(i,- v\^-^ ^>- '^cT f°.. V .-'X % - '^ : ■•^^' %, 'S ,H ^C, ^^ .f ^' ,0 c ^. c"^ ^-.. ,^' .\^<^^, = f-"^ . ^'^ . '7. ^'44* -,:- ;o>- ,#■ v^^ '^>. S 'iRGENT, in tije Glerk'e Office of the District (> jirt of the Unite« States, fo- the Eastern District of Pennsylvania ^^ Majcy cf Cg single pieces in this ooUoction an p^oteoted I, ctie oopyrighJ •■o.m from -^rs. F. Branagan PREFACE Ttie distinguishing features of the present collection are, the utusnai mnety 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 modem 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, will be found a large numlier that are now, for the first time, pre eented as exercises for recitation and declamation. In the case of selee tions, care has been taken to collate them with the latest and moa' authentic editions of the works from which they are extracted ; and thui many current errors and mutilations have been avoided. Of the British parliamentary specimens, many aire valuable, not onlj 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 privi'lege of occasional compression being 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 Bm-ke, Grattan, Curran, and Brougham ; all l)ut one from Canning and Macaulay; and all from Vane, Meredith, Wilkes, Shell, 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 wiU be found many new extracts, not unworthy of the association. They belong to tlie whole coimtry, 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. Hug., Pichat, Mickiewicz, and many others, having been translated ; all those from Homer, Schiller, Delavigne, Bulwsr, Mazzini, Kossuth, and 17 PREF-VCE, Browning , aiid nearly all from Enowles, Croly, Horace Smith, and others together with the comic dialogues from Morton, Mathews, ani Coyne Laving been selected or adapted for this collection. It will he seen that the oratory of the ancients has supplied an unu8ua< number of exencises. A certain novelty has, however, in many instances, been imparted here, by original translations. We have had little, in modern times, to surpass the Phihppics of Demosthenes or the fiery invective of .^schines. The putative speeches from Livy, Tacitus, and Sallust, 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, Caius Marius, Canuleius, Virginius, and others, have been expanded or abridged, to serve the purpose of declamation. The two speeches of Spar- tacus, that of Regulus, witli several others, are now, for the first time, published. The extracts from that strangely depreciated work, Cowper'a Homer, have the vivid simplicity and force of the original, and are among the most appropriate exercises for elocution in the whole scope of Eng- lish blank vcrae. 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 in selection, however, it has been the editor's study to meet ail the demands of a liberal patriotism ; to do justice to all tlie noblest masters of eloquence, and to all schools and styles, from which a grace may be borrowed ; and, above all, 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 unprofifaible 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 well exclaim, in the words of Cowper, — " Defend lae, tberefore, commoD sense, say I, From reveries so airy, — from the toil Of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up ! " The preceptive portion of the Treatise presents no particular claim to origi oality ; the object being merely to give a summary of all the discoverioi and hints that can be serviceable t(> the student, in the development of hie vocal and elocutionary powers. CONTENTS INTRODUCTORY TREATISE Oratirt. . . 15 Eloq.»».ice 15 Rhiitorio . . 15 Oratory am >i!g the Ancients, 15 The Art in (tifece, 15 Homer, 15 Demosthenes, 15 His Speeches prepared, 15 Oratory iu Some, 15 Cicero, 16 Superiority of Ancients, 16 Modern Oratory, . 16 EDfect of the Press, 16 Oratory in Republics, 16 Miral)eau, 16 Englisli Oratory, 16 i.-.:ropean Oratory, 36 Amer-can Oratory, 16 Patrieii Henry, 16 Daniel Webster, 16 Power of Oi-atory, 16 ]\li-. Webster's Opinion, 16 Success in Oratory, 17 How to achieve it, 17 Quintilian's Opinion, 17 Divisions of Oratory 17 Elocution, Amonir the Ancients, . . . Modern Theories, Steele's Measure of Speech, . " System of Marks, . Walker's Klements, .... Inflections of the Voice, . . Rules of Inflection, .... Illustration from Pope, . . " fr(>m Shakspeai'e Rush on the Voice, .... Artificial Rules, Their InsulKciency, .... Wt.ately's Olijeotions, . . . Failure of Walker^s Method, Eis own Admissi m, ... Edmund Kean, Attention the Seer it, Practical Hints, John Quiticy Adams, . Divisions of Elocution, Articulation, Pronunciation, Deiects in Pronunciation, . Imporcance of Dictionaries, Quotation from Holmes, i6, 38 Distinctness to be Studied, . 23 Unemphatic Words, 26 Solemn Reading, 26 Modulation of the Voice, 26 Good Practical Rule, 26 The Different Keys, 26 Low Key, 27 Illustration from Milton, 28 " fi-om Shakspeare, .... 28 Middle Key, 28 High Key, 29 Illustration ft-om Shakspeare, .... 29 Cm'ious Fact in Sound, 29 Burke's Voice, 29 Chatham's Voice, 29 Monotone, 30 Illustration from Shakspeare, .... 30 " from Talfoui-d, 30 Time, . 30 Imitative Modulation, 30 Ulustratioc from Pope, . . . ,30 Emphasis, 31 Illustration ft-om Milton, 31 " fi'om Shakspeare, 32 III. Gestukb, Fenelon's Directions, . . . . Austin's Chironomia, . . . . Oratorical Attitudes, . . . . Engraved Representations, . Matters for Mirth, General Rules, On Timing Gestures, , . . . Walker's Direction, Illustration from Shakspeare, Whately's Theory, Attitude, Quintilian on the Hand, . . . Practical Hints, Awkward Haliits, Dress and Manner, The Countenance, IV Strengthening the Voice, . Management of tiie Breath, A Good Exercise, . . . Readinir Aloud, Its Physical Benefits, . . . Andrew Combe's Advice, . ExPLANATORr MARKS, PART FIRST. MORAL AND DIDACTIC Truth, Frayssinous, 37 Immortality, Massillon, 38 Utility of the Beaitiful, . . . Ruskin, 39 The Mind of Man, .... Akenside, 40 The World, ....... Talfuurd, 41 Mechanical Epoch, .... Kennedy, 41 To-day, Wilhinalnn, 42 Duellist's Honor, .... England, 43 Day Conceals what Night Eeveals, Nic/w/, 44 Sonnet, miite, 45 Man's Material Triumphs, . . . Fayet, 45 Foi'tiiude, Anonymous, 46 The United States of Europe, . . Hugo, 46 The Peac^ Congress of the Union, Everett, 48 The Spirit of the Age, . . . Becktvit/i, 49 Moses in Sight of tlie Promised Land, Peahodjj, 50 Necessity of Law, Hooker, 60 Justice, Carlyle, 51 To-murrow, Col ion, 52 Eloquence of Action, . . . Webster, .jo Sincerity the Soul of Eloquence, Gnelhe, 5:i The Christian Orator, . . ViUeviain, 54 Affectation in the Pulpit, . . . Cowper, 55 Utility of History, . . . . De Sesrur, 56 False Coloring Lent '.o W»r, Chalmers, 57 Death's Final Conquest, . . . Shirley, 5S ReUgion, Lamartine, 58 The Saviour's Reply, Milton, 59 Nobility of Labor, Dewey, 60 Labor is Worship, Osgood, 61 Moral and Physical Science, . . Chapin, 62 The Order l? Nature, Pope, 63 Future Empire of our Laneuage, Bethu)ie,&i Compensations of the Imagination, Akenside, 64 The Great Distuiction of a Nation, Channing, 65 What Makes a Hero, .... Taylor, 66 rt a Last Hours of Socrates, 66 To a Child, Yankee, 67 America's Contributions, Verpianck, 68 The True Kmg, Hunt, 69 40. Death is Compensation Rousseau, W 41. Fate of Charles XU., . . Johnson, 70 42. Our Duties, Story. 71 43. Love of Country, . .Montgomery 72 44. Nature a Hard Creditor, . . Carlyle, 73 45. Times Midniglit Voice, . . . Young 74 46. The Common Lot, . . Montgomery, 7fi 47. True Soui-ce of Reform, . . Chapin, 76 48. The Beacon Light, .... Pardoe, 77 49. Cleou and I, Mackay, 77 50. Problem for the U. States, Boardman, 78 51. American Experiment, . . Everett, 78 52. The Ship of State, Lunt, 79 52. Luies, Longfellow, 80 53. Art, Sprague, 80 54. The Pilot, Bayly, 8] 55. Death Typified by Winter, Thomson, 82 56. Religious Inducements, . . . James, 83 57. Never Despair, Lovr 84 58. Charity, Talfourd, 84 59. The Battle-field, Bryant, 85 60. Dizzy Activities, Everett, 86 61. The Giiod Great Man, . . Coleridge, 87 62. Taxes, Sydney Smith, 87 03. The Press, Elliot, 88 64. Defence of Poetry, . ... JVolfe, 89 65. Great Ideas, Channing, 89 66. England Elliot, 90 67. Hallowed Ground, .... Campbell, 91 68. Nature Proclaims a Deity, Cluiteau- briand, 92 69. What we owe the Sword, . . Grimke, 92 70. Abou Ben Adhem, Hunt, 93 71. Polunius to Laertes, . . Shakspeare, 94 72. Where is he, Neele, 94 73. international Sympathies, Way land, 9? 74. Worth of Fame, Baillie, 96 75. Frivolous Pleasures, .... Yonmc, 97 76. Forgive, Heber, 97 77. Science Religious, . . . Hitchcock, 98 78. Triumphs of the English Language, Lyinis, 99 79. The Water Drinker, . . E. Johnson, 99 80. The Days that are Gone, . Mackay, JOO 81. The Work-sliop and Camp, .... 101 82. The Wise Man's Prayer, Johnson, IM PART SECOND. MARTIAL AND POPULAR. Pa=e 1 ficipio to his Army, Livy, 103 2 Hanniba-l to his Army, .... /d., 104 3 ReguluB to the Roman Senate, OrisH, 105 4. Leonidas to his Three Hundred, Pickat, 107 5. Brutus over the dead Lucretia, Orisr^l arid compiled, 107 6. Achilles' Reply, Comperes Homer, 108 7. Hector's Rebuke, M., 109 8 Hector's Exploit, Id., 110 9 Hector Slain, Id., Ill 10 Telemachua to the Chiefs, Fenelon, 113 n litus Quintiua . . Livy 114 12. Caius Marius, Sallust. 13. Caius Gracchus, .... Enowles 14. Galgacus, Tacitus. 15. Icilius on Virginia's ^e\z\xss,]SIac.antay 16. The Spartans' March, . . Hemans. 17. The Greeks' Return, Id.. 18. Ode, Collins. 19. Virginius' Refusal to Claudius, Livy. 20. Canuleius againdt Patrician AiTogaiice, Id., 21. Catiline to his Army, .... Jonson. 22. Spartacus to the Gladiators. Kello^.x, ,115 va 8{jartaeri3 to the Koman Envoys, Orif;., Marullus to the Komans, Sha/cKpeare, Brutus on Ciesar'a Death, .... Id., Mark Antony, " .... Id., Moloch's Address, Milton, Belial's Address, Id., The Death »( Leonidas, . . . Crolt/, Catiline to the Uitllio Conspirators, Id., Cutiiine'? Last lliirauijue, .... Id., The ISarJ's cunimons, . . . Bulwer, Caradoo to Cyiin-ians, Id., Alfred to his Men, .... Knoiule.i, Rienzi to the Kipuians, . . Mitford, The Patriot's \'nAs-\Wim\, Montgomery ^ Richard to the Princes, .... Scott, Richmond to his -Men, . Shak.ipeare, Henry Y. to his Meu, . . . .Id., Pa? •10. Battle of Ivry, . . . , . Maca%>ay,^^ 41. Van Artevelde to Men I'f Ghent, Taj lor, 14fi 42. Wat Tyler to the King, . . Southey, 140 43. The Soldier's Dream, . . . Cimpbel'. \Vi 44. Before Uuebeo, IVolfe, liT 45. The American Flag, .... Drake, 148 40. To his .Men, before the BaHle of Ixing Island, lyaxhineton, 150 47 To the Army of Italy, . . I^a/io.eon, loO 48. Hymn to the Greeks, . Lo.niar tine, iol 4y. Um-ial of Sir. lohu .Moore, . . /fo//?, 152 50. Ilohenlinden, Campbell, 15.? 51. Sonj; of GreeliS, /ti., 1.54 52. Fall of Warsaw, W., 155 5:i. Marco Bozzaris, Hulleck, 156 54. The Seminole's Defiance . . Patten, 10% 55. Battle Uyum Ka^ner, 158 PART THIRD. SENATORIAL. 1 Against Philip, .... Demosthene.i, 159 • Degeneracy of Athens, .... Id., 160 -mocracy hateful to Philip, . . Id., Itil ». tenality the Ruin of Greece, . . W., 162 5. Demosthenes Denounced, .^schines, 16)3 6. E,v:ordium, Demosthenes, 165 1. Public Spirit of Athenians, . . . Id., 168 8. Demosthenes not Vanquished, . Id., 167 9. Catiline Denounced, .... Cicero, 168 10. Catiline Expelled, Id., 169 11. Yerres Denounced, Id., 170 FROM THE FRENCH. 12. Against the Nobility, &c., Mirabeau, 171 13. Necker's Financial Plan, . . . Id., 172 14. Disobedience to National Assembly, Id., 173 15. Reply, Id., 174 16. On being Suspected, Id., 175 17. Eulogium on Franklin, .... Id., 177 18. Church and Stale, Id., 177 19. To the French, Ferfrniaud, 178 20. Terrorism of Jacobins, Id., 119 21. Against War, Robespierre, 180 22. Morality the Basis of Society, . Id., 181 23. Last Speech, Id., 182 21. To the Peers, ........ Trilat, 183 25. The Republic, Lamartine, 185 26. Democracy adverse to Socialism, De Tocqueville, 135 27. Practical Religious Instruction, Hu§o, 186 28. Necessity of Religion, Id., 187 29. Universal SutTracce, Id., 188 Bij. Liberty rd the Press, Id., 189 V A Republic or -Monarchy, . . . /(/., 190 Bi The Two Napoleons, W., 191 BRITISH. 83. The End of Government, . . . Pym, 192 84. Defence, .... Earl of Strafford, 193 85. Reducing the Army, . . Pulteney, 195 8«. Against Richard Cromwell, . . Vane, 196 37. How to make Patriots, . . . TValpole, 196 88. Against Pitt (Earl of Chatham), , Id., 197 B9. Reply to Wal pole. Earl of Chatham, l\)% M. Reply to Greaville. Id., 199 Pag. 41. Reconciliation with America, CAafAaw, 201 202 Repeal claimed as a Right, Lord North's Jlinistry, . On Employing Indians, . Ruinous Consequences, . America Uncon(|uerable, . requent Executiims Id, Id., Id., Id., Id., Meredith, Parliamentary Innovations, lieaufoy. Religious Persecution, . Comptlation, jVmerica's Obligations, .... Barri, Reply to Lord North, Id., Bold Predictions, Wilkes, Conquest of Americana, . . . Id., Reply to Duke of Grafton, Thurlow, Present Popularity, Lord Mansfield, .Magnanimity in Politics, . . Burke, American Enterprise, ....'. Id., American Ta.'^ation. Des)>otism Unrighteous, Imiieachment of Hastings, Peroration against Hastings, To tlie Bristol Electors, . . Marie Antoinette, .... Irisli Riyhls, Reply to Flood, National Gratitude, Catlioli<: I)is(iualification, . . , Heaven on the Side of Principle, .\gainst Corry, Union with (Jreat Britain, . . The Catholic Question, .... Religion Independent, .... Sectarian Tyranny, American War Denounced, . . .Motion to Censure Ministry, . . .\.ttfinpt to make him Resign, . Ilurliiirisni of Ancient Britons, . Ivi'Milts of American War, . . . Wasliiugtou's Foreign Policy, . Liberty is Strength, Democratic Governments, . . Partition of Polani, .... At'.ieist Government null. Shendan, Politicid .Jobbing, Id., Poiiular and Kingly Examples, . Id., Reform in Parliament, . Lord G-^ey, Conservative Inno^a/ors, Wuskisson, The Peusi >;i Sy.stera, . , . Cunan. Id . . Id., . . /(/., . . Id., . . Id., . . Id., Sraltan, . . Id., . . Id., Id., Id., id.. Id., Id., Id., Id., Pitt, Id., Id., Id., Fox, Id., Id., Id., Id., nn On Threats of Violence, Eeligious Distinctions, War with France, .... Canning, Bank-notes and Coin, . Lord J. Russell's Motion, Mr. Tierney's Motion, . Defence of Pitt, .... Measures, not Men, . . Balance of Power, . . . Collision of Vices, . . . England and America, Mackintosh. Fate of Reformers, . . , Brougham Parliamentary Reform, .... Id., Religious Liberty, . . . O'Connell [i-ish Disturbance Bill, .... [d. The Death Penalty, .... Byron. Charges against Catholics, . Sheil. Irish Aliens, Id.. Irish Establishment, Id. Repeal of Union, . . ... Id. England's Misrule, Id. Civil War, . . . Lord Pacmerston Reform, .... Lord J. Russell. Iiish Church, Macaulay . Hom-s of Labor, [d. Reform, to Preserve, Id.. Men always fit to be Free, . . [d.. Second Bill of Rights, .... Id.. Public Opinion, the Sword, . . Id.. A Government should Grow, . /d.! Reform irresistible, Id.. Reply to 119, Croker. Perils of Reform, Id.. Copyright, Talfourd. Literary Property, Id.. International Copyright, ... Id.. Legislative Union, Peel. American Vessels, .... Cobden, 245 '; 144 246 ; 145. 246 1 146. 247 ! 147. 248 ! 148. 249 1 149 250 I 150. 251 151. 252 1 152. 253 Resistance, Henry, 281 War inevitable, Id., 282 Return of British Fugitives, . . Id.,1S3 Supposed Speech, Otis, 284 For Independence, ...... Lee, 285 Federal Constitution, . . Franklin, 286 God Governs, Id., 281 For a Declaration, .... Adams, 2S8 Conclusion of foregoing, . . . Id., 289 On Government, .... Hamilton, 290 U. S. Constitution, Id., 291 Aristocracy, Livingston, 292 E.xtent of Country, . . . Randolph, 293 France and the U. S. ffaskington, 294 Foreign Influence, Id., 294 Sanctity of Treaties, .... Ames, 295 The British Treaty, Id., 296 The Strongest Goveniment, Jejfe tson, Freedom of Judges, , . . Bayard, Judiciary Act, Marrvt. Free Navigation, Id., Foreign Conquest, . . .. Clinton, Innovations, Madison, Party Intemperance, . . . Gaston, The Embargo, Quincy, Disunion, ....... Pinkney, British Influence, . . J Randolph, Greek Question, Id., Virginia Constitution, Id., Against Duelling, . . Compilation, The Declaration, . . J. Q. Adams, Washington's Sword, &c., . . Id., Union with Liberty, . . . Jackson, War, Binney, The Supreme Court, Id., U. S. Constitution, .... Legari, On Returning to the U. States, Id., In Favor of War, 1813, .... Clay, Jefferson Defended, Id., Military Insubordination, . . . Id., Noblest Public Virtue, .... Id., Expunging Resolution, .... Id., Independence of Greece, . . . Id., Prospect of War, Calhoun, The Force BUI, Id., Purse and Sword, Id., Liberty the Meed, Id., Popular Elections, . . . McDuffie, Military Qualifications, . Sergeant, Opposition, Webster, Moral Force, Id., Sympathy with South America, Id., The Poor and Rich, Id., Sudden Conversions, Id., Constitution P'atform, .... Id., Resistance to Oppression, . . . Id., Peaceable Secession, Id., Clay's ResolutiiHio, Id., Justice to the ^^^lole, .... Id., Matches and Over-matches, . . Id., S. Carolina and Mass., .... Id., Liberty and Union, Id., Reply to Webster, .... Hayne, The South in 1776, Id., The South in 1812, Id., Defalcations, Prentiss, American Laborers, . . . Naylor, Fulton's Invention, . . . Hoffman, Sectional Services, .... Cushing, National Hatreds, .... Choate, Precedents, Cass, On Intervention, . . . J. Clemens, Hazards of Prosperity, W. R. Smith, Flogging in the Navy, . . Stockton, Gov't Extravagance, . Crittenden, PART FOURTH. FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. Pag-e i. Mbertj of the Press, .... Cwrran, 353 t. Mr. Rowan, Id., 353 8. Habeas Corpus Act, W., 354 i. Appeal to Lord Avonmore, . . Id., 355 6. On being found Guilty, . . . Emmet, 357 fl. Great Minds and Christianity, Erskine, 362 '' On Biasing Judgment, . . Man^eld,d<>i Pag» 8. Defence of Peltier, . . . Mxhintosh, 365 9. Instigators of Treason, . . . Wirt, 368 10. Burr and Blennerhassett, . . . Id., id' 11. Reply to Wickham, Id., 36? 12. Guilt its ow-a Betrayer, . Webster, 369 13. Moral Power, McLean, 378 14. The Death Penalty, Huge, &«• PAUT FIFTH. POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. The Exam pi 5 of America, Qovermutnt Vigor, . . . Rejection of Reform, . , Address V Vouiig Jlen, Au«»l to Uun-ai-iiiiis, Ccnteiitiuent of liurojie, Huii^'ai-imi Heroism, . In a Just Cause, Id., Peace Inconsistent, Id.., < The 3-2d Dec., . . ,. Sir H. Bulwer, : Uritisli Aggressions, . J. Quinci/, Jr., Eloquence and Logic, . . . Pre.ito7i, Relief to Ireland, Prenti!-:s, Plea for the Sailor, . . Mount/ord, '■ Pa- Rt lations to England, . . . Everett sse Ui L'Ut Ex unples . Eveielt kh: \\ d will the Monument do. Id. Hver that same people who had jeered at him when they first heard him speak in public. The speeches of Demosthenes were not extemporaneous. There wei*e 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 coeva! with Grecian liberty, declined with the decay of the latter. In Rom«' the military vpirit 80 incompatible with a high degree of civil freedom, long checked tb« 16 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. growth of that popular intelligence which i& the only iienr^ent in which tb< noblest eloquence is nurtured. Rhetoricians were banlshe^i from the country as late as the year of the city 592. A few years subsequent lo this p^riotlj \he study of Oratoi-y was introduced from Athens ; and it at length found a zealous disciple and a consummate master in Cicero, whc^e 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 orf-dorj before delivery. MODERN ORATORY In modern times, Oratory has not been cultivated with so much care aS among the ancients. The diffusion of opinions and arguments by mean,^ of the Press has, perhaps, contributed in some degree to its neglect. A speake'.' is now mainly known to the public through the Press, a.nd it is often move important to him to be read than heard. Still, the power of Oratory in repub- lican countries must always be immense, and the importance of its cultivation must be proportionate. We see it flourish or decay according to the degre/ cf 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 off the jrammels of her monarchical system, that Fhe produced a Mirabeau. Her parliamentary annals will show that the eloquence of her National Asaembl/ nas been in proportion to the predominance of the element of constitutional freedom in her government. The struggle against incipient despotism in England, which resulted "in the execution of King Charles the Fii-st, was productive of some great bur'jts o;' 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, Slieridan, and Grattan ; all of who'ij were roused to some of their most brilliant eitbrts by the arbitrary course of government towards our ancestors of the American colonies. Ireland is weU represented in this immortal list. Her sons have ever displayed a true genius for Oratory. The little 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, Spain and Portugal, and most of the other countrie' of Europe. To the pulpit Oratory of France, the illustrious names of Bo.5Suet, Bourdaloue and Massillon, 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 tliat her senatorial eloquence reaches its high note. The growth of eloquence in the United States has been such as to inspire ths 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 bom none, since Demosthenes, in the authority, majesty and amplitude, of .jeir eloquence, can be pronounced superior. In proportion to the extent cf our cultivation of Oratory as an art worthy our entire devotion, must be our success in enriching it with new and precious contributions. And of the fv 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 profound reasoning of Burke, the burning satire and irony of Barre, had influence on our fortunes in .\merica ? They tended to diminish the confidence of th« Britinh ministry in their hopes to subject us. There was not a reading man irho did not struggle more boldly for his rights when tho(i« exhilaratinf ELOCUTION. 17 soondfl, uttswsd in the two houses of Parliament, reached him from across th« SUCCESS IN ORATORY. For the attainment of the highest and most beneficent triumph.s of tht orator, no degree of labor can be regarded as idly bestoweil. 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 me"! itation on Oratory, and by liis 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 with a few sentences from any speech or sermon ; he should commit them thoroughly, work their spirit into his mind, and then -proceed to evolve thai 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 every 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 wo'ila reach and (juicken those of his hearers. Would he denounce oppres- bIou ' His own heart must be free from every quality that contributes to make the tyrant. Would he invoke mercy in behalf of a client ? He must aimself 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 in 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. The modern division, into the eloquence of the Pulpit, the Bar, and the Senate, is hardly more convenient and comprehensive. Oratory comprehends the four following divisions : invention, disposition, 8lociit'/jn, and delivery. The first has reference to the character of the sen- timents employed ; the second, to their arrangement, and the diction in which tliey are clothed ; the third and fourth, to the utterance and action with fthiih they are communicated to the hearer. It is the province of rhr;toric to give rules for the invention and disposition of a discourse. It is with Iba attar 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 arranged into sentences, and form discourse It includes the tones of voice, the utterance, and enunciation of the speaker, with the proper accompani- ments of countenance and gesture. The art of elocution may there We b* l8 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. iefineJ to be that system of rules whieh tea.ches us to pronounce written oi Extemporaneous composition with justness, energy, variety and ease ; and, iigreeal»ly lo this definition, good reivding or speaking may be considei'ed aa that species of delivery wliicli not only expresses the sense of the words so as to be Varely understood, but at the same time gives them all the ferce, be&aty *iid \ariety, of which they are susceptible. ELOCUTION AMONG THE ANCIENTS, rhi; Greeks and Romans paid great attention to the study of elooutioa, I'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 fall in the pronunciation of individual syllables are made by a concrete or continuous slide of the voice, as distinguished from the discrete 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 OF SPEECH. For the modern additions to elocutionary analysis, we are indebted aainly to the labors of Steele, Walker, and Dr. James Rush of Philadelphia. The measure of speech is elaborately explained by Mr 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 acertain 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 tlie 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 thi-ee syllables, as in circumstance, infmilely, &c. The stroke or pulsative effort of the voice, then, can only be on one syllable ; the remission of the voice can give several syllables after the pulsation. This pulsation 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 pauies arising from the nature of the organs of speech ; these are denoted in exata- ples marked, according to Steele's system, by the figure *] , and the pulsatiTS! and remiss syllables by *.• and ... It has been said that the pulsative effiipt ean be made only on one syllable ; if the syllable have extendeil quantity, if may be pronounced both with the pulsative effort and die aw.-iy in the remis- 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 tlie sense. Steele'8 aysiem has bees adopted by several teachers of elocution ; by Mr Chapmaai KLEMENTS OF ELOCUTION, Si ka hifl Rhythmical Grammar, and by Mr. Barber, in his Grammar of Eloca dm The following lines are marked according to Mr. Steele's plan Arms and tho | man I | sing | *^| | who*^ | forced by | fate. Hail I noly | light '"', | offspring of | Heaven | first *! 1 born. | WAIiKEK'3 ELEMENTS OF ELOCUTION. INFLECTIONS OF TIIE VOICS. Towards the close of the last century, Mr. John Walker, author of the excel* Aiflt " Critical Pronouncing Dictionary" which bears his name, promulgated his analysis of vocal iudection. 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 must necessarily be conveyed by these two slides or inflections, which 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 ai-e 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 Caesar deserve fkme''or blame' 1 Lvery pause, of whatever kind, must necessarily adopt one of tnese two uifiections, 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 Csesar deserve blame' 1 Impossible' ! Here blame — the last woi'd of the question — has the rising inflection, con trary to the inflection on that 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 circumflexes : the first, which he denominates the rising circumflex, 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 ) isi?ig circum- fl,ex is mai-ked thus, "; the falling, thus, ". The mo?iotone, thus marked, , denotes that there is no inflection, and no change of key. Having explained the inflections, Walker proceeds to deduce the law of delivery from the structure of sentences, which he divides into compact, ioo.te, direct periods, inverted periods, &c. By the term se' ies, he denotes an enumeration of particulars. If the enumeration consists of single words, it is called a simple series; if it consists of clauses, it is called a compouni teries. When the sense requires that there should be a rising slide on tbfi !a8t particular, the series is called a commencing series ; and when the eerien requires the falling slide on the last particular, it is termed a concluding teriei The simple commencing series is illustrated in the following sentsBce ha-ving two (1' 2') members : — "Honor' and shame' from no condition riaa." The simple roncluding series is illustrated in the following sentence of fotu (V 2 3 4' ) members- — "Remember that virtue alone is bmor\ glory veaUh , vnd happiness^ " K THE STANDARD SPEAKiHl. Among the Kuies laid down by Walker and his folic W€ ra are the following. which we select as the most simpte. The pupil must vn* take them, ]j.(,wever «» an infellible guide. Some are obvious enough ; but to others tb« excep- dons are numerous, — so numerous, indeed, that they womd he a burtJjeusom* t,hai;ge to the memory. The Rules, however, may be serviceable in cases where the reader desires another's judgment in regavd to the inflection of voice that is most appropriate . Rule I. ^Vhen the sense is finished, the falling inflection takesflace oa, " Nothing valuable can be gained without labor\ ' ' II. Ilia compact sentence, the voice slides up where the meaning begini to be formed ; as, " Such is the course of nature', tliat whoever lives long, must outlive those whom he loves and honors." There are many exceptions to this rule. For instance, when ?,n emphatic woisl is contained ui the first part of tlie compact sentence, the filling inflec- tion takes place ; as, " He is a traitor to his country^ he is a f.'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 coiinnencing series, the falling inflection takes place on every member but the last ; as, " Our disordered i;'sarts\ oiir guilty pas- sions', our violent prejudices', and misplaced desires', ais tha instruments of the trouble wliich we endure." V. In a compound concluding series, the falling ivf.ectijn takes place on every member except the one before the last; as, " Ch\>ic8r most frequently describes things as they ai-e" ; Spenser, as we wish' thai io be ; Shakspeare, as they would' be ; and Milton, as they ought' to be." "VT. hi a series of commencing members forming a crmax, the last mem- ber, being strongly emphatic, takes a fall instead of a rue ; as, " A youth', a boy', a child', might understand it." VII. Literal interrogations asked by pronouns or adverbs {or questions requiring an immediate answer) end loith the falling iriflection ; as, ■" Where are you going' ? What is your name' ? " Questio7is 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, AVas ever woman in this humor wooed' 1 Was ever woman in this humor won' 1 Vin. The inflection which terminates an exclamation is regulated by the common rules of inflection. This ride is, of course, brokeit through by pas- tion, which has slides and notes of its own. As a general rule, it may be iiated that exclamations of surprise and indignation take a rising slide in a loud tone ; those of sorrow, distress, pity a7id love, the rising slide in a gentle tone; and those of adoration, awe and despair, the falling infleZ' Hon. IX. Any intermediate clause affecting the sen e of the sentence {generally termed the modifying clause) is pronounced ir a different key from that in which the rest of the sentence is spoken. As th intermediate words are fre- juently t.ne pivot on which the sense of the entence turns, the mind in directed to it by a change of voice. The voict .-inks at the beginning cf tht :luuse, hut rises gradually towards the conchis 37i ; as, " Age, in a virtuous' person, carries in it an authority which makes A preferable to all the ple8«« ares of youth." X. l^he ParerMhesis is an i7itermediate clause, not lecessary no the sense a it pronounced in a different key from that in which the sentence is prv PHILOSOPHY OF THB HUMAN VOICE. 21 nounred, tn order to distinguish it from the body of the sentence .■ and it is pronounced more quickly, that the hearer may not be diverted by it into for- gttttne the connection o^ tiie sentence. It generally terminates with the injtectton of the clai^se preceding it. When it contains a strongly smphotie word, the falling injiection is necessary : Let us (since life can little more su^/^.. Than }ust 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. Jin echo, or the repetition of a word or thought introductoi y to si ine partictdars, requires the high rising injiection, and a long pause after it. This is frequently the language of excitement ; the mind recurs to the excit- ing idea, and acquires fresh i?itensity 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, wldob have reduced this late flourishing Kingdom to scorn and contempt." XIL When words are in contradistinction to other ivords, either expressed or understood, they are pronounced, with emphatic forck , when the contra distinction is not expressed, the emphasis must be strong, so as to surgesi 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 Bcensa. " It is deplorable when age* thus errs." Not merely youth, but age. XIIT J? climax must be read or pronounced with the voice progressively ascerd^ g to the last member • accompanied with the increasing energy, ani fl^atiOft r pathos, corresponding with the nature of the subject. See, what a grace was seated on this brow ! Hyperion's curls'; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars', to threaten and command'; A station like the herald Mercury", New lighted on a heaven-kissing ^111*; 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 voice. I>r. Bush, whose " Philosophy of the Human Voice " presents the mo««t minute 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 qualifies of the voice under the following heads : the Orotund, wiiich is fuller in volume than the common voice ; the Tremor ; the Aspii-ation ; the Guttural ; the Falsette ; and the Whisper. The complex movement of the voice occasioned by the union of the rising and falling slides on the same long syllable he calls a wave. It- is termed by Steele and Walker the circumflex accent. Dr. Rush illustravat the slides of the voice by reference to the Diatonic scale, consisting of a suo- cession of eight sounds, either in an ascending or descending series, ane! embracing seven prosiniate intervals, five of wiiich are Tones, and two Semi- tones Each sound is calletl a Note ; and the changes of pitch from any oae note 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 aie appropriated to speech the slides through five different intervals, — the Semitone, the Second, the Third, the Fifth, and the Octave. By a careful 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- nation? of tl'.ese -^ocal movements may at first pippear, they may readily be 22 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. fedaced to sb;, called Phrases of Melody. These are the Monoto.ie, the Biaing 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 piirafiea of melody. Thus we have the Diatonic Melody, the Melody of the Monotone, !■/ the Alternate Phrase, and of the Cadence ; and to these are added the Chro taatic Melody which arises from the predominance of the Semitone, and the Brcken Melody. INSUFFICIENCY OF ARBITRARY SYSTEMS OF ELOCUTION. It TTOuld 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 unprofitabls to enumerate the many systems that have been deduced from them up to the 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 tha speaker, his appreciation of the sense, and the intensity with which he entei'S 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 coimtryinen ; 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 hits 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 mesms 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, // is requisite to study analyti- cally the emphasis, tones, pauses, degrees of loudness, 4'C., which give the proper effect to each passage that is well deli\'ered; to frame Rules founded on the observation 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 are three weighty objections : first, that the proposed system must necessarily bfl impe feet ; secondly, that if it were perfect, it would be a circuitous paJh 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 strenuooj advocates of the artificial systems, would seem to be all-sufiBcient. Any number of Rules must needs leave the subject incomplete, inasmuch as the analysis of sentences, in their stmcture, and their relations to vocal inflection, may ba carried to almost any extent. Few Rules can be laid down to which many wnforeseen exceptions cannot be made. Mr. Walker, in his " Rhetor'.ci ARBITRARY S76TEMg OF ELOCDTJ-^N. 23 firammar," puW-shed some years after his " Elements o(, ElocvLtk- had been before ilie public, admits the practical failure of the systems fouj ' «,-olamation will guide us, better than any system of marks, in a right dis- position of emphasis and inflection. By attention, bad habits are detected and repudiated, and haf py graces are seized and adopted. Demostnenes had a habit of raising one shoulder when he spoke. He corrected it by sus- pending a sword, so thai the point would pierce the offending member when snduly 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 yoar- §elf 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 immediaV., will be recognized later in life. In awakening attention, inspiring confidence, acquaint- ing the pupil with the selectest models of Oratory, cou)pelling hira to try hia voice before an audience, and impressing him with a sense of the importance of elocutionary culture, the benefltw which accrue from these exercises are inestimable. The late .John Quincy Adams used to trace to his simjile habit of reciting, in obedience to his father, Collins' little ode, " How sleep the brave," &c., the germ of a pati-iotic inspiration, the effects of which he felt throughout his public career ; together with the ear^y culture of a taste for tlocution, which was of great influence in shaping his future pursuits. DIVISIONS OF ELOCUTION. Elocution Is divided into Articulation and Pronunciation , Inflecnon asd Modulation ; Emphasis ; Gesture. ARTICULATION AND PRONUNCIATION. Ccrrect articulation is the most important exercise of the voice, and jf the iWgans of speech. A public speaker, possessed only of a moderate voice, if he articulate correctly, will be better undei-stood, 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- P As an assistance to the pupil in carrying out this recommendation, the anthoa has, Jn many instances, appended illustrative notes, or briei bi-'grapliical sketchwk ifO Uie extracts from the speeches ot g.'-aat orators. r PRONUNCIATION. 25 fosion. Of the fornvftr voiae, not the smallest vibration is wasted every stroke is lerceived at the utmost distauce to which it reaches, and hence it may oft«D appear to penetrate even further than one which is loiid, but bally articulated " In just articulation," says Austin, " the words are not harried over, not- precipitated syllable over syllable. They are delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins, newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, sharp, in duA succession, and of due weight." Pronunciation points out the proper sounds of vowels and consonants, anA 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 proviucial accent. The dictionaries of Worcester or Webster, in which the pronunciation is based m.iinly on the accepted standard of Walker, 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 in the attainment of a correct pronunciation of the rudimental sounds of the vowels and consonants. They siiould be carefully studied. A speaker who continually violates the ear of taste by his mispronunciation must never hopi to make a favorable impression upon an educated audience. DEFECTS IN PRONUNCIATION. The omission to sound the final g in such words as moving, rising, — as if they were spelled movin, risin, — is one of the most frequent defects which inattentive readers exhibit. A habit also pyevaiis of slurring the full sound of the italicised letter in such words as belief, polite, political, w/iisper, wAich; several, every, deliverer, traveller; history, memorable, melody, philosophy; society, variety, &c. ; also of muffling the r in such woi'ds 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 ( in certainly, fountain, &c. ; the last o in Boston, 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 *uch words as feWow, potato, foWoiu, 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, legis- Inture, &c., failing to give the full sound to the u and e of the last syllable, as they are sounded in pure, sure, &c. ; giving to the a in scarce the sound of u in 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 uni to the final m in chas?n, patriotis/«, &c. ; the sound of?' to the e in got^dness, matchless; the sound Qtjie to the /mZ of awfwl, beautiful, and the like. The e in the first Byllable of such words as terminate, mercy, perpetrate, &c., ought, accoyding to the stricter critics in elocution, to have the sound of e in merit, terror, &o A habit of speaking through the nose, in the utterance of such words as noo "oiu, is prevalent in New England, ana should be overcome by all who wocudi not make themselves ridiculous in educated society. Ottar COD mon defects in pronunciation are thus satirized by Ilolmea " Learning condemns, beyond the reach of hope, The careless churl that speaks of soap for soap ; 'Her edict exiles from he^ fair abode rbe olcwniyh voice that utters road for road ; aC THE STANDARD MSB stern ta bim who calls his coat a c5ai. And steers his boat, believing it a boat ; Siie 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 all ; Carve every word before you !et it fall ; Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star. Try over-hard to roll the British R ; Do put your acaents in tho proper spot ; Don't — let mo beg j'ou — don't say " llow 1" for " Vtliat ?" And, when you stick on conversation's bur?, . Don't strew your pathway with those dregful wr.' / " In the beginning of a course of elocution, it is necessary that a minutv attea Hon be paid to the producing of the exact sounds on the iin;i,octr.teJ syllables, and sJioagb this may be censured by many, as aft'ected and ^he:>tri?al, it must- for a due, be encouraged. Most persons will give the sound of a in accissori distinctly aud purely, as the accent is on it; but, if the accent is on tho secono 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 'vord were accord. The same remark holds with regard to the initial ab, ad, if, 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, thee in ex-aci, 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 sounded noh'dy, circuir nces. The termiuational syllables ment, ness, lion, ly, ture, our, ous, en, U, tn, &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 conipli/uints; nation, that of naslni; only, onle (the e as in met) ; nature, natcfinr ; valor, valer ; famous, famuss ; novel, 7iovl ; chicken, chick n ; Latin, l.atn. Sometime* the concluding consonant is almost lost in the unaccented syllable, while it id preserved in tlie accented ; thus, in the noun subject, in which the accent is on the first syllable, the I is scarcely sounded by many who would sound it in the verb to subject, in which the accent is on the last syllabic. In d and / final, the articulation is not completed until the tongue comes olT from the roof of the mouth. Distinctness is gained by this attenti#n 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 propoi'tions of syllables may be preserved. As emphasis is to a sentence what accent is to words, the remarks which hav'3 been made on accented and unaccented syllables apply to words empkatic and unemphutic. The unemphatic words are also apt to become inarlicu]atfi from t'le insufficient force which is put upon them, and the vowel-sounds, a< Sn can as, and the consonant d in and, &c., are changed or lost. In certais words such as my, mine, thy, thine, you, you.r, the unemphatic prcnuncia- &cn is different from the emphatic, being sounded me, min, the, thin, ye, yur- as, t lost All her original brightness, nor appeared 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, Tlie following passage, in which King John takes Hubert aside, and t<;mpli feim tfl undertake the death of Arthur, requires, in the enunciation, a full, aud' bis 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 tongue, using conceit alone, — Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words, — Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day, I would into thy bosom 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 undertaka. Though that my death were adjunct to my act. By Heaven, I 'd do 't ! K. John. Do I not know thou wouldst 1 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 offend your majesty K. John. Death. Hub. My Lord 1 K. John. A grave. Hub. He shall not live. K. John. Ekiough. I could he merry now. Hubert, I love thee: Well, I '11 not say what I 'ntend for thee; Remember. Shakapeare's King John, Act iii Stmt i MIDDLE KEY. TiiiB 19 the key of common discourse, and the ke/ in which » speaker mun Efiaally deliver the greater part of his speech. Sheridan points out a aimplt ynethod of acquiring loudness ii this key. " Any one, who 'h rough habit, ^ fallen into a weak utterance, cannot hope suddenly to chaii^e it he mail MODULATION OJ THB VOICE. 2S (k it by degrees, nud constant practice. I would there ''ire rcoommend it tc him that he should daily exercise himself in reading or repeating, in the heai-ing 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, ijci his usual manner of delivering himself. Afterwards, let him gradually increaoe his distance, anJ 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 voices but gives it with greater power. It is material to notice, that a well-forme Jl 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 tho players should be mostly delivered in this middle key. HIGH KEY. Tills 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 ilo it pleasingly. There is a compressinn 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 dragon.s ' 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 tixintly the clamor of the multitude, but more distinctly the organs, and other musical instruments, which are playet* for their amusement. If a Cremona violin, a real Amati, oe played by !.