought, had you heard 
 
 Power,Th,fT' f • ™P'°™g' of Heavenly 
 
 mv Sl^ 1 <■ ."^"k t'ndly sentiments which I have, ti,ro„ghout 
 m~ h ' ."I"' towards this country and eaeh one of you, 
 may now by you be shown towards me in the present contest! ' In 
 two respects my adversary plainly has the advantige of me. First we 
 
 to untler 1 f f • , """^ unprovoked 
 
 mt?,v 1 ' ™P'^*™«nt- My other disadvantage is, the 
 
 natural proneness of men to lend a pleased attention to invective and 
 accusation, but to g,ve little heed to him whose theme is his own rin- 
 dicaf on. To my adversary, therefore, falls the part which mTnisto' 
 to your gratiacafon, while to me there is only left that whic™rmay 
 almost say, ,s distasteful to all. And yet, if I do not speai of myS 
 
 "dwThoT -^°f"f*'I^l'f defenceless against his chX" 
 
 jnd w thout proof that my honora were well earned This, therefore 
 
 the blame of my dwe Img on personal topics must justly rest upon him 
 who has instituted this personal Impeachment. upon mm 
 
 At least, my Judges, you will admit that this question concerns me 
 Z Z ^.'^'t^'P''™' ™d Justifies on my part an eaual anxiety To 
 be stripped of any possession, and more especially by an enemy is 
 gnevous to b^r; but to be robbed of your co'nfidenfe and e teem!'-! 
 of all possessions he most precious, -is indeed intolerable. Such 
 th«n being my stake in this cause, I coniure you all to give ear to 
 mv defence against these charges, with that imnartialit/whicrth^ 
 
 onTv ^"J°"''-.tl'°^t'"™ which he fixed. Z 
 
 only by engraving them on brazen tables, but by the sanction of tha 
 oaths you take when sitting in judgment; because he perceived that 
 he accuser being armed with the advantage of speakino fii^t the 
 
 t £ c7!'?i^''"'*'' ^haJl receive with ftvcr 
 
 WI tiTmll ""^"^ last, and, lending an equal ear tolK>th parti^ 
 shaJ I thus make up your mmds upon the whole of the case. 
 
 •Jnt, ca this day, when I am about to render up an account as it 
 
 « m tie outset, implore the Gods, and in you? presence, pour out to 
 
THE STANDAKB SPEAKEK. 
 
 them my supplications,- first, to grant me at your hands the same bnA 
 aess, iu this conliict, which I have ever borne towards our country anC 
 01 of you ; and next, that they may incline you all to pronounce upoi 
 this Imperlchm^nt the decision which shall best consult the g ory of th. 
 SUte, an'' • - . jligious obligations of each mdmdual J udge ! 
 
 7, PUBLIC SPIRIT OF AIHENUNS.— Demosllienes on the Crown. 
 
 tue Athenians never were known to live contented in a slavifil 
 aiou^h secure obedience to unjust and arbitrary power. JNo. Unl 
 whole history is a series of gallant contests for preeminence . the 
 "hole period of our national existence hath been spent m braving dan- 
 Irs for th= sake of glory and renown. And so highly do you esteem 
 S onduct, as chaLteristic of the Athenian ^P^"^'^^^^' '^^f'l 
 your ancestors who were most eminent for it are ever the most fivvor. 
 
 objects of your praise. And with reason: for, who can reflect 
 '^thout astonisLentf on the magnanimity of those men w^o resigned 
 their lands gave up theL- city, and embarked m their ships, latner 
 han a the bidding of a Langer ? The Athenians of that day 
 out for no speaker, no general, to procure them a state of easy 
 kvery! They had the spirit to reject even life, miless they were 
 Sowed to enjoy that life in freedom. For it was a principle fixed 
 Sy in o'i/breast, that man was not born to his parents only, but 
 to ^country. And mark the distinction. He who regards him»clf 
 ^toironly tohis parents waits in passive .submission for the hour 
 rf Z natural dissolution. He who considers that he is the cMd o? 
 his country, also, volunteers to meet death rather than behold that 
 S^^ntiT Snced tova.ssalage; and thinks those insults and disgrae^ 
 which he must endure, in a stote enslaved, much more terrible than 
 
 ^'thoM I attempt to assert that it wa. t who inspired you with sen- 
 timents worthy of your ancestors, I should meet the just resentment 
 "7 hearer. No : it is my point to show that such sentiments 
 Tre properi; your own; that they were the sentiments of my coun rj 
 loi gTefo^ my days. I claim bit my share of merit in having acted 
 in fuch princi^esi every part of "y. adminjstraUon. He^ t^^^^^ 
 condemns every part of my administration, -he who directs you to treat 
 me with severity, as one who hath involved the state m terrors and (^n- 
 ^rsT- while hJ labors to deprive me of present >^onor, robs you of ti« 
 inclause of all posterity. For, if you now pronounce, that, a^ my pub- 
 KXthath^otbeL right, Ctesiphon must stand condemned ^ 
 must be thought that you yourselves have acted wrong, not that you 
 present state to the caprice of fortune -Bu . cannot be ■ 
 No, my .iuntrymen, it cannot be that you hav% acted w,„„g^, 
 ..n<iunteru ' daun-sr bravely for the liberty and safety ot all Uieece. 
 NoTi ^ear it by t^e spirii of our sires who rushed u^n desr.- 
 ton at Marathon! -by those who stood arrayed at Plataea.-b, 
 
SENATORIAL. DEMOSTHENES. 
 
 167 
 
 J hose who fought the sea-fight at Salamis ! — bj the men of AHomi 
 siura ' — by the others, so many and so brave, who now rest in our 
 pubho sepulchres ! — all of whom their country judged worthy of the 
 same honor ; all, I say, ^schlnes; not those only who prevailed no? 
 tnose only who were victorious. — And with reason. What was thp 
 Jjrt of gallant men, they all performed. Their v^ccess was such ae 
 the supreme Kuler of the world dispensed to each 
 
 8. DEMOSTHENES NOT VANQUISHED BY ^IILIF. -Demostkenes on tke Cr^ 
 Lord Brougham's Translation. ^'^um 
 
 A WICKED thing, Athenians, a wicked thing is a calumniator, ever , 
 -querulous and mdustrious in seeking pretences of complaint But 
 this creature is despicable by nature, and incapable of any trace of 
 generous and noble deeds; ape of a tragedian, third-rate actor, spuri- 
 ous orator! For what, ^schines, does your eloquence profit the 
 country? You now descant upon what is past and gone; as if a 
 physician, when called to patients in a sinking state, should give nr 
 advice nor prescribe any course by which the disease mwht be cured 
 but, after one of them had died, and the last offices wer°e pcrformino 
 to his remains, should follow him to the grave, and expound how the 
 poor man never would have died had such and such things only been 
 done. Moonstricken ! is it now that at length you too speak out ? 
 
 As to the defeat, that incident in which you so exult (wretch ' who 
 should rather mourn for it), -look through my whole conduct, and 
 you shall find nothing there that brought down this calamity on my 
 country. Consider only, Athenians : Never, from any embassy upon ' 
 which you sent me, did I come off worsted by Philip's ambassadors; 
 not trom Ihessaly, not from Ambracia, not from Illyria, not from the 
 Ihracian kings, not from the Byzantians, nor from any other qua-ter 
 whatever, — nor finally, of late, from Thebes. But wheresoever \m 
 negotiators were overcome in debate, thither Philip marched, and 
 carried the day by his arms. Do you, then, exact this of me ; and ar€ 
 you not ashamed, at the moment you are upbraiding me for wcakn^s- 
 to require that I should defy him single-handed, and by force of word^ 
 alone ? For what other weapons had I ? Certainly not the lives of 
 men, nor the fortune of warriors, nor the military operations of which 
 you are so blundering as to demand an account at my hands. 
 
 But, whatever a minister can be accountable for, make of hat the 
 Strictest scrutiny, and I do not object. What, then, falls within thia 
 Jescription? To descry events in their first beginnings, to cast his 
 Ior)k forward, and to warn others of their approach. All this I have 
 done. Then, to confine within the narrowest bounds all delays, and 
 backwaMness, and ignorance, and contentiousness, - faults which are 
 inherent and unavoidable in all States ; and, on the other hand, to pro- 
 mote unanimity, and friendly dispositions, and zeal in the oerformancfi 
 •if pubho duty: -and all these things I likewise did. nor €an anv 
 
THE STANDARD &PEAKER. 
 
 man point out any of them that, so far as depended on me. waa iefl 
 
 undone, p i^i 
 
 If, then, it should be asked by what mean? Phihp for the m.)ST. part 
 succeeded in his operations, every one would answer, By army , by 
 his largesses, by corrupting those at ih head of affairs. V\ ell, then, 
 £ neither had armies, nor did I command them ; and therefore^ the 
 aro-ument respecting military operations cannot touch me ^say, m so 
 far as I was inaccessible to bribes, there I conquered 1 hilip l^or, 
 as he who purchases any one overcomes him who has received tho 
 price and sold himself, so he who will not take the money, nor consent 
 to be bribed, has conquered the bidder. Thus, as far as I am con- 
 oerned, this country stands unconquered 
 
 9 CATALINE DENOUNCED. — Cwcro. 
 
 £s oratioS aga^nl Catiline and Verres are masterpieces of denunciatory eloquence. 
 
 How far, 0 Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience ? How long 
 Bbalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career? To what extreme wilt 
 thou carry thy audacity ? Art thou nothing daunted by me nightly 
 watch, posted to secure the Palatium ? Nothing, by the city guards 
 Nothini, by the rally of all good citizens ? Nothing, by the assembling 
 of the Senate in this fortified place ? Nothing, by the averted looks 
 of all here present ? Scest thou not that all thy plots are exposed i 
 — that thy wretched conspiracy is laid bare to every man s knowledge 
 here in the Senate ?- that we are well aware of thy proceedings of 
 last night ; of the night before ; — the place of meeting, the company 
 convoked, the measures concerted? Alas the times! Alas the 
 public morals ! The Senate understands all this. The Consul sees 
 it Yet the traitor lives ! Lives? Ay, truly, and confronts us here 
 in council,- takes part in our deliberations, --- and, with his measur- 
 ing eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter! And we, all this 
 *.hile, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our 
 duty to the State, if we but shun this madman's sword and ury . 
 
 Long since, 0 Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered thee 
 oxscution, and brought upon thy own head the rum thou haJ^t bee^ 
 meditating against others ! There was that virtue once m Rome, t^t 
 9 wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We 
 Uave a law still, Catiline, for thee. Think not that we are powerless, 
 because forbearing. We have a decree, - though it rests among our 
 archives like a sword in its scabbard, -a ^^^^^^l' ^7 f 't/ll^It 
 ^ould be made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And I « 
 
 thee to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt v^hetlleT 
 iJQ good men would not think it done rather too lato than any mm 
 
SEHATOKIAL. — CICEKO. |gp 
 
 ao cruelly But, for good reasons, I wUl vet defer the Wnw I„„- 
 since deserved Tken will I doom thee, when^™ ^n l fold » S 
 
 dear tvhT Vh" '''' ''1' t'-' itwt'u^lt 
 
 th. S r ^? " 'l^™ <!<'f™<l thee, live ' But 
 
 the P'^-^^d -^""d thee, that thou shalt .fot stir f fco 
 
 rdett !L r^w' knowledge. There shall be eZ 
 
 to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest whi^ 
 n^tV^ '^^f'' tli™ «halt not dream. The darkness of niXSu 
 
 f ^""^ "ouosels clear as noon-dav 
 
 m t , there is nothing you can contrive, nothing you can proDose 
 oothmg you can attempt, which I shaU not know, hear and pCCTv 
 antotand. Thou shalt soon l>e made aware hat I am eC mo™ 
 ^u^^^: State thai thoTS 
 
 10. CATIMNE EXPELLED Cicer„ 
 
 B.i;" 'r^'?' ^u"?'' ' We have driven nim 
 
 forth drunk with fury breathing mischief, threatening to revisit 
 mth fire and sword He is gone; he is fled; he has escaned; hTh^ 
 broken awa.y. x,o longer, within the very waUs of the city, shall he 
 
 jon. Ihe bad citizen is now the avowed traitor. His flight is the 
 »ntesion of his treason! Would that his attendants had^Sot been 
 » tew. Be speedy, ye companions of his dissolute pleasures: bo 
 
 Let tlmln "'''^ ^7^^°'' "'S'^'- °° A^relian r aS^ 
 
 Let him not languish, deprived of your society. Haste to join the 
 ongenial crew that compose his army; Ms army, I say,_frwho 
 
 And such an army • Outcasts from honor, and fugitives from debt • 
 SdSarratf* r ^ ' '"^"^^ ^^^^ ^-^^ --^^ 
 
 Against these gallant troops of your adversary, prepare 0 Roman, 
 your garrisons and armies; and first to tb^t-^maild and fettered 
 gkdiator oppose your Consuls and Generals ; next, a-rainst "Lt mii- 
 .We outcast horde, lead forth the strength and floCof a^l ry'' 
 On the one side chastity contends ; on the other, wanton-ncs. hera 
 pur^y. (here pollution; here integrity, there treachery Xepier 
 ftere profaneness; here constancy, there rage ; here honesty S 
 
 fortitude' „™denTT"',*"-\'™V eq^tJ "-i^er no^" 
 
 tortitude, prudence, struggle with iniquity, luxury cowardice rash- 
 
 t^n Z7 7"t '''' ' J^^tly. cent s Hes be. 
 
 tween well-grounded hope and absolute despail I„ such a conflict 
 
 ^chcT,"-^"""""-"''^ " faa. would not the^mmortol G i lZ^^^^ 
 «ch conspicuous virtue to triumph Tcer such complicated viceT 
 
Y'j^ THE Si'ANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 11. VERRES DENOUNCED. — Czcero. 
 
 An opinion has long prevailed, Fathers that, in public P^^^^^ 
 of wealth, howe'ver clearly con^ted, are f ways ^f^^ ^ 
 
 r^;ulttTto^sr^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 lite ana icuuus a ^.^^^^^^ g^^. 
 
 TZ his cSes it sSoT be through the lack of a criu>inal, 
 
 or 0? a prrcutor, but through the failure offhe m.msters of justice 
 to do the™ duty. Passing over the shameful n-regulanties of hi 
 youth, what ZI the qu^estorship of Verres exhibit b-t one — ^ 
 ;,.ene of villanies ? The public treasure squandered, a Consul stiipped 
 nnd Ltra^d an army deserted and reduced to want, a province robbed, 
 2 cWu indreLToJ rights of a People trampled on! But hispra,- 
 t^iX n sl ly has crowned his career of wickedness and completed 
 toismp 111 oiuiij iicio ^ r. , . . TTiq rlppisions have violated ail 
 
 ^I'ask now Verres, what have you to advance against these charges « 
 
 ^^.^XtZ remotest regioi., are a passport to protection,- 
 4,^^ige^Koma„«^ 
 
SENATORIAI, MIRABEAU. 271 
 
 i^lrain the merciless monster, who, in the confidence of his richea 
 
 And shall this man escape ? Fathers, it must not be ' It must 
 be, un ess you would undermine the very foundations of sec aHafetv 
 
 nScTmr^^^^^ -born at Bignon, in France, on the 9th of 
 
 tion offered a field for his energ es BeinfrSted a the f i!^.^ f T^ , ^^'^^'^^ 
 Ity of Provence, he hired a warehouse, put uS's Sc^nttn » I'^l^''^"*^"'' 
 and was elected deputy from the third estaL of iTx ^Tn"'"? ^ 
 
 of his eloquence as surprising and iiTesistible "He ir.J ^""^"^P^'-^^^es speak of the effect 
 .ty of a master, and the imperial a^^ oTa kTn..'' Person^^^^^ '""V"' T^^'"^'"^ 
 
 has said, in a letter to a lady who had not seen him .^"^"^i?"^ '^'"^'^ "^^^ himself 
 
 pox and you may form some notimi ofiylatu^s ~ « h/wT ^ >f "'"'''^'^ ^^'^'^ ^^^^W 
 
 f;;s^t^-?isrjse's^^^^ 
 
 of speaking from his seat, as in Tf o"Slve rf ^.S """^ i»stead 
 
 .n elevated piatfo™, or p'nipit, ^^^iS::^!^^^^;^;^;'^:;^^^;;^^ "'"'■"^ 
 
 Z^r^:^ I ' t "P"'^" ^'^^^ ^^^3^ bosom of the aristoc 
 racy, it has been at him preeminently that they have struck, er^er tn 
 
 TnV;^^ ^/ ^l^v-tion of their vi^ctim So p^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 only by peace. Be firm, not obstinate; courageous not turbS^ 
 free not undisciplined; proiupt, not precipitate." Stop n t e"eet 
 
Y2 THE STANDARr SPEAKS31 
 
 praters only, be sure that the vain clamors, the wrathful menaces, 
 fniurioiLS protestations, — all the convulsions, in a word, of expiring 
 prejudices - shall not on me impose ! hat ! shall he now pause m 
 his civic course, who, first among all the men of France, emphatically 
 proclaimed his opinions on national affairs, at a time when circumstances 
 were much less urgent than now, and the task one of much greatei 
 peril ? Never ! No measure of outrages shall bear down my patience, 
 i have been, I am, I shall be, even to the tomb, the man of the 
 Public Liberty, the man of the Constitution If to be such be to 
 become the man of the People rather than of the Nobles then woe 
 to the privileged orders! For privileges shall have an end, but tM 
 People is eternal ! 
 
 13 NECKER'S FINANCIAL PLAN, Sept. 26, 1789. -Miraieaw. Orig. Translation. 
 
 iiSiiilfSiii 
 
 prodigious." 
 
 The minister of finance has presented a most alarming picture ol 
 the state of our afi-airs. He has assured us that delay must aggrava^. 
 the peril ; and that a day, an hour, an instant, may render it tatai. 
 We have no plan that can be substituted for that which he proposes. 
 On this plan, therefore, we must fall back. But, have we time, 
 tlemen ask, to examine it, to probe it thoroughly, and verify its caku- 
 lations ? No, no ! a thousand times no ' Hap-hazard conjecture^j, 
 msignificant inquiries, gropings that can but mislead, - these aie an 
 that" we can give to it now. Shall we therefore miss the de.^^.e 
 moment? Do Gentlemen hope to escape sacrifices and taxation t>y a 
 plun^re into national bankruptcy ? What, then, is bankruptcy, but the 
 most°cruel, the most iniquitous, most unequal and disastrous of unposts ? 
 Listen to me for one moment ! 
 
 Two centuries of plunder and abuse have dug the aoyss which 
 threatens to engulf the Nation. It must be filled up - this terrible 
 chasm. But how ? Here is a list of proprietors.^ Choose from the 
 wealthiest, in order that the smallest number of citizens may be sacri- 
 ficed. But choose! Shall not a few perish, that the mass of the 
 People may be saved ? Come, then ! Here are two thousand Nota- 
 bles whose property will supply the deficit. Restore order to your 
 L;ces, peaL a'nd prosperity to the Kingdom ! Strike ! l^^ol^^ 
 w-ithout mercy, these unfortunate victims ! Hurl them mto the abyss. 
 
 You recoil with dismay from the contemplation Inconsistent and 
 pusillanimous! What! Do you not perceive that,m decreeing a 
 public bankruptcy, or, what is worse, in rendering it inevitable with 
 
eSSNATORIAL. — MIXABEATJ. ^ 73 
 
 wt decr«>mg it, you di^race yourselyes by an act a thousand time, 
 more criminal, and - folly mconceiyable !_ gratuitously criminal 
 For m the shocking alternative I have supposed, at least the dTfieit 
 «^ou d be wiped off. But do you imagine that, in refusing to pay, you 
 shall cease t« owe ?^ Think you that the thousands, th! miluL of 
 men who will lose in an instant, by the terrible explosion of a bank, 
 ruptey, or its re™lsion, all that formed the consolation of their liW 
 and perhaps their sole means of subsistence, - think you that thev 
 will leave you to the peaceable fruition of your crime? Stoical snell 
 t.te of the incalculable evils which this catastrophe wouU dtZe 
 upon France ; impenetrable egotists, who fancy tlm^ these convursioS 
 of despair and of misery will pass, as other calamities have palsed - 
 »d all the more rapidly because of their intense violence, -are you 
 indeed certain that so many men without bread will leave you tran- 
 quilly to the enjoyment of those savory viands, the number and dell 
 oacy of which you are so loth to diminish ? x\o ! you will perish 
 and, m the universal conflagration, which you do not shrink from kin: 
 ling, you will not, m losing your honor, save a single one of your 
 detestable indulgences. This is the way we are goino;. And I Cy 
 to you, that the men who, above all others, are^nt-eresttd in the 
 enforcement of these saeriSees which the Government demands are 
 you yourselves ! Vote, then, this subsidy extraordinary ; and m^y i? 
 prove sufficient r Vote it, inasmuch as' whatever doubts you iy 
 entertan as to the means, - doubts vague and unenlightened, -Z 
 can have none as to the necessity, or as to our inability te provide 
 
 f S ''t- J ^"'^f bee-'e the cTrcuni- 
 
 8 anees of the country admit of no evasion, and we shall be responS- 
 ble for all delays. Beware of demanding more time ' MisfoKe 
 accords it never Why, Gentlemen, it wa^ but the othe dfy tat "n 
 reference to a ridiculous commotion at the Palais-Koyal,.-a Ouixot c 
 insurrection, which never had any importance save in the feeble iW 
 mations or perverse designs of certain faithless men,_you Tea d the£ 
 
 e,a e> And verily there was neither a Catiline nor a Rome 
 neither perils nor factions around you. But, to-day banl-n,rcv' 
 hi^us bankruptcy, is there before /on, and threktl t^;^:!?!!' 
 yourselves, your property, your honor,-and yet you deliberat^! ^ 
 
 lalimfiom Miraieau. "''"""^^ ASSEMBLY, JiK. 9, mo. - Orig inal Tr^ 
 
 t»,3,r^' ''"['"^ yt'sterday, those words which you have 
 
 teught Frenchmen to yxn\„^r^-orders, privileges-m on my ear- 
 when a private corporation of one of thf ProvLes of tWs Empire 
 
jy-J THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 BDoketo you of the impossibility of consenting to the execution M 
 ^ur decrees, sanctioned by the King ; when — Joag|Stra^ , 
 declared to you, that their conscience and thetr honor toM^ the.t 
 Sence to your laws, - I said to myself, Are these, then, dethroned 
 ^vercigns, who, in a transport of imprudent but generous pride, ar« 
 Tddressfng successful usurpers ? No ; these are men, whose arrogant 
 teSofs have too long ten an insult to all ideas of ^-al orde. ; 
 champions, even more interested than audacious, of a system which 
 has cost France centuries of oppression, public and prwate, political 
 Z Za, feudal and judicial,-and whose hope is to make us regre 
 and revive that system. The people of Brittany have s"°"S 
 sixty-six representatives, who assure you that the new Coji^ ™ 
 crowns all their wishes ; - and here come eleven Judges of the Prov- 
 mue who cannot consent that you should be the benefactors of their 
 »tfnt7y They have disobeyed yo^r laws; and they pride themseh-c« 
 rlfr disobeLnce, and believe it will make t\"- ^«"°[.f 
 nosteritv. No, Gentlemen, the remembrance of their folly will not 
 ^s 0 posterit; What avail their pigmy efforts to brace themselve 
 ^^a nst L pro^re^s of a Revolution the grandest and -o^* 
 if the world's history, and one that must infallibly ^l^g^ *^ 
 the slobe and the lot of humanity ? Strange presumption, that would 
 arreft Lrty in its course, and roll back the destmies of a great 
 
 ^luJ not to antiquated transactions, - it is not to musty treaties 
 where n fraud combLd with force to chain men to the car of ce ton 
 hau.'hw masters, -that the National Assembly have resorted, in their 
 mvS&s inio popular rights. The titles we offer are more^impr. 
 ingbj far; ancient as time, saered and ™P™f ■'P'*)'^^^'^ 
 What ! Mu.st the terms of the marriage VrNnHes ti ' 
 
 Brittaav make the People of that Piovmce slaves to the Nobles til 
 fhe colmmation of the'ages ? These refractory -^^if^^.^'^^^l 
 the statutes which "»«m«toMy fix our f^^rs of legislation, /m^^^ 
 tahln fix' 0, how that word tears the ved from their innermost 
 
 hothte' H;w would they like to have abuses immntalle^m 
 
 th° and e^lTternal ! InLd, what is lacking to their cb^ity^-^ 
 the perpetuity of that feudal scourge, which unhapply l^^^^Z^ 
 iix centuries') But it is in vain that they rage. All now is changed 
 
 r ctan7n? There is nothing immutable save Reason -save the 
 lerdgSty of the People -save the inviolabdity of its decrees! 
 
 Original Translation. . 
 
SENATORIAL. MIKABEAU. 27 fi 
 
 Assembly that the Nation had reoognized, recovered, reconquered its 
 ngnts i As if it were not through the National Assembly that the 
 French had, m truth become a Nation ! As if, surrounded by the 
 monuments of our labors, our dangers, our services, we could becom^ 
 suspected by the People - formidable to the liberties of the People « 
 As If the regards of two worlds upon you fixed, as if the spectacle of 
 your glory, as if the gratitude of so many millions, as if the verv 
 pride of a generous conscience, which would have to blush too deenk 
 
 tobdieit^elf-werenotasiifficientguaranteeofyourfid^ FjZ 
 (atriotism, of your virtue ! j j -i yuiu 
 
 Commissioned to form a Constitution for Prance, I wiD not ask 
 v^hcther, wtli that authority, we did not receive also the power to^o 
 all that was necessary to complete, establish, and confirm that Consti- 
 tution. I will not ask, ought we to have lost in pusillanimous consX 
 
 tl-TuZ "Bur?'r 'if would have rreived 
 
 ner death-blow? But if Gentlemen insist on demanding when and 
 how, from simple deputies of bailiwicks, we became all at once tran^ 
 
 ZZt TC^fT"^ ^ ^^P'^' I* » that da" Xn, 
 
 hndmg the hall where we were to assemble closed, and bristlin^ aiTd 
 ^Uuted with bayonets, we resorted to the first plice whe we 
 reunite to swear to perish rather than submit to such an Trder of 
 things 1 That day, if we were not a National ConventL we belm, 
 one; became oue for the destruction of arbitrary power, Ld for the 
 defence of the rights of the Nation from all violence. The strivil 
 of Despotism which we have auelled ths r„.,.;i<, .-^^ ''^""ngs 
 averted, the violence which wl^arSessed, hU u^^^^^^^^^^ 
 Our successes have consecrated them ; the adhesion, so often renewed 
 InedTVf Empire, has legitimized and sanctified them Su n- 
 Pont, !- • ? •'^.t? in-esistible tocsin of necessity, our National 
 Convention is above all imitation, as it is above all auiL-^L n • 
 
 save hi crn/rff" "T"'^' of thit'R«man^ who, to 
 
 ~r7w:ro&orhrr^^^^ 
 
 .une e.ac.ed of him the oath that he^adCScl^Ithosi:^^ 
 
 iurf oV of T™'*' alternati™ oS 
 
 )ury or of an embarrassing avowal. "Swear" o^u ,1,0 t -1,^ 
 
 •'that you have observed the laws." swel- " rfnlied^he ^ 
 «^n,-"I swear that I have saved the K^tblic ""^ Genttmrf 
 »w<ar that you have saved France ! uentiemen, I 
 
 18. ON BEING SUSPECTED OF RECEIVINO OVTJKTTTii ■= » 
 
 opronrts'tf 'T/'T" f'Pto™* the reconciliation of poIi>icaJ 
 
yjQ THE STA'^DARD SPEAKER. 
 
 partiam rivalry, ttie machinations of intrigue and malevolence F« 
 Srht days, now, it has been given out that those members of the 
 Nitional Assembly in favor of the provision requirmg the coneurrenc* 
 of the royal will for the exercise of the right of peace and war ar« 
 parricides of the public liberty. Kumors of perfidy of corruption, have 
 been bruited. Popular vengeance has been invoked to enforce the 
 tyranny of opinion; and denunciations have been uttered as if, on - 
 subject invJing one of the most delicate and difficult question affect, 
 L the organiltion of society, persons could not dissent w. hout a 
 crime. What strange madness, what deplorable mfatuation is this. 
 wWch thus incites aglinst one another men whom -let debate run 
 never so high -one common object, one mdestructible sentiment of 
 patrotism, ought always to bring together, a ways to reumte ; bu 
 ^ho thus substitute, alas! the irascibility of self-love for devotion to 
 the public good, and give one another over, without compunction, to the 
 hatred and distrust of the People! ij v ™ w„„ 
 
 And me, too -me, but the other day, they would have borne ii 
 triumph ; - and now they cry in the streets. The gkeai teeasos op 
 Z Co4t of MmiB.Av! I needed not this les^n to teach me 
 how short the distance from the Oap^tolto the Tarpe^an Sock ' 
 But the man who battles for reason, for country, does not so easdy 
 admit that he is vanquished. He who has the consciousness that he 
 deserves well of that country, and, above all, that he ,s ^lU able to 
 .ervehcr; who disdains a vain celebrity and F>^««7'^"t''^l« f 
 above the successes of the day ; who would ^P«/ t^e . truth, and kbo 
 for the public weal, independently of the iiuctuations of popular 
 opinion, 1 such a man carries in his own breast the recompense of h^ 
 Bervicc , the solace of his pains, the reward of his dangers The har- 
 vest he ooks for - the destiny, the only destnij, tc ^^ich a^pir^ 
 _ is that of his good name ; and for that he ,s content to tiust to 
 time, - to time, that incorruptible judge, who dispenses justice to all . 
 
 Let those who, for these eight days past, have been •g"»''"% 
 dieting my opinion, - who, at this moment, ««l™°.f ;! »/ 
 without compehendingit,-let them chaise me if they wiU^ with 
 beginning to offer incense to the impotent idols I have ovcrtuined- 
 wii being the vile stipendiary of men whom I have never ceased fc 
 combat ; let them denounce as an enemy of the Revolution A»« who 
 at least has contributed so much to its cause, that his safety, it not his 
 glory, lies in its support ; - let them deliver over to the rage of a 
 . Li;ed Pecple him, who, for twenty years, has warred against 
 oppression in ill its forms; -who spoke to F-^enchmen of L te t^, of 
 a Constitutfon, of Kcsistance, at a time when his vile .«>l"">»"^tor 
 were mucking the milif of Courts, - bving on those dominant abuse 
 which he dJ^iounced : - what matters it ? These underhand attack 
 Bhall not step me in my career. I will say to 
 if you can, and then calumniate to your hearts content! A"^ now I 
 relnter the lists, armed only mth my principles, and a stcadfiist con. 
 Hcience. 
 
SENATOKIAL. — MIRABEAU. J 77 
 
 i.. lULOQlUM ON FHANKLIN, Juke 11 l7Qft . 
 
 T.^ . , , ' ^ 1790.-i^f^.«ftea^^. Original Translation. 
 
 wlioir. the History of Emnires nn,! t!,» n;J, "<"'a^"<iini — the man 
 /•or-oeoupied, ii canno Tde^iel ^ History of Science alike contend 
 
 were great n their funer-il e„lnm„= ? °' those who 
 
 otiqaefte of Courts prescribed hvS' "? ^"^ '""■'^J?'' *e 
 efalrs only, shon.ISnf asTnrT* he eTbtZf .Hrf ■ ^T" 
 
 ^^^^/rtri^ntl^^--r^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 .mite in this reli Joi 1 ^T- "°* ^'"""'^ Gentlemen, to 
 
 dered, at oncet^rr^L /'"C^'atdto' 'T?«^' f "'^'^ 
 contributed most largely to theTr ^ind.l^ the philosopher who has 
 Antiquity would haye e4td altL "^^^^^^^^ hroughout the world! 
 who, to promote the Zl)fi f this great and powerful genius, 
 Hea;e«sa'ndThe E rthr h—rf^^^^^^^^ comprehending bofh the 
 the bolt from the dL and ?L ! ''^ ^"''tcb 
 
 enlightened and free, owes arLt the f T 
 brance and regret to onTof the /l^* • f^r'''^«?'™'°*''''^"«^^ 
 united cause of pMosonhy td^Cf ^^''^d 'be 
 
 decreed that the'^ Snlriiifc/ 1"= ™w 
 
 days, for Benjamin FrSin, ^ three 
 
 oi7;H;o„"7pt:i"': /Sn"'"^^^ "^^^^ 
 
 dedare r -^^on^an, is the national religion Tn 
 
 i^tlL^^^^^^^^^^ ^^_J0 dishonor ?t in S 
 
 -na-iLttnl^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 mte Being. WolTf unLtnnd kT^^^^^ ""^ t^'' I«fi- 
 
 conscience? Tno moTet r'' ; I'' ''^ * "''tiona) 
 
 fa not veritably S i^so ?ar T'"''"'' ' ^ 
 
 » Nation. IfVe e Ze 5" ='.**''<'^ed to the religion of . 
 
 t^ere agreed in profesrin ' it t wo T T" *^ 'n^" 
 
 would ha™ theSe rfeitil!t f r '^^^ t'>''t each 
 
 be hhnself religiZ w^ T X'^l/f ^ \^ ""'^ should 
 
 only as he wouFd teledded toTat unlw " ' r'* 
 
 the ^hola human race w re to ab u'e Tt In'd f '° f' u'^^^^'' 
 
 point we consider rpliVinn * T . ^^"^ whatever 
 
 Son insigSnt'orla.*" " '^"'^'"^ >' " desig™. 
 
^^g THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 Would it be -as the arbiter of its truth, or as the judge of its apri- 
 iude to form good citizens, that the Legislature would make a religioii 
 oonstitutiouar? But, in the first place, are there natwnal truths 
 In the second place, can it be ever useful to the public happme.s K 
 fetter the conscience of men by a law of the State ? The law umte. 
 HS only in those points where adhesion is essential to social organiza^ 
 tion. Those points belong only to the superficies of our being, in 
 thought and conscience men remain isolated ; f ^ their associa ic 3 
 leavS to them, in these respects, the absolute freedom of the state 
 
 ''^ Whar'a spectacle would it be for those early Christians, who to 
 escape the sword of Persecution, were obliged to consecrate their altars 
 in caves or amid ruins,-what a spectacle would it be for them^o^^^ 
 they this day come among us, and witness the glory with which heir 
 despised religion now sees itself environed ; the templeB, the lo ty 
 steeples bearfng aloft the glittering emblem of their 
 gelic cross, whfch crowns the summit of all^ the departments of this 
 great Empire! What a transporting sight for those who, m 
 descendino- to the tomb, had seen that rehgion, during t^^^ir lives 
 honored ?nly in the lurking-places of the forest and the desert 
 Methinks I hear them exclaim, even as that stranger of the old time 
 exclaimed, on beholding the encampment of the People of Ood - 
 
 "How GOODLY ARE tSy TENTS, 0 JaCOB, AND THY TABERNACLES, 
 
 O Israel ' " Calm, then, ah ! calm your apprehensions, ye ministers 
 of the God of peace and truth ! Blush rather at your mcendiary 
 exaggerations, and no longer look at ^^^^f f ^^^^^^^^^^ 
 through the medium of your passions. We do not ask it of you to 
 take an oath contrary to the law of your heart ; bu we do ask it of 
 yot in the name of that God who will judge us all, not ^ confound 
 human opinions and scholastic traditions with the sacred and mvio labl 
 rules of the Gospel. If it be contrary to morality to act again, 
 one's conscience, it is none the less so to form on^s —nee after 
 false and arbitrary principles. The obhgation to form and enlighU^n 
 one's conscience is anterior to the obligation /of ^ one's consc cn^^^ 
 The greatest public calamities have been caused by men who believed 
 they were obeying God, and saving their own souls. 
 
 19 TO THE FRENCH PEOPLE, im.- Original Translation from Vergniaud 
 Veriniaua, fne most eloquent orator^ the cel« 
 • Kh"nre^^^^^^^^^ His speec.es were a,.a.e 
 
 wxefully preiiared beforehand 
 
 Preparations for war are manifest on our frontiers; and we hear 
 of renewed plots against liberty. Our armies reassemble ; mi gh^ 
 movements agitate the Empire. Martial law having become mves- 
 Try it lias seemed to -xs just. But we have succeeded only m bm. 
 dish ng for a moment the thunderbolt m the eyes of rebc41mn 
 wxiction of the King has been refused to our decioos. The prme«i 
 
SEMATORIAt. VEKGNIAITD. 
 
 " ^'^ t'^'' .inspirators againrt 
 
 TJr/ .P^? *f , They furnish tl,e^ ^ 
 
 notTrJf ^ hem gold, arms, liorses, and munitions, h 
 
 not the patience suicidal which tolerates all this? Doubtless voa 
 navo renounced all projects of conquest; but you have notTom sed to 
 endure such insolent provocations. You have shaken off fhe yoke of 
 your yrants; but U was not to bend the knee to foreign des^ts 
 
 But beware! You are environed by snares. They seek to diiv« 
 m, by disgust or lassitude, to a state of languor^^l to your 
 tl"^' ''"•'^''t'™- They seek to separate ™u 
 
 i smbi; tbL""""^™ ' of calumny Igainst the\Yatio^^" 
 
 ABsimbly, they incnmmate your Revolution in your eyes 
 beware of these attempts at pr nic ! Repel, indignantly theTe imBos' 
 tors, who, while they affect a hypocritical zeal for the Consti Xn 
 
 w"/-, r T? """"to-revolution! The monarchy? It is the 
 The &nie b -^hat is it but taition, feudality 
 
 f litetv I' tZ -tTfT":'' P""* *he sublime Lspiration 
 State? Whnt W K ' ^""^ ^"'"'S" ^^'''""^'^ 'he midst of the 
 Private flune, ^ 'If ""'P ''''h your assignats, youx 
 
 Cism and of V ' 'h? furies of 
 
 lanaticism and of vengeance, — assassinations, pillage and inoen 
 
 bood'"'."T'" '^"^^ ^■'^ <'«='th, disp;tLg,t;er rive of 
 
 grandeur, the oth" 4 IblenL r ^i. 1 ' 
 for servitude ! Th. noMitv' Ih ^1^ J''""^' 
 
 tut^ilf' *he success of these conspiracie" 
 
 that Europe ,s now put in motion against you! Be it so ' Bv^ 
 «)Iemn declaration must these guilty hopes^be crushed Yes the 
 
 c'LSrwmT i ^T^' ""f?''^" attachment to tt 
 
 constitution, will be buried beneath its ruins, before they consent tn » 
 
 reassured ! They would raise the Nations against you • — thev will 
 mse only princes The heart of every People s with you ^fi 
 vl Tf '^h.ch you embrace, in defendhig your own E.el 
 abhorred be war ! It is the greatest of the crime^s of men'- ill 
 
 tZ t rl'lVtoT '""T'^ • arTirisi^t ly 
 
 Lk!!; ' T , *° 'he course of your destinies. Who can foiesi 
 
 20^ AGAINST THE TEHROP.ISM OF THE JACOEINS, 1792.-/.. Ori,. Tra^ 
 
 IS W tw"^""^ ^'''i''^''' P'^'r^ ^^11 themselves free. Alas! ii 
 
 fC^Z VZT^""^"'^ *>^--*«' but they an 
 
 Slaves 3f men the most vile, and of wretche. ihe most dct>^4]e 
 
18(^ THE STA^DAKD SPEAKER. 
 
 men who continue to imagine that the Revolution has ijeen made fol 
 themselves alone, and who have sent Louis XVI. to the Temple, M 
 M'der that they may be enthroned at the Tuileries ! ^ It is time tp 
 oreak these disgraceful chains — to crush this new despotism. It is 
 time that those who have made honest men tremble should be made 
 to ti^mible in their turn. I am not ignorant that they have pon'ardfi 
 at their service. On the night of the second of September — that 
 night of proscription!— did they not seek to turn them against 
 several deputies, and myself among the number ? Were we not 
 denounced to the People as traitors ? Fortunately, it was the People 
 into whose hands we fell. The assassins were elsewhere occupied. 
 The voice of calumny failed of its effect. If voice may yet make 
 itself heard from this place, I call you all to witness, it shall not 
 cease to thunder, with all its energy, against tyrants, whether of high 
 or low degree. What to me their ruffians and their poniards ? What 
 his own life to the representative of the People, while the safety of 
 the country is at stake ? . 
 
 When William Tell adjusted the arrow which was to pierce the 
 fatal apple that a tyrant had placed on his son's head, he exclaimed, 
 " Perish my name, and perish my memory, provided Switzerland may 
 be free ! " And we, also, — i^e will say, " Perish the National Assem- 
 bly and its memory, provided France may be free ! " t Ay, perish 
 the National Assembly and its memory, so by its death it may save 
 the Nation from a course of crime that would affix an eternal stigma 
 to the French name ; so, by its action, it may show the Nations of 
 Europe that, despite the calumnies by which it is sought to dishonor 
 France, there is still in the very bosom of that momentary anarchy 
 where the brigands have plunged us— there is still m ojj^ country 
 some public virtue, some respect for humanity left ! Perish the 
 National Assembly and its memory, if upon our ashes oui more lortu 
 nate successors may establish the edifice of a Constitution, which shall 
 assure the happiness of France, and consolidate the reign ot hberty 
 and equality ! 
 
 « — 
 
 21. AGAINST WAR, Jan. 13, 1192.— Robespierre. Original Translation. 
 
 Shall we await the orders of the War Office to overturn Thrones I 
 Shall we await the signal of the Court ? In this war against aristo- 
 crats and Kings, shall we look to be commanded by these same Patn- 
 cians, these eternal favorites of Despotism? No! Alone let us 
 
 • Pronounced Tweelree. . , .,, „,,^v,„ 
 
 ♦ Tlie deputies here rose, as by an unanimous impulse, and ''^Pf ™ f 
 iiasm, the oath of Vcrgniaud. The audience, who occupied f ^ 
 mingled their voices with those of the deputies To appreciate ^^ ly ^^ '^'^nt 
 eloquence of this speech, it should bo reme.ube.-cd tha 1 -m^o waj f 
 Tirtrally under the sanguinary dictatorship of the -iMob n Club , -i"'! '^'^^ ck 
 proscri/tions and massacres threatened to involve al v;ho did nut acquiesce ii tho« 
 
 «asures. Vergniaud soon afterward paid the penalty ol Ins courage ; and jusUlie- 
 his bold words by a bold death on the scallold. 
 
eUta-^OKlAL. EOBESPIEEEE. 
 
 185 
 
 mrch Oar own leaders let us be ! If it is the war of the Court 
 Shat we mus accept, -the war of the Ministers, of Patriciaas sE 
 mng patriotism - then, alas! far from anticipa ing iJe eXncC 
 ment ot the worhl, I shall not even belie™ that your own Hb^rrvl 
 secure. Our wisest course now is to defend it against Zr^^d Jot 
 those internal enemies who would beguile you wfth these herdc m„ 
 «ons. I^veproved that liberty has no' more mortal enemy th^ 
 ffai. I have proved that war, recommended by men of doubtfid 
 
 Suton • ff, but a meansV annihilate tte 
 
 constitution — but the issue of a plot against the Revolution Tc 
 favor these projects of war, under whateve? pretext, is, then to ioin , 
 conspiracy against the Kevolution. To recommend co'nfiden'cf in "h 
 Executive, -to invoke public favor in behalf of the Generals - is 
 
 :«:rgy'°ote:t"°" 
 
 If, then, the moment of emancipation for the Nations be not vet 
 arrived, we should have the patience to await it. If th s t„ "Itfon 
 be destmed only to struggle on in the slough of those vifcs wt re 
 »es,»tism has plunged it, - if the theatre of our RevoTu ioT be 
 loomed to present to the world no other spectacle than, thl m erabk 
 contests of perhdy and imbecility, egotism and ambition, - th™ to the ' 
 nsing generation will be bequeathed the t^k of purifyin. the noUuted 
 earth Tha generation shall bring -not the peace of Dcspotlm 
 ZsnLX::iTr f ^ut the torch' and the sXd to 
 
 consume Ihrones, and exterminate oppressors ! Thou art not alien to 
 thee dT'f, ' 'hee we brave thel storms f^ 
 
 thee defy the plots of tyranny. Disheartened ofttimes by the obstl 
 
 TaJyit'of liberty, '"^^ »f t^e 
 
 mi no secui-ityla principle which is not Si on befe?S OodLtl """^ »" P"""*.- 
 
 «»^e courage to resist tyranny, greater contempt fc, pleasurTw 
 
182 
 
 THE STANDARD BPEAKER. 
 
 death ? You, who regret a virtuous friend, can you end iro th» 
 fhought that h:'=t noblest part has not escaped dissolution ? You. who 
 weep oxGv the remains of a child or a wife, are you consoled by the 
 thought that a handful of dust is all that is left of the beloved object ^ 
 You^the unfortunate, who expire under the stroke of the assassin, is 
 Qot your last sigh an appeal to the justice of the Most High ? Inno 
 cence on the scaflFold makes the tyrant turn pale on his triumphal car. 
 Would such an ascendency be felt, if the tomb levelled alike the op- 
 pressor and the oppressed ? The more a man is gifted with sensibility 
 and genius, the more does he attach himself to those ideas which 
 aggrandize his being and exalt his aspirations ; and the doctrine oi 
 Eien cf this stamp becomes the doctrine of all mankind. A great man, 
 a veritable hero, knows his own worth too well to experience compla- 
 cency in the thought of his nonentity. A wretch, despicable in his own 
 eyes, repulsive in those of others, feels that nature but gives him his 
 deserts in annihilation. 
 
 Confusion to those who seek, by their desolating doctrines, to extin- 
 guish this sublime enthusiasm, and to stifle this moral instinct of the 
 People, which is the principle of all great actions ! To you. Repre- 
 sentatives of the People, it belongs to hasten the triumph of the truths 
 we have developed. If we lack the courage to proclaim them, then 
 deep, indeed, must be the depravity, with which we are environed 
 Defy the insensate clamors of presumptuous ignorance and of stubborn 
 hypocrisy ! Will posterity credit it, that the vanquished factions have 
 carried their audacity so far as to charge us with lukewarmness and 
 aristocracy for having restored to the Nation's heart the idea of tl\e 
 Divinity, the fundamental principle of all morality? Will it be 
 believed that they have dared, even in this place, to assert that we 
 have thereby thrown back human reason centuries in its progress ? 
 0, be not surprised that the wretches, leagued against us, are so 
 eager to put the hemlock to our lips ! But, before we quaff it, we 
 will save the country ! 
 
 13. JIOBESPIERRE'S LAST SPEECH. — Ong-maZ Translation. 
 The day rtfl'jr this speech, — delivered July 28th, 1794, and addressed to an assembly bent ou 
 bis destructioia,-Robespierre was executed, at the early age of thirty-five, under circumstances 
 of accumulated horror. His fate is a warning to rulers who would cement even he best ot 
 Governments iviihiblood. Robespierre's character is still an enigma •, some rega. duig h.m an 
 an hocest feaUic, and others as a crafty demagogue. Perhaps the traits of either predoml. 
 Sted at times. " Destitute," says Lamartine, " of exterior graces, and of that gift of extenipu 
 Wneous speakmg which pours forth the unpremeditated insi)irations of natural eloquence Robes- 
 ^e had taken so much pains with himself, - he had meditated so much, written and era...^ 
 M much, — he had so often braved the inattention and the sarcasms of his audiences, - .hat. n 
 K^l, he succeeded in giving warmth and suppleness to his style, and .n transforming ^ b 
 whol^ person, despite his stiff and meagre figure, his shrill voice and abrupt gesticulation, mto 
 an engine of elocjuence, of conviction and of passion." 
 
 The enemies of the Republic call me tyrant ! Were I such they 
 would grovel at my feet. I should gorge them with gold, — I should 
 grant them impunity for their crimes, — and they \\ould be gratetul 
 Were I such, the Kini^s we have vanquished, far from denouncing 
 R/ bcspTerre. would lend'me their guilty support. There would be 9 
 
SieNATORIAL. — TRELAT. 
 
 mvmmt between them and me. Tyranny must have tools. But the 
 enemies of tyranny, — whither does their path tend? To the tomb 
 lltrnrfv'^' What t^^-ant is my protector? To what faction 
 do I belong ? Yourselves ! What faction, since the beginning cf the 
 Revolution, has ci^ushed and annihilated so many detected tmitors^ 
 1 ou — the People, — our principles, — are that faction ! A factior 
 iay is banded^! '''' ''''^ ^^'""^ scoundrelism of the 
 
 M.5\'l.'''^?™n°" ^'P^^^^' ^^^^ obj^^t' and I know 
 
 that ^the Republic can be established only on the eternal basis of 
 morality. Against me, and against those who hold kindred principles, 
 
 regiet . I have seen the Past ; and I foresee the Future. What 
 triend of his country would wish to survive the moment when he could 
 no longer serve it,- when he could no longer defend innocence against 
 oppression ?_ Wherefore should I continue in an order of thirs 
 where mtngue eteimlly triumphs over truth; where justice ^is' 
 
 aZt^ti^ "^j^^^' ^ost absurd, 
 
 oveinde the sacred interests of humanity? In witnessing the multi 
 tude of vices which the torrent of the Revolution has rolled in turb d 
 
 feared that I should be sullied, in the eyes of posterity, by the impure 
 neighborhood of unprincipled men, who had thrust themselves ^in o 
 a sociation with the sincere friends of humanity; and I rejoice tS 
 these conspirators agamst my country have now, by their reckles. 
 trfe'mer demarcation l^tween'thLselves and ali 
 
 ihSTf'''' f"''*^'^' ''^f defenders of liberty, in all 
 
 Il^o ' TUo ^fd ""Tt^Ti ^/ ^^-^^ ^-^'--rs died 
 
 vprv ^-ff f ^^'^PP^^^ ^^^'^ ^'^^ the earth ; but in 
 
 very diiferent conditions 0, Frenchmen ! 0, my countrym^ ! Le" 
 not your enemies, with their desolating doctrines, degrade your soX 
 
 eterrsTet^^"^^^^^^^^^ No, Chaumette,^ no ! Lth 'is .o. 
 eternal sleep ! Citizens ! efface from the tomb that motto, graven by 
 ^crilegious hanas, winch spreads over all nature a funereal ^rape, takes 
 
 Bation ot death ! Inscribe rather thereon these words : - Death is the 
 ^---tality!" I leave to the oppre^o of h 
 People a terrible testament, which I proclaim with the independence 
 d'eT''""" -arlyUed; it is the awfal St " 
 
 24. ADDRESS TO IHE CHAMBER OF PEERS, 1835 - Tr^^a* 
 
 --le^IoJrmif necessary -that it was ine^t:d>]c 
 
 we should meet face to face: we do so now. Gentlemen Peers, 
 
 re:,Sr Z ;ra7ut.1tat the public 
 
184 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 our mutual enmity is not the birth of yesterday. In 1814, in common 
 with mimj, many others, I cursed the power which called you^oi 
 your predecessors to help it in chaining down liberty. In 1815 I 
 took up arms to oppose the return of your gracious master of that day 
 In 1830 I did my duty in promoting the successful issue of the evepi 
 which then occurred ; and eight days after the Revolution, 1 again 
 took up my musket, though but little in the habit of handling warlike 
 instruments, and went to the post which General Lafayette had as- 
 signed us for the purpose of marching against you personally, Gentlo- 
 men Peers ! It was in the presence of my friends and myself that 
 one of your number was received ; and it is not impossible that we had 
 some influence in occasioning the very limited success of his embassy. 
 It was then he who appeared before us, imploring, beseeching, with 
 tears in his eyes; it is now our turn to appear before ynu, — but we do 
 RO without imploring, or beseeching, or weeping, or bending the knee. 
 We had utterly vanquished your Kings ; and, they being gone, you 
 had nothing left. As for you, you have not vanquished the People ; 
 and whether you hold us as hostages for it or not, our personal 
 position troubles us very, very little ; — rely upon that. 
 
 Your prisons open to receive within their dungeons all who retain 
 a free heart in their bosoms. He who first placed the tri-colored flag 
 on the palace of your old Kings — they who drove Charles the Tenth 
 from France — are handed over to you as victims, on account of youl 
 new King'. Your sergeant has touched with his black wand the 
 courageous deputy who first, among you all, opened his door to the 
 Revolution, The whole thing is summed up in these facts : It is tha 
 Revolution struggling with the counter-revolution ; the Past with the 
 Present, with the Future ; selfishness with fraternity ; tyranny with 
 liberty. Tyranny has on her side bayonets, prisons, and your 
 embroidered collars, Gentlemen Peers. Liberty has God on her side, 
 
 the Power which enlightens the reason of man, and impels him 
 
 forward m the great work of human advancement. It will be seen 
 with whom victory will abide. This will be seen, — not to-morrow, not 
 the day after to-morrow, nor the day after that, — it may not be seen 
 by us at all ; — what matters that ? It is the human race which 
 engages our thoughts, and not ourselves. Everything manifests that 
 the hour of deliverance is not far distant. It will then be seen 
 whether God will permit the lie to be given Him with impunity. 
 
 Gentlemen Peers, I did not stand up with the purpose of defending 
 myself. You are my political enemies, not my judges. In a fail 
 trial, it is necessary that the judge and the accused should understand, 
 — should, to a certain extent, sympathize with each other In tha 
 present case, this is quite out of the question. We do not fee 1 alike 
 we do not speak the same language. The land we inhabit, humanit) 
 itself, its law3, its requirements, duty, religion, the sciences, the artb, 
 industry, all that constitutes society, — Heaven, earth, — nothing appears 
 fcf» us in the same light that it does to you. There is a wa- M between 
 us You may condemn me ; but I accept you nojb as judges for you 
 wo unable to comnrchond mo 
 
SENATOKIAL. — 1)E lOCQCEVimi. 
 
 186 
 
 86. THE ESTABLISHMENI OF THE REPUBLIC, im.-rMmrline. 
 
 that mo»t needs the contumed inspiration and benediction of God- for 
 of the reason of the People should be obscured or misled, there is 
 *>ngcr a sovereign. There is an interregnum, anarchy, death Z 
 omei that a Government may be durable, a°nd worthy o/ the sanction 
 of religion, it must contain a principle that is true, that is divi^ tS 
 IS best adapted to the welfare of the many. Without thirZ 
 s t. utu,n IS a dead letter ; ,t is nothing nje than a edleetl "nrf laws 
 It IS wi thout soul ; It no longer lives ; it no longer produces fruit Th^ 
 new princip e of the Republic is political equaltty a.nong a 1 c W of 
 citizens This principle has for its exponent universaf suff^e for 
 ts resul the sovereignty of all ; for its moral consequence, frate n "y 
 among all. We reign according to the full measure of our reason of 
 our into hgence, of our virtue. We are all sovereigns over ourTeh^ 
 
 t Isltl^'f P • ^ ^ Constitutio'n, and to ^et"' 
 
 It, IS not all. A People is needed to execute it 
 
 Citizens ! all progress requires effort. Every effort is painful and 
 
 l" "''Th^r r^-~^"% transfoiLatrsTr 
 aboiious. The People are the artificers of their own future Let 
 hem reflect upon that. The future observes and awaits them T shame 
 
 upon the cowards who would draw back ! Prudence to the incoS! 
 
 erate, who would precipitate society into the unknown ! Glory to t^e 
 
 good, to the wise, to the persevering !_ may God be with them ' 
 
 Trans 
 
 m. DEMOCKACY ADVERSE TO SOCIALISM. Tocueville. Ori 
 
 natnre'ofT'-'~^"'''''™l ^hy profess to associate what] in the 
 nature of things, can never be united ? Can it be, Gentlemen that 
 this whole grand movement of the French Revolution is destined to 
 terminate in that form of society which the Socialists have wTth so 
 much fervcr, depicted? A society, marked out with eommls and 
 rue; m which the State is to charge itself with everythi„/and the 
 
 fort' W-S' wTs t f *" P«'-«»'»l 
 
 Z\ I f •■Jf " °f beavers and of bees, a society 
 
 .th tlf'^ "™ ^''^ »d civilized, _;asTtfS 
 
 such that the French Revolution was accomplished? Not so' ll 
 wafl for a greater, a more sacred end ; one morl worthy of humanity 
 racv I r^'^' ^ development of Dem^ 
 
 .f this word Democracy. I shall not, as gentlemen did yciterda? 
 raverse the garden of Greek roots, to find the derivation of [h s worf 
 I shall ponit you to Democracy, where I have seen it, living, a^ive 
 triumphant; m the only country in the world where i truly extte 
 rtere it has been able to establish and mamtaia, even to the^ preLm 
 time s,imetiimg graud and durable to claim our Ldmiratiou, 
 
Jgg THE SiiNDARD BVEiKIM. 
 
 New World, — in America,— There shall you see a People, am«n| 
 whom all conditions of men are more on an equality even than among 
 
 where the social state, the manners, the laws, - everything 
 democratic ; where all emanates from the People and returns to the 
 People; and where, at the same time, every individual enjoys a greater 
 amount of liberty, a more entire independence, tiian m any other part 
 of the world, at any period of time;-a country, I repeat it, essentiallr 
 Democratic the only Democracy in the wide world at th>s 
 the only Republic, tr^dy Democratic, which we know of ^^^f^^ 
 And in this Kepnblic you wii! look m vam for Socialism ^ot only 
 have the theories of the Socialists gained no ^^^''-^^T.t^. 
 public mind, but they have played so trifling a part m the discns^ions 
 a"d affairs of that great Nation, that they have not even reached the 
 
 ^'^lilS Sy that country, of the whole ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 sovereignty of Democracy is most practical and complete and it is at 
 he sa^ time that where the doctrines of the Socialists, which you 
 oretaKl to find so much in accordance with Democracy, are the east 
 f„ vogue ; 'he country, of the whole universe, where the men sustain- 
 ngXe doctrines would have the least chance of making an impres- 
 sion For myself personally, I do not see, I confess, any g>eat objee- 
 t on ^ the em^gratL of these proselyting g™*!-"™ ^JJ^fX^s 
 I warn them that thev will not find tliere any field ^^^'f^ylfT:. 
 
 No Gentlemen, Democracy and Socialism are the antipodes of each 
 other While Democracy extends the sphere of individual mdepend- 
 ence Soldism contracts' it. Democracy develops a man's whole 
 mlhood Socialism makes him an agent, ^-^--^^^l:^^^^- 
 Democracy and Socialism assimilate, on one pmnt ' 
 which they introduce; but mark the difference: Demociacy seeks 
 Tquality in liberty, whUe Socialism seeks it in servitude and con- 
 straint. ^ 
 
 ■a PKACTIOAL E15LIGI0U3 INSTRUCTION.-Onsina/ Translation fi.m Victor Hugo. 
 
 The question is, shall we confide the public education of yonth to a 
 clerical party, independent of the State,-or to the State, mdependen 
 ofTc e ieal party Free instruction - but free mstruction under 
 L suTerrnteilnJe of the State, and not of a -t- is what I would 
 see It is not to the clerical party that I would intrust it. lo thaf 
 Ta' tv I now address myself, and I say : In the proposi ion before tl.e 
 rai rssembly, we'see your hand ; and, t^^e candid, we d,^^^^^^ 
 vnu The nronosed law is a law with a mask. Under tl e disguise 
 0?Uberty iraims at sul^eetion. But think not that I contound your 
 die rines' your ambition , your intrigues, - think not hat I confound 
 JXthe XLl party,-'with the Church, any more than I confound 
 the mistletoe with the oak. You are the parasites of the tlmicn, 
 S: to of the Church. Call her not your ™ther -^^^^^^^^ 
 midie her your slave. Leave her, this venerable Church, this ^ tnora 
 
SENATORIAL. HUGO. Ig* 
 
 &Ie motner to her t^litude, her abnegation, her humilit:y All these 
 compose bor grandeur. Her solitude will attract the crowd he/ 
 abnegation is her power ; her humilitj is her majesty. 
 
 You speak of religious instruction. Know you what it i« — that 
 rentable religious instruction, which must ever command our homaw 
 Without awakening our distrust ? It is the Sister of Charity at the 
 p ilow of the dying. It is the Brother of Mercy ransoming the slave 
 It IS Vincent de Paul rescuing the foundling. It is the Bishop ol 
 Mareeilles ministering to the plague-stricken. It is the Archbishop 
 A r-''™ ^it^^ a smile that formidable Faubourcr of St 
 
 Antome,* elevating his crucifix above the smoke of civil war and 
 counting It ittle loss to encounter death, so that he might bring peace • 
 
 noX T'v t'f 'f^'T "-^-«^--'-P-found, efficacious; 
 popular; and which, happily for religion and for humanity, makes 
 even more Christians than you unmake ! J, 
 
 28. NECESSITY 0^ ^nELlGIO^. -Ori^.inal Translation from Victor Hu^^ 
 
 but hTrri ' 'f/'* ^''"^^'J P^^™* instruction, 
 
 tTori rn lf So far from Wishing to proscribe religious instruc 
 tion, I maintain that it is more essential at this day than ever The 
 
 TLTZ^IT' T\^' ^edraws'neare 
 i better ought he to recognize His existence. It is the 
 
 th it onlf ^^^^^ Z '^""i'° ^ff-^^' ^ 
 
 " 7 V"^^^ everything into this narrow span. In im- 
 
 It^f^r liv """^ "'"^ ''''''''''^ material existence, we 
 
 fff l f hi^s miseries by the terrible negation at its close We 
 
 add 0 the burdens of the unfortunate the Insupportable weight of^a 
 
 hopeless hereafter. God's law of suifering we convert, by our unbe' 
 ef, mto hell's law of despair. Hence these deplorable sodal convul 
 
 Dions. 
 
 That I am one of those who desire - I will not say with sincer- 
 tj merely, but with mexpressiblo ardor, and by all possible means!! 
 to amehora e the material condition of the suffering cias es in L 
 hfe, no one m this Assembly wiU doubt. But the first and ™ es 
 of amehorations .s to nnpart hope. How do our finite miseries dwMIe 
 m ^e presence of an mfinite hope ! Our first duty, then, whetb r wo 
 be clergymen or laymen, bishops or legislators, priests or writer Is 
 ^t merely to direct all our social energies to the Ltementlf phys 
 ^ misery, but at the same time, to lift every droopin.. head towards 
 l72.~'"r^ the attention and the faith ^f evi,.ytium"n ^oul t 
 «^rded " ' ''>''7.J>^^>««,«hall preside, where justice shall 
 awarded ! Let us proclaim it aloud to all, No one shall uniustlv oi 
 
 Si^: o .P'^^"^ V"*\*f'°"-. ^^-'»»f the matKr?] 
 fwars God. Let us not forget - let us everywhere teach it — Thew 
 • Pronounced Foboorg of SaH^anH■lw<lulm<%. 
 
188 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 would be no (Lgnity in life, it would not be worth the holding, if iiv 
 death we wholly perish. Ml that lightens labor, and sanctifies toil, — 
 all that renders man brave, good, wise, patient, benevolent, just, hum- 
 ble, and, at the same time, great, worthy of intelligeiice, worthy of 
 liberty, — is to have perpetually before him the vision of a l^itier world 
 darting its rays of celestial splendor through the dark shadows of thia 
 present life. p i • 
 
 For myself, since Chance will have it that words of such gravity 
 should at this time fall from lips of such little authority, let me be per 
 mitted here to say, and to proclaim from the elevation of this Tribune, 
 that I believe, that I most profoundly and reverently believe, in^ that 
 better world. It is to me more real, more substantial, more positive in 
 its effects, than this evanescence which we cling to and call life. It is 
 unceasingly before my eyes. I believe in it with all the strength of 
 my convictions ; and, after many struggles, and much study and expe- 
 rience, it is the supreme certainty of my reason, as it is the supreme 
 consolation of my soul ! 
 
 I desire, tlierefore, most sincerely, strenuously and fervently, that 
 there should be religious instruction ; but let it be the instruction of 
 the Gospel, and not of a party. Let it be sincere, not hypocritical 
 Let it have Heaven, not earth, for its end ! . 
 
 29. UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE, Mat 20, IS^. — Victor Hugo. Original Translation. 
 
 Universal suffrage ! — w hat is it but the overthrow of violence and 
 brute force — the end of the material and the beginning of the moral 
 fact ? What was the Revolution of February intended to establish m 
 France, if not this ? And now it is proposed to abolish this sacred 
 right \ And what is its abolition, but the reintroduction of the right 
 of insurrection ? Ye Ministers and men of State, who govern, where- 
 fore do you venture on this mad attempt ? I will tell you. It is 
 because the People have deemed worthy of their votes men whom 
 you judge worthy of your insults ! It is because the People have pre- 
 sumed to compare your promises with your acts ; because they do not 
 find your Administration altogether sublime ; because they have dared 
 peaceably to instruct you through the ballot-box ! Therefore it is, that 
 your anger is roused, and that, under the pretence that Society is in 
 peril, you seek to .chastise the People, — to take them in hand ! And 
 
 30, like that maniac of whom History tells, you beat the ocean mth 
 rods ' And so you launch at us your poor little laws, furious but 
 feeble ! And so you defy the spirit of the age, defy the good srnse 
 Df the public, defy the Democracy, and tear your unfortunate finger- 
 nails against the granite of universal suffrage ! 
 
 Go on. Gentlemen! Proceed! Disfranchise, if y3U will, three 
 millions of voters, four millions, nay, eight millions out of nine ! Get 
 rid of all these ! It will not matter. What jou cannot got rid ot la 
 /urr (Mn fatal incapacity and ignorance ; your own antipat.hy tor the 
 
SENATORIAL. — HUiO. ^^g 
 
 the East is to her the West • f^nd tL? wf-i / "^^^^ 
 sea, than the Right from the heart of the People" 
 
 of the 
 
 _ liAviNG restricted universal suffrage and the riMit nf t,„m;. 
 
 ings, you now wage war against the libertTof the Pret 7 !f 
 
 crisis through which we are ms<iiv <, ;t ;„ I'^^j , 
 
 this trouble"? Who is the euCii?' m ' ^" 
 
 alarm party in Euro^ L W .'""Inlr^'Vi." ^''^ 
 
 " It is Paris ! " In kris^'they say, " It L the PressT" Th^ 
 
 Of obseryation and reflection says, " The culnrif i« L ^ 
 
 W ^ age. the figure of all the great a^itltt::: "^T^^ 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 mind, whicli was named John Huss, and which did not die on th* 
 ftineral-pile of Constance ; which was named Luther, and shook ortho- 
 doxy to its centre ; which was named Voltaire, and shook faith ; which 
 was named Mirabeau, and shook royalty, It is the human mind, 
 which, since history began, has transformed societies and government? 
 Bccordiiig to a law progressively acceptable to the reason, — WDich ha** 
 been theocracy, aristocracy, monarchy, and which is to-day demuc. 
 racy. It is the human mind, which has been Babylon, Tyre, Jerusa. 
 lem, Athens, and which to-day is Paris; which has been, turn by 
 turn, and sometimes all at once, error, illusion, schism, protestation 
 truth ; it is the human mind, which is the great pastor of the genera- 
 tions, and which, in short, has always marched towards the Just, the 
 Beautiful and the True, enlightening multitudes, elevating life, raismg 
 more and more the head of the People towards the Right, and the 
 head of the individual towards God ! 
 
 And now I address myself to the alarm party, — not in this Chamber, 
 but wherever they may be, throughout Europe, — and I say to them : 
 Consider well what you would do ; reflect on the task that you have 
 undertaken ; and measure it well before you commence. Suppose you 
 should succeed : when you have destroyed the Press, there will rema7n 
 somethincr more to destroy, — Paris ! When you have destroyed 
 Paris, there will remain France. When you have destroyed France, 
 th^jre will remain the human mind. I repeat it, let this great Euro- 
 pean alarm party measure the immensity of the task which, m then 
 heroism, they would attempt. Though they annihilate the Press to 
 the last journal, Paris to the last pavement, France to the last ham- 
 let, they will have done nothing. There will remain yet for them to 
 destroy something always paramount, above the generations, and, 
 as it were, between man and his Maker ; — something that has written 
 all the books, invented all the arts, discovered all the worlds, founded 
 all the civilizations ; — something which will always grasp, under the 
 form of Revolutions, what is not yielded under the form of progress ; 
 _ something which is itself unseizable as the light, and unapproachable 
 %s the sun, — and which calls itself the human mind ! 
 
 81. A REPUBLIC OR A MONARCHY ? — On^ma^ Translation from Victor Hugo 
 On the question of revising the French Constitution, 1851. 
 
 Gentlemen, let us come at the pith of this debate. It is not our 
 Bide of the House, but you, the Monarchists, who have provoked it 
 The question, a Republic or a Monarchy, is before us. No one haa 
 any lon<rer the power or the right to elude it. For more than tvro 
 years, this question, secretly and audaciously agitated, has harassed 
 ^he country. It weighs upon the Present. It clouds the luture. 
 rii£ moment has come for our deliverance from it. Yes, the moment 
 bas come for us to regard it face to face — to see what it is macb o. 
 Now, then, let us show our cards ! No more concealment ! I alhrir 
 Jion, io the name of the eternal laws of human nxorality, that Mor 
 
SENATORIAL. HUGO. J^J 
 
 trchj is an historicaJ fact, and nothing more. Now, when the fact is 
 ^tmct, nothing survives, and all is told. It is otherwise with riqU 
 fctight, even when it no longer has fact to sustain it, — even when it 
 no longer exerts a material authority, — preserves still its moral 
 authority, and is always right. Hence is it that, in an overthrown 
 Kepublic, there remains a right, while in a fallen Monarchy there 
 remains only a ruin. Cease then, ye Legitimists, to appeal to ug 
 trom the position of nght ! Before the right of the People, which is 
 sovereignty, there is no other right but the right of the individ lal 
 which IS liberty. Beyond that, all is a chimera. To talk of the 
 kingly right m this great age of ours, and at this great Tribune, is to 
 pronounce a word void of meaning. 
 
 But, if you cannot speak in tke name of right, will you speak in the 
 name of fact ? Will you say that political stability is the offspring 
 ot hereditary royalty, — and that Royalty is better than Democracy 
 tor a State ? What ! You would have those scenes renewed, those 
 experiences recommenced, which overwhelmed kings and princes- 
 the feeble, like Louis the Sixteenth ; the able and strong, like Louis 
 Philippe ; whole families of royal lineage, — high-born women, saintly 
 Widows, innocent children ! And of those lamentable experiences you 
 have not had enough ? You would have yet more ? But you are 
 • without pity, Royalists, — or without memory ! We ask your mercy 
 on these unfortunate royal families. Good Heavens ! This Place 
 which you traverse daily, on your way to this House, — does it, then' 
 teach you nothing ? — when, if you but stamped on the pavement two 
 paces from those deadly Tuileries, which you covet still, — but stamped 
 on that fatal pavement, — you could conjure up, at wUl, the scaffold 
 trom which the old Monarchy was plunged into the tomb, or the cab 
 m which the new royalty escaped into exile ! 
 
 Ah, men of ancient parties ! you will learn, ere long, that at this 
 present time, — in this nineteenth century, — after the scaffold of 
 Louis the Sixteenth, after the downfall of Napoleon, after the exile of 
 Charles the Tenth, after the flight of Louis Philippe, after the French 
 Revolution, in a word, — that is to .say, after this renewal, complete, 
 absolute, prodigious, of principles, convictions, opinions, situations, 
 influences, and facts, —it is the Republic which is solid ground, and 
 kbo Monarchy which is the perilous venture ! 
 
 32. THE TWO ^^^0\.Y.m%. -Original Translation from Victor Hugo. 
 
 The monarchy of glory! There are a class of monarchists in 
 trance who now speak to us of a monarchy of glory. Legitimacy 
 « impossiDle. Monarchy by right divine, the monarchy of principle 
 IS dead ; but there is another monarchy, the monarchy of glory — the 
 Lmpire, we are told, which is not only possible, but necessary. This 
 glory, where is it ? What are its elements ? Of what is it comm'^^d ? 
 I am cunous to witness the glory which this present Govenment car 
 'bow. What do we see? All our liberties, one after another* 
 •intrapped and bound; universal suffrage mutilated and betrayed 
 
THE STA5~DARD SPEARER. 
 
 BOf-ialist manifratoes termmating in a jesuitical policy , and for a Gov 
 ernment, one immense intrigue,— history, perchance, will call it a 
 conspiracy, — by which the Republic is to be made the bas^s ot the 
 jiimpire through the Bonapartist free-masonry of five hundred thousand 
 office-holders ; every reform postponed or smothered ; burdensome taxes 
 maintained or reestablished; the Press shackled ; juries packed; too 
 little iustice and too much police ; misery at the foot, anarchy at the 
 head, of the social state. Abroad, the wreck of the Roman Republic 
 Austria — that is to say, the gallows — with her foot upon Hungary 
 upon Lombardy, upon Milan, upon Venice , a latent coalition of Kmge, 
 waiting for an opportunity; our diplomacy dumb, I will not say an 
 accomplice ! This is our situation. France bows her head ; Napoleon 
 quivers with shame in his tomb ; and five or six thousand hirelings 
 shonW Vive Temper eurr'* 
 
 But nobody dreams of the Empire, you tell us. What mean, then 
 those cries of Vive Vempereur^ and who pays for them ? What 
 moans this mendicant petition for a prolongation of the l^resident s 
 powers? What is a prolongation? The Consulate for life! And 
 wtiere leads the Consulate lor life? To the Empire ! Gentlemen, 
 here is an intrigue. We will let in day-light upon it, if you please. 
 France must not wake up, one of these fine mormngs, and find her- 
 self emperor-ridden, without knowing why. An emperor! Let m 
 consider the subject a little. Because there was once a man who 
 sained the battle of Marengo, and who reigned, must the man who 
 Lined only the battle of Satory reign also? Because, ten centun^ 
 ago, Charlemagne, after forty years of glory, let fall on the face of 
 the globe a sceptre and a sword of such proportions that no one dared 
 to touch them; and because, a thousand years later, - for it requires 
 a gestation of a thousand years to produce such men, - another genius 
 ani)eared, who took up that sword and sceptre, and stood up erect 
 u-vier the weight; a man who chained Revolution m France, and 
 unchained it in the rest of Europe; who added to his name the bril- 
 liant synonyms of Rivoli, Jena,t Essling Friedland, Montmirail ; i 
 because this man, after ten years of a glory almost fabulous m its 
 grandeur, let fall, in his turn, that sceptre and sword which had ac- 
 com.3lished such colossal exploits,-yow would come - you, you would 
 presuTue, after him, to catch them up as he did, -he, Napoleon, after 
 Chai-lcma-ne,-and grasp in your feeble hands this sceptre of the 
 pants, thfs sword of the Titans ! What to do ? 
 
 What! after Augustus must we have Augustulus? Because we have 
 fead a Napoleon the Great, must we now have Napoleon the Little 
 
 Sa THE END OF GOVERNMENT, 1641.— JoAn Pym. Born, 1583 •, rfied, 1643. 
 
 My Lords, many days have been spent m maintenance of the 
 unpeach nent of the Ead of Strafford by the House of Commons, 
 ' 7ereby he stands charged with high treason ; and JO- J-f 
 We heard his defence with patience, and with as much favoi as juj> 
 
 • Pronounced Ve.ev Uaunpphrehr. t Ya^nah t Mon^hme^nl..^ 
 
BBNATORIiL. - EARL OF STRAtFORD. 193 
 
 rfce Trill allow We have passed through our evidence and tU 
 result IS, that - remains clearly proved that the Earl of Straflfor.l hath 
 ^ndeavored by His words, actions and counsels, to subvert the fiinda- 
 mental laws of ,»^ngland and Ireland, and to introduce an arbitrary and 
 tyrannical government. This will best appear if the quality of the 
 ofience be examined by that law to which he himself appea.od, that 
 
 pZlof ' TK -'T""'! P^pidi,-ihe welfare of the 
 
 People ! This is the element of all laws, out of which they ^re 
 derived ; the end of a 1 laws, to which they are designed, and in 
 which they are perfected. The offence comprehends all other offences 
 
 Der uriir t\ 1' w?^ ^^P^"^^' oppressions 
 
 Dp Ti K Tf" seminary virtue, whereby it doth pro- 
 
 duce all herbs and p ants, and other vegetables; there is in this crime 
 
 re sonof r . "f' Yf""^ ' ^-^ider the 
 
 reason ot it, it must needs be so. 
 
 The law is that which puts a difference betwixt good and evil,- 
 til Wn f ""■'"S- *e law, all things wiM 
 
 ^Z a .^^™'-J become a law to himself, which, 
 
 m the deprayed condition of human nature, must needs produce many 
 Iw • 7 1. become a law, and envy ^ill become a 
 
 law coretousness and ambition will become laws ; and what dictsites, 
 what decisions, such laws will produce, may easily be discerned in the 
 Iat« government of Ireland ! The law is the safeguard, the eustod^ 
 
 States I t- •'r^'f' liberties and 
 
 „'l,t Vf. ' l"^- Without this, every m.an 
 
 hath a like right to everything; and such is the condition int« which 
 the Irish were brought by the Earl of Strafford ! 
 
 Ihis arbitrary and tyrannical power, which the Earl of Strafford 
 did exercise with his own person, and to which he did advise his 
 Majesty, is inconsistent with the peace, the wealth, the prosperity, of a 
 Nation; it is destructive to jiatice, the mother of peace ; ti industry, 
 the spring of wealth; to valor, which is the actL vikue whereby 
 
 enkrJS' T^T^ 1 t °™ ^ P™^™'"'' <'°"S™ed, and 
 
 enlarged. It is the end of government, that virtue should be cherished, 
 viee suppressed ; but, where this arbitrary and unlimited power is se 
 
 and ITof " ™i ''"""'y- 1^"* *e advancement 
 
 and encouragement of evil. It is the end of Government, that aU 
 accidents and events, al counsels and designs, should be im^d to 
 ti^tjT^L^ tbis^itrary power -.ould dispose aS to the 
 
 34. THE EARL OF STRAFFORD'S DEFENCE 
 
 .K.^ ^'Tu' ^f'^/.^ ^^^^t^oned upon a law which cannot be 
 •hown. Where hath this fire lain hid so many hundred years, with^ 
 
{g4 STANDAKB SPBAKEE. 
 
 out rmnke to discover it, till it thus bursts forth to consume ine aud 
 BIT chiidren? It will be wisdom for yoursekcs, for your posterity, 
 nd for the whole Kingdom, to cast into the fire these bloody and mys- 
 terious Tolumes of constructive and arbitrary treason, as the pnmitiTC 
 Christians did their boolis of curious arts, and betake yourselves tfl 
 Ihe dain letter of the law and statute, that telleth us what is i-nd 
 what is not treason, without being ambitious to be more leamed in tto 
 art of killing than our forefathers. It is now two hundred and forty 
 vears since £iy man was touched for this alleged crime, to this height, 
 before myself. Let us not awaken these sleeping lions to our destruc- 
 tion, by taking up a few musty records that have lain by the wall so 
 many a-^es, fo?gotten or neglected. May your Lordships please not 
 w add this to my other misfortunes; let not a precedent be deriTed 
 from me, so disadvantageous as this will be, m its consequences to the 
 
 " Mfffihe words for which I am here arraigned were not 
 wantonly or unnecessarily spoken, but they were spoken m full Council 
 Ihere, by the duty of my oath, I was obliged to speak according to 
 heart^nd conscience. In all thirigs concern ng^ the Kmg's ™ 
 If I had forborne to speak what I conceived to be for tne benefit of 
 the King and People, I had been per ured towaras Almighty God. 
 Li, for^delivering my mind openly and freely, shall I be m dang^^ 
 of my life as a traitor 2 If that necessity be put^ upon ™e, I thank 
 God, by His blessing, I have learned not to stand m fear of him who 
 eln only kill the body. If the question be, whether I must be traitor 
 Tman^r perjured to God, I will be faithful to my Creator; and, 
 whatsoever U befall me from popular rage, o>- 
 ness, I must leave it to that Almighty Being, and to the justice and 
 
 "Tylrdl^S^e bom to great thoughts; you are nursed up for 
 the great and weighty employments of the Kingdom. B^*. f '* 
 once^admitted that a councillor delivenng his opm»n wuh others a 
 the council-table, under an oath of secrecy and faithfulness, shal De 
 brouXt nto question upon some misapprehension or ignorance ofdaw 
 ^Tf every word that he speaks from a sincere and noble intention 
 Bha beTawn against him for the attainting of him, his children and 
 TOS erity -I know not any wise or noble person of fortune who will^ 
 Tpon ueh perilous and unLfe terms, adventure to be cou-i«or ^ 
 the Kin<r! Opinions may make a heretic, but that they make « 
 
 '"t LrrXarSif m;:el is nothing; but that my indiscr^- 
 tion 'should extend to -y. Po'^^^ty, wouiideth m^^^ 
 
 rrarrri"it^;r^"^ 
 
 ^ glory which shaU be revealed hereafter And so. my LorK ev^ 
 
SENATORIAL. — PULTENEY. Jgg 
 35. ON REDHCi™ THE AEMV, n32.-«^„. P.„„,,. , ^^^^^ 
 
 other feignationt a standt| a my L m 1 LntT""'"'^ f ^"^ 
 feiuiuuxuig. Ana It an ofiicer were sent into thp Pnin^f 
 
 fis ™of sS'" t^a'?^" svzt 
 
|C)5 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 86 AGAIN^^/ IHE SUCCESSION OF RICHARD CROMWELL TO THE PROTECTO 
 86. &CAU^l^^ J-m^ n j>^rj,j;^ iQb9. ~ Sir Henry Fane. 
 
 The fallowing rern..lca.le st^, ^ ^^Z^^t^^^^^^^ 
 Brittanica, did not fail m effect Richa d Orora^^^^^^ biographers, " swept every tMng 
 
 ca9 delivered. - This impet^f /^^^^^^ of Uber"y, neve achieved 1 mor^ complete triun.ph. 
 •efore it. Oratory, genms, ^^'L^S.^Zs and irresistible. It broke, and forever, the power ol 
 It was signal an.l de^'^J^'^^.-'.P^.l^^^^^^^^^^^^ bor Tn Kent, England, in 1612 ; was the fourth 
 Kr^or 0? the c'^nV of SLs^aSsett^in 1636 ; and was executed for high treason oa Tow« 
 Hill, in 1662. 
 
 Mr. Speaker, - Among all the people of the universe, I know nono 
 who ha™ show; so much zeal for the liberty ofth«r ^o™';? - 
 English at this time have done they have, by the help of dmne 
 Providence, overcome all obstacles, and have ^ff^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 We have driven away the hereditary tyranny of the house ot btaart, 
 
 the Expense of much blood and treasure, in hopes of enjoymg hered- 
 try liberty after having shaken off the yoke of kingslnp ; and there 
 B not aln amon. uswho eould have imagined that any person would 
 te so bo d as to fire to attempt the ravishing from us that freedom 
 which cost us so much blood, and so much labor. But so >t happens J 
 Sw notby what nLisfortune, we are fallen into the errorof those who 
 ™Cned the Emperor Titus to make room for Dom.t.an ; who ma^^ 
 ^ay Augustus It they might have Tiberms ; and «hang^ Claudi^ 
 
 L!rei=tr£;rs 
 ii^Santei^iS-;S;— ^^^^^^ 
 r-lr^iiC^rs^rrr^^^^^^^ 
 
 srfd^^-ix^e^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 venLble Uy from whom he received his authority, he usurped 
 irGovernment. His merit was so extraordinary, that our judgment^ 
 lur naslfons mic^ht be blinded by it. He made his way to empire by 
 
 Ws tM« ' Wetave seen that he had a sword by his side ; hnt did h 
 ever tow it" And, what is of more importance in this case, is fit 
 " t oWilnce fro; a mighty Nation, who could >»f ^/^^X*; 
 ^ \ w .7 -Vm must recQo-nize this man as our iving, unaer 
 
 St ! For my part, I declare. Sir, it shall never be said that I 
 made such a man my master ! 
 
 It has teen observed, Mr. Speaker, by several gentlemen, m vindi. 
 ci;. of to motion, that, if it should be earned, neither my life 
 
SENA'f )IIIAL. — -WaLPOLE. 
 
 fiberty nor estate, will be affected. But do the honorable gentlfjnen 
 consider my character and reputation as of no moment ? I;, rt no 
 mputation to be arraigned before this House, in which I have aat fort? 
 years, and to have my name transmitted to posterity with disgrati 
 and nifamy ? I will not conceal my sentiments, that to be named 
 in Parliament as a subject of inquiry, is to me a matter of great con- 
 -^•rn ; but I have the satisfaction, at the same time, to reflect that the 
 impression to be made depends upon the consistency of the charo-e, 
 and the motives of the prosecutors. Had the charge been reduced'^tc 
 fipecihc allegations, I should have felt myself called upon for a specific 
 'lefence. ^ Had I served a weak or wicked master, and implicitly 
 obeyed his dictates, obedience to his commands must have been m*y 
 only justification But, as it has been my good fortune to serve a 
 master who wants no bad Ministers, and would have hearkened to 
 none, my defence must rest on my own conduct. The consciousness 
 Dt innocence is sufficient support against my present prosecutors 
 
 barvey and examine the individuals who usually support the 
 measures of Government, and those who are in opposition. Let us 
 see to whose side the balance preponderates. Look round both Houses 
 and see to which side the balance of virtue and talents preponderates' 
 Are all these on one side, and not on the other ? Or are all these to 
 be counterbalanced by an affected claim to the exclusive title of patri- 
 Dtism? Gentlemen have talked a great deal about patriotism: A 
 venerable word, when duly practised ! But I am sorry to say that 
 ot late it has been so much hackneyed about, that it is in danger of 
 tailing into disgrace. The very idea of true patriotism is lost ; and 
 the term has been prostituted to the very worst of purposes A 
 patriot birj — Why, patriots spring up like mushrooms! I could 
 raise fifty of them within the four-and-twenty hours. I have raised 
 toany of them^ in one night. It is but refusing to gratify an unrea- 
 sonable or an msolent demand, and up starts a patriot. I have never 
 been afraid of making patriots ; but I disdain and despise all their 
 eiiorts This pretended virtue proceeds from personal malice, and 
 from disappointed ambition. There is not a man amongst them whose 
 particular aim I am not able to ascertain, and from what motive ha 
 has entered mto the lists of opposition ! 
 
 38. AGAINST MR. PITT, 1741 Td. 
 
 Sir, — I was unwilling to interrupt the course of this debate whUe 
 luffeTthr^ "'^ with calmness and decency, by men who do not 
 Butter the ardor of opposition to cloud their reason, or transport them 
 to such expressions as the dignity of this assembly does not admit. I 
 ttaje hither o deterred io answer the gentleman who declaimed against 
 the bill with such fluency of rhetoric, and such vehemence of ges- 
 ture,-- who charged the advocates for the expedients now proposed 
 mth having no regard to any interest but their own, and with making 
 only to consume paper, a-nd tJireatened them with the defection 
 
19m the standard speaker. 
 
 of their adherents, and the loss of their influence, upon this new Ji* 
 wvery of their folly, and their ignorance. Nor, Sir, do^ I now 
 answer him for any other purpose than to remind him how httle th« 
 clamors of rage, and the petulancy of invectives, contribute to. the 
 purposes for which this assembly is called together ; — how little the 
 discovery of truth is promoted, and the security of the Nation estab- 
 lished, by pompous diction, and theatrical emotions. Formidable 
 sounds and furious declamations, confident assertions and lofty periods, 
 may affect the young and inexperienced ; and perhaps the gentleman 
 may have contracted his habits df oratory by conversing more with 
 those of his own age than with such as have had more opportunities' 
 of acqiiirina knowledge, and more successful methods of communi- 
 eatino- their sentiments. If the heat of his temper, Sir, would suffer 
 him t°o attend to those whose age and long acquaintance with business 
 crive them an indisputable right to deference and superiority, he would 
 fearn in time, to reason rather than declaim, and to prefer justness 
 of argument, and an accurate knowledge of facts, to sounding epithets, 
 and splendid superlatives, which may disturb the imagination for a 
 moment, but which leave no lasting impression on the mmd. Me will 
 learn. Sir, that to accuse and prove are very different ; and ttiat 
 reproaches, unsupported by evidence, affect only the character of him 
 that utters them. Excursions of fancy, and flights of oratory, are 
 indeed, pardonable in young men, but in no other; and it would 
 surely contribute more, even to the purpose for which some gentlemen 
 appear to speak (that of depreciating the conduct of tne administra- 
 tion), to prove the inconveniences and injustice of this Bill, than barely 
 to assert them, with whatever magnificence of language, or appearance 
 of zeal, honesty, or compassion. 
 
 39. REPLY TO SIR R. WALPOLE, \U\.- William Pitt, afterwards Earl of Chatham 
 
 Willinm Pitt, first Earl of Chatham,-one of the greatest orators 
 ially endeared to Americans for his eloquent appeals in then- beha f ^^f'^^t jlm^^ ■„ 
 
 ter of Debates, and probably received many touches from his pen. 
 
 #HM^ The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honor- 
 »bk gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me 1 
 iOiall neither attempt to palliate nor deny ; - but content mj^e f with 
 wi»hini£ that ] may be one of those whose follies may cease with then 
 
ftFJJATURlAL. EARl OF CHATHAM. 
 
 path, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience* 
 Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not 
 3ir, assume the province of determining ; — but surely age may become 
 justly contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have passcy 
 away without improvement, and vice appears to prevail when the 
 passions have subsided. The wretch who, after having seen the con- 
 sequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose 
 has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of either 
 abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his gray hairs should 
 secure him from insult. Much more. Sir, is he to be abhorred, who. 
 as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and becomes more 
 wicked with less temptation ;— who prostitutes himself for money 
 which he cannot enjOy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruir 
 of his country. 
 
 But youth. Sir, is not my only crime : I have been accused of 
 acting a theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some 
 peculiarities of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and 
 an adoption of the opinions and language of another man. In the first 
 sense. Sir, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only 
 to be mentioned, to be despised. T am at liberty, like every other 
 man, to use my own language; and though, perhaps, I may have 
 some ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under 
 any restraint nor very solicitously copy his diction or his mien, how- 
 ever matured by age or modelled by experience. If any man shall, 
 by charging me with theatrical behavior, imply that I utter any sen 
 timents but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain 
 — nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment he deserves 
 i shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those 
 forms with which wealth and dignity intrench themselves, nor shall 
 anythmg but age restrain my resentment age, which always brin^a 
 owe privilege, that of being insolent and supercilious without punish- 
 ment. But with regard. Sir, to those whom I have offended T am of 
 opimon that, if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided 
 their censure: the heat that offended them is the ardor of conviction 
 and that zeal for the service of my country which neither hope nor 
 fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while 
 my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will 
 
 ^^Z'Z^.w /r'^^^^^^ '^nK^^' a^s,4sor,and 
 
 iiag the thief to justice, — whyever may protect SiW in^^ villany 
 and whoever may partake of^^ plunder. I 
 
 40. IN REPLY TO MR. GRENV^LE, 1766. -Car n/Chsth^. 
 
 SiK_ » charge is brought against Gentlemen sitting in Ihis Hoase 
 of giving birth to sedition in America. Several have spoken then 
 sentiments with freedom against this unhappy act, - and that freedon. 
 ha.s become their crime. Sorry I am to hear the liberty of speech ic 
 
^00 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 feWs House imputed as a crime. But the imputation shall not dii* 
 sourar^e me. The Gentleman tells us, America is obstmate ; Ameri^ 
 is alSost in open rebellion. I rqioice that America has resisted. 
 ]W millions of people so dead to all the feelings of liberty as volun- 
 tarily to let themselves be made slaves would have been fit instruments 
 to mlike slaves of all the rest. I come "lot here armed at all points 
 with law cases and acts of Parliament, with the statute-book doubled 
 down in do^s' ears, to defend the cause of liberty. I would not debate 
 a particular point of law with the Gentleman. I know his abilities. 
 But, for the defeDce of liberty, upon a general prmciple, upon a ton- 
 Btitutional principle, it is a ground on which I stand firm, — on which i 
 dare meet my man. . 
 
 The Gentleman boasts of his bounties to America. Are not thoso 
 bounties intended finally for the benefit of this Kingdom? If they 
 are not, he has misapplied the national treasures. He asks, When 
 were the Colonies emancipated? I desire to know when they were 
 made slaves ! But I dwell not upon words. I will be bold to afcrm 
 that the profits of Great Britain from the trade of the Colonies, 
 through all its branches, are two millions a year. This is the tund 
 that carried you triumphantly through the last war. This is the pri.^6 
 America pays for her protection. And shall a_ miserable financier 
 come, with a boast that he can fetch a pepper-corn into the Exchequer, 
 by the loss of millions to the Nation ? =^ 
 
 A sreat deal has been said, without doors, of the power, ot the 
 Btreno-th, of America. It is a topic that ought to be cautiously 
 meddled with. In a good cause, the force of this country can crush 
 America to atoms. I know the valor of your troops ; I know the 
 Bkill of your officers. But on this ground, — on the Stamp Act, 
 when so many here will think it a crying injustice, — I am one who 
 will lift up my hands against it. In such a cause even your success 
 would be hazardous. America, if she fell, would fall like the strong 
 man. She would embrace the pillars of the State, and pull down he 
 Coxistitution along with her. Is this your boasted peace ? To sheathe 
 the sword, not in its sca,bbard, but in the bowels of your countrymen ? 
 Will you quarrel with yourselves, now the whole House of Bourbon is 
 united against you? While France disturbs your fisheries m New- 
 foundland, embarrasses your slave-trade to Africa and withholds from 
 your subjects in Canada their property stipulated by treaty ? while the 
 Lnsom for the Manillas is denied by Spam? The Americans have 
 been wronged. They have been driven to madness by )™ 
 you punish them for tfie madness you have occasioned ? Bather le 
 Ldl^nce and temper come first from this side ! I will undertake for 
 America that she will follow the example. 
 
 « Bo to her faults a little blind ; 
 13e to her virtues very kind." 
 
 l^t the Stamp Act be repealed; and let the reason for the repeal - 
 • Mr. Nugent had said that a peppercorn in acknowledgment of the rigbl 
 ku. America was of more value than million? without it 
 
SENATORIAL. - ilARI 01 CHATHAltt. 201 
 
 hcause the Act was founded on an erroneous prirtdple 
 assigned. Let it be repealed absolutely, totally, and immediately! 
 
 * • ^^^,fj^2f TO RECONCILIATION WITH AMERICA -Earl of Ckatkma 
 
 Jan. JO, 1/ /5, on his motion to withdraw the British troops from Boston. 
 
 f nS '^.fY^! speech, we find in the diary of Josiah Quincy, jr., the follovrin- memoraa 
 
 " Attended the delates in the House of Lords. Good fo.t^e'gave irone'of t£ 
 places for hearmg, and taking a few minutes. Lord Chatham rose like Marcel us Hi; 
 |uage, voice and ges -are, were more pathetic than I ever saw or hear.l befoS at the Bar o' 
 Senate. He seemed hke an old Roman Senator ri^-n"- with the diV,, fv nf Z V , 
 Jith the five of youth.' Dr. Franklin, who was^als'^ptesI^t^t'tL'Sfe,!; f ^'Thi^^ 
 
 America, my Lords, cannot be reconciled to this country --she 
 ought not to be reconciled — till the troops of Britain are withdrawn 
 How can America trust you, with the bayonet at her breast ? How 
 can she suppose that you mean less than bondage or death ? I there- 
 tore move that an address be presented to his Majesty, advising that 
 immediate orders be despatched to General Gage, for removing, his 
 Majesty s forces from the town of Boston. The way must be iminedi- 
 ately opened for reconciliation. It will soon be too late An hour 
 now lost m allaying ferments in America may produce years of calam- 
 ity.^ ever will I desert, for a moment, the conduct of this weiehtv 
 business. Unless nailed to my bed by the extremity of sicknel I 
 will pursue it to the end. I will knock at the door of this sleepinc; 
 and confounded Ministry, and will, if it be possible, rouse them to I 
 sense of their danger. 
 
 I contend not for indulgence, but for justice, to America. What is 
 our right to persist in such crural and vindictive acts against a loyal 
 respectable people ? They say you have no right to tax them without 
 their consent. They say truly. Eepresentation and taxation must go 
 together ; they are inseparable. I therefore urge and conjure yoSr 
 Lordships immediately to adopt this conciliating measure. If illegal 
 violences have been, as it is said, committed in America, prepare the 
 way -open the door of possibility — for acknowledgment and satis- 
 taction; but proceed not to such coercion — such proscription : cease 
 your indiscriminate inflictions; amerce not thirty thousand ; oppress 
 no three millions ; irritate them not to unappetis^ble rancor, for the 
 ault of forty or fifty. Such severity of injustice must forever render 
 ncurable the wounds you have inflicted. What though you march 
 trom town to town, from province to province? mat thouc^h vou 
 entorce a temporary and local submission ; - how shall you secure the 
 Dl^edience of the country you leave behind you in your progress 
 How grasp the dominion of eighteen hundred miles of continent 
 populous in numbers, strong in valor, liberty, and the means of 
 resistance ? j ^ yj 
 
 The spirit which now resists your taxaUon, in America, b the same 
 «rhich lormerly o])posed loans, benevolences and ship-money, in Eno, 
 lani : - the same sp^nt which called aU England on its legs, and, iTj 
 
202 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 ♦he of Kights, vindicated the English Con-stitation ; - the samj 
 wit which established the great fundamental essential maxim of 
 eour liberties, that no subject of England shall be taxed but by hu 
 own consent. This glorious Whig spirit animates three milhonb in 
 America, who prefer poverty, with liberty, to gilded chams and sordid 
 affluence ; and who will die in defence of their rights as men, as free 
 men. What shall oppose this spirit, aided by the congenial flame 
 glowing in the breast of every Whig in England ? " ;T is liberty to 
 liberty engaged," that they will defend themselves, their families and 
 their country. In this great cause they are immovably alhed: it is 
 the alliance of God and nature, — immutable, eternal, — hxed as the 
 firmament of Heaven. 
 
 42. -REPEAL CLAIMED BY AMERICANS AS A RIGHT. - From <Ae same 
 
 It is not repealing this or that act of Parliament, - it is not 
 repealing a piece of parchment, - that can restore America to our bosom. 
 You must repeal her fears and her resentments ; and you may then 
 hope for her love and gratitude. But, now, msulted with an armed 
 force posted at Boston, irritated with a hostile array before her 
 eyes, her concessions, if you could force them would be suspicious and 
 insecure, — the dictates of fear, and the extortions of force ! But it la 
 more than evident that you cannot force them,^ principled and united 
 0^ thev are to vour unworthy terms of submission. Repeal, there- 
 for nryL^rds/l say ! But bare repeal will not satisfy this enhght. 
 ened and spirited People. You must go through the work. You 
 must declare you have no right to tax. Then they may trust you. 
 There is no time to be lost. Every moment is big with dangers. 
 . While I am speaking, the decisive blow may be struck, and millions 
 involved in the consequence. The very first drop of blood shed in 
 civil and unnatural war will make a wound which years, perhaps ages., 
 may not heal. It will be immedicabiU vulnus. 
 
 When your Lordships look at the papers transmitted to us from 
 America, — when you consider their decency, firmness, and wisdom, — 
 you cannot but respect their cause, and wish to make it y~' Jj^^ 
 declare and avow, that, in the master States of ^^^^l^' ^ j™^^^^^ . 
 the People nor the Senate, who, under such a complication of difficult 
 circumstances, can stand in preference to the delegates of America 
 assembled in General Congress at Philadelphia. For genuine sagacity, 
 fo singular moderation, for solid wisdom, manly spirit, «-Wmie sent. 
 tnents,\nd simplicity of language, for everything respectable and 
 honorable, - they stand unrivalled I trust it is obviou. to your Loid- 
 'hTps tha all attLpts to impose servitude upon such men o estao- 
 ish despotism over such a mighty Continental Nation must b^^^ 
 must be fatal. This wise People speak out They do no o d th 
 .anguag: of slaves. They tell you what they mean. ^^^^}^J^^^ 
 ask voS to r-peal your laws as a favor. They claim it as n ught - 
 4 den^nd it. They tell you they will not submit to them. And 
 
SENATORIAL. — EAEL OF WmiM. 20S 
 
 I tel] you, the acts must be repealed. We shall be forced ultimately 
 to retract. i^et us retract while we can, not when we must I sav 
 we must n9ces3arily undo these violent, oppressive acts. They must 
 be, repealed. You will repeal them. I pledge myself for it, that you 
 W]ll, m the end, repeal then.. I stake my reputation on it. I wil' 
 consent to be taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed;^ 
 Avoid, then, this humiliating, this disgraceful necessity. Every 
 motive of justice and of policy, of dignity and of prudence urges 
 you to a lay the ferment m America, by a removal of your troops 
 from Boston by a repeal of your acts of Parliament. On the other 
 hand, every danger and every hazard impend, to deter you from per- 
 severance m your present ruinous measures : — foreign war hangino 
 over your heads by a slight and brittle thread, - Fiance and Spain 
 W'MGhmg your conduct, and waiting the maturity of your errors ' 
 ^ To conclude my Lords : if the Ministers thus persevere in m'isad- 
 vj-smg and misleadmg the King, I will not say that they can alienate 
 tiie affections of his subjects from the Crown, but I will affirm that 
 they will make his Crown not worth his wearing; I will not say that 
 undone"'^" ^^^''^^^^^ ^ pronounce that the Kingdom is 
 
 43. LORD NORTH'S MINISTRY DENOUNCED, 1775. _ /d. 
 In reply to the Duke of Grafton. 
 
 The noble Duke is extremely angry with me, that I did not consult 
 him before bringing in the present Bill. I would ask the noble Duke 
 Does he consult me, or do I desire to be previously told of anv 
 mo ions or measures/^, thinks fit to propose to this House? This 
 Bill, he says has been hurried. Has he considered how the case 
 really stands ? Here we are told that America is in a state of actual 
 
 'i^f r '^^'P^ ""j*^ hmTjing matters ! The opponents 
 of this Bill may flatter themselves that it will sink into silence, and 
 be forgotten. They will find their mistake. This Bill, though 
 
 . ^1' ""^r^^'' to the public, to the Nation, to the 
 
 remotest wilds of A...nca ! It will, I trust, remain a monument of 
 my poor endeavors to serve my country; and, however faulty or 
 defective it may be, it will, at least, manifest how zealous I have been 
 to avei-t the storms which seem ready to burst on that country, and to 
 overwiielni it forever in ruin. 
 
 Yet, when I consider the whole case as it lies before me, I am not 
 
 r I • l^""' .^^^ '^'P'^'^^ who hate libortv 
 
 should detest those who prize it; or that men who want virtue them- 
 delves should endeavor to depreciate those who possess it. Were I 
 disposed to pursue this theme to the extent that truth would warrant. 
 I could demonstrate that the whole of your political conduct has been 
 one contim^ed senes of weakness, temerity, and despotism; of blun 
 
 • The prediction of the Earl of Chatham was verified. After three vears' frnit 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 ^ering ignon^nce, and wanton negligence ; and of the most not^nom 
 ferviHtyT incapacity, and corruption. On reconsideration, i must 
 allow you on. merit, -a strict attention to your own ^nterest^ In 
 that view, you appear sound statesmen and able politicians. You wed 
 know if he present measure should prevail, that you must ms antly 
 relinbuish your places. I doubt much whether you will be able to 
 kerthem In any terms. But sure I am, such are your well-know. 
 characters and abilities, that any plan of reconciliation, however mod. 
 erate, wise and feasible, must fail in your hands. Such then, being 
 your precarious situations, who can wonder that you should put a neg- 
 ative on any measure which must annihilate your power, deprive you 
 of your emoluments, and at once reduce you to that state ot in.ig- 
 nificance for which you were by God and Nature designed ? 
 
 44 AGAINST EMPLOYING INDIANS IN WAB,.- Earl of Chatham. 
 In the course of the debate, November 18, 1777, dm-ing which the ,f ^'Vf ,f ^.f sXSlecrt 
 
 Who is the man that, in addition to the disgraces and mischiefs of 
 our army, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms the toma- 
 hawk and scalping-knifeof the savage ?- to call mto civi ized alliance 
 the wild and inhuman savage of the woods ; to delegate to the mere 
 less Indian the defence of disputed rights; and to wage the horror* 
 of his barbarous war against our brethren ? My Lords, these enormi- 
 ties cry aloud for redress and punishment ; but atrocious as they are, 
 they have found a defender in this House. " It is perfectly justiha- 
 ble,'' says a noble Lord, " to use all the means that God and Nature 
 pui into our hands.'' I am astonished, shocked to hear such princi- 
 Dies confessed, — to hear them avowed in this House, or even in this 
 country ; - principles equally unconstitutional, inhuman and unchris- 
 tian ' My Lords, I did not intend to have trespassed agam upon 
 your attention; but I cannot repress my indignation -I eel my^eit 
 impelled by every duty to proclaim it. As members of this House, 
 a? men, as^Ghristians, we are called upon to protest against the bar- 
 barous proposition. " That God and Nature put into onvh^ndsl 
 What ideas that noble Lord may entertain of God and Nature 1 
 know not; but I know that such abominable principles are equally 
 abl orrent'to religion and to humanity. What ! attribute the sacred 
 sanction of God Ind Nature to the massacres of the Indian scalp g- 
 knife,- to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering devouring, drink» 
 ng the blood of his mangled victims ! Such horrible notionB .^ook 
 every precept of religion, revealed or natural; every sentiment of 
 konor, every generous feeling of humanity ! , . i 
 
 The.se abominable principles, and this more abominable avowal ot 
 them, demand most decisive indignation! I call upon that Kigh^ 
 . Heverend Bench, those holy ministers of the Gospel,ani pious pa.ton 
 
SENATORIAL. — EARL OF CHATHAM. 20f 
 
 nf (m* Church; I conjure them to join in the holy work, and to vindi- 
 eate the religion of their God ! I appeal to the wisdom and the law of 
 fchis learned Bench, to defend and support the justice of their country! 
 [ call upon the Bishops to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their 
 .awn ; upon the judges, to interpose the purity of their ermine, to save 
 us from this pollution ! I call upon the honor of your Lordships to 
 reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain your own 1 I 
 call upon the spirit and humanity of ray country, to vindicate the 
 national character! I invoke the genius of the Constitution ! From 
 the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal ancestor * of the 
 noble Lord frowns with indignation at the disgrace of his country! 
 In vain did he lead your victorious fleets against the boasted Armada 
 of Spain, — in vain did he defend and establish the honor, the liber- 
 ties, the religion, the Protestant Religion of his country, — if these 
 more than Popish cruelties and Inquisitorial practices are let loose 
 amongst \\%\ Turn forth into our settlements, among our ancient con- 
 nections, friends and relations, the merciless cannibal, thirsting for the 
 blood of man, woman^ and child ? Send forth the infidel savage ? 
 Against whom ? Against your Protestant brethren ! To lay waste 
 fcheir country, to desolate their dwellings, and extin-ate their race and 
 name, with these horrible hell-hounds of savage war ! Sptun armed 
 herself with blood-hounds to extirpate the wretched nail res of Amer- 
 ica ; and we improve on the inhuman example of even Spanish cru- 
 elty ; we turn loose these savage hell-hounds against our brethren 
 and countrymen in America, of the same language^ laws, liberties, and 
 religion,— endeared to us by every tie that should sanctify humanity! 
 
 _ My Lords, this awful subject, so important to our honor, our Con- 
 stitution, and our religion, demands the most solemn and effectual 
 inquiry And I again call upon your Lordships, and the united powers 
 ot the State, to examine it thoroughly and decisively, and to stamp 
 upon It an indelible stigma of the public abhorrence. And I again 
 implore those holy prelates of our religion to do away those iniquitiea 
 from among us. Let them perform a lustration ; let them purify this 
 House and this country from this sin. My Lords, I am old and weak, 
 and at present unable to say more ; but my feelings and my indigna 
 tion were too strong to have said less. I could not have slept this 
 mght in my bed, or have reposed my head on my pillow, without giv- 
 ing this vent to my eternal abhorrence of such preposterous and enoro 
 toous principles. 
 
 45. KUmOUS CONSEQUENCES OF THE AMERICAN k^.-Earl of CJiatnam. 
 
 Yuu cannot conciliate America by your present measures; you 
 sannot subdue her by your present, or by any measures. What, then, 
 
 ' * I'O/d Howard of Effingham, who commanded the English fleet opposed to th« 
 opamsh Armada, and from whom the Earl of SufiFolk was descended. The tapestry 
 f i«o r. ^T"*' represented the defeat and dispersion of the Spanish ArmadtL 
 
 S r n ^^^t^'^er, 1834, this tapestry was burned in the fire which dfeStroye4 
 we two flouscs of Parliament. 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 can you do? You cannot conquer, you cannot gain, but ca» 
 address. In a just and necessary war, to maintain the rights or nonor 
 of* my country, I would strip the shirt from my back in its behalf, 
 '^ut, in such a war as this, unjust in its principle, impracticable in it* 
 means, and ruinous in its consequences, I would not contribute a single 
 effort, nor a single shilling. 
 
 My Tiords, I have submitted to you with the freedom and tralb 
 which I think my duty, my sentiments on your present awful situa- 
 tion. I have laid before you the ruin of your power, the disgrace of 
 your reputation, the pollution of your discipline, the contamination of 
 your morals, the complication of calamities, foreign and domestic, that, 
 overwhelm your sinking country. Your dearest interests, your own 
 liberties, the Constitution itself, totter to the foundation. All this 
 disgraceful danger, this multitude of misery, is the monstrous offspring 
 of this unnatural war. We have been deceived and deluded too long. 
 Let us now stop short. This is the crisis, — it may be the only crisis, 
 — of time and situation, to give us a possibility of escape from the 
 fatal effects of our delusions. But if, in an obstinate and infatuated 
 perseverance in folly, we meanly echo back the peremptory words this 
 day presented to us, — words expressing an unalterable determination 
 to persist in the measures against America, — nothing can save thifl 
 devoted country from complete and final ruin. We madly rush into 
 multiplied miseries, and plunge into " confusion worse confounded." 
 
 46. AMERICA UNCONQUERABLE. — £;arZ of Chatham, November 18, 1777, on the 
 Address of Thanks to the King. 
 
 This, my Lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment. It is no 
 time for adulation. The smoothness of flattery cannot save us, in this 
 rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the Throne 
 in the language of Truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion 
 and darkness which envelop it ; and display, in its full danger and 
 genuine colors, the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can Minis- 
 ters still presume to expect support in their infatuation ? Can Par- 
 liament be so dead to its dignity and duty as to be thus deluded into 
 the loss of the one, and the violation of the other ; — as to give an 
 unlimited support to measures which have heaped disgrace ar 1 mis- 
 fortune upon us ; measures which have reduced this late flourishing 
 empire to ruin and contempt ? But yesterday, and England migJd 
 havt stood against the world : now, none so poor to do her rever- 
 ence / France, my Lords, has insulted you. She has encouraged 
 and sustained America ; and, whether America be wrong or right, the 
 dignity of this country ought to spurn at the officious insult of French 
 mtcrlerence. Can even our Ministers sustain a more humiliating dis- 
 grace ? Do they dare to resent it ? Do they presume even to hint a 
 ^^indication of their honor, and the dignity of the State, by requiring 
 the dismissal of the plenipotentiaries of America ? The People, whom 
 «hey affroted to call (XQtemptible rebels, but whose growing power ha< 
 
SEIiATOIlfAL. MEREIITH. 
 
 201 
 
 ftt .d^<t obtained the aame of enemies, — the I:*yjple wHli whom thev 
 have engaged tms eoumiij in war, and against whom thev noiv command 
 our implicit support in everj measure of desperate hostility, - this 
 Feople despised as rebels, or acknowledged as enemies, are abetted 
 against you supplied with every military store, their interests con- 
 suited ana their Ambassadors entertained, by your inveterate eneniF 
 -^ and our Ministers dare not mierpose wiih dignity or effect ' 
 
 l>iy Lords, this rumous and ignominious situation, where we cannot 
 act with success nor suffer with honor, calls upon us to remonstrate 
 in the strongest and loudest language of truth, to rescue the ear of 
 Majesty from the delusions which surround it. You cannot, I ven- 
 ture to say It, you aiNNOT conquer America. What is your present 
 ituation there ? We do not know the ,wor.t ; but we know that in 
 three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may 
 swell every expense, and strain every efiort, still more extravagantly 
 ZZ"^^ ^^'7. r^'-^v ^ tr^^ffic a^^d bar-' 
 
 vJn ^^^'^f^^^^f foreign country : your efforts are forever 
 
 vam and impotent, - doubly so from this mercenary aid on which you 
 rely;^ for it irritates to an incurable resentment the minds of your 
 enemies, to overrun them with the sordid sons of rapine and of 
 plunder, devotmj them and their possessions to the rapacity of hire- 
 ing cruelty ! If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while 
 a toreign troop was landed in my comitry, I never would lay dok my 
 arms ! — never ! never ! never .> ">vu my 
 
 47. ON FREQUENT EXECUTIONS. 1111. ~ Sir JV. Meredith. 
 
 Whether hanging ever did, or can, answer any good purno^ 1 
 doubt : but the cruel exhibition of e.ery execution-day is a prSat 
 hanging carries no terror with it. The multiplicity of our^ han< t 
 laws has produced these two things : frequency of condemnation and 
 frequent pardons. If we look to the execuLnsLmselve whareia^^^^^ 
 pies do they give ? The thief dies either hardened or penitent. Ill 
 that admiration and contempt of death with which heroes and martyi^ 
 inspire good men in a good cause, the abandoned villain feels, in seeL 
 a desperado like himself meet death with intrepidity. The penitent 
 
 makes the sober villab think, E by 
 robbery, forgery or murder, he can relieve all his wants; and if he Z 
 
 ZtlJ^eriT'^ P"'^'"^"* ^^^^"^ trifling,'and tb. 
 
 h^l^Z^y. ^^^^^^"^^^t brings in a new hanging law, he 
 
 ^cation. One Mar^ Jones was executed, whose case T shaU ju^i 
 
jQjJ THE STANDAKb SPEAKEK. 
 
 mention Shf was very young, and most remarkably hanason-e. Sli« 
 we" to a line„.draper'JsLp,Lk sorne coarse Hnen off the counter 
 and slipped it under her cloak ; the shopman saw her and she laid i 
 down : for this she was hanged. Her defence wa. (I have the tn^ 
 t mw nocket) "that she had lived in credit and wanted for nothing, 
 &ri~Lcr.me and stole her husband from her ; but, since then 
 he h^d nobbed to lie on ; nothing to give her children to eat; and 
 th y were almost naked : and perhaps she might have ^| 
 wnfn. for she hardly knew what she did." 'Jte pansh offiecis te,t - 
 fie the truth of this story : but it seems there had been a good deal 
 of shop-l ft n<.about Ludgate; an example was thought necessary ; 
 fnd thfs woinan was hanged for the comfort and satisfaction of some 
 
 ^Tnrr;LttC:astcl'3 creation robbed of this its noblest 
 woAT t was for no injury; but for a mere « Jo '^loth^^^ two 
 naked children by unlawful means! Compare this with what the 
 State did and with what the law did ! The State bereaved t^ie woman 
 of L hosbaXand the children of a father, who wa. all their sui> 
 It ;^^e w deprived the woman of her life, and the children of 
 their remaining parent, exposing them to every danger, m^ult, ana 
 Sess treatment, thit d^titute and helpless orphans can suffer. 
 Take aU the circum tances together, I do not believe that a fouler mur- 
 dor wa ever eommitted a^a&st the law than the murder ol this woman 
 Tthe law ! Some who hear me are perhaps blaming the Judges the 
 and the hangman; but neither judge, jury nor hangman, are to 
 Ee _thev are but ministerial agents: the true hangman is the 
 member of Parliament. Here, here are the guilty ; he who frame. 
 Sloody law is answerable for the bloody deed, _ for all the injustice, 
 all the wretchedness, ail the sin, that proceed from it! 
 
 48. ON PARLIAMBNTAEY INNOVATIONS. - Mr. BeW"?- 
 
 To calumniate innovation, and to decry i'.f P>-°P°"; 
 there never been any innovations on the Constitution ? Can it be tor. 
 ^t en for one moment, that all the advantages, civil and political 
 Swe enjoy at this ho;r, are in reality the immediate and fortuna^ 
 Sectslf innovation ? It is by innovations that the English Constitu- 
 Ss Zwn and flourished.' It Is by innovations that the Hoi^. of 
 Commons has risen to importance. It was at different eras that ho 
 ^unto and towns were em'powered to elect representatives Even th 
 XeeofSpealterwasan innovation; for it was "ot liea>-d of tilHho 
 ?le of R chard the Second. What was more, the freedom of speech 
 Tw ^ highly valued, was an innovation ; for there were t.m.^ whe 
 no member- dared to a-ow his sentiments, and wheu his he.id must 
 Tavrant ered for the boldness of his ton^e To agn. agams mn^- 
 vitions ia to ar"ue against improvements of every kind. VV lien mi 
 Mowek. of Wickliffe maintained th. cauM of humanity and i-eaao, 
 
SENATORIAL. 
 
 209 
 
 igamst absurdj'tj and superstition, " No innovation/' wat, the cry; and 
 the fires of persecution blazed over the Kingdom. " Let there be no 
 innovation," is ever the maxim of the ignorant, the interested, and the 
 worthless. It is the favorite tenet of the servile advocate of tyranny. 
 It IS the motto which Bigotry has inscribed on her banners. It is the 
 barrier that opposes every improvement, political, civil, and religioua 
 To reprobate all innovations on the Constitution, is to suppose that it 
 IS perfijct. But perfection was not its attribute either in the Saxon 
 or NoTmnn times. It is not its attribute at the present moment. 
 Alterations are perpetually necessary in every Constitution ; for thci 
 Government should be accommodated to the times, to the circum- 
 stances, to the wants of a People, which are ever changing. 
 
 49. THE FOLLY OF SELIQIOUS mnS^CVTIO^. ~ Compilatton. 
 
 Mr. Speaker, it behoves the piety as well as the wisdom of Parlia- 
 ment to disappoint these endeavors to make religion itself an ent^ne 
 of sedition. Sir, the very worst mischief that can be done to reliSon 
 is to pervert it to the purposes of faction. Heaven and hell are not 
 more distant than the benevolent spirit of the Gospel and the malia. 
 nant spirit of party. The most impious wars ever made were those 
 called holy wars. He who hates another man for not being a Chris- 
 tian IS himself not a Christian. Toleration is the basis of all public 
 quiet. It is a charter of freedom given to the mind, more valuable. 
 I think, than that which secures our persons and estates. Indeed^ 
 they are inseparably connected ; for, where the mind is not free, where 
 the conscience is enthralled, there is no freedom. I repeat it ; perse- 
 edition is as impious as it is cruel and unwise. It not only opposes 
 every precept of the New Testament, but it invades the prerogative of 
 God Himself. It is a usurpation of the attributes which belong exclu- 
 sively to the Most High. It is a vain endeavor to ascend into His 
 Throne, to wield His sceptre, and to hurl His thunderbolts. 
 
 And then its own history proves how useless it is. Truth is immor 
 tal; the swprd cannot pierce it, fire cannot consume it, prisons cannot 
 incarcerate it, famine cannot starve it; all the violence of men, stirred 
 up by the power and subtlety of hdl, cannot put it to deatn. In the 
 person of -'fs martyrs it bids defiance to the will of the tyrant who per- 
 secutes 11 id with the martyr's last breath predicts its own full ai.d 
 final tri.iiiiplis. The Pagan persecuted the Christian, but yet Chri^ 
 tiamty lives. The Roman Catholic persecuted the Protestant, but yet 
 Protestantism lives. The Protestant persecuted the Roman Catholic, 
 but yet Catholicism lives. The Church of England persecuted the 
 Nonconformists, and yet Nonconformity lives. Nonconformists perse- 
 cuted Episcopalians, yet Episcopacy lives. When persecution is car- 
 ried to its extreme length of extirpating heretics, Truth may bo extin- 
 guished in one p^ace, but it will break out in another. If opinioni? 
 '^not be put down by argument, they cannot by power. Truth gaim 
 
^IQ THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 .iie victory in the end, not only by its owrx evidences, but ly the snffet 
 in^ of its confessors. Therefore, Sir, if we have a mmd to estabhsa 
 >pace among the People, we must allow men to judge freely in matters 
 of relioion, and to embrace that opinion they thmk right, without any 
 hope of temporal reward, without any fear of temporal punishment/ ■ 
 
 (' AMERICA'S OBLIGATIONS TO ENGLAND, 1765. - Co^. Barr^, -.n reply te 
 K , A.MJ!-tiiUA . u rpo^riHhend, a member of the Ministry. 
 
 The honorable member has asked : — " And now will these Amer- 
 leans, children planted by our care, nourished up by our mdulgence and 
 protected by our arms, — will they grudge to contribute their mite ? 
 They planted by your car«/ — No, your oppressions planted them in 
 \merica! They fled from your tyranny to a then uncultivated and 
 inhospitable country, where they exposed themselves to almost all the 
 hardships to which human nature is liable ; and, among others, to the 
 cruelties of a savage foe the most subtle, and I will take upon me to 
 sav the most formidable, of any People upon the face of God s earth; 
 and yet, actuated by principles of true English liberty, our American 
 brethren met all hardships with pleasure, compared with tnose they 
 suffered in their own country from the hands of those that should 
 have been their friends. 
 