«) side of a modern fiddle, the latter will sound much lojider than the former; but the sweet, brilliant tone of the Amsxti will be heard at a distance the other cannot reach. Dr. Young, on the authority of Durham, states that at Q bral- tar the hum'»n voice may be heard at a greater distance than that oi any Dther 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 iion could not penetrate so far. Loud speakers are seldom heard to advantage. Burke's mce is said to have been a sort of lofty cry, which tended as much as the fcrmality 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 notes which were perfectly irresistible. The terrible, however, was his peculiar power. Then the Hc-js« sank before him; still, he (vas dignified, and. wonder so THE SXANBARD SPEAKER. fill as was his eloquence, it was attended with thi3 impLrtant effect, tii«A it possessed every one with a conviction that thei-e was something in him flaw khan his T/ords, — that the man was greater, infinitely greater, Ujao tbn orafccr.' " MONOTONE. A monotone is intonation without change of pitch: that is, preserving a fiiliiess 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 fa mili- tated by pronouncing forcibly at first in a low monotone. A monotone, though 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 ! when the last account twixt Heaven and earth Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal WitnesB against us to damnation. The language of the ghost in Hamlet is mostly uttered in a deep monotone. Hhe 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 should.tt follow it J The monotone is varied, in the it»l-cized part, to the tone of passionat* emotion and supplication. TIME. Modulation includes, also, the considoration of ti7ne, 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, slow ; low, feeble, slow ; low, loud, quick, &c. ; middle, loud, slow ; middle soft, slow ; middle, feeble, slow, &c. Thus, we have a copious natural lan- guage, adapted to the expression of every 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 modifiiiation of voice. Thi* jspression lies in the key, force, and time of the tones, and the forcible pro- Oiimciation of certain letters which are supposed more particularly to exprcst t^ imitation. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows. And the smootli stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore. The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roK When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, . 1>« line too labors, and the words move slow ; Not 80, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Fliee o'or the unbending cor-\, and skims alons the main. SI Orammatical punctuation does not always demand a pause , and the tim« »f 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 Ibe connection between the sentences, and other causes. "I am convinced," says Mr. Ki.owles, " that a nice attention to rhetorical punctuation has an extremely miachieTois tendency, and is totally inconsistent with natui-e. Give tht Btinse of what you read — mind is the thing. Pauses are essential only where the omission would obscure the sp/ise. The orator, who, in the act of delivf r* Ing himself, is studiously solicitous about parcelling his words, is sure to leave the best part of his work undone. He delivers words, not thoughts Deliver thoughts, and words will take care enough of themselves." By emphasis is meant that stronger and fuller sound of voice, by which, ii\ reading or speaking, we distinguish the accented syllable, or some word, on which we design to lay particular stress, in order to show how it affects 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 ■iften 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 speaker 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 the emphasis is ditferently 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 in my stead. If tlius : Do you ride to town to-day ? Answer. No •, I iiJtend to walk. Do you ride to town to-day? No; I ride out into the Mds. Do you ride to town to-day 7 No; but I shall to-morrow. And there B 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 enfoi-cement of the question, if the person asked had evaded giving a reply : thus : "Do you ride to town to-day ? " The tone implying : Come, tell me at once, do you, or do you not 1 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 necessai-y for substantives, verbs, &c., which may be called accented. Third, that force wlv'ch is used for distinguishing some words from others, commonly called emjjhasis of force. Fourth, the force necessary for emphasis of sense. As opposition is the foundation of all emphasis of pense, whatever words are contrasted with, contradistiur;uished from, or set in opposition to, caQ another, they are always emphatic. Hence, whenever there is antithesis in the sense, whether words or clauses, there ought to be emphasis in the pr(>- Fiu-nciation. The variations of emphasis are so numerous as to defy the fom^aticn of ruloS) that can be appropriate in all cases. Give a dozen well-traineo slocutioaists a sentence to mark emphatically, and probably no two woul<.f perform the task precisely alike. What though the field be lost ? All is not lost ; the unconquerable w, \ And studv if 'eDengc immortal ha'e. 9ra THE STANTDAIID SPEAKEK. And courage never to submit or yield, — That glory never shall His wi'ath or might Extort from rru. Ths following speech of Othello is an example of what ss *«rmei oumtxlAtivs emphasis : If thou dost slander her and torture me. Never pray more ; abandon all remorse; On horror's head horrors accumulate ; Do deeds to make Heaven weep, all earfh amazed — For nothing canst thou to damnation add Greater than this ! III. GESTUKE. Gesture, considered as a just and elegant adaptation of every part of the 6ody 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 atterance 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- oeously with the threat, he will be startled according to the earnestness of the jKJtipn. 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 mattei 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 'anc gesture may be said to be tuned to each other ; and, if they are in a diiferent 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, unimpassioued character. Nothing seems to mf 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 ths regulation of gesture ; and nearly all subsequent writers on the subject have borrowed largely from his work. He illustrates 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 the etady of these figures. They only serve as a subject for ridicule to boys; and ars generally found, in every volume in use, well pencilled over with satirical marks or mottoes, issuing froia the mouths of the stiti-looking gentlemen whfl are presented as models of grace and expression to aspiring youth. The tbllosving is an enumeration of some of the most frequent gestures, t« which the various members of the body contribute : Tke Head and Face. The hanging down of the head denotes shame, oK grief The holding it up, pride, o-^ ",ourage. To nod forward, implies assent To toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies bashful fUtiess or languor. The head is averted in dislike or hoiTor. It leans fop »«pi in attention. GESTUIIK AND ATTITODE. 83 Tf.e Eyts. The eyes are raised, in prayer. They weep, la sorrow. Burn. (D anger. They are cast on vacancy, in thought. They are thrown in different directions, in doubt and anxiety. The Anns. The ana is projected forward, in authority Both arms are iprcad extended, in admiratfbn. They are held forward, in imploring help rUey both fall suddenly, in disappointment. Folded, they lenote thc^ightful- BQ83 Tie Hands. The hand on the head indicates pain, i>v distress. On tic fjes, shame. On the lips, injunction of silence. On the breast, it appeals to tonscience, or intimates desire. The hand waves, ov flourishes, in joy, oi- con 'empt. Both hands are helt' supine, or clasped, in prayer. Both descend prone, in blessing. They are clasped, or wrung, in affliction. The outsti-etclied bands, with the knuckles opposite the speaker's taue, express fear, abhoi-rence, rejection, or dismissal. The uuts^i-etched hands, wit li tlie palms toward the fac€ Cif the speaker, denote approval, acceptation, welcoming, and love. The Body. The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping forward, condeSL.'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. Retiie, in av rsion, or fear. Start, in terror. Stamp, in authority, or anger. Kneel, in ■iubmission and prayer. Walker says that we sliould be careful to let th( stroke of the hand which marks force, or emphasis, keep exact time with ine force of pronunciation that is, the hand must go down upon the enij hatic word, and no other !Khus, in the imprecation of Brutus, in Julius Cse'^ar When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. To lock such rascal counters fnjm his friends, Be ready, Gods, with all jour thunderbolts. Dash him in pieces ! Here, says Walker, the action of the arm which enforces the emphasis ought to 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 pronunciution, and by this means the whole expression will 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 omotion, struggling for uttez-ance, produces a tendencj' to a bodily gesture, to express that emotion more quickly than wordii can be framed; the words fol' iow as soon as they can be spoken. And this being always the case with a real, ftarnest, 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 wjfficient to convert the action of Demosthenes himself into unsuccessful and ridiculous mimicry. ' ' W'!\ere two such authorities clash, the pupil's own good taste must give the ^i»2 'o his decision. '•" The gracefulness of motion in the tiuman frame," says Austin, in hifl Chiroaomia, "consists in the facility and security with which it is executed: sud 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 weight 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 ettbrt. Tiie foot which sustains the principal weight luust be so placed that a perpendicular line, lei Skli from the pit of the neck, shall pass through the heel of that foot. Of wurse. Ui>j centre of gravity of the body is, for the time, in that line; wliils^ 3 84 THE STANDAEP SPEAKER. the other font R.i, sd as not to be obliged to divide words from one another whicb have su intimate a connection that they ought to be pronounced in the sam« breath, and without the least separ-Uion. Many sentencea are marred, and thd force of the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the wrong plaoe. 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 iniervah of the period, when the voice is only suspended for a moment; and, by this manage- ment, we may have always a suiScient 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 aloud. The habit of Demosthenes, of walk- Ing by the sea-shore and shouting, was less important, in accustoming him te 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 tham 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." How doubly important does the judicious and methodical exercise of the /oice thus beco-me to him who would make it at once an effective instrument of conveying truth to his fellow-men, and of improving his own physical strength and capacity ! EXPLANATORY MARKS The length of a vowel is indicated by a horizontal line (-) ever it; as, Latlnus. Its shortness is marked by a curve ("); as, Regiiius. If two vowels, which, in ordinary circumstances, form a diphthong, or ar« likely to be fused together in their utterance, are to be pronounced separately ihe second is mai-ked with (•■) ; that is, a diseresis; as, aerial. This rule js not always observed in familiar instances. The acute accent (') is employed to indicate that the vowel over which it '.s placed is not merged in the preceding syllable ; as, ble-^sed, Tempe ; th« accent showing that tliese words are to be pronounced in two syllables. In poetry, the past, participle, which in prose is in one syllable, often has to be Irronounced in two, to preserve the harmony of the verse. STANDARD SPEAKER PART FIRST. MORAL AND DIDACTIC. I. TKUTH THE OBJECT OP ALL SSVDIES. — Original Tran.ilaUoH The supreme want, as well as the supreme blessing of man, is tnil/i. yes, 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 multitude from the tyranny of governments ; — truth in our legal tribunals, which strikes Vice with consternation, reassures Innocence, and accomplishes the triumph of Jxistice ; — truth in education, which, bringing the conduct of instructors into accordance with their teaching, 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 universallj inculcated, — when they shall have penetrated all hearts, — when they shall animate every order of society, — if they do not arrest all exijt* ing evils, they will have, at least, the advantage of arresting a great many. They will be prolific in generous sentiments and virtuous actions , and the world will perceive that truth is, to the body social, a principle of life. But, if, on the other hand, error, in matters of i^japital 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, sentimentft aufiiief in God and immortality to die out of the human heart. 3. THE UTILITY OP THE BEAVTlVVh. — Jolin Rushtn. Mean'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 chis 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 ins^>lently call themselves Utilitarians, who would turn, if they had their way, themselves and their race into vegetables; men who tliink, as far as such can be said to think, tliat 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, better 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 suffCTing oonies 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 thankfiilness must be to every people at peace with others and at unity in itself, there are causes of lear also,-— % faar greater than of sword and sedition, — that dependence on Goi may be forgotten, because the bread is given and the water is sure ; that gratitude to Him may cease, because His constancy of protection hiis taken the semblance of a natural law ; that heavenly hope may grow faint amidst the fidl fruition of the world ; that selfishness mav take place of undemanded devotion, compassion be lost in vain-glory and love in dissimulation ; that enervation may succeed to strength a^iathy tc patience, and the noise of jesting words and the foulness of IffF STANDARD SPEAKER. liaik thoughts to the earnest purity of the girded loins and the buro big lamp. Let us beware that our rest become not the rest of stonea which, so long as they are torrent-tossed and thunder-stricken, maift tain their majesty, but, when the stream is silent, and the storni passed; «uifer the grass to cover them and the lichen to feed on them, -and are ploughed down into dust. 4. THE WORLD WITHOUT AND WLTIim. — Thomas Noon Talfoura. Existence has become almost a different thing since it beg^n 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 anniiii- 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 impelled 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." Be 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 immorta freightage. Then may we exult, as the chariot of hmiianity 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 coui^ age and progress ! 5 THE MECHANICAL EPOCH. — Hon. John P. Kennedy. The world is now entering upon the Mechanical Epoch. There \e QOthing iti the future more sure than the great triumphs which that epoch is to achieve. It has already advanced to some glorious con quests. What mn-acles of mechanical invention already crowd upon OS ' Look abroad, and contemplate the infinite ai^hlevements of th« M 3RAL AND 7 JDACTIC. — AKENSIDE. 4 neam power. Rofleet a moment on all that has been done by the railroad. Pause to estimate, if you can, with all the help of imagina- tion, what is to result from the agency now manifested in the oper ation* of the telegraph. Cast a thought over the whoie field oi' scientific mechanical improvement and its application to human want* 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 hi« communication with his fellow-man in every clime, for his instructioB Ji books, his amusements, his safety ! — what new lands it has opened, what old ones made accessible ! — how it has enlarged the sphere of iis 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 all 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 ah 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 gen- era tions ! «. THE MIND OF UAl^.—Mark Akenside. Born, 1121; died,m*^J} SEHiKER, To chase eacii partial purpose from his breast, And through the mists of Passion and of Sense, And through the tossing tides of Chance and Paui, To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice Of Truth and A^irtue, up the steep ascenx Of Nature, calls him to his high reward. The applauding smile of Heaven ? The high-bom Mtk 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 tlie 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 Grraces ; 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 Coesar's fate, Amid the crowd of patriots, and his arm Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud On TuUy's name, and shook his crimson steel, And bade the father of his country hail ? For 10 ! the tyrant prostrate in the dust, And Rome again is free ! 7. THE TRUE TO-DAY —H. Withington. Born, 1818 ; died, 184s. All that there is in what we call To-day is in the life of thougnt i^cught 13 the spirit's breath. To think is to live ; for he who thinks ll-^t has no sense of li fe. 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 threacK 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 ana life, unfilled with thought, are useless, unenjoyed, bringing no pleasure for the present, storing no good for future need To-da\ M MORAL AND DIDACTIC- ENGLAND. 40 tfte golden chance, wherewith to snatch Thought's hlo-sted fruition, — the joy of the Present, the hope of the Future. Thought makes th* time that is, and thought the eternity to co)i)e : "0 bright presence of To-day, let me wrestle with thee, granioiis angel; I will liot let thee go except thou bless me; bless uie, then, To-day ! sweet garden of To-day, let me gather of thee, precious Eden; 1 have stolen bitter knowledge, give me fruits of life To-day. 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. living rescue of To-day, let nie run into thee, ark of refuge; 1 see none other hope nor chance, but standeth in To-day. 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 UOHOli. — Bishop England. Born, 1786 ; died, 1842. Honor is the acquisition and preservation of the dignity of oul Qature : that dignity consists in its perfection ; that perfection ia round in observing the laws of our Ci'eator ; the laws of the Creator are the dictatas 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 giTcn. 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_j 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 redi'ess 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 indi^^dual 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 ]iort!on 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 his character. Man, then, has not power over his own life ; much less is he jubti- 6ed in depriving another human being of life. Upon what ground can he who encages in a duel, through the fear of ignonuny, lay claim to courage ? Unfortunate delinquent ! Do you not see by how many lii.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 sei'vices, — his family for that support, of which you have robbed them, without youi own enrichment ? Go. stand over that body : call ^ack tha^ soa 44 TEE &TANi*AK.D SPEAKER. which you have i riven from its tenement ; take up that hand whicL four pride refused to touch, not one hour ago. You have, in youj jjride and wrath, usurped one prerogative of God. You hare inflicted death. At least, in mei-ey, attempt the exercise of another ; breathe into those distended nostrils, — let your brother be once more a living eoul ! 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 i? 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 cars : It was by your hand he fell! The horrid instrument of death is BtUl 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 honorable feelings be content with this ? Have you now had a^un- (1 int and gentlemanly satisfaction ? 9. DAY CONCEALS WHAT NIGHT REVEALS.— y. P. jVicAo/. 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 have rashed to the conclusion that the space around our system was a vault, in whose capacious bosom myriads of mighty clustere 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 Nebulge, what must we think with regard to it ? Surely it is, that notwithstanding its inmiense diffusion, its vast confines, the great space through which its different portions 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 say, of different shape, of different character, but Ipng in these vast 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 ! How strange that this Universe is only yet cognizable by one human sense ! that the veil of the sun's light entirely conceals its wonder* fi'om our view ! that, had the light of that Sun not been veiled b^ the curtain of night we had lived amid it and never have known of the .^ixistence of the Stellar Universe ! May it not, then, he trae„ thas MORAL AND DIDACTIC. 45 during midnight, w)en these infinite orbs app^-ar to uft from thoii anmeasured depths, — may it not be true that through veils as thii», we are witliheld now from the consciousness of Dther Univexses, vast even an the world of stars ? But, in reference to an idea ac loflj, \ei me use the language of a great mind : * " Mysterious Night ! when our first parent knew Thee by report di\nne, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, Jhis glorious canopy of light and blue ] Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew. Bathed in the rays of the great setting flamo, Hesperus and the hosts of Heaven came, And, lo ! Creation widened in man's view. Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, Sun ! or who could find, Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind 1 Why do we, then, shun death with anxious strife 1 — If Light can thus deceive, why may not Life } " ' . 10. MAN'S MATERIAL TRimiVTlS. — Original Translation. When we contemplate man in his relations to the rest of creation, 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 wil\ 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 dykes to its fury, he pillages its treasures, and he makes its 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 manufiictories, or harnessed to hie cars, which they drag, invisible couriers, swift as thought ! What grandeur and what power, in a frail 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, enjoya the amazing privilege of deriving from tlie 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, admire, 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 'ideed. be perilously tempted; — giddy and dazzled, ho wculd forges? • J, Blanoo White 16 THE STANDAEX SPEAKER. the adorable Benefactor, who had made him so great, and admire and adoi-e hiiiiseif as the principle and the first source of his grandeur, but that Divine Goodness has been quick to secure him from this danger, by graving in his being a law of dependence, of original ia- firmity, of which it is impossible for pride itself to eflface 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 sLall there be no progress, no conquests for man, which are not at once a signal proof of his strength and his weakness, and which do cot bear the indelible impress at once of his power and his insufS- eieucy. ^ 11. FORTITUDE AMID TRlATuS. — Anonymous. O, 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 OF EUROPE — Original Translation Prom Victor Hugo's Presiilential Address at the Peace Congress, 1849. A DAT will come when you, France, — you, Russia, — you, t taJy — yoH, England, — you, Glermany, — all of you. Nations of tiw Oon^ inent, — shall, without losing your distinctive qualities &nd you* rlorious individuality, blend in a higher unity, and form a i]uropeait n'aternity, even as iSormandy, Brittjiny, Burgundy, Lorraine, Alsace,* 8lI> me French provinces, have blended into France A day will yyme * Pronounced A'sass, MORAL AND DIDACTIC. HUGO. 47 when war shall seem as absurd and impossible between Pan's abd Lou. Jon, between Petersburg and Berlin, as between Rouen * and Amions,"* {)etween Boston and Philadelphia. A day will come when biiUnti- and bombs shall be replaced by ballots, by the universal suffi-agcs cf the People, by the sacred arbitrament of a great sovereign Senate which shall be to J]urtpe what the Parliament is to England, what the Diet is to Germany, what the Legislative Assembly is to France. A dav will come wlien a cannon shall be exhibited in cur raoseuniii, as 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 mimense groups, the United States of America and the United States of Fjuropc, 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- liorating 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 Nations ; and at an epoch when a year may sometimes effect the work of a century. And, to you I appeal, — French, English, Germans, Russians, Sclaves, Europeans, Americans, — what have we to du to hasten the coming of that great day ? Love one another ! To love one another, in 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 ! See what discoveries He causes to spring from the human brain, all tending to the great end of peace ! What progress ! What simplifications I How does Nature, more and more, suffer herself to be vancpiished by man ! How dofcj 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 doeS' this abridgment make men more like brothers ! Thanks to railroads. Europe will soon be no larger than France was in the middle ages ! Thanks to steamships, we now traverse the ocean more easily than w€ could the Mediterranean once ! Yet a few years more, and the elec- tric thread of concord shall encircle the globe, and unite the world ! When I consider all that Providence has done for us, and all that politicians have done against us, a melancholy consideration presents itself We learn, from the statistics of Europe, that she now spends annually, for the maintenance of her armies, the sum of five hundred aiillions of dollars. If, for the last thirty-two years, this enormoug sum had been expended in the interests of peace, — America mean- while aiding Europe, — know you what would have happened ? Tlie face of the world wouLl liave been changed. Isthmuses would havf &een cut throu;;h; rivers would have been channelled; mounfcainj • Pronounced Rooang. 48 THE STANDAEB SPEAKER. tunnelled. Raiii'oads would have covered tte two crnliojnrs. 'rh« merchant tonnage of the world would have increased a hundred-fold. There would be nowhere barren plainb, nor moors, nor marshes Cities would be seen whei-e now all is still a solitude. Harbors would have been dug where shoals and rocks now threaten navigation. Asia would be laised to a state of civilization. Africa would be restcired to man. Abundance would flow forth froni every side, from all the veins of the earth, beneath the labor of the whole family of man ; and loisery would disappear ! And, with misery, what would also disap« pear ? Revolutions. Yes ; the face of the world would be changed. Instead of destroying one another, men would peacefully people the A-iste places of the earth. Instead of making revolutions, they would os^tablish colonies. Instead of bringing back barbarism into civi'iza- tion, they would carry civilization into barbarism. 13. THE PEACE CONGRESS OF THE UNION.— ^du-ard trverett. June ntk, 1860, Among the great ideas of the age, we are authorized in reckoning a growing sentiment in favor of peace. An impression is unquestion- ably gaining strength in the world, that public war is no less reproach- tul to our Christian civilization than the private wars of the feudal jhieft 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 difiPerent races of men, — tribes of Slavonian, Teutonic, Latin, and mixed descent, — speaking different languages, believing different creeds, — Oreeks, 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 tfl war, — if, I say, at this juncture, the People of these thirty United fetat&s, 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 faith, have not so much formed as grown up into a National Confed. eration, possessing in its central Legislature, Executive and Judi diary, an efficient tribunal for the arbitration and decision of contro- rersies, — an actual Peaee Congress, clothed with all the powers of a aommon Cori;stitution and law and vrith a jurisdi/tion extending to MOKAL AND DIDACTIC. — BECKWITH. 49 the ind'Vidual citizen (which this projected Congi-ess of Nations do<3s jiot 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 substantial union, this real Peace Congress, which, for 8.«xty years, has kept the country, with all its conflicting 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 ; again&t which, if we, rational beings, should fail to protest, the dumb stones of yonder monument would immediately cry out in condemnation ' 14. THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE ADVERSE TO WAR.-iiei,. .y. C. Seckwith. War ivUl 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, ultimate, 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-ear. 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 earth, Yes ; there is a spirit abroad that can never rest until the war-demun is hunted from 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 its 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 outcasts! of poverty and crime, for relief and reform ; nay, goes down into the barred and bolted dungeons of penal vengeance, and brings up its jallous, haggard victims, into the sunlight of a love that pities even wliile it smites; the spirit that is every^vhere rearing hospitals for tho sick retreatf for tiie insane, and schools that all but teach the du.:ab 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 seafi ; the spirit that catches the very lightning of Heaven, and makes it bear messages, swift, almost, as thought, from city to city, from country to country, round the globe; the spirit that subsidizes all these to the godlike work of a world's salvation, and employs theni to sojitter the blessed trutlis of the Gospel, thick as leaves of autuii.n, 4 50 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. or dew-drops of morning, all over the earth; the jpirit that is &t bngth weaving the sympathies and interests of cur ■whole 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 possible for such a spirit to rest until it shall have swept war from the earth forever ? t& MOSES IN SIGHT OF THE PROMISED LAND.— )^. B. O. Peabody. B. 1799 ; d. 1841. 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, — er'^rt- ing a mighty influence over millions ; the whole Hebrew Nation do homage to his illustrious name. Though the daily sacrifice has cessed, 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 bed long ago, — still, wherever a Jew is found, — and they are fcund wherever the foot of an adventurer travels, — he is a living monumenf of the power which this great Hebrew s+atesman still has over thf minds and hearts of his countrymen. And now let us take one glance at this prophet, at the close of a life so laborious and honored. Up to his one hundred and twentit'th 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 eifort, and his nightly dream ; and yet he is not permitted to enter it, thoujih 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 line of the Mediterranean can oe 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, tnough denied to the living, should pay him Divine honors, they buried aim in darkness and silence ; and no man knoweth of his ■'ep-ilciiro, Pflto this day. 16. NECESSITY OF LA.W. — Richard Hooker. Bom, 1663; died. 1600 The stateliness of houses, the goodliness of trees, when we bcdvoid them, delighteth the eye ; but that foundaticn which beareth up the lue, that root which ministereth unto the other lourishmeot and life MORjlL iNE DIDACTIC. CAKLTLE. 51 th in the bosom of the earth concealed ; and if there De ^ccuiion a< any timt to search into it, such hibor 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 original causes from whence they have sprang be unknown, as to the greatest part of men they are. Since the time that God did first proclaim the edicts of His Ia\» npon the world, Heaven and earth have hearkened unto His voice, and their 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 HLs commandment. Now, if Nature should intermit her course, and leave altogether, though it were for a while, the observation of her own law ; if those principal and mother elements of the world, whereof all things in 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, shoidd, as it were, through a languishing 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 gasp ; the clouds yield no rain ; the earth be defeated of Heavenly influence ; the fruits of the earth pine away, as children 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 of 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 things in Heaven and earth do her homage ; the very ie^st as feeling her care and the greatest as not exempted from her power. Both angels and men, and cieatures of what condition soever, though each in different 9urt and manner, yet all, with uniform consent, admiring her as the mother of their peace and joy. 17. JUSTICE. — TAoOTos Carlyle. £n this God's world, with its wild-whirling eddies and mad foam- oceans, where men and Nations perish as if without law, and judgment for an unjust thing is sternly delay 3d, dost thou think that there is therefore no justice ? It is what the fool hath said in his heart. It is what the wise, in all times, were wise because they denied, and knew forever not to be. I tell thee again there is nothing else bru justice. One strong thing I find here below : the just thing, the true 1)2 IHE STANDARD SPEAKER. thing. My frieftJ, if thou hadst all the artillery of Wnolwich triu dling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and intiuite bonfires visibly waiting ahe^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 " success ! " — Poor devil, what will thy success amount to ? If the thing is unjust, thora ha.st not succeeded ; no, not though bonfires blazed from North to South, and bells rang, and editors wrote leading-articles, and the jiist thing lay trampled out of sight, to all mortal eyes an abolished and aimihilated thing. Success ? — In few years thou wilt be dead and dark — 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, 1707 ; diea, 178S. 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 promise 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 ? Then stay the present instant dear Horatio j Imorint the marks of wisdom on its wings • I MORAL AND DIDACTIC. GOETHK. 58 T 19 of more worth than Kingdoms ! far more preciotw Than ail the crimson treasures of life's fountain. ! let it not elude thy gi-asp ; but, like The good old patriarch upon record, Hold the flep-t angel fast until he bless thee. 19. THE ELOQUENCE 01' ACTION.— Danitl JTebitet When p ablic bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasiocs, when groat interests are at stake and strong pa.ssions excited, nothing IB valuable in speech, further than it is connected with high intellect- ual and moral endowments. Clearness, force and earnestness, are the qualities which produce c;jnviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in siDcech. It caa ii t he brought from tai uabor and learn- ing may toil for it, hut tl'-. will toil m vam Words and phrases may be marshalled in evei ^ way. but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in th- -subject, and in the occasion. Affected oassinn. intense expression, the ■vomp of declamation, all may aspire after it- - thej <5anuot reach t It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of ,i fountain from ae earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires witti spontaneous, original, native force. The graces caught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances uf speech, shock and disgust men, whci 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, and all elaborate oratory contemptibl ■ Evf n genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the piObence 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 evei-y 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 noble, sublime, godlike action ! aC, SINCERITY THE SOUL OF ELOQUENCE.— Goe^Ae. Born, 1749 •, ited, 183a How shall we learn to sway the minds of men By eloquence ^ to rale them, or persuade ? — Do 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 ? ! these fine holiday phrases. In which you robe your worn-out commonplaces, These scraos of paper which you crimp and cui'l. u THE STANDAKD SPEAKJIR. And twist into a thousand idle shapes, These filigree ornaments, are good for nothing, — Cost time and pains, please few, impose on no onfl 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 soid 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 puffing breath, a struggling light, Glimmering confusedly now, now cold in ashes, — Startle the school-boys with youi" metaphors, — And, if such food may suit your appetite. Win the vain wonder of applauding children ! But never hope to stir the hearts of tnen, And mould the souls of many into one, By words which come not native from the heart ! ' a. THE CHRISTIAN OKA.T0B,. — Original translation fiomVillemain. \iY the introduction of Christianity, a tribune was erected, from wliich the most sublime truths were boldly announced to all the world ; from which the purest lessons of morality were made familiar 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 commemorate the warrior fallen on the field of battle, he gives to the soul of the departed that immortality which Cicero dared pi-omise 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 science of morals, that experience of mankind, those secrets of tho passions, which were the constant study of the philosophers and oratora gf antiquity, ought to be his, also, to command. It is for him, eve* MORAL ANi DIDACTIC. COWPEK. 05 n.'Ore than it was for tJiem^ to know all the windings of the human neart, all the vicissitudes of the emotions, all the sensibilities of the Boul ; not with a view to exciting those violent affections, those popu. lar animosities, those fierce kindling-s of passion, those fires of ven geance and of hate, in the outbursts of which the triumph of ancient eloquence was attained ; but to appease, to soften, to purify, the soul A.rmed against all the passions, without the privilege of availing him. aelf of any, he is obliged, as it were, to croute a new passion, if by that name w.^, may profane the profound, the sublime sentiment, which 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 thap. the art and manner of an orator. n. AIFECTATION IN THE VChVYi. — William Cowper. Bom, 1731 ; rfjfld, 1800 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 affectation. 'T is my perfect scorn ; Object of my implacable disgust. What ! — will a man play tricks, — wiU he indmge A silly, fond conceit of his fair form, And just proportion, fashionable mien, And pretty face, — in presence of his Grod ? 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 truth. 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 Wlio 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 wh£»e life. Coincident, exhibit lucid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause. To such I render more than mere respect THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Whoge 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 • But 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. — Ori^ma; Translation from De Sigur. B. 1763; i. 183a 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 3onvince, and as images to attract. History gives us the experience of tne woild, and the collective reason of ages. We are organized likf aicn of 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 eyes 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- •imphal 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 TranTcus, on the plains of Arbela, — fou condemn, without fear, that unmeasured ambition wliich hurr;eAbyIon, tarnished the close of his career. The love of liberty, cherished bj the Greeks, may kindle your soul ; but their jealousies, their ficLIe- ness, theii- 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 Boon to distinguish the virtues which constituted her grandeur, fronj the vices which precipitated her flill. Everywhere shall you recog« iiize the proof of this antique maxim, that, in the end, only what is honest is useful ; that we are truly great only through justice, and entirely happy only through virtue. Time dispenses equitably its recompenses and its chastisements ; and we may measure the growth and the decline of a People by the purity or corruption of their morals. Virtue is the enduring cement of the power of Nations ; and without that, their ruin is inevitable ! 24. FALSE COLORING LENT TO WAR. — TAoma.* Chalmers. Born, 1T80 ; dj«d, 1847 On every side of me I see causes at work which go to spread a most dclasive 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 ti'oops, and tht brilliancy of their successive charges. I see it in the poetry whicK 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 ding plumes of chivalry, it throws its treacherous embellishments over a scene of legalized slaughter. I see it in the music which represents the progi-ess 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 thickening 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 ire. Were it not so, war could never have been seen in any other aspect than that of unmingled hatefulness ; and I can look to nothing but to the progress of Christian sentiment upon earth to arrest the strong current of the popular and prevailing partiality for war. Thau only will an im])erious sense of duty lay the check of severe prin uiple on all the subordinate tastes and faculties of our nature. Then will glory be reduced to its right estimate, and the wakeful benevo- lence of the Gospel, chasing away every spell, will be turned by the i^-jachery of no delusion whatever from its simple but sublime enter- prises for the good of the species. Then the reign of truth and quiet' ness will be ushered into the world, and war — cruel, atncious anrelentmg war — will be stripped of its many and its i>ewildering ^scinations. 68 THE P.TANDARD 8PEABLER. SS< DEATH'S FINAL CO'S^VEST.— James Shirley. Bom, 1594 i 4'e«. 1« The glories of our blood and staie 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 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. « aELIQION OF REVOLUTIONARY MEN. — Ort^na/ Adaptation from Lamarttnt I KNOW — I sigh when I think of it ^ that hitherto the French 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 L'ptiCtator ; 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 suffered, 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 lied to expiate his country's dream of liberty, said to his jailer, " I fojoice that I die innocent toward the king, but a victim, resigned to the King on High, to whom all life is due." The RepuVicans of Cromwell scught only the way of God, even in the blood of battles But look at Mirabeau on the bed of death. " Crown me with flow srs ' said he ; " intoxicate me with perfumes, he* me die to tho HT'und of delicious music." Not a word was there of God or of his ilior. It is Heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Le« not 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 new world, — 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, fcc^il ; but they too generally do it because they must. Many submit to it as, in some sort, a degrading necessity ; and they desire nothing go ' much on earth as escape from it. They fulfil the great law of laboi in the letter, but break it in the spirit ; fulfil it with the muscle, but break it with the mind. To some field of labor, 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 Dur imperfrct civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds bis cands, and blesses tumself in his idleness. This way of thinking v MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — OSGOOD. 61 the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, andci 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 than that of war ; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on wliich mother Nature has embroidered, midst sun and rain, midst fire aci Bteara, 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 bieaking Heaven's groat ordinance. Toil, I repeat — toil, either of the braiu, of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood, the only trua aohility 29 LABOR IS WORSHIP.— Frances S. Osgood. Born, 1812; died, 1850. Laborare eat 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 us ; 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 I " — 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 ! 'Tis 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 fl}nng cloud lightens : Only the waving wing changes and brightens Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ; Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep theio in 'Jem 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 pillojp Work — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow • 62 THE STANDARD SPEAKEll. liie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping-willoT? ! 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 ! Jjabor is wealth — in the sea the pearl groweth ; Rich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth ; Prom the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth ; Temple and statue the marble block hides. Droop not, though shame, sin and anguish, are round thee Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee ! Look to yon pure Heaven smiling beyond thee; Rest 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. M'lRAL AND PHYSICAL SCIENCE FRIENDLY TO FREEDOM.— fieu.JJ.H. CAS4a 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; in whoso njcords I may meet great and honored names, and which is fiist mak- ing the world its debtor by its discoveries of truth, and by an example of virtuous freedom. 0, save me fi"om 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 whi^h hungry sycophants throng with supplication all the departments of State ; in which public men bear the brand of private vice, and the e<'at of Government is a noisome sink of private licentiousness ar?d public 'orruption. T-jll me not of the honor of belonging to a free country. I ask. i*s oar liberty hear gr.nerous fruits? I>oes it exalt tis in raanlv Spirit, in public virtue, above countries trodden under foot by Dewpot- ism ? T3II me not of the extent of our country. I care not how large it is, if it multiply degenerate men. Speak not of our pros- Derity. Batter be one of a poor People, plain in manners, reverenc- ing God, and respecting themselves, than belong to a rich country, winch knows no higher good than riches. Earnestly do I desire for ihuo "ountry, that, instead of copying Europe with an undiscernmg 5 66 THE STANDARD SPEaF^K. mlity, it may have a cliaracter of its own, oorrespouding to nhft 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 still more widely separated by simplicity of manners, by domestic parity, by inward piety, by reverence for human nature, by moral independ" eace, by withstanding the subjection to fashion, and that debilitatiaa' gesssuality, which characterize the most civilized portions of the Old World ! Of this country, I may say, with peculiar emphasis, that it& happiness is bound up in its virtue ! 35. WHAT MAKES A HERO? — 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 rightftil 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 sufFeped, to the height Of rank heroic, 't is to bear unmoved. Not toU, 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 5 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 &OCKATES. — Original Adaptation. S(K3RATE8 was the reverse of a sceptic. No man ever looked upcia life with a more positive and practical eye. No man ever pursued hie mark with a clearer perception of the road which he was trav«>lling No man ever combined, in like manner, the absorbing enthusiasm of a missionary, with the acuteness, the originality, the inventive r«50uri5e&. MORAL AND DIDACIXC. TANKES. 67 tod tne generalizing comprehension, of a ph-ilosopher . And jet frtia man was condenmeil to death, — condemned by a hostile tribunal of more than five hundred citizens of Athens, drawn at hazard from all classes of society. A majority of six turned the scale, in the most momentous trial that, up to that time, the world had witnssRw:!. And the vague charges on which Socrates was condemned were, that ho was a vain babbler, a corrupter of youth, and a setter-forth of sttaige Gods! It would be tempting to enlarge on the closing scene of hit life, — a scene which Plato has invested with guch immortal glory; — 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 jhid cheerfulness, he drained the cup to its dregs ; then the sol- emn silence enjoined by himself ; the pacing to and fro; the strong 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. for a modern spirit like his ! for one hour of Socrates ! for 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 thought 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 voiet; m each man's heart and conscience, which, if we will, Socrates has tiivijht 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'-inquiry 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-examio ■ atioi is no life at all. 37. TO A CniLD. — ysiiiee. 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 tea ptets lower, A talisman unto thee shall they be, To give thy weak arm strength — to make thy dim eyes seft Seek Truth, — that pure celestial Truth, — whose birth M'^as in the Heaven of Heavens, clear, sacred, shrined 58 THE STANDARD SPEAKBE. In I Reason's light. — Not oft she visits earth, But her majestic port, the willing mind. Through Faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy sovli Nor faint, though Error's surges loudly 'gainst thee R)Ii Be free — not chiefly from the iron chain^ But from the one which Passion forges- — be T!ie 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 tli.n« 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 ; Tliy soul be crushed 'neath gauda for which it basely toiled 38. AMERICA'S CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE WORLD. —eu/ion C. Verplanek. What, it is asked, has this Nation done to repay the world for the oenefits we have received from others ? — Is it nothing for the uni- persal good of mankind to have carried into successful operation a Bvstem of self-government, — uniting personal liberty, freedom of opin- ion, and equality of rights, with national power and dignity, — 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- aiii-ts of Europe ? Is it nothing to have been able to caU forth, on every emergency, either in war or peav^e, a tody of talents always equal to the difficulty ? Is it nothing to have, in less than half a Ointury, exceedingly improved the sciences of political eacsomy, of law, and of medicine, with all their auxiliary branches- to have enriched himian knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of 'iseful facts and observations, and to have augmented thu power and the comforts of civilized man by miracles of mechanical invention? Is it nothing to have given the world examples of disinterested patri- Dtism, of political wisdom, of public virtue; of learoing, eloqueQCO 4d4 vaior, never exerted save for some praiseworthy end? It m MORAL AND DU ACTIO. ROUSSEAU. 69 lufiScient to have briefly suggested these considerations; evorj mind would anticipate nie in filling up the details. No, Land of Liberty ! — thy children have no cause to blxLsh for ebee. What, though the arts have reared few monuments among us, and scarce a trace of the Mu.se's footstep is found in the patb» of our forests, or along the banlcs of our rivers, — yet our soil IvxB been 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 every sect, and the wretched of all Nations. Land of Refuge, — Land of Benedictions ! — Those prayers still arise, and they still are heard : "May peace be within thy wails, and plenteousness within thy palaces ! " " JMay there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and nJOEAL AND DIDACTIC. — BTORI. And WiuttT barricades the realms of Frott ; fie coraes — nor want nor cold his course delij^ ', - Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day! The vanquished hero leaves his broken bauds, And shows his miseries in distant lands ; Conuemned 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 ? Did 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 ; lie left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale ! 42. OXJR BUi^IES TO TUE REPUBLIC.— ./udg-e Story. Born, 1779 ; died, 1848 The oh World has already revealed to us, in its unsealed books, the beginning und end of ail its own marvellous struggles in the cause of liberty. Groses, lovely G-reece, *' The land of scholars and the nurse of arms," where Sister Republics, in fair procession, chanted the praises of lib- e)"ty and the Gods, — where aad what is she ? For two thousand years the oppressor lias ground her to the earth. Her 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 vvere united at Thermopylfe and Marathon , and the tide ox 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. Rome, rep'ubiican Rome, whose eagles glanced in the rising and setting sun, ~ wh-ere and what is she? The eternal city yet remains, proud even in her desoiation, noble in her decline, venerably 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. Alore than eighteen centuries have mourned over the loss of her eaapire. A mortal disease was upon her vitals before Caesar 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 alreadv begun at home. Romans betrayed Rome. The Legions were bought and sold ; but the People offered the tribute money. We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last experiment oJ self-government by the Pe/)ple. We have begun it upder eircunv 72 THE STANDAE,B SPEAKEil. stances :A' the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor o.» youth. Our growth has never been checked by the opjDressions ol tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled bv the vicei or luxuries of the Old World. Such as we are, we have beeii 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 degreef if latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and fliany 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 ? Wliat more l^ 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 snufied 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, moving onward to the South, has opened to Greece the lessons of her bet- ter days. Can it be that America, under such circumstances, caa oetray herself? Can it be that she is to be added to the cataLgue or Republics, the inscription upon whose ruins is : They weke, Btrj THKY ARS NOT ? Forbid it, my countrymen ! Forbid it, Heavor 43. LOVS OF COUNTKY AND UOMTS. — James Montgomery Teebb 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 map, creation's tyrant, casts aside His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, Wliile ir< his softened looks benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend ; — " Where shall that land, 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 plaine In pale Siberia's desolate domains ; TIVh.en the wild hunter takes his lonely way, Tracks through tempestuous snows his savage prey, Or, wrestling with the might of raging seas, Whore round, the Pole the eternal billows freeze. MORAL AN'D i)IDACTIC, — CARLYI^. PJucks from their jaws the stricken whale, in vain Plunging down headlong through the wliirling maiiij 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 Cliina's garden-fields and peopled floods, Id California's pathless world of woods ; Round Andes' heights, where Winter, from his throoa Lonks down in scorn upon the Summer zone ; By the gay borders of Bermuda's isles, Where Sjjring with everlasting verdure smiles ; On pure JMadeira's vine-robed hills of health ; In Java's swamps of pestilence and wealth ; Whei'e Babel stood, where wolves and jackals drink 'Midst weeping willows, on Euphrates' brink ; On Carmel's crest ; by Jordan's I'everend stream, Where Canaan's glories vanished like a dream ; ^liere Greece, a spectre, haunts her heroes' graves, And Rome's vast ruins darken Tiber's waves ; Wliere broken-hearted Switzerland bewails Her subject mountains and dishonored vales ; Where Albion's rocks exult amidst the sea, Aroimd 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. — TAomas Car/y.'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 thie 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 ; silently 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 infinitesinialleat fraction of a far- ihing but will be found marked th-^re, for you and against you ; and 74 THE STANDARL' SPEAKER. mth the due rate of interest you will have to pay it, neatly, canpletely ss 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 is 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 bloated vanities fostered into monstrosit y by it ; your foul pa.ssioiia blown into explosion by it; your heart, and, porhaps, your very stomach, ruined with intoxication by it ; your poor life, and all its manful activ- ities, stunned into frenzy and comatose sleep by it ; — in one word, as 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 evei having had a soul ; but only, for certain fleeting moments, shall have had a money-bag, and have given soul and heart, and (frightfuUer stilF 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. rJME'S MIDNIGHT YOICB. — ^rfujard Young. Born, 1681 ; died., 1766 Creatio>' sleeps. 'T is as the general pulse Of life stooa still, and Nature made a pause, An awful 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 flooi 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 auguse. How 3oni plicate, how wonderful, is man ! How passing wonder He who made hiaa such ! Who centred in our make such strange estrenieg ' From different natures marvellously mixed, Connection exquisite of distant worlds ! Distinguished link in being's endless chain * Midway from nothing to the Deity ! ' h, beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt ' HORAh AND DIDACTIC. — MONTGOMERY. 75 Though sullied, and dishonored, still divine Dim niiuiature of greatness absolute ! Au heir of glory ! a frail child of dmt ! Helpless immortal ! iasect infinite! A worm ! a god I — I treniljle at mj self, And in myself am lost ! At home a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghastj And wondering at her own : how liejison reels ! what a miracle to man is man, Triumphantly distressed ! What joy, what dread Alternately transported, and alarmed ! What 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 si] out night proclaims my soul immortal ! 46. THE COMMON LOT. — Jam"'! 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 i-egion 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 deliglits are fied ; Had friends, — his friends are now no mom And foes, — his foes are dead. He loved, — but whom he loved the grave Hath lost in its unconscious womb: 0. she was fair ! — but naught could sa?© Her beauty from the tomb. He saw whatever thou hast seen ; Encountered all that troubles thee : He was — whatever thou heist been ; He is — what thou shaJ t he. f6 rfflE STANDARD SPEAKEB. The rolling seasons, day and night, Sun, moon and stars, the earth and maiiii Erewhile his portion, life and light, To him exist in vain. The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eyt That once 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 ' 4T. THE TKUB SOUUCB OF ^^^OBM.. — Rev. E. H. Chaptn. Tiis great element of Reform is not born of human wisdom , it does i»rt draw its life from human organizations. I find it only in Chris- ffiANiTi. " Thy kingdom come!" There is a sublime and pregnant Burden in this Prayer. It is tlie 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 subdue and dwell in the heart of man, 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 't, 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 coun- sel and weaponless victory, — and show us what Christian Zeal and Christian Love can accomplish with the radest 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- b.Uty. And ye, who are a great number, — ye nameless ones, — who ^v© done good ia your narrow spheres, contei,; to fbregi renown an MORAL AND DIDACTIC. arth, and seeking your Reward in the Record on High, — come /tnd teL as how kindly a spirit, how lofty a purpose, or how strong a courage {he Religion ye professed can breathe into the poor, the humble, 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 hopera/ because of thee ; the Future shall acknowledge thy omnipotence. 18. THE BEACON LIGHT. — ^/m Parrfoe. 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, flill 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 aiiir, shines Bethleaem's star, with cheering light to savi 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 feea 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 7^ THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 50. THE T?I{OBLEM FOR THE UNITED STATES. — iJeu. Heniij J. Boardmm. Tms Union cannot expire as the snow melts from the rock, or a star iisappears from the firmament. When it falls, the crash will be hoard 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 Liberty hopeless throughout the world. 'VVhat Nation can govern itself, if thii Nation cannot ? What encouragement will any People have to estab* Hfjh 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 i» 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 grave of the Union, and thus decide this question in the negative, no tongue may attem.pt 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 own knell, all over the globe. And, when the citizens or subjects of the Governments which are to succeed this Union shall visit Europe, and see, in some land now struggling to cast off 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 Ics'.royed her was inflicted by their own country. " So the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again. Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shait that qi»ivered in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel; While the saoie plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast." 51. THE AMERICAN EXPERIMENT OF SELF-GOVERNMENT. Edv:ard Everett ^'e are summoned to new energy and zeal by the high nature of die exfieriment we are appointed in Providence to make, and the grandeur oi' 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 'JDea this last reftsse of huinauity, ^;^ fsttempt V^a? V>egruu and is MOBAL AND DIDACTIC. LUNT. 79 goiug on, far fi-om foroign corruption, on the broadest' scale, an J uncial tlie most benignant prospects ; and it certainly rests with us to solve the great problem in human society, — to settle, and that foi'ever, the momentous question, — whether mankind can be trusted with a purel) popular system of Government ? One might annost think, without extravagance, that the departed! wise and good, of all places and times, are looking do-^rn from their happy seats to witness what shall no^ Ix ione V 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 experiment of humanity. iVs 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 fi'om the tombs of departed ages, ft'om 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 ia rising on the world. Greece cries to us by the convulsed lips ol' 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 everytliing 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 severedj would the evils and mischiefs that would be experienced by those who 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. Our invitation has been accepted. Thousands have come at our bidding. Thousands more are on the way. Other fcho'csan-ls still are standing a-tiptie on the shores of the Old World, eager to find a passage to the land where bread may be had for lalxr', and where man is treated as man. In our political family almost ali Nations are represented. The several varieties of the race are hen* subjected to a social fusion, out of which Providence designs to foriri ft " new man." Wa are ir this way teaching the world a great lesson, — namely m THE STANDARD SPEAKER. that men of dI3erent languages, habits, manners and creeds, can !iva together, and vote together, and, if not pray and worship together, yet in near vicinity, and do all in peace, and be, for certain purposes at least, one People. And is not this lesson of some value to the worlds especially if we can teach it not by theory merely, but through a 8uc« cessful example ? Has not this lesson, thus conveyed, some connec« tion with the world's progress towards that far-off period to which tha huiLan mind looks for the ftilfilment of its vision of a perfect social state ? It may safely be asserted that this Union could not be dis- solved without disarranging and convulsing every part of the globe. K ->t in the indulgence of a vain confidence did our fathers build the Siiip of State, and launch it upon the waters. We will exclaim, in th« iKble words of one of our poets : ^ " Thou, too, sail on, Ship of State ! Sail on, 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, ^Vhat Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 1^'ho made each mast, and sail, and rope, What an\-ils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! Fear 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 ! " oo. ART. — Charles Sprague. 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 broKe Where her lieht 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 g 1 How di. b the tuneful ! Horror -wi Jo extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! See here thy pictured life : — pass some few years, Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength Thy 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 thoughti 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 Pteason's eye refined clears up apace. Ye vainly in-ise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, Confounded in the dust, adore that Power And WisDO-Ai 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 form 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 vrhat your bounded view, which only saw A lictle part, deemed Evil, is no more ! The storms of Wintry Time will quickly paa& And one unbounded Spring encircle aU • I MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — JAMiS. 8S 56 I>-Dl CEMliNTS TO EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION -Jo/tn AngellJamtt Inducements ! Can it be .necessary to offer these ? What ! Is not the bare mention of religion enough to rouse every soul, wlio understands the meaning of that momentous word, to the greatest intensity of action? Who needs to have spread out before him ihn demonstrations of logic, or the persuasions of rhetoric, to move l^itu to Beek after wetdth, rank, or honor ? Who, wlien an opportunity prQ» gents itself to obtain such possessions, requires anything more than an appeal to his consciousness of their value to engage him in the pursuit ? The very mention of riches suggests at once to man's cupidity a th(m- sand arguments to use the means of obtaining them. ^Vhat 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 engage all our faculties, and all their energies, in the most resolute purpose, the most determined pursuit, and the most entire self-devotcment. 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 conti*adiction to the usual maxim, that a man's activity in 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 rale 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 powerftil and emphatic than (hat (if Paul, "The things which are not seen are Bternal." What wore could the tongues of men and the eloquence of angels say ? ' Etei nal 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, aljjure your creed, abandon your belief. Be consistent, and let tl-ie stupendous vision which, like Jacob's ladder, rests Hs fool M THE STANDARD SPEAKER. OB earth Jind places its top iu Heaven, vanish in thin air ! But if joa 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 immoi-tal soul, by aU the blessings of eternal salvation, by all the glories of the uppei world, by all the horrors of the bottomless pit, by all the agea ef eternity and by all the personal interest you have in these infinite r^lities, I corjure you to be in earnest in personal religion ! 57. NEVER DESPAIR. — Samuel Lover. 0, NEVER despair ! for our hopes, oftentime. Spring swiftly, as flowers in some tropical clime, Where the spot that was barren and scentless at night 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 tliink they 're the besV. -=» The few she has spared may be worth all the rest. Good fortune oft comes in adversity's form, And the rainbow is brightest when darkest the storm ; Then, up ! up ! — never despair ! And when aU creation was sunk in the flood. Sublime 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 the storm Then, up ! up ! — never despaii- ! 1 58. CKARVSY.— Thomas Noon Talfourd. The blessings which the weak and poor can Have their own season. 'T is a little thing 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 exqviisite than when neetarean 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, 't will &U HOKAL AND DlfiAOnC. Like choicest music ; fill the glazing eye With gentle tears ; relax the knotted hand To know the bonds ol' fellowship again ; And shed on the departing soul a sense More precious than the beuison of friends About the honored death-bud of the rich, To him who else were lonely, — that anothei Of the great family is near, and feels. 69. THE BATTLE-FIELD. — fVilliam CuUen Bryant Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Were trampled by a huriying 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 hrave. Gushed, warm with hope and valor yet, Upon the soil they fought to sate. 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 Wi 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 striffe 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 fi-ont, 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 DO Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The hissing, stinguig bolt of scorn , 86 THE STANDARD SPEAREIU For witli thy side shall dwell, at hslf. The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again. The eternal years of God are here ; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers. Y"ea, 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 fi'om the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave ! 60. THE DIZZY ACTlTITIES OF THE TIMES. —£dward Everett. We need the spirit of '75 to guide us safely amid the diwy tuitvr tlies of the times. While our own numbers are increasing in an unexampled 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 gi'eat engine of modern progi-ess, 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 tht |®,triots who have handed down to ub this gi-eat inheritance. Let us strive to furnish ourselves, from the storehouse of their esanifle, with ihe principles and vii-tues 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 electris spark froni ocean to ocean, let public spirit and love of country catch from heail to heart MORAI AND BIDACTIC. SYDNEY SMITH. W THE GOOD GREAT MAN.— S. T. Coleridge. Born, 1110 ; died. i33i " 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 merita, Or any merits that which he obtains." For shame, my friend ! — renounce this idle strain ! What wouklst thou have a good great man obtiiin ? 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 nighfc, — Himself, his Maker, and the Angel Death. 62. TAXES THE PRICE OE GLORY. — flet). Sydney Smith. Born, 1768 ; died, ISii. John Bull can inform Jonathan what are the inevitable conso' ijaences 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 ; tases 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 ohintz-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 tke 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 him in the chancel ; his virtues are handed down to posterity on taxed marble ; and he is then gathered to his fathers, — to be taxed DO more. In addition to all this, the habit of dealing with large sums wiU make the Government avaricious and profuse ; and the system itself mj Bo THE STANDARD SPEAKLH. vrill infallibly generate the base vermin of spies and iijforkiers, and i Btili 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 Goverimaent will invest it with so vast an influence, and hold ou* such means and temptations to corruption, as all the virtue and publk spirit, even of Republicans, will be unable to resist. Every Mitse Job sthan should remember this ! THE PB,^S8.— Adaptation from Ebenezer Elliot. Born, I'JSa; died, IS® God said — " Let there be light ! " Grim darkness felt His might. And fled away : Then startled soas and mountains cold Saone 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, murmured — " 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 glswi 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 artisaa ! "We will aspire ! Our souls have holy light withia, And every form of grief and sia Shall see and feel its fire. Bj all we hope of Heaven, The shroud of souls is rivea ' Mind, mind alone MORAL AND DIDACTIC. CHANNING. 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 Press, the Press ! 64. A DEFENCE OF VOW^Y. — Rev. Charles Wolfe. Born, 1791; died, 1823. Believe not those who tell you that Poetry will seduce the youth- ful 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 Intelligence 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 1 Prom 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 whD said unto Zion, " Thy God reigneth ! " 65. GREAT IDEAS. — /Jeu. W. E. Channlng. 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 tecome an Encyclopedia, but that the Great Ideas in which all dis^ioveries terminate, which sum up all sciences which the philosopher extracts from infinite details, may be compre- Jiended and felt It is not the quantity, but the quality of knowl edge, which determ-'^es the mind's dignity. A man of immeosB hO THE STANDARD SPEAKER. infonuf.tion may, through Ce -want of large and compreho. nha ideaa be far inferior in intellect to a laborer, who, with little knowledge, has yet seized on great truths. For example, I do not expect the laborei to study theology in the ancient la:)guages, 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 lighi than has visited thousands of renowned divines. A great mind w formed by a few great ideas, not by an infinity of looL-e details. I have kno^pn very learned men who seemed to rue very poor in mtellect, 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 limited 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^or all knowledge, which are intrinsically glori- ous quickening, all-cuii.prehending, eternal ! 66. ENGLAND. — Et.eneser£ffio«. Nttrse of the Pilgrim Sires, who sought, beyond the Atlantic foanij For fearless truth and honest thought, a refuge and a home ! Who woidd 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 CromweU's throne I Home of the Rassells, Watts, and Lockes Earth's greatest are thina own ! And shall thy children forge base chains for men that would be free ? No ! by the Eliots, Hampdens, Vanes Pjths, Sidneys, yet to be ! N"o ! For the blood which kings have gorged hath made their victims wise; ^Vliile every lie that Fraud hath forged veils wisdom from his eyes, Dut time shall change the despot's mood ; and IMind is mightiest then, When turning evil into good, and monsters into men. If round the sotd 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 Ma.u ' MORAL AND DIDACTIC. CAMPBELL. 9\ Poi freedom if thy Hampden fought, for peace if Falkland fell, — For peace and love if ]3enthani 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-s Nations all, as witli the sound of seas, In universid festival, sing words of joy, like these : — [ 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 Aveli-known form, the welcome tread, — ! where are they ? Aud where is he ? 73. GROWTH OF INTERNATIONAL SYMPATHIES. — President IVaylana. In many respects, the Nations of Christendom collectively are becoming somewhat analogous to our own Federal Rep^tblic. Anti- quated distinctions are breaking away, and local animosities are sub siding. The common people of different countries are knowing each other better, esteeming each other more, and attaching themselves to each other by various manifes'ations of reciprocal good will. It ij true, every nation has still it? separate boundaries and its individual interests ; but the fi'etdom of commercial intercourse is allowing those interests to adjutjt themselves to each other, and thus rendering the causes of ccUision of vastly less frequent occurrence. Local questions are becoming of less, and general questions of greater impuriancc I'hanks be to God, men have at last begun to understand the right*! ind feel for the wrongs of each other ! Mountains interposed do not go nmch make enemies of nations. Let the trumpet of alarm be sounded, and its notes are now heard by every nation, whether of Fiurope or America. Let a voice borne on the feeblest breeze tell tha.t the rights of man are in danger, and it floats over valley and aiounuin, across continent and ocean, until it has vibrated on the ear of the remotest a'weller in Christendom. Let the arm o^ <^'ppressio» 96 THE STANDARD SPEAKEU. oe raised to crush the feeblest nation on earth, and there will be h^rd everywhere, if not the shout of defiance, at least the deep-toned mur uiur of implacable displeasure. It is the cry of aggrieved, insulted, much-abused man. It is human nature waking in her might from tha slumloer of ages, shaking herself from the dust of antiquated inbtitu< tions, girding herself for the combat, and going forth conquering and to conquer ; and woe unto the man, woe unto the dynasty, woe unt< the party, and woe unto the policy, on whom shall fall the scathe oi hor blighting indignation ! M THE WORTH OF ¥AMIi.— Joanna Baillie. Born, 1765 ; died, 1960 ! WHO shall lightly say that Fame Is nothing but an empty name, ^^Tiilst 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 ! ! 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. ! who shall lightly say that Fame Is nothing but an empty name. When memory of the mighty dead To earth-worn pilgrim's wistfal 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 gi-ave 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 dweda.' MORAL AND DIDJCTIC. HEBElx 75. THE PTmSUIT OF FRIVOLOUS PLEASURES. — Toung O, THE dcirk days of vanity ! while here Uow tasteless, and how terrible when gone ! Gone ! they ne'er go ; when past, they haunt us etili , The spirit walks of every day deceiised, And smiles an angel, or a fury 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 Natui-e, 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 Solomon, 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 loomSj"" 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 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. FORQrV'E. - mshop Heber. Born, 1783 ; died, 1826. G >D ! my sins are manifold ; against my life they cry, hf\A all my guilty deeds foregone up to Thy temple fly. Wilt thju 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 theii- pride They render evil for my good ; my patience they deride ■ Arise ! my King I and be the proud in righteous ruin driven ! — " Forgive ! " the awful answer came, " as thou wouldst be forgiven ' 7 SS THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Be VCD times, liOrd. I 've pardoned tliem ; seven times they 've 8Uin»3 again ; riiey practise still to work me woe, and triumph in my pain ; riut let them dread my vengeance now, to i'jst resentment driven ' "^ Forgive ! " the voice in thunder spake, '' or never be forgiven ! '' 77. TRUE SCIENCE OUGHT TO BE UELIGIOVS. — President Hitchcoek I AM far Urom maintaining that science is a sufficient guide ia 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 mind, with those peculiar and higher truths disclosed by Revelation. AH I con- tend for is, that scientific truth, illustrating as it does the divine char- acter, plans and government, ought to fim and feed the flame of true piety in the hearts of its cultivators. He, therefore, who knows the most of science, ought most powerfully 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 interior, and allowed to trace its long halls, aisles and gallei-ies, and gaze upon its lofty domes and arches ; nay, as a priest he enters the penetralia, the holy of holies, where sacred fire is always burning upon the altars ; where hovers the glorious Schekinah ; and where, from a full orches- tra, the anthem of praise is ever ascending. Petrified, indeed, must he his heart, if it catches none of the inspiration of such a spot. He ought to 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 Grod in His works ought to show the stamp of Divinity upon his character, and lead an eminently holy life. Yet it is only a few gifted and adventurous minds that are able, from some advanced mountain-top, to catch a glimpse of the entire streain of truth, formed by the harmonious union of all principles, and flow- ing on majestically into the boundless ocean of all knowledge, the Iniinite mind. But when the Christian philosopher shall be permitted to resume the study of science in a future world, with powers of investigation enlarged and clarified, and all obstacles removed, he will be able to trace onward the various ramifications of truth, till they unite itto higher and higher principles, and become one in that centre of aentres, the Divine Mind. That is the Ocean from which all truth originally sprang, and to which it ultimately returns. To trace out Jje shores of that shoreless Sea, to measure its measureless extent, and CO fathom its unfathomable depths, will be the noble and the joyouf work of eternal ages. And yet eternal ages may pass by and see the work only liegun ! MORAL ^ND DIDACTIC. — JOHNSON. 19 78. TKIUMPUS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. —Rev. J. O. Lyons. Now gather all our Saxon bards, — let harps and hearts be strung. To celebrate the triumphs of our own good Saxon tongue ! For stronger far than hosts that march, with battle-flags unfurleared with the blaze of cur Press and our Rail; Success to that blaze ! May it shine ovei- 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. TKE WORK-SHOP AND THE CAMP. —For a Mechanic CeMrati«a The Camp has had its day of song : The sword, the bayonet, the plume, Have crowded out of rhyme too long The plough, the anvil, and the loom ! 0, not upon our tented fields Ai'e 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 miaht ' 102 TIIB STANDAKD SPEAKER. iTie skill that conquers space and time, That graces life, that lightens toil, May spring from courage more sublime Than that which makes a realm ita spoil T^t 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 la 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. &2. THE WISE MAN'S PRAYER.— £)r. Samuel Johnsott Inquirer, cease ! petitions yet remain Which Heaven may hear ; — nor deem religion vais 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 fervoi's for a healthful mind, Obedient passions, and a will resigned ; For love, which scarce collective man can fiU ; 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 g%ia With these, celestial Wisdom calms the mind, Ajid makes the happiness she does not find. PART SECOND. MARTIAL AND POPULAR, 1. SCIPIO TO HIS ARMY. — Abridgment from Livy. Eflfcre !Le .wltle of Ticinus, B. C. 218, in which the Carthaginians, under flainiijsJ. wen >t:tori(,vis. The speech of the latter, on the same occasion, follows. Not because of their courage, soldiers, but because an engageuicnt is now inevitable, do the etiemy prepare tor baLtie. Two-thirJs ol' their infantry and cavalry have been lost in the passage of the Alps. Thost who survive hardly eciual in number those who have perished. Should any one say, " Though few, they are stout and irresistible,'' ] reply, — Not so ! They are the veriest shadows of men • wretcheSi emaciated with hunger, and benumbed with cold ; bruised and enfeebled among the rociis and crags; their joints frost-bitten, their sinews stiffened with the snow, their armor battered 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 I 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- ha])S it was fitting that the Gods themselves, irrespective of human 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, 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 cxoerience if you should see your slaves suddenly taking up arms against you. Wc might hav slain these Carthaginians, when they were shut up in Eryx, 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. ¥7e 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, I? 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 youi- side were no'tv for glory, and not for safety ! \\ is not 104 THE STANDARD SIEAKER for tbe possession of Sicily and Sardinia, but for Italy, that you mu«l fight : noT is there another army behind, which, should we fail to con- quer, can resist the enemy : nor are there other Alps, during the passage of vpiiich, fresh forces may be procured. Here, soldiers, here we must make our stand. Here we must fight, as if we fought before the walls of Rome ! Let every man bear in mind, it is not only hi* own person, but his wife and children, he must now defend. Nor let the thought of them alone possess his ■ mind. Let him remember that the Roman Senate — the Roman People — are looking, with anxious e3^es, to our exertions ; and that, as our valor and our strength shall this day be, such will be the fortune of Rome — such the wel- fare — nay, the vei'y existence, of our country ! 2. HANNIBAL TO HIS ARMY. — Abridgment from Livy. Here, soldiers, you must 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 has granted you the termina- tion of your labors ; here she will bestow a reward worthy of the service you have undergone. All the spoils that Rome has amassed by so many triumphs will be yours. Think not that, in proportion as this war is great in name, the victory will be difficult. From the Pillars of Hercules, from the ocean, from the remotest limits of the world, over mountains and rivers, you have advanced victorious through the fiercest Nations of Graul and Spain. And with whom are you now to fight ? With a raw array, which this very summer was beaten, conquered, and surrounded ; an army unknown to their leader, and he to them ! Shall I compare mj^self, almost born, and certainly bred, in the tent of my father, that illustrious commander, — myself, the conqueror, not only of the Alpine Nations, but of the Alps themselves, — myself, who was the pupil of you all, before I became your commander, — to this six months' general ? or shall I compare his army with mine ? On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all full of courage and strength : — a veteran infantry ; a most gallant cavalry ; you, our allies, most faithful and valiant ; you, Carthagimans, whom not only your e<3untry's cause, but the justest anger, impels to battle. The valor, the confid.mce of invaders, are ever greater than those of the defensive party. As the assailants in this war, we pour down, with hostile standards, upon Italy. We bring the war. Suifering, injury and indignity, fire our minds. First they demanded me, your leader, for piniishment ; and then all of you, who had laid siege to Saguntura. And, had we been given up, they would have visited us with thP severest tortures. Cruel and haughty Nation ! Everything must oe yotjurs, and ar your disposal ! You are to prescribe to us with MAH'TIAL A.ND POPULAR. REGULUS. 105 ..Jioin we siiaL uave war, with whom peace ! You are to esnut us up by the bonndaiics of mountains and rivers, which we must not pass ! But you — yov. are not to observe the limits yourselves have ap- pointed ! " Pass not the Iberus ! " — What next ? " Saguntum is on the Iberus. You must not move a step in any direction ! " — Is it a small thinof that you have deprived us of our most ancient provinces, Sicily and Sardinia ? Will you take Spain also ? Should we yield Spain, you will cross over into Africa. Will cross, did I say ? They have pent the two Consuls of this year, one to Africa, the other to Spain ! Soldiers, there is nothing left to us, in any quarter, but what we can vindicate with our swords. Let those be cowards who have something 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 nmst be death, who would not rather encounter it in battle than in flight ? The immortal Gods could give no stronger incentive to vic- tory. Let but these trutlis be fixed in your minds, and once again J proclaim, you are concjuerors ! 