 They nourished up hy your indzdgence ! gr^^ ^ pur 
 
 neglect of them! As soon as you began to care about them, that 
 care was exercised in sending persons to rule them, m one department 
 and another, who were, perhaps, the deputies of deputies to some mem- 
 bers of this House, sent to spy out their hberties, to misrepresent their 
 actions, and to prey upon them; men whose behavior, on many occa- 
 Bions has caused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within 
 them'- men promoted to the highest seats of justice, some who, to 
 my knowledge, were glad, by going to a foreign country, to escape 
 beincr broucrht to the bar of a court of justice m their own. 
 
 They protected by your arms ! - They have nobly taken up arms 
 in vour defence ! — have exerted a valor, amidst their constant a^.d 
 laborious industry, for the defence of a country whose frontier was 
 drenched in blood, while its interior parts yielded all its Me Havmga 
 to your emolument. And, believe me, — remember I this day told 
 vou so, — that same spirit of freedom which actuated that People at 
 first will accompany them still; but prudence forbids me to explain 
 mvself further. God knows I do not at this time speak from motives 
 of party heat. What I deliver are the genuine sentiments ot my 
 heart. However superior to me, in general knowledge and expo- 
 rienoe, the respectable body of this House may be, yet I claim to 
 know more of America than most of you, having seen and been 
 "onvcrsant in that country. The People, I believe, are as truly 
 loyal as any subjects the King has ; but they are a People jealous ot 
 their liberties, and who will vindicate them to the last drop of theu 
 hlood, if they should ever be violated. 
 
JENArORIAL. BARRE. 211 
 
 M, REPLY TO imiy NORTH, 1774. - CoL Barr<!. Born, 1727 , aied. 1802. 
 When intelligence of the destruction of the tea at Boston T)pp 1« Tt?'? ,.oo„t, a ^ , j, ^ 
 
 colony, or to Great Britain, for trial Whtle t^^^^^^^ T.t t.TT '° ^"^"^ "^^^^^ 
 
 fbUowing remarks were made in pTrUameit by Col. w! ""^"^"^ P'^'^^^""' 
 
 Sir this proposition is so glaring; so unprecedented in any former 
 proceedings of Parliament ; so unwarranted bj any delay, denial or 
 provocation of justice, in America; so big with misery and oppression 
 to that country, and with danger to this, - that the first blush of it 
 IS suflicient to alarm and rouse me to opposition. It is proposed to 
 >tigmatize a whole People as persecutors of innocence, and men inca- 
 pable of doing justice; yet you have not a single fact on which to 
 ground that imputation ! I expected the noble Lord would have sup- 
 ported this motion by producing instances in which officers of Govern- 
 ment m America had besn prosecuted with unremitting vengeance 
 and brought to cruel and dishojiorable deaths, by the ^violence and 
 nju..ice of American juries, i^ut he has not produced one such 
 instance; and I will tell you more, Sir,-he cannot produce one ! The 
 ii^tances whic^ have happened are directly in the teeth of his propo- 
 sition. Ul. Preston ana the soldiers who shed the blood of the Peo- 
 ple were fairly tried, and fully acquitted. It was an American jury 
 a ^ew England jury a Boston jury, which tried and acquitted them; 
 
 of thf vpIv"; ^"''.^"^t- wh"^; r^^^'^^ ^''^^''^ '^^^ inhabitants 
 of the very town m which their fellow-citizens had been sacrificed were 
 his advocates and defenders. Is this the return you make them ? l' 
 ^' l^^^^^^^ them to persevere in so laudable a 
 
 Bpirit of justice and moderation? But the noble Lord says "We 
 must now show tlie Americans that we will no longer sit quiet under 
 heir msmts." Sir I am sorry to say that this is declamation, unbe' 
 coming the character and place of him who utters it. In what 
 moment have you been quiet ? Has not your Oovernment, for many 
 years past, been a series of irritating and offensive measur s, without 
 policy, pnnciple_ or moderation? Have not your troops and your 
 htK their'streets and in thl 
 
 harbors? Have you not stimulated discontent into disaffection, and 
 Z h^Ju "7 ^'"i disaffection into rebellion ? Can you expect 
 to be well mformed when you listen only to partisans? Can you 
 expeci to do justice when you will not hear the accused ? • 
 
 ly[ ' . """"i d<^sperate, this destructive issue. In 
 
 assenting to your ate Bill,^ I resisted the violence of America ^t ^he 
 Wd of my popularity there. I now resist your frenzy at the same risk 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 here I know the vast superiority of your disciplined troops over the 
 Provincials ; but beware how you supply the want of discipline by to 
 Deration ' What madness is it that prompts you to attempt obtaimng 
 that by force which you may more certainly procure by re<iuisitioD^ 
 The Americans may be flattered into anything; but they are too much 
 ike yourselves to be driven. Have some indulgence for your own 
 tos; respect their sturdy English virtue ; retract your odioua 
 xert?on; of authority, and remember that the first step towards mak- 
 mg them contribute to your wants is to reconcile them to your W- 
 
 ernment. 
 
 52. BOLD PREDICTIONS, mb.-John Wilkes. Bom, 1717 ; died, 1797. 
 
 Mr Speaker: The Address to the King, upon the disturbances 
 in North America, now reported from the Committee of the whole 
 House, appears to be unfounded, rash, and sangmnary It draws 
 the s^ord unjustly against America. It mentions. Sir the par- 
 ticular Province of Massachusetts Bay as in a state of actual rebellion 
 The other Provinces are held out to our indignation as aiding and 
 abettinc Arguments have been employed to involve them in all the 
 consequences of an open, declared rebellion, and to obtain the fullest 
 orS for our officers and troops to act against them as rebels 
 Whether their present state is that of rebellion, or of a fit and just 
 resistance to unlawful acts of power, - resistance to our attempts to 
 rob them of their property and liberties, as they imagine - I shal 
 not declare. This I know : a successful resistance is a revolution, not 
 a rebellion ' Rebellion indeed appears on the back of a flying enemy : 
 but Revolution flames on the breastplate ofthe victorious^ warnor 
 Who can tell, Sir, whether, in consequence of this day's violent and 
 mad Address to his Majesty, the scabbard may not be throws away 
 Ty them as well as by us ; and, should success attend them, whethcTS 
 in a few years, the independent Americans may not f ^br^^e the 
 glorious era of the Revolution of 1775, as we do that of 1688 ? 
 
 The policy, Sir, of this measure, I can no more comprehend, than i 
 can acknowltdge the justice of it. Is your force adequate to the 
 attempt ^ I am satisfied it is not. Boston, indeed, you ^ may lay in 
 asS or' it may be made a strong garrison ; but tire Province will be 
 wT you. Won will be like Gibraltar. You will hold, in the 
 Province of Massachusetts Bay, as you do m Spam, a smgle town, 
 while the whole country remains in the power and possession ot the 
 enemy Where your fleets and armies are stationed, the possessiod 
 will be secured, while they continue ; but all the rest will be lost. ^ In 
 rhLroaTscale of empire, you will decline, I fear, from the decision 
 ofthisdav; and the Americans will rise to imlependence, to power, 
 to all theVroatness of the most renowned States ! For they build on 
 the solid banis of general public liberty. 
 
 I tremble Sir, at the almost certain consequence's of sucb an 
 Address., founded in cruelty and injustice, equally contrary to th« 
 
SENATORIAL. — WILKES. 21% 
 
 ^und maKims of true policy, and ihe unerring rule of natural right 
 I'he Americans will certainly defend their property and their liberties 
 mth the spirit which our ancestors exerted, and which, I hopo vre 
 should exert, on a like occasion. They will sooner declare themsSves 
 mdependent, aad risk every consequence of such a contest, than submit 
 to the galling yoke which Administration is preparing for them Ad 
 Address of tnis sanguinary nature cannot fail of driving them to 
 despair They will see that you are preparing, not only to draw the 
 sword, but to burn the scabbard. In the most harsh manner you are 
 declaring them rebels! Every idea of a reconciliation will now 
 vanish. They wil pursue the most vigorous course in their own 
 defence. The whole continent of North America will be dismembered 
 trom (xreat Britain, and the wide arch of the raised Empire will fall 
 -but may the just vengeance of the People overtake the authors of 
 tnese pernicious Couiisels ! May the loss of the first Province of the 
 J^mpire be speedily followed by the loss of the heads of those Ministers 
 who have persisted in these wicked, these fatal, these most disastrous 
 measures ! 
 
 53. CONQUEST OF THE AMERICANS IMPRACTICABLE, 1775. _ ^oAn /FtV^e,. 
 
 in ^^l. « f ^''^-^."f? ^'^"^^^ Parliament to lose itself 
 
 m such a fulsome adulatory Address to the Throne as that now pro- 
 
 LI A """^^^ ^ ^PP^^^«^ ^i^^ and whole- 
 
 some advice ana even with remonstrances, against the Ministers who 
 have precipitated the Nation into an unjust, ruinous, murderous and 
 felonious war. I call the war with our brethren in America an unjust 
 and telonious war, because the primary cause and confessed origin of 
 It IS to attempt to take their money from them without their consent, 
 contrary to the comoion rights of all mankind, and those great fund J 
 mental principles of the _ English Constitution for which Hampden 
 bled, i assert. Sir that it is a murderous war, because it is an effort 
 to deprive men of their lives for standing up in the defence of their 
 
 down'!' '^tZ ^"^^ ^ ^ f^'^^' Sir, will draw 
 
 down the vengeance of Heaven on this devoted Kingdom. Sir is anv 
 Minister weak enough to flatter himself with the conquest of the 
 Americans ? You cannot, with all your allies, - with all the mer- 
 cenary ruffians of the North, _ you cannot effect so wicked a purpose. 
 Ihe Americans will dispute every inch of territory with you, every 
 narrow pass, every strong defile,^ every Thermopyl^, every Bunker'. 
 Hill ! More than half the Empire is already lost, and almost all thfl 
 rest IS m confusion and anarchy. We have appealed to the sword • 
 and what have we gained ? Bunker's HHl only, _ and that with the 
 ^ss of twelve hundred men ! Are we to pay as dear for the lest of 
 America ? The idea of the conquest of that immense coun'iv is us 
 romantic as unjust. * i» 
 
 The honorable Gentleman who moved this Address sa.j, "The 
 Wricans have been treated with l«aity " Will facts , istify the 
 
214 
 
 THE STANDARD SJfEAKER. 
 
 assertion ? Was jour Boston Port Bill a measure of lenity ' WaA 
 your Fishery Bill a measure of lenity ? Was your Bill for taking 
 away the charter of Massachusetts Bay a measure of lenity, or even 
 3f justice ? I omit your many other gross provocations and insults 
 by which the brave Americans have been driven to their present state. 
 Sir, I, disapprove, not only the evil spirit of this whole Address, bui 
 like*vise the wretched adulation of aim st every part of it. My wish 
 md hope, therefore, is, that it will be rejected by this House ; and tha, 
 another, dutiful yet decent, manly Address, will be presented to hia 
 Majisty, praying that he would sheathe the sword, prevent the further 
 effusion of the blood of our fellow-subjects, and adopt some mode of 
 negotiation with the general Congress, in compliance with their 
 repeated petition, thereby restoring peace and harmony to this dis- 
 tracted Empire. 
 
 54. REPLY TO THE DUKE OE GRAFTON. — Lord Thurlow 
 Edward Thurlow, who rose to be Lord High Chancellor of Graat Britain, was born in 1732, 
 and died in 1806. Butler, in his "Reminiscences," says : " It was my good fortune to hear hia 
 celebrated reply to the Duke of Grafton, who reproached Lord Thurlow with his plebeian extrac- 
 tion, and his recent admission into the peerage. His Lordship had spoken too often, and began 
 to be heard with a civil but visible impatience ; and, under these circumstances, he was attacked 
 in the manner we have mentioned. Lard Thurlow rose from the woolsack, and advanced slowly 
 to the place from which the Chancellor generally addresses the House of Lords, and then, fix 
 in" on the Duke the look of Jove when he has grasped the thunder, he said (m a level tone of 
 yo'ice), ' I am amazed at the attack which the noble Duke has made on me.' Then, raismg hia 
 voice, — ' Yes, my Lords, I am amazed,' &c." 
 
 I AM amazed at the attack which the noble Duke has made on me. 
 Yes, my Lords, I am amazed at his Grace's speech. The noble Duke 
 3annot look before Mm, behind him, or on either side of him, without 
 seeing some noble Peer who owes his seat in this House to his success- 
 ful exertions in the profession to which I belong. Does be not feel 
 that it is as honorable to owe it to these, as to being the accident o/an 
 accident ? To all these noble Lords the language of the noble Duke 
 is as applicable, and as insulting, as it is to myself. But I do not fear 
 to meet it single and alone. 
 
 No one venerates the Peerage more than I do ; but, my Lords, I 
 must say that the Peerage solicited me, — not I the Peerage. Nay, 
 more, — I can say, and will say, that, as a Peer of Parliament, as 
 Spe^iker of this right honorable House, as keeper of the great seal, 
 as guardian of his Majesty's conscience, as Lord High Chancellor 
 of England, — nay, even in that -character alone in which the noblo 
 Duke would think it an affront to be considered, but which charao- 
 ^^r none can deny me, — as a man, — 1 am, at this moment, as respect- 
 ible, — I beg leave to add, I am as much respected, — as the proudest 
 Peer I now look down upon ! 
 
 U. WORTH OF PRESENT POPULARITY. — Lord Mansjield. Born, 1705 ; died, 1788. 
 
 Against Parliamentary exemption from arrest for debt, May 9, 1770. 
 
 It has been imputed to me by the noble Earl * on my left, that I 
 too, am running the race of popularity. If the noble Earl means, 1)J 
 * The Earl of Cb»thuix 
 
SENATORIAL. BURKE. - jJJS 
 
 pof darity, that applause bestowed by after ages on good and virtu 
 o\M. actions, I have long been struggling in that race : '.o wl^aL purpose 
 all-trying Time can alone determine. But if he means that mushroom 
 ppularity, which is raised without merit, and lost without a crime, he 
 is much mistaken in his opinion. I defy the noble Earl to point out a 
 smgle action of my life in which the popularity of the times ever had 
 the smallest influence on my determination. I thank God I have a 
 more permanent and steady rule for my conduct — the dictates Df my 
 own breast. Those who have foregone that pleasing advice, and giveu 
 up their minds to the slavery of every popular impulse, I sincerely 
 pity : I pity them still more, if vanity leads them to mistake the shouta 
 of a mob for the trumpet of fame. Experience might inform them 
 that many, who have been saluted with the huzzas of a crowd one day 
 have received its execrations the next ; and many, who, by the popular-' 
 ity of their own times, have been held up as spotless patriots, have, 
 ■ nevertheless, appeared on the historian's page, when truth has triumphei 
 over delusion, the assassins of liberty. Why, then, the noble Earl can 
 think I am ambitious of present popularity, that echo of folly an(? 
 shadow of renown, I am at a loss to determine. 
 
 Besides, I do not know that the Bill now before your Lordships 
 will be popular ; it depends much upon the caprice of the day. It 
 may not be popular to compel people to pay their debts; and, in that 
 case, the present must be a very unpopular Bill. It may not be pop- 
 ular, neither, to take away any of the privileges of Parliament; for I 
 very well remember, and many of your Lordships may remember, 
 that, not long ago, the popular cry was for the extension of privilet^e • 
 and so far did they carry it at that time, that it was said the prfvi- 
 lege protected members even in criminal actions ; nay, such was the 
 power of popular prejudices over weak minds, that the very decisions 
 of some of the courts were tinctured with that doctrine. It was 
 undoubtedly, an abominable doctrine ; I thought so then, and I think 
 so still ; but, nevertheleKs, it was a popular doctrine, and came imme- 
 diately from those who are called the friends of liberty, — how deserv- 
 edly, time will show. True liberty, in my opinion, can only exist 
 
 When justice is equally administered to all, — to the king and to the 
 beggar Where is the justice, then, or where is the law, that protects 
 a member of Parliament, more than any other man, from the punish- 
 ment due to his crimes ? The laws cf this country allow of no place, 
 nor any employment, to be a sanctuary for crimes ; and, where I have 
 the honor to sit as judge, neither royal favor nor popular applause 
 snail ever protect the guilty. ^ 
 
 
 
 86. MAGNANIMITY IN POLITICS, 1775. -Edmund Burke. Born. 1730 ; -feed. 17S7. 
 
 A REVENUE from America, transmitted hither? Do not delude 
 yourselves ! You never can receive it — no, not a shilling ! Let the 
 bclonies always keep the idea of their civil rights associated with your 
 liovernment, and they will cling and grapple to you. These j^/ tie. 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKEE. 
 
 which, thougli light as air, are strong as links of iron.^ liut let u 
 once be understood that your Government may be one thing and theu 
 privileo-es another, — the cement is gone, the cohesion is loosened . 
 Do no? entertain so weak an imagination as that your registers and 
 your bonds, your affidavits and your sufferances, your cockets and 
 your 'clearances, are what form the great securities of your commeros. 
 These thino-s do not make your Government. Dead mstruments, 
 passive tooFs, as they are, it is the spirit of the English communion 
 that gives all their life and efficacy to them. It is the spirit ot tht 
 En^Tlish Constitution, which, infused through the mighty mass, peiv 
 vades, feeds, unites, invigorates, vivifies, every part of the Empire, even 
 down to the minutest member. 
 
 Do you imagine that it is the land tax which raises your revenue ? 
 that it is the annual vote in the committee of supply which gives you 
 your army ? or that it is the mutiny bill which inspires it with bravery 
 and discipline ? No ! Surely no ! It is the love of the People ; it is 
 their attachment to their Government from the sense of the deep stake 
 they have in such a glorious institution, which gives you your army 
 and your navy, and infuses into both that liberal obedience, without 
 which your army would be a base rabble, and your navy nothing but 
 rotten timber. - i . 
 
 All this, I know well enough, will sound wild aad chimerical to the 
 profane herd of those vulgar and mechanical politicians, who have no 
 place amono- us; a sort of people who think that nothing exists but 
 what is grols and material ; and who, therefore, far from being quali- 
 fied to be directors of the great movement of Empire, are ^^ .^^^ 
 turn a wheel in the machine. But, to men truly initiated and rightly 
 taught, these ruling and master principles, which, in the opimon ot 
 Buch men as I have mentioned, have no substantial existence, are, m 
 truth, everything, and all in all. Magnanimity in politics is not se - 
 dom the truest wisdom ; and a great Empire and little minds go ill 
 together. Let us get m American revenue, as we have got an Amer- 
 ican Empire. English privileges have made it all that it is ; English 
 privileges alone will make it all it can be ! • 
 
 67. ENTERPRISE OP AMERICAN COLONISTS, 1115. — Edmund Burke. 
 Burke, the greatest of Irish statesmen, and unsurpassed as a writer f^f 
 
 K'iy".'linTcini.ant of symptoms,^ between the access of ^^^.^ ^^'^J'-^^^J 
 
 5f heakh , ai 1 vvhat others conceived to be the visor of h^^"* C""^ f ^^V'" 
 ^vroxysm of her madness •, and then, prophet-like, he pronovuiced the destinies of I'tance, a..«l 
 iR his jrophetic fury admonished nations." 
 
 For some time past, Mr. Speaker, has the Old World been M 
 from the New. The scarcity which you have felt ./ould have been a 
 Icsolating famine, if this child of your old age, — if A.menca,--j 
 With a true aiiai piety with a RomaD cl>irity, had not put the nil/ 
 
8ENAT0EIAL. BCEKE. 
 
 211 
 
 orcastof Its ycathfiil exuberance to the mouth of its ^hausted parent, 
 ruraing from the agricultural resources of the Colonies, consider the 
 wealth wh.ch they have drawn from the sea by their fisheries. The 
 spirit in which that enterprising employment has been exercised 
 ought to raise your esteem and admiration. Pray, Sir, what in the 
 worldis cqua toit? Pass by the other parts, and look at the m^ 
 Der m which the People of New England have of late carried on the 
 whale fishery Whilst we follow them among the tumbling mountain! 
 ofice, and behold them penetrating into the deepest frozen recesses 
 of Hudson's Bay, and Davis' Straits, whilst we are looking for 
 them beneath the Arctic Circle, we hear that they have pierced into 
 the opposite region of Polar cold, that they are at the antipodes and 
 engaged under the frozen serpent of the^ South. Falkland land 
 which scemed_ too remote and romantic an object for the grasp of 
 national ambition IS but a stage and resting-place in the proircss of 
 their victorious industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more discour- 
 aging to them than the accumulated winter of both the Poles We 
 inow that whilst some of them draw the line and strike the harpoon 
 on the coast of Africa, others run the longitude, and pursue fteir 
 gigantic game, along the coast of Brazil. No^ea but whal is vexed by 
 their hshcnes. No chm.ate that is not witness to tlieir toils. Neither 
 he perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of Prance, nor the dex- 
 
 ^In^l^™ fr^*^-1 ^"S''^'^ ""^^''P"^''' ^""'i^d this most 
 1. t\ hardy industry to the extent to which it has been 
 
 pushed by his recent People a People who are still, as it were, but 
 
 mu ^T'"' '■""^ ^""^ '""■'1<^"«<J i"'" bone, of manhood. 
 , When I contemplate these things, - when I know that the Colonies 
 m general owe little or nothing to any care of ours, and that they ar^ 
 no, squeezed into this happy form by the constraints of a watchfu 
 and suspicious Government but that, through a wise and salutary neg- 
 lec , a generous nature has been suffered to take her own way to pel 
 fection, - when I reflect upon these effects, when I see how profitable 
 they have been to us I feel all the pride of power sink, and'^alfpr^ 
 sumption m the wisdom of human contrivances melt, ^nd die awav 
 withm me. My rigor relents. I pardon something t^ the 
 
 68. ON AMERICAN TA.XATION, Apkil 19, 1774. -H. 
 
 Gmm anything be a subject of more just alarm to America, thai 
 Is cJT-^° ""^ f'"'" '''Sh road of finance, and give up yo^ 
 
 most certain revenues and your clearest interests, merely for the ike 
 of insulting your Colonies ? No man ever doubted that the coijmi^ity 
 
 wil be-^rl, ™ ™P"?i*r *>-<^<'-P»<'^- But no eoinmodity 
 will bear tnree-pence, or will bear a penny, when the general feelini 
 of m™ are irritated, and two millions of men are resoFved not to paf 
 
 iSritain. Uenrs were formerly the feelings of Mr. Hampden, wi-^ 
 
THE stand;ied speaker 
 
 tailed upon for the payment of twenty stiffings Would twentj 
 hU brh-e ^"'^'i Hampden's fortune? iHo! but the 
 n.ent of half twenty shillings, on the prmciple i was demanded, 
 would have made him a slave ! It is the r^'fJ^'^A V^f t'Z 
 which you are so fond, and not the weight of the duty, that the 
 Imericans are unable and unwUling to bear You are, tlfrefore at 
 this moment, in the awkward situation of fighting for » phantom, a 
 quiddity; a thing that wants, not only a substance, but even a 
 name! for a thing which is neither abstract right, nor profitable 
 
 "They teil you. Sir, that your dignity is tied to it. I know not ho« 
 it liaopen., but this dignity of yours is a terrible incumbrance to you 
 for it has of late been ever at war with your interest, your equity, 
 Sid every idea of your policy. Show the thing you contend for to be 
 ^on show it to be common sense, show it to be the means of 
 oUa nln' sle useful end, and then I am content to allow it what 
 d^n™; you please. But what dignity is derived f™™ /'j'^ P^g- 
 verauce in absurdity, is more than I ever could discern ! Let us, bir, 
 IXce on e syste^; or other before w. end this session. Do you 
 mean to tax America, and to draw a productive revenue fro»> ^ 
 If you do, speak out: name, fix, ascertain his /evenue; settle ita 
 quantity ; define its objects ; provide for its collection ; and then fight^ 
 when you h.ave sometb^ig to fight for. If you mui'der, rob; if you 
 km. take possession : and do not appear in the character of m^adm n, 
 as well as assassins, - violent, vindictive, bloody and tyraiimeal, with- 
 out an object. But may better counsels guide you ! 
 
 69. DESPOTISM INCOMPATIBI.E WITH RIOHT, nSS.-M. 
 
 My Lords, you have now heard the principte on which Mr. Hsat- 
 inas governs ihc part of Asia subjected to *e .Britmh eminre Her^ 
 he has declared his opinion, that he is a despotic prince ; that he is to 
 ul arbitrary power ; and, of course, all his acts are covered wrth tha 
 Sd "I know," says he, "the Constitution of Asia only from ite 
 nraHi^e" Will TOur Lordships submit to hear the corrupt practic^ 
 rf mankind made the principles of Government ? He have arb, rary 
 "J^^er'-MrLords, the kst-India Company have not arbitrary 
 TOwer to give him ; the King has no arbitrary power to g,™ himj 
 Zr I^rlsWDS have not ; nor" the Commons ; nor the whole Legida, 
 Ce We have no arbitrary power to give, because arbitrary powet 
 brthin7wS neither any man can hold nor any man can give^ 
 L mln -cairiawfully govern h'imselfaccordm^^^ 
 less can one person be governed by the wiU f. 
 horn in subiection, — all born equally, high and low, governors ana gov 
 S in Bubject on to one great, immutable, preexistont l^'W, prj" M 
 .1 our devices, and prior to\ll our contrivances. Paramount to all cm 
 ylT and to k ov! sensations, antecedent to our very exist«n.e, br 
 
SENATOKIAL. — BnEKB 218 
 
 »liich wc are knit and connected in the eterna W of ti.; univeraa 
 put of which we cannot stir. un.»ei8e, 
 This great law does not arise from our conyeptions or compacts ■ on 
 ie contrary, it gives to our conventions and compacts all the force a^d 
 ^nction they can t?ve; -it does not arise from\urvain insd u iom 
 fcvery good gift ,s of God , all power is of God ; - and He whoTas gfyen 
 he power and from whom alone it originates, will never suffer IS 
 
 Z:::tS lfft P'^fr f ? foundation Z Z 
 
 poiyer itself. If, then all dominion of man over man is the effect of the 
 
 wrih'T'"r' ''"""'l.Vtbe eternal laws of Him tha gave it! 
 with which no human authority can dispense; neither he tha! ILr 
 m d e ' "I'o ^^-0 ^"bject to it; and, if they were 
 
 mad enough to make an express compact, that should release tie r 
 magistrate from his duty, and should declare their lives, liber L and 
 properties, dependent upon, not rules and laws, but his m;re clpriciou. 
 will, that covenant would be void. capiicious 
 ^ This arbitrary power is not to be had by conquest. Nor can any 
 sovereign have ,t by succession; fbr no man can succeed to fraud 
 rapine, and violence. Those who give and those who rece ve arbi- 
 SftTkeT foVr"''' and there is no man but iXnd t 
 Te torii P""'"'' '* ^1"'" ^^0^ it« face to 
 
 trate l'd"'^w!f™^ ^^"^ Name me a magis- 
 
 trate,and I wil name property; name me power, and I will name 
 
 K wr, ^* ' — iotion in terms, it is bla«pheniy 1^1^111" 
 IS wickedness m polities, to say that any man can hive arMt?a"y 
 power. In every patent of office the duty is included. For Xt 
 
 rstt?t„ 1, ^ ^",1"^ SO™™'^'^ tti^ eternal laws of 
 
 wm b„f we b f chains,™ wa 
 
 wdi , but we shall be made to know ourselves, and be taught that man 
 
 fc/itt rr4tt7 -^"^ 
 
 60. IMPEACHMENT OF WAEREN HASTINGS, 1788. ~ /d 
 
 f^^''^^'J'^':f^^^''^tion of posterity. U^sti^is LrLe^^^ he believed an honest 
 
 STtT W^"" '^'■'^ half-liour, I looked up to thSor in T, J ''^ ' eloquence against 
 
 U, 1795. on .t, orAp.i 1,06, H..S„ ^^^a ?SXT£e'Xi'^ 
 
 r>f i^Sp^ 'o? This"-LrM^ tet' ^-^^ *° ^^-""^ 
 
22C THE. STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 ite ends which all Governments ought, in common, to have in vie^ 
 In the name of the Commons of England, I charge all tbs vjllanj 
 UDon Wai-ren Hastings, in this last moment of my apphcamon to you. 
 ' My Lords, what is it that we want here, to a great act of nationaJ 
 lustice ? Do we want a cause,.my Lords ? You have the cause of 
 oppressed princes, of undone women of the first rank, of desolated 
 Provinces, and of wasted Kingdoms. 
 
 Do you want a criminal, my Lords? When was there so much 
 iniquity ever laid to the charge of any one?— No, my Lords ym 
 must not look to punish any other such delinquent from Lidia. 
 Warren Hastings has not left substance enough m India to nourish 
 Buch another delinquent. . ^ r 
 
 My Lords, is it a prosecutor you want ? You have before you the 
 Commons of Great Britain as prosecutors; and I believe my Lords, 
 that the sun, in his beneficent progress round the world, docs noi 
 behold a more glorious sight than that of men, separated from a remote 
 people by the material bounds and barriers of nature, umted by the 
 bond of a social and moral community ; — all the Comnions of Lng- 
 laud resenting, as their own, the indignities and cruelties that are 
 offered to all the people of India. n 
 
 Do we want a tribunal ? My Lords, no example of antiqmty, 
 nothing in the modern world, nothing in the range of human imagin- 
 ation, San supply us with a tribunal like this. We commit saiely the 
 interests of India and humanity into your hands. Therefore, it is • 
 with confidence that, ordered by the Commons, _ 
 
 I impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high crimes and mis- 
 
 demeanors. ^ „ „ x -d -j. • 
 
 I impeach him in the name of the Commons of Great Britain m 
 Parliament assembled, whose Parliamentary trust he has betrayed _ 
 
 I impeach him in the name of all the Commons of Great Britain, 
 whose national character he has dishonored. 
 
 I impeach him in the name of the people of India, whose laws, 
 rights and liberties, he has subverted; whose properties he has 
 destroyed ; whose country he has laid waste and desolate. , 
 
 I impeach him in the name and by virtue of those eternal laws of 
 lustice which he has violated. , . i i 
 
 I impeach him in the name of human nature itself, which he has 
 smelly outraged, injured and oppressed, in both sexes, m every age 
 rank, situation, and condition of life. 
 
 61. PERORATION AGAINST WARREN HASTINGS. -£dmund Burke. 
 
 My Lords, at this awful close, in the name of the Commons, ana 
 njrrounded by them, I attest the retiring, I attest the advancmg gener- 
 ttions, between which, as a link in the great chain of eternal order, we 
 ,tand. We call this Nation, we call the world to witness, that the Oom- 
 mons have shrunk from no labor ; that we have been guilty of no pro- 
 iraricatioP ^hat we have made na compromise with crime; thai we ha?« 
 
SENATOJIIAL. BUaKE. 
 
 221 
 
 ttct feared any odium whatsoever, in the long warfare which we aave 
 earned on with the crimes, with the vices, with the exorbitant wealth, 
 with the enormous and overpowering influence of Eastern corruption. 
 
 My Lords, it has pleased Providence to place us in such a stat* 
 that we appear every moment to be upon the verge of some great 
 mutations. There is one thing, and one thing only, wtiich defies all 
 mutation : that which existed before the world, and will survive the 
 fabric of the world itself, — I mean justice ; that justice which, ema- 
 nating from the Divinity, has a place in the breast of every one of us, 
 given us for our guide with regard to ourselves and with regard to 
 others, and which will stand, after this globe is burned to ashes, our 
 advocate or our accuser, before the great Judge, when He comes to call 
 upon us for the tenor of a well-spent life. 
 
 My Lords, the Commons will share in every fate with your Lord- 
 ships ; there is nothing sinister which can happen to vou, in which we 
 shall not all be involved; and, if it should so happen that we shall be 
 subjected to some of those frightful changes which we have seen,— 
 if It should happen that your Lordships, shipped of all the decorous 
 distinctions of human society, should, by hands at once base and cruel, 
 be led to those scaflfolds and machines of murder upon which great 
 kings and glorious queens have shed their blood, amidst the prelates, 
 amidst the nobles, amidst the magistrates, who supported their thrones, 
 — may you m those moments feel that consolation which I am per- 
 suaded they felt in the critical moments of their dreadful a^rony! 
 
 My Lords, if you must fall, may you so fall ! but, if you stand,— 
 and stand I trust you will, — together with the fortune of this ancient 
 monarchy, together with the ancient laws and liberties of this great 
 and illustrious Kingdom, may you stand as unimpeached in honor as 
 in power; may you stand, not as a substitute for virtue, but as an 
 ornament of virtue, as a security for virtue; may you stand long, and 
 l^ng stand the terror of tyrants ; may you stand the refuge of afflicted 
 i^ations ; may you stand a sacred temple, for the pei-petual residence 
 01 an inviolable justice ! 
 
 62. TO THE ELECTORS OF BmSTOL.- Edmund Burke. 
 
 Gentlemen, I have had my day. I can never sufficiently express 
 my gratitude unto you for having set me in a place wherein I could 
 lend the slightest help to great and laudable designs. If I have had 
 roy share in any measure giving quiet t6 private property and private 
 conscience ; if by my vote I have aided in securing to families the best 
 possession, peace; if I have joined in reconciling kings to their sub- 
 jects, and subjects to their prince; if I have assisted to loosen the 
 toreign holdings of the citizen, and taught him to look for his protee- 
 tion to the laws of his country, and for his comfort to the good will of 
 his countrymen : if I have thus taken my part with the h.st of men 
 ^n the best of their actions, - I can shut the book ; — I might wish 
 
222 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER- 
 
 to read a pag-e or two more, — but this is enougli fci my measure. 1 
 Uave not lived in vain. 
 
 Aod now, Gentlemen, on this serious day, when I come, as it were, 
 to make up my account with you, let me take to myself some degree 
 of honest pride, on the nature of the charges that are against me. I 
 do not here stand before you accused of venality, or of neglect of duty. 
 It is not said that, in the long period of my service, I have, m a smgla 
 instance, sacrificed the slightest of your interests to my ambition, or to 
 my fortune. It is not alleged that, to gratify any anger or revenge 
 of my own, or of my party, I have had a share m wrongmg or oppress- 
 ing any description of men, or any one man in any description. No I 
 the charges against me are all of one kind, — that I have pushed the 
 principles of general justice and benevolence too far, — farther than a 
 cautious policy would warrant, and further than the opinions of many 
 would go along with me. In every accident which may happen 
 through life, — in pain, in sorrow, in depression and distress, — I will 
 3all to mind this accusation, and be comforted. 
 
 63. MARIE ANTOINETTE, 1790 * — Edmund Burke. 
 
 It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of 
 France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles ; and surely never hghted 
 on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful visiom 
 I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated 
 sphere she just began to move in, — glittering like the mornmg star, 
 ♦uU of life, and splendor, and joy. O ! what a revolution ! and what 
 a heart must I have, to contemplate without emotion that elevation 
 and that fall ! Little did I dream, when she added titles of venera- 
 tion to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should 
 ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed 
 in that bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see such 
 disasters fallen upon her, in a Nation of gallant men, m a Nation ot men 
 of honor, and of cavaliers ! I thought ten thousand swords must have 
 leaped from their scabbards, to avenge even a look that threatened her 
 
 vith insult. „ , . • j. ^ 
 
 But the ao-e of chivalry is gone ; that of sophisters, economists and 
 calculators, has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished 
 forever Never, never more, shall we behold that generous loyalty to 
 rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that 
 Bubordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itselt, 
 the spirit of an exalted freedom ! The unbought grace of lite, the 
 cheap defence of Nations, the nurse of manly sentiment_ and heroic 
 enterprise, is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of pnncipl'>, that 
 smistity of honor, which felt a stain like a wound which inspired 
 -ouv'Je whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever i 
 touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing aU 
 ltd arTossness- 
 
 * Born, 1755 : beheaded, 1792. 
 
SENATORIAL. GRATTAN 225 
 
 64. J)ECf.ARATI(3N OF IRISH RIGHTS, 1780. - tfenr^, Gra«an 
 
 renowned of Irish orators, vras born In Dublin en thfi 3^ «r 
 
 earnest advocate of vhe entire emancipation of the Cathoifcs from^Jl nv d?>n^ f ^ """'i 
 J.ere delivered before the popular branch of tL ?mper^S pSl^nt Of Grm '.'^ 
 
 Sir, I have entreated an attendance on this day, that you might in 
 the most pubhc manner, deny the claim of the British Parliament to 
 make law for Ireland, and with one voice lift up jour hands a^rainst 
 It. i^ngland now smarts under the lesson of the American war° her 
 enemies are a host, pouring upon her from all quarters of the earth 
 her armies are dispersed; the sea is not hers ; she has no minister, no 
 ally no admiral, none in whom she long confides, and no general whom 
 Bhe has not disgraced ; the balance of her fate is in the hands of Ire- 
 land; you are not only her last connection, — you are the only Nation 
 m J^urope that is not her enemy. Let corruption tremble;" but let 
 the friends of liberty rejoice at these means of safety, and this hour of 
 redemption. You have done too much not to do more ; you have gone 
 too tar not to go on ; you have brought yourselves into that situation 
 m which you must silently abdicate the rights of your country, or 
 publicly restore them. Where is the freedom of trade? Where is 
 the security of property? Where is the liberty of the People? I 
 therefore say, nothing is safe, satisfactory or honorable, nothing except 
 a declaration of rights What ! are you, with three hundred thousand 
 men at your back, with charters in one hand and arms in the other 
 airaid to say you are a free People ? If England is a tyrant, it is you 
 have made her so; it is the slave that makes the tyrant, and then 
 murmurs at the master whom he himself has constituted. 
 ^ The British minister mistakes the Irish character; had he intended 
 to make Ireland a slave, he should have kept her a beggar. There m 
 no middle policy: win her heart by the restoration of her ric^hts, or 
 Zlrl ' "^u' ^'.,gi-^^% emancipate, or fundanTentally 
 
 destroy. We may talk plausibly to England, but so lone as she 
 exercises a power to bind this country, so long are the Nations in a 
 state of war; the claims of the one go against the liberty of the other 
 
 dri nf T*"ki"*'/^ ^'t^^'' SO to oppose those claims to the las 
 diop of her blood. The English opposition, therefore, are light; 
 mere trade will not satisfy Ireland. They judge of us b; other |rea 
 Nations; by the Nation whose political life has been a strugc^lf for 
 iberty,- America! They judge of us with a true knowledge and 
 dst deference for our characte that a country enlightened a^ Ir^ 
 ^^1 b! rT^ Ire .and, armed as Ireland, and injured as Ireland 
 will be satisfied with nothing less than liberty. 
 I mi^ht. as a constituent, come to your bar and demand my libertv 
 
224 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 r call upon you, W the laws of the land and their violataon by th. 
 „stru« o7o? eighteen centuries, by the arms, insp,rat,on and prov- 
 "^he present moment, tell us the rule ^7^^*/% wlllfo; 
 
 the law of Ireland ; declare the liberty of the bud. I wil uol 
 ^answered by a public lie in the shape of an amendment; neither 
 ™aS for the subject's freedom, am I to hear of faction I w^h 
 rnoufing but to breathe, in this our island, in common with my id- 
 ,V,1„P°- the air of liberty. I have no ambition, unless it be the 
 ^^bSX b e r;„„ ch^in! and contemplate your glory. I neyer 
 1 be °aiisfied so long as the meanest cottager m Ireland has a link 
 
 with the prophet, but survive him. 
 
 65 REPLY TO MR. FLOOD, IISZ.- Henry Grattan. 
 Attheti^eof this ^peech in the l.ish Fl^d ^^^^ 
 
 friends, stood hefore the British pi^^hc as ma^^^^^^^^ ^ ,p,^king of his oppc^ 
 
 them ; au.l Grattat, havin- !^/^f;f,,7^^f,^/,^ , " 'jtrgreat asperity, denouncing Urattan as " a 
 uent's "affectation of '"^11^"^^^' ' sum of money, then sold his country for 
 
 oiendicant patriot," who, "bought country j^^^.^ Chatham." To these 
 
 prompt payment." He also sneered at J|;;"tm„nt o which we here give. An arrangement for 
 Lnts Grattan replied ^ ^l^'^^t'des wa^the « of this speech-, but Flood was 
 
 of political dissolution. I will suppose l^™' '" Xve been "corrupt ; 
 
 «fe^ to have b.en i-t-P-J^^'^t^rcrve^omed"^^^^^^^^^ 
 and in the last, seditious ; - that, ='"6^ an en ^^^^^ 
 sons and measures of a suceession "^^'^^^y.^^^ne ^^^^^ 
 tion agamst their profusion of ministei-s had 
 
 from ours, 1 will suppose i.uio f, „„^:„„, i,„„ liberty, and voted 
 decided and unreserved ; that he voted agamst her^'^« > 
 
 :„oreovc,^ fbr ^^e c^M t^f bu^^^^ -S- 
 
 thr«iteof thc.Ymencans; *.vt he ^al ed t les . i,,-,^ 
 
 ^t^J^ZZl'^:^'^^ the liberties of manVi.. 
 
SENATORIAL. GRATTAN 22<) 
 
 rh-ds defective in every relationship, whether to constitution oom- 
 merce, and toleration, I will suppose this man to have added mu^b 
 Dnvate improbity to public crimes ; that his probity was like his 
 patriotism, and his honor on a level with his oath. Ho loves t-o 
 dehvcr panegyrics on himself. I will interrupt him, and say : 
 
 dir, you are much mistaken if you think that your talents have b^eo 
 • as great as your life has been reprehensible. You began your paHia- 
 mentary career with an acrimony and personality which could hava 
 been justified only by a supposition of virtue ; after a rank and clarior- 
 ous opposition, you became, on a sudden, silent ; you were silent foi 
 seven years ; you were silent on the greatest questions, and you were 
 siiOrit for money! You supported the unparalleled profusion and 
 jobbing of Lord Harcourt's scandalous ministry. You, Sir who 
 manufacture stage thunder against Mr. Eden for his anti-Amedcan 
 principles, — you. Sir, whom it pleases to chant a hymn to the immor- 
 tal Hampden ; — you. Sir, approved of the tyranny exercised a/rainst 
 America, — and you, Sir, voted four thousand Irish troops to cut ^l^e 
 throats of the Americans fighting for their freedom, fighting for your 
 freedom, fighting for the great principle, liberty ! But you found, at 
 last, that the Court had bought, but would not trust you. Mortified 
 at the aiSGOvery, you try the sorry game of a trimmer in your proo-resa 
 to the acts of an incendiary ; and observing, with regard to PrinJ and 
 People, the most impartial treachery and desertion, you justify the sus- 
 ^'iT""!. rf''''. Sovereign by betraying the Government, as you had 
 sold the People. Such has been your conduct, and at such conduct 
 every order of your fellow-subjects have a right to exclaim' The 
 merchant may say to you, the constitutionalist n.uy say to you the 
 American may say to you, — and I, I now say, and say to your beard, 
 bir, — you are not an honest man ! 
 
 66. NATIONAL GRATITUDE, 1780. - ^enry Gra«an. 
 
 I SHALL hear of ingratitude. I name the argument to despise it 
 and the men who make use of it. I know the men who use it are not 
 grateful : they are insatiate ; they are public extortioners, who would 
 stop the tide of public prosperity, and turn it to the channel of their 
 own emolument. I know of no species of gratitude which should 
 prevent my country from being free; no gratitude which should 
 oblige Ireland to be the slave of England. In cases of robbery and 
 usurpation, nothing is an object of gratitude except the thin^ stolen, the 
 charter spoliated. A x>fation's liberty cannot, like her treasure, be 
 Eieted and parcelled out in gratitude. No man can be grateful or lib- 
 eral of his conscience, nor woman of her honor, nor Nation of her lib- 
 ertj ihere are certain unimpartable, inherent, invaluable properties, 
 not to be alienated from the person, whether body politic or body nafc- 
 aral. \Vith the same contempt do I treat that charge which says thai 
 Ireland IS insatiable; saying that Ireland asks nothing but that which 
 Wreat I^ntam has robbed her of, — her rights a»d privileges. To sa^. 
 1 5 
 
2^ THE STA:7»>A.- » SPEAKUR. 
 
 that relaud will not be satisfied with liberty, because she is not ^tii^ 
 fied ^ith slavery, is folly. I laugh at that man who supposes tkat 
 Ireland will not be content with a free trade and a free Constitutjon 
 and would any man advise her to be content with less ? 
 
 67. DISQL-mFICATION OP ROMAN CATHOLICS, 1793. - ffenrj ? Man 
 
 rou are struggling with difficulties, you ima^ne ; you are ff.is. 
 taken, - you are struggling with impossibilities. In making laws on 
 ^e subiect of religion! legislators forget mankind, until their own dis- 
 traction admonishes them^of two truths ;- the one, that there is a God ; 
 the other, that there is a People! Never was it permitted to any 
 Nation,-they miy perplex their understandings with various apolo- 
 'les,_:but never was it long permitted to exclude from essential, 
 from what they themselves have pronounced essential blessings,— a 
 jn-eat portion of themselves for a period of time ; and for no reason, or, 
 what is worse, for such reasons as you have advanced. 
 
 Conquerors, or tyrants proceeding from ^^'^'^''^J''^'^.'^^^^^ 
 ever for any length of time governed by those partial disabilities , but 
 a People so^o govern itself,or, rather, under the name of Government 
 so to exclude itself, - the industrious, the opu ent, the ^f ^fui "- th^ 
 part that feeds you with its industry, and supplies you with its taxes 
 weaves that you may wear, and ploughs that you may eat, - to exclude 
 a body so useful, so numerous, and that forever ! - and, m the mean 
 time, to tax them ad libitum, and occasionally to pledge their liv^ 
 and fortunes ! -for what ? - for their disfranchisemen ! - it can- 
 not be done! Continue it, and you expect from your laws what it 
 were blasphemy to ask of your Maker. Such a policy always turns 
 Ttlie inventor! and bruises him under the stroke of the sceptre or the 
 sword, or sinks him under accumulations of debt and loss of domimon 
 Need I go to instances ? What was the case of Ireland enslaved for 
 a centurv and withered and blasted with her Protestant ascendency, 
 nke a s^^^^^^^^ oak scathed on its hill by the fires of its own mtol- 
 erance? What lost England America, but such a policy? An 
 attempt to bind men by a Parliament, wherein they are not repre- 
 'ented ' Such an attempt as some wo.^M now contmue to practise on 
 fe Catholics ! Has you'r pity traversed leagues of - to f ^^^^^^^^^ 
 the black boy on the coast of Guinea, - and have you lorgo^. the man ^ 
 home by your side, your brother ? 
 
 FIGlHTl ON THE SIDE OF A GREAT PRINCIPLE.- Gr«f«« 
 
 The Kingdom of Ireland, with her imperial crown, stands at yoT« 
 Bar. She applies for the civil liberty of three-fourths of her childi^i. 
 Will you dismiss her without a hearing ? You cannot do it . i sa^ 
 you cannot finally do it! The interest of your country would not «^ 
 ^rt you; tb3 feelings of your -country would not supyiort you . it « 
 
SENATORIAL. — GRATTAN. 
 
 227 
 
 I froceedrng that ^^noot long be persisted in. No courtier so devoted^ 
 no politician so hardened, no conscience so capacious ! I am not afraid 
 of occasional majorities. A majority cannot overlay a great priuci. 
 pie (xod will guard His own cause against rank majoritTes. Ln vais 
 shall men appeal to a church-cry, or to a mock-thunder; the proprie. 
 tor of the bolt is on the side of the People. 
 
 ^ It was the expectation of the repeal of Catholic disability wh'ohaa?-. 
 ned the Union. Should you wish to support the minister of the cro^ a 
 against the People of Ireland, retain the Union, nd perpetuate the 
 disqualification, the consequence must be something more tlian aliena- 
 tion. When you finally decide against the Catholic question, you 
 abandon the idea of governing Ireland by affection, and you adopt the 
 idea ot coercion m its place. You are pronouncing the doom of Eno-- 
 land. If you ask how the People of Ireland feel towards you, alk 
 yourselves how you would feel towards us, if we disqualified three- 
 fourths of the People of England forever. The day you finally ascertain 
 the disqualification of the Catholic, you pronounce the doom of Great 
 Uritam. It is just it should be so. The King who takes away the 
 liberty of his subjects loses his Crown; the People who take away tlie 
 liberty of their fellow-subjects lose their empire. The scales of your 
 own destinies are in your own hands; and if you throw out the civil 
 liberty of the Irish Catholic, depend on it, Old England will be weio-hed 
 m the balance, and found wanting: you will then have du<r your^owa 
 grave, and you may write your own epitaph thus r — " England died 
 
 BECAUSE SHE TAXED AmeRICA, AND DISQUALIFIED IreLAND " 
 
 69. INVECTIVE AGAINST MR. CORRY, 1800. -Henry Grattan. 
 A duel, in which Mr. Corry was wounded in the arm, was the sequel to this sneprh Th« 
 Unmediate provocat on of the speech was a remark from'Corry, that Grattan instead of\avl?^ 
 a voice m the councns of his country, should have been standing as a culS'at he?Lr. ^ 
 
 Has the gentleman done? Has he completely done? He waa 
 unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of his speech There 
 was scarce a word that he uttered that was not a violation of the privi- 
 leges of the House. But I did not call him to order. Why? Because 
 the limited talents of some men render it impossible for them to be 
 severe without being unparliamentary. But before I sit down T shall 
 show him how to be severe and parliamentary at the same time On 
 any other occasion, I should think myself justifiable in treatinc. with 
 sdent contempt anything which might fall from that honorable member : 
 l ilt there are times when the insignificance of the accuser is lost in the 
 magnitude of the accusation. I know the difficulty the honorable gen- 
 vxoman labored under when he attacked me, conscious that, on a com- 
 parative view of our characters, public and private, there is nothincrha 
 could say which would injure me. The public would not believe ''the 
 L'harge , I despise the falsehood. If such a charge were made by aa 
 jonest imn, I would answer it in the maimer I shall do before I sit 
 40WU. But I shaU first reply to it when not made by ar honesr maa 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 The iight honorable gentleman has called me" an unirapeaehed trsi 
 tor." I ask, why not " traitor," unqualified by any epithet « I wil 
 tell him ; it was because he dare not ! It was the act ol a coward wh< 
 raises his arm to strike, but has not courage to give the blow ' I will 
 not call him villain, because it would be unparliameiitary, and he is a 
 »rivy councillor. I will not call him fool, because he happens to ^ 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer. But I say he is one who has abused the 
 privrilege of Parliament and freedom of debate, to the uttering Ian- 
 eoage, which, if spoken out of the House, I should answer only with a 
 Mow ! I care not how high his situation, how low his character, how 
 contemptible his speech; whether a privy councillor or a parasite, my 
 answer would be a blow ! He has charged me with being connected 
 with the rebels. The charge is utterly, totally, and meanly false ! 
 i^oes the honorable gentleman rely on the report of the House of Lords 
 lor the foundation of his assertion ? If he does, I can prove to the 
 committee there was a physical impossibility of that report being true. 
 But I scorn to answer any man for my conduct, whether he be apolit- 
 ical coxcomb, or whether he brought himself into power by a false 
 glare of courage or not. _ • i ^ 
 
 I have returned, not, as the right honorable member has said, to 
 raise another storm, — I have returned to discharge an honorable debt 
 of gratitude to my country, that conferred a great reward for past 
 services, which, I am proud to say, was not greater than my desert 
 I have returned to protect that Constitution, of which I was the parent 
 and the founder, from the assassination of such men as the honorable 
 gentleman and his unworthy associates. They are corrupt — they are 
 seditious — and they, at this very moment, are in a conspiracy against 
 their country ! I have returned to refute a libel, as false as it is mail- 
 eious, given to the public under the appellation of a report^ of the 
 committee of the Lords. Here I stand for impeachment or trial i L 
 dare accusation ! I defy the honorable gentleman ! I defy the W- 
 ernment ! I defy their whole phalanx ! — let them come forth ! I tell 
 the ministers I shall neither give them quarter nor take it ! 1 am 
 Here to lay the shattered remains of my constitution on the floor ot 
 this House, in defence of the liberties of my country. 
 
 70. UNION WITH GREAT BRITAIN, 1800 —Henry Grattan. 
 
 Tee minister misrepresents the sentiments of the People, as he hM 
 fcefore traduced their reputation. He asserts, that after a calm and 
 mature consideration, they have pronounced their judgment in favor ot 
 »n Union. Of this assertion not one syllable has any existence in 
 fact, or in the appearance of fact. I appeal to the petitions of twenty- 
 one counties in evidence. To affirm that the judgment of a Nation 
 agamst is for ; to assert that she has said ay when she rias pronounced 
 no ' to make the falsification of her sentiments the foundation of hei 
 Tuin and the ground of the Union; to affirm that her Parliament 
 
SENATORIAL. GRATTAN 
 
 fJoistitution, liberty, honor, property, are taken away her owd 
 authority, — ohere is, in such artifice, an eifrontery, a hardihood, aa 
 insensibility, that can best be answered by sensations of astonishment 
 and disgust. 
 
 The Constitution may be for a thne so lost. The character of the 
 country cannot be so lost. The ministers of the Crown will, or may, 
 perhaps, at length find that it is not so easy, by abilities however great^ 
 and by power and corruption however irresistible, to put down forever 
 an ancient and respectable Naliop. Liberty may repair her goldeo 
 beams,^ and with redoubled heat animate the country. The cry of loy- 
 alty will not long continue against the principles of liberty. Loyalty 
 is a noble, a judicious, and a capacious principle; but in these coun- 
 tries loyalty, distinct from liberty, is corruption, not loyalty. 
 
 The cry of disaffection will not, in the end, avail against the princi- 
 ple of liberty. I do not give up the country. I see her in a swoon, 
 but she is not dead. Though in her tomb she lies helpless and motion- 
 less, still there is on her lips a spirit of life, and on her cheek a glow 
 of beauty : 
 
 " Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet 
 Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks. 
 And Death's pale flag is not advanced there." 
 
 While a plank of the vessel sticks together, I will not leave her. Let 
 the courtier present his flimsy sail, and carry the light bark of hia 
 faith with every new breath of wind; I will remain anchored here, 
 with fidelity to the fortunes of my country, faithful to her freedom, 
 feithful to her fall !" 
 
 71. THE CATHOLIC QUESTION, 1805. - Henry Grattan. 
 
 The Parliament of Ireland ! — of that assembly I have a pare-tal 
 recollection. I sate by her cradle, — I followed her hearse ! In four- 
 teen years she acquired for Ireland what you did not acquire for Eng- 
 land in a century, — freedom of trade, independency of the Legislature 
 independency of the judges, restoration of the final judicature, repeal 
 ci a perpetual mutiny bill, habeas corpus act, nullum tempus act — a 
 great work ! You wUl exceed it, and I shall rejoice. I call my coun^ 
 trymen to witness, if in that business I compromised the claims of my" 
 ceuntry, or temporized with the power of England ; but there was om 
 thing which baffled the effort of the patriot, and defeated the wisdom 
 ot the benate, — it was the folly of the theologian ! When the Par. 
 liament of Ireland rejected the Catholic petition, and assented to the 
 calumnies then uttered against the Catholic body, on that day she 
 voted the Union : if -ou should adopt a similar conduct, on that day 
 you will vote the separation. Many good and pious reasons you may 
 give; many good and pious reasons she gave; and she lies there, with 
 her many good and pious reasons ! That the Parliament of Ireland 
 should lave entertained prejudices. I am not astonished; but that you, 
 -that you, who a*3 individuals and as conquerors, visited a great 
 
2S0 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 part of the globe, and have seen men in all their modifications, a *i 
 Providence in alf her ways, — that you, now, at this time of day, shoidd 
 throw up dikes against the Pope, and barriers against the Catholic^ 
 instead of uniting with that Catholic to throw up barriers against the 
 French, this surprises • and, .a addition to this, that you should huve 
 set up the Pope in Italy, to tremble at him in Ireland; and, further, 
 that you should have professed to have placed yourself at the head of 
 a Christian, uot a Protestant league, to defend the civil and religiom 
 liberty of Europe, and should deprive of their civil liberty one-fifth of 
 yourselves-, on account of their religion,— this — this surprises me ! 
 
 This proscriptive system you may now remove. What the best 
 men in Ireland wished to do, but could not do, you iimy accomplish. 
 ^Vere it not wise to come to a good understanding with the Irish now ? 
 The franchises of the Constitution ! — your ancestors were nursed in 
 that cradle. The ancestors of the petitioners were less fortunate. 
 The posterity of both, born to new and strange dangers, —let them 
 agree to renounce jealousies and proscriptions, in order to oppose what, 
 without that agreement, will overpower both. Half Europe is in 
 battalion ao-xinst us, and we are devoting one another to perdition on 
 account of mysteries, — when we should form against the enemy, and 
 march ! 
 
 72. RELIGION INDEPENDENT OF GOVERNMENT, 1811. —Henry Grattan. 
 
 Let us reflect on the necessary limits of all human legislation. No 
 Legislature has a right to make partial laws ; it has no right to make 
 arbitrary laws — I mean laws contrary to reason ; because^ that, is 
 beyond the power of the Deity. Neither has it a right to institute 
 any inquisition into men's thoughts, nor to punish any man merely for 
 his relio-ion. It can have no power to make a religion for men, since 
 that would be to dethrone the Almighty. I presume it will not be 
 arrogated, on the part of the British Legislature, that his Majesty, by 
 and with the advice of the Lords spiritual and temporal, &c., can 
 enact that he will appoint and constitute a new religion for the Peo- 
 ple of this empire ; or, that, by an order in Council, the consciences 
 and creeds of his subjects might be suspended. Nor will it be con- 
 tended, I apprehend, that any authoritative or legislative measure 
 -odd alter the law of the hypothenuse. Whatever belongs to the 
 authority of God, or to the laws of nature, is necessarily beyond the 
 province and sphere of human institution and government. The 
 Roman Catholic, when you disqualify him on the ground_ of his reli- 
 irion may, with great justice, tell you that you are not his God, that 
 he cannot mould or fashion his faith by your decrees. When once 
 man goes out of his sphere, and says he will legislate for God, he 
 would, in fact, make himself God, 
 
 But this L do not charge upon the Parliament, because, in none of 
 jhe penal acts, has the Parliament imposed a religious creol. 
 tiualifj ing oath, as to the great number of offices, and as to seats u 
 
SKNATORIAL. GRATTAIS . 
 
 Parliaments, scrupalously evades religious distinctians. A Dissentei 
 jf any class may take it. A Deist, an Atheist, may likewise tiike it. 
 The Catholics are alone excepted ; and for what, reason ? If a Deist 
 be fit to sit in Parliament, it can hardly be urged that a Christian is 
 arM J ^ If an Atheist be competent to legislate for his country, surely 
 fchis pi ivilege cannot be denied to the believer in the divinity of cm 
 Siiviour ! If it be contended that, to support the Church, it is expe 
 iient to continue these disabilities, I dissent from that opinion. If it 
 could, indeed, be proved, I should say that you had acted in defiance 
 of all the principles of human justice and freedom, in having taken 
 away their Church from the Irish, in order to establish your own ; and 
 in afterwards attempting to secure that establishment by disqualifying 
 the People, and compelling them at the same time to pay for its sup"- 
 port.^ This is to fly directly in the face of the plainest canons of the 
 Almighty. For the benefit of eleven hundred, to disqualify four or 
 five millions, is the insolent effort of bigotry, not the benignant pre- 
 ceptof Christianity ; and all this, not for the preservation of their 
 property,— for that was secured,— but for bigotry, for intolerance, for 
 avarice, for a vile, abominable, illegitimate, and atrocious usurpation. 
 The laws of God cry out against it ; the spirit of Christianity cries 
 out against it ; the laws of England, and the spirit and principles of 
 its Constitution, cry out against such a system. 
 
 73 SECTARIAN TYRANNY, 1812. —Henry Grattan. 
 
 Whenever one sect degrades another on account of religion, such 
 degradation is the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that, on 
 account of his religion, no Catholic shall sit in Parliament, you do 
 what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. ¥/hen you enact that no 
 Catholic shall be a sheriff, you do what am.ounts 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. There are two descriptions 
 of laws, — the municipal law, which binds the People, and the law of 
 God, which binds the Parliament and the People. Whenever you do 
 any act which is contrary to His laws, as expressed in His work, which 
 IS the world, or in His book, the Bible, you exceed your right ; when- 
 ever you rest any of your establishments on that excess, you rest it on 
 a foundation which is weak and fallacious ; whenever you attempt tc 
 establish your Government, or your proper ^v, or vour Church, on 
 religious restrictions, you establish them on that false foundation, a^d 
 you oppose the Almighty ; and though you had a host of mitres on 
 your side, you banish God from your ecclesiastical Constitution, and 
 freedom from your political. In vain shall men endeavor to make 
 this the cause of the Church ; they aggravate the crime, by the 
 «5ndeavor to make their God their fellow in the injustice. Such rights 
 are the rights of ambition ; they are the rights of conquest ; and in 
 your case, they have been the rights of suicide. They b-^n vf 
 attacking liberty ; they end by the loss of emnire ! ^ 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 74 THE AMERICAN WAR DENOUNCED, im. —William Pitt. 
 
 ^:^:^Z^:::::rL ?,:SS;a "LSV« SSl^aiat-e measures ou,*t 
 adopted for concluding peace with the American Colomes. 
 
 Gentlemen have pctssed the highest eulogiums on the American WM. 
 Its instice has been defended in the most fervent manner. A nofcie 
 W, in the heat of his zeal, has called it a holy war. For my part, 
 althouc^h the honorable Gentleman who made this motion, and some 
 other Gentlemen, have been, more than once, in the course o| the debate, 
 severely reprehended for calling it a wicked and accursed war, i am 
 persuaded, and would affirm, that it was a most accursed, wicked, 
 barbarous, cruel, unnatural, unjust and diabolical war! It was con- 
 ceived in iniustice; it was nurtured and brought forth m tolly; its 
 footsteps were marked with blood, slaughter, persecution and devasta- 
 tion • — ■ in truth, everything which went to constitute moral depravity 
 and human turpitude were to be found in it. It was pregnant with 
 Y of every kind. -r. i f 
 
 mischief, however, recoiled on the unhappy People of this 
 ^untry, who were made the instruments by which the wicked purposes 
 of the authors of the war were effected. The Nation was drained ot 
 its best blood, and of its vital resources of men and money. IM 
 expense of the war was enormous, - much beyond any former experi- 
 ence. And yet, what has the British Nation received in return f 
 Nothincr but a series of ineffective victories, or severe deleats ; — vie 
 tories Celebrated only by a temporary triumph over our brethren, 
 whom we would trample down and destroy ; victories, which hi ed the 
 land with mourning for the loss of dear and valued relatives s.am m 
 the impious cause of enforcing unconditional submission or with naira- 
 tives of the glorious exertions of men struggling in the ho y cause 
 If liberty, though struggling in the absence of all the facilities and 
 advantages which are in general deemed the necessary concomi ants of 
 Victory and success. Where was the Englishman, who, on reading the 
 narratives of those bloody and well-fought contests, could refrain f.om 
 lamenting the loss of so much British blood spilt m such a cause , or 
 ftf)m weeping, on whatever side victory might be declared? 
 
 76. ON A MOTION TO CENSURE THE mmBTBY.- William Pitt. 
 1M« noble and dignified reply to the animadversions of Mr Fox was made in 1788, whe. 
 Mr Pitt, then Prime Minister, was only twenty-four years old. 
 
 Sir, revering, a. I do, the great abilities of the ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 who spoke last, I lament, in common with J^^^f ' f 
 «biUti^s are misemployed, as on the present q—l^^/^f^^^^ ^ 
 uaagiuaiion, and miBlead the judgment. I am told Sir, he does not 
 
SENATORIAL. — PITT. 
 
 23? 
 
 avy me the triumph of my situation on this day a soit or language 
 irhich becomes the candor of that honc^fable Gentleman as ill as his 
 present principles. The triumphs of party, Sir, with which this sclf- 
 appcmted Mnnster seems so highly elate, shall never seduce me to any 
 mconsistency which the busiest suspicion shall presume to glance at. 
 I will never engage in political enmities without a public cause. I 
 will never forego such enmities without the public approbation ; nor 
 will I be questioned and cast off in the face of the House, by one vir- 
 tuous and dissatisfied friend. These, Sir, the sober and durable 
 trmmphs of reason over the weak and profligate inconsistencies of party 
 violence, — these, Sir, the steady triumplis of virtue over success itself, 
 — shall be mine, not only in my present situation, but through every 
 future condition of my life ; triumphs which no length of time shall 
 diminish, which no change of principles shall ever sully. 
 
 My own share in the censure pointed by the motion before the 
 House against his Majesty's Ministers I will bear with fortitude, 
 because my own heart tells me I have not acted wrong. To this 
 monitor, who never did, and, I trust, never will, deceive me, I will 
 confidently repair, as to an adequate asylum from all the clamor which 
 interested faction can raise. I was not very eager to come in ; and 
 shall have no great reluctance to go out whenever the public are 
 disposed to dismiss me from their service. It is impossible to deprive 
 me of those feelings which must always spring from the sincerity of my 
 endeavors to fulfil with integrity every ojficial engagement. You may 
 take from me. Sir, the privileges and emolumentb of place ; but you can- 
 not, and you shall not, take from me those habitual and warm regards for 
 the prosperity of my country, which constitute the honor, the happiness, 
 the pride of my life ; and which, I trust, death alone can extinguish. 
 And, with this consolation, the loss of power, Sir, and the loss of 
 fortune, though I affect not to despise them, I hope I soon shall be 
 able to forget : 
 
 ** Laudo manentem ; si celeres quatit 
 Pennas, resigno quse dedit — 
 Probata que 
 
 Pauperiem sine dote quaere." 
 
 76. ON AN ATTEMPT TO COERCE HIM TO RESIGN.- Id. 
 
 ««rSf P^^^edby the House, in 1784, for the removal of his Majesty>9 mln- 
 
 ZuXt J whom was Mr. Pitt. These resolutions, however, his Majesty had not 
 
 Can anything that I have said, Mr. Speaker, subject me to be 
 Wanded with the imputation of preferring my personal situation to 
 the pubhc happiness? Sir, I have declared, agam and again. Only 
 prove to me that there is any reasonable hope — show me but the 
 most distant prospect — that my resignation will at all contribute to 
 restore peace and happiness to the country, and I will instantlv resign 
 But, Sir, I declare, at t^v> same time, I will not be in'lu'jed to lesigp 
 
^84 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 »d a pieliminary to negotiation. I will not abandon this situatioi ia 
 Drder to throw myself upon the mercy of that right honorable geDLle-^ 
 man. He caLz me now a mere nominal minister, the mere puppet of 
 iecret influence. Sir, it is because I will not become a mere nomine, 
 minister of his creation, — it is becaii^e I disdain to become the puppet 
 of that right honorable gentleman, — that I will not resign ; neithe 
 shall his contemptuous expressions provoke me to resignation: my 
 own honor and reputation 1 never will resign. 
 
 Let this House beware of suffering any individual to involve hia 
 own cause, and to interweave his own interests, in the resolutions of 
 che Hoiise of Commons. The dignity of the House is forever 
 appealed to. Let us beware that it is not the dignity of any set of 
 men. Let us beware that personal prejudices have no share in 
 deciding these great constitutional questions. The right honorable 
 gentleman is possessed of these enchanting arts whereby he can giv« 
 grace to deformity. He holds before your eyes a beautiful and delu 
 sive image ; he pushes it forward to your observation ; but, as sure a^ 
 you embrace it, the pleasing vision will vanish, and this fair phantom 
 of liberty will be succeeded by anarchy, confusion, and ruin to the 
 Constitution. For, in truth. Sir, if the constitutional independence of 
 the Crown is thus reduced to the very verge of annihilation, where is 
 the boasted equipoise of the Constitution ? Dreadful, therefore, as 
 the conflict is, my con? ience, my duty, my fixed regard for the Con- 
 stitution of our ancestors, maintain me still in this arduous situation. 
 It is not any proud contempt, or defiance of the constitutional resolu- 
 tions of this House, — it is no personal point of honor, — much less is it 
 any lust of power, that makes me still cling to office. The situation 
 of the timoB requires of me — and, I will add, the country calls 
 aloud to me — that I should defend tnis castle ; and I am determined, 
 therefore, I will defend it ! 
 
 77. BARBARISM OF OUR BRITISH ANCESTORS. — /d. 
 
 There was a time, Sir, which it may bo fit sometimes to revive in 
 the remembrance of our countrymen, when even human sacrifices are 
 said to have been offered in this island. The very practice of the 
 slave-trade once prevailed among ps. Slaves were formerly an estab- 
 lished article of our exports. Great numbers were exprted, hks 
 cattle from the British coast, and were to be seen exposed for sale in 
 the l^uinan market. The circumstances that furnished the alleged 
 proofs that Africa labors under a natural incapacity for civilization 
 might also have been asserted of ancient and uncivilized Britein. 
 Why might not some Roman Senator, reasoning upon the principl^ 
 of some honorable members of this House, and pointing to British 
 barbarians, have predicted, with equal boldness, " There is a Feople 
 that will never rise to civilization ! — - There is a People destined nevot 
 u,beft«e!" 
 
SENATORIAL. POX. 
 
 239 
 
 We Air, have long since emerged from barbarism ^ we hat^ a\mo»t 
 li>rgotten that we were once barbarians; we. are now raised to a situ- 
 ation which exhibits a striking contrast to every circumstance b> 
 which a Roman might have characterized us, and by which we now 
 characterize Africa. There is, indeed, ont thing wanting to complete 
 the contrast, and to clear us altogether from the imputation of acting, 
 even to this hour, as barbarians ; for we continue to this hour a bar- 
 barous traffic in slaves, — we continue it even yet, in spite of all our 
 great and undeniable pretensions to civilization. We were once as 
 obscure among the Nations of the earth, as savage in our manners, as 
 (uobased in our morals, as degraded in our understandings, as these 
 unhappy Africans are at present. But, in the lapse of a^long series 
 of years, by a progression slow, and, for a time, almost imperceptible, 
 we have become rich in a variety of acquirements, favored above 
 measure in the gifts of Providence, unrivalled in commerce, preem- 
 inent in arts, foremost in the pursuits of philosophy and science, and 
 established in all the blessings of civil society. From all these 
 blessings we must forever have been shut out, had there been any 
 truth in those principles which some gentlemen have not hesitated to 
 lay down as applicable to the case of Africa. Had those principles 
 been true, we ourselves had languished to this hour in that miserable 
 state of ignorance, brutality and degradation, in which history proves 
 our ancestors to have been immersed. Had other Nations adopted these 
 principles^ in their conduct towards us, had other Nations applied to 
 Great Britain the reasoning which some of the Senators of this very 
 island now apply to Africa, ages might have passed without our 
 emergmg from barbarism ; and we, who are enjoying the blessings of 
 British liberty, might, at this hour, have been little superior, eithei 
 m morals, in knowledge, or refinement, to the rude inhabitants ol 
 the Coast of Guinea. 
 
 78. RESULTS OF THE AMERICAN WAR, IISO.- Charles James Fox. 
 
 Charles James Fox was born in England, on the 24th of January, 1749. He made his firsf 
 Bpeech m Parliament on the 1.5th of April, 1769. In the style of his oratory he has been com 
 pared, by some critics, to Demosthenes. " A certain sincerity and open-heartedness of man- 
 ner , an apparently entn-e and thorough conviction of being in the right-, an abrupt tone 
 of vehemence and indignation ; a stea.lfast love of freedom, and corresponding hatred of 
 oppression in all its forms ; a natural and idiomatic style, - vigor, argument, poweis - theS 
 
 h^^tT T^^n ^"^^fl °^ P"".^^ ^'o^ died on the 13th Septem 
 
 Oer, 1806, m the fifty-eighth year of his age. 
 
 ;\^E are charged with expressing joy at the triumphs of America. 
 True it IS that, m a former session, I proclaimed it as my sincere 
 ©pinion, that if the Ministry had succeeded in their first scheme on 
 the liberties of America, the liberties of this country would have been 
 at an end. Thinking this, as I did, in the sincerity of an honest 
 heart, 1 rejoiced at the resistance which the Ministry had met to their 
 attempt. That great and glorious statesman, the late Earl of Chat 
 ham. feeling for the liberties of his native country, thanked God that 
 America had resisted. But, it seems, " all the calamities of the 
 
236 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 country are to be ascribed to the wishes, and the joy, and the spcecheft 
 of Opposition." 0, miserable and unfortunate Ministry! _ 0, blind 
 and incapable men ! whose measures are framed with so little fore- 
 Bight, and executed with so little firmness, that they not only crumble 
 to pieces, but bring on the ruin of their country, merely because one 
 rash, weak, or wicked man, in the House of Commons, makes a speecli 
 
 against them ! • i r. i tt 
 
 Bat who is he who arraigns gentlemen on this side of the Hous«) 
 with causing, by their inflammatory speeches, the misfortunes of their 
 country? The accusation comes from one whose inflammatory 
 harangues have led the Nation, step by step, from violence to violence, 
 in that inhuman, unfeeling system of blood and massacre, which every 
 honest man must detest, which every good man must abhor, and every 
 wise man condemn'! And this man imputes the guilt of such meas- 
 ures to those who had all along foretold the consequences ; who had 
 prayed, entreated and supplicated, not only for America, bat for the 
 credit of the Nation and its eventual welfare, to arrest the hand of 
 Power, meditating slaughter, and directed by injustice ' 
 
 What was the consequence of the sanguinary measures recomme'cided 
 in those bloody, inflammatory speeches ? Though Boston was to be 
 starved, though Hancock and Adams were proscribed, yet at the fe^Jt of 
 these very men the Parliament of Great Britain was obliged to l-neel, 
 flatter, and cringe ; and, as it had the cruelty at one time to denounce 
 veno-eance against these men, so it had the meanness afterwards to 
 implore their forgiveness. Shall he who called the Americans " Han- 
 cock and his crew," — shall he presume to reprehend any set of men 
 for inflammatory speeches ? It is this accursed American war that 
 has led us, step by step, into all our present misfortunes and natonal 
 disgraces. What was the cause of our wasting forty milhons of mcney, 
 and sixty thousand Hves ? The American war! What was it ^.hat 
 produced the French rescript and a French war? The Amercan 
 war ! Wliat was it that produced the Spanish manifesto and bp^nish 
 
 The American war! What was it that armed forty -two 
 thousand men in Ireland with the arguments carried on the points 
 of forty thousand bayonets ? The American war ! For what arft we 
 about to incur an additional debt of twelve or fourteen millions? 
 This accursed, cruel, diabolical American war ! 
 
 79, THE FOREIGN POLICY OF WASHINGTON, im.- Ckcales James Foe. 
 
 How infinitely superior must appear the spirit and principles of 
 (ienerai >v ashington, in his late address to Congress, compared with 
 the policy of modern European Courts ! Illustrious man ! — deriving 
 nonor less from tlie splendor of his situation than from the dignity ot 
 mis mind ! Grateful to France for the assistance received from her, in 
 diat great contest which secured the independence of America, he yet 
 iid not iihoobe io give up the system of neutrality m her favor. Uav- 
 mg mce kid dcvn the linp. of conduct most proper io be pursued, not 
 
SENATOKTAL. ^ - FOX. 
 
 23- 
 
 111 tho insuifcs and provocations of the Frencli n- nister, Genet,* could 
 at all put him out of his way, or bend him from his purpose. It must, 
 indeod, create astonislxrxient, that, placed in circumstances so ciitical, 
 una tilling a station so conspicuous, the character of Washington should 
 never once have been called in question ; — that he shc^ild, in no one 
 instance, have been accused either of improper insolence, or of mean 
 submission, in his transactions with foreign Nations. It has been 
 reserved for Mm to run the race of glory without experiencing the 
 smallest interruption to the brilliancy of his career. The breath of 
 censure has not dared to impeach the purity of his conduct, nor th? 
 eye of envy to raise its malignant glance to the elevation of his virtues. 
 Such has been the transcendent merit and the unparalleled fate of this 
 illustrious man ! 
 
 How did he act when insulted by Genet ? Did he consider it as neces- 
 sary to avenge himself for the misconduct or madness of an individual, 
 by involving a whole continent in the horrors of war ? No ; he con- 
 tented himself with procuring satisfiction for the insult, by causing 
 Genet to be recalled ; and thus, at once, consulted his own dignity and 
 the interests of his country. Happy Americans ! while the whirlwind 
 flies over one quarter of the globe, and spreads Everywhere desolation, 
 you remain protected from its baneful effects by your own virtues. 
 and the wisdom of your Government. Separated from Europe by an 
 immense ocean, you feel not the effect of those prejudices and passions 
 which convert the boasted seats of civilization into scenes of horror and 
 bloodshed. You profit by the folly and madness of the contending 
 Nations, and afford, in your more congenial clime, an asylum to those 
 blessings and virtues which they wantonly contemn, or wickedly 
 exclude from their bosom ! Cultivating the arts of peace under the 
 influence of freedom, you advance, by rapid strides, to opulence and 
 distinction ; and if, by any accident, you should be compelled to take 
 part in the present unhappy contest, — if you should find it necessary to 
 avenge insult, or repel injury,— the world will bear witness to the equity 
 of your sentiments and the moderation of your views ; and the success 
 of your arms will, no doubt, be prop)rtioned to the justice of vom 
 cause ! 
 
 80. MBETITY IS STRENGTH. -Fox 1797, on the State of Ireland. 
 
 ^ Opinions become dangerous to a State only when persecution ofunvt 
 It necessary for the People to communicate their ideas under t>ie bond 
 of secrecy. Publicity makes it imposr-ible for artifice to sucr.eed. and 
 designs of a hostile nature lose their danger by the certaintj^ ot expos- 
 ure. But it is said that these bills will expire in a few j.jars ; thav 
 they will expire when we shall have peace and tranquillit;y restored to 
 us. . What a sentiment to inculcate! You tell the People that, when 
 everything g^es well, — when they arc happy and comfortuole, — then 
 they may meet freely, to recognize their happluesP, and pass eulogium« 
 ♦ Pronounced Zjennay. 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER 
 
 fli th&u Government: but that, in a moment of war and calamity,— df 
 distrust and misconduct, — it is not permitted to meet together ; because 
 then, instead of eulogizing, they might think proper to condemn Mima 
 ters What a mockery is this ! What an insult, to say that this is 
 preserving to the People the right of petition ! To tell them that they 
 shall have a right to applaud, a right to rejoice, a right to meet when 
 they are happy ; but not a right to condemn, not a right to deplrr© 
 their misfortunes, not a right to suggest a remedy ! 
 
 Liberty is order. Liberty is strength. Look round the world, and 
 admire, as you must, the instructive spectacle. You will see that 
 liberty not only is power and order, but that it is power and order pre- 
 dominant and invincible, — that it derides all other sources of strength, 
 And shall the preposterous imagination be fostered, that men bred m 
 liberty — the first of human kind who asserted the glorious distinction 
 of forming for themselves their social compact — can be condemned to 
 silence upon their rights? Is it to be conceived that men, who have 
 enioyed, for such a length of days, the light and happiness of freedom, 
 can be restrained, and shut up again in the gloom of ignorance and 
 de.c^radation? As well. Sir, might you try, by a miserable dam, to 
 BhSt up the flowing of a rapid river ! The rolling and impetuous tide 
 would burst through every impediment that man might throw m its 
 way ; and the only consequence of the impotent attempt would be, that, 
 having collected new force by its temporary suspension, enforcing 
 itself through new channels, it would spread devastation and rum on 
 every side. The progress of liberty is like the progress of the stream. 
 Kept within its bounds, it is sure to fertilize the country through 
 wWch it runs ; but no power can arrest it in its passage; and short- 
 sighted, as well as wicked, must be the heart of the projector that 
 would strive to divert its course. 
 
 81. VIGOR OF DEMOCRATIC GOVERNMENTS, mi.— Charles James Fox. 
 
 When we look at the Democracies of the ancient world, we are com- 
 polled to acknowledge their oppressions to their dependencies : their 
 horrible acts of injustice and of ingratitude to their own citizens; but 
 they compel us, also, to admiration, by their vigor, their constancy, 
 their spirit, and their exertions, in every great emergency m which 
 they were called upon to act. We are compelled to own that the 
 democratic form of government gives a power of which no other torm 
 h capable. Why ? Because it incorporates every man with tlie 
 State. Because i't arouses everything that belongs to the soul, as well 
 as U) the body, of man. Because it makes every individual leel that 
 he is fi^rhtino- for himself; that it is his own cause, his own safety, his 
 own dignity, on the face of the earth, that he is assertmg. \\ ho, that 
 reads the bistory of the Persian War, — what boy, whose heart i» 
 warmed by the grand and sublime actions which the democratic spirit 
 produced, - does not find, in this principle, the key to all the wonden 
 iliich wer? acbT,ved at Thermopylae and elsewhere, and ot winch tb« 
 
SENATOEIAL. FOX 
 
 235 
 
 recent an(1 marvellous acts of the French People are pregnant exam- 
 ples ? Without disguising the vices of France, — without overlooking 
 the horrors that have been committed, and that have tarnished the 
 glory of the Revolution, — it cannot be denied that they have exempli- 
 Bed the doctrine, that, if you wish for power, you must look to liberty, 
 lf _ ever there was a moment when this maxim ought to be dear to us, 
 It IS the present. We have tried all other means. We have addressed 
 ourselves to all the base passions of the People. We have tried 
 terrify them into exertion ; and all has been unequal to our emergency 
 Let us try them by the only means which experience demonstrates to 
 be mvmcibie. Let us address ourselves to their love ! Let us identify 
 them with ourselves ; — let us make it their own cause, as well as 
 ours ! 
 
 82. THE PARTITION OP POLAND, 1800. - CAar/e.v James Fox. 
 
 Now, Sir, what was the conduct of your own allies to Poland ? Is 
 thsre a single atrocity of the French in Italy, in Switzerland, in Egypt, 
 if you please, more unprincipled and inhuman than that of Russia, Aus- 
 tria and Prussia, in Poland ? What has there been in the conduct of 
 the French to foreign powers ; what in the violation of solemn trea- 
 ties ; what in the plunder, devastation, and dismemberment of unof- 
 fending countries ; what in the horrors and murders perpetrated upon 
 the subdued victims of their rage in any district which they have over- 
 run, — worse than the conduct of those three great powers in the misera- 
 ble, devoted, and trampled-on Kingdom of Poland, and who have been, 
 or are, our allies in this war for religion, social order, and the rights 
 of Nations ? 0, but you " regretted the partition of Poland ! " Yes, 
 regretted ! — you regretted the violence, and that is all you did. You 
 united yourselves with the actors ; you, in tact, by your acquiescence, 
 confirmed the atrocity. But they are vour allies ; and though they 
 ftverran and divided Poland, there was nothing, perhaps, in the manner 
 of doing it, which stamped it with peculiar infamy and disgrace. The 
 hero of Poland, perhaps, was merciful and mild ! He was " as much 
 superior to Bonaparte in bravery, and in the discipline which he main- 
 tained, as he was superior in virtue and humanity ' Ee was animated 
 by the purest principlcB of Christianity, and was restraii^ed in hi^ 
 career by the benevolent precepts which it incuhates i " Wa^ he ? 
 
 Let unfortunate Warsaw, and the miserable inhabitants cf the 
 .'ttburb of Praga in particular, tell ! What do ive understs-ad to have 
 been the conduct of this magnanimous hero, with whom, it seems, 
 Bonaparte is not to be compared ? He entered the siib^jirb of Praga, 
 the most populous suburb of Warsaw, and there he leo sold^'orv loose 
 )n the miserable, unarmed and unresisting peop;,> ! 3'jen, women ana 
 children, — nay, infants at the breast, — were drv. ncd to one indiscrim- 
 inaie massacre ! Thousands of them were Inb jDraply, wantonly bukjh- 
 ered ! And for what ? Because they had daie^: join in a wish 
 meliorate their own condition a-s a Peop^i;, and to improve their Ood- 
 
240 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Btitution, which had been confessed, by their own sovereign, to be iB 
 want of amendment. And such is the hero upon whom the cause of 
 « religion and social order " is to repose ! And such is the man whom 
 we praise for his discipline and his virtue, and whom we bold out as 
 our boast and our dependence ; while the conduct of Bonaparte unfits 
 him to be even treated with as an enemy ! 
 
 83. AN ATHEISTICAL GOVERNMENT IMPOSSIBLE, 1794. — R. B. 5/tendan. 
 Richard Brinslev Sheridan was born in DubUn, September, 1751, and died July 7, 1818, in 
 Lonaon He distinguished himself gi-eatly, in company with Burke, in the prosecution agamst 
 Warren Hastings ; but the reports of his speeches at .tlie trial are imperfect and conflicting 
 Bhsridan's fame as a dramatist is quite equal to his Parliamentary reputation. 
 
 The noble Lord's purpose is to prove that France began the war 
 with Great Britain. This he appears to think he has established, the 
 moment he has shown that Brissot* and others have promulgated m 
 print a great many foolish and a great many wicked general principles, 
 mischievous to all established Governments. But what was the sum 
 of all that the noble Lord told the House ? What did it all prove ? 
 What, but that eternal and unalterable truth, that a long-established 
 despotism so far degraded and debased human nature, as to render lis 
 subjects, on the first recovery of their rights, unfit for the exercise of 
 them ; but never have I, or will I, meet, but with reprobation, that 
 mode of argument which goes, in fact, to establish, as an inference from 
 .nis truth, that those who have been long slaves ought, therefore, tc 
 remain so forever. 
 
 It is contended that the present state of things in France cannot 
 stand. Without disputing any of his premises, for the present, 1 will 
 grant the noble Lord not only his principle, but the foundation upon 
 which he builds it. I agree with him, that it is contrary to the eter- 
 nal and unalterable laws of Nature, and to the decrees of the Maker (■ 
 man and of Nations, that a Government, founded on and maintaim . 
 Dy injustice, rapine, murder and atheism, can have a fixed endurance 
 Dr a permanent success ; that there are, self-sown in its own bosom, the 
 seeds of its own inevitable dissolution. But if so, whence is our mis- 
 sion to become the destroying angel to guide and hasten the anger of 
 the Deity? Who calls on us to offer, with more than mortal arro- 
 gance, the alliance of a mortal arm to the Omnipotent ? or to snatch 
 the uplifted thunder from His hand, and point our erring aim at the 
 devoted fabric which His original will has fated to fall and crumble m 
 that ruin which it is not in the means of man to accelerate or prevent ? 
 I accede to the noble Lord the piety of his principle : let him accede 
 to me the justice of my conclusion ; or let him attend to experience 
 if not to reason ; and. must he not admit that hitherto all the attempts 
 of Vi;« o.>n-vrp.nt1v powerful, but certainly presumptuous, crusade ot 
 vengeance, nave appeared unfavored by Ibrtune and by Providence 
 . that they have hitherto had no other effect than to strengthen tha 
 powers, to whet the rapacity, to harden the heart, to inflame the iury 
 and to augment the crimes, of that Government, and that People, whom, 
 we have rashly sworn to flubduo, to chastise, and to reform* 
 * Pronounced Bre.esM. 
 
SBNATORTAL. — SHERIDAN. 241 
 84 AGAINST POLITICAL JOBBING, 1794.- iZ.B.Menrfan. 
 
 la this a time for selfish intrigues, and the little dirty traffic for 
 ucre and emolument ? Does it suit the honor of a gentleman to ask 
 at such a moment? Does it become the honesty of a minister tc 
 grant ? ^ What ! m such an hour as fhis, — at a moment pregnant with 
 the national fate, when, pressing as the exigency may be, the hard 
 task of squeezmg the money from the pockets of an impoverished 
 People, from the toil, the drudgery of the shivering poor, must make 
 the most practised collector's heart ache while he tears it from them 
 
 — can It be that people of high rank, and professing high principles' 
 
 — that they or their families should seek to thrive on the spoils of 
 misery, and fatten on the meals wrested from industrious poverty? 
 C), shame ! shame ! Is it intended to confirm the pernicious doctrine 
 so industriously propagated, that all public men are impostors, and 
 that every pohtician has his price ? Or, even where there is no prin- 
 ciple m the bosom, why does not prudence hint to the mercenary and 
 the vam to abstain a while, at least, and wait the fitting of the times ? 
 Improvident impatience ! Nay, even from those who seem to have 
 no direct object of office or profit, what is the language which their 
 actions speak ? 
 
 " The Throne is in danger ! we will support the Throne ; but let urf 
 share the smiles of royalty ! " " The order of nobility is in danger ! 
 i will fight for nobility," says the Viscount ; * « but my zeal would be 
 greater if I were made an Earl ! " " Rouse ail the Marquis within 
 me exclaims the Earl, « and the Peerage never turned forth a more 
 undaunted champion in its cause than I shall prove ! " " Stam my 
 green ribbon blue," cries out the illustrious Knight, - and the fountain 
 ot honor will have a fast and faithful servant ! " 
 
 What are the People to think of our sincerity ? What credit are 
 they to give to our professions? Is this system to be persevered in « 
 Is there nothing that whispers to that right honorable gentleman that 
 the crisis IS too big, that the times are too gigantic, to be ruled by the 
 little hackneyed and every-day means of ordinary corruption « Or 
 are we to believe that he has within himself a conscious feehng that 
 disqualifies him from rebuking the ill-timed selfishness of his new 
 allies? Let him take care that the corruptions of the Government 
 shall not have lost it the public heart ; that the example of selfishneag 
 m the few has not extinguished public spirit in the man^f 
 
 86. POPULAR AND KINGLY EXAMPLES, 1195. ~ R. B. Sheridan. 
 
 We are told to look to the example of France. From the excesses 
 ot the Irench People in the French Eevolution, we are warned against 
 giving too much liberty to our own. It is reechoed from every quar- 
 ter, and by every description of persons in office, from the Prime 
 Minister to the exciseman, — " Look to the example of Frj^nce!" 
 ihe implication is a libel upon the character of Great Britain. 1 
 vril] not admit the inference or the argument, that, because a People, 
 
 * Pronounced Wkount. 
 
 16 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Dred under a proud, insolent and grinding despotism, —maddened bj 
 the recollection of former injuries, and made savage by the observation 
 of former cruelties. — a People in whose minds no smcere respect for 
 property or law ever could have existed, because property tad never 
 been secured to them, and law had never protected them, -that the 
 actions of such a People, at any time, much less m the r.aar of fre^T 
 and fury, should furnish an inference or ground on which to estiiLata 
 tne temper, character or feelings, of the People of Great Britain. 
 
 What answer would gentlemen give, if a person, affectedly or sm. 
 ierely anxious for the preservation of British liberty,_ were to say. 
 ' Britons, abridge the power of your Monarch ; restram the exercise , 
 'of his iust preiogative: withhold all power and resources from his 
 government, or even send him to his Electorate, from whence your 
 voice exalted him ; - for, mark what has been domg on the Continent : 
 Look to the example of Kings ! Kings, believe me, are the same m 
 nature and temper everywhere. Trust yours no longer ; see how that 
 shameless and perfidious despot Prussia, that trickster and tyrant, 
 has violated every principle ot Lrath, honor and l^nmamty, m his mur- 
 derous though impotent attempt at plunder and robbery m Poland ! 
 He who had encouraged and even guaranteed to them their Constitu- 
 tion -see him, with a scandalous profanation of the resources which he 
 had'wrung by fraud from the credulity of Great Britam, trampling on 
 the independence he was pledged to maintain and seizing for himself 
 the counks he had sworn to protect ! Mark the still more sanguin- 
 ary efforts of the despot of Russia, faithless not to us only, and the 
 cause of Europe, as it is called, but craftily outwitting her perjured 
 coad utor, profi'ti'ng by his disgrace and grasping to herself the victim 
 which had been destined to glut their jomt rapacity. See her thank- 
 inc. her favorite General, Suwarrow, and, still more impious, thanking 
 Heaven for the opportunity; thanking him for the most miqmtous act 
 of cruelty the bloody page of history records, -the murderous scene 
 at PraJ where, not in the heat and fury of action, not m the first 
 Lv^i^n^^ of re;enge, but after a cold, deliberate pan.e of en hours, 
 Jh temperate barbarity, he ordered a considerate, methodical massacre 
 Tf ten thousand men, women and children ! These are the actions of 
 monarchs ! Look to the example of Kings ! 
 
 »6 NECESSITY OF REFORM IN PARLIAMENT. - Lord Grej, Born,. 1764 died, 1845 
 
 I AM aware of the difficulties I have to encounter in bringmg for. 
 ward this business; lam aware how ungracious it would be for thw 
 House to show that they are not the real representatives of the People , 
 I am aware that the question has been formerly agitated ^^^^^^^ 
 accessions by great and able characters, who have deserted the cause 
 froTrs'pair^of success; and I am aware that I must necessarily go 
 into what may perhaps be supposed trite and worn-out arguments 1 
 eome forward' on the present occasion, actuated solely by a ^^^^^^ 
 luty, to make a serious and important motion, which, I am ready fairly 
 
SENATORIAL. — riUSKISSON. 243 
 
 10 admit, involFes m less a consideration than a ftindamenial changR in 
 toe Government. At the Revolution, the necessity of short Plrlia- 
 ments was asserted; and every departure from these principles is, in 
 some shape, a departure from the spirit and practice of the Constitu- 
 tion ; yet, when they are compared with the present state of the rep- 
 resentation, how does the matter stand? Are the elections free? or 
 are Parha.raents free ? Has not the patronage of peers increased ? la 
 not the patronage of India now vested in the Crown ? Are all these 
 nnovation^3 to be made in order to increase the influence of the Execu- 
 tive power, and is nothing to be done in favor of the popular part of 
 tie Constitution, to act as a counterpoise ? 
 
 It may be said that the House of Commons are really a just repre« 
 sentaiion of the People, because, on great emergencies, they never fail 
 to speak the sense of the People, as was the case in the American war, 
 and m the Russian armament; but, had the House of Commons had a 
 real representation of the People, they would have interfered sooner 
 on these occasions, without the necessity of being called uDon to do so. 
 
 ?^V^"^^ ^ ^^^^ representation of the People, 
 
 and that it is too much influenced by passion, prejudice or interest. 
 Ihis may, fop a time, give to the Executive Government apparent 
 strength ; but no aovernment can be either lasting or free which ig 
 not founded on virtue, and on that independence of mind and conduct 
 among the People which creates energy, and leads to everything that 
 IS noble and generous, or that can conduce to the streno-i^ and safetv 
 of a State. ° ^ 
 
 " What constitutes a State 1 
 Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, 
 
 Thick wall, or moated gate ; 
 Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned ; 
 
 Not bays and broad-armed ports. 
 Where, laughing at the storm, proud navies ride ; 
 
 Nor starred and spangled courts, 
 Where low-browed Baseness wafts perfume to Pride 
 
 No ! men, high-minded men. 
 With powers as far above dull brutes endued. 
 
 In forest, brake or den. 
 As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude; 
 
 Men who their duties know. 
 But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain " * 
 
 «. TIIE CONSERVATIVE INNOVATOR, 1829.- ^m. Hmkisson. Bozi^.im ; dtfj,\m 
 
 I HAVE been charged with being the author in some instances, and 
 the promoter in others, of innovations of a rash and dangerous nature. 
 I deny the charge. I dare the authors of it to the proof. Gentlemen 
 when they talk of innovation, ought to remember, with Lord Bacon, 
 that " Time has been and is the great Innovator." Upon that Inno^ 
 vator I have felt it my duty cautiously to wait, at a becoming di*. 
 tance and with proper a'rcumspection ; but not arrogantly and pr«» 
 !umptuo j3ly to go before him, and endeavor to outstrip hi/ coH'-se 
 • By Sir Wm. Janes. Born, 1746 ; died, 1794. 
 
244 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Time has raised these great interests, and it is the b usiness of a states, 
 man to move onwards with the new combinations which have grown 
 around him. This, Sir, is the principle by which my feelinge have 
 been constantly regulated, during a long public life ; and by which 1 
 shall; continue to be governed, so long as I take any part in the publia 
 tffairs of this country. It is well said, by the most poetical genius, 
 perhaps, of our own times, — 
 
 " A thousand years scarce serve to form a State, — 
 An hour may lay it in the dust." 
 
 I his is the feeling which has regulated, which will continue to reg 
 ulate, my conduct. I am no advocate for changes upon mere abstracl 
 theory. I know not, indeed, which is the greater folly, that of resist- 
 ing all improvement, because improvement implies innovation, or that 
 of referring everything to first principles, and to abstract doctrines." 
 The business of the practical man is, to make himself acquainted with 
 facts ; to watch events to understand the actual situation of affairs, 
 and the course of time and circumstances, as bearing upon the present 
 state of his own country and the world. These are the grounds by a 
 reference to which his reason and judgment must be fo.rmed ; accord- 
 ing to which, without losing sight of first principles, he must know 
 how to apply them, and to temper their inflexibility. This is the 
 task of practical legislation. 
 
 88. SATIRE ON THE PENSION SYSTEM, im. — Curran. 
 John Philpot Curran was born in Newcastle, Ireland, July 24th 1750. His Senatorial 
 career was confined to the Irish Parliament, and was entirely eclipsed by his reputation at the 
 oar. "There never lived a greater advocate," says Charles Phillips; " certainly never one 
 more suited to the country in which his lot was cast. His eloquence was copious, rapid and 
 ornate, and his powers of mimicry beyond all description." In his boyhood he had a confusion 
 in his utterance, from which he was called by his school-fellows stuttering Jack <_urran. m 
 employed every means to correct his elocution, and render it perfect. He accustomed him- 
 self," says one of his biographers, " to speak very slowly, to correct his precipitate utterance He 
 practised before a glass, to make his gestures graceful. He spoke aloud the most celebrated 
 orations. One piece, - the speech of Antony over the dead body of Caesar, -he was never weary 
 of repeating This he recommended to his young friends at the bar, as a model of eloquence. 
 And while he thus used art to smooth a channel for his thoughts to flow in, no man s «;"q^ence 
 ' ver issued more freshly and spontaneously from the heart. It was always the hear of the maL 
 that spoke." Under our Forensic department several choice specimens of Curran s speeches 
 will be found. Curran died October 14th, 1817. 
 
 This polyglot of wealth, this museum of curiosities, the Pension 
 List, embraces every link in the human chain, every description of men, 
 women and children, from ine exalted excellence of a Hawke or a 
 Rodney, to the debased situation of the lady who humbleth herself that 
 8ho may be exalted. But the les-sons it inculcates form its greatest 
 perfection : It teacheth, that Sloth and Vice may eat that bread which 
 Virtue and Honesi.y may starve for after they have earned it. It 
 teaches the idle and dissolute to look up for that support which they 
 are too proud to stoop and earn. It directs the minds of men to an 
 entire reliance on the ruling Power of the State, who feeds the ravens 
 of the Royal aviary, that cry continually for food. It teaches them to 
 jaitate those Saints on the Pension List, that are like the lihes ot th« 
 
(flENA-TORIAL. CURRAN. 
 
 245 
 
 le d ; they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet are arrayed lik^ 
 Oolcmon in his glory. In &ne, it teaches a lesson, which, indeed, they 
 might have learned from Epictetus, that it is sometimes good not to be 
 over-virtuous ; it shows, that, in proportion' as our distresses increase, 
 the mumficence of the Crown increases also; in proportion as our 
 clothes are rent, the royal mantle is extended over us 
 _ Notwithstanding that the Pension List, like charity, covers a muL 
 ktude of sms. give me leave to consider it as coming home to the mem- 
 tersot this House; — give me leave to say, that the Crown, in extend- 
 ing Its -.^arity, its hberality, its profusion, is laying a foundation for 
 the independence of Parliament ; for, hereafter, instead of orators or 
 patriots accounting for their conduct to such mean and unworthy 
 persons as freeholders, they will learn to despise them, and look to the 
 farst man 111 the State; and they will, by so doing, have this security 
 tor their independence, — that while any man in the Km^dom has a 
 ihillmg, they will not want one ! 
 
 89. REPLY TO THREATS OF VIOLENCE, 1190.- Curran. 
 
 We have been told this night, in express words, that the man who 
 dares to do his duty to his country in this House may expect to be 
 attacked without these walls by the military gentlemen of the Castle. 
 l iiad been directly or indirectly mentioned in the course 
 
 ot the debate, this extraordinary declaration might be attributable to 
 the confusion of a mistaken charge, or an absurd vindication ; but. 
 mthout connection with the subject, a new principle of government is 
 advanced, and that is - the bayonet ! And this is stated in the full- 
 est house, and the most crowded audience, I ever saw. We are to be 
 silenced by corruption within, or quelled by force of arms without. If 
 the strength of numbers or corruption should fail against the cause of 
 the public. It IS to be backed by assassination. Nor is it necessary 
 that those avowed principles of bribery and arms should come from 
 any high personal authority ; they have been delivered by the known 
 retainers of Administration, in the face of that bench, and heard even 
 W'.Chout a murmur of dissent or disapprobation. 
 
 £ or my part, I do not know how it may be my destiny to fall • — it 
 may be by chance, or malady, or violence ; but, should it be my fat* 
 to perish the victim of a bold and honest discharge of my duty I wiH 
 nac shun it I will do that duty ; and, if it should expose me to sink 
 (inder ihe blow of the assassin, and become a victim to the public? 
 ^^use, the most sensible of my regrets would be, that on such an altar 
 there should not be immolated a more illustrious sacrifice. As to 
 myself, while I live, I shall despise the peril. I feel in my own spirit 
 the safety of my honor, and in my own and the spirit of the People 
 ao I feel strength enough to hold that Administration, which can giVe 
 a sanction to menaces like these, responsible for their consequenc5 to 
 the Nation and the individual. 
 
THE STANDAKl) SPFAKER. 
 
 90. AGAINST RELIGIOUS DISTINCTIONS, 1796. - Currm. 
 
 G?aiTLEMEN say the Catholics have got everything but seats « 
 Parliament. Are we really afraid of ^ving them that privilege 
 Are we seriously afraid that Catholic venality might pollute thfs 
 immaculate integrity -/ the House of Commons ? — that a Catholi;; 
 jnember would be more accessible to a promise, or a pension, or a bribe 
 than a Protestant ? Lay your hands upon your hearts, look in on€ 
 another's faces, and say Yes, and I will vote against this amendment^ 
 But is it the fact that they have everything ? Is it the fact tha« 
 they have the common benefit of .the Constitution, or the common pro- 
 te^^tion of the law ? i j 
 
 Another gentleman has said, the Catholics have got much, and 
 ou^ht to be content. ^Yhy have they got that much ? Is it from 
 the minister ? Is it from the Parliament, which threw their petition 
 over its bar ? No, — they got it by the great revolution of human 
 affairs ; by the astonishing march of the human mmd ; a march that 
 has collected too much momentum, in its advance, to be now stopped 
 in its progress. The bark is still afloat ; it is freighted with the hopes 
 and liberties of millions of men ; she is already under way ; the rower 
 may faint, or the wind may sleep, but, rely upon it, she has already 
 acquired an energy of advancement that will support her course, and 
 bring her to her destination ; rely upon it, whether much or little 
 remains, it is now vain to withhold it ; rely upon it, you may as well 
 stamp your foot upon the earth, in order to prevent its revolution. 
 You cannot stop it ! You will only remain a silly gnomon upon its 
 surface, to measure the rapidity of rotation, until you are forced round 
 and buried in the shade of that body whose irresl^^tiHe course you 
 would endeavor to oppose ! 
 
 91. FRUITS OF THE WAR WITH FRANCE. — Georg^e Canning. 
 
 George Canning was born in London, on the 11th of April, 17T0. He entered into public life 
 ^he avo^.ved pupil of Mr. Pitt, and made his maiden speech m Parliament, from which the fol- 
 iowin As aVeXct, in 1794. He was repeatedly a member of the Ministry, and became Premict 
 ho tly before Ms death, which occurred^n 1827- Mr. Canning meditated ^-■^^,^P-ches car^ 
 fuUv and they are models of Parliamentary style. "No English bpea»c says Sr James 
 Mackintosh, "used the keen and brUliant weapon of wit so long, so often, or so eff:.ctively, at 
 Mr. Camiing." 
 
 We have been told that this is a war into which we have been hur- 
 ried by clamor and prejudice ; in short, that it is a war of paasion. 
 An appeal is made to our prudence ; and we are asked, with air 
 of triumph, what are we to get by this war ? Sir, that we have still 
 a Government; that the functions of this House have not been usurped 
 bv a 3orresponding society, or a Scotch Convention ; that, instead of 
 Bi'tting in debate here, whether or not we shall subsidize the King of 
 Sardinia, we are not rather employed in devising how to raise a forcec 
 loan for some proconsular deputy, whom the banditti of Pans might 
 have sent to receive our contributions ; — Sir, that we sit. here at ali 
 these are the fruits of the war ! 
 
BENATORIiiL. CANNING. 
 
 But, when neitner our reason nor our pruden e bo set against 
 the war, an attempt is made to alarm our apprehensions. The French 
 are state d to an invincible People ; inflamed to a degree of madness 
 with the holy enthusiasm of freedom, there, is nothing that they camiot 
 accomplish. I am as ready as any man to allow that the French are 
 enthusiastically animated, be it how it may, to a stiite of absolute 
 insanity. ^ I desire no better proof of their being mad, than to see 
 them hugging themselves in a system of slavery so gross and grinding 
 as their nresent, and calling, at the same time, aloud upon all Europe, 
 to admire and envy their freedom. But, before their plea of madness 
 can be admitted as conclusive against our right to be at war with 
 l^hem, Gentlemen would do well to recollect that of madness there are 
 several kinds. If theirs had been a harmless idiot lunacy, which had 
 contented itself with playing its tricks and practising its fooleries a. 
 home, — with dressing up shameless women in oak -leaves, and inventing 
 nick-names for the calendar, — I should have been far from desiring to 
 interrupt their innocent amusements ; we might have looked on with 
 hearty contempt, indeed, but with a contempt not wholly unmixed 
 with commiseration. But, if theirs be a madness of a dilFerent kind, 
 — a moody, mischievous insanity, — if, not contented with tearing and 
 wounding themselves, they proceed to exert their unnatural strength 
 for the annoyance of their neighbors, — if, not satisfied with weaving 
 Straws and wearing fetters at home, they attempt to carry their sys- 
 tems and their slavery abroad, and to impose them on the Nations of 
 Europe, — it becomes necessary, then, that those Nations should bo 
 roused to resistance. Such a disposition must, for the safety and peace 
 of tho world, be repelled ; and, if possible, be eradicated. 
 
 92. BANK-NOTES AND COIN, 1811. — George Canning: 
 
 Are bank-notes equivalent to the legal standard coin of the realm ? 
 This is the question which divides and agitates the public opinion. 
 Says the right honorable, gentleman, " I will devise a mode of settling 
 this question to the satisfaction of the public." By advising a procla- 
 mation ? No. By bringing a bill into Parliament ? No. By pro- 
 posing to declare the joint opinion of both Houses, or the separate 
 opinion of one ? No. By what process, then ? Why, simply by 
 telling the disputants that, they are, and have been all along, however 
 unconsciously, agreed upon the subject of their variance ; and grar-ly 
 resolving for them, respectively, an unanimous opinion ! This is the 
 very judgment, I should imagine, which Milton ascribes to the vener- 
 able Anarch, whom he represents as adjusting the disputes of 
 conflicting element : 
 
 " Chaos umpire sits, 
 And by decision more embroils the fray.'* 
 
 In public estimation," says tUe right hoLorable gentleman's Beso 
 lutiop " bank-notes and coin are equivdeLt." Indsed ! What then 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 i« become of all those persons who, for the last six months, have been, 
 by every outward and visible indication, evincing, maintaining, and 
 inculcating an opinion diametrically opposite ? Who wrote that mul- 
 titude of pamphlets, with the recollection of which one's head is still 
 dizzy ? Does the honorable gentleman apprehend that his arguments 
 must have wrought their conversion ? 
 
 When Bonaparte, not long ago, was desirous of reconciling the 
 Nations under his dominion to the privations resulting from tliQ 
 exclusion of all colonial produce, he published an edict, which com- 
 menced in something like the following manner, — " Whereas, sugar 
 made from beet-root, or the maple-tree, is infinitely preferable to that 
 of the sugar-cane," — and he then proceeded to denounce penalties 
 against those who should persist in the use of the inferior commodity. 
 The denunciation might be more effectual than the right honorable 
 gentleman's Ilesolution ; but the preamble did not go near so fer ; for. 
 though it asserted the superiority of the maple and beet-root sugar, it 
 rested that assertion merely on the authority of the State, and did not 
 pretend to sanction it by " public estimation." 
 
 When Galileo first promulgated the doctrine that .the earth turned 
 round the sun, and that the sun remained stationary in the centre of 
 the universe, the holy fathers of the Inquisition took alarm at so dar- 
 ing an innovation, and forthwith declared the first of these propositions 
 to be false and heretical, and the other to be erroneous in ponit of 
 faith. The Holy Office " pledged itself to believe" that the earth was 
 stationary, and the sun movable. This pledge had little effect in chang- 
 ing the natural course of things ; the sun and the earth contmued, m 
 spite of it, to preserve their accustomed relations to each other, just as 
 the coin and the bank-note will, in spite of the right honorable gentle- 
 man's Ilesolution. 
 
 Let us leave the evil, if it must be so, to the chance of a gradual 
 and noiseless correction. But let us not resolve, as law, what is an 
 incorrect and imperfect exposition of the law. Let us not resolve, a« 
 fact, what is contradictory to universal experience. Let us not expose 
 ourselves to ridicule by resolving, as the opinions of the People, opin- 
 ions which the People do not, and which it is impossible they should, 
 entertain. 
 
 93. AGAINST LORD JOHN RUSSELL'S MOTION, April 26, 1822. —/d. 
 
 There are wild theories abroad. I am not disposed to impute air 
 01 motive to any man who entertains them. I will believe such a man 
 to be as sincere in his conviction of the possibility of realizing his 
 notions of change, without risking the tranquillity of the country, as I 
 am sincere in my belief of their impracticability, and of the treinendou* 
 danger of attempting to carry them into effect ; but, for the sake ol the 
 world, as well as for our own safety, let us be cautious ami nrra 
 Other Nations, axcited by the example of the liberty which tbu 
 wuntrv baa long possessed, have attempted tc copy our Constitution 
 
SENATORIAL. — CANNING. 
 
 24)» 
 
 Mid flome of them have shot beyond it in the fierceness of their pursuit 
 r grudge not to other Nations that share of liberty which they may 
 acquire ; — in the name of Heaven, let them enjoy it ! But let us warn 
 them, that they lose not the object of their desire by the very eager- 
 Bess with which they attempt to grasp it. Inheritors and conservators 
 ot rational freedom, let us, while others are seeking it in restlessnest* 
 and trouble, be a steady and shining light to guide their course, not 
 a wandering meteor to bewilder and mislead them 
 
 A search after abstract perfection in government may produce, iu 
 generous minds, an enterprise and enthusiasm to be recorded by the 
 historian, and to be celebrated by the poet ; but such perfection is not 
 ^n object of reasonable pursuit, because it is not one of possible attain- 
 ment; and never yet did a passionate struggle after an absolutely unat- 
 tamabie object fail to be productive of misery to an individual, of mad- 
 ness and confusion to a People. As the inhabitants of those burning 
 climates which lie beneath the tropical sun sigh for the coolness of the 
 mountain and the grove, so (all history instructs us) do Nations which 
 have basked for a time in the torrent blaze of an unmitigated liberty 
 too often call upon the shades of despotism, even of military despotisni 
 to cover them : j t- > 
 
 «'0 quis me gelidis in vallibus Hajmi 
 Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra ! " 
 
 A protection which blights while it shelters ; which dwarfs the intellect 
 and stunts the energies of man, but to which a wearied Nation will- 
 mgly resorts from intolerable heats, and from perpetual danger of con- 
 vulsion. ° 
 
 Our lot is happily cast in the temperate zone of freedom, — the clime 
 best smted to the development of the moral qualities of the human 
 race, to the cultivation of their faculties, and to the security as well 
 as the improvement of their virtues ;~a clime not exempt, indeed, 
 trom variations of the elements, but variations which purify while they 
 agitate the atmosphere that we breathe. Let us be sensible of the 
 advantages which it is our happiness to enjoy. Let us guard, with 
 pious gratitude, the flame of genuine liberty, that fire from Heaven, of 
 which our Constitution is the holy depository; and let us not, for the 
 chance of rendering it more intense and more radiant, impair its purity 
 or hazard its extinction 
 
 94 ON MR. TIERNEY'S MOTION, December 11, ms.- George Canning 
 
 Tim friendship of Holland ! The independence of Spain ! Is there 
 a man so besotted as to suppose that there is one hour of peace with 
 l^rance preserved by either of these unhappy countries, that there is 
 pao syllable of friendship uttered by them towards France, but whai 
 IS extorted by the immediate pressure, or by the dread and terroi of 
 French arms ? — 
 
 ■aru u "Mouth-honor, breath, 
 
 Wsam tho poor heart would fain refuse, but dare nokf 
 
250 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 .4ave the regenerated Republic of HcUand, the degraded Monarchj 
 of Spain, such reason to rejoice in the protection of the French Repub- 
 lie, that they would voluntarily throw themselves between her and an^^ 
 blow which might menace h^r existence ? 
 
 But does the honorable Gentleman intend his motion as a 
 motion for peace ? If he really thinks this a moment for opening a 
 negotiation, why has he not the candor and manliness to say m 
 Mark, I entreat you, how delicately he manages it! He will nol 
 Bpeak to France, but he would speak at her. He will not proposo — 
 not he — that we should say to the Directory, "Will you niake 
 peace ? " No, Sir ; we are merely to say to ourselves, loud enough for 
 the Directory to overhear us, " I wish these French Gentlemen would 
 make an overture to us." Now, Sir, does this save the dignity of the 
 country ? or is it only a sneaking, shabby way of doing what, if fit to 
 be done at all, must, to have any serious effect, be done openly, un- 
 equivocally, and directly? But I beg the honorable Gentleman^s 
 pardon ; — I misrepresent him : I certainly do. His motion does not 
 amount even to so much as I have stated. He begins further off. 
 The soliloquy which he prompts us, by his motion, is no more than 
 this — " We must continue to make war against France, to be sure; — 
 and we are sorry for it ; but we will not do it as if we bore malice. 
 We will not make an ill-natured, hostile kind of war any longer,— that 
 we won't. And who Inows but, if they should happen to overhear 
 this resolution, as the Directory are good-natured at bottom, their 
 hearts may soften and grow kind towards us — and then they will 
 offer to make a peace ! " And thus, Sir, and thus only, is the motion 
 a motion for peace. 
 
 Since, then, Sir, this motion appears to me to be founded on no 
 principle of policy or necessity ; since, if it be intended for a censure 
 on ministers, it is unjust, — if for a control, it is nugatory; as ita 
 tevidency is to impair the power of prosecuting war with vigor, and to 
 diminish the chance of negotiating peace with dignity, or concluding it 
 with safety ; as it contradicts, without reason, and without advantage, 
 the established policy of our ancestors; as it must degrade in the eyea 
 of the world the character of this country ; as it must carry dismay 
 and terror throughout Europe ; and, above all, as it must administer 
 consolation, and hope, and power, and confidence, to France, — I shall 
 give it ray most hearty and decided negative. 
 
 95. VINDICATION OF MR. BITl - George Canning 
 
 It appears to be a measure of party to run down the fame of Mi. 
 Pitt. I could not answer it to my conscience or to my feelings, if 1 
 had suffered repeated provocations to pass without notice. Mr. Pitt 
 tt seems, was not a great man. Is it, then, that we live ip such heroid 
 times, that the ptesent is a race of such gigantic talents and qualities, ai 
 to render those of Mr. Pitt, in the comparison, ordinary and contempt. 
 
SENATORIAL. CANNING. 
 
 25i 
 
 ible. Who, then, IS the man now living, — is there any ^.an nov 
 sitting in this House, — who, by taking the measure of his (,wn mind, 
 or ot that of any of Ins contemporaries, can feel himself iustiiied ir 
 pronouncing that Mr. Pitt was not a great man ? I admire as much 
 as any man the abilities and ingenuity of the honorable and learned 
 gentleman who promulgated this opinion. I do not deny to him mam 
 01 the qualities which go to constitute the character which he has 
 described. But I think I may defy all his ingenuity to frame any 
 delimtion of that character which shall not apply to Mr Pitt — to 
 trace any circle of greatness from which Mr. Pitt shall be excluded 
 
 i have no manner of objection to see placed on the same pedestal 
 witii iUr. 1 lit, for the admiration of the present age and of po^lcritv 
 other Gistinguishcd men ; and amongst them his great rival, whos' 
 memory is, I have no doubt, as dear to the honorable gentlemen oppo- 
 site, as that of Mr. Pitt is to those who loved him living, and who 
 revere him dead. But why should the admiration of one be incom- 
 patiblo with justice to the other ? Why cannot we cherish the remem 
 brance of the respective objects of our veneration, leaving to each other 
 a similar freedom ? For my own part, I disclaim such a spirit of 
 mtolerance Be it the boast and the characteristic of the school o 
 .itt, that, however provoked by illiberal and unjust attacks upon H-i 
 memory whether in speeches in this House or in calumnies out of it, 
 they will never so far forget the respect due to him or to themselves, 
 as to be betrayed into reciprocal illiberality and injustice, — that thev 
 disdain to retaliate upon the memory of Mr. Pitt's great rival ' 
 
 96. ".MEASURES NOT MEN," 1S02.~ George Canning. 
 
 If I am pushed to the wall, and forced to speak my opinion, I have 
 no disguise nor reservation : — I do think that this is a time when the 
 administration of the government ought to be in the ablest and fittest 
 hands ; i do not thmk the hands in which it is now placed answer to 
 that description. I do not pretend to conceal in what quarter T think 
 tiiat fitness most eminently resides : i do not subscribe to the doctrines 
 which have been advanced, that, in times like the present, the fitness 
 m individuals for their political situation is no part of the consideration 
 to which a member of Parliament may fairly turn his attention I 
 tnow not a more solemn or important duty that a member of Parlia- 
 fiient can have to discharge, than by giving, at fit seasons, a free 
 opinion upon the character and qualities of public men. Away with 
 the cant of " measures, not men ! " the idle supposition that it is the 
 baraess, and not the horses, that draw the chariot along ! No Sir if 
 iJie comparison must be made, if the distinction must be taken m^a 
 ^f/^^^^fi»g' Pleasures comparatively nothing. I speak, Sir, of times 
 Of dilnculty and danger ; of times when systems are shaken, when Dre=. 
 eeaents and general rules of conduct fail. Then it is, that not to 'thk 
 or that measure, — however prudently devised, howeTer blameless in 
 
252 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 execuLon, - but ta tke energy and character of individuaib, a Slats^irad 
 be indebted for its salvation. Then it is that kingdoms rise cr fall In 
 proportion as they are upheld, not by well-meant endeavors (laudable 
 though they may be), but by commanding, overawing talents, — by abla 
 tnen. 
 
 And what is the nature of the times in which we live ? Look at 
 France, and see what we have to cope with, and consider what has made 
 hQT what she is. A man ! You will tell me that she was great, and 
 powerful, and formidable, before the days of Bonaparte's governmoni ; 
 that he found in her great physical and moral resources ; that he had 
 but to turn them to account. True, and he did so. Compare the 
 situation in which he found France with that to which he has raised 
 her. I am no panegyrist of Bonaparte ; but I cannot shut my eyes 
 to the superiority of his talents, to the amazing ascendency of his 
 genius. Tell me not of his measures and his policy. It is his genius, 
 his character, that keeps the world in awe. Sir, to meet, to check, tc 
 curb, to stand up against him, we want arms of the same kind. I am 
 far from objecting to the large military establishments which are pro- 
 posed to you. I vote for them, with all my heart. But,^ for the pur- 
 pose of coping with Bonaparte, one great, commanding spirit is worth 
 them all. 
 
 97. THE BALANCE OP POWER, 1826. — George Canning. 
 
 But, then, Sir, the balance of power ! Gentlemen assert that the 
 entry of the French army into Spain disturbed that balance, and WG 
 DUf^ht to have gone to war to restore it ! Were there no other means 
 than war for restoring the balance of power ? Is the balance of power 
 a fixed and unalterable standard ? Or, is it not a standard perpetu- 
 ally varying, as civilization advances, and as new Nations sprmg up, 
 and take their place among established political communities ? The 
 balance of power, a century and a half ago, was to be adjusted between 
 France and Spain, the Netherlands, Austria and England. Some 
 years afterwards, Russia assumed her high station in European poli- 
 tics. Some years after that, again, Prussia became not only a sub« 
 Btantive, but a preponderating monarchy. Thus, while the balance 
 of power continued in principle the same, the means of adjustmg it 
 became more varied and enlarged. To look to the policy of Europe in 
 the times of William and Anne to regulate the balance of power in 
 Europe at the present day, is to disregard the progress of events, and 
 to confuse dates and facts which throw a reciprocal light upon each 
 
 other. „ , . , CI • 
 
 I admit. Sir, that the entry of a French army into bpam was a 
 lisparagcment to Great Britain. I do not stand up here to deny that 
 fact One of the modes of redress was by a direct attack upon France, 
 —by a war upon the soil of Spain. Was there no other mode of 
 redreas? If France occupied Spain, was it necessary, m order tc 
 »void th<^ o,onsequ'\uces of that occupation, that we should biockad* 
 
SENATORIAL, — CArsKI^(3. 
 