3. REGL'LUS TO THE ROMAN SENATE. — Orjs^no^. Ill does it become me, O Senators of Rome ! — ill does it become Regulus, — after having so often stood in this venerable Assembly clothed with the supi'cme dignity of the Republic, to stand before you a captive — the captive of Carthage ! Though outwardly I am free, — though no fetters encumber the limbs, or gall the flesh, — yet the heaviest of chains, — the pledge of a E,oraa;i Consul, — makes me the bondsman of the Carthaginians. They have my promise to return to them, in the event of the failure of this their emlmssy. My life is at their m.ercy. My honor is my own ; — a possession which no reverse of fortune can jeopard ; a flame which imprisonment cannot stifle, time cannot dim, death cannot extinguish. Of the train of disasters which followed close on the unexampled successes of our arms, — of the bitter fate which swept off the flower of our soldiery, and consigned me, your General, wounded and sense- less, to Carthaginian keeping, — I will not speak. For five years, a rigorous captivity has been luy portion. For five years, the society of family and friends, the rlcar amenities of home, the sense of fi-eedom, and the sight of country, have been to me a recollection and a dream, ' — no more ! But during that period Rome has retrieved her defeats. She nas recovered under i^Ietellus what under Regulus she lost. She *ias routed armies. She has taken unnumbered prisoners. She has Btruck terror to tiie hearts of the Carthaginians ; who have now sent me bither with their x\mbassadors, to sue for peace, and to propose that, in exchange for me, your former Consul, a thousana common! prisoQijrs of war shall be given up. You have heard the Ambasaa 106 THE STAND ASD SPEAKER. Jors. Tlieir intiraaiions of some unimaginable horror- — ! tnow not rrhat — impending over myself, should I fail to induce you to ac-^ept their terms, have strongly moved your sympathies in my behalf Another appeal, which I would you might have been spand, has lent fbrijc to their suit. A wife and children, threatened with widowhood and orphanage, weeping and despairing, have knelt at your feet, ou th4 vcr}^ tSucshold of the Senate-chamber. — Conscript Fathers ! Shall loi Reg u! us be saved ? Must he return to Carthage to meet the ru-Liokies which the Ambassadors brandish before our eyes? — With ciie voice you answer, No ! — Countrjaiien ! Friends ! For all that . have sLilfcred — for all that I may have to suffer — I am repaid in the compensation of this moment ! Unfortunate, you may hold me ; but, 0, not undcsoi-ving I Your confidence in my honor survives all the ruin that adverse fortune could inflict. You have not forgotten the past. Republics are not ungrateful ! May the thanks I cannot utter bring down blessings from the Gods on you and flome ! Conscript Fathers ! There is but one course to be pursued. Aban- ion all thought of peace. Reject the overtures of Carthage ! Reject them wholly and unconditionally! What! Give back to her a thousand able-bodied men, and receive in return this one attenuated, war-worn, fever-wasted frame, — this weed, whitened in a dungeon's darkness, pale and sapless, which no kindness of the sun, no softness of the summe>" breeze, can ever restore to health and vigor ? It must not — it shal not be! ! were Regillus what he was once, before captivity had unstrung his sinews and enervated his limbs, he might pause, — he might proudly think he were well worth a thousand of the foe ; — he might say, " Make the exchange ! Roma shall not lose by it ! " But now — alas ! now 't is gon'e, — 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 in the din of the onset. His sword would fall hiirndess on his opponent's shield. But, 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 liours, will be better than a trumpet's call to your armies. They will remember only Regulus, their fellow-soldier and their leader. They will forget hia defeats. They will regard only his services to the Republic. Tunis, vSardinia, Sicily, — every well-fought field, won by his blood and theirs, — will flash on their remembrance, and kindle their avenging sv^rath And so shall Regains, though dead, fight as he never fought befor against the foe. Conscript Fathers ! There is another theme. My family — for- irive the thought ! To you, and to Rome, I confide them. I leave chem no legacy but my name, — no testament but my example. Ambassadors of Carthage I have spoken ; though not as you expected. I am your captive. Lend me back to whatever fate may await me. Doubt not that you shall find, to Roman hearts, country ?6 dearer than life, and integrity more precious thac freedom ! ilARTIAIi AND POl'ULAR. — BKCTUS ICJ 4 LE0,*fll.A3 TO HIS THRKE HUNBRED. — Oris-ina/ Translation from Pichat. Ye mon of Sparta, listen to the hope with which the Gods inspir<> Leonldas ! (Consider how largely our death may redound to the glorj and benefit of our country. Against this barbarian King, who, in hi? battle array, re(;kons as many nations as our ranks do soldiers, what could united Greece effect? In this emergency there is need that Bome unexiKicted power should interpose itself; — that a valor and devotion, unknown hitherto, even to Sparta, should strike, amaze, Bonlbund, this ambitious Despot ! From our blood, here freely shed to-day, shall this moral power, this sublime lesson of patriotism, pro- ceed. To Greece it shall teach the secret of her strength ; to the Persians, the certainty of their weakness. Befoi-e our scarred and bleeding bodies, we shall see the great King grow pale at his own victory, and recoil affi-ighted. Or, should he succeed in forcing the pass of Thermopylaj, he will trenil)le to learn, that, in marching upon our cities, he will find ten thousand, after us, equally prepared for death. Ten thousand, do I say ? O, the swift cont;.!gion of a generous enthusiasm ! Our example shall make Greece all fertile in heroes. An avenging cry shall follow the cry of her affliction. Country ! Independence ! From the IMessi'uiaii hills to the Hellespont, every heai't shall respond ; and a hunured thuLisiiiid heroes, with one sacred accord, shall arm themselves, in emulation of our unanimous death. These rocks shall give back the echo of thei)- oaths. Then shall our little band, — the brave tlirce hundred, — from the world of shadeSj revisit the scene ; behold the haughty Xerxes, a fugitive, re-cross the Hellespont in a frail bark ; while Greece, after eclipsing the most glorious of her exploits, shall hallow a new Olympus in the mound that covers our tombs. Yes, fellow-suldicrs, history and ]iosterity shall consecrate our ashes. Wherever couniiXL' is hdimrLMl, thrdULi'li all time, shall Tliennopyloe and the Spartan three huudi-ed lie i-cincia!.)ered. Ours shall be an immor- tality such as no human glory has yet attained. And when ages shall have swept by, and Sptirta's last hour shall have come, then, even in her ruins, shall she be c]oi[Ucnt. Tyrants shall turn away from theui, appalled; but the hei-(.ies (A' liberty — the poets, the sages, the historians of all time — shall invoke and bless the, memory of the gallant three hundred of Leonldas ! 6. BRUTU? OVER THE DEAD LUCRETIA. —Original and Compi ea. You are amazed, Ptomans ! even amid the general horror a* Llcretia's death, that lirutus, whom you have known liitherto only aa the fool, .should all at once assume the language and bearing of a man . Did not the Sibyl .say, a fool should set Home free ? I am that fool ! Brutus bids Rome be free ! If he has |)layed the fool, it was to seize the wise man's opportunity Here he throws off the mask of madness. 'Tie Lucius Junius now, your countryman, who calls ujou you, b^ this innocent blood, to swear eternal vengeance against kings ! 106 THE STANJJAilD SPEAKEE. Look, Koixiiiis ! turn your eyes on this sad spectacle . — 'ht daughtei of Lucretius, Collatinus' wife ! By her own hand she died See there a nc^^le lady, whom the ruffian lust of a Tarquia reduced to the necessity of being her own executioner, to attest her innocence ! Hospitably entertained by her as her husband's kinsman, Sextus, the ■perfidious guest, became her brutal ravisher. The chaste, the genorous Lucretia, could not survive the outrage. Heroic matron ! But C'sca )nly treated as a slave, life was no longer endurable! And if ^hfi, with her soft woman's nature, disdained a life, that depended on a tyrant's will, shall we — shall men, with such an example before 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, Bomans ! The favorable moment is come. The time IS — now ! Fear not that the army will take the part of their Gen- erals, rather than of the People. The love of liberty is natural to all ; and your fellow-citizens in the Camp feel the weight of oppression as sensibly as you. Doubt not they will as eagerly seize the opportunity of throwing off their yoke. Courage, Bomans ! The Gods are for us ! those Gods whose tem- ples and altars the impious Tarquin has profaned. By the blood of the wronged Lucretia, I swear, — hear me, ye Powers Supreme ! — by this blood, which was once so pure, and which nothing but royal villaoy could have polluted, — I swear that I will pursue, to the death, these Tarquins, with fire and sword ; nor will I ever suffer any one of that family, or of any other family whatsoever, to be King in Bome ! — On to the Forum ! Bear the body hence, high in the public view, through all the streets ! On, Bomans, on ! The fool shall set you free ! ^ 6 SEPLY OF ACHILLES TO THE ENVOYS OF AGAJIEMNON, SOLICrriNQ k RBO ONCILIATION. — Co (I'per'x 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 I IMy judgment undisguised Is this : that neither Agamemnon me Nor all the Greeks shall move ! For ceaseless toil 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, ^■■0 I have worn out many sleepless nights, And waded deep through many a bloody day MARTIAL AND POPULAR. HOJIEr l'>9 la battle for their wives. I have destroyed Twelve cities with my fleet ; and twelve, save one On foot contending, in the fields of Troy. From all these cities precious spoil I took Abumlant, and to Agamemnon's hand Gave all the treasure. He within his ships Abode the while, and, having all received, Littje distributed, and much retained. He gave, however, to the Kings and Chiefe 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 impudence, he seek to wrong Them also. Let hhn 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 arte 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 w;Uls, 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 a.s the sands, And as the dust of earth, — no gifts from him Should soothe me, till my soul were first avenged For all the oflensive 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. BKUTOR'S EEIJUKE TO POLYDAM AS. —Couipers «owt*'. A^tagta. PoLYDAMAS to dautitlcss Hoctor spake : Oittimes in council, Hector, thou art wont 110 THE STANDARD S^'EAKER. To censure me, although ad-vising well Yet hear my best opinion once again . I'roueed 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 propitiouB No. JMany a Trojan shall we lea7e 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 : Polydttmas ! I like not thy advice; Thou couldst have framed iiir 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 tl/y soul alarm ? For were we slaughtered, one and all, arsund The fleet of Greece, thoic need'st not fear to die, Whose courage never will thy flight retard. But if thou shrink thyself, or by smooth Seduce one other from a soldier's part, Pierced by this spear incontinent thou diest ! I HECTOR'S EXPLOIT AT TUE BARRIERS OF THE GRECIAN FIEEP.- 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 lofty sounds that leached Their utmost ranks, he called on all his ho.->t : Now press thtuu ! now, ye Trojuns, steed- renowned; Rush on ! break through the Grecian rampart ! hurl At once devouring flames into the fleet ! Such Wcis his exhortation. They, his VDiee • The nobleness of this reply may have been paralleled, but not snrpassed, b? f«tri)ts of rioeeeding times. MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — HOMKR. I I] Ail hearing, with close-orcloretl ranks, direct Bore on the barrier, and u])-swarniing showed On the high battlement their glittering spears. But Hjctor seized a stone; of ample base, But tapering to a point ; before the gate It stood. jMo two men, mightiest of a land (Such men as now are mighty), could with ease Flave heaved it from the eartla 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 weight So 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 For 'vantage sake, and smote them in the midst He burst both hinges ; inward 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 sides. In leaped the godlike Hero at the breach. Gloomy as night in aspect, but in arms All-dazzling, and he grasped two quiveriag spears Him entering with a leap the gates, no force Whate'cr 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 The Grecians to their hollow galleys flew, Scattered ; and tumult infinite arose. 9. HECTOR SLAIN BY ACHILLES. —Cow;jer's Home* Brioht 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^oins the shoulder there his throat appeared il2 THE STANDARD SPEAZ-ES,. WTience injured life with swiftest flight escapsa, Achilles, plunging in that part his spear, Impelled it through the yielding flesh beyond. The ashen beam his power of uiterance 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. Foncl dream and vain ! I was not distant far. In yonder fleet He left one able to avenge his death. And he hath slain thee. Thee the dogs shall rend Dishonorably, and the fowls of air, — But all Achaia's host shall him entomb ! To whom the Trojan Chief languid replied : By thy own life — by theirs who gave thee birth — And by thy knees — ! 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 'froy ! To whom, with aspect stern, Achilles thus : Dog ! neither knees nor parents name to me ! I would uiy fierceness of revenge were such That I sould 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 tliee on thy bier. With lamentation ! Dogs and ravening fowls Shall rend thy body, while a shred remains ! Then, dying, warlike Fleeter thus replied Full well I knew befare how suit of mine Should speed, preferred to thee. Thy heart is steel But, ! while yet thou liv'st, think, lest the Gods Requite tht;e on that day, when, pierced thyself. By Paris and Apollo, thou shalt fall, Brave as thou art, before the Scjean gate ! He ceased ; and death involved him dark around. His spirit, from his limbs dismissed, the house Of Ades sought, mourning, in her descent, Youth's prune and vigor lost, — disastrous doom ' MARTIAL AND POPULAR. FENELON. 1 18 But him, though dead, Achilles thus bespake : Die thou ! My death shall find nie at what hour Jove gives commandment, and the Gods above. ..• rELEMACm:S TO THE ALLIED CHIEFS.— Fene/on. Born, 1651 ; iio.d, mi Original Abrid},'ment. Felloav -SOLDIERS and confederated chiefs ! I gi-ant you, if evei' man deserved to have the weapon of stratagem and deceit turned against hin), it is he who has used it himself so often, — the faith- less Adrastus ! But shall it be said that we, who have united to pun- ish the perfidy of this man, — that we are ourselves perfidious ? Shall fraud be counteracted by fraud ? If we can adopt the practices of Adrastus without guilt, Adrastus himself is innocjnt, and oui present attempt to punish him is unwarrantable. You havB sworn, by all that is most sacred, to leave Venusium a deposit in the hands of the Lucanians. The Lucanian garrison, you say, is corrupted by A.dra.stus. I do not doubt it. But this garrison is still Lucanian It receives the pay of the Lucaniaws, and has not yet refused to obey them. It has preserved, at least, an appearance of neutrality. Neither Adrastys nor his people have yet entered it. The treaty L'. still subsisting ; and the Gods have not forgotten your oath. Is a promise never to be kept but when a plausible pretence to break it is wanting ? Shall an oath be sacred only when nothing is to be gained by its violation ? If you are insensible to the love of virtue, and the fear of the Gods, have you no regard to your interest and reputation ? If, to terminate a war, you violate your oath, how many wars will this impious conduct excite ? Who will hereafter trust you ? What security can you ever give for your good faith ? A solemn treaty ? — You have trampled one under foot ! An oath ? - - You have committed perjury when perjury was profitable, and have defied the Gods ! In peace, you will be regarded as treacherously preparing for war. Every affair, based on a confidence in your probity, will become impracticable. Your promises will not bo believed. Nay, the very league which now constitutes your strength will lose its cohesive principle. Your perjury will be the triumph of Adrastus ! He will not need to attack you himself. Your own iisfcnsions, your own mistrusts, your own duplicity, will be your ruin. Ye mighty chiefs, renowned for magnanimity and wisdom, expe- rienced and brave, governing uncounted thousands, — despise n jt the oounsel of a youth ! To wliatever extremity war may reduce you, let your resources be diligence and virtue. True fortitude can never despair. But, if you once pass the bari-ier of honor and integrity, the ruin of your cause is irreparable. You can neither reestablish that confidence without which no affair of importance can succeed, Qor can you bring men back to the reverence of that virtue which you have taught them to despise. What have you to fear ? Is not your eouiago equal \r victory, without the aid of fraud ? Youi- own powei 114 THE STANDAED SPEAKER. jcin'jd fco tliat of the many under your command, — is it not sufficient ! Let ufr fight, let us die, if we must, — but let us not conquer unwor- thily. Adi-astus, the impious Adrastus, is in our power, provided — provided we disdain to imitate the cowardice and treachery which nave sealed his ruin ! 11, IITIS QUINTIUS AGAINST QUARRELS BETWEEN THE SENATE iND SEl PEOPLE. — Abridgment from Livy. Though I am conscious of no fault, Romans, it is yet with the utmost shame I have come forward to your Assembly. You have Been it — posterity will know it — that, in my fourth consulate, the JBquans and Volscians came in arms to the very gates of Rome, and went away unchastised ! Had I foreseen that such an ignominy had been reserved for my official year, — that Rome might have been taken while I was Consul, — I would have shunned the olfice, either by exile or by death. Yes ; I have had honors enough, — of life more than enough ! I should have died in my third consulate. Whom did these most dastardly enemies despise ? • — us, Consuls, or you, citizens ? If we are in fault, depose us, — punish us as we deserve. If you, Romans, are to blame, may neither Gods nor men make you suffer for your offences ! — only may you repent. No, Romans, the (Confidence of our enemies is not from a belief in their own courage, or in your cowardice. They have been too often vanquished, not to know both themselves and you. Discord, discord amongst ourselves, is the ruin of this city. The eternal disputes between the Senate and the People are the sole cause of our misfortunes. In the name of Heaven, what is it, Romans, you would have ? You desired Tribunes of the commons. For the sake of concord, we granted Tribunes. You were eager to have Decemvirs. We suffered them to be created. You grew weary of Decemvirs. We conrpelled them to abdicate. You insisted on the restoration of the Tribuvieship. We yielded. You invaded our rights. We have borne, and still bear. What termination is there to be to these dissensions* { ^Vhen shall we have a united city ? When one common country ? With the enemy at our gates, — with the Volscian foe scaling your ram- part, — there is no one to hinder it. But against us you .ire valiant, — against us you diligently take up arms ! Come on, th.n. Besiege the Senate-house. Make a camp of the Forum. Fill the jails with rnir chief nobles. Then sally out with the same detc/mined spirit against the enemy. Does your resolution fail ? LooL, then, to see your lands ravaged, your houses plundered and in flaL,ies, the whc.le 30untry laid waste with fire and sword. Elxtlnguish, Romans, these fatal divisions ! Brej*k the spell of this enchantment, which renders you powerless and in&otive ' If you will but summon up the ancient Roman courage, and follow youi Consuls to the field, I will submit to any punishment, if I do not rout i,nd put to flight these ravagers of our territories, and transfer to their mn cities the terror of wax MARTIAL AXD POPULAR. — SALLUST. 115 a nAJVS MABIfS TO TITR R0:MAXS, on TIIK objections to making IQM GENERMj. — Oriifinal Parap/ir-tie from Sallust You have uommittod to my conduct, Romans, the war againsi Jugurtha. The Patricians are oflfcndcd at this. " He has no ^'aniilj statues," they exclaim. " He can point to no illustrious line d' an- cestors ! " What then ? Will dead ancestors will motioules? p.tr t^ aes, help fight your battles ? Will it avail your General to appeal tc these, in the perilous hour ? Rare wisdom would it be, my country- men, to intrust the command of your army to one whose only qualifi" cation fijr it would be the virtue of his forefathers! to one untried and unexperienced, but of most unexceptionable family ! who could not show a solitary scar, but any number of ancestral statues ! who knew not the first rudiments of war, but was very perfect in pedigrees ! Truly I have known of such holiday heroes, — raised, because of family considerations, to a command for which they were not fitted, — whc, when the moment for action arrived, were obliged, in their ignorance and trepidation, to give to some inferior officer — to some despised Plebeian — the ordering of every movement. I submit it to you, Romans, — is Patrician pride or Plebeian experience the safer reliance ? The actions of which my opponents have merely read, I have achieved or shared in. What they have seen written In books, I have seen written on battle-fields with steel and blood. They object to my humble birth. They sneer at my lowly origin. Impo- tent objection ! Ignominious sneer ! Where but in the spirit of a man (bear witness, Gods!), — where but in the spirit, can his nobility be lodged ? and where his dishonor, but in his own cowardly inaction, or his unworthy deeds ? Tell these railers at my obscure extraction, their haughty lineage could not make them noble — my humble birth could never make me base. I profess no indifierence to noble descent. It is a good thing to number great men among one's ancestry. But when a descendant is dwarfed in the comparison, it should be accounted a shame rather than a boast. These Patricians cannot despise me, if they would, since their titles of nobility date from ancestral services similar to those which [ myself have rendered. And what if I can show no family statues ^ I can show the stjindards, the armor, and the spoils, which I myself have wrested from the vanquished. I can show the sears of riany svounds received in combating the enemies of Rome. These are my statues ! These the honors I can boast of! Not an accidental inherit' ance, like theirs; but earned by toil, by abstinence, by valor; amid ilouds of dust and seas of blood; scenes of action, in wmch -these effeminate Patricians, who would now depreciate me in your esteem, have never dared to appear, — no, not even as spectators ! Here, Romans, are my credentials ; here, my titles of nobility ; here, ?m claims to the generalship of your army ! Tell me, are ihay not tw rospectable, are they not as valid, are they not as deserving of your confidence and reward, as those whir-h any Patrician of theio all kid xfTcr ? 116 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. &. CAIUS OKiCCHUS. CITED BEFORE THE CENSORS, A^^PEALS TC Wl*. PEOPLE. — Original Adaptation from J. S. Knowles. It appears I 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 Kay, I have over-served it by the laws, — The laws which Caius Gracchus dares not break. Eut, Censors, let that pass. I will propose A better question for your satisfaction : — " How have I served my time ? " I '11 answer that : — " How have I served my time ? For mine own gain, Or that of the Ptepublic ? " What was my office ? Quaestor. 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 ? WTien my brother, Tiberius Gracchus, fell beneath their blows, I called them not assassins ! Wlien 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 fiivor, now, For justice ! Grudgingly her dues are granted ! Your great men boast no moi'e the love of coimtry. They comit their talents ; measure their domains ; Enlarge their palaces ; dress forth their banquets ; ■ Awake their lyres and timbrels ; and with their floods Of ripe Falernian drown the little left Of virtue ! — Romans, I would be your Tribime. 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. TACITUS. ..It I have no gust for blood, nor for oppression , I sacrifice to Justice and to IMcrey ! The laws ! the laws ! Of common right the guard — The wealth, the happiness, the freedom of The Nation ! Who has liidden them, defaced them, Sold them, corrupted them from the pure letter ? Why do they guard the rich man's cloak fi'om a rent, And tear the poor man's garment from his back ? Why arc they, in the proud man's grasp, a sword, And in the hand of the humble man, a reed ? • The laws ! The laws ! I ask you for the laws ' Demand them in my country's sacred name ! Still silent ? Reckless still of my appeal ? Romans ' I ask the office of your Tribune ! 14. GALGACUS TO THE CA.LEJ)0^1AtiS. — Oriffinat Abridfrment from Tacitm Reflecting on the origin of this war, and on the straits to which we are reduced, I am persuaded, Caledonians, that to your strong hands and indomitable will is British liberty this day confidod. There is no retreat for us, if vanquished. Not even the sea, covered as it is by the Roman fleet, oifers a path for escape. And thus war and arms, ever welcomed by the brave, are now the only safety of the cowardly, if any such there be. No refuge is behind us ; naught but the rocks, and the waves, and the deadlier Romans : men whose pride you have vainly tried to conciliate by forbearance ; whose cruelty you have vainly sought to deprecate by moderation. The robbers of the globe, when the land fails, they scour the sea, Is the enemy rich, — they are avaricious; is he, poor, — they are ambitious. The East and the West are unable to satiate their desires. Wealth and poverty are alike coveted by their rapacity. To carry off, to massacre, to riiake seiz- ures under false pretences, this they call empire ; and when they make a desert, they call it peace ! Do not suppose, however, that the prowess of these Romans is equal to their lust. They have thrived on our divisions. They know how to turn the vices of others to their own profit. Casting off all hope of pardon, let us exhibit the courage of men to whom salvation ar.d glory are equally dear. Nursed in freedom as we have been, uncon* quered and unconfjuerable, let us, in the fiv«t onset, show these usurp- ers what manner of men they are that Old Caledonia shelters in hoj bosom ! All tiie incitements to victory are on our side. Wives, parents, children, — these we have to prc/cect ; and these the Romana have not. Tliey have none to cry shame upon their flight ; none to ?hed tears of exultation at their success. Few in number'!, fearful from ignorance, gazing on unkn^jwn forests and untried seas, the Goda have delivered them, hemmed in, bound and helpless, into our hands. Let no*' their showy aspect, their glitter of silver and gold, dismay 70U. Such adoru-nen's can neither harm nor protect from harm. Id ny THE STANDARD 6PEAKER. the very liue of the enemy we shall find friends. The Britons, eh* (jiauls, the (xermans, will recognize their own cause in ours. Here k a leader ; her 5 an army ! There are tributes, and levies, and badges of servitude, — impositions, which to assume, or to trample under fool forever, lies now in the power of your arms. Forth, then, Oaledomans 4c the field ! Think of your ancestors ! Think of your descendants ' 15. ICILITJS ON VniGINIA'S SEIZURE. — T. B. Macaulay. Now by your children's cradles, — now, by your fathers" graves, Be men to-day, Quirltes, or be forever slaves ! For this did Servius give us laws ? For this did Lucrece bleed ? For this was the great vengeance wrought on Tarquin's evil seed ? For this did those fiilse sons make red the axes of their sire ? For this did Scaevola's right hand hiss in the Tuscan fire ? Sliall the vile earth-fox awe the race that stormed the bon's den ? Shall we, who could not brook one lord, crouch to the wicked Ten ' for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate's will ! for the tents which in old time whitened the Sacred ffiU ! In those brave days our fathers stood firmly, side by side ; They faced the Marcian fury ; they tamed the Fabian pride ; Tliey drove the fiercest Quinctius an outcast forth from Rome They sent, the naughtiest Claudius with shivered fiisces home. But what their care bequeathed us, our madness flung away : All the ripe fruit of threescore years was blighted in a day. Exult, ye proud Patricians ! The hard-fought fight is o'er. We strove for honors, — 't was in vain : for freedom, — 't is no aaors. No crier to the polling summons the eager throng ; No Tribune breathes the word of might, that guards the weas frca wrong. Our very hearts, that were so high, sink down beneath your will. Riches, and lands, and power, and state — ye have them: — -keey them still. Still keep the holy fillets ; still keep the purple gown. The axes and the curule chair, the car, and laurel ci'own Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is done, Still fill your garners from the soil which our good swords have won- But, by the Shades beneath -us, and by the Gods above. Add cot unto your c'tuel hate your yet more cruel love ' Have ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage springs From Consuls, and High Pontiffs, and ancient Alban kings ? Then lea^e the poor Plebeian his single tie to life — The sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wife ; The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul endures. The kiss, in which he half forgets even such a yoke as youra. Still let the maiden's beauty swell the father's breast with prids Still let the bridegroom's arms enfold an unpolluted bride MARTIAL AXP POPULAR. — HEM iNS. 1 IS Spare lu. the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shanio, That turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's blood to flame, Lest, when our latest hope is fled, ye taste of our despair, And learn, by proof, in some wild hour, how much the wretched dare 13 THE SPARTANS' MARCH. — Fe/iciaWemnns. Born, 1794 ; dierf, 1S35. The Spartans used not the tninipet in tlieu' mardi into hattle, says Thucydidcs, because they Wishe i not to excite the nige of their waiTiors. Their chargiug-atep was made to the Dorian mojd of flutes and soft recorders. T WAS morn upon the Grrecian hills, where peasants dressed the vines Sunlight was on Cithteron's rills, Arcadia's rocks and pines. And brightly, through his reeds and <^9wcrs, Eurotiis wandered by, When a sound arose from Sparta's towers of solemn harmony. Was it the hunter's choral strain, to the woodland-goddess poured ? Did virgin hands, in Pallas' fane, strike the full-sounding chord ? But helms were glancing on the stream, spears ranged in close array, And shields flung l^ack a glorious beam to the morn of a fearful day And the mountain echoes of the land swelled through the deep-blue sky While to soft strains moved forth a band of men that moved to die. They 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 ! They asked no clarion's voice to fire their souls with an impulse high But the Dorian reed, and the Spartan lyre, for the sons of liberty ! And still sweet flutes, their path around, sent forth ..^olian breath : They needed not a sterner sound to marshal them for death ! So moved they calmly to their field, thence never to return, Save bringing back the Spartan shield, or on it proudly borne ' 17. THE GREEKS' RETURN FROM BATTLE. — /Jzd. lo ! they come, they come ! garlands for every shrine ! Strike lyres to greet "them home ! bring roses, pour ye wine ! Swell, swell the Dorian flute, through the blue, triumphant sky ! Let the Cittern's tone salute the sons of victory. With the ofi'ering of bright blood, they have ransomed hearth and tomb^ Vineyard, and field, and flood ; — lo ! they come, they come ' Sing it where olives wave, and by the glittering sea, And o'or each hero's grave, — sing, sing, the land is free ! Mark ye the flashing oars, and the spears that light the deep ! How the festal sunshine pours, where the lords of battle sweep ! Bach hath brought back his shield ; — maid, greet thy lover home ! Mother, from that proud field, — lo ! thy son is ceme ! Who murmured of the dead ? Hush, boding voice ! We know That many a shining head lies in its glory low. Breathe not tiiosc names to-day ! They shall have their praiae ere long Acl a power all hearts to sway, in ever-burning song. 120 ITIE STANDARD SPEAKEk. But nrrw shed flowers, pour wine, to hail the conquerors hom« Bring wreaths for every shrine, — lo ! they come, they corns 18, ODE. — William Collins. Born. 1720 , diecL, 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. li VIEGINIUS AS TRIBUNE, REFUSES THE APPEAL OF APPIUS CLATDHIB — Original Paraphrase from Livy. 1 AFFIRM, Romans, that Appius Claudius is the only man iiol entitled to a participation in the laws, nor to the common privileges of civil or human society. The tribunal over which, as perpetual Decemvir, he presided, was made the fortress of all villanies. A despiser of Gods and men, he vented his fury on the properties and persons of citizens, threatening all with his rods and axes. Executioners, not Lictors, were his attendants. His passions roaming from rapine to murder, from murder to lust, he tore a free-born maiden, as if she were a prisoner of war, from the embraces of me, her father, before the eyes of the Roman People, and gave her to his creature, the purveyor of his secret pleasures ! Ye heard, my countrymen, the cruel decree, the infamous decision. Ye beheld the right hand of the father armed against his daughter. Armed against, do I say ? No, by the Gods I armed in her behalf^ — since it was to rescue her, by death, from dis- honor, that I sheathed in her innocent bosom the knife ! Ye heard the tyrant, when the uncle and the betrothed husband of Virginia raised her lifeless body, order them to be taken off to prison. Yes, Romans, even at that tragical moment, the miscreant Claudius was more moved by the disappointment of his gross, sensual appetite than by the untimely death of the unoffending victim ! And Appius Claudius now appexds ! You hear his words . " 1 appeal ! " This m^n, who, so recently, as Decemvir, would have con- signed a free-born maiden to bonds and to dishonor, utters that sacred expression that safeguard of Roman lilierty, — -'I appeal ! " Well may ye stand a^ne-struck and silent, my countrymen ! Ye see, at length, that there are Gods who overlook human affairs ; that there is uuch a thiiig as retribuxion ! Ye see that punishment must soone? MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — LIVY. . VJl it later ovodake all tyranny and injustice. The man who abciishcd the right of appeal now appeals ! The man who trampled on thd rights of the People now implores the protection of the People ! A.nd, finally, the man who used to call the prison the fitting domicile of the Roman commons shall now find that it was built for him also Wherefore, Appius Claudius, though thou shouldst appeal, again aud again, to me, the Tribune of the People, I will as often refer thee to 1 Judge, on the charge of having sentenced a free person to slavery. And since thou wilt not go before a Judge, well knowing that Justine will condemn thee to death, I hereby order thee to be taken hence to prison, as one condemned. 20. CANULEirS AGAINST PATRICIAN ARROGANCE Original Paraphrase from Livy. This is not the first time, Romans, that Patrician arrogance has denied to us the rights of a common humanity. What do we new demand ? First, the right of intermarriage ; and then, that the People may confer honors on whom they please. And why, in the name of Roman manhood, my countrymen, — why should these poor boons be refused ? Why, for claiming them, was I near being assaulted, just now, in the senate-house ? Will the city no longer stand, — will the empire be dissolved, — because we claim that Plebeians shall no longer be excluded from the Consulship ? Truly these Patricians will, by and by, begrudge us a participation in the light of day ; they will b^ indignant that we breathe the same air ; that we share with them the faculty of speech ; that we wear the forms of human beings ! But I cry them mercy. They tell us it is contrary to religion that a Ple- beian should be made Consul ! The ancient religion of Rome forbids it ! Ah ! verily ? How will they reconcile this pretence to the facts ? Though not admitted to the archives, nor to the commentaries of the Pontiffs, there are some notorious facts, which, in connnon with the rest of the world, we well know. We know that there were Kings before there were Consuls in Rome. We know that Consuls possess no prerogative, no dignity, not formerly inherent in Kings We know that Numa Pompilius was made King at Rome, who was not only not a Patrician, but not even a citizen ; that Lucius Tarquinius, who was not even of Italian extraction, was made King ; that Servius Tull/us, who was the son of a captive woman by an unknown father, Tas made King. And shall Plebeians, who formerly were not ex- cluded from the Throne, now, on the juggling plea of religious objec- tion, be del)arred from the Consulship ? Bit it is not encugh that the offices of the Sta+e are withheld from us. To keep pure their dainty blood, these Patricians would prevent, by law, all intermarriage of members of their order with Plebeians Ijould there be a moro marked indignity, a more humiliating insult llfanthis? Why not legislate against our living in the same neigh V12 . THJi STANDARD SPEAKER. oorhood, dwelling under the same skies, walking the same earth 1 Ignominy not to be endured ! Was it for this we expelled Kings * Was it for this that we exchanged one master for many ? No . Let the rights we claim be admitted, or let the Patricians fight the battles of the State themselves. Let the public offices be open to 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 amply and equally partake ! a CATILINE TO HIS ARMY, NEAR FJESVUE.—Ben Jonson. Born,l&U; died 1*31 A paraphrase of the celebrated speech which SalUist attributes to Catiline, previous to tltf Sngagemeut which ended 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 Piome The other fror the provinces of Gaul. The sword must now direct and cut our 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 fi-ee 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 Rome, depending on the great, But that you thought those things unfit for men ; And, in that thought, my friends, you then were valiant , F?r no man ever yet changed peace for war But he that meant to conquer. Hold 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 armed. Methinks I see Death and the Furies waiting What we will do, and all the Heaven at leisure MARTIAL AND POPULAR. 123 For the groat spectacle. Draw, then, your 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. LentCdus, returning vitl rictorious eagles, had amused the populace with the sports of the amphitheatre to an extent hitherto unknown even in that luxurioua ■sity. The 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, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drops on the corslet of the Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of the ^''ulturnus 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 muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on their brows ; when Spartiicus, starting forth from amid the throng, thus addressed them : "Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say, that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, 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 was not always thus, — a hired butcher, a aivage chief of still more sav- age men ! My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-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 u}:)on 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 meal One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my gi'andsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon, and Leuctra ; and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile cf the mcuntains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know whac 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 nie 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 nourished me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse ; the bleeding br>dy of HiY father flung ami'lst the blazing rafters of our t'^wellins ' 124 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. " To-day I killed a man in the arena ; and, when I broke his hn met-clasps, behold ! he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly gasped, and died ; — the same sweet smile upon his lips that T had marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph . I told the praetor 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 ail the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Ves- tals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of 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, M\ow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. 0, Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay ! thou hast given, to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of 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 of his foe ; — to gaze 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 life- blood lies curdled ! " Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! The strength of brass is in your toughened sinews ; but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 'T is three days since he tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours, — and a dainty meal for him ye will be ! If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife ! If ye are me7i, — fol- low me ! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there dc 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 0, com- rades ! warriors I Thracians ! — if we must fight, let us fight for our- neives ! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors ! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in wblt5, honorable battle ! " 23. SPARTACUS TO THE ROMAN ENVOYS IN ETKUBIA — Originat Envoys of Rome, the poor camp of Spartacus is too much honored hj your presence. And does Rome stoop to parley with the escapeii gladiator, with the rebel ruffian, for whom heretofore no slight had been too scornfal ? You have come, with steel in your right hand, md with gold in your left. What heed we give the former, ask MARTIAL ND I'OPCLAR. 12^ Cossmias iisk ClauJius ; ask Varinlus ; ask the bones of your legions that fertilize the Lucanian plains. And for your gold — would ye knew wluit we do with that, — go ask the laborer, the trodden poor the helples^i and the hopeless, on our route ; ask all whom Eoman tyranny had crushed, or llonian avarice plundered. Ye have seen me before ; but ye did not then shun my glance as now. Ye have Been me in the arena, when I was Rome's pet ruffian, daily smeare-d with blood of men or beasts. One day — shall I forget it ever ? — ye were present ; — I had fought long and well. Exhausted as I was your munerator, 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. V/ith Thracian sword and buckler, forth ha came, a beautiful defiance on his brow ! Bloody and brief the fight. "He has it!" cried the People; '■' hnhet ! hahet !''' But still ho lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held him, gashed and fainting, in my power. I looked around upon the Podium, where sat your 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 life — 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 hands. 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 wol ves. Kill him ? — 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? died. That night I was scourged for disol3edience. I shall not forget it. Should memory faU, 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 labormg 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 face — and then burst forth the simultaneous cry — "Lead on! lead on, Spartacus ! " Forth we rushed, — seized what rude weapons Chance threw in our way, and to the mountains speeded. There, day by day, our little baud increased. Disdainful Rome sent after us a handful of her troops, with a scourge for the slave Spartacus. riicir 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 Praator, was sent, and routed ; then another still. And always I remembered thar fierce cry, riving my heart, and calling me to " kill ! " In three pitched battles, have I not obeyed it ? And now affrighted Rome (26 THE STANDARD SPEAKER Bends her two Consuls, and puts forth all her strength by .and and sea as if a Pyrrnus or a Hannibal were on her borders ! Envoys of Rome ! To Lentulus and Gelllus bear this message : " Their graves are measured ! " Look on that narrow stream, a silvei thread, high on the mountain's side ! Slenderly it winds, but soon is swelled by others meeting it, until a torrent, terrible and =-trong, it sweeps to tlie abyss, where all is ruin. So Spartacus comes on ! So swells his force, — small and despised at first, but now resistless ! On, on to Rome we come ! The gladiators come ! Let Opulence tremble 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 ! ! we shall not forget Rome's many las. «ns. She shall not find her training was all wasted upon indocile pupils. Now, begone ! Prepare the Eteriml City for our games ' 24. MARULLUS TO THE ROMAN VOVU'LA.C^. — Shakspeare. Wherefore rejoice that C^sar 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 walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, 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 now put on your best attire ? And do you now cull out a holiday ? And do you noiv 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 li^ht on this ingratitude ! J5. MARCUS BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF Cm&k^. — Shakspeare. Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause ; and b» nlent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor ; and bavs respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in youi visdom and a^'ake your senses, that you may the better judge.. If MARTIAL ANl* POPULAR. SHAKSPEARR 127 there be any in this assembly, — any clear friend of Cnesar's, - to him 1 Bay, that Brutus' love to Caesar was not less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is niy answer : Not that I loved Cajsar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had yon rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all freemen ? As Ctesar loved me, I weep for him ; 84 he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him but ss he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love ; jcy, f3r his fortune ; honor, for his valor ; and death, for his ambition ! Who is here so base, that woiild be a bondman ? If any, speak ; fo? him have I otFended. Who is here so rude, that would nut be a Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I ofi'ended. Who is here so vile that will not love his countiy ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. None ? — Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. Here comes his body, mourned by IMark Antony ; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth : As which of you shall not ? With this I depart : That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger ibr myself, when it shall please my country to need oy death. 26 HARK ANTONY TO THE PEOPLE, ON CESAR'S DEATH.— Shakspeaf^ Friends, Romans, Countrymen ! lend me your ears I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones : So let it be with Cfesar ! Noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : — If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; And grievously hath Caesar answered it ! Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest — For Brutus is an honorable man ! So are they all ! all honorable men, — Come I to speak in Ccesar'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 Romev Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept Ambition should be made of sterner stuff! — Yet Brutus Bays he was ambitious , 12^ THE STANDARD SPEAKEB. And Bratus is an honorable man ! You all dici see, that, on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse : was this amHtion I — 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 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, the! word of Caesar might Have stood against the world ; — now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence ! 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, — V/hich, pardon me, I do not mean to read, — And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of hhn 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 Tlie first time ever Csesar 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 ', 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 ! For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel MARTIAL AxND POPULAR. — allLTON. 129 Judge, ye Gods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! This was the most unkindest cut of all ! tor when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Qui-te van([uishcd him. Then burst his mighty heart And, in his mantle muffiing up his face Even at the base of Pompey's statue, — Which all tlie while ran blood ! — great Caesar 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 Cassar's vesture wounded ? — look you here ! Here is himself. — marred, as you see, by traitors ! Good friends I sweet friends ! let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny I They that have done this deed are honorable ! What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not,. That made tliera 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 (Jassar's wounds, — poor, poor, dumb mo^itJiS And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would rufiie up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move r^e stones of Rome to rise and mutiny ! 27. MOLOCH TO THE FALLEN ANOELS. —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 131 THH STAIJDARD SPEAKER. Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, l^he prison of His tyranny who reigns By our delay ? No, — let us rather choose, Ai'Hied 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 Qur destruction ; if there be in hell Fear to be worse destroyed. — What can be worse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemnsdl In this abhorred deep, to utter woe. Where 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 ? l^Iore destroyed than thus, We should be (|uite abolished, and expire. What fear we, then ? What doubt we to incens® 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 tee^ Our power sufficient to disturb His Heavea And with perpetual inroads to alarm. Though inaccessible, His fatal Thrcne : Which, if not victory is yet revenge MARTIAL AND POPCLAR. MILTON. «. BKLIAL-S ADDRESS, OPPOSIXG WAR. — MiVton 131 I SHOULD be much for open war, Peers, As not behind in hate, if what was urged, Main rea.son to persuade iuunediate war, Did not di.ssuade nie most, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success ; — ^V^hen he, who most excels in fact of arms, In what he counsels, and in what excels, Mistriistful, grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge ! — First, what revenge ? — The towers of Heaven are filled With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable : oft on the bordering deep Encamp their legions : or, with obscure wing, Scout far and wide into the realm of night. Scorning surprise. — Or, could we break our way By force, and, at our heels, all hell should rise. With blackest insurrection, to confound Heaven's purest light ; yet our great Enemy, All incorruptible, would, on His throne. Sit unpolluted ; and the ethereal mould, Incapable of stain, would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire. Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope Is flat despair : we must exasperate The Almighty Victor to spend all His rage, And that must end us ; that must be our cure, — To be no more. — Sad cure ! — for who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, — To perish rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion ? — And who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry Foe Can give it, or will ever ? How He can, Is f'oubtfid ; that He never will, is sure. "W )11 He, so wise, let loose at once His ire Belike through impotence, or unaware. To give His enemies their wish, and end Them in His anger, whom His anger sav3S To punish endless ? — " Wherefore cease we, then ? Say they, who counsel war : " we are decreed, Reserved, and destined to eternal woe : Whatever doing, what can we suffer more. What can wt. suffer worse ? " Is this, then, wcret. Thus sitting, thus consulting, ttus in arms ^ 1 32 TEE STANDARD SPEAKEll. W hat when we fled amain, pursued 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 ? ihat 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'e. Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall One daj 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 U) converse with everlasting groans, Um-espited, unpitied, unreprieved, Ages of hopeless end ? — this would be worse. War, therefore, open or concealed, alike My voice dissuades. 29. THE DEATH OF LEONIDAS. — iJtj;. George Croly. 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. Rampart and flag and tent, like the spectres of a dream. All up the mountain side, all down the woody vale, Ah 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 livmg brand Then double darkness fell, and the forest ceased to moan, But there came a clash of steel, and a distant dying groan. Anon, a trumpet blew, and a fiery sheet burst high, That o'er the midnight threw a blood-red canopy. A host glared on the hill ; a host glared by the bay ; But the Greeks rushed onward still like leopards in their play MiARTIAL AND POPULAR. — CROLT. L%'6 The air -waf all a yell, and the earth was all a flame, Where the Spartan's bloody steel on the silken turbans came And still the Greek rashed 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 Tlien sat to the repast the bravest of the brave ! Tliat feast must be their last, that spot must be their grave They pledged old Sparta's name in cups of Syi'ian wine, x\nd the warrior's deathless fame was sung in strains divine. They took the rose-wreathed lyres from eunuch and from slave, And taught the languid wires the sounds that Freedom gave. But 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 in hand, they drank, — "To Iramortality ! " Fear on King Xerxes fell, when, like spirits from the tomb, With shout and triuiipet-knell, he saw the warriors come ; But down swept all 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 ; To Greece one look they sent, then on high their torches flung ; To Heaven the blaze uprolled, like a mighty altar-fire ; And the Persians' gems and gold were the Grecians' funeral pyre Their King sat on his Throne, his Captains by his side, While the flame rushed roaring on, and their pssan loud replied ! Thus fought the Greek of old ! Thus will he fight again ! Shall not the self-same mould bring forth the self-same men ? K CATILINE TO THE GALLIC CONSPIRATORS. — Original Adaptation f om Crolf. 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' Ye would give death or life ! Then marvel not That I am here — that Catiline would join you ! — The great Patrician ? — Yes — an hour ago — But now the rebel ; Rome's eternal foe. And yoicr sworn friend ! My desperate wrong 's my pledge There 's not in Rome, — no — not uix)n the earth. A man so \rronged. The very ground I tread iM THE STAWDAKD, SPEAKEB. Is grudged me. — Chieftains ! ere the moon be dowu^ My land will be the Senate's spoil ; my life, The n-ark of the first villain that will stab For lucre. — But there 's a time at hand ! — Gaze ou I 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 Fea,rful 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 throws. .' 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 me your hands ! (This moisture in mi/ eyea Is womanish — 't will pass.) My noble hearts ! Well have you chosen to die ! For, in my mind, The gi'ave 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 MAUTIAl AND POPULAR, — BULAVER I Si 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, tins liotir, 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 — Revenge THE BARD'S SUMMONS TO WAR.— 5jr 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 Owaine'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, voice from Heaven," the Bard replied " Some grateful 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 unstrtmg His harp of ivory sheen, from shoulders broad Kissing the hand that doomed his life, he sprung 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 ; ISb THE STANDARD 3PEAKEK. 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 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 shrinea And the Land spoke ! — Mellifluous river-waves ; Dim forests awful with the roar of pines ; Mysterious caves, 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 ! CARADOC, THE BARD TO THE CYMRIANS. — Sir E. Bulwer Lytton No Cymrian bard, by the primitive law, could bear weapons. Hare 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-ships, when the Caesar fled KARTIAL AND POPULAR. — KN0WLE3. 137 rhe 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 Cymriau Child of Song ; But where the warrior, there the liard shall be ! All holds of glory to the bard belong ! His realm extends wherever gotUike 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 S Does the song cease ? — avenge it by the deed, And make the sepulchre — a Nation freed ! 1 ALFRED THE GREAT TO HIS UEN. —Oris^inal Adaptation from KnovlM My friends, oui* 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 ' 0, now be men, or never ! From your hearths Thrust the unbidden feet, that from their nooks Dro\e forth your aged sires — your wives and babes ! The couches, your fair-handed daughters used To spread, let not the vaunting stranger press, Weary from six)iling you ! Your roofs, that hear The wanton riot of the intruding guest, That mocks their masters, — clear them for the sake Of the manhood to which all that 's precious clings Else perishes. The land that bore you — ! Do honor to her ! Let her glory in Your breeding ! Rescue her ! Revenge her, — or Ne'er call her mother more ! Come on, my friends And, where you take your stand upon the field. However you advance, resolve on this. 138 THE STANLARD SPEAKEK 'fhat you. tvill ne'er recede, while from the tougues 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 himj Strike hard ! Strike home ! Strike while a dying blow Ls in an arm ! Strike till you 're free, or fall 1 35. RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. ~ Mary Russell Mil 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 horn-, dark fraud Or open ra^^^ne, 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 (juiet joy ; there was the look Of Heaven upon his face, which linniers give To the beloved disciple. How I loved That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years Brother at once and son I He left my side, A summer bloom on his fair cheeks — a smUt 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 ! Rouse, ye Romans ! Rouse, ye slavw Have ye brave sons ? — Look in the next fierce brawl To see them die ' Have ye fair daughters ? — Look Martial and popular.- moxtcomert. '% To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, Dishonored ; and, if ye dare call for justice. Be answei-ed by the lash ! Yet, tliis is Rome. Ttuit sate on her seven hills, and from her throne Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet, we are liomaas Why, ill 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 ! THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORD. -Jamex Montgomery TTie noble voluntary death nf tlie Switzpi- Winknncd is nnmr-itfiv ,i ..„..;k .^ ■ .u <• „ Ing verses. In the bittle .( Shnni, ,r|, n ,.(',,•,' •' ^'^'-"'•"[•l,v 'leM'nhed m the follow. tag that there was no otlicr mrai,Vun,,v,ldn- u. ' vi' , ,' i ,'•' '"■"''>'^-Pa"''"'. ferceiv. by gathering as many of their s,,..ar. as he coul.l .m- ,sV\7 ' •' 1!,^ ,',',T.n . I iw ,'i'''''''"' '"^' passage for his fellow-conihatMn s, „-ho, with hammers an, h .t' ^ V/ .v^*^"',' ? men-^t-ams, and won the victory. hamme,. and hateha., Ixewed down the m^^ " 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, xill horrent with projected spears. Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their fother-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 theiy ground. Point for a.ssault was nowhere found ; Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, The unbroken line of lances blazed ; That line 't wore suicide to 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 ! All Switzerland is in the field, She will not fly ; she cannot yield • 140 THH STANDARD SPEAKER. She must not fall ; her bettei fate Here gives her an immortal date. Few were the numbers she could boa»6 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, Ilout, 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 I W. BICHABD TO THE PRINCES OF THE CRUSADE.— Sir ^ Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while. And Hope, thy sistec, ceased with thee to smile. When Itsigiuvi Oppression poured to Northern wars Her whiskered [KUidours and her fieice aussaxs Waved her divad standard to the breeze of morn. Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet hom : Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, Pres;iging wrath to Poland — and to man I Warsiuv's last champion from her heights surveyed Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid — O He-aven I he cried, my bleeiling country save! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains. Rise, fellow-ineu 1 our country yet ivniaius I By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, Aid swear for her to live I — with her to die ! He said ; and on the nmipart heights arrayed His trusty warriors, tew, but undismayed: Firm paced and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; Low, nuu-muring sounds along their bannei-s 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 g^dlant few ' From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew ,— ! bloo^iiost pictiu-e in the book of Time, Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; Found not a generous friend, a pit\-ing fbc, Strength in her arms, nor meroy in her woe ! Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered speu 56 THE STANDARD SPEAKER Closed her .bright eye, and curbed her high career Hope for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciusko fell ! righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave. Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? Where was thine arm, 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 ! ! once ag-ain 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 ' 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 h-.xrled, Her name, her nature, withered from the world ' 63 MARCO BQZZARIS, ~ Fitz-Greene HaUeck. ila-co Bozzaris, the Epaaiconaas of modern Greece, fell in a night attack upon the Turkiat samp at Laspi, the site of the aaiient Plattea, August 30, 1823, and expired in tte xoment of »2ctory. His last words were : — '- Td die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a paiix. ' ' 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 ! th* Greek ' He woke, to die midst flame and smok^ And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, And death -shots falling thick ancj fast MARll^L AND POPOLAR. — HALLECK. 15' 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 jour altars and your fires ! Strike — for the green graves of your siros . God, and your native land '• " They fought, like brave men, long and well ; They piled the ground with Moslem slain , Tliey conquered ; but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few survaving 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 wine, ---^ 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'e, One of the few, the immortal That were not born to die ! 15 TEEB STANDARD SPEAKER. 54 THE SEMINOLE'S DEFIANCE. — G. TV. Patten Blaze, with your serried columns ! I will not bend the knee ; The shackle ye'er again shall bind the arm which now is free ! I 've mailed it with the thunder, when the tempest muttered low , And Tvhere it falls, ye well may dread the lightning of its blow. I 've scared you in the city ; I 've scalped you on the plain ; Go, count your chosen where they fell beneath my leaden rain ! I scorn your proifered 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 tamit 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 ! 5&. BATTLE HYMN. — Theodore Korner. Born, IMl ; 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 ! — 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 on them wheel ! This honr to Europe's fate shall set the triumph-seal PART THIRD. SENATORIAL. 1. AGAINST VaiUP.— Demosthenes. Original Translation. Demosthenes, vhose claim to the title of the greatest of orators has not yet beec Eiipprseclod, iras born at Athe as, about 380 B. C. At the age of seventeen he determined to study ebqucnce, Jjcugh his lungs were weak, his articulation imperfect, and his gestures awkward. These impediments heoi'ercurae by perseverance. When the encroachments of I'hilip, King of Mace- ilon, alarmed the Greciiui states, Demosthenes roused his countrymen to resistance by a series of harangues, so cclebrateii, that similar orations are, to this day, often styled Philippics. The hiflueiice wliich lie acquired he employed for the good of his country. The charges that have come down of his cowardice and venality are believed to be calumnious. It is related of Demos- theDL-s, tliat, while studying Oratory, he spoke with pebbles in his mouth, to cm-e himself of stammering ; that he repeated verses of the poets as he ran up hill, to strengthen his voice, and that lie declaimed on the sea-shore, to accustom himself to the tumult of a popular assem- bly. He died o22 B. C. The speeches of Demosthenes were delivered before select, not acci- dental, assemliiages of tlie people ; and they have here been placed under the Senatorial head, as partaking mostly of that style of Oratory. The first four extracts, from the first, third, eighth and ninth Philijipics, which follow, together with the extract from .S)5chines on the Crown, are chiefly translated from Stiivenart's excellent and very spiiited version. Begin, men of Athens, by not despairing of your situation, how. ever deplorable it may seem ; for the very cause of your formei reverses offers the best encouragement for the future. And how . Zour utter supineness, Athenians, has brought about your disasters. If these had come upon you in spite of your most strenuous exertions, then only might all hopes of an amelioration in your aifairs be aban- doned. When, then,- my countrymen ! when will you do your duty ? What wait you ? Truly, an event ! or else, by Jupiter, neces- sity ! But how can we construe otherwise what has already occurred ? For myself, I can conceive of no necessity more urgent to free souls than the pressure of dishonor. Tell me, is it your wish to go about the public places, here and there, continually, asking, " What is there new ? " Ah ! what should tliere be new, if not that a Macedonian could conquer Athens, and lord it over Greece ? " Is Philip dead ? " " No, by Jupiter ! he is sick." Dead or sick, what matters it to you? If he were to die, and your vigilance were to continue slack as now. fou would cause a new Philip to rise up at once, — since this one owes bis aggrandizement less to his own power than to your inertness ! It is a mutter of astonishment to me, Athenians, that none of you are aroused either to reflection or to anger, in beholding a war, begun for the chastisement of Philip, degenerate at last into a war of defence against him. And it is evident that he will not stop even yet, unless we bar his progress. But where, it is asked, shall we mako a desconi 160 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 to Bpeech-makers, in their emulous abuse of one another, never, — no. never, shall we accomplish a single necessary step ! -, Some among you, retailing the news, affirm that Philip is plotting with Lacedasmon the ruin of Thebes and the dismemberment of our democracies ; others make him send ambassadors to the Great King ; others tell us he is fortifying places in Illyria. 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, leaving 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 us ; that henceforth our only resource is in ourselves ; that, to refiise now to carry the war into his dominions, would surely be to impose 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. DEGENERACY OF ATHENS. — Demosthenes. Original Translation. Contrast, 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 sur4 path, to the summit of prosperity. What is your condition, under your present complaisant rulers ? Is it still the same ? Has it in 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, in 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 pa ted, 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 fof 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 ? Ah ! but surely, if abroad we have been weal^ned, our interior administration is more flourishing. And what are the evidences of this ? A few whitewashed ramparts, repaired roads, f'^untains, baga* SENATORIAL. — DEMOSTHENES. 161 (ieiiep ' Turn — turn your eyes on the functionaries, to whom we Dwe those vanities. This one has passed from misery to opulence ; ihat one, from obscurity to splendor. Another has built for himself gumptuous palaces, which look down upon the edifices of the State. Indicd, the more the public fortunes have declined, the more have theii-3 ascended. Tell us the meaning of these contrasts ! Why is it, hat tbrmerly all pro=^)ered, while now all is in jeopardy ? It is because formerly the I'eople, itself, daring to wage war, was the mas- ter of its funcilonaries, the sovereign dispenser of all favors. It ia because individual citizens were then glad to receive from the People honors, magistracies, benefits. How are the times changed ! All favors are in the gift of our functionaries ; everything is under their control ; while you — you, the People ! — enervated in your habits, mutilated in your means, and weakened in your allies, stand like 60 many supernumeraries and lackeys, too happy if your worthy chiefs distribute to you the fund for the theatre — if they throw to you a meagre pittance ! And — last degree of baseness ! — you kiss the hand which thus makes largess to you of your own ! Do they not imprison you within your own walls, begnrile you to your ruin, tame you and fashion you to their yoke ? Never, ! never can a manly pride and a noble courage impel men, subjected to vile and unworthy actions ! The life is necessarily the image of the heart. And your degeneracy — by Heaven, I should not be surprised if I, in cuirging it home upon you, exposed myself, rather than those who have brought you to it, to your resentment ! To be candid, franknees of speech does not every day gain the entrance of your ears^ and that you suffer it now, may well be matter of astonishment ! 3. A DEMOCKACY HATEFUL TO PHILIP.— /d. Original Translatior.. There are persons among you, Athenians, who think to con- found a speaker by asking, " What, then, is to be done ? " To wbich I might answer: "Nothing that you are doing — everything that you leave undone ! " And it would be a just and a true reply. But [ will be more explicit ; and may these men, so ready to question, be equally ready to act ! In the first place, Athenians, admit the incon- testable fact, that Philip has broken your treaties, — that he ha.s declared war against you. Let us have no more crimination and recrimination on this point ! And then, recognize the fact, that he is the mortal enemy of Athens, — of its very soil, — of all within its walls, — -ay, of those even who most flatter themselves that they are high in his good gi uces. For, what Philip most dreads and abhors is our liberty — our Democratic system. For the destruction of that, all his snares are laid, all his projects are shaped ! And in this ie he not consistent? He is well aware that, though he should sub- jugate all the rest of Greece, his conquest would be insecure, while your Democracy stands. He knows that, should he experience one U (62 THE STANDARD SPEAKJ5R. Df those reverses to which the lot of humanity is so Haolc, it would be into your arm? that all those Nations, now forcibly held unaer his yoke, would rush. Is there a Tyrant to be driven back ? — Athens is in the field ! Is there a People to be enfranchised ? — Lo, Athens, prompt to aid ! Wliat wonder, then, that Philip should be impatient while Athenian liberty is a spy upon his evil days ? Be sure, mj Bountrymen, that he is your irreconcilable foe ; that it is against Ath- jns that he musters and disposes all his armaments ; against Athens' that all his schemes are laid. What, then, ought you, as wise men, convinced of these truths, tc do ? You ought to shake off your fatal lethargy, contribute accord- ing to your means, summon your allies to contribute, and take meas- ures to retain th.e troops already under arms ; so that, if Philip has an army prepared to attack and subjugate all the Greeks, you may also have one ready to succor and to save them. Tell me not of the trouble and expense which this will involve. I grant it all. But consider the dangers that menace you, and how much you will be the gainers by engaging heartily, at once, in the general cause. Indeed, should some God assure you that, however inactive and unconcerned 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, if he will ; and listen to him, if you can. . But, if my sentiments are yours, — if you foresee, as I do, that the more we leave Philip to extend his conquests, the more vi^e are fortifying an enemy, whom, sooner or later, we must cope with, — why do you hesitate ? What wait you ? V.'^hen will you put forth your strength ? Wait you the 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 weighs on us now. N'ow, did I say ? Long since — long since, was it before us, face to face. True, there is still another necessity in reserve — the necessity of slaves — blows and stripes ! Wait you for them ? The Gods forbid ' The very words, in this place, are an indignity ! 4. VENALITY THE KUIN OF GREECE. — Zd. Original Translation. If ever, men of Athens, the People of Greece felt the rigor of your rule, or of that of Sparta, their masters were at least theii '5(untrymen. But where is our just in"!ce, — Philip, who is not even a Barbarian of illustrious origin, but a miserable Macedonian, born in a country where not even a i\(x>mii slave could be procured ! And yet, has he not exhausted hi« SENATORIAL. — ^ESCHiNES 163 resources of oi'lrage against us? Without meiitioiiing tno Grecian cities which he has sacked, does he not take it upon himself to pre- side at the J'y^hian games, a celebration exclusively national ? And, U' absent hinr'f If, does he not delegate his slaves to award the crowns ? Master of T^'ermopyU"c, and of all the passes of Greece, does he not hold these \rs*s by his garrisons and foreign troops ? Does he not place goverrors over Thessaly, at his pleasure ? Has he not wrested Echinus frrm. the Thebans ? Is he not, at this moment, on his marcL against Byt'^.ntium — Byzantium, the ally of Athens ! And if such if< bis aud>>c^.ty towards collective Greece, what will it be when he has mastered 'js all in detail ? And now, why is all this ? For, not without a cause could Greece, onoi^ so jealous of freedom, now be resigned to servitude. The cause is h re. Once, Athenians, in the hearts cf all our People, a senti- ment pr-sided, which is paramount no moi-e ; a sentiment which tri- umphed over Persian gold, and maintained Greece free, and invincible by land and sea ; but the loss of that sentiment has brought down I'uin, and left the country in the dust. What was it — this senti- Tient, so powerful ? Was it the result of any subtle policy of State ? No : it was a universal hatred for the bribed traitors, in the pay of those Powers, seeking to subdue or dishonor Greece ! Venality wa? a capital offence, and punished with the extremest rigor. Pardon, palliation, were not thought of. And so, orators and generals could not with impunity barter those favorable conjunctures which Fortune oftentimes presents to negligence and inactivity, against vigilance and vigor. The public concord, the general hatred and distrust of Tyrants and Barbarians, all the guarantees of liberty, were inac- cessible to the power of gold. But now all these are offered for sde in the open market ! And, in exchange, we have an importation of morals which are desolating and destroying Greece. What do they exhibit ^ Envy, for the recipient of base bribes ; derision, should he confess his crime ; pardon, should he be convicted ; and resentment towards his accuser ! — in a word, all the laxities which engender corruption. In vessels, in troops, in revenues, in the various resources of war, in all that constitutes the strength of a Sfate, we are richer than ever before ; but all these advantages are paralyzed, crushed, by an infa- mous traffic. And all this you behold with your own eyes, and my testimony in regard to it is quite superfluous ! b DEMOSTHENES DENOUNCED. — JSsckines on the Crown. Original Translation. When Demosthenes boasts to you, Athenians, of his Democratic eeal, examine, not his harangues, but his life ; not what he professes tc be, but what he really is ; — redoubtable in words, impotent in deeds , plausible in speech, perfidious in action. As to his courage — has he uot himself, before the assembled People, confessed his poltroonery? By the laws of Athens, the man who refuses to bear arms, the eowaid )G4 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. .he denorter of his post in battle, is excluded from ill share m th* paMic deliberations — denied admission to our religious ritra, ano reiidered incapable of receiving the honor of a crown. Yet now it k proposed to crown a man whom jour laws expressly disqualify ! Which, think you, was the more worthy citizen, — ThcmLstocles. whc commanded your fleet when you vanquished the Persian at Salamia or Demosthenes the deserter ? — Miltlades, who conquered the Barba- rians at Marathon, or this hireling traitor ? — AristTdes, surnamed the Just, or Demosthenes, who merits a far different surtame ? By all the Gods of Olympus, it is a profanation to mention in 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 of 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 of us a crown, exacts the honor of a proclamation ! Crown him ? Pro- claim his 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 him! Shall his recreancy win wliat was denied to their devotion ? This would indeed be to insult the memory of the dead, and to paralyze the emulation of the living ! 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 flatters 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, 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 so 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, and whose orphan daughters were dowered by the People, is moved to indignation at this prostitution of justice, and exclaims : " Think on your fathers ! Arthmlus of Zelia brought gold from Media into jrreece. and, for the act, barely escaped death in banishment ; and now Demos- theaes, who has not merely brought gold, but who received it as the price of tre;ichery, and still retains it, — Demosthenes it is unblush ingly proposed to invest with a golden crown ! " From those whs fell at Marathon and at Platcca — from Themistocles — from the verj sepulchres of your ancestors — issues the protesting groan of coniom. na.tion and rebuke ! BENAIORIAL, DEMOSTHENES. i65 6 EXORDIUM. — U'.muslhenr.s on the Crown. Lord Brougl,.itn''s T -snaMtton. Some auth^^ities ptate that .Jlschiiies was born 397 years B. C; and others, that he was borr ISO B. C, and was only four years the senior of Demosthenes. Diirir.? the war with Philip, (Eschlnes became a strenuous advocate of compromise and peace — Demosther.es being as reso lately in fa\'Dr of active resistance. After the battle of Cheronaja, Demosthenes was intrusted with the repairing of the fortifications of the city. The cost of the woik was thirteen tjilents, of which he paid three from his own pui-se. Ctesiphon pro])osed that a troklen crown should bf foted him. .Bscliines maintained that, undei- tlie circumstances, the p»oposal was ille^'al, and brought a suit ni.ininnlly H:.;aii]St Ctt>ipIion, but really to crush Demosthenes. From varioiia »uscs, the trial u;is ikhiv'-il i-iLrlit years. At last it came on. The accuser's speech was • grc'at effort. Hut Ufuinsilnries \v;is in-Lsistible. " The greatest oration of the gi'eatest of crft- fairs," is the phrase which I/ivd Bmuirh^un applies to the Oration on the Crown. Ctesiphon wa» icquittod by a cniisiilcTable nia.iority. /Eschines went into banishment at Kl odes, where he set up a school of rhetoric. He once read the oration of Demosthenes to his jiujiils. I'pon their e.\i)ressing their admii'ation of it, he said, '' What would you have thouglit, had you heard the lion himself?" Let me begin. Men of Athens, by imploring, of all the Heavenly Powers, that the same kindly sentiments which I have, tiiroughout my public life, cherished towards this country and each one of you, may now by you be shown towards me in the present contest ! In two respects my adversary plainly has the advantage of me. First, we have not the same interests at stake : it is by no means the same thing for me to forfeit your esteem, and for ^Eschmes, an unprovoked volunteer, to fail in his impeachment. My other distidvantage is, the natural proneness of men to lend a pleased attention to invective and accusation, but to give little heed to him whose theme is his own vin- dication. To my adversary, therefoi'e, falls the part which ministers to your gratification, while to me there is only left that which, I may almost say, is distasteful to all. And yet, if I do not speak of myself and my own conduct, I shall appear defenceless against his charges, and without proof that my honors were well earned. This, therefore, I must do ; but it shall be with moderation. And bear in mind that the blame of my dwelling on personal topics must justly rest upon him who has instituted this personal Impeachment. At least, my Judges, you will admit that this question concerns me as much as Ctesiphon, and justifies on my part an equal anxiety. To be stripped of any possession, and more aspecially by an enemy, is grievous to bear; but to be robbed of your confidence and esteem, -- of all possessions the most precious, — is indeed intolerable. Such, th*^n, being my stake in this cause, I conjure you all to give. ear to mv defence against these charges, with tliat impartiality which the laws enjoin, — those laws first given bj kSoloii. and which he fixed, not only by engraving them on brazen tables, but by the sanction of tha oaths you take when sitting in judgment ; because he perceived that, the accuser being armed with the advantage of spe l66 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. them my supi-lications, — first, to grant rue at your htiudi the same kin^. Bess, iu this coutiict, which I have ever borne towards our country anc all of you ; and next, that they may incline you all to pronounce upoi this Impeachu)*^nt the decision which shaU best consult the glory of th« State, ap'^ »-. ,jligious obligations of each individual Judge! 7. PUBLIC SPIRIT OF ATHENIANS. — £)emosZAeMe« on the Crown. Ihe Athenians never were known to live contented in a slavist though secure obedience to unjust and arbitrary power. No. Oui whole history is a series of gallant contests tor pret'ininence : thf whole period of our national existence hath been spent in braving dan- gers, for the sake of glory and renown. And so highly do you esteem such conduct, as characteristic of the Athenian spirit, that those of your ancestors who were most eminent for it are ever the most favor- ite objects of your praise. And with reason : for, who can reflect, without astonishment, on the magnanimity of those men who resigned their lands, gave up their city, and embarked in their ships, mther than live at the bidding of a stranger ? The Athenians of that day looked out for no speaker, no general, to procure them a state of easy slavery. They had the spirit to reject even life, unless they were allowed to enjoy that life in freedom. For it was a principle fixed deeply in every breast, that man was not born to liis parents only, bu- to his country. And mark the distinction. He who regards himscif as born only to his parents waits in passive submission for the hour of his natural dissolution. He who considers that he is the child of his country, also, volunteers to meet death rather than behold that country reduced to vassalage ; and thinks those insults and disgraces which he must endure, in a state enslaved, much more terrible than death. Should I attempt to assert that it was I who inspired you with sen- timents worthy of your ancestors, 1 should meet the just resentment of every bearer. No : it is my point to show that such sentiments are properly your own ; that they were the sentiments of my country long before my days. I claim but my share of merit in having acted on such principles in every part of my administration. He, then, uho condemns every part of my administration, — he who directs you to treat me with severity, as one who hath involved the state in terrors and dan- gers,-- while he labors to deprive me of present honor, robs you of ths applause of all posterity. For, if you now pronounce, that, as my pub- lic conduct hath not been right, Ctesiphon nmst stand condemned, h must be thought that you yourselves have acted wrong, not that yoij owe your present state to the caprice of fortune. — But it cannc t be ' No, my countrymen, it cannot be that you have acted wrong iv encountering danger bravely for the liberty and safet}"- of all Greece. No ! I swear it by the spirits of our sires, who rushed uj^wn destruo tion at Marathon! — by those who stood arrayed at Platsea ! — bj SEXATORIAL. — DEMOSTHENES. 16? tKose who fought the sea-fight at Salilmis ! — by the men of Artemi- siiuu ' — by the others, so many and so brave, who now )-est in our public sepulchres ! — all of whom their country judged worthy of the same honor ; all, I say, .^chines ; not those only who prevailed, noi tnOhC only who were victorious. — And with reason. What was tho part of gallant men, they all performed. Their i;4ccess was such ae the supreme liuler of the world dispensed to each. 8. DEMOSTIIEXES NOT VANQUISHED BY VniLlV. —Demosthenes on the Ctjwk Lord BroughanVs Translation. A. WICKED thing, Athenians, a wicked thing is a calumniator, ever , - querulous and industrious 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- (lus orator ! For what, vEschines, 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 n'' advicO; nor prescribe any course by which the disease might be cured but, after one of them had died, and the last oflBces were performing 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. Moonstrieken ! 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 ambassador ; not from Thessaly, not from Ambracia, not from Illyria, not from the Thracian kings, not from the Byzantians, nor from any other quarter whatever, — nor finally, of late, from Thebes. But wheresoever his 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 weakness, to require that I should defy him single-handed, and by force of words 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 ^Lrictest scrutiny, and I do not object. What, then, falls within thia icscription ? To descry events in their first beginnings, to cast hia look forward, and to warn others of their approach. All this I have done. Then, to confine within the narrowest bounds all delfiys. and backwardness, 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 nerformancc >if public duty : — and all these things I likewise did, nor <3an ix'X) i68 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. man point out any of thera that, so far as depended ou me. was !eft undone. If, then, it should be asked by what mean? Philip for the most pan succeeded in his operations, every one would answer. By his army, hy bis largesses, by corrupting those at Hi head of affairs. "Well, then, I neither had armies, nor did I command them ; and therefore the argument respecting military operations cannot touch me. Nay in so far as I was inaccessible to bribes, there I conquered Philip ' For, as he who purchases any one overcomes him who has received the 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- cerned, this country stands unconquered a CATALINE DENOUNCED. — Cwero. Cicero, Ihe greatest of Roman orators, was bom at Arpinmn, 106 B. C, two hundred and six teen years after the death of Demosthenes. Having taken part against Antony, after the assassi- nation of Caisar, Cicero was proscribed. He was murdered by a party of soldiers, heade-l by Popilius Lainas, whose life he had formerly saved by his eloquence ; and his head and hards were publicly exhibited on the rostrum at Rome. He perished in his sixty-fourth year, 43 B. C. His writings are voluminous. As an orator, Cicero ranks next to Demosthenes ; and his orations against Catiline and Ven-es are masterpieces of denunciatory eloquence. How far, Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience ? How long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career ? To what extreme wilt thou carry thy audacity ? Art thou nothing daunted by tne nightly watch, posted to secure the Palatium ? Nothing, by the city guards'' Nothing, 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 t — 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 tvhile, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our duty to the State, if we but shun this madman's sword and fury ! Long since, Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered thee to oxscution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin thou hast beea meditating against others ! There was that virtue once in Rome, that 9 wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We Lave 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 decree, by which thy life would be made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order chce to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt whether ill good men would not think it done rather too late than any map SENATORIAL. — CICERO. JOS' K* craelly But, for good reasons, I will yet defer +he blow long Birico deserved Then will I doom thee, when no man ia found, so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly dealt. While there is one man that tiares defend thee, live ! But thou shalt live so beset, so surrounded, so scrutinized, by the vigilant guards that I have placed around thee, that thou shalt not stir a fool against the Republic, without my knowledge. There shall be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest whia- ner, of which -thou shalt not dream. The darkness of night shal' not cover thy treason — the walls of privacy shall not stifle its voice. Baffled on all sides, thy most secret counsels clear as noon-day^ what canst thou now have in view ? Proceed, plot, conspire, as thou wilt ; there is nothing you can contrive, nothing you can propose nothing you can attempt, which I shall not know, hear and promptly understand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more active in providing for the preservation of the State than thou ir plottins its destruction ! 10. CATn^INE EXPELLED. — Cic^-rn At length, Romans, we ai .. rid of Catiline ! We have driven mm Torth, drunk with fury, breathing mischief, threatening to revisit ua with fire and sword. He is gone ; he is fled ; he has escaped ; he haa broken away. No longer, within the very walls of the city, shall he jlot her ruin. We ha\'e forced him from secret plots into open rebel- jon. The bad citizen is now the avowed traitor. His flight is the 5onfe6sion of his treason ! Would that his attendants had not been «) few ! Be speedy, ye companions of his dissolute pleasures ; bo jpeedy, and you may overtake him before night, on the Aurelian road. Let him not languish, deprived of your society. Haste to join the songenial crew that compose his army ; his army, I say, — for who Joubts that the army under Manlius expect Catiline for their leader * And such an army ! Outcasts from honor, and fugitives from debt ; gamblers and felons ; miscreants, whose dreams are of rapine, mui'der and conflagration I Against these gallant troops of your adversary, prepare, Romans, your garrisons and armies ; and first to that maimed and battered gladiator oppose your Consuls and Generals; next, against that miser- able outcast horde, lead forth the strength and flower of all Italy! On the one side chastity contends ; on the other, wantonness : here purity, there pollution ; here integrity, there treachery; here piety, ^here profaneness ; here constancy, there rage ; here honesty, tnere bascKtss ; here continence, thei-e .lust ; in short, equity, temperance, fortitude, prudence, struggle with iniquity, luxury, cowardice, rash- ness ; every virtue with every vice ; and, lastly, the contest lies be- tween well-gTOunded hope and absolute despair. In such a eonflicti were even human aid to fail, would not the immortal Gods Jinpowet «ueh conspicuous virtue to tnumph '"er such complicated vice ^ 17£ THE SrANDARD SPEAKER. 