 ? No. I looked another way. I sought materials of compen. 
 nation in anotner hemisphere. Contemplating Spain such as oui 
 ano^istors had known her, I resolved that, if France had Spain, it should 
 not be Spam " with the Indies:' I called the New World into exist- 
 ence, to redress the balance of the Old ! Thus, Sir, T answer the 
 question of the occupation of Spain by the army of France, That 
 occupation is an unpaid and unredeemed burden to France. Franc6 
 would be glad to get rid of the possession of Spain. France would 
 be very glad if England were to assist her to get rid of that posses- 
 sion ; and the only way to rivet France to the possession of Sp'^^^n is 
 to make that possession a point of honor. The object of the measure 
 before the House is not war. It is to take the last chance of peace. 
 If you do not go forth, on this occasion, to the aid of Portugal, For- 
 tugal will be trampled doWn, to your irrecoverable disgrace ; and then 
 war will come, and come, too, in the train of degradation. If you 
 wait until Spain have courage to mature her secret machinations into 
 open hostility, you will, in a little while, have the sort of war required 
 by the pacificators : and who shall say where that war shall end ? 
 
 98. A COLLISION OP VICES, \%2h.— George Canning. 
 
 My honorable and learned friend * began by telling us that, after 
 all, hatred is no bad thing in itself. " I hate a tory," says my honor- 
 able friend ; "and another man hates a cat ; but it does not follow that 
 he would hunt down the cat, or I the tory." Nay, so far from it, 
 hatred, if it be properly managed, is, according to my honorable 
 friends theory, no bad preface to a rational esteem and affection. It 
 prepares its votaries for a reconciliation of differences ; for lyino- down 
 with their most inveterate enemies, like the leopard and the kid^in the 
 vision of the prophet. This dogma is a little startling, but it is not 
 altogether without precedent. It is borrowed from a character in a 
 play,^which is, I dare say, as great a favorite with my learned friend 
 as it IS with me, — I mean the comedy of the Rivals ; in which Mrs 
 Malaprop, giving a lecture on the subject of marriage to her niece 
 (who IS unreasonable enough to talk of liking, as a necessary prelim, 
 mary to such a union), says, " What have you to do with your likings 
 and your preferences, child? Depend upon it, it is safest to betrfn 
 with a httle aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle like a 
 blackamoor before we were married ; and yet, you know, my dear 
 what a good wife I mad^ him." Such is my learned friend's argu-' 
 ment, to a hair. But, finding that this doctrine did not appear to go 
 down with the House so glibly as he had expected, my honorable and 
 learned friend presently charged his tack, and put forward a theory 
 which, whether for novelty or for beauty, I pronounce to be incom- 
 parable; and, in short, as wanting nothing to recommend it but a 
 Blight foundation in truth. "True philosophy," says my hoscrab'g 
 triend, " will always continue to lead men to virtue by the ^"nstrument^ 
 * Sir James Mackintosh 
 
254 
 
 IHE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 ality of their conflicting vices. The virtues, where more than on« 
 exists, may live harmoniously together; but the vices bear mortal 
 antipathy to one another, and, therefore, furnish to the moral engineci 
 the power by which he can make each keep the othei- under control.'' 
 Admirable ! but, upon this doctrine, the poor man who has but one 
 single vice must be in a very bad way. No fulcvum, no moral power, 
 for effecting his cure ! Whereas, his more fo? tunate neighbor, who 
 has two or more vices in his composition, is in a fair way of becoming 
 a very virtuous member of society. I wonder how my learned friend 
 vrould like to have this doctrine introduced into his domestic establish- 
 ment. For instance, suppose that I discharge a servant because he is 
 addicted to liquor, I could not venture to recommend him to my honor- 
 able and learned friend. It might be the poor man's only fault, and 
 therefore clearly incorrigible ; but, if I had the good fortune to find 
 out that he was also addicted to stealing, might I not, with a safe con- 
 science, send him to my learned friend with a strong recommendation, 
 saying, " I send you a man whom I know to be a drunkard ; but I 
 am happy to assure you he is also a thief : you cannot do better than 
 employ him ; you will make his drunkenness counteract his thievery, 
 and no doubt you will bring him out of the conflict a very moral per- 
 sonage ! " 
 
 89 ENGLAND AND AMERICA. — Sir James Mackintosh. Born, 1765 5 died, 1832 
 
 The laws of England, founded on principles of liberty, are still, in 
 substance, the code of America. Our writers, our statutes, the most 
 modern decisions of our judges, are quoted in every court of justice, 
 from the St. Lawrence to the Mississippi. English law, as well as 
 English liberty, are the foundations on which the legislation of Amer- 
 ica Is founded. The authority of our jurisprudence may survive the 
 power of our Grovernment for as many ages as the laws of Rome com- 
 manded the reverence of Europe, after the subversion of her^empire. 
 Our language is as much that of America as it is that of England. 
 As America increases, the glory of the great writers_ of England 
 increases with it ; the admirers of Shakspeare and of JMilton are mul- 
 tiplied : the fame of every future Englishman of genius is more widely 
 spread. Is it unreasonable, then, to hope that these ties of birth, of 
 liberty, of laws, of language and of literature, may in time prevail 
 -^ver vulgar, ignoble, and ruinous prejudices ? Their ancestors were 
 as much the countrymen c>f Bacon and Newton, of Hampden and Sid- 
 ney, as ours. They are entitled to their full share of that inheritance 
 of glory which has descended from our common forefathers. Neither 
 \he liberty of England, nor her genius, nor the noble language which 
 that genius has consecrated, is worthy of their disregard. All theao 
 aonoM are theirs, if they -^hoosc to preserve them. The history of Eng. 
 land, till the adoption of counsels adverse to liberty, is their history 
 We may still preserve or revive kindred feelings. Thei/ may claini 
 aoblfi ancf'.stors. and we may look forward to renowned descondan^B 
 
SENATORIAL. — - BROUGHAM. 255 
 
 S i ' ^ r^'"^^^ inherited, and lead us to envy that gi^eatn^ 
 »Iuch has anseu from our institutions and will perpetuate our ianie 
 
 100. THE FATE Of THE KEIOKMEK, 1830. _£„. ( Broughim 
 
 I HATE heard it said that when one lifts up his roice against thing, 
 that are and wishes for a change, he is raising a clamor against exist- 
 mg institutions a elamor against our yenerable estabHshments, a 
 clamor against the law of the land, but this is no clamor against he 
 0.10 or the other, - rt is a clamor against the abuse of thomlll It 
 IS a clamor raised agamst the grieyances that are felt. Mr Burke 
 who was no fnend to popular excitement, - who was no readj tool of 
 vfue ofTh '^'''^S establishments, no under- 
 
 tTnn, tl, " T "^■'T ™ «g^™«t institu- 
 
 tions as they are, — has said, and it deserves to be fixed in letters of 
 gold over the hall of every assembly which calls itself "egisltive tedy 
 
 - WheEE there is abuse, there OOOHT to be clamor ; BECAUSE IT 
 IS BETTER TO HAVE OUR SLUMBER BROKEN BY THE FIRE-BkL, THAN Z 
 
 PERISH, AMIDST THE FLAMES, IN OUR BED." I have been told by 
 Who have httle objection to the clamor, that I am a timid and a m 
 reformer; arid by others, if I go on firmly and steadily, and d^^ot 
 a low myself to be driven aside by either one outcry or another, and 
 care for neither, that It is a rash and dangerous innovation wh eh I 
 profound; and that I am taking, for the subject of my reckless ex^ri- 
 ment« things wh.ch are the objects of all men's veneration. I dLe- 
 gard the one as much as I disregard the other of these charges. 
 
 •' False honor charms, and lying slander scares. 
 Whom, but the false and faulty 1 " * 
 
 bnnn ^ ""T ^"^ -^'^ ^S"'^ ^Spired at tiie 
 
 bTt bv f '"^*T""f' """^^S to their pa L 
 
 b, set by every persecution from adversaries, by every misconstruction 
 
 om ttotr" Tbr ^ r--"" — o" 
 
 rom the other ! To be misconstrued, misrepresented, borne down till 
 
 It was in vain to bear down any longer, has been their fate. 67"™! 
 
 will survive, and calumny has its day. I say that, if this be "he feto 
 
 01 the reformer. - if he be the object of misrepre^ntation - may nol 
 
 an inference be drawn favorable to myself? Taunted by the "niie 
 
 rf reform as being too rash, by the over-zealous friends of reform L 
 
 being too slow or too cold, there is every reason for presumint thati 
 
 his career; not misled, on the one hand, by panegyric, nor discouriod 
 by slander on the other. He wants no p'raL. w^uld rather 
 - Woe to him when all men speak well of him ! " I shall ao i, 
 m the ^urse which I have laid down for myself; pursuing X^foT 
 
 * Falsus honor juvat et mendax infamia terret 
 tiuem, nisi mendosum et mendacem i 
 
256 THE STANDAED SPEAKER. 
 
 Steps of those who have gone before us, who have left us their instruc 
 tions and success, their instructions to guide our walk, and then suo 
 ijess to cheer our spirits. 
 
 101. PARLIAMENTARY REFORM, 1831. -Lord BwAawi. 
 
 My Lords, I do not disguise the intense solicitude which I feel ^(y 
 the event of this debate, because I know full well that the peace of 
 the country is involved in the issue. I cannot look without dismay a 
 the rejection of this measure of Parliamentary Reform But, gnevou, 
 as may be the consequences of a temporary defeat,^ temporary it can 
 only be; for its ultimate, and even speedy success, is certain Noth- 
 in/can now stop it. Do not suffer yourselves to be persuaded that 
 even if the present Ministers were driven from the helm, any one could 
 steer- you through the troubles which surround pu, without reiorm 
 But our successors would take up the task m circumstances far le^s 
 fuspicious. Under them, you would be fain to grant a bill, compa d 
 with which, the one we now proffer you is moderate indeed. Hear the 
 parable of the Sibyl ; for it conveys a wise and wholesome moral, fehe 
 now appears at your gate, and offers you mildly the volumes the 
 p?ecious^olumesl.of w^^^^^ and peace. The price she asks is rea^ 
 Bonable; to restore the franchise, which, without any bargain you 
 ought voluntarily to give. You refuse her terms ~ her moderat 
 terms ; - she darkens fhe porch no longer. But soon - for you cannot 
 do without her wares-you call her back. Agam she comes, but^with 
 diminished treasures ; the leaves of the book are m part torn away by 
 hwless hands, in part defaced with characters of blood. But the 
 "^^^^ has^isen in her demands ; -it is --^^^^^^^^ 
 tear -it is Vote by the Ballot -it is suffrage by the million . 
 From this you turn away indignant; and, for the second time, she 
 departs. Beware of her 'third coming ! for the treasure you ....^ 
 have ; and what price she may next demand, who shall tell ? it may 
 evin be the mace which rests upon that woolsack ! What may folbw 
 your course of obstinacy, if F-i^^ed in, I cannot take upon m^^^ 
 diet nor do I wish to conjecture. But this I know full well , that, 
 a;tre;a man ismortal,aid to err is human i-t ce d^^^^^^^^^^ 
 the price at which yo.i must purchase safety ^^^.^ /^^^^^ ' "-."^^ 
 you expect to gather in another crop than they did who went before 
 you if vou peisevere in their utterly abominable husbandry, of sowing 
 
 ^^^':^rr that now bow down my mm^ 
 
 there is one that stands preeminent above the rest. Yo^ t^^^ 
 LigLrjudicature in the rLlm ; you sit here as judges and decide a^ 
 causes civil and r-riminal, without appeal. It is a judge s fiist duty 
 to p onounce a sentence, in the most trifling -se, withou^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 mg. Will you make this the exception ? Are you really m-^^^J^ 
 determine, but not to hear, the mighty cause, upon which a Na^on 
 hnnP. nnd fears hancr? You are? Then bcwart) of your decision 1 
 Ho';; nt fblechV a peace-loving but a resolute People ! ahon 
 
SENATOftfAL. O'C »Nx\ELL. 25 
 
 ite not I'rom jour body the affections of a whole Empire ' Ab your 
 friend as tha fnend of my order, as the friend of m y ^country as^the 
 a thfal se™t of my sovereign, I counsel you to assist, wi h your 
 littermost efforts, in preserving the peace, and upholding, and perpetj 
 a mg he Constitution. Therefore, I pray and exhort you^ no'tl) 
 reject this measure. By all you hold most dear, by all the ties that 
 bind every one of us to our common order and our common country, T 
 ^olemnly adjure you, I warn you, I implore you, - yea, on my bended 
 knees, I supplicate you, ~ reject not this bill ! ^ ' ^^"^^^ 
 — ^ 
 
 102. UNIVERSAL RELIGIOUS LIBERTY. -Daniel O^Connell 
 
 3ye while he wept with tlie other. llis fnn vvas inexhSwe O Pn*^ ' n ^"'^ 
 T oient and vituperative in his denunciations,^ t^ey consea^^^^ ^^^"^ 
 abuse that is palpably exaggerated is not much to KaTed ^ ^ '^^^ ° 
 
 Can anything be more absurd and untenable than the ar^rument of 
 the learned gentleman, when you see it stripped of the false coloring 
 he has given to it? First, he alleges that the Catholics are attached 
 to their religion with a bigoted zeal. I admit the zeal, but I utterly 
 deny the bigotry. He proceeds to insist that these feelings, on our 
 part, j^istify the apprehensions of Protestants. The Catholics, he says 
 are alarmed for their Church; why should not the Protestants be 
 alarmed, also, for heirs ? The Catholic desires safety for his religion 
 why should not the Protestant require, security for his ? Hence he 
 concludes, that, merely because the Catholic desires to keep his relio-'un 
 iree, the Protestant is thereby justified in seeking to enskve it ^e 
 says that our anxiety for the preservation of our Church vindicates 
 those who deem the proposed arrangement necessary for the protection 
 0 theirs; — ^ mode of reasoning perfectly true, and perfectly applica- 
 ble, if we sought any interference with, or control over, the Protestant 
 Lhurch, — if we asked or required that a single Catholic should be 
 consulted upon the management of the Protestant Church, or of it<. 
 revenues or privileges. 
 
 But the fact does not bear him out ; for we do not seek nor desire 
 mr would we accept of, any kind of interference with the Protestant 
 U lurcii. VVe disclaim ar.d disavow any kind of control over it We 
 ask not, nor would we allow, any Catholic authority over the mode of 
 ai rointment of their clergy. Nay, we are quite content to be excluded 
 loj-ever from even advising his Majesty with respect to any n^atter 
 r€ ating to or concerning the Protestant Church, - its rights its prop- 
 erties 01 Its privileges. I will, for my own part, go much further 
 and 1 do declare, most solemnly, that I would feel and express equal 
 If not stronger repugnance, to the interference of a Catholic with the 
 Protestant Church, than that I have expressed and do feel to anv 
 Protestant interference with ours. In opposing their interference with 
 as. i content myself with the mere war of words. But, if the case 
 
258 
 
 ZltE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 were reversed, -- if tlie Catholic sought this control over the religion 
 of the Protestant, — the Protestant should command my heart, mj 
 tongue, my arm, in opposition to so unjust and insulting a measure. 
 So help me God ! I would, in that case, not only feel for the Protestant, 
 and speak for him, but I would fight for him, and cheerfully sacrifice 
 »ny life in defence of the great principle for which 1 have ever con- 
 tended, — the principle of universal and complete religious liberty I 
 
 103. ON THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL. — Dante/ O'Connell. 
 
 I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this House ; — I do not rise tc 
 supplicate you to 'oe merciful toward the Nation to which I belong, — 
 toward a Nation which, though subject to England, yet is distinct from 
 it. It is a distinct Nation : it has been treated as such by this country, 
 as may be proved by history, and by seven hundred years of tyranny. 
 I call upon this House, as you value the liberty of England, not to 
 allow the present 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 pitifal assertions, that grievances are not to be complained of, — 
 that our redress is not to be agitated ; for, in such cases, remonstrances 
 cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the 
 world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what 
 tyranny the People suffer. . 
 
 The clause which does away with trial by jury, — what, in the 
 name of Heaven, is it, if it is not the establishment of a revolutionary 
 tribunal ? It drives the judge from his bench ; it does away with 
 that which is more sacred than the Throne itself, — that for which your 
 king reigng, vcur 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 per- 
 eonalities to which they have been subjected ; the yells with which 
 one of them has this night been greeted, — all these things dissipate 
 my doubts, and t^ll 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 lolty 
 hills ? 0, they will be heard there ! — yes ; and they will not be for- 
 gotten 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 J ersey ! ' 
 
 I have done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience and 
 oountry. I have opposed this measure throughout ; and I now pr^ 
 test against it, as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, unjust; — as estab 
 lishing an infamous precedent, by retaliating crime against cnme; - 
 u tyrannous, cruelly and vindictively tyrannous ! 
 
SENATORIAL. BTEON. 258 
 
 ». IHE DJAIIl .-INALTV FOR NEW OFFENCES, im.-Lora Byron. B. ; ^.1821 
 
 Settinq aside the pjpable injustice and the certain inefficiency of 
 U1.S liill, are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes.! 
 LZT!- ™\"<""' ^T^'^l "PO" JO"-- penal code, that more must be 
 loured forth to ascend to Heaven and testify against you ? How will 
 you carry th;s Bill mto effect ? Can you commit a whole country t» 
 their own prison ? Will you erect a gibbet in every field, and han^ up 
 men like scarecrows ? or will you proceed (as you must, to bring°thi^ 
 measure into effect) by decimation; place the country ^nder m!rtS 
 law; depopulate and lay waste all around you; and ristore Sherwood 
 Forest as an acceptable gift to the Grown, in its former condition of a 
 royal chase, and an asylum for outlaws ? Are these the remedies for 
 a starving and desperate populace? Will the famished wretch who 
 h ^ tZf T"" ,t"^/.PP^"«d by your gibbets ? When death 
 
 is a relief, and the only relief ,t appears, that you will afford him, will 
 /k"""™"'^ mto tranquillity? Will that which could not be 
 effected by your grenadiers be accomplished by your executioners ? 
 
 If you proceed by the forms of law, where is your evidence ? Those 
 who have refused to impeach their accomplices when transportation only 
 w as the punishment, will hardly be tempted to witness against them when 
 
 rThtr, nr'"^\- ^-'^ '^'^'^''"^ '° Lords opposite! 
 
 1 think a little investigation - some previous inquiry — would induct 
 ven thern to change their purpose. That most favoiL State meiu"^ 
 0 marvellously efccacious in many and recent instances, - ten^porij. 
 mg, - would not be without its advantage in this. When a proposal 
 IS made to emancipate or relieve, you hesUate, you deliberate f.Fr Tars 
 -you tempome aJid tamper with the minds of men; but a death-bil 
 mus^ be passed off hand, without a thought of the consequences. Sure 
 I am from what I have heard, and from what I have se^n, that to pa^' 
 ? !!• circumstances, without inquiry, with- 
 
 S JtTegSt.™"'' ^ 
 tb J''a/k'""'"'%°^ ^H' ^ to inl'erit the honors of 
 
 men «s T h»!„ '"PP°'"^ " passed, -suppose one of these 
 
 f^T/T- ^''"^ with despair, 
 
 Z hln/lt "fy,^ f ''''' to value a 
 
 something less than the price of a stocking-frame, — suppose this man 
 
 'he e„^!\ r° "^'°"gf ? support; -suppose this man, -and 
 theie are ten thousand such, from whom you may select your victim^ 
 
 iTw T new offence.^ this new 
 
 Z'thS ' ^^"'^ to convict and condemn him, 
 
 "r a Jule'- ' ''"'^'^''^ ^ J"^?' 
 
 o ■ 
 
 • Draoon. the author of the first TrrUf^n ^« 
 
260 
 
 THE STANDARD gPE^viCER. 
 
 105. ON CHARGES AGA.NST ROMAN CATHOLICS, 182 B. — SAfj/. 
 
 Richard Lalor Sheil was born in Dublin, Ireland, August i6th, 1791, and died at florenoa 
 Italy, where he held the post of British Minister, May 25th, 1851. He was returned to thi 
 Imperial Pai-liaraent in 1829, and for twenty years was a prominent memljer of the House of 
 Commons. A contemporary says of him : " His great earnestness and apparent sincerity, hi* 
 jmrivalled felicity of illustration, his extraordinary power of pushing the meaning of words to 
 the utmost extent, and wringing from them a force beyond the range of ordinary ex-pression. 
 were such, that, when he rose to speak, members took their places, and the hum of private con- 
 versation was hushed, in order that the House might enjoy the performances of an a/;eomplisbeii 
 artist." His style of speaking was peculiar; his gesticulation rapid, fierce, aud incessant; 
 his enunciation remarkably quick and impetuous. His matter was uniformly well arranged 
 and loeical. He cnrefuUy prepared himself before speaking. 
 
 Calumniators of Catholicism, have you read the history of jom 
 country ? Of the charges against the religion of Ireland, the annals 
 of England afford the confutation. The body of your common law was 
 given by the Catholic Alfred. He gave you your judges, yofir magis- 
 trates, your high-sheriffs, your courts of justice, your elective system, 
 and, the great bulwark of your liberties, the trial by jury. Who con- 
 ferred upon the People the right of self-taxation, and fixed, if he did 
 not create, their representation ? The Catholic Edward the First ; 
 while, in the reign of Edward the Third, perfection was given to the 
 representative system, Parliaments were annually called, and the 
 statute against constructive treason was enacted. It is false, — foully, 
 infamously false, — that the Catholic religion, the religion of your 
 forefathers, the religion of seven millions of your fellow-subjects, haa 
 been the auxiliary of debasement, and that to its influence the sup- 
 pression of British freedom can, in a single instance, be referred. I 
 am loath to say that which can give you cause to take offence ; but, 
 when the faith of my country is made the object of imputation, I 
 cannot help, I cannot refrain, from breaking into a retaliatory inter- 
 rogation, and from asking whether the overthrow of the old religion of 
 England was not effected by a tyrant, with a hand of iron and a heart 
 of stone ; — whether Henry did not trample upon freedom, while upon 
 Catholicism he set his foot ; and whether Elizabeth herself, the virgin 
 of the Reformation, did not inherit her despotism with her creed ; 
 whether in her reign the most barbarous atrocities were not committed ; 
 — whether torture, in violation of the Catholic common law of England, 
 was not politically inflicted, and with the shrieks of agony the Towers 
 of Julius, in the dead of night, did not reecho ? 
 
 You may suggest to me that in the larger portion of Catholio 
 Europe freedom does not exist ; but you should bear in mind that, at 
 a period when the Catholic religion was in its most palmy state, free- 
 dom flouiished in the countries in which it is now extinct. False. — I 
 repeat it, with all the vehemence of indignant asseveration, — utterly 
 false is the charge habitually preferred against tlie religion which 
 Slngliahmen have laden with penalties, and have marked with degrada- 
 tion. I can bear with any other charge but this — to any other charge 
 I can listen with endurance. Tell me that I prostrate niysuif before a 
 sculptured marble ; tell me that to a canvass glowing with the 
 imagery of Heaven I bend my knee ; tell mo that my faith is my 
 perdition ; — and, as you traverse the church-yards in which vour for©- 
 
SEN ATtjRlAL. — SHEIL. I [ j j ] AJ^ ^ 
 
 ihthers are buried, pronounce upon those who have lain\W 3 mari|'^'""' 
 hundred jears a fearful and appalling sentence, --yeO&ir -wliat Ol"^ 
 regard as the truth not only an error, but a sin, to which mercy shalJ—^- ' 
 not be extended, — all this I will bear, — to all this I will submit — ' ' ~ 
 nay, at all this I will but smile, — but do not tell me that I am' iis 
 neart and creed a slave ! — That, my countrym-en cannot brook ! In 
 fcheir own bosoms they carry the high consciousness that never waa 
 msf ;utation more foully false, or more detestably calumnious ' 
 
 106. IRISH ALIENS AND ENGLISH YICTORIES. - Shetl 
 lattei halt of this speech demands great rapidity of utterance in the delivery. 
 
 I SHOULD be surprised, indeed, if, while you are doing us wrong, vou 
 did not profess your solicitude to do us justice. From the day on which 
 btrongbow set his foot upon the shore of Ireland, Eno-Hshmen were 
 never wanting m protestations of their deep anxiety to do us iustic- • 
 -even Strafford, the deserter of the People's cause, — the renegade 
 VVentworth, who gave evidence in Ireland of the spirit of instinctive 
 tyranny which predominated in his character, — even Strafford, while 
 ho trampled upon our rights, and trod upon the heart of the country 
 protested his solicitude to do justice to Ireland ! What marvel is it' 
 then, that (gentlemen opposite should deal in such vehement protesta- 
 tions ? There is, however, one man, of great abilities, — not a member 
 ot this House, but whose talents and whose boldness have placed him 
 m the topmost place in his party, — who, disdaining all imposture, and 
 thinking it the best course to appeal directly to the relicrious and 
 national antipathies of the People of this country, - abandoning all 
 reserve and flinging off the slender veil by which his political associ- 
 ates affect to cover, although they cannot hide, their motives, — dis- 
 tinct y and audaciously tells the Irish People that they are not 
 entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen; and pronounces them 
 m any particu ar which could enter his minute enumeration of the 
 circumstances by which fellow-citizenship is created, in race, idenjitv 
 and religion to be aliens; -to be aliens in race, to be aliens ii 
 country to be aliens in religion ! Aliens ! good God ! was Arthur, 
 Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords, - aid did he not start .x^ 
 and exclaim ''Hold! I have seen the aliens do their duty!^ 
 The Duke of Wellmgton is not a man of an excitable temperament 
 His mind LS of a cast too martial to be easily moved ; but notwith. 
 Btandmgbs habitual iiiflexibility, I cannot help thinking that, when he 
 Jeard his Ivoman Catholic countrymen (for we are his countrymen) 
 dosignatea -^y a pnrase as offensive as the abundant vocabulary of his 
 doquent contederat^ could supply, -I cannot help thinking that 
 
m 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAiSER. 
 
 ought to have recollected the many fields of fight m whicti we hav« 
 been contributors to his renown. " The battles, sieges, fortunes that 
 he has passed," ought to have come back upon him. He ought 
 have remembered that, from the earliest achievement in which hi 
 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 soldiers, with whom your armies are filled, were the 
 iiirieparable 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 at Badajos ? All his victories should have 
 fashed and crowded back upon his memory, — Vmiiera, Badajos, Sal- 
 amanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and, last of all, the greatest . Tell 
 
 nje, — for you were there, — I appeal to the gallant soldier before me 
 (Sir Henry Hardinge), from whose opinions I dilfer, but who bears, 
 I know, a generous heart in an intrepid breast ; — tell me, — for you 
 must needs remember, — on that day when the destinies of mankind 
 were trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers, when 
 the artillery of France was levelled with a precision of the most deadly 
 science, — when her legions, incited by the voice and inspired by the 
 example of their mighty leader, rushed again and again to the onset, 
 
 — tell me if, for an instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be 
 lost, the " aliens " blenched ? And when, at length, the moment for 
 the last and decided movement had arrived, and the valor which had 
 so long been wisely checked was, at last, let loose, — when, with words 
 familiar, but immortal, the great captain commanded the great assault, 
 
 — tell me if Catholic Ireland with less heroic valor than the natives 
 of this your own glorious country precipitated herself upon the foe ? 
 The blood of England, Scotland, and of Ireland, flowed in the same 
 stream, and 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 union in the grave. Partakers in every peril, in the 
 glory shall we not be permitted to participate ; and shall we be told, 
 OS a requital, that we are estranged from the noble country for whose 
 salvation our life-blood was poured out ? 
 
 107. THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH OF IRELAND. —/d. 
 
 1 La? down a very plain proposition, and it is this, — however harsk 
 the truth, it must be told, — it is this : — Whatever may be youi 
 tQclination, you have not the ability to maintain the Irish establish' 
 inent Xt first view the subject seems to be a wretched dispuU 
 
 • Pronounced Ba-dah-yhb?, 
 
SENATORIAL. SHEIL. 
 
 tK.tween Catliolic and Protestant — a miserable sectarian controvers;y 
 It is no such thing; it is the struggle for complete political equality 
 m the part of the overwhelming majority upon the one hand, and fo/ 
 political ascendency on the part of the minority on the ether. Cai 
 that ascendency he maintained ? Taught so long, but unlnstructed 
 Btill, wherefore, m the same fatal policy, with an infatuated perti- 
 nacity, do you disastrously persevere? Can you wish, and, if you 
 wish, can ^you hope, that this unnatural, galling, exaspcratinp- awf^nd- 
 ency shoTild be maintained ? Things cannot remain as they "are. To 
 what expedient will you fly ? Would you drive the country into 
 insurrection, cut down the People, and bid the yeomanry draw 
 forth the swords clotted with the blood of 1798, that they may be 
 brandished in massacre, and sheathed in the Nation's heart? Foi 
 what, into these terrific possibilities, are we madly, desperately, 
 impiously, to plunge ? For the Irish Church ! — the Church of the 
 minority, long the Church of the State, never the Church of the 
 People; the Church on which a faction fattens, by which a Nation 
 starves; the Church from which no imaginable good can flow, but 
 evil after evil, in such black and continuous abundance, has been for 
 centuries, and is to this day, poured out; the Church by which 
 religion has been retarded, morahty has been vitiated, atrocity has 
 been engendered; which standing armies are requisite to sustain, 
 which has cost England millions of her treasure, and Ireland torrents 
 of her blood ! 
 
 To distinctions between Catholic and Protestant let there be an 
 end. Let there be an end to national animosities, as well as to secta- 
 rian detestations. Perish the bad theology, which, with an impious 
 converse, makes God according to man's image, and with infernal 
 passions fills the heart of man ! Perish the bad, the narrow, the per- 
 nicious sentiment, which, for the genuine love of country, institutes a 
 feeling of despotic domination upon your part, and of provincial 
 turbulence upon ours ! 
 
 
 
 aHE repeal of the union, 1834. — /d. 
 
 The population of Ireland has doubled since the Union. What is 
 the condition of the mass of the People ? Has her capital increased 
 m the same proportion ? Behold the famine, the wretchedness and 
 pestilence, of the Irish hovel, and, if you have the heart to do "^o, 
 mock at the calamities of the country, and proceed in your demon' 
 strafcions of the prosperity of Ireland. The mass of the Peo})le are 
 m a condition more wretched than that of any Nation in Europe ; 
 they are worse housed, worse covered, worse fed, than the basest boors 
 m the provinces of Russia; they dwell in habitati^-ns to which youi 
 I'wine would not be committed; they are covered with rags whicr 
 your beggars would disdain to wear, and not only do they nevei 
 taste the flesh of the animals which crowd into your markets, but 
 
^64 
 
 •x'HE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 while tho swdiu drops from their brows, they never touch the hn^sA 
 into which their harvests are converted. For yoii they toil, for you 
 they delve ; they reclaim the bog, and drive the plongh to the 
 mountain's top, for 3^ou. And where does all this misery exist? Ii. 
 a country teeming with fertility, and stamped with the beneficeni 
 intents of God ! When the famine of Ireland prevailed, — when her 
 cries crossed the Channel, and pierced your ears, and reached youi 
 hearts, — the granaries of Ireland were bursting with their contents 
 and, while a People knelt down and stretched out their hands for 
 food, the business of deportation, the absentee tribute, was going on ■ 
 Talk of the prosperity of Ireland ! Talk of the external magnifi 
 c cence of a poor-house, gorged with misery within ! 
 
 But the Secretary for the Treasury exclaims : "If the agitators' 
 would but let us alone, and allow Ireland to be tranquil ! " — The' 
 agitators, forsooth! Does he venture — has he the intrepidity — tc 
 speak thus? Agitators! Against deep potations let the drunkard 
 rail ; — at Crockford's let there be homilies against the dice-box ; — - 
 let every libertine lament the progress of licentiousness, when his 
 Majesty's ministers deplore the influence of demagogues, and Wliigb 
 complain of agitation ! How did you carry the Reform ? Was it not 
 by impelling the People almost to the verge of revolution? Was 
 there a stimulant for their passions, was there a provocative for 
 their excitement, to which you did not resort? If you have for- 
 gotten, do you think that we shall fail to remember your meetings at 
 Edinburgh, at Paisley, at Manchester, at Birmingham ? Did not 
 three hunared thousand men as,-'emble? Did they not pass resolu- 
 tions against taxes ? Did they not threaten to march on London ? 
 Did not two of the cabinet minu-iters indite to them epistles of grati- 
 tude and of admiration ? and do they now dare — have they the 
 audacity to speak of agitation ? Have we not as good a title to 
 demand the restitution of our Parliament, as the ministers to insist 
 on the reform of this House ? 
 
 l&y. ENGLAND'S MISIIULE OP IRELAND — Id. ^ 
 
 Tf in Ireland, a country that ought to teem with abundance, there 
 prevans wreicnedness without example, — if millions of paupers are 
 there without employment, and often without, food or raiment, — where 
 US the fault ? Is it in the sky, which showers verdure ? — is it in tho 
 "5oil, which is surprisingly fertile ? — or is it in the fatal course which 
 you the arbiters of her destiny, have adopted? She has for centurif« 
 belonged to England. England has used her for centuries as she has 
 pleased. Iloto has she used her, and what has been the result? A 
 code of laws was in the first place established, to which, in the annals 
 of legislative atrocity, there is not a parallel ; and of that code — 
 those^uistitutes of unnatural ascendency — the Irish Church is a rem- 
 ■lant. In Heaven's name, what useful purpose has )Our gorgeoiig 
 tJstablishment ev promoted ? You cannot hope to proselytize lu 
 
"^NAT0R1«.L, PALMERSTON. 265 
 
 tKrougIt Its means. You have put the experiment to tiie test of three 
 centuries, lou hive tried everything. If the truth be with you, H 
 be great; but in this instance it does not sustain the aphorism-^ 
 for It does not prevail. If, in a religious point of view, the K^tab 
 Iishment cannot conduce to the interests of religion, what purpose does 
 It answer ? It is said that it cements the Union - cements the 
 Union! It furnishes the great argument against the Union: it ia 
 the most degrading incident of all the incidents of degradation by 
 - which that measure was accompanied; it is the yoke the brand, the 
 shame and the exasperation, of Ireland ! 
 
 Public opinion and public feeling have been created in Ireland. 
 J>Jen of all classes have been instructed in the principles on which the 
 rights of Nations depend. The humblest peasant, amidst destitution 
 the most abject, has learned to respect himself I remember when if 
 you struck him, he cowered beneath the blow; but now, lift up your 
 hand, the spirit of insulted manhood will start up in a bosom covered 
 with rags, — his Celtic blood will boil as yours would do, — and he 
 will feel,_and _he will act, as if he had been born where the person of 
 every citizen is sacred from affronts, and from his birth had breathed 
 the moral atmosphere which you are accustomed to inhale In the 
 name of millions of my countrymen, assimilated to yourselves, I 
 demand the reduction of a great abuse, - the retrenchment of a mon- 
 strous sinecure -I demand justice at your hands! "Justice to 
 Ireland is a phrase which has been, I am well aware, treated as a topic 
 for deiasion ; but the time will come, -nor is it, perhaps, remote — 
 when you will not be able to extract much matter for ridicule from those 
 trite but not trivial words. " Do justice to America," exclaimed the 
 father of that man by whom the Irish Union was accomplished; " do 
 It to-night, — do It before you sleep." In your National Gallery is a 
 picture on which Lord Lyndhurst should look : it was painted by 
 Copley,* and represents the death of Chatham, who did not live long 
 alter the celebrated invocation was pronounced. " Do justice to 
 America, - do it to-night, - do it before you sleep ! " There were men 
 by whom that warning was heard who laughed when it was uttered 
 Have a care lest injustice to Ireland and to America may not be 
 followed by the same results, - lest mournfulness may not succeed to 
 mirth, and another page in the history of England may not be writ 
 m her heart's blood ! o ^ » « 
 
 110 CIVIL WAR THE GREATEST NATIONAL BYIL, 1829. -Lord Palme^ston 
 
 Then come we to the last remedy, -civil war. Some gentlemen 
 Tofid^ TrTiT ^\^^'^^,,r«t %bt for it, and the sword must 
 decide. They tel us that, if blood were but shed in Ireland, Catholic 
 emancipation might be avoided. Sir, when honorable members shall 
 
2G6 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 
 
 be a little deeper read in the history of Ireland, they will find that oj 
 [reland blood has been shed, — that in Ireland leaders have been seized 
 trials have been had, and punishments have been inflicted. They will 
 find, indeed, almost every page of the history of Ireland darkened by 
 bloodshed, by seizi^res, by trials, and by punishments. But what ha*' 
 been the tjffect of those measures ? They have, indeed, been successful 
 in quelling the disturbances of the moment; but they never have gone 
 to their cause, and have only fixed deeper the poisoned barb tliat 
 rankles in the heart of Ireland. Can one believe one's ears, when one 
 hears respectable men talk so lightly — nay, almost so wishfullv — o*-' 
 iivil war ? -Do they reiiect what a countless multitude of ills Vaovf 
 three short syllables coutain ? It is well, indeed, for the gontleiiicn of 
 Enirland, who live secure under the protecting shadow of the law, 
 *vhose slumbers have never been broken by the clashing of angry 
 dwords, whose harvests have never been trodden down by the conflict 
 of hostile feet, — it is well for them to talk of civil war, as if it were 
 some holiday pastime, or some sport of children : . 
 
 " They jest at scars who never felt a wound." 
 
 But, that gentlemen from unfortunate and ill-starred Ireland, who 
 have seen with their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, the mis- 
 eries which civil war produces, — who have known, by their own experi- 
 ence, the barbarism, ay, the barbarity, which it engenders, — that 
 such persons should look upon civil war as anything short of the last 
 and greatest of national calamities, — is to me a matter of the deepest 
 and most unmixed astonishment. I will grant, if you will, that the 
 success of such a war with Ireland would be as signal and complete 
 as would be its injustice ; I will grant, if you will, that resistance 
 would soon be extinguished with the lives of those who resisted ; I 
 will grant, if you will, that the crimsoned banner of England would 
 soon wave, in undisputed supremacy, over the smoking ashes of their 
 towns, and the blood-stained solitude of their fields. But I tell you 
 that England herself never would permit the achievement of such a 
 conquest ; England would reject, with disgust, laurels that were dyed 
 in fraternal blood ; England would recoil, with loathing and abhor- 
 rence, from the bare contemplation of so devilish a triumph I 
 
 111. ON PARLIAMENTARY REFORM. —Lord john Ruxsell, June 24, 1831. 
 
 1 AM not one of those. Sir, who would hold out to the People vain 
 tiopes of immediate benefit, which it could not realize, from thia 
 •Measure. Neither am I one of those who maintain the opposite theory, 
 such as is well expressed in a well-known couplet, — 
 
 " llow small, of all that human hearts endure, 
 That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ! 
 
 Fai am I from agreeing in the opinion which the poet has so well 
 jxprossed in those lines. They are very pretty poetrv, but tlvay are 
 
SENATORIAL. MACAULAY. 
 
 237 
 
 not true in politics. When I look to one country as compared to 
 another, at the diflerent epochs of their history, I am forced to believe 
 that It IS upon law and government that the prosperity and morality 
 the power and intelligence, of every Nation depend. When I compare 
 fepain (m which the traveller is met by the stiletto in the streets, and 
 oy the carbine in the high roads) to England, in the poorest parts of 
 Which the traveller pas^^es without fear, I think the difference is 
 ^Jccasioned by the different G-overnments under which the People live 
 At least, Sir, it cannot be denied, that the end attained by the two 
 ixovernments of these respective countries is essentially different. la 
 it^ possible, indeed, for any intelligent person to travel through coun- 
 tries, and not trace the characters and conduct of the inhabitaSts to tho 
 nature of their Institutions and Governments? V^'hen I propo^^e 
 therefore a Keform of Parliament, — when I propose that the People 
 shall send into this House real Representatives, to deliberate on their 
 wants and to consult for their interests, to consider their griev- 
 ances and attend to their desires, — when I propose that they shall 
 m tact, as they hitherto have been said to do in theory, possess the 
 vast power of holding the purse-strings of the monarch, ~ I do it under 
 the conviction that I am laying the foundation of the greatest improve- 
 ment in the comforts and well-being of the People. 
 
 112. THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH OF IRELAND, 1845. -r. B. Macaulay. 
 
 T? ^urf^^i!® institutions now existing in the civilized world, the 
 i^stablished Church of Ireland seems to me the most absurd Is there 
 anything else like it ? Was there ever anything else like it? The 
 world IS full of ecclesiastical establishments. But such a portent as 
 this Church of Ireland is nowhere to be found. Look round the con- 
 tinent of Europe. Ecclesiastical establishments from the White Sea 
 io the Mediterranean; ecclesiastical establishments from the Wolga to 
 the Atlantic; but nowhere the church of a small minority eniovins 
 exclusive establishment. Look at America. There you have all formi 
 ot Christianity, from Mormonism — if you call Mormonism Christianity 
 — to Komanism. In some places you have the voluntary system I« 
 Bome you have several religions connected with the State. In som« 
 you have the solitary ascendency of a single Church. But nowhere, 
 from the Arctic CireL to Cape Horn, do you find the Chureh of a 
 mifih minority exclusively established. In one country alone — in 
 Ire and alone — is to be seen the spectacle of a community of eight 
 millions of human beings, with a Chureh which is the Church of only 
 eight hundred thousand ! ^ 
 Two hundred and eighty-five years has this Church been at work. 
 What could have been done for it in the way of authority, privileges 
 endowments, which has not been done ? Did any other set of bishops 
 and priests in the world ever receive so much for doing so little i 
 i^ay, did any other set of bishops and priests in the world ever receive 
 ^ as much for doing twice as much ? And what have we to ^how 
 
268 
 
 fHE SIANDARD gP iAJREll. 
 
 for all this lavish expenditure ? What, but the most zealous T^oinar, 
 Catholic populatiDn on the face of the earth? On the great, solid 
 liiass of the Roman Catholic population you have made no inipression 
 whatever. There they are, as they were ages a^o, ten to one against 
 the members of your Established Church. Explain this to me. I 
 speak to you, the zealous Protestants on the other side of the Houst 
 Explain this to me on Protestant principles. If I were a RomaD 
 Catholic, I could easily account for the phenomenon. If 1 were a 
 Roman Catholic, I should content myself Vv^ith saying that the mighty 
 hand and the outstretched arm had been put forth according to tb( 
 promise, in defence of the unchangeable Church ; that He, who, in the 
 old time, turned into blessings the curses of Balaam, and smote the 
 host of Sennacherib, had signally confounded the arts and the power 
 of heretic statesmen. But what is the Protestant to say ? Is this a 
 miracle, that we should stand aghast at it ? Not at all. It is a result 
 which human prudence ought to have long ago foreseen, and long ago 
 averted. It is the natural succession of effect to cause. A Church 
 exists for moral ends. A Church exists to be loved, to be reverence'! 
 to be heard with docility, to reign in the understandings and hearts of 
 men. A Church which is abhorred is useless, or worse than useless 
 and to quarter a hostile Church on a conquered People, as you would 
 quarter a soldiery, is, therefore, the most absurd of mistakes. 
 
 113, ON LIMITING THE HOURS OF LABOR, 1846. — T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 If we consider man simply in a commercial point of view, simply 
 as a machine for productive labor, let us not forget what a piece of 
 mechanism he is, — how " fearfully and wonderfully made." If we 
 have a fine horse, we do not use him exactly as a steam-engine ; and 
 still less should we treat man so, more especially in his earlier years. 
 The depressing labor that begins early in life, and is continued too 
 long every day, enfeebles his body, enervates his mind, weakens his 
 spirits, overpowers his undei standing, and is incompatible with aa j 
 good or useful degree of education. A state of society in which such 
 a system prevails will inevitably, and in no long space, feel its baneful 
 effects. What is it which makes one community prosperous and flour- 
 ishing, more than another ? You will not say that it is the soil ; you 
 will not say that it is its climate ; you will not say that it is its min- 
 cral wealth, or its natural advantages, — its ports, or its great rivers. 
 Is it anything in the earth, or in the air, that makes Scotland a richer 
 country than Egypt ; or, Batavia, with its marshes, more prosperous 
 than Sicily ? No ; but Scotchmen made Scotland what she is, and 
 Dutchmen raised their marshes to such eminence. Look to America. 
 Two centuries ago, it was a wilderness of buffaloes and wolves. What 
 iaas caused the change ? Is it her rich mould ? Is it her mightj 
 rivers ? Is it her broad waters ? No ; her plains were then as fertile 
 <A they arc dow, — h,?r rivers were as numerous. Nor was it any greal 
 
SENATORIAI — MACAULAY. 
 
 269 
 
 imouut of capital that the emigrants carried out with them. Thev 
 took a mere pittance, - What is it, then, that has effected the change"? 
 h^s simply this, — you placed the Englishman, instead of the red 
 man, upon the soil , and the Englishman, intelligent and energetic, cut 
 down the forests, turned them into cities and fleets, and covered the 
 land with harvests and orchards in their place. 
 
 I am convinced. Sir, that this question of limiting the hours of labor, 
 being a question connected, for the most part, with persons of tender 
 years, — a question in which public health is concerned, and a question 
 relating to public morality, — it is one with which the State may prop- 
 erly interfere. Sir, as lawgivers, we have errors of two different kinda 
 to repair. We have done that which we ought not to have done ; we 
 have left undone that which we ought to have done. We have regu- 
 lated that which we ought to have left to regulate itself; we have left 
 unregulated that which it was our especial business to have regulated. 
 We have given to certain branches of industry a protection which was 
 their bane. We have withheld from public health, and from public 
 morality, a protection which it was our duty to have given. We have 
 prevented the laborer from getting his loaf where he could get it 
 cheapest, but we have not prevented him from prematurely destroying 
 the health of his body and mind, by inordinate toil. I hope and 
 believe that we are approaching the end of a vicious system of inter- 
 ference, and of a vicious system of non-interference. 
 
 114. REFORM, THAT YOU MAY PRESERVE, Makch 2, 1831. -T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 ^ Turn where we may, — within, around, — the voice of great events 
 i« proclaiming to us, " Eeform., that you may preserve ! " Now, there- 
 fore, while everything at home and abroad forebodes ruin to those who 
 persist in a hopeless struggle against the spirit of the age ; now, while 
 the crash of the proudest Throne of the Continent is still resounding 
 m our ears ; now, while the roof of a British palace affords an igno- 
 minious shelter to the exiled heir of forty Kings ;* now, while we see 
 on every side ancient institutions subverted, and great societies dih- 
 solved ; now, while the heart of England is still sound ; now, while 
 the old feelings and the old associations retain a power and a charm 
 which may too soon pass away ; now, in this your accepted time, — 
 now, m this your day of salvation, — take counsel, not of prejudice, not 
 of party spirit, not of the ignominious pride of a fatal consistency, but 
 of history, of reason, of the ages which are past, of the signs of this 
 most portentous time. Pronounce in a manner worthy of the expect- 
 ation with which this great debate has been anticipated, and of the 
 long remembrance which it will leave behind. Renew the youth of 
 the State. Save property, divided against itself. Save the multitude 
 endajigered by their own ungovernable passions. Save the aristocracy 
 pQdangcred by its own unpopular power. Save the greatest, and fair 
 
 * Charles the Tenth, of France. 
 
270 
 
 THE STAND AKD SIAaKER. 
 
 est, u:A most highly civilized community that ever existed, from calam 
 Lties which may in a few days sweep away all the rich heritage of sc 
 many ages of wisdom and glory. The danger is terrible. The time 
 is short. If this bill should be rejected, I pray to God that none of 
 those who concur in rejecting it may ever remember their votes with 
 anayailing regret, amidst the wreck of laws, the confusion of ranks, 
 the spoliation of property, and the dissolution of social order. 
 
 115. MEN ALWAYS FIT FOR FREEDOM. - T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 There is only one cure for the evils which newly-acquirod freedoir 
 produces, — and that cure is freedom ! When a prisoner leaves his 
 cell, he cannot bear the light of day ; he is unable to discriminate 
 colors, or recognize faces ; but the remedy is not to rem.and him into 
 his dungeon, but to accustom him to the rays of .the sun. The blaze 
 of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder Nations which 
 have become half blind in the house of bondage ; but let them gaze on 
 and they will soon be able to bear it. In a few years men learn tc 
 reason ; the extreme violence of opinion subsides ; hostile theories cor 
 rect each other ; the scattered elements of truth cease to conflict, and 
 begin to coalesce ; and, at length, a system of justice and order is 
 educed out of the chaos. Many politicians of our time are in the 
 ha,bit of laying it down as a self-evident proposition, that no People 
 ought to be free till they are fit to use their freedom. The maxim is 
 worthy of the fool in the old story, who resolved not to go into the 
 water till he had learned to swim ! If men are to wait for liberty till 
 they become wise and good in slavery thpj may, indeed, wait forever ' 
 
 116. THE REFORM BILL A SECOND BILL OF RIGHTS, July 5, 1831. — W. 
 
 The whole of history shows that all great Revolutions have been 
 produced by a disproportion between society and its institutions ; for, 
 while society has grown, its institutions have not kept pace, and accom- 
 modated themselves to its improvements. The history of England is 
 the history of a succession of Reforms ; and the very reason that the 
 People of England are great and happy is, that their history is thft 
 history of Reform. The great Charter, the first assembling of Par- 
 liament, the Petition of Right, the Revolution, and, lastly, this groat 
 measure, arc all proofs of my position, — are all progressive stages in 
 the progress of society, — and I am fully convinced that every argu- 
 ment urged against the step we are now called upon to take might have 
 -jccn advanced with equal justice against any of the other changes I 
 have enumerated. At the present moment we everywhere see societal 
 outgrowing our institutions. Let us contrast our commerce wealth, 
 irid perfect civilization, with our Penal Laws, at once barbarous and 
 (nefficitnt. —the preposterous fictions of pleading, the mummery of 
 
TiENATORIAL, MACAULA\. 
 
 271 
 
 fines^ and r.ecoveries, the chaos of precedents, and the bottomless pi< 
 of Chancery. Here we see the barbarism of the thirteenth century 
 coupled with the civilization of the nineteenth ; and we see, too, that 
 the barbarism belongs to the Government, and the civilization to the 
 People. Then I say that this incongruous state of things cannot con. 
 tinue ; and, if we do not terminate it with wisdom, ere long we shall 
 find it ended with violence. 
 
 I fear, that it may be deemed unbecoming in me to make any appli. 
 cation to the fears of Members of this House. But surely I may- 
 without reproach, address myself to their honest fears. It is we]l tc 
 talk of opposing a firm front to sedition. But woe to the Government 
 that cannot distinguish between a Nation and a mob! woe to the 
 Government that thinks a great and steady movement of mind is to 
 be put down like a riot ! This error has been twice fatal to the Bour- 
 bons : it may be fatal to the Legislature of this country, if they should 
 venture to foster it. I do believe that the irrevocable moment has 
 arrived. Nothing can prevent the passing of this noble law, — this 
 second Bill of Rights. I do call it the second Bill of Bights; and so 
 will the country call it, and so will our children. I call it a greater 
 charter of the liberties of England. Eighteen hundred and thirty- 
 one is destined to exhibit the first example of an established, of a 
 deep-rooted system, removed without bloodshed, or violence, or rapine, 
 — all points being debated, every punctilio observed, the peaceful 
 industry of the country never for a moment checked or compromised 
 And the authority of the law not for one instant suspended. 
 
 117. PUBLIC OPINION AND THE SWORD, Oct. 10, 1831.— B. Macaulay 
 
 At the present moment I can see only one question in the State, 
 the Question of Reform ; only two parties — the friends of the Bill, and 
 its enemies. No observant and unprejudiced man can look forward, 
 without great alarm, to the efiects which the recent decision of the 
 Lords may possibly produce. I do not predict, I do not expect, 
 open, armed insurrection. What I apprehend is this — that the People 
 may engage in a silent but extensive and persevering war against the 
 law. It is easy to say, " Be bold ; be firm ; defy intimidation ; let 
 .he law have its course ; the law is strong enough to put down the 
 seditious." Sir, we have heard this blustering before ; and we know 
 in what it ended. It is the blustering of little men, whose lot has 
 fallen^ on a great crisis. Xerxes scourging the waves, Canute com- 
 manding the waves to recede from his footstool, were but types of the 
 Felly. The law has no eyes ; the law has no hands ; the law is noth- 
 ing --nothing but a piece of paper printed by the King's printer, with 
 the King's arm.s at the top — till public opinion breathes the breath o^ 
 ;ife into the dead letter. We found this in Ireland. The elections of 
 1820 — the Clare election, two years later — proved the folly of those 
 «rho thmk that Nations are governed by wax and parchment ; and, a» 
 
272 
 
 THE STAND ARL SPEAKER. 
 
 length, in tbe close of 1828, the Government had only one plain alief 
 native before it — concession or civil war. 
 
 I know only two ways in which societies can permanently be gov« 
 erned — by Public Opinion, and by the Sword. A Government having 
 at its command the armies, the fleets, and the revenues of Great Brit 
 ain, might possibly hold Ireland by the Sword. So Oliver Cromwell 
 held Ireland ; so William the Third held it ; so Mr. Pitt held it ; 
 the Duke of T^ellington might, perhaps, have held it. But, to govern 
 Great Britain by the Sword — so wild a thought has never, I will ven. 
 ture to say, occurred to any public man of any party ; and, if any man 
 were frantic enough to make the attempt, he would find, before three 
 days had expired that there is no better Sword than that which is 
 fashioned out of a Ploughshare ! But, if not by the Sword, how is the 
 people to be governed ? I understand how the peace is kept at New 
 York. It is by the assent and support of the People. I understand, 
 also, how the peace is kept at Milan. It is by the bayonets of the 
 Austrian soldiers. But how the peace is to be kept when you have 
 neither the popular assent nor the military force, — how the peace is 
 to be k spt in England by a Government acting on the principles of the 
 present Opposition, — I do not understand. 
 
 Sir, we read that, in old times, when the villeins * were driven to 
 revolt by oppression, — when the castles of the nobility were burned to 
 the ground, — when the warehouses of London were pillaged, — when 
 a hundred thousand insurgents appeared in arms on Blackheath, 
 when a foul murder, perpetrated in their presence, had raised their 
 passions to madness, — when they were looking round for some Cap- 
 tain to succeed and avenge him whom they had lost, — just then, before 
 Hob Miller, or Tom Carter, or Jack Straw, could place himself at their 
 head, the King rode up to them, and exclaimed, " I will be you. 
 leader ! " — And, at once, the infuriated multitude laid down their 
 arms, submitted to his guidance, dispersed at his command. Herein 
 let us imitate him. Let us say to the People, "We are your lead- 
 ers, — we, your own House of Commons." This tone it is our interest 
 and our duty to take. The circumstances admit of no delay. Even 
 while I speak, the moments are passing away, — the irrevocable 
 moments, pregnant with the destiny of a great People. The country ia 
 in danger ; it may be saved : we can save it. This is the way — thia 
 is the time. In our hands are the issues of great good and great evi^ 
 — the issues of the life and death of the State ! 
 
 118 A GOVERNMENT SHOULD GROW WITH THE PEOPLE Dec. 16, 1831.— Id. 
 
 It is a principle never to be forgotten, that it is not by absolute, bul 
 by relative raisgovernment, that Nations are roused to madness. Look 
 at our own history. The liberties of the English people were, at least, 
 
 ♦ A word derived from the Latin villa ; whence villam, country people. The nam* 
 «ra« given, in Anglo-Norman times, to persons not proprietors of land, m-'j\y o> 
 vhcm wero attached to the land, and bound to eerve the lord of the manor 
 
SENATORIAL. — JMACAULAT. 
 
 278 
 
 16 much rebpected by Charles the First as bj Henry the Eighth —by 
 James the Second, as by Edward the Sixth. But did th?s save the 
 3rcwn of James the Second? Did this save the head of Charles tno 
 First ? Every person who knows the history of our civil dissensiona 
 knows that all those arguments which are now employed by the oppo- 
 nente of the Keform Bill might have been employed, and were actuaUy 
 employed, by the unfortunate Stuarts. The reasoning of Charles and 
 of all his apologists, runs thus: " What new grievance does theNLtioa 
 suher ? Did the People ever enjoy more freedom than at presents 
 Did they ever enjoy so much freedom ? " But what would a wise and 
 honest counsellor have replied ? He would have said : " Thouo-h there 
 has been no change in the Government for the worse, there has been a 
 change m the public mind, which produces exactly the same eflPect 
 which would be produced by a change in the Government for the worse, 
 it may be that the submissive loyalty of our fathers was preferable to 
 that inquiring, censuring, resisting spirit which is now abroad. And 
 so it may be that infancy is a happier time than manhood, and manhood 
 tnan old age. But God has decreed that old age shall succeed to man- 
 nood, and manhood to infancy. Even so have ^jcieties their law of 
 growth. As their strength becomes greater, as their experience 
 Decomes more extensive, you can no longer confine them within the 
 swaddling-bands, or lull them in the cradles, or amuse them with the 
 rattles, or terrify them with the bugbears, of their infancy. I do not 
 say that they are better or happier than they were ; but this I say — 
 they are different from what they were ; you cannot again make them 
 what they were, and you cannot safely treat them as if they continued 
 to be what they were." 
 ^ This was the advice which a wise and honest Minister would have 
 given to Charles the First. These were the principles on which that 
 unhappy prmce should have acted. But no. He would govern, I 
 do not say ill — I do not say tyrannically ; I say only this, — he would 
 govern the men of the seventeenth century as if they had been th,3 
 men of the sixteenth century; and therefore it was that all his talents, 
 and all his virtues, did not save him from unpopularity — from civil 
 war — from a prison — from a bar — from a scaffold ! 
 
 119. REFORM IRRESISTIBLE. _ T. B. Macaulay. Dec. 16, 1831. 
 
 Sir, I have, from the beginning of these discussiocs, supported 
 llet<>rni^ on two grounds : first, because I believe it to be in itself a 
 good thing; and, secondly, because I think the dangers of withholding 
 It to be so great, that, even if it were an evil, it would be the less of 
 two evils. I shall not relinquish the hope that this great contest may 
 oe conducted, by lawful means, to a happy termination. But, of this 
 I am assured, that, by means lawful or unlawful, to a termination, 
 happy cr unhappy, this contest must speedily come. All that I know 
 -sf the history of past times, aJl the observations that I have been 
 18 
 
274 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Me to mako m the present state of the country, have con^in-jed mc 
 thpi the time has arrived when a great concession must be made to 
 the Democracy of England ; that the question, whether the change be 
 in itsolf good or bad, has become a question of secondary importance : 
 .hat, good or bad, the thing must be done that a law as strong a« 
 the laws of attraction and motion has decreed it. I well know that 
 history, when we look at it in small portions, may be so construed aj 
 to mean anything ; that it may be interpreted in as many ways as a 
 Delphic oracle. " The French Revolution," says one expositor, " waa 
 the effect of concession." " Not so," cries another ; " the French 
 Revolution was produced by the obstinacy of an arbitrary Govern 
 ment." These controversies can never be brought to any decisive test, 
 or to any satisfactory conclusion. But, as I beJieve that history, 
 when we look at it in small fragments, proves anything or nothing, so 
 I believe that it is full of useful and precious instruction when we 
 contemplate it in large portions, — when we take in, at one view, the 
 whole life-time of great societies. We have heard it said a hundrea 
 times, during these discussions, that the People of England are more 
 free than ever they were that the Government is more Democratic 
 than ever it was ; and this is urged as an argument against Reform. 
 I admit the fact, but I deny the inference. The history of England 
 is the history of a Government constantly giving way, — sometimes 
 peaceably, sometimes after a violent struggle, — but constantly giving 
 way before a Nation which has been constantly advancing. It is not 
 Bufficient to look merely at the form of Government. We must look 
 to the state of the public mind. The worst tyrant that ever had his 
 neck wrung in modern Europe might have passed for a paragon in 
 Persia or Slorocco. Our Indian subjects submit patiently to a monop. 
 oly of salt. We tried a stamp-duty — a duty so light as to be scarcely 
 perceptible — on the fierce breed of the old Puritans : and we lost an 
 Empire ! The Government of Louis the Sixteenth was certainly a 
 much better and milder Government than that of Louis the Four- 
 teenth : yet Louis the Fourteenth was admired, and even loved, by his 
 People ; Louis the Sixteenth died on the scaffold ! Why ? Because, 
 though the Government had made many steps in the career of improve- 
 ment-, it had not advanced so rapidly as the Nation. 
 
 These things are written for our instruction. There is a change ia 
 Bociety. There must be a corresponding change in the Government. 
 You may make the change tedious ; you may make it violent ; yoa 
 jiay ~ God, in his mercy, forbid ! — you may make it bloody ; but ave'^ 
 It you cannot. Agitations of the public mind, so deep and so long con 
 tinued a« those which we have witnessed, do not end in nothing. In 
 oeace, oi in convulsion, — by the law, or in spite of the law, — through 
 f,he Parliament, or over the Parliament, — Reform must be carried 
 Therefore, be content to guide that movement which you cannot stop. 
 Pliug wide the gates to that force which else will enter through the 
 ereach 
 
SENATORIAL. OROKEH. 276 
 
 12C REPLY TO THE FOREGOING, Dec. 16, 1831. -John W ..kon Crcker 
 
 ^ Has the learned gentleman, who has been so eloquent on the neces. 
 Bity of proceeding forward, — whc has told the House that argument is 
 vam; that there is no resisting the mighty torrent that there is 
 dire necessity for the whole measure, — has he given the slightest 
 intimation of what would be, even in his opinion, the end of the 
 career, the result of the experiment, the issue of the danger? Hai 
 he seanrxed with the eye of a philosopher the probable progress of 
 future events? Not at all. Anything more vague, anything more 
 mdelimte, anything more purely declamatory, than the statements of 
 the learned gentleman on that point, has never fallen from human lips 
 It IS true that the learned gentleman has told the House that the town 
 is besieged by superior forces, and has advised them to open the gates 
 ot the tortress, lest it should be stormed at the breach. But did he 
 tell them that they could open the gates with safety ? — without expos- 
 ing their property to plunder, and their persons to massacre ? They 
 were not, under the learned gentleman's advice, to attempt to make 
 any terms; but they were at once to throw open the gates, and await 
 the consequences, however fatal; and submit to the tender mercies of 
 the victors, even though there should be pillage, bloodshed and exter- 
 mination. 
 
 The present state of the ream is unparalleled in history. The dan- 
 ger to which the Government is exposed is greater than the Ministers 
 themselves have ever imagined. As the progress of agitation may be 
 tracked through fire and blood, the pusillanimity of Ministers can be 
 also traced through every act of their administration, even those that 
 seemed the boldest. There is no word that they say, no act that they 
 do, no act that they abstain from doing, that is not carefully calculated 
 to ottend as little as possible, when they cannot altogether conciliate, 
 the .Pohtical Unions and similar illegal and anarchical associations. 
 MimsteiE have raised a storm which it is beyond their power, beyond 
 the scope of their minds, to allay. In conclusion, I can assure the 
 Mouse that, in the censures I have passed on His Majesty's Ministers, 
 and in the appalling prospects I have laid before the House, I have 
 urged nothing but what springs from the most imperious sense of the 
 danger of the country ; a danger for which I confess that I do not see 
 a remedy, although convinced that there are no means so calculated 
 to aggravate it to a tremendous extent as passing a Reform Bill. 
 
 121. PERIL3 OP PARLIAMENTARY REFORM, ITurch 4, im.-John Wilsan Croket. 
 
 Sir what is to be gained by this change in the Representation? 
 Are we to throw away admitted and substantial benefits, in the pursuit 
 Dt an undefined, inexplicable, and, to my view, most perilous fantasy' 
 bir, the learned Lord, after exhausting his eloquence in the praise of 
 the general prospects of the country, turned short round on us, and 
 Irew a frightful and metaphorical picture of the present state of th« 
 
276 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 -Ountry, a^i the appalling consequences of refusing the confjJjssiooA 
 which the existing clamor demands. He told you, Sir, that the stonnj 
 tides of popular commotion were rising rapidly around ui ; that th<\ 
 Stygian waters were rapidly gaining upon us, and that it was time for 
 us — and barely time — to endeavor to save ourselves from being 
 «»wallowed up by the devouring waves. He told you that the deluge 
 of public opinion was about to overwhelm you ; and he invited you to 
 embark with him on this frail and crazy raft, constructed in the blun- 
 dering haste of terror, as the only means of escaping from destmction. 
 No Sir, no ! trust not 
 
 «« that fatal and perfidious bark, 
 Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark! " 
 
 No, Sir ! stand firm where you are, and wait until the threatening 
 waters suteide. What you hear is not only a fictitious, but a factitious 
 clamor. Be you calm, steady and bold ; and the People, under the 
 influence of your wisdom and courage, will recover their wonted judg- 
 ment, and become sensible of the value of what they would lose by 
 this scheme, and of the uselessness of what they might gain. Of the 
 Constitution of this country there might, perhaps, have been a better 
 theoretical arrangement; but I do, in my heart, firmly. believe that 
 no human ingenuity could, a priori, have conceived so admirable a 
 practical system, promoting, in such nice and just degrees, the wealth, 
 'lappiness and liberties, of the community at large, — 
 
 " Where jarring interests, reconciled, create 
 The according music of a well-mixed State ; 
 Where small and great, where weak and strong, are made 
 To serve, not suffer, — strengthen, not invade ; 
 More powerful each, as needful to the rest, 
 And, in proportion as it blesses, blest! " 
 
 122. EXTENSION OF THE TERM OF COPYRIGHT, 1838. — T. N. Talfourd. 
 
 There is something, Sir, peculiarly unjust in bounding the term of 
 an author's property by his natural life, if he should survive so short 
 % period as twenty-eight years. It denies to age and experience the 
 probable reward it permits to youth — to youth, sufficiently full of 
 hope and joy to slight its promises. It gives a bounty to haste, and 
 informs the laborious student, who would wear away his strength to 
 complete some work which " the world will not willingly let die,'' 
 that the more of his life he devotes to its perfection, the more limited 
 Bhall be his interest in its fruits. When his works assume their place 
 among the classics of his country, your law declares that those work« 
 shall become your property ; and you requite him by seizing the patri- 
 raony of his children ! 
 
 In the words of Mr. Wordsworth's petition, " This bill has for its 
 main object to relieve men of letters from the thraldom of be^'ng 
 forced to court the living generation to aid them in rising above 
 lavish taste and degraded prejudice, and to encourage them to rely Oh 
 their own impulses." Surely this is an object worthy of tMe Tiegislac 
 
SENATORIAL. — TALFOURD. 277 
 
 are of a gi-eat People, especially in an age where restless activity 
 ^nd increasmg knowledge present temptations to the slight and the 
 ^ superficial which do not exist in a ruder ag6. Let those who ' tc 
 begmle the time look like the time " have their fair scope, -~ let chean 
 J-ud innocent publications be multiplied as much as you please — still 
 the character of the age demands something impressed with 'a noblei 
 labor and directed to a higher aim. " The mimortal mind craveg 
 objects tnat endure." The printers need not fear. There will not ba 
 too many candidates for "a bright reversion," which only falls in 
 when tlie ear shall be deaf to human praise. 
 
 I have been accused of asking you to legislate "on some sort of 
 Bentimental feeling." I deny the charge. The living truth is with 
 us. I .le spectral phantoms of depopulated printing-houses and shops 
 are the baseless fancies of our opponents. If I were here beseeching 
 indulgence for the frailties and excesses which sometimes attend fine 
 ? .^.""^ ^^^^ appealing to your sympathy in behalf of 
 
 crushed hopes and irregular aspirations, - the accusation would be iust. 
 1 plead not for- the erratic, but for the sage ; not for the perishing but 
 for the eternal: for him who, poet, philosopher or historian, girds 
 himself for some toil lasting a^ life, kys a^ide all frivolous pursuits 
 tor one virtuous purpose, that, when encouraged by the distant hor^e 
 ot that * ALL-HAIL HEREAFTER " which shall wclcome him among the 
 heirs of fame, he may not shudder to think of it as sounding with 
 hollow mockery in the ears of those whom he loves, and waking sullen 
 echoes by the side of a cheerless hearth ! For such I ask this boon 
 and througn them for mankind; — and I ask it with the confidence 
 m the expression of which your veteran petitioner, Wordsworth! 
 closed his appeal to you, "That in this, as in all other cases, justice 
 is capable of working out its own expediency." 
 
 123. REALITY OF LITERARY PROPERTY, 1838. — id. 
 
 It is, indeed, time that literature should experience some of the 
 blessings of legislation If we should now simply repeal all the 
 statutes which have_ been passed under the guise of encouraging 
 learmng, and leave it to be protected only by the principle, of the 
 common law, and the remedies which the common law would supply 
 £ believe the rehef would be welcome. It did not occur to our 
 ancestors that the right of deriving solid benefits from that which 
 springs solely from within us, — the right of property in that which 
 the mmd itsexf creates, and which, so far from exhausting the mat«. 
 rials common to all men, or limiting their resources, enriches and 
 expands them, - a right of property which, by the happy peculiarity 
 of Its nature, can only be enjoyed by the proprietor in proportion 
 it blesses mankind, should be exempted from the protection which 
 IS extended to the ancient appropriation of the soil, and the rewardi 
 *» aommerc/al enterprise. 
 
278 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 " Bui," say tLe opponents of this measure, " we tL-inK. that, frciii 
 the moment an author puts his thoughts on paper, and delivers thm 
 to the world, his property therein wholly ceases." What ! has he 
 invested no capita. ? embarked no fortune ? If human life is nothing 
 id your commercial tables, — if the sacrifice of profession, of health 
 of gain, is nothing, — surely the mere outlay of him who has perilled 
 his fortune to instruct mankind may claim some regard ! Or is the 
 interest itself so refined, so ethereal, that you cannot regard it as 
 property, because it is not palpable to sense as to feeling ? Is there 
 any justice in this ? If so, why do you protect moral character aa 
 a man's most precious possession, and compensate the party who 
 suficrs unjustly in that character by damages ? Has this possession 
 ^ny existence half so palpable as the author's right in the printed 
 creation of his brain ? I have always thought it one of the proudest 
 triumphs of human law, that it is able to recognize and to guard this 
 breath and finer spirit of moral action ; that it can lend its aid in 
 sheltering that invisible property, which exists solely in the admira* 
 tion and alfection of others ; and, if it may do this, why may it not 
 protect his interest in those living words, which, as was well observed 
 by that great thinker, Mr. Hazlitt, are, " after all, the only things 
 which last forever " ? 
 
 124. AN INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT. — W. 
 
 In venturing to invite the attention of the House to the state of 
 the law afiecting the property of men of letters in the results of 
 their genius and labors, I would advert to one other consideration aa 
 connected with this subject. I would urge the expediency and 
 justice of acknowledging the rights of foreigners to copyright in this 
 country, and of claiming it from them for ourselves in return. The 
 great minds of our time have an audience to impress far vaster than 
 it entered into the minds of their predecessors to hope for; an 
 audience increasing as population thickens in the cities of America, 
 and spreads itself out through its diminishing wilds ; an audience 
 who speak our language, and who look on our old poets as their own 
 immortal ancestry. 
 
 And if this, our literature, shall be theirs, — if its difiusion shall 
 follow the efforts of the stout heart and sturdy arm, in their triumph 
 ©ver the obstacles of nature, — if the woods, stretching beyond their 
 confines, shall be haunted with visions of beauty which our poets 
 have created, — let those who thus are softening the ruggedness ot 
 young society have some present interest about which afiection may 
 gather ; and, at least, let them be protected from those who would 
 exhibit them, mangled or corrupted, to their transatlantic disciples. 
 T. do not, in truth, ask for literature favor; I do not ask for it 
 charity. I do not even appeal to gratitude in its bchaif But I ask 
 for it a portion, and but a portion, of that commor justice which th* 
 
SENATORIAL. - PBifti.. 
 
 coarsest industry obtains for its natural reward ; justice, whicQ 
 Qothing but the very extent of its claims, and the nobleness of thft 
 associations to which they are akin, have prevented it from receiving 
 from our laws. 
 
 126. THE LEGISLATIVE UNION, UU. — Sir Robert Peet. Born, 1188; died, I8b0. 
 
 I WANT no array of figures, I want no official documents, I want m 
 speeches of six hours, to establish to my satisfaction the public policy 
 of maintaining the Legislative Union. I feel and know that the repea^ 
 of it must lead to the dismemberment of this great empire, must make 
 Great Britain a fourth-rate power of Europe, and Ireland a savago 
 wilderness ; and I will give, therefore, at once, and without hesitation, 
 an emphatic negative to the motion for repeal. There are truths 
 which lie too deep for argument, — truths, to the establishment of 
 which the evidence of the senses, or the feelings of the heart, have 
 contributed more than the slow process of reasoning ; — which are 
 graven in deeper characters than any that reason can either impress or 
 efface When Doctor Johnson was asked to refute the arguments for 
 the non-existence of matter, he stamped his foot upon the ground, and 
 exclaimed, " I refute them thus.'' When Mr. Canning heard the 
 first whisper in this House of a repeal of the Union, , this was all the 
 answer he vouchsafed, — the eloquent and indignant answer, the tones 
 of which are still familiar to my ear, — " Hepeal the Union ? Restore 
 the Heptarchy ! " 
 
 Thirty-three years have now elapsed since the passing of the act of 
 Union ; — a short period, if you count by the lapse of time ; but it is a 
 period into which the events of centuries have been crowded. It 
 includes the commencement and the close of the most tremendous con- 
 flict which ever desolated the world. Notwithstanding the then recent 
 convulsions in Ireland, — notwithstanding the dissatisSction expressed 
 with the Union, — the United Empire, that had been incorporated onlv 
 three years before the commencement of the war, escaped the calami 
 ties to which other Nations were exposed. In our gallant armies no 
 distinction of Englishmen and Irishmen was known ; none of the vile 
 jealousies, which this motion, if successful, would generate, impaired 
 the energies which were exerted by all in defence of a common coun- 
 try. ^ That country did not bestow its rewards with a partial hand. 
 It did not, because they were Irishmen, pay a less sincere or less will- 
 bg homage to the glorious memory of a Ponsonby and a Pakenham. 
 Castlereagh and Canning fought in the same ranks with Pitt ; and 
 Grattan took his place, in the great contests of party, by the side of 
 Fox. The majestic oak of the forest was transplanted, but it shot its 
 roots deep in a richer and more congenial soil. Above all, to an Irish* 
 man — to that Arthur Wellesley, who, in the emphatic words of the 
 learned gentleman (Mr. Shcil), "eclipsed his military victories by the 
 splendor of his civil triumphs'" — to him was committed, with thf: 
 
,280 
 
 IHE BTANDARI) SPEAKER 
 
 aiViinimous assent and confidence of a generous coimirj, the great aiwj 
 glorious task of elfecting the deliverance of the world. Who m thai 
 Irishman, who, recollecting these things, has the spirit and the heart 
 to propose that Ireland shall be defrauded for the future of her share 
 of such high achievements ; that to her the wide avenues to civil and 
 military glory shall be hereafter closed ; that the faculties and ener- 
 gies of her sons shall be forever stunted by being cramped within the 
 paltry J units of a small island ? Surely, Sir, we owe it to the memory 
 of the iiiusn-ious brave, who died in defending this great Empire from 
 dismemberment by the force and genius of Napoleon, at least to save 
 it from dismemberment by the ignoble enemies that now assail it ! 
 
 126. AMERICAN MERCHANT VESSELS, 1850. —iZicAarti Coftden. 
 
 I SOMETIMES quote the United States of America ; and, I think, in this 
 matter of national defence, they set us a very good example. Does 
 anybody dare to attack that Nation ? There is not a more formidable 
 Power, in every sense of the word, — although you may talk of France 
 and Russia, — than the United States of America ; and there is not a 
 statesman with a head on his shoulders who does not know it , and yet 
 the policy of the United States has been to keep a very small amount 
 of armed force in existence. At the present moment, they have not a 
 iine-of-battle ship afloat, notwithstanding the vast extension of their 
 commercial marine. Last year she recalled the last ship-of-war from 
 the Pacific ; and I shall be very much astonished if you see another 
 The People are well employed, and her taxation is light, which coun- 
 tries cannot have if they burden themselves with the expense of these 
 enormous armaments. 
 
 Now, many persons appeal to the English Nation under the impres- 
 sion that they are a very pugnacious People. I am not quite sure that 
 we are not. I am not quite sure that my opponents do not sometimes 
 have the advantage over me in appealing to the ready-primed pug- 
 nacity of our fellow-countrymen. I believe I am pugnacious myself ; 
 but what I want is, to persuade my countrymen to preserve their 
 pugnaciousness until somebody comes to attack them. Be assured, 
 if you want to be prepared for future war, you will be better prepared 
 ui the way that the United States is prepared, — by the enormous 
 Qumber of merchant ships of large tonnage constantly building ; in 
 ihe vast number of steamers turning out of the building-yards at New 
 York, — those enormous steamers, finer than any to be found in the 
 royal navies of any country on the continent of Europe, commonly 
 extending from fifteen hundred to sixteen hundred tons. If the spirit 
 of America were once aroused, and her resentment excited, her mercan- 
 tile marine alone, — the growth of commerce, the result of a low taxa- 
 tion, and a prosperous People, — her mercantile marine alone would \m 
 more than a match for any war*navy that exists on the contiLent of 
 Kurop« 
 
SENATJRIAI. — HENRY. 281 
 
 12^ B3SISTANCE TO BRITISH AGGRESSION. - Patrick Henry. 
 
 Patrick Henry was born, May 29th, 1736, in Hanover county, Virginia. His |f*{L>-r was t 
 jAtiv^ of Aberileou, in Scotland. Patrick's education was scanty, and he entered upon the prac 
 hce of tbe law after only six weeks of preparation. Bu^ his powers of eloquence were remark- 
 able. H i was elected repeatedly to the most important offices in the gift of the Peop'o of Vir- 
 girua. In 1788, he was a member of the Convention which met there to consider the Constitution 
 of the United States, and exerted himself strenuously against its adoption. He died in 1799 
 
 The Virginia Convention nanug before them resolutions of a temporizing character towardi 
 Great Britain, March 23d, 1775, Mr. Henry introduced others, manly and decided in their ton'* 
 and providing that the Colony should be immediately put in a state of defence. These countej 
 . resolutions he supported in the followmg memorable speech, the result of which was their adop. 
 tion. Of the eUect of this speech, Mr. Wirt says, th-at, when Henry took his seat, at its close. 
 No murmur of applause was heard. The effect was too deep. After 'J^e trance of a moment; 
 several members started from their seats. The cry to arms ! seemed to quiver on every lip and 
 gleam from every eye. They became mipatient of sp?' -* Their souls were on fire for 
 action." 
 
 Mr. President it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of Hope. 
 We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the 
 song of that siren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part 
 of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty ? 
 KiQ we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see 
 not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern 
 our temporal salvation ? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it 
 may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, — to know the worst, 
 and to provide for it ! 
 
 I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided ; and that is the 
 lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but 
 by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there 
 has been in the conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years, 
 to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to 
 solace themselves and the House? Is it that insidious smile with 
 which our petition has been lately received ? Trust it not, Sir ; it will 
 prove a snare to your feet ! Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed 
 with a kiss ! Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our peti- 
 tion comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters 
 and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of 
 love and reconciliation ? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be 
 reconsiled, that force must be called in to win back our love? 
 
 Let us not deceive ourselves. Sir. These are the implements of war 
 and subjugation, — the last arguments to which Kings resort. I ask 
 G-entlemen, Sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to 
 force us to submission? Can Gentlemen assign any other possible 
 motive for it ? ' Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the 
 world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies ? No, Sir 
 she has none. They are meant for us ; they can be meant for no other! 
 Ihey are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which tho 
 British ministry have been so long > forging. And what have we TO 
 oppose to them ? — Shall we try argument ? Sir, we have been tryino 
 that, for the lest ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the 
 subject ? ^ Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of 
 ^hich it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. 
 Shall w« resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What tornia 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 
 
 ehall we find wbich have not already been exhausted Let us mit, 
 »eseech you, Sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we hare done ey^ry 
 thing that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on 
 We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, wt 
 have prostrated ourselves before the Throne, and have implored ite 
 interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the Ministry and Parlia* 
 ment. Our petitions have been slighted, our remonstrances have prt> 
 duced additional violence and insult, our supplications have been disre» 
 garded, and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the 
 Throne. 
 
 In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace 
 yid reconciliation. There ig no longer any room for hope. If we 
 wish to be free, — if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable 
 privileges for which we have been so long contending, — if we mean 
 not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so 
 long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon 
 until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, — we must 
 fight ; I repeat it, Sir, we must fight ! An appeal to arms, and to the 
 God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! 
 
 128. f HE WAR INEVITABLE, March, 1775. — Patrick Henry. 
 
 They tell us. Sir, that we are weak, — unable to cope with so formi- 
 dable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger ? Will it be the 
 next week, or the next year ? Will it be when we are totally dis- 
 armed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house ? 
 Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we 
 acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our 
 backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies 
 Rhall have bound us hand and foot ? Sir, we are not weak, if We make 
 a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in 
 our power. 
 
 Three millions of People, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in 
 •luch a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force 
 which our enemy can send against us. Besides, Sir, we shall not fight 
 -lur battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the desti- 
 nies of Nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for 
 us. The battle. Sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, 
 the active, the brave. Besides, Sir, we have no election. If we were 
 base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. 
 There is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are 
 forged ! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The 
 R-ar is inevitable ; and let it come ! I repeat it. Sir, let it come ! 
 
 It is in vain, Sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, 
 peace, peace ! — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The 
 flext gale that sweeps from the North will bring lo our ears the clash 
 if resounding arms ! Our brethren are already in the field ! Whj 
 /^.:d we here idle ? What ia it that Gentlemen wish ? What woul(S 
 
BENATORIAL. — HENRY. 
 
 288 
 
 they ha ire ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased af 
 the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it, Almighty God ! 1 know 
 not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, oi 
 give me death ! 
 
 123. RETURN OF BRITISH FUGITirES, m2. — Patrick Henry 
 
 I VENTURE to prophesy, there are those now 'living who will see thij* 
 favored land amongst the most powerful on earth, — able, Sir, to take 
 care of herself, without resorting to that policy, which is always so 
 dangerous, though sometimes unavoidable, of calling in foreign aid. 
 5res. Sb, they will see her great in arts and in arms, — her golden 
 harvests^ waving over fields of immeasurable extent, her comlnerce 
 penetrating the most distant seas, and her cannon silencing the vain 
 boasts of those who now proudly affect to rule the waves. But, Sir, 
 you must have men, — you cannot get along without them. Those 
 heavy forests of valuable timber, under which your lands are groaning, 
 must be cleared away. Those vast riches which cover the face of your 
 soil, as well as those which lie hid in its bosom, are to be developed 
 and gathered only by the skill and enterprise of men. Your timber, 
 Sir, must be worked up into ships, to transport the productions of the 
 soil from which it has been cleared. Then, you must have commercial 
 men and comm.ercial capital, to take off your productions, and find the 
 best markets for them abroad. Your great want, Sir, is the want of 
 men ; and these you must have, and will have speedily, if you are 
 wise. 
 
 Do you ask how you are to get them ? Open your doors, Sir, and 
 they will come in ! The population of the Old World is full to over- 
 flowing. That population is ground, too, by the oppressions of the 
 (rovernments under which they live. Sir, they are already standing 
 on tiptoe upon their native shores, and looking to your coasts with a 
 wistful and longing eye. They see here a land blessed with natural 
 and political advantages, which are not equalled by those of any other 
 rrountry upon earth ; — a land on which a gracious Providence hath 
 emptied the horn of abundance, — a land over which Peace hath now 
 stretched forth her white wings, and where Content and Plenty lie 
 down at every door ! 
 
 Sir, they see something still more attractive than all this. They 
 Bee a land in which Liberty hath taken up her abode, ~ that Liberty 
 whom they had considered as a fabled goddess, existing only in the 
 fancies of poets. They see her here a real divinity, — her altars rising 
 on every hand, throughout these happy States ; her glories chanted by 
 three millions of tongues, and the whole region smiling under her 
 bles'-ed influsnce. Sir, let but this, our celestial goddess, Liberty, 
 stretch forth her fair hand toward the People of the Old World, — 
 tell them to come, and bid them welcome, — and you will see them 
 pouring in from the North, from the South, from the East, and froi^ 
 the West. Vour wildernesses will be cleared and settled, youi deserti 
 
E84 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 smile^ our ranks will be filled, and you will soon be iu a co'iditioo 
 to defy the powers of any adversary 
 
 But Gentlemen object to any accession from Great Britain, and par 
 fcioularly to the return of the British refugees. Sir, I feel no objection 
 to the return of those deluded people. They have, to be sure, mistaKon 
 their own interests most wofully ; and most wofuUy have they suffered 
 the punishment due to their offences. But the relations which we bear 
 to them, and to their native country, are now changed. Their King"^ 
 hath acknowledged our independence ; the quarrel is over, peace hath 
 returned, and found us a free People. Let us have the magnanimity, 
 Sir, to lay aside our antipathies and prejudices, and consider the sub- 
 ject in a political light. Those are an enterprising, moneyed people 
 They will be serviceable in taking off the surplus produce of our lands, 
 and supplying us with necessaries, during the infant state of our manu ■ 
 factures. Even if they be inimical to us in point of feeling and prin- 
 ciple, I can see no objection, in a political view, in making them trib- 
 utary to our advantage. And, as I have no prejudices to prevent my 
 making this use of them, so. Sir, I have no fear of any mischief that 
 they can do us. Afraid of them / — What, Sir, shall we, who have 
 laid the proud British lion at our feet, now be afraid of his whelps ? 
 
 130. SUPPOSED SPEECH OP JAMES OTm.* —Mrs. L. M. Child. 
 
 England may as well dam up the waters of the Nile with bulrushe,j 
 as fetter the step of Freedom, more proud and firm in this youthfal 
 iand than where she treads the sequestered glens of Scotland, or 
 couches herself among the magnificent mountains of Switzerland. 
 Arbitrary principles, like those against which we now contend, have 
 cost one King of England his life, — another, his crown, — and they 
 may yet cost a third his most flourishing colonies. 
 
 We are two millions, — one-fifth fighting men. We are bold and 
 vigorous, — and we call no man master. To the Nation from whom 
 we are proud to derive our origin we ever were, and we ever mil be, 
 ready to yield unforced assistance ; but it must not, and it never can 
 be, extorted. Some have sneeringly asked, " Are the Americans to*? 
 poor to pay a few pounds on stamped paper ? " No ! America, thanks 
 to God and herself, is rich. Bat the right to take ten pounds implies 
 the right to take a thousand ; and what must be the wealth that avarice, 
 aided by power, cannot exhaust ? True, the spectre is now small ; but the 
 Bhadow he casts before him is huge enough to darken all this fair land 
 Others, in sentimental style, talk of the immense debt of gratitude 
 which we owe to England. And what is the amount of this debt < 
 VV'hv, truly, it is the same that the young lion owes to the dam, which 
 tias brought it forth on the solitude of the mountain, or left it amid the 
 winds and storms of the desert. 
 
 We plunged into the wave, with the great charter of freedom iii oui 
 
 Born, 1725 killed by a stroke of lightning, 1773. 
 
SENATORIAL - - LEE. 
 
 teeih because the fagot and torch were behind m. We have waked 
 this new world from its savage lethargy; forests have been prostrated 
 m our path ; towns and cities have grown up suddenly as the flowera 
 of the tropics, and the fires in our autumnal woods are scarcely more 
 rapid than the increase ©f our wealth and population. And do we owe 
 all this to the kind succor of the mother country ? No ! we owe it to 
 the granny that drove us from her, — to the pelting storms which 
 invigorated our helpless infancy. 
 
 But perhaps others will say, "We ask no money from your grati- 
 tude,— we only demand that you should pay your own expenses" 
 And who, I pray, is to judge of their necessity ? Why, the King, — 
 and, with ail due reverence to his sacred majesty, he understands 'the 
 real wants of his distant subjects as little as he does the languao-e of the 
 Uioctaws ! Who is to judge concerning the frequency of these 
 demands? The Ministry. Who is to judge whether the money is 
 properly expended? The Cabinet behind the Throne. In every 
 mstance, those who take are to judge for those who pay. If this sys- 
 tem IS suffered to go into operation, we _!ill have reason to esteem it 
 a pat privilege that rain and dew do not depend upon Parliament • 
 otherwise, they would soon be taxed and dried. But, thanks to God 
 there is freedom enough left upon earth to resist such monstrous injus^ 
 T^ v ^^^^^^^"^^ of liberty is extinguished in Greece and Rome ; but 
 the light of Its glowing embers is still bright and strong on the shores 
 ot America. Actuated by its sacred influence, we will resist unto 
 death. But we wdl not countenance anarchy and misrule. The 
 wrongs that a desperate community have heaped upon their enemies 
 shall be amply and speedily repaired. Still, it may be well for some 
 proud men to remember, that a fire is lighted in these Colonies which 
 one breath of their King may kindle into such fury that the blood of 
 all iliiigland cannot extinguish it ! 
 
 131. FOR INDEPENDENCE, 1776. Henry Lee. Born, 1132; died,179i. 
 
 The time will certainly come when the fated separation between the 
 mother country and these Colonies must take place, whether you will 
 or no ; for so it is decreed by the very nature of things, — by the pro- 
 gressive increase of our population, the fertility of our soil, the extent 
 ot our territory, the industry of our countrymen, and the immensity 
 0. the ocean which separates the two countries. And, if this be true — 
 as K is most true, — who does not see that the sooner it takes place,' the 
 better ; that it would be the height of folly, not to seize the present occa- 
 Sion, when British injustice has filled all hearts with indignation, inspired 
 all minds with courage, united all opinions in one, and put amis ia 
 every hand? And how long must we traverse three thousand miles 
 ot a stormy sea, to solicit of arrogant and insolent men either dounseh 
 or commands to regulate our domestic affairs? From what we hav€ 
 Already achieved, it is easy to presume what we shaU hereafter acerw 
 
»86 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 
 
 plish. Experience is the source of sage counsels, and liberty is iht 
 mother of great men. Have you not seen the enemy driven from 
 Lexington by citizens armed and assembled in one day ? Already 
 their most celebrated generals have yielded in Boston to the skill of 
 curs. Already their seamen, repulsed from our coasts, wander over the 
 ocean', the sport of tempests, and the prey of famine. Let us hail the 
 favorable omen, and fight, not for the sake of knowing on what terms 
 we are to be the slaves of England, but to secure to ourselves a free 
 existence, to found a just and independent Government. 
 
 Why do we longer delay, — why still deliberate ? Let this most 
 happy day give birth to the American Republic. Let her arise, not 
 to devastate and conquer, but to reestablish the reign of peace and of 
 the laws. The eyes of Europe are fixed upon us ; she demands of us 
 a living example of freedom, that may contrast, by the felicity of the 
 citizens, with the ever-increasing tyranny which desolates her polluted 
 shores. She invites us to prepare an asylum where the unhappy may 
 find solace, and the persecuted repose. She entreats us to cultivate a 
 propitious soil, where that generous plant which first sprang up and 
 grew in England, but is now withered by the poisonous blasts of Scot- 
 tish tyranny, may revive and flourish, sheltering under its salubrious 
 and interminable shade all the unfortunate of the human race. This 
 is the end presaged by so many omens : — by our first victories ; by the 
 present ardor and union ; by the flight of Howe, and the pestilence 
 which broke out among Dunmore's people ; by the very winds which 
 baffled the enemy's fleets and transports, and that terrible tempest 
 which engulfed seven hundred vessels upon the coasts of Newfound- 
 land. If we are not this day wanting in our duty to country, the 
 names of the American Legislators will be placed, by posterity, at the 
 side of those of Theseus, of Lycurgus, of Romulus, of Numa, of the 
 three Williams of Nassau, and of all those whose memory has been, 
 and will be, forever dear to virtuous men and good citizens ! 
 
 132. THE FEDERAL CONSTITUTION, 1787.— Beryamm FranWm. Born, 1706 ; rficd, 1790. 
 
 The following is strongly marked by the leading traits of Franklin's character,— his liberality, 
 ractical wisdom, and spirit of compromise. 
 
 Sir, T agree to this Constitution, with all its faults, — if they are 
 such, — because I think a general Government necessary for us, and 
 there is no form of Governmen.t but what may be a blessing to the 
 People, if well administered ; and I believe, further, that tliis is likely 
 to be well administered for a course of years, and can only end in 
 despotism, as other forms have done before it, when the People shall 
 become so corrupted as to need despotic Government, being incapabln 
 of any other. I doubt, too, whether any other convention we can 
 obtain may be able to make a better Constitution. For, when you 
 assemble a number of men, to have the advantage of their joint wis- 
 dom, you inevitably assemble with those men all their prejudices, their 
 passi'-iis, their errors of opinion, their local in* crests, and their selfiah 
 
SENATORIAL. — FRANKLIN, 
 
 281 
 
 r\ews. From ?iich an assembly can a perfect productlcn be expected ' 
 ft, therefore, astonishes me, Sir, to find this system approaching so 
 near to perfection as it does ; and I think it will astonish our enemies, 
 ^h{j are waiting with confidence to hear that our counsels are con- 
 founiled, like those of the builders of Babel, and that our States are on 
 the point of separation, only to meet hereafter for the purpose of cut- 
 fciug one another's throats. 
 
 Thus I consent, Sir, to this Constitution, because I expect no better, 
 and because I am not sure that this is not the best. The opinions I 
 have had of its errors I sacrifice to the public good. I have nevei 
 .i^hispered a syllable of them abroad. Within these walls they wero 
 born, and here they shall die. [f every one of us, in returning to his 
 constituents, were to report the oojections he has had to it, and endeavor 
 to gain partisans in support of them, we might prevent its being gener- 
 ally received, and thereby lose all the salutary efiects and great advan- 
 tages resulting naturally in our favor among foreign Nations, as well 
 as among ourselves, from our real or apparent unanimity. Much of 
 the strength and efficacy of any Government, in procuring and secur- 
 ing happiness to the People, depends on opinion, — on the general opin- 
 ion of the goodness of that Government, as well as of the wisdom and 
 integrity of its Governors. I hope, therefore, that, for our own sakes, 
 as a part of the People, and for the sake of our posterity, we shall act 
 heartily and unanimously in recommending this Constitution, wherever 
 our influence may extend, and turn our future thoughts and endeavors 
 to the means of having it well administered. 
 
 133. GOD GOVERNS. — Benjamin Franklin, lTs7, in Convention. 
 
 In this situation of this Assembly, — groping, as it were, in the dark, 
 to find political truth, and scarce able to distinguish it when presented 
 to us, — how has it happened, Sir, that we have not hitherto once 
 thought of humbly applying to the Father of Light to illuminate our 
 understanding ? In the beginning of the contest with Britain, when 
 we were sensible of danger, we had daily prayers in this room for the 
 divine protection. Our prayers, Sir, were heard, — and they were 
 graciously answered. All of us who were engaged in the struggle 
 must have observed frequent instances of a superintending Providence 
 in our favor. To that kind Providence we owe this happy opportu- 
 nity of consulting in peace on the means of establishing our future 
 national felicity. And have we now forgotten that powerful Friend ? 
 or Jo we imagine we no longer need His assistance ? I have lived, 
 Sir, a long time ; and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I 
 4ee of this truth, — that God governs in the of airs of men. And, 
 if a sparrow cannot fall to the grojind without His notice, is it prob&r 
 hje that an empire can rise without His aid ? We have been assured, 
 Sir in the Sacred Writings, that ^'except the Lord build the house, 
 Ihoy labor in vain that build it." I firmly believe this ; and I alst 
 beheve tiiat, without His concurring aid, we shall saceeed in this poJit 
 
288 
 
 THE STAxVDAE.D SPEAKER. 
 
 ical builiing no better than the builders of Babel , we shall be di>ide<J 
 by our little, partial, local interests ; our projects will be confounded 
 and we ourselves shall become a reproach and a by-word down to future 
 ages. And, what is worse, mankind may hereafter, from this uufor 
 tunate instance, despair of establishing Government by human wisdom 
 and l6ave it to chance, war, and conquest ' 
 
 134. IN FAVOR OF A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. — Supposed Speech of 
 John Adams, in the Continental Congress, July, 1776. 
 
 Tb 3 subjoined two extracts are from "A Discourse in commemoration of the Lives and Serviceei 
 jf John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, by Daniel Webster, delivered in Faneuil Hall, Boston, 
 August 2, 1826." The sentiment and spirit of this " supposed " speech appear to be partially 
 taken from a letter which John Adams wrote to a friend, the day after the Declaration, and ir. 
 wliich he said : " Yesterday the greatest question was decided that was ever debated in Amer- 
 ica ; and greater, perhaps, never was or will be decided by men. A resolution was passed, with 
 out one dissenting colony, ' that these United States are, and of right ought to be, free and inde 
 pendent States.' ^ The day is passed. The Fourth of July, 1776, will be a memorable epocha in 
 the history of America. I am apt to believe it will be celebrated, by succeeding generations, as 
 the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deUverance, by 
 solemn acts of devotion to Almighty God. It ought to be solemnized with pomp, shows, games, 
 sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of the continent to the other, from 
 this time forward, forever. You will think me trans])orted with enthusiasm, but I am not. I 
 am well aware of the toil, and blood, and treasure, that it will cost to maintain this declaration. 
 AX)d support and defend these States ; yet, through all the gloom, I can see the rays of light and 
 glory. I can see that the end is worth more than all the means ; and that posterity will triimaph, 
 althoughyouandlmayrue, — which, I hope, we shall not." ,o^^ 
 
 By a felicitous coincidence, Adams and Jefferson died on the 4th of July, 1826, the anmver- 
 sary of the occasion which they had done so much to render memorable. 
 
 Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and 
 my heart to this vote ! It is true, indeed, that, in the beginning, we 
 aimed not at independence. But there is a Divinity which shapes our 
 ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms ; and, blinded 
 to her own interest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till 
 independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth 
 to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the Declaration 1 
 Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, 
 which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, ci 
 safety to his own life, and his own honor ? Are not you. Sir, who sit 
 in that chair, — is not he, our venerable colleague near you, — are not 
 both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and 
 of vengeance ? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are 
 you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but out- 
 laws ? 
 
 If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or give up, 
 the war? Do we moan to submit to the measures of Tarliament, 
 Boston port-bill si:d all ? Do we mean to submit, and consent that 
 we ourselves shall b^ ground to powder, and our country and its rights 
 trodden down in the dust ? I know we do not mean to submit. We 
 never shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obliga- 
 tioTS ever entorod into by men, — that plighting, bei-ore God, of oui 
 sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to incur 
 ^ncrers of war. as well as the political hazards of the times, we prom' 
 
SENATORIAL. -JOHN ADAMi^. ^yy 
 
 ised to adhere tc iim, in every extremity, with our fortu^ies and onr 
 
 I know there is not a man here who would not rather see a general 
 conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one 
 pt or tittle of that plighted faith fall to the ground. For mvself 
 having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you that George 
 Washington be appointed commander of the forces raised, or to be 
 raised, for defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget its 
 cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate 
 or waver m_ the support I give him ' The war, then, must go on. W« 
 must fight It through. & 
 
 T ^""^' a *'^^/^^,^"s*go on, why put off longer the Declaration of 
 Independence? That measure will strengthen us. It will give us 
 character abroad The Nations will then treat with us, which thev 
 never can do while we acknowledge ourselves subjects in arms against 
 our sovereign x\ay, I maintain that England herself will sooner treat 
 for peace with us on the footing of independence, than consent by 
 repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct towards i 
 has been a course of injustice and oppression. Her pride will be less 
 wounded by submitting to that course of things which now predesti- 
 nates our independence, than by yielding the points in controversy to 
 her rebellious subjects. The former she would regard as the result of 
 fortune ; the latter, she would feel as her own deep disgrace. Wh^ 
 then, bir, do we not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to 
 national war ? And, since we must fight it through, why not put out 
 selves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the vic- 
 tory ? If we fail, It can be no worse for us. But we shall not faD 
 
 135. CONCLUSION OF THE PRECEDING. 
 
 The cause will raise up armies; -the cause will create navir. 
 The people, - the people, - if we are true to them, will carry m 
 and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. 1 ca. 
 not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people o 
 these colonies; and I know that resistance to British aggression l« dec. 
 and settled m their hearts, and cannot be eradicated.^ Every coW 
 indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the !eac 
 Wnt ^p"'^^'^*^°" will inspire the people with increased course 
 f '''''^ '''''i ^^^^^ restoration of privileges, to. 
 
 redress of ^-levances, for chartered immunities, held under a Br*^^. 
 
 u "nl .w'! ^H^'T '^J^'* independence ^uC k 
 
 Tt 1^ r / P .V^'"" ^""'^ ^^'"^^ ^'^^ this Dcckr.tK,!) 
 
 hJ^ A.f f ^"""^ ' ~ ^""^'^ '^^^^ ^^^^ <^rawn from itB scat, 
 n/L ^^lemn VOW Uttered, to maintain it, or to perl«li on ti^ 
 bed of honor. Publish it from the Pulpit; - religion will approv. il, 
 
 wm.tt n ° "ul^r ^^^'l'^ ^^^"g ^^^"d^t' resolved ^to stJd, 
 w 1h It, or faa with it Send it to the public halls ; proclaiir it ^h^" 
 let fchem hear it who heard the first roar of the enemy's «.u 
 
290 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 them see it who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of 
 banker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, — and the 
 very walls will cry out in its support ! 
 
 Sir, I know the uncertainty of human alfairs ; but I see clearly 
 through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We 
 may not live to see the time when this Declaration shall be made good. 
 We may die, — die colonists ; die slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously 
 and on the scaffold ! Be it so ! be it so ! If it be the pleasure of 
 Heriven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, th€ 
 victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when 
 that hour may. But, while I do live, let me ha\e a country, — or, at 
 least, the hope of a country, and that a free country. 
 
 But, whatever may be our fate, be assured that this Declaration 
 will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood ; but it will 
 stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick 
 gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in 
 Heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we 
 are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it 
 with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. 
 On its annual return, they will shed tears, — copious, gushing tears, 
 — not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, — but of 
 exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the 
 hour is come ! My judgment approves this measure, and my whole 
 ■ heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, 
 in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it ; and I leave off, as 
 I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration ' 
 It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my 
 dying sentiment, — Independence now, and Independence forever ! 
 
 136. THE general GOVERNMENT AND THE STATES. — Alexander Hamilton. 
 
 Alexander Hamilton was born in Nevis, one of the West India Islands, in 1757. After som« 
 military experience, he entered upon the study of the law, and rose to great eminence in the 
 councils of the Nation. With Madison and Jay, he wrote the "Federalist," and labored stren- 
 uously in behalf of the Constitution. He was the first Secretary of the Treasury of the United 
 States. He was shot by Aaron Burr, in a duel, in 1804. The two following speeches were deliv- 
 ered in the Convent'on of New Yorii, on the adoption of the Constitution, 1788. 
 
 Mr. Chairman, it has been advanced as a principle, that no Gov- 
 ernment but a Despotism can exist in a very extensive country. This 
 IS a melancholy consideration, indeed. If it were founded on truth, 
 we ought to dismiss the idea of a Republican Government, even for 
 the State of New York. But the position has been misapprehended. 
 Its application relates only to democracies, where the body of the Peo- 
 ple caeet to transact business, and where representation is unknown 
 The application is wrong in respect to all representative Governments , 
 but especially in relation to a Confederacy of States, in which the 
 Supreme Legislature has only general powers, and the civil and domes- 
 tic concerns of the People are regulated by the laws of the several 
 States. I insist that it never can be the interest or desire of the 
 oational Legislature to destroy the State Governments. The blow 
 
SENATORIAL. HAMILTON. 29i 
 
 umei at the members must give a fatal wound to the head , and the 
 aestmction of the States must be at once a political suicide But 
 imagmo, for a moment, that a political frenzy should seize the Govern- 
 mant ; suppose they should make the attempt. Certainly, Sir, it 
 would be forever impracticable. This has been sufficiently demon- 
 strated by reason and experience. It has been proved that the mem. 
 • hers ot Kepublics have been, and ever will be, stronger than the head. 
 Let us attend to one general historical example. 
 
 In the ancient feudal Governments of Europe, there were, in the 
 hrst place, a Monarch ; subordinate to him, a body of Nobles • and 
 subject to these, the vassals, or the whole body of the People ' The 
 authority of the Kings was limited, and that of the Barons considera- 
 bly mdependent. The histories of the fcadal wars exhibit little more 
 than a series of successful encroachments on the prerogatives of Mon- 
 archy. ° 
 
 • f^n ^® superiority which the members 
 
 in limited Governments possess over their head. As long as the 
 Barons enjoyed the confidence and attachment of the People, they had 
 the strength of the country on their side, and were irresistible. I may 
 be told in some instances the Barons were overcome ; but how did this 
 happen ? Sir, they took advantage of the depression of the royal 
 authority, and the establishment of their own power, to oppress and 
 tyrannize over their vassals. As commerce enlarged, and wealth and 
 civilization increased, the People began to feel their own wei<^ht and 
 consequence ; they grew tired of their oppressions ; united their 
 strength with that of their Prince, and threw o£f the yoke of Aris- 
 tocracy. These very instances prove what I contend for. They prove 
 that in whatever direction the popular weight leans, the current of 
 power will flow ; whatever the popular attachments be, there will rest 
 the political superiority. Sir, can it be opposed that the State Gov- 
 ernments will become the oppressors of the People ? Will they forfeit 
 their affections ? Will they combine to destroy the liberties and hap- 
 pmess of their feiiow-citizens, for the sole purpose of involving them- 
 gelvesm rum? God forbid ! The idea, Sir, is shocking ! It outrages 
 every feeling of humanity, and every dictate of common sense ! 
 
 137. CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES. -Alexander Hamilton. 
 
 After all our doubts, our suspicions and speculations, on the sul> 
 j.)ct ot Government, we must return, at last, to this important truth, 
 — that, when we have formed a Constitution upon free principles, 
 when we have given a proper balance to the different branches of 
 Administration, and fixed Representation upon pure and equal princi 
 pies, we may, with safety, furnish it with all the powers necessary t^ 
 answr.r, m the most ample manner, the purposes of Government The 
 great desiderata are a free Representation, and mutual checks. When 
 these are obtained, all our apprehensions of the extent of powers are 
 ttnjust mi imagmaij. What, then, is the structure of this Oonstitu. 
 
THE STiNDAKD SPEAKEB. 
 
 don ? One branch of the Legislature is to be elected by the Peoplt 
 — by the same People wao choose your State Representatives. It? 
 members ar 3 to hold their ofl&ce two years, and then return to their 
 constituents. Here, Sir, the People govern. Here they act by their 
 immediate Representatives. You have also a Senate, constituted by 
 your' State Legislatures, — by men in whom you place the highest con. 
 fidence, — and forming another Representative branch. Then, again, 
 you have an Executive Magistrate, created by a form of election which 
 merits universal admiration. 
 
 In the form of this Government, and in the mode of Legislation, 
 you find all the checks which the greatest politicians and the best 
 wri'-ers have ever conceived. What more can reasonable men desire ? 
 
 there any one branch in which the whole Legislative and Executive 
 powers are lodged? No! The Legislative authority is lodged in 
 three distinct branches, properly balanced ; the Executive authority is 
 divided between two branches ; and the Judicial is still reserved for an 
 independent body, who hold their office during good behavior. This 
 organization is so complex, so skilfully contrived, that it is next to 
 impossible that an impolitic or wicked measure should pass the great 
 scrutiny with success. Now, what do Gentlemen mean, by coming for- 
 ward and declaiming against this Government ? Why do they say we 
 ought to limit its powers, to disable it, and to destroy its capacity of 
 blessing the People? Has philosophy suggested, has experience 
 taught, that such a Government ought not to be trusted with every- 
 thing necessary for the good of society ? Sir, when you have divided 
 and nicely balanced the departments of Government ; ^ when you have 
 strongly cormected the virtue of your rulers with their interests ; when, 
 in short, you have rendered your system as perfect as human forms can 
 be, — you must place confidence ; you must give power. 
 
 138. ARISTOCRACY, IKS.— Robert R. Livingston. Born, 1748 ; died, 1813. 
 
 The gentleman, who has so copiously declaimed again? t all declama 
 tion, has pointed his artillery against the rich and great. We are told 
 that, in every country, there is a natural Aristocracy, and that this 
 Aristocracy consists of the rich and the great. Nay, the gentleman 
 goes further, and ranks in this class of men the wise, the learned, and 
 those eminent for their talents or great virtues. Does a man possess 
 the confidence of his fellow-citizens, for having done them important 
 services ? He is an Aristocrat ! Has he great integrity ? He is an 
 Aristocrat ! Indeed, to determine that one is an Aristocrat, we need 
 only to be assured that he is a man of merit. But I hope we have 
 many such. So sensible am I of that gentleman's talents, integiity, 
 and virtue, that we might at once hail him the first of the Nobles, the 
 very Prince of the Senate ! 
 
 But whom, in the name of common sense, would the gentlemaH 
 0»ve to represent us ^ Not the rich, for they are sheer Aristocrats 
 
SENATORIAL. KANDOLPH. 
 
 293 
 
 ^ot the learned, the wise, the virtuous ; for they are ail Aristocrata 
 V/hom then ? Why, those who are not virtuous ; those who are not 
 wise ; those who are not learned ; — these are the men to whom alone 
 we can trust our liberties ! He says, further, we ought not to choos€ 
 Aristocrats,; because the People will not have confidence in them . 
 That IS to say, the People will not have confidence in those who best 
 deserve and most possess their confidence ! He would have his Gov- 
 ernment composed of other classes of men. Where will be find them ? 
 Why, he must go forth into the highways, and pick up the rogue and 
 the robber. He must go to the hedges and the ditches, and bring in 
 the poor,^ the blind, and the lame. As the gentleman has thus settled 
 the definition of Aristocracy, I trust that no man will think it a term 
 of reproach ; for who, among us, would not be wise ? who would noi 
 be virtuous ? who would not be above want ? The truth is, in these 
 Republican Governments, we know no such ideal distinctions. We 
 are all equally Aristocrats. Offices, emoluments, honors, the roads to 
 preferment and to wealth, are alike open to all. 
 
 m EXTENT OP COUNTRY NO BAR TO VNIO^. - Edmund Randolpk. 1813. 
 In the Virginia Convention on the Federal Constitution, 1788. 
 
 Extent of country, in my conception, ought to be no bar to the 
 adoption of a good Government. No extent on earth seems to me too 
 gi-eat, provided the laws be wisely made and executed. The principles 
 of representation and responsibility may pervade a large, as well as a 
 small territory ; and tyranny is as easily introduced into a small as 
 mto a large district. Union, Mr. Chairman, is the rock of our sal- 
 vation. _ Our safety, our political happiness, our existence depend on 
 the Union of these States. Without Union, the People of this and the 
 other States will undergo the unspeakable calamities which discord 
 taction, turbulence, war and bloodshed, have continually produced in 
 other countries. Without Union, we throw away all those blessings 
 tor which we have so earnestly fought. Without Union, there is no 
 peace. Sir, in the land. 
 
 The American spirit ought to be mixed with American pride — 
 pride to see the Union magnificently triumph. Let that glorious pride 
 which once defied the British thunder reanim.ate you again Let it 
 not be recorded of Americans, that, after having performed the most 
 gallant exploits, after having overcome the most astonishing diffi- 
 culties, and after having gained the admiration of the world by 
 their mcomparable valor and policy, they lost their acquired repu- 
 fetion, lost their national consequence and happiness, by their 
 J.wn indiscretion. Let no future historian inform posterity that 
 iVmericans wanted wisdom and virtue to concur in any re<nilar effi- 
 Jient Government. Catch the present moment. Seiz? it 'with 
 .viditj. It may be lost, never to be regamed • and if the Umou be 
 bst now. I fear it will remain so forever 
 
TUB jBYANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 I4ft VRANCE AND THE UNITED STATES. — Gcor^g-e Washington. B. 173 d. iTW 
 
 Reply, as President of the United States, January 1st, 1796, to the address of the Ministd 
 Plenipotentiary of the French Republic, on his presenting the colors of France to the Unit«« 
 ^tes. 
 
 JBoRN, Sir, in a iand of liberty ; having early learned its value 
 auvi^g engaged in a perilous conflict to defend it ; having, i^i a word. 
 "I.evoted the best years of my life to secure its permanent establishment 
 m my own country, — my anxious recollections, my sympathetic feel- 
 ings, and my best wishes, are irresistibly excited, whensoever, in any 
 country, I see an oppressed Nation unfurl the banners of freedom. 
 But, above all, the events of the French Revolution have produced the 
 deepest solicitude, as well as the highest admiration. To call your 
 Nation brave, were to pronounce but common praise. Wonderful 
 Pectple ! Ages to come will read with astonishment the history of 
 your brilliant exploits ! I rejoice that the period of your toils and of 
 your immense sacrifices is approaching. I rejoice that the interesting 
 ravolutionary movements of so many years have issued in the forma- 
 (ion of a Constitution designed to give permanency to the great objeci 
 for which you have contended. I rejoice that liberty, which you have 
 so long embraced with enthusiasm, — liberty, of which you have been 
 the invincible defenders, — now finds an asylum in the bosom of a regu- 
 larly organized Government ; — a Government, which, being formed 
 to secure the happiness of the French People, corresponds with tho 
 ardent wishes of my heart, while it gratifies the pride of every citizen 
 of the United States, by its resemblance to his own. On these 
 glorious events, accept, Sir, my sincere congratulations. 
 
 * In delivering to you these sentiments, I express not my own feel- 
 ings r^nly, but those of my fellow-citizens, in relation to the commence- 
 ment, the progress, ar.d the issue, of the French Revolution ; and 
 ihey will ctTdially join with me in purest wishes to the Supreme 
 Being, thai: tbe citizens of our sister Republic, our magnanimous 
 allies, may soon enjoy in peace that liberty which they have pur- 
 chased at so gr>at a price, and all the happiness which liberty can 
 bestow. 
 
 I receive, bi^-, with lively sensibility, the symbol of the triumphs 
 and of the enfranchisement of your Nation, the colors of France, 
 which you have now presented to tbe United States. The transaction 
 will be announcea to Congr'^ss • and the colors will be deposited with 
 those archives of the United States which are at once the evidences 
 and the memorials oi their freedom and independence. May these be 
 perpetual ! And may thb friendship of the two Republics be com" 
 mensurate with their existence I 
 
 lil. AGAINST FOREIGN ENTANGI Ejsf^lN IS, 1796. — George fTashinffton. 
 
 Against the insidious wiles of for».^gr iE%«j»^e oopiur^> yon tc 
 believe me, fellow-citizens) the jealousy ot a. free Pewle oii(»^^ be 
 ctynstantly awaka; since history and evpenanae m-ov*. tua^ •'•'■^^ 
 
SENATORIAL. AMES. 
 
 influence is ono of the most baneful foes of Republican Governraent. 
 But that jealousy, to be useful, must be impartial ; else it becomes the 
 instrument of the very influence to be avoided, instead of a defence 
 ugainst it. Excessive partiality for one Nation, and excessive dislike 
 for another, cause those whom they actuate to see danger only on one 
 side, and serve to veil, and even second, the arts of influence on tht 
 other. Real patriots, who may resist the intrigues of the lavorito, ure 
 liable to become suspected and odious ; while its tools and dupes usurp 
 the applause and confidence of the People, to surrender their 
 interests. The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign 
 Nations, is, in extending our commercial relations, to have with them 
 as little political connection as possible. So far as we have already 
 formed engagements, let them be fulfilled with perfect good faith. 
 Here let us stop. 
 
 Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have none, or a 
 very remote relation. Hence, she must be engaged in frequent con- 
 troversies, the causes of which are essentially foreign to our concerns. 
 Hence, therefore, it must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves by 
 artificial ties in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or the ordi- 
 nary combinations and collisions of her friendships or enmities. Our 
 detatched and distant situation invites and enables us to pursue a 
 different course. If we remain one People, under an efficient Govern- 
 ment, the period is not far ofi" when we may defy material injury from 
 external annoyance; when we may take such an attitude as will 
 cause the neutrality we may at any time resolve upon to be scrupu- 
 lously respected ; when belligerent Nations, under the impossibility of 
 making acquisitions upon us, will not lightly hazard the giving us 
 provocation ; when we may choose peace or war, as our interest, guided 
 by justice, shall counsel. Why forego the advantages of so peculiar a 
 situation ? Why quit our own to stand on foreign ground ? Why, 
 by interweaving our destiny with that of any part of Europe, entangle 
 our peace and prosperity in the toils of European ambition, rivalship, 
 interest, humor or caprice ? 
 
 142. SANCTITY OF TREATIES, im. — Fisher Ames. 
 
 ¥isher Ames, one of the most eloquent of American Statesmen and writers, was born in 
 '>edham, Massachusetts, 1758, and died July 4, 1808. He was a member of Congress during 
 kJie eight years of Washington's administration, of which he was the earnest and able champioa. 
 
 We are either to execute this treaty, or break our faith To expa- 
 tiate on the value of public faith may pass with some m.en for decla- 
 mation : to such men I have nothing to say. To others, I will urge, 
 can any circumstance mark upon a People more turpitude and 
 debasement ? Can anything tend more to make men think themselves 
 mean, — or to degrade to a lower point their estimation of virtue, and 
 their standard of action ? It would not merely demoralize mankind 
 it tends to break all the ligaments of society ; to dissolve thit rfiy* 
 lerious charm which attracts individuals to the Nation; and to it^spiiv 
 m it 3 stead, a repulsive sense of shame and disgust. 
 
THE STANl^ARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Wnat is patriotism ? Is it a narrow affection for the spot whore t 
 nsan was b)rn ? Are the very clods where we tread e ititled to this 
 ardent preference, because they are greener ? No, Sir ; this is not tho 
 stiaracter of the virtue. It soars higher for its object. It b an 
 extended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and 
 twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart, It is thu"^ 
 we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of virtue, in 
 their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the 
 renerable image of our, country's honor. Every good citizen makes 
 that honor his own, and cherishes it, not only as precious, but as 
 sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious 
 that he gains protection while he gives it ; for what rights of a citizen 
 will be deemed inviolable, when a State renounces the principles that 
 constitute their security ? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what 
 would its enjoyments be, in a country odious in the eye of strangers, 
 and dishonored in his own ? Could he look with affection and venera- 
 tion to such a country, as his parent? The sense of having one 
 would die within him : he would blush for his patriotism, if he 
 retained any, — and justly, for it would be a vice. He would be a 
 banished man in his native land. I see no exception to the respect 
 that is paid among Nations to the law of good faith. It is the philos- 
 ophy of politics, the religion of Governments. It is observed by 
 barbarians. A whiff of tobacco-smoke, or a string of beads, gives 
 not merely binding force, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in Algiers, 
 a truce may be bought for money ; but, when ratified, even Algiers is 
 too wise,' or too just, to disown and annul its obligation. 
 
 143. THE BRITISH TREATY. 1196.— Fisher Ames 
 
 Are the posts of our frontier to remain forever in the possession of 
 Great Britain ? Let those who reject them, when the treaty offers 
 them to our hands, say, if they choose ^ey are of no importance. 
 Will the tendency to Indian hostilities oe contested by any one ? 
 Experience gives the answer. Am I reduced to the necessity of 
 proving this point ? Certainly the very men who charged the Indian 
 war on the detention of the posts will call for no other proof than the 
 recital of their own speeches. " Until the posts are restored," they 
 exclaimed, " the treasury and the frontiers must bleed."_ Can Gentle- 
 men now say that an Indian peace, without the posts, will prove firm ? 
 No, Sir, it will not be peace, but a sword ; it will be no better than a 
 lure to draw victims within the reach of the tomahawk. 
 
 On this theme, my emotions are unutterable. If I could find words 
 for them, if my powers bore any proportion to my zeal, I would swel. 
 my voice to such a note of remonstrance, it should reach every log- 
 house beyond the mountains. I would say to the inhabitants, Wake 
 from your false security' Your cruel dangers, your more crue. 
 ippr^hensf Dns, are soon to oe renewed. The wounds, yet unhealed^ 
 
SEN ATG RIAL. JEFFERSOK. 
 
 297 
 
 .ce to be torn open again. In the day-time, your path through the 
 roods will be ambushed. The darkness of midnight will glitter with 
 the blaze of your dwellings. You are a father, — the blood of youi 
 tons shall fatten your corn-fields ! You are a mother, — the war 
 whoop shall wake the sleep of the cradle ! 
 