11. VERRES DENOUNCED. — Cicero. An opuiion has long prevaile I, Fathers, that, in public prosecutions men of wealth, however clearly convicted, are always safe. This 'jpinion, so injurious to your order, so detrimental to the State, it is now in your power to refute. A man is on trial before you who ia rich, and who hopes his riches will compass his acquittal ; but whase Ufe and ictions are his sufficient condemnation in the eyes of all candid men. 1 speak of Gaias Verres, who, if he now receive not the sen- tence his crimes deserve, it shall not be through the lack of a criminal, or of a prosecutor ; but through the failure of Hie ministers of justice to do their duty. Passing over the shameful irregularities of his youth, what does the qusestorship of Verres exhibit but one continued scene of villanies ? The public treasure squandered, a Consul stripped and betrayed, an army deserted and reduced to want, a province robbed, the civil and religious rights of a People trampled on ! But his prae- torship in Sicily has crowned his career of wickedness, and completed the lasting monument of his infamy. His decisions have violated all law, all precedent, all right. His extortions from the industrious poor have been beycnd computation. Our most faithful allies have been treated as enemies, lloman citizens have, like slaves, been put to death with tortures. Men the most worthy have been condemned and banished without a hearing, while the most atrocious criminals have, with money, purchaseu exemption from the punishment due to their guilt. I a,sk now, Verres, what have you to advance against these charges ^ Art thou not the tyrant praetor, who, at no greater distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, dared to put to an infamous death, on the cross, that ill-fated and innocent citizen, Publlus Gavins Cosa- nus ? And what was his offence ? He had declared his intention of appealing to the justice of his country against your brutal persecu- tions ! For tills, when about to embarli; for home, he was seized, brought before you, charged with being a spy, scourged and tortured. In vain did he exclaim : "I am a lloman citizen I I have served ander Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panornms, and who will attest my innocence! " Deaf to all remonstrance, remorseless, thirsting for innocent blood, you ordered the savage punishment to be inflicted ' V/liile the sacred words, " I am a Roman citizen, ' were on his lips, — wrords which, in the remotest regions, are a passport to protection,— 7011 crdm-ed him to death, to a death upon the cross ! O liberty ! sound once delightful to every Roman ear ! feacrol privilege of Roman citizenship! once sacred, — now trampled on I Is it come to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman People, in a Roman prov- vnce, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture, and put to an infa- tnous death, a Roman citizen ? Shall neither the cries of innoceuca expiring in agony, the tears of pitying spectators, the majesty of th« Roman Commonwealth, nor the tear of the ju-itic3 of his country. SENATOUIAI, iMIRABEATI. 171 *cs)train the raeic/less monster, who. in the confidence of his richea strikes at the very root of liberty, and sets n unkind at aefiunce \ And shall this man escajje ' Fathers, it must not be ! It must not be, unless you would undermine the very foundations of social safety, strangle justice, and call down anarchy, massacre and ruin, on the Ccmm6nweaith ! him u liuauiiiea ti- " ' He was a u>: e fill .'alii •ity of his f .1 i.'i.es llie Graechi, and he so fi equently repr ■Mker wh. addresses th lialls of Eii>;iand anil ;l ie, fi- im which he make i3. AQAIXST TUE NOBILITY AND CLKRGY OF PROVENCK, Feb. 3, 1789.— Original Translation from Mirabeau. Honor* Gabrit-i Ruiuetti, Comte de Mirabeau, was born at Bignon, in France, on the 9th of Uarch, 1749. The early part of his life was one of disorder and misery The French Revolu- tion offci-fd a field for his ener^jies. Ci-iii:.' rejertL-d, at tlie time of the elections, by the nobU- Ityof l'ruvene..',h"hiredau-,iivL .u-, imi n]n],\< in.,Ti|ii in,, — '• M ii :il.,:u;. v lloii-,lra])er,"— and was fli'ctrd l.-puty t'rr"i\ him : — '' Iiiia-iiie a ti-or scan-rd with the sraal) po.x, and you may form s^me notion of my features." " He was a inaii," says one nf his crlt , "who, by his .|ualities no Ifss tlian by the siii.L'nlarity of his firtun.-, i- destined to take , ,,|ac.. in I'li^n.rv bv i]:.- .-iiv.-thenes, tile Graechi, and tli- ..iii-r ki- Ir-d spirits -I' ii-1 1791. : ' :.,,,. instead i .-■ M-,~, .dscendt In all countries, in all ages, have aristocrats implacably pursued the friends of the People ; and when, by I know not what combination of fortune, .-luch a friend has uprisen from the very bosom of the aristoc- racy, it has been at him prcti'minently that they have struck, eager to inspire wider terror by the elevation of their victim. So perished the last of the Gracchi by the hands of the Patricians, But, mortally emittcii. he flung dust towards Heaven, calling the avenging Gods tc Vi'itiii'ss: and, from that dust, sprang Marius ; — Marius, less illus- trious tor having exterminated the Oiinbri than for having beaten down the despotism of the nobility in Rome. But you. Commons, listen to one, who, unseduced by your appiau:?e3, yet cherishes them in his heart. iMau is strong only by union ; happy only by peace. Be firm, not ol>stinate; courageous, not turbulent: free, not undisciplined ; prompt, not precipitate. Stop not except ai difficulties of nionieiit ; and be then wholly inflexible. But disdain the contentions of self-love, and never thrust into the balance the individ ual against the country. Above all, hasten, as much as in you lies the epoch of those States-General, from which you are charged with flinching, — the more acrimoniously charged, the more your accusers dread the results ; of those States-General, through which so many pretensions will be scattered, so many rights reestablished, so many evils reformed ; of those States-General, in short, through which tW monarch himself desires that France should regenerate herself. For myself, who, in my public career, have had no other fear btU fiiat of wrong-doing, — who, girt with my conscience, and armed wiu my principles, would brave the universe, — whether it shall be my for tune lo seive you with my voice and mj exertions in tba Nationa' Assembly, or \vhether I shall be enabled to aid you there with im V2 THE STANDARI SI'EAKiCE prajers only, be sure that the vain clamors, the wrathful menacei, i^« mjurioas protestations, — all the convulsions, in a word, of exfjiring prejudices, — shall not on 7ne impose ! What! shall he now paase in Ills civic course, who, first among all the men of France, emphatically proclaimed his opinions on national aifairs, 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 tc become the man of the People rather than of the Nobles, then wo& to the privileged orders ! For privileges shall have an end, but th& People is eternal ! 13. NECKER'S FINANCIAL PLAN, Sept. 26, 1789.— Mirofteau. Orig. Translation. Necker, the minister of finance, having proposed an income tax of twenty-five per cent., witt other measures, in view of the desperate state of the financial affairs of France, the propositicn was advocated by JVlirabeau, who did not, however, profess to comprehend or endorse all its details. Although a known enemy to the minister, he magnanimously made two speeches ic behalf of his measure ; without, however, inducing the Assembly to pass it, until, on the eve of its being rejected, Mirabeau rushed to tlie Tribune, and poured forth a last ajipeal, an abridg- ment of which is here given. This speech proved effectual. The Assembly received it mth Bhouts of enthusiasm ; and Necker's plan was adopted. Madame de Stael (Necker's daughter), who was near Mirabeau at the time of the delivery of this speech, says that " its effect was prodigious." ■The minister of finance has presented a most alarming picture of the state of our affairs. He has assured us that delay must aggravate., the peril ; and that a day, an hour, an instant, may render it fatal. 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, G(.ik- tlemen ask, to examine it, to probe it thoroughly, and verify its calcu- lations ? No, no ! a thousand times no ' Hap-hazard conjectme.i, insignificant inquiries, gropings that can but mislead, — these ai e ail that we can give to it now. Shall we therefore miss the deoufl^e moment ? Do G-entlemen hope to escape sacrifices and taxation by a plunge into national bankruptcy ? What, then, is bankruptcy, but the most cruel, the most iniquitous, most unequal and disastrous of imposts i Listen to me for one moment ! Two centuries of plunder and abuse have dug the abyss 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 finances, peace and prosperity to the Kingdom ! Strike ! Immolate, vrithout mer(3y, these unfortunate victims ! Hurl them into the abyss: — It ciases : You recoil with dismay fi-om the contemplation. Inconsistent and pusillanimous ! What ! Do you not perceive that, in decreeing a public bankruptcy, or, what is worse, in rendering it iu'iviiable with BE-VATORIAL. MIXABEAU. 1 78 8ttf (lecn^ing it, you disgrace yourselves by an act a thousaDd tiruee more criminal, and — folly inconceivable ! — gratuitously criminal ^ For, in the shocking alternative I have supposed, at least the deficit ?rould be wiped off. But do you imagine that, in refusing to pay, you shall cease to owe ? Think you that the thousands, the millions of men, who will lose in an instant, by the terrible explosion of a bank- ruptcy, or its re^'ulsion, all that formed the consolation of their lives, and perhaps their sole means of subsistence, — think you that they will leave you to the peaceable fruition of your crime? Stoical spec* tators of the incalcidable evils which this catastrophe would disgorge upon France ; impenetrable egotists, who fancy that these convulsions oi' desjiair and of misery will pass, as other calamities have passed, — and all the mjre 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 deli- cacy of which you are so loth to diminish ? No ! you will perish , and, in the universal conflagration, which you do not shrink from kin- dling, you will not, in losing your honor, save a single one of your detestable indulgences. This is the way we are going. And I say to you, that the men who, above all others, are interested in the enforcement of these sacriilces which the Government demands, are you yourselves ! Vote, then, this subsidy extraordinary ; and may it prove sufficient! Vote it, inasmuch as whatever doubts you may entertain as to the means, — doubts vague and unenlightened, — you can have none as to the necessity, or as to our inability to provide — immediately, at least — a substitute. Vote it, because the circum- Btances of the country admit of no evasion, and we shall be responsi- ble for all delays. Beware of demanding more time I Misfortune accords it never. Wliy, Gentlemen, it was but the other day, that, in reference to a ridiculous commotion at the Palais-Royal,* — a Quixotic insurrection, which never had any importance save in the feeble imag- inations or perverse designs of certain faithless men, — 3'ou heard these wild words : " Catiline is at the gates of Rome, and yet you delib- erate ! " And verily there was neither a Catiline nor a Borne ., neither perils nor factions around you. But, to-day, bankruptcy, hideous bankruptcy, is there before you, and threatens to consume you, yourselves., your property, your honor, — and yet you deliberate! 14 ON THE REFUSAL OF TIIE CHAMBER OF VACATIONS OF RENNES TO OBEY THE DECREES OF TIIE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY, JaxN. 9, Vm. — Original Tranx lotion from Miraheau. When, during our session yesterday, those words which you have taught Frenchmen to unlearn — orders, privileges — fell on my ears; when a private corporation of one of the Provinces of this Empire * The s in Palais is mute, and the diphthong ai has the sound of n in air, befor* the r is reached. The French pronunciation of Royal may bo expressed in Englia's thus : Roh-ati-ee-aM ; bu'; the syllables must be fused rapidly in the u jtur&Doe. 171 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, Bpoke to you of the impossibility of consentins to the executioR ol Four decrees, sanctioned by the King ; when certain magistrates declared to you, that their conscience and their honor forbade their obedience to your laws, — I said to myself, Ai'e these, then, dethroned sovereigns, who, in a transport of imprudent but generous pride, are addressing successful usurpers ? No ; these are men, whose arrogant pretensions have too long been an insult to all ideas of social ordei ; shampions, even more interested than audacious, of a system which has cost France centuries of oppression, public and private, political and fiscal, feudal and judicial, — and whose hope is to make us regret and revive that system. The people of Brittany have sent among you sixty-six representatives, who assure you that the new Constitution crowns all their wishes ; — and here come eleven Judges of the Prov- inie, who cannot consent that you should be the benefactors of their country. They have disobeyed your laws; and they pride themselves on their disobedience, and believe it will make their names honored by posterity. No, Gentlemen, the remembrance of their folly will not pass to posterity. What avail their pigmy efforts to brace themselves against the progress of a Revolution the grandest and most glorious in the world's history, and one that must infallibly change the face of the globe and the lot of humanity ? Strange presumption, that would arrest liberty in its course, and roll back the destinies of a great Nation ! It ib not to antiquated transactions, — it is not to musty treaties?, wherein fraud combined with force to chain men to the car of certain haughtjr masters, — that the National Assembly have resorted, in their mvestigations into popular rights. The titles we offer are more impos^ ing bv far ; ancient as time, sacred and imprescriptible as Nature ! What ! Must the terms of the marriage contract of one Anne of Brittaiiy make the People of that Province slaves to the Nobles till the cohsummation of the ages ? These refractory nsagistrates speak of the statutes which " immutably fix our powers of legislation." Immu- \ably fix ! 0, how that word tears the veil from their innermost thoughts ! How would they like to have abuses immutable upon the earth, and evil eternal ! Indeed, what is lacking to their felicity but the perpetuity of that feudal scourge, which unhappily has lasted mily nx centuries ? But it is in vain that they rage. All now is changed or changing. There is nothing immutable save reason — save the gov oreignty of the People — save the inviolability of its decrees ! 15. IN REPLY TO THOSE WHO DENIED THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY THE LEGH IMATE POWERS OF A NATIONAL CONVENTION, Apkil 19, 1790. — A/irofee*. Original Translation. It is with difficulty, G-entlemen. that I can repress an emotion of indignation, when I hear hostile rhetoricians continually oppos") the Nation to the National Assembly, and endeavor to exo'te a sort of rivalry Wttween -^hem. As if it were not th.'^ugh the National SENATORIAL. MIKAHEAU. 17 ii As.iembly thai the Nation had recognized, recovered, reiionquorcd its rights : As if it were not through the National Assembly that the French had, in truth, become a Nation ! As if, surrounded by the monuments of our labors, our dangers, our services, we could become Buspcfted by the People — formidable to the liberties of the People ! As if the regards of two workls upon you fixed, as if the spectacle of ycur glory, as if the gi-atitude of so many millions, as if the very pride of a generous conscience, which would have to blush toe deeply bo belie itself, — were not a sufficient guarantee of your fidelity A your patriotism, of your virtue ! Commissioned to form a Constitution for France, I will not ask whether, with that authority, we did not receive also the power to do all that was necessary to complete, establish, and confirm that Consti- tution. I will not ask, ought we to have List in pusillanimous consult ations the time of action, while nascent Liberty would have received her death-blow ? But if Gentlemen insist on demanding when and how, from simple deputies of bailiwicks, we became all at once trans- formed into a National Convention, I reply, It was on that day, when, finding the hall where we were to assemble closed, and bristling and }X)llutcd with bayonets, we resorted to the first place where we could reiinite, to swear to perish rather than submit to such an order of things ! That day, if we were not a National Convention,, we becamf* one ; became one for the destruction of arbitrary power, and for the defence of the rights of the Nation from all violence. The strivings of Despotism which we have quelled, the perils which we have averted, the violence which we have repressed, — these are our titles ! Our successes have consecrated them ; the adhesion, so often renewed, of all parts of the Empire, has legitimized and sanctified them. Sum- moned to its task by the irresistible tocsin of necessity, our National Convention is above all imitation, as it is above all authority. It is accountable only to itself, and can be judged only by ];)0sterity. Gentlemen, you all remember the instance of that Roman, who, tc save his country from a dangerous conspiracy, had been constrained to overstep the powers conferred on him by the laws. A captious Tri- bune exacted of him the oath that he had respected those laws ; hoping, by this insidious demand, to drive the Consul to the alternative of per- jury or of an embarrassing avowal. " Swear," said the Tribune, '* that you have observed tihe laws." " I swear," replied '■be great iiiian, — " I swear that I have saved the Republic." Gentlemen, I Bw. ttsrefully pre])ared beforehand Preparations for war are manifest on our frontiers ; and wc hcai of renewed plots against liberty. Our armies rerissemble ; icigluy movements agitate the Empire. Martial law having become not^es- sary, it has seemed to 'is just. But we have succeeded only in brao- dishing for a moment the thunderbolt in the eyes of rebellion. Tin' Harction of the King has been refused to our deciees. The prineei dENATORIAL. TEIir.NIAUD. a79 Bf Germany make their territory a retreat for the lioiispirators agf/inrt jrou. They favor the plots of the emigrants. They furnish them tin asj jum — they furniph them gold, arms, horses, and munitions. la QOt the patience suicidal which tolerates all this? Doubtless you nave renounced all projects of conquest ; but you have not promised tc endure such insolent provocations. You have shaken off the yoke of your tyrants; but it was not to bend the knee to foreign desfiots. But, beware! You are environed by snares. They seek to drive you, by disgust or lassitude, to a state of languor fatal to your wurage, — or fatal to its righ* direction. They seek to separate you from us* they pursue a system of calumny against the National Assembly ; they incriminate your Ile\'olution in your eyes. ! beware of these attempts at pf nic ! Repel, indignantly, these impos- tors, who, while they affect a hypocritical zetil for the Constitution, cease not to urge upon you the monarchy I The monarchy ! AVith them it is the counter-revclution ! The monarchy ? It is the nohility ! The counter-revobition — what is it but taxation, feudality, the Bastille, chains and executioners, to punish the sulilinie aspirations of liberty ? Wliat is it but foreign satellites in the midst of the State ? What, but bankruptcy, engulfing, with your assignats, your private fortunes and the national wealth ; what, but the furies of fanaticism and of veng'.iance, — assassinations, pillage, and incen- diarism, — in short, dfopotism and death, disputing, over rivers of blood and heaps of car^-sses, the dominion of your wretched country^ The nobility! Tb?t is to say, two classes of men; the one foi grandeur, the othe)- V c debasement ! — the one for tyranny, the othei for servitude ! Th,-* nobility! Ah! the very xoord is an insult tc the human rac. ! And yet, it ig in order to secure the success of these conspiracies that Europe is now put in motion against you ! Be it so ! B}' a solemn declaration must these guilty hopes be crushed. Yes, the free representatives of France, unshaken in their attachment to the Constitution, will be buried beneath its ruins, before they consent to a capitulation at once unworthy of them and of you, lially ! Be reassured! They would raise the Nations against you: — they will raise only princes. The heart of every People is with you It is their cause which you embrace, in defending your own. Ever abhorred be war ! It is the greatest of the crimes of a.en ; - - it ia the most terrible scourge of humanity ! But, since you are irrcsijjtibly foiced to it, yield to the course of your destinies. Who can foiesee where will end the punishment of the tyrants who >ill have driven rou to take up arms ? 20. AGAINST THE TERRORISM 0? THE JACOPmS, 1792. —/.i. Orig.Trmu The blinded Parisians presume to call themselves free. Alas! t; ts tvue they are no longer the slaves of crowned tyrants ; but they ar*. 'He slaves jf men the most vile, tuid of wretches ».he most det«>s*ab]e 18& THE STANDARD SP£AK£il. men who sontinue to imagine that the Revolution has ^en ma'fe foj themselves alone, and who have sent Louis XVI. to the Temple, ;^ ii'der that they may be enthroned at the Tuileries I ^ [t is time te. oroak these disgraceful chains — to crush this new despotism. It is time that those who have made honest men tremble should be made to tremble in their turn. I am not ignorant that they have pon'ards 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 m7/ voice may yet make h^vli 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 i-epresentative 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, — we 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 in our country some public virtue, some respect for humanity left ! Perish the National Assembly and its memory, if upon our ashes om more fortu nate successors may establish the edifice of a Constitution, which shall assure the happiness of France, and consolidate the reign of liberty and equality ! 21. AGAINST WAR, Jan. 13, 11(^2.— Robeapierre. Original Translation. Shall we await the orders of the War Office to overturn Thrones ? 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 Patri- cians, these eternal favorites of Despotism ? No ! Alone let uf • Pronounced Twedree. t The deputies here rose, as by an unanimous impulse, and repeated, with euthu giasm, tlie oath of Vergniaud. The audience, who occupied the galleries, als' mingled their voices with those of the deputies. To appreciate fully ^he intrepid aioqnence of this speech, it should be remembered that France was, at that moment rirtually under the sanguinary dictatorship of the Jacobin Club ; and that tliet proscriptions and massacres threatened to involve all who did not acquiesce in thot neasures. Vergniaud soon afterward paid the penalty of his courage; and justified bis bold words bj' a bold death on the scaifold. ftiSliA'OraAL. ROBESPIERRE. 181 tiareh Our own leaders let us be ! If it is the M'ai- of rhe Court that we mast accept, — the war of the i^Iinisters, of Patriciaa^i sham- ming patriotism, — then, alas ! far from anticipating the enfranchiso tnent of the world, I shall not even believe that your own libc-rty ie secure. Our wisest course now is to defend it against the perfidy of those internal enemies who would beguile you with these heroic illu' sions. I kive proved that liberty has no more mortal enemy than Jvar. I have proved that war, recommended by men of doubtfiii Btamp, will be, in the Executive hands, but a means of annihilating the Constitution — but the issue of a plot against the Revolution. Tt favor these projects of war, under whatever pretext, is, then, to join i conspiracy against the Revolution. To recommend confidence in the Executive, — to invoke public favor in behalf of the Generals, — is, then, to deprive the Revolution of its last security, the vigilance and energy of the Nation. If, then, the moment of emancipation for the Nations be not yet arrived, we should have the patience to await it. If this generation be destined only to struggle on in the slough of those vice^s, where Despotism has plunged it, — if the theatre of our Revolution be .loomed to present to the world no other spectacle than the miserable contests of pertidy and imbecility, egotism and ambition, — then to the rising generation will be bequeathed the task of purifying the polluted earth. That generation shall bring — not the peace of Despotism, not the sterile agitations of intrigue, but the torch and the sword to consume Thrones, and exterminate oppressors ! Thou art not alien to us. more fortunate posterity ! For thee we brave these storms, for thee defy the plots of tyranny. Disheartened ofttimes by the obsta- cles that surround us, towards thee we yearn ! For by thee shall our work be finished ! ! cherish in thy memory the names of the martyrs of liberty ! 22. MORALITY THE BASIS OF CIVILIZED SOCIETY — BELIEF IN GOD THE BASIS OF ilORALl'SY .— Robespierre. Orifrinal Trnns/ation. The name of Maximili-n Rnbespierre is associated with a!! that is sansruinary and atrocious In the history of the Fiviich Revcjlution. Whatever his own practice iDay have been, he had the saijacit.v to see tljat tliere is no security in a Repul)lic which is not based on i)rinciple, — and no security in princijile wliich is not based on belief in God and the immortality of tlic soul. The extrart we here give is from his Report, read to tlie French National Convention, the 7th of May, 1T9-1. The idea of a Supreme Being and of the immortality of the soul le B continual call to justice. It is therefore a social and rejiublicaD principle. Who has authorized you to declare that a Deity ^ (-s no^' oxist ? O, you who support so arid a doctrine, what advuutnge do you expect to derive from the principle that a blind fatality regulates^ the affairs of men. and that the soul is nothing but a breath of air hnpelled towards the tomb ? Will the idea of nonentity inspire mac ivilh more elevated sentiments than that of immortality ? Will it awaken more respect for others or himself, more devotion to country (Ore courage to resist tyranny, greater contempt fcr pleasure oi 1S2 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. death ? You, who regret a virtuous friend, can you end ire th« rfiougbt that his noblest part has not escaped dis,-^olution ? You. who W^eep o^'cr the remains of a child or a wife, are you consoled by tht< 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 Dot your last sigh an appealto the justice of the Most High? Inno eence on the scaffold 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 ? Tlie 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 ot men of this stamp becomes the doctrine of all mankind. A great man, a veritable hero, knows his own worth too well to experience comji^la- 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 3'^ou, 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 the Divinity, the fundamental principle of all morality? Will it l>e believed that they have dared, even in this place, to assert that we have thereby thrown back human reason centuries in its progress I 0, be not surprised that the wretches, leagued against us, are so eager to put the hemlock to our lij)s ! But, before we quaff it, we will save the country ! •!3. KOBESPIERRE'S LAST SVEECH. — Original Translation. The day iifl'ir this spi" r',— i. !i\- r-il July •2Sth, 1794, and addressed to an assembly bent ou bis destruction, — Robt-i- uted, at the early age of thirty-five, under cireuiiistancea of accumulati:d hornr. i Aiirnin8 shown. Where hath this fire lain hid so many hundred years, with 13 £94 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. out "moke to discover it, till it thus bursts forth to consume me and my children ? It will be wisdom for yourselves, for your posterity, nd for the whole Kingdom, to cast into the fire these bloody and mys- terious volumes of constructive and arbitrary treason, as the primitive Christians did their books of curious arts, and betake yourselves to >he plain letter of the law and statute, that telleth us what is und what is not treason, without being ambitious to be more learned in th« art of killing than our forefathers. It is now two hundred and forty years since any 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 ages, forgotten or neglected. May your Lordships please not to add this to my other misfortunes ; let not a precedent be derived from me, so disadvantageous as this will be, in its consequences to tho whole kingdom. My Lords, the words for which I am here arraigned were not wantonly or unnecessarily spoken, but they were spoken in full Council, ivhefe, by the duty of my oath, I was obliged to speak according to \ny heart and conscience, in all things concerning the King's service. [f I had forborne to speak what I conceived to be for the benefit of the King and People, I had been perjured towards Almighty God. And, for delivering my mind openly and freely, shall I be in danger of my life as a traitor ? If that necessity be put upon me, I thank God, by His blessing, 1 have learned not to stand in fear of him who can only kill the body. If the question be, whether I must be traitor to man or perjured to God, I will be faithful to my Creator ; and, vrhatsoever shall befall me from popular rage, or from my own weak- ness, I must leave it to tha,t Almighty Being, and to the justice and honor of my judges. My Lords, you are born to great thoughts ; you are nursed up for the great and weighty employments of the Kingdom. But, if it be once admitted that a councillor, delivering his opinions with others at the council-table, under an oath of secrecy and faithfulness, shall be Drought into question upon some misapprehension or ignorance of law, — if every word that he speaks from a sincere and noble intention shall be drawn against him for the attainting of him, his children and 1 (osterity, — I know not any wise or noble person of fortune who will, upon such perilous and unsafe terms, adventure to be councillor to the King! Opinions may make a heretic, but that they make a traitor I have never heard till now. ]My Lords, what I forfeit myself is nothing ; but that my indiscre- tion should extend to my posterity, woundeth me to the very soul, Vou will pardon my infirmity ; something I should have added, bul am not able, therefore let it pass. Now, my Lords, for myself, 1 aave been, by the blessing of Almighty God, taught that the afflio- Tiions of this present life are not to be compared to the eternal weight ■•'f glory which shall be revealed hereafter And so. my Lords, evfty SENATORIAL. — PULTENEY. 1C5 no \nth all tran(}uillity of mind, I freely submit myself to yjar judg' ment ; and, whether that judgment be of lite or death, Te Deum lav dcrnius ! 35. ON REDUCING THE ARMY, 1732. — irm. PuUeney. Born, 1682 j ditU. 17W 6iR, we have heard a great deal about Parliamentary armies ^nd alM^ut an army continued from year to year. I always /tave been, Sir, and always s/kiII be, against a standing army of any kind. To nie it is a terrible thing. Whether under that of a Parliamentary or any other designation, a standing army is still a standing army, whatever name it be called by. They are a body of men distinct from the body of the People. They are governed by different laws; and bljnd obedi- ence, and an entire submission to the orders of their conunanding officer, is their only principle. It is indeed impossible that the liber- ties of the People can be preserved in any country where a numerous btanding army is kept up. By the military law, the administration of jastice is so quick, and the punishment so severe, that neither officer nor soldier dares offer to dispute the orders of his supreme commander. If an officer were commanded to pull his own fiither out of this House, he must do it. Inunediate death would be the sure consequence of the least grumbling. And if an officer were sent into the Court of Request, accompanied by a body of musketeers with screwed bayonets, and with orders to tell us what we ought to do, and how we were to vote, I know what would be the duty of this House ; I know it would be our duty to order the officer to be taken and hanged up at the door of the lobby; but, sir, I doubt much if such a spirit could be found in this House, or in any House of Commons that will ever be in Eng- land. Sir, I talk not of imaginary things ; I talk of what has happened to an English House of Commons, and from an English army ; not only from an English army, bat an army that was raised by that very House of Commons, an army that was paid by them, and an army that was commanded by Generals appointed by them. Therefore, do not let us vainly imagine that an army, raised and maintained by authority of Parliament, will always be submissive to them. If any army be so numerous as to have it in their power to overawe the Par- aament, they will be submissive as long as the Parliament does nothing to disoblige their favorite General ; but, when that case happens, I am afraid that, in place of the Parliament's dismissing the army, the army will dismiss the Parliament, as they have done heretofore. We are come to the Rubicon. Our army is now to be reduced, or it never will be ; and this Nation, already overburdened with debos and *axes, must be loaded with the heavy charge of perpetually supporting a numerous standing army, and remain forever exposed to the danger of having its liberties and privileges trampled upm by any future King or Ministry who shall take it in their heads to do so, and shalj vake a proper care to model the armv for that purpose. ti)6 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. SS. AGAra^Y THE SUCCESSION OF RICHARD CROMWELL TO UiE PROTECTO KATE, 1659. — Sir Henry Fane. The fcltowiug remarkable speech, which is given unabridged, as it appears in ihe BirgnipW^ Elrittanica, diil not tail in its effect. Richard Cromwe.l never appeared in ]}ul)itc again,"after it 'as delivered. '' Ttiis impetuous torrent," says one of Vane's bio.sraphers, " swept everything »efore it. Oratory, genius, and the spirit of liberty, never achieved a more complete triumph. It was signal and decisive, instantaneous and in-esistil3le. It broke, and forevev, the power ol Richard and his party." Sir Henry Vane was born in Kent, England, in 1512 ; was the fourtJb governor of the colony of Jlassachusetts, in 163S ; and was executed for high treason on TowM Bill, in 16S2. Mr. Speaker, — Among all the people of the univeree, I know nono who have shown so much zeal for the liberty of their country as the English at this time have done; — they have, by the help of divine ProvidciK^e, overcome all obstacles, and have made themselves free. We have driven away the hereditary tyranny of the house of Stuart, at the expense of much blood and treasure, in hopes of enjoying hered- itary liberty, after having shaken off the yoke of kingship ; and there is not a man among us who could have imagined that any person would be so bold as to dare to attempt th<; ravishing from us that freedom which cost us so much blood, and so much labor. But so it happens, I know not by what misfortune, we are fallen into the error of those who poisoned the Emperor Titus to make room for Domitian ; who made away Augustus that they might have Tibeiius ; and changed Claudius for Nero. I am sensible these examples are foreign from my subject, since the Romans in those days were buried in lewdness and luxury, whereas the people of England are now renowned all over the world for their great virtue and discipline ; and yet, — suffer an idiot, without courage, without sense, — nay, without ambition, — to have dominion ill a country of liberty ! One could bear a little with Oliver Crom- well, though, contrary to his oath of fidelity to the Parliament, con- trary to his duty to the public, contrary to the respect he owed that venerable body from whom he received his authority, he usurped the Grovernment. His merit was so extraordinary, that our judgments, our passions, might be blinded by it. He made his way to empire by the most illustrious actions ; he had under his command an army that had made him a conqueror, and a People that had made him theii General. But, as for Richard Cromwell, his son, who is he ? what are his titles ? We have seen that he had a sword by his side ; but did he ever draw it ? And, what is of more importance in this case, is he fit to get obedience from a mighty Nation, who could never make a foot- man obey him? Yet, we must recognize this man as our King, under the style of Protector ! — a man without birth, without courage, without conduct ! For my part, I declare, Sir, it shall never be said that 1 made such a man my master ! 37 HOW PATRIOTS MAY BE Mi DE. — On a motion for dismissimr him from, tm Majesty's Council, 1740. Sir Robert Walpole. Born, 167fi ; dipd, 1745. It has been observed, Mr. Sjieaker, by several gentlemen, in vindi' satic" of this motion, that, if it should be carried, neither my life BEVAlJiaAL. J- WaLPOLK 19*. fibprty nor estfite, will be affected. But do the honorable genlh^men coa-^ider my character and reputation as of no nicment ? It »t no imputation to be arraigned before this House, in which I have uat forty years, and to have ujy name transmitted to posterity with disgrace and infamy ? I will not conceal my sentiments, that to be ruiuied 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 charge, and the motives of the prosecutors. Had the charge been reduced tc Rpeeific allegations, I should have felt myself called upon for a specific defence. Had I served a w&ik or wicked master, and implicitly obeyed his dictates, obedience to his commands must have been my 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 of innocence is sufficient support against my present prosecutors. Survey 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 prepnderates. Look round both Houses, and see to which side the balance of virtue and talents pre|X)nderates. 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- otism ? Gentlemen have talked a great deal about patriotism. A venerable word, when duly practised ! But I am sorry to say that of late it has been so much hackneyed about, that it is in danger of falling into disgrace. The very idea of true patriotism is lost ; and the term has Ijeen prostituted to the very worst of purposes. A patriot, Sir! — Why, patriots spring up like mushrooms! I could raise fifty of them within the four-and-twenty hours. I have raised many of them in one night. It is but refusing to gratify an unrea- sonable or an insolent demand, and up stiirts a patriot. I have never been afraid of making patriots ; but I disdain and despise all their efforts. 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 he has entered into the lists of opjx)sition ! 38. AGAINST MR. PITT, 1741 Id. Sir, — I was unwilling to interrupt the course of this debate while it was carried on, with calmness and decency, by men who do not Buffer the ardor of opposition to cloud their reason, or transport thorn to such expressions as the dignity of this assembly does not admit. I nave hitherto deferred to 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 with having no regard to any interest but their own, and with makinj? itar^ onlv to cot\sume paper, and threatened them with the defe'^tioB f9?< TBS STANDARD SPEAKER. of their adherents, and the loss of their influence, upon this new Jis 80very of their folly, and their ignorance. Nor, Sir, do I now answer him for any other purpose than to remind him how little tha clamors of rage, and the petulancy of invectives, contribute to tlie purposes for whicli this assembly is called togethei- ; — 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 of oratory by conversing more with those of his own age than with such as have had more opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and more successful methods of communi- cating their sentiments. If the heat of his temper, Sir, would suffer him to attend to those whose age and long acquaintance with business give them an indisputable right to deference and superiority, he would learn, in time, to reason rather than declaim, and to pi-efer 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 mind. He will learn, Sir, that to accuse and prove are very different ; and that 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 the 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, Vli\. — William Pitt, afterrvards Earl of Chatham William Pitt, first Earl of Chatham, — one of the greatest orators of modern times, and espec- ially endeared to Americans fur his elofjuent aji-peals in their behalf ajiainst the aggressions of the Mother Country, — was horn on tlie 15th of November, 1708, in the parish of St. James, iu the city of Westminster, Englanil, and died on the 11th of May, IVTS. His second son was the celebrated 'William Pitt, whose fame equals, though it does not eclipse, that of his father. 'Viewing the forms of the two Pitts, father and son," says a biographer of the latter, "ae they stand in History, what different emotions their images call forth I The impassioned and roman- tic father seems liiie a liero of chivalry ; tlie stately and classical son, as a Roman dictator, sompelled into the dimensions of an l-;ngUsh minister:" "The principle," says Hazlitt, "by which the Earl of Chatham exerted his influence over others, was symjialhy. He himself evi- lently had a strong possession of hi? sob.iect, a thorough conviction, an intense interest ; and .his ocramunicated itself from his mariner, from the tones of his voice, from his conmianding ittitudes, and eager gestures, instinctively and unavoidably, to his hearers." The first sound ie !aiole, who immediately e.vclaimed, " We must muzzle that terrible cornet of horse." Sir Robert offered to promote Jlr. Pitt in the army, provided he gave ap his seat in Parliament. Probably Mr. Pitt was unwarrantably severe in the following reply to the fovejoiiig remarks of Sir Robert. The reply ap))eared originally in Dr. Johnsiin's Regis- ter of Debates, and probably received many touches from his pen. Sm, — The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honor- able gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me. 1 shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny ; — but content myself with wi&hing that 1 may l>e one of those whose follies may cease with their fcRNATUKIAL. JiAIU OF CnATHAM. 1U'.« yOQth, 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 Sir, assume the pro\'ince of determining ; — but surely age may becom« justly contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have ]iassc(3 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 whoso age 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 fiom 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 acf^,used 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 anything but age restrain my resentment ; — age, which always brings one privilege, that of being insolent and supercilious without punish- ment. But with regard. Sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion 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 exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, — whoever may protect them in their villnny. and whoever may partake of their plunder. 40. IN REPLY TO MR. GRENVILLE, 1766.— £ar n/ Chatham. Sir % charge is brought against Gentlemen sitting in this HovLse of giving birth to sedition in America. Several have spoken then sentimenti. with freedom against this unhappy act, — and that freedom has become their crime. Sorry I am to hear the liberry nf speech ir Wi) IHE STANDAKD SPEAKEK. this Flouse imputed as a crime. But the imputation shall not dii» 30urage me. The Gentleman tells us, America is obstinate ; Americ* is almost in open rebellion. I rejoice that America has resisted ]Tiree millions of people so dead to all the feelings of liberty as volun- tarily to let themselves be made slaves would have been fit instrument* to make slaves of all the rest. 1 come not here armed at all points with law cases and acts of Parliament, with the statute-book doubltsd down in dogs' ears, to defend the cause of liberty. I would not debate a particular point of law with the Grentleman. I know his abilitios. But, for the defence of liberty, upon a general principle, upon a Con- stitutional principle, it is a ground on which I stand firm, — on which I dare meet iny man. The (xentleman 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 affirm that the profits of Great Britain from the trade of the Colonies, through all its branches, are two millions a year. This is the fund that carried you triumphantly through the last war. This is the prii)€ 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 great deal has been said, without doors, of the power, of the strength, 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 skill 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 the Constitution along with her. Is this your boasted peace ? To sheathe the sword, not in its scabbard, 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 in New- foundland, embarrasses your slave-trade to Africa, and withholds from j^our subjects in Canada their property stipulated by treaty ? while the ?ansom for the Manillas is denied by Spain ? The Americans have been wronged. They have been driven to madness by injustice. Will you f)unish them for the madness you have occasioned ? Rather let prudonce and temper come first from this side! I will undertake for Ajnerica that she will follow the example. «' Be to her faults a little blind ; Be to her virtues very kind." l.et the Stamp Act be repealed ; and let the reason for the repoal - • Mr. Nugent had said that a peppercorn in acknowledgment of the rigbl ti iiu. America yvas of more value than million? without it 8KNAT0RIAL. - jLiRI OF CHATHAa. 201 ifcause the Act was founded on an erroneouf pmtiAple — r>< a«6igaeHATil.^il. 20? I t«ll you the acts must be repealed. We shall be foictid ultinjiiteljf to retract. Let us retract while we can, not when w^e must. I say wo must n'ices..;nce, and wanton negligence ; and of the most notorioiu servility, incapacity, and corruption. On reconsideration, I must allow you one merit, — a strict attention to your own interests In that view, you appear sound statesmen and able politicians. You well know, if the present measure should prevail, that you must instantly relinquish your places. I doubt much whether you will be able to keep them on any terms. But sure I am, such are your well-knowit 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 of in^ig- nifieance for which you were by God and Nature designed ? 44. AGAINST EMPLOYING INDIANS IN y^KV.. — Earl of Chatham. In the course of the debate, November 18, 1777, dui'ing which the Earl of Chatham made the ftloqi'.ent speech from which the two following extracts are taken, the Earl of Suffolk, Secre- tary of State for the Northern department, advocated the employment of Indians in the war, contending that, besides its policy and necessity, the measure was also allowable on principle • for that " it was perfectly justifiable to use all the means that God and Nature had put into our hands." The following is a resumption of the Earl of Chatham's speech of the same day. Wuo 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-knife of the savage ? — to call into civilized alliance the wild and inhuman savage of the woods ; to delegate to the merci- less Indian the defence of disputed rights ; and to wage the horrors 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 justifia- ble," says a noble Lord, " to use all the means that God and Nature put into our hands.'" I am astonished, shocked, to hear such princi- ples confessed, — to hear them avowed in this House, or even in this country ; — principles equally unconstitutional, inhuman, and unchris- tian I My Lords, I did not intend to have trespassed again upon your attention ; but I cannot repress my indignation — I feel myself impelled by every duty to proclaim it. As members of this House, as men, as Christians, we are called upon to protest against the bar- barous proposition. " That God and Nature put into our hands ! " What ideas that noble Lord may entertain of God and Nature, 1 know not ; but I know that such abominable principles are equally abhorrent to religion and to humanity. What ! attribute the sacrt^ ("lanction of God and Nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping- knife, — to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, devouring, drink- Tig the blood of his mangled victims! Such horrible notions fi^ock every precept of religion, revealed or natural ; every sentiment of konor, eve ry generous feeling of humanity ! The-se abominable principles, and this more abominable avowal of them, demand most decisive indignation ! I call upon that Right S«verend Bench, those holy ministers of the Gospel, an i pious paistori KKNATORIAL. — EARL OF CHATHAM. 20J %f tru" ChuroK; I conjure them to join in the holy work, and to vindi- cate the religion of their God! I appeal to the wisdom and the law of this learned Bench, to defend and support the justice of their country ! [ call upon the Bishops to intex-pose 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 3'our own! I call upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindiciite 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 us ! Turn forth into our settlements, among our ancient con- nections, friends and relations, the merciless camiibal, thirsting for the blood of man, woman and child ? Send forth the iniidcl savage ' Against whom ? Against your Protestant brethren ! To lay waste their country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their race and name, with these horrible hell-hounds of savage wur ! S^Min armed herself with blood-hounds to extirpate the wretched naiires 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 of 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 iniquities from among us. Let them perform a lustration ; let them purify this House and this country fi'oni 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 oight in my bed, or have reposed my head on my pillow, without giv» ing this vent to my eternal abhorrence of such preposterous and enor" wous principles. 45. RUINOUS CONSEQUENCES OF THE AMERICAN WAR. — £ar/ 0/ Cftaffttm. Yyjv cannot conciliate America by your present measures; you •"sannot suhdtue her by your present, or by any measures. What, then. * Lord Howard of Efrmgiam, who commanded the English fleet opposed to th« Spanish Arm.ida, and from whom the Earl of Suffolk was descended. The tapestrj 01 the Iloise of Lords represented the defeat and dispersion of the Spanish Armada, In 1588 In October, 1834, this tapestry was burned in the fire which destroyed Vbe two fliiuse.'i of Parliament. g06. THE STANDAKD SPEAKER. can you do? You cannot conquer, you cannot gain, but ^^.u ca» address. In a just and necessary war, to maintain the rights or aonor of my country, I would strip the shirt from my batk 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 liords, I have submitted to you with the freedom and tnitb which I think my duty, my sentiments on your present awful situii- 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 nerseverance 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 this devoted country from complete and final ruin. We madly rush into nmlti plied miseries, and plunge into " confusion worse confounded." 46. AMERICA UNCONQUERABLE. — £ar/ of Chatham, November 18, 1177, on the Address of Thanks to the King. This, my Lords, is a perilous and tremendous mom.ent. 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 file loss of the one, and the violation of the other ; — as to give an unlimited support to measures which have heaped disgrace aii i mis- fortune upon us ; measures which have reduced this late flourishing empire to ruin and contempt ? Biit yesterday, and England migJd havv stvod against the world : now, none so poor to do her rever- ence ! France, my Lords, has insidted 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 \nterlerence. Can even our Ministers sustain a more humiliating dis- grace ? Do they dare to resent it ? Do they presume even to hint a .rindication of their honor, and the dignity of the State, by requirin^J {he dismissal of the plenipotentiaries of America ? The People, whom «hey affr'^ted to call ccntemptible rebels, but whose growing power ha« aKNATOR£AL, MEllEI ITH. SO", at lAxi Detained ilie name of enemies, — the pfv)ple W'th whom they have engaged this couniiy in war, and against whom they noiv command our implicit support in every measure of desperate hostility, — thia People, despised as rebels, or acknowledged as enemies, arc abettvcd against you, supplied with every military store, their interests con- sulted, and their Aud)assadors entertained, by your inveterate enemy , — and our j>linisters dare not interpose wiih dignity or effect ! My Lords, this ruinous 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 cannot conquer America. "VVTiat is your present situation there ? We do not know the wort3t ; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, and strain every effort, still more extravagantly ; accumulate every assistance you can beg or Ijorrow ; traffic and bar- ter with every little pitiful German Prince, that sells and sends his subjects to the sliambles of a foreign country : your efforts are forever vain 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, devotinp; them and their possessions to the rapacity of hire- ling cruelty ! If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms ! — never ! never ! never i 47. ON FREQUENT EXECUTIONS. IITJ. — Sir IT. McrediCh. Whether hanging ever did, or can, answer any good purpose, 1 doubt : but the cruel exhibition of every execution-day is a proof that hanging carries no terror with it. The multiplicity of our hanging laws has produced these two things : frequency of condemnation, and frequent pardons. If we look to the executions themselves, what exam- ples do they give ? The thief dies either hardened or penitent. All that admiration and contempt of death with which heroes and martyrd inspire good men in a good cause, the abandoned villain feels, in seeing a desperado like himself meet death with intrepidity. The penitent thief, on the other hand, often makes the sober villain think, that by rolibery, forgery or murder, he can relieve all his wants ; and, if he hn brought to justice, the punishment will be short and trifling, and the reward eternal. When a member of Parliament brings in a new hanging law, he begins with mentioning some injury that maybe done to private prop. i?rty. for which a man is not yet liable to be hanged ; and then ^jfo- poses the gallows as the specific and infallible means of cure and pre- wcQtion. One Maiw Jones was executed, whose nase I shall jus* £0b THE STANDARb SPEAKER. mention, li\v was vei-y young, and most remarkably handscin.e. 3h« went to a linen-draper's shop, took some coarse linen oif the counter and slipped it under her cloak ; the shopman saw her, and she laid it down : for this she was hanged. Her defence was (I have the triaJ in my pocket), " that she had lived in credit and wanted for nothing, till a press-gang came and stole her husband from her ; but, since then, she had no bed to lie on ; nothing to give her children to cat ; and they were a,lraost naked : and perhaps she might have done something wrong, for she hardly knew what she did." The parish officers testi- fied the truth of this story : but it seems there had been a good deal of shop-lifting about Ludgate ; an example was thought necessary ; and this woman was hanged for the comfort and satisfaction of some shopkeepers in Ludgate-street! And foi- what cause was God's creation robbed of this its noblest work ? It was for no injury ; but for a mere attempt to clothe two naked children by unlawful means ! Compare this with what the State did, and with what the law did ! The State bereaved the woman of her husband, and the children of a father, who was all their sup- port ; the law deprived the woman of her life, and the children of their remaining parent, exposing them to every danger, insult, and merciless treatment, that destitute and helpless orphans can suifer. Take all the circumstances together, I do not believe that a fouler mur- der was ever committed against the law than the murder of this woman by the law ! Some who hear me are perhaps blaming the judges, the jury, and the hangman ; but neither judge, jury nor hangman, are to blame ; — they are but ministerial agents : the true hangman is the member of Parliament. Here, here are the guilty ; he who frames the bloody law is answerable for the bloody deed, — for all the injustii^e, all the wretchedness, ail the sin, that proceed from it ! 48. ON PARLIAMENTARY INNOVATIONa. — Mr. Beaufoy. To calumniate innovation, and to decry it, is preposterous. Have there never been any innovations on the Constitution ? Can it be for- gotten, for one moment, that all the advantages, civil and political, which we enjoy at this hour, are in reality the immediate and fortunate effects of innovation ? It is by innovations that the English Constitu- tion has grown and flourished. It is by innovations that the Houso of Commons has risen to importance. It was at different eras that tho counties and towns were empowered to elect representatives. Even the office of Speaker was an innovation ; for it was not heard of till the time of Richard the Second. What was more, the freedom of speech, DOW so highly valued, was an innovation ; for there ^ere times when no member dared to a"ow his sentiments, and when his head must have answered for the boldness of his tongue. To argue against inno- vations, is to argue against improvements of every kind. When th< fnllowers of Wickiifie maintained the cause of humanity and reasoj SENATORIAL. 209 tgainst absurdity and superstition, " No innovation," wab the ciy ; 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 ser\'ile 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 innovatiomi on the Constitution, is to suppose that it is perfect. But perfection w;is not its attribute either in the Saxon or Norman times. It is not its attribute at the present moment. Alterations are perpetually necessary in every Constitution ; for thd Ijovernment should be accommodated to the times, to the circum- stances, to the wants of 2 Popple, which are ever changing. 49. THE FOLLV OF RELIGIOUS PERSECUTION. ~ Cor/'^itVafion. Mr. Speaker, it behoves the piety as well as the wisdom of Parlia- ment to disappoint these endeavors to make religion itself an engine of sedition. Sir, the very worst mischief that can be done to religion IS to pervert it to the pui-poses of faction. Heaven and hell are not more distant than the benevolent spirit of the Gospel and the malig- nant spirit of i^arty. 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 quiftt. 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, wliere the conscience is enthralled, there is no freedom. I repeat it ; perse- cution 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 sword 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 h;:ll, cannot put it to deatn. In the person of 'ts martyrs it bids defiance to the will of the tyrant who per- secutes it, i:id with the martyr's last breath predicts its own full ai.d final tnamphs. The Pagan persecuted the Christian, but yet Chris- tianity lives. The Boman Catholic persecuted the Protestant, but yet Protestantism lives. Tlie Protestant persecuted the Boman Catholic, but yet Catholicism lives. The Church of England persecuted tho 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 extm- fished ia one p^ace, but it will break out in another. If opinioa« ■iax'itot be put down by argument, they cannot bv power. Truth gjiim 14 210 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. ..he victory in the end, not only by its own evidences, but ly the sufFet in^ of its confessors. T^herefore, Sir, if we have a mind to establish "»eace among the People, we must allow men to judge freely in matters of religion, and to embrace that opinion they think right, without any hope of temporal reward, without any- fear of temporal punishment. t'!. AMERICA'S OBLIGATIONS TO ENGLAND, 1765. — Co^. Barr/?, in rep/y te Chtrl^ Townshend, 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 indulgence, and protected by our arms, — will they grudge to contribute their mite ? " The9/ planted by your care ! — No, your oppressions planted them in America ! 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 say 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 those they suiFered in their own country from the hands of those that should have been their friends. They nourished up hy your indulgence ! — They grew by your neglect of them ! As soon as you began to care about them, that care was exercised in sending persons to rule them, in one department and another, who were, perhaps, the deputies of deputies to some mem- bers of this House, sent to spy out their liberties, to misrepresent their actions, and to prey upon them ; men whose behavior, on many occa- sions, 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 couutry, to escape being brought to the bar of a coui't of justice in their own. They protected hy your arms ! — They have nobly taken up arms in your defence ! — have exerted a valor, amidst their constant arid laborious industry, for the defence of a country whose frontier was drenched in blood, while its interior parts yielded all its little savings bo your emolument. And, believe me, — remember I this day told you so, — that same spirit of freedom which actuated that l*eople at fii-st will accompany them still ; but prudence forbids me to explain myself further. God knows I do not at this time speak from molives of party heat. What I deliver are the genuine sentiments of my heart. However superior to me, in general knowledge and expe- rience, the respectable body of this House may be, yet I claim to know more of America than most of you, having seen and been "onvorsant in that country. The People, I believe, are as truly loyal as any subjects the King has ; but they are a People jealous of their liberties, and who will vindicate them to the last drojj of theu ^lood, if they "hould ever be violated. «ENArORIAL. — BARRE. 211 51 REPLY TO I-ORD NORTH, 1774. — Co^ Barri. Bom, 17-27 , aied. 1802. When intoUigence of the destruction of the tea at Boston, Dec. 18, 1773, reached England, H •aa made the subject of a niessasre frum the Thrcme to both Houses of Parlianrint. The h'U ihuttinir up tlie port of Boston followed. Then succeeded two more measures, by one of which :)'e charter of Massachusetts Bay was entirely subverteil, and the nomination of councillors, maiistratea, and all civil officers, vested in the Crown ; and by the other it was provided, that il any person were indicted in the IVovince of Jlassachusette Bay for murder, or any othet capital offsnce, and it should ajipear to the Govenior, by inforinatioi. on oath, that the act wag committed in the exercise or :M of the magistracy in supin-essing tumults and riots, and that a fair trial coulil not be had in the province, he should send the person so indicted to any other colony, or to Great Britain, for trial. While the two mcasui-es last named were pending, the following remarks were maile in Pai'liament by Col. Barri. Sir, this proposition is so glaring ; so unprecedented in any former proceedings of Parliament ; so unwarranted by 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 sufficient to alarm and rouse me to opposition. It is proposed to stigmatize a whole People as persecutors of innocence, and men inca- pable of doing justice ; yet you have not a single fiict 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 in America had been proseeuted with unremitting vengeance, and brought to cruel and dishonorable deaths, by the violence and injustice of American juries. But he has not produced one such instance ; and I will tell you more, Sir,— he cannot produce one ! The instances which have happened are directly in the teeth of his propo- sition. Col. Preston and the soldiers who shed the blood of the Peo- ple were fairly tried, and fully acquitted. It was an American jury, a New England jury, a Boston jury, which tried and acquitted them. Col. Preston has, under his hand, publicly declared that the inhabitants of the very town in which their fellow-citizens had been sacrificed were his advocates and defenders. Is this the return you make them ? I? this the encouragement you give them to persevere in so laudable a spirit of justice, and moderation ? But the noble Lord says, " We must now show the Americans that we will no longer sit quiet under their insults." 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 ROt your Government, for many years past, been a series of irritating and offensive measures, without policy, princijile or moderation ? Have not your troops and your ghips made a vain and in.sulting parade in their streets and in their harbors ? Have you not stimulated discontent into disaffection, and ijre you not now goading disaffection into rebellion ? Can you expect to be well informed when you listen only to partisans ? Can you expect to do justice when you will not hear the accused ? liOt the banners be once spread in America, and you are an undone People. You are urging this desperate, this destructive i;>sue. In assenting to your late Bill,* I resisted the violence of America at the \azard of my popularity there. I now resist your frenzy at the same risk * The Boston Port Bill ; for his Tote ij favor of which the portrait of Barr« iru wniovod from Faixeuil Hall il2 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. here. I know the vast superiority of your disciplined troops over thi Provincials ; but beware how you supply the want of discipline by d<» peration ! Wliat madness is it that prompts you to attempt obtaining that by force which you may more certainly procure by requisition ' The Americans may be flattered into anything ; but they are too much jke yourselves to be driven. Have some indulgence for your own likeness ; respect their sturdy English virtue ; retract youi' odioufl esertions of authority, and remember that the first step towards mak- ing them contribute to your wants is to reconcile them to your Gov- ernment. 52. BOLD PREDICTIONS, 1116.— John Wilkes. Born, 1717 ; died, 1797. IMr. 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 sanguinary. It draws the sword 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 abetting. Arguments have been employed to involve them in all tka consequences of an open, declared rebellion, and to obtain the fullest orders 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 shall not declare. This I know : a successful resistance is a revolution, not a rebellion ! Rebellion indeed appears on the back o^ 2t. flying enemy : but Revolution flames on the breast-plate of the victorious warrior , 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 by them as well as by us ; and, should success attend them, whether, in a few years, the independent Americans may not celebrate 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 acknowledge the justice of it. Is your force adequate to the attempt ? I am satisfied it is not. Boston, indeed, you may lay in ashes, or it may be made a strong garrison ; but the Province will be lost to you. Boston will be like Gibraltar. You will hold, in the Province of Massachusetts Bay, as you do in Spain, a single towa. while the whole country remains in the power and possession of tha enemy. Where your fleets and armies are stationed, the posse&sioii will be secured, while they continue ; but all the rest will be lost. In the great scale of empire, you will decline, I fear, from the decision of this day ; and the Americans will rise to independence, to power, to all the greatness of the most renowned States ! For they build on the solid basis of general public liberty. I tremble, Sir, at the almost certain consequences of such an iddress. fouaded in cruelty and injustice, equally contrary to th« SENATORIAL. WILKES. 211 xjuiid tnaxiins of true policy, and the unerring rule of natural right. iTie Americans will certainly defend their property and their libertiea nfith the spirit which our ancestors exerted, and which, I hope, *pe ghould exert, on a like occasion. They will .sooner declare thomsolves independent, a.id risk every cons'3quence of such a contest, than submit to the galling yoke which Administration is preparing for them. An Address of this sanguinary nature cannot fail of driving them to desjiair. They will see that yon are preparing, not only to draw the sword, but to burn the sc-iibbard. In the most harsh manner you are declaring them rebels ! Every idea of a reconciliation will now vanish. They will pursue the most vigorous course in their own defence. The whole continent of North America will be dismembered from Great Britain, and the wide arch of the raised Enjpire will fall. But may the just vengeance of the People ovei-take the autliors of these pernicious Counsels ! May the loss of the first Province of the Empire be speedily followed by the loss of the heads of those Ministers who have persisted in these wicked, these fatal, these most disastrous 53. CONQUEST OF THE AJIERICANS IMPEACTIC ABLE, 1775. — TbAn /fittes. Sir, it ill becomes the duty and dignity of Parliament to lose itself in such a fulsome adulatory Address to the Throne as that now pro- posed. We ought rather, Sir, to approach it with sound and whole- some advice, and 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 bretliren in America an unjust and felonious 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 common rights of all mankind, and tliose great funda- mental principles of the English Constitution for which Hampden Wed. I assert. Sir, that it is a murderous war, because it is an effort to deprive men of their lives for standing up in tlie defence of their property and their clear rights. Such a war, I fear. Sir, will draw down the vengeance of Heaven on this devoted Kingdom. Sir, is any 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. The Americans will dispute every ineh of territory with you, every narrow pass, every strong defile, every Thermopylae, every Bunker 'ti Hill ! More than half the Empire is already lost, and almost all the rest is in confusion and anarchy. We have appealed to the sword ■ and what have we gained ? Bunker's Hill only, — and that with the JOSS of twelve hundred men ! Are we to pay as dear for the lest of A.merica ? The idea of the conquest of that immense coun'iy is aa romantic as unjust. The honorable Gentleman who moved this Addreas sayj, "The imericans have been treated with lenity " Will facts _, f 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 &jid hope, therefore, is, that it will be rejected by this House ; and tha^ iJiother, dutiful yet decent, manly Address, will be presented to hia Majesty, 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 CongTOSs, in compliance with their repeated petition, thereby restoring peace and harmony to this dis- tracted Empire. * 54,. REPLY TO THE DXJKE OF QRA.rrO^. — Lord Thur/ow Edward Thurlow, who rose to be Lord High Chancellor of Graat Britain, wa§ born in IVSS, 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 Tliurlow with his pleteian extran- 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 maimer we have mentioned. Lord Thurlow rose from the woolsack, and advanced slowly to the place from which tlie Chancellor generally addresses the Hi.use of Lords, and then, fix ing on the Duke the look of Jove when he has grasped the thunder, be said (in a level tone of voice), ' I am amazed at the attack which the noble Duke has made on ine.' Then, raising 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 S}>eech. The noble Duke cannot look before him, behind him, or on either side of him, without seeing some noble Peer who owes his seat in this House to his success- ful esertions in the profession to which I belong. Does he not feel that it is as honorable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an accident ? To all these noble Lords the language of the noble Duke is as applicaljle, 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 tne, — not I the Peerage. Nay, more, — I can say, and will say, that, as a Peer of Parliament, aa Speaker of this right honorable House, as keeper of the great seal, as guardian of his Majesty's conscience, as Lord High Chancellor of England, — nay, even in that character alone in which the noble Duke would thinli it an aifront to be considered, but which charac- fcer none can deny me, — as a man, — I am, at this moment, as respect- able, — I beg leave to add, I am as much respected, — as the proudest Peer I now look down upon ! 1 55. WORTH OF PRESENT POPtlLARITT. - Lord Mansjield. Bom, 1705 ; died, 1783. 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 Mivl means, hj • The Earl of Chatham SENATORIAL. — BURKE. Hb po)L-*Jar>(i/, that applaase bestowed by after ages on gool and virtu Olio actions, I have long been struggling in that race : 'jO wliac purpose all-trying Time can alone determine. But if he means ttiut niui^hroom popularity, which is raised without merit, and lost without a crime, he U much mistaken in his opinion. I defy the noble Earl to jx>int out a single 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 given 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 shouts 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 triumphed over delusion, the assassins of liberty. Why, then, the noble Earl can think I am ambitious of present popularity, that echo of folly and 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 privilege ; and so far did they carry it at that time, that it was said the privi- 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, nevertheless, 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, cr v/here 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 shall ever protect the guilty. «6. MAGNANIMITY IN POLITICS, 1775. —Edmund Burke. Bom. 1730 ; -*«<*. 178T. A REVENUE from America, transmitted hither ? Do not delude yourselves ! You never can receive it — no, not a shilling ! Let the Colonies always keop the idea of their civil rights as.';ociated with your Government, and they will cling and grapple to you These iwi *Jo» 2l5 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. whiok, thougli liglit as air, are strong as links of iron. But let ii once be understood that your Government may be one thing and theii privileges another, — the cement is gone, the cohesion is loosened . Do not 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 commerce. These things do not make your Government. Dead instrumentSj passive tools, as they are, it is the sj^irit of the English communion that gives all their life and efficacy to them. It is the spirit of tht English Constitution, which, infused through the mighty mass, per- 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. All this, I know well enough, will sound wild and chimerical to tha profane herd of those vulgar and mechanical politicians, who have no place among us ; a sort of people who think that nothing exists but what is gross and material ; and who, therefore, far from being quali- fied to be directors of the great movement of Empire, are not fit to turn a wheel in the machine. But, to men truly initiated and rightly taught, these ruling and master principles, which, in the opinion of such men as I have mentioned, have no substantial existence, are, in truth, everything, and all in all. Magnanimity in politics is not sel- dom the truest wisdom ; and a great Empire and little minds go ill together. Let us get an 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 ! 5V. ENTERPRISE OF AMERICAN COLONISTS, 1115.— Edmund Burke. Burke, the greatest of Irish statesmen, and unsurpassed as a writer of Ent'lish prose, im pairid his immediate success as a spealcerliy a badly-regulated voice, and an infelicitous deliv- ery. Grattan, his countryman and contemiiorary, wrote of him: " Burke is unciuestionably the first orator of the Commons of England, notwithstanding the want of energy, the want of grace, and the want of elegance, in his manner." " He was a prodigy of nature and of acquisition. He read everything — he saw everything. His knowledge of history amounted to a power of foretelling , and, when he perceived the wild work that was doing in France, that gieat politi- cal p'jysii Un, cognizant of symptoms, distinguished between the access of fever and the force of health, aid what others conceived to be the vigor of her constitution he knew to be the ?aro.\-ysm of her madness ; and then, prophet-like, he pronounced the destinies of Fiance, and m his iTophetic fury admonished nations." For some time past, Mr. Speaker, has the Old World been fed frcm the New. The scarcity which you have felt would have been a desolating famine, if this child of your old age, — if America, — mth a true filiaj piety with a Roman chxrity, had not put the nil/ SENATORIAL. BUUKE, 211 orcast of its ycuthful exuberance to the mouth of its exhausted parent. Turning from the agricultural resources of the CoxOnics, consider the wealth which they have drawn from the sea by their fisheries. The spirit in which that enterprising employment has been exercised ought to raise your esteem nnd admiration. Pray, Sir, what in the world is erpial to it ? Pass by the other parts, and look at the mau ner in which the People of New ]<]nglund have of late carried on the whale fishery. Whilst we follow them among the tumbling mountains of ice. 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 Island, which sneracd too remote aud romantic an object for the grasp of national ambition, is but a stage and resting-place in the progress of their victorious industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more discour- aging to them than the accumulated winter of both the Poles. We &now that whilst some of them draw the line and strike the harpoon on the coast of Africa, others run the longitude, and pursue their gigantic game, along the coast of Brazil. No sea but what is vexed by their fisheries. No climate that is not witness to their toils. Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of Fi'ance, nor the dex- terous and firm sagacity of English enterprise, ever carried this most perilous mode of hardy industry to the extent to which it has been pushed by this recent People ■ a People who are still, as it were, but in the gi-istle, and not yet hardened into the bone, of manhood. When I contemplate these things, — when I know that the Colonies in general owe little or nothing to any care of ours, and that they are not squeezed into this happy form by the constraints of a watchful and suspicious Government, but that, through a wise and salutary neg- lect, a generous nature has been suffered to take her own way to per- 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 all pre- sumption in the wisdom of human contrivances melt, and die away within me. My rigor relents. I pardon something to the spirit of liberty. 58. ON AMERICAN TAXATION, April 19, 1774.— W. Could anything be a subject of more just alarm to America, thaa 90 see you go out of the plain high road of finance, and give up your most certain revenues and your clearest interests, merely for the sake of insulting your Colonies ? No man ever doubted that the coiamoditj jf tea could bear an imposition of three-pence. But no commodity will bear three-pence, or will bear a penny, when the general feelings of men are irritated, and two millions of men are resolved not to pay. The feelings of the Colonies were formerly the feelings of Great liritain. Theirs were foimei'ly the feelings of Mr. Hampden, w'eta 218 THE STANBj^RD speakek «alled upon for the payment of twenty sliillings. Would twentj shillings have ruined Mr. Hampden's fortune ? No ! but the pay- nient of half twenty shillings, on the principle it was demanded, would have made him a slave ! It is the weight of that preaml)le, o) which you are so fond, and not the weight of the duty, that the Americans are unable and unwilling to bear. You are, therefore, at this moment, in the awkward situation of fighting for u 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 enjoyment. They tell you, Sir, that your dignity is tied to it. I know not ho-w it happens, 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, and every idea of your policy. Show the thing you contend for to be refison, show it to be common sense, show it to be the means of obtaining some useful end, and then I am content to allow it what dignity you please. But what dignity is derived from the perse- verance in absurdity, is more than I ever could discern ! Let us. Sir, embrace some system or other before we end this session. Do you mean to tax America, and to draw a productive revenue from thence ? If you do, speak out : name, fix, ascertain this revenue ; settle its quantity ; define its objects ; provide for its collection ; and then fight, when you have sometb'ig to fight for. If you murder, rob; if you kill, take possession : and do not appear in the character of madmen, as well as assassins, — violent, vindictive, bloody and tyrannical, with- out an object. But may better counsels guide you ! 69. DESPOTISM INCOMPATIBLE WITH RIGHT, 1788. — /rf. My Lords, you have now heard the principles on which Mr. Hast- ings governs the part of Asia subjected to the British empire. Here he has declared his opinion, that he is a despotic prince ; that he is to use arbitrary power ; and, of course, all his acts are covered with that shield. " I know," says he, " the Constitution of Asia only from its practice." Will your Lordships submit to hear the corrupt practices of mankind made the principles of Government ? He have arbitrary power! — My Lords, the East-India Company have not arbitraiy power to give him ; the King has no arbi trary power to give him ; year I^ordships have not ; nor the Commons ; nor the whole Legisla/- ture. We have no arbitrary power to give, because arbitrary power is a thing which neither any man can hold nor any man can give. No man can lawfully govern himself according to his own will, — much 'et3s can one person be governed by the will of another. We are all oorn in subjection, — all born equally, high and low, governors and gov- erned, in subjection to one great, immutable, preexistent law, prior ro lil our devices, and prior to all our contrivances, paramount to all o«i ideas and to all our sensations, antecedent to our very existence, br s>:;natorial. — burkk 21S which w<. are knit and connected in the eteina Vam,: of tu-. universe, »ut oi which we cannot stir. This great law does not arise from our conveptions or compacts ; on tlie coniniry, it gives to our conventions and compacts all the force and lanction tliey can have ; — it does not arise from our vain institutions, Every good gift i? of God , all power is of God ; — and He who has given the power, and from whom alone it originates, will never suffer tin* oxercise of it to be practised upon any less solid foundation than tht power itself. If, then, all dominion of man over man is the effect of the divine disiwsition, it is bound by the eternal laws of Him that gave it, with which no human authority can dispense ; neither he that exer- oises it, nor even those who are subject to it ; and, if tliey were mad enough to make an express compact, that should release their magistrate from his duty, and should declare their lives, liberties and properties, dependent upon, not rules and laws, but his mere capricioua will, that covenant would be void. This arbitrary power is not to be had by conquest. Nor can any sovereign have it by succession; for no man can succeed to fraud, rapine, and \'iolence. Those who give and those who receive arbi- trary power are alike criminal ; and there is no man but is bound to resist it to the best of his power, wherever it shall show its face to the world. Law and arbitrary power are in eternal enmity. Name me a magis- trate, and I will name property ; name me power, and I will name protection. It is a contradiction in terms, it is blasphemy in religion, it is wickedness in politics, to say that any man can have arbitrary power. In every patent of office the duty is included. For what else does a magistrate exist ? To suppose for power, is an absurdity in idea. Judges are guided and governed by the eternal laws of justice, to which we are all subject. We may bite our chains, if we will ; but we shall be made to know ourselves, and be taught that man is born to be governed by law ; and he that will substitute will in the place of it is an enemy to God. 60. IMPEACHMENT OF WAKREN HASTINGS, 1788. — /d. The unremitting energy of Burke's a])iieals, in the prosecution of Hastinj^s, was a subjecj of wondrr ;it tlie time, aiul is a lasting niemi>rial of his zeal in wlmt )ic lu-lie^eil an honest cause, fur tlie U'liiiiriition of posterity. Ilastinirs himself lias said of Kui-kr's elM,|U.i:ce against him, — " For II-.l- nrst half-hour, I )ool to tlie orator in a reverie of w.in.l.i-, ami, during that time, I felt myself the most culpable man on earth." The trial of Warrrn llaslinus oota- »enced in Westminster Hall, F^b. 18, 17S8, The whole process occujiied ten ye-.u's, from 178S to 1795. On the I'ild of April, 1796, Hastings was acquitted by a large majority of the Veers. My Lords, I do not mean now to go further than just to remind pur Lordships of this, — that Mr. Hastings' government was one ^hole system of oppression, of roI)bery of individuals, of spoliation of the public, and of supersession of the whole system of the English Government, in order' to vest in the worst of the natives all th-j power that could possibly exist in any Government ; in order tx) defeat 22C TEE STANDARD SPEAKER. ihe ends wliich all Governments ought, in common , to have m vie^ In the name of the Commons of England, I charge all this ^ iUanj upon Warren Hastings, in this last moment of my application to you. My Lords, what is it that we want here, to a great act of national justice ? 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 Lor^ls, yoTj must not look to punish any other such delinquent from Lidia. Warren Hastings has not left substance enough in India to nourish such another delinquent. 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 pr'ogress round the world, does not behold a more glorious sight than that of men, separated from a remote people by the material bounds and barriers of nature, united by the bond of a social and moral comnmnity ; — all the Commons of Eng- land resenting, as their own, the indignities and cruelties that are offered to all the people of India. Do we want a tribunal ? My Lords, no example of antiquity, nothing in the modern world, nothing in the range of human imagin- ation, can supply us with a tribunal like this. We conmiit safely 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. I impeach him in the name of the Conmions of Great Britain in Parliament assembled, whose Parliamentai-y 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 justice which he has violated. I impeach him in the name of human nature itself, which he has eroelly outraged, injured and oppressed, in both sexes, in every age rank, situation, and condition of life. 61. PERORATION AGAINST WARREN IlA.&TltiGS. — Edmund Burke. My Lords, at this awful close, in the name of the Commons, ana jurrounded by them, I attest the retiring, I attest the advancing gener- ations, between which, as a link in the great chain of eternal order, we suind. We call this Nation, we call the world to witness, that the Com- mons have xshrunk from no labor ; that we have been guilty of no pro- 'raricatiop that we have made m ■'.ompromise with crime ; that we hav« SEXATO.IIAL. — BUIIKE. 221 act feared my odium whatsoever, in the long warfare which we nave carried on with the crimes, with the vices, with the exorbitant wcalth- with the enormous and overpowering influence of Eastern corruption. My Jjords, it has pleased Providence to place us in such a stat< that we apjiear every moment to be upon the verge of some great mutations. There is one thing, and one thing only, wnich defies all mutation : that which existed before the world, and will survive the tabric 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 you, in which we shall not all he 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, st4'ipped of all the decorous distinctions of human society, should, by hands at once base and cruel, be led to those scaffolds 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 in those moments feel that consolation which I am per- suiaded they felt in the critical moments of their dreadful agony ! 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 illastrious 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 long stand the terror of tyrants ; m ay you stand the refuge of afflicted Nations ; may you stand a sacred temple, for the jjerpetual residence of an inviolable justice ! 62. TO THE ELECTORS OF BKlSTOh.— 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 my share in any measure giving quiet to 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 foreign holdings of the citizen, and taught him to look for his protec- 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 best of men \n the best of their actions, — I can shut the book ; — I nn's-ht wisb 222 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. to read & page or two more, — but this is enough fci my measure, i Have 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, in a single 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 in wronging or oppress- ing any description of men, or any one man in any description. No S the charges against me are all of one kind, — that I have pushe-1 the principles of general justice and benevolence too far, — further than a cautious policy would warrant, and further than the opinions of roany would go along with me. In every accident which may happen ihrough 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 Daizphiness, at Versailles ; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in, — glittering like the morning star, ♦uU of life, and splendor, and joy. ! 