 Who will say that I exaggerate the tendencies of our measures ? 
 Will any one answer, by a sneer, that all this is idle preaching ? Will 
 any one deny that we are bound, and, I would hope, to good purpose, 
 by the most solemn sanctions of duty, for the vote we give ? Are 
 despots alone to be reproached for unfeeling indifference to the tears 
 and blood of their subjects ? Are republicans irresponsible ? Can 
 you put the dearest interest of society at risk, without guilt, and 
 without remorse ? It is vain to offer, as an excuse, that public men 
 are not to be reproached for the evils that may happen to ensue from 
 their measures. This is very true, where they are unforeseen or 
 inevitable.^ Those I have depicted are not unforeseen ; they are so 
 far from inevitable, we are going to bring them into being by our 
 vote. We choose the consequences, and become as justly answerable 
 for them as for the measure that we know will produce them. 
 . By rejecting the posts, we light the savage fires, we bind the vic- 
 tims. This day we undertake to render account to the widows and 
 orphans whom our decision will make ; — to the wretches that will 
 oe roaFtcd at the stake ; to our country, and, I do not deem it too 
 serious lo say, to conscience and to God, we are answerable ; and, if 
 duty by anything more than a word of imposture, if conscience be not 
 a bugit^iar, we are preparing to make ourselves as wretched as our 
 country. There is no mistake in this case. There can be none. 
 Expembi.ie has already been the prophet of events, and the cries of 
 our fuuuiy victims have already reached us. The Western inhabitants 
 ire noi a silent and uncomplaining sacrifice. The voice of humanity 
 issues iiym the shade of the wilderness. It exclaims, that, while one 
 hand la weld up to reject this treaty, the other grasps a tomahawk, 
 it sumjtxons our imagination to the scenes that will open. It is no 
 great ettrjrt of the imagination to conceive that events so near are 
 dlreaay begun. I can fancy that I listen to the yells of savage 
 fengeaiice, and the shrieks of torture ! Already they seem to sigh in 
 iue WciLtern wind ! Already they mingle with every echo from the 
 biouniaiiis ! 
 
 V*4 A Rfct>UBLIC THE STRONGEST GOVERNMENT. - T. Jefferson. B. ViS ; d. 1S28. 
 Blomhis Inaugui-al Address, as President of the United States, March 4, 1801. 
 
 During the throes and convulsions of the ancient world, — during 
 vLe agonizing spasms of infuriated man, seeking, through blood and 
 ftldughter, his long-lost liberty, — it was not wonderful that the agitation 
 yi the billows should reach even this distant and peairetiil shore, — 
 chat this should be more felt and feared by some, and less by others, — 
 %id )5hr.»uld dividn opinions as to measures of safety. But everj 
 
298 
 
 THE STANDARD SPE^AKR. 
 
 differerme of opinion is not a difference of principle We have ^ Jied 
 by different names brethren of the same principle. We are ali Re 
 publicans : we are all Federalists. If there be any among us whc 
 would wish to dissolve this Union, or to change its republican form, 
 let them stand, undisturbed, as monuments of the safety with whicL 
 error of opinion may be tolerated, where reason is left free to combat 
 it, I know, indeed, that some honest men fear a republican Govern- 
 ment cannot be strong, — that this Grovernment is not strong enough. 
 But would the honest patriot, in the fiill tide of successful experiment, 
 abandon a Government which has so fkr kept us free and firm, on the 
 theoretic and visionary fear that this Government, the world's best 
 hope, may, by possibility, want energy to preserve itself? I trust 
 not. I believe this, on the contrary, the strongest Government on 
 earth. I believe it the only one where every man, at the call 
 of the law, would fly to the standard of the law, and would meet 
 invasions of the public order, as his own personal concern. Some- 
 times it is said that man cannot be trusted with the government of 
 himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the government of others ? Or 
 have we found angels, in the form of Kings, to govern him ? Let 
 history answer this question. 
 
 Let us, then, with courage and confidence, pursue our own Federal 
 and Kepublican principles — our attachment to Union and represent- 
 ative Government. K'ndly separated, by nature and a wide ocean, 
 from the exterminating havoc of one quarter of the globe, — too high- 
 minded to endure the degradations of the others, — possessing a chosen 
 country, with room enough for our descendants to the thousandth and 
 thousandth generation, — entertaining a due sense of our equal right 
 to the use of our own faculties, to the acquisitions of our own 
 industry, to honor and confidence from our fellow-citizens, result- 
 ing not from birth, but from our actions, and their sense of them, — 
 enlightened by a benign religion, professed, indeed, and practised in 
 various forms, yet all of them inculcating honesty, truth, temperance, 
 gratitude, and the love of man, — acknowledging and adoring an 
 overruling Providence, which, by all its dispensations, proves that i1 
 delights in the happiness of man here, and his greater happiness here- 
 after : with all these blessings, what more is necessary, to make us a 
 happy and prosperous People ? 
 
 Still one thing more, fellow -citizens : a wise and frugal Govern- 
 ment, which shall restrain men from injuring one another, shall leave 
 them otherwise free to regulate their own pursuits of industry and 
 improvement, and shall not take from the mouth of labor the bread 
 it has earned. This is the sum of good government ; and this i» 
 accessary to close the circle of our felicities. 
 
 U6 JUDGES SHOULD BE FREE, 1S02.— James A. Bayard. Born, 1161 ; diei, 1814 
 
 Let it be remembered that no power is so sensibly felt by society 
 %s ♦-hat of the Judiciary. The life and property of every man if 
 
SENATORIAL. — MORRIS. 
 
 m 
 
 Aable to be m the hands of the Judges. Is it not bur grea iiitfircst 
 £o place our Judges upon such high ground that no fear can intimi 
 iate, no hope seduce them ? The present measure humbles them m 
 the dust It prostrates them at the feet of faction. It renders thenj 
 the tool of every dominant party. It is this effect which I deprecate, 
 It is this consequence which I deeply deplore. What does reason, 
 what docs argument avail, when party spirit presides ? Subject your 
 Bench to the influence of this spirit, and justice bids a final adieu to 
 your tribunals. We are asked, Sir, if the Judges are to be inde- 
 pendent of the People ? The question presents a false and delusive 
 view. We are all the People. We are, and as long as we enjoy our 
 freedom, we shall he, divided into parties. The true question is. 
 Shall the J udiciary be permanent, or fluctuate with the tide of public 
 opinion ? I beg, I implore gentlemen to consider the magnitude and 
 value of the principle which they are about to annihilate. If your 
 Judges are independent of political changes, they may have their 
 preferences, but they will not enter into the spirit of party. But, let 
 their existence depend upon the support of a certain set of men, anc 
 they cannot be impartial. Justice will be trodden under foot. You 
 Courts will lose all public confidence and respect. 
 
 We are standing on the brink of that revolutionary torrent whicl 
 deluged in blood one of the fairest countries in Europe. France had 
 ker National Assembly, more numerous and equally popular with our 
 mn. She had her tribunals of justice, and her juries. But the 
 Legislature and her Courts were but the instruments of her destruc- 
 cion. Acts of proscription, and sentences of banishment and death, 
 were passed in the Cabinet of a tyrant. Prostrate your Judges a,t 
 the feet of party, and you break down the mounds which defend you 
 from this torrent ! Are gentlemen disposed to risk the consequences ? 
 
 146. ON THE JUDICIARY ACT, 1802. — Gouverneur Morris. 
 
 ts?^'^^T^^'^ Morrisania, New York, January 31st, 1752, died November 6tb, 
 
 1818 He was a Delegate to the Continental Congress from New York, and subsequently reJ 
 resented that State in the Senate of the United States, before which body the following speech^ 
 were delivered. He was, for some time, minister from the United States to France, and during 
 bis residence in Europe formed the acquaintance of many historical personages, concerning 
 Whom he has given mteresting facts, in his published diary and letters. 
 
 What will be the situation of these States, organized as they now 
 are. if, by the dissolution of our national compact, they be left to 
 themselves ? What is the probable result ? We shall either be tho 
 fictims of foreign intrigue, and, split into factions, fall under the 
 domination of a foreign power, or else, after the misery and torment 
 of a civil war, become the subjects: of an usurping military despot. 
 What but this compact, what but this specific part of it, can save us 
 from ruin ? The judicial power, that fortress of the Constitution, ia 
 now to be overturned. With honest Ajax, I would not only throw a 
 shield before it, — I would build around it a wall of brass. But I anj 
 too weak to defend *he rampart against the host of assaQants. \ 
 
300 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKEB 
 
 must call to my assistance their good sense, their patriotism and iheij 
 virtue. Do not, Gentlemen, suffer the rage of passion to drive reasoii 
 from her seat ! If this law be indeed bad, let us join to remedy the 
 defects. Has it been passed in a manner which wounded your prida 
 or roufed your resentment ? Have, I conjure you, the magnanimity 
 to pardon that offence I I entreat, I implore you, to sacrifice those 
 angry passions to the interests of our country. Pour out this pride 
 of "opinion on the altar of patriotism. Let it be an expiating liba,' 
 tion for the weal of America. Do not, for God's sake, do not suffer 
 i^liat pride to plunge us all into the abyss of ruin ! 
 
 Indeed, indeed, it will be but of little, very little, avail, whether 
 me opinion or the other be right or wrong ; it will heal no wounds, it 
 will pay no debts, it will rebuild no ravaged towns. Do not rely on 
 that popular will which has brought as frail beings into political exist- 
 ence. That opinion is but a changeable thing. It will soon change. 
 This very measure will change it. You will be deceived. Do not, I 
 beseech you, in a reliance on a foundation so frail, commit the dignity 
 the harmony, the existence of our Nation, to the wild wind ! Trust 
 not your treasure to the waves. Throw not your compass and your 
 charts into the ocean. Do not believe that its billows will waft you 
 into port. Indeed, indeed, you will be deceived ! Cast not away this 
 only anchor of our safety. I have seen its progress. I know the 
 difficulties through which it was obtained : I stand in the presence of 
 Almighty God, and of the world ; and I declare to you, that, if you 
 lose this charter, never, — no, never will you get another ! V/ e are 
 now, perhaps, arrived at the parting point. Here, even here, we 
 stand on the brink of fate. Pause — pause! — for Heaven's sake, 
 pause ! 
 
 147. FREE NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI, 1803. — Gouverneur Morns. 
 
 Sir, I wish for peace ; I wish the negotiation may succeed ; and, 
 therefore, I strongly urge you to adopt these resolutions. But, though 
 you should adopt tiiem, they alone will not insure success. I have no 
 hesitation in saying that you ought to have taken possession of New 
 Orleans and the Floridas, the instant your treaty was violated. You 
 ought to do it now. Your rights are invaded : confidence in negotia- 
 tion is vain ; there is, therefore, no alternative but force. You are 
 exposed to imminent present danger : you have the prospect of great 
 future advantage : you are justified by the clearest principles of right : 
 you are urged by the strongest motives of policy : you are commanded 
 by every sentiment of national dignity. Look at the conduct of Amer- 
 ica in her infant years. When there was no actual invasion of right, 
 but only a claim to invade, she resisted the claim, she spurned the 
 insult. Did we then hesitate ? Did we then wait for foreign alliance 1 
 — animated with the spirit, warmed with the soul of freedom, we 
 threw oui- oaths of allegiance in the face of our sovereign, and com- 
 mittod our fortunes and our fate to *he God of battles. Wo then wert 
 
SENATORIi L. — CLINTON. 
 
 lubjecis. We had not then attained to the dignity of an independent 
 Republio. We then had no rank among the Nations of the earth, 
 Bat we had the spirit which deserved that elevated station. And, now 
 that we havo gained it, shall we fall from our honor ? 
 
 Sir, I repeat to you, that I wish for peace, — real, lasting, honorable 
 peace. To obtain and secure this blessing, let us, by a bold and deci- 
 sive conduct, convince the Powers of Europe that we are determined 
 to defend our rights, — that we will not submit to insult, that we will 
 not bear degradation. This is the conduct which becomes a generous 
 People. This conduct will command the respect of the world. Nay, 
 Sir, it may rouse all Europe to a proper sense of their situation. 
 
 148. AGAINST FOREIGN CONQUEST. — £»e mtt Clinton. Born, 1769 ; died, 1828. 
 In 1802, De Witt Clinton was elected to the Senate of the United States from New York In 
 the month of February, 1803, a debate arose in that body on certain resolutions authorizing the 
 I resident to talie immediate possession of New Orleans, and empowering him to call out thirty 
 thousand militia to effect that object. The following is an extract from Clhitou's speech on the 
 occasion. 
 
 If I were called upon to prescribe a course of policy most important 
 for this country to pursue, it would be to avoid European connections 
 and wars. The time must arrive when we will have to contend with 
 Bome of the great powers of Europe ; but let that period be put oflf as 
 long as possible. It is our interest and our duty to cultivate peace, 
 y'^^th sincerity and good faith. As a young Nation, pursuing industry 
 in every channel, and adventuring commerce in every sea, it is highly 
 important that we should not only have a pacific character, but that 
 we should really deserve it. If wo manifest an unwarrantable ambi- 
 tion, and a rage for conquest, we vuiite all the great powers of Europe 
 against us. The security of all the European possessions in our vicin- 
 ity will eternally depend, not upon tiieir strength, but upon our mod- 
 eration and justice. Look at the Canadas ; at the Spanish territories 
 to the South; at the British, Spanish, French, Danish and Dutch 
 West India Islands ; at the vast countries to the West, as far as where 
 the Pacific rolls its waves. Consider well the eventful consequences 
 that would result, if we were possessed by a spirit of conquest. Oon- 
 Bider well the impression which a manifestation of that spirit will make 
 upon those who would be affected by it. 
 
 ^If we are to rush at once into the territory of a neighboring Nation, 
 with fire and sword, for the misconduct of a subordinate officer, will 
 QOt our national character be greatly injured ? Will we not be ckssed 
 with the robbers and destroyers of mankind ? Will not the Nations 
 of Europe perceive in this conduct the germ of a lofty spirit, and an 
 enterpri3ing ambition, which will level them to the earth, when age 
 has matured our strength, and expanded our powers of annojance. 
 unless they combine to cripple us in our infancy ? May not the con- 
 sequences be, that we must look out for a naval force to protect oui 
 commerce ? that a close alliance will result ? that we will be thrown 
 ftt on 36 into the ocean of European politics, where every wave that 
 rolls and every wind that blows, will agitate our bark ? Is this a 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 iesirable state of things? Will the People of this country be Beduoe<i 
 fnto it by all the colorings of rhetoric, and all the arts of sophistry ; by 
 ceheraent appeals to their pride, and artful addresses to their cupidity ? 
 tsTo, Sir ! Three-fourths of the American People — I assert it boldly; 
 k'^d without fear of contradiction — are opposed to this measure ' And 
 R^ould you take up arms with a mill-stone hanging round youi 
 ticck ? How would you bear up, not only against the force of the 
 3nemy, but against the irresistible current of public opinion ? The 
 fhing. Sir, is impossible; the measure is worse than madness it is 
 «7icked beyond the powers of description ! 
 
 149. AMERICAN INNOVATIONS.— James Mat/ison. Bom 1751 ; dfed, 1836 
 
 James Madison, who served two terms as President of the United States, was a Virginian by 
 fcirth. As a writer and a statesman, he stands among the first of his times. 
 
 Why is the experiment of an extended Republic to be rejected, 
 merely because it may comprise what is new ? Is it not the glory of the 
 People of America, that whilst they have paid a decent regard to the 
 opinions of former times and other Nations, they have not suffered a 
 blind veneration for antiquity, for custom, or for names, to overrule the 
 suggestions of their own good sense, the knowledge of their own situa 
 tion, and the lesson of their own experience ? To this manly spirit, 
 posterity will be indebted for the possession, and the world for the 
 example, of the numerous innovations displayed on the American the- 
 atre, in favor of private rights and public happiness. Had no import 
 aiit step been taken by the leaders of the Revolution, for which a 
 precedent could not be discovered, — no Government established, of 
 which an exact model did not present itself, — the People of the United 
 States might, at this moment, have been numbered among the melan- 
 choly victims of misguided councils ; must, at best, have been laboring 
 under the weight of some of those forms which have crushed the liber- 
 ties of the rest of mankind. Happily for America, — happily, we trust, 
 for the whole human race, — they pursued a new and more noble 
 course. They accomplished a Revolution which has no parallel in the 
 annals of human society. They reared the fabric of Governments 
 which have no model on the face of the globe. They formed the design 
 of a great confederacy, which it is incumbent on their successors to 
 improve and perpetuate. If their works betray imperfections, we 
 wonder at the fewness of them. If they erred most in the structure 
 of the Union, this was the most difficult to be executed ; this is Ihe 
 ,PorV which has been new-modelled by the act of your Conventioii, and 
 it is that act on which you are now to deliberate and to decide, 
 
 150. INTEMPERANCE OF PARTY, 1815. — W^m. Gaston. Born, 1118] rff€<i. 1844. 
 
 Intemperance of party, wherever found, never will meet with an 
 tavocate in me. It is a most calamitous scourge to our country ; the 
 MriQ of social enjoyment, of individual justice, and of public virtue ; 
 unfriendly to the best pursuits of man, his interest and his duty. Seek 
 w uphold your measures by the force of argument not cf ienujicia^ 
 
SENATORIAL — UUINCY, 
 
 lion. Stigmatize nDt opposition to your notions w.th oiFensive epithets. 
 Th^e prove nothing but your anger or your weakness; and they are 
 sure to generate 9 spirit of moral resistance, not easily to be checked or 
 lamed. Give to Presidential views Constitutional respect ; but suffei 
 them not to supersede the exercise of independent inquiry. Encour- 
 age instead of suppressing fair discussion, so that those who approve 
 not may at least have a respectful hearing. Thus, without derogating 
 a particle from the energy of your measures, you will impart a tone 
 to political dissensions which will deprive them of their acrimonj, and 
 render them harmless to the Nation. 
 
 The nominal party distinctions, Sir, have become mere cabalistic 
 terms. It is no longer a question whether, according to the theory of 
 our Constitution, there is more danger of the Federal encroaching on 
 the State Governments, or the Democracy of the State Governments 
 paralyzing the arm of Federal power. Federalism and Democracy 
 have lost their meaning. It is now a question of commerce, peace 
 and Union of the States. On this question, unless the honesty and 
 intelligence of the Nation shall confederate into one great American 
 party, disdaining petty office-keeping and office-hunting views, defying 
 alike the insolence of party prints, the prejudices of faction, and the 
 dominion of Executive influence, I fear a decision will be pronounced 
 fatal to the hopes, fatal to the existence, of the Nation. 
 
 151. AGAINST THE EMBARGO, 1808. -Josiah quincy 
 
 I ASK, in what page of the Constitution you find the power of lay- 
 ing an embargo. Directly given, it is nowhere. Never before did 
 society witness a total prohibition of all intercourse like this, in a com- 
 mercial Nation. But it has been asked in debate, " Will not Massa- 
 chusetts, the cradle of liberty, submit to such privations ? " An 
 embargo liberty was never cradled in Massachusetts. Our liberty was 
 not so much a mountain nymph as a sea nymph. She was free as air. 
 She could swim, or she could run. The ocean was her cradle. Our 
 fathers met her as she came, like the goddess of beauty, from the 
 wa res. They caught her as she was sporting on the beach. They 
 courted her while she was spreading her nets upon the rocks. But an 
 embargo liberty, a hand-cuffed liberty, liberty in fetters, a liberty 
 traversing between the four sides of a prison and beating her heaa 
 against the walls, is none of our offspring. We abjure the monster ! 
 Its parentage is all inland. 
 
 Ib embargo independence ? Deceive not yourselves ! It is palpable 
 submission ! Gentlemen exclaim, " Great Britain smites us on ona 
 chof k ! " And what does Administration ? " It turns the other, also.* 
 Gentlemen say, " Great Britain is a robber; she takes our cloak." And 
 what says Administration ? " Let her take our coat, also." France and 
 Great Britain require you to relinquish a part of your commerce; and 
 you yield it entirely ! At every corner of this great city we meet 
 some gentkmen of the majority wringing their hands, and exclaimiog 
 
801 
 
 THE STi-^DARlJ SPEAKER. 
 
 Wliat shall we do ? Nothing but an embargo will save us. Remove i4 
 and ^hat shall we do ? " Sir, it is not for me, an humble and uninflu 
 ential individual, at an awful distance from the predominant infiuencea 
 io suggest plans of Government. But, to my eye, the path of our dut\ 
 is as distinct as the Milky Way, — all studded with living sapphires, 
 glowing with cumulating light. It is the path of active preparation ; 
 of dignified energy It is the path of 1776 ! It consists not in 
 abandoning our rights, but in supporting them, as they exist, and 
 where they exist, — on the ocean as well as on the land. But I shall 
 be told, " This may lead to war." I ask, " Are we now at peace ?" 
 Certainly not, unless retiring from insult be peace ; unless shrinking 
 under the lash be peace ! The surest way to prevent war is not to fear 
 it. The idea that nothing on earth is so dreadful as war is inculcated 
 tfX) studiously among us. Disgrace is worse ! Abandonment of essen- 
 tial rights is worse ! 
 
 152. PREDICTIONS OF DISUNION, 1820. — Wm. Pinkney. Born, 1765 ; died, 1822 
 
 Sir, the People of the United States, if I do not wholly mistake 
 their character, are wise as well as virtuous. They know the value 
 of that Federal association which is to them the single pledge and 
 guarantee of power and peace. Their warm and pious affections will 
 cling to it, as to their only hope of prosperity and happiness, in defi- 
 ance of pernicious abstractions, by whomsoever inculcated, or howso- 
 ever seductive and alluring in their aspx3ct. Sir, it is not an occasion 
 l^ke this, — although connected, as, contrary to all reasonable expec*« 
 ation, it has been, with fearful and disorganizing theories, whict 
 would make our estimates, whether fanciful or sound, of natural law 
 the measure of civil rights and political sovereignty in the social state, 
 — it is not, I say, an occasion like this, that can harm the Union. I^ 
 must, indeed, be a mighty storm that can push from its moorings this 
 eacred ark of the common safety. It is not every trifling breeze, how- 
 Bver it may be made to sob and howl in imitation of the tempest, by 
 the auxiliary breath of the ambitious, the timid, or the discontented, 
 that can drive this gallant vessel, freighted with everything that is 
 dear to an American bosom, upon the rocks, or lay it a sheer hulk 
 npon the ocean. 
 
 I may, perhaps, mistake the flattering suggestions of hope (the great- 
 est of all flatterers, as we are told) for the conclusions of sober reason, 
 Yet it is a pleasing error, if it be an error, and no man shall take it 
 from me. I will continue to cherish the belief, — ay. Sir, in defiance 
 of the public patronage given to deadly speculations, which, invoking 
 ihe name of Deity to aid their faculties for mischief, strike at ciu 
 astablishmcnts, — I will continue to cherish the belief that the Union 
 of those States is formed to bear up against far greater shocks than, 
 through all vicissitudes, it is ever likely to encounter. I will continue 
 t» cherish the belief that, although, like all other human mstitutions 
 ^ may 'or a season be disturbed, or suffer momentary eclipse by thi 
 
SENATORIAL. — JOHN RANDOLPH. 
 
 30^ 
 
 er^nsh across its disk of some malignant planet, it possesses a recuper 
 ative force, a redeeming energy, in the hearts of the People, that wil) 
 ioon restore it to its wonted calm, and give it back its accustomed 
 splendor. On such a subject I will discard all hysterical apprehen- 
 sions ; I will deal in no sinister auguries ; I will indulge in no hypo- 
 chondriacal forebodings. I will look forward to the future with gaj 
 and cheerful hope, and will make the prospect smile, in fancy at least 
 until overwhelming reality shall render it no longer possible. 
 
 153. BRITISH INFLUENCE, ISn. -/oAn Randolph. Born, 1773; died, 1833. 
 
 John Randolph, an eccentric Statesman, but a man of marked talents, was a Virginian by 
 birth and a descendant, m the seventh generation, from the celebrated Pocahontas, the dau-h- 
 cer of Powhatan, a great Indian chief. ' ° 
 
 Imputations of British influence have been uttered against the 
 opponents of this war. Against whom are these charg8s°brouo-ht ? 
 Against men who, in the war of the Revolution, were in the Councirs of 
 the Nation, or fighting the battles of your country ! And by whom are 
 these charges made ? By runaways, chiefly from the British dominions, 
 since the breakmg out of the French troubles. The great autocrat of 
 all the Russias receives the homage of our high consideration. Tho 
 Dey of Algiers and his divan of Pirates are very civil, good sort of peo- 
 ple, with whom we find no difficulty in maintaining the relations of peace 
 and amity. "Turks, Jews and Infidels," — Melimelli or the Little 
 lurtle, — barbarians and savages of every clime and color, are welcome 
 to our arms. With chiefs of banditti, negro or mulatto, we can treat 
 and can trade. Name, however, but England, and all our antipathies 
 are up ni arms against her. Against whom ? Against those whose 
 blood runs in our veins ; in common with whom we claim Shakspeare, 
 and Newton, and Chatham, for our countrymen ; whose form of govern- 
 ment is the freest on earth, our own only excepted ; from whom every 
 valuable principle of our own institutions has been borrowed, - repre- 
 sentation, jury trial, voting the supplies, writ of habeas corpus, our 
 whole civil and criminal jurisprudence ; — against our fellow Protest- 
 ants, identified in blood, in language, in religion, with ourselves. 
 
 In what school did the worthies of our land — the Washino-tons 
 Henrys, Hancocks, Franklins, liutledges, of America— learn those'^prin^ 
 ciples of civil liberty which were so nobly asserted by their wisdom and 
 valor ? American resistance to British usurpation has not been more 
 ?^armly cherished by these great men and their compatriots, — not more 
 by Washington, Hancock and Henry, — than by Chatham, and his illus- 
 truTis associates in the British Parliament. It ought to be remen-bered, 
 too, that the heart of the English people was with us. It was a selfish 
 and corrupt Ministry, and their servile tools, to whom we were not 
 more opposed than tke^/ were. I trust that none f=uch may ever exist 
 among us ; for tools will never be wanting to subserve the purposes 
 however ruinous or wicked, of kings and ministers of state. I ac- 
 knowledge the influence of a Shakspeare and a Milton apon my im 
 20 
 
S06 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 agination ; of a J^ocke, upon my understanding ; of a Sidney, upDii 
 my political principles ; of a Chatham, upon qualities which would to 
 G-od I possessed in common with that illustrious man ! of a Tillotson a 
 Sherlock, and a Porteus, upon my religion. This is a British indueni.e 
 which I can never shake off. 
 
 154. ON THE GREEK QTs ESTION, 1824 — /ii. 
 
 Perhaps one of the prettiest themes for declamation ever presented 
 to a deliberative assembly is this proposition in behalf of Greece. But; 
 Sir, I look at the measure as one fraught with deep and deadly dange? 
 to the best interests of the American People, Liberty and religion 
 are objects as dear to wy heart as to that of any gentleman in this or 
 any other assembly. But, in the name of these holy words, by this 
 powerful spell, is this Nation to be conjured and persuaded out of the 
 highway of Heaven, — out of its present comparatively happy state, 
 into all the disastrous conflicts arising from the policy of European 
 powers, with all the consequences which flow from them ? 
 
 Sir, I am afraid that along with some most excellent attributes and 
 qualities, — the love of liberty, jury trial, the writ of habeas corpus, 
 and all the blessings of free government, that we have derived from our 
 Anglo-Saxon ancestors, — we have got not a little of their John Bull, 
 or, rather, bull-dog spirit — their readiness to fight for anybody, and on 
 any occasion. Sir, England has been for centuries the game-cock of 
 Europe. It is impossible to specify the wars in which she has been 
 engaged for contrary purposes ; — and she will, with great pleasure, see 
 us take off her shoulders the labor of preserving the balance of power. 
 We find her fighting now for the Queen of Hungary, — then, for her 
 inveterate foe, the King of Prussia ; now at war for the restoration 
 of the Bourbons, — and now on the eve of war with them, for the 
 iliberties of Spain. These lines on the subject were never more appli 
 cable than they have now become : 
 
 " Now Europe 's balanced — neither side prevails 
 For nothing 's left in either of the scales. " 
 
 If we pursue the same policy, we must travel the same road and 
 enduie the same burdens under which England now groans. But, 
 glorious as such a design might be, a President of the United States 
 would, in my apprehension, occupy a prouder place in history, who, when 
 •he retires from office, can say to the People who elected him, I leave you 
 without a debt than if 'le had fought as many pitched battles as Ciesar, 
 or achieved as many naval victories as Nelson. And what. Sir, is debt? 
 In an individua., it is slavery. It is slavery of the worst sort, surpass- 
 ing that of the West India Islands, — for it enslaves the mind as well 
 fts it enslaves the body ; and the creature who can be abject enough to 
 incur and to submit to it receives in that condition of his being an 
 adequate punishment. Of course, I speak of debt, with the exception 
 of unavoidable misfortune. I speak of debt caused by mismanagement, 
 0} unwarrantiibk generosity, by being generous before being just 1 
 
SENATORIAL. JOHN RANDOLPH. 
 
 307 
 
 tnow tha* thh isentiment \ms ridiculed by Sheridan, whose lameiiiabie 
 end was t\ie best commentary upon its truth. No, Sir : let us abandon 
 these projects. Let us say to these seven millions of Greeks, " We 
 defeaded ourselves, when we were but three millions, against a power, 
 in comparison to which the Turk is but as a lamb. Go, and dc thou 
 likewise." 
 
 15f. ON ALTERING THE VIRGINIA CONSTITUTION, 1829.— JoAn Randolph. 
 
 Sir, T see no wisdom in making this provision for future changes.. 
 \ :u must give Governments time to operate on the I^eople, and give 
 the People time to bewme gradually assimilated to their institutions. 
 Almost anything is belter than this state of perpetual uncertainty. A 
 People may have the best form of Government that the wit of man 
 ever devised, and yet, from its uncertainty alone, may, in effect, live 
 under the worst Gov(;rnment in the world. Sir, how often must 1 
 repeat, that change is not reform ? I am willing that this new Con- 
 stitution shall stand as long as it is possible for it to stand ; and that, 
 believe me, is a very short time. Sir, it is vain to deny it. They 
 may say what they please about the old Constitution, — the defect is 
 not^ there. It is not in the form of the old edifice, — neither in the 
 design nor the elevation ; it is in the material — it is in the People 
 of Virginia. To my Jinowledge, that People are changed from what 
 they have been. The four hundred men who went out to David wert 
 in deht. ^ The partisans of Caesar were in deht. The fellow-laborers 
 of Catiline were in deht. And I defy you to show me a desperately 
 indebted People, anywhere, who can bear a regular, sober Government. 
 I throw the challenge to all who hear me. T say that the .character 
 of the good old A^irginia planter — the man who owned from jSve to 
 twenty slaves, or less, who lived by hard work, and who paid his 
 debts — is passed away. A new order of things is come. The period 
 has arrived of liwng by one's wits; of living by contracting debts 
 that one cannot pay; and, above all, of living by office-hunting. 
 
 Sir, what do we see ? Bankrupts — branded bankrupts — givin<r 
 great dinners, sending their children to the most expensive school 
 giving grand parties, and just as well received as anybody in society ! 
 I say that, i-n such a state of things, the old Constitution was too 
 good for them, — they could not bear it. No, Sir ; they could not 
 bear a freehold suffrage, and a property representation. I have always 
 endeavored to do the People justice ; but I will not flatter theu, — \ 
 will not pander to their appetite for change. I will do nothing to 
 provide for change. I will not agree to any rule of future apportion- 
 men'., or to any provision for future changes, called amendments to tho 
 Constitution. Those who love change — who delight in public con- 
 Posion -- who wish to feed the cauldron, and make it bubble — mav 
 vote, if they please, for future changes. But by what spell, bv 
 jrnat formula, are you going to bind the People to all future tiine'f 
 The days of Lycurg-is are gone by, when we coTjld swear the People 
 
308 
 
 THE STANDARD BPEAKER. 
 
 not to alfcei tho Constitution until he should return. Yom may ruakt 
 what entries on parchment you please; — give me a Constitution that 
 will last for half a century ; that is all I wish for. No Constitution 
 that you can make will last the one-half of half a century. Sir, I will 
 stake anything, short of my salvation, that those who are malecontent 
 now will be more malecontent, three years hence, than they aie at this 
 day. I have no favor for this Constitution. I shall vote against its 
 adoption, and I shall advise all the people of my district to set their 
 faces — ay, and their shoulders, too — against it. 
 
 156. IN FAVOR OF A STATE LAW AGAINST DUELLING.- Compilation 
 
 The bill which has been read, Mr. Speaker, claims the serious atteii 
 tion of this House. It is one in which every citizen is deeply inter- 
 ested. Do not, I implore you, confound the sacred name of honor 
 with the practice of duelling, — with that ferocious prejudice which 
 attaches all the virtues to the point of the sword, and is only fitted to 
 make bad men bold. In what does this prejudice consist ? In an 
 opinion the most extravagant and barbarous that ever took possession 
 of the human mind ! — in the opinion that all the social duties are 
 supplied by courage ; that a man is no more a cheat, no more a 
 rascal, no more a calumniator, if he can only fight ; and that steel and 
 gunpowder are the true diagnostics of innocence and worth. And so 
 the law of force is made the law of right ; murder, the criterion of 
 honor ! To grant or receive reparation, one must kill or be killed ! 
 All offences may be wiped out by blood ! If wolves could reason, 
 would they be governed by maxims more atrocious than these ? 
 
 But we are told that public opinion — the opinion of the community 
 in which we live — upholds the custom. And, Sir, if it were so, is 
 there not more courage in resisting than in following a false publiti 
 opinion ? The man with a proper self-respect is little sensitive to tho 
 unmerited contempt of others. The smile of his own conscience in 
 more prized by him than all that the world can give or take away. 
 Is there any guilt to be compared with that of a voluntary homicide ? 
 Could the dismal recollection of blood so shed cease ever to cry for ven- 
 geance at the bottom of the heart ? The man who, with real or alfected 
 gayety and coolness, goes to a mortal encounter with a fellow-being, is, 
 in my eyes, an object of more horror than the brute beast who strivQi 
 to tear in pieces one of his kind. True courage is constant, immuta- 
 ble self-poised. It does not impel us, at one moment, to brave murder 
 and death ; and, the next, to shrink pusillanimously from an injurioui 
 public opinion. It accompanies the good man everywhere, — to thi 
 field of danger, in his country's cause ; to the social circle, to lift his 
 voice in behalf of truth or of the absent ; to the pillow of disease, to 
 fortify him against the trials of sickness, and the approach of death. 
 Sir, if public opinion is unsound on this subject, let us not be partici* 
 y&ntjn in the guilt of upholding a barbarous custom. Let us affix tfl 
 U the brand of legislative rebuke and disqualification. Pass this kiU 
 
SENATCillAL. J. Q. ADAMS. 
 
 309 
 
 md you. do you? part in arresting it. Pass this bill, anJ you place a 
 shield between the man who refuses a challenge and the public opinioo 
 fchat would disgrace him. Pass this bill, and you raise a barrier in the 
 road to honor and preferment, at which the ambitious man will pause 
 and reflect, before engaging in a duel. As fathers, as brothers, as 
 men, and as legislators, I call on this House to suppress an evil whkh 
 strikes at you in all these relations. I call on you to raise your hands 
 against a crime, the disgrace of our land, and the scourge of our peace 
 
 157 THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. — J. Q. Aaams. 
 
 John Quincy Adams, the sixth President of the United States, and son of John Adams the 
 second President, was born at Quincy, Massachusetts, July 11th, 1767. After studying law he 
 entered political life, was appointed minister to the Netherlands by Washington, and filled manj 
 nigh offices, till he reached the highest, in 1825. • He died in the Capitol, at Washington, while 
 a member of the House of Representatives, 1848. His last words, as he fell in a fit, from which 
 ne did not recover, were, "This is the last of earth ! " 
 
 The Declaration of Independence! The interest which, in that 
 paper, has survived the occasion upon which it was issued, — the interest 
 which is of every age and every eimie, — the interest which quickens 
 with the lapse of years, spreads as it grows old, and brightens as it re- 
 cedes, — is in the principles which it proclaims. It was the first solemn 
 declaration by a Nation of the only legitimate foundation of civil Gov- 
 ernment. It was the corner-stone of a new fabric, destined to cover 
 the surface of the globe. It demolished, at a stroke, the lawfulness of 
 all Governments founded upon conquest. It swept away all the rub- 
 bish of accumulated centuries of servitude. It announced, in practical 
 form, to the world, the transcendent truth of the inalienable sovereignty 
 of the People. It proved that the social compact was no figment of 
 the imagination, but a real, solid, and sacred bond of the social union. 
 From the day of this declaration, the People of North America were 
 no longer the fragment of a distant empire, imploring justice and 
 mercy from an inexorable master, in another hemisphere. T^ey were 
 no longer children, appealing in vain to the sympathies of a heartless 
 mother ; no^ longer subjects, leaning upon the shattered columns of 
 royal promises, and invoking the faith of parchment to secure their 
 rights. They were a Nation, asserting as of right, and maintaining by 
 war, its own existence. A Nation was born in a day. 
 
 " How many ages hence 
 Shall this, their lofty scene, be acted o'er, 
 In States unborn, and accents yet unknown 1 " 
 
 ft will be acted o'er, fellow-citizens, but it can never be repeated. It 
 stands, and must forever stand, alone ; a beacon on the summit of the 
 -nountain, to which all the inhabitants of the earth may turn theii 
 eyes, for a genial and saving light, till time shall be lost in eternity, 
 wA this globe itself dissolve, nor leave a wreck behind. It stands foi- 
 > 'ver, a light of admonition to the rulers of men, a light of salvation 
 and redemption to the oppressed. So long as this planet shall be 
 jnhabited by human beings, so long as man shall be of a socia? 
 'aature, s<? long as (Government shall be necesKiry to the great moral 
 
310 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 purposeis of society, so long as it shall be abused to the purposes ol 
 oppression, — so long shall this declaration hold out, to the soFer^igt 
 and to the subject, the extent and the boundaries of their resj>ccti\e 
 rights and duties, founded in the laws of Nature and of Nature's God. 
 
 m WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND FRANKLIN'S &TAF¥.— J. Q. Adams, in i\e U 8 
 House of Representatives, on reception of these memorials by Congress. 
 
 The sword of Washington ! The staff of Franklin ! 0, Sir, what 
 s>-«}ciations are linked in adamant with these names ! Washington, 
 whose sword was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and 
 never sheathed when wielded in his country's cause ! Franklin, the 
 philosopher of the thunderbolt, the printing-press, and the plough- 
 share ! — What names are these in the scanty catalogue of the bene- 
 factors of human kind! Washington and Franklin ! What other twc 
 men, whose lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christendom 
 have left a deeper impression of themselves upon the age in which they 
 lived, and upon all after time ? 
 
 Washington, the warrior and the legislator ! In war, contending, 
 by the wager of battle, for the independence of his country, and for 
 the freedom of the human race, — ever manifesting, amidst its horrors, 
 by precept and by example, his reverence for the laws of peace, and 
 for the tenderest sympathies of humanity ; in peace, soothing the 
 ferocious spirit of discord, among his own countrymen, into harmony 
 and union, and giving to that very sword, now presented to his coun- 
 try, a charm more potent than that attributed, in ancient times, to the 
 lyre of Orpheus. 
 
 Franklin ! — The mechanic of his own fortune ; teaching, in early 
 youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to wealth, and, in the 
 shade of obscurity, the path to greatness ; in the maturity of man- 
 hood, disarming the thunder of its terrors, the lightning of its fatal 
 blast ; and wresting from the tyrant's hand the still more afflictive 
 sceptre of oppression : while descending into the vale of years, travers- 
 ing the Atlantic Ocean, braving, in the dead of winter, the battle and 
 the breeze, bearing in his hand the charter of Independence, which he 
 had contributed to form, and tendering, from the self-created Nation 
 fco the mightiest monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the 
 mercurial wand of commerce, and the amulet of protection and safety 
 to the nian of peace, on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable cruelty 
 and merciless rapacity of war. 
 
 And, finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore winters upou 
 his head, under the torture of an incurable disease, returning to \n» 
 native land, closing his days as the chief magistrate of his adopted 
 'Commonwealth, after contributing by his counsels, under the Presi- 
 dency of Wjishington, and recording his name, under the sanction of 
 devout prayer, invoked by him to God, to that Constitution under thfi 
 authority of which we are here assembled, as the liepresentatives of 
 lihe North Aiuerican People, to receive, in their name and for then*, 
 
iJEN.aORIAL. JACKSON. 
 
 811 
 
 ihose venerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the goA-i Fou idera 
 of our great confederated Republic, — these sacred symbols of Jut 
 golden age. May they be deposited among the archives of our Oov- 
 en^ment! And may every American, who shall hereafter t^-hold 
 ihem, ejaculate a mingled offering of praise to that Supreme Eultr ot 
 the Universe, by whose tender mercies our Union has been hitherto 
 preserved, through all the vicissitudes and revolutions of this turbulent 
 world ; and of prayer for the continuance of these blessings, by the 
 dispensations of Providence, to our beloved country, from age to ago, 
 till time shall be no more ! 
 
 169. UNION LINKED WITH LIBERTY, 1833.— Andrew Jackson. B. 1767; d. 1845 
 
 Without Union, our independence and liberty would never havt 
 been achieved ; without Union, they can never be maintained. Divided 
 into twenty-four, or even a smaller number of separate communities, 
 we shall see our internal trade burdened with numberless restraints 
 and exactions ; communication between distant points and sections 
 obstructed, or cut off ; our sons made soldiers, to deluge with blood the 
 fields they now till in peace ; the mass of our People borne down and 
 impoverished by taxes to support armies and navies; and military 
 leaders, at the head of their victorious legions, becoming our lawgivers 
 and judges. The loss of liberty, of all good Government, of peace, 
 plenty and happiness, must inevitably follow a dissolution of tho 
 Union. In supporting it, therefore, we support all that is dear to tho 
 freeman and the philanthropist. 
 
 The time at which I stand before you is full of interest. The eyes 
 of all Nations are fixed on our Republic. The event of the existing 
 crisis will be decisive, in the opinion of mankind, of the practicability of 
 our Federal system of Government. Great is the stake placed in our 
 hands ; great is the responsibility which must rest upon the People of 
 the United States. Let us realize the importance of the attitude in 
 which we stand before the world. Let us exercise forbearance and 
 firmness. Let us extricate our country from the dangers which sur- 
 round it, and learn wisdom from the lessons they inculcate. Deeply 
 impressed with the truth of these observations, and under the obliga- 
 tion of that solemn oath which I am about to take, I shall continue to 
 exert all my faculties to maintain the just powers of the Constitution, 
 and to transmit unimpaired to posterity the blessings of our Federrw 
 Union. 
 
 At the same time, it will be my aim to inculcate, by my ofiicial acte, 
 the necessity of exercising, by the General (iovernmerit, those powers 
 only tliat are clearly delegated , to encourage simplicity and economy 
 in the expenditures of the Government ; to raise no more money froiL 
 tho People than may be requisite for these objects, and in a manner 
 ihat will best promote the interests of all classes of the community 
 and of all portions of the Union. Constantly bearing in mind that , ii( 
 entering into society, individuals must give up a share of .^borty 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 prese;Te tho Tost." it will be mj desire so to discharge my duties as t* 
 foster with our brethren, in all parts of the country, a spirit of liberal 
 ^^onec■^s:v,ll and compromise ; and, by reconciling our fellow-citizens to 
 those partial sacrifices which they must unavoidably make, for the 
 preservation of a gi-eater good, to recommend our invaluable Govern- 
 ment and Union to the confidence and affections of the American Poo 
 pie. Finally, it is my most fervent prayer to that Almigl-ty Being 
 before whom I now stand, and who has kept us in his hands from tha 
 infancy of our Republic to the present day, that he will so overrule all 
 my intentions and actions, and inspire the hearts of my fellow-citizens, 
 that we may be preserved from dangers of all kinds, and continue for- 
 ever a UNITED AND HAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 160. RESPONSIBILITIES OF A RECOMMENDATION OF WAR. — Horace Binney. 
 
 What are sufficient causes of war, let no man say, let no legislator 
 Bay, until the question of war is directly and inevitably before him. 
 Jurists may be permitted, with comparative safety, to pile tome upon 
 tome of interminable disquisition upon the motives, reasons and causes, 
 of just and unjust war ; metaphysicians may be suffered with impu- 
 nity to spin the thread of their speculations until it is attenuated to a 
 cobweb ; but, for a body created for the government of a great nation, 
 and for the adjustment and protection of its infinitely diversified inter- 
 ests, it is worse than folly to speculate upon the causes of war, until 
 the great question shall be presented for immediate action, — until 
 they shall hold the united question of cause, motive, and presen-t expe- 
 diency, in the very palm of their hands. War is a tremendous evil. 
 Come when it will, unless it shall come in the necessary defence of 
 our national security, or of that honor under whose protection national 
 security reposes, it will come too soon ; — too soon for our national 
 prosperity ; too soon for our individual happiness ; too soon for 
 the frugal, industrious, and virtuous habits of our citizens ; too soon, 
 perhaps, for our most precious institutions. The man who, for any 
 cause, save the sacred cause of public security, which makes all wars 
 defensive, — the man who, for any cause but this, shall promote or 
 compel this final and terrible resort, assumes a responsibility second to 
 none, — nay, transcendently deeper and higher than any, — which man 
 can assume before his fellow-men, or in the presence of God hia 
 Creator. 
 
 101 THE SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES.— Horace Bim es- 
 
 What, Sir, is the Supreme Court of the United States? It ia 
 tha august representative of the wisdom and justice and conscience nf 
 this whole People, in the exposition of their Constitution and laws, 
 ft is the peaceful and venerable arbitrator between the citizens in all 
 questions touching the extent and sway of constitutional power. It i% 
 ^.be ^-eat moral substitute for force in controversies between the 
 Pecj^le, the Strites and the Union. It is that departmwit of Admiuia 
 
SENATORIAL — LEGARE. 
 
 tA-ation whose ealia voice dispenses the blessings of the Constitutiott 
 in the overthrow of all improvident or unjust legislation b} a State, 
 directed against the contracts, the currency, or the intercourse of the 
 People, and iu the maintenance of the lawful authority and institu- 
 tions of the Union, against inroads, by color of law, from all or any of 
 the States, or from Congress itself. If the voice of this tribunal, 
 created by the People, be not authoritative to the People, what voice 
 can be ? None, my fellow-citizens,, absolutely none, but that voice 
 which speaks through the trumpet of the conqueror. 
 
 It has been truly said, by an eminent statesman, " that if that which 
 Congress has enacted, and the Supreme Court has sanctioned, be not 
 the law, then the reign of the law has ceased, and the reign of indi- 
 vidual opinion has began." It may be said, with equal truth, that if 
 that which Congress has enacted, and the Supreme Court has sanc- 
 tioned, be not the law, then has this Government but one department, 
 and it is that which wields the physical force of the country. If the 
 Supreme Court of the Union, or its authority, be taken away, what 
 remains ? Force, and nothing but force, if the Union is to continue 
 at all. The world knows of no other powers of Government, than the 
 power of the law, sustained hj public opinion, and the power of the 
 sword, sustained by the arm that wields it. I hold it, Sir, to be free 
 from all doubt, that wherever an attempt shall be made to destroy this 
 Union, if it is under the direction of ordinary understanding, it will 
 begin by prostrating the influence of Congress, and of the Supreme 
 Court of the United States. 
 
 162. THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES NOT AN EXPERIMENT, 1837.— 
 Hugh S. Legari. Born in South Carolina^ 1797; died, 1843. 
 
 We are told that our Constitution — the Constitution of the United 
 States — is a mere experiment. Sir, I deny it utterly ; and he that 
 fiays so shows me that he has either not studied at all, or studied to 
 very little purpose, the history and genius of our institutions. The 
 great cause of their prosperous results — a cause which every one of 
 the many attempts since vainly made to imitate them, on this conti- 
 nent or in Europe, only demonstrates the more clearly — is precisely 
 the contrary. It is because our fathers made no experiments, and had 
 no experiments to make, that their work has stood. They were 
 foned, by a violation of their historical, hereditary rights under the 
 old common law of their race, to dissolve their connection with the 
 moiLer country. But the whole constitution of society in the States, 
 :ho great body and bulk of their public law, with all its maxims anii 
 [•rinciples, — in short, all that is republican in our institutions, — 
 remained, after .the Revolution, and remains now, with some very 
 subordinate modifications, what it was from the beginning. 
 
 (>ur written constitutions do nothing but consecrate and fortify the 
 plain rules of ancient liberty," handed down with Mag-ia Charta. 
 Sroni the earliest history of our i ace. It is not a piece of paper, Sir 
 
314 
 
 THE STANDARr SPEAKEJtl. 
 
 It h mji a few abstractions engrossed on parchment, that make fret 
 '^lovernfiicnts. No, Sir; the law of liberty must be inscribed on the 
 rieart of the citizen : the word, if I may use the expression without 
 irreverence, must become flesh. You must have a whole People 
 trained, disciplined bred, — yea, and born, — as our fathers were, to 
 institutions like ours. Before the Colonies existed, the Petition of 
 Rights, that Magna Charta of a more enlightened- age, had been pre- 
 sented, in 1628, by Lord Coke and his immortal compeers. Our 
 founders brought it with them, and we have not gone one step beyond 
 them. They brought these maxims of civil liberty, not in their 
 libraries, but in their souls ; not as philosophical prattle, not as 
 barren generalities, but as rules of conduct ; as a symbol of publio 
 duty and private right, to be adhered to with religious fidelity ; and 
 the very first pilgrim that set his foot upon the rock of Plymouth 
 stepped forth a living constitution, armed at all points to defend and 
 to perpetuate the liberty to which he had devoted his whole being. 
 
 163. EMOTIONS ON RETURNING TO THE UNITED STATES, 1837. — Leg-a/ * 
 
 Sir, I dare not trust myself to speak of my country with the rap 
 ture which I habitually feel when I contemplate her marvellous history 
 But this I will say, — that, on my return to it, after an absence of 
 only four years, I was Qlled with wonder at all I saw and all I heard. 
 What is to be compared with it I found New York grown up t<i 
 almost double its former size, with the air of a great capital, instead of 
 a mere flourishing commercial town, as 1 had known it. I listened to 
 accounts of voyages of a thousand miles in magnificent steamboats on the 
 waters of those great lakes, which, but the other day, I left sleeping 
 in the primeval silence of nature, in the recesses of a vast wilderness ; 
 and I felt that there is a grandeur and a majesty in this irresistible 
 onward march of a race, created, as I believe, and elected, to ])ossess 
 and people a Continent, which belong to few other objects, either of 
 the moral or material world. 
 
 We may become so much accustomed to such things that they shall 
 make as little impression upon our minds as the glories of the Heavens 
 above us; but, looking on them, lately, as with the eye of the stranger, 
 I felt, what a recent English traveller is said to have remarked, that^ 
 far from being without poetry, as some have vainly alleged, our whole 
 i»:untry is one groat poem. Sir, it is so; and if there be a man that 
 3-in Ihink of what is doing, in all parts of this most biassed of all 
 Iwda t embellish and advance it, — who can contemplate that living 
 .U'lss d{ intelligence, activity and improvement, as it rolls on, in its 
 sure and steady progress, to the uttermost extremities of the West, — 
 who can see scenes of savage desolation transformed, almost with thp 
 a'lddenness of enchantment, into those of fruitfulness and beauty, 
 jrowned with flourishing cities, filled with the noblest of all popula* 
 clous, — if there be a man, I say, that caiv witness all this, passing 
 inder his very eyes, without feeling his heart beat high, awl hii 
 
SENATORIAL. CLAY. 
 
 Imaginr-tioii warmed and trans|)orted by it be sure. Sir, that the 
 raptures of son^ exist not for him ; he would listen in vain to Tasso oi 
 Oamoens, telling a tale of the wars of knights and crusaders, or of the 
 discovery and 3onquest of another hemisphere. 
 
 164. IN Fi^VOR OF PROSECUTING THE WAR, Ul^.— Henry Clay. 
 
 When the administration was striving, by the operation of peaceful 
 measures, to bring Great Britain back to a sense of justice, the Gentle- 
 men of the opposition were for old-fashioned war. And, now they 
 have got old-fashioned war, their sensibilities are cruelly shocked, anf^, 
 all their sympathies lavished upon the harmless inhabitants of the 
 adjoining Provinces. What does a state of war present ? The united 
 energies of one People arrayed against the combined energies of 
 another ; a conflict in which each party aims to inflict all the injury 
 it can, by sea and land, upon the territories, property, and citizens 
 of the other, — subject only to the rules of mitigated war, practised 
 by civilized Nations. The Gentlemen would not touch the continental 
 provinces of the enemy ; nor, I presume, for the same reason, her pos- 
 sessions in the West Indies. The same humane spirit would spare the 
 seamen and soldiers of the enemy. The sacred person of his Majesty 
 must not be attacked, for the learned Gentlemen on the other side 
 are quite familiar with the maxim that the King can do no wrong. 
 Indeed, Sir, I know of no person on whom we may make war, upon 
 the principles of the honorable Gentlemen, but Mr. Stephen, the 
 celebrated author of the orders in council, or the board of admiralty, 
 who authorize and regulate the practice of impressment ! 
 
 The disasters of the war admonish us, we are told, of the necessity 
 of terminating the contest. If our achievements by land have been 
 less splendid than those of our intrepid seamen by water, it is not 
 because the American soldier is less brave. On the one element, 
 organization, discipline, and a thorough knowledge of their duties, 
 exist, on the part of the officers and their men. On the other, almost 
 everything is yet to be acquired. We have, however, the consolation 
 that our country abounds with the richest materials, and that in no 
 mstance, when engaged in action, have our arms been tarnished. 
 
 An honorable peace is attainable only by an efficient war. My 
 plan would be, to call out the ample resources of the country, give 
 them a judicious direction, prosecute the war with the utmost vigor, 
 strike wherever we can reach the enemy, at sea or on land, and negoti- 
 ate the terms of a peace at Quebec or at Halifax. We are told that 
 England is a proud and lofty Nation, which, disdaining to wait for 
 danger, meets it half way. Haughty as she is, we once triumphed 
 over her ; and, if we do not listen to the councils of timidity and despair 
 we shall again prevail. In such a cause, with the aid of Provide'neG; 
 we must come out crowned with success ; but, if we fail, let us fail like 
 men, --lash ourselves to our gallant tars, and expire together in cue 
 Bommoj struggle, fighting for free trade and seamen's rights ' 
 
31t 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAtER. 
 
 iO-5. DEFENCE OF JEFFERSON, 181Z.— Henry Clay. 
 < 
 
 JSext to the notice which the opposition has found itself called ufxru 
 to bestow upon the French emperor, a distinguished citizen of Virginia 
 formerly President of the United States, has never for a moment failec 
 to receive their kindest and most respectful attention. An honorabU 
 gentleman from Massachusetts, of whom I am sorry to say, it becomes 
 necessary for me, in the course of my remarks, to take some notice, 
 has alluded to him in a remarkable manner. Neither his retirement 
 from public office, his eminent services, nor his advanced age, can 
 exempt this patriot from the coarse assaults of party malevolence, 
 No, Sir ! In 1801, he snatched from the rude hand of usurpation the 
 violated Constitution of his country, — and that is his crime. He pre- 
 served that instrument, in form, and substance, and spirit, a precious 
 inheritance for generations to come, — and for this he can never be for- 
 given. How vain and impotent is party rage, directed against such a 
 man ! He is not more elevated by his lofty residence, upon the sum- 
 mit of his own favorite mountain, than he is lifted, by the serenity of 
 his mind and the consciousness of a well-spent life, above the malig- 
 nant passions and bitter feelings of the day. No ! his own beloved 
 Monticello is not less moved by the storms that beat against its sides, 
 than is this illustrious man, by the bowlings of the whole British pack, 
 let loose from the Essex kennel ! When the gentleman to whom 1. 
 have been compelled to allude shall have mingled his dust with that of 
 his abused ancestors, — when he shall have been consigned to oblivion, 
 or, if he lives at all, shall live only in the treasonable annals of a cer- 
 tain junto, — the name of Jetferson will be hailed with gratitude, his 
 memory honored and cherished as the second founder of the liberties 
 of the People, and the period of his administration will be looked back 
 to as one of the happiest and brightest epochs of American history ' 
 
 166. MILITARY INSUBORDINATION, 1819. — Henry Clay. 
 
 We are fighting a great moral battle, for the benefit, not only of our 
 country, but of all mankind. The eyes of the whole world are in fixed 
 attention upon us. One, and the largest portion of it, is gazing with 
 contempt, with jealousy, and with envy ; the other portion, with hope, 
 with confidence, and with affection. Everywhere the black cloud of 
 legitimacy is suspended over the world, save only one bright spot, 
 which breaks out from the political hemisphere of the West, to en- 
 lighten, and animate, and gladden, the human heart. Obscure thai 
 by the downfall of liberty here, and all mankind are enshrouiled in a 
 j^all of universal darkness. To you, Mr. Chairman, belongs the high 
 privilojie of transmitting, unimpaired, to posterity, the fair charactcT 
 and xioerty of oar country. Do you expect to execute this high trust 
 by trampling, or suffering to be trampled down, law, justice, the Con^ 
 •titution, and the rights of the People ? by exhibiting examples of 
 jikimanity. and cruelty, and ambition ^ When the minions ol desooj 
 
bENATORIAL. CLAY. 
 
 usm heard, in Europe, of the seizure of Pensarvla, how did the^ 
 ehuckie, and chide the admirers of our institutions, tauntingly pointing 
 fo the demonstration of a spirit of injustice and aggrandizement made 
 oj our country, in the midst of an amicable negDtiation ! Behold, 
 Baid they, the conduct of those who are constantly reproaching Kings I 
 Fou saw how those admirers were astounded and hung their heads. 
 Yon saw, too, when that illustrious man who presides over us adopted 
 his pacific, moderate, and just course, how they once more lifted up 
 their heads, with exultation and delight beaming in their countenances. 
 And you saw how those minions themselves were finally compelled to 
 unite in the general praises bestowed upon our Government. Beware 
 how you forfeit this exalted character ! Beware how you give a fatal 
 sanction, in this infant period of our republic, scarcely yet two-score 
 years old, to military insubordination ! Remember that Greece had 
 her Alexander, Rome her Caesar, England her Cromwell, France her 
 Bonaparte ; and that, if we would escape the rock on which they split, 
 we must avoid their errors. 
 
 I hope gentlemen will deliberately survey the awful isthmus on 
 which we stand. They may bear down all opposition ; they may even 
 vote the General * the public thanks ; they may carry him triumph-! 
 antly through this House. But, if they do, in my humble judgment, 
 it will be a triumph of the principle of insubordination, a triumph of 
 the military over the civil authority, a triumph over the powers of this 
 Elouse, a triumph over the Constitution of the land. And I pray most 
 devoutly to Heaven, that it may not prove, in its ultimate effects and 
 oonsequences. a triumph over the liberties of the People ! 
 
 167. THE NOBLEST PUBLIC MRTUE, — Henry Clay. 
 
 There is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do net 
 possess, — a boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor which I cannot 
 covet. I cannot lay myself down in the way of the welfare and hap- 
 piness of my country. That, I cannot, — I have not the courage to do. 
 I cannot interpose the power with which I may be invested — a power 
 conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement, but 
 for my country's good — to check her onward march to greatness and 
 glory. I have not courage enough. I am too cowardly for that. I 
 would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a threat, lie down, and 
 place my body across the path that leads my country to prosperity and 
 happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different from that which 
 a man may display in his private conduct and personal relations. Per* 
 aonal or private courage is totally distinct from that higher and nobler 
 GC'Urage which prompts the patriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice 
 to his country's good. 
 
 Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness sometimes 
 jmpel us to pofform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is tie great<«t 
 
 ♦General Ja<$k80D 
 
THE SIANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 ^oarage to be able to bear the imputation of the vrau+ of courage. Btrt 
 pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and offensive in private life, arp 
 vices which partake of the character of crimes, in the conduct of publii 
 affliirs. The unfortunate victim of these passions cannot see beyond the 
 little, petty, contemptible circle of his own personal interests. All his 
 thougbts are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on his am- 
 Bistency, his firmness, himself! The high, the exalted, tlie sublime 
 emotions of a patriotism which, soaring towards Heaven, rises far above 
 all mean, low, or selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-transport' 
 ing thought of the good and the glory of one's country, are never felt 
 in his impenetrable bosom. That patriotism which, catching its inspir- 
 ations from the immortal God, and, leaving at an immeasurable distance 
 below all lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates 
 and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of 
 death itself, — that is public virtue ; that is the noblest, the sublimftst 
 of all public virtues ! 
 
 168. THE EXPUNGING RESOLUTION, 18ST. — Henry Clay. 
 
 The Senate having, in 18,34, passed resolutions to the effect that President Jackson had 
 assumed and exercised powers not granted by the Constitution, notice was given of a motion 
 10 expuiige the same, which motion was taken up and carried in 1837, when the majority of the 
 Senate was of a different party complexion. 
 
 What patriotic purpose is to be accomplished by this expunging 
 resolution ? Can you make that not to be which has been ? Can you 
 eradicate from memory and from history the fact that, in March, 1834, 
 a majority of the Senate of the United States passed the resolution 
 which excites your enmity ? Is it your vain and vvicked object to 
 arrogate to yourselves that power of annihilating the past which has 
 been denied to Omnipotence itself? Do you intend to thrust your 
 hands into our hearts, and to pluck out the deeply-rooted convictions 
 which are there ? Or, is it your design merely to stigmatize us ^ 
 You cannot stigmatize us ! 
 
 " Ne'er yet did base dishonor blur our name." 
 
 Standing securely upon our conscious rectitude, and bearing aloft the 
 Bhicld of the Constitution of our country, your puny efforts are impo- 
 tent, and we defy all your power ! 
 
 But why should I detain the Senate, or needlessly waste my breath 
 tn fruitless exertions? The decree has gone forth. It is one of 
 urgency, too. Tlie deed is to be done, — that foul deed, which, like 
 the stain on the hands of the guilty Macbeth, all ocean's waters will 
 Q(5ver wash out. Proceed, then, to the noble work which lies before 
 you ; and. like other skilful executioners, do it quickly. And, when 
 you have perpetrated it, go home to the People, and tell them what 
 glorious honors you have achieved for our common country. T'll] thcni 
 thai you have extinguished one of the brightest and purest lights that 
 ever burnt at the altar of civil liberty. Tell them that you havo 
 silrn'^(3cl on> of the noblest batteries that ever thundered in d^feiKie of 
 
SENATORIAL. CLAY. 
 
 the CoRstiiattm, and that you have bravely spiked the caiinou. Toll 
 them that, henceforward, no matter what daring or outrageous act any 
 President may perform, you have forever hermetically sealed the mouth 
 of the Senate. Tell them that he may fearlessly assume what [lOwer 
 he pleases, — snatch from its lawful custody the Public Purse, com- 
 mand a military detachment to enter the halls of the Capitol, overa we 
 Congress, trample down the Constitution, and raze every bulwark of 
 freedom, — but that the Senate must stand mute, in silent submission, 
 and not dare to lift an opposing voice ; that it must wait until a House 
 of Representatives, humbled and subdued like itself, and a majority of 
 it composed of the partisans of the President, shall prefer articles of 
 impeachment. Tell them, finally, that you have restored the glorious 
 doctrine of passive obedience and non-resistance ; and, when you have 
 told them this, if the People do not sweep you from your places with 
 their indignation, I have yet to learn the character of American fre? 
 men ! 
 
 169. ON RECOGNIZING THE INDEPENDENCE OF GREECE, 1824. — Clap. 
 
 Are we so low, so base, so despicable, that we may not express oui 
 horror, articulate our detestation, of the most brutal and atrocious war 
 that ever stained earth, or shocked high Heaven, with the ferocious deeds 
 of a brutal soldiery, set on by the clergy and followers of a fanatical and 
 inimical religion, rioting in excess of blood and butchery, at the mere 
 details of which the heart sickens ? If the great mass of Christendom can 
 look coolly and calmly on, while all this is perpetrated on a Christian 
 People, in their own vicinity, in their very presence, let us, at least, 
 show that, in this distant extremity, there is still some sensibility anJ. 
 sympathy for Christian wrongs and sufferings ; that there are still 
 feelings which can kindle into indignation at the oppression of a Peo- 
 ple endeared to us by every ancient recollection, and every modern tie 
 But, Sir, it is not first and chiefly for Greece that I wish to see this 
 measure adopted. It will give them but little aid, — that aid purely 
 of a moral kind. It is, indeed, soothing and solacing, in distress, to 
 hear the accents of a friendly voice. We know this as a People. 
 But, Sir, it is principally and mainly for America herself, for the credit 
 and character of our common country, that I hope to see this resolu- 
 tion pass it is for our own unsullied name that I feel. 
 
 What appearance, Sir, on the page of history, would a record like 
 Uiis make : — " In the month of J anuary, in the year of our Lord and 
 Saviour 1824, while all European Christendom beheld with cold, 
 infceling apathy the unexampled wrongs and inexpressible misery of 
 (Jhristian Greece, a proposition was made in the Congress of the 
 (Tnited States, — almost the sole, the last, the greatest repository 
 of human hope and of human freedom, the representatives of a Nation 
 upable of bringing into the field a million of bayonets, — while the 
 freemen of that Nation were spontaneously expressing its deep-toned 
 teeliag. its fervent prayer for Grecian success ; while the whole Con 
 
320 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 tinent was rising, by one simultaneous motion, solemnly and anxiotjisii 
 supplicating and invoking the aid of Heaven to spare Greece, and tc 
 invigorate her arms; while temples and senate-houses were all resound* 
 ing with one burst of generous sympathy ; — in the year of our Lord 
 and Saviour, — that Saviour alike of Christian Greece and of us, — a 
 proposition was offered in the American Congress, to send a messenger 
 to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, with an expression 
 of our good wishes and our sympathies ; — and it was rejected ! " Go 
 home, if you dare, — go home, if you can,— to your constituents, and tell 
 them that you voted it down ! Meet, if you dare, the appalling coun- 
 tenances of those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank 
 from the declaration of your own sentiments ; that, you cannot tell 
 how, but that some unknown dread, some indescribable apprehension, 
 some indefinable danger, afi"righted you ; that the spectres of cimeters 
 and crowns, and crescents, gleamed before you, and alarmed you ; and, 
 that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, by lib- 
 erty, by National independence, and by humanity ! I cannot bring 
 myself to believe that such will be the feeling of a majority of this 
 House. 
 
 170. ON THE PROSPECT OF WAR, mi. — John C. Calhoun. Born, 1782 ; rf/erf, 1850. 
 
 We are told of the danger of war. We are ready to acknowledge 
 its hazard and misfortune, but I cannot think that we have any extraor- 
 dinary danger to apprehend, — at least, none to warrant an acquies- 
 cence in the injuries we have received. On the contrary, I believe no 
 war would be less dangerous to internal peace, or the safety of the 
 country. 
 
 In speaking of Canada, the gentleman from Virginia introduced the 
 name of Montgomery with much feeling and interest. Sir, there ia 
 danger in that name to the gentleman's argument. It is sacred to 
 heroism ! It is indignant of submission ! It, calls our memory back 
 to the time of our Revoluticn, — to the Congress of 1774 and 1775. 
 Suppose a speaker of that day had risen and urged all the arguments 
 which we have heard on this occasion : had told that Congress, " Your 
 contest is about the right of laying a tax ; the attempt on Canada has 
 nothing to do with it ; the war will be expensive ; danger and devasta- 
 tion will overspread our country, and the power of Great Britain is 
 irresistible " ? With what sentiment, think you, would such doctrines 
 have been received ? Happy for us, they had no force at that period 
 of our country's glory. Had such been acted on, this hall would never 
 have witnessed a great People convened to deliberate for the general 
 good ; a miglity Empire, with prouder prospects than any Nation tho 
 Bun ever shone on, would not have risen in the West. No ! we would 
 ^rave been vile, su})jected Colonies • governed by that imperious rod 
 which Britain holds over her distant Provinces. 
 
 The Gentleman is at a loss to account for what he call/5 our hatrec 
 GO England. He asks, How can we hate tne country f<ocke, of 
 
SENATORIAL. ::ALnOT)N . 52 1 
 
 N"ewton, Hampden and Chatham; a country ha vhig the .same language 
 and customs with ourselves, and descended from a common ancestry ? 
 Sir, the laws of human affections are steady and uniform. If we have 
 so much to attach us to that country, powerful, indeed, must be the 
 cause which lias overpowered it. Yes, Sir ; there is a cause strong 
 enough. Not that occult, courtly affection which he has supposed to 
 be entertained for France ; but continued and unprovoked insult and 
 injury, — a cause so manifest, that the Gentleman had to exert much 
 vugenuity to overlook it. But, in his eager admiration of that coun- 
 try, he has not been sufficiently guarded in his argument. Has he 
 reflected on the cause of that admiration ? Has he examined the rea- 
 sons of our high regard for her Chatham ? It is his ardent patriot- 
 ism nis heroic courage, which could not brook the least insult or 
 injury offered to his country, but thought that her interest and honoi 
 ouglit to be vindicated, be the hazard and expense what they might. 
 I hope, when we are called on to admire, we shall also be asked to 
 imitate. 
 
 171. AGAINST THE FORCE BILL, 1833. — John C. Calhoun. 
 
 It is said that the bill ought to pass, because the law must be 
 enforced. The law must he enforced/ The imperial edict must be 
 executed I It is under such sophistry, couched in general terms, with- 
 out looking to the limitations which must ever exist in the practical 
 exercise of power, that the most cruel and despotic acts ever have been 
 covered. It was such sophistry as this that cast Daniel into the lions' 
 den, and the three Innocents into the fiery furnace. Under the same 
 sophistry the bloody edicts of Nero and Caligula were executed. The 
 law must be enforced! Yes, the act imposing the tea-tax " must be 
 executed." This was the very argument which impelled Lord North 
 and his administration in that mad career which forever separated us 
 from the British Crown. Under a similar sophistry, " that religion 
 must be protected," how many massacres have been perpetrated, and 
 how many martyrs have been tied to the stake ! What ! acting on 
 this vague abstraction, are you prepared to enforce a law, without con- 
 sidering whether it be just or unjust, constitutional or unconstitu- 
 tional ? Will you collect money when it is acknowledged that it is 
 not wanted ? He who earns the money, who digs it from the earth 
 with the sweat of his brow, has a just title to it, against the universe, 
 tso one has a right to touch it without his consent, except his govern ■ 
 QoeDt, and that only to the extent of its legitimate wants; — to take 
 more is robbery ; and you propose by this bill to enforce robbery by 
 paurder ^ Yes ! to this result you must come, by this miserable soph- 
 istry, this vague abstraction of enforcing the law, without a regard tc 
 fche fact whether the law be just or unjust, constitutional or unconsti 
 tutional! 
 
 In the same spirit we are told that the Union must be pTeserved 
 without regard to the means. And how is it proposed to preserve th 
 
B22 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 (Jnion '? By force. Does any man, in bis senses, believe inat tTau 
 beautiful -structure, this harmonious aggregate of States, produced bj 
 the joint consent of all, can be preserved by force ? Its very iutrO' 
 duction would be the certain destruction of this Federal Union. No, 
 DO ! You cannot keep the States united in their constitutional and fed- 
 eral bonds by force. Has reason fled from our borders ? Have w« 
 ijeased to reflect ? It is madness to suppose that the Union can be 
 preserved by force. I tell you, plainly, that the Bill, should it pass, 
 cannot be enforced. It will prove only a blot upon your statute-bookj 
 a reproach to the year, and a disgrace to the American Senate. I 
 repeat that it will not be executed ; it will rouse the dormant spirit of 
 the People, and open their eyes to the approach of despotism. The 
 country has sunk into avarice and political corruption, from which 
 nothing can arouse it but some measure on the part of the Govern- 
 ment, of folly and madness, such as that now under consideration. 
 
 172. THE PURSE AND THE SWORD, 1836. — JoAn C. Calhoun. 
 
 There was a time, in the better days of the Republic, when, to show 
 what ought to be done, was to insure the adoption of the measure. 
 Those days have passed away, I fear, forever. A power has risen up 
 in the Government greater than the People themselves, consisting of 
 many, and various, and powerful ■ interests, combined into one mass, 
 and held together by the cohesive power of the vast surplus in the 
 banks. This mighty combination will be opposed to any change j and 
 it is to be feared that, such is its influence, no measure to which it is 
 opposed can become a law, however expedient and necessary ; and that 
 the public money will remain in their possession, to be disposed of, not 
 as the public interest, but as theirs, may dictate. The time, indeed, 
 seems fast approaching, when no law can pass, nor any honor can be con- 
 ferred, from the Chief Magistrate to the tide-waiter, without the assent 
 of this powerfal and interested combination, which is steadily becoming 
 the Government itself, to the utter subversion of the authority of the 
 People. Nay, I fear we are in the midst of it ; and I look with 
 anxiety to the fate of this measure, as the test whether we are or not. 
 
 If nothing should be done, — if the money which justly belongs to 
 the People be left where it is, with the many and overwhelming objec- 
 tions to it, — the fact will prove that a great and ladical change has been 
 effected ; that the Government is subverted ; that the authority of the 
 People is suppressed by a union of the banks and the Executive, — » 
 jnion a hundred times more dangerous than that of Church and State, 
 against which the Constitution has so jealously guarded. It would be 
 the announcement of a state of things, from which, it is to be feared, 
 there can be no recovery, — a state ©f boundless corruption, and th<! 
 lowest and basest subserviency. It seems to be the order of Provi- 
 dence that, with the exception of these, a People may recover from 
 any other evil. Piracy, robbery, and violence of every description 
 m&y as history proves, be succeeded by virtue, patriotism, and natiop 
 
SENATORIAL. CALHOUN. 
 
 32S 
 
 al greatness ; but where is tha example to be found of a degenerate, 
 corrupt, and subservient People, who have ever recovered their virtue 
 and patriotism ? Their doom has ever been the lowest state of wretch* 
 ednesa and misery : scorned, trodden down, and obliterated forever 
 fipona the list of nations ! May Heaven grant that such may never be 
 our doom . 
 
 173. LIBERTY THE MEED OF INTELLIGENCE, 18iS.—John C. Calhoun. 
 
 Society can no more exist without Government, in one form or 
 another, than man without society. It is the political, then, which 
 Includes the social, that is his natural state. It is the one for which 
 his Creditor formed him, into which he is impelled irresistibly, and in 
 which only his race can exist, and all his faculties be fully developed. 
 Such being the case, it follows that any, the worst form of Govern- 
 ment, is better than anarchy ; and that individual liberty, or freedom, 
 must be subordinate to whatever power may be necessary to protect 
 society against anarchy within, or destruction from without ; for the 
 safety and well-being of society are as paramount to individual liberty, 
 as the safety and well-being of the race is to that of individuals ; and, 
 in the same proportion, the power necessary for the safety of society 
 is paramount to individual liberty. On the contrary. Government hast 
 no right to control individual liberty, beyond what is necessary to the 
 safety and well-being of society. Such is the boundary which separ- 
 ates the power of Government, and the liberty of the citizen, or sub- 
 ject, in the political state, which, as I have shown, is the natural state 
 of man, — the only one in which his race can exist, and the one in 
 which he is born, lives, and dies. 
 
 It follows, from all this, that the quantum of power, on the part of 
 the Government, and of liberty on that of individuals, instead of being 
 equal in all cases, must, necessarily, be very unequal among different 
 people, according to their different conditions. For, just in proportion 
 as a People are ignorant, stupid, debased, corrupt, exposed to violence 
 within and danger without, the power necessary for Government to 
 possess, in order to preserve society against anarchy and destruction, 
 becomes greater and greater, and individual liberty less and less, until 
 the lowest condition is reached, when absolute and despotic power be- 
 comes necessary on the part of the Government, and individual liberty 
 extinct. So, on the contrary, just as a People rise in the scale of 
 intelligence, virtue and patriotism, and the more perfectly they bo 
 come acquainted with the nature of Government, the ends for whicb 
 it was ordered, and how it ought to be administered, and the less the 
 tendency to violence and disorder within and danger from abroad, 
 the power necessary for Government becomes less and less, and indi 
 vidual liberty greater and greater. Instead, then, of all men having 
 the same right to liberty and equality, as is claimed by those who 
 hold that they are all born free and equal, liberty is the noble and 
 Bighess reward bestowed on mental and moral development, combinr'd 
 
824 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 with fuvorabb (arcumstances. Instead, then, of Kberty and equalitrj 
 being born with man, — instead of all men, and all classes and descrip. 
 tions, being equally entitled to them, — they are high prizes to be won 
 and are, in their most perfect state, not only the highest reward tlai 
 san be bestowed on our race, but the most difficult to be won, and, 
 when won, the most difficult to be preserved. 
 
 174. POPULAR INTEREST IN ELECTIONS. — Geo. McDuffie. 
 
 Serrge McDuffie, a distinguished citizen of South Carolina, studied law with John C. Cal- 
 ti mn, and entered Congress in 1821, where he gained great reputation as a Speaker. His style 
 ©f elocution was passionate and impetuous. He died in 1851. 
 
 We have been frequently told that the farmer should attend to his 
 plough, and the mechanic to his handicraft, during the canvass for the 
 Presidency. Sir, a more dangerous doctrine could not be inculcated. 
 If there is any spectacle from the contemplation of which I would 
 shrink with peculiar horror, it would be that of the great mass of the 
 American People sunk into a profound apathy on the subject of their 
 highest political interests. Such a spectacle would be more portentous, 
 to the eye of intelligent patriotism, than all the monsters of the earth, 
 and fiery signs of the Heavens, to the eye of trembling superstition. 
 If the People could be indifferent to the fate of a contest for the Pres- 
 idency, they would be unworthy of freedom. 
 
 " Keep the People quiet ! Peace ! Peace ! " Such arc the whis- 
 pers by which the People are to be lulled to sleep, in the very crisis 
 of their highest concerns. Sir, " you make a solitude, and call it 
 peace ! " Peace ? 'T is death ! Take away all interest from the Peo- 
 pie in the election of their Chief Ruler, and liberty is no more. 
 What, Sir, is to be the consequence ? If the People do not elect the 
 President, somebody must. There is no special Providence to decide 
 the question. Who, then, is to make the election, and how will it 
 operate ? Make the People indifferent, destroy their legitimate influ- 
 ence, and you communicate a morbid violence to the efforts of those 
 who are ever ready to assume the control of sach affairs, the merce- 
 nary intriguers and interested office-hunters of the country. Tell mg 
 not, Sir of popular violence ' Show me a hundred political faction- 
 ists, — men who look to the election of a President as a means of 
 gratifying their high or their low ambition, — and I will show you the 
 very materials for a mob, ready for any desperate adventure, connected 
 with their common fortunes. The People can have no such motives ; 
 they look only to the interest and glory of the country. 
 
 There was a law of Athens, which subjected every citizen to pun- 
 iishment, who refused to take sides in the political parties which divided 
 the llepublic. It was founded in the deepest wisdom. The ambitious 
 few will inevitably acquire the ascendency, in the conduct of human 
 affairs, if the patriotic many, the People, are not stimulated and 
 reused to a proper activity and effort. Sir, no Nation on earth has 
 ever exerted «o extensive an influence on human affairs as this will 
 
SENATORIAL. — SERGEANT. 
 
 eertainly exercise, if we preserve our glorious system of Government 
 m its pur'ty. The liberty of this country is a sacred depository — a 
 vestal fire, which Providence has committed to us for the general benefit 
 Df mankind. It is the world's last hope. Extinguish it, and the 
 earth will be covered with eternal darkness. But once put out that 
 fire, and I " know not where is the Promethean heat which can that 
 light relume." 
 
 176. MILITARY QUi^LmCATIONS DISTINCT FROM CIVIL, 1828. —^o^n «>er^ec«£ 
 
 It has been maintained that the genius which constitutes a grea* 
 military man is a very high quality, and may be equally useful in the 
 Cabinet and in the field ; that it has a sort of universality equally 
 applicable to all affairs. We have seen, undoubtedly, instances of a 
 rare and wonderful combination of civil and military qualifications 
 both of the highest order. That the greatest civil qualifications may 
 be found united with the highest military talents, is what no one will 
 deny who thinks of Washington. But that such a combination is 
 rare and extraordinary, the fame of Washington sufficiently attests. 
 If it were common, why was he so illustrious ? 
 
 I would ask, what did Cromwell, with all his military genius, do 
 for England ? He overthrew the Monarchy, and he established Dic- 
 tatorial power in his own person. And what happened next ? An- 
 other soldier overthrew the Dictatorship, and restored the Monarchy 
 The sword efiected both. Cromwell made one revolution ; and Monk 
 another. And what did the People of England gain by it* 
 Nothing. Absolutely nothing ! The rights and liberties of English- 
 men, as they now exist, were settled and established at the Revolution 
 in 1688. Now, mark the difference ! By whom was that Revolu- 
 tion begun and conducted ? Was it by soldiers ? by military 
 genius ? by the sword ? No ! It was the work of statesmen and 
 of eminent lawyers, — men never distinguished for military exploits 
 The faculty — the dormant faculty — may have existed. That is what 
 no one can affirm or deny. But it would have been thought an 
 absurd and extravagant thing to propose, in reliance upon this possible 
 dormant faculty, that one of those eminent statesmen and lawyers 
 ehould be sent, instead of the Duke of Marlborough, to command the 
 English forces on the Continent ! 
 
 Who achieved the freedom and the independence of this our owQ 
 country ? Washington effected much in the field ; but where were 
 fche Franklins, the Adamses, the Hancocks, the Jefiersons, and the 
 r^ees, — the band of sages and patriots, whose memory we revere ? 
 They were assembled in Council. The heart of the Revolution beat 
 111 the Hall of Congress. There was the power which, beginning 
 with appeals to the King and to the British Nation, at length made 
 an irresistible appeal to the world, and consummated the Revolution 
 by the Declaration of Independence, which Washington established 
 i^ith tneir authority, and, bearing their commission, supported 
 
326 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKEB 
 
 *rms. And ^^hat has this band of patriots, of sagos, anl of states- 
 men, given to us ? Not what . Caesar gave to Rome ; not what Crom. 
 well gave to England, or Napoleon to France : thej established for w, 
 the great principles of civil, political, and religious liberty, upon the 
 strong foundations on which they have hitherto stood. There may 
 have been military capacity in Congress ; but can any one deny thai 
 St is to the wisdom of sages, Washington being one, we arfi 
 ffidebted for the signal blessings we enjoy ? 
 
 176. OPPOSITION TO MISGOVERNMENT, IBU. — Webster. 
 
 All the evils which afflict the country are imputed to opposition. 
 It is said to be owing to opposition that the war became necessary, and 
 owing to opposition, also, that it has been prosecuted with no better 
 success. This, Sir, is no new strain. It has been sung a thousand 
 times. It is the constant tune of every weak and wicked adminis- 
 tration. What minister ever yet acknowledged that the evils which 
 fell on his country were the necessary consequences of his own inca- 
 pacity, his own folly, or his own corruption ? What possessor of 
 political power ever yet failed to charge the mischiefs resulting from 
 his own measures upon those who had uniformly opposed those meas- 
 ures? The people of the United States may well remember the 
 administration of Lord North. He lost America to his country, yet 
 he could find pretences for throwing the odium upon his opponents. 
 He couFd throw it upon those who had forewarned him of conse- 
 quences, and who had opposed him, at every stage of his disastrous 
 policy, v/ith all the force of truth, reason and talent. It was not his 
 own weakness, his own ambition, his own love of arbitrary power, that 
 disaifected the Colonies. It was not the Tea Act, the Stamp Act, 
 the Boston Port Bill, that severed the empire of Britain. 6, no ! 
 It was owing to no fault of Administration. It was the work of 
 Opposition. It was the impertinent boldness of Chatham, the idle 
 declamation of Fox, the unseasonable sarcasm of Barre. These men, 
 and men like them, would not join the minister in his American war. 
 They would not give the name and character of wisdom to what they 
 believed to be the extreme of folly. They would not pronounce those 
 measures just and honorable which their principles led them to con- 
 demn. They declared the minister's war to be wanton. They fore- 
 saw its end, and pointed it out plainly, both to the minister and to the 
 country. He declared their opposition to be selfish and factious. Ha 
 ^wrsisted in his course ; and the result is in history. 
 
 Important as I deem it. Sir, to discuss, on all proper occasions, tho 
 policy of the measures at present pursued, it is still more imj^jitani 
 to maintain the right of such discussion in its full and just extent, ' 
 Sentiments lately sprung up, and now growing popular, render it 
 oecessary to be explicit on this point. It is the ancient and constitu- 
 doiial right of this people to canvass public measures, and the meritu 
 
SENATORIAL. — WEBSTER. 
 
 327 
 
 of public men. It is a home-bred right, a fireside ft^nilege. It haa 
 ever heen enjoyed in every house, cottage and cabin, in the Natioa 
 It is not to be drawn into controversy. It is as undoubted as the 
 right of breathing the air and 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 fiud ine 
 to abandon. This high constitutional privilege I shall defend and 
 exercise within this House, and without this House, and in all places ; 
 in time of war, in time of peace, and at all times. Living, I will 
 assert it ; dying, I will assert it ; and, should I leave no other legacy tc 
 my children, by the blessing of God I will leave them the inheritance 
 of free principles, and the example of a manly, independent, an(' 
 constitutional defence of them ! 
 
 177 MORAL FORCE AGAINST PHYSICAL, Jan. 19, 1823. — Webster. 
 
 The time has been. Sir, indeed, when fleets, and armies, and sub 
 sidies, were the principal reliances, even in the best cause. But, hap 
 pily for mankind, there has come a great change in this respect, 
 Moral causes come into consideration, in proportion as the progress oi 
 knowledge is advanced ; and the public opinion of the civilized world 
 IS rapidly gaining an ascendency over mere brutal force. It is already 
 able to oppose the most formidable obstruction to the progress of 
 injustice and oppression ; and, as it grows more intelligent, and more 
 intense, it will be more and more formidable. It may be silenced by 
 military power, but it cannot be conquered. It is elastic, irrepress- 
 ible, and invulnerable to the weapons of ordinary t irfare. It is that 
 impassable, unextinguishable enemy of mere violence and arbitrarv 
 rule, which, like Milton's angels, 
 
 " Vital in every part, 
 Cannot, out by annihilating, die." 
 
 Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is in vain for power to talk 
 either of triumphs or of repose. No matter what fields are desolated, 
 what fortresses surrendered, what armies subdued, or what provinces 
 overrun. In the history of the year that has passed by us, and in 
 the instance of unhappy Spain, we have seen the vanity of all tri- 
 umphs, in a cause which violates the general sense of justice of the 
 civilized world. It is nothing that the troops of France have passed 
 from the Pyrenees to Cadiz ; it is nothing that an unhappy and pros- 
 trate Nation has fallen before them ; it is nothing that arrests, and 
 confiscation, and execution, sweep away the little remnant of naticoal: 
 existence. There is an enemy that still exists, to check the gloiy of 
 these triumphs. It follows the conqueror back to tlie very scene of 
 his ovations ; it calls upon him to take notice that Europe, though 
 silent, is yet indignant ; it shows him that the sceptre of his victory 
 is a barren sceptre, — that it shall confer neither joy nor honor, nui 
 ehall moulder to dry ashes in his grasp. In tlu* midst of his exiu^i^ 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKEJl. 
 
 tion, it piercer his ear with the cry of injured justice ; it denounoa 
 against him the indignation of an enlightened and civilized age : it 
 turns to bitterness the cup of his rejoicing, and wounds him with the 
 Bting wiiich belongs to the consciousness of having outraged tht 
 opinions of mankind. 
 
 f78. SYMPATHY Wmi SOUTH-AMERICAN REPUBLICANISM, 1826. — Wettter. 
 
 Y/e are told that the country is deluded and deceived by cabalistic 
 words. Cabalistic words ! If we express an emotion of pleasure at 
 the results of this great action of the spirit of political liberty ; if we 
 rejoice at the birth of new republican Nations, and express our joy by 
 the common terms of regard and sympathy; if we feel and signify 
 high gratification, that, throughout this whole Continent, men are now 
 likely to be blessed by free and popular institutions ; and if, in the 
 uttering of these sentiments, we happen to speak of sister Republics, 
 of the great American flimily of Nations, or of the political systems 
 and forms of Government of this hemisphere, — then, indeed, it seems, 
 we deal in senseless jargon, or impose on the judgment and feeling of 
 the community by cabalistic words ! Sir, what is meant by this ? Is 
 it intended that the People of the United States ought to be totally 
 indifferent to the fortunes of these new neighbors ? Is no change, in 
 the lights in which we are to view them, to be wrought, by their hav- 
 ing thrown off foreign dominion, established independence, and insti- 
 tuted, on our very borders, republican Governments, essentially after 
 our own example ? 
 
 Sir, I do not wish to overrate — I do not overrate — the progress 
 of these new States, in the great work of establishing a well-secured 
 popular liberty. I know that to be a great attainment, and I know 
 they are but pupils in the school. But, thank God, they are in the 
 school ! They are called to meet difficulties such as neither we nor 
 Dur fathers encountered. For these we ought to make large allow- 
 inces. What have we ever known like the colonial vassalage of these 
 States ? Sir, we sprang from another stock. We belong "to another 
 race.^ We have known nothing — we have felt nothing — of the 
 political despotism of Spain,, nor of the heat of her fires of intolerance. 
 No rational man expects that the South can run the same rapid career 
 as the North, or that an insurgent province of Spain is in the same 
 condition as the English Colonies when they first asserted their ind&» 
 pendence. There is, doubtless, much more to be done in the first than 
 \n the last case. But, on that account, the honor of the attempt ia 
 not less ; and, if all difficulties shall be, in time, surmounted, it will b# 
 greater. The work may be more arduous, — it is not less noble — • 
 becaase there may be more of ignorance to enlighten, more of bigotry 
 to subdue, more of prejudice to eradicate. If it be a weakness t/> fool 
 B strong interest in the success of these great revolutions, I confess 
 myHtdf guilty of that weakness. If it be weak to feel that 1 am an 
 AjUQerican, — to think that recent events have not only opened now 
 
SENATORIAL. WEBSTER. 
 
 82S 
 
 mcdes of intercourse but have created, also, new grounds of regard 
 and sympathy, between ourselves and our neighbors ; if it be weak to 
 teel that the South, in her present state, is somewhat more emphati- 
 cally a part of America than when she lay, obscure, oppressed, and 
 unlmpwn, under the grinding bondage of a foreign power ; if it be weak 
 to rejoice wnen, even in any corner of the earth, human beings are able 
 to get up from beneath oppression, — to erect themselves, and to enjoy 
 the proper happiness of their intelligent nature. — if this be weak^ it is 
 ft weakness from which I claim no exemption. 
 
 179. HATRED OP THE POOR TO THE RICH, 1834. — fVebster 
 
 Sir, I see, in those vehicles which carry to the People sentiments 
 from high places, plain declarations that the present controversy is but 
 a strife between one part of the community and another. I hear it 
 boasted as the unfailing security, — the solid ground, never to ba 
 shaken, — on which recent measures rest, that the poor naturally hate 
 the rich. I know that, under the shade of the roofs of the Capitol, 
 within the last twenty-four hours, among men sent here to devise 
 means for the public safety and the public good, it has been vaunted 
 forth, as matter of boast and triumph, that one cause existed, powerful 
 enough to support everything and to defend everything, and that was, 
 
 — the natural hatred of the poor to the rich. 
 
 Sir, I pronounce the author of such sentiments to be guilty of 
 attempting a detestable fraud on the community ; a double fraud, — 
 a fraud which is to cheat men out of their property, and out of the 
 earnings of their labor, by first cheating them out of their understand- 
 ings.^ 
 
 ''The natural hatred of the poor to the rich ! " Sir, it shall not 
 be till the last moment of my existence ; — it shall be only when I am 
 drawn to the verge of oblivion, — when I shall cease to have respect 
 or affection for anything on earth, — that I will believe the people of 
 the United States capable of being effectually deluded, cajoled, and 
 driven about in herds, by such abominable frauds as this. If they 
 shall sink to that point, — if they so far cease to be men — thinking 
 men, intelligent men — as to yield to such pretences and such clamor. 
 
 — they will be slaves already ; slaves to their own passions, slaves to 
 the fraud and knavery of pretended friends. They will deserve to be 
 blotted out of all the records of freedom. They ought not to dishonor 
 the cause of self-government, by attempting any longer to exercise it. 
 They ought to keep their unworthy hands entirely off from the causM 
 of nipublican liberty, if they are capable of being the victims of arti^ 
 fices so shallow, — of tricks so stale, so threadbare, so often practised, 
 w much worn out, on serfs and slaves. 
 
 ''The natural hatred of the poor against the rich " The dangej 
 jf a moneyed aristocracy ! ' "A power as gr?at and dangerous as that 
 '^sisted by the Kevolutiou ' "A call to a new Declaratioo ol Indo- 
 peudence ! ' 
 
TItE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Sil, 1 adn^vyiiisli the People against the objects of outcries like these 
 I admonish every mdiaetrious .aoorer in the country to be on his guara 
 against such delusions. I tell him the attempt is to play off hi? pa& 
 eions against liis interests, and to prevail on him, in the name of lit/erty 
 to destroy all the fruits of liberty ; in the name of patriotism, to injure 
 and afflict his country ; and in the name of his own independence, ie 
 destroy that very independence, and make him a beggar and a slave ! 
 
 180. ON SUDDEN POLITICAL CONVERSIONS, 1838. — fVebster. 
 
 Mr. President, public men must certainly be allowed to cnange 
 their opinions, and their associations, w^henever they see fit. No one 
 doubts this. Men may have grown wiser, — they may have attained 
 to better and more correct views of great public subjects. Neverthe- 
 less, Sir, it must be acknowledged, that what appears to be a sudden, 
 as well as a great change, naturally produces a shock. I confess, for 
 one, I was shocked, when the honorable gentleman,* at the la'st fcession, 
 espoused this billt of the Administration. Sudden movements of the 
 affections, whether personal or political, are a little out of nature. 
 
 Several years ago, Sir, some of the wits of England wrote a mock 
 play, intended to ridicule the unnatural and false feeling — the senti- 
 mentalut, — of a certain German sc*hool of literature. In this play, 
 two strangers are brought together at an inn. While they are warm- 
 ing themselves at the lire, and before their acquaintance is yet five 
 minutes old, one springs up, and exclaims to the other, " A sudden 
 thought strikes me ! — Let us swear an eternal friendship ! " 
 
 This affectionate offer was instantly accepted, and the friendship duly 
 sworn, unchangeable and eternal ! Now, Sir, how locg this eterna! 
 friendship lasted, or in what manner it ended, those who wish to know 
 may learn by referring to the play. But it seems to me, t^ir, that th^ 
 honorable member has carried his political sentimentality a t'ood dea' 
 higher than the flight of the German school ; for he appears to havi 
 fallen suddenly in love, not with strangers, but with opponents. Her^ 
 tve all had been. Sir, contending against the progress of Exocutivv 
 power, and more particularly, and most strenuously, against the proj 
 ects and experiments of the Administration upon the currency. Th.' 
 honorable member stood among us, not only as an associate, but as t' 
 leader. We thought we were making some headway. The People 
 appeared to be coming to our support and our assistance. The country 
 aad been roused ; every successive election weakening the strength of th« 
 adversary, and increasing our own. We were in this career rf success, 
 carried strongly forward by the current of public opinion, and onlj 
 needed to hear the cheering voice of the honorable member, — 
 *' Once more unto the broach, dear friends, once more ! '* 
 
 and we should have prostrated, forever, this anti-constitutional, antv 
 commercial, anti-republicfan, and an ti- American policy of the AdDiinia- 
 braticn But, instead of these encouraging and animating aeccnte 
 * Mr. Calhoun. f The Sub-treasury bill 
 
SENATORIAL. WEBSTER. 
 
 mhcld ! in the very crisis of our affairs, on the very eve of viccory 
 fche honorable member cries out to the enemy, — not to us, his 
 allies, but to the enemy, — '* Holloa ! a sudden thought strikes me 
 — 1 abandon my allies ! Now I think of it, they have always been m;^ 
 oppressors ! I abandon them ; and now let you and me swear an etei 
 nal friendship ! " 
 
 Such a proposition, from such a quarter, Sir, was not likely to 
 long withstood. The other party was a little coy, but, upon the whole, 
 nothing Inath. After proper hesitation, and a little decorous blushing, 
 it owned the soft impeachment, admitted an equally sudden sympa 
 thetic impulse on its own side ; and, since few words are wanted where 
 hearts are already known, the honorable gentleman takes his p]ac« 
 among his new friends, amidst greetings and caresses, and is already 
 enjoying the sweets of an eternal friendship. 
 
 181. THE PLATFORM OF THE CONSTITUTION, 1838. — ^e&s«cr. 
 
 A PRINCIPAL object, in his late political movements, the gentle- 
 man himself tells us, was to unite the entire South ; and against whom, 
 or against what, does he wish to unite the entire South ? Is not thig 
 the very essence of local feeling and local regard ? Is it not the 
 acknowledgment of a wish and object to create political strength, by 
 uniting political opinions geographically ? While the gentleman wishes 
 to unite the entire South, I pray to know, Sir, if he expects me to turn 
 toward the polar-star, and, acting on the same principle, to utter a cry 
 of Rally ! to the whole North ? Heaven forbid ! To the day of my 
 death, neither he nor others shall hear such a cry from me. 
 
 Finally, the honorable member declares that he shall now march off, 
 under the banner of State rights ! March off from whom ? March 
 off from what ? We have been contending for great principles. We 
 have been struggling to maintain the liberty and to restore the prosper- 
 ity of the country ; we have made these struggles here, in the national 
 councils, with the old flag — the true American flag, the Eagle and the 
 Stars and Stripes — waving over the Chamber in which we sit. He now 
 tells us, however, that he marches off under the State-rights banner ! 
 
 Let him go. I remain. I am, where I ever have been, and ever 
 mean to be. Here, standing on the platform of the general Constitu- 
 tion, — a platform broad enough, and fii-m enough, to uphold every 
 interest of the whole country, — I shall still be found. Intrusted with 
 some part in the administration of that Constitution, I intend to act in 
 its spirit, and in the spirit of those who framed it. Yes, Sir. I would 
 »ct 1^ if our fathers, who formed it for us, and who bequeathed it to 
 arf, ware looking on me, — as if I could see their venerable fuims, 
 bending down to behold us from the abodes above ! I would act, too. 
 6S if the eye of posterity was gazing on me. 
 
 Standing thus, as in the full gaze of our ancestors and our posterity- 
 having received this inheritance from the former to be transmitted to 
 the latter, and feeling that, if I am born for any good, in my day and 
 generation, it Is for the good of the whole country, — ao local policy, M 
 
832 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 /ocal foelirij^, no temporary impulse, shall induce me to yield my footr 
 hold on the Constitution and the Union. I move off under no l»anne< 
 aot known to the whole American I*eople, and to their Constitutioa 
 wad laws. No, Sir ! these walls, these columns 
 
 " fly 
 
 From their firm base 9.3 soon as I." 
 
 I came into public life, Sir^ in the service of the United States On 
 that broad altar my earliest and all my public vows have been made. 
 I propose to serve no other master. So far as depends on any agency 
 of mine, they shall continue united States ; — united in interest and 
 in affection ; united in everything in regard to which the Constitutior 
 has decreed their union ; united in war, for the common defence, the 
 common renown, and the common glory ; and united, compacted, knit 
 firmly together, in peace, for the common prosperity and happiness of 
 ourselves and our children ! 
 
 182. RESISTANCE TO OPPRESSION IN ITS liUmM^mS. — Daniel JVeltster 
 
 Every encroachment, great or small, is important enough to awaken 
 the attention of those who are intrusted with the preservation of a 
 Constitutional Government. We are not to wait till great public 
 mischiefs come, till the government is overthrown, or liberty itself put 
 in extreme jeopardy. We should not be worthy sons of our fathers, 
 were we so to regard great questions affecting the general freedom 
 Those fathers accomplished the Revolution on a strict question of prin- 
 ciple. The Parliament of Great Britain asserted a right to tax the 
 Colonies in all cases whatsoever ; and it was precisely on this question 
 that they made the Revolution turn. The amount of taxation was 
 trifling, but the claim itself was inconsistent with liberty ; and that 
 was, in their eyes, enough. It was against the recital of an act of 
 Parliament, rather than against any suffering under its enactments, 
 that they took up arms. They went to war against a preamble. They 
 fought seven years against a declaration. They poured out their 
 treasures and their blood like water, in a contest, in opposition to an 
 assertion, which those less sagacious and not so well schooled in th^ 
 principles of civil liberty would have regarded as barren phraseology, 
 or mere parade of words. They saw in the claim of the Briti-sh Par- 
 liament a seminal principle of mischief, the germ of unjust power ; 
 ihey detected it, dragged it forth from underneath its plausible dis- 
 guises, struck at it, nor did it elude either their steady eye, or their 
 well-directed blow, till they had extirpated and destroyed it, to the 
 smallest fibre. On this question of principle, while actual suffering 
 jras yet afar off, they raised their flag against a power to which, foi 
 p irposes of foreign conquest and subjugation, Rome, in the height ot 
 h )r glory, is not to be compared ; a power which has dotted over the 
 mrface of the whole globe with her possessions and military posts 
 whose morning drum-boat, following the sun, and keeping comppaj 
 vith the hours, circles the earth daily with one coDtinuous ani 
 jnbrokeu strain of the martial airs of England, 
 
fENATOftlAL. WEBSTEK. 
 
 183. PEACEABLE SECESSION, 1850. — Webster. 
 
 Sir, be who sees these States now revolving in harmony around a 
 sommon centre, 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 
 ipace, 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 Constitution under which we live, covering 
 this whole country, is it 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 ofl" ? No, Sir ! No, Sir ! I will 
 cot state what might produce the disruption of the Union : but, Sir, 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 two-fold character. 
 
 Peaceable secession ! — peaceable secession ! The concurrent agree- 
 ment of all the members of this great Republic to separate ! A vol- 
 untary separation, with alimony on one side and on the other. Why, 
 what would be the result ? Where is the line to be drawn ? What 
 States are to secede ? What is to remain American ? What am I to 
 be ? An American no longer ? Am I to become a sectional man, a 
 local man, a separatist, with no country in common with the gentle- 
 men who sit around me here, or who fill the other House of Congress ? 
 Heaven forbid ! Where is the flag of the Republic to remain ? Where 
 is the eagle still to tower ? — or is he to cower, and shrink, and fall to the 
 ground ? Why, Sir, our ancestors — our fathers and our grandfathers, 
 those of them that are yet living amongst us, with prolonged lives — 
 would rebuke and reproach us ; and our children and our grandchildren 
 would cry out shame upon us, if we, of this generation, should dis- 
 honor these ensigns of the power of the Government and the harmony 
 of that Union, which is every day felt among us with so much joy and 
 gratitude. What is to become of th^ army ? What is to become of 
 the navy ? What is to become of the public lands ? How is any one 
 of the thirty States to defend itself? 
 
 Sir, we could not sit down here to-day, and draw a line of separa- 
 tion that would satisfy any five men in the country. There are natu- 
 ral causes that would keep and tie us . together ; and there are social 
 and domestic relations which we could not break if we would, and 
 whish we should not if we could. 
 
 184. ON MR. CLAY'S RESOLUTIONS, March 7, — Webster. 
 
 And now, IMr. President, instead of speaking of the possibility or 
 itility of secession, instead of dwelling in these caverns of darkness, 
 instead of groping with those ideas so full of all that is horrid and 
 horrible, let us come out into the light of day ; let us enjoy the fresh 
 ttir of Liberty and Union ; let us cherish those hopes which belong to 
 as ; lot us devote ourselves to those great objects that are fit for our 
 
334 
 
 THE STAJIDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 BOnsidcratif'n and o ir action ; let us raise our conceptions to tbe mag. 
 tticude and the ?mportance of the duties that devolve upon us ; let oul 
 comprehension oe as broad as the country for which we act, our aspira* 
 tions as high as its certain destiny ; let us not be pigUxies in a case 
 that calls for men. Never did there devolve on any generation of men 
 higher trusts than now devolve upon us, for the preservation of this 
 Constitution, and the harmony and peace of all who are destined to live 
 under it. Let us make our generation one of the strongest and bright- 
 est links in that golden chain, which is destined, I fondly believe, to 
 grapple the People of all the States to this Constitution for ages tx} 
 come. 
 
 We have a great, popular, constitutional Government, guarded by 
 law and by judicature, and defended by the whole affections of the 
 People. No monarchical throne presses these States together ; no iron 
 chain of military power encircles them ; they live and stand upon a 
 Government popular in its form, representative in its character, founded 
 upon principles of equality, and so constructed, we hope, as to last for- 
 ever. In all its history it has been beneficent ; it has trodden down 
 no man's liberty, — it has crushed no State. Its daily respiration ia 
 liberty and patriotism ; its yet youthful veins are full of enterprise, 
 courage, and honorable love of glory and renown. Large before, the 
 country has now, by recent events, become vastly larger. This Repub- 
 lic now extends, with a vast breadth, across the whole Continent. The 
 two great seas of the world wash the one and the other shore. We 
 realize, on a mighty scale, the beautiful description of the ornamental 
 edging of the buckler of Achilles, — 
 
 " Now the broad shield complete, the artist crowned 
 With his last hand, and poured the ocean round : 
 In living silver seemed the waves to roll. 
 And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the whole.'* 
 
 185. JUSTICE TO THE WHOLE COUNTRY, July 17, 1S50. — TVebster 
 
 I THINK, Sir, the country calls upon us loudly and imperatively to 
 settle this question. I think that the whole world is looking to see 
 whether this great popular Government can get through such a crisis. 
 We are the observed of all observers. It is not to be disputed or 
 doubted, that the eyes of all Christendom are upon us. We havo 
 stood through many trials. Can we stand through this, which takes 
 so much the character of a sectional controversy ? Can we stand that ? 
 There is no inquiring man in all Europe who does not ask himself that 
 question every day, when he reads the intelligence of the morning. 
 Can this country, with one set of interests at the South, and another 
 «et of interests at the North, — these interests supposed, but falsely sup 
 [josed, to be at variance, — can this People see, what is so evident to tho 
 whole world beside, that this Union is their main hope and greatest 
 benefit, and that their interests are entirely compatible ? Can they 
 lee, and will they feel, that thjir prosperity, their respectability amopg 
 
SENATORIAL, WEBSITER. 
 
 38b 
 
 the Nat .ons of tne aarth, and their happiness at home, depend upoi^ 
 the ma'ntenance of their Union and their Constitution ? That is the 
 question. I agree that local divisions are apt to overturn the under- 
 standings of men, and to excite a belligerent feeling between sectioB 
 and section. It is natural, in times of irritation, for one part of th« 
 country to say, if you do that I will do this, and so get up a feeling 
 of hostility and defiance. Then comes belligerent legislation, and then 
 an appeal to arms. The question is, whether we have the true patri- 
 otism, the Americanism, necessary to carry us through such a trial 
 The whole world is looking towards us, with extreme anxiety. 
 
 For myself, I propose, Sir, to abide by the principles and the pur- 
 poses which I have avowed. I shall stand by the Union, and by all 
 who stand by it. I shall do justice to the whole country, according 
 to the best of my ability, in all I say, — and act for the good of the 
 whole country in all I do. I mean to stand upon the Constitution. 
 I need no other platform. I shall know but one country. The ends 
 I aim at shall be my country's, my God's, and Truth's. I was born 
 an American ; I live an American ; I shall die an American : and I 
 intend to perform the duties incumbent upon me in that character to 
 the end of my career. I mean to do this, with absolute disregard of 
 personal consequences. What are personal consequences ? What is 
 the individual man, with all the good or evil that may betide him, in 
 comparison with the good or evil which may befall a great country in 
 a crisis like this, and in the midst of great transactions which concern 
 that country's fate ? Let tne consequences be what they will, I am 
 careless. No man can suffer too much, and no man can fall too soon, 
 if he suffer, or if he fall, in defence of the liberties and Constitution 
 of his country ! 
 
 186. MATCHES AND OVER-MATCHES, mO. — Webster. 
 
 The following passage, and others by Blr. Webster which succeed it in this Department, are 
 from his speeches in reply to Mr. Hayne, of South Carolina, in the Senate of the United States, 
 January, 1830. This celebrated intellectual combat, between these distinguished men, grew out 
 of a Resolution offered by Mr. Foote, directing the committee on Public Lands to inquire into 
 the quantity of the public lands remaining unsold, and other matters connected therewith. 
 This resolution afforded a text for a very irrelevant debate. Of the irrelevancy of Mr. Hayne's 
 remarks, Mr. Webster said : " He has spoken of everything but the public lands. They have 
 escaped his notice. To that subject, in all his excursions, he has not even paid the cold i-espe^* 
 of a passing glance." 
 
 I AM not one of those, Sir, who esteem any tribute of regard, whethe' 
 light and occasional, or more serious and deliberate, which may be 
 bestowed on others, as so much unjustly withholden from themselves?. 
 But the tone and manner of the gentleman's question forbid me thus 
 to interpret it. I am not at liberty to consider it as nothing more 
 than a civility to his friend. It had an air of taunt and disparage- 
 ment, a little of the loftiness of asserted superiority, which does no^ 
 iillow me to pass it over without notice. It was put as a question foj 
 mo to answer, and so put as if it were difl&cult for me to answer, 
 whether I deemed the member from Missouri an over-match for rayself 
 in debate here. It seems to me, Sir, that this is extraordinary \an 
 euage, and an extraordinary tone, for tho discussions of this body. 
 
«36 
 
 THE STANDAED SPEAKER. 
 
 Matches and over-matches ! Those terms are more applicable else 
 wrhere than here, and fitter for other assemblies than this. Sir, (h« 
 gentleman seems to forget where and what we are. This is a Senate , 
 ft Senate of equals ; of men of individuai honor and personal character, 
 and of absolute independence. We know no masters ; we acknowledge 
 £0 dictators. This is a Hall for mutual consultation and discussion , 
 noi an arena for the exhibition of champions. I olFer myself, Sir, a? 
 a ?natch for no man ; I throw the challer^ge of debate at no man's feet. 
 But, then, Sir, since the honorable member has put the question, in a 
 manner that calls for an answer, I will give him an answer ; and i 
 tell him, that, holding myself to be the humblest of the members here, 
 I yet know nothing in the arm of his friend from Missouri, either 
 alone, or when aided by the arm of his friend from South Carolina, 
 that need deter even me from espousing whatever opinions I may 
 choose to espouse, from debating whenever 1 may choose to debate, oi 
 from speaking whatever I may see fit to say, on the floor of the Senate. 
 
 Sir, when uttered as matter of commendation or compliment, I 
 should dissent from nothing which the honorable member might say 
 of his friend. Still less do I put forth any pretensions of my own. 
 But, when put to me as matter of taunt, I throw it back, and say to 
 the gentleman that he could possibly say nothing less likely than such 
 a comparison to wound my pride of personal character. The anger 
 of its tone rescued the remark from intentional irony, which, otherwise, 
 probably, would have been its general acceptation. But, Sir, if it be 
 imagined that, by this mutual quotation and commendation ; if it be 
 supposed that, by casting the characters of the drama, assigning tc 
 each his part, — to one, the attack ; to another, the cry of onset ; — or, 
 if it be thought that, by a loud and empty vaunt of anticipated victory, 
 any laurels are to be won here ; if it be imagined, especially, that any 
 or all these things shall shake any purpose of mine, — I can tell the 
 honorable member, once for all, that he is greatly mistaken, and ihat 
 he is dealing with one of whose temper and character he has yet much 
 to learn. Sir, I shall not allow myself, on this occasion, — I hope on no 
 occasion, — to be betrayed into any loss of temper; but if provoked, as I 
 trust I never shall allow myself to be, into crimination and recrimi- 
 nation, the honorable member may, perhaps, find that in that contest 
 there will be blows to take, as well as blows to give ; that others can 
 fttate comparisons as significant, at least, as his own ; and that his 
 impunity may, perhaps, demand of him whatever powers of taunt and 
 sarcasm he may possess. I commend 1 im to a prudent husbandry of 
 his resources. 
 
 187. SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS, 1830 — Webster 
 
 The eulogiura pronounced on the character of the State of South 
 Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her Kevolutionary and othsr 
 merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge tlmt 
 the hoDorable member goes before me in regard for whatever of distin 
 
SENATORIAL. — WTBSTER. 
 
 S31 
 
 fiisKtfd talent or distinguished character South Carolina has produced, 
 claii^ part of the honor, I partake in the pride of h<er great names. 
 I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, the Rutf 
 'edges, the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Marions, — Americans, all, — 
 whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by State lines, than their 
 talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the 
 same narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and 
 honored the country, and the whole country ; and their renown is of 
 the treasures of the whole country. Him whose honored name the 
 gentleman himself bears, — does he suppose me less capable of grati- 
 tude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes 
 had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South 
 Carolina ? Sir, does he suppose it is in his power to exhibit a Caro- 
 liha name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom ? No, Sir ; 
 increased gratification and delight, rather. 
 
 Sir, I thank God, that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit which 
 is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I 
 trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I 
 shall be found, Sir, in my place here, in the Senate, or elsewhere, to 
 sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the 
 little limits of my own State or neighborhood ; when I refuse, for 
 any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, 
 to elevated patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty and the country ; 
 or, if I see an uncommon endowment of Heavon, — if I see extraor- 
 dinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South, — and if, moved 
 by local prejudice, or gangrened by State jealousy, I get up here to 
 abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may 
 my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! Sir, let m.e recur to 
 pleasing recollections ; let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of 
 the past ; let me remind you that, in early times, no Staines cherished 
 greater harmony, both of principle and feeling, than Blassachusetts 
 and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again 
 return ! Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution , 
 hand in hand they stood round the administration of Washington, and 
 felt his own great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if 
 it exist, — alienation and distrust, — are the growth, unnatural to such 
 soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of 
 which that same great arm never scattered. 
 
 Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; 
 sh.^ needs none. There she is, — behold her, and judge for yourselves. 
 There is her history, — the ^ ^orld knows it by heart. The past, at 
 »oast, is secure. There is B -ston, and Concord, and Lexington, and 
 Bunker Hill, — and there th y will remain forever. The bones of her 
 sons, fallen in the great stru wle for Independence, now lie mingled 
 with the soil of every State from New England to Georgia, — and 
 there they will lie forever. And, Sir, where American liberty raised 
 its first voice, and where its youth, was nurtured and sustained, there 
 22 
 
338 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 t still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its origina 
 spirit. If discord and disanion shall wound it, — if party strife and 
 blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it, — if folly and madness 
 if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraints, shall succeed to 
 separate it from that Union by which *alone its existence is made 
 Bure, — ^ it will stanO., in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its 
 infancy was rocked ; it will stretch forth its arm, with whatever vigor 
 it may sti^J retain, over the friends who gather round it ; and it will 
 fall at last, n' fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its owd 
 glory, and on the very spot of its origin ! 
 
 188. LIBERTY AND UNION, 1830. — Webster. 
 
 I PROFESS, Sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view 
 the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation 
 of our Federal Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at 
 home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union 
 we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our 
 country. That Union we reached only by the discipline of our 
 virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the 
 necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined 
 credit. Under its benign influeiis'es, these great interests immedi- 
 ately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. 
 Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility 
 and its blessings ; and although our territory has stretched out wider 
 and wider, and our population spread further and further, they have 
 not outran its protection, or its benefits. It has been to us all a copi- 
 ous fountain of national, social, personal happiness. I have not 
 allowed myself, Sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie 
 hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the 
 chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together 
 shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang 
 over the pr ecipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I 
 can fathom tiie depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as 
 a safe counsellor in the affairs of this Crovernment whose thoughts 
 should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union should be 
 Jjest preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of tlie 
 People when it shall be broken up and destroyed. 
 
 While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospecta 
 ipiead out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek 
 to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day, at least, that 
 lurtain may not rise ! God grant that on my vision never may be 
 opened what lies behind ! When my eyes shall be turned to behold, 
 for the last time, the Sun in Heaven, may I not see him shining on 
 ho broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union ; o« 
 V.fttes severed, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feud»f 
 'ff drenched, it mav be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeb'e and 
 
BJflNATORIAL. — HAYNE. 
 
 339 
 
 Sngrving glanct, rather, behold the gorgeous Ensigii of the llepullio, 
 now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced* 
 its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe 
 erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, — bearing, for its motto, 
 no such miserable interrogatory as — What is all this worth — nor 
 ihose other words of delusion and folly — Liherty first and Union 
 afterwards, — but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living 
 light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and 
 over the land, and in every wind under the whole Heavens, that other 
 sentiment, dear to every true American heart — Liberty and Union, 
 now and forever, one and inseparable ! 
 
 189. ON MR. WL'BSTER'S DEFENCE OP NEW ENGLAND, Jan. 21, 1830. - Hayne. 
 
 Robert Y. Fayne was born near Cliarleston, S. C, Nov. 10, 1T91, and died Sept. 24, 1839 
 He attained great distinction at the bar, and received the highest honors in the gift of his 
 native State. lie was fluent and graceful in speech, and was esteemed one of the most eloquent 
 men of his time. 
 
 The hrnorable gentleman from Massachusetts, after deliberating a 
 whole night upon his course, comes into this chamber to vindicate New 
 England ; and, instead of making up his issue with the gentleman 
 from Missouri, on the charges which he had preferred, chooses to 
 consider me as the author of those charges ; and, losing sight entirely 
 of that gentleman, selects me as his adversary, and pours out all the 
 vials of his mighty wrath upon my devoted head. Nor is he willing 
 to stop there. He goes on to assail the institutions and policy of the 
 South, and calls in question the principles and conduct of the State 
 which I have the honor to represent. When I find a gentleman of 
 mature age and experience, of acknowledged talents, and profound 
 Bagacity, pursuing a course like this, declining the contest offered from the 
 West, and making war upon the unoffending South, I must believe — 
 I am bound to believe — he has some object in view which he has not 
 ventured to disclose. Mr. President, why is this ? Has the gentle- 
 man discovered, in former controversies with the gentleman from Mis- 
 souri, that he is over-matched by that Senator? And does he hope 
 for an easy victory over a more feeble adversary Has the gentle- 
 man's distempered fancy been disturbed by gloomy forebodings of 
 new alliances to be formed," at which he hinted ? Has the ghost 
 yf the murdered Coalition come back, like the ghost of Banquo, to 
 " sear the eye-balls of the gentleman," and will it not " down at 1 is 
 bidding " ? Are dark visions of broken hopes, and honors lost for- 
 ever, still floating before his heated imagination ? Sir, if it be his 
 abject to thrust me between the gentleman from Missouri and himself, 
 m order to rescue the East from the contest it has provoked with the 
 West, he shall not be gratified. Sir, I will not be dragged into the 
 defence of my friend from Missouri. The South shall not be forced 
 into a conflict not its own. The gentleman from Misscari is able tc 
 fighl his own battles The gallant West needs no aid from the South 
 
340 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 to repel dnj attack whieli may be made on tliem from any quartei 
 uet the gentleman from Massaclmsetts controvert the facts and argu« 
 ments of the gentleman from Missouri, if he can; and, if he win the 
 victory, let him wear the honors. I shall not deprive him of hii 
 laurels. 
 
 190. THE SOUTH DURING THE REVOLUTION. - Hayne, 1830., 
 
 If there be one State in the Union, Mr. President (and I say it 
 not in a boastful spirit), that may challenge comparisons with any 
 other, for an uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to 
 the Union, that State is South Carolina. Sir, from the very cora« 
 mencement of the Revolution, up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, 
 however great, she has not cheerfully made, — no service she has ever 
 hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you in your prosperity ; 
 but in your adversity she has clung to you with more than filial affec- 
 tion. No matter what was the condition of her domestic affairs, — 
 though deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded 
 with difficulties, — the call of the country has been to her as the voice 
 nf God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound ; every man became 
 at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all 
 seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altar 
 of their common country. 
 
 What, Sir, was the conduct of the South during the Revolution ? 
 Sir, I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. 
 But, great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal 
 honor is due to the South. They espoused the quarrel of their 
 brethren, with a generous zeal, which did not suffer them to stop tc 
 calculate their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother 
 country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create a commercial 
 rivalship, they might have found in their situation a guarantee that 
 their trade would be forever fostered and protected by Great Britain 
 But, trampling on all considerations either of interest or of safety 
 they rushed into the conflict, and, fighting for principle, perilled all, id 
 the sacred cause of freedom. Never was there exhibited, in the his- 
 tory of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering 
 and heroic endurance, than by the Whigs of Carolina, during thp 
 Revolution. The whole State, from the mountains to the sea, wai 
 overrun by an overwhelming force of enemy. The fruits of industry 
 perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by 
 the foe. The " plains of Carolina " drank up the most precious blood 
 of her citizens. Black and smoking ruins marked the places which 
 had been the habitations of her children ! Driven from their homes, 
 into the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps, even there the 
 spirit of liberty survived; and South Carolina, sustained by the 
 example of her Sumpters and her Marions, proved, by her conduct 
 that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of 1 ter People wai 
 invincible. 
 
SENATORIAL — HaINE. 
 
 S4J 
 
 m THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR OP lS12. — Haym 1830 
 
 i COME now to the war of 1812, — a war which, I well remen^ber, 
 was called, m deiision (while its event was doubtful), the Southern 
 war, and sometimes the Carolina war ; but which is now universally 
 acknowledged to have done more for the honor and prosperity of the 
 country than all other events in our history put together. What> Sir, 
 were the objects of that war ? " Free trade and sailors' rights ! " It 
 was for the protection of Northern ' shipping, and New England sea- 
 men, that the country flew to arms. What interest had the South in 
 that contest ? If they had sat down coldly to calculate the value of 
 their interests involved in it, they would have found that they had 
 3verything to lose, and nothing to gain. But, Sir, with that generous 
 devotion to country so characteristic of the South, they only asked if 
 the rights of any portion of their fellow-citizens had been invaded ; 
 and when told that Northern &liij/s and New England seamen had been 
 arrested on the common high^ii/^ay of Nations, they felt that the honor 
 of their country was asb<j ded * and. acting on that exalted sentiment 
 " which feels a stain like a vvouii-.l," they resolved to seek, in open war, 
 for a redress of those injuries which it did not become freemen to 
 endure. Sir, the whole South, animated as by a common impulse, 
 cordially united in declaring and promoting that war. South Carolina 
 sent to your councils, as the advocates and supporters of that war, the 
 noblest of her sons. How they fulfilled that trust, let a grateful 
 country tell. Not a measure was adopted, not a battle fought, not a 
 victory won, which contributed, in any degree, to the success of that 
 war, to which Southern councils and Southern valor did not largely 
 contribute. Sir, since South Carolina is assailed, I must be suffered 
 to speak it to her praise, that, at the very moment when, in one 
 quarter, we heard it solemnly proclaimed " that it did not become a 
 religious and moral People to rejoice at the victories of our Army or 
 our Navy," her Legislature unanimously 
 
 " Resolved, That we will cordially support the Government in tha 
 vigorous prosecution of the war, until a peace can be obtained on honor- 
 able terms ; and we will cheerfully submit to every privation that may 
 be required of us, by our Government, for the accomplishment of thi? 
 object." 
 
 South 'Carolina redeemed that pledge. She threw open her Treat 
 ary to the Government. She put at the absolute disposal of th< 
 officers of the United States all that she possessed, — her men, her 
 money, and her arms. She appropriated half a million of dollars, on 
 Her own account, in defence of her maritime frontier ; ordered a brig- 
 ade of State troops to be raised ; and, when left to protect herself bj 
 her own means, never suffered the enemy to touch her soil, without 
 being instantly driven off or captured. Such, Sir, was the conduct of 
 the South — such the conduct of my own State — in that dark honi 
 which tried men'« souls ! " 
 
•IflE STANDAllD SPEAlftER 
 
 '92. DEFALCATION AND RETRENCHMENT, ~- S. S. Prentiss. B 316} a 1M» 
 
 Since the avowal, Mr. Chairman, of that unprincipled and barbarian 
 motto, that " to the victors belong the spoils," office, which was 
 intended for the service and benefit of the People, has become but the 
 plunder of party. Patronage is waved like a huge magnet over the 
 land ; and demagogues, like -iron-filings, attracted by a law of their 
 aature, gather and cluster around its poles. Never yet lived ths 
 demagogue who would not take office. The whole frame of our Gov- 
 ernment — all the institutions of the country — are thus prostituted 
 to the uses of party. Officio is conferred as the reward of partisan 
 service ; and what is the consequence ? The incumbents, being taught 
 that all moneys in their possession belong, not to thu People, but to 
 the party, it requires but small exertion of casuistry io bring them to 
 the conclusion that they have a right to retain what they may conceive 
 to be the value of their political services, — just as a la <vyer holds back 
 his commissions. 
 
 Sir, I have given you but three or four cases of defalcations. 
 Would time permit, I could give you a hundred. Like the fair 
 Sultana of the Oriental legends, I could go on for a thousand and 
 one nights ; and even as in those Eastern stories, so in the chronicles 
 of the office-holders, the tale would ever be of heaps of gold, massive 
 ingots, uncounted riches. Why, Sir, Aladdin's wonderful lamp was 
 nothing to it. They seem to possess the identical cap of Fortunatus. 
 Some wish for fifty thousand dollars, some for a hundred thousand, 
 and some for a million, — and behold, it lies in glittering heaps before 
 them ! Not even 
 
 " The gorgeous East, with richest hand, 
 Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold *' 
 
 in such lavish abundance, as does this Administration upon its fbl« 
 lowers. Pizarro held not forth more dazzling lures to his robber band, 
 when he led them to the conquest of the " Children of the Sun." 
 
 And now it is proposed to make up these losses through defaulters 
 by retrenchment ! And what do you suppose are to be the subjects 
 of this new and sudden economy ? What branches of the public 
 service are to be lopped ofi", on account of the licentious rapacity of the 
 office-holders ? I am too indignant to tell you. Look into the report 
 of the Secretary of the Treasury, and you will find out. Well, Sir. 
 what are they ? Pensions, harbors, and light-houses ! Yes, Sir ; these 
 ire recommended as proper subjects for retrenchment. First of all 
 the scarred veterans of the Revolution are to be deprived of a portion of 
 the scanty pittance doled out to them by the cold charity of the country. 
 How many of them will you have to send forth as beggars on the very 
 soil which they wrenched from the hand of tyranny, to make up the 
 amount of even one of these splendid robberies ? How many harbors 
 will it take, — those improvements dedicated no less to humanity than 
 to interest, — those nests of conmierce to which the canvas-winged 
 birdf of the ocean flock for safety ? How many light-hous<\8 will i\ 
 
SENATORIAL. NAYIOR 
 
 kike ? How many of those bright eyes of the C/ean are to be put 
 out ? How many of those faithful sentinels,, who stand along our 
 rocky coast, and, peering far out in the darkness, give timely warning* 
 *o the hardj mariner where the lee-shore threatens, — how many of 
 these, I ask, are to be discharged from their humane service ? Why, 
 the proposition is almost impious ! I should as soon wish to put out the 
 stars of Heaven ! Sir, my blood boils at the cold-blooded atrocity witk 
 which the Administration proposes thus to sacrifice the very family 
 jewels of the country, to pay for the consequences of its own profligacy 5 
 
 193. AMERICAN LABORERS. — C. C. Nay lor. 
 
 The Gentleman, Sir, has misconceived the spirit and tendency of 
 Northern institutions. He is ignorant of Northern character. He 
 has forgotten the history of his country. Preach insurrection to thr 
 Northern laborers ! Who are the Northern laborers ! The historj 
 of your country is their history. The renown of your country is their 
 renown. The brightness of their doings is emblazoned on its every 
 page. Blot from your annals the words and the doings of Northern 
 laborers, and the history of your country presents but a universal 
 blank. Sir, who was he that disarmed the Thunderer ; wrested from 
 his grasp the bolts of Jove ; calmed the troubled ocean ; became the 
 central sun of the philosophical system of his age, shedding his 
 brightness and effulgence on the whole civilized world ; whom the 
 great and mighty of the earth delighted to honor ; who participated 
 in the achievement of your independence, prominently assisted in 
 moulding your free institutions, and the beneficial effects of whost: 
 wisdom will be felt to the last moment of " recorded time "? Who, 
 Sir, I ask, was he ? A Northern laborer, — a Yankee tallow-chandler's 
 son, — a printer's runaway boy ' 
 
 And who, let me ask the honorable Gentleman, who was he that, 
 in the days of our Revolution, led forth a Northern army, — yes, an 
 army of Northern laborers, — and aided the chivalry of South Carolina 
 in their defence against British aggression, drove the spoilers fi-om 
 their firesides, and redeemed her fair fields from foreign invaders' 
 WTio was he ? A Northern laborer, a Rhode Island blacksmith, — the 
 gallant General Greene, — who left his hammer and his forge, and 
 went forth conquering and to conquer in the battle for our independ- 
 ence ! And will you preach insurrection to men like these ? 
 
 Sir, our country is full of the achieveraents of Northern laborers ! 
 Where is Concord, and Lexington, and Princeton, and Trenton, and 
 Saratx5ga, and Bunker Hill, but in the North ? And what. Sir, na* 
 ehed an imperishable renown on the never-dying names of those 
 hallowed spots, but the blood aiid the struggles, the high iaring, and 
 patriotism, and sublime courage, of Northern laborers ? The whok 
 North is an everlasting monument of the freedom, virtue 'x-telljgeiije. 
 and indomitable independence, of Northern lalorers! Go. Sir, go 
 preach insurrection to men like these ' 
 
IHE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 The fortitude of the men of the North, under int< nse Buffering Ibi 
 liberty's sake, has been almost god-like ! History has so recorded 
 it Who comprised that gallant army, without food, without pay^ 
 shelterless, shoeless, penniless, and almost naked, in that dreadfu), 
 winter, -— the midnight of our Revolution, — whose wanderings could 
 be trac(?d by their blood-tracks in the snow ; whom no arcs could 
 seduce, no appeal lead astray, no sufferings disaffect ; but who, true to 
 their country and its holy cause, continued to fight the good fight of 
 liberty, until it finally triumphed ? Who, Sir, were these men 9 
 Why, Northern laborers I — yes, Sir, Northern laborers ! W^ho, Sir,, 
 
 were Roger Sherman and . But it is idle to enumei-ate. Tc 
 
 name the Northern laborers who have distinguished themselves, and 
 iiliistrated the history of their country, would require days of the time 
 of this House. Nor is it necessary. Posterity will do them jastice 
 Their deeds have been recorded in characters of fire ! 
 
 194. MESITS OF FULTON'S INVENTION, 1838. — O^-rfen Hoffman. 
 
 This House and the world have been told that Robert Fulton was 
 n3t the inventor of steam navigation. England asserts that it is to a 
 Scotchman that the honor of this discovery is due, and that it was the 
 Clyde and the Thames that first witnessed the triumphant success of 
 this wonderful invention. France, through her National Institute, 
 declares that it was the Seine. Even Spain, degraded and enslaved, 
 roused by the voice of emulation, has looked forth from her cloistered 
 halls of superstition, and declared that in the age of Charles, in the 
 presence of her Court and nobles, this experiment was successfully 
 tried. But America, proudly seated upon the enduring monument 
 which Fulton has reared, smiles at these rival claims, and, secure in 
 her own, looks down serenely upon these billows of strife, which break 
 at the base of her throne. 
 
 But it has been denied, in this debate, that any other credit than 
 that of good luck is due lo Fulton for his invention. Gentlemen would 
 have us suppose that good luck is the parent of all that we admire in 
 science or in arms. If this be so, why, then, indeed, what a bubble is 
 reputation ! How vain and how idle are the anxious days and sleepless 
 nights devoted to the service of one's country ! Admit this argument 
 and you strip from the brow of the scholar his bay, and from those of 
 the statesman and soldier their laurel. Whj do you deck with chapleta 
 U\e Btatue of the Father of his Country, if good luck, and good luck 
 alone, be all that commends him to our gratitude and love ? A mem- 
 ber of this House retorts, " Bad luck would have made Washington a 
 traitor." Ay, but in whose estimation? Did the great and holy 
 principles which produced and governed our Revolution depend, for 
 their righteousness and truth, upon success or defeat ? Would Wash- 
 ington, had he suffered as a rebel on the scaffold, — would Washingtoa 
 have been regarded as a traitor by Warren, and Hancock, and (jirceno 
 and Hamilton, — by the crowd of patriots who enconipa&sed hi'rs part 
 
SENATORIAL. — CUSHING 
 
 S45 
 
 oeiffe of hid toil and sharers of his patriotism ^ Was it good luck that 
 impelled Columbus, through discouragement^ conspiracy and poverty, 
 to persevere in his. paih of danger, until this Western world blessed hia 
 sight, and rewarded his energy and daring ? Does the gentbman 
 emulate the glory of the third King of Rome, Tullus Hostiiius, — and 
 would he erect in our own land a temple to Fortune ? It camot be 
 that he would seriously promulgate such views ; — that he would take 
 from human renown all that gives it dignity and worth, by making it 
 depend less on the virtue of the individual than on his luck ! 
 
 195. SECTIONAL SERVICES IN THE LAST WAIL. —Caleb Cushing. 
 
 The gentleman from South Carolina taunts us with counting the 
 costs of that war in which the liberties and honor of the country, and 
 the interests of the North, as he asserts, were forced to go elsewhere 
 for their defence. Will he sit down with me and count the cost now ? 
 Will he reckon up how much of treasure the State of South Carolina 
 expended in that war, and how much the State of Massachusetts ? — 
 how much of the blood of either State was poured out on sea or land ? 
 I challenge the gentleman to the test of patriotism, which the army 
 roll, the navy lists, and the treasury books, aiford. Sir, they who 
 revile us for our opposition to the last war have looked only to the 
 surface of things. They little know the extremities of suffering 
 which the People of Massachusetts bore at that period, out of attach- 
 ment to the Union, — their families beggared, their fathers and sons 
 bleeding in camps, or pining in foreign prisons. They forget that not 
 a field was marshalled, on this side of the mountains, in which the men 
 of Massachusetts did not play their part, as became their sires, and 
 their " blood fetched from mettle of war proof." They battled and 
 bled, wherever battle was fought or blood drawn. 
 
 Nor only by land. I ask the gentleman. Who fought your naval 
 battles in the last war ? Who led you on to victory after victory, on 
 the ocean and the lakes ? Whose was the triumphant prowess before 
 which the Ked Cross of England paled with unwonted shames ? Were 
 they not men of New England ? Were these not foremost in those 
 maritime encounters which humbled the pride and power of Great 
 Britain ? I appeal to my colleague before me from our common county 
 of brave old Essex, — I appeal to my respected colleagues from the 
 «hores of the Old Colony. Was there a village or a hamlet on Massa- 
 chusetts Bay, which did not gather its hardy seamen to man the gun- 
 i*.^jks of your shi ps of war ? Did they not rally to the batl^le, as men 
 dock to a feast ? 
 
 I beseech the House to pardon me, if I may have kindled, on this; 
 object, into something of unseemly ardor. I cannot sit tamely by, in 
 Qumble acquiescent silence, when reflections, which I know to be 
 unjust, are cast on the faith and honor of Massachusetts. Had I suf- 
 fered them to pass without admonition, I should have deemed that th€ 
 disembodied spirits of her departed children, from their ashea mingleci 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 (villi the dust every stricken field of the Revolution, from theii 
 ,/ones mouldering to the consecrated earth of Bunker « Hill, of Saratoga, 
 jf Monmouth, — would start up in visible shape before me, to cry shamt 
 on me, their recreant countryman ! Sir, 1 have roamed through th< 
 world, to find hearts nowhere warmer than hers, soldiers nowhere 
 braver, patriots nowhere purer, wives and mothers nowhere truer, 
 maidens nowhere lovelier, green valleys and bright rivers nowhere 
 greener or brighter ; and I will not be silent, when I hear her patriot 
 ism or her truth questioned with so much as a whisper of detraction. 
 Living, I will defend her ; dying, I would pause, in my last expiring 
 breath, to utter a prayer of fond remembrance for my native New 
 England ! 
 
 195. BARBARITY OF NATIONAL HATREDS. — iZw/ws CAoaZe 
 
 Mr. President, we must distinguish a little. That there exists iu 
 this country an intense sentiment of nationality ; a cherished energetic 
 feeling and consciousness of our independent and separate national 
 existence ; a feeling that we have a transcendent destiny to fulfil, which 
 we mean to fulfil ; a great work to do, which we know how to do, and 
 are able to do ; a career to run, up which we hope to ascend, till we 
 stand on the steadfast and glittering summits of the world ; a feeling, 
 that we are surrounded and attended by a noble historical group of 
 competitors and rivals, the other Nations of the earth, all of whom we 
 hope to overtake, and even to distance ; — such a sentiment as this 
 exists, perhaps, in the character of this People. And this I do not dis- 
 courage, I do not condemn. But, Sir, that among these useful and 
 beautiful S3ntiments, predominant among them, there exists a temper 
 of hostility towards this one particular Nation, to such a degree as to 
 amount to a habit, a trait, a national passion, — to amount to a state 
 of feeling which " is to be regretted," and which really threatens another 
 war, — this I earnestly and confidently deny. I would not bear your 
 enemy say this. Sir, the indulgence of such a sentiment by the People 
 supposes them to have forgotten one of the counsels of Washington. 
 Call to mind the ever seasonable wisdom of the Farewell Address : 
 " The Nation which indulges towards another an habitual hatred, or 
 an habitual fondness, is, in some degree, a slave. It is a slave to ita 
 animosity, or to its afiection, either of which is sufficient to lead it 
 astray from it3 duty and its interest." 
 
 No, Sir ! no. Sir ! We are above all this. Let the Highland clans- 
 aian, half naked, half civilized, half blinded by the peat-smoke of hia 
 oavern, have his hereditary enemy and his hereditary enmity, and 
 keep the keen, deep, and precious hatred, set on fire of hell, alive, if he 
 can ; let the North American Indian have his, .and hand it down from 
 father to son, by Heaven knows what symbols of alligator?, and rattle- 
 anakcs, and war-clubs smeared with vermilion and entwined witli 
 scarlet ; let such a country as Poland, — cloven to the earth, th< 
 armed heel on the radiant forehead, her body dead, her s( ul incapable 
 
SENATORIAL. CASS. 
 
 X) die — let her remember the " wrongs of days long past " let the 
 iost and wanderiiig tribes of Israel remember theirs — the manline^ 
 and the sympathy of the world may allow or pardon this to them ; — 
 but shall America, young, free, prosperous, just setting out on tha 
 higkway- of Heaven, "decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she 
 just begins to move in, glittering like the morning star, full of life and 
 joy," shall she be supposed to be polluting and corroding her noble and 
 happy heart, by moping over old stories of stamp act, and tea tax, and 
 the firing of the Leopard upon the Chesapeake in a time of peace ? 
 X:), Sir ! no. Sir! a thousand times, no! Why, I protest I thought 
 all that had been settled. I thought two wars had settled it all. What 
 else was so much good blood shed for, on so many more than classical 
 fields of Revolutionary glory ? For what was so much good blood more 
 lately shed, at Lundy's Lane, at Fort Erie, before and behind the lines 
 at New Orleans, on the deck of the Constitution, on the deck of the 
 Java, on the lakes, on the sea, but to settle exactly these " wrongs of 
 past days " ? And have we come back sulky and sullen from the very 
 field of honor ? For my country, I deny it. 
 
 Mr. President, let me say that, in my judgment, this notion of a 
 national enmity of feeling towards Great Britain belongs to a past ago 
 of our history. My younger countrymen are unconscious of it. They 
 disavow it. That generation in whose opinions and feelings the actions 
 and the destiny of the next are unfolded, as the tree in the germ, 
 do not at all comprehend your meaning, nor your fears, nor your 
 regrets. We are born to happier feelings. We look to England as 
 we look to France. We look to them, from our new world, — not 
 unrenowned, yet a new world still, — and the blood mounts to our 
 cheeks ; our eyes swim ; our voices are stifled with emulousness of sc 
 much glory ; their trophies will not .let us sleep : but there is no 
 hatred at all ; no hatred, — no barbarian memory of wrongs, for which 
 brave men have made the last expiation to . the brave. 
 
 197. ON PRECEDENTS IN GOVERNMENT, ISbl. — Lewis Cass. 
 
 Mr. President, eloquent allusions have been made here to the 
 ominous condition of Europe. And, truly, it is sujficiently threaten- 
 ing to fix the regard of the rest of the civilized world. Elements are 
 at work there whose contact and contest must, ere long, produce 
 explosions whose consequences no man can foresee. The cloud may 
 as yet be no bigger than a man's hand, like that seen by the proiDhet 
 from Mount Carmel ; but it will overspread the whole hemisphere, and 
 burst, perhaps in ruins, upon the social and political systems of the 
 Old World. Antagonistic principles are doing their work there. The 
 conflict cannot be avoided. The desire of man to govern himself, and 
 the determination of rulers to govern him, are now face to face, and 
 must meet in the strife of action, as they have met in the strife of 
 opinion. It requires a wiser or a rasher man than I am to undertake 
 to foretell when and how this great battle will be fought ; but it is ai 
 
S48 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 sure to come as is the sun to rise again which is now d 3sconding to th« 
 horizon. What the free Governments of the world may find it propet 
 to do, when this great struggle truly begins, I leave to those upoc 
 whom will devolve the duty and the responsibility of decision. 
 
 It has been well said that the existing generation stands upon the 
 shouldei^s of its predecessors. Its visual horizon is enlarged from thus 
 elevation. We have the experience of those who have gone before uSj 
 and our own, too. We are able to judge for ourselves, without blindly 
 following in their footsteps. There is nothing stationary in the world 
 Moral and intellectual as well as physical scie-nces are in a state oi 
 progress ; or, rather, we are marching onwards in the investigation ot 
 their true principles. _ It is presumptuous, at any time, to say that 
 '■'Now is the best possible condition of human nature; let us sit still 
 and be satisfied ; there is nothing more to learn." I believe in no such 
 doctrine. I believe we are always learning. We have a right to 
 examine for ourselves. In fact, it is our duty to do so. Still, Sir, J 
 would not rashly reject the experience of the world, any more than 1 
 would blindly follow it. I have no such idea. I have no wish to 
 prostrate all the barriers raised by wisdom, and to let in upon us an 
 jDundation of many such opinions as have been promulgated in the 
 present age. But far be it from me to adopt, as a principle of con- 
 duct, that nothing is to be done except what has been done before, and 
 precisely as it was then done. So much for precedents ! 
 
 198. INTERVENTION IN THE WARS OP EUROPE, 1852. — J^eremioA CZeTWCw*. 
 
 Washington has said : " There can be no greater error than to 
 expect or calculate upon any real favors from nation to nation. It is 
 an illusion which experience must cure, and which a just pride ought 
 to discard." There is a deep wisdom in this ; and he who disregards, 
 or treats it lightly, wants the highest attribute of a statesman. We 
 can expect nothing as a favor from other nations, and none have a 
 right to expect favors from us. Our interference, if we interfere at 
 all, must be dictated by interest ; and, therefore, I ask, in what pos- 
 sible manner can we be benefited ? Russia has done us no injury ; 
 we have, therefore, no wrongs to avenge. Russia has no territory of 
 which we wish to deprive her, and from her there is no danger against 
 which it is necessary to guard. Enlightened self-interest does not 
 offer a single argument in favor of embroiling ourselves in a quarrel 
 tvith her. So obvious, so indisputable, is this truth, that the advocates 
 of " intervention " have based their speeches almost solely on the 
 
 jund that we have a divine mission to perform, and that is, to strike 
 the manacles from the hands of all mankind. It may be, Mr. Presi- 
 dent, that we have such a mission ; but, if so, " the time of its i'ulfil- 
 ment is not yet." And, for one, I prefer waiting for some clearer 
 jianifestation of the Divine will. By attempting to fulfil it now, we 
 rmploy the surest means of disappointing that " manifest destiny " o 
 
6EN VTORTAL. — W. R. SMITH. 
 
 849 
 
 which we have heard so much. We have before us the certainly of 
 inflicting deep injury upon ourselves, without the slightest prospect of 
 benefiting others. 
 
 Misfortunes may come upon us all ; dishonor attaches only to the 
 unworthy. A nation may be conquered, trodden down, — her living 
 sons in chains, her dead the prey of vultures, — and still leave a 
 bright example, a glorious history, to after times. But when folly and 
 wickedness have ruled the hour, — when disaster is the legitimate child 
 of error and weakness, — the page that records it is but a record of 
 infamy and pity for misfortune becomes a crime against justice. Sir 
 [ do not love that word " destiny," — " manifest " or not " manifest.' 
 Men and nations make their own destinies, — 
 
 " Our acts "our angels are, or g;ood, or ill, — 
 Our fatal shadows, that walk by us still." 
 
 The future of this Republic is in our hands ; and it is f©r us tf 
 letermine whether we will launch the ship of State upon a wild ana 
 stormy sea, above whose blackened waters no sunshine beams, no star 
 shines out, and where not a my is seen but what is caught from the 
 lurid lightning in its fiery path. This, Senators, is the mighty ques- 
 tion we have to solve ; and, let me add, if the freedom of ons conti 
 nent, and the hopes of four, shall sink beneath that inky flood, our? 
 will be the guilt, — ours the df^ep damnation. 
 
 Shall I be told these are idle fears ? That, in a war with Russia, 
 no matter for what cause waged, we must be the victors ? That, in 
 short, all Europe combined could not blot this Union from the map of 
 nations ? Ah, Sir, that is not all I fear. I fear success even more 
 than defeat. The Senator from Michigan was right when he said that 
 our fears were to be found at home. I do fear ourselves. Commit 
 our people once to unnecessary foreign wars, — let victory encourage 
 the military spirit, already too prevalent among them, — and Roman 
 history will have no chapter bloody enough to be transmitted to 
 posterity side by side with ours. In a brief period we shall have 
 reenacted, on a grander scale, the same scenes which marked her 
 decline. The veteran soldier, who has followed a victorious leader from 
 clime to clime, will forget his love of country in his love for his com- 
 mander ; and the bayonets you send abroad to conquer a kingdom will 
 be brought back to destroy the rights of the citizen, and prop the 
 throne of an Emperor. 
 
 199 HAZARDS OF OJJU NATIONAL PROSPERITY, 1851. — ?f^. R. 5?nj7A, o/ ^to&tiwwi 
 
 Everybody knows, Mr. Speaker, what has been the policy of thin 
 Grove rnment with respect to the concerns of Europe, up to the present 
 time. And what, I ask, has been the result of that policy ? Why 
 from the small beginning of three millions of inhabitants, we Lava 
 grown to twenty-three millions' from a small number of Staterf, wc ara 
 
550 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 DOW over thirty. But Kossuth says that we may depart from that 
 policy now ; that it was wise when we were young, but that now WtJ 
 hny grown up to be a giant, and may abandon it. Ah, Sir, we can 
 all resist adversity ! We know the uses — and sweet are they — of 
 adversity. It is the crucible of fortune. It is the iron key that 
 unlocks the golden gates of prosperity. I say, Grod bless adversity, 
 when it is properly understood ! But the rock upon which men and 
 upon which Nations split is prosperity. This man says that we hav© 
 grown to be a giant, and that we may depart from the wisdom of our 
 youth. But I say that now is the time to take care ; we are grea* 
 enough ; let us be satisfied ; prevent the growth of our ambition, to 
 prevent our pride from swelling, and hold on to what we have got. 
 
 Do you remember the story of the old Governor, who had been 
 raised from rags ? His King discovered in him merit and integrity, 
 and appointed him a Satrap, a ruler over many provinces. He came 
 to be great, and it was his custom to be. escorted throughout the coun- 
 try several times during the year, in order to see and be seen. He 
 was received and acknowledged everywhere as a great man and a great 
 Governor, But he carried about with him a mysterious chest, and 
 every now and then he would look into it, and let nobody else see 
 what it contained. There was a great deal of curiosity excited by 
 this chest ; and finally he was prevailed upon, by some of his friends, to 
 let them look into it. Well, he permitted it, and what did they see ? 
 They saw an old, ragged and torn suit of clothes, — the clothes that 
 he used to wear in his humility and in his poverty ; and he said that 
 he carried them about with him in order that, when his heart began to 
 swell, and his ambition to rise, and his pride to dilate, he could look on 
 the rags that reminded him of what he had been, and thereby be 
 enabled to resist the temptations of prosperity. Let us see whether 
 this can illustrate anything in our history. Raise the veil, if there is 
 one, which conceals the poverty of this Union, when there were but 
 thirteen States ! Raise the veil that conceals the rags of our soldiers 
 of the Revolution ! Lift the lid of the chest which contains the pov- 
 erty of our beginning, in order that you may be reminded, like this 
 old Satrap, of the days of your poverty, and be enabled to resist the 
 advice of this man, who tells you that you were wise in your youth, 
 but that now you are a giant, and may depart from that wisdom. 
 Remember the use of adversity, and let us take advantage of it, 
 and be benefited by it ; for great is the man, and greater is the Na!ian, 
 that can resist the enchanting smiles of prosperity ! 
 
 200. AGAINST PLOGaiNG IN THE NAVY, 1852. — R. F. Stockton. 
 
 There is one broad proposition upon which I stand. It is this 
 That an American sailor is an American, citizen, and that no Ameri- 
 san citizen shall, with my consent, be subjected to the infamous pun* 
 ifthment of the lash. If, when a citizen enters into the service of his 
 tountry, he is to forego the protection of those laws for the preserva- 
 don of which h^ is willing to risk his life, he is entitW, in all justico 
 
BENATOJEIIAL. — STOCKTON. 
 
 o51 
 
 htimanity and gratitude, to all the protection that can be extended to 
 him, in his peculiar circumstances. He ought, certainly, to be pro- 
 tected from the infliction of a punishment which stands condemned by 
 the almost universal sentiment of his fellow-citizens ; a punishment 
 which is proscribed in the best prison-government, proscribed in the 
 echool-house, and proscribed in the best government on earth — that 
 of parental domestic alfection. Yes, Sir, expelled from the social 
 circle, from the school-house, the prison-house, and the Army, it finds 
 defenders and champions nowhere but in the Navy ! 
 
 Look to your history, — that part of it which the world knows by 
 heart, — and you will find on its brightest page the glorious achieve- 
 ments of the American sailor. Whatever his country has done to 
 disgrace him, and break his spirit, he has never disgraced her ; he 
 has always been ready to serve her ; he always has served her faith- 
 fully and effectually. He has often been weighed in the balance, and 
 never found wanting. The only fault ever found with him is, that he 
 sometimes fights ahead of his orders. The world has no match for 
 him, man for man ; and he asks no odds, and he cares for no odds, 
 when the cause of humanity, or the glory of his country, calls him to 
 fight. Who, in the darkest days of our Revolution, carried your flag 
 into the Vv3ry chops of the British Channel, bearded the lion in his 
 den, and woke the echoes of old Albion's hills by the thunders of his 
 cannon, and the shouts of his triumph ? It was the American sailor. 
 And the names of John Paul Jones, and the Bon Homme Richard, 
 will go down the annals of time forever. Who struck the first blow 
 that humbled the Barbary flag, — which, for a hundred years, had been 
 the terror of Christendom, — drove it from the Mediterranean, and put 
 an end to the infamous tribute it had been accustomed to extort ? It 
 was the American sailor. And the name of Decatur and his gallant 
 companions will be as lasting as monumental brass. In your war of 
 1812, when your arms on shore were covered by disaster, — when 
 Winchester had been defeated, when the Army of the North-west 
 had surrendered, and when the gloom of despondency hung like a cloud 
 over the land, — who first relit the fires of national glory, and made tho 
 welkin ring with the shouts of victory ? It was the American sailor. 
 And the names of Hull and the Constitution will be remembered, as 
 long as we have left anything worth remembering. That was no small 
 event. The wand of Mexican prowess was broken on the Rio Grande. 
 The wand of British invincibility was broken when the flag of the 
 Guerriere came down. That one event was worth more to the Repub- 
 lic than all the money which has ever been expended for the Navy. 
 Since that day, the Navy has aad no stain upon its escutcheon, but 
 has been cherished as your pride and glory. And the American sailor 
 has established a reputation throughout the world, — in peace and in 
 war, in storm and in battle, — for heroism and prowess unsurpassed. 
 He shrinks from no danger, he dreads no foe, and yields to no s'lpo- 
 rior. No shoals are too dangerous, no seas too boisterous, no climat< 
 loo rjgorous, for him. The burning sun of the tropics cannot mako bin 
 
S52 
 
 THE STAJDAKD SPEAKER. 
 
 effeminato, nor can the eternal winter of the polar seas paralyze \m 
 energies. Foster, cherish, develop these characteristics, by a gener- 
 ous and paternal government. Excite his emulation, and stimulate 
 his ambition, by rewards. But, above all, save him, save him from 
 the brutalizing lash, and inspire him with love and confidence for youi 
 service !' and then there is no achievement so arduous, no conflict so 
 desperate, in which bis actions will not shed glory upon his country. 
 And, when the final struggle comes, as soon it will come, for the em- 
 pire of the seas, you may rest with entire confidence m the persuasion 
 that victory will be yours. 
 
 201. ON GOVERNMENT EXTRAVAGANCE, 1538, —J^oAn J. Cri«entZen. 
 
 The bill under consideration is intended to a,uthorize the Treasury 
 Department to issue ten millions of Treasury Notes, to be applied to 
 the* discharge of the expenses of Grovernment. Habits of extravagance, 
 it seems, are hard to change. They constitute a disease ; ay, Sir, a 
 very dangerous one. That of the present Administration came to a 
 crisis about eight months ago, and it cost the patient ten millions of 
 Treasury Notes to get round the corner. And now it is as bad as 
 ever ! Another crisis has come, and the doctors ask for ten millions 
 more. The disease is desperate. Money or death ! They say, if the 
 bill is rejected, Government must " stop." What must stop ? The 
 laws ? The judicial tribunals ? The I^ngislative bodies ? The insti- 
 tutions of the country ? No, no, Sir ! nil these will remain, and go 
 on. What stops, then ? Its own extravagance, — that must stop, and 
 " there 's the rub ! " Besides, Sir, I mrist really be permitted to say, 
 that, if to keep this Administration on its feet is to. cost ten millions 
 of extraordinary supply, every six or eight months, why, Mr. Presi- 
 dent, the sooner its fate is recorded in the bills of mortality, the better. 
 Let me know how this money is to be applied. I never will vote a 
 dollar on the mere cry of " exigency ! " — " crisis ! " I will be behind 
 no man in meeting the real necessities of my country, but I will not 
 blindly, or heedlessly, vote away the money of the People, or involve 
 them in debt. If the Government wants money, let it borrow it. If 
 extravagance or necessity shall bring a national debt upon us, let it 
 come openly, and not steal upon us in the disguise of Treasury Notes. 
 " 0 ! but it is no debt," say gentlemen ; " it is only issuing a few 
 notes, to meet a crisis." Well, Sir, whether it be a national debt, I 
 will not say. This I know, it will be followed, whatever it is, with 
 the serious and substantial consequence, that the people of the United 
 States will have to pay it, every cent of it, and with interest. Sir, I 
 desire to see this experimenting Administration forced to make some 
 experiments in economy. It is almost the only sort of experiment Ui 
 which it seems averse. Its cry is still for money, money, money ! 
 But, for one, I say to it, " Take physic. Pomp ! " Lay aside your 
 extravagance. Too much money has been your bane. And I do not 
 feel myself required, by any duty, to grant you more, at present. If 
 I did, it would not he in the form proposed by the bill 
 
PART 
 
 FOURTH 
 
 FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL 
 
 1. THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS, 1794. — John Philpot Curran. 
 
 What, then, remains? The liberty of the Press, onli/, — that 8acre<l 
 palladium, which no influence, no power, no minister, no Government, 
 which nothing but the depravity or folly or corruption of a jury, can 
 ever destroy. And what calamities are the People saved from, by 
 having public communication left open to them ? I will tell you, 
 Gentlemen, what they are saved from, and what the Government is 
 saved from ; I will tell you, also, to what both are exposed, by shut- 
 ting up that communication. In one case, sedition speaks aloud, and 
 walks abroad ; the demagogue goes forth, — the public eye is upon 
 him, — he frets his bu.sy hour upon the stage ; but soon either weari- 
 ness, or bribe, or punishment, or disappointment, bears him down, or 
 drives him off, and he appears no more. In the other case, how does 
 the work of sedition go forward ? Night after night, the muffled 
 rebel steals forth in the dark, and casts another and another brand 
 upon the pile, to which, when the hour of fatal maturity shall arrive 
 he will apply the torch. 
 
 In that awful moment of a Nation's travail, of the last gasp of 
 tyranny, and the first breath of freedom, how pregnant is the example ! 
 The Press extinguished, the People enslaved, and the Prince undone ' 
 As the advocate of society, therefore, of peace, of domestic liberty, 
 and the lasting union of the two countries, I conjure you to guard the 
 liberty of the Press, that great sentinel of the State, that grand detect- 
 ot of public imposture ! Guard it, because, when it sinks, there sinks 
 with it, in one com^mon grave, the liberty of the subject, and the secur 
 itj of the Crown ! 
 
 2. DESCRIPTION OP MR. ROWAN, 1794.— Jo An Phi/pot Curran. 
 
 Gentlemen, if you still have any doubt as to the guilt or innocencu 
 of the defendant, give me leave to suggest to you what circumstances 
 ycKi ought to consider, in order to found your verdict. You should 
 consider the character of the person accused ; and in this your task is 
 easy. I will venture to say there is not a man in this Nation more 
 known than the gentleman who is the subject of this prosecution ; not 
 only by the part he has taken in public concerns, and which he has 
 taken in comm-on with many, but still more so by that extraordinary 
 iympathy for human affliction, which, I am sorry to think, he sharor 
 23 
 
554 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 
 
 irith SO small a number. There is not a day that you hear the cnoi 
 of your star\ing manufacture in your streets, that you do not alao 
 gee the advocate of their sufferings, — that you do not see his honest 
 and manly figure, with uncovered head, soliciting for their relief, — 
 searching the frozen heart of char-ity for every string that can be 
 touched ;by compassion, and urging the force of every argument and 
 every motive, save that which his modesty suppresses, the authority 
 of his own generous example. 
 
 Or, if you see him not there, you may trace his steps to the private 
 abodes of disease, and famine, and despair, — the messenger of Heaven, 
 bringing with him food, and medicine, and consolation. Are these the 
 materials of which you suppose anarchy and public rapine to be formed? 
 Is this the man on whom to fasten the abominable charge of goading 
 on a frantic populace to mutiny and bloodshed ? Is this the man 
 likely to apostatize from every principle that can bind him to the 
 State, — his birth, his property, his education, his character, and his 
 children ? Let me tell you, gentlemen of the jury, if you agree with 
 his prosecutors, in thinking that there ought to be a sacrifice of such a 
 man on such an occasion, and upon the credit of such evidence you are 
 to convict him, never did you, never can you give a sentence, consign- 
 ing any man to public punishment, with less danger to his person or 
 to his fame ; for where, to fling c "'tumely or ingratitude at his head, 
 could the hireling be found, whose ^n ivate distresses he had not endeav- 
 ored to alleviate, or whose public condition he had not labored to 
 improve 
 
 1 will not relinquish the confidence that this day will be the period 
 of my client's sufferings ; and that, however mercilessly he has been 
 hith ' ri) pursued, your verdict will send him home to the arms of his 
 I'aniiiy, and the wishes of his country. But if (which Heaven forbid !) 
 It hath still been unfortunately determined, that, because he has not 
 bent to power and authority, — because he would pot bow down before 
 the golden calf, and worship it, — he is to be bound and cast into the 
 'urnace, I do trust in God that there is a redeeming «pirit in the 
 Oonstitution, which will be seen to walk with the sufferer through the 
 flames, and to preserve him unhurt by the conflagration ! 
 
 THE HABEAS CORPUS ACT — John Phi/pot Curran, in the case of the KinM 
 ■ sgainst Mr. Justice Johnson, Feb. 4«A, 1805, before Chief Baron Lord Avonmort tmA 
 the other Barons, in the Court of Exchequer. 
 
 T NOW address you on a question the most vitally connected with 
 n ; liberty and well-being of every man within the limits of the British 
 topire ; — which being decided one waj, ne may be a freeman ; which 
 . -eing decided the other, he must be a slave. I refer to the mainten- 
 unce of that sacred security for the freedom of Englishmen, — so justly 
 called the second Magna Charta of British liberty,— the Habeas Cor- 
 pus Act; the spirit and letter of which is, that the party arrested shall 
 without a moment's delay, be hailed, if the offence be bailable. Wha* 
 
FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. CURRAN. 
 
 was th*: >ccasion of the law ? The arbitrary transportation Df the sub- 
 ject bey jnd the realm ; the base and malignant war which the odious 
 and despicable minions of power are forever ready to wage against all 
 those who are honest and bold enough to despise, to expose, and to 
 resist them. 
 
 Such is the oscitancy of man, that he lies torpid for ages under these 
 aggressions, until, at last, some signal abuse — the violation of LuerecQ, 
 the death of Virginia, the oppression of William Tell — shakes him 
 from his slumber. For years had those drunken gambols of power 
 been played in England ; for years had the waters of bitterness been 
 rising to the brim ; at last, a single drop caused them to overflow, — 
 the oppression of a single individual raised the people of England from 
 their sleep. And what does that great statute do ? It defines and 
 asserts the right, it points out the abuse ; and it endeavors to secure the 
 right, and to guard against the abuse, by giving redress to the sufferer, 
 and by punishing the offender. For years had it been the practice to 
 transport obnoxious persons out of the realm into distant parts, under 
 the pretext of punishment, or of safe custody. Well might they have 
 been said, to be sent " to that undiscovered country from whose bourn 
 no traveller returns ;" for of these wretched travellers how few ever 
 did return ! 
 
 But of that flagrant abuse this statute has laid the axe to the root. 
 It prohibits the abuse ; it declares such detention or removal illegal ; 
 it gives an action against all persons concerned in the ofience, by con- 
 triving, writing, signing, countersigning, such warrant, or advising or 
 assisting therein. Are bulwarks like these ever constructed to repel 
 the incursions of a contemptible enemy ? Was it a trivial and ordi- 
 nary occasion which raised this storm of indignation in the Parliament 
 of that day ? Is the ocean ever lashed by the tempest, to waft a 
 feather, or to drown a fly ? By this act you have a solemn legislative 
 declaration, " that it is incompatible with liberty to send any subject 
 out of the realm, under pretence of any crime supposed or alleged to 
 be committed in a foreign jurisdiction, except that crime be capital." 
 Such were the bulwarks which our ancestors placed about the sacred 
 temple of liberty, such the ramparts by which they sought to bar out 
 the ever-toiling ocean of arbitrary power ; and thought (generous cre- 
 dulity !) that they had barred it out from their posterity forever. 
 Little did they foresee the future race of vermin that would work 
 their way through those mounds, and let back the inundation ! 
 
 4. CURRAN'S APPiEAL TO LORD AVONMORE. — From the last nimed speech 
 
 I AM not ignorant, my Lords, that the extraordinary construction 
 Df law against which I contend has received the sanction of another 
 30urt, nor of the surprise and dismay with which it smote upon the 
 general heart of the bar. I am aware that I may have the mortifica- 
 tion of being told, in another country, of that unhappy decision; and T 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 foresee in what confusion I shall hang iown my head wnen 1 am 
 told it. 
 
 But I cherish, too, the consolatory hope, that I shall be able to 
 thorn that I had an old and learned friend, whom I would put atovis 
 all the sweepings of their hall, who was of a different opinion ; \^ho had 
 derived his ideas of civil liberty from the purest fountains of Athena 
 and of Rome ; who had fed the youthful vigor of his studious mind 
 with the theoretic knowledge of their wisest philosophers and states- 
 men , and who' had refined that theory into the quick and exquisite 
 stinsibility of moral instinct, by contemplating the practice of their 
 most illustrious examples, — by dwelling on the sweet-souled piety of 
 Jimon, on the anticipated Christianity of Socrates, on the gallant 
 and pathetic patriotism of Epaminondas, on that pure austerity of 
 Fabricius, whom to move from his integrity would have been more 
 difficult than to have pushed the sun from his course. 
 
 I would add, that, if he had seemed to hesitate, it was but for a 
 moment ; that his hesitation was like the passing cloud that floats 
 across the morning sun, and hides it from the view, and does so for a 
 moment hide it, by involving the spectator, without even approaching 
 the face of the luminary. And this soothing hope I draw from the 
 dearest and tenderest recollections of my life ; from the remembrance 
 of those attic nights and those refections of the god^ which we have 
 partaken with those admired, and respected, and beloved companions, 
 who have gone before us, — over whose ashes the most precious tears 
 of Ireland have been shed.* 
 
 Yes, my good lord, I see you do not forget them ; I see their sacred 
 forms passing in sad review before your memory ; I see your pained 
 and softened fancy recalling those happy meetings, where the innocent 
 enjoyment of social mirth became expanded into the nobler warmth of 
 social virtue, and the horizon of the board became enlarged into the 
 horizon of man ; where the swelling heart conceived and communicated 
 the pure and generous purpose ; where my slenderer and younger taper 
 imbibed its borrowed light from the more matured and redundant foun- 
 tain of yours. Yes, my lord, we can remember those nights, without 
 any other regret than that they can never more return ; for, 
 
 " We spent them not in toys, or lust, or \Tine; 
 But search of deep philosophy. 
 Wit, eloquence, acd poesy; 
 Arts which I loved, for they, my friend, were thine." 
 
 * Hera, according to the original report, Lord Avonmore could not refrain fronc 
 InirBting into tears. In the midtit of Curran's legal argument, " this most beautifu. 
 episode," says Charles Phillips, "bloomed like a green spot amid the desert. Mr 
 Curran tcld me himself, that when the court rose, the tip- stati" informed him he wa4 
 wanted immediately in chamber by one of the judges of the Exchequer, lie, of 
 course, obeyed tlie judicial mandate; and the moment he entered, poor Lord Avon« 
 more, whose checks were still wet with the tears extorted by this heart-touchin| 
 a})peal, clasped him to hi? bosom " A coolness caused by political ditierence^ 
 which had for some time existed between them, gjiye place to a renewal of friend 
 ibip, which was not again interrupted 
 
FOKENSIC AND JUDICIAL. EMMETT. 
 
 i. ON BEING FOUND GUILTY OF HIGH TREASON. —/Zofccrf Emmett 
 
 On tbe 23J of June, 1803, a rebellion against the Government broke out in Dublin, in whici 
 Eobert Emmett, at the time only twenty-three years of age, was a principal actor. It prove*? 
 k failure. Emmett was arrested, having missed the opportunity of escape, it is said, by "linger 
 mg to take leave of a daughter of Curran, the gifted orator, to whom he bore an attachmpni, 
 w Anh. was reciprocated. On the lath of September, 1803, Emmett was tried for high treason 
 S,t the Sessions House, Dublin, before Lord Norbury, one of the Chief Judges of the King'i 
 BencK and others ; was found guilty, and executed the next day. Through his counsel, he ha<J 
 asked , at the trial, that the judgment of the Court might be postponed until the next morning. 
 This request was not granted. The clerk of the Crown read the indictment, and announc5' 
 the veniict found, in the usual form. He then concluded thus : " What have you, therefore 
 now to say, why judgment of death and execution should not be awarded against you, accord 
 iiig to law Standing forward in the dock, in front of the Bench, Emmett made the fol'^wing 
 Smpromptu address, which we give entire, dividing it only into passages of a suitable lenj^th fof 
 declamation. At his execution, Emmett displayed great fortitude. As he was passing ont of 
 his cell, on his way to the gallows, he met the turnkey, who had become much attached to him. 
 Bemg fettered, Emmett could not give his haivl ; 'so lie kissed the poor fellow on th« cheek, 
 who, overcome by the mingled condescension and tenderness of the act, fell senseless at the feet 
 of the youthful victim, and did not recover till the latter was no longer amonp the livuig. 
 
 I. 
 
 ¥/ HAT have I to say, why sentence of death should not be pro- 
 nounced on me, according to law ? I have nothing to say which can 
 alter your predetermination, or that it would become me to say with 
 any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are here to 
 pronounce, and which I must abide. But I have that to say which 
 interests me more than life, and which you have labored — as was 
 necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this oppressed 
 country — to destroy. I have much to say, why my reputation should 
 be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has 
 been heaped upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, 
 your minds o6m be so free from impurity as to receive the least 
 impression from what I am going to utter. I have no hope that I' 
 can anchor my character in the breast of a Court constituted and 
 trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, 
 that your Lordships may suffer it to float down your memories, 
 untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some mof-e 
 hospitable harbor, to shelter it from the rude storm by which it is at 
 present buffeted. 
 
 Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your 
 tribunal, I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me, 
 without a murmur. But the sentence of the law which del'ivers my 
 body to the executioner will, through the ministry of that law, labor, 
 in its own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy : for there 
 must be guilt somewhere, — whether in the sentence of the Court, ox 
 in the catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man in my situation, 
 my Lords, has not only to encounter the difficulties of fortune, and 
 the force of power over minds which it has corrupted or subjugated 
 but the difficulties of established prejudice : — tho man dies," but his 
 memory lives : that mine may not perish, that it may live in the 
 respect of my countrymen. I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate 
 myself from some of the charges alleged against me. When my 
 spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port, — when my shade shall 
 itave joined the bands of those martyred heroes who have shed the\i 
 
»58 
 
 mt STANIiiRD SPKAKER. 
 
 blood, Oii the scaffold and in the field, in defence of their country a.Qtf 
 of viilue; — th\s is my hope : I wish that my memory and name ma^ 
 animate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency 
 on the destruction of that perfidious Grovernment which upholds its 
 dominion by blasphemy of the Most High, — which displays its 
 power over man as over the beasts of the forest, — which sets niaii 
 upon his brother, and lifts his hand, in the name of God, against the 
 throat of his fellow, who believes or doubts a little more, or a little 
 less, than the Government standard, — a Government which is steeled 
 to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows 
 which it has made.* 
 
 II. 
 
 I APPEAL to the immaculate God, — to the throne of Heaven, before 
 which I must shortly appear, — to the blood of the murdered patriots 
 who have gone before, — that my conduct has been, through all this 
 peril, and through all my purposes, governed only by the convictions 
 which I have uttered, and by no other view than that of the emanci- 
 pation of my country from the superinhuman oppression under which 
 she has so long and too patiently travailed ; and that I confidently and 
 assuredly hope that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, there is 
 still union and strength in Ireland to accompli'jii this noblest 
 enterprise. Of this I speak with the confidence of intimate knowl- 
 edge, and with the consolation that appertains to that confidence. 
 Think not, my Lords, I say this for the petty gratification of giving 
 you a transitory uneasiness ; a man who never yet raised his voice to 
 assert a lie will not hazard his character with posterity by asserting 
 a falsehood on a subject so important to his country, and on an occa- 
 Bion like this. Yes, my Lords ; a man who does not wish to have hii 
 epitaph written until his country is liberated will not leave a weapor. 
 in the power of envy, nor a pretence to impeach the probity which 
 he means to preserve even in the grave to which tyranny consigns 
 him.t 
 
 Again I say, that what I have spoken was not intended for your 
 Lordships, whose situation I commiserate rather than envy ; — my 
 expressions were for my countrymen; if there is a true Irishman 
 present, let ray last words cheer him in the hour of his affliction — I 
 
 I have always understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a 
 prisoner has been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law ; I 
 have also understood that judges sometimes think it their duty to hear 
 writh patience, and to speak with humanity ; to exhort the victim of 
 tko laws, and to offer, with tender benignity, opinions of the motives 
 
 * Here Lord Norbury said : " The weak and wicked enthusiasts who feel a3 yon 
 i»el are unequal to the accomplishment of their wild designs^' 
 
 •f Ho was here interrupted by Lord Norbury, who said : " You proceed to UDMror 
 rantable lengths, in order to exasperate and delude the unwary, and circulate 
 opinions of the most dangerous tendency, for the purposes of mischief." 
 
 t Lord Norbury hero interrupted the speaker with, — " What you Lave hithert; 
 •aia confirms and justifies the verdict of the jury." 
 
FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. EMMETT. 
 
 t>y which he was actuated in the crime ot ?>^ich he had been 
 adjudged guilty. That a judge has thought it his duty so to havn 
 done, I have no doubt ; but where is the boasted freedom of your 
 institutions, — where is the vaunted impartiality, clemency, and mild- 
 ness of your courts of justice, — if an unfortunate prisoner, wkom 
 your policy, and net justice, is about to deliver into the hands of the 
 executioner, is not suffered to explain his motives sincerely and truly , 
 and to vindicate the principles by which he was actuated ? 
 
 III. 
 
 My Lords, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow 
 a man's mind, by humiliation, to the purposed ignominy of the scaf« 
 fold ; but worse to me than the scaffold's shame, or the scaffold'? 
 terrors, would be the shame of such foul and unfounded imputations 
 as have been laid against me in this Court. You, my Lord, are a 
 judge, I am the supposed culprit. I am a man, — you are a man 
 also By a revolution of power, we might change places, though we 
 never could change characters. If I stand at the bar of this Court, 
 and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your j-ustice ! If 
 I stand at this bar, and dare not vindicate my character, how dare 
 you calumniate it ? Does the sentence of death, which your unhal- 
 owed policy inflicts on my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, 
 and my reputation to reproach ? Your executioner may abridge the 
 period of my existence ; but, while I exist, I shall not forbear to vin- 
 dicate my character and motives from your aspersions. As a man to 
 whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in 
 doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which 
 is the only legacy I can leave to those I honor and love, and for whom 
 I am proud to perish. As men, my Lord, we must appear, on the 
 great day, at one common tribunal ; and it will then remain for the 
 Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe who are engaged 
 in the most virtuous actions, or actuated by the purest motives, — my 
 country's oppressors or — * 
 
 My Lord, shall a dying man be denied the legal privilege ot 
 exculpating himself, in the eyes of the community, of an undeserved 
 reproach thrown upon him during his trial, by charging him with am- 
 bition, and attempting to cast away, for a paltry consideration, the 
 liberties of his country ? Why, then, insult me ? or, rather, why 
 insult justice, in demanding of me why sentence of death should not 
 be pronounced ? I know, my Lord, that form prescribes that you 
 ehould ask the question ; the form also presumes the right of answer- 
 ing ! This, no doubt, may be disp(^nsed with ; and so might the whole 
 ceremony of the trial, since sentence was already pronounced at the 
 Castle before your jury was impanelled. Your Lordships are but 
 the priests of the oracle, and I submit to the sacrifice ; but I insis* 
 •^n the whole of -the forms."*" 
 
 • Here Lord Norbury exclaimed : " Listen, Sir, to the sentence of the law.*' 
 t Here Mr. Emmett paused, and the Court desired huat to proceed 
 
860 
 
 THB STANDARD SPEAKifili. 
 
 J AM charged with, being an emissary of France An emissary of 
 France ! — and for what end It is alleged that 1 wished to sell the 
 independence of my country ! And for what end ? Was this the 
 object of; my ambition ? and is this the mode by which a tribunal of 
 justice reconciles contradictions ? No ! I am no emissary. Mj? 
 ambition was to hold a place among the deliverers of my country,— 
 not in power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. Sell 
 my country's independence to France ! And for what ? For a change 
 of masters ? No ; but for ambition ! 0, my country ! was it personal 
 ambition that could influence me ? Had it been the soul of my actions, 
 could I not, by my education and fortune, by the rank and consider- 
 ation of my family, have placed myself among the proudest of your 
 oppressors ? My country was my idol. To it I sacrificed every self- 
 ish, every endearing sentiment ; and for it I now offer up my life ! 0 
 God ! No ! my Lord ; I acted as an Irishman, determined on deliver- 
 ing my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and 
 from the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, its joint partner and 
 perpetrator in the patricide, whose reward is the ignominy of existing 
 with an exterior of splendor, and a consciousness of depravity. It waa 
 the wish of niy heart to extricate my country from this doubly riveted 
 despotism. I wished to place her independence beyond the reach of 
 any power on earth. I wished to exalt her to that proud station in 
 the world which Providence had fitted her to fill. 
 
 Connection with France was, indeed, intended ; but only as far as 
 mutual interest would sanction or require. Were the French to 
 assume any authority incensistent with the purest independence, if 
 would be fhe signal for their destruction. We sought aid of them ; and 
 we sought it, as we had assurance we should obtain it, — as auxiliaries 
 in war, and allies in peace. Were the French to come as invaders or 
 enemies, uninvited by the wishes of the People, I should oppose them 
 to the u+raost of my strength. Yes, my countrymen, I would meet 
 them on the beach, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. 
 I would meet them with all the destructive fury of war ; and I would 
 animate you to immolate them in their boats, before they had contami- 
 nated the soil. If they succeeded in landing, and if we wereaorced to 
 retire before superior discipline, I would dispute every inch of ground, 
 raze every house, burn every blade of grass before them, and the last 
 ictrenchinent of liberty should be my grave. What I could not do 
 myself, if I should fall, I would leave in cliarg'i to my countrymen U 
 accomplish ; because I should feel conscious that life, more than death, 
 is unprofitable, when a foreign nation holds my country in subjection. 
 
 But it was not as an enemy that the succors of France were to land. 
 I looked, indeed, for the assistance of France ; but I wished to provs 
 to France, and to the world, that Irishmen deserved to be assiste<i, 
 that thoy were indignant at slavery, and ready to assert tho indopend- 
 nee and liberty of their country ! I wished to procure tor my ooviF 
 
FORENSIC ^i-JD JUDICIAL. 
 
 — EMMETT. 
 
 361 
 
 try the gi^x rantee which Washington procured for Amerlcyi, — to pro- 
 cure an aid which, by its example, would be as important as by its 
 ?alor, — allies disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science and cxperi* 
 ence ; who would preserve the good and polish the rough [)oints of oui 
 character ; who would come to us as strangers, and leave us as friends, 
 after sharing our perils and elevating our destiny. These were my 
 objects ; not to receive new task-masters, but to expel old tyrants. 
 These were my views, and these only become Irishmen. It w^as foi 
 these ends T sought aid from France, because France, even as an 
 snemy, could not be more implacable than the enemy already in the 
 bosom of my country.* 
 
 V. 
 
 1 HAVE been charged with that importance, in the efforts to emanci- 
 pate my country, as to be considered the key-stone of the combination 
 of Irishmen, or, as your Lordship expressed it, " the life and blood of 
 the conspiracy." You do me honor overmuch. You have given to 
 the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in 
 this conspiracy who are not only superior to me, but even to your own 
 conceptions of yourself, my Lord ; — men, before the splendor of whose 
 genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who 
 would think themselves dishonored to be called your friends, — who 
 would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand ! t 
 
 What, my Lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to the scaffold 
 which that tyranny, of which you are only the intermediate minister, 
 has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that 
 has been and will be shed, in this struggle of the oppressed against the 
 oppressor ? Shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as 
 not to repel it? I, who fear not to approach the Omnipotent Judge, 
 to answer for the conduct of my short life, — am I to be appalled here, 
 before a mere remnant of mortality ? — by you, too, who, if it were 
 possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have caused to be 
 shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your Lord- 
 Bhip might swim in it ! I 
 
 Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge; me with dishonor. 
 Lp.t no man attaint my memory by believing that I could have engaged 
 in any cau93 but that of my country's liberty and independence, or that 
 I could have become the pliant minion of power in the oppression and 
 the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the Provisional 
 G^overnment speaks for my views. No inference can be tortured from 
 it to countenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection., 
 humiliation or treachery, from abroad. I would not have submitted 
 \o a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the 
 iomeztic tyrant. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upoii. 
 tne threshold of my country, and its enemy should enter only by pass- 
 ing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my country 
 
 * Here he was interrupted by the Court. 
 
 \ Here he was interrupted by Lord Norl ory. 
 
 X Here tne Todsre ipterfcre^ 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 — who flave siabjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watco^ 
 ful oppiesyor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my 
 countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, — am 1 
 to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent it ^ No . God 
 forbid \ ■* 
 
 If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and 
 cares of those who were dear to them in this transitory life, 0, ever 
 dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look down with 
 scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering son, and see if I have, even 
 for a moment, deviated from those principles of morality and patriot- 
 ism which it was your care to instil into my youthful mind, and for 
 which I am now to offer up my life ! 
 
 My Lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The blood for 
 which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors which sur- 
 round your victim; — it circulates, warmly and unruffled, through the 
 channels which God created for nobler purposes, but which you dre 
 bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous that they cry to Heaven. Be 
 ye patient ! I have but a few words more to say. I am going to my 
 cold and silent grave. My lamp of life is nearly extinguished. My 
 race is run. The grave opens to receive me, — and I sink into its 
 bosom ! I have but one request to ask, at my departure from thia 
 world ; — it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epi- 
 taph ; for, as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, 
 let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose 
 in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other 
 times and other men can do justice to my character. ^Vhen my coun- 
 try takes her place among the nations of the earth, — then, and not 
 till then, — let ray epitaph be written ! I have done 
 
 t. GREAT MINDS IN THEIR RELATIONS TO CHRISTIANITY. — jErsime, m the trtat 
 of mUiams, for publishing Paine^s "-Age of Reason.'" 
 
 ThnmAs Erskine was born in Scotland, in 1750, and made Lord Chancellor in 1806. He died 
 In 1823. He was one of the greatest advocates who have graced the Bar ; and, in serious foren- 
 Bic oratory, has never l)een surpassed. It has been said of him, that no man that ever lived so 
 elevated and honored his calling. 
 
 In running the mind along the long list of sincere and devout 
 Christians, I cannot help lamenting that Newton had not lived to thia 
 day, to have had his shallowness filled up with this new flood of light, 
 poured upon the world by Mr. Thomas Paine. But the subject is too 
 awful for irony. I will speak plainly and directly. Newton was a 
 Christian I — Newton, whose mind burst forth from the fetters cast by 
 Itature upon our finite conceptions; — Newton, whose science was 
 truth, and the foundations of whose knowledge of it was philosophy 
 not those visionary and arrogant presumptions which too often usurp 
 its name, but philosophy resting upon the basis of mathematics, whiih 
 
 •Hero Lord Norbury told the prisoner that his principles were treasonaole an« 
 tubversive uf government, and his language unbecoming a person in his situation, 
 and that his father, the late Dr. Emmett, was a man who wo'ild nvi I are count* 
 uancod such sentiments 
 
FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. ERSKINE. 86S 
 
 lake figures, can rot lie ; — Newton, who carried the line and rule to the 
 nttermost barrier of creation, and explored the principles by which, n* 
 doubt, all created matter is held together and exists. But this extraor 
 dinary man, in the mighty reach of his mind, overlooked, perhapa 
 what a minuter investigation of the created things on this earth might 
 have taught him, of the essence of his Creator. What, then, shall ba 
 said of the great Mr. Boyle, who looked into the organic structure of all 
 matter, even to the brute inanimate substances which the foot treads on ? 
 Such a man may be supposed to have been equally qualified, with Mr. 
 Paine, to look up through nature to nature's God ; yet the result of all 
 his contemphxtion was the most confirmed and devout belief in all which 
 the other holds in contempt, as despicable and drivelling superstition. 
 
 But this error might, perhaps, arise from a want of due attention to 
 the foundations of human judgment, and the structure of that under- 
 Btanding which God has given us for the investigation of truth. Let 
 that question be answered by Mr. Locke, who was, to the highest 
 pitch of devotion and adoration, a Christian ; — Mr. Locke, whose 
 office was to detect the errors of thinking, by going up to the fountains 
 of thought, and to direct into the proper track of reasoning the devi- 
 ous mind of man, by showing him its whole process, from the first per- 
 ceptions of sense to the last conclusions of ratiocination, putting a rein 
 upon false opinions by practical rules for the conduct of human judg- 
 ment. But these men were only deep thinkers, and lived in their 
 closets, unaccustomed to the traffic of the world, and to the laws which 
 practically regulate mankind. 
 
 Gentlemen, in the place where we now sit to administer the justice 
 of this great country, above a century ago, the never to be forgotten 
 Sir Matthew Hale presided, whose faith in Christianity is an exalted 
 commentai-y upon its truth and reason, and whose life was a glorious 
 example of its fruits in man, administering human justice with wisdom 
 and purity, drawn from the pure fountain of the Christian dispensa- 
 tion, which has been, and will be, in all ages, a subject of the highest 
 reverence and admiration. But it is said by the author that the 
 Christian fable is but the tale of the more ancient superstitions of the 
 world, and may be easily detected by a proper understanding of the 
 mythologies of the heathens. Did Milton understand those mytholo- 
 gies ? Was he less versed than Mr. Paine in the superstitions of the 
 world ? No ; they were the subject of his immortal song ; and though 
 shut out from all recurrence to them, he poured them forth from tlie 
 ftorjs of a memory rich with all that man ever knew, and laid them 
 in their order, as the illustration of real and exalted faith, — the 
 anquestionable source of that fervid genius which cast a sort of shade 
 upon all the other works of man. But it was the light of the bodtj 
 only that was extinguished ; — " the celestial light shone inward, and 
 enabled him to justify the ways of God to man." 
 
 Thus you find all that is great, or wise, or splendid, or illustrious, 
 amongst created beings, — all the minds gifted beyond ordinary nature, 
 f not inspired bj its universal A.uthor for the advancement and digniij 
 
364 
 
 THE STANDAPD SPEAKER. 
 
 oi the world, — though divided by distant ages, and hy clashing opinionh 
 distinguishing them from one another, yet joining, as it were, in one 
 SPiblirae chorus to celebrate the truths of Christianity, and laying upoL 
 .ts holy altars the never-failing offerings of their immortal wisdom, . 
 
 I AOTEMPTS TO BIAS JUDGMENT IN CASE OF WILKES, 1768. —Lord Man<^tfi.. 
 
 It is fit to take some notice of the various terrors being hold out 
 fche judges on this Bench ; the numerous crowds which have attendcxj 
 and now attend in and about this hall, out of all reach of hearing wha4 
 passes in Court ; and the tumults which, in other places, have shame- 
 ftilly insulted all order and government. Audacious addresses in 
 print dictate to us, from those they call the People, the judgment to 
 h given now, and afterwards upon the conviction. Reasons of policy 
 a e urged, from danger to the kingdom by commotions and general 
 onfusion. Give me leave to take the opportunity of this great and 
 respectable audience, to let the whole world know that all such 
 attempts are vain. Unless we have been able to find an error which 
 will bear us out to reverse the outlawry, it must be affirmed. The 
 Constitution does not allow reasons of state to influence our judgments. 
 God forbid it should ! We must not regard political consequences, 
 how formidable soever they might be ; if rebellion was the certain 
 consequence, we are bound to say, '■'■Fiat justitia, mat caelum.'''' We 
 are to say what we take the law to be ; if we do not speak our real 
 opinions, we prevaricate with God and our own consciences. 
 
 I pass over many anonymous letters I have received : those in print 
 are public : and some of them have been brought judicially before the 
 court. Whoever the writers are, they take the wrong way ; I will do 
 my duty unawed. What am I to fear ? That mendax infamia from 
 the Press, which daily coins false facts and false motives ? The lies 
 of calumny carry no terror to me. I trust that my temper of mind, 
 and the color and conduct of my life, have given me a suit of armor 
 against these arrows. If, during this King's reign, I have ever sup- 
 ported his Government, and assisted his measures, I have done it with- 
 out any other reward than the consciousness of doing what I thought 
 right. If I have ever opposed, I have done it upon the points them- 
 selves, without mixing in party or faction, and without any collateral 
 views. I honor the King, and respect the People ; but, many things 
 acquired by the favor of either are, in my account, objects not worth 
 ambition, I wish popularity • but it is that popularity which follows; 
 not that which is run after ; it is that popularity which, sooner or 
 later, never fails to do justice to the pursuit of noble ends by noble 
 means. I will not do that which my conscience tells me is wrong 
 upon this occasion, to gain the huzzas of thousands, or the daily praise 
 of all the papers which come from the press ; I will not avoid doing what 
 I think is right, though it should draw on me the whole artillery of 
 libels, — all that falsehood and malice can invent, or <^he credulity of » 
 Icluded populace oan swallow. I can say, with a great magistral*, 
 
FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. MACKINTOSH. 
 
 86^ 
 
 apon an occasion and under circumstances not unlike, " J^^^c* hot 
 ammo semper fui, ut invidiam virtute 'partam, ^hriam, non 
 invidiam, putarem.^^ 
 
 The threats go further than abuse ; personal violence is denounce- 1 
 I do not believe it ; it is not the genius of the worst men of this 
 country, in the worst of times. But I have set my mind at rest. The 
 last end that can happen to any man never comes too soon, if he falls 
 in support of the law and liberty of his country, — for liberty is 
 synonymous with law and government. Such a shock, too, might be 
 productive of public good ; it might awake the better part of the king- 
 dom out of that lethargy which seems to have benumbed them, and 
 bring the mad back to their senses, as men intoxicated are sometimes 
 stunned into sobriety. Once for all, let it be understood that no 
 endeavors of this kind will influence any man who at present sits here ; 
 no libels, no threats, nothing that has happened, nothing that can 
 happen ! 
 
 8. DEFENCE OF M. PELTIER FOR A LIBEL ON NAPOLEON. —Sir J. Mackintosh. 
 
 Gentlemen, there is one point of view in which this case seems to 
 merit your most serious attention. The real prosecutor is the master 
 of the greatest empire the civilized world ever saw ; the defendant is 
 a defenceless, proscribed exile. I consider this case, therefore, as the 
 first of a long series of conflicts between the greatest power in the 
 world, and the only free press remaining in Europe. Gentlemen, 
 this distinction of the English Press is new, — it is a proud and melan- 
 choly distinction. Before the great earthquake of the French Eevolu. 
 tion had swallowed up all the asylums of free discussion on the Conti- 
 nent, we enjoyed that privilege, indeed, more fully than others, but 
 we did not enjoy it exclusively. In Holland, in Switzerland, in the 
 imperial towns of Germany, the Press was either legally or practically 
 free. Holland and Switzerland are no more; and, since the con.- 
 mencement of this prosecution, fifty imperial towns have been erased 
 from the list of independent States, by one dash of the pen.^ 
 
 One asylum of free discussion is still inviolate. There is still one 
 spot in Europe where man can freely exercise his reason on the most 
 important concerns of society, — where he can boldly publish his judg 
 ment on the acts of the proudest and most powerful tyrants. The 
 Press of England is still free. It is guarded by the free Constitution 
 of our forefathers. It is guarded by the hearts and arms of English- 
 men ; and, I trust I may venture to say, that, if it be to fall, it will fall 
 only under the ruins of the British empire. It is an awful considera- 
 tion. Gentlemen. Every other monument of European liberty has 
 perished. That ancient fabric, which has been gradually raised by 
 the wisdom and virtue of our fathers, still stands. It stands, thanks 
 be to God ! solid and entire, — but it stands alone, ani it stands amid 
 mins ! Believing, then, as I do, that we are on the eve of a great 
 Btrugglo, — that this is only the first battle between reason and power 
 —that jou have now in your hands, committed to your trust, tho onlj 
 
566 
 
 THE STANDARr BPEAK'±iR. 
 
 remains of fret discussion in Europe, now confined tc this kingdom , 
 addressing you, therefore, as the guardians of the most important 
 interests of mankind, — onvinced that the unfettered exercise of reason 
 iepends more on your present verdict than on any other that was 
 ever delivered by a jury, — I trust I may rely with confidence on the 
 iSHue, I trust that you will consider yourselves as the advanced 
 guard of liberty ; as having this day to fight the first battle of f?e€ 
 discussion against the most formidable enemy that it ever encountered ! 
 
 9. THE INSTIGATORS OP TREASON, \m. — William Wirt. 
 
 William Wirt, one of the brightest ornaments of the American bar, was born at Bladensburg, 
 Blaryland, November 8th, 1772. Tlie most memorable case in which his talents as an advo- 
 cate were exercised was the celebrated trial of Aaron Burr, in 1807, for treason, in which Wirt 
 was retained as counsel for the Government. His exquisite description of the temptation of 
 Blennerhassett by Burr is a most graceful and masterly specimen of forensic art. In 1817 Mr. 
 Wirt was appouited Attorney General of the United States. He died February 18th, 1834. 
 
 The inquiry is, whether presence at the overt act be necessary tn 
 make a man a traitor ? The Gentlemen say that it is necessary, — that 
 he cannot be a principal in the treason, without actual presence. The 
 framers of the Constitution, informed by the examples of Greece and 
 Rome, and foreseeing that the liberties of this Republic might, one 
 day or other, be seized by the daring ambition of some domestic 
 usurper, have given peculiar importance and solemnity to the crime 
 :f treason, by ingrafting a provision against it upon the Constitution. 
 But they have done this in vain, if the construction contended for on 
 the other side is to prevail. If it require actual presence at the scene 
 of the assemblage to involve a man in the guilt of treason, how easy 
 will it be for the principal traitor to avoid this guilt, and escape pun- 
 ishment forever ! He may go into distant States, from one State to 
 another. He may secretly wander, like a demon of darkness, from 
 one end of the Continent to the other. He may enter into the confi- 
 dence of the simple and unsuspecting. He may prepare the whole 
 mechanism of the stupendous and destructive engine, put it in motion 
 and let the rest be done by his agents. He may then go a hundred 
 miles from the scene of action. Let him keep himself only from the 
 scene of the assemblage, and the immediate spot of the battle, and ho 
 is innocent in law, while those he has deluded are to sulfer the death 
 of traitors ! Who is the more guilty of this treason, the poor, weak, 
 deluded instruments, or the artful and ambitious man, who ccrruptfxJ 
 and misled them ? 
 
 There is no comparison between his guilt and theirs ; and yet yo^j 
 iecure impunity to while they are to sufier death ! Is this rea 
 eon ? Is this moral right ? No man, of a sound mind and heart, can 
 doubt, for a moment, between the comparative guilt of Aaron Burr, the 
 prime raaver of ^he whole mischief, and of the poor men on Blennor- 
 liassett's Island, who called themselves " Burr's men." In the case 
 >f murder, who is the more guilty, the ignorant, deluded perpetrator 
 jr the abominable instigator ? Sir, give to the Constitution the con- 
 Mruction contended for on the other side, and you might is woli 
 
FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. — ^ym: 
 
 367 
 
 ixpuiige the crime of treason from your criminal code , nay, you Tiac! 
 Detter do it, for by this construction you hold out the lure of impunity 
 tx) the most dangerous men in the community, men of ambition and 
 talents, While you loose the vengeance of the law on the comparatively 
 innocent. If "treason ought to be repressed, I ask you, who is the 
 tQore dangerous and the more likely to commit it, the meie insti-u- 
 Dient, who applies the force, or the daring, aspiring, elevated geniua, 
 who devises the whole plot, but acts behind the scenes 
 
 10. BUltR AND BLENNERHASSETT. — William. JVirt. 
 
 A PLAIN man, who knew nothing of the curious transmutations 
 which the wit of man can work, would be very apt to wonder by what 
 kind of legerdemain Aaron Burr had contrived to shuffle himself down 
 to the bottom of the pack, as an accessory, and turn up poor Blenner- 
 hassett as principal, in this treason. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and 
 what the part which he has borne in this transaction ? He is its 
 author, its projector, its active executor. Bold, ardent, restless and 
 aspiring, his brain conceived it, his hand brought it into action. 
 
 Who is Blennerhassett ? A native of Ireland, a man of letters, A^hc 
 fled from the storms of his own country, to find quiet in ours. On 
 his arrival in America, he retired, even from the population of the 
 Atlantic States, and sought quiet and solitude in the bosom of our 
 western forests. But he brought with him taste, and science, and 
 wealth ; and " lo, the desert smiled ! " Possessing himself of a beau- 
 tiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it 
 with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shen- 
 Btone might have envied, blooms around him. Music, that might have 
 charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his. An extensive library spreads 
 its treasures before him. A philosophical apparatus ofiers to him all 
 the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity and innocence, 
 shed their mingled delights around him. And, to crown the enchant- 
 ment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond her 
 sex, and graced with every accomplishment that can render it irresist- 
 ible, had blessed him with her love, and made him the father of several 
 children. The evidence would convince you. Sir, that this is but a 
 faint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this inno- 
 cence, and this tranquillity, — this feast of the mind, this pure banquet 
 of the heart, — the destro} er comes. He comes to turn this paradise 
 into a heil. Yet tne flowers do not wither at his approach, and no 
 snonitory snudderma; through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor 
 ^arus mm ot t)\?- ruui that is coming upon him. A stranger presents 
 aimseh. it is Airon Burr. Introduced to their civilities by the 
 ligQ ToMS which iic had lately held in his country, he soon finds his 
 way to thon tif^arts, by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the 
 tight and bei^utv of his conversation, and the seductive and fascinating 
 TKJwer of his address. The conquest was not difficult. Innocence is 
 'fver siiTjple and credulous. Conscious of no designs itself, it suspect* 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 none m others. It wears no guards before its breast. Every dooi 
 and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who choose 
 it enter. Such was the state of Eden, when the serpent entered its 
 bowers ! 
 
 The prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into tha 
 open and unpractised heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found 
 but little ditficulty in changing the native character of that heart, and 
 the objects of its affection. By degrees, he infuses into it the poison 
 of his own ambition. He breathes into it the fire of his own courage ; 
 a daring and desperate thirst for glory ; an ardor, panting for all the 
 storm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. In a short time, the whole 
 man is changed, and every object of his former delight relinquished. 
 No more he enjoys the tranquil scene : it has become flat and insipid 
 to his taste. His books are abandoned. His retort and crucible are 
 thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon 
 the air in vain — he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks the rich 
 melody of music ; it longs for the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's 
 roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects 
 him ; and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto touched liia 
 bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unfelt and unseen. Greater 
 objects have taken possession of his soul. His imagination has been 
 dazzled by visions of diadems, and stars, and garters, and titles of 
 nobility. He has been taught to burn with restless emulation at the 
 names of great heroes and conquerors, — of Cromwell, and Caesar, and 
 Bonaparte. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a 
 wilderness ; and, in a few months, we find the tender and beautiful 
 partner of his bosom, whom he lately " permitted not the winds of 
 summer " to visit too roughly," — we find her shivering, at midnight, 
 on the wintry banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the 
 torrents that froze as they fell. 
 
 Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his 
 happiness, — thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace, — 
 thus confounded in the toils which were deliberately spread for him 
 and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of another, — 
 this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a subordinate pari 
 in this grand drama of guilt and treason, — this man is to be called 
 the principal offender ; while he, by whom he was thus plunged in 
 misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere accessory ! Is this reason 
 Is it law ? Is it humanity ? Sir, neither the human heart nor the 
 human understanding will bear a perversion so monstrous and absurd • 
 80 shocking to the soul ; so revolting to reason ! 
 
 11 REPLY TO MR. WICKHAM IN BURR'S TRIAL, 1807 — William fVtrt. 
 
 In proceeding to answer the argument of the Gentleman, I will 
 treat him with candor. If I misrepresent him, it will not be intea- 
 honally. I will not follow the example which he has set me, on « 
 vory recent occasion. I will endeavor to meet the Gentieniau s prop 
 
FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. — WEBSTER. 
 
 369 
 
 teitions in tlieir full force, sind to answer them fairly. I will not, 
 4fl I am advancing towards them, with my mind's eye rLeasure the 
 tieigliC, breadth, and power of the proposition ; if I find it beyond 
 my strength, halve it ; if still beyond my strength, quarter it ; if stiil 
 necessary, subdivide it into eighths ; and when, by this process, I have 
 reduced it to the proper standard, take one of these sections and toss 
 it with an air of elephantine strength and superiority. If I find 
 myself capable of conducting, by a fair course of reasoning, any one 
 of his propositions to an absurd conclusion, I will not begin by stating 
 that absurd conclusion as the proposition itself which I am going to 
 encounter. I will not, in commenting on the Gentleman's authoritief*, 
 thank the Gentleman, with sarcastic politeness, for introducing them, 
 declare that they conclude directly against him, read just so much of 
 the authority as serves the purpose of that declaration, omitting that 
 which contains the true point of the case, which makes against me ; 
 nor, if forced by a direct call to read that part also, will I content 
 myself by running over it as rapidly and inarticulately as I can, throw 
 down the book with a theatrical air, and exclaim, "Just as I said ! " 
 when I know it is just as I had not said. 
 
 I know that, by adopting these arts, I might raise a laugh at the 
 Gentleman's expense ; but I should be very little pleased with myself, 
 if I were capable of enjoying a laugh procured by such means. 1 
 know, too that, by adopting such arts, there will always be those stand- 
 ing around us, who have not comprehended the whole merits of the 
 legal discussion, with whom I might shake the character of the Gen- 
 tleman's science and judgment as a lawyer. I hope I shall never be 
 capable of such a wish ; and I had hoped that the Gentleman himself 
 felt so strongly that proud, that high, aspiring, and ennobling magna- 
 nimity, which I had been told conscious talents rarely fail to inspire, 
 that he would have disdained a poor and fleeting triumph, gained by 
 means like these. 
 
 12. GUILT CANNOT KEEP ITS OWN SECRET. — Daniel Webster, on the trial of J 
 F. Knapp, 1830, /or murder. 
 
 An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, 
 and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder, for mere 
 pay. The fatal blow is given ! and the victim passes, without a strug- 
 gle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death ! It 
 is the assassin's purpose to make sure work. He explores the wrist 
 for the pulse. He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer ! 
 It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his stej>a 
 to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He 
 ^as done the murder; — no eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. 
 The secret is his own, — and it is safe ! 
 
 Ah ! Gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can 
 w safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor 
 •v)nier where the guilty can bestow it., and say it is safe. Not ta 
 24 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and behoiaa 
 everything as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are 
 iever safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speak- 
 inai that " murder will out." True it is, that Providence hath s« 
 oraained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great 
 law of Heaven, by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed m avoiding 
 discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention this, 
 discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes 
 turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance, 
 connected with the time and place ; a thousand ears catch every whis- 
 per ; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding 
 all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a 
 blaze of discovery. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own 
 secret It is false to itself; or, rather, it feels an irresistible . impulse 
 of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty posses- 
 sion, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not 
 made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on 
 by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God nor man.^ , A 
 vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, either 
 from Heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses soon 
 comes to possess him ; and, like the evil spirits of which we read, it 
 overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it heai- 
 mg at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He 
 tnfnks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and 
 almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has 
 beconu; his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his cour- 
 age it conauershis prudence. When suspicions, from without, begin 
 loe'iu . arras's him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the 
 fatal secret struggles, with still greater violence, to burst forth. It must 
 i he confessed ; — it will be confessed ; — there is no refuge from confes- 
 . sion but suicide — and suicide is confession ! 
 
 I'i MORAL POWER THE MOST FORMIDABLE. —Jwrf^e McLean, 1838, on enter- 
 ' ^ prises from the U. States against the British possessions in Canada. 
 
 If there be any one line of policy in which all political parties 
 ^agree, it is, that we should keep aloof from the agitations of other (xov- 
 arnmcnts ; that we shall not intermingle our national concerns with 
 'theirs; and nmch more, that our citizens shall abstain from acts which 
 lead the subjects of other Governments to violence and bloodshed. 
 These violators of the Law show themselves to be enemies of their 
 -eouritry, .by trampling under foot its laws, compromising its honor, and 
 v,r, solving it in the most serious embarrassmeiit with a foreign and 
 iriendly Nation. It is, indeed, lamentable to reflect, that such men, 
 under such circumstances, may hazard the peace of the counti-y. it 
 they were to come out in array against their own Government, the con- 
 .«eMuence to it would be far less serious. In such an effort, they could 
 mt involve it in much bloodshed, or in a heavy expenditure, noi 
 
rORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. HUGO. 371 
 
 would its commerce and general business be materially injured. But 
 A war with a powerful Nation, with whom we have the most extensiv«3 
 relations, commercial and social, would bring down upon our couutrj 
 the heaviest calamity. It would dry up the sources of its prosperity, 
 and deluge it in blood. 
 
 The great principle of our Republican institutions cannot be propa- 
 gated by the sword. This can be done by moral force, and not phys- 
 ical. If we desire the political regeneration of oppressed Nations, we 
 must show them the simplicity, the grandeur, and the freedom, of ' our 
 own Government. We must recommend it to the intelligence and 
 virtue of other Nations, by its elevated and enlightened action, its 
 purity, its justice, and the protection it affords to all its citizens, and 
 the liberty they enjoy. And if, in this respect, we shall be faithful to 
 the high bequests of our fathers, to ourselves, and to posterity, we 
 shall do more to liberate other Governments, and emancipate their 
 subjects, than could be accomplished by millions of bayonets. This 
 moral power is what tyrants have most cause to dread. It addresses 
 itself to the thoughts and the judgments of men. No physical force 
 can arrest its progress. Its approaches are unseen, but its conse- 
 quences are deeply felt. It enters garrisons most strongly fortified, 
 and operates in the palaces of kings and emperors. We should cher- 
 ish this power as essential to the preservation of our own Governmtnt ; 
 and as the most efficient means of ameliorating the condition of our 
 race. And this can only be done by a reverence for the laws, and bv 
 the exercise of an elevated patriotism. But, if we trample under our 
 feet the laws of our country, — if we disregard the faith of treaties, and 
 our citizens engage without restraint in military enterprises against the 
 peace of other Governments, — we shall be considered and treated, and 
 justly, too, as a Nation of pirates. 
 
 14. THE DEATH ™A.V^Y.- Original Translation from Victor Hugo 
 From Victor Hugo's speech at the trial of his son, Charles Hugo, in Paris June llth 18^1 
 :harged with yiolatmg the respect due to the laws, in an artide 'in tL o'urS " L' EvSl' 
 ment, ' upon the execution of Montcharmont, a sentenced criminal. NoSstandm^X 
 fether's eloquent appeal, Charles Hugo was found " guilty " by the Ju y, and S 
 months' unprisonment, and a fine of five hundred francs. ' ^'^"•^'^^ced to sis 
 
 . Gentlemen op the Jury, if there is a culprit here, it is not my son 
 — it IS myself, _ it is I ! — I, who for these last twenty-five years have 
 opposed capital punishment, — have contended for the inviolability of 
 human life, — have committed this crime, for which my son is now 
 arraigned ^ Here I denounce myself, Mr. Advocate General ! I have 
 committed it under all aggravated circumstances ; deliberately, repeat- 
 ediy tenacious y. Yes, this old and absurd lex talibnis 
 oi blood for blood - 1 have combated all my life — all my life. Gen- 
 tlemen of the Jury i And, while I have breath, I will continue tx- 
 combat it, by all my efforts as a writer, by all my words and al 
 my votes as a legislator ! I declare it before the crucifix; before 
 hat victim of the penalty of death, who sees and hears us; before 
 hat gibbet, to which, two thousand years ago, for the eternal instruo 
 UOK o± the generations, the human law nailed the Divine ' 
 
372 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 In all that my son has written on the subject of capital punishment 
 . and for writing and publishing which he is now . before you on triai, 
 -~ in all that he has written, he has merely proclaimed the sentimenti 
 with which, from his infancy. I have inspired him. Gentlemen Jurors, 
 fche right to criticize a law,'and to criticize it severely, — especially a 
 »)enal law, — is placed beside the duty of amelioration, like the torch 
 beside the work under the artisan's hand. This right of the journalist 
 m as sacred, as necessary, as imprescriptible, as the right of the legis- 
 lator. 
 
 Wliat are the circumstances ? A man, a convict, a sentenced 
 wretch, is dragged, on a certain morning, to one of our public squares. 
 There he finds the scaffold ! He shudders, he struggles, he refuses 
 die. He is young yet — only twenty-nine. Ah ! I know what you 
 will say, — " He is a murderer ! " But hear me. Two offtcers seize 
 him. His hands, his feet, are tied. He throws off the two officers. A 
 frightful struggle ensues. His feet, bound as they are, become entan- 
 gled in the ladder. He uses the scaffold against the scaffold ! The 
 struggle is prolonged. Horror seizes on the crowd. The officers, — 
 sweat and shame on their brows, — pale, panting, terrified, despairing, 
 — despairing with I know not what horrible despair, — shrinking under 
 that public reprobation which ought to have visited the penalty, and 
 spared the passive instrument, the executioner, — the officers strive 
 savagely. The victim clings to the scaffold, and shrieks for pardon. 
 His clothes are torn, — his shoulders bloody, — still he resists. >' At 
 length, after three quarters of an hour of this monstrous effort, of this 
 spectacle without a name, of this agony, — agony for all, be it under- 
 stood, — agony for the assembled spectators as well as for the con- 
 demned man, — after this age of anguish. Gentlemen of the Jury, th :y 
 take back the poor wretch to his prison. The People breathe ag..in. 
 The People, naturally merciful, hope that the man will_ be spared. 
 But no, — the guillotine, though vanquished, remains standing. There 
 it frowns all day, in the midst of a sickened population. And at night, 
 the officers, reinforced, drag forth the wretch again, so bound that he 
 is but an inert weight, — they drag him forth, haggard, bloody, weep- 
 ing, pleading, howling for life, — calling upon God, calling upon his 
 father and mother, — for like a very child had this man become iii the 
 prospect of death, — they drag him forth to execution. He is hoisted 
 6n to the scaffold, and his head foils K^- And then through every con- 
 science runs a shudder. Never had legal murder appeared with an 
 aspect so indecent, so abominable. All feel jointly implicated in the 
 dee-i. It is at this moment that from a young man's breast escapes a 
 cry, wrung from his very heart, — a cry of pity and of anguish, -—a 
 ery of horror, — a cry of humanity. And this cry you would punish ! 
 r^AM,. in face of the appalling facts which I have narrated, jou wonW 
 
 sav to the guillotine, " Thou art right ! " and to Pity, saintly Pity 
 
 *Thou art wrong ! " Gentlemen of the Jury, it cannot be! Gen 
 
 ilenien, I have finished. 
 
PART FIFTH. 
 
 POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. 
 
 1. THE EXAMPLE OF KWEKIQA.. — Francis Jeffrey. Born, 1113; died, 1850 
 
 How absurd are the sophisms and predictions bj which the alvo- 
 eates of existing abuses have, at all times, endeavored to create a jeal. 
 ousy and apprehension of reform ! You cannot touch the most corrupt 
 and imbecile Government, without involving society in disorders at 
 once frightful and contemptible, and reducing all things to the levej 
 of an insecure, and ignoble, and bloody equality ! Such are the rea- 
 sonings by which we are now to be persuaded that liberty is incom- 
 patible with private happiness or national prosperity. To these we 
 need not now answer in words, or by reference to past and questiona- 
 ble examples ; but we put them down at once, and trample them con- 
 temptuously to the earth, by a short appeal to the existence and 
 condition of America/ What is the country of the universe, I 
 would now ask, in which property is most sacred, or industry most 
 sure of its reward ? Where is the authority of law most omnipotent ? 
 Where is intelligence and wealth most widely dilFused, and most rap- 
 idly progressive ? Where, but in America ? — in America, who laid 
 the foundation of her Republican Constitution in a violent, radical, 
 sanguinary Revolution ; America, with her fundamental Democracy 
 made more unmanageable, and apparently more hazardous, by being 
 broken up into I do not know how many confederated and independent 
 Democracies ; America, with universal suffrage, and yearly elections, 
 with a free and unlicensed Press, without an established Priesthoodj 
 an hereditary^ Nobility, or a permanent Executive, — with all that is 
 combustible, in short, and pregnant with danger, on the hypothesis 
 of Tyranny, and without one of the checks or safeguards by which 
 alone, they contend, the benefits or the very being of society can be 
 maintained ! 
 
 There is something at once audacious and ridiculous in maintainmg 
 such doctrines, in the face of such experience. Nor can anything be 
 founded on the novelty of these institutions, on the pretence that they 
 have not yet been put fairly to their trial. America has gone on 
 pr()spering under them for forty years, and has exhibited a picture of 
 ttninterrupted, rapid, unprecedented advances in wealth, populatiDn, 
 iutelligerce, and concord ; while aD the arbitrary Goveruments of th« 
 
61A 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Old World have been overrun with bankruptcies, conspiracies -rebel 
 lions, and Revolutions ; and are at this moment trembling in the cod- 
 Hciousness of their insecurity, and vainly endeavoring to repress irre. 
 pressiblo discontents, by confederated violence and terror. 
 
 2 FALSE NOTIONS OF GOVERNMEl'^T YIGOB.. — Rev. Si/dney Smith 
 
 I CANNOT describe the horror and disgust which I felt at hearing 
 Mr. Perceval call upon the then Ministry for measures of vigor in 
 Ireland. If I lived at Hampstead upon stewed meats and claret^ —if 
 I walked to church, every Sunday, before eleven young gentlemen of 
 my own begetting, with their faces washed, and their hair pleasingly 
 combed, — if the Almighty had blessed me with every earthly comfort, 
 — how awfully would I pause before I sent for the flame and the sword 
 over the cabins of the poor, brave, generous, open-hearted peasants of 
 Ireland ! 
 
 How easy it is to shed human blood ; how easy it is to persuade 
 ourselves that it is our duty to do so, and that the decision has cosi 
 us a severe struggle ; how much, in all ages, have wounds and shriekfc 
 and tears been the cheap and vulgar resources of the rulers of man- 
 kind ; how difficult and how noble it is to govern in kindness, and to 
 found an empire upon the everlasting basis of justice and affection ! 
 But what do men call vigor ? To let loose hussars, and to bring up 
 artillery, to govern with lighted matches, and to cut, and push, and 
 prime, — I call this, not vigor, but the sloth of cruelty and ignorance. 
 The vigor I love consists in finding out wherein subjects are aggrieved, 
 in relieving them, in studying the temper and genius of a People, m 
 consulting their prejudices, in selecting proper persons to lead and 
 manage them, in the laborious, watchful, and difficult task of increas- 
 im public happiness, by allaying each particular discontent. In thife 
 way only will Ireland ever be subdued. But this, in the eyes of Mi. 
 Perceval, is imbecility and meanness ; — houses are not broken open 
 women are not insulted, the People seem all to be happy, — they ar 
 not ridden over by horses, and cut by whips. Do you call this vigor 
 Is this Government ? 
 
 3 REJECTION OF THE REFORM BILL, mi. ~ Rev. Sydney Smith. 
 
 Mr. Chairman, I feel most deeply the rejection of the Reform Bill 
 by the Lords, because, by putting the two Houses of Parliament m 
 collision with each other, it will impede the public business, and 
 diminish the public prosperity. I feel it as a churchman, because I 
 cannot but Uush to see so many dignitaries of the Church arrayed 
 against the wishes and happiness of the People. T feel it, more than 
 all, because I believe it will sow the seeds of deadly hairea between 
 the aristocracy and the great mass of the People. The loss of the Bil) 
 t do not feel, and for the best of all possible reasons, — because I have 
 ttot the slightest idea that it is lost. I have no more doubt, before 
 
POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. MAZZINI. 
 
 ^75 
 
 the expiration of the winter, tliat this Bill will pass, than 1 have thai 
 the annual tax bills will pass ; and greater certainty than this no man 
 ?an have, for Franklin tells us there are but two things certain in thi? 
 world, — death and taxes. As for the possibility of the House of 
 Lords preventing, ere long, a reform of Parliament, I hold it to be the 
 most absurd notion that ever entered into human imagination. I 
 not mean to be disrespectful ; but the attempt of the Lords to stop the 
 rogrcss of reform reminds me very forcibly of the great storm of 
 idmouth, and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Partington on that 
 occasion. In the winter of 1824, there set in a great flood upon that 
 town; the tide rose to an incredible height; the waves rushed in 
 upon the houses, and everything was threatened with destruction, in 
 the midst of this sublime and terrible storm, Dame Partington, who 
 lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house, with mop and 
 pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water, and vigor- 
 ously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean ! The Atlantic was roused ; 
 Mrs. Partington's spirit was up ; but I need not tell you that the con- 
 test was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. She 
 was excellent at a slop, or a puddle, but she should not have meddled 
 with a tempest. 
 
 Gentlemen, be at your ease, — be quiet and steady. You will boat 
 Mrs. Partington. 
 
 4. ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG MEN OF ITALY. — Joseph Mazzini. 
 
 The following extract, translated from the Italian, is from an impassioned Address, delivered 
 by Mazzini, at Milan, on the 25th of July, 1848, at the request of a National Association, on the 
 occasion of a solemn commemoration of the death of the brothers Bandi6ra, and their fellow- 
 martyrs, at Cosenza. 
 
 When I was commissioned by you, young men, to proffer in this 
 temple a few words consecrated to the memory of the brothers Ban- 
 diera, and their fellow-martyrs at Cosenza, I thought that some one 
 of those who heard me might perhaps exclaim, with noble indignation, 
 " Why thus lament over the dead ? The martyrs of liberty are only 
 worthily honored by winning the battle they have begun. Cosenza, 
 the land where they fell, is enslaved ; Venice, the city of their birth, 
 is begirt with strangers. Let us emancipate them ; and, until that 
 moment, let no words pass our lips, save those of war." But another 
 thought arose, and suggested to me. Why have we not conquered ? 
 Why is it that,, whilst our countrymen are fighting for independence in 
 the North of Italy, liberty is perishing in the South ? Why is it 
 that a war which should have sprung to the Alps with the bound of a 
 lion has dragged itself along for four months with the slow, uncertain 
 motion of the scorpion surrounded by the circle of fire ? How has the 
 rapid and powerful intuition of a People newly arisen to life been 
 converted into the weary, helpless effort of the sick man, turning frcn« 
 side to side ? 
 
 Ah ! had we all arisen in the sanctity of the idea for which oui 
 ttiartjrs died ; had the holy standard of their faith preceded our youtJ 
 
«76 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 tc battle ; Lad we made of our every thought an action, and of c.^ 
 every action a thought ; had we learned from them that liberty ano 
 independence are one ; — we should not now have war but victory 
 Cosenza would not be compelled to venerate the memory of her mar- 
 tyrs in secret, nor Venice be restrained from honoring them with a 
 monument ; and we, here gathered together, might gladljr invoke 
 those sacred names, without uncertainty as to our future destiny, or a 
 cloud of sadness on our brows ; and might say to those precursor souls, 
 ^'■Rejoice, for your spirit is incarnate in your brethren, and they 
 are worthy of you." Could Attilio and Emilio Bandiera, and theii 
 fellow-martyrs, now arise from the grave and speak to you, they would, 
 believe me, address you, though with a power very different from that 
 given to me, in counsel not unlike that which now I utter. 
 
 Love ! Love is the flight of the soul towards God ; towards the 
 great, the sublime, and the beautiful, which are the shadow of God 
 upon earth. Love your family ; the partner of your life ; those around 
 you, ready to share your joys and sorrows ; the dead, who were dear 
 to you, and to whom you were dear. Love your country. It is youi 
 name, your glory, your sign among tho Peoples. Give to it your 
 thought, your counsel, your blood. You are twenty-four millions of 
 men, endowed with active, splendid faculties ; with a tradition of 
 glory, the envy of the Nations of Europe ; an immense future is 
 before you, — your eyes are raised to the loveliest Heaven, and around 
 you smiles the loveliest land in Europe ; you are encircled by the Alps 
 and the sea, boundaries marked out by the fi^iger of God for a people 
 of giants. And you must be such, or nothing. Let not a man of that 
 twenty-four millions remain excluded from the fraternal bond which 
 shall join you together ; let not a look be raised to that Heaven, which 
 is not that of a free man. Love humanity. You can only ascertain 
 your own mission from the aim placed by God before humanity at 
 large. Beyond the Alps, beyond the sea, are other Peoples, now 
 fighting, or preparing to light, the holy fight of independence, of nation- 
 ality, of liberty ; other Peoples striving by different routes to reach 
 the same goal. Unite with them, — they will unite with you. 
 
 And love, young men, love and reverence the Ideal ; it is the coun- 
 try of the spirit, the city of the soul, in which all are brethren who 
 believe in the inviolability of thought, and in the dignity of our immor- 
 tal natures. From that high sphere spring the principles which 
 alune cai i redeem the Peoples. Love enthusiasm, — the pure dreams 
 of tie, tirgin soul, and the lofty visions of early youth ; for they are 
 the perfume of Paradise, which the soul preserves in issuing from the 
 hands of its Creator. Respect, above all things, your conscience ; 
 aave upon your lips the truth that God has placed in your hearts 
 and, while working together in harmony in all that tends to the eman* 
 eipation of our soil, even with those who differ from you, yet ever beaj 
 erect your own banner, and boldly promulgate your faith. 
 
 Such words, young men, would the martyrs of Cosenza have spoken, 
 had thev been living amongst you. And here, where, perhaps, iiivokoa 
 
POLITICAL AND OCCASIOI.AL. — KOSSUTH. 
 
 ay our Jove, their holy spirits hover near nn, I call upon you to gathea 
 them up in your hearts, and to make of them a treasure amid tk 
 itorms that yet threaten you ; but which, with the name of oui 
 martyrs on your lips, and their faith in your hearts, you will over 
 Qome. 
 
 God be witf. you, and bless Italy ! 
 
 6, APPEAL TO THE HUNGARIANS, im, - Louts Kossuth. 
 
 Our Fatherland is in danger! Citizens! to arms! to arms. 
 Unless the whole Nation rise up, as one man, to defend itself, all the 
 noble blood already shed is in vain ; and, on the ground where the 
 ashes of our ancestors repose, the Kussian knout will rule over an 
 enslaved People ! Be it known to all Hungary, that the Austrian 
 Emperor has let loose upon us the barbarous hordes of Eussia; that* 
 a Russian army of forty-six thousand men has broken into our 
 country from Gallicia, and is on the march ; that anotJier has entered 
 Transylvania ; and that, finally, we can expect no foreign assistance, as 
 the People that sympathize with us are kept down by their rulers, 
 and gaze only in dumb silence on our struggle. We have nothing tc 
 rest our hopes upon, but a righteous God, and our own strength. If 
 we do not put forth that strength, God will also forsake us. 
 
 Hungary's struggle is no longer our struggle alone. It is the 
 struggle of popular freedom against tyranny. Our victory is the 
 •rictory of freedom, — our fall is the fall of freedom. God has chosen 
 us to free the Nations from bodily servitude. In the wake of oui 
 victory will follow liberty to the Italians, Germans, Poles, Vallachians. 
 Sclavonians, Servians, and Croatians. With our fall goes down the 
 star of freedom over all. People of Hungary ! will you die under 
 the extermiaating sword of the savage Russians ? If not, defend 
 yourselves I Will you look on while the Cossacks of the far North 
 tread under foot the bodies of your fathers, mothers, wives and 
 children ? If not, defend yourselves ! Will you see a part of your 
 fellow-citizens sent to the wilds of Siberia, made to serve in the wars 
 of tyrants, or bleed under the murderous knout { If not, defend . 
 yourselves ! Will you behold your villages in flames, and your har- 
 vests destroyed ? Will you die of hanger on the land which your 
 Bweat has made fertile ? If not, defend yourselves ! 
 ^ We call upon ^he People, in the name of God and the County, ta 
 rise up in arms. In virtue of our powers and duty, we order a gen- 
 •ral crusade of the People against the enemy, to be declared from 
 jvery pulpit and from every town-house of the country, and made 
 known by the continual ringing of bells. One great efibrt, and the 
 sountry is forever saved ! We have, indeed, an army which numbers 
 some two hundred thousand determined men ; but the struggle is m 
 longer one between two hostile camps ; it is the struggle of°tyranny 
 against freedom, — of barbarism against all free Nations Thereioif 
 
178 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 ftiast alJ the People seize arms and support the army, that, thtd 
 anited, the victory of freec^om for Europe may be won. Fly, then, 
 united with the army, to arms, every citizen of the land, and the 
 rictory is sure ! 
 
 e. THE CONTENTMENT OF EUROPE, — Kossuth, Nov. 1% 1851. 
 
 The question, the comprehensive question, is, whether Europe 
 sliall be ruled by the principle of freedom, or by the principle of des* 
 potism, — by the principle of centralization, or by the principle of 
 self-government. Shall fi'eedom die away for centuries, and mankind 
 become nothing more than the blind instrument of the ambition of 
 some few, — or shall the print of servitude be wiped out from the brow 
 of humanity, and mankind become noble in itself, and a noble instru- 
 ment to its own forward progress ? Woe, a hundred-fold woe, to every 
 Nation, which, confident in its proud position of to-day, would care- 
 lessly regard the comprehensive struggle of those great principles ! 
 It is the mythical struggle between Heaven and Hell. Woe, a 
 thousand-fold woe, to every Nation which would not embrace, within 
 its sorrows and its cares, the future, but only the present tim'^ ! In 
 the flashing of a moment the future becomes present, and the objects 
 of our present labors have passed away. As the sun throws a mist 
 before the sun rises, so the spirit of the future is seen in the events 
 of the present. 
 
 A philosopher was once questioned, bow could he prove the exist- 
 ence of God ? " Why," answered he, " by opening my eyes. Grod is 
 seen everywhere, — in the growth of the grass, and in the movement 
 of the stars; in the -warbling of the lark, and in the thunder of 
 Heaven." Even so I prove that the decisive struggle in mankind's 
 destiny draws near. I appeal to the sight of your eyes, to the puls- 
 ations of your hearts, and to the judgments of your minds. How blind 
 are those who assert that the continent of Europe, but for the revolu 
 tionary acts of certain men, would be quiet and contented ! Con- 
 tented ? With what? With oppression and servitude? France 
 contented, with its Constitution subverted ? Germany contented, witl 
 being but a fold of sheep, pent up to be shorn by some thirty petty 
 tyrants ? Switzerland contented, with the threatening ambition of 
 ■jncroaching despots ? Italy contented, with the King of Naples ? — 
 or with the priestly Government of Rome, the worst of human inven- 
 tim^ Austria, Rome, Prussia, Dalmatia, contented with having 
 been driven to ljutchery, and, after having been deceived, plundered, 
 oppressed, and laughed at as fools? Poland contented with being 
 murdered ? Hungary, my poor Hungary, contented with being more 
 than murdered — buried alive? — for it is alive! Russia contented 
 writh slavery ? Vienna contented ? Lombardy, Pesth, Milan, Venice^ 
 Prague, contented ? — contented with having been ignominiouslj 
 \)rar»ded, burned, plundered, sacked, and its population butcherrni 
 
1>0LI'"TCAL AND OCCASIONAL. — KOSSUTH. 21 \i 
 
 Half of tbie European continent contented with the scaffold, with t\u 
 hangman, with the prison, with having no political rights at ail, 
 but having to pay innumerable millions for the highly beneficial pur- 
 pose of being kept in a state of serfdom ? That is the condition of 
 the continent, — and is it not ridiculous and absurd in men to prate 
 about individuals disturbing the peace and tranquillity of Europe ? 
 Ah ! Gentlemen, humanity has a nobler destiny than to be the foot- 
 stool to the ambition of certain families. Let the House of Austria 
 trust to its bayonets and its Czar. The People of Hungary and my- 
 self — we trust to God ! I know that the light has spread, and even 
 bayonets think; I know that all the Czars of the world are but 
 mean dust in the hand of God ; and so I firmly hope, — nay, I am 
 certain, — 1 shall yet see Hungary independent and free ! 
 
 7. HEROISM OF THE HUNGARIAN PEOPLE. — Kossuth, Nov. 12, 1851. 
 
 Gentlemen have said that it was I who inspired the Hungarian 
 People. I cannot accept the praise. No, it was not I who inspired 
 the Hungarian People. It was the Hungarian People who inspired 
 me. Whatever I thought, and still think, — whatever I felt, and 
 still feel, — is but the pulsation of that heart which in the breast of 
 my People beats ! The glory of battle is for the historic leaders. 
 Theirs are the laurels of immortality. And yet, in encountering the 
 danger, they knew that, alive or dead, their names would, on the lips 
 of the People, forever live. How different the fortune. — how nobler, 
 how purer, the heroism, — of those children of the People, who went 
 forth freely to meet death in their country's cause, knowing that 
 where they fell they would lie, undistinguished and unknown, — their 
 names unhonored and unsung ! Animated, nevertheless, by the love 
 of freedom and fatherland, they went forth calmly, singing - their 
 National anthems, till, rushing upon the batteries, whose cross-fire 
 vomited upon them death and destruction, they took them without ■ 
 firing a shot, — those who fell falling with the shout, "Hurrah for 
 Hungary ! " And so they died by thousands — the unnamed demi- 
 gods ! ^ Such is the People of Hungary. Still it is said, it is I who 
 have inspired them. No ! — a thousand times, no ! It is they who 
 have inspired me. 
 
 8. "IN A JUST CAUSE."— /fossM^A, Dec. 11, 1851. 
 
 To prove that Washington never attached to his doctrine of neu- 
 Irality more than the sense of temporary policy, I refer to one of his 
 letters, written to Lafayette, wherein he says : — " Let us only hav€ 
 twenty years of peace, and our country will come to such a degree of 
 power and wealth that we will be able, in a just cause, to dety what- 
 ever power on earth." 
 
 •'In a just cause! " Now, in the name of eternal truth, and by 
 ftli ihat is sacred and dear to man, since the history of mankind v 
 
«8C 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 recorded tnere has been 1.0 cause more just than the cause of Hun. 
 gary ! Never was there a People, without the slightest reason, more 
 Bacrilegiously, more treacherously, and by fouler means, attacked than 
 Hungary ! Never laave crime, cursed ambition, despotism and 
 violence, in a more wicked manner, united to crush down freedom, and 
 the Tery life, than against Hungary ! Never was a country more 
 mortally outraged than Hungary. All your sufferings, all your com* 
 plaints, which, with so much right, drove your forefathers to take up 
 arms, are but slight grievances, compared with those immense, deep 
 wounds, out of which the heart of Hungary bleeds ! If the cause 
 of my people is not sufficiently just to insure the protection of God, 
 and the support of good-willing men, then there is no just cause, and 
 no justice on Earth; then the blood of no new Abel will move 
 towards Heaven ; the genius of charity. Christian love and justice, 
 will mourningly fly the Earth ; a heavy curse will upon mortality fall, 
 oppressed men despair, and only the Cains of humanity walk proudly, 
 with impious brow, above the ruins of Liberty on Earth ! 
 
 You have attained that degree of strength and consistency, when 
 your less fortunate brethren of mankind may well claim your broth- 
 erly, protecting hand. And here I stand before you, to plead the 
 cause of these, your less fortunate brethren — the cause of humanity. 
 I may succeed, or I may fail. But I will go on, pleading with that 
 faith of martyrs by which mountains were moved ; and I may dis- 
 please you, perhaps ; still I will say, with Luther, " May God kelp 
 me — / can do no otherwise ! " ¥/oe, a thousand-fold woe, to 
 humanity, should there nobody on earth be to maintain the laws of 
 humanity ! Woe to humanity, should even those who are as mighty 
 as they are free not feel interested in the maintenance of the laws 
 of mankind, because they are laws, but only in so far as some scanty 
 money interests would desire it ! Woe to humanity, if every despot 
 of the world may dare to trample down the laws of humanity, and no 
 free Nation arise to make respected these laws! People of the 
 United States, humanity expects that your glorious Republic will prove 
 to the world that liepublics are formed on virtue. It expects to see 
 you the guardians of the law of humanity ! 
 
 9. PEACE INCONSISTENT WITH OPPRESSION, — JfossufA, Deccmftcr 18, 1851. 
 
 Is the present condition of Europe peace ? Is the scaffold peace ? 
 - • the scaffold, on which, in Lombardy, the blood of three thousand 
 seven hundred and forty-two patriots was spilled during three short 
 years ! Is that peace ? Are the prisons of Austria, filled with 
 patriots, peace ? Or is the murmur of discontent from all the Nations 
 peace ? I believe the Lord has not created the world to be in such a 
 peaceful condition. I believe He has not created it to be the prison 
 of humanity, or the dominion of the Austrian jailer. No! Th« 
 pruHent condition of the world is not peace ! It is a conditim of 
 
POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAIj. -BULtVER. 381 
 
 »|) pression on the European Continent, and because there m this condi* 
 fcion of oppression there cannot be peace ; for so long as men and 
 N^ations are oppressed, and so long as men and Nations are disooD- 
 tented, there cannot be peace — there cannot be tranquillity. War, 
 like a volcano, boiling everlastingly, will, at the slightest opportunity, 
 Oreak out again, and sweep away all the artificial props of peace, and 
 of those interests which on peace depend. Europe is continuallj 
 a great battle-field, — a great barrack. Such is its condition ; and, 
 therefore, let not those who call themselves men of peace say they wiL 
 not help Europe because they love peace ! Let them confess truly 
 that they are not men of peace, but only the upholders of the oppres- 
 sion of Nations. With me and with my principles is peace, because I 
 will always faithfully adhere to the principles of liberty ; and only on 
 the principles of liberty can Nations be contented, and only with the 
 contentment of Nations can there be peace on the earth. With me 
 and with my principles there is peace, — lasting peace, — consistent 
 )>eace ! With the tyrants of the world there is oppression, struggles, 
 and war ! 
 
 10. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER, 1620.— Sir Henry Bulwer, 1S50. 
 
 The history of that plain and simple sect, which has had so great an 
 influence on the character of your People, stands forth as one of the 
 loftiest among the many monuments which attest the truth of thaii 
 great Christian moral, " The proud shall be abased, the humble 
 exalted." It convinces us, if at this day we wanted to be convinced, 
 that it is not the mere will of arbitrary Princes, nor the vain bull of 
 arrogant Pontiffs, that can lay prostrate the independence of the human 
 mind. All assumption only breeds resistance, as all persecution only 
 makes martyrs. Who, indeed, at the period to which this day recalls 
 us, were the mighty of the earth ? On the throne of England then 
 sat a prince justly proud — if pride could ever rest upon sound 
 foundations — of the triple crown which had recently become his 
 family inheritance. In France the sceptre was held in the hands of a 
 still haughtier race, which ruled with supreme authority over the most 
 gallant and chivalrous People in the world. What has become of the 
 illustrious lines of these two royal houses, — of that of the sovereign 
 who gloried in the " non-conformity bill," or that of those sovereigns 
 amongst whose deeds are recorded the massacre of St. Bartholomew 
 and the revocation of the edict of Nantes ? The crown of the Stuarts 
 has melted into air in the one kingdom ; the sceptre of the Bourbons 
 has been shattered into atoms in the other. But here, on this spot, 
 whore I am speaking, still stands, erect and firm, the pilgrim's staff 
 From the bruised seed of the poor and persecuted Puritan has arisen 
 one of the most powerful and prosperous empires in the world. Let 
 :hat which is a warning unto others be a lesson unto you. 
 
 Remember that, when your Pilgrim Fathers first started foi the 
 \jnrncan shores, they trusted themselves to two vessels ^ the one 
 
S82 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKEB. 
 
 boasted m tb<> i^voud name of Speedwell, the other had the gentle 
 appellation of the Mayflower. Which arrived first at its destination l 
 Ihe vaunting Speedwell was obliged to put into port, while the modest 
 Mayflower dashed gallantly across the ocean. You were simple and 
 unpretending m the day of your weakness ; be never vain or arrogant 
 m the day of your strength. You were superior to vour adversity - 
 you have only to be equal to your prosperity. And, if you ever wish 
 to know the principal cause of the proud position you have already 
 achieved, you may look for it confidently among the trials and difii- 
 culties through which you have passed. Yes, if you have made your 
 country, believe me, it is no less true that your country has made you. 
 ^ I grieve, whilst I rejoice, to say that it is amidst the general confu- 
 sion of crude experiments, terrible uncertainties, mystic dreams, and 
 ripening convulsions, that alone and singly is to be seen towering the 
 common Genius of Albion, and of Albion's transatlantic children. No 
 tempest, raised in the heated atmosphere of fantastic theory, clouds 
 her brow ; no blood, spilt in civil butchery, bedaubs her garments ; no 
 poisons, corroding the principles of public and domestic morality, tear 
 her vitals. Serene and undisturbed, she moves onward firmly. Trade 
 find agriculture strew her way with plenty ; law and religion march 
 m her van ; order and freedom follow her footsteps. And here, at this 
 solemn moment, whilst pouring out our libations to the sacred memory 
 of our sainted fathers — here., I invoke that Genius to bless the unioia 
 of our kindred races, to keep steadfast in our hearts the pleasant 
 recollections of the past, to blend gratefully in our minds the nobk 
 aspirations of the future, to hallow in one breath the twin altars we 
 will raise in common to Memory and Hope ! — to " Old Endand and 
 Young America ! " 
 
 11. BRITISH AGGRESSIONS, m%.-Josiah quincy, Jr. Born, 1743 ; rfied, 1775. 
 
 If there ever was a time, this is the hour for Americans to rouse 
 themselves, and exert every ability. Their all is at hazard, and the 
 die of fate spins doubtful. British taxations, suspensions of legisla- 
 tures, and standing armies, are but some of the clouds which overshadow 
 the northern world. Now is the time for this People to summon every 
 aid, human and divine ; to exhibit every moral virtue, and call forth 
 every Christian grace. The wisdom of the serpent, the innocence of 
 the dove, and the intrepidity of the lion, with the blessing of God, will 
 yet save us from the jaws of destruction. 
 
 By the sweat of our brow we earn the little we possess ; from nature 
 we derive the common rights of man ; — and by charter we claim th< 
 liberties of Britons! Shall we — dare we — pusillanimously sur- 
 render our birthright ? Is the obligation to our fathers discharged 1 
 is the debt we owe posterity paid ? Answer me, thou coward, wha 
 Oldest thyself in the hour of trial ! — if there is no reward in this life. 
 00 prize of glory in the next, capable of animating thy dastard soul 
 t}iiuk and tre-'nble, thou miscreant ! at the whips and stripes thy mas 
 
rOLITICAL Aj^D occasional. PRESTON. 
 
 383 
 
 ter shall lash thee with on earth, and the flames and scorpions thy 
 second master shall torment thee with hereafter! 0, my country- 
 men ! what will our children say, when they read the history of 
 these times, should they find we tamely gave away, without one nobk 
 struggle, the most invaluable of earthly blessings ? As they arag the 
 galling chain, will they not execrate us ? If we have any respect for 
 things sacred, any regard to the dearest treasure on earth, — if we 
 have one tender sentiment for posterity, if we would not be despised 
 by the whole world, — let us, in the most open, solemn manner and 
 with determined fortitude, swear we will die, if we cannot live^ 
 freemen ! 
 
 12. ELOQUENCE AND IjOGIG. — mmam C. Preston. 
 
 Our popular institutions demand a talent for speaking, and create a 
 taste for it. Liberty and eloquence are united, in all ages. Where 
 the sovereign power is found in the public mind and the public heart, 
 eloquence is the obvious approach to it. Power and honor, and all 
 that can attract ardent and aspiring natures, attend it. The noblest 
 instinct is to propagate the spirit, — " to make our mind the mind of 
 other men," and wield the sceptre in the realms of passion. In the art 
 of speaking, as in all other arts, a just combination of those qualities 
 necessary to the end proposed is the true rule of taste. Excess is 
 always wrong. Too much ornament is an evil, — too little, also. The 
 one may impede the progress of the argument, or divert attention from 
 it, by the introduction of extraneous matter ; the other may exhaurft 
 attention, or weary by monotony. Elegance is in a just medium The 
 safer side to err on is that of abundance, — as profusion is better than 
 poverty ; as it is better to be detained by the beauties of a landscape, 
 than by the weariness of the desert. 
 
 It is commonly, but mistakenly, supposed that the enforcing of 
 truth is most successfully eftected by a cold and formal logic ; but the 
 subtleties of dialectics, and the fori^s of logic, may play as fantastic 
 tricks with truth, as the most potent magic of Fancy. The attempt 
 to apply mathematical precision to moral truths is always a failure, 
 and generally a dangerous one. If man, and especially masses of men, 
 were purely intellectual, then cold reason would alone be influential to 
 convince ; but our nature is most complex, and many of the great 
 truths which it most concerns us to know are taught us by our 
 instincts, our sentiments, our impulses, and our passions. Even in 
 regard to the highest and holiest of all truth, to know which concorns • 
 us here and hereafter, we are not permitted to approach its investiga- 
 tion in the confidence of proud and erring reason, but are taught to 
 (x;come as little children before we are worthy to receive it. It is k> 
 this complex nature that the speaker addresses himself, and the degree 
 jf power with which all the elements are evoked is the criterion of the 
 orator. His business, to be sure, is to convince, but more to persuade : 
 and most of all, to inspire with noble and generous passions It is thi 
 
3b4 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 cant of criticism, in all ages, to make a distinction between logic and 
 eloquence, and to stigmatize the latter as declamation. Logic ascer- 
 tains the weight of an argument, Eloquence gives it momentum. Thf 
 difference is that between the vis inerticR of a mass of metal, and th^ 
 same ball hurled from the cannon's mouth. . Eloquence is an argument 
 alive and in motion, — the statue of Pygmalion inspired with vitality. 
 
 13. SENDING RELIEF TO IRELAND, 1847. — S. S. Prentus. 
 
 We have assembled, not to respond to shouts of triumph from the 
 West,* but to answer the cry of want and suffering which comes from 
 the East. The Old World stretches out her arms to the New. The 
 starving parent supplicates the young and vigorous child for bread. 
 There lies, upon the other side of the wide Atlantic, a beautiful island, 
 famous in story and in song. Its area is not so great as that of the 
 State of Louisiana, while its population is almost half that of the 
 Union. It has given to the world more than its share of genius and 
 of greatness. It has been prolific in statesmen, warriors, and poets. 
 Its brave and generous sons have fought successfully all battles but 
 their own. In wit and humor it has no equal, while its harp, like ita 
 history, moves to tears, by its sweet but melancholy pathos. Into this 
 fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrible of all those fear- 
 ful ministers who fulfil his inscrutable decrees. The earth has failed 
 to give her increase ; the common mother has forgotten her offspring, 
 and her breast no longer affords them their accustomed nourishment. 
 Famine, gaunt and gha'stly famine, has seized a nation in its strangling 
 grasp ; and unhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, forgets, 
 for a moment, the gloomy history of the past. 
 
 0 ! it is terrible, in this beautiful world, which the good God 
 has given us, and in which there is plenty for us all, that men should 
 die of starvation ! You, who see, each day, poured, into the lap of 
 your city, food sufficient to assuage the hunger of a nation, can form 
 but an imperfect idea of the horrors of famine. In battle, in the ful- 
 ness of his pride and strength, little re^ks the soldier whether the hiss 
 mg bullet sings his sudden requiem, or the cords of life are severed by 
 the sharp steel. But he who dies of hunger wrestles alone, day aftei 
 day, with his grim and unrelenting enemy. The blood recedes, the 
 flesh deserts, the muscles relax, and the shiews grow powerless. At 
 }a«t, the mind, which, at first, had bravely nerved itself for the contest, 
 gives way, under the mysterious influences which govern its union with 
 the body. Then he begins to doubt the existence of an overruling 
 Providence ; he hates his fellow-men, and glares upon them with the 
 longings of a cannibal, and, it may be, dies blaspheming ! 
 
 Who will hesitate to give his mite to avert such awful results ? 
 Surelv not the citizens of New Orleans, ever famed for deeds of benevo- 
 ftnce and charity. Freely have your hearts and purses opened, hero 
 
 • An allusion to the victories in Mexico, the news of which had bees reoexiil] 
 raoeired. 
 
POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. MOQNTFORD. 385 
 
 tolbre, to the call of suffering humanity. Nobly did you respond to 
 oppressed Greece and to struggling Poland. Within Erin's borders ia 
 an enemy more cruel than the Turk, more tyrannical than the Ruii 
 fiian. Bread is the only weapon that can conquer him. Let us, then, 
 load ships with this glorious munition, and, in the name of our common 
 humanity, wage war against this despot Famine. Let us, in God'a 
 name, " cast our bread upon the waters," and if we are selfish enough 
 to desire it back again, we may recollect the promise, that it shall 
 return to us after many days. 
 
 14. A PLEA FOR THE SAILOR. — ;ri7«am MoMn(/or(i. 
 
 0, THE difference between sea and land ! The sailor lives a life of 
 daily, hourly, momentary risk, and he reckons it by voyages. He 
 goes on your errands, he dares dangers for you, he lives a strange life 
 for you. Think of what winter is at sea. Think of what it is to have 
 the waves discharge themselves on a ship, with a roar like artillery, 
 and a force not much less. Think of what it is for a sailor to be aloft 
 m_ the rigging, holding on by a rope, wet with the rain, or numbed 
 with the cold, and with the mast of the ship swaying, with the wind, 
 like a reed. Think of what it is when men drop from the yard-arms 
 mto the sea, or when they are washed from the deck like insects. 
 Think of what it is, day and night, without rest and \vithout sleep, to 
 strive against a storm, ^ against the might of wind and waves, - ■ 
 every wave a mighty enemy to surmount. Think what it is to strike 
 on a rock, — to shriek but once, and then, perhaps, be drowned. 
 Ihmk of the diseases that come of hardships at sea. Think of what it 
 
 to be sick in a lazaretto, — to lie dying in a foreign hospital. 
 Ihmk of all this, and then, perhaps, you will think rightly of what it 
 is to be a sailor. 
 
 _ Think of what you yourselves owe to the sailor. It is through his 
 intervention that you are possessed of those comforts that make of a 
 house a home. Live comfortably you cannot, — live at all, perhaps, 
 you cannot, — without seamen will expose themselves for you, risk 
 themselves for you, and, alas ! often, very often, drown, — drown in 
 your service, — drown, and leave widows and orphans destitute. 0 ^ 
 what a consideration it is, that, so often, my happiness is from suffer- 
 ing somewhere ! My saltation is from a death upon a cross. The 
 church I worship in has every one of its pillars deep founded in a 
 martyr's grave. The philosophy that delights me for its truth is whtit 
 3ome wise man had first to learn in bitterness. My comforts are mine, 
 many of them, througu other men's miseries. Commerce spread? the 
 world_ about me with blessings, but not without there being shipwrecks 
 Irom It on every coast, and deaths by drowning, — several every day. 
 the year round. " 
 
 Ah! yes; fx) beg with me, to plead with me, for the widow and 
 orphan ot the mariner, there comes, from many a place where seamen 
 l»a\e died, a call, a prayer, a beseeching voice ; — a cry from the coasf 
 25 
 
Bern 
 
 5gO THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 of Guinoa, where there is fever evermore ; a cry from Arctic 
 where icebergs are death ; a cry from coral reefs, that ships are wrecked 
 on horribly ; a cry from many a foreign city, where the sailor, as k« 
 dies, speaks of his family, and is not understood ; a cry from mid-ocean, 
 where many a sailor drops into a sudden grave ! They ask your help, 
 your charity, for the widows and the orphans of those who, in times past, 
 have gone down to the sea, — have gone down to the sea in ships ! 
 
 15. OUR RELATIONS TO ENGLAND, 1824. — JEdwarcf jE:i;ere«. 
 
 Who does not feel, what reflecting American does not acknowledge, 
 the incalculable advantages derived to this land out of the deep foun- 
 tains of civil, intellectual, and moral truth, from which we have drawn 
 in Eno-land ? What American does not feel proud that his fathers 
 were the countrymen of Bacon, of Newton, and of Locke ? Who does 
 not know, that, while every pulse of civil liberty in the heart of the 
 British empire beat warm and full in the bosom of our ancestors, the 
 sobriety, the firmness, and the dignity, with which the cause of free 
 Drinciples stru<^gled into existence here, constantly found encourage- 
 ment and countenance from the friends of liberty there ? Who does 
 not remember, that, when the Pilgrims went over the sea, the prayera 
 of the faithful British confessors, in all the quarters of their disper- 
 sion, went over with them, while their aching eyes were strained till 
 the star of hope should go up in the western skies? And who wiU 
 ever forget, that, in that eventful struggle which severed these youth- 
 ful republics trom the British crown, there was not heard, throughout 
 our continent in arms, a voice which spoke louder for the rights of 
 America than that of Burke, or of Chatham, withm the walls of the 
 British Parliament, and at the foot of the British throne? No; for 
 myself, I can truly say, that, after my native land, I fcel a tenderness 
 and a reverence for that of my fathers. The pride I take m my own 
 country makes me respect that from which we are sprung. In touch- 
 ing the soil of England, I seem to return, like a descendant, to the old 
 family seat, — to come back to the abode of an aged and venerable 
 parent. I acknowledge this great consanguinity of nations. The 
 eound of my native language, beyond the sea, is a music, to my eai% 
 beyond the richest strains of Tuscan softness or Castilian majesty. 1 
 am not yet in a land of strangers, while surrounded by the manners, 
 the habits, and the institutions, under which I have been brought up. 
 1 wander delighted through a thousand scenes, which the historians 
 and the poets have made familiar to us, — of which the names are 
 interwoven with our earliest associations. I tread with reverence the 
 spots where I can retrace the footsteps of our sufiering fathers. Tht 
 pleasant land of their birth has a claim on my heart. It seems to nae 
 a classic, yea, a holy land ; rich in the memory of the great and good 
 the champions and the martyrs of liberty, the exiled heralds of truth 
 'Wjd richer, as the parent of this land of promise in the West. ^ 
 
 I am not — I need not say I am not — the panegyrist of Kngland 
 I am not dazzle(J by her riches, nor awed by her power. The soeptr« 
 
POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL, EVERETT. 
 
 387 
 
 '.he mitre, and tlie coronet, — stars, garters, and blue ribbons, — seem 
 GO me poor things for great men to contend for. Nor is my admiratico 
 iwakened by her armies, mustered for the battles of Europe; lier 
 oavies, overshadowing the ocean ; nor her empire, grasping the furths^t. 
 East. It is these, and the price of guilt and blood by which they are 
 fcoo often maintained, which are the cause why no friend of liberty can 
 salute her, with undivided affections. But it is the cradle and the 
 refuge of free principles, though often persecuted ; the school of reli- 
 gious liberty, the more precious for the struggles through which it has 
 passed ; the tombs of those who have reflected honor on all who speak 
 the English tongue ; it is the birth-place of our fathers, the home of 
 the Pilgrims ; — it is these which I love and venerate in England. I 
 should feal ashamed of an enthusiasm for Italy and Greece, did I not 
 also feel it for a land like this. In an American, it would seem w> me 
 degenerate and ungrateful to hang with passion upon the traces of 
 Homer aod Virgil, and follow, without emotion, the nearer and plainer 
 footsteps of Shakspeare and Milton. I should think him cold in hig 
 love for hJs native land who felt no melting in his heart for that other 
 native country, which holds the ashes of his forefathers. 
 
 16. IMPERISHABILITY OF GREAT EXAMPLES. — Edwara Everett. 
 
 To be cold and breathless, — to feel not and speak not, — this is not 
 the end of existence to the men who have breathed their spirits into the 
 institutions of their country, who have stamped their characters on the 
 pillars of the age, who have poured their hearts' blood into the channels 
 of the public prosperity. Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon 
 sacred height, is Warren dead ? Can you not still see him, not pale 
 and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly 
 wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honor, with the rose 
 of Heaven upon his cheek, and the fire of liberty in his eye ?* Tell me, 
 ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is Wash- 
 ington, indeed, shut up in that cold and narrow house ? That which 
 made these men, and men like these, cannot die. The hand that traceJ 
 the charter of Independence is, indeed, motionless ; the eloquent lips 
 that sustained it are hushed ; but the lofty spirits that conceived, 
 resolved, and maintained it, and which alone, to such men, " make It 
 UCa to live," these cannot expire : 
 
 " These shall resist the empire of decay, 
 When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away ; 
 Cold in the dust the perished heart may lie, 
 But that which warmed it once can never die.** 
 
 17. CIYILIZATION 0¥ AmiG A, 1832. — Edward Everett. 
 
 It is said that it is impossible to civilize Africa. Why? Wny k 
 it impossible to civilize man in one part of the earth more than in 
 another? Consult history. Was Italy — was Greece — the cradle 
 of civilization ? No. As far back as the lights of tradition reach, 
 
888 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Africa was the cradle of science, while Syria, and Greece, and lUy 
 were yet covered with darkness. As far back as we can trace th* 
 Erst rudiments of improvement, they came from the very head waters 
 of the Nile, far in the interior of Africa ; and there are yet to^ be 
 found, in shapeless ruins, the monuments of this primeval civilization. 
 To come down to a much later period, while the West and North of 
 Europe were yet barbarous, the Mediterranean coast of Africa was 
 ailed with cities, academies, museums, churches, and a highly civilized 
 population. What has raised the Gaul, the Belgium, the Germany, 
 the Scandinavia, the Britain, of ancient geography, to their present 
 improved and improving condition ? Africa is not now sunk lower than 
 most of those countries were eighteen centuries ago ; and the engines 
 of social influence are increased a thousand-fold in numbers and effi- 
 cacy. It is not eighteen hundred years ago since Scotland, whose 
 metropolis has been called the Athens of modern Europe, — the country 
 of Hume, of Smith, of Robertson, of Blair, of Stewart, of Brown, of 
 JetFrey, of Chalmers, of Scott, of Brougham, — was a wilderness, mfested 
 by painted savages. It is not a thousand years since the North of 
 Germany, now filled with beautiful cities, learned universities, and the 
 best educated population in the world, was a dreary, pathless forest. 
 
 Is it possible that, before an assembly like this,— an assembly of 
 Americans, — it can be necessary to argue the possibility of civilismg 
 Africa, through the instrumentality of a colonial estabhshment, and 
 that in a comparatively short time ? It is but about ten years smce 
 the foundations of the colony of Liberia were laid ; and every one 
 acquainted with the early history of New England knows that the col- 
 ony at Liberia has made much greater progress than was made by the 
 settlement at Plymouth in the same period. More than once were the 
 first settlements in Virginia in a position vastly less encouragmg than 
 that of the American colony on the coast of Africa ; and yet, from 
 these feeble beginnings in New England and Virginia, what has not been 
 brought about in two hundred years ? Two hundred years ago, and 
 the Continent of North America, for the barbarism of its native pop- 
 ulation, and its remoteness from the sources of improvement, was all 
 that Africa is now. Impossible to civilize Africa ! Sir, the work is 
 already, in no small part, accomplished. 
 
 18. WHAT GOOD WILL THE MONUMENT DO? im. — Edward Everett 
 
 I AM met with the great objection. What good will the Momimeni 
 do? I beg leave, Sir, to exercise my birthright as a Yankee, and 
 answe]- this question by asking two or three more, to which 1 believe 
 it will be quite as difficult to furnish a satisfactory reply. I am asked, 
 What frood will the monument do ? And I ask, what good does any- 
 thing do ? What is good ? Does anything do any good ? The f)er. 
 sons who suggest this objection, of course, think that there are some 
 oroiccts and undertakings that do good ; and I should therefore like 
 to have the idea of good explainpd, and analyzed, and run out; to lU 
 
JPOLITICAL AKD OCCASIONAL. — WEBSTER. 388 
 
 e»ements. '/Hien this is done, if I do not demonstrate, in aboi* \ twc 
 minutes, that the monument does the same kind of good that anything 
 else does, I shall consent that the huge blocks of granite, already laid, 
 should be reduced to gravel, and carted off to fill up the mill-pond; 
 for that, I suppose, is one of the good things. Does a railroad or canal 
 do good ? Answer, yes. And how ? It facilitates intercoarse, opens 
 markets, and increases the wealth of the country. But what is this 
 good for ? Why, individuals prosper and get rich. And what good 
 does that do ? Is mere wealth, as an ultimate end, — gold and silver, 
 without aii inquiry as to their use, — are these a good ? Certainly not! 
 I should insult this audience by attempting to prove that a rich man, 
 ds such, is neither better nor happier than a poor one. But, as men grow 
 rich, they live better. Is there any good in this, stopping here ? Is 
 mere animal life — feeding, working, and sleeping like an ox — entitled 
 to be called good ? Certainly not. But these improvements increase 
 the population. And what good does that do ? Vf here is the good in 
 counting twelve millions, instead of six, of mere feeding, working, 
 sleeping animals ? There is, then,- no good in the mere animal Hit] 
 ^ixcept that it is the physical basis of that higher moral existence, 
 which resides in the soul, the heart, the mind, the conscience ; in good 
 principles, good feelings, and the good actions (M the more disinter- 
 ested, the more entitled to be called good) which flow from them. 
 Now, Sir, I say that generous and patriotic sentiments, sentiments 
 which prepare us to serve our country, to live for our country, to die 
 for our country, — feelings like those which carried Prescott and War- 
 ren and Putnam to the battle-field, are good, — good, humanly speak- 
 ing, of the highest order. It is good to have them, good to encourage 
 them, good to honor them, good to commemorate them ; and whatevei 
 tends to animate and strengthen such feelings does as much right down 
 practical good as filling up low grounds and building railroads. This 
 is my demonstration. 
 
 19. TO THE REVOLUTIONARY VETERANS. -DanieZ Webster, at the laying of the cor- 
 ner-stone of the Bunker Hill Monument, June 17, 1825. 
 
 We hold still among us some of those who were active agents in 
 the scenes of 1775, and who are now here, from every quarter of New 
 England, to visit once more, and under circumstances so afiecting, — 
 [ had almost said so overwhelming, — this renowned theatre of their 
 courage and patriotism. 
 
 Venerable men ! you have come down to us from a former genera- 
 tion. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you 
 might behold this joyous day. You are now, where you stood, fifty 
 years ago, this very hour, with your brothers, and your neighbors, 
 shoulder to shoulder, in the strife for your country. Behold, how 
 altered. The same heavens are indeed over your heads; the same 
 Dwan rolls at your feet ; but all else how changed ! You hear now 
 ao roai of hostile cannon you see now no mixed volumes of sraoki 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKJ^. 
 
 and tame rising from burning Charlestown. The ground strewed with 
 the dtAid and the dying ; the impetuous charge ; the steady and sue* 
 cessful repulse ; the loud call to repeated assa,ult ; the summoning of 
 all that is manly to repeated resistance ; a thousand bosoms freely and 
 fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror there may bo iii 
 war and' death; — all these you have witnessed, but you witness them no 
 more. All is peace. The heights of yonder" metropolis, its towers and 
 roofs, which you thea saw filled with wives and children and country- 
 men in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions foi 
 the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight of 
 its whole happy population come out to welcome and greet you with 
 an universal jubilee. All is peace ; and God has granted you this sight 
 of your country's happiness, ere you slumber iu the grave forever. 
 
 But, alas ! you are not all here. Time and the sword have thinned 
 your ranks. Preseott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, Pomeroy, Bri<lge ! 
 
 our eyes seek for you in vain amidst this broken band. But 
 
 let us not too much grieve, that you have met the common fate of 
 men. You lived to see your country's independence established, and 
 to sheathe your swords from war. On the light of Liberty, you saw 
 arise the light of Peace, like 
 
 " Another mom 
 Risen on mid-noon ; " — 
 
 and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless. 
 
 But — ah ! — him ! the first great martyr in this great cause ! 
 Him ! the premature victim of his own self-devoting heart ! Him ! 
 the head of our civil councils, and the destined leader of our military 
 bands, whom nothing brought hither but the unquenchable fire of his 
 own spirit ! Him ! cut off by Providence in the hour of overwhelm- 
 ing anxiety and thick gloom ; falling, ere he saw the star of his coun- 
 try rise ; pouring out his generous blood, like water, before he knew 
 whether it would fertilize a land of freedom or of bondage! — how shall 
 I struggle with the emotions that stifle the utterance of thy name ! 
 Our poor work may perish, but thine shall endure ! This monument 
 may moulder away ; the solid ground it rests upon may sink down to 
 a level with the sea ; 'mt thy memory shall not fail ! Wheresoever 
 among men a heart shall be found that beats to the transports of 
 patriotism and liberty, its aspirations shall be to claim kindred with 
 
 thy spirit ! . 1 1 v 
 
 Veterans ! you are the remnant of many a well-fought field. You 
 bring with you marks of honor from Trenton and Monmouth, from 
 ITor&own, Camden, Bennington, and Saratoga. Veterans of half a 
 century ! when, in your youthful days, you put everything at hazard 
 in your country's cause, good as that cause was, and sanguine as youth 
 IS, still your fondest hopes did not stretch onward to an hour like this' 
 Look aoroad into this lovely land, which your young valor defended, 
 and mark the happiness with which it is filled ; yea, look abroad intc 
 the whole ojirth, and see what a name you have contributed ta give t< 
 
POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. — WEBSTER. 
 
 four country, and what a praise you have added to freedom, and then 
 lejoice in the sympathy and gratitude which beam upon your last 
 iays firom the improved condition of mankind. 
 
 20. SANCTITY OF STATE OBLIGATIONS, 1840. — ff^efis/er. 
 
 We have the good fortune, under the blessing of a benign Provi. 
 donee, to live in a country which we are proud of for many things, — 
 for its independence, for its public liberty, for its free institutions, for 
 its public spirit, for its enlightened patriotism ; but we are proud also. 
 — and it is among those things we should be the most proud of, — wo 
 are proud of its public justice, of its sound faith, of its substantially 
 correct morals in the administration of the Government, and the gen 
 sral conduct of the country, since she took her place among the nations 
 of the world. ^ But among the events which most threaten our char- 
 acter and standing, and which so grossly attach on these moral princi- 
 pies that have hitherto distinguished us, are certain sentiments which 
 have been broached among us, and, I am sorry to say, have more gup. 
 porters than they ought, because they strike at the very foundation of 
 the social system. I do not speak especially of those which have been 
 promulgated by some person in my own State, but of others, which go 
 yet deeper into our political condition, I refer to the doctrine that 
 one generation of men, acting under the Constitution, cannot bind 
 another generation, who are to be their successors ; on which ground 
 it is held, among other things, that State bonds are not obligatory. 
 
 What ! one generation cannot bind another ? Where is The link of 
 separation ? It changes hourly. The American community to-day ij) 
 not the same with the American community to-morrow. The commu- 
 nity in which I began this day to address you is not the same as it is 
 at this moment. How abhorrent is such a doctrine to those great 
 truths which teach us that, though individuals flourish and decay, 
 States are immortal ; that political communities are ever young, ever 
 green, ever flourishing, ever identical ! The individuals who compose 
 them may change, as the atoms of our bodies change ; but the politica] 
 community still exists in its aggregate capacity, as do our bodies in 
 their natural; with this only difierence, — that we know that our 
 natural frames must soon dissolve, and return to their original dust ; 
 but, for our country, she yet lives, — she ever dwells in our nearts, 
 and it will, even at that solemn moment, go up as our last aspiration 
 to Heaven, that she may be immortal ! 
 
 n. THE FOURTH OF JVLY. - Daniel fFehster, at TVashinrton, D C, July mi, 7m 
 
 laying the corner-stone of the new wing of the Capitol. 
 
 This is that day of the year which announced to mankind the grea* 
 &ct of American Independence ! This fresh and brilliant morning 
 blesses our vision with another beholding of the birth-day cf our nation • 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 and we see thst nation, of recent origin, now among the most consid 
 erablo and powerful, and spreading over the continent from sea to sea 
 
 « Westward the course of empire takes its way; 
 The four first acts already past, 
 A fifth shall close the drama with the day, — 
 f Time's noblest offspring is the last." 
 
 On the day of the Declaration of Independence, our illustrious fathers 
 performed the first scene in the last great act of this drama ; one, id 
 real im.portance, infinitely exceeding that for which the great English 
 poet invoked 
 
 <* A muse of fire, 
 A kingdom for a stage, princes to act. 
 And monarchs to beliold the swelling scene." 
 
 The Muse inspiring our fathers was the Genius of Liberty, all on fire 
 with a sense of oppression, and a resolution to throw it off ; the whole 
 world was the stage, and higher characters than princes trod it ; and, 
 instead of monarchs, countries, and nations, and the age, beheld the 
 swelling scene. How well the characters were cast, and how well each 
 acted his part, and what emotions the whole performance excited, let 
 history, now and hereafter, tell. 
 
 On the Fourth of July, 1776, the representatives of the United 
 States of America, in Congress assembled, declared that these United 
 Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States. 
 This declaration, made by most patriotic and resolute men, trusting in 
 the justice of their cause, and the protection of Heaven, — and yet 
 made not without deep solicitude and anxiety, — has now stood for 
 seventy-five years, and still stands. It was sealed in blood. It has 
 met dangers, and overcome them ; it has had enemies, and conquered 
 them ; it has had detractors, and abashed them all ; it kas had doubt- 
 ing friends, but it has cleared all doubts away ; and now, to-day, rais« 
 ing its august form higher than the clouds, twenty millions of people 
 contemplate it with hallowed love, and the world beholds it,_ and the 
 consequences which have followed from it, with profound admiration. 
 
 This anniversary animates, and gladdens, and unites, all American 
 hearts. On other days of the year we may be party men, indulging 
 in controversies more or less important to the public good ; we may 
 have likes and dislikes, and we may maintain our political differences, 
 often with warm, and sometimes with angry feelings. But to-day we 
 are Americans all ; and all nothing but Americans. As the great 
 luminary over our heads, dissipating mists and fogs, now cheera the 
 whole hemisphere, so do the associations connected with this day dis- 
 perse all cloudy and sullen weather in the minds and feelings of true 
 Americans. Every man's heart swells within him, every man's port 
 and bearing becomes somewhat more proud and lofty, as he remembers 
 that sevcntjz-five years have rolled away, and that the great inheritance 
 of liberty is still his ; his, undiminished and unimpaired ; his, in all 
 its original glory ; his to enjoy, his to protect, and his to tran-mit t« 
 future generations. 
 
POMTICAL AND OCCASIONAL. WEBSTER. 
 
 39a 
 
 I z2 A^>0STR0PHE 1 0 WASHINGTON, — On the last-nsmed occasion 
 
 I Fellow-citizens : What contemplations are awakened in out minds 
 we assemble here to reenact a scene like that performed by 
 Washington A Methinks I see his venerable form now before me,: as 
 presented in the glorious statue bj Houdon, now in the Capitol of 
 Virginia. ; He is dignified and grave ; but concern and anxiety seem 
 to soften the lineaments of his countenance. The government over 
 which he presides is yet in the crisis of experiment. Not free from 
 troubles at home, he sees the world in commotion and arms all around 
 him. He sees that imposing foreign powers are half disposed to 
 try the strength of the recently established American government. 
 Mighty thoughts, mingled with fears as well as with hopes, are strug- 
 gling within him. He heads a short procession over these then naked 
 fields ; he crosses yonder stream on a fallen tree ; he ascends to the 
 top of this eminence, whose original oaks of the forest stand as thick 
 around him as if the spot had been devoted to Druidical worship, and 
 here he performs the appointed duty of the day. ^ 
 ^ -Aad.-4iow,- fellow-citizen&,.. if this vision were a reality, — if Wash- 
 ington actually were now amongst us, — aa4 if lie could draw around 
 him the shades of the great public men^*yf his owii days, patriots and 
 ■warriors, orators and statesmen, and Vere to address us in their 
 presence, would he not say to us : " Ye men of this generation, I 
 rejoice and thank Grod for being able to see that our labors, and toils, 
 and sacrifices, were not in vain. You are prosperous, you are 
 ^apPJ' are grateful. The fire of liberty burns brightly and 
 steadily in your hearts, while duty and the law restrain it from burst- 
 ing forth in wild and destructive conflagration. Cherish liberty, as 
 you love it ; cherish its securities, as you wish to preserve it. Main- 
 tain the Constitution which we labored so painfully to establish, and 
 which has been to yoii such a source of inestimable blessings. Pre- 
 serve the Union of the States, cemented as it was by our prayers, our 
 tears and our blood. Be true to Grod, to your country, and to your 
 duty. So shall the whole Eastern world follow the morning sun, to 
 contemplate you as a nation ; so shall all generations honor you, as 
 they honor us ; and so shall that Almighty Power which so graciously 
 protected us, and which now protects you, shower its everlasting bless- 
 ings upon you and your posterity ! " 
 
 G-reat father of your country ! we heed your words ; we feel their 
 force, as if you now uttered them with lips of flesh and blood. Your 
 example teaches us, your afiectionate addresses teach us , your pub- 
 He life teaches us, your sense of the value of the blessings of the 
 Union. Those blessings our fathers have tasted, and we have tasted, 
 wad still taste. Nor do we intend that those who come after us shaj 
 oe denied the same high fruition. Our honor, as well as our happi 
 less, is concerned. We cannot, we dare not, we will not, l)etraj our 
 sacred trust. We will not filch from posterity the treasure placed in 
 our hands to be trammitted to other generations. The bow that gilds 
 
394 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 ihe ciciuds m the Heavens, the pillars that upLold the firmament, 
 may disappear and fall away in the hour appointed by the will of 
 God ; but, until that day comes, or so long as our lives may last, qo 
 ruthless hand shall undermine that bright arch of Union and Liberty 
 which spans the continent from Washington to California ! 
 
 23. THE POWER OF PUBLIC OPINION, 1852. — fFebster 
 
 We are too much inclined to underrate the power of moral inflii^ 
 ence, and the influence of public opinion, and the influence of princi- 
 ples to which great men, the lights of the world and of the age, nave 
 given their sanction. Who doubts that, in our own struggle for 
 Uberty and independence, the majestic eloquence of Chatham, the 
 profound reasoning of Burke, the burning satire and irony of Col. 
 Barre, had influences upon our fortunes here in America ? They had 
 influences both ways. They tended, in the first place, somewhat io 
 diminish the confidence of the British Ministry in their hopes of 
 success, in attempting to subjugate an injured People. They had 
 influence another way, because, all along the coasts of the country,— 
 and all our people in that day lived upon the coast,— there was 
 not a reading man who did not feel stronger, bolder, and more deter- 
 mined in the assertion of his rights, when these exhilarating accounts 
 from the two Houses of Parliament reached him from beyond the 
 seas. He felt that those who held and controlled public opinion else- 
 where were with us ; that their words of eloquence might produce an 
 3fi"ect in the region where they were uttered ; and, above all, they 
 assured them that, in the judgment of the just, and the wise, and the 
 impartial, their cause was just, and they were right ; and therefore 
 they said. We will fight it out to the last. 
 
 Now, Gentlemen, another great mistake is sometimes made. We 
 think that nothing is powerful enough to stand before autocratic, 
 monarchical, or despotic power. There is something strong enough, 
 quite strong enough, — and, if properly exerted, will prove itself so, — 
 and that is the power of intelligent public opinion in all the Nations ot 
 the earth. There is not a monarch on earth whose throne is iiot 
 liable to be shaken by the progress of opinion, and the sentiment of 
 the just and intelligent" part of the People. It becomes us, in the 
 station which we hold, to let that public opinion, so far as we form it, 
 have a free course. Let it go out ; let it be pronounced in thunder 
 tones ; let it open the ears of the deaf ; let it open the eyes of the 
 blind; and let it everywhere be proclaimed what we of this great 
 Republic think of the general principle of human liberty, and of that 
 oppression which all abhor. Depend upon it. Gentlemen, that between 
 these two rival powers — the autocratic power, maintained by arms and 
 tbrce, and the popular power, maintained by opinion, — the former is 
 cjonstantly decreasing, and, thank God, the latter is constantly increas- 
 ing! Ileal human liberty and human rights are gaining the ascend- 
 - %nt, and the part which we have to act, in al this great drama, w t« 
 
JPOIilTICAL AND OCCASIONAL.- KING. 
 
 thow ourselves in favor of those rights, to uphold cur asceaaency, and 
 £0 carry it on until we shall see it culminate in the highest Heavei: 
 over our heads. 
 
 24. THE FUTURE OP THE UNITED STATES. — Prcsi'den/ Kin^ 
 
 I HAVE faith in the future, because I have confidence in the present. 
 With our growth in wealth and in power, I see no abatement in those 
 qualities, moral and physical, to which so much of our success is owing ; 
 and, while thus true to ourselves, true to the instincts of freedom, and 
 to^ those other instincts which, with our race, seem to go hand in hand 
 with Freedom, — love of order and respect for law {as law, and not 
 because it is upheld by force), — we must continue to prosper. 
 
 The sun shines not upon, has never shone upon, a land where 
 human happiness is so widely disseminated, where human government 
 is so little abused, so free from oppression, so invisible, intangible, and 
 yet so strong. Nowhere else do the institutions which constitute a 
 State rest upon so broad a base as here ; and nowhere are men so 
 powerless, and institutions so strong. In the wilderness of free minds, 
 dissensions will occur; and, in the unlimited discussion in writing and 
 in speech, in town-meetings, newspapers, and legislative bodies, angry 
 and menacing language will be used ; irritations will arise and be 
 aggravated ; and those immediately concerned in the strife, or breath- 
 ing its atmosphere, may fear, or feign to fear, that danger is in such ' 
 hot breath and passionate resolves. But outside, and above, and beyond 
 all this, is the People, — steady, industrious, self-possessed, — caring 
 little for abstractions, and less for abstractionists, but, with one deep, 
 common sentiment, and with the consciousness, calm, but quite sure 
 and earnest, that, in the Constitution and the Union, as they received 
 them from their fathers, and as they themselves have observed and 
 maintained them, is the sheet-anchor of their hope, the pledge of their 
 prosperity, the palladium of their liberty ; and with this, is that other 
 consciousness, not less calm and not less earnest, that, in their own 
 keeping exclusively, and not in that of any party leaders or party 
 demagogues, or poKtical hacks, or speculators, is the integrity of that 
 Union and that Constitution. It is in the strong arms and honest 
 hearts of the great masses, who are not members of Congress, nor 
 holders^of office, nor spouters at town-meetings, that resides the safety 
 of the Stat^ ; and these masses, though slow to move, are irresistibJa 
 when the time and the occasion for moving come. 
 
 I have faith, therefore, in the Future ; and when, at the close of 
 this half-century, which so comparatively few of us are to see, the 
 account shall again be taken, and the question be asked, What has 
 Nevf York done since 1850 ? I have faith that the answer will be 
 given in a City still advancing in population, wealth, morals, and 
 knowledge, -- in a City free, and deserving, by her virtues, her benev- 
 alent institutions, her schools, her courts and her temples, to continue 
 free, and still part and parcel of this great and glorious Union, — 
 wnich mav God preserve till Time shall be no more : 
 
396 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 25 mPORTANLTE OF THE AGRICULTURAL INTEREST. — Ca/el Cuakina 
 
 These United States are, as a whole, and always have been, chiefly 
 dependent, for their wealth and power, on the natural productions of 
 the earth. It is the spontaneous products of our forests, our mines, 
 and our seas, and the cultivated products of our soil, which have made, 
 aud continue to make, us what we are. Manufacture can but modify 
 these, commerce only distribute or accumulate them, and exchange 
 them for others, to gratify taste, or promote convenience. Land ia 
 the footstool of our power ; land is the throne of our empire. 
 
 Generation after generation may give themselves up to slaughter, 
 in civil or foreign war ; dynasty follow dynasty, each with new vari- 
 eties of oppression or misrule ; the fratricidal rage of domestic factions 
 rend the entrails of their common country ; temples, and basilica, aod 
 Capitols, crumble to dust ; proud navies melt into the yeast of the 
 sea ; and all that Art fitfully does to perpetuate itself disappear like 
 the phantasm of a troubled dream ; — but Nature is everlasting ; and, 
 above the wreck and uproar of our vain devices and childish tumults, 
 the tutelary stars continue to sparkle on us from their distant spheres ; 
 the sun to pour out his vivifying rays of light and heat over the earth , 
 the elements to dissolve, in grateful rain ; the majestic river to roll on 
 his fertilizing waters unceasingly ; and the ungrudging soil to yield 
 up the plenteousness of its harvest, year after year, to the hand of the 
 husbandman. He, the husbandman, is the servant of those divine 
 elements of earth and air ; he is the minister of that gracious, that 
 benign, that bounteous, that fostering, that nourishing, that renovat- 
 mg, that inexhaustible, that adorable Nature ; and, as such, the stew- 
 ardship of our nationality is in him. 
 
 26. EUROPEAN STRUGGLES FOR FREEDOM, 184S.—Reverdy Johnson. 
 
 Amidst the agitating throes of the Old World, — amidst the fall 
 of Thrones, the prostration of Dynasties, the flight of Kings, — 
 what American, native or naturalized, lives, who does not admire and 
 love his Government, and is not prepared to die in its defence ? Our 
 power, and our unexampled private and public prosperity, are to be 
 referred altogether to our Constitutional liberty. Can it be wondered 
 at, that, with such an example before them, the Nations of Europe 
 should be striking for freedom ? Sooner or later, the blow was iney- 
 itable. Absolute individual liberty, secured by the power of all ; pri- 
 vate rights of person and property held sacred, and maintained by the 
 will and power of all ; perfect equality of all ; absence of degrading 
 inferiority ; each standing on a common platform ; no selected Lords 
 nor Sovereigns, by election or by birth, but every honest man a Lord 
 and a Sovereign, — constitutes a proud and glorious contrast, challeng- 
 ing, and, sooner or later, certain to obtain, the applause, admiration, 
 uiid adoption of the world. 
 
 Appauntly sudden and unexpected as have been these great popu- 
 lar struggles, with which we are sympathizing, they were as certain 
 
POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. OHOATE. 
 
 397 
 
 fed occur as tlio revolution of the seasons. To be free, man needs only 
 to know the value of freedom. To cast off the shackles of tyranny, 
 kc needs only to know his power. The result is inevitable. But the 
 People of the Old World must also learn that liberty, unrestrained, if» 
 dangerous licentiousness. Of all conditions in which man may be 
 placed, anarchy is the most direful. All history teaches that tha 
 tyranny of the many is mors fatal than the tyranny of the few. The 
 liberty suited to man's nature is liberty restrained by law. This,, 
 too, they may learn from our example. In sending, then, our sincere 
 congratulations to the People of the Continent, we should advise them 
 against every popular excess. In a fraternal spirit, we should invoke 
 them to a reign of order, of their own creation, — a reign of just law, 
 of their own enactment, — a reign of Constitutional freedom, of their 
 own granting. Then will their liberty be as our own, fall and perfect, 
 securing all the blessings of human life, and giving to every People 
 everything of power and true glory which should belong to a civilized 
 and Christian Nation. 
 
 27. THE BIRTH-DAY OF WASHINGTON.— /Zm/ms Choate. 
 
 The birth-day of the " Father of his Country " ! May it ever be 
 freshly remembered by American hearts ! May it ever reawaken in 
 them a filial veneration for his memory ; ever rekindle the fires of 
 patriotic regard to the country which he loved so well ; to which he 
 gave his youthful vigor and his youthful energy, during the perilous 
 period of the early Indian warfare ; to which he devoted his life, in 
 the maturity of' his powers, in the field ; to which again he offered the 
 counsels of his wisdom and his experience, as President of the Con- 
 vention that framed our Constitution ; which he guided and directed 
 while in the Chair of State, and for which the last prayer of his 
 earthly supplication was offered up, when it came the moment for him 
 so well, and^so grandly, and so calmly, to die. He was the first man 
 of the time in which he grew. His memory is first and most sacred 
 in our love ; and ever hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall freeze 
 in the last American heart, his name shall be a spell of power and 
 might. 
 
 Yes, G-entlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity, which no man 
 can share with him. It was the daily beauty and towering and 
 matchless glory of his life, which enabled him to create his country, 
 and, at the same time, secure an undying love and regard from the 
 whole American people. "The fii-st in the hearts of his country- 
 men ! " Yes, first ! He has our first and most fervent love. Un- 
 doubtedly there were brave and wise and good men, before his day, in 
 every colony. But the American Nation, as a Nation, I do not reckon 
 to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America 
 was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her 
 ' earliest breath spoke it It still is her proud ejaculation ; ond it wU? 
 be fche last gasp of her ttxpiriug life; 
 
598 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Yes! Others of our great men have been appreciated, — manj 
 admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. About and 
 around him we call up no dissentient and discordant- und dissatisfied 
 elements, — no sectional prejudice nor bias, — no party, no creed, 
 no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. Yes. When 
 the stoFm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of 
 Washington shall nerve every American arm, and cheer every Amer- 
 ican heart. It shall relume that Promethean fire, thai sublime 
 flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his words 
 have commended, which his example has consecrated, 
 
 *• Where may the wearied eye repose. 
 
 When gazing on the great. 
 Where neither guilty glory glows. 
 
 Nor despicable state 1 — 
 Yes — one — the first, the last, the best. 
 The Cincinnatus of the West, 
 
 Whom Envy dared not hate. 
 Bequeathed the name of Washington, 
 To make man blush, there was but one."* 
 
 28. THE PROSPECTS OP CALIFORNIA, Nov. 2, 1S50. — Nathaniel Bennett. 
 
 Judging from the past, what have we not a right to expect in the 
 future. The world has never witnessed anything equal or similar to 
 our career hitherto. Scarcely two years ago, California was almost 
 an unoccupied wild. With the exception of a presidio, a mission, a 
 pueblo, or a lonely ranch, scattered here and there, at tiresome dis- 
 tances, there was nothing to show that the uniform stillness had ever 
 been broken by the footsteps of civilized man. The agricultural rich- 
 ness of her valleys remained unimproved ; and the wealth of a world 
 lay entombed in the bosom of her solitary mountains, and on the 
 banks of her unexplored streams. Behold the contrast ! The hand 
 of agriculture is now busy in every fertile valley, and its toils are 
 remunerated with rewards which in no other portion of the world can 
 be credited. Enterprise has pierced every hill, for hidden treasure, 
 and has heaped up enormous gains. Cities and villages dot the sur- 
 face of the whole State. Steamers dart along our rivers, and innu- 
 merable vessels spread their white wings over our bays. Not Con- 
 stantinople, upon which the wealth of imperial Rome was lavished, 
 —not St. Petersburg, to found which the arbitrary Czar sacrificed 
 thousands of his subjects, — would rival, in rapidity of growth, the fair 
 zity which lies before me. Our State is a marvel to ourselves, and a 
 miracle to the rest of the world. Nor is the influence of California 
 eonfin'id within her own borders. Mexico, and the islands nestled in 
 ihe embrace of the Pacific, have felt the quickening breath of hei 
 :jnterprise. With her golden wand, she has touched the prostrate 
 wrpse of South American industry, and it has sprung up in the fresh- 
 im6 of life. She has caused the hum of busy life to be heard in Hm 
 
 * Lord Byron. 
 
fULITICAI AND OCCASIONAL. WEBSim. 
 
 899 
 
 wiliiernetis ^vliere rolls the Oregon,'' and but recently heard no 
 sc«nd, " save his own dashings." Even the wall of Chinese exclu- 
 riveness has been broken down, and the Children of the Sun have 
 come forth to view the splendor of her achievements. 
 
 But, flatterinp^ as has been the past, satisfactory as is the present, it 
 is but a foretaste of the future. It is a trite saying, that we live in 
 an age of great events. Nothing can be more true. But the greatest 
 of all events of the present age is at hand. It needs not the gift of 
 prophecy to predict, that the course of the world's trade is destined 
 soon to be changed. But a few years can elapse before the commerce 
 of Asia and the Islands of the Pacific, instead of pursuing the ocean 
 track, by way of Cape Horn or the Cape of Good Hope, or even 
 taking the shorter route of the Isthmus of Darien or the Isthmus of 
 Tehuantepec, will enter the Golden Gate of California, and deposit its 
 riches in the lap of our own city. Hence, on bars of iron, and pro- 
 pelled by steam, it will ascend the mountains and traverse the desert ; 
 and, having again reached the confines of civilization, will be distrib- 
 uted, through a thousand channels, to every portion of the Union and 
 of Europe. New York will then become what London now is, the 
 great central point of exchange, the heart of trade, the force of 
 whose contraction and expansion will be felt throughout every artery 
 of the commercial world ; and San Francisco will then stand the 
 second city ^of America. Is this visionary ? Twenty years will 
 determine. 
 
 The world is interested in our success ; for a fresh field is opened to 
 its commerce, and a new avenue to the civilization and progress of the 
 human race. Let us, then, endeavor to realize the hopes of Ameri- 
 cans, and the expectations of the world. Let us not only be united 
 amongst ourselves, for our own local welfare, but let us strive to 
 3ement the common bonds of brotherhood of the whole Union. In 
 our relations to the Federal Government, let us know no South, no 
 North, no East, no West. Wherever American liberty flourishes, let 
 that be our common country ' Wherever the American banner waves, 
 let that be our home ' 
 
 29. THE STAND AF.D OF THE CONSTITUTION, Feft. 1852. — l^^'eftsier 
 
 If classical history has been found to be, is now, and shall continue 
 to be, the concomi<-ait of free institutions, and of popular eloquence, 
 what a field is oppning to us for another Herodotus, another Thucyd- 
 ides (only may his theme not be a Peloponnesian war), and another 
 Livy ! And, let me say, Gentlemen, that if we, and our posterity 
 shall be true to the Christian religion, — if we and they shall live 
 always m the fear of God, and shall respect His commandments, — if 
 we and they shall maintain just moral sentiments and such conscien. 
 tious convictions of duty as shall control the heart and life, — we 
 may have the highest hopes of the future fortunes of our country. 
 And, if we maintain those institutions of government, and that politi* 
 id Union, — exceeding all praise as much as it eyceods all f jrmei 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 examplefi of political associations, — we may be sure of one thing 
 that while our country furnishes materials for a thousand masters oi 
 the historic art, it will afford no topic for a Gibbon. It will have m 
 Decline and Fall. It will go on, prospering and to prosper, l^ut, if 
 we and our posterity reject religious instruction and authority, violate 
 the rules of eternal justice, trifle with the injunctions of morality, and 
 recklessly destroy the political Constitution which holds us together, 
 no man can tell how suddenly a catastrophe may overwhelm us that 
 shall bury all our glory in profound obscurity. If that catastrophe 
 shall happen, let it have no history ! Let the horrible narrative never 
 be written ; let its fate be like that of the lost books of Livy, which 
 no human eye shall ever read, or the missing Pleiad, of which no man 
 ean ever know more than that it is lost, and lost forever. 
 
 Bat, G-entiemen, I will not take my leave of you in a tone of de- 
 spondency. We may trust that Heaven will not forsake us, so long as 
 we do not forsake ourselves. Are we of this generation so derelict ^ — 
 have we so little of the blood of our Revolutionary fathers coursing 
 through our veins — that we cannot preserve what our ancestors 
 achieved ? The world will cry out " Shame " upon us, if we show 
 ourselves unworthy to be the descendants of those great and illus- 
 trious men who fought for their liberty, and secured it to their pos- 
 terity by the Constitution. 
 
 The Constitution has enemies, secret and professed ; but they cannot 
 iisguise the fact that it secures us many benefits. These enemies are 
 iinUke in character, but they all have some fault to find. Some of 
 them are enthusiasts, hot-headed, self-sufficient and headstrong. Tht^y 
 fancy that they can make out for themselves a better path than that 
 laid down for them. Phaeton, the son of Apollo, thought he could 
 find a better course across the Heavens for the sun. 
 
 " Thus Phaeton once, amidst the ethereal plains, 
 Leaped on his father's car, and seized the reins; 
 Far from his course impelled the glowing sua, 
 'Till Nature's laws to wild disorder run." 
 
 Other enemies there are, more cool, and with more calculation 
 These have a deeper and more traitorous purpose. They have spoken 
 of forcible resistance to the provisions of the Constitution ; they now 
 speak of Secession ! Let me say. Gentlemen, secession from us is 
 accession elsewhere. He who renounces the protection of the Stars 
 and Stripes shelters himself under the shadow of another flag, you 
 may rest assured of that. Now, to counteract the ,elforts of these 
 malecontents, the friends of the Constitution must rally. ALL its 
 friends, of whatever section, whatever their sectional opinions may be, 
 must unite for its preservation. To that standard we must adhere, 
 and uphold it through eyil 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 darkne?^,- 
 »f it come, till 
 
 «' Danger's troubled night is o'er, 
 And the star oi Peaoo returu." 
 
PART 
 
 SIXTH. 
 
 NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL 
 
 1. THE CEUCIFIXION.— TZeu George Crol». 
 
 City of God ! Jerusalem, 
 Why rushes out thy living stream ? 
 The turbaned priest, the hoary seer, 
 The Eoman in his pride, are there ! 
 And thousands, tens of thousands, still 
 Cluster round Calvary's wild hill. 
 
 Still onward rolls the living tide ; 
 
 There rush the bridegroom and the bride, 
 
 Prince, beggar, soldier, Pharisee, — 
 
 The old, the young, the bond, the free , 
 
 The nation's llirious multitude. 
 
 All maddening with the cry of blood. 
 
 T is glorious morn ; from height to heigM 
 Shoot the keen arrows of the light; 
 And glorious, in their central shower. 
 Palace of holincjss and power, 
 The temple on Moriah's brow 
 Looks a new-risen sun below. 
 
 But woe to hill, and woe to vale ! 
 Against them shall come forth a wail ; 
 And woe to bridegroom and to bride ! 
 For death shall on the whirlwind ride ; 
 And woe to thee, resplendent shrine, — • 
 The sword is out for thee and thine ! 
 
 Hide, hide thee in the Heavens, thou sua, 
 Before the deed of blood is done ! 
 Upon that temple's haughty steep 
 , J erusalem's last angels weep ; 
 They see destruction's funeral pall 
 Blackening o'er Sion's sacred wall. 
 
 Still pours along the multitude, — 
 Still rends the Heavens the shout of blood S 
 But. in the murderer's furious vaQ* 
 Who totters on ' A weary uuu ; 
 26 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 A CI Dss upon his shoulder bound, — 
 £[is brow, his frame, one gushing wouad. 
 
 And now he treads on Calvary — 
 What slave upon that hill must die ? 
 What hand, what heart, in guilt imbrued, 
 Must be the mountain vulture's food ? 
 There stand two victims gaunt and bare, 
 Two culprits, emblems of despair. 
 
 Yet who the third ? The yell of shame 
 
 Is frenzied at the sufferer's name. 
 
 Hands clenched, teeth gnashing, vestures torn. 
 
 The curse, the taunt, the laugh of scorn. 
 
 All that the dying hour can sting. 
 
 Are round thee now, thou thorn-crowiied king F 
 
 Yet, cursed and tortured, taunted, spurned, 
 N« wrath is for the wrath returned ; 
 No vengeance flashes from the eye ; 
 The Sufferer calmly waits to die ; 
 The sceptre-reed, the thorny crown, 
 Wake on that pallid brow no frown. 
 
 At last the word of death is given. 
 The form is bound, the nails are driven : 
 Now triumph, Scribe and Pharisee ! 
 Now, Roman, bend the mocking knee ! 
 The cross is reared. The deed is done. 
 There stands Messiah's Ci^rthly throne ! 
 
 This was the earth's consummate hour ; 
 For this hath blazed the prophet's power ; 
 For this hath swept the conqueror's sword ; 
 Hath ravaged, raised, cast down, restored 
 Persepolis, Rome, Babylon, 
 For this ye sank, for this ye shone ! 
 
 Yet things to which earth's brightest beaiss 
 Were darkness — earth itself a dream. 
 Foreheads on which shall crowns be laid 
 Sublime, when sun and star shall fade • 
 Worlds upon worlds, eternal things 
 Hung on thy anguish, King of Kings ! 
 
 Still from his lip no curse has come, 
 His lofty eye has looked no doom ! 
 No earthquake burst, no angel brand, 
 Crashes the black, blaspheming band : 
 What say those lips, by anguish riven? 
 " God, be my murderers forgiven ! " 
 
AARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — 
 
 JROLr. 
 
 a. THE SEVENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. —Rev. George Cr»lt 
 
 T WAS morn, — the rising splendor rolled 
 
 On marble towers and roofs of gold : 
 
 Hall, court and gallery, below. 
 
 Were crowded with a living flow ; 
 
 Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there, 
 
 The bearers of the bow and spear , 
 
 The hoary priest, the Chaldee sage, 
 
 The slave, the gemmed and glittering page 
 
 Helm, turban and tiara, shone, 
 
 A dazzling ring, round Pharaoh's Throne. 
 
 There came a man, — the human tide 
 Shrank backward from his stately stride : 
 His cheek with storm and time was tanned ; 
 A shepherd's stafi" was in his hand. 
 A shudder of instinctive fear 
 Told the dark King what step was near ; 
 On through the host the stranger came," 
 It parted round his form like flame. 
 
 He stooped not at the footstool stone, 
 
 He clasped not sandal, kissed not Throne ; 
 
 Erect he stood amid the ring, 
 
 His only words, — " Be just, 0 king ! " 
 
 On Pharaoh's cheek the blood flushed high, 
 
 A fire was in his sullen eye ; 
 
 Yet on the Chief of Israel 
 
 No arrow of his thousands fell : 
 
 All mute and moveless as the grave, 
 
 Stood chilled the satrap and the slave. 
 
 " Thou 'rt come," at length the Monarch spoM | 
 
 Haughty and high the words outbroke : 
 
 " Is Israel weary of its lair. 
 
 The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare ? 
 
 Take back the answer to your band ; 
 
 Go, reap the wind ; go, plough the sand 
 
 Go, vilest of the living vile, 
 
 To build the never-ending pile, 
 
 Till, darkest of the nameless dead, 
 
 The vulture on their flesh is fed ! 
 
 VFuat better asks the howling slave 
 
 Than the base life our bounty gave?" 
 
 Shouted in pride the turbaned peers, 
 Upclashed to Heaven the golden spears. 
 " King ! thou and thine are doomed ! — Behokl 
 The prophet spoke, — the thunder rolled ! 
 
THE STANDARD SPJuAKEB. 
 
 Along tlie pathway of the sun 
 Sailed vapory mountains, wild and dun. 
 " Yet there is time," the prophet said, — 
 He raised his staff, — the storm was stayed 
 " King ! be the word of freedom given ; 
 What art thou, man, to war with Heaven ? ' 
 
 There came no word. — The thunder broke 
 Like a huge city's final smoke, 
 Thick, lurid, stifling, mixed with flame 
 Through court and hall the vapors came. 
 Loose as the stubble in the field, 
 Wide flew the men of spear and shield : 
 Scattered like foam along the wave, 
 Flew the proud pageant, prince and slave ; 
 Or, in the chains of terror bound. 
 Lay, corpse-like, on the smouldering ground- 
 " Speak, King ! — the wrath is but begun, — 
 Still dumb ? — Then, Heaven, thy will be doBi 
 
 Echoed from earth a hollow roar, 
 
 Like ocean on the midnight shore ; 
 
 A sheet of lightning o'er them wheeled, 
 
 The solid ground beneath them reeled ; 
 
 In dust sank roof and battlement ; 
 
 Like webs the giant walls were rent ; 
 
 Red, broad, before his startled gaze, 
 
 The Monarch saw his Egypt blaze. 
 
 Still swelled the plague, — the flame grew pali 
 
 Burst from the clouds the charge of hail ; 
 
 With arrowy keenness, iron weight, 
 
 Down poured the ministers of fate ; 
 
 Till man and cattle, crushed, congealed, 
 
 Covered with death the boundless field. 
 
 Still swelled the plague, — uprose the blast, 
 The avenger, fit to be the last ; 
 On ocean, river, forest, vale, 
 Thundered at once the mighty gale. 
 Before the whirlwind flew the tree. 
 Beneath the whirlwind roared the sea ; 
 A thousand ships were on the wave, — 
 Where are they ? — ask that foaming grav© ? 
 Down go the hope, the pride of years : 
 Down go the myriad mariners ; 
 The riches of Earth's rii^hest zone. 
 Gone ! like a flash of lightning, gone I 
 
 And, lo ! that first fierce triumph o'er, 
 Swells Ocean on the shrinking shore * 
 
KA»RATIVE ANB lyrical. — DELAVIGNE. 
 
 40o 
 
 Still onward, onward, dark and wide, 
 Engulfs the land the furious tide. 
 Then bowed thy spirit, stubborn King, 
 Tkou serpent, reft of fang and sting ; 
 Humbled before the prophet's knee, 
 He groaned, " Be injured Israel free ! " 
 
 To Heaven the sage upraised his wand : 
 Back rolled the deluge from the land ; 
 Back to its caverns sank the gale ; 
 Fled from the noon the vapors pale ; 
 Broad burned again the joyous sun ; — 
 The hour of wrath and death was done. 
 
 J THREE DAIS IN THE LIFE OF COhmiBVS. — Original adaptation of a tramtm 
 tion from Delavigne. 
 
 On the deck stood Columbus ; the ocean's expanse, 
 
 Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance. 
 
 " Back to Spain ! " cry his men ; " Put the vessel about ! 
 
 We venture no further through danger and doubt." — 
 
 " Three days, and I give you a world ! " he replied ; 
 
 " Bear up, my brave comrades; — three days shall decide." 
 
 He sails, — but no token of land is in sight ; 
 
 He sails, — but the day shows no more than the night ; — 
 
 On, onward he sails, Tfhile in vain o'er the lee 
 
 The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea. 
 
 Tlie pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o'er 
 
 The rudder which creaks mid the billowy roar ; 
 
 He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast, 
 
 And its funeral wail through the shrouds of the mast. 
 
 The stars of far Europe have sunk from the skies. 
 
 And the great Southern Gross meets his terrified eyes ; 
 
 But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the night, 
 
 Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light. 
 
 " Columbus ! 'tis day, and the darkness is o'er." — 
 
 " Day ! and what dost thou see ? " — " Sky and ocean. No miw ! 
 
 The second day 's past, and Columbus is sleeping 
 
 While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping : 
 
 " Shall he perish ? " _ " Ay ! death ! " is the barbarous cry 
 
 " He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must die 1 " 
 
 Ungrateful and blind ! — shall the world-linking sea. 
 
 He traced for the Future, his sepulchre be ? 
 
 Shall that sea, on the morrow, with pitiless waves, 
 
 Fling his corse on that shore which his patient eye cravee • 
 
 The corse of an lu^mble adventurer, then ; 
 
 One day later, — -Qoxumbus, the first among men ' 
 
406 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER- 
 
 But, hush I he is dreaming ! — A veil on the main. 
 
 At the distant horizon, is parted in twain, 
 
 And now, on hi.^ dreaming eye, — rapturous sight ! — 
 
 Fresh bursts the New World from the darkness of nigt! 
 
 0, vision of glory ! how dazzling it seems ! 
 
 How- glistens the verdure! how sparkle the streams! 
 
 How blue the far mountains ! how glad the green isles . 
 
 And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with smiles 
 
 *' J^y • joy ' " cries Columbus, " this region is mine ! " » 
 
 Ah ! not e'en its name, wondrous dreamer, is thine ' 
 
 But, lo ! his dream changes ; — a vision less bright 
 
 Comes to darken and banish that scene of delight. 
 
 The gold-seeking Spaniards, a merciless band. 
 
 Assail the meek natives, and ravage the land. 
 
 He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire. 
 
 And the peaceful Cazique 'mid their ashes expire ; 
 
 He sees, too, — 0, saddest ! 0, mournfullest sight ! 
 
 The crucifix gleam in the thick of the fight. 
 
 More terrible far than the merciless steel 
 
 Is the up-lifted cross in the red hand of Zeal ! 
 
 Again the dream changes. Columbus looks forth, 
 And a bright constellation beholds in the North. 
 "T is the herald of empire ! A People appear, 
 Impatient of wrong, and unconscious of fear ! 
 They level the forest, — they ransack the seas, — 
 Each zone finds their canvas unfurled to the breeze. 
 
 Hold ! " Tyranny cries ; but their resolute breath 
 Sends back the reply, " Independence or death ! " 
 The ploughshare they turn to a weapon of might, 
 And, defying all odds, they go forth to the fight. 
 
 They have conquered ! The People, with grateful acclaiiR 
 
 Look to Washington's guidance, from Washington's fame; — 
 
 Behold Cincinnatus and Cato combined 
 
 In his patriot heart and republican mind. 
 
 0, type of true manhood ! What sceptre or crown 
 
 But fades in the light of thy simple renown ? 
 
 And lo ! by the side' of the Hero, a Sage, 
 
 In Freedom's behalf, sets his mark on the age ; 
 
 Whom Science adoringly hails, while he wrings 
 
 The lightning from Heaven, the sceptre from kings ! 
 
 At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks, — 
 
 " Land ! land ! " cry the sailors ; " land ! land ! " — he awakes, - 
 
 He runs, — yes ! behold it ! — it blcsseth his sight, — 
 
 The land ! 0, dear spectacle ! transport ! delight ! 
 
 0, generous sobs, which he cannot restrain ! 
 
 What will Ferdinand say ? and the Future ? and Spaio ? 
 
ISAEHATIVE AND LYRICAL. — MILTON. 
 
 He will lay this fair land at the foot of the Throne, 
 His Bang will repay all the ills he has known, — 
 In exchange for a world what are honors and gains ? 
 Or a crown ? But how is he rewarded ? — with chains ! 
 
 4. DESTRUCTION OP THE PHILISTINES. —MiZJon. 
 
 It has been said of the following passage, that "the poet seems to exert no less force of 
 m aeacribing, than Samson does strength of body in executing." 
 
 Occasions drew me early to the city ; 
 
 And, as the gates I entered with sunrise, 
 
 The morning trumpets festival proclaimed 
 
 Through each high street ; little I had despatched, 
 
 When all abroad was rumored that this day 
 
 Samson sliould be brought forth, to show the People 
 
 Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games • 
 
 I sorrowed at his captive state, but minded 
 
 Not to be absent at mat spectacle. 
 
 The building was a spacious theatre 
 
 Half round, on two main pillars vaulted high. 
 
 With seats where all the lords, and each degree 
 
 Of sort, might sit, in order to behold ; 
 
 The other side was open, where the throng 
 
 On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand ; 
 
 I among these aloof obscurely stood. 
 
 The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice 
 
 Had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wiafi, 
 
 When to their sports they turned. Immediately 
 
 Was Samson as a public servant brought. 
 
 In their state livery clad ; before him pipes. 
 
 And timbrels, — on each side went armed guards, 
 
 Both horse and foot, — before him and behind, 
 
 Archers, and slingers, cataphracts * and spears. 
 
 At sight of him, the People with a shout ' 
 
 Rifted the air, clamoring their god with praise. 
 
 Who had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. 
 
 He, patient, but undaunted, where they led him, 
 
 Came to the place ; and what was set before him, 
 
 Which without help of eye might be essayed. 
 
 To heave, pull, draw or break, he still performed 
 
 All with incredible, stupendous force ; 
 
 None daring to appear antagonist. 
 
 At length, for intermission sake, they led him 
 
 Between the pillars ; he his guide requested 
 
 (For so from such as nearer stood we heard), 
 
 As over-tired, to let him lean a while 
 
 With both his arms on those two massy pillar 
 
 * That is. men and horsM in amor 
 
TIE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 That to the arshed roof gave main support. 
 
 He, unsuspioioua, led him ; 'which when Samson 
 
 Felt in his arms, with head a while inclined, 
 
 And eyes fast fixed he stood, as one who prayed. 
 
 Or some great matter in his mind revolved : 
 
 At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud : — 
 
 " Hitherto, Lords, what your commands imposed 
 
 I have performed, as reason was, obeying, 
 
 Not without wonder or delight beheld ; 
 
 Now of my own accord such other trial 
 
 I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater, 
 
 As with amaze shall strike all who behold." 
 
 This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed : 
 
 As with the force of winds and waters pent, 
 
 When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars 
 
 With horrible convulsion to and fro 
 
 He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew 
 
 The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder 
 
 Upon the heads of all who sat beneath, 
 
 Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests, 
 
 Their choice nobility and flower, not only 
 
 Of this, but each Philistian city round, 
 
 Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. 
 
 Samson, with these immixed, inevitably 
 
 Pulled down the same destruction on himself ; 
 
 The vidgar only 'scaped, who stood without. 
 
 6. SATAN'S ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH. — JIfe'Won. 
 
 Black it stood as night, 
 
 Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell. 
 
 And shook a dreadful dart ; what seemed his head 
 
 The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 
 
 Satan was now at hand ; and from his seat 
 
 The monster moving onward came as fast, 
 
 With horrid strides ; hell trembled as he strode. 
 
 The indaunted fiend what this might be admired, 
 
 Admired, not feared ; God and His Son except, 
 
 Created thing naught valued he, nor shunned. 
 
 And with disdainful look thus first began : — 
 
 " Whence, and what art thou, execrable shape ! 
 That darest, though grim and terrible, advance 
 Thy miscreated tront athwart my way 
 To yonder gates ? Through them I mean to past 
 That be assured, without leave asked of thee : 
 Retire, or taste thy tolly ; and learn by proof, 
 Hellborn ! not to contend with spirits of Heaven .' 
 
 To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied : - - 
 
N vTtRATITE AUD LYKICAL. — HUGHES. 
 
 * Art tliou that traitor angel, art thou he, 
 Who first broke peace in Heaven, and faith, till ' 
 Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
 Drew after him the third part of Heaven's sons 
 Conjured against the Highest ; for which both thou 
 And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 
 To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? 
 And reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of Heaven, 
 Hell-doomed ! and breathest defiance here and scorn, 
 Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more 
 Thy king and lord ! Back to thy punishment, 
 False fugitive ! and to thy speed add wings ; 
 Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
 Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 
 Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before." 
 
 So spake the grisly terror ; and in shape, 
 So speaking, and so threatening, grew ten-fold 
 More dreadful and deform : on the other side, 
 Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
 Unterrified, and like a comet burned, 
 That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
 In the Arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
 Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 
 Levelled his deadly aim ; their fatal hands 
 No second stroke intend ; and such a frown 
 Each cast at the other, as when two black clouds. 
 With Heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on 
 Over the Caspian ; then stand front to front 
 Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
 To join their dark encounter in mid air : 
 So frowned the mighty combatants, that hell 
 Grew darker at their frown ; so matched they stood j 
 For never but once more was either like 
 To meet so great a Foe : and now great deeds 
 riad been achieved, whereof all hell had rung. 
 Had not the snaky sorceress that sat ' 
 Fast by hell-gate, and kept the fatal key, 
 Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between. 
 
 6. BELSHAZZAR'S AST. - T. S. Hughes. Adaptation. 
 
 J OT holds her court in great Belshazzar's hall, 
 Where his proud lords attend their monarch's cali 
 The rarest dainties of the teeming East 
 Provoke the revel and adorn the feast. 
 And now the monarch rises. — " Pour," he enai 
 " To the great gods, the Assyrian deities I 
 Poui forth libations of the rosy wine 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 To Nebo, Bel, and all the powers divine ! 
 Those golden vessels crown, which erewhile stood 
 Fast by the oracle of J udah's (ioa, 
 Till that accursed race — " 
 
 But why, 0 king ! 
 VThj dost thou start, with livid cheek ?-- why fling 
 
 The untasted goblet from thy trembling hand ? 
 Why shake thy joints, thy feet forget to stand ? 
 Why roams thine eye, which seems in wild amaze 
 To shun some object, yet returns to gaze, — 
 Then shrinks again appalled, as if the tomb 
 Had sent a spirit from its inmost gloom ? 
 
 Awful the horror, when Belshazzar raised 
 
 His arm, and pointed where the vision blazed ! 
 
 For see ! enrobed in flame, a mystic shade, 
 
 As of a hand, a red right-hand, displayed ! 
 
 And, slowly moving o'er the wall, appear 
 
 Letters of fate, and characters of fear. 
 
 In deathlike silence grouped, the revellers all 
 
 Fix their glazed eyeballs on the illumined wall. 
 
 See! now the vision brightens, — now 'tis gone, 
 
 Like meteor flash, like Heaven's own lightning flown ! 
 
 But, though the hand hath vanished, what it writ 
 
 Is uneffaced. Who will interpret it ? 
 
 In vain the sages try their utmost skill ; 
 
 The mystic letters are unconstrued still. 
 
 " Quick, bring the Prophet ! — let his tongue proclaim 
 The mystery of that visionary flame." 
 The holy Prophet came, and stood upright, 
 With brow serene, before Belshazzar's sight. 
 The monarch pointed trembhng to the wall : 
 " Behold the portents that our heart appall ! 
 Interpret them, 0 Prophet ! thou shalt know 
 What gifts Assyria's monarch can bestow." 
 
 Unutterably awful was the eye 
 Which met the monarch's ; and the stern reply 
 Fell heavy on his soul : " Thy gifts withhold, 
 Nor tempt the Spirit of the Law, with gold. 
 Belshazzar, hear what these dread words reveal . 
 That lot on which the Eternal sets his seal. 
 Thy kingdom numbered, and thy glory flown 
 The Mede and Persian revel on thy throne. 
 Weighed in the balance, thou ha,st kicked the be&m , 
 See to yon Western sun the lances gleam, 
 Which, ere his Orient rays adorn the sky, 
 Thy blood shall sullj with a crimson dye.' 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — HEMANS 
 
 411 
 
 In the dire carnage of that night's dread hour, 
 Crushed mid the ruins of his crumbling power, 
 Belshazzar fell beneath an unknown blow — 
 His kingdom wasted, and its pride laid low ! 
 
 7. BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. — iJ/rs. iceman.* 
 fh° celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, having made many ineffecttial efforts 
 to prMure the release of his father, the Count Saldana, who had been imprisoned by Kiui 
 A.!phonso of Asturias, almost from the time of Bernardo's birth, at last took up arms in despair 
 The war which he mamtained proved so destructive, that the men of the land "-athered roimd 
 Jhe king, and united in demanding Saldana's liberty. Alphonso accordin-ly f.fifered Bernardo 
 unmediate possession of his father's person, in exchange for his castle of'' Car])io. Bernardo 
 without hesitation, gave up his strong-hold with all his captives ; and, being assured that his 
 father was then on his way from prison, rode forth with the king to meet him. " And when 
 he saw his father spproaching, he exclaimed," says the ancient chronicle, " ' 0, God ' is tha 
 Count of Saldana indeed coming ? ' ' Look where he is,' replied the cruel king, ' and now go 
 and greet hun, whom you have so long desired to see.' " The remainder of the story will be 
 found related in the ballad. The chronicles and romances leave us nearly in the dark as to Ber- 
 nardo's history after this event. 
 
 The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, 
 And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire ; 
 " I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, 
 I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! — O ! break my father's 
 chain ! " 
 
 " Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man, this day ! 
 Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet him on his way.'' 
 Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, 
 And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. 
 And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, 
 With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land : 
 " Now haste, Bernardo, haste ! for there, in very truth, is he, 
 The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see." 
 
 His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, hiS cheek's hue came 
 and went ; 
 
 He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismountini^ 
 bent ; ^' 
 
 A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took 
 
 What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook ? 
 
 That hand was cold, — a frozen thing, — it dropped from his like lead I 
 
 He looked up to the face above, — the face was of the dead ! 
 
 A plume waved o'er the noble brow, — the brow was fixed and white . 
 
 He met, at last, his father's eyes, — but in them was no sight ! 
 
 Up from the ground he sprang and gazed ; — but who could paint thai 
 gaze ? 
 
 They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze : 
 
 They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood ; 
 For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. 
 
 "Father ! " at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then 
 Talk nr>t of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlik'^ men » 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown, - 
 Eo flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down, 
 rhen covermg with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow. 
 " No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for, now , 
 My king is false, — my hope betrayed ! My father — 0 ! the worth 
 The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth ! 
 
 I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet ! 
 [ would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met ! 
 Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then ; — for thee my fields wen 
 won ; 
 
 And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son ! ' 
 
 Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's 
 rein.. 
 
 Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ; 
 And, with a fierce, o'ermastering gi'asp, the rearing war-horse led, 
 And sternly set them face to face, — the king before the dead : — 
 
 " Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss ? ^ 
 
 — Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me what is this? 
 The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, — give answer, where ar« 
 
 they? 
 
 — If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold 
 
 clay ! 
 
 « Into these glassy eyes put' light ; — be still ! keep down thine ire ! — 
 Bid these white lips a blessing speak, — this earth is not my sire : — 
 Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed ! 
 Thou canst not ? — and a king ! — his dust be mountains on thy head ! " 
 
 He loosed the steed, — his slack hand fell ; — upon the silent face 
 He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place : 
 His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain : — 
 His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of Spam. 
 
 CASABIANCA. —Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 Younrr Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained 
 at post (in the battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had bee. 
 abandoned : and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the po». 
 ier. 
 
 The boy stood on the burning deck, whence all but he had fled ; 
 
 The flame that lit the battle's wreck shone round him o'er the dead. 
 
 Yet beautiful and bright he stood, as born to rule the storm, — 
 
 A cieature of heroic blood, a proud, though child-like form. 
 
 The flames rolled on — he would not go, without his Father's word , 
 
 That Father, faint in death below, hu' voice no longer heard. 
 
 He called aloud : — " Say, Father, say, if yet my task is done « " 
 
 He knen not that the chieftain lay, unconscious of his son. 
 
NARRATITE AND LYRICAL. — fEMANS. 
 
 419 
 
 Speak, Father ! " once again he cried, " if I may yet be ^one ! 
 And " ^ - but the booming shots replied, and fast the flames rolM on 
 Opon his brow he felt their breath, and in his waving hair, 
 A.nd looked from tnat lone post of death, in still, yet brave despair. 
 
 And shouted but once more aloud, " My Father ! must I stay ? " 
 While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, the wreathing fires made 
 way. 
 
 They wrapped the ship in splendor wild, they caught ti e flag on high, 
 And streamed above the gallant child, like banners in the sky. 
 
 There came a burst of thunder sound, — the boy — 0 ! where was he ^ 
 Ask of the winds, that far around with fragments strewed the sea, 
 With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, that well had borne their part ! 
 But the noblest thing which perished there was that youn^, faithful 
 heart ! 
 
 9. BOCKS OF MY COUNTRY,— JV/rs. Remans. 
 
 EocKS of my country ! let the cloud your crested heights array, 
 And rise ye, like a fortress proud, above the surge and spray ! 
 My spirit greets you as ye stand, breasting the billow's foam : 
 0 ! thus forever guard the land, the severed Land of Home ! 
 
 I have left rich blue skies behind, lighting up classic shrines, 
 And music in the southern wind, and sunshine on the vines. 
 The breathings of the myrtle-flowers have floated o'er my way , 
 The pilgrim's voice, at vesper-hours, hath soothed me with its lay. 
 
 The Isles of Greece, the Hills of Spain, the purple Heavens of Rome 
 Yes, all are glorious ; — yet again I bless thee, Land of Home ! 
 For thine the Sabbath peace, my land ! and thine the guarded hearth 
 And thine the dead, the noble band, that make thee holy earth. 
 
 Their voices meet me in thy breeze, their steps are on thy plains ; 
 Their names by old majestic trees are whispered round thy fanes. 
 Their blood hath mingled with the tide of thine exulting sea ; 
 0 ! be it still a joy, a pride, to live and die for thee ! 
 
 10. THE TWO HOMES. —Mrs. Hemans, 
 
 Seest thou my home ? — 't is where yon woods are waving, 
 In their dark richness, to the summer air; 
 Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks .aving, 
 Leads down the hills, a vein of light, — 't is there ! 
 
 'Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming 
 Fringed with the violet, colored with the skies ! 
 My boyhood's haunt, through days of summer drejiining 
 Under young leaves that shook with melodies. 
 
 My homo ! the spirit of its love is breathing 
 In every wind that plays across my track • 
 
114 
 
 THE STANDARD «PEAKE1U 
 
 From its white walls the very tendrils wreathing 
 Seem with soft links to draw the wanderer back. 
 There am I loved, — there prayed for, — there my moifaei 
 Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye ; 
 ; There my young sisters watch to greet their brother — 
 Soon their glad footsteps down the path will fly. 
 
 There, m sweet strains of kindred music blending. 
 
 All the home-voices meet'at day's decline ; 
 
 One are those tones, as from one heart ascending : 
 
 There laughs my home, — sad stranger ! where is thine *. — 
 
 Ask'st thou of mine ? — In solemn peace 't is lying, 
 
 Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away ; 
 
 'T is where I, too, am loved with love undying. 
 
 And fond hearts wait my step. — But where are they? 
 
 Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling : 
 
 Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air ! 
 
 I know it not, yet trust the whisper, telling 
 
 My lonely heart that love unchanged is there. 
 
 And what is home and where, but with the loving ? 
 Happy thou art, that so canst gaze on thine ! 
 My spirit feels iDut, in its weary ro\nng, 
 That with the dead, where'er they be, is mine. 
 
 Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother ! 
 Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene ! 
 For me, too, watch the sister and the mother, 
 I will believe — but dark seas roll between. 
 
 11. INVOCATION. —Mrs. ^femans. 
 
 Answer me, burning stars of night ! where is the spirit gone. 
 That past the reach of human sight as a swift breeze hath Sown ? - 
 And the stars answered me, " We roll in light and power on high ; 
 But, of the never-dying soul, ask that which cannot die." 
 0 ! many-toned and chainless wind ! thou art a wanderer free ; 
 Tell me if thou its place canst find, far over mount and sea ? - 
 And the wind murmured, in reply, " The blue deep I have crossea 
 And met its barks and billows high, but not what thou hast lost." 
 Ye clouds that gorgeously repose around the setting sun. 
 Answer ! have ye a home for those whose earthly race is run ? — 
 The bright clouds answered, " We depart, we vanish from the sky , 
 Ask what is deathless in thy heart for that which cannot die." 
 Speak, then, thou voice of God within, thou of the deep, low tone! 
 Answer me through life's restless din, where is the spirit flown ? — 
 And the voice answered, " Be thou still ! Enougli to know is given 
 niouds, winds and stars, their part fulfil,— ^/u'we is to trust in Hejivoii-*' 
 
JJAURATIVE AND LYRICAL. — SCOTT. 
 
 12. WCmmAB.. — Sir TFalter Scott. 
 
 O, ro jNG Lochinvar is come out of the West, — 
 Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; 
 And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, — 
 Ho rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 
 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
 There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 
 He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 
 He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 
 But ere he alighted at Netherby gate. 
 The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
 For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 
 So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 
 'Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all . 
 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword 
 (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), 
 "0, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
 Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? " 
 " I long wooed your daughter, — my suit you denied; — 
 Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; 
 And now am I come, with this lost love of mine. 
 To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
 There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
 That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 
 The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up, 
 He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
 She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
 With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
 
 He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, 
 
 " Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
 
 That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
 
 While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
 
 And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume 
 
 And the bridemaidens whispered, " ' Twere better, by far. 
 
 To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." * 
 
 One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 
 
 When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood neai 
 
 So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 
 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
 
 " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur , 
 
 They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvai 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan : 
 
 Porsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode, and they ran 
 
THE STANDART> SPEAKER. 
 
 There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 
 But the lost bride of Netherby ne 'er did they see. 
 So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 
 Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar^ 
 
 MARMION TAKING LEAVE QE DOUGLAS. —Sir Walter Scott 
 
 The train from out the castle drew ; 
 But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : — 
 
 "Though somethiig I might 'plain," he said. 
 •* Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
 Sent hither by your King's behest. 
 
 While in Tan tal Ion's towers I stayed, — 
 Part we in friendship from your land. 
 And, noble Earl, receive my hand." 
 But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
 Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
 " My manors, halls and bowers, shall still 
 Be open, at my sovereign's will, 
 To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
 Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
 My castles are my King's alone. 
 From turret to foundation-stone ; — 
 The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
 And never shall in friendly grasp 
 The hand of such as Marmion clasp ! " 
 Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fir© 
 And shook his very frame for ire, 
 
 And — " This to me ! " he said ; 
 " An 't were not for thy hoary beard, 
 Such hand as IMarmion's had not spareG 
 
 To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
 And first I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
 He who docs England's message here, 
 Although the meanest in her state, 
 
 May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ! 
 
 And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 
 Even in thy pitch of pride, 
 
 Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near 
 
 'N-ay, never look upon your Lord, 
 
 \ml lay your hands upon your sword !>j 
 I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! 
 
 A.nd if thou saidst I am not peer 
 
 To any lord in Scotland hero, 
 
 Lowland or Highljind, far or near, 
 Lord Angus, t'.iou hast lied ! " 
 
 On the s check the flush of rage 
 
 O'ercame the -ishen hue of age i , 
 
NARRATIVE . UND LYRICAL. SCOTT. 
 
 Fierce he broke forth : — And dare'st thou, tiiea 
 To beard the lion in -his den, — 
 
 The Douglas in his hall ? 
 And hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? 
 No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! 
 Up drawbridge, grooms ! — what, warder, ho ! 
 
 Let the portcullis fall." 
 Lord Mar m ion turned, — well was his need. — 
 And dashed the rowels in his steed ; 
 Like arrow through the archway sprung, 
 The ponderous gate behind him rung : 
 To pass, there was such scanty room, 
 The bars, descending, razed his plume. 
 
 The steed along the drawbridge flies, 
 
 Just as it trembled on the rise: 
 
 Not lighter does the swallow skim 
 
 Along the smooth lake's level brim : 
 
 And when Lord Marmion reached his banO, 
 
 He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 
 
 A shout of loud defiance pours. 
 
 And shakes his gauntlet at the towers ! 
 
 14. THE DEATH OF MARMION. — S'ccM. 
 
 And soon straight up the hill there rode 
 
 Two horsemen, drenched with gore, 
 And in their arms, a helpless load, 
 
 A wounded knight they bore. 
 His hand still strained the broken brand, 
 His arms were smeared with blood and sand j 
 Dragged fi-om among the horses' feet, 
 With dinted shield and helmet beat, 
 The falcon-crest and plumage gone, — 
 Can that be haughty Marmion ? 
 Young Blount his armor did unlace, 
 And, gazing on his ghastly face, 
 
 Said — " V)j Saint George, he 's gone ! 
 The spoar-wound has our master sped : 
 And see the deep cut on his head ! 
 
 Good-night to Marmion ! " 
 " Unnurtured ! Blount ! thy brawling cease ; 
 He opes his ej^es," said Eustace; " peace !" 
 When, doffed his casque, he felt free air. 
 Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare ; 
 " Where 's Marry Blount ? Fitz Eustace, where ^ 
 Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ? 
 Redeem my pennon ! — charge again ! 
 Ory, 'Marmion to the rescue ! ' — Vain ! 
 27 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 LaBt of my race, on battle-plain 
 That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! 
 Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fij 
 Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
 
 With fruitless labor Clara bound, 
 
 And strove to stanch the gushing wound. 
 
 The war, tbat for a space did fail, 
 
 Now, trebly thundering, swelled the gale, 
 
 And " Stanley ! " was the cry ; 
 A light on IMarmion's visage spread. 
 
 And fired his glazing eye ; 
 With dying hand, above his head 
 He shook the fragment of his blade, 
 
 And shouted, " Victory ! " 
 " Charge, Ciiester, charge ! On, Stanley, O! 
 
 Were the last words of Marmion. 
 
 15. THE DEATH OF BERTRAM. — Sir JValter SfoSS 
 
 The outmost crowd have heard a sound, 
 Like horse's hoof on hardened ground ; 
 Nearer it came, and yet more near, — 
 The very Jeath's-men paused to hear. 
 'T is in the churchyard now — the treivd 
 Hath waked the dwelling of the dead ! 
 Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, 
 Return the tramp in varied tone. 
 All eyes upon the gateway hung. 
 When through the Gothic arcb there sprung 
 A horseman armed, at headlong speed — 
 Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. 
 Fire from the flinty floor was spurned, 
 The vaults' unwonted clang returned ! — 
 One instant's glance around he threw, 
 From saddle-bow his pistol drew. 
 Grimly determined was his look ! 
 His charger with the spurs he strook, — 
 All scattered backward as he came, 
 For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
 rhrce bounds that noble courser gave ; 
 The first has reached the central nave, 
 The second cleared the chancel wide, 
 The third he was at Wycliffe's side ' 
 Full levelled at the Baron's head, 
 Rang the report, — the bullet sped, — 
 And to his long account, and last, 
 Without a groan, dark Oswald ]<aat 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. SCOTT. 
 
 All was SO quick, that it miofht seem 
 A flash of lightning, or a dream. 
 
 While yet the smoke the deed conceals, 
 Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 
 But floundered on the pavement floor 
 The steed, and down the rider bore, 
 And bursting in the headlong sway, 
 The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 
 'T was while he toiled him to be freed^ 
 And with the rein to raise the steed, 
 That from amazement's iron trance 
 All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once. 
 Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows 
 Hailed upon Bertram as he rose ; 
 A score of pikes, with each a wound, 
 Bore down and pinned him to the ground * 
 But still his struggling force he rears, 
 'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears 
 Thrice from assailants shook him free, 
 Once gained his feet, and twice his knee. 
 By ten-fold odds oppressed, at length. 
 Despite his struggles and his strength, 
 He took a hundred mortal wounds, 
 As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds ; 
 And when he died, his parting groan 
 Had more of laughter than of moan ! 
 They gazed, as when a lion dies. 
 And hunters scarcely trust their eyes, 
 But bend their weapons on the slain, 
 Lest the grim king should rouse again ! 
 Then blow and insult some renewed, 
 And from the trunk the head had hewed 
 But Basil's voice the deed forbade ; 
 A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 
 " Fell as he was in act and mind, 
 He left no bolder heart behind : 
 Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
 A soldier's cloak for winding-sheet.' 
 
 16. THE LOVE OF COTimRY. -Sir fFalter Scott. 
 
 Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
 Who never to himself hath said, 
 " This is my own, my native land " ? 
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him Domed, 
 As home his footsteps he hath turned, 
 From wandnring on a foreign strand ? 
 
120 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 If such there breathe, go, mark him well 
 For him no minstrel raptures swell I 
 High though his titles, proud his name, 
 Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
 Despite those titles, power, '^nd pel^ 
 The wretch, concentred all in self 
 Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
 And, doubly dying, shall go down 
 To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 
 Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 
 
 It THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. — .4/&er« G. Greene. 
 
 0 ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, 
 Where, in his last strong agony, a dying warrior lay, — 
 
 The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent 
 By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. 
 
 "They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, — 
 That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more ; 
 They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, 
 Their own liege lord and master born, that I — hk ! ha ! — must die. 
 
 And what is death ? I 've dared him oft, before the Paynim spear 
 Think ye he 's entered at my gate — has come to seek me here ? 
 I 've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging 
 hot ; — 
 
 1 '11 try his might, I '11 brave his power ! — defy, and fear him not ! 
 
 " Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin ; 
 Kid each retainer arm with speed ; call every vassal in. 
 Up with my banner on the wall, — the banquet-board prepare, — 
 Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there ! " 
 
 An hundred hands were busy then : the banquet forth was spread, 
 And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread ; 
 While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall. 
 Lights gleamed on harness, plume and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic 
 hall. 
 
 Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured. 
 On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board 
 While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state, 
 Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate. 
 
 « Fill every beaker up, my men ! — pour forth the cheering wine I 
 There's life and strength in every drop, — thanksgiving to the vino? 
 Are ye all there, my vassals true ? — mine eyes are waxing dim . 
 Fill round, n\y tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYKICAL. BROWNING. 
 
 421 
 
 * Ye Te mere, but: yet I see you not !— draw forth each trusty sword, 
 A-nd let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board ! 
 I hear it faintly ; — louder yet ! What clogs my heavy breath ? 
 Up, all ! — and shout for Eudiger, ' Defiance unto death ! ' " 
 
 Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening cry, 
 That made the torches flare around and shook the flags on high : ' 
 "Ho ! cravens ! do ye fear him ? Slaves ! traitors ! Iiave ye flown ? 
 ^0 I cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone ? 
 
 "But I defy him ! — let him come ! " Down rang the massy cup, 
 While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half-way up ; 
 And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on hifj head, 
 There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Rudiger sat — dead I 
 
 18, "HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX," IS 
 — Robert Browning. 
 
 I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; 
 
 I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; 
 
 " Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew ; 
 
 " Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through ; 
 
 Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 
 
 And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 
 
 - Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace 
 
 Neck by neck, stride for stride, never changing our place , 
 I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
 Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, 
 
 Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, 
 
 Nor galloped less steadily Roland, a whit. 
 
 'T was moonset at starting ; but while we drew near 
 
 Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear ; 
 
 At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see ; 
 
 At Diifield, 'twas morning as plain as could be ; 
 
 And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-cl\iinc^ 
 
 So Joris broke silence with, " Yet there is time ! " 
 
 At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
 And against him tne cattle stood black every one. 
 To stare through the mist at us galloping past, 
 And I saw my stout galloper Roland, at last, 
 With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
 The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. 
 
 And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 
 For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track • 
 And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance 
 O'fir its white edge at mo, his own master, askance 
 
122 
 
 THE SIANDABD SPEAKER. 
 
 And tlie thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon 
 His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 
 
 By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, " Stay spur 
 
 Your lloos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in her, 
 
 We '11 remember at Aix " * — for one heard the quick wheeae 
 
 Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees. 
 
 And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 
 
 As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 
 
 So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
 
 Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 
 
 The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 
 
 'i^eath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; 
 
 Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. 
 
 And " Grallop," gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight ! " 
 
 " How they '11 greet us ! " — and all in a moment his roan 
 
 Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; 
 
 And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 
 
 Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
 
 With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
 
 And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 
 
 Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, 
 
 Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all. 
 
 Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, 
 
 Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer ; 
 
 Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, 
 
 Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. 
 
 And all I remember is, friends flocking round 
 
 As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground. 
 
 And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine. 
 
 As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, 
 
 Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
 
 Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ixhei 
 
 19 THE SOLDIER FROM BINGEN. — Jlfrs. ^■o7■^on. 
 
 isoLDiEi of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 
 rnei c was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman s tean 
 But a comrade stood beside him, while the life-blood ebbed away, 
 And bent with pitying glance to hear each word he had to say. 
 I fhe dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade s hand. 
 And h3 ^id : " I never more shall see my own — my native land I 
 Take a message and a token to the distant friends of mine, 
 Por I was born at BmGEN — at Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 * The a? in this word is not sounded. 
 
ftAREATlVE AND LYRICAL. — NORTON. 
 
 423 
 
 ♦ Uil my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around 
 To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground. 
 That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, 
 Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun ; 
 And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars, 
 The death-wound on their gallant breasts, — the last of many scars ! 
 JJut some were young, and suddenly beheld Life's morn decline, — 
 And one had come from Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine . 
 
 " Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, 
 For T was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cao'e j 
 For my father was a soldier, and, even when a child, 
 My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild ; 
 And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 
 I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword ! 
 And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to 
 shine, 
 
 On the cottage wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 " Tell my sisters not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head. 
 When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant 
 tread ; 
 
 But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye. 
 For their brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die ! 
 And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name 
 To listen to him kindly, without regret and shame ; 
 And to hang the old sword in its place — (my father's sword and 
 mine), 
 
 For the honor of old Bingen — dear Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 " There 's another, — not a sister, — in happy days gone by. 
 
 You 'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ; 
 
 Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning, — 
 
 0 ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourn* 
 
 ing! 
 
 Tell her the last night of my life — (for, ere the moon be risen, 
 My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison), — 
 
 1 dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine 
 On the vine-clad hills of Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 ** I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, — I heard, or seemed to hear. 
 
 The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; 
 
 And down the pleasa7}t river, and up the slanting hill. 
 
 The echoing chorus somided, through the evening calm and still ; 
 
 And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, with friendly taJk 
 
 Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remembered walk ; 
 
 And her httie hand lay lightly, confidingly, in mine, — 
 
 But we '11 me(>t no more at Bingen — loved Bingen on the Rhine 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his gasp was childish weak 
 His eyes put on a dying look, — he sighed, and ceased to speak ; 
 His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled — 
 The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land was dead ! 
 And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down 
 On the", red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strewn ! 
 Ym, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shiae, 
 ^ it bhone on distant Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhina . 
 
 20. THE TORCH OF LIBERTY. — Tftowos Moore. 
 
 I SAW it all in Fancy's glass — 
 
 Herself the fair, the wild magician, 
 Who bade this splendid day-dream pass, 
 
 And named each gliding apparition. 
 'T was like a torch-race — such as they 
 
 Of Greece performed, in ages gone, 
 When the fleet youths, in long array. 
 
 Passed the bright torch triumphant on. 
 
 I saw the expectant Nations stand, 
 
 To catch the coming flame in turn ; — 
 I saw. from ready hand to band. 
 
 The Clear, though struggling, glory burn. 
 And, 0, their joy, as it came near, 
 
 'T was, in itself, a joy to see ; — 
 While Fancy whispered in my ear, 
 
 " That torch they pass is Liberty ! " 
 
 And each, as she received the flame, 
 
 Lighted her altar with its ray ; 
 Then, smiling, to the next who camo, 
 
 Speeded It on its sparkling way. 
 From Albion first, whose ancient shrine 
 
 Was furnished with the fire already, 
 Columbia caught the boon divine, 
 
 And lit a flame, like Albion's, steady. 
 
 The splendid gift then Gallia took, 
 
 And, like a wild Bacchante, raising 
 The brand aloft, its sparkles shook. 
 
 As she would set the world a-blazing ' 
 Thus, kindling wild, so fierce and high 
 
 Her altar blazed into the air. 
 That Albion, to that fire too nigh, 
 
 Shrank back, and shuddered at its glare 
 
 N^xt, Spain, — so new was light to her. 
 Leaped at the torch ; but, ere the sp»rk 
 
ffARRATITE AND LmiCAL. DTMOWD. 
 
 That fell upon her shrine could stir, 
 
 'T was quenched, and all again was dark ! 
 
 Yet, no — not quenched, — a treasure, worti 
 So much to mortals, rarely dies : 
 
 Again her living light looked forth, 
 And shone, a beacon, in all eyes I 
 
 Who next received the flame ? Alas ! 
 
 Unworthy Naples. — Shame of shames, 
 That ever through such hands should pass 
 
 That brightest of all earthly flames ! 
 Scarce had her fingers touched the torch, 
 
 When, frighted by the sparks it shed. 
 Nor waiting even to feel the scorch, 
 
 She dropped it to the earth — and fled ! 
 
 And fallen it might have long remained ; 
 
 But Greece, who saw her moment now. 
 Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stained, 
 
 And waved it round her beauteous brow. 
 And Fancy bade me mark where, o'er 
 
 Her altar, as its flame ascended. 
 Fair laurelled spirits seemed to soar, 
 
 Who thus in song their voices blended : 
 
 " Shine, shine forever, glorious Flame, 
 
 Divinest gift of gods to men ' 
 From Greece thy earliest splendor came. 
 
 To Greece thy ray returns again. 
 Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round ; 
 
 When dimmed, revive, — when lost, return, 
 Till not a shrine through earth be found, 
 
 On which thy glories shall not burn ! " 
 
 21. THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM.— Dmond. 
 
 In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay. 
 
 His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind 
 
 But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, 
 And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 
 
 He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers. 
 And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ,* 
 ' While memory stood side-wise, half covered with flower* 
 And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 
 
 The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch. 
 
 And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall 
 
 All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, 
 And th3 voio^ of loved ones reply to his call 
 
126 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 
 
 A fether Ijends o'er him with looks of delight, — 
 His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear 
 
 And the lips of the. boy in a love-kiss unite 
 
 With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holda dear. 
 
 ; The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 
 
 Joy quickens his pulse — all hw hardships seem o'er 
 And a murm-ur of happiness steals through his rest 
 " 0 God ! thou hast blest me, — I ask for no more." 
 
 Ah ! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye ! 
 
 Ah ! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear ? 
 T is the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky ! 
 
 'T is the crashing of thunder, the groan of the sphere ! 
 
 He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck; 
 
 Amazement confronts him with images dire ; — 
 Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck, 
 
 The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! 
 
 Like mountains the billows tumultuousl j swell ; 
 
 In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ; — 
 Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 
 
 And the death-angel flaps his dark wings o'er the wave. 
 
 0, sailor-boy ! woe to thy dream of delight ! 
 
 In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; — 
 Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, 
 
 Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss ? 
 
 0, sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! never again 
 
 Siiall love, home or kindred, thy wishes repay ; 
 
 Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main 
 Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 
 
 No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee. 
 Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge , 
 
 But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be 
 And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge. 
 
 On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be' laid, 
 A.round thy whits bones the red coral shall grow ; 
 
 Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, 
 And every part suit to thy mansion below. 
 
 Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, 
 And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; 
 
 Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye — 
 0, sailor-boy ' sailor-boy ' peace to thy soul ! 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. SCHILLEIR. igl 
 
 tl CiMON AND PYTHIAS. —Adaptation of a translation from StktlUr, bi S« M 
 
 Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 " Now, Dionysius, — tyrant, — die ! " 
 Stern Damon with his poniard crept : 
 The watchful guards upon him swept; 
 
 The grim king marked his bearing high. 
 
 " What wouldst thou with thy knife ? Reply ! " - » 
 
 " The city from the tyrant free ! " — 
 
 " The death-cross shall thy guerdon be.' 
 
 " I am prepared for death, nor pray," 
 
 Haughtily Damon said, " to live ; 
 
 Enough, if thou one grace wilt give : 
 For three brief suns the death delay ! 
 A sister's nuptial rites now stay 
 My promised coming, leagues away ; 
 I boast a friend, whose life for mine. 
 If I should fail the cross, is thine." 
 
 The tyrant mused, and smiled, and said, 
 
 With gloomy craft, " So let it be ; 
 
 Three days I will vouchsafe to thee. 
 But; mark : if, when the time be sped. 
 Thou fail'st, thy surety dies instead. 
 His life shall buy thine own release ; 
 . Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall cease." 
 
 And Damon sought his friend : " The king 
 Ordains, my life, the cross upon, 
 Shall pay the deed I would have done ; 
 
 Yet grants three days' delay to me, 
 
 My sister's marriage-rites to see, 
 
 If thou, my Pythias, wilt remain 
 
 Hostage till I return again ! " 
 
 One clasp of hands — and Pythias said 
 
 No word, but to the tyrant strode. 
 
 While Damon went upon his road. 
 Sre the third sun in Heaven was red, 
 The rite was o'er, the sister wed ; 
 And back, with anxious heart unquailing, 
 He hastes to keep the pledge unfailing. 
 
 Down the great rains unending bore ! 
 
 Down from the hills the torrents rashed ! 
 
 In one broad stream, the brooklets gushed 
 Ard Damon halts beside the shore. 
 The bridge was swept the tides before ! 
 And the tumultuous waves, in thunder. 
 Rushed o'er the shattered aioh and mider 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Frantic, dismayed, lie takes Ms stand 
 Dismayed, he strays and shouts around-. 
 His voice awakes no answering sound. 
 
 No boat will leave the sheltering strand, 
 
 To bear him to the wished-for land ; 
 
 No boatman will Death's pilot be ; 
 
 The wild stream gathers to a sea ! 
 
 Prostrate a while he raves — he weeps ; 
 Then raised his arms to J ove, and cried 
 " Stay thou, 0, stay the maddening tide ! 
 
 Midway, behold, the swift sun sweeps 
 
 And ere he sink adown the deeps. 
 
 If I should fail, his beams will see 
 
 My friend's last anguish — slain for me ! " 
 
 Fierce runs the stream ; more broad it fio^4^ 
 And wave on wave succeeds, and dies ; 
 And hour on hour, remorseless, flies ; 
 Despair at last to daring grows : 
 Amid the flood his form he throws. 
 With vigorous arm the roaring waves 
 Cleaves, and a God that pities saves ! " 
 
 He wins the bank, his path pursues, 
 The anxious terrors hound him on — 
 Lo ! reddening in the evening sun, 
 
 From far, the domes cf Syracuse ! 
 
 When towards him comes Philostratus 
 
 (His leal and trusty herdsman he). 
 
 And to the master bends his knee. 
 
 " Back ! — thou canst aid thy friend no more ; 
 The niggard time already 's flown — 
 His life is forfeit — save thine own ! 
 Hour after hour in hope he bore. 
 Nor might his soul its faith give o'er ; 
 Nor could the tyrant's scorn, deriding, 
 Steal from that faith one thought confiding ! * 
 
 " Too late ! what horrors hast thou spoken • 
 Vain life,; since it cannot requite him ! 
 But death can yet with me unite him • 
 No boast the tyrant's scorn shall make 
 How friend to friend can faith forsake • 
 But, from the double-death, shall know 
 That Truth and Love yet live below ! " 
 
 The sun sinks down : the gate 's in vien? 
 The cross looms dismal on the ground 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. SCHILLER. 429 
 
 The eager crowd gape murmuring round. 
 Lo ! Pythias bound the cross unto ! — 
 When, crowd — guards — all — bursts Damon t^xxgh 
 " Me, doomsman ! " shouts he, — " me, -~ alone S 
 His life is rescued — lo ! mine own I * 
 
 Amazement seized the circling ring. 
 Linked in each other's arms the pair 
 Stood, thrilled with joy — yet anguish — there! 
 
 Moist every eye that gazed ; they bring 
 
 The wondrous tidings to the king : 
 
 His breast man's heart at length has known, 
 
 And the friends stand before his throne. 
 
 Long silent he, — and wondering, long 
 
 Gazed on the pair, then said : " Depart 
 
 Victors ; ye have subdued mi/ heart ! 
 Truth is no dream ! its power is strong ! 
 Give grace to him who owns his wrong ' 
 'T is mine i/our suppliant now to be, — ' 
 Ah, let the bond of Love hold Three ! " 
 
 8S THE BATTLE. — Translated from Schiller, by Sir E. Bulwer Litton 
 
 Heavy and solemn, 
 A cloudy column, 
 
 Through the green plain they marching camo ! 
 Measureless spread, like a table dread. 
 For the wild grim dice of the iron game. 
 Looks are bent on the shaking ground, 
 Hearts beat loud with a knelling sound ; 
 Swift by the breasts that must bear the brunt, 
 Gallops the major along the front ; — 
 " Halt ! " 
 
 And fettered they stand at the stark com.mand, 
 And the warriors, silent, halt ! 
 
 Proud in the blush of morning glowing, 
 What on the hill-top shines in flowing ? 
 
 " See you the foeman's banners waving? " 
 
 " We see the foeman's banners wavino- ! " . 
 " God be with ye, children and wife T" 
 
 Hark to the music, — the trump and the fife, 
 
 How they ring through the ranks, which they rouse to the strife' 
 
 Thrilhng they sound, with their glorious tone, 
 
 Thrilling they go through the marrow and bone" 
 Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er^ 
 hi the life to come that we meet once more! 
 
■30 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 See the smoke how the lightning is cleaving asunder J 
 
 Hark ! the guns, peal on peal, how thej boom ia their thundet 
 
 From host to host, with kindling sound, 
 
 The shouting signal circles round ; 
 
 Aj, shout it forth to life or death, — 
 
 Freer already breathes the breath ! 
 
 The war is waging, slaughter raging, 
 
 And heavy through the reeking pail 
 
 The iron death-dice fall ! 
 Nearer they close, — foes upon foes. 
 " Ready ! " — from square to square it goes. 
 
 They k^eel as one man, from flank to flank, 
 And the fire comes sharp from the foremost rank. . 
 Many a soldier to earth is sent. 
 Many a gap by the balls is rent ; 
 O'er the corse before springs the hinder man, 
 That the line may not fail to the fearless van. 
 To the right, to the left, and around and around, 
 Death whirls in its dance on the bloody ground. 
 God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight, 
 Over the host falls a brooding night ! 
 Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er, 
 In the life to come that we 7neet once more ! 
 
 The dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood, 
 
 And the living are blent in the slippery flood. 
 
 And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go, 
 
 Stumble still on the corses that sleep below. 
 
 " What ! Francis ! " — " Oive Charlotte my last farewell." 
 
 As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell. — 
 
 " I '11 give — 0 Grod ! are their guns so near ? 
 
 Ho ! comrades ! — yon volley ! — look sharp to the rear ' — ^ 
 
 I '11 give thy Charlotte thy last fiirewell ; 
 
 Sleep soft ! where death thickest descendeth in rain. 
 
 The friend thou forsakest thy side may regain ! " 
 
 Hitherward, thitherward reels the fight ; ^ 
 
 Dark and more darkly day glooms into night , 
 
 Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'ei, 
 
 In the life to come that we meet once more ! 
 
 Hark to the hoofs that galloping go . 
 
 The adjutants flying, — 
 The horsemen press hard on the panting fbe 
 
 Their thunder booms, in dying — 
 Victory ! 
 
 Terror has seized on the dastards all, 
 And their colors fall ! 
 
 Victory ' 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — SCHILLER. 431 
 
 Closed is the brunt of the glorious fight; 
 
 And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the ni^ht. 
 
 Trumpet and fife swelling choral along, 
 
 The triumph already sweeps marching in song 
 
 Farewell, fallen brothers ; though this life be o^er^ 
 
 There 's another, in which we shall meet you once mor» f 
 
 24. THE GLOVE.— 5cAz7/er. Born, 11 b9; died, im. 
 
 Before his lion-garden gate, 
 
 The wild-beast combat to await, 
 
 King Francis sate : 
 
 Around him were his nobles placed, 
 
 The balcony above was graced 
 
 By ladies of the court, in gorgeous state : 
 
 And as with his finger a sign he made, 
 
 The iron grating was open laid. 
 
 And with stately step and mien 
 
 A lion to enter was seen. 
 
 With fearful look 
 
 His mane he shook, 
 
 And yawning wide, 
 
 Stared around him on every side ; 
 
 And stretched his giant limbs of stisength, 
 
 And laid himself down at his fearful length 
 
 And the king a second signal made, — 
 
 And instant was opened wide 
 
 A second gate, on the other side, 
 
 From which, with fiery bound, 
 
 A tiger sprung. 
 
 Wildly the wild one yelled. 
 
 When the lion he beheld ; 
 
 And, bristling at the look, 
 
 With his tail his sides he strook, 
 
 And rolled his rabid tongue. 
 
 And, with glittering eye, 
 
 Crept round the lion slow and shy 
 
 Then, horribly howling, 
 
 And grimly growling, 
 
 Down by his side himself he laid. 
 
 And the king another signal made • 
 
 The opened grating vomited then 
 
 Two leopards forth from their dreadful den, 
 
 They rush on the tiger, with signs of rage. 
 
 Eager the deadly fight to wage, 
 
 Who, fierce, with paws uplifted stood. 
 
132 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKETt. 
 
 And the lion sprang up witli an awful roaP, 
 Then were still the fearful tour : 
 And the monsters on the ground 
 Crouched in a circle round, 
 Greedy to taste of blood. 
 
 Now, from the balcony above, 
 A snowy hand let fall a glove : 
 Midway between the beasts of prey, 
 Lion and tiger, — there it lay. 
 The winsome lady's glove ! 
 
 And the Lady Kunigund, in bantering mood, 
 Spoke to Knight Delorges, who by her stood ? 
 " If the flame which but now to me you swore 
 Burns as strong as it did before, 
 Go pick up my glove, Sir Knight." 
 And he, with action quick as sight. 
 In the horrible place did stand ; 
 And with dauntless mien, 
 From the beasts between 
 Took up the glove, with fearless hand ; 
 And as ladies and nobles the bold deed saw, 
 Their breath they held, through fear and awe. 
 The glove he brings back, composed and light. 
 His praise was announced by voice and look. 
 And Kunigund rose to receive the knight 
 With a smile that promised the deed to requite; 
 But straight in her face he flung the glove, — 
 «' 1 neither desire your thanks nor love ;" 
 And from that same hour the lady forsook. 
 
 2^ THE FATE OP VIRGINIA * 
 
 " Why is the Forum crowded ? What means this stir in Rome ? 
 « Claimed as a slave, a irec-born maid is dragged here from her home 
 On fair Virginia, Claudius has cast his eye of blight ; 
 The tyrant's creature, Marcus, asserts an owner's right. 
 0 shame on Roman manhood ! Was ever plot more clear ? 
 But, look ! the maiden's father conies ! Behold Virginius here ! " 
 
 Straif'htway Virginius led the maid a little space aside. 
 To where tlie reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide 
 Hard by a butcher on a block had laid his whittle down, — 
 Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown. 
 
 • In order to render the coTnniencotnent leas abrupt, six lines of introduotioil Lar< 
 been added to this extract iVoui the line ballad by Macaulay. 
 
NARI^aTIVE and lyrical. — M5VCAULAY. 433" 
 
 And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throai began to swell, 
 And in a hoarse, changed voice, he spake, " Farewell, sweet child 
 Farewell ! 
 
 The honse that was the happiest within the Roman walls, — 
 The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble halls. - 
 Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom, 
 And, for the music of thy voice, the silence of the toml 
 The time is come. The tyrant points his eager hand this way ! 
 See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey ! 
 With all his wit, he little deems, that, spurned, betrayed, bereft. 
 Thy father hath, in his despair, one fearful refuge left ; 
 He little deems, that, in this hand, I clutch what still can save 
 Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave .• 
 Tea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow, — 
 Foyl outrage, which thou knowest not, — which thou shalt never 
 know. 
 
 Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one moie K.iaa , 
 And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this ! " 
 With that, he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side, 
 And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died. 
 
 Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath ; 
 
 And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death ; 
 
 And in another moment brake forth from one and all 
 
 A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall ; 
 
 Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tottered nio-h, 
 
 And stood before the judgment seat, and held the knife on hwh. 
 
 " 0, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain, 
 
 By this dear blood .1 cry to you, do right between us twain; 
 
 And e'en as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine, 
 
 Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line !" 
 
 So spake the slayer of his child ; then, where the body lay, 
 
 Pausing, he cast one haggard glance, and turned and went his way. • 
 
 Then up sprang Appius Claudius : " Stop him, alive or dead ' 
 Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head ! " 
 He looked upon his clients, — but none would work his will ; 
 He looked^ upon his lietors, — but they trembled and stood still. 
 And as Virginius through the press his way in silence cioft, 
 Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left. 
 And he hath passed in safety unto his wotul home, 
 Ani there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rom*. 
 
 26. HORATIUS AT THE BRWUE. - Adapted from Macau lay . 
 
 The Coni^ul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech Avas hir. 
 
 And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. 
 
 ' Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down ; 
 
 And if they once njay win the bridge, what hnpe to save tho towu ? ' 
 
134 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain of the gate : 
 » To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late. 
 Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may, 
 I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe m play. 
 
 In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three. ^ 
 Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me f 
 Then out spake Spurius Lartius, — a Ramnian proud was he, -~ ^ 
 " Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee. 
 
 And out spake strong Herminius, — of Titian blood was he, — - 
 
 «' I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee. 
 
 " Horatius," quoth the Consul, " as thou sayest, so let it be. 
 
 And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless Three 
 
 Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see 
 On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless ihree. 
 And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood. 
 The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood. 
 
 But meanwhile axe and lever have manMly been plied. 
 And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. 
 " Come back, come back, Horatius ! " loud cried the Fathers all : 
 « Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! back, ere the rum fall ! 
 
 Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Herminius darted back ; 
 
 And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers crack 
 
 But when they turned their faces, and on the further shore 
 
 Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once more. 
 
 But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam, 
 And, like a dam, tlie mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream 
 And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome. 
 As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam. 
 
 And, like a horse unbroken when first he feels the rein. 
 
 The farious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane, 
 
 And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, 
 
 And battlement, and plank, and pier, whirled headlong to the sea. 
 
 Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind ; 
 Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind. 
 " Down with him ! " cried false Scxtus, with a smile on his pale face 
 " Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena " now yield thee to oar grace 
 
 Bound turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see ; 
 Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus naught spake he ; 
 But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home, 
 \nd he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of B«me 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. ATTOtJN. 43fc 
 
 0, Tiber ! father Tiber ! to whom the Romans pray, 
 A. Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day ! * 
 3o he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side, 
 A.ad, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide! 
 
 No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank ; 
 
 But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he sank • 
 
 And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, 
 
 Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain : 
 And fast his blood was flowing ; and he was sore in pain. 
 And heavy w^'th his armor, and spent with changing blows : 
 And oft they thought him sinking, — but still again he rose. 
 
 Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, 
 Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing-place : 
 but his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within. 
 And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin. 
 
 'Curse on him ! " quoth false Sextus ; " will not the villain drown ? 
 tJut tor this stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the town ! " 
 Heaven help him ! " quoth Lars Porsena, " and bring him safe to 
 shore ; ^ 
 For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." 
 
 And now he feels the bottom ; — now on dry earth he stands • 
 ^ow round him throng the Fathers to press his gory hands 
 And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud. 
 He enters through the River Gate, borne by the joyous crowd. 
 
 27. THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE, 1645. - Aytoun. 
 
 Come hither, Evan Cameron ; come, stand beside my knee, — 
 I hear the river roaring down towards the wintry sea 
 There 's shouting on the mountain-side, there 's war within the blast • 
 Uld faces look upon me, — old forms go trooping past. 
 L hear the pibroch wailing amidst the din of fight, 
 And my dim spirit wakes again, upon the verge of nio-ht 
 
 Twas I that led the Highland host through wild Lochaber's snowb 
 What time the plaided clans came down to battle with Montrose 
 L ve told thee how the Southrons fell beneath the broad claymore 
 And how we smote the Campbell clan by Inverlochy's shore. 
 I ve told thee how we swept Dundee, and tamed the Lindsays' pride 
 But never have I told thee yet how the Great Marquis died. 
 
436 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 A traitor sold him to his foes ; — 0, deed of deathless shame i 
 I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet with one of Assynt's name^ 
 Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen. 
 Stand he in martial gear alone, or backed by armed mfen, — 
 Face bim, as thou wouldst face the man who wronged thy dire'fi 
 renown; 
 
 Remember of what blood thou art, and strike the caitiff down . 
 
 They brought him to the Watergate, hard bound with hempen span 
 
 As though°they held a lion there, and not a 'fenceless man. 
 
 But when he came, though pale and wan, he looked so great and higb 
 
 So noble was his manly front, so calm his steadfast eye. 
 
 The rabble rout forbore to shout, and each man held his breath ; 
 
 For well they knew the hero's soul was face to face with death. 
 
 Had I been there, with sword in hand, and fifty Camerons by, 
 That day, through high Dunedin's streets, had pealed the slogan-cry. 
 Not all their troops of trampling horse, nor might of mailed men, 
 Not all the rebels in the South, had borne us backwards then ! 
 Once more his foot on Highland heath had trod as free as air, 
 Or I, and all who bore my name, been laid around him there ! 
 
 It might not be. They placed him next within the solemn hall, 
 Where once the Scottish kings were throned amidst their nobles all. 
 But there was dust of vulgar feet on that polluted floor. 
 And perjured traitors filled the place where good men sate before. 
 With savage glee came Warriston, to read the murderous doom ; 
 And then uprose the great Montrose in the middle of the room. 
 
 " Now, by my faith as belted knight, and by the name I bear, 
 And by the bright Saint Andrew's cross that waves above us there, — 
 Yea, by a greater, mightier oath, — and 0, that such should be ! — 
 By that dark stream of royal blood that lies 'twixt you and me, - 
 I have not sought in battle-field a wreath of such renown, 
 Nor hoped I on my dying day to win the martyr's crown ! 
 
 " There is a chamber far away where sleep the good and brave, 
 But a better place ye 've named for me than by my fathers' grave. 
 For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might, this hand hath always 
 striven. 
 
 And ye raise it up for a witness still in the eye of earth and Heaveu 
 Then nail my head on yonder tower, — give every town a limb, 
 And God who made shall gather them : I go from you to Him ! " 
 
 The morning dawned full darkly • like a bridegroom from his room, 
 Came the hero from his prison to the scaffold and tlie doom. 
 There was glory on his forehead, there was lustre in hip eye 
 And he never walked to battle more proudly than to die ; 
 There was color in his visage, though the cheeks of all were wan, 
 auid they marvelled as they saw him pass, that great and goodly mwi 
 
NJ RRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — SHELLEY, 
 
 437 
 
 riien radiant and serene he stood, and cast his cloak away 
 
 For he had ta'en his latest look of earth and sun and day. 
 
 He mounted up the scaffold, and he turned him to the crowd 
 
 But thej dared not trust the people, — so he might not speak aloud 
 
 But he looked upon the Heavens, and they were clear and blue, 
 
 And in the liquid ether the eye of God shone through : 
 
 A beam of light fell o'er him, like a glory round the shriven, 
 And he climbed the lofty ladder as it were the path to Heaven. 
 Then came a flash from out the cloud, and a stunning thunder-roll , 
 And no man dared to look aloft ; fear was on every soul. 
 There was another heavy sound, — a hu^h, and then a groan , 
 Aad darkness swept across the sky, — the work of death was done 
 
 28. PEACE AND WAR. — Percy Bysshe Shelley. Born, 1792 ; died, 1822. 
 
 How beautiftil this night ! the balmiest sigh 
 Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear 
 Were discord to the speaking quietude 
 That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault 
 Studded with stars unutterably bright, 
 Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, 
 Seems like a canopy which love has spread 
 Above the sleeping world. Yon gentle hills, 
 Robed in a garment of untrodden snow ; 
 Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend, 
 So stainless that their white and glittering spires 
 Tinge not the moon's pure beam ; yon castled steep, 
 Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower 
 So idly that rapt fancy deemeth it 
 A metaphor of peace ; — all form a scene 
 Where musing solitude might love to lift 
 Her soul above this sphere of earthliness ; 
 Where silence undisturbed might watch jJone, 
 . So cold, so bright, so still : 
 
 Ah ! whence yon glare 
 That fires the arch of Heaven ? — that dark red smoke 
 Blotting the silver moon ? The stars are quenched 
 In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow 
 Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers round 
 Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peab 
 In countless echoes through the mountains ring, 
 Startling pale midnight on her starry throne ! 
 Now swells the intermingling din ; the jar, 
 Frequent and frightful, of the bursting bomb ; 
 The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shoui; 
 The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men 
 
THE STANLaRD speaker. 
 
 Inebriate with rage ! — Loud and more loud 
 The discord grows ; till pale Death shuts the scene 
 And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws 
 Eis coi4 and bloody shroud ! 
 
 The sulphurous smoke 
 Before the icy wind slow rolls away, 
 And the bright beams of frosty morning dance 
 Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood, 
 Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms, 
 And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments 
 Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path 
 Of the' out-sallying victors : far behind 
 Black ashes note where their proud city stood. 
 Within yon forest is a gloomy glen ; — 
 Each tree which guards its darkness from the day 
 Waves o'er a warrior's tomb ! 
 
 IHERICA TO GREAT BmiAlN. — Washington Allston. Born, 1779; Uti, l%fSk 
 
 All hail ! thou noble land. 
 Our fathers' native soil I 
 0, stretch thy mighty hand, 
 Gigantic grown by toil. 
 O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore 
 For thou, with magic might. 
 Canst reach to where the light 
 Of Phcsbus travels bright, 
 The world o'er ! 
 
 The Genius of our clime. 
 
 From his pine-embattled steep, 
 Shall hail the great sublime ; 
 While the Tritons of the deep 
 With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. 
 Then let the world combine ! — 
 O'er the main our naval line, 
 Like the milky way, shall shine 
 Bright in fame ! 
 
 Though ages long have passed 
 
 Since our fathers left their home, 
 Their pilot in the blast, 
 
 O'er untravelled seas to roam, — • 
 f et lives the blood of England in our veina > 
 And shall wc not proclaim 
 That blood of honest fame, 
 Which no tyranny can tame 
 By its chains ? 
 
SARRATIVE AND LYlvICAL. — BYROxV. 
 
 43d 
 
 While the language, free and bold, 
 Which the bard of Avon sung, 
 In Y/hich our Milton told 
 
 How the vault of Heaven rung, 
 When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host ; -~ 
 While this, with reverence meet, 
 Ten thousand echoes greet, 
 From rock to rock repeat 
 Round our coast ; — 
 
 While the manners, while the arts 
 
 That mould a Nation's soul. 
 Still cling around our hearts, — 
 Between let ocean roll. 
 Our joint communion breaking with the sun : 
 Yet, still, from either beach, 
 The voice of blood shall reach, 
 More audible than speech, 
 " We are One ! " 
 
 30. OLD IRONSIDES.- OZzt;er fFendell Holmes. 
 JeS^^Zr^^::^t Z^S^^ "^^^^^ ^^-^^-^^ constitution, or to convert her into . 
 
 Ay,^ tear her tattered ensign down ! Long has it waved on high 
 Ana many an eye has danced to see that banner in the sky ; _ 
 Beneath it rang the battle-shout, and burst the cannon's roar ; 
 Ihe meteor of the ocean air shall sweep the clouds no more ! 
 
 ^^foe ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^ vanquished 
 
 When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, and waves were white 
 below. 
 
 No more shall feel the >^ctor s tread, or know the conquered knee : 
 ihe harpies of the shore shall pluck the eagle of the sea ' 
 
 0, better that her shattered hulk should sink beneath the wave ' 
 Her thunders shook the mighty deep, and there should be her grave ' 
 Wail to the mast her holy flag, set every threadbare sail. 
 And give her to the god of storms, — the lightning and the gale ! 
 ♦ 
 
 « THE BALL AT BRUSSELS, THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE OF WATEl 
 LOO, Junk 17, 1815 Lord Byron. " 
 
 There was a sound of revelry by night, 
 And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
 Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
 The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men . 
 A thousand hearts beat happily ; and whe© 
 
THE STAJ^DARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, 
 
 Soft eyes looked, love to eyes which spake again, 
 
 And iill went merry as a marriage-bell. 
 But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knel 
 
 Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 't was but the wind, 
 
 Or the car rattling o'er the stony street. 
 
 On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined , 
 
 No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
 
 To chase tlie glowing Hours with flying feet ! 
 
 But hark ! that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
 
 As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 
 
 And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before ! 
 Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon'^ opening roar ! 
 
 Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
 Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain. He did hear 
 That sound the first amidst the festival, 
 And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear ; 
 And when they smiled because he deemed it near, 
 His heart more truly knew that peal too well. 
 Which stretched his father on a bloody bier. 
 And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell. 
 9e rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 
 
 Ah.! then and there was hurrying to and fro. 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
 And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
 Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
 And there were sudden partings, such as press 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 Which ne'er might be repeated. Who could guesf* 
 If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
 Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise 
 
 An 1 there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
 The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
 Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 
 And the deep thunder, peal on peal, ^lar ; 
 And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
 Roused up the soldier ere the morning star , 
 While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb. 
 Or whispering, with white lips — " The foe ' The-y pome Th«y 
 come ! 
 
 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life ; 
 Last eve, in Beauty's circle, proudly gay ; 
 The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife 
 The morn, the marshalling in arms ; the day, 
 Battle s ni'igiiificently stern array ! 
 
NARRATITE AND LYRICAL. — BYRON. 44^ 
 
 ^le thimder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 
 The earth is covered thick with other clay, 
 Which her own clay shall cover — heaped and pent. 
 Kider and horse, - friend, — foe, - in one red buriaJ blent 
 
 32. THE DYING GLADIATOR. - Lord Byron, 
 
 I SEE before me the GLidiator lie : 
 
 He leans upon his hand, — his manly brow 
 
 Consents to death but conquers ao-ony 
 
 And his drooped head sinks gradually low,— 
 
 And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
 
 From the red gash, fail heavy, one by one. 
 
 Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
 
 Ihe arena swims around him — he is gone. 
 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailtd the wretch who woi. 
 He heard it, but he heeded not ; his eyes 
 ^ere with his heart, and that was far away : 
 He recked not of the life he lost nor prize 
 ^ut where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
 Ihere were his young barbarians all at play, 
 JTiere was their.Dacian mother, - he, their sire, 
 liutchered to make a Roman holiday, — 
 All this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire 
 And unavenged ? _ Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire 
 
 33. DEGENERACY OP GREECE. - Lord Bijron 
 
 The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece ! 
 Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 
 
 wf ^""^"^ ^""^^ ^^^''^i' and peace, 
 Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ' 
 
 internal summer gilds them yet. 
 
 But all, except their sun, is set. 
 
 The mountains look on Marathon, 
 And Marathon looks on the sea ; 
 
 And, musing there an hour alone, ' 
 
 I dreamed that Greece might still be free 
 
 tor, standing on the Persian's grave 
 
 1 could not deem myself a slave. 
 
 A King sat on the rocky brow 
 
 Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis, 
 
 And ships, by thousands, lay below 
 And men and Nations — all were nis 
 
 He counted them at break of day — 
 
 And when th-j sun set. where were theyt 
 
TUB STANDARD SPEAKER, 
 
 And where are they? and where art thou. 
 My country ? On thy voiceless shore 
 
 The heroic lay is tuneless now — 
 The heroic bosom beats no more ' 
 
 And must thy lyre, so long divine, 
 
 Degenerate into hands like mine ? 
 
 You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet ; 
 
 Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx 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 ? 
 '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, suifuse my face ; 
 For what is left the poet here ? 
 For Grreeks, a blush, — for Grreece, a tear ! 
 
 Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 
 
 Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled 
 Earth ! render back from out thy breast 
 
 A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
 Of the tkree hundred grant but three, 
 To make a new Thermopylse ! 
 
 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 living who are dumb. 
 
 34. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. —Lord Byron 
 
 The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold. 
 And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
 And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, 
 When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 
 
 Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, 
 That host, with their banners, at sunset were seen ; 
 Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, 
 That host, on the morrow, lay withered and strewn. 
 
 For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
 And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; 
 And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chili, 
 And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still f 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — LiTONS. 
 
 And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, 
 But through thon there rolled not the breath of kb pride- 
 And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
 And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 
 And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
 With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail , 
 And the tents were all silent, the banners alone. 
 The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown. 
 
 And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
 And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
 And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
 Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord 
 
 36. THE TEMPEST STILLED. J. Gilborne Lyom 
 
 The strong winds burst on Judah's sea. 
 
 Far pealed the raging billow. 
 The fires of Heaven flashed wrathfuUj, 
 
 When Jesus pressed his pillow ; 
 The light frail bark was fiercely tossed, 
 
 From surge to dark surge leaping. 
 Foresails 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 the surge subsiding. 
 He spake 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 
 
 A-nd winds ind waves obey him I " 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKKR. 
 86. EXCELSIOR. —H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 The shades of night were falling fast. 
 As through an Alpine village passed 
 A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and lo© 
 A banner with the strange device, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
 Flashed like a falchion from its sheath 
 And like a silver clarion rung 
 The accents of that unknown tongue, 
 Excelsior ' 
 
 In happy homes he saw the light 
 Of household fires gleam warm and brigh 
 Above, the spectral glaciers shone ; 
 And from his lips escaped a groan, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 *' Try not the Pass ! " the old man said 
 " Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; 
 The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! ' 
 And loud that clarion voice replied, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 0, stay," the maiden said " and rest 
 Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
 A tear stood in his bright blue eye ; 
 But s'!!- he answered, with a sigh, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch \ 
 Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
 This was the peasant's last Good-night* 
 A voice replied, far up the height. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 At break of day, as heavenward 
 The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
 Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
 A voice cried, through the startled aii 
 Excelsior ' 
 
 A traveller, by the faithful hound. 
 Half-buried in the snow was found 
 Still grasping, in his hand of ice. 
 That banner with the strange device, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 There, in the twilight cold and gray, 
 liifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; 
 
JfAERATIVE AND LYRICAL. CAMPBELL. 
 
 And from the sky, serene and far, 
 A voice fell, like a falling star, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 37. TO THE B,AmBOW. — Thomas Campbell 
 
 Triumphal arch, that fiU'st the sky 
 When storms prepare to part, 
 
 I ask not proud philosophy 
 
 To teach me what thou art : — 
 
 Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, 
 
 A midway station given. 
 For happy spirits to alight. 
 
 Betwixt the earth and Heaven. 
 
 Can all that optics teach unfold 
 
 Thy form to please me so. 
 As when I dreamt of gems and gold 
 
 Hid in thy radiant bow ? 
 
 When Science from Creation's face 
 Enchantment's veil withdraws. 
 
 What lovely visions yield their place 
 To cold material laws ! 
 
 And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, 
 But words of the Most High, 
 
 Have told why first thy robe of beams 
 Was woven in the sky. 
 
 VVTien, o'er the green, undeluged earth, 
 Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, 
 
 How came the world's gray fathers for^ 
 To watch thy sacred sign ! 
 
 And when its yellow lustre smiled 
 
 O'er mountains yet untrod. 
 Each mother held aloft her child 
 
 To bless the bow of God. 
 
 Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, 
 
 The first-made anthem rang 
 On earth delivered from the deep, 
 
 And the first poet sang , 
 
 Nor ever shall the Mase's eye 
 Unraptured greet thy beam , 
 
 Theme of primeval prophecy. 
 Be still the poet's thera© ! 
 
THE STANI/ARD SPEAKEtt. 
 
 The earth to thee her incense yields, 
 The lark thy welcome sings, 
 
 When, glittering in the freshened fieldf 
 The snowy mushroom springs. 
 
 How glorious is thy girdle cast 
 O'er mountain, tower, and town 
 
 Or mirrored in the ocean vast. 
 A thousand fathoms down ! 
 
 As fresh in yon horizon dark. 
 As young, thy beauties seem, 
 
 As when the eagle from the ark 
 First sported in thy beam. 
 
 For, faithful to its sacred page, 
 Heaven still rebuilds thy span 
 
 Nor lets the type grow pale with age 
 That first spoke peace to man. 
 
 38. GLEN AR A. — Thomas Campb ell. 
 
 O ! HEARD you yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, 
 Where a band cometh slowly, with weeping and wail ? 
 'T is the chief of Glenara laments for his dear ; 
 And her sire and her people are called to her bier. 
 
 Grlenara came first, with the mourners and shroud , 
 Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud ; 
 Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around ; 
 They marched all in silence, — they loaked to the ground 
 
 In silence they passed over mountain and moor. 
 To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar : 
 " Now here let us place the gray-stone of her cairn ; — 
 Why speak ye no word ? " said Glenara the stern. 
 
 " And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse, 
 Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows ? ' 
 So spake the rude chieftain : no answer,.. is made, 
 But each mantle, unfolding, a dagger displayed. 
 
 " I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud," 
 Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud ; 
 " And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem : 
 Glenara ! Glenara ! now read me my dream ! " 
 
 O ! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween. 
 When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen 
 Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn - - 
 T wiis the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. SHEA. 
 
 I dreamed of my ladj, I dreamed of her grief, 
 I dreamed that her lord was a barbarous chief; 
 On the rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem ; 
 Glenara ! Glenara ! now read me my dream ! " 
 
 In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, 
 And the desert revealed where his lady was found i 
 From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne ' 
 Now joy to the House of fair Ellen of Lorn ' 
 
 39. THE O'KAVANAGIL— J.^. Shea. 
 
 The Saxons had met, and the banquet was spread, 
 And the wine in fleet circles the jubilee led; 
 And the banners that hung round the festal that ni^ht 
 Seemed brighter by far than when lifted in fight. 
 
 In came the O'Kavanagh, fair as the morn, 
 
 When earth to new beauty and vigor is born ; 
 
 They shrank from his glance like the waves from the prow 
 
 For nature's nobility sat on his brow. ' 
 
 Attended alone by his vassal and bard, 
 
 No trumpet to herald, no clansmen to guard, 
 
 He came not attended by steed or by steel : 
 No danger he knew, for no fear did he feel 
 
 In eye, and on lip, his high confidence smiled. — 
 So proud, yet so knightly — so gallant, yet mild ; 
 He moved like a god through the light of that hall, 
 And a smile, full of courtliness, profiered to all. 
 
 "Come pledge us, lord chieftain ! come pledge us ! " they cried 
 Unsuspectnigly free to the pledge he replied ; 
 
 And this was the peace-branch O'Kavanagh bore, 
 
 "The friendships to come, not the feuds that are 'o'er ! " 
 But, minstrel, why cometh a change o'er thy theme ? 
 Why sing of red battle — what dream dost thoiu dream ? 
 Ha ! " Treason ! " 's the cry, and " Eevenge ! " is the caU, 
 As the swords of the Saxons surrounded the hall ' 
 
 A kingdom for Angelo's mind, to portray 
 
 Green Erin's undaunted avenger that day ; 
 
 The far-flashing sword, and the death-darting eye, 
 
 Like some comet commissioned with wrath from the sh j 
 
 Through the ranks of the Saxon he hewed his red way, - 
 Through lances, and sabres, and hostile array • 
 And, mounting his charger, he left them to tell 
 IV tale of that feast, and its bloody farewell 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 And now on the Saxons Ws clansmen advance, 
 With a shout from each heart, and a soul in eacn knot 
 He rushed, like a storm, o'er the night-covered heath 
 And swept through their ranks like the angel of deatli 
 
 Then hurrah ! for thy glory, young chieftain, hurrah I 
 0 ! had we such lightning-souled heroes to-day, 
 Again would our " sunburst " expand in the galo 
 And Freedom exult o'er the green Innisfail I 
 
 40. ODE ON THE PASSIONS. — William Collim 
 
 When Music, Raavenly maid, was youngj 
 While yet in early Greece she sung, 
 The Passions oft, to hear her shell. 
 Thronged around her magic cell ; 
 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting 
 Possessed beyond the Muse's painting, 
 By turns, they felt the glowing mind 
 Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined : 
 Tni once, 't is said, when all were fired, 
 Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, 
 . From the supportuig myrtles round 
 They snatched her instruments of sound j 
 And, as they oft had heard apart 
 Sweet lessons of her forceful art. 
 Each — for Madness ruled the hour — 
 Would prove his own expressive power. 
 
 First, Fear his hand, its sicill to try, 
 Amid the chords bewildered laid ; 
 
 And back recoiled, he knew not why, 
 Even at the sound himself had made. 
 
 Next, Anger rushed, his eyes on fire, 
 In lightnings owned his secret stings : 
 
 In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 
 
 And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. 
 
 With woful measures, wan Despair — 
 Low sullen sounds ! — his grief beguilod 
 
 A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 
 
 *T was sad, by fits, — by starts, 't was wild 
 
 But thou, 0 Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
 What was thy delighted measure ? 
 Still it whispered promised pleasure,^ 
 And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 
 
 Still would her touch the strain prolong; 
 And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale. 
 
NARRATIVE AND L^KICAL. — OULLINS. 44S 
 
 She called on Echo still through all her song ; 
 And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
 A soft responsive voice was heard at everj close ; 
 And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 
 
 And longer had she sung — but, with a frown, 
 
 Revenge impatient rose. 
 He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down; 
 
 And, with a withering look. 
 
 The war-denouncing trumpet took. 
 And blew a blast, so loud and dread. 
 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe; 
 
 And, ever and anon, he beat 
 
 The doubling drum with furious heat. 
 Aad though, sometimes, each dreary pause between. 
 
 Dejected Pity, at his side. 
 
 Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
 Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien ; 
 While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his boad 
 
 Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed; 
 
 Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
 Of differing themes the veering song was mixed : 
 
 And now it courted Love — now, raving, called on Hate. 
 
 With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
 
 Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 
 
 And, from her wild sequestered seat, 
 
 In notes, by distance made more sweet, 
 Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul ; 
 And, dashiBg soft, from rocks around, 
 Bubbling mrmels joined the sound ; 
 'Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole : 
 Ur oer some haunted streams, with fond delay — 
 
 Round a holy calm diffusing. 
 
 Love of peace and lonely musing 
 
 In hollow murmurs died away. 
 
 ^^^^rP ' ^^^"^'^^^ sprightly tone, 
 
 When Cheerfulness, a nymph ol" healthiest hue, 
 
 Her bow across her shoulder flung. 
 Her buskins gemmed with morning dew 
 
 Blew an inspiri^ig air, that dale and tuicket rung. 
 Ihe .hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad knoivn ! 
 
 The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed (jqeeii 
 Satyrs, and sylvan bovs, were seen, 
 Peeping from forth their alleys green; 
 Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 
 And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen ^w%f 
 29 
 
IHE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 
 He, with viny crown, advancing. 
 First to the lively pipe his hand addressed ; 
 
 But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol. 
 Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 
 The} ^ould have thought, who heard the strain 
 They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 
 
 Amid the festal sounding shades. 
 To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; 
 While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, 
 Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round — 
 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 
 And he, amid his frolic play. 
 As if he would the charming air repay, 
 Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 
 
 41. THE GREEK AND TURKMAN. — iZeu. George Cro^y. 
 
 fiaurMloD of a night attack, by Gonstantine Palseologus, on a detached camp of 
 med II., dui-ing the siege of Constantinople. 
 
 The Turkman lay beside the river ; 
 
 The wind played loose through bow and quiver , 
 
 The charger on the bank fed free, 
 
 The shield hung glittering from the tree, 
 
 The trumpet, shawn, and atabal, 
 
 Lay screened from dew by cloak and pall, 
 
 For long and weary was the way 
 
 The hordes had marched that burning day. 
 
 Above them, on the sky of J une, 
 Broad as a buckler glowed the moonj 
 Flooding with glory vale and hill. 
 In silver sprang the mountain rill ; 
 The weeping shrub in silver bent ; 
 A pile of silver stood the tent ; 
 All soundless, sweet tranquillity ; 
 All beauty,— hill, brook, tent, and tree. 
 
 There came a sound — 't was like the gush 
 When night- winds shake the rose's bush ! 
 There came a sound — 't was like the tread 
 Of wolves along the valley's bed ! 
 There came a sound — 't was like the flow 
 Of rivers swoln with melting snow ! 
 There came a sound — 't was like the roar 
 Of Ocean on its winter shore ! 
 
 "Death to the Turk! " up rose the yeJl-^ 
 On rolled the charge? — a thunder peal 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. KNOX. 
 
 The Tartar arrows fell like rain, — 
 They clanked on helm, and mail, and chain : 
 In blood, in hate, in death, were twined 
 Savage and Greek, — mad, — bleeding, — blind, 
 And still, on flank, and front, and rear, 
 liaged, Constantino, thy thirsting spear] 
 
 Brassy and pale, — a type of doom, — 
 Labored the moon through deepening gloom. 
 Down plunged her orb — 't was pitchy night » 
 Now, Turkman, turn thy reins for flight ! 
 On rushed their thousands in the dark ! 
 But in their camp a ruddy spark 
 Like an uncertain meteor reeled, — 
 Thy hand, brave king, that fire-brand wheeled ! 
 
 Wild burst the burning element 
 O'er man and courser, flood and tent ! ' 
 And through the blaze the Greeks outsprang, 
 Like tigers, — bloody, foot and fang ! — 
 With dagger-stab, and falchion-sweep. 
 Delving the stunned and staggering heap, 
 Till lay the slave by chief and khan, 
 And all was gone that once was man ! 
 
 There 's wailing on the Euxine shore — 
 Her chivalry shall ride no more ! 
 There 's wailing on thy hills, Altai, 
 For chiefs the Grecian vulture's prey ! 
 But, Bosphorus, thy silver wave 
 Hears shouts for the returning brave ; 
 For, kingliest of a kingly line, 
 Lo ! there comes glorious Constantine ! 
 
 42. THE CURSE OF CAm.- Knox. 
 
 O, THE wrath of the Lord is a terrible thing ! — 
 Like the tempest that withers the blossoms of spring 
 Like the thunder that bursts on the summer's domam, 
 It fell on the head of the homicide Cain. 
 And, lo ! like a deer in the fright of the chase, 
 With a fire in his heart, and a brand on his face, 
 
 He speeds him afar to the desert of Nod, 
 
 A vagabond, smote by the vengeance of God ! 
 All nature, to him, has beec blasted and banned, 
 And the blood of a brother yet reeks on his hand ; 
 And no vintage has grown, and no fountain has spran/r. 
 tor cheering his heart, or for cooling his tongue. 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 The groans of a father his slumber shall start, 
 And the tears of a mother shall pierce to his heart, 
 And the kiss of his children shall scorch him like flamej 
 When he thinks of the curse that hangs over his name. 
 , And the wife of his bosom — the faithful and fair — 
 Can mix no sweet drop in his cup of despair ; 
 For her tender caress, and her innocent breath, 
 But stir in his soul the hot embers of death. 
 And his offering may blaze unregarded by Heaven • 
 And his spirit may pray, yet remain unforgiven ; 
 And his grave may be closed, yet no rest to him bring ; ' 
 O, the wrath of the Lord is a terrible thmg ! 
 
 43. AMERICA, 1750. -Bishop Berkeley. Born, 1684 ; died, 11^. 
 
 The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime 
 
 Barren of every glorious theme, 
 In distant lands now waits a better time, 
 
 Producing subjects worthy fame. 
 
 In happy climes, where from the genial sun, 
 
 And virgin earth, such scenes ensue. 
 The force of art by nature seems outdone, 
 
 And fancied beauties by the true : 
 In happy climes, the seat of innocence, 
 
 Where Nature guides, and Virtue rules, — 
 Where men shall not impose, for truth and sense 
 
 The pedantry of courts and schools : 
 
 There shall be sung another golden age, 
 
 The rise of empire and of arts. 
 The good and great inspiring epic rage, 
 
 The wisest heads and noblest hearts. 
 
 Not such as Europe breeds in her decay, — 
 
 Such as she bred when fresh and young. 
 When heavenly flame did animate her clay, — 
 
 By future poets shall be sung. 
 Westward the course of empire takes its way 
 
 The four first acts already past, 
 A fifth shall close the drama with the day ; 
 
 Time's noblest offspring is the last. 
 
 44 THE WORLD FOR SALE. - - Rev. Ralph Hoyt. 
 
 The world for sale ! Hang out the sign 
 
 Call every traveller here to me ; 
 Who '11 buy this brave estate of mine. 
 
 And set this weary spirit free ' 
 
NARP*ATIVE AND LYRICAL. ^ — HOYT. 
 
 T is going ! yes, I mean to fling 
 
 The bauble from my soul away 
 I '11 sell it, whatsoe'er it bring : 
 
 The world at auction here, to-day ' 
 
 It is a glorious sight to see, — 
 
 But, ah ! it has deceived me sore 
 ^i" 18 not what it seems to be. 
 
 For sale ! it shall be mine no more. 
 Come, turn it o'er and view it well ; 
 
 I would not have you purchase dear. 
 'T is going ! going ! I must sell ! 
 
 Who bids ? who '11 buy the splendid tear t 
 
 Here 's wealth, in glittering heaps of gold ; 
 
 Who bids ? But let me tell you fair, 
 A baser lot was never sold ! 
 
 Who '11 buy the heavy heaps of care ' 
 And, here, spread out in broad domain, 
 
 A goodly landscape all may trace. 
 Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill and plain ; — 
 
 Who '11 buy himself a burial place ? 
 
 Here 's Love, the dreamy potent spell 
 
 That Beauty flings around the heart ; 
 I know its power, alas ! too well ; 
 
 'T is going ! Love and I must part ! 
 Must part ? What can I more with Lore^ 
 
 All over 's the enchanter's reign. 
 Who '11 buy the plumeless, dying dove, — 
 
 A breath of bliss, a storm of pain ? 
 
 Aiid, Friendship., rarest gem of earth ; 
 
 Who e'er hath found the jewel his ? 
 Frail, fickle, false and little worth. 
 
 Who bids for Friendship — as it is ? 
 'Tis going ! going ! hear the call ; 
 
 Once, twice and thrice, 't is very low ' 
 T was once my hope, my stay, my all. 
 
 But now the broken staff" must go ! 
 
 Fame ! hold the brilliant meteor high , 
 
 How dazzling every gilded name ' 
 Ye millions ! now 's the time to buy. 
 
 How much for Fame ? how much for l^wne ? 
 Hear how it thunders ! Would you stand 
 
 On high Olympus, far renowned, 
 Now purchase, and a world command . — 
 
 And be with a world's curses crowned- 
 Sweet star of Hope ! with ray to sKine 
 
 In evory sad foreboding breast 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Save this desponding one of mine, — 
 
 Who bids lor man's last friend, and beet ? 
 
 Ah, were not mine a bankrupt life. 
 This treasure should my soul sustain? 
 
 But Hope and Care are now at strife, 
 Nor ever may unite again. 
 
 Ambition, fashion, show and pride, 
 
 I part from all forever now ; 
 Grief, in an overwhelming tide. 
 
 Has taught my haughty heart to bow. 
 By Death, stern sheriff ! all bereft, 
 
 I weep, yet humbly kiss the rod ; 
 The best of all I still have left, — 
 
 My Faith, my Bible, and my God ! 
 
 ON rilE DEATH OF GENERAL TAYLOR. — Robert T. Ce»»ir«tf. • 
 
 Weep not for him ! The Thracians wisely gave 
 Tears to the birth-couch, triumph to the grave. 
 Weep not for him ! Go, mark his high career ; 
 It knew no shame, no folly, and no fear. 
 Nurtured to peril, lo ! the peril came. 
 To lead him on, from field to field, to fame. 
 Weep not for him whose lustrous life has known 
 No field of fame he has not made his own ! 
 
 In many a fainting clime, in many a war, 
 Still bright-browed Victory drew the patriot's car. 
 Whether he met the dusk and prowling foe 
 By oceanic Mississippi's flow ; 
 
 Or where the Southern swamps, with steamy br^aaih. 
 Smite the worn warrior with no warrior's death I 
 Or where, like surges on the roUing main, 
 Squadron on squadron sweep the prairie plain, — 
 Dawn — and the field the haughty foe o'erspread 
 Sunset — and Bio Grande's waves ran red ! 
 Or where, from rock-ribbed safety, Monterey 
 Frowns death, and dares him to the unequal fray ; 
 Till crashing walls and slippery streets bespeak 
 How Trail the fortress where the heart is weak- 
 How vainly numbers menace, rocks defy. 
 Men sternly knit, and firm to do or die ; — 
 Or where on thousands thousands crowding rusb 
 (Borne knew not such a day) his ranks to crush, 
 The long day paused on Buena Vista's height, 
 Above the cloud with flashing volleys bright^ 
 Till angry Freedom, hovering o'er the fray 
 Swooped down, and made a new Thermopylae ; 
 
NAJxAATIVE AND LYEICAL. UHLAND 
 
 In every scene of peril and of pain, 
 
 His were the toils, his country's was the gain. 
 
 From field to field — and all were nobly woa 
 
 He bore, with eagle flight, her standard on; 
 New stars rose there — but never star grew dim 
 While in Ms patriot grasp. Weep not for him 
 
 His was a spirit simple, grand and pure 
 G"cat to conceive, to do, and to endure ; 
 Yet tne rough warrior was, in heart, a child, 
 Kich in love's affluence, merciful and mild. 
 His sterner traits, majestic and antique, 
 Rivalled the stoic Koman or the Greek ; 
 Excelling both, he adds the Christian name, 
 And Christian virtues make it more than fame. 
 
 To country, youth, age, love, life — all were given 
 In death, she lingered between him and Heaven ; 
 Thus spake the patriot, in his latest sigh, — 
 "My duty done — I do not fear to die! ' 
 
 «8. THE passage. - (7A/and. Translated by Miss Austen 
 
 Many a year is in its grave 
 Since I crossed, this restless wave, 
 And the evening, fair as ever, 
 Shines on ruin, rock and river. 
 
 Then, in this same boat, beside, 
 Sat two comrades, old and tried ; 
 One with all a father's truth. 
 One with all the fire of youth. 
 
 One on earth in science wrought, 
 And his grave in silenbe sought 
 But the younger, brighter form, 
 Passed in battle and in storm. 
 
 So, whene'er I turn mine eye 
 
 Back upon the days gone by. 
 
 Saddening thoughts of friends come o er me, 
 
 Friends who closed their course before me. 
 
 Yet what binds us, friend to friend 
 But inai soui with soul can blend ? 
 Soul-like were those hours of yore — ■ 
 Let us walk in soul once more I 
 
 Take, 0 boatman, twice thy feel 
 
 Take, — I give it willingly — 
 
 For, invisibly to thee. 
 
 Spirits twain have crossed with me. 
 
THE STAu<DARD SPEAKER- 
 
 47. COURAGE. — Barry CornwaK. 
 
 Courage ! — Nothing can withstand 
 Long a wronged, undaunted land. 
 If the hearts within her be 
 True unto themselves and thee 
 Thou freed giant, Liberty ! 
 0, no mountain-nymph art thou 
 When the helm is on thy brow, 
 And the sword is in thy hand, 
 Fighting for thy own good land . 
 
 Courage ! — Nothing e'er withstood 
 Freemen fighting for their good , 
 Armed with all their father's fame, 
 They will win and wear a name. 
 That shall go to endless glory, 
 Like the Gods of old Greek story, 
 Raised to Heaven and heavenly wortk. 
 For the good they gave to earth. 
 
 Courage ! — There is none so poor 
 (None of all who wrong endure), 
 None so humble, none so weak. 
 But may flush his father's cheek, 
 And his maiden's dear and true, 
 With the deeds that he may do. 
 Be his days as dark as nigtit. 
 He may make himself a light. 
 What though sunken be his sun ? 
 There are stars when day is done ; 
 
 Courage ! — Who will be a slave. 
 That hath strength to dig a grave, 
 And therein his futlers hide, 
 And lay a tyrant by his side ? 
 Courage ! — Hope, howe'er he fly 
 For a time, can n^ver die ! 
 Courage, therefore, brother men ' 
 Courage ! To the hght again ! 
 
 in» AIOOR'S TLmW^iQ^^. — Oristnal Paraphrase from the Polish of Mitskwwma 
 
 Bejtore Grenada's fated walls, encamped in proud array, 
 And flushed with many a victory, the Spanish army lay. 
 Of all Grenada's fortresses but one defies their might : 
 On Alphuara's minarets the crescent still is bright. 
 Almanzor ! King Almanzor ! all vainly you resist : 
 Your little baud is fading fiist away like morning mist, 
 A direr 'foe than ever yet ^.hey met on battle-plain 
 Assaults lifo's inmost citadel, and heaps the ground with tlain 
 
NARRATIVE AND LYRICAl. 
 
 457 
 
 One onset more of Spanish ranks, — and soon it will be made «— 
 And Alphuara's towers must reel, and in the dust be laid. 
 *' And shall the haughty infidel pollute this sacred land ? " 
 Almanzor said, as mournfully he marked his dwindling band. 
 " Upon our glorious crescent shall the Spaniard set his heel ? 
 And is there not one lingering hope ? Can Heaven no aid reveal ? 
 Ay, by our holy Prophet, now, one ally still remains ! 
 And I will bind him close to me, — for better death than chains I 
 The victors at the banquet sat, and music lent its cheer, 
 When suddenly a sentry's voice announced a stranger near 
 From Alphuara had he come, with fierce, unwonted, speed, 
 And much it would import to Spain the news he bore to heed. 
 " Admit him ! " cry the revellers ; and in the pilgrim strode. 
 
 And, throwing ofi" his mantle loose, a Moorish habit showed ! 
 
 " Almanzor ! King Almanzor ! " they cried, with one acclaim . 
 
 "Almanzor! " said the Moslem cmef ; " Almanzor is my name. 
 
 "To serve your prophet and your king, 0 Spaniards, I am here ; 
 
 Believe, reject me, if you will, this breast has outlived fear ! 
 
 No longer in his creed or cause Almanzor can confide ; 
 
 For all the Powers above, 't is clear, are fighting on your side." 
 
 " Now, welcome, welcome, gallant Moor ! " the Spanish chieftain said : 
 
 " Grenada's last intrenchment now we speedily shall tread. 
 
 Approach,_ embrace ; our waning feast thy coming shall renew ; 
 
 And in this cup of foaming wine we '11 drink to yours and you!' 
 
 Right eagerly, to grasp the hands outstretched on every 'side, 
 
 Almanzor rushed, and greeted each as bridegroom might his bride 
 
 He glued his fevered lips to theirs, — he kissed them on the cheeL 
 
 And breathed on all as if his heart would all its passion wreak. 
 
 But suddenly his limbs relax, a flush comes o'er his face. 
 
 He reels, as, with a pressure faint, he gives a last embrace ; 
 
 And livid, purple grows his skin, and wild his eyeballs roll. 
 
 And some great torture seems to heave the life-roots of his soul. 
 
 " Look, Griaours ! * >niscreants in race, and infidels in creed ! 
 Look on this pale, da Ported face, and tell me what ye read ! 
 These limbs convulsed, these fiery pangs, these eyeballs hot and blear 
 ' here! ^""^ ^^^^ ^^^^ V^^^^^^ ? The plague the plague, ii? 
 And it has sealed you for its own ; ay, every Judas kiss 
 I gave shall bring anon to you an agony like this ! 
 All art is vain : your poisoned blood all leechcraft will defy, 
 Like me ye shall in anguish writhe —like me in torture die ' " 
 
 Once more he stepped their chief to reach, and blast him with hii 
 breath ; 
 
 But sank, as if Revenge itself were striving hard with Death. 
 
 * Pronounced Gowers — the ow» as in power. 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 And through the group a horrid thrill his words and aspect woke, 
 When, with a proud, undaunted mien, their chief Alphonzo spoke 
 And deem'st thou, treacherous renegade, whatever may befall, 
 These warriors true, these hearts of proof. Death ever can appall ? 
 Ay, writhe and toss, no taint of fear the sight to them can bring 
 Their souls are shrived, and Death himself for them has lost his sting 
 
 « Then let him come as gory War, with life-wounds deep and red, 
 Or let him strike as fell Disease, with racking pains instead, 
 Still in these spirits he shall find a power that shall defy 
 All woe and pain that can but make the mortal body die. 
 So, brethren, leave this carrion here, — nay, choke not with tk% 
 gall ! — 
 
 And through our camps a note of cheer let every bugle call. ^ 
 We '11 tear yon crescent from its tower ere stars are out to-night : 
 And let Death come, — we '11 heed him not ! — so, forward ! to thfl 
 fight!" 
 
 A groan of rage upon his lips, Almanzor hid his head 
 Beneath his mantle's ample fold, and soon was with the dead. 
 But, roused by those intrepid words to death-defying zeal, 
 The chieftains armed as if they longed to hear the clash of steel 
 The trumpets sounded merrily, while, dazzlingly arrayed, ^ 
 On Alphuara's walls they rushed, and low the crescent laid. 
 And of the gallant, gallant hearts who thus grim Death defied, 
 'Mid pestilence and carnage, none of plague or battle died. 
 
 CHARADE ON THE NAME OF (UMPBELL, THE POET. — W. M. Praed. Born 
 1801 ; died, 1845. 
 
 OoME from my First, — ay, come ! the battle dawn is nigh. 
 
 And the screaming trump and thundering drum are calling thee to die = 
 
 Fight as thy father fought, fall as thy father fell ; 
 
 Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought, — so forward, and farewell 
 
 Toll ye my Second, toll ! Fill high the flambeau's light, ^ 
 And sing the hymn of a parted soul, beneath the silent nigbt. 
 The wreath upon his head, the cross upon his breast. 
 Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed, — so, take him to hiji 
 rest 
 
 Call ye my Whole, — ay, call the lord of lute and lay, 
 
 And let him greet the sable pall with a noble song to-day ' 
 
 (ro call him by his name ! — no fitter hand may crave 
 
 To light the flame of a soldier's fame, on the turf of a soldier's grave 
 
PART SEVENTH. 
 
 SCRIPTURAL AND DEVOTIONAL 
 
 1. BALAAM'S PKOPHECT IN EEHALP OP ISRJlUL.- Number,. 
 
 And hP^'t"*^ K- n'''' ' f 'P'"' «f '^-™ '"-"^^ "Pon h™. 
 
 And he took up his parable, and said : 
 
 .rl'Y^' ^^J, '™ f ?T' ""Jf ^I'^se eyes are 
 
 open hatli said ; - /« hath sa.d, which heard the words of God! which 
 saw the vision of the Almighty, - falling into a trance, but hly in. 
 h.8 eyes open: — How goodly are thy tents, 0 Jacob and th! 
 
 ^rdrst'tb'' '"^'^^ t i-^' 1 - 
 
 ^rdens by the riTer's side, as the trees of lign akes which the Lord 
 
 hath planted, and as cedar-trees beside the waters. His king sbaU 
 
 be higher than Agag, and his kingdom shall be exalted 
 
 (70d IS not a man, that He should lie ; neither the son of man that 
 
 He should repent Hath He said, and shall He not do it ? Or hath 
 
 He spoken, and shall He not make it good ? Behold, I have relS 
 
 It. How shall : curse, whom God hath not cursed ? Or, how shall 
 I defy, whom the Lord hath not defied ? He hath not behe d ildtv 
 in Jacob, neither hath He seen perversencss in Israel : th LoK 
 God s with him, and the shout of a King is amon<. them God 
 brought him forth out of Egypt ; he hath ^ it were, the strength of 
 an unicorn : he shall eat up the nations, hi» enemies, and shall break 
 tW bones, and pierce them through w^th hi. anws. Suil there 
 ^ no enchantment against Jacob, neither is there any dirination Lin't 
 W ■ according to this time it shall be said of jLb and of S 
 Wlmt hath God wrought! Behold, the People shall rise un as a 
 
 untU he eat of the prey, and drink the blood of the slain 
 
 iJZ'l'""' ? .^P,?^ 'i"" '•o^fcs Ise^him; and from the hills] 
 benold him : lo, the People shall dwell alone, and shaU not be rock, 
 oned among the nations. Who can count the dust of Jacob ^d th. 
 aumber of the fourth part of Israel ? l.t „e A^e tW, Ztbrf It 
 nghteous, and let my last end be like hia ! 
 
460 
 
 THE STANDARl SPEAKEI.. 
 
 i PAUL'S DEEENCI; BEFORE FESTUS AND AGRIPI'A. 
 
 I THINK myself happy, Kmg Agrippa, because I shall answer foi 
 myself this day before thee, touching all the things whereof I am 
 accused of the Jews ; especially because I know thee to be expert 
 allcujstoms and questions which are among the Jews; wherefore ] 
 beseech thee to hear me patiently. 
 
 My manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among 
 mine own Nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews ; which knew me 
 from the beginning, if they would testify, that after the most straitesi: 
 sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee. And now I stand and am 
 judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers ; 
 unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and 
 night, hope to come. For which hope's sake, King Agrippa, I am 
 accused of the Jews. ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God 
 should raise the dead ? I verily thought with myself, that I ought 
 to do many things contrary to the name of J esus of Nazareth ; which 
 thing I also did in Jerusalem ; and many of the saints did I shut up 
 in prison, having received authority from the chief priests ; and whtn 
 they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And I pun- 
 ished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme ■ 
 and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto 
 strange cities. . . 
 
 Whereupon, as I went to Damascus, with authority and commission 
 from the chief priests, at mid-day, 0 King ! I saw in the way a light 
 from Heaven, above the brightness of the sun, sliining round about 
 me, and them which journeyed with me. And when we were all 
 fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and saying, m 
 the Hebrew tongue, " Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me ? It is 
 hard for thee to kick against the goads." And I said, " Who art thou, 
 Lord ? " And he said, " I am Jesus, whom thou persecutest ; out 
 rise, and stand upon thy feet ; for I have appeared unto tli.^e for this 
 purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness, both of these thing* 
 which thou hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear 
 unto thee ; delivering thee from the People, and from the Gentiles, 
 unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them 
 from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God ; that 
 they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them 
 which are sanctified by faith that is in me." 
 
 Whereupon, O King Agrippa! I was not disobedient unto tho 
 heavenly vision ; but showed first unto them of Damascus and at 
 Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judaea, and then to the 
 Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet 
 for repentance. For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, 
 and went about to kill me. Having, therefore, obtained help of God, 
 r continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, ^ying 
 acne other things than those which the prophets and Moses? did say 
 
scbipturaa, and devotional. 
 
 461 
 
 should '^ome, — that Christ should suffer, and that 2ie should be the 
 first thcit should rise from the dead, and should show light unto the 
 People, and to the Gentiles. 
 
 6. OiOnPOTBNCE OP JEHOVAH. — J^o&, translated by Rev. G. R. Ncy€$ 
 
 Vsm spake J ehovah to Job out of the whirlwind, and said : 
 V\^ho is this, that darkeneth my counsels by words without knowl&ige' 
 Gird up thy loins like a man ! 
 I will ask thee, and answer thou me ! 
 Where wast thou, when I laid the foundations of the earth ? 
 Declare, since thou hast such knowledge ! 
 Who fixed its dimensions ? since thou knowest ! 
 Or who stretched out the line upon it 
 Upon what were its foundations fix:ed 
 And who laid its corner-stone. 
 When the morning-stars sang together, 
 And all the sons of God shouted for joy ? 
 
 Hast thou penetrated to the springs of the sea, 
 And walked through the recesses of the deep ? 
 Have' the gates of death been disclosed to thee, 
 And hast thou seen the gates of the shadow of death ? 
 Hast thou surveyed the breadth of the earth ? 
 Declare, since thou knowest it all ! — 
 Where is the way by which light is distributed 
 And the East wind let loose upon the earth ? 
 Who hath prepared channels for the rain, 
 And a path for the glittering thunderbolt. 
 To give rain to the land without an inhabitant, 
 To the wilderness, where is no man ; 
 To satisfy the desolate and waste ground, 
 And cause the bud of the tender herb to spring forth ^ 
 
 Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades 
 Or loosen the bands of Orion ? 
 Canst thou lead forth Mazzaroth in its season, 
 Or guide Arcturus with his sons ? 
 Knowest thou, the ordinances of the Heavens ? 
 Hast thou appointed their dominion over the earth ? 
 Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds. 
 So that abundance of waters will cover thee ? 
 Caast thou send forth lightnings, so that they will go, 
 And say to thee, " Here we are " ? 
 Who hath imparted understanding to thy reins, 
 And given intelligence to thy mind ? 
 Who numbereth the clouds in wisdom ? 
 
 Hast thou given the horse strength ? 
 Hast tiiou clothed his neck with thunder ? 
 Hast thou taught him tc bound like the locust ? 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 How majestic his snorting ! how terrible ! 
 
 He paweth in the valley ; he exulteth in his strength, 
 
 And rusheth into the midst of arms. 
 
 He laugheth at feai , he trembleth not, 
 
 And turneth not back from the sword. 
 
 Against him rattleth the quiver, 
 
 The flaming spear, and the lance. 
 
 With rage and fury he devoureth the ground , 
 
 He standeth .not still when the trumpet soundeth. 
 
 He saith among the trumpets, Aha ! aha ! 
 
 And snuffeth the battle afar off ; 
 
 The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout. 
 
 4. TRUE WISDOM. —Jo6, translated by Rev. G. R. iVoye* 
 
 Where shall wisdom be found ? 
 And where is the place of understanding ? 
 Man knoweth not the price thereof ; 
 Nor can it be found in the land of the living. 
 The deep saith, It is not in me ; 
 And the sea saith. It is not with me. 
 It cannot be gotten for gold. 
 
 Nor shall silver be weighed out as the price thereof. 
 
 It cannot be purchased with the gold of Ophir, 
 
 With the precious onyx, or the sapphire. 
 
 Gold and crystal are not to be compared with it ; 
 
 Nor can it be purchased with jewels of line gold. 
 
 No mention shall be made of coral, or of crystal, 
 
 For wisdom is more precious than pearls. 
 
 The topaz of Ethiopia cannot equal it, 
 
 Nor can it be purchased with the purest gold. 
 
 Whence, then, cometh wisdom ? 
 And where is the place of understanding ? 
 Since it is hidden from the eyes of all the living 
 And kept close from the fowls of the air. 
 The realms of Death say. 
 
 We have heard only a rumor of it with our ears 
 
 God alone knoweth the way to it ; 
 
 He alone knoweth its dwelling-place. 
 
 For He seeth to the ends of the earth, 
 
 And surveyeth all things under the whole HeavoB 
 
 When He gave the winds their weight. 
 
 And adjusted the waters by measure, — 
 
 When He prcRcribed laws to the rain. 
 
 And a path to the glittering thunderbolt, • 
 
 Th^n did H« see it, and make it known ; 
 
SCRIPTURAL AND DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 fle established it, and searched it out ; 
 But he said unto man, 
 
 Behold ! the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom ; 
 And to depart from evil, that is understanding. 
 
 e A NATION'S STJimGTB.. — Psalm 33, trdnslated by Rev Q R JfoyM. 
 
 Ha-PPY the Nation whose God is Jehovah ; 
 rhe People whom He hath chosen for His inheritance. 
 The Lord looketh down from Heaven ; 
 He beholdeth all the children of men ; 
 
 From His dwelling-place He beholdeth all the inhabitants of the earth 
 
 He, that formed the hearts of all, 
 
 And observeth all their works. 
 
 A King is not saved bj the number of his forces, 
 
 Nor a hero by the greatness of his strength. 
 
 The horse is a vain thing for safety, 
 
 Nor can he deliver his master by his great strength. 
 
 Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear Him , 
 Upon them that trust in His goodness ; 
 To save them from the power of death, 
 And keep them alive in famine. 
 The hope of our souls is in the Lord ; 
 He is our help and our shield. 
 Tea, in Him doth our heart rejoice ; 
 In His holy name we have confidence. 
 
 May Thy goodness be upon us, 0 Lord, 
 According as we trust in Thee ! 
 
 6. EXHORTATION TO PRAISE QOD.~ Psalms. 
 
 Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens ; praise 
 him m the .heights. Praise ye him, all his angels : praise ye him, all 
 his hosts. Praise ye him, sun and moon : praise him, all ye stars of 
 light. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye waters that be 
 above the heavens. Let them praise the name of the Lord • for he 
 commanded, and they were created. He hath also stablished them 
 tor rver and ever : he hath made a decree which shall not pass. Praise 
 Che Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all deeps : fire, and hai^ 
 diiow,and vapors; stormy wind fulfilling his word: mountains, and 
 all hills ; fruitful trees, and all cedars ; beasts, and all cattle ; creep- 
 mg things, and flying fowl ; kings of the earth, and all people ; princes, 
 and all judges of the earth ; both young men, and maidens ; old men, 
 and children ; let them praise the name of the Lord : for his name 
 <ilone IS excellent ; his glory is above the earth and heaven. 
 
 Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary : praise him ir 
 
164 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 
 
 the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts : praist 
 him according to his excellent greatness. Praise him with the sound 
 of the trumpet ; praise him with the psaltery and harp. Praise him 
 with the timbrel and dance : praise him with stringed instruments and 
 organs. Praise him upon the loud cymbals : praise him upon the 
 high-sounding cymbals. Let everything that hath breath praise the 
 Lord. Praise ye the Lord. 
 
 7. THE JOYFUL M.ES5F^G^^. — Isaiah, translated by Bishop Lowth. 
 
 How oeautiful appear on the mountains 
 The feet of the joyful messenger, — of him that announceth peace ! 
 Of the joyful messenger of good tidings, — of him that announceth 
 salvation ! 
 
 Of him, that sayeth unto Sion, Thy God reigneth ! 
 
 All thy watchmen lift up their voice : they shout together ; 
 
 For, face to face shall they see, when J ehovah returneth to Sion, 
 
 Burst forth into joy, shout together, ye ruins of Jerusalem ! 
 
 For Jehovah hath comforted His people ; He hath redeemed Israel. 
 
 Jehovah hath made bare His holy arm, in the sight of all the Nations 
 
 And all the ends of the earth have seen the salvation of our God. 
 
 Depart, depart ye, go ye out from thence; touch no polluted thing: 
 Go ye out from the midst of her ; be ye clean, ye that bear the vesseH 
 
 of Tehovah ! 
 Verily not in haste shall ye go forth ; 
 And not by flight shall ye march along . 
 For Jehovah shall march in your front ; 
 And the God of Israel shall bring up your rear. 
 
 8. HYMN OF OUR FIRST PARENTS. —JVft*«on. 
 
 These are thy glorious works. Parent of good, 
 Almighty ! thine this universal frame. 
 Thus wondrous fair ; thyself how wondrous, then 
 Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these Heavens, 
 To us invisible, or dimly seen 
 In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare^ 
 Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. 
 Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, 
 Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs 
 And choral symphonies, day without night, 
 Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in Heaven, 
 On earth jdin. all ye creatures, to extol 
 Him first," Him last. Him midst, and without end. 
 Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, 
 If better thou belong not to the dawn, 
 Hure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling raorf 
 
BCRIPTURAL AND DEVOTIONAL. THC MSON. 
 
 With thy bright circlet, praise Him m thy sphere, 
 
 While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 
 
 Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, 
 
 Acknowledge Him thy greater ; sound His praise 
 
 In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, 
 
 And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall's! 
 
 Moon, that now meet'st the Orient sun, now fly'st 
 
 With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies ; 
 
 And ye five other wandering fires, that move 
 
 In mystic dance, not without song, resound 
 
 His praise who out of darkness called up light. 
 
 Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth 
 
 Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run 
 
 Perpetual^ circle multiform, and mix 
 
 And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change 
 
 Vary^to our great Maker still new praise. 
 
 Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise 
 
 From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray. 
 
 Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold. 
 
 In honor to the World's great Author rise ; 
 
 Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky, 
 
 Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers. 
 
 Rising or falling, still advance His praise. 
 
 His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 
 
 toathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines, 
 
 With every plant, in sign of worship wave. 
 
 Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow, 
 
 Melodious mur-murs, warbling, tune His praise; 
 
 Jem voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds. 
 
 That smgmg up to heaven-gate ascend, 
 
 Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise. 
 
 le that in waters glide, and ye that walk 
 
 The earth, and stately tread or lowly creep, 
 
 Witness if I he silent, morn or even, 
 
 To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade. 
 
 Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise. 
 
 9. THE U^^^T^TlSAL HYMN OF N ATVRE. - Thomson, 
 
 These, as they change. Almighty Father, these 
 Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
 Is full of Thee Forth in the pleasing SpriHg 
 Thy beauty walks, Thy tenderness and love. 
 Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm; 
 ^cho the mountains round ; the forest smiles • 
 And every sense and every heart is joy 
 Then comes Thy glory in the Sumn.er months, 
 With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sui 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Shoots full perfection through the swelling year^ 
 And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks : 
 And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
 By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales 
 Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, 
 And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
 Fn Winter, awful Thou ! with clouds and storms 
 Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled 
 Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing, 
 Riding sublime, Thou bidd'st the world adore, 
 And humblest Nature with Thy northern blast. ^ 
 
 Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine 
 Deep felt, in these appear ! a simple train, 
 Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art. 
 Such beauty and beneficence combined ; 
 Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade ; 
 And all so forming an harmonious whole ; 
 That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
 But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 
 Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand 
 That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; 
 Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence 
 The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; 
 Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; 
 Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; 
 And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, 
 With transport touches all the springs of life. 
 
 Nature, attend ! join, every living soul, 
 Beneath the spacious temple of the sky. 
 In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
 One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 
 Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes 
 0, talk of Him in solitary glooms. 
 Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely-waving pine 
 Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 
 And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar. 
 Who shake the astonished world, lift high to Heavec 
 The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
 His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; 
 And let me catch it as I muse along. 
 Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound ; 
 Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
 Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 
 A secret world of wonders in thyself, 
 Sound His stupendous praise ; whose greatei voice 
 Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 
 Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowen*, 
 In mingled clouds io Him ; whose sun exalts, 
 
(SCKIPTUllAL AND DEVOTl CNAL. — COLERIDQE. 
 
 Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paintfl 
 
 Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him ; 
 
 Bre^.ihe your still song into Uie reaper's heart, 
 
 As home he goes beneath the joyous moon 
 
 Ye that keep watch in Heaven, as earth asleep 
 
 Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams 
 
 Ye constellations, while your angels strike 
 
 Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 
 
 Great source of day ! best image here oelow 
 
 Of thy Creator, ever jDouring wide. 
 
 From world to world, the vital ocean round, 
 
 On Nature write with every beam His praise. 
 
 10. CIIAMOV^Y.-S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star 
 In his steep course ? — so long he seems to pause 
 On thy bald, awful front, 0 sovereign Blanc • 
 The Arve and Arveiron at thy base 
 Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, mo»t awfui lorm, 
 Kisest from forth thy silent sea of pines 
 How silently ! Around thee and above, 
 Deep is the air, and dark ; substantial blacfc, 
 An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, 
 As with a wedge ! But, when I look again, 
 It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, 
 Thy habitation from eternity. 
 
 0 dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, 
 Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, 
 
 Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer, 
 
 1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 
 
 Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody, 
 
 So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, 
 
 Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thoygbtr-» 
 
 Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy 
 
 Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, 
 Into the mighty vision passing — there, 
 As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven 
 Awake, my soul ' Not only passive praise 
 Thou owest ; not alone these swelling tears, 
 Mute thanks, and silent ecstasy. Awake, 
 Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart,' awake, 
 Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. 
 Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale I 
 0 ! struggling with the darkness all the night, 
 And visited all night by troops of stars, 
 Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink — 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Companion of the morning star at dawn, 
 Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn^ 
 Co-herald, wake ! 0 wake ! and utter praise ! 
 Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? 
 Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 
 Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 
 
 And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad ! 
 Who called you forth from night and utter death, 
 From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
 Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks. 
 Forever shattered, and the same forever ? 
 Who gave you your invulnerable life. 
 Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy 
 Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam ? 
 And who commanded, — and the silence came, — 
 " Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest " ? 
 Ye ice-falls ! ye, that, from the mountain's brow. 
 Adown enormous ravines slope amain, — 
 Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, 
 And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! 
 Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! — 
 Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven 
 Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 
 Clothe you with rainbows ? Who with living flowers 
 Of loveliest blue spread garlands at your feet ? — 
 " God ! " let the torrents, like a shout of Nations, 
 Answer : and le,t the ice-plains echo, " God ! " 
 
 God ! " sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voi«a 
 Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! 
 And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow. 
 And, in their perilous fall, shall thunder, " God ! " 
 Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 
 Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! * 
 Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
 Utter forth " God ! " and fill the hills with praise. 
 
 Thou, too, hoar mount, with thy sky-pointmg peaKS, 
 Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
 Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene 
 Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast — 
 Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain ! thou 
 That — as I raise my head, a while bowed low 
 In adoration, upward from thy base 
 Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tea» - 
 Solemnly sccraest, like a vapory cloud, 
 To rise before me — rise,. 0 ever rise ! 
 Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth ! 
 Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, 
 
SCRIPTURAL AND lETOTIONAL. BEATTIE. 
 
 Thou dread ambassador from earth to Heaven, 
 Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky, 
 And tell the stars, and tell jou rising sun, 
 "Earth with h^r thousand voices, praises God. ' 
 
 11 THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS ^OUTa. - Alexander Popt 
 
 Vital spark of heavenly flame, 
 Quit, 0, quit this mortal frame ! 
 Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying 
 0, the pain, the bliss, of dying . 
 Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife. 
 And let me languish into life ! 
 
 Hark ! they whisper ; angeLs say 
 Sister Spirit, come away ; 
 What is this absorbs me quite, 
 Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
 Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? 
 Tell me, my soul ! can this be death ? 
 
 The world recedes, — it disappears ! 
 
 Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 
 
 With sounds seraphic ring. 
 
 Lend, lend your wings ! I mount, I fly ! 
 
 0 Grave ! where is thy victory ? 
 
 0 death ! where is thy sting ? 
 
 LIFE BEYOND THE TOMB. — James Beattie. Born, 1735 5 died, m 
 
 Such is the destiny of all on earth : 
 
 So flourishes and. fades majestic Man ; — 
 
 Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, 
 And fostering gales a while the nursling fan. 
 
 0 smile,^ ye Heavens, serene ' Ye mildews wan 
 Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime, 
 
 Nor lessen of his life the little span. 
 
 Borne' on the swift though silent wings of Time, 
 Old Age comes on apace, to ravage all the slime. 
 
 And be it so. Let those deplore their doom, 
 Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn ; 
 
 But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, 
 
 Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. 
 
 Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return ? 
 Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed ? 
 
 Soon shall the Orient with new lustre burn. 
 And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed. 
 Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Shall I be left, forgotten in the dust, 
 
 When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ? 
 Shall Nature's voice, to Man alone unjust, 
 
 Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live ? 
 Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive 
 ' With disappointment, penury, and pain ? 
 No ! Heaven's immortal Spring shall yet arrive, 
 
 And man's majestic beauty bloom again, 
 
 Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant rraga 
 
 13. FORGIVENESS. 
 
 When on the fragrant sandal-tree 
 
 The woodman's axe descends. 
 And she who bloomed so beauteously 
 
 Beneath the keen stroke bends. 
 E'en on the edge that wrought her death 
 Dying she breathed her sweetest breath, 
 As if to token, in her fall, 
 Peace to her foes, and love to all. 
 
 How hardly man this lesson learns, 
 
 To smile, and bless the hand that spurns ; 
 
 To see the blow, to feel the pain, 
 
 But render only love again ! 
 
 This spirit not to earth is given, — 
 
 One had it, but he came from Heaven. 
 
 Reviled, rejected and betrayed. 
 
 No curse he breathed, no 'plaint he made, 
 
 But when in death's deep pang he sighed, 
 
 Prayed for his murderers, and died. 
 
 lA THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. — Philip Doddridge. Born, 1702 ; ditd^ 1T» 
 
 Live while you live * the epicure would say, * 
 And seize the pleasures of the present day; 
 " Live while you live," the Christian preacher cries, 
 " And give to God each moment as it fiies " 
 Lard ! in my view, let both united be ; — 
 t live to pleasure, while I live to thee. 
 
PART EIGHTH 
 
 RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 
 
 1. HOME AND CAKrRAGE. — Fictor Hugo. Original Translation. 
 
 Rome and Carthage ! — behold them drawing near for the struggle 
 that is to shake the world ! Carthage, the metropolis of Africa^ 
 the mistress of oceans, of kingdoms, and of Nations ; a magnificent 
 eitj, burthened with opulence, radiant with the strange arts ano 
 trophies of the East. She is at the acme of her civiliz^ation. She 
 can mount no higher. Any change now must be a decline. Rome 
 is comparatively poor. She has seized all within her grasp, but 
 rather from the lust of conquest than to fill her own cofiers. She is 
 derai-barbarous, and has her education and her fortune both to make 
 All is_ before her, — nothing behind. For a time, these two Nations 
 exist in view of each other. The one reposes in the noontide of her 
 splendor ; the other waxes strong in the shade. But, little by little, 
 air and space are wanting to each for her development. Rome begins 
 to perplex Carthage, and Carthage is an eyesore to Rome. Seated on 
 opposite banks of the Mediterranean, the two cities look each other in 
 the face. The sea no longer keeps them apart. Europe and Africa 
 weigh upon each other. Like two clouds surcharged with electricity 
 they impend. With their contact must come the thunder-shock. 
 
 The catastrophe of this stupendous drama is at hand. What actors 
 are met! Two races, — that of merchants and mariners, that of 
 laborers and soldiers; two Nations, — the one dominant by gold- 
 ' 3 other by steel; two Republics, — the one theocratic, the other 
 aristocratic. Rome and Carthage ! Rome with her army, Carthao-e 
 with her fleet; Carthage, old, rich and crafty, — Rome, young, poo"?-, 
 and robust; the past and the future; the spirit of discovery, and the 
 spirit of conquest ; the genius of commerce, the demon of war ; the 
 fciast and the South on one side, the West and the North on the 
 other ; m short, two worlds, — the civilization of Africa, and the 
 civilization of Europe. They measure each other from head to foot 
 Ihey gather all their forces. Gradually the war kindles. The world 
 takes tire. These colossal powers are locked in deadly strife. Car 
 thage has crossed the Alps; Rome, the seas. The two Nations, per- 
 sonified m two men, Hannibal and Scipio, close with each other 
 tvrestle, and grow infui-iate. The duel is desperate. It is a struff^rle 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 for life. Rome wavers. She utters that cry of anguish — Hannil/oi 
 9,t the gates I But she rallies, — collects all her strength for one last^ 
 appalling effort, — throws herself upon Carthage, and sweeps her from 
 ike fflioe of the earth ! 
 
 '2. THE DRONES OF THE COMMUNITY. — Pcrc^ ByssAc SheUsp. 
 
 Those gilded flies 
 That, basking in the sunshine of a Court, 
 Fatten on its corruption — what are they ? 
 The drones of the community ! they feed 
 On the mechanic's labor ; the starved hind 
 For them compels the stubborn glebe to yield 
 Its unshared harvests ; and yon squalid form, 
 Leaner than fleshless misery, that wastes 
 A sunless life in the unwholesome mine. 
 Drags out in labor a protracted death. 
 To glut their grandeur. Many faint with toil, 
 That few may know the cares and woe, of sloth. 
 
 Whence, think 'st thou, kings and parasites arose ? 
 Whence that unnatural line of drones, who heap 
 Toil and unvanquishable penury 
 On those who build their palaces, and bring 
 Their daily bread ? — From vice, black, loathsome vice i 
 From rapine, madness, treachery, and wrong ; 
 From all that genders misery, and makes 
 Of earth this thorny wilderness ; from lust, 
 Revenge, and murder. — And, when Reason's voice- 
 Loud as the voice of nature, shall have waked 
 The Nations ; and mankind perceive that vice 
 Is discord, war, and misery, — that virtue 
 Is peace, and happiness, and harmony ; 
 When man's raaturer nature shall disdain 
 The playthings of its childhood ; — kingly glare 
 Will lose its power to dazzle ; its authority 
 Will silently pass by ; the gorgeous throne 
 Shall stand unnoticed in the regal hall, 
 Fast fliUing to decay , whilst falsehood's trade 
 Shall be as hateful and unprofitable 
 As that of truth is now. 
 
 Where is the fame 
 Which the vain-glorious mighty of the earth 
 Seek to eternize ? 0 ! the faintest sound 
 From time's light foot-fall, the miimtest wave 
 That swells the flood of ages, whelms in nothing 
 The unsubstantial bubble. Ay to-day 
 Stern is the tyrant's raandate, — red the gaze 
 That scatters nmUitudes. To-morrow comes ' 
 
RHETORICAL ANC DRAMATIC. — SHERIDAN. 
 
 That mandate is a t junder-peal that died 
 
 In ages past : that gaze, a transient flash 
 
 On which the midnight closed ; and on that arm 
 
 The worm has made his meal. 
 
 3 CiEtiAR'S PASSAGE OF THE RUBICON. -^ame. Sheridan Knowie, 
 
 A GENTLEMAN, Mr. Chairman, speaking of Csesar's benevolent dis- 
 position, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civii 
 war, obfeerves, " How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubi^ 
 con!'' How came he to the brink of that river? How dared he 
 cross it ? Shall private men respect the boundaries of private prop- 
 erty, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his 
 3ountry's rights? How dared he cross that river? 0! but he 
 paused upon the brink. He should have perished upon the brink ere 
 he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart 
 palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed ? 
 Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his 
 glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal 
 part ? ^ Because of conscience ! 'T was that made Ciesar pause upon 
 the brink of the Rubicon. Compassion! What compassion ? The 
 compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shuddc^ as his 
 weapon begins to cut ! Caesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon ' 
 What was the Rubicon ? The boundary of Csesar's province. From 
 what did It separate his province ? From his country. Was that 
 country a desert? No : it was cultivated and fertile, rich and pop- 
 ulous ! Its sons were men of genius, spirit, and generositv ' Its 
 daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste! Friendship Vas its 
 inimbitant! Love was its inhabitant! Domestic affection was its 
 innabitant I Liberty was its inhabitant ! All bounded by the stream 
 ot the Rubicon I What was Csesar, that stood upon the bank of that 
 stream ? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart o^" that 
 country! No wonder that he paused, — no wonder if, his imagina- 
 tion wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood instead of 
 water, and heard groans instead of murmurs ! No wonder, if some 
 gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot ! But no ' — 
 he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged' — he crossed! — and 
 Rome was free no more ! 
 
 4. ROLLA'S ADDRESS TO THE PERUVIANS. -SAerto. 
 
 My brave associates, — partners of my toil, my feelings, and my 
 fame! — can Rolla's words add vigor to the virtuous energies which 
 inspire yj^ur hearts ? No ! You have judged, as I have, the foul- 
 aess ot the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude 
 you Your generous spirit has compared, us mine has, the motive 
 which, m a wa hke thi^s, can animate their minds and ours. Thej 
 
474 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 by a strange fienzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and exter^ded 
 i*ulo : we, for oar country, our altars, and our homes. They follow 
 an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate : 
 we serve a monarch whom we love — a God whom we adore. When- 
 e'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress ! Whene'er 
 they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. They boast 
 they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and fi-ee us 
 from the yoke of error ! Yes : they will give enlightened freedom tt 
 our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and 
 pride ! They offer us their protection : yes, such protection as vultures 
 give to lambs — covering and devouring them ! They call on us 
 to barter all of good we have enhanced and proved, for the desperate 
 chance of something better which they promise. Be our plain answer 
 this : — The throne we honor is the People's choice ; the laws we 
 reverence are our brave fathers' legacy ; the faith we follow teachea 
 us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hope of 
 bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this ; and tell them, too, 
 we seek no change, — and, least of all, such change as they would 
 bring us ! 
 
 5. RICHELIEU AND FRANCE. —Str E. Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 My liege, your anger can recall your trust, 
 Annul my oSce, spoil me of my lands, 
 Rifle my coffers ; but my name, — my deeds, ■— 
 Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre. 
 Pass sentence on me, if you will ; — from Kings, 
 Lo, I appeal to time ! Be just, my liege. 
 I found your Kingdom rent with heresies. 
 And bristling with rebellion ; — lawless nobles 
 And breadless serfs ; England fomenting discord , 
 Austria, her clutch on your dominion ; Spain 
 Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind 
 To armed thunderbolts. The Arts lay dead ; 
 Trade rotted in your marts ; your Armies mutinous, 
 Your Treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke 
 Your trust, so be it ! and I leave you, sole, 
 Supremest Monarch of the- mightiest realm, 
 From Ganges to the Icebergs. Look without, — 
 No foe not humbled ! Look within, — the Arts 
 Quit, for our schools, their old Hesperidcs, 
 The golden Italy ! while throughout the veins 
 Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides 
 Trade, the calm health of Nations ! Sire, I know 
 That men have called me cruel ; — 
 r am not ; — I dm just ! I found France rent asunder 
 The rich men despots, and the poor banditti , 
 Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple 
 
RHETOKICAL AND UflAMATIC. — BULWER. 
 
 Brawls festering to rebellion ; and weak laws 
 Botting away with rust in antique sheaths. 
 I have re-creatsd France ; and, from the ashes 
 Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass, 
 Civilization, on her luminous wings, 
 Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove ! What was mj art ? 
 Genius, some say ; — some. Fortune ; — Witchcraft, son 
 Not so ; — my art was Justice ! 
 |~] ^ar^^x;^ 
 
 CaOMWELL ON THE DEiTH OF CHARLES THE FIRST. -Original adapta 
 from Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 By what law fell King Charles? By all the laws 
 He left us ! And I, Cromwell, here proclaim it. 
 Sirs, let us, with a calm and sober eye. 
 Look on the spectre of this ghastly deed. 
 W^ho spills man's blood, bis shall by man be shed ! 
 T is Heaven's first law ; to that law we had come, ~ 
 None other left us. Who, then, caused the strife 
 That crimsoned Naseby's field, and Marston's moor « 
 It was the Stuart ; — so the Stuart fell ! 
 A victim, in the pit himself had dio-o-ed ! 
 He died not. Sirs, as hated Kings have died. 
 In secret and in shade, — no eye to trace I 
 The one step from their prison to their pall ; ^ 
 He died i' the eyes of Europe, — in the face 
 Of the broad Heaven ; amidst the sons of England, 
 Whom he had outraged ; by a solemn sentence, 
 Passed by a solemn Court. Does this seem guilt ? 
 You pity Charles ! 't is well ; but pity more 
 The tens of thousand honest humble men. 
 Who, by the tyranny of Charles compelled 
 To draw the sword, fell butchered in the field ! 
 Good Lord ! when one man dies who wears a Crown, 
 How the earth trembles, — how the Nations gape 
 Amazed and awed ! — but when that one man's victiiiw, 
 Poor worms, unclothed in purple, daily die, 
 In the grim cell, or on the groaning gibbet, 
 Or on the civil field, ye pitying souls 
 Drop not one tear from your indifferent eyes ! 
 
 He would have stretched his will 
 O'er the unlimited empire of men's souls. 
 Fettered the Earth's pure air, — for freedom is 
 That air, to honest lips, 4- and here he lies. 
 In dust most eloquent, td after time 
 A never-silent oracle for Kings ! 
 Was this the hand that strained within its graap 
 bo haught a sceptre ? — this the shape that wore 
 Majesty like a garment ? Spurn that clay, — 
 
fHE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 It can resent not ; speak of royal crimes, \ 
 And it can frown not ; — schenieless lies tne braiiii 
 Whose, thoughts were sources of such fearfiil deeds. 
 What things are we, 0 Lord, when, at thy will, 
 A worm like this could shake the mighty world ! 
 
 A few years since, and in the port was moored 
 A bark to far Columbia's forests bound ; 
 And I was one of those indignant hearts 
 Panting for exile in the thirst for freedom. 
 Then, that pale clay (poor clay, that was a King!) 
 Forbade my parting, in the wanton pride 
 Of vain command, and with a fated sceptre 
 Waved back the shadow of the death to come. 
 Here stands that baffled and forbidden wanderer. 
 Loftiest amid the wrecks of ruined empire, 
 Beside the coffin of a headless King! 
 He thralled my fate, — I have prepared his doom 
 He made me captive, — lo ! his narrow cell ! 
 So hands unseen do fashion forth the earth 
 Of our frail schemes into our fiineral urns ; 
 So, walking dream-led in Life's sleep, our steps 
 Move blindfold to the scafibld or the Throne ! 
 
 PROCREATIVE VIRTUE OF GREAT EXAMPLES. —LordBfren, 
 
 We will not strike for private wrongs alone . 
 Such are for selfish passions and rash men, 
 But are unworthy a tyrannicide. 
 We must forget all feelings save the one ; 
 We must resign all passions save our purpose ; 
 We must behold no object save our country, — 
 And only look on death as beautiful. 
 So that the sacrifice ascend to Heaven, 
 And draw down freedom on her evermore. 
 
 " But if we fail — ? ' They never fail who die 
 In a great cause ! The block may soak their gore-' 
 Their heads may sodden in the sun ; their limbs 
 Be strung to city gates and castle walls ; — 
 But still their spirit walks abroad Though years 
 Elapse, and others share as dark a doom, 
 They but augment the deep and sweeping thought* 
 Which overpower all others, and conduct 
 The world, at last, to freedom ? What were we, 
 If Brutus had not lived ? He died in giving 
 Rome liberty, but left a deathless lesson, — 
 A name which is a virtue, and a soul 
 Which multiplies itself throughout all time, 
 When wicked men wax mighty, and a State 
 
BHETOJtilCAL AND DRAMATIC. BYRON. 
 
 Turns servile. He and his high friends were styled 
 " The List of Romans ! " Let us be the first 
 Of true Venetians, sprung from Roman sires ; 
 
 IfABINO FALIERO TO THE VENETIAN CONSPIRATORS —Lor J Byrtm 
 
 You see me here, 
 As one of you hath said, an old, unarmed, 
 Defenceless man ; and yesterday you saw me 
 Presiding in the hall of ducal state, 
 Apparent sovereign of our hundred isles, 
 Robed in official purple, dealing out 
 The edicts of a power which is not mine. 
 Nor yours, but of our masters, the Patricians. 
 Why I was there, you know, or think you know ; 
 Why I am here, he who hath been most wronged, 
 He who among you hath been most insulted, 
 Outraged, and trodden on, until he doubt 
 If he be worm or no, may answer for me. 
 Asking of his own heart, — what brought him here 
 You know my recent story ; all men know it, 
 And judge of it far differently from those 
 Who sate in judgment to heap scorn on scorn. 
 But spare me the recital, — it is here, 
 Here, at my heart, the outrage ! — but my words, 
 Alreadj spent in unavailing 'plaints, 
 Would only show my feebleness the more ; 
 And I come here to strengthen even the strong, 
 And urge them on to deeds, and not to war 
 With woman's weapons ; but I need not urge you. 
 Our private wrongs have sprung from public vices 
 In this — I cannot call it commonwealth, 
 Nor kingdom, which hath neither prince ncr Peoph, 
 But all the sins of the old Spartan state, 
 Without its virtues, temperance, and valor. 
 The lords of Lacedemon were true soldiers ; 
 But ours are Sybarites, while we are Helots, 
 Of whom I am the lowest, most enslaved. 
 Although dressed out to head a pageant, as 
 The Greeks of yore made drunk their slaves, tc form 
 A pastime for their children. You are met' 
 To overthrow this monster of a State, 
 rhis mockery of a Government, this spectre, 
 \\Tiich must be exorcised with blood, and then 
 We will renew the times of truth and justice, 
 Condensing, in a fair, free connnonwealth, 
 Not rasL equality, but equal rights, 
 Proportioned like the columns to the temple, 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Giving and taking strengtli reciprocal, 
 
 And making firm the whole with grace and beautj, 
 
 So that no part could be removed without 
 
 Infringement on the general symmetry. 
 
 In operating this great change, I claim 
 
 To be one of you, if you trust in me ; 
 
 If not, strike home ; — my life is compromised, 
 
 And I would rather fall by freemen's hands. 
 
 Than live another day to act the tyrant, 
 
 As delegate of tyrants. Such I am not, 
 
 And never have been. Read it in our annals. 
 
 I can appeal to my past government 
 
 In many lands and cities ; they can tell you 
 
 If I were an oppressor, or a man 
 
 Feeling and thinking for my fellow-men. 
 
 Haply, had I been what the Senate sought, 
 
 A thing of robes and trinkets, dizeued out 
 
 To sit in state as for a sovereign's picture, — 
 
 A popular scourge, a ready sentence-signer, 
 
 A stickler for the Senate and " the Forty," 
 
 A sceptic of all measures which had not 
 
 The sanction of " the Ten," — a council-fawner, 
 
 A tool, a fool, a puppet, — they had ne'er 
 
 Fostered the wretch who stung me ! What I suffer 
 
 Has reached me through my pity for the People • 
 
 That many know, and they who know not yet 
 
 Will one day learn ; meantime, I do devote, 
 
 Whaie'er the issue, my last days of life, — 
 
 My present power, such as it is ; not that 
 
 Of Doge, but of a man who has been great 
 
 Before he was degraded to a Doge, 
 
 And still has individual means and mind ; — 
 
 I stake my fame (and I had fame), — my breath 
 
 (The least of all, for its last hours are nigh), — 
 
 My heart, my hope, my soul, upon this cast ! 
 
 Such as I am, I offer me to you, 
 
 And to your chiefs. Accept me or reject me, — 
 
 A prince who fain would be a citizen 
 
 Or nothing, and who has left his throne to be so ! 
 
 9. DYING SPEECH OF MARINO E ALIERO. — Zord Byrow. 
 
 I SPEAK to Time and to Eternity, 
 Of which I grow a portion, not to man. 
 Ye elements ! in which to be resolved 
 I hasten, let my voice be as a spirit 
 Upon you ! Ye blue waves ! which bore my bannei 
 Yo winds ! which fiuttered o'er ^ if jou loved it. 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. — BYRON. 
 
 And filled my swelling sails as they were wafted 
 
 To many a triumph ! Thou, my native earth, 
 
 Wfiicn I have bled for ; and thou foreign earth, 
 
 Which drank this willing blood from many a wound 
 
 Ye stones, in which my gore will not sink, but 
 
 Keek up to Heaven ! Ye skies which will receive it 
 
 Thou sun ! which shinest on these things ; and Thoii» 
 
 Who kindlest and who quenchest suns ! — Attest 
 
 I am not innocent, — but, are these guiltless ? 
 
 I perish, but not unavenged ; far ages 
 
 Float up from the abyss of time to be, 
 
 And show these eyes, before they close, the doom 
 
 Of this proud city ; and I leave my curse 
 
 On her and hers forever ! — Yes, the hours 
 
 Are silently engendering of the day 
 
 When she, who built 'gainst Attila a bulwark, 
 
 Shall yield, and bloodiessly and basely yield, 
 
 Unto a bastard Attiia, without 
 
 Shedding so much blood in her last defence 
 
 As these old veins, oft drained in shielding her, 
 
 Shall pour in sacrifice. She shall be bought 
 
 And sold, and be an appanage to those 
 
 Who shall despise her ! She shall stoop to be 
 
 A province for an empire ; petty town 
 
 In lieu of capital, with slaves for Senates, 
 
 Beggars for Nobles, panders for a People ! 
 
 Then, when the Hebrew 's in thy palaces. 
 
 The Hun in thy high places, and the Greek 
 
 Walks o'er thy mart, and smiles on it for his, — 
 
 When thy Patricians beg their bitter bread 
 
 In narrow streets, and in their shameful need 
 
 Make their nobility a plea for pity, — ■ 
 
 When all the ills of conquered States shall cling thee 
 
 Vice without splendor, sin without relief, — 
 
 When these, and more, are heavy on thee, — - when 
 
 Smiles without mirth, and pastimes without pleasure, 
 
 Youth without honor, age without respect, 
 
 Meanness and weakness, and a sense of woe, 
 
 'Gainst which thou wilt not strive, and dar'st not munxmr 
 
 Have made thee last and worst of peopled deserts, - 
 
 Then, in the last gasp of thine agony, 
 
 Amidst thy many murders, think of mine / 
 
 Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes ! 
 
 Gehenna of the waters ! thou sea Sodom ! 
 
 Thus I devote thee to the infernal Gods ! 
 
 Thee and thy serpent seed ! — 
 
 Slave, do thme offioe 
 
480 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKEH, 
 
 Strike, as I struck the foe ! Strike, as I would 
 Have struck these tyrants ! Strike deep as my curse ! 
 Strike, and but once ' 
 
 le CATILINE TO HIS FRIENDS, AFTER FAILING IN HIS ELECTION TO fEB 
 CONSULSHIP. — i^ew. George Croly. 
 
 Are there not times, Patricians, when great States 
 Rush to their ruin ? Rome is no more like Rome, 
 Than a foul dungeon 's like the glorious sky. 
 What is she now ? Degenerate, gross, defiled , 
 The tainted haunt) the gorged receptacle, 
 Of every slave and vagabond of earth : 
 A mighty grave that Luxury has dug. 
 To rid the other realms of pestilence ! 
 
 Ye wait to hail me Consul ? 
 Consul ! Look on me, — on this brow, — these hands 
 Look on this bosom, black with early wounds ; 
 Have I not served the State from boyhood up. 
 Scattered my blood for her, labored for, loved her ? 
 /had no chance ; wherefore should / be Consul? 
 No. Cicero still is master of the crowd. 
 Why not ? He 's made for them, and they for hia 
 They want a sycophant, and he wants slaves. 
 Well, let h]m have them ! 
 
 Patricians ! They have pushed me to the gulf > 
 I have worn down my heart, wasted my means, 
 Humbled my birth, bartered my ancient name. 
 For the rank favor of the senseless mass, 
 Tliat frets and festers in your Commonwealth, — 
 And now — 
 
 The very men with whom 1 walked through life, 
 Nay, till within this hour, in all the bonds 
 Of courtesy and high companionship. 
 This day, as if the Heavens had stamped me blacks 
 Turned on their heel, just at the point of fate, 
 Ijeft me a mockery in the rabble's midst. 
 And followed their Plebeian Consul, Cicero ! 
 This was the day to which I looked through life, 
 A nd it has failed me — vanished from my grasp, 
 Like air ! 
 
 Roman no more ! The rabble of the streets 
 Have seen me humbled ; slaves may gibe at mo * 
 For all the ills 
 
 That chance or nature lays upon our heads, 
 In chance or nature there is found a cure ! 
 But se//-abasenicnt is beyond all cure ! 
 
ftlEETOKXAL AND DRAMATIC. CKOLY. i^i 
 
 The brand is here, burned in the living flesh, 
 
 That bears its mark to the grave ; that dagger 's plunged 
 
 Into the central pulses of the heart ; 
 
 The act is the mind's suicide, for which 
 
 There is no after-health, no hope, no pardon ! 
 
 11. CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. -i2et,. George Croly. 
 
 " Tried and convicted traitor ! Go from Eome ' " 
 
 " He dares not touch a hair of Catiline," 
 terminates fie scene wifh hi J ^ ^. '^^ffled, catches at tlie word " traitor," and 
 
 Conscript Fathers ! 
 I do not rise to waste the night in words ; 
 Let that Plebeian talk ; 't is not m^j trade ; 
 ^ut here I stand for right, — let him show proofs, — 
 ^or Roinan right ; though none, it seems, dare stand 
 10 take their share with me. Ay, cluster there ! 
 Oiing to your master, judges, Romans, slaves/ 
 His charge is false ; — I dare him to his proofs, 
 lou have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 
 
 ^ut this I will avow, that I have scorned, 
 And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrono- ' 
 Who brands mo on the forehead, breai^s my sword, 
 Ur lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
 prongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
 -the gates of honor on me, — turning out 
 Ihe Roman from his birthright; and, for what ? 
 
 flmn. TT^,,^ ^ffi ^ [Looking round him. 
 
 10 nmg your offices to every slave ! 
 
 Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb 
 
 And havmg wound their loathsome track to the top, 
 
 Ut this huge, mouldering monument of Rome, 
 
 Hang hissing at the nobler man below ' 
 
 Come, consecrated Lictors, from your thrones; 
 
 Fling down your sceptres ; take the rod and l^^ 
 And make the nmrder as you make the law ! 
 
 Frn^fY ^"'"^ ?T; b'-^^^^h^d, but set free 
 
 From daily contact of the things I loathe i 
 31 
 
TUE STANDARD SPEAKEE. 
 
 " Tried and convicted traitor ! " Wlio 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 now my sword 's my own, Smile on, my Lords ! 
 ' 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 sinews strong as steel. 
 This day 's the birth of sorrow ! This hour's work 
 Will breed proscriptions ! Look to your hearths, my Lords ! 
 For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods. 
 Shapes hot from Tartarus I — all shames and crimes 
 Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
 Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
 Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe. 
 Making his wild sport of your blazing Thrones ; 
 Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, 
 And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. 
 
 I go ; but not to leap the gulf alone. 
 I go ; but, when I come, 't will be the burst 
 Of ocean in the earthquake, — rolling back 
 In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well I 
 You build my funeral-pile ; but your best blood 
 Shall quench its flame ! Back, slaves! [To the Lictor$,'\ 1 
 will return . 
 
 12. PRIDE OE ANCESTRY. — Adaptation from Rev. George Croly. 
 
 My lack of noble blood ! Then that 's the bar 
 Disqualifies my suit ! — makes perjury _ 
 Of slight account against me ! I'm untitled ' 
 Parchments and money-bags have precedence 
 In Cupid's Court, as elsewhere ! Sir, your daughter — 
 But I'll not stoop my free, recovered heart, 
 To play the mendicant ! Farewell to love : 
 Henceforth, let venerable oaths of men. 
 And women's vows, though all the stars of Heaven 
 Were listening, be forgotten, — light as dust ! 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. CAMPBELL 
 
 183 
 
 True, trae, — I should have learnt humility : 
 
 True, I am nothing : nothing have — but hope ' 
 
 I have no ancient birth', — no heraldry ; — 
 
 No motley coat is daubed upon my shield ; 
 
 I cheat no rabble, like your charlatans, 
 
 By flinging dead men's dust in idiots' eyes 
 
 I work no miracles with buried bones ; 
 
 I belt no broken and distempered shape 
 
 With shrivelled parchments plucked from mouldy shelvea ; 
 
 Yet, if I stooped to talk of ancestry, 
 
 I had an ancestor, as old and noble 
 
 As all their quarterings reckon, — mine was Adam 
 
 Tho man who gave me being, though no Lo»-d 
 
 Was nature's nobleman, — an honest man ! 
 
 And proudei <„m I, at this hour, to stand, 
 
 Unpedestalled, but on his lowly grave, 
 
 Than if I towered upon a monument 
 
 High as the clouds with rotten infamy ! 
 
 13. LOCHIIL'S WARNING. — Thomas CampbrU 
 
 n/'ti'*'!?' * Highland chieftain, ivhile on his march to join the Pretender, is met by o?«e Oh 
 uign-ancl seers, or prophets, who -arns him to return, and not incur the ccrt'^in irw. niskdk 
 »wait3 tHe unfortunate prince and his foUowers, on the field of Culloden. 
 
 Seer. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day 
 When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
 For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
 And the clans of (Julloden are scattered in fight : 
 They rally, they bleed, for their country and Crown 
 Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down ! 
 Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
 And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
 But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
 What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
 'T is thine, 0 Glenullin ! whose bride shall await. 
 Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate 
 A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
 But its bridle is red with the sig|i Of despair ' 
 Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
 0 ! weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead 
 For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave — 
 Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave ! 
 
 Lochiel. Go preach to the coward, thou death-tellirg seer 
 Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear. 
 Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight. 
 This mantle, to cover the phantoms of friglt \ 
 
 Seer. ^ Ha ! .augh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scoin » 
 Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ' 
 Sa-, rusho I the bold eagle exultinglj forth 
 
THE STANDARD St£AKElv. 
 
 From liis borne in the dark-rolling clouds of the North ? 
 Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode 
 Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
 But down let him stoop from his havoc on hi^h ' 
 Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh- 
 Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast 
 Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 
 'T is the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
 From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of Heaven. 
 0, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
 Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 
 Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; 
 Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 
 For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
 And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood ! 
 
 Lochiel False wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my dan 
 Their swords are a thousand, — their bosoms are one ! 
 They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
 And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
 Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
 Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock 
 
 But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
 
 When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ! 
 When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
 
 Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, 
 
 All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — 
 Seer. Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day ! 
 
 For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal. 
 
 But man cannot cover what God would reveal. 
 
 "T is the suDset of life gives me mystical lore. 
 
 And coming events cast their shadows before. 
 
 1 tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
 
 With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive King 
 
 Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, 
 
 Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 
 
 Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight , 
 
 Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! — 
 
 'T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moara 
 
 CuUoden is lost, and my country deplores. 
 
 But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? Where ? 
 
 For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
 
 Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn. 
 
 Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ' 
 
 Ah ! no ; for a darker departure is near ; 
 
 The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier , 
 
 His death-bell is tolling ; 0 ! mercy, disi)cl 
 
 Yon sight, that it freezea my spirit to tell ! 
 
 Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs 
 
KHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC- TAYLOE. 
 
 4^ 
 
 And his blood-streamicg nostril in agonj swims ! 
 Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet, 
 Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 
 With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — 
 
 Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale ' 
 For never shall Albin a destiny meet 
 So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat, 
 Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore 
 Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore 
 Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains. 
 While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
 Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
 With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 
 And, leaving in battle no blot on his name. 
 Look proudly to Heaven fi-om the death-bed of fame ' 
 
 'HILIP VAN ARTEVELDE'S DEFENCE OF HIS REBELLION. - Henry Tmkff 
 
 You speak of insurrections : bear in mind 
 Against what rule my father and myself 
 Have been insurgent ; whom did we supplant ? — 
 There was a time, so ancient records tell. 
 There were communities, scarce known by name 
 In these degenerate days, but once far-famed, 
 Where liberty and justice, hand in hand. 
 Ordered the common weal ; where great men grew 
 Up to their natural eminence, and none. 
 Saving the wise, just, eloquent, were great. 
 Whom may we noio call free ? whom great ? whom wise ? 
 Whom innocent ? — the free are only they 
 Whom power makes free to execute all ills 
 
 Their hearts imagine ; they are only great ' ^^^^ 
 
 Whose passions nurse them from their cradles up 
 
 In luxury and lewdness, — whom to see 
 
 Is to despise, whose aspects put to scorn 
 
 Their station's eminence ; the wise, they only 
 
 Who wait obscurely till the bolts of Heaven 
 
 Shall break upon the land, and give them light 
 
 Whereby to walk ; the innocent, alas ! 
 
 Poor Innocency lies where four roads meet, 
 
 A stone upon her head, a stake driven through her 
 
 For who is innocent that cares to live ? 
 
 The hand of power doth press the very life 
 
 Of Innocency out 
 
 What, then, remains. 
 But in the cause of nature to stand forth, 
 And turn this franw if things the right side up » 
 
THIS STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 For this the hour is come, the sword is drawn, 
 And tell your masters vainly they resist. 
 Nature, that slept beneath their poisonous drugs, 
 Is up and stirring, and from north and south, 
 From east and west, from England and from France, 
 From Germany, and Flanders, and Navarre, 
 Shall stand against them like a beast at bay. 
 The blood that they have shed will hide no longer 
 In the blood-sloken soil, but cries to Heaven. 
 Their cruelties and wrongs against the poor 
 Shall quicken into swarms of venomous snakes, 
 And hiss through all the earth, till o'er the earth, 
 That ceases then from hissings and from groans, 
 Rises the song — How are the mighty fallen ! 
 And by the peasant's hand ! Low lie the proud ! 
 And smitten with the weapons of the poor — 
 The blacksmith's hammer and the woodman's axe ! 
 Their tale is told ; and for that they were rich, 
 And robbed the poor ; and for that they were strong, 
 And scourged the weak ; and for that they made laws 
 Which turned the sweat of labor's brow to blood, — 
 For these their sins the nations cast them out ! 
 
 These things come to pass 
 From small beginnings, because Grod is just. 
 
 DUTl TO ONE'S COUNTRY. — HannaA More. Born, 1744; d»(d ISSft 
 
 Our country is a whole, my Publius, 
 Of which we all are parts ; nor should a citizen 
 Kegard his interests as distinct from hers ; 
 No hopes or fears should touch his patriot soul, 
 "But what affect her honor or her shame. 
 E'en when in hostile fields he bleeds to save her, 
 'T is not his blood he loses, 't is his country's ; 
 He only pays her ba .k a debt he owes. 
 To her he 's bound for birth and education ; 
 Her laws secure him from domestic feuds, 
 And from the foreign foe her arms protect him. 
 She lends him honors, dignity, and rank, 
 His wrongs revenges, and his merit pays ; 
 And, like a tender and indulgent mother, 
 Loads him with comforts, and would make his state 
 As blessed as nature and the godr designed it. 
 Such gifts, my son, have their alloy of pain. 
 And let the unworthy wretch, who will not bear 
 His portion of the public burthen, lose 
 The advantages it yields ; — let him retire 
 From tne dear blessings of a social life 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAM_,TIC. - - KNOWLES. 
 
 487 
 
 And from ihe sacred laws which guard those blessings. 
 
 Renounce the civilized abodes of man, 
 
 With kindred brutes one common shelter seefe 
 
 In horrid wilds, and dens, and dreary caves, 
 
 And with their shaggy tenants share the spoil ; 
 
 Or, if the shaggy hunters miss their prey, 
 
 From scattered acorns pick a scanty meal ; — 
 
 Far from the sweet civilities of life, 
 
 There lot him live, and vaunt his wretched freedcm, 
 
 While we, obedient to the laws that guard us, ' 
 
 Guard them, and live or die, as they decree. 
 
 16. ST. PIERRE TO FERRAIIDO. Tames Sheridan Knowles. 
 
 8t Pierre, having possessed himself of Ferrardo's dagger, compels him to sign a ccafrsslo* 
 itxa hm own lips, of his villany. 
 
 Know you me, Duke ? Know you the peasant boy, 
 Whom, fifteen years ago, in evil hour. 
 You chanced to cross upon his native hills, — 
 tn whose quick eye you saw the subtle spirit, 
 Which suited you, and tempted it ? He took 
 Your hint, and followed you to Mantua 
 Without his father's knowledge, — his old father, 
 Who, thinking that he had a prop in him 
 Man could not rob him of, and Heaven would spare, 
 Blessed him one night, ere he lay down to sleep, 
 And, wakinoj in the morning, found him gone ! 
 
 [Ferrardo tries to n$€ 
 Move not, or I shall move ! You know me. 
 0, yes ! you trained me Hke a cavalier, — 
 You did, indeed ! You gave me masters, Duke, 
 And their instructions quickly I took up, 
 As they did lay them down ! T got the start 
 Of my cotemporaries ! — not a youth 
 Of whom could read, write, speak, command a weapop 
 Or rule a horse, with me ! You gave me all, — 
 All the equipments of a man of honor, — 
 But you did find a use for me, and made 
 A slave, a profligate, a pander, of me ! [Ferrardf ^ang. 
 I charge you keep your seat ! — 
 Ten thousand ducats ? 
 
 What Duke ! Is such your offer ? Give me, Duke- 
 The eyes that looked upon my father's face. 
 The hands that helped my father to his wish, 
 The feet that fl^^w to do my father's will, 
 
 The heait that bounded at my father's voice, 
 
 And say that Mantua were built of ducats, 
 And I could be its Duke at cost of these 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER 
 
 I would not give them for it ! Mark me, Duke : 
 
 I saw a new-made grave in Mantua, 
 
 And on the head-stone read my father s name ' — 
 
 To seek me, doubtless, hither he had come, — 
 
 To seek tlie child that had deserted him, — 
 
 And died here, ere he found me. 
 
 Heaven can tell how far he wandered else ! 
 
 Upon that grave I knelt an altered man, 
 
 And, rising thence, I fled from Mantua ; — nor nad retumc-d 
 
 But tyrant hunger drove me back again 
 
 To thee — to thee ! — my body to relieve, 
 
 At cost of my dear soul ! I have done thy work, — 
 
 Do mine ! and sign me that confession straight. 
 
 I 'm in thy power, and I '11 have thee in mine ! 
 
 There is the dial, and the sun shines on it, — 
 
 The shadow on the very point of twelve, — 
 
 My case is desperate ! Your signature 
 
 Of vital moment is unto my peace ! 
 
 My eye is on the dial ! Pass the shadow 
 
 The point of noon, the breadth of but a hair, 
 
 As can my eye discern — and, that unsigned, 
 
 The steel is in thy heart ! — I speak no more ! 
 
 WILLIAM TELL ON SWITZERLAND. — Adaptation from J. S Knm « 
 
 Once Switzerland was free ! With what a pride 
 I used to walk these hills, — look up to Heaven, 
 And bless God that it was so ! It was free 
 From end to end, from clilF to lake 't was free ! 
 Eree as our torrents are, that leap our rocks. 
 And plough our valleys, without asking leave ; 
 Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow 
 In very presence of the regal sun ! / 
 How happy was I in it, then ! I loved / 
 Its very storms. Ay, often have I sat 
 In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake, 
 The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge 
 The wind came roaring, — I have sat and eyed 
 The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 
 To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, 
 And think I had no master save his own. 
 
 You know the jutting clilf, round which a track 
 Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow 
 To such another one, with scanty room 
 For two a-breast to pass ? O'er taken there 
 By the mountain blast, I 've laid me flat along 
 And while gust followed gust more furiously, 
 Vs if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink, 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. — BRUEYS. 
 
 481, 
 
 And I have thought of other lands, whose storins 
 
 Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just 
 
 Have wished me there; — the thought that mine was free 
 
 Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, 
 
 And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, 
 
 Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ! 
 
 IS. WlLLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS- —J. S. Knowleg 
 
 Ye crags and peaks, I 'm with you once again ! 
 I hold to you the hands you first beheld. 
 To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 
 A spirit in your echoes answer me, 
 And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
 Again ! — 0 sacred forms, how proud you look ! 
 How high you lift your heads into the sky ! 
 How huge you are ! how mighty, and how free ! 
 Ye are the things that tower, that shine, — whose smile 
 Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms, 
 Robed or unrobed, do all the ir/tpress wear 
 Of awe divine. Ye guards 
 I 'm with you once again ! — I call to you 
 With all my voice ! — I hold mj hands to you, 
 To show they still are free. I rush to you 
 As though I could embrace you ! 
 
 Scaling yonder peak, 
 
 I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow 
 
 O'er the abyss : — his broad -expanded wings 
 
 Lay calm and motionless upon the air, 
 
 As if he floated there without their aid, 
 
 By the sole act of his unlorded will^ 
 
 That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively 
 
 I bent my bow ; yet kept he rounding still 
 
 His airy circle, as in the delight 
 
 Of measuring the ample range beneath 
 
 And round about; absorbed, he heeded not 
 
 The death that threatened him. I could not shoot 
 
 'T was liberty ! — I turned my bow aside, 
 And let him soar away ! 
 
 19. THE FRACTIOUS MAN. -Original Translation from Brutys. 
 
 Monsieur Grichard. Blockhead ! Would you keep me knookins 
 Iwo hours at the door ? 
 
 Lolive, I was at work. Sir, in the garden. At the first sound of 
 the knocker, I ran to answer it with such haste, as to fall down on 
 the way. 
 
 M. Gri. A great pity it was you didn't break your neck, boobv 
 Why did n't you I'^ave the door open ? 
 
490 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Lot. "Why, Sir, you scolded me, yesterday, because I did so WlieE 
 ;t is open, you storm about it. When it is shut, you storm about it just 
 the same. I should like to know what to do. 
 
 M. Gri. What to do, sirrah ? What to do, did you say ? 
 
 Lot 0, come now, master, how would you have it ? Do ycu 7n^ 
 nae to leave the door open ? 
 
 M. Gri. No. 
 
 Lol Do you wish me to keep it shut ? 
 M. Gri. No! 
 
 Lol. But, Sir; it must be either open or — 
 M: Gri. What, rascal, what ! Do you presume to argue thft 
 point ? 
 
 Lol. But does n't it hold to reason — 
 M. Gri. Silence ! 
 
 Lol. I say, Sir, that a door must be either open or shut. Now, 
 how will you have it ? 
 
 M. Gri. I have told you, a thousand times, you scoundiv I, — I 
 have told you, I wished it — wished it — but confound your impu- 
 dence, Sir ! Is it for you to ask questions ? Let me only lay hands 
 on you, I '11 show you how I wish it ! Have you swept tha stair- 
 case ? 
 
 Lol. Yes, Sir, from top to bottom. 
 M. Gri. And the yard ? 
 
 Lol. If you find a bit of dirt there big as a filbert, I 'U forfeit my 
 wages. 
 
 M. Gri. You have n't watered the mule ? 
 
 Lol. Ask the neighbors, who saw me pass, if I have n't. 
 
 M. Gri. Have you given him his oats ? 
 
 Lol Yes, Sir. Ask William if I have n't. He saw me do it. 
 
 M. Gri. But you have n't taken those bottles of Peruvian bark 
 where I ordered you ? 
 
 Lol Pardon me, Sir ; I took them, and brought back the empt-v 
 bottles. 
 
 M. Gri. And my letters? Did you take them to the Post 
 Office ? Hah ? 
 
 Lol Did n't I, though ? I took good care to do that ! 
 
 M. Gri. You villain, you ! A hundred times I have forbidden 
 you to scrape your infernal violin. Now, I heard you, this morn- 
 ing — 
 
 L^ol This morning ? Don't you remember you smasheS it all to 
 pi'^cen for me, yesterday ^ 
 
 M Gri. Humph ! I '11 lay a wager that those two cords of 
 wood — 
 
 Lol The wood is all sawed, split, and housed, Sir ; and smce put- 
 ting it in, I have helped William get a load of hay into the barn, I 
 have watered all the trees in the garden, dug over three of the bed* 
 wad was digging another when you knocked. 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. — TOWN. 4,^1 
 
 M. Gri. 0, I must get rid of this fellow ! Was there ever such 
 2 provoking scamp ? He will kill me with vexation. Away with 
 fou, Sir ! Out of my sight ! 
 
 iO BALTHAZAR AND THE QUACK. -^oAn Tobin. Born, 1770 ; rfietf, 180i 
 
 Balthazar. And now, thou sketch and outline of a man ' 
 Thou thing, that hast no shadow in the sur ' 
 Thou eel in a consumption, eldest born 
 Of Death on Famine ! thou anatomy 
 Of a starved pilchard ! — 
 
 i^uack. I do confess my leanness. I am spare, 
 And therefore spare me ! Man, you know, must live' 
 
 Ball. Yes ; he must die, too. 
 
 Quack. For my patients' sake ' 
 . Bait. I '11 send you to the major part of them. 
 The window, Sir, is open ; — come, prepare. 
 
 Quack. ^ Pray, consider. Sir, 
 I may hurt some one in the street. 
 
 Bait. Why, then, 
 I '11 rattle thee to pieces in a dice-box. 
 Or grind thee in a coffee-mill to powder : 
 For thou must sup with Pluto ; — so, make ready ! 
 Whilst I, with this good small-sword for a lancet, 
 Let thy starved spirit out, — for blood thou hast none, - 
 And nail thee t^) the wall, where thou shalt look 
 Like a dried beetle with a pin stuck through him. 
 
 Quack. Consider my poor wife ! 
 
 Bait. Thy wife ! 
 
 Quack. My wife. Sir. 
 
 Bait. Hast thou dared to think of matrimony, too ? 
 No conscience, and take a wife ! 
 
 Quack. I have a wife, and three angelic babes, 
 Who, by those looks, are well-nigh fatherless! 
 
 ■ Bait. Well, well, your wife and children shall plead for you 
 Come, come, the pills ! where are the pills ? produce them 
 
 Quack. Here is the box. 
 
 Ball. Were it Pandora's, and each single pill 
 Had ten diseases in it, you should take them. 
 
 Quack. What, all ? 
 
 Bait. Ay, all ; - and quickly, too ; — come, Sir, begin 
 That 's well ; — another. 
 
 Quack. One 's a dose ! 
 
 Bait. Proceed, Sir. 
 
 Quack. What will become of me ? 
 I do beseech you let me have some drink, 
 Some cooling liquid Sir, to wash them down ' 
 
i92 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 
 
 Bait, 0, yes — produce the vial ! 
 Quack. Mercy on me ' 
 
 Bait. Come, Sir, your new invented patent draught 
 You 've tried it on a dog ; so there 's no danger. 
 
 Quack. If you have any mercy think of ms ' 
 ' Bait. Nay, no demur ! 
 
 Quack. May I entreat to make my will first ? 
 
 Bait. No ; you have naught but physic to bequeath 
 And that no one will take, though you should leave it. 
 
 Quack. Just to step home, and see my wife and chil iren 
 
 Bait. No, Sir. 
 
 Quack. Let me go home and set my shop to righi^j, 
 And, like immortal Caesar, die with decency ! 
 
 Bait. Away, and thank thy lucky star I have not 
 Brayed thee in thine own mortar, or exposed thee 
 For a large specimen of the lizard genus. 
 
 Quack. Would I were one ! for they can feed on air. 
 
 Bali. Home, Sir, and be more honest I {Exit.} 
 
 Quack. If I am not, 
 I '11 be more wise, at least ! \^Exit.'\ 
 
 21. BRUTUS AND 'LJm^.— Nathaniel Lee. 
 
 rhere are some noble touches in the following dialogue, from Lee's tragedy of "Luciui 
 Jtimus Brutus," although from the pen of a poet who mingled the extravagance of a madman 
 With the inspirations of genius. Lee was born in Hertfordshire, England, in 1651, and died u 
 16©2. He was for some time confined in a mad-house, being for nearly four years a raTinU 
 
 Brutus. Well, Titus, speak ; how is it with thee now ? 
 I would attend a while this mighty motion. 
 Wait till the tempest were quite overblown. 
 That I might take thee in the calm of nature, 
 With all thy gentler virtues brooding on thee : 
 So hushed a stillness, as if all the gods 
 Looked down and listened to what we were saying : 
 Speak, then, and tell me, 0 my best beloved. 
 My son, my Titus ! is all well again? 
 
 Titus. So well, that saying how must make it nothing , 
 So well, that I could wish to die this moment. 
 For 60 my heart, with powerful throbs, persuades me 
 That were indeed to make you reparation ; 
 That were, my Lord, to thank you home — to die ' 
 And that, for Titus, too,, would be most happy. 
 
 Brutus. How 's that, my son ? would death for thee b« happj 
 
 Titus. Most certain. Sir ; for in my grave I 'scape 
 All those afironts which I, in life, must look for ; 
 All those reproaches which the eyes, the fingers, 
 And tongues of Rome, will daily cast upon me , 
 Jrom whonv to a soul so sensible as mine. 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC — LEB. 
 
 Each single scorn would be far worse than dying. 
 15esides, I 'Scape the stings of my own conscience, 
 Which will forever rack nie with remembrance, 
 Haunt me by day, and torture me by night. 
 Casting my blotted honor in the way, 
 Where'er my melancholy thoughts shall guide me. 
 Brutus. But, is not death a very dreadful thing? 
 Titus. Not to a mind resolved. No, Sir ; to me 
 It seems as natural as to be born. 
 Grroans and convulsions, and discolored faces, 
 Friends weeping round us, crapes, and obsequies. 
 Make it a dreadful thing ; the pomp of death 
 Is far more terrible than death itself, 
 Yes, Sir ; I call the powers of Heaven to witness, 
 Titus dares die, if so you have decreed ; 
 Nay, he shall die with joy to honor Brutus. 
 
 Brutus. Thou perfect glory of the Junian race ! 
 Let me endear thee once more to my bosom, 
 Groan an eternal farewell to thy soul ; 
 Instead of tears, weep blood, if possible ; — 
 Blood, the heart-blood of Brutus, on his child ' 
 For thou must die, my Titus ; die, my son ! 
 I swear, the gods have doomed thee to the grave. 
 The violated genius of thy country 
 Bares his sad head, and passes sentence on thee. 
 This morning sun, that lights thy sorrows on 
 To the tribunal of this horrid vengeance, 
 Shall never see thee more ! 
 
 Titus. Alas! my Lord, 
 
 Why art thou moved thus? Why am I worth thy Borrow' 
 Why should the godlike Brutus shake to doom me ? 
 Why all these trappings for a traitor's hearse ? 
 The gods will have it so. 
 
 Brutus. They will, my Titus ; 
 
 Nor Heaven nor earth can have it otherwise 
 Nay, Titus, mark ! the deeper that I search, 
 My harassed soul returns the more confirmed. 
 Methinks I see the very hand of Jove 
 
 Moving the dreadful wheels of this affair, 
 
 Like a machine, they whirl thee to thy fate. 
 
 It seems as if the gods had preordained it, 
 
 To fix the reeling spirits of the People, 
 
 And settle the loose liberty of Rome. 
 
 'T is fixed , 0, therefore, let not fancy dupe thee? 
 
 So^ fixed thy death, that 't is not in the power 
 
 Of gods or men to save thee from the axe. 
 
 Titus.^The axe! 0, Heaven ! must I, then, fall so bnselj' 
 What ! Chall I perish by the common hangman ? 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Brutus. If thou deny me this, thou ^v'st me nothing. 
 Yes, Titus, since the gods have so decreed 
 That I must lose thee, I will take the advantage 
 Of thy important fate ; cement Rome's flaws, 
 And heal her wounded freedom with thy blood. 
 I will ascend myself the sad tribunal. 
 And sit upon my son — on thee, my Titus : 
 Behold thee suffer all the shame of death, 
 The lictor's lashes, bleed before the people ; 
 Then, with thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee, 
 See thy head taken by the common axe. 
 Without a groan, without one pitying tear 
 (If that the gods can hold me to my purpose). 
 To make my justice quite transcend example. 
 
 Titus. Scourged like a bondman ! Ha ! a beaten slave ' 
 But I deserve it all ; yet, here T fail ; 
 The image of this suffering quite unmans me. 
 O, Sir ! 0, Brutus ! must I call you father, 
 Yet have no token of your tenderness ? 
 No sign of mercy ? What ! not bate me that ? 
 Can you resolve on all the extremity 
 Of cruel rigor ? To behold me, too ; 
 To sit, unmoved, and see me whipped to death ! 
 Is this a father ? 
 
 Ah, Sir, why should you make my heart suspect 
 That all your late compassion was dissembled ? 
 How can I think that you did ever love me ? 
 
 Brutus. Think that I love thee, by my present passion 
 By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here ; 
 These sighs, that twitch the very strings of Ufe ; 
 Think that no other cause on earth could move me 
 To tremble thus, to sob, or shed a tear. 
 Nor shake my solid virtue from her point. 
 But Titus' death. O, do not call it shameful 
 That thus shall fix the glory of the world. 
 I own thy suffering ought to unman me thus, 
 To make me throw my body on the ground, 
 To bellow like a beast, to gnaw the earth, 
 To tear my hair, to curse the cruel fates 
 That force a father thus to kill his child ! 
 
 Titus. 0, rise, thou violated majesty ! 
 I now submit to all your threatened vengeance. 
 Come forth, ye executioners of justice ! 
 Nay, all ye lictors, slaves, and common hangmen, 
 Come, strip me bare, unrobe me in his sight, 
 And lash me till I bleed ! Whip me, like furies ' 
 And when you 'vc scourged me till I foam and fall. 
 
EHETC^RICAL AND DRAMy IIC. — SHAKSPEARB 494 
 
 For want of spirits, grovelling in the dust, 
 Then, take mj head, and give it to his justice ; — 
 Bj all the gods, I greedily resign it ! 
 
 ■ OATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY. —^rf^/zson. Born, 1672. A'ei, WW 
 
 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 I 
 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. 
 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 Gsmt 
 I 'm weary of conjectures, — this must end 'em; 
 
 Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life. 
 My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
 This* in a moment brings me to my end; 
 But this t informs me I shall never die. 
 The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
 At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
 The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
 Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years , 
 But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
 Unhurt amid the war of elements. 
 The wreck of matter, a\id the crush of worlds. 
 
 23. QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND QASSIVS. —Shakspear^.. 
 
 Cassius. That you have wronged me, doth appear in thii 
 
 Fou have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, 
 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 
 Wherein my letters (praying on his side. 
 
 Because I knew the man) were slighted off. 
 
 Brutus. You wronged yourself to write in sucn d case 
 Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet 
 
 riiat every nice offence should be?r its comment. 
 
 * The dagger. 
 
 t Plato's Treatise 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAK. J211 
 
 Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
 A.re much condemned to have an itching palm • 
 To sell and mart your offices for gold, 
 To rndeservers. 
 
 Cos. I an itching palm ? 
 You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
 Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last 
 
 Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruptioD 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide his head 
 
 Cas. Chastisement! 
 
 Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember 
 Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
 What vUlain touched his body, that did stab, 
 And not for justice ? — What ! shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
 But for supporting robbers, — shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
 For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? — 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman ! 
 
 Cas. Brutus, bay not me ! 
 I '11 not endure it. You forget yourself, 
 To hedge me in : I am a soldier, I, 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 Bru. Go to ! you are not, Cassius. 
 
 Cas. I am. 
 
 Bru. I say you are not ! 
 
 Cas. Urge me no more : I shall forget myself. 
 Have mind upon your health ; tempt me no fiirther! 
 
 Bru. Away, slight man ! 
 
 Cas. Is 't possible ? 
 
 Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler ^ 
 Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? 
 
 Cas. Must I endure all this ? 
 
 Bru. All this ? ay, more ! Fret till your proud hea/t break 
 do, show your slaves how choleric you are. 
 And make your bondmen tremble ! Must I budge ? 
 Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
 Under your testy humor ? 
 You shall digest the venom of your spleen. 
 Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 
 I '11 use you for my mirth, — yea, for my laughter, 
 When you arc was))ish ! 
 
 Cas. Is it come to this ' 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. SHAKSrEARE. 
 
 497 
 
 Jji u. You say you are a better soldier : 
 Let it appear so ; make your vauntuig true, 
 And it shall please me well. For mine own pan. 
 I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, BmtUB 
 I said, an elder soldier, not a better. 
 I*'d I say better ? 
 
 Bni. If you did, I care not ! 
 
 Cas. When Cassar lived, he durst not thus have moved m« 
 bru. Peace, peace : you durst not so have tempted him • 
 Cas. I durst not ? 
 Bru. No. 
 
 Cas. What ? durst not tempt him ? 
 Bru. For your life, you durst not ' 
 Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love 
 I may do that I shall be sorry for. 
 
 Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
 For I am armed so strong in honesty, 
 Tliat they pass by me as the idle wind. 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 For certain sums of gold, \^hich you denied me ; — 
 For I can raise no money by vile means : 
 By Heaven, I had rather coin my heart. 
 And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wrina 
 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
 By any indirection ! I did send 
 To you for gold to pay my legions. 
 Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius ? 
 bhould I have answered Caius Cassius so ? 
 When IMarcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
 Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts. 
 Dash him to pieces ! 
 Cas. I denied you not. 
 Bru. Ynu did. 
 
 Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool 
 That brought my ansj.'cr back. ~ Brutus hath rived my hear^ 
 A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
 But Brutus makes mine greater than they are 
 
 Brzi. I do not, till you practise them on me. 
 
 Cas. iou love me not. 
 
 Bru. I (lo not like your faults. 
 
 Cos. A friendly eye could never see such feults. 
 
 J^ru. A fl<'tterer's would not, though they do appear 
 As huge as high Olympus. 
 
 Cas. Come, Antony, and youn^: Octavius, come! 
 KevengG yourselves alone on Cassius, 
 
498 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAK EB. 
 
 For Cassius is aweary of the world • 
 
 Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother , 
 
 Chocked like a bondman ; all his faults observ^'d, 
 
 Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, 
 
 To cast into my teeth. 0, I could weep 
 
 'My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger 
 
 And here my naked breast ; within a heart 
 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold , 
 
 If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
 
 i, that denied thee gold, will give my heart 
 
 Strike as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know, 
 
 When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him bettei 
 
 Than ever thou lovedst Cassius ! 
 
 Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
 Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
 O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, 
 That carries anger as the flint bears fire : 
 Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
 And straight is cold again. 
 
 Cas. Hath Cassius lived 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? 
 
 Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered, too. 
 
 Cas. Do you confess so much' Give me your hand. 
 
 Bru. And my heart, too. 
 
 Cas. 0 Brutus ! — 
 
 Bru. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with mc, 
 When that rash humor which my mother gave me 
 Makes me forgetful ? 
 
 Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and from henceforth, 
 When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
 He '11 think your mother chides, and leave you so. 
 
 24. REGRETS OF DRUNKENNESS. —SAaA'Si>eare. 
 
 lagc What ! be you hurt, Lieutenant ? 
 Cassto. Past all surgery ! 
 
 lago. Marry, Heaven forbid ! t i * 
 
 Cassio. lleputation ! reputation ! reputation! 0, I have .ost mj 
 reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself; and what 
 remains is bestial. My reputation, lago, my reputation . _ 
 
 Ia<'o As I am an«honest man, I thought you had received some 
 bodily wound : there is more offence in that than in reputation, depu- 
 tation is an idle and most false imposition ; oft got without merit, and 
 lost without deserving. What, man ! There are ways to recover the 
 Genera] again. Sue to him, and he is yours. 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. — SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 19S 
 
 tussm. I win rather sue tc be despised than to deceive so good a 
 jommander with so light, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer 
 Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and 
 discourse fustian with one's own shadow? — 0, thou invisible spirit 
 
 of wine ! if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee 
 
 Devil. 
 
 lago. What was he that you followed with your sword ? what had 
 he done to you ? 
 
 Cassio. I know not. 
 lago. Is it possible ? 
 
 Cassio. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a 
 quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O, that men should put an enemy 
 in their mouths to steal away their brains ! that we should with joy 
 pleasure, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! 
 
 lago. Why, but you are now well enough : how came you thus 
 recovered ? 
 
 Cassio. It has pleased the devil Drunkenness to give place to the 
 devil Wrath : one imperfection shows me another, to make me frankly 
 despise myself 
 
 lago. Come : you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place, 
 and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had 
 not befallen ; but since it is as it is, mend it, for your own good. 
 
 Cassio. I will ask him for my place again ; he shall tell me I am a 
 drunkard ! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop 
 them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently 
 a beast ! 0, strange ! — Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the 
 mgredient is a devil. 
 
 lago. Come, come ! good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be 
 well used ; exclaim no more against it ; — and, good Lieutenant, I 
 think you think I love you ? 
 
 Cassio. I have well approved it. Sir.: — I drunk ! 
 
 lago. You, or any man living, may be drunk some time, man ! I '11 
 tell you what you shall do. Our General's ivife is now the General ; 
 confess yourself freely to her : importune her ; she '11 help to put 
 you m your place again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed 
 a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more 
 than she is requested. This broken joint between you and her hus- 
 band entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any Jay 
 worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow strongei than it 
 was before. 
 
 Cassio. You advise me well. 
 
 l2gD,^ I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness, 
 Cassio. I think it freely; and, betimes in the morning, I will 
 
 beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me. 
 
 lago. You are in the right. Good-night, Lieutenant. I must tc 
 
 watch. 
 
 Cassio. Good-night, aonest lago 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 RFEECn OF CASSrUS, INSTIGATING BRUTUS TO JOIN JHE CONSCIRAO! 
 
 4GAINST C^SAR. — Shak/tpeare. 
 
 Well, honor is the subject of my story. 
 I cannot tell what you, and other men. 
 Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
 ; I had as lief not be, as live to be 
 In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
 I was born free as Caesar ; so were you ; 
 We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
 Endure the winter's cold as well as he ; 
 For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
 The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
 Cassar said to me, " Dar'st thou, Gassius, now, 
 Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
 And swim to yonder point ? " Upon the word. 
 Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 
 And bade him follow ; so, indeed, he did. 
 The torrent roared ; and we did buffet it 
 With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside, 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
 But, ere we could arrive the point proposed, 
 Caesar cried. Help me, Cassius, or J sink / 
 I, as iEneas, our great ancestor, 
 Did, from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder, 
 The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tibei, 
 Did I the tired Csesar : and this man 
 Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
 A wretched creature, and must bend his body. 
 If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
 How he did shake : 't is true, this god did shake : 
 His coward lips did from their color fly ; 
 And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
 Did lose its lustre : I did hear him groan : 
 Ay, and that tongue of his, that liade the Romans 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
 Alas ! it cried, Gwe me some drink, Titiinas, 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
 A man of such a feeble temper should 
 So get the start of the majestic world, 
 And bear the palm alone ! 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Brutus and Caesar; what should be in that Caesar' 
 Why should that name be sounded more than youTB 
 Write thein together, yours is as lair a name ; 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well • 
 
RHETORICAL ANL DRAMATIC. SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, 
 
 Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 
 
 Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
 
 Upon what meat cloth this our Csesar feed 
 
 That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art shamed ; 
 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
 
 But it was fumed with more than with one man ? 
 
 When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, 
 
 That her wide walls encompassed but one man ? 
 
 0 ! you and I have haard our fathers say 
 
 There was a Brutus, once, that would have brooked 
 
 The eternal devii to hid state in Rome, 
 
 As easily as a kiLg' , 
 
 -.a^DINAL WOLSEY, ON BEING CAST OFF BY KING HENRY Vm - 
 
 Nay, then, farewell, 
 I have touched the highest point of all my greatness , 
 And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
 I haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 And no man see me more. 
 So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow, blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
 And, when he thinks, — good, easy man, — full surelj 
 His greatness is a ripening, nips his root. 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders. 
 These many summers in a sea of glory ; 
 But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
 At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
 Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 
 
 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hato ye ' 
 I feel my heart new opened. 0, how wretched 
 Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women ha^e. 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again I 
 
 Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all rav misexies : but thou hast forced ma 
 
THJ. STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Out of thy hones^ truth, to play the woman. 
 
 Let 's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
 
 And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 
 Of me must more be heard, — say, then, I taught thee, 
 
 Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 
 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor 
 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. -r- 
 
 Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me ! 
 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ! 
 
 By that sin fell the angels : how can man, then. 
 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? 
 
 Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee, — 
 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty ; 
 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not, 
 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 
 Thy God's, and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, 0 Cromwell, 
 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the King ; 
 
 And, Prithee, lead me in : 
 
 There, take an inventory of all I have. 
 
 To the last penny ; 't is the King's ; my robe. 
 
 And my integrity to Heaven, is all 
 
 I dare now call mine own. 0, Cromwell, Cromwell ! 
 
 Had I but served my God with half the ze^ 
 
 I served my King, He would not, in mine age, 
 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies ! 
 
 27 HAMLET'S INSTRUCTION TO THE VLAYmiB. — Shakspeare. 
 
 Speak the 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 
 JO, 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 smoothnesfc. 
 0 ! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow, 
 tear a passion to tatters, — to very rags, — to split the (-^rs of the 
 groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but 
 inexplicable dumb show and noise. I would have such a fellow 
 whipped for o'erdoing Termagant ; it out-Herods Herod. Pray you 
 avoid it. 
 
 Bo 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 playing, — whose end, both at 
 the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 't were, the mirror up M 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 50S 
 
 N'ature ; to show virtue her own feature ; scorn, her own image; ana 
 the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now, this 
 overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, can 
 ttot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which 07ie must, iu 
 your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. 0 ! there be 
 players that I have seen play, — and heard others praise and that 
 ^igtijj — 1^0^' to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent cf 
 Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted 
 ftud bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen haci 
 made men, and not made men well, they imitated humanity' so abom- 
 inably ! 
 
 28. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON DEATH. — 5/(a/fc.^peare. 
 
 To be — or not to be — that is the question ! 
 Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, — 
 Or, to take arnts 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 contumely, 
 The pangs of despised 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 traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 And lose the name of action. 
 
m 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 2& NOT A3HAMED OF HIS OCCVPATIOIH. — Original adaptation fjom Morton 
 
 Jasper, Now, there 's a nice looking young man for a weddiD| 
 party ! 
 
 Stephen. Ah, dad ! How are you, dad ? 
 
 Jas. Not dret^sed yet ? What are you thinking of, you idle dog ? 
 
 Ste. Idle ! Excuse me, dad ; I was at work afore daylight. 
 
 Jas Work: daylight! what have 3/ ou to do with daylight, such 
 a day as this ^ L)on't you know that Lady Leatherbridge, and her 
 niece, Ijady Valeria, will be here presently ? Go to that glass. Sir ' 
 gaze upon that coat, waistcoat and trousers, including boots, and then 
 tell me, is that figure Stephen Plum, or a common cotton-spinner, out 
 of the hundreds in his employ ? 
 
 Ste. Well, and what 's Stephen Plum, after all 's said and done, 
 but a common spinner, too ? A common spinner growed rich, like his 
 father before him ? Was n't his father, — bless the old face of him ! — 
 wasn't^ a common spinner, too ? No, he was n't ; Jasper Plura 
 was no common spinner ; he was one in a thousand, he was ! Did n't 
 he use to make the bobbins fly ; and did n't he card and comb till his 
 face was as shiny red as a bran new penny bit ? Ah ' dad, you was 
 something like a man, then, you was ! 
 
 Jas. Well, I believe I was rather a good hand. But those mechan- 
 ical times are gone ; we are now gentlemen ! 
 
 Ste. Speak for yourself, dad ; I 'm. no gentleman. I was, and 
 am, and always shall be, a cotton- spinner. Now, don't be unreasonable, 
 dad ! have n't you made brother Freddy a gentleman ? Surely, oiu 
 gentleman in a family 's quite enough. 
 
 Jas. Yes, Frederick William 's a pretty fellow, — a very pretty 
 fellow. 
 
 Ste. Freddy 's been wound on a different bobbin to me. Freddy 's 
 been to Oxford College, and larnt no end of larning ; and Freddy 's 
 been to London, and seen no end of London life. 
 
 Jas. And, if you had n't preferred living like a bear, you might 
 have accompanied him, and seen how all the mothers, who had daugh- 
 ters to marry, tried to get him to marry their daughters. Even the 
 bead of the illustrious house of Leatherbridge graciously condescended 
 M) accept his proposals for her niece, Lady Valeria Westendleigh. The 
 whole affair was moved, debated and carried, in a week ; only it was 
 arranged that the wedding should take place here at Bristol during 
 the family's visit to Clifton, to avoid what we call idat ! eclat, Sir ! 
 \iignijied.^ 
 
 Ste. W^cll, I don't wonder at Freddy ; Freddy 's a handsome 
 chap, and a thorough good fellow ; and Jasper Plum is the warmest 
 man in our parts, and can put one hundred thousand yellow-boya 
 iinto Freddy's breeches-pocket. 
 
 Jas. Yellow-boys ! breeches-pocket ! Stephen Plum, I hope yOM 
 don't mean to discharge such fearful expressions in the hearing of 
 l^ly Leatherbridge 
 
RHETOBICAL AND DRAMATIC. MORTON 
 
 o05 
 
 Ste, Bless you, no ; before them female nobs, my grammar '11 be 
 IS right as a trivet. 
 
 Jos. Female nobs ! right as a trivet ! Stephen, Stephen the sad 
 sruth is, you 've got no elevation of soul ! You '11 live and die in 
 9otton ! 
 
 Ste, I hope so ; I mean to stick to cotton as long ^ cotton sticks 
 to me. 
 
 Jas. [taking cotton off his coat]. (Cotton sticks to you too mueh, 
 Stephen Plum — 
 
 Ste. I wish you 'd stick to cotton, dad, and get rid of all these 
 fine, new, silk-and-satin notions of yours ! The idea of your idling 
 away your time, studying parlez vou Fransy ! and then getting that 
 whacking looking-glass, where I seed you making great ugly faces at 
 yourself! Don't say you did n't, 'cause Toby and I catched you at it, 
 t' other morning. How we did laugh, surely ! Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Jas. What you are pleased to call great ugly faces, Sir, were pos- 
 tures and smiles to receive my guests, — and look at the result ! 
 Behold the transmogrified Jasper Plum ! Passed into the state of 
 butterfly, out of the state of grub ! 
 
 Ste. A butterfly, you ? I say, dad, don't you feel a little stiffish 
 about the wings ? Ho, ho ! butterfly and grub ! [Suddenly serious.] 
 Look you, dad ; winter and summer, in work and out of work, I can 
 manage to keep five hundred cotton spinners, — families and all, a 
 matter of two thousand poor creatures, — and every man, woman and 
 child, among 'em, has helped to make us rich. For my part, I can't 
 lift a bit to my mouth, but I ask myself if any of theirs be empty. 
 No, no ! I must live and die among 'em ; but what need to tell you 
 so ? Don't they love you, and you love them, as dear as dear can be ? 
 Bless your old heart, I know you do ! And now, dad, I '11 tell you a 
 secret. I 'm in love. 
 
 Jas. In what ? 
 
 Ste. In love ! and I don't mind to tell you another secret, — it 's 
 with a woman ! 
 
 Jas. In love with a woman ! 
 
 Ste. Yes ; and, now you 're in for it, I '11 tell you a third secret, 
 — I want to marry her off-hand, directly. 
 
 Jas. Tho boy 's mad ! His brother's marriage has got into his head, 
 and turned it ! You marry ? and marry a woman, too ? What next, 
 \ wonder ? 
 
 Ste. Don t be angry, dad; I only want a wife of my own, like 
 my father before me ; so you 'd very much oblige me, if you 'd just 
 name the time and keep it. 
 
 Jas. Indeed ! before I name the time^ Sir, perhaps you '11 conde- 
 scend to name the woman. 
 
 Ste. Ah ! now comes the tug. I say, dad, you see that hook 
 *top of the ceiling, — that 's just where you '11 jump to, when you hear 
 who 't is. Well, then, the woman I love, and wanfc to marry, i^ th« 
 
506 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 poor factory girl, Martha Gibbs. Now, don't j amp! [Holering Ja^tpef 
 down.] 
 
 Jos. Martha Gibbs ! Ha, ha, ha ! Come, I like this. There 's 
 some character about such abominable audacity ! It tickles one to have 
 one's hair stand on end ! Degenerate offspring ! do you want to be the 
 death of the house of Plum ? And do you think I '11 ever sanction 
 such an alliance for a son of mine ? Never, never ! The voice of all 
 your ancestors exclaims, Never ! never ! 
 
 Ste, Then I wish my ancestors would just speak when they 're 
 spoke to. 
 
 Jo,s Reflect, rash youth, what was this creature, Martha? A 
 beggar, asking charity ! 
 
 Ste. No, she asked for wages, and paid you with hard work. 
 
 Jas. And loho was she ? I ask for her ancestry ; she never had 
 any. 1 ask for her parents ; I don't believe she ever had any. 
 
 Ste. Never had a father and m^other ? Then warn't she a clever 
 girl to manage to do without? Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Jas. Eeflect like a man, Sir, and don't laugh like a horse ! I '11 
 turn that intriguing hussy, Martha Gibbs, out of the house, this very 
 day! 
 
 Ste. Stop, dad ; you don't, you can't mean that ? 
 Jas. I do mean that, and I '11 do it ! 
 
 Ste. No, you won't : you may save yourself the trouble now^ and 
 the pain afterwards. Martha has given notice ; she means to quit the 
 factory to-morrow morning. 
 
 Jas. A pleasant journey to her ! 
 
 Ste. I hope so, 'cause I go along with her. 
 
 Jas. What did you say, Sir ? 
 
 Ste. I go along with her. 
 
 Jas. You, Stephen ! go and leave — 0, Stephen ! 
 Ste. Perhaps it 's best it should be so ; long 's the day I 've seen 
 ray father and brother are ashamed of me. 
 Jas. Stephen Plum ! 
 
 Ste. And you 'd have me marry a fine lady, who 'd be ashamed of 
 me, too ; but I won't. So, if you won't have us near you, why Mar- 
 tha and I must love you far away. 
 
 Jas. Well, I '11 reflect, — let me have time to reflect. 
 
 Ste. That 's but fair ; I '11 give you lots of time. [Looking at his 
 watch.] I '11 give you five-and-twenty minutes. 
 
 Jas Eh? 
 
 Ste Well, I don't mind making it half an hour ; now, mind, in 
 thirty minmtes I '11 return for your yes or no. If it 's^^' No," I must 
 pack up my carpet-bag, 'cause I can't go into the wide world with- 
 3ut a change of linen. [Exit.] 
 
 Jas. 1 shall run distracted.! Stephen Plum, if you 've any linger- 
 ing love for your half-expiring father — Stephen, I say ! Half an 
 hour, indeed ! th^t the house of Plum should come to this ! \Ezit.] 
 
fiHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. SHIEL. 
 
 — fFm.\jQ,Umore i 
 
 ( 
 
 m THE UNION AND ITS GOVERNMENT 
 
 GrOVERNME 
 
 We hold to be the creature of our need, 
 Having no power but where necessity 
 Still, under guidance of the Charter, gives it. 
 Our taxes raised to meet our exigence, 
 And not for waste or favorites. Our People 
 Left free to share the commerce of the world, 
 Without one needless barrier on their prows. 
 Our industry at liberty for venture. 
 Neither abridged nor pampered ; and no calling 
 P'^eferred before another, to the ruin 
 Or wrong of either. These, Sir, are my doctrines 
 They are the only doctrines which shall keep us 
 From anarchy, and that worst peril yet, 
 That threatens to dissever, in the tempest, 
 That married harmony of hope with power 
 That keeps our starry Union o'er the storm, 
 And, in the sacred bond that links our fortunes, 
 Makes us defy its thunders ! Thus in One, 
 The foreign despot threatens us in vain. 
 Guizot and Palmerston may fret to see us 
 Grasping the empires which they vainly covet, 
 And stretching forth our trident o'er the seas, 
 In rivalry with Britain. They may confine. 
 But cannot chain us. Balances of power, 
 Framed by corrupt and cunning monarchists. 
 Weigh none of oar possessions ; and the seasons 
 That mark our mighty progress East and West, 
 Show Europe's struggling millions fondly seeking 
 The better shores and shelters that are ours. 
 
 31. COLONNA TO THE KmQ. —Richard Lalor Shiel. 
 
 The favor that I ask is one, my liege, 
 That princes often find it hard to grant. 
 'T is simply this : that you will hear the truth. 
 
 I see your courtiers here do stand amazed : 
 Of them I first would speak. There is not on% 
 Of this wide troop of glittering parasites, 
 That circle you, as priests surround their god, 
 With sycophantic incense, but in soul 
 Is your base foe ! These smilers here, my liege 
 Whose dimples seem a sort of honey-comb. 
 Filled and o'erflowing with their suavity, — 
 These soft, melodious flatterers, irj liege% 
 That flourish on the flexibility 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Of their soft countenances, — are the veimin 
 That haunt a prince's ear with the false buzz 
 Of villanous assentation. These are they 
 Who from your mind have flouted every thought 
 Of the great weal of the People. These are they 
 Who from your ears have shut the public cry. — 
 
 Who dares complain of you ? " All dare complaia 
 Behind you ; I, before you ! Do not think, 
 Because you load your People with the weight 
 Of camels, they possess the camel's patience, 
 A deep groan labors in the nation's heart , 
 The very calm and stillness of the day 
 Gives augury of the earthquake. All without 
 Is as the marble smooth ; and all within 
 Is rotten as the carcass it contains. 
 Though ruin knock not at the palace gate, 
 Yet will the palace gate unfold itself 
 To ruin's felt-shod tread. 
 
 Your gorgeous banquets, your high feasts of gold, 
 
 Which the four quarters of the rifled world 
 
 Heap with their ravished luxuries ; your pomps, 
 
 Your palaces, and all the sumptuousness 
 
 Of painted royalty, will melt away, 
 
 As in a theatre the glittering scene 
 
 Doth vanish with the shifter's magic hand, 
 
 And the mock pageant perishes. My. liege, 
 
 A single virtuous action hath more worth 
 
 Than all the pyramids ; and glory writes 
 
 A more enduring epitaph upon 
 
 One generous deed, than the sarcophagus 
 
 In which Sesostris meant to sleep. 
 
 4D7.RESS TO THE SWISS. — Adaptation from Schiller's play of mXUm T0lt 
 
 Confederates, listen to the words which Gal 
 Inspires my heart withal. Here we are met 
 To represent the general weal. In us 
 Are all the People of the land convened. 
 Then let us hold the Diet, as of old, 
 And as we 're wont in peaceful times tc do. 
 The time's necessity be our excuse. 
 If there be aught informal in this meeting. 
 Still, wheresoe'er men strike for justice, there 
 Is God ; and now beneath His Heaven we s^nd. 
 The JNations round us bear a foreign yoke 
 B'or they have yielded to the conqueror. 
 Nay, e'en within our frontiers may be found 
 Some that owe villein service to a lord, — 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. SHIEL. 
 
 A race of bonded serfs from sire to boii. 
 But we, the genuine race of ancient Swiss, 
 Have kept our freedom, from the first, till now 
 Never to princes have we bowed the knee 
 What said our fathers when the Emperor 
 Pronounced a judgment in the Abbey's favor 
 Awarding lands beyond his jurisdiction ? 
 What was their answer ? This : — " The grant ia 
 No Emperor can bestow what is our own ; 
 And if the Empire shall deny us justice, 
 We can, within our mountains, right ourselves." 
 Thus spake our fathers ; and, shall we endure 
 The shame and infamy of this new yoke ; 
 And, from the vassal, brook what never king 
 Dared, in the fulness of his power, attempt? 
 
 This soil we have created for ourselves, 
 By the hard labor of our hands ; ^^e 've changed 
 The giant forest, that was erst the haunt 
 Of savage bears, into a home for man ; 
 Blasted the solid rock ; o'er the abyss 
 Thrown the firm bridge for the way-faring man. 
 By the possession of a thousand years. 
 The soil is ours. And, shall an alien lord, 
 Himself a vassal, dare to venture here, 
 On our own hearths insult us, and attempt 
 To forge the chains of bondage for our hands, 
 And do us shame on our own proper soil ? 
 Is there no help against such wrong as this ? 
 Yes ! there 's a limit to the despot's power. 
 When the oppressed looks round in vain for justicj 
 When his sore burden may no more be borne. 
 With fearless heart, he makes appeal to Heaven, 
 And thence brings down his everlasting rights, 
 Which there abide, inalienably his, 
 And indestructible as are the stars. 
 Nature's primaeval state returns again. 
 Where man stands hostile to his fellow-man ; 
 And, if all other means shall fail his need, 
 One last resource remains — his own good sword 
 Our dearest treasures call to us for aid 
 Against the oppressor's violence ; we stand 
 For country, home, for wives, for children, here ! 
 
 33. WILLIAM TELL IN WAIT FOR GESSLER. — 5c Wf^er 
 
 Here through this deep defile he needs must pass 
 There leads no other road to KQssnacht : — heie 
 I '11 do it : — the opportunity is good. 
 Yon alder -tree titands well for my concealment, — 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 The iv'e my avenging shaft will surely reach him ; 
 The straitness of the path forbids pursuit. 
 Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven ! 
 Thou must away from earth — thy sand Ls run. 
 
 I led a peaceful, inoffensive life ; — 
 My bow was bent on forest game alone. 
 And my pure soul was free from thoughts of murder, 
 But thou hast scared me from ray dream of peace • 
 The milk of human kindness thou hast turned 
 To rankling poison in my breast ; and made 
 Appalling deeds familiar to my soul. 
 He who could make his own child's head his mark 
 Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart. 
 
 My children dear, my loved and faithful wife. 
 Must be protected, tyrant, from thy fury I — 
 When last I drew my bow, with trembling hand, 
 And thou, with murderous joy, a father forced 
 To level at his child, — when, all in vain. 
 Writhing before thee, I implored thy mercy, — 
 Then, in the agony of my soul, I vowed 
 A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone. 
 That when my bow next winged an arrow's flight, 
 Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I made, 
 Amid the hellish torments of that moment, 
 I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it. 
 
 Thou art my lord, my Emperor's delegate ; 
 Yet would the Emperor not have stretched his powe? 
 So far as thou. He sent thee to these Cantons 
 To deal forth law, — stern law, — for he is angered ; 
 But not to wanton with unbridlea will 
 In every cruelty, with fiend-like joy : — 
 There is a God to punish and avenge. 
 
 Well, I am watching for a nooie prey ! 
 Does not the huntsman, with severest toil, 
 Roam for whole days amid the winter's cold, 
 Leap with a daring bound from rock to rock, 
 And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which 
 His limbs are glued by his own streaming blood, - 
 And all this but to gain a wretched chamois ? 
 A far more precious prize is now my aim, 
 The heart of that dire foe who would destroy me. 
 
 From my first years of boyhood I have used 
 The bow, — been practised in the archer's feats; 
 The bull's eye many a time my shafts have hit. 
 And many a goodly prize have I brought home, 
 Won in the games of skill. This day I '11 make 
 My master-shot, and win the highest prize 
 WitSin the whole circumference of the mc^ntaing 
 
aHETOEICAL AND DRAMATIC. — SCUILLER. 
 
 Oome forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs, 
 
 [Draws an arrow from his 
 My precious jewel now, — my chiefest treasure, — 
 A mark I 'li set thee, which the cry of grief 
 Could never penetrate, — but thou shalt pierce it ; 
 And thou, my trusty bow-striug, that so oft 
 Has served me faithfully in sportive scenes, 
 Desert me not in this most serious hour 
 Only be true this once, my own good cord, 
 That hast so often winged the biting shaft ; — 
 For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand, 
 I have no second to send aft^^r thee. 
 
 34. WILMAM TELL DESCRIBES HIS ESCAPE. — 5cA;7to . 
 
 I LAY on deck, fast bound with cords, disarmed, 
 in utter hopelessness. I did not think 
 Aojain to see the gladsome light of day, 
 Nor the dear faces of my wile and children. 
 And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters. 
 
 Then we put forth upon the lake, — the Vicerbj 
 Hudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow 
 And quiver lay astern beside the helm ; 
 And just as we had reached the corner, near 
 The Little Axen, Heaven ordained it so, 
 That- from the Gotthardt's gorge a hurricane 
 Swept down upon us with such headlong force, 
 That every rower's heart within him sank. 
 And all on board looked for a watery grave. 
 ThcQ heard I one of the attendant train. 
 Turning to Gessler, in this strain accost him : 
 " You see our danger, and your own, my lord, 
 And that we hover on the verge of death. 
 The boatmen there are powerless from fear. 
 Nor are they confident what course to take ; — 
 Now, here is William Tell, a fearless man, 
 And knows to steer with more than common ftkiil. 
 How if we should avail ourselves of him. 
 In this emergency ? " The Viceroy then 
 Addressed me thus : " If thou wilt undertake 
 To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell, 
 1 might consent to fr3e thee from thy bonds." 
 I answered, " Yes, my lord, with God's assistance 
 I '11 see what can be done, and help us Heaven ! " 
 On this they loosed me from my bonds, and I 
 Stood by the helm and fairly steered along , 
 Yet 3ver eyed my shooting gear askance, 
 \ad kept a -vatchful eye upon the shore. 
 
IBE BTAtf,ijARD SPEAKEll 
 
 To find some point where I might leap to land . 
 
 And when I had descried a shelving crag, 
 
 That jutted, smooth atop, into the lake, — 
 
 I bade the men put forth their utmost might, 
 
 Until we came before the shelving crag. 
 
 For there, I said, the danger will be past ! 
 
 Stoutly they pulled, and soon we neared the point : 
 
 One prayer to God for His assisting grace, 
 
 And, straining every muscle, I brought round 
 
 The vessel's stern close to the rocky wall ; 
 
 Then, snatching up my weapons, with a bound 
 
 I swung myself upon the flattened shelf. 
 
 And with my feet thrust ofi", with all my might, 
 
 The puny bark into the hell of waters. 
 
 There let it drift about, as Heaven ordains ! 
 
 Thus am I here, delivered from the might 
 
 Of the dread storm, and man, more dreadful still. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S SOLILOQUY. — ScAi7/er. Coleridge's Translattm 
 
 Is it possible ? 
 Is 't so ? I can no longer what I would f 
 No longer draw back at my liking ? I 
 Must do the deed because I thought of it. 
 And fed this heart here with a dream ? Because 
 I did not scowl temptation from my presence, 
 Dallied with thoughts of possible fulfilment, 
 Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain, 
 And only kept the road, the access, open ? 
 I but amused myself with thinking of it. 
 The free-will tempted me, the power to do 
 Or not to do it. Was it criminal 
 To make the fancy minister to hope, 
 To fill the air with pretty toys of air, 
 And clutch fantastic sceptres moving toward me ! 
 Was not the will kept free ? Beheld I not 
 The road of duty close beside me, — but 
 One little step, and once more I was in it ! 
 Where am I ? Whither have I been transported ? 
 No road, no track behind me, but a wall, 
 Impenetrable, insurmountable, 
 Rises obedient to the spells I muttered 
 And meant not, — my own doings tower behind rm 
 
 What is thy enterpr-ise ? thy aim ? thy object ? 
 Hast' honestly confessed it to thyself? 
 Power seated on a quiet throne thou 'dst shake, — 
 Power on an ancient consecrated throne, 
 Strong in possession, founded in all custom 
 
UHliTORTCAL AND DRAMATIC. — SCHILLER. 
 
 Power by a thousand tough and stringy roots 
 
 Fixed to the people's pious nursery-faith. 
 
 Tliis, this will be no strife of strength with strength. 
 
 That feared I not. I brave each combatant, 
 
 Whom I can look on, fixing eye to eye, 
 
 Who, full himself of courage, kindles courage 
 
 In me, too. 'T is a foe invisible 
 
 The which I fear, — a fearful enemy, 
 
 Which in the human heart opposes me. 
 
 By its coward fear alone made fearful to me. 
 
 Not that, which full of life, instinct with power, 
 
 Makes known its present being ; that is not 
 
 The true, the perilously formidable. 
 
 0 no ! it is the common, the quite common, 
 
 The thing of an eternal yesterday. 
 
 V/hat ever was, and evermore returns. 
 
 Sterling to-morrow, for to-day 't was sterling ! 
 
 For of the wholly common is man made. 
 
 And custom is his nurse ! Woe, then, to them 
 
 Who lay irreverent hands upon his old 
 
 House furniture, the dear inheritance 
 
 From his forefithers ! For time consecrates ; 
 
 And what is gray with age becomes religion. 
 
 Be in possession, and thou hast the right. 
 
 And sacred will the many guard it for thee ! 
 
 M "UE BELIEF IN ASTROLOGY. _ 5cAz7/er. Colerid^e^s TranslcUiim. 
 
 0 NEVER rudely will I blame his faith 
 In the might of stars and angels. 'T is not merely 
 The human being's Pride that peoples space 
 With life and mystical predominance ; 
 Since likewise for the stricken heart of Love 
 This visible nature, and this common world, 
 Is all too narrow ; yea, a deeper import 
 Lurks in the legend told my infant years 
 Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn. 
 For fable is Lc^e's world, his home, his birth-plaoe 
 Delightedly dwells he 'mong %s and talismans, 
 And spirits ; and delightedly believes 
 Divinities, being himself divine. 
 The intelligible forms of ancient poets, 
 The h\Y humanities of old religion, 
 The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, 
 That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain, 
 Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring. 
 Or chasms, and watery depths, — all these have vanifihad 
 THey live no longer in the faith of reason » 
 
 3e 
 
514 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 But still the heart doth need a language, — still 
 Doth the old instinct bring back the old names, 
 And to yon starry world they now are gone, 
 Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth 
 With man as with their friend ; and to the lover 
 Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky 
 Shoot influence down : and even at this day 
 'T is Jupiter who brings whate'er is great, 
 And Venus who brings everything that 's fair 
 
 B9 THE GRIEF OF BEREAVEMENT. — Wallenstein's Reflections on hearing oj the ita«i 
 
 of young Piccolomini. Translated from Schiller by Coleridge. 
 
 He is gone, — is dust ! 
 He, the more fortunate ! yea, he hath finished I 
 For him there is no longer any future. 
 His life is bright, — bright without spot it was. 
 And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour 
 Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap. 
 Far off is he, above desire and fear ; 
 No more submitted to the change and chance 
 Of the unsteady planets. 0 ! 't is well 
 With him ! but who knows what the coming hour, 
 ^Tailed in thick darkness, brings for us ? 
 
 This anguish will be wearied down, I know ; — ^ 
 What pang is permanent with man ? From the highest. 
 As fi-om the vilest thing of every day, 
 He learns to wean himself ; for the strong hours 
 Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost 
 In him. The bloom is vanished from my life. 
 For O ! he stood beside me, like my youth, — 
 Transformed for me the real to a dream, 
 Clothing the palpable and the familiar 
 With golden exhalations of the dawn ! 
 Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, 
 The beautiful is vanished, and returns not 
 
 58. PRIULI AND JAFFIER. - - Thomas Otway. 
 fhomas Otway, from whose tragedy of " Venice Preserved the following extract l3 taken, 
 vas born in Sussex, England, in 1651, and died, in a state of almost incredible destitution and 
 wretchedness, in 1685. He was the author of several plays, of which his Venice Preserved" 
 !i the most deservedly celebrated. 
 
 Priuli. No more ! I '11 hear no more ! Begone, and leave ine ^ 
 Jaffifir. Not hear me ! By my sufferings, but you shall ! 
 My Lord, my Lord ' I 'm not that abject wretch 
 You think me. Patience ! where 's the distance throws 
 Me back so far, but I may boldly speak 
 In right, though proud oppression will not hear me^ 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. CTWAT 
 
 pTi. Have you not wronged me • 
 Jaf. Could my nature e'er 
 Have brooked injustice, or the doing wrongs 
 I need not now thus low have bent myself 
 To gain a hearing from a cruel father. 
 Wronged you ? 
 
 Pri. Yes, wronged me i In the nicest pointt 
 The honor of my house, you 've done me wrong. 
 You may remember (for I now will speak, 
 And urge its baseness), when you first came home 
 From travel, with such hopes as made you looked 'oo, 
 By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation, 
 Plea,sed with your growing virtue, I received you, 
 Courted, and sought ^o raise you to your merits : 
 My house, my table, nay, mv fortune, too, 
 My very self, was yours : — you might have used m® 
 To your best service. Like an open friend, 
 I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine, 
 When, in requital of my best endeavors. 
 You treacherously practised to undo me : 
 Seduced the weakness of my age's darlmg, 
 My only child, and stole her from my bosom. 
 0, Belvidera ! 
 
 Jaf. 'T is to me you owe her : 
 Childless you had been else, and in the grave 
 Your name extinct, — no more Priuli heard of. 
 You may remember, scarce five years are past. 
 Since, in your brigantine, you sailed to see 
 The Adriatic wedded by our Duke ; 
 And I was with you. Your unskilful pilot 
 Dashed us upon a rock, when to your boat 
 You made for safety : entered first yourself: 
 The afii-ighted Belvidera following next, 
 As she stood trembling on the vessel's side, 
 Was, by a wave, washed ofi" into the deep ; 
 When instantly I plunged into the sea, 
 And, bulFeting the billows to her rescue, 
 ^Redeemed her life with half the loss of mine 
 'Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her, 
 And with the other dashed the saucy waves, 
 That thronged and pressed to rob me of my'priza. 
 I brought her, — gave her to your despairing arms : 
 Indeed you thanked me ; but a nobler gratitude 
 Rose m her soul ; for from that hour she loved me. 
 Till for her life she paid me with herself. 
 
 Pn. You stole her from me ! — like a thief you stole 
 At dead of night ! that cursed hour VOU chosui 
 To rifle me of all my heart 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 May all your joys in her prove fake, like mine! 
 A sterile fortune, and a barren bed, 
 Attend you both ! continual discord make 
 Your days and nights bitter and grievous ! still 
 May the hard hand of a vexatious need 
 ' Oppress and grind you ; till, at last, you find 
 The curse of disobedience all your portion ! 
 
 Jaf. Half of your curse you have bestowed in vain ; — * 
 Heaven has already crowned our outcast lot 
 With a young boy, sweet as his mother's beauty. 
 May he live to prove more gentle than his grandsire, 
 And happier than his father ! 
 
 Pri. Rather live 
 To bait thee for his bread, and din your ears 
 With hungry cries ; whilst his unhappy mother 
 Sits down and weeps in bitterness of want ! 
 
 Jaf. You talk as if 't would please you. 
 
 Pri. 'T would, by Heaven ! 
 
 Jaf. Would I were in my grave ! 
 
 Pri. And she, too, with thee ! 
 For, living here, you 're but my cursed remembrancen 
 I was once happy ! 
 
 Jaf You use me thus, because you know my soul 
 Is fond of Belvidera. You perceive 
 My life feeds on her, therefore thus you treat me. 
 Were I that thief, the doer of such wrongs 
 As you upbraid me with, what hinders me 
 But I might send her back to you with contumely, 
 And court my fortune where she would be kinder ? 
 
 Pri. You dare not do 't ! 
 
 Jaf Indeed, my Lord, I dare not. 
 My heart, that awes me, is too much my master. 
 Three years are past, since first our vows wei'e plighted 
 During which time, the world must bear me witness, 
 I Ve treated Belvidera as your daughter, — 
 The daughter of a Senator of Yenice ; — 
 Distinction, place, attendance, and observance, 
 Due to her birth, she always has commanded. 
 Out of my little fortune I 've done this ; 
 Because (though hopeless e'er to win your nature^ 
 The world might see I loved her for hersoif, 
 Not as the heiress of the great Priuli. 
 
 Pri. No more ! 
 
 Jaf Yes, all, and then adieu forever. 
 There 's not a wretch that lives on common charity 
 But 's happier than I ; for I have known 
 The luscious sweets of plenty ; — every night 
 H»ve slept with soft content about my head, 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. — MATHEWS. 517 
 
 And never waked but to a jojful morning ; 
 
 Yet now must, fall, like a full ear of corn, 
 
 Wliosc blossom 'scaped, jet 's withered in the ripening ' 
 
 Pri. Home, and be humble ! Study to retrench ; 
 Discharge the lazj vermin in thy hall, 
 Those pageants of thy folly ; 
 Reduce the glittering trappings of thy wife 
 To humble weeds, fit for thy little state ; 
 Then to some suburb cottage both retire j 
 Drudge to feed loathsome life ! Hence, hence, and stair© 
 Home, home, I say ! 
 
 39. NOTHING IN IT. — Charles Mathews. 
 
 Jeech. But you don't laugh, Coldstream ! Come, man, be amused, 
 for once in your life ! — you don't laugh. 
 
 Sir Charles. 0, yes, I do. You mistake; I laughed twice, dis- 
 tinctly, ~ only, the fact is, I am bored to death ! 
 
 Leech Bored ? What ! after such a feast as that you have given 
 us ? Look at me, — I 'm inspired ! I 'm a King at this moment, and 
 all the world is at my feet ! 
 
 Sir C. My dear Leech, you began life late. You are a young 
 fellow, — forty-five, — and have the world yet before you. I started 
 at thirteen, lived quick, and exhausted the whole round of pleasure 
 before I was thirty. I 've tried everything, heard everything, done 
 everything, know everything ; and here I am, a man of thirty-three, 
 literally used up — completely blase ! 
 
 ^ Leech. Nonsense, man ! — used up, indeed ! — with your wealth, 
 with your twenty estates in the sunniest spots in England, — not to 
 mention that Utopia, within four walls, in the Rue de ProvsTice, in 
 Paris. 
 
 Sir C. I 'm dead with ennui ! 
 
 Leech. Ennui ! poor Croesus ! 
 ^ Sir C. ^ Croesus ! — no, I 'm no Croesus ! My father, — you Ve seen 
 his portrait, good old fellow ! — he certainly did leave me a little mat- 
 ter of twelve thousand pounds a year ; but, after all — 
 
 Leech. 0, come ! • — 
 
 Sir C. 0, I don't complain of it. 
 
 Leech. I should think not. 
 
 Sir C. 0, no ; there are some people who can manage to do » 
 less, — on credit. 
 
 Leech. I know several. My dear Coldstream, you should try 
 ehange of scene. 
 
 Sir C, I have tried it ; — what 's the use ? 
 
 Leech. But I 'd gallop all over Europe. 
 
 Sir C. I have ; — there 's nothing in it. 
 
 T^ech. Nothing in all Europe ? 
 
 Sir C. Nothing ! — 0, dear, yes ! I remember, at one time, I dkl, 
 somehow, gro about a good daal. 
 
618 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Leech. You should go to Switzerland. 
 
 Sir C. I ha^ e been. — Nothing there, — people say sc nuch about 
 everything. There certainly were a few glaciers, some monks, and 
 large dogs, and thick ankles, and bad wine, and Mont Blano ; yes, and 
 there was ice on the top, too ; but I prefer the ice at Gunter's, — less 
 fcrouble, and more in it. 
 
 Leech. Then, if Switzerland would n't do, I 'd try Italy. 
 
 Sir C. My dear Leech, I 've tried it over and over again, — an4 
 s^liat then ? 
 
 Leech. Did not Rome inspire you ? 
 
 Sir C. 0, believe me, Tom, a most horrible hole ! People talk sc 
 much about these things. There 's the Coloseum, now ; — round, very 
 round, — a goodish ruin enough ; but I was disappointed with it. Capi« 
 fcol, — tolerable high ; and St. Peter's, — marble, and mosaics, and foun- 
 tains, — dome ceytainly not badly scooped; but there was nothing 
 in it. 
 
 Leech. Come, Coldstream, you must admit we have nothing like 
 St. Peter's in London. 
 
 Sir C. No, because we don't want it ; but, if we wanted such a 
 thing, of course we should have it. A dozen gentlemen meet, pass 
 resolutions, institute, and in twelve months it would be run up ; nay, 
 if that were all, we 'd buy St. Peter's itself, and have it sent over. 
 
 Leech. Ha, ha ! well said, — you 're quite right. What say you to 
 beautiful Naples ? 
 
 Sir C. Not bad, — excellent water-melons, and goodish opera; 
 they took me up Vesuvius, — a horrid bore ! It smoked a good deal, 
 certainly, but altogether a wretched mountain ; — saw the crater — 
 looked down, but there was nothing in it. 
 
 Leech. But the bay ? 
 
 Sir C. Inferior to Dublin ! 
 
 Leech. The Campagna? 
 
 Sir C. A swamp ! 
 
 Leech. Greece ? 
 
 Sir C. A morass ! 
 
 Leech. Athens ? 
 
 Sir C. A bad Edinburgh ! 
 
 Leech. Egypt ? 
 
 Sir C. A desert I 
 
 Leech. The Pyramids? 
 
 Sir C. Humbugs ! — nothing in any of them ! You bore me. ht 
 it possible that you cannot invent something that would make my 
 blood boil in my veins, — my hair stand on end, — my heart beat, — my 
 pulse rise ; — that would produce an excitement — an em )tion — a oenr- 
 BatioE — a palpitation — but, no ! — 
 
 Leech. I 've an idea ! 
 
 Sir C. You « What is it » 
 
 Lfiech. Marry ' 
 
EHETOBlC^ii A.:TD DRAlViAriC. - - COYNE. 
 
 Sir C, Hum ! — well, not bad. There 's novelty about the notion 
 It never did strike me to — 0, but, no : I should be borod with ^.h* 
 axertion of choosing. If a wife, now, could be had like a dinner — for 
 ordering. 
 
 Leech. She can, by you. Take the first woman that comes : on my 
 life, she '11 not refuse twelve thousand pounds a year. 
 
 Sir C. Come, I don't dislike the project ; I almost feel something 
 like a sensation coming. I have n't felt so excited for some time ; it 'a 
 a novel enjoyment — a surprise ! I '11 try it. 
 
 40. MOSES AT THE FAIR. — S. Coyne. 
 
 Jenkinson, having thrown aside liis disguise as a quack doctor, enters with a box under his 
 arm, encounters Moses, and sets down his box. 
 
 Jenkinson. A wonderful man ! A wonderful man ! 
 
 Moses. Ah, a patient of that impudent quack doctor. 
 
 Jen. Quack doctor, Sir ? Would there were more such ! One 
 draught of his aqua soliginus has cured me of a sweating sickness, that 
 was on me now these six years ; and carried a large imposthume off 
 my throat, that scarce let me eat, drink or sleep, except in an upright 
 
 posture, and now it has gone as clean, saving your presence, as 
 
 [picks his pocket] — that, Sir ! 0, a wonderful man I came here, 
 afc full length, in a cart ; but I shall ride back as upright as a gate-post, 
 if I can but come by a horse. 
 
 Ifoses [aside]. A customer for the colt; he seems a simple fellow. 
 I have a horse to sell, Sir. 
 
 Jen. 0 ! I warrant me you are one of those cozening horse-jockeys 
 that take in poor honest folk. I know no more of horses than you do 
 of Greek. 
 
 Moses. Nay — [aside] — but I must appear simple.— I assure you. 
 Sir, that you need not fear being cozened by me. I have a good 
 stout colt for sale, that has been worked in the plough these two years 
 you can but step aside and look at him. 
 
 Jen. Well, as for that, I don't care if I do; but, bless me ! I was 
 forgettmg my wares. ^2Ues up his box. 
 
 Mo^^^ What have you there ? 
 
 JeTm^mysteriousJy]. Ah ! that 's a secret. They 're my wares. 
 There s a good twelve pounds' worth under the lid of that box. But 
 you '11 not talk about it, or I might be robbed ; iu. fair 's full of 
 rogues ; perhaps you 're one of 'em,— you look mighty sharp ! 
 
 Moses. Nay, my good man, I am as honest as thyself; [as^de^ - 
 though perhaps not quite such a simpleton ! 
 
 Jen. Well, I don't care if I do look at thy horse; [aside] 
 and you may say good-by to him. — But you 're sure he 's quiet \l 
 ride and drive ? " n 
 
 . Moses. I 've driven him myself, and I am not one that driveth %ri. 
 ously,- and you may believe he 's quiet to ride, when I tell you He 's 
 earned my mother, an old lady, and never thrown her. [Ande.] It 's 
 
THE STANUAKO speaker. 
 
 true, she tumbled off once ; but tbat was her fault, and not th« 
 colt's. 
 
 Jen. Then, I don't care if I say a bargain. How much is it to be \ 
 I don't like paying more than ten guineas. 
 
 Moses [aside]. He 's not worth half the money! You shall name 
 your o\^n price ; [aside] — and then nobody can say T chea+^^d him, 
 
 Jen. What say you to nine guineas, and the odd half-guinea for 
 saddle and bridle ? 
 
 Moses. Nay, I would not drive a hard bargain, — I 'm content. 
 
 Jen. Stop a bit, and I '11 give the money. [Pretends to search his 
 fochets.] Eh ? — O, nay, 't is t' other pocket ; no, 0 ! I 'm a ruined 
 man ! — I be robbed — thieves ! I be robbed — 
 
 Moses. Robbed ? This comes of carrying money. " Cantabit vacuua 
 coram latrone viator," as Juvenal says. But I will lend thee enough 
 to take thee home again. [ Going to put his hand i?ito his pocket. 
 
 Jen. [prevents him]. Nay, good young man, I have friends enow 
 in this place who will do that for me. It is the loss of the horse that 
 vexes me. Hold ! — perhaps, though I can no longer buy, you may 
 be willing to make a barter? 
 
 Moses. Why, the practice of barter was much used among the 
 ancients; and, indeed, the Lacedemonians had no coined money until 
 after the time of Lycurgus, as you are aware. 
 
 Jen. No — I can't say I know the family. But will you exchange 
 your horse against my wares ? There 's a good twelve pounds' worth 
 of 'em. 
 
 Moses. What are they ? Deprome — that is, bring them forth. 
 Jen. [opens his box], A. gross of green spectacles, fine pebbles and 
 silver rims. [2hking a pair out of case. 
 
 Moses. A gross of green spectacles. [Taking a pair. 
 
 Jen. A dozen dozen. 
 
 Moses. Let's see ; [aside, calculates] — twelve times twelve is - 
 and twenty-one 's into ~ go — yes, a capital bargain ! — I accept : you 
 take the colt, and I '11 take the spectacles. [ Offering to take the box. 
 
 Jen. Nay, nay ! 1 '11 give you the box when you 've given me the 
 colt ; — so, come ! 
 
 Moses. A gross of green spectacles! Huzza! [Aside.] I '11 retail 
 them for twice the money. " Nocte pluit tota redeunt spectacula 
 mane " — " There come back spectacles many." Ha, ha ! the silly fel- 
 low ! Well, it 's not my fault, he will cheat himself, — ha, ha ! 0, 
 MoseH is a simpleton, is he ? Moses can't make a bargain, can't he ) 
 ^ [Exit. 
 
 Jen. Of all the green spectacles I ever sold, I must say you 're th« 
 giecnest. ^ 
 
 41 VAN DEN BOSCII AND VAN ARTEVELDE. ~H*jnry Taj/^or. 
 
 Artevelde. This is a mighty matter, Van den Bosch, 
 A.nd nmch to be revolved ere it be answered. 
 
 Van den Hosch. The people shall eW t thee with one voioe 
 
RHETORICAL AND DflAMATIC. — 1A7L0B. 
 
 1 will insure the White-Hoods, and the rest 
 
 Will eagerly accept thy nomination, 
 
 So to be rid. of some that they like less. 
 
 Thy name is honored both of rich and poor ; 
 
 For all are mindful of the glorious rule 
 
 Thy father bore, when Flanders, prosperous then, 
 
 From end to end obeyed him as one town. 
 
 Art. They may remember it ; and, Van den IJosch, 
 May I not, too, bethink me of the end 
 To which this People brought my noble father ^ 
 They gorged the fruits of his good husbandry 
 Till, drunk with long prosperity, and blind 
 With too much fatness, they tore up the root 
 From which their common weal had sprung and flourish^ 
 
 Van den B. Nay, Master Philip, let the past be past. 
 
 Art. Here, on the doorstead of my father's house, 
 The blood of his they spilt is seen no more. 
 But when 1 was a child I saw it there ; 
 For so long as my widow-mother lived 
 Water came never near the sanguine stain. 
 She loved to show it me ; and then, with awe, 
 But hoarding still the purpose of revenge, 
 I heard the tale ; which, like a daily prayer 
 Repeated, to a rooted feeling grew, — 
 How long he fought ; how falsely came like friends 
 The villains Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette ; 
 All the base murder of the one by many ! 
 Even such a brutal multitude as they 
 Who slew my father ; yea, who slew their own 
 (For like one had he ruled the parricides). 
 Even such a multitude thou 'dst have me govern. 
 
 Van den B. Why, what if Jacques Artevolde was kiilei 
 He had his reign, and that for many a year, 
 And a great glory did he gain thereby. 
 And as for Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, 
 Their breath is in their nostrils as was his. 
 If you be as stout-hearted as your father, 
 And mindful of the villanous trick they played him, 
 Their hour of reckoning is well-nigh come. 
 Of that, and of this base, false-hearted league 
 They 're making with the earl, these two to us 
 Shall give account. 
 
 Art. They cannot render back 
 The golden bowl that 's broken at the fountain, 
 Or mend the wheel that 's broken at the cistern 
 Or twist again the silver cord that 's loosed. 
 Yea, life for life, vile bankrupts as they are, 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 
 
 Their wortbless lives, for liis of countless price, — 
 is their whole wherewithal to pay their debt. 
 Yet, retribution is a goodly thing, 
 And it were ^ 9II to wring the payment fron) them 
 Even to the utmost drop of their heart's biood ! 
 
 Van den B. Then will I call the People to the squara, 
 And speak for your election. 
 
 Art. Not so fast. 
 Your vessel, Van den Bosch, hath felt the storm " 
 She rolls dismasted in an ugly swell, 
 And you would make a jury-mast of me. 
 Whereon to spread the tatters of your canvas. 
 And what am I ? Why, I am as the oak 
 W^hich stood apart, far down the vale of life, 
 Growing retired, beneath a quiet sky. 
 Wherefore should this be added to the wreck ? 
 
 Van den B. I pray you, speak it in the Burgher's tongue 
 I lack the scholarship to talk in tropes. 
 
 Art. The question, to be plain, is briefly this : — 
 Shall I, who, chary of tranquillity. 
 Not busy in this factious city's broils, 
 Nor frequent in the market-place, eschewed 
 The even battle, — shall I join the rout ? 
 
 Van den B. Times are sore changed, I see ; there 's none in G ami 
 That answers to the name of Artevelde. 
 Thy father did not carp nor question thus. 
 When Ghent invoked his aid. The days have been 
 When not a citizen drew breath in Ghent 
 But freely would have died in Freedom's cause. 
 
 Art. The cause, I grant thee, Van den Bosch, is good ; . 
 And, were I linked to earth no otherwise 
 But that my whole heart centred in myself, 
 I could have tossed you this poor life to play with, 
 Taking no second thought. But as things are, 
 I will revolve the matter warily, 
 And send thee word betimes of my conclusion. 
 
 Van denB. Betimes it must be, for the White-IIood chieft 
 Meet two hours hence ; and ere we separate 
 Our course must be determined. 
 
 Art. In two hours, 
 Lf 1 be for you, I will send this ring 
 [n token I haA'e so resolved. Farewell ' 
 
 Van den B. Philip Van Artevelde, a greater man 
 Than ever Ghent beheld, we '11 make of thee, 
 If thou be bold enough to try this venture. 
 GoJ ^ve thee heart 0 do so ! Fare thee well 
 
 [Exit Van den Bosch.] 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC- - ALLINGHAM. O'lt 
 
 Art. [af^pr a long pause]. Is it vain glory that thus whigj>ers me 
 rhat 't is ignoble to have led my life 
 In idle meditations ? — that the times 
 Demand me, that they call my father's name ? 
 0, what a fiery heart was his ! such souls, 
 Whose sudden visitations daze the world. 
 Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind 
 A voice that in the distance far away 
 Wakens the slumbering ages. O, my father ! 
 Thy life is eloquent, and more persuades 
 Unto dominion than thy death deters ! 
 
 42 THE WEATHERCOCK. -X T.^/Zm^-Aam. 
 
 Old Fickle. What reputation, what honor, what profit can accrue 
 to you from such conduct as yours ? One moment you tell me you 
 are going to become the greatest musician in the world, and straight 
 you fill my house with fiddlers. 
 
 Tristram Fickle. I am clear out of that scrape now, Sir. 
 
 Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are metamorphosed into a philos- 
 opher ; and, for the noise of drums, trumpets and hautboys, you sub- 
 stitute a vile* jargon, more unintelligible than was ever heard at the 
 tower of Babel. 
 
 Trl You are right. Sir. I have found out that philosophy is folly; 
 so I have cut the philosophers of all sects, from Plato and Aristotle 
 down to the puzzlers of modern date. 
 
 Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper, the other day, for bar- 
 relling you up in a large tub, when you resolved to live like Diogenes ? 
 
 Tri. You should not have paid him anything. Sir ; for the tub 
 would not hold. You see the contents are run out. 
 
 Old F. No jesting. Sir ! this is no laughing matter. Your follies 
 have tired me out. I verily believe you have taken the whole round 
 of arts and sciences in a month, and have been of fifty difierent minds 
 in half an hour. 
 
 Tri. And, by that, shown the versatility of my genius. 
 
 Old F. Don't tell me of versatility, Sir ! Let me see a little 
 steadiness. You have nevsr yet been constant to anything but 
 extravagance. 
 
 Tri. Yes, Sir, — one thing more. 
 
 Old F. What is that. Sir ? 
 
 Tri. Afiection for you. However my head may have wandered, 
 my heart has always been constantly attached to the kindest of parents ; 
 ind, from this moment, I am resolved to lay my follies aside, and pur- 
 sue that line of conduct which will be most pleasing to the best of 
 fathers and of friends. 
 
 ^ Old F. Well said, my boy, — well said ! You make me happy, 
 indeed ! \Fatting him on the shoulder?^ Now, then, my dear Tri* 
 «ram, let me know what you really mean to do 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Tri. To study the law — 
 Old F. The law ! 
 
 Tri. 1 am most re^lutely bent on following that profession. 
 Old F. N d ! 
 
 Tri. Absolutely and irrevocably fixed. 
 
 Old F. , Better and better ! I am overjoyed. Why, 't is the very 
 tiling I wished. Now I am happy ! [Tristram makes gestures as 
 if speaking.'] See how his mind is engaged ! 
 
 Tri. Gentlemen of the Jury — 
 
 Old F. Why, Tristram ! 
 
 Tri. This is a cause — 
 
 Old F. 0, my dear boy ! I forgive you all your tricks. I see some- 
 thing about you now that I can depend on. [Tristram continmi 
 making gestures.] 
 
 Tri. I am for the plaintiff in this cause — 
 
 Old F. Bravo ! bravo ! Excellent boy ! I '11 go and order your 
 books, directly ! 
 
 Tri. 'T is done, Sir. 
 Old F. What, already ! 
 
 Tri. I ordered twelve square feet of books, when I fii'st thought of 
 embracing the arduous profession of the law. 
 
 Old F. What, do you mean to read by the foot ? 
 
 Tri. By the foot. Sir ; that is the only way to become a solid 
 lawyer. 
 
 Old F. Twelve square feet of learning ! Well — 
 
 Tri. I have likewise sent for a barber — 
 
 Old F. A barber ! Wiiat, is he to teach you to shave close ? 
 
 Tri. He is to shave one-half of my head. Sir. 
 
 Old F. You will excuse me if I cannot perfectly understand what 
 tliat has to do with the study of the law. 
 
 Tri. Did you never hear of Demosthenes, Sir, the Athenian ora- 
 tor? He had half his head shaved, and locked himself up in a coal- 
 cellar. 
 
 Old F. Ah^ he was perfectly right to lock himself up, after having 
 undergone such an operation as that. He certainly would have made 
 rather an odd figure abroad. 
 
 Tri. I think I see him now, awaking the dormant patriotism of his 
 countrymen, — lightning in his eye, and thunder in his voice ; he 
 pours forth a torrent of eloquence, resistless in its force ; the throne 
 of Philip trembles while he speaks ; he denounces, and indignation 
 ftlls the bosom of his hearers ; he exposes the impending danger, and 
 every one sees impending ruin ; he threatens the tyrant, — they grasp 
 their swords ■ he calls for vengeance, — their thu'sty weapons glitter in 
 iho air, and thousands reverberate the cry ! One soul animates a 
 nation, and that sou l is the soul of the orator ! 
 
 Old F. 0, what i figure he will make on the King's Bench ! But. 
 »m« 1 will tell you now what ray plan is, and then you will see hss^ 
 
BHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 
 
 o25 
 
 happLy tais determination of yours will further it. You have ^TrU' 
 tram makes extravagant gestures, as if speaking] often heard ma 
 speak of my friend Briefwit, the barrister — 
 
 Trz. Who is against m.e in this cause — 
 
 Old F. He is a most learned lawyer — 
 
 Tri. But, as I have justice on my side — 
 
 Old F. Zounds ! he does n't hear a word I say ! Why, Tristram 
 Tri. I beg your pardon, Sir ; I was prosecuting my studies. , 
 Old F. Now, attend — 
 
 Ti i. As my learned friend observes — Go on, Sir ; I am all 
 attention. 
 
 Old F. Well, my friend the counsellor — 
 
 Tri. Say learned friend, if you please. Sir. We gentlemen of the 
 law always ~ 
 
 Old F. Well, well, — my learned friend — 
 Tri. A black patch ! 
 Old F. Will you listen, and be silent ? 
 Tri. I am as mute as a judge. 
 
 Old F. My friend, I say, has a ward who is very handsome, and 
 who has a very handsome fortune. She would make you a charming 
 wife. 
 
 Tri. This is an action — 
 
 Old F. Now, I have hitherto been afraid to introduce you to my 
 friend, the barrister, because I thought your lightness and his gravity — 
 Tri. Might be plaintiff and defendant. 
 
 Old F. But now you are grown serious and steady, and have 
 resolved to pursue his profession, I will shortly bring you together ; 
 you will obtain his good opinion, and all the rest follows, of course. 
 
 Tri. A verdict in ray favor. 
 
 Old F. You marry and sit down, happy for life, 
 
 Tri. In the King's Bench. 
 
 Old F. Bravo! Ha, ha, ha! But now run to. your study — run 
 to your study, my dear Tristram, and I '11 go and call upon the coun- 
 seller. 
 
 Tj'i. I remove by habeas corpus. 
 
 Old F. Pray have the goodness to make ha^te, then. [Hurrying 
 him q/f.] 
 
 Tri. Gentlemen of the Jury, this is a cause — \Exi^.] 
 Old F. The inimitable boy ! I am now the happiest father living 
 What genius he has ! He '11 be lord chancellor, one day or other, a 
 dare be sworn. I am sure he has talents ! 0, how I long to see him 
 ftt the bar ! 
 
 43. SALADIN, MAIEK ADKEL, ATTENDANT. —New Mof :hly Magaztru. 
 
 Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your highness 
 Saladin. Whence comes he ? 
 Atten. That I know not. 
 
626 
 
 THE STANDARD SPHiAKEB 
 
 linveloped with a vestment of strange form, 
 His countenance is hidden ; but his step, 
 His loitj port, his voice in vain disguised, 
 Proclaim — if that I dare pronounce it — 
 Sal Whom? 
 
 At ten. ;Thy royal brother ' 
 Sal. Bring him instantly. [Exit Attendant.] 
 Now, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue, 
 Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks 
 To dissipate my anger. He shall die ! 
 
 [Enter Attendant and Malek AdJiel? 
 Leave us together. [Exit Attendant.'] [Aside.] I should know tiu2 
 form. 
 
 Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul. 
 Nor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty ! 
 [Aloud.] Well, stranger, speak ; but first unveil thyself, 
 For Saladin must view the form that fronts him. 
 
 Malek Adhel. Behold it, then ! 
 
 Sal. I see a traitor's visage. 
 
 Mai. Ad. A brother's ! 
 
 Sal. No ! 
 
 Saladin owns no kindred with a villain. 
 
 Mai. Ad. 0, patience, Heaven ! Had any tongue but thine 
 Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak another. 
 
 Sal. And why not now ? Can this heart be more pierced 
 By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds ? 
 0, thou hast made a desert of this bosom ! 
 For open candor, planted sly disguise ; 
 For confidence, suspicion ; and the glow 
 Of generous friendship, tenderness and love, 
 Forever banished ! Whither can I turn, 
 When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith, 
 By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me ? 
 Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls ? 
 Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love : 
 The smiles of friendship, and this glorious world, 
 In which all find some heart to rest upon, 
 Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void, — 
 HLs brother has betrayed him ! 
 
 Mai. Ad. Thou art softened ; 
 r am thy brother, then ; but late thou saidst- 
 My ton^-ue can never utter t*he base i.itle ! 
 
 Sal. \\^as it traitor ? True ! 
 Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes ! 
 Villain ? 'T is just ; the title is appropriate 
 Dissembler ? 'T is not written in thy face \ 
 No, nor imprinted on that specious brow : 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 
 
 527 
 
 Bat on this bieaking heart the name is stamped, 
 
 Forever stamped, with that of Malek Adhel I 
 
 Thinkest thou I 'm softened ? By Mohammed ! these nands 
 
 Should crush these aching eyeballs, ere a tear 
 
 Fall from them at thy fate ! O, monster, monster . 
 
 The brute that tears the infant from its nurse 
 
 Is excellent to thee, for in his form 
 
 The impulse of his nature may be read ; 
 
 But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble, 
 
 0, what a wretch art thou ! 0 ! can a term 
 
 in all the various tongues of man be found 
 
 Co match thy infamy ? 
 Mai. Ad. Go on ! TO on ! 
 
 T is but a little while fo hear thee, Saladin ; 
 
 knd, bursting at thy fett, this heart will prove 
 
 its penitence, at least. 
 
 Sal. Thai were an end 
 1^00 noble for a tiaitor ! The bowstring is 
 A more appropriate finish ! Thou shalt die ! 
 
 Mai. Ad. And ueath were welcome at another's mandate 
 What, what have 1 to live for ? Be it so, 
 If that, in all thy armies, c^r^ be found 
 An executing hand. 
 
 Sal. 0, doubt it not 1 
 They 're eager for the office. Peiiidy, 
 So black as thine, effaces Ironi their tiiinds 
 All memory of thy former excellence. 
 
 Mai. Ad. Defer not, then, their wishes. Saladin, 
 If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight, 
 This voice seemed grateful to thine ear, acoedc 
 To my last prayer : — 0, lengthen not this seen*. 
 To which the agonies of death were pleasing I 
 Let me die speedily ! 
 
 Sal. This very hour ! 
 [Aside.] For, 0 ! the more I look upon that tacc> 
 The more I bear the accents of that voice. 
 The monarch softens, and the judge is lost 
 
 In all the brother's weakness ; yet such guilt, 
 
 Such vile ingratitude, — it calls for vengeance ; 
 And vengeance it shall have ! What, ho ! who waits tnett, ^ 
 
 [Enter jxttenaaTU 
 
 Attsn. Did your highness call ? 
 
 Sal. Assemble quickly 
 My forces in the court. Tell them they come 
 To view the death of yonder bosom-traitor. 
 And, bid them mark, that he who will not spare 
 His brother when he errs, expects obedience. 
 Silent obedience from his followers. [Exit Attendant ] 
 
THE STANDAilD SPEAKKK. 
 
 Mai. Ad Now. Saladin, 
 The word is given , I have nothing more 
 To fear from thee, my brother. I am not 
 About to crave a miserable life. 
 Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem, 
 Life were a burden to me. Think not, either, 
 The justice of thy sentence I would question. 
 But one request now trembles on my tongue, — 
 One wish still clinging round the heart, which soon 
 Not even that shall torture, — will it, then, 
 Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter, 
 Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect, 
 That when thy voice had doomed a brother'' death, 
 The last request which e'er was his to utte^ 
 Thy harshness made him carry to the gra e ? 
 
 Sal. Speak, then ; but ask thyself if thou hast reasoa 
 To look for much indulgence here. 
 
 Mai. Ad. I have not ! 
 Yet will I ask for it. We part forever ; 
 This is our last farewell ; the king is satisfied ; 
 The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence. 
 None sees, none hears, save that omniscient power, . 
 Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon 
 Two brothers part like such. When, in the face 
 Of forces once my own, I 'm led to death, ^ 
 Then be thine eye unmoistened ; let thy voice 
 Then speak my doom untrcmbling ; then. 
 Unmoved, behold this stilf and blackened corse. 
 But now I ask — nay, turn not, Saladin ! — 
 I ask one single pressure of thy hand ; 
 From that stern eye one solitary tear — 
 O, torturing recollection I — one kind word 
 
 From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but kindneM 
 
 Still silent ? Brother ! friend ! beloved companion 
 
 Of all my youthful sports ! — are they forgotten ? — 
 
 Strike me with deafness, make me blind, 0 Heaven ! 
 
 Let me not see this unforgiving man 
 
 Smile at my agonies ! nor hear that voice 
 
 Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word 
 
 One little word, whose cherished memory ^ 
 
 Would soothe the struggles of departing life ! 
 
 Yet, yet thou wilt ! 0, turn thee, Saladin ! 
 
 Look on my face, — thou canst not spurn me then , 
 
 Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel 
 
 For the last time, and call him — 
 
 Sal. [seizing his hand]. Brother ! brother ! 
 
 Mai, Ad. [breaking away]. Now call thy followew. 
 
RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 
 
 Death has not now 
 
 A single pang in store. Proceed ! I 'm ready. 
 
 Sal. 0, art thou ready to forgive, my brother f 
 To pardon him who found one single error. 
 One little failing, 'mid a splendid throng 
 Of glorious qualities — 
 
 Mai. Ad 0, stay thee, Saladin ! 
 I did not ask for life. I only wished 
 To carry thy forgiveness to tne grave. 
 No, Emperor, the loss of Cesarea 
 Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel. 
 Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost 
 What cost them many a weary hour to gain 
 Should expiate his ofiences with his life. 
 Lo ! even now they crowd to view my death, 
 Thy just impartiality. I go ! 
 Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf 
 To thy proud wreath of glory. [Going.'] 
 Sal. Thou shalt not. [Ejitei^ Attendant.} 
 Atten. My lord, the troops assembled by your order 
 Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death 
 Not one of them but vows he will, not su.fier. 
 The mutes have fled ; the very guards rebel. 
 Nor think I, in this city's spacious round. 
 Can e'er be found a hand to do the office. 
 Mai. Ad. 0, fliithftil friends ! [To Atten.] Thine shall 
 Atten. Mine ? Never ! 
 The other first shall lop it from the body. 
 
 Sal. They teach the Emperor his duty well. 
 Tell them he thanks them for it. Tell them, too, 
 That ere their opposition reached our ears, 
 Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel. 
 
 Atten. 0 joyful news ! 
 I haste to gladden many a gallant heart. 
 And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek. 
 Unused to such a visiter. [Exit.^ 
 
 Sal. These men, the meanest in society, 
 The outcasts of the earth, — by war, by nature. 
 Hardened, and rendered callous, — these, who claim 
 No kindred with thee, — who have never heard 
 Tha accents of affection from thy lips, — 
 
 0, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance, 
 Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives, 
 To save thee from destruction ! While I, 
 
 1, who cannot, in all my m emory, 
 
 Call back one danger which thou hast not shared 
 One day of grief, one night of revelry. 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed, 
 
 Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter, — 
 
 I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field, 
 
 When death seemed certain, only uttered — " Brother ! " 
 
 And seen that form Lite lightning rush between 
 
 SaJadin and his foes, and that brave breast 
 
 Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow 
 
 Intended for my own, — I could forget 
 
 That 't was to thee I owed the very breath 
 
 Which sentenced thee to perish ! 0, 't is shamefiil ! 
 
 Thou canst not pardon me ! 
 
 Mai. Ad. By these tears, I can ! 
 0, brother ! from this very hour, a new, 
 A glorious life commences ! I am all thine ! 
 Again the day of gladness or of anguish 
 Shall Malek Adhel share ; and oft again 
 May this sword lence thee in the bloody field. 
 Henceforth, Saladin, 
 
 My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine forever ! 
 
 44. DAMON TO THE SYRACUSANS. — /oAn BoniJW. 
 
 Are all content ? 
 
 A nation's rights betrayed, and all content ? 
 
 What ! with your own free willing hands yield up 
 
 The ancient fabric of your constitution, 
 
 To be a garrison for common cut-throats I 
 
 What ! will ye all combine to tie a stone, 
 
 Each to each other's neck, and drown like dogs ? 
 
 Are you so bound in fetters of the mind 
 
 That there you sit, as if you were yo^rselves 
 
 Incorporate with the marble ? Syracusans ! — 
 
 But no ! I will not rail, nor chide, nor curse you ! 
 
 I will implore you, fellow-countrymen, 
 
 With blinded eyes, and weak and broken speech, 
 
 I will implore you — 0 ! I am weak in words, 
 
 But I could bring such advocates before you ! 
 
 Your fathers' sacred images ; old men. 
 
 That have been grandsires ; women with their childreD 
 
 Caught up in fear and hurry, in their arms ; — 
 
 And those old men should lift their shivering voices 
 
 And palsied hands, and those affrighted mothers 
 
 Should hold their innocent infants forth, and ask, 
 
 Can you make slaves of them f 
 
PART NINTH. 
 
 COMIC AND SATIRICAL. 
 
 . 9PEEU SERGEANT BUZFUZ IN THE CASE OP BARBELL AQAIN^ 
 
 i'iOiiVMCK. — Charles Dickens. 
 
 ^^^"^^ ^^^"^ learned friend, Gentlemen of the Jury, that 
 ihis is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in which the 
 damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. The plaintiff, Gentlemen, 
 IS a wiaow ; yes, Gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, some time 
 before his death, became the father, Gentlemen, of a little boy. With 
 this little boy, the only pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bar- 
 dell shrunk from the world, and courted the retirement and tranquil- 
 hty of Goswell-street ; and here she placed in her front parlor-window 
 a written placard, bearing this inscription, — " Apartments furnished 
 lor a single gentleman. Inquire within." Mrs. Bardell's opinions 
 of the opposite sex, Gentlemen, were derived from a iono- contempja- 
 tion of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. 8he had no 
 fear, — she had no distrust, — all was confidence and reliance. " Mr. 
 Bardell," said the widow, " was a man of honor, — Mr. Bardell was a 
 man of his word, — Mr. Bardell was no deceiver, — Mr. Bardell was 
 once a single gentleman himself; to single gentlemen I look for 
 protection, for assistance, for comfort, and consolation ; ~ in single 
 gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what 
 Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections ; 
 to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." Actuated by 
 this beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our 
 imperrect nature, Gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her 
 tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal 
 bosom and put the bill up in her parlor-window. Bid it remain 
 there long ? No. The serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, 
 the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner was at work ! Before 
 the bill had been in the parlor-window three days, — three days, 
 bcntlemen — a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the out- 
 ^"^^ 0^ ^ monster, knocked at the dooi 
 
 of Mrs. Bardell's house ! He inquired within ; he took the lodginoy 
 and on the very next day he entered into possession of them. Thii 
 man was I'lckwick, — Pickwick, the defendant ! 
 ^ Of this man I will say little. The subject presents but few attrao- 
 wons; an.A I, Gentlemen, am not the man, nor are jou, Gentlemei;, 
 
532 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting hoartlessness, 
 and of systematic v^illany. I say systematic villany, Gentlemen • and 
 when I say systematic villany, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick, if 
 ne be in Court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more 
 decent in him, more becoming, if he had stopped away. Let me tell 
 him, further, that a counsel, in his discharge of his duty, is neither to 
 be intimidated, nor bullied, nor put down ; and that any attempt to do 
 either the one or the other will recoil on the head of the attempter, bo 
 he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or 
 Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson. 
 
 I shall show you. Gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick continued 
 to reside constantly, and without interruption or intermission, at Mrs 
 Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the 
 whole of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked 
 his meals, looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went 
 abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it for wear when it came home; 
 and, in short, enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show 
 you that, on many occasions, he gave half-pence, and on some occasions 
 even sixpence, to her little boy. I shall prove to you, that on one 
 occasion, when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in 
 terms offered her marriage : previously, however, taking special care 
 that there should be no witnesses to their solemn contract ; and I am 
 in a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own 
 friends, — most unwilling witnesses. Gentlemen, — most unwilling wit- 
 nesses, — that on that morning he was discovered by them holding the 
 plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his caresses and 
 endearments. 
 
 And now, Gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have 
 passed between these parties, — letters that must be viewed with a 
 cautious and suspicious eye, — letters that were evidently intended, at 
 the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into 
 whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first : — " Garraway's, 
 twelve o'clock. — Dear Mrs. B. — Chops and Tomato sauce. Yours, 
 Pickwick." Gentlemen, what does this mean ? Chops and Tomato 
 sauce ! Yours, Pickwick ! Chops ! Gracious Heavens ! And Tomato 
 sauce ! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding 
 female to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these? The 
 next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. — " Dear Mra. 
 B., I shall not be at home to-morrow. Slow coach." And then follows 
 this very remarkable expression, — " Don't trouble yourself about the 
 warming-pan." The warming-pan ! Why, Centlemen, who does 
 trouble himself about a warming-pan ? Why is Mrs. Bardell so 
 earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this warming-pan, 
 unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire — a 
 mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a 
 preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully co!itrived by l^ickwick 
 with a view to his contempla' d desertion ? And what does this allu- 
 sion to the slow coach mean ' For aujght I know^ it may be a referonoe 
 
COMIC AND SATIRICAL. MOOU. 
 
 535 
 
 to Pickwick hims(3lf, who has most unquestionably been a criminally 
 slow coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will 
 now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, Gentlemen, 
 as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased by you ! 
 
 J3ut enough of this, Gentlemen. It is difficult to smile with an 
 aching heart. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is 
 no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone indeed. The 
 bill is down ~ but there is no tenant ! Eligible single gentlemen paas 
 and repass — but there is no invitation for them to inquire within, or 
 without ! Air is gloom and silence in the house ; even the voice of 
 the child is hushed ; his inf mt sports are disregarded, when his mother 
 weeps. But Pickwick, Gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer -ji 
 this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell-street, — Pickwick, who has 
 choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward, — Pickwick, who 
 comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato-sauce and warming- 
 pans, — Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery, and 
 gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made ! Damages, Gentlemen, 
 heavy damages, is the only punishment with which you can visit 
 him, — the only recompense you can award to my client ! And for 
 those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a 
 right-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a con- 
 templative Jury of her civilized countrymen ! 
 
 2. THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING. — Thomas Hood. Born, 1798 ; died, 1845. 
 
 How hard, when those who do not wish to lend, thus lose, their books, 
 Are snared by anglers, — folks that fish with literary Hooks, — 
 Who call and take some favorite tome, but never read it through ; — - 
 They thus complete their set at home, by making one at you. 
 
 I, of my " Spenser " quite bereft, last winter sore was shaken ; 
 Of " Lamb " I 've but a quarter left, nor could I save my " Bacon 
 And then I saw my " Crabbe," at last, like Hamlet, backward go ; , 
 And, as the tide was ebbing fast, of course I lost my " Kowe." 
 
 My "Mallet" served to knock me down, which makes me thus a 
 talker ; 
 
 And once, when I was out of town, my " Johnson " proved a " Walker." 
 While studying, o'er the fire, one day, my " Hobbes," amidst the smoke, 
 They bore my " Colman " clean away, and carried off my " Coke. ' 
 
 They picked my " Locke," to me far more than Bramah's patent worth, 
 And now my losses I deplore, without a ^' Home " on earth. 
 If once a book you let them lift, another they conceal, 
 For though I caught them stealing "Swift," as swiftly went mi 
 "Steele" 
 
 * Hope " IS not now upon my shelf, where late he stood elated , 
 But what is strange, my " Pope " himself is excommunicated. 
 v\fy little '* Suckling" in the grave is sunk to swell the ravage; 
 ^.nd what was Crusoe's fate to save, 't was mme to lose, — a " Savageu ' 
 
THE STANLiAKD EIEAKEK. 
 
 Even * Glover's " works I cannot put my frozen hanJs upon ; 
 Though ever since I lost my " Foote,'' my " Bunyan " has been gone 
 My *' Hoyle " with " Cotton " went oppressed ; my " Taylor," too 
 must fail ; 
 
 To save my " Groldsmith " from arrest, in vain T offered " Bayle, ' 
 
 I " Prior " sought, but could not see the " Hood " so late in front ; 
 A.nd when I turned to hunt for " Lee," 0 ! where was my " Leigh 
 Hunt " ? 
 
 L tried to laugh, old care to tickle, yet could not " Tickle " touch ; 
 And then, alack ! I missed my " Mickle," — and surely Mickle 's mueli 
 
 'T is quite enough my griefs to feed, my sorrows to excuse, 
 
 To think I cannot read my " Reid," nor even use my " Hughes; " 
 
 My classics would not quiet lie, a thing so fondly hoped ; 
 
 Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry, my " Livy " has eloped. 
 
 My life is ebbing fast away ; I suffer from these shocks. 
 And though I fixed a lock on " Gray," there's gray upon my locks, 
 I 'm far from " Young," am growing pale, I see my " Butler" fly; 
 And when they ask about my ail, 't is " Burton " I reply. 
 
 They still have made me slight returns, and thus my griefs divide ; 
 For 0 ! they cured me of my " Burns," and eased my " Akenside." 
 But all I think I shall not say, nor let my anger burn, 
 For, as they never found me " Gay," they have not left me " Sterne. 
 
 3 THE MAGPIE AND THE MONKEY. — Friarie. Born, 1760; died, 1791. 
 
 " Dear Madam, I pray," quoth a Magpie, one day, 
 
 To a Monkey, who happened to come in her way, — 
 
 " If you '11 but come with me 
 
 To my snug little home in the trunk of a tree, 
 
 I '11 show you such treasures of art and vertu, 
 
 Such articles, old, mediaeval, and new. 
 
 As a lady of taste and discernment like you 
 
 Will be equally pleased and astonished to view ; — • 
 
 In an oak-tree hard by I have stowed all these rarities ; 
 
 And if you '11 come with me, I '11 soon you show where it is 
 
 The Monkey agreed at once to proceed, 
 
 And, hopping along at the top of her speed. 
 
 To keep up with the g^;iide, who flew by her side, 
 
 As eager to show as the other to see. 
 
 Presently came to the old oak-tree ; 
 
 When, from a hole in its mighty bole, 
 
 In which she had cunningly hidden the whole, 
 
 One by one the Magpie drew. 
 
 And displayed her hoard to the Monkey's view : 
 
 A buckle of brass, some bits of gkss, 
 
 A ribbon dropped by a gypsy lass ; 
 
COMIC AND SATIRICAL. — YRIARTE. 
 
 A. tattered handkerchief edged with lace, 
 
 The haft of a knife, and a tooth-pick lami 
 
 An inch or so of Cordelier's rope, 
 
 A very small cake of Castilian soap, 
 
 And a medal blessed by the holy Pope ; 
 
 Half a cigar, tiie neck of a jar, 
 
 A couple of pegs from a cracked guitar ; 
 
 Beads, buttons and rings, and other odd things, 
 
 And such as my hearers would think me an ass, if l' 
 
 Tried to enumerate fully or classify. 
 
 At la^t, having gone, one by one, through the whole, 
 And carefully packed them again in the hole, 
 Alarmed at the pause, and not without caws, 
 The Magpie looked anxiously down for applause. 
 The monkey, meanwhile, with a shrug and a smile. 
 Having silently eyed the contents of the pile, 
 And found them, in fact, one and all, very vile, 
 Resolved to depart ; and was making a start, 
 When, observing the movement with rage and dismay. 
 The Magpie addressed her, and pressed her to stay : 
 " What, sister, I pray, have you nothing to say, 
 In return for the sight that I 've shown you to-day ? 
 Not a syllable ? — hey ? I 'm surprised ! — well I may, 
 ' That so fine a collection, with nothing to pay. 
 Should be treated in such a contemptuous way. 
 I looked for applause, as a matter of right. 
 And certainly thought that you 'd prove more polite " 
 At length, when the Magpie had ceased to revile, 
 The Monkey replied, with a cynical smile : 
 " Well, Ma'am, since my silence offends you," said she, 
 " I '11 frankly confess that such trifles possess, 
 Though much to your taste, no attraction for me; 
 For though, like yourself, a collector of pelf. 
 Such trash, ere I 'd touch it, might rot on a shelf; 
 And I 'd not, by Saint Jago, out of my way go 
 A moment to pick up so vile a farrago. 
 To the digging of roots, and the prigj^ing of fruits, 
 I strictly confine my industrial pursuits ; 
 And whenever I happen to find or to steal 
 More than will serve for a moderate meal, — 
 For my appetite 's small, and I don't eat a deal, - 
 * In the pouches or craws which hang from my jaws 
 And which I contract or distend at my pleasure, 
 I safely deposit the rest of my treasure. 
 And carry it home, to be eaten at leisure. 
 In sho-t, Ma'am while you collect rubbish and rags. 
 A mass of chiffhnerie not worth possessing, • — 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKla*. 
 
 1 gather for use, and replenish my bags 
 With things that are really a comfort and blessing, 
 A reserve, if I need them, for future subsistence, 
 Adapted to lengthen and sweeten existence." 
 
 The Monkey's reply — for I must, if I 'm able 
 ' Elicit some practical hint from the fable — 
 Suited the MagDie, and suits just as well any 
 Quarterly, monthly, or weekly miscellany, 
 Whose contents exhibit so often a hash. 
 Oddly compounded, of all kinds of trash, 
 That I wonder, whenever I chance to inspect them, 
 How editors have the 'bad taste to select them. 
 
 fHE RICH MAN AND THE POOR. — Translated^ by Dr. Bowring, from the Rt» 
 Stan of Khemnitzer. 
 
 So goes the world ; if wealthy, you may call 
 This friend, that brother, friends and brothers all ; 
 
 Though you are worthless, witless, never mind it ; 
 Fou may have been a stable-boy, — what then ? 
 T is wealth, good Sir, makes honorable men. 
 
 You seek respect, uq doubt, and you will find it. 
 But if you 're poor. Heaven help you ! though your sire 
 
 Had royal blood within him, and though you 
 
 Possessed the intellect of angels, too, 
 'T is all in vain ; — the world will ne'er inquire 
 
 On such a score ; — why should it take the pains ? 
 
 'T is easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. 
 I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever, 
 
 Witty and wise ; — he paid a man a visit, 
 And no one noticed him, and no one ever 
 
 Gave him a welcome. " Strange ! " cried I ; " when rse is it? 
 He walked on this side, then on that, 
 He tried to introduce a social chat ; 
 
 Now here, now there, in vain he tried ; 
 
 Some formally and freezingly replied, 
 And some 
 
 Said, by their silence, " Better stay at homa 
 A rich man burst the door, 
 As Cro3sus rich, I 'm sure 
 He 'sould not pride himself upon his wit ; 
 And as for wisdom, he had none of it ; 
 He had what 's better, — he had wealth, , 
 
 What a confusion ! — all stand up erect ; 
 These crowd around to ask him of his health 
 
 These bow in honest duty and respect ; 
 And these arrange a sofa or a cha'r, 
 And these conduct Wm there. 
 
COMIC AND SAIIRICAL. PIERPONT, 
 
 " Allow me, Sir, the honor ! " — then a bow 
 Down to the earth. Is 't possible to show 
 Meet gratitude for such kind condescension? 
 
 The poor man hung his head^ 
 
 And to himself he said, 
 *' This is, indeed, beyond my comprehension ! " 
 
 Then looking round, 
 
 One friendly face he found, 
 And said, " Pray tell me; why is wealth preferred 
 
 To wisdom ? " — " That 's a silly q-.i€stion, friend 
 Replied the other ; ' ' have you never heard 
 
 A man may lend his store 
 
 Of gold or silver ore, 
 But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend i 
 
 ft. WHITTLING— A YANKEE VOUTRAIT. — Rev. J. Pierpont. 
 
 The Yankee boy, before he 's sent to school, 
 
 Well knows the mysteries of that magic tool, 
 
 The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye 
 
 Turns, while he hears his mother's lullaby ; 
 
 His hoarded cents he gladly gives to get it, 
 
 Then leaves no stone unturned till he can whet it i 
 
 And in the education of the lad 
 
 No little part that implement hath had. 
 
 His pocket-knife to the young whittler brings 
 
 A growing knowledge of material things. 
 
 Projectiles, music, and the sculptor's art, 
 
 His chestnut whistle and his shingle dart, 
 
 His elder pop-gun with its hickory rod, 
 
 Its sharp explosion and rebounding wad, 
 
 His corn-stalk fiddle, and the deeper tone 
 
 That murmurs from his pumpkin-stalk trombone, 
 
 Conspire to teach the boy. To these succeed 
 
 His bow, his arrow of a feathered reed. 
 
 His wind-mill, raised the passing breeze to win, 
 
 His water-wheel, that turns upon a pin ; 
 
 Or, if his father lives upon the shore, 
 
 You '11 see his ship, " beam ends upon the floor," 
 
 Full rigged, with raking masts, and timbers stamik 
 
 And waiting, near the wash-tub, for a launch. 
 
 Thus, by his genius and his jack-knife driven 
 Ere long he '11 solve you any problem given j 
 Make any jim-crack, musical or mute, 
 A plough, a couch, an organ or a flute ; 
 Make you a locomotive or a clock. 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Cut a canal, or build a floating-dock, 
 
 Or lead fortli Beauty from a marble block ; — 
 
 Make anything, in short, for sea or shore, 
 
 From a child's rattle to a seventy-four ; — 
 
 Make it, said I ? — Ay, when he undertakes it. 
 
 He '11 make the thing and the machine that makee ti 
 
 And when the thing is made, — whether it be 
 To move on earth, in air, or on the sea ; 
 Whether on water, o'er the waves to glide, 
 Or, upon land to roll, revolve, or slide ; 
 Whether to whirl or jar, to strike or ring. 
 Whether it be a piston or a spring, 
 Wheel, pulley, tube sonorous, wood or brass, 
 The thing designed shall surely come to pass; 
 For, VI hen his hand 's upon it, you may know 
 That there 's go in it, and he '11 make it go. 
 
 6. CITY MEN IN THE COUNTRY. — OKver Wendell Holme* 
 
 Come back to your mother, ye children, for shame, 
 Who have wandered like truants for riches or fame ! 
 With a smile on her face and a sprig in her cap, 
 She calls you to feast from her bountiful lap. 
 
 Come out from your alleys, your courts, and your Idika, 
 And breathe, like youn^ eagles, the air of our plains ; 
 Take a whiff from our fields, and your excellent wiv«» 
 Will declare it 's all nonsense insuring your lives. 
 
 Come you of the law, who can talk, if you please. 
 Till the man in the moon will allow it 's a cheese, 
 And leave " the old lady that never tells lies " 
 To sleep with her handkerchief over her eyes. 
 
 Ye healers of men, for a moment decline 
 
 Your feats in the rhubarb and ipecac line ; 
 
 While you shut up your turnpike, your neighbors can g|C 
 
 The old roundabout road to the regions below. 
 
 You clerk, on whose ears are a couple of pens. 
 And whose head is an ant-hill of units and tens, 
 Though Plato denies you, we welcome you still 
 As a featherlesa biped, in spite of your quill. 
 
 Poor drudge of the city ! how happy he feels 
 
 With the burrs on his legs and the grass at his heels, 
 
 No dodger behind, his bandannas to share, — 
 
 No constable grumbling, " You must n't walk there ' " 
 
COMIC AND SATIRICAL. 
 
 539 
 
 In yonder green meadow, to Memory dear, 
 
 He slaps a mosquito and brushes a tear ; 
 
 The dew-drops hang round hmi on blossoms and shoots, — 
 
 Ho breathes but one sigh for his youth and his boots. 
 
 There stands the old school -house, hard by the old churck; 
 That tree at its side had the flavor of birch : 
 0, sweet were the days of his juvenile tricks, 
 Though the prairie of youth had so many " big licks !" 
 
 By the side of yon river he weeps and he slumps, 
 The boots fill with water, as if they were pumps ; 
 Till, sated with rapture, he steals to his bed. 
 With a glow in his heart and a cold in his head. 
 
 ^ is past, — he is dreaming, — I see him again ; 
 The ledger retui-ns as by legerdemain ; 
 His neckcloth is damp with an easterly flaw, 
 And he holds in his fingers an omnibus straw. 
 
 He dreams the chill gust is a blossomy gale. 
 That the straw is a rose from his dear native vale , 
 And murmurs, unconscious of space and of time, 
 "A. 1. — Extra super. — Ah, is n't it prime ! " 
 
 0, what are the prizes we perish to win, 
 
 To the first little " shiner " we caught with a piw ! 
 
 No soil upon earth is as dear to our eyes 
 
 As the soil we first stirred in terrestrial pies ! 
 
 Then come from all parties, and parts, to our feast ; 
 Though not at the " Astor," we'll give you, at least, 
 A bite at an apple, a seat on the grass, 
 And the best of old — water — at nothing a glass. 
 
 7. FUSS AT FIRES. — Anonymous. 
 
 It having been announced to me, my young friends, that yon 
 were about forming a fire-company, I have called you loirethei 
 to give you such directions as long experience in a first-qualitj 
 engine company qualifies me to communicate. The moment yoL 
 hear an alarm of fire, scream like a pair of panthers. Run any 
 way, except the right way, — for the furthest way round is the nearest 
 way to the fire. If you happen to run on the top of a wood-pile, so 
 much the better you can then get a good view of the neighborhood. 
 If a light breaks on yom- view, " break " for it immediately ; but be 
 sure you don't jump into a bow window. Keep yelling, all tho time ; 
 and, if you can'^^ make niglit hideous enough yourself, kick all the 
 4ogs you come across, and set them yelling, too ; 't will help amazingly. 
 A brace of cats dragged up sta-irs by the tail would be a " powerful 
 
540 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 
 
 auxiliary." Wten you reach the scene of the fire, do all you can U 
 convert it into a scene of destruction. Tear down all the fences Id 
 the vicinity. If it be a chimney on fire, throw salt down it ; or, if 
 you can't do that, perhaps the best plan would be to jerk ofi" the 
 pump-handle and pound it down. Don't forget to yell, all the while, 
 as it will, have a prodigious elFect in frightening off the fire. The 
 louder the better of course ; and the more ladies in the vicinity, the 
 greater necessity for " doing it brown." Should the roof begin to 
 smoke, get to work in good earnest, and make any man " smoke " that 
 interrupts you. ' If it is summer, and there are fruit-trees in the lot- 
 cut them down, to prevent the fire from roasting the apples. DonU 
 forget to yell ! Should the stable be threatened, carry out the cow- 
 chains. Never mind the horse, — he '11 be alive and kicking ; and if 
 his legs don't do their duty, let them pay for the roast. Ditto as to 
 the hogs ; — let them save their own bacon, or smoke for it. When 
 the roof begins to burn, get a crow-bar and pry away the stone steps' 
 or, if the steps be of wood, procure an axe and chop them up. Next, 
 cut away the wash-boards in the basement story ; and, if that don't 
 stop the flames, let the chair-boards on the first floor share a similar 
 fate. Should the " devouring element " still pursue the " even tenor 
 of its way," you had better ascend to the second story. Pitch out 
 the pitchers, and tumble out the tumblers. Yell all the time ! 
 
 If you find a baby abed, fling it into the second story window of 
 the house across the way ; but let the kitten carefully down in a 
 work-basket. Then draw out the bureau drawers, and empty their 
 contents out of the back window ; telling somebody below to upset 
 tjhe slop-barrel and rain-water hogshead at the same time. Of course, 
 you will attend to the mirror. The further it can be thrown, the 
 more pieces will be made. If anybody objects, smash it over his 
 head. Do not, under any circumstances, drop the tongs down from 
 the second story : the fall might break its legs, and render the poor 
 thing a cripple for life. Set it straddle of your shoulders, and carry 
 it down carefully. Pile the bed-clothes carefully on ■ the floor, and 
 throw the crockery out of the window. By the time you will have 
 a'+oTided to all these things, the fire will certainly be arrested, or the 
 buiiamg be burnt down. In either case, , your services will be nc 
 IcDgcr needed; and, of course, you require no further directions 
 
 8- ONE STORY 'S GOOD TILL ANOTHER IS TOLD. — Charle.s Swain 
 
 There 's a maxim that all should be willing to mind ; 
 
 'T is an old one, a kind one, and true as 't is kind ; 
 
 'T is worthy of notice wherever you roam, 
 
 And no worse for the heart, if remembered at home ! 
 
 If scandal or censure be raised 'gainst a friend; 
 
 Be the last to believe it — the first to defend ' 
 
 Say, to-morrow will come — and then time will unfold 
 
 That " one story good till another is told ! " 
 
COMIC AND SATIRICAL. 
 
 A friend 's like a ship, when, with music and song. 
 The tide of ^ood fortune still speeds him along ; 
 But see him when tempest hath left him a wreck, 
 And an;^- i^nean billow can batter his deck ! 
 Then give me the heart that true sympathy shows, 
 And clings to a messmate, whatever wind blowf^ * 
 And says, — when aspersion, unanswered, grows coldj 
 \^ait ; — " one story 's good till another is told ! " 
 
 9. THE GREAT MUSICAL CRITIC. — Original translation. 
 
 Once on a time, the Nightingale, whose singing 
 
 Had with her praises set the forest ringing, 
 
 Consented at a concert to appear. 
 
 Of course, her friends all flocked to hear, 
 
 And with them many a critic, wide awake 
 
 To pick a flaw, or carp at a mistake ! 
 
 She sang as only nightingales can sing; 
 
 And when she 'd ended, 
 There was a general cry of " Bravo ! splendid ' 
 
 While she, poor thing, 
 Abashed and fluttering, to her nest retreated, 
 Quite terrified to be so warmly greeted. 
 The Turkeys gobbled their delight ; the Geese, 
 
 Who had been known to hiss at many a trial, 
 
 Gave this one no denial : 
 It seemed as if the applause would never cease. 
 
 But, 'mong the critics on the ground, 
 
 An Ass was present, pompous and profound, 
 
 Who said, " My friends, I '11 not dispute the honor, 
 
 That you would do our littli prima donna. 
 
 Although her upper notes are very shrill, 
 
 And she defies all method in her tril'l. 
 
 She has some talent, and, upon the whole, 
 
 With study, may some cleverness attain. 
 
 Then, her friends tell me, she 's a virtuous soul ; 
 
 But — but — " 
 
 " But," growled the Lion, " by my mane, 
 
 I never knew an Ass who did not strain 
 
 To qualify a good thing with a but ! " 
 
 " Nay," said the Goose, approa,ching, with a stn''^, 
 
 "Don't interrupt him, siji-e; pray let it pass, 
 
 The Ass is honest, if he is an Ass ! " 
 
 " 1 was about," said Long Ear, " to remark, 
 That there is something lacking in her whistle j - 
 
 Something magnetic, — 
 
 To waken chords and feelings sympatbetb 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 And kindle in the breast a spark 
 
 Like — like, for instance, a good juicy thistle." 
 
 The assembly tittered, but the Fox, with gravity, 
 
 Said, at the Lion winking, 
 " Our learned friend, with his accustomed suavity, 
 
 ' Has given his opinion, without shrinkiniy • 
 But, to do justice to the Nightingale, 
 
 He should inform us, as no doubt he will; 
 What sort of music 't is that does not fail 
 
 His sensibilities to rouse and thrill." 
 
 " Why," said the critic, with a look potential, 
 And pricking up his ears, delighted much 
 
 At Reynard's tone and manner deferential, — 
 " Why, Sir, there 's nothing can so deeply toach 
 
 My feelings, and so carry me away. 
 
 As a fine, mellow, ear-inspiring bray." 
 
 " I thought so," said the Fox, without a pause ; 
 
 " As far as you 're concerned, your judgment 's tra© . - 
 You do not like the Nightingale, because 
 
 The Nightingale is not an Ass like you ! " 
 
 10. DRAMATIC STYLES. — Blackwood's Mag. 
 
 In dramatic writing, the difference between the Grecian and lloman 
 styles is very great. When you deal with a Greek subject, you must 
 be very devout, and have unbounded reverence for Diana of the Ephe- 
 Bians. You must also believe in the second sight, and be as solemn, 
 calm, and passionless, as the ghost of Hamlet's father. Never descend 
 to the slightest familiarity, nor lay off the stilts for a moment ; and, far 
 from calling a spade a spade, call it 
 
 That sharp instrument 
 
 With which the Thoban husbandman lays bare 
 The breast of our great mother. 
 
 , The Eoman, on the other hand, may occasionally be jocular, Imt 
 always warlike. One is like a miracle-play in church ; — she other, 
 a, tableau vivant in a camp. If a Gr€ck has occasion to ask his sweets 
 beart " if her mother knows she 's out," and " if she has sold her mangk 
 yet," he says : 
 
 MenestheuLs. Cleanthe ! 
 Cleanthe. My Loi'd ! 
 
 Men. Your mother, — your kind, excellent mother. 
 She who hung o'er your couch in infancy, 
 And felt wiihin her heart the joyous pride 
 Of having such a daughter, — does sne know, 
 Sweetest Cleanthe ! that you 've left the shade 
 Of the maternal walls 1 
 
 Cle. She does, my Lord. 
 
 Mm. And, — but I scarce can ask the q aestion, — when 
 I last beheld her 'gainst the whitened wall 
 
COMIC AND SATIRICAL HORACE SMITH. 
 
 Stood a strong engine, flat, and broad, and heavy; 
 
 Its entrail stones, and moved on mighty rollers, 
 
 Rendering the crisped web as smooth and soft 
 
 As whitest snow. — That engine, sweet Gleautae, 
 
 Fit pedestal for household deity, 
 
 Lares and old Penates ; — has she 't still 1 
 
 Or for gold bribes has she disposed of it 1 
 
 I fain would know; — pray tell me, is it sold 
 
 The Roman goes quicker to work : 
 
 Tell me, my Julia, does your mother know 
 You 're out '? and has she sold her mangle yet ! 
 
 The Composite, or Elizabethan, has a smack of both : 
 
 Conradm. Ha ! Celia here ? Come hither, pretty oi»> 
 Thou hast a mother, child ] 
 Celia. Most people have, Sir. 
 
 Con. I' faith thou 'rt sharp, — thou hast a biting wit; 
 But does this mother, — this epitome 
 Of what all other people are possessed of, — 
 Knows she thou 'rt out, and gadding 1 
 
 Cel. No, not gadding ! 
 Out, sir; she knows I 'm out. 
 
 Co?i.. She had a mangle; 
 Faith, 't was a huge machine, and smoothed the web 
 Like snow. I 've seen it oft ; — it was, indeed, 
 A right good mangle. 
 
 Cel. Then thou 'rt not in thought 
 To buy it, else thou would not praise it so. 
 
 Con. A parlous child ! keen as the cold North wincL^ 
 fet light as Zephyrs. No, no; I 'd not buy it; 
 But has she sold it, child 1 
 
 THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER. — Horace Sviitk. 
 
 In Broad-street buildings (on a winter night), 
 Snug by his parlor fire, a gouty wight 
 
 Sat, all alone, with one hand rubbing 
 His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose ; 
 With t' other he 'd beneath his nose 
 
 The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing, 
 He noted all the sales of hops, 
 Ships, shops, and slops. 
 Gums, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin, 
 Tar, tallow, tumeric, turpentine, and tin ; 
 When, lo ! a decent personage in black 
 
 Entered, and most politely said, — 
 " Your footman. Sir, has gone his nightiv track 
 
 To the King's Head, 
 
 And left your door ajar, which I 
 Observed in passing by ; 
 And thought it neighborly to give you notici) " 
 
 " Ten thousand thanks ! " the gouty man replied 
 
 " You see, good Sir, how to my chair 1 'm tied 
 
 Ten thousand thanks ! — how very few get, 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 
 
 In time of danger, 
 
 Such kind attentions from a stranger* 
 Assuredly that footman's throat is 
 
 Doomed to a final drop at Newgate; 
 And he well knows (the heedless elf!) 
 That there 's no soul at home, except myself.' 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied the stranger, looking gea^ 
 
 " Then he 's a double knave : 
 He knows that rogues and thieves, by scores, 
 Nightly beset unguarded doors ; 
 And see, how easily might one 
 Of these domestic foes, 
 Even beneath your very nose, 
 
 Perform his knavish tricks : 
 Enter your room, as I have done ; 
 Blow out your candles, — thus, and thus, — 
 
 Pocket your silver candlesticks. 
 And walk off, — thus ! " 
 So said, so done ; — he made no more remark, 
 
 Nor waited for replies. 
 
 But marched off with his prize, 
 Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark ! 
 
 THE VICTIM OF Vi¥.FOB.M. — Blackwood's Mag azine. Adapted 
 
 A MONKEY, once, whom fate had led to list 
 To all the rancorous spouting and contention 
 Of a convention 
 For every one's emancipation 
 From every thing and body in creation, 
 Determine(iL in the good work to assist. 
 So, with some curious notions in his noddle, 
 And conning portions of the precious twaddle 
 Which, in the form of resolutions. 
 Had struck at all existing institutions, 
 He strode forth with a step that seemed designeci 
 To represent the mighty march of mind. 
 Not far he 'd wandered, when his indignation 
 Was roused to see 
 A great menagerie, 
 Where birds and beasts of every race and station 
 All free-born animals, were kept confined, 
 Caged and locked up in durance vile! 
 It was a sight to waken all his bile. 
 
 The window of the building stood ajar ; 
 It was not far. 
 
 Nor, like Parnassus, very hard to climb 
 The hour was verging on the supper tima 
 
COMIC AND SATIETCAL. 
 
 645 
 
 And many a growl was sent through many a bar 
 
 Meanwhile, Pug scrambled upward, like a tar, 
 
 And soon crept in, 
 
 Unnoticed in the hunger-telling din. 
 
 Full of his new emancipating zeal, 
 
 Zounds ! how it made him chafe, — 
 To look around upon this brute Bastille, 
 
 And see the King of creatures in — a safe ! 
 Fhe desert's denizen in one small den. 
 
 Enduring all oppression's bitterest ills 
 A bear in bars unbearable ; and then, 
 
 The fretful porcupine, with all its quills, 
 Imprisoned in a pen ! 
 A tiger limited to four feet ten ; 
 And, stiL worse lot, a leopard to one spot 
 
 Pug went above, a solitary mounter, — 
 Up gloomy stairs, and saw a pensive group 
 
 Of hapless fowls, cranes, vultures, owls, — 
 
 In fact, it was a sort of poultry-counter. 
 
 Where feathered prisoners were doomed to droop J 
 Here sat an eagle, forced to make a stoop, 
 
 Not from the skies, but his impending roof ; 
 
 And there, aloof, 
 
 A pining ostrich, moping in a coop , 
 
 With other samples of the bird creation 
 All caged against their wills. 
 And cramped in such a space, the losgest bills 
 
 Were plainly bills of least accommodation ; — 
 
 In truth, it was a scene more foi^ than fair. 
 
 His temper little mended. 
 
 Pug from his bird-cage walk at last descended 
 
 Unto the lion and the elephant, 
 
 His bosom in a pant 
 
 To see all Nature's free list thus suspended, 
 And beasts deprived of what she had intended. 
 They could not even prey in their own way, — 
 
 A hardship always reckoned quite prodigious. 
 Thus he revolved, and finally resolved 
 
 To give them freedom, civil and religious , 
 And first, with stealthy paw. Pug hastened to withdraw 
 The bolt that kept the King of brutes within. 
 " Now, Monarch of the forest, thou shalt win 
 Precious enfranchisement, — thy bolts are undone 
 
 Thou art no longer a degraded creature, 
 
 But loose to roam with liberty and nature ; 
 Pi^e to search all the jungles about London." 
 35 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Alas for Freedom, and for Freedom's hom ! 
 
 Alas for liberty of life and limb ! 
 For Pug had only half unbolted Nero, 
 
 When Nero bolted him ! 
 
 ,18. TIS NOT FINE FEATHERS THAT MAKE FINE BlSm 
 
 A Peacock came, with his plumage gay. 
 Strutting in regal pride, one day, 
 Where a little bird hung in a gilded cage, 
 Whose song might a seraph's ear engage. 
 The bird sang on, while the peacock stood, 
 Vaunting his plumes to the neighborhood; 
 And the radiant sun seemed not more bright 
 Than the bird that basked in his golden light; 
 But the little bird sang, in his own sweet words, 
 " 'T is not fine feathers that make fine birds ! " 
 The peacock strutted ; — a bird so fair 
 Never before had ventured there. 
 While the small bird hung at the cottage door — 
 And what could a peacock wish for more ? 
 Alas ! the bird of the rainbow wing, 
 He was n't contented, — he tried to sing ! 
 And they who gazed on his beauty bright, 
 Scared by his screaming, soon took to flight ; 
 While the little bird sang, in his own sweet words. 
 " 'T is not fine feathers that make fine birds ! " 
 
 Then, prithee, take warning, maidens fair, 
 • And still of the peacock's fate beware ; 
 Beauty and wealth won't win your way, 
 Though they 're attired in plumage gay ; 
 Something tx) charm you all must know. 
 Apart from fine feathers and outward show ; — 
 A talent, a grace, a gift of mind, 
 Or else small beauty is left behind ! 
 While the little birds sing, in iheir own true wordfl. 
 » 'T is not fine feathers that make fine birds ! " 
 
 THE CULPRIT AND THE JT^DGE. —Horace «?m«* 
 
 A Gascon, who had long pursued 
 
 The trade of clipping 
 And filing the similitude 
 
 Of good King Pepin, 
 Was caught by the police, who found \im 
 
 With file and scissors in his hand, 
 
 And ounces of Pactolian sand 
 Lying around him. 
 
COMIC ANL SATIRICAL. — HORACE SMITH. 
 
 The case admitting no denial, 
 They hurried him forthwith to trial ; 
 When the Judge made a long oration 
 About the crime of profanation, 
 And gave no respite for repentance, 
 But instantly pronounced his sentence — 
 
 " Decapitation ! " - - 
 " As to offending powers divine," 
 
 The culprit cried, " be nothing said ; 
 Yours is a deeper guilt than mine. 
 
 I took a portion from the head 
 Of the King's image ; you, 0 fearful odds ' 
 Strike the whole head at once from God's ! " 
 
 15. THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH. - Horace Smith. 
 
 One of the Kings of Scanderoon, a royal jester, had in his train a 
 gross buffoon, who used to pester the court with tricks inopportune, 
 venting on the highest folks his scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes. It 
 needs some sense to play the fool ; which wholesome rule occurred not 
 to our jackanapes, who consequently found his freaks lead to innumer- 
 able scrapes, and quite as many kicks and tweaks ; v/hich only made 
 him faster try tiie patience of his master. 
 
 Some sin, at last, beyond all measure, incurred the desperate dis- 
 pleasure of his serene and raging Highness. Whether the wag had 
 twitched his beard, which he was bound to have revered, or had 
 intruded on the shyness of the seraglio, or let fly an epigram, at 
 royalty, none knows — his sin was an occult one ; but records tell us 
 that the Sultan, meaning to terrify the knave, exclaimed, "'T is 
 sime to stop that breath ! Thy doom is sealed, presumptuous slave ! 
 Thou^ stand'st condemned to certain death ! Silence, base rebel ! no 
 replying. But such is my indulgence still, that, of my own free 
 grace and will, I leave to thee the mode of dying." " Your royal 
 will be done; 'tis just," replied the wretch, and" kissed the dust; 
 " since, my last moments to assuage, your majesty's humane decree 
 has deigned to leave the choice' to me, I '11 die^ so please you. of old 
 a ge ! " 
 
 16. THE POET AND THE AluGILEm^. — Horace Smith. 
 
 Before this present golden age of writers, a Grub-street Garreteer 
 existed, one of the regular inditers of odes and poems to be twisted 
 mto encomiastic verses, for patrons who have heavy purses. Besides 
 the bellman's rhymes, he had others to let, both gay and sad, all tick- 
 eted from A to Izzard ; and, living by his wits, I need not add, the 
 rogue was lean as any lizard. Like a rope-maker's were his ways ; 
 tor still one Une upon another he spun, and, like his hempen brother, 
 kept going backwards all his days. Hard by his attic lived a chemist, 
 pr alchemist, who had a mighty faith in the Elixir Vitaj ; and, though 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 anflattered by +he dimmest glimpses of success, kept gropijig ani5 
 grubbing in hin dark vocation ; stupidly hoping to find the art of 
 changing metals, and guineas coin from pots and kettles, by mystery 
 '){ transmutation. 
 
 Our 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, with* 
 out 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 hurried 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 : " Now, now, the 
 secret, I implore ! For Heaven's sake, speak, discover, utter ! " With 
 grave and solemn air, the Poet cried : " List ! 0, list ! for thus 1 
 show it : — Let this plain truth those ingrates strike, who still, though 
 blessed, new blessings crave : that we may all have what we like, sim- 
 jiy by liki?ig what we have ! " 
 
 17. BLINBMAN'S BTI¥¥. — Horace Smith. 
 
 Three wags (whom some fastidious carpers might rather designate 
 three sharpers) entered, at York, the Cat and Fiddle ; and, finding 
 that the host was out on business for two hours or more, while Sam, 
 the rustic waiter, wore the visage of a simple lout, whom they might 
 safely try to diddle, — they ordered dinner in a canter, — cold or hot. 
 it mattered not, provided it was served imtanter ; and, as the heat 
 had made them very dry and dusty in their throttles, they bade the 
 waiter bring three bottles of prime old Port, and one of Sherry. 
 Sam ran with ardor to the larder, then to the kitchen ; and, as he 
 briskly went to work, he drew from the spit a roasted turkey, with 
 sausages embellished, which in a trice upon the board was spread, 
 together with a nice, cold brisket ; nor did he even obliviscate half a 
 pig's head. To these succeeded puddings, pies, custards and jellies, 
 all doomed to fall a sacrifice to their insatiable bellies ; as if, like cam- 
 els, they intended to stuff into their monstrous craws enough to satisfy 
 their maws, until their pilgrimage was ended. Talking, laughing, 
 eating and quaffing, the bottles stood no moment still. They rallied 
 Sam with joke and banter, and, as they drained the last decanter, 
 called for the bill. 
 
 'T was brought, — when one of them, who eyed and added up the 
 items, cried, — " Extremely moderate, indeed ! I '11 make a point to 
 recommend this inn to every travelling friend ; and you, Sam, shall 
 be doubly foe'd." This said, a weighty purse he drew, when his com- 
 panion interposed : — " Nay, Harry, that will never do ; pray lei. 
 your purse again be closed ; you paid all charges yesterday ; 't is 
 clearly now my turn to pay."' Harry, however, would n't listen t<i 
 iMiy such insulting offer ; his generous eyes appeared to glisten, India: 
 
COMIC A^JD SATIRICAL. HORACE SMITH. 
 
 tant at tlie rerj proffer ; and, though his friend talked loud, hig 
 clangor served but to aggravate Hal's anger. " My worthy fellow,*' 
 cried the third, " now, really, this too absurd. What ! do both of 
 you forget. I have n't paid a fanning, yet ? Am I eternally to cram, 
 fl,t your expense ? 'T is childish, quite. I claim this payment as mj 
 right. Here, how much is the money, Sam ? " 
 
 To this most rational proposal, the others gave such fierce necration 
 one might have fancied they were foes, all ; so hot became the alterca^ 
 tion, each in his purse his money rattling, insisting, arguing and bat- 
 tling. One of them cried, at last : — " A truce! This° point we 
 will no longer moot. Wrangling for trifles is no use ; and, thus we '11 
 finish the dispute : ~ That we may settle what we three owe, we 'II 
 blindfold Sam, and whichsoe'er ho catches of us first shall bear all the 
 expenses of the trio, with half a crown (if that 's enough) to Sara 
 for playing blindraan's buff." Sam liked it hugely, -- thought the 
 ransom for a good game of fun was handsome ; gave his own handker- 
 chief beside, to have his eyes securely tied, and soon began to o-rope 
 and search ; when the three knaves, I need n't say, adroitly left'^him 
 m iht .urch, slipped down the stairs and stole away. Poor Sam con- 
 tinued hard at work. Now o'er a chair he gets a fall ; now flounder- 
 mg forwards with a jerk, he bobs his nose against the wall ; and now 
 encouraged by a subtle fancy that they 're near the door, he jumps 
 behind it to explore, and breaks his shins against the scuttle ; crying 
 at each disaster — " Drat it! Hang it ! 'od rabbit it ! " and " Rat it ! 
 Just m the crisis of his doom, the host, returnina;, sought the room ; 
 and Sam no sooner heard his tread, than, pouncing on him like a 
 brum, he almost shook him into ruin, and, with a shout of laughter, 
 said Huzza! I 've caught you now; so down with cash fJr all, 
 and my half crown ! " Off went the bandage, and his eyes seemed 
 to be goggling o'er his forehead, while his mouth widened with a horrid 
 look of agomzed surprise. " Gull ! " roared his master ; " Gudgeon ' 
 Junce ! fool, as you are, you 're right for once ; 't is clear that I must 
 pay the sum; but this one thought my wrath assuages — that every 
 half-penny shall come out of your wages ! " 
 
 18. THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR. -Horace 5me7A. 
 
 A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas, who was esteemed a mighty wit 
 <apon the strength of a chance hit, amid a thousand flippancies, and hig 
 occasional bad jokes, in bullying, bantering, browbeating, ridiculing 
 and maltreating women, or other timid folks, — in a late cause! 
 resolved to hoax a clownish Yorkshire farmer, — one, who, by his 
 uncouth look and gait, appeared expressly meant by Fate for beina 
 quizzed and played upon. So, having tipped the wink to those in the 
 Kck rows, who kept their laughter bottled down until our wa^^ should 
 ^t'J'i^H.''''''^'^? ^"^'^^^ jocosely on the clown, and went to work 
 ^ Well, J^armer NumscuU, how go calves at York ? " " Why — not 
 •>ir SB they da wi' you ; but on four legs, instead of two " ' Officer ' 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 triad the legal elf, piqued at the laugh against himself, ' do pray keef 
 silence down below, there. Now, look at me, clown, and attend ; have 
 I not seen jou somewhere, friend ? " " Yes, very like ; I often gc 
 there/' "Our rustic 's waggish — quite laconic!" the counsel 
 sried, with grin sardonic ; " I wish I 'd known this prodigy, thit 
 genius of the clods, when I on circuit was ai York residing. Now. 
 I^armer, do for once speak true ; mind, you 're on oath, so tell me, 
 you who doubtless think yourself so clever, are there as many fools aa 
 ever in the West Riding ? " " Why, no Sir, no ; we 've got our 
 share, — but not so many as when you were there." 
 
 19. MR. PUFF'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. —Sfecntfan 
 
 Sir, I make no secret of the trade I follow. Among friends and 
 Drother authors, I love to be frank on the subject, and to advertise 
 myself viva voce. I am. Sir, a practitioner in panegyric ; or, to speak 
 more plainly, a professor of the art of pufl&ng, at your service — or 
 anybody else's. I dare say, now, you conceive half the very civil 
 paragraphs and advertisements you see to be written by the parties 
 concerned, or their friends. No such thing ; nine out of ten manu- 
 factured by me, in the way of business. You must know. Sir, that, 
 from the first time I tried my hand at an advertisement, my success 
 was such, that for some time after I led a most extraordinary life, 
 indeed. Sir, I supported myself two years entirely by my misfor- 
 tunes ; by advertisements To the charitable and humane ! and, To 
 those whom Providence has blessed with affluence ! And, in truth, 
 I deserved what I got ; for I suppose never man went through such a 
 series of calamities in the same space of time. Sir, I was five times 
 made a bankrupt, and reduced from a state of affluence, by a train of 
 unavoidable misfortunes ; then. Sir, though a very industrious trades- 
 man, I was twice burned out, and lost my little all both times. I 
 lived upon those fires a month. I soon after was confined by a most 
 excruciating disorder, and lost the use of my limbs. That told very 
 well ; for I had the case strongly attested, and went about to collect 
 the subscriptions myself. I wa<i afterwards twice tapped for a dropsy, 
 which declined into a very profitable consumption. I was then 
 reduced to — 0, no ! — then I became a widow, with six helpless chil- 
 dren. All this I bore with patience, though I made some occasional 
 asttempts at felo de se ; but, as I did not find those rash actions answer, 
 I left off killing myself very soon. Well, Sir, at last, what with 
 bankruptcies, fires, gouts, dropsies, imprisonments, and other valuable 
 calamities, having got together a pretty handsome sum, I determined 
 to quit a business which had always gone rather against my conscience, 
 and in a more liberal way still to indulge my talents for fiction and 
 embellishments, through my favorite channel of diurnal communiea 
 »ion ; — and so, Sir, vou have my history. 
 
PART TENTH. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 1 ADDRESS OF BLACK HAWK TO GENERAL STREET. 
 
 You have taken me prisoner, with all my warriors. I am much 
 grieved ; for I expected, if I did not defeat you, to hold out much 
 longer, and give you more trouble, before I surrendered. I tried 
 hard to bring you into ambush, but your last General understood 
 Indian fighting. I determined to rush on you, and fight you face to 
 face. I fought hard. But your guns were well aimed. The bullets 
 flew like birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like the wind 
 through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around me ; it began 
 to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on'^us 
 in the morning, and at night it sank in a dark cloud, and looked like 
 a ball of fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. 
 His heart is dead, and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now 
 a prisoner to the white men ; they will do with him as they wish. 
 But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. He is no cow- 
 ard. Black Hawk is an Indian. 
 
 He has done nothing for which an Indian ought to be ashamed. He 
 has fought for his countrymen, against white men, who came, year 
 after year, to cheat them, and take away their lands. You know the 
 cause of our making war. It is known to all white men. They 
 ought to be ashamed of it. The white men despise the Indians, and 
 drive them from their homes. They smile in the face of the poor 
 Indian, to cheat him ; they shake him by the hand, to gain his confi- 
 dence, to make him drunk, and to deceive him. We told them to let 
 us alone, and keep away from us ; but they followed on and beset cur 
 paths, and they coiled themselves among us like the snake. They 
 wisoned us by their touch. We were not safe. We lived in danger. 
 We looked up to the Grreat Spirit. We went to our father. We 
 weixj encouraged. His great council gave us fair words and big prom- 
 ises ; but we got no satisfaction : things were growing worse. There 
 were no deer in the forest. The opossum and beaver were fled. The 
 «!prings were drying up, and our squaws and pappooses without 
 vdctuals to keep them from starving. 
 
 We called a great council, and built a large fire. The spirit of out 
 fathers arose, and spoke to us to avenge ouj- wrong's or die. ,We sei 
 
552 
 
 TBE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 
 
 ap tne war-whoop, and dug up the tomahawk ; our knives were ready, 
 and the heart of Black Hawk swelled high in his bosom, when he led 
 his warriors to battle. He is satisfied. He will go to iJie world of 
 spirits contented. He has done his duty. His father will meet him 
 there, and commend him. Black Hawk is a true Indian, and disdainf 
 to cry like a woman. He feels for his wife, his children, and hia 
 friends. But he does not care for himself. He cares for the Natioc 
 and the Indians. They will sulFer. He laments their fate. Fare- 
 well, my Nation ! Black Hawk tried to save you, and avenge yom' 
 wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the whites. He has been 
 taken prisoner, and his plans are crushed. He can do no more. He 
 is near his end. His sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Fare- 
 well to Black Hawk ! 
 
 2. TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR, 1824. — Pushmataha. Born, 1764 ; died, 1824. 
 
 Father — I have been here at the council-house some time ; but 1 
 have not talked. I have not been strong enough to talk. You shall 
 hear me talk to-day. I belong to another district. You have, no 
 doubt, heard of me. I am Pushmataha. 
 
 Father — When in my own country, I often looked towards this 
 council-house, and wanted to come here, I am in trouble. I will 
 tell my distresses. I feel like a small child, not half as high as its 
 father, who comes up to look in his father's face, hanging in the bend 
 of his arm, to tell him his troubles. So, father, I hang in the bend 
 of your arm, and look in your face ; and now hear me speak. 
 
 Father — When I was in my own country, I heard there were meis 
 appointed to talk to us. I would not speak there ; I chose to come 
 here, and speak in this beloved house ; for Pushmataha can boast, and 
 say, and tell the truth, that none of his fathers, or grandfathers, or 
 any Choctaw, ever drew bow against the United States, They have 
 always been friendly. We have held the hands of the United States 
 80 long, that our nails are long like birds' claws ; and there is nc 
 danger of their slipping out. 
 
 Father — I have come to speak. My nation has always listened to 
 the applications of the white people. They have given of their 
 country till it is very small. I came here, when a young man, to see 
 ray Father Jefferson. He told me, if ever we got in trouble, we must 
 run and tell him. I am come. This is a friendly talk ; it is like 
 that of a man who meets another, and says. How do you do ? Ad» 
 Either of my tribe shall talk further. He shall say what PushmaUha 
 would say, were he stronger. ^ 
 
 I SUPPOSED SPEECH OF A CHIEF OF THE POCOMTUC INDIANS. —Edviard Everett 
 
 White man, there is eternal war between me and thee ! I quit not 
 the land of my fathers but with my life. In those woods where 1 
 bent my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer. Over vowdei 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 558 
 
 praters I will fltill glide unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dash« 
 mg waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's store of food. On these 
 fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the land is 
 mine ! I understand not these paper rights. I gave not my consent 
 when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were purchased, for a few 
 baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs ; they could 
 Bell no more. How could my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit 
 Bent me into the world to live upon ? They knew not what they did. 
 The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and feeble, and asked to lie 
 down on the red man's bear-skin, and warm himself at the red man's 
 dre, and have a little piece of land to raise corn for his women and 
 children ; and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold and 
 spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says. It is mine. 
 Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not 
 made us to live together. There is poison in the white man's cup ; the 
 white man's dog barks at the red man's heels- 
 
 If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly ? Shall 
 I go to the South, and dwell among the graves of the Pequots ? Shall I 
 wander to the West ? — the fierce Mohawk, the man-eater, is my foe. 
 Shall I fly to the East ? — tho great water is before me. No, stranger ; 
 here I have lived, and here I will die ! and if here thou abidest, there is 
 eternal war between me and thee. Thou hast taught me thy arts of 
 destruction. For that alone I thank thee; and now take heed to thy 
 steps ; — the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day, my 
 bullet shall whistle by thee ; when thou liest down at night, my knife 
 is at thy throat. The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy, and 
 the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt plant 
 in terror, and I will reap in blood ; thou shalt sow the earth with corn, 
 and I will strew it with ashes ; thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and 
 I will follow after with the scalping-knife ; thou shalt build, and I will 
 burn, till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. Go 
 thy way, for this time, in safety ; but remember, stranger, there is 
 eternal war between me and thee . 
 
 4. LOGAN, A MINGO CHIEF, TO LORD DUNMORE- 
 The charge against Colonel Cresap, in the subjoined speech, — or, rather, message, — seut to 
 Lord Dimmore, Governor of Virginia, in 1774, through John Gibson, an Indian trader, has been 
 proved to be untrue. Gibson corrected Logan on the spot, but probably felt bound to deliver 
 ihe speech as it was delivered to him. 
 
 I APPEAL to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's cabin 
 Hungry, and he gave him not meat ; if ever he came cold and naked, 
 and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and 
 bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. 
 Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed at me 
 
 they passed, and said, " Logan is the friend of white men." I had 
 even thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man. 
 C/jlonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, mur- 
 iered al' the relations of Logan, not sparing even my women aod chil« 
 
554 
 
 THE STANDARD SPEAKEJU 
 
 iren. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living 
 ereature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have 
 silled many. I have glutted my vengeance. For my country, 1 
 eejoice at the beams of peace. But do not think that mine is the joy 
 cf fear. Logan never felt fear. Logan will not turn on his heel to 
 save bis life J Who is there to mourn for Logan ? Not one 
 
 6. MOBAL COSMETICS. — Horace Smith. Born, 1779 j died, 1849. 
 
 Ye who would save your features florid, 
 Lithe limbs, bright eyes, unwrinkled forehead, 
 From Age's devastation horrid, 
 
 Adopt this plan, — 
 'T will make, in climate cold or torrid, 
 
 A hale old man : 
 
 Avoid, in youth, luxurious diet ; 
 Kestrain the passions' lawless riot ; 
 Devoted to domestic quiet, 
 
 Be wisely gay ; 
 So shall ye, spite of Age's fiat. 
 
 Resist decay. 
 
 Seek not, in Mammon's worship, pleasure ; 
 But find your richest, dearest treasure, 
 In books, friends, music, polished leisure : 
 
 The mind, not sense, 
 Made the sole scale by which to measure 
 
 Your opulence. 
 
 This is the solace, this the science, 
 Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance, 
 That disappoints not man's reliance, 
 
 Whate'er his state ; 
 But challenges, with calm defiance, 
 
 Time, fortune, fate. 
 
 A THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. — Caroline Bowles SwUkti 
 
 Tread softly, — bow the head, — 
 
 In reverent silence bow ; 
 No passing bell doth toll, — 
 Yet an immortal soul 
 
 Is passing now. 
 
 Stranger, however great, 
 
 With holy reverence bow ; — - 
 
 There 's one in that poor shed, — - 
 
 One by that paltry bed, — 
 Greater than thou. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. — HORACE SMITH. 
 
 Beneath that beggar's roof, 
 
 Lo ! death doth keep his state ; 
 
 Enter, — no crowds attend ; 
 
 Enter, — no guards defend 
 This palace gate. 
 
 That pavement, damp and cold. 
 
 No smiling courtiers tread ; 
 One silent woman stands, 
 Lifting, with meagre hands, 
 A dying head. 
 
 No mingling voices sound, — 
 
 An infant wail alone ; 
 A sob suppressed, — again 
 That short, deep gasp, and then 
 
 The parting groan. 
 
 0, change ! — 0, wondrous change ! 
 
 Burst are the prison bars, — 
 This moment, there, so low, 
 So agonized, and now 
 
 Beyond the stars ! 
 
 0, change ! — stupendous change ' 
 
 There lies the soulless clod ; 
 The Sun eternal breaks, — 
 The new immortal wakes, — 
 Wakes with his God ! 
 
 7. HOPE. — Sarah F. Adams. 
 
 Hf>pji! leads the child to plant the flower, the m^m to sow the seed , 
 
 Nor leaves fulfilment to her hour, but prompts again to deed. 
 
 And ere upon the old man's dust the grass is seen to wave. 
 
 We look through falling tears to trust Hope's sunshine on the grav« 
 
 0 no ! it is no flattering lure, — no fancy weak or fond, — 
 
 When hope would bid us rest secure in better life beyond. 
 
 Nor loss, nor shame, nor grief, nor sin, her promise may g-ain^sa^ 
 
 The voice divine hath spoke within, and God did ne'er betray. * 
 
 8. DEATH. — ^ToraceSmtYA. 
 
 Fate' Foitune ! Chance! whose blindness, hostility or kindnfl<» 
 Play such strange freaks with human destinies, — 
 
 Contrasting poor and wealthy, the life-diseased and healtny. 
 The blessed, the cursed, the witless and the wise, — 
 
 To have a master ; one, who mars what ye have dene • 
 
 Levelling all that move beneath the sun, ~ 
 Death ! 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 Take courage, Aat languish beneath the withering anguish 
 
 Of open wrong, or tyrannous deceit ; 
 Fhere comes a swift redresser to punish your oppressor, 
 
 And lay him prostrate, helpless, at your feet ! 
 0, Champion strong ! Righter of wrong i 
 Justice, equality, to thee belong, — 
 Death 
 
 WTitre Conquest crowns his quarre., and the victor, wreathed 
 laurel. 
 
 While trembling Nations bow beneath his rod. 
 On his guarded throne reposes, in living apotheosis, 
 
 The Lord's anointed and earth's demigod, — 
 What form of fear croaks in his ear 
 " The victor's car is but a funeral bier " ^ 
 Death! 
 
 Who, spite of guards and yeomen, steel phalanx and cross-bowmen, 
 
 Leaps, at a bound, the shuddering castle's moat. 
 The tyrant's crown down dashes, his sceptre treads to ashes, 
 
 With rattling finger grasps him by the throat, 
 His breath out-wrings, and his corse down flings 
 To the dark pit where grave- worms feed on kings ? — 
 Death ! 
 
 When the murderer 's undetected, when the robber 's unsuspected, 
 And night has veiled his crime from every eye, — 
 
 When nothing living daunts him, and no fear of justice haunts him 
 Who v/akes his conscience-stricken agony ? 
 
 Who makes him start, with his withering dart. 
 
 And wrings the secret from his bursting heart ? — 
 Death ! 
 
 To those who pine in sorrow, whose wretchedness can borrow 
 
 No moment's ease from any human act, — 
 To the widow comfort-spurning, to the slave for freedom yearning, 
 
 To th3 diseased, with cureless anguish racked, — 
 Who brings release, and whispers peace 
 A.nd points to realms where pain and sorrow cease? — 
 Death ! 
 
 9. LACHRYMOSE WRT£ER2. — Horace Smith, 
 
 Ye human screech-owls, who delight 
 
 To herald woe, — whose day is night, 
 Whose mental food is misery and moans, — 
 
 If ye must needs uphold the pall. 
 
 And walk at Pleasure's funeral. 
 Be Mut<3s — and puMish not your cries and groans 
 
MTSOELLANErjUS.-. HORACE SMITH. 
 
 ie say that Earth 'g a charnel ; Life, 
 
 Incessant wretchedness and strife ; 
 That all is doom below and wrath above ; 
 
 The sun and moon, sepulchraj lamps ; 
 
 The sky, a vault whose baleful damps 
 Soon blight and moulder all that live and love. 
 
 Ungrateful and calumnious crew, 
 
 Whose plaints, as impious as untrue. 
 From morbid intellects derive their birth, — 
 
 Away ! begone, to mope and moan, 
 
 And weep in some asylum lone, 
 Where ye may rail unheard at Heaven and Earth 
 
 Earth ! on whose stage, in pomp arrayed, 
 Life's joyous interlude is played, — 
 Earth ! with thy pageants ever new and bright , 
 Thy woods and waters, hills and dales, 
 How dead must be the soul that fails 
 • To see and bless thy beauties infinite ! 
 
 Man ! whose high intellect supplies 
 
 A never failing Paradise 
 Of holy and enrapturing pursuits; 
 
 Whose heart 's a fount of fresh delight, — 
 
 Pity the Cynics, who would blight 
 Thy godlike gifts, and rank thee with the brutis 
 
 O, "W Oman ! who from realms above 
 
 Hast brought to Earth a Heaven of love, 
 Terrestrial angel, beautiful as pure ! 
 
 No pains, no penalties, dispense 
 
 On thy traducers, — their offence 
 Is its own punishment, most sharp and sure. 
 
 Father and God ! whose love and might 
 
 To every sense are blazoned bright 
 On the vast three-leaved Bible, — Earth, Sea, Sff>^ 
 
 Pardon the impugners of Thy laws. 
 
 Expand their hearts, and give them cause 
 To bless the exhaustless grace they now deny I 
 
 10. m^E SANCT^J Any. -Horace Smith. Adapted. 
 
 For man there still is left one sacred charter: 
 One refuge still remains for human woes. 
 
 Victim of care ! or persecution's martyr ! 
 Who seek'st a sure asylum, from thy foes., 
 
 Learn that the holiest, safest, purest best, 
 Is man's own breast ' 
 
THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 
 
 There is a solemn sanctuary, founded 
 By God himself; not for transgressors meant , 
 A ^T'^}^ oppressed, the spirit-wounded, 
 And all beneath the world's injustice bent, 
 
 Might turn from outward wrong, turmoil and dm. 
 To peace within 
 
 Each bosom is a temple, — when its altar 
 The living heart, is unprofaned and pure, 
 
 its verge is hallowed ; none need fear or falte- 
 Who thither fly ; it is an ark secure. 
 
 VVmmng, above a world o'erwhelmed with wraa. 
 Its peaceful path. 
 
 O, Bower of Bliss ! 0, sanctuary holy ! 
 
 Terrestrial antepast of heavenly joy, 
 Never, 0, never may misdeed or folly 
 
 My claim to thy beatitudes destroy ! 
 Still may I keep this Paradise unlost, 
 Where'er I 'm tost ! 
 
 E'en in the flesh, the spirit disembodied, 
 
 Unchecked by time and space, may soar elate, 
 
 In silent awe to commune with the Godhead.- 
 Or the millennium reign anticipate, 
 
 When Earth shall be all sanctity P>nd lov^, 
 Like Heaven above. 
 
 How sweet to turn from anguish, guilt and m.'.dnes!Sf 
 From scenes where strife and tumult never cease 
 
 To that Elysian world of bosomed gladness, ' 
 Where all is concord, charity and peace ; 
 
 And, sheltered from the storm, the soul may rest 
 On Its own nest ! 
 
 WTien, spleenful as the sensitive Mimosa, 
 
 We shrink from Winter's touch and Naturc^s gioa 
 
 There may we conjure up a Vallombrosa, 
 
 Where groves and bowers in Summer bea-jty bloo^^ 
 
 And the heart dances in the sunny glade 
 Fancy has made. 
 
 But, would we dedicate to nobler uses 
 
 This bosom sanctuary, let us there 
 Hallow our hearts from all the world's abuses ; 
 
 While high and charitable thoughts, and prayer 
 May teach us gratitude to God, combined 
 With love of kind. 
 
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