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, in a Nation of 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 with insult. But the age 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 subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom ! The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of Nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise^ is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that enastity of honor, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired murage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever ij touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all iicj arrossness, * Born, 1755 ; beheaded, 1792. SENATORIAL. GRATTAN 225 64. DEOJARATION OF IRISH RIGIKS, 17S0.— Henri/ Gra/M» Henry Oratlan, one of the most renowne 15 32l^ THE STA:i'«>A. ' £P£AKJfiK. ithat -.relaud will not be satisfied with liberty, because slie is not 3ati» fied with slavery, is folly. I laugh at that man who supposes that Ireland will n^t be content with a free trade and a free Constitution and would any man advise her to be content with less ? 67. DIPQT;a.LIFICATION of ROMAN CATHOLICS. 1793. — i^cnri P Man Yov are struggling with difficulties, you imagine ; you are iicis. taken, — you are struggling with impossibilities. In making laws on the subject 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 may perplex their understandings with various apolo- gies, — but never was it long permitted to exclude from essential, — from what they themselves have pronounced essential blessings, — a great 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 conquerors, have scarcely ever for any length of time governed by those partial disabilities ; but a People so to govern itself, or, rather, under the name of Government, 60 to exclude itself, — the industrious, the opulent, the useful, — that 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, in the mean time, to tax them ad libitum, and occasionally to pledge their lives and fortunes ! — for what ? — for their disfranchisement ! — 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 on the inventor, and bruises him under the stroke of the sceptre or the sword, or sinks him under accumulations of debt and loss of dominion. Need I go to instances ? What was the case of Ireland, enslaved for a century, and withered and blasted with her Protestant ascendency, ^ike a shattered oak scathed on its hill by the fires of its own intol- erance ? What lost England America, but such a policy ? An attempt to bind men by a Parliament, wherein they are not repre- sented ! Such an attempt as some wo'Al now continue to practise on tne Catholics ! Has your pity traversed leagues of ^ea to sit down by the black boy on the coast of Guinea, — and have you i:>xgc*^ the man al hxmxQ by your side, your brother ? (!8. HEAVEN FIGHTS ON THE SIDE OF A GREAT PRINCIPLE. - Gmtan The Kingdom of Ireland, with her imperial crown, stands at yovs Bar. She applies for the civil liberty of three-fourths of her children, Will you dismiss her without a hearing ? You cannot do it ! I sa^ pu cannot finally do it ! The interest of your country would not sup- port you; tb3 feelings of your -"ountry would not support you : it a SENATOUUL. — GUATTAN. 227 i I roceeding that .Xinnot long ho persisted in. No courtier so devoted, ao poliMCian so hardened, no conscience so capacious ! I am not -ifraid of ociMisional majorities. A majority cannot overlay a great priuci< plo. God will guard His own cause against rank niajor't'-es. In vain shall men appeal to a church-cry, or to a mock-thunder; the proprif' tor of the bolt is on the side of the People. It was the expectation of the repeal of Catholic disability wh" ih ?.st ricd the Union. Should you wish to support the minister of tht crow 6 against the People of Ireland, retain the Union, iid perpetuate the disqualification, the consequence must be something more tiian aliena- tion. When you finally decide against tlie Catholic question, you abandon the idea of governing Ireland byafiection, and you adopt the idea of coercion in its place. You are pronouncing the doom of Eng- land. If you ask how the People of Ireland feel towards you, ask 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 Britain. It is just it should be so. The King who takes away the liljerty of his subjects loses his Crown ; the People who take away the 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 weighed in the balance, and found wanting: you will then have dug your own grave, and you may write your own epitaph thii= : — " England died, BECACSE SHE TAXEB AmEKICA, AND DISQUALIFIED IrELAND." 69. INVECTWE AGAINST MR. CORKY, ISm. —Henry Grattan. A duel, in which Mr. Con-y was woamled iu the arm, was the sequel to this speech. Ths immediate provocation of the speech was a remark from Corry, tliat Grattan, instead of having a voice iu tlie councils of his country, should have been standing as a culpi-it at her Bar. Has the gentleman done? Has he completely done? He was unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of his speech. There was scarce a word tliat 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. ]3ut before I sit down F ^hall show him how to be severe and parliamentary at the same time. On any other occasion, I should tliink myself justifiable in treating with silent contempt anything which might fall from that honorable member ; tut there are times when the insignificance of the accuser is lost in the magnitude of the accusation. I know the difficulty the honorable gen- ^xtjuian labored under when he attacked me, conscious that, on a com- parative view of our characters, public and private, there is nothing he eould say which would injure me. The public would not believe the fharge . I despise the falsehood. If such a charge were made by an Honest man, I would answer it in the manner I shall do before I sit iowu. But I shall first reply to it when not mad(i by ar honesT mau. ti'^ THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Tho light honorable gentleman has called me " a-n ucimpeaolied *ra; tor."' I ask, ^hy not " traitor," unqualified by any epitliet ^ 1 vmi tell him ; it was because he dare not ! It was the act ol a coward vfhi raises his arm to strike, but has not courage to give the blow ' - I will not call him villain, because it would be unparliamentary, and he is a ^rivy CO mcillor. I will not call him fool, because he happens to be Chancellor of the Exchequer. But I say he is one who has abused the privilege of Parliament and freedom of debate, to the uttering Ian j£-ange, which, if spoken out of the House, I should answer only with a ciow ! 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 wHh the rebels. The charge is utterly, totally, and meanly false ! .'joes the honorable gentleman rely on the report of the House of Lords for the foundation of his assertion ? If he does, I can prove to the uoramittee there was a physical impossibility of that report being true. But I scorn to answer any man for my conduct, whether he be a polit- ical coxcomb, or whether he brought himself into power by a false glare of courage or not. 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 mali- cious, given to the public under the appellation of a report of the committee of the Lords. Here I stand for impeachment or trial ! I dare accusation ! I defy the honorable gentleman ! I defy the Gov- ernment ! I defy their whole phalanx ! — let them come forth ! I tell the ministers I shall neither give them quarter nor take it ! I am Here to lay the shattered remains of my constitution on the floor of this House, in defence of the liberties of my country. 70. UNIOX WITH GREAT BRITAIN, 1800 —Henry Grattan. The minister misrepresents the sentiments of the People, as he has Before traduced their reputation. He asserts, that after a calm and mature consideration, they have pronounced their judgment in fovor of an Union. Of this assertion not one syllable has any existencpi 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 ■xgainst is for ; to assert that she has said ay when she has pronounced HO ' to make the falsification of her sentiments the foundation of her ruijQ and the arround of the Union : to affirm that her Parliament BKSATORIAL. GRATTAN 22^ Coistitution, liberty, honor, property, are taken avray Yiy hex own authority, — ^here is, in such artiuee, an effrontery, a hardihood, an insensibility, that can best be answered by sensations of astonishmeut and disgust. The Constitution may be for a time so lost. The character of" tht 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 gi cat, lind by power and corruption however irresistible, to put down forever an ancient and respectable Nation. Liberty may repair her golden beams, and with redoubled he^it animate the country. The cry of loy ■ alty will not long continue against the principles of liberty. Loyaltj is a noble, a judicious, and a cajmcious 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- leas, 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, faithful to her fall ! 71. THE CATHOLIC QUESTION, 1805. — fienrt/ Gratlan. The Parliament of Ireland ! — of that assembly I have a parental 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 c.f a perpetual mutiny bill, habeas corpus act, nullum tempus act — a great work ! You will exceed it, and I shall rejoice. I call my coun ■ tryraen to witness, if in that business I compromised the claims of my country, or temporized with the power of England ; but there was one thing which baffled the effort of the patriot, and defeated the wisdom of the Senate, — 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. jMany 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 entertainefl prejudices. I am not astonished ; but that yoU; ~- that you. who Ba^*^ as individuals and as conquerors, visited a great 2o0 THE STANDARD SPEAKKK. part of the globe, and have seen men in all their inociifications, a &i Providence in all her ways, — that you, now, at this time of day. should 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, ^ addition to this, that you should hu^Q 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, not a Protestant league, to defend the civil and religious liberty of Europe, and should deprive of their civil liberty one-fifth of' yourselves, on account of their religion, — this — this sui-prises me ! This prescriptive system you may now remove. What the best men in Ireland wished to do. but could not do, you may accomplish. Were it not wise to come to a good understanding with the Irish now ^ 'riie 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 ag'iinst 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, 1311. —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 iseyond 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 religion. 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 ocfald altei 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- gion, 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, ha would, in fact, make himself God. But this I do not charge upon the Parliament, because, in none of she penal acts, has the Parliament imposed a religious creel. Thf 'lualifjing oath, as to the great cumber of offices, and as to seats ii rjENATOKIAL. QHATTAM . f 3i Parliaments, scrupjlously evades religious disliuctious. A Dissentei of any class may take it. A Deist, an Atheist, may likewise take it. The Catholics are alone excepted ; and for what reas^m ? If a Deist be fit to sit in Parliament, it can hardly be urged that a Christiai. is ur^t ; If an Atheist be competent to legislate tor his country, suruly this piivilege camiot be denied to the believer in the divinity of oui Saviour ! If it be contended that, to supjxjrt the Church, it is expe iient to continue these disabilities, I dissent from that opinion. If it could, indeed, be proved, I sliould 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 tliem at the same time to pay for its sup- port. Tliis is to fly directly in the face of the plainest canons of the Almighty. For the benefit of eleven hundred, to disqualify fom- oi five millions, is the insolent effort of bigotry, not the benignant pre- cept of Christianity ; and all this, not ibr the preservation of their property, — for that was secured, — but for bigotry, for intolerance, for avarice, for a vile, abominabl-e, 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 SECTAKIAN 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. When you enact that no Catholic shall be a sheriff, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that no Catholic shall be a genei'al, 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'-y, or your. Church, on religious restrictions, you establish them on that false foundation, &id 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 (jndeavor to make their God their fellow in the injustice. Such rights are the rights of ambition ; they are the rights of conquest ; ani in your case, they ha\'e been the rights of suicide. They ll>-'gin v^ attacking liberty; thoy end by the loss of emoire! m Hi THE STANDARD SPKAKER. 74. TUB AMURIOAN WAR DENOUNCED, \n%\.— William Pitt. WlUiam Pit I, second son of the great Earl of Chatham, entered Parliament in hiff twenty lecond year. He was bom the 28th of May, 1759 ; and took his seat in the House of Common* is representative for the Ijorough of Appleby, on the 23d of January, 1781. He made his Srfl oratorical effort in that body the 26th of February following ; and displayed great and astonish- ing powers of eloquence. Burke said of him, " He is not merely a chip of the old block, but he is the old lilock itself." At the age of twenty-four, Pitt became the virtual leader of the House of Commons, and Prime Minister of England. He died January 23, 1806. The sulijojied remarks were made in reference lo a resolution declaring that immediate measures ought t-:' be adopted for concluding peace with the American Colonies. Gentlemen have passed the highest euloglums on the American war. Its j'jstice has been defended in the most fervent manner. A nolle Lord, in the heat of his zeal, has called it a hol}^ war. For my part, although the honorable Gentleman who made this motion, and some other Gentlemen, have been, more than once, in the course of 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 injustice ; it was nurtured and brought forth in folly ; 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. mischief, however, recoiled on the unhappy People of this X)Li.ijtry, who were made the instruments by which the wicked purposes of the authors of the war were eft'ected. The Nation was dramed of its best blood, and of its vital resources of men and money. The expense of the war was enormous, — much beyond any former experi- ence. And yet, what has the British Nation received in return ? Nothing but a series of ineffective victories, or severe defeats ; — vic- tories celebrated only by a tempory.ry triumph over our brethren, whom we would trample down and destroy ; victories, which filled the land with mourning for the loss of dear and valued relatives, slain in the impious cause of enforcing unconditional submission, or with narra- tives of the glorious exertions of men struggling in the holy cause •jf liberty, though struggling in the absence of all the facilities and advantages which are in general deemed the necessary concomitants of victory and success. Where was the Englishman, who, on reading the narratives of those bloody and well-fought contests, could refrain from lamenting the loss of so much British blood spilt in such a cause ; or fttim weeping, on whatever side victory might be declared 1 75. ON A MOTION TO CENSURE THE MINISTRY. — W^iMom /»*«. TMs roble and dignified reply to the animadversions of Mr Fox was made in 1788, when Mr Pitt, then Pi-ime Minister, was only twenty-four years old. Sir, revering, as I do, the great abilities of the honorable Gentleman who spoke last, I lament, in common with the House, when those «bilities are misemployed, as on the present question, to inflame the unagiuation, and mislead the judgment. I am told Sir, " he does noi SENATORIAL. — PITT. 23? nvj me the triumph of my situation on this day ;" a soil or language, irhich becomes the candor of that honiifable Gentleman as ill as his presP'it principles. The triumphs of party, Sir, with which this a«lf- ippcinted Minister seems so highly elate, shall never seduce me to any inconsistency which the busiest suspicion shall presume to glancft at. [ will never engage in political enmities without a public cause. I will iicver forego such enmities without the public approiyation ; nor will I be questioned and cast off in the face of the Hoase, by one vir- tuous and dissatisfied friend. These, Sir, the sober and durable triumphs 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 futui-e condition of my life ; triumphs which no length of time shall diminish, which no change of principles shall ever sully. IMy 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 thi.s 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 endeiivors to fulfil with integrity every official engagement. You may take from me. Sir, the privileges and emoluments of place ; but you can- fiot, 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 Pcnnas, rcsigno quaj dedit — Probatn que Pauperiem sine dote qusero." T6. ON AN ATTEMPT TO COERCE IIIM TO RESIGN.- Id. Certain resolutions were passed by the House, in 17S4, for tlie removal of his Majesty's mln- \sters, at the head of whom was Mr. Pitt. These resolutions, liowever, his Majesty haa not Ihout'ht proper to comply with. A reference having been made to them, Mr. Pitt spoke as foUnvs, in reDl/ to Mr. Fox. Can anything that I have said, Mr. Speaker, subject me to be \>randed with the imputation of preferring my personal situation to the public happiness ? Sir, I have declared, again and again. Oily prove to me that there is any reasonable hope — show me but the most distant prospect — thai my resignation will at all contribute to restore peace and happiness to the country, and I will instantly resign But. Sir, 1 declare, at i/v^ same time, I will not be Jciu^ed to resign S64 THE STANDAKD SPEAKill. ns a pieliininary to negotiation. I will not abandon this situatioi m Drder to throw myself upon the mercy of that right honorable geu tie- man. He caL^ me now a mere nominal minister, the mere puppet of secret influence. Sir, it is because I will not become a mere nomina* minister of his creation, — it is because 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: m^p own honor and reputation I 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 t,he House 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 thcae 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 times requires of me — and, I will add, the country calls aloud to me — that I should defend tiis castle ; and I am determined, therefore, I will defend it ! 77. BARBARISM OF OUR BRITISH ANCESTORS. — M 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. Tiie very nractice of the slave-trade once prevailed among us. Slaves were formerly an estab- lished article of our exports. Great numbers were ex]X)rted, like eattle from the British coast, and were to be seen exposed for sale in the Euman 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 Britain. Why mighi not some Roman Senator, reasoning upon the principles of some honorable members of this House, and pointing to British barbarians, have predicted, with equal boldness, " There is a People that will never rise to civilization ! — There is a People destined nevc» ic be free ! " SENATORIAL. — POX. 2,31 We Air, haite long since emerged from barbarism, we have a\rjo»< {l>rgotten that we were once barbarians : we are now raised to a situ- ation which exhil)its a striking contrast to every circumstance h} which a Jiomaii might have characterized us, and by which we now characterize Africa. There is, indeed, oni 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 un'Ji.iir> "A .■■■]■[. n:i -ii;'-'i i;y itiil >'ii'ii-l;r:i;-|,.-(liiejs uf inaii ner ; an ajiparenlly entire :ivA llicrnHV.;), r-nn irtii-n ui l„:iiv^ in th-; I'l-lit ; an alirapt tone of vehemeih.-e and indiu'natinu ; a >n-u. piss ? Without disguising the vices of France, — without overlooking tlie horrors that have been coniniitieJ, and that have tarnished the glory of the Revolution, — it cannot be denied that they have exempli- fied the doctrine, that, if you ivish for power, you must look to liberty. If ever there was a moment when this maxim ought to be dear to us, it is tlie present. We have tried all other means. We have addressed ourselves to all the base passions of the People. We have tried to terrify them into exertion ; and all has been unequal to our emergeneyc Let us try them by the oidy means which experience dcmonsirates to he invincible. Let us address ourselves to their love ! Let us identify them with ourselves ; — let us make it their own cause, as well aa 82. THE PARTITION OF POLAND, 1800. — Charles James Fox. Now, Sir, what was the conduct of your own allies to Poland ? \n 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 ti-ampled-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, arid that is all you did. You united yourselves with the actors ; you, in fact, by your acquiescence, confirmed the atrocity. But they are your allies ; and though they overran and divided Poland, there was nothing, perhaps, in the manner of doing it, which stamped it with peculiar intamy and disgrace. The hero of Poland, perhaps, was mercifid 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 ' tie was animated by thft purest principle,? of Christianity, and was restrairied in \ni career by the benevolent precepts which it inculr ates ! " Wa$ he ? Let unfortunate Warsaw, and the miserable inhabitants cf the •'ttburb of Praga in particular, tell ! T^Tiat do tve understsrid to have be-on the conduct of this magnanimous here, with whom, it seems, liona parte is not to be compared? lie entered the subv.rb of Praga, the most populous snburb of Wai-saw, and there he let hia sold'fi'*v ioo«;p ■)n the miserable, unarmed and unresisting pc^p't:^ ! Men, women ano children, — nay, infants at the breast, — were i,K. ncd to one indiscrim- inate massacre ! Thousands of them were Inb jDraply, wantonly butch- ered ! And for what ? Because they had dai &! Uj join in a wish t*. meLi irate their own condition as a Peop-B, and to improve their Ooi> 240 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. stitution, which had been confessed, by their own sovereign, to be lis want of amendment. And such is the hero upon whom the c-ausc ot ** 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 at: 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. Sheridan. Richard Brinsley Sheridan was born in Dul)lin, September, 1751, and died July 7, 1816, iu Lonuou. lie distinguished himself ijreatly, in comtiany with Burke, in the prosecution against Warren Hastings ; but the reports of his siieeches at the trial are imperfect and conflicting Bl'^ridan'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 mth Great Britain. This he appears to think he has established, the moment he has shown that Brissot* and others have promulgated in 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 its ■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, iu fact, to establish, as an inference from m\s trutli, 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 grunt the noble Lord not only his principle, but the foundation upon which ho 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 enduranct 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 &ted to fall and crumble in 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 m.ust he not admit that hitherto all the attempts Qf Viio n.-.ri..irp>iitlv powerful, but certainly presumptuous, crusade of vengeance, nave appeared unfavored by fortune and by Providence that the^ have hitherto had no other effect than to strengthen tb« powers, to whet, the rapacity, to harden the heart, to inflame the fury , iind to augment the crimes, of that Government, and that People, whoa wo have rashly sworn to subdue, to chastise, and to reform ^ * Pronounced Brpexxn. 8ENAT0KTAL. — SHEUfUAI^. 241 9A AGAINST POLITICAL JOBBING, 119i. — R. B. Shendan. l8 llii? 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 ? "WTiat ! in such an hour as fliis, — at a moment pregnant with the national fate, when, pressing as the exigency may be, the hard task of squeezing the money from the pockets of an impoverislied People, fron. 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 ? 0, shame ! shame ! Is it intended to confirm the pernicious doctrine »■) industriously propagated, that all public men are impostors, and that every politician has his price ? Or, even where there is no prin- ciple in the bosom, why does not prudence hint to the mercenary and the vain 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 u«) 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 I '' " House all the Marquis within me," exclaims the Earl, " and the Peerage never turned forth a more undaunted champion in its cause than I shall prove ! " " Stain my green ribbon blue," cries out the illustrious Knight, " and the fountain of honor will have a fast and fiuthful 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 beJieve that he has within himself a conscious feeling that discjualifies him from rebuking the ill-tin)ed 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 selfishnesB m the yew has not extinguished public spirit in the many ! 85. POPULAR AND KINGLY EXAMPLES, \~%b. — R. B. Sheridan. We arc told to look to the example of France. From the excesses of the French People in the French Revolution, we are warned against giving too liiuch 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 Fn^nce ! " The implication is a libel upon the character of Great Britain. 1 will not admit the inference or the argument, that, because a People, * Pronounced Vi'kount. 16 £42 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. bred 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 sincere respect for property or law ever could have existed, because property had never been secured to them, and law had never protected them, — that the actions of such a People, at any time, much less in the no ir of frenzy acd fury, should furnish an inference or ground on which to estiiEate ine temper, character or feelings, of the People of Great Britain. What answer would gbutlemen give, if a person, affectedly or sin jerely anxious for the preservation of British liberty, were to say . ' Britons, abridge the power of your Monarch ; restrain the exercise of his just prerogative; 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 doing on the Continent ■ Look to the example of Kings ! Kings, believe me, are the same in nature and temper everywhere. Trust yours no longer ; see how that shameless and perfidious deson^ c*russia, that trickster and tyrant, has violated every principle oi ^i aih, honor and humanity, in his mur- derous though impotent attempt at plunder and robbery in Poland ! He who had encouraged and even guaranteed to them their Constitu- tion, — see him, with a scandalous pi'ofanation of the resources which he had wrung by fraud from the credulity of Great Britain, trampling on the independence he was pledged to maintain, and seizing for himself the countries 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 coadjutor, profiting by his disgrace, and grasping to hei-self the victim which had been destined to glut their joint rapacity. See her thank- ing her favorite General, Suwarrow, and, still more impious, thanking Heaven for the opportunity ; thanking him for the most iniquitous act of cruelty the bloody page of history records, — the murderous scene at Praga, where, not in the heat and fury of action, not in the first impatience of revenge, but after a cold, deliberate pause of ten hours, with temperate barbarity, he ordered a considerate, methodical massacre of ten thousand men, women and children ! These are the actions of monarchs ! Look to the example of Kings ! " «6 NECESSITY OF REFORM IN PARLIAMENT. — I,ord Grej Born 1764 ; izetS, 1845 [am aware of the difficulties I have to encounter in bringing for« ward this business ; I am aware how ungracious it would be for thia [louse to show that they are not the real representatives of the People ; [ am aware that the question has been formerly agitated, on diffe»-'^'i1 occasions, by great and able characters, who have deserted the cause from despair of success ; and I am aware that I nuist necessai'iiy go into what may perhaps be supposed trite and worn-out arguineuls. I eome forward on the present occasion, actuated solely by a s^.nse of iuty, to make a serious and importan/ motion, which, I am ready fair]? SENATORIAL. — nCSKISSO:^. 243 tf) admit, involres n> less a consideration than a fiindameuial cliarign in toe Government. At the Revolution, the necessity of short Puilia- 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 Parliaments free ? Has not the patronajre of peers increased ? la not the patronage of India now vested in the Crown ? Are all these 'nnovations to be made in order to increase the influence of the Exccu- !ve power, and is nothing to be done in fiivor of the popular part of tie Constitution, to act as a counterpoise ? It uiav be said that the House of Commons are really a just repre- sentation 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 iu 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 upon to do hO. I fear much that this House is not a real representation of the People, and that it is too much influenced by passion, prejudice or interest. This may, for a time, give to the Executive Governinent apparent strength ; but no Government can be either lasting or free which is 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 strong*-^ and safety of a State. " AVhat constitutes a State 1 Not high -raised battlement or labored mound. Thick wall, or inoated gate ; Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned ; Not bays and broad-armed ports. Where, laughing at the storm, proud na\aes 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 " * «7. THE CONSERVATIVE INNOVATOR, 1829.— Ifw. Huokisson. Bo:-*. I'JTO ; d^crf; 1830 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. Gentlcmcii. 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 dis- tance and with proper c.rcumspection ; but not arrogantly aJid pr<» wmptuoisly to go before him, and endeavor to outstrip hi/ coifse * By Sir Wm. Jones. Born, 1746 ; died. 17i)4. 24:4 THE BTANDARD SJSaKER. rime has raif-ed tliese great interests, and it is the Ir-tsiness of a statt»' man to move onwards with the new combination? which have gTowa around him. This, Sir, is the principle bj which my feeliuga hav« been cc^nstantly regulated, during a long public life ; and by which 1 shall continue to be governed, so long as I take any part in the public tffairs of tbis country. It is well said, by the most poetical genius, perh'ips, of our own times, — " A thousand years scarce serve to form a State, — An hour may lay it m the dust." 1 his is the feeling which has regulated, which will continue to reg alate, my conduct. I am no advocate for changes upon mere abstract theory. I know not, indeed, which is the greater folly, that of resist- ing all improvement, because improvement implies innovation, or thai 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 formed ; 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, 1786. — Curran. John Philpot Curran was boi-n in Newcastle, Ireland, July '24th, 1750. His Senatorial career was confined to the Irish Parliament, and was entirely eclijised by Ills 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 las powers of mimicry beyond all description." In his boyhood he had a confusion in his utlerance, from which he was called by his school-fellows "stutterin;; Jack Curran." Ha 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 liis precipitate utterance. He practised before a glass, to make his gestm-es graceful. He spoke aloud the most celebrated orations. One piece, — the speech of Antony over the dead body of Cassar, — 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 eloquence ver issued more freshly and spontaneously from the heart. It was always the heart of the mau 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 lae exalted excellence of a Hawke or a Exjdney, to the debased situation of the lady who humhleth herself that eho may be exalted. Bat the les-sons it inculcates form its greatest perfection : It teacheth, that Sloth and Vice may eat that bread which Virtue and Honesly 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 lilies of th< SENATORIAL. — CURRAN. 245 .ttcW ; they toil not, neither do they spin, aiA yet are arrayed lik? Sokmon in his glory. In tne, it teaches a lesson, which, indeed, they might have learned from Epictetus, that it is sometimes good not to be ovei'- virtuous ; it shows, that, in projtortion as our distresses incroase, the munificence of the Crown incre;tses also ; in prof)Ortion as oui clothes are rent, the royal mantle is extended over us. Notwithstanding that the Pension List, like charity, covers a mul titude of sins, give me leave to consider it as coming home to the mem- bers of this House ; — give me leave to say, that the Crown, in extend- ing its '" aritj, its liberality, its profusion, is laying a foundation for the independence of Parliament ; for, hereafter, instead of oratore or patriots accounting for their conduct to such me;in and unworthy persons as freeholders, they will learn to despise them, and look to the first man in the State ; and they will, by so doing, have this security for their independence, — that while any man in the Kingdom has a ihilling, they will not want one ! 89. REPLY TO THREATS OV 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 bj the military gentlemen of the Castle. If the array had been directly or indirectly mentioned in the course of the debate, this extraordinary declaration might be attributable to the confusion of a mistaken charge, or an absurd vindication ; but. without 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 arras 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 without a murmur of dissent or disapprobation. L 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 fate to perish the victim of a bold and honest discharge of my duty, I will not shun it. I will do that duty ; and, if it should expose me to sink finder the blow of the assassin, and become a victim to the pubbo i^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 feci 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 & sanction to menaces like these, responsible for their consequences to the Nation and the individual. 246 THE STANDARD SPFAKER. 90. AGAINST RELIGIOUS DISTINCTIONS, 1798. - Currow. GENTLEMEN Pay the Catholics have got everything but scats ts Parliament. Are we really afraid of giving theai that pnvilege Are we seriously afraid that Catholic venality might pollute the immaculate integrity / the House of Commons ? — that a Catholi. member wouH be more accessible to a promise, or a pension, or a bribe than a Protestant ? Lay your hands upon your hearts, look in one 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 that they have the common benefit of the Constitution, or the common pro- tection of the law ? Another gentleman has said, the Catholics have got much, and ought to be content. Why 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 mind ; 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 ei;ergy of advancement that will suoport 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 rem.ain a silly snomon upon its surface, to measure the rapidity of rotation, until yor a^'e forced round and buried in the shade of that body whose irresi«tvVe course you would endeavoi- to oppose ! 91. FRUITS OF THE WAR WITH FRANCE. — Georg-e CanPing. George Cannina; was born in London, on the 11th of April, ITTO. He entered into public Ufo the avo\v-e, Sir, this motion appears to me to be founded on no principle of policy or necessity ; since, if it be intended for a censure Dn ministers, it is unjust, — if for a control, it is nugatory; as its te'idency 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 eyes 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 my most hearty and decided negative. 95. VINDICATION OF MR. PITT - 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 feulings, if 1 had suffered repeated provocations to pass without notice. Mr. Pitt tt seems, was net a great man. Is it, then, that we live \v such heroifi times, that the present is a race of such gigantic talents and qualities, ax fell reader those of Mr. Pitt, in the comparison, ordinary and contempt. SENATORIAL. CANNING. 25"i ibie 7 WIk, thou, is the man now living, — is there any ^.an uom sitting in this House, — who, by taking the measure of his c/wn mind or of that of any of his contemporaries, can feel himself justined in pronouncing that Mr. Pitt was not a great man ? I admire as much as any man tl\c abilities and ingenuity' of the honorable and learned gentleman who promulgated this opinion. I do not deny to him manj of the (jualities which go to constitute the character which he has described. But I think I may defy all his ingenuity to frame any deflnitioTi of that character which shall not applj' to Mr. Pitt, — to tiace any circle of greatness from which Mr. Pitt shall be excluded. I have no manner of objection to see placed on the same pedestal with Mr. ]-'itt, for the admiration of the present age and of posterity, other distinguished men ; and amongst them his great rival, whose memory is, I have no doubt, as dear to the honorable gentlemen ppiJO- 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- patible 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 intolerance. Be it the boast and the characteristic of the school o Pitt, that, however provoked by illil:)eral and unjust attacks upon his memory, whether in speeches in this House or in calunmies out of it, they will never so far forget the I'espect due to him or to themselves, as to be betrayed into reciprocal iliiberality and injustice, — that they disdain to retaliate upon the memory of Mr. Pitt's great rival ! 96. "MEASURES NOT MEN," 1802. — Georg-f Canvins: If 1 am pushed to the wall, and forced to speak my opinion, I have no disguise nor reservation : — T 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 think the hands in which it is now placed answer to that description. I do not pretend to conceal in what quarter I think that fitness most eminently resides : i do not subscribe to the doctrines which hiive l)een advanced, that, in times like the present, the fitness iuion upon the character and qualities of public men. Away with the (;ant of '* measures, not men ! " the idle supposition that it is the harness, and not the horses, that draw the chariot along ! No, Sir, if iiid comparison must be made, if the distinction nuist be taken, mea are everything, measures comparatively nothing. I speak, Sir, of time* of diinculty and danger ; of times when systems are shaken, -whea pre^ ciidtiild and general rules of conduct fail. Then it is, that r,ot tc> thii^ or that measure, — however prudently devised, howe7er blameless in 252 TH£ STANDARD SPEAKER. esecut-on, ■- but tfi the energy and character of individusiife. a Stats •ra>«1 be indebted for its salvation. Then it is that kingdoais rise cr fall In proportion as they are upheld, not by well-meant endeavors (laudable though J hey may be), but by commanding, overavfing talents, — by abb ■nen. And vrhat is the nature of the times in which we live ? I^ook at France, and see what we have to cope with, and consider what has made her what she i=!. A man ! You will tell me that she was great, an4 power fill, and formidable, before the days of Bonaparte's government ; 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! 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. 07. THK BALANCE OF 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 we ought 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 spring 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* stantive, but a preponderating monarchy. Thus, while the balance of power continued in principle the same, the means of adjusting 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, aiid to confuse dates and facts which throw a reciprocal light upon each other. I admit. Sir, that the entry of a French army into Spain was a lisparagement 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 redress ? If France occupied Spam, was it necessary, in orier tc oVoid th'^ "onsequ-^.Qces of that occupation, that we should blockade SKNATOKIAL, — CamMNO. \J)k ZeiAlz ? No. I looked another way. I sought materials n? compeo sation in anotner hemisphere. Contemplating Spain such as ouj anp^jstOKS had known her, I resolved that, if" France had Spain, it should not be S[uiin " tvith tJie Indies." I called the New World into exist- ence, to redress the balance of the Old I Tims, Sir, T answer Iha question of the occupation of Spain by the army of France, That occupation is an unpaid and unredeemed burden to France. Franca 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'-'u 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, Por- 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 OF VICES, li'lh. — 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 friend's theory, no bad preface to a rational esteem and affection. It prepares its votaries for a reconciliation of differences ; for lying 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, gi^^ng a lecture on the subject of marriage to her niece (who is unreasonable enough to talk of liking, as a necessary prelim- inary to such a union), says, " What have you to do with your likingg and your preferences, child? Depend upon it, it is safest to begin with a little 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 slight foundation in truth. "True philosophy," says my hoKcrab.'e friend, " will always continue to lead men to viitue by the 'rtstruuiont' * Sir James Mackintosh 254 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. alif.y of their conflicting vices- The virtues, where more than one exists, may live harmuniously together; but the vices bear mortal antipathy to one another, and, therefore, furnish to the moral engineer the power by which he can make each keep the otho" under control.'" Admirable ! but, upon this doctrine, the poor man who has but one single vice must be in a very bad way. No falcvum, no moral power. for effecting his cure ! Whereas, his more fo.* tunate neighlx)r, 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 ray learned friend would 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 i-econimend him to my honor- able and learned friend. It miight 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 ray learned friend with a strong recommendation, saying, " I send you a man whom I know to be a di'unkard ; but I am happy to assure you he is also a thief: you carmot 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 A^IEHICA. — Sir James Mackintosh. Bom, 1785 ; died, 183a 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 Milton 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 langdage and of literature, may in time prevail -^ver vulgar, ignoble, and ruinous prejudices ? Their ancestors were as much the countrymen of Bacon and Newton, of Hampden and Sid'- ney, as ours. They are entitled to their full share of that inheritanc of glory which has descended from our common forefathers. Neither the liberty of England, nor her genius, nor the noble language which that genius has consecrated, is worthy of their disregard. All theae aonof A are theirs, if they •choose 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. They may claini aoble ancastor-s. and we may look forward to renowned descendants SErJATOIUAL. — BUUUGHAM. 255 aiile«8 adverse prejudices should dispose them to reject those honor* which they have hiwfully inherited. ;iiid lead vs to envy that grcatnesB wliich has arisen from our institutions and will perpetuate our fame 100. THE FATE OF TILK REFOKMEU, 1830. — I,o- I BrougKim I HAVE heard v. said that, when one lifts up his roice against Vhinga that are, and wishes for a change, he is raising a clamor against exist- ing institutions, a clamor against our venerable establishments, a clamor against the law of the land , but this is no clamor agai.'ist the one or the other, — it is a clamor against the abuse of thorn all. It is a clamor raised against the grievances that are felt. Mr. Burke, who was no friend to popidar excitement, — who was no ready tool of agitation, no hot-head id enemy of existing establishments, no urider- valuer of the wisdom of oui- ancestors, no scoffer against 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 a legislative body — " Where there is abuse, there ought to be clamor ; because it is better to have our slumber broken by the fire-bell, than to PERISH, AMIDST THE FLAMES, IN OUR BED." I have been told, by some who have little objection to the clamor, that I am a timid and a mock reformer ; and by others, if I go on firmly and steadily, and do not allow myself to be driven aside by either one outcry or another, and care for neither, that it is a rash and dangerous innovation which I propound ; and that I am taking, for the subject of my reckless experi- ments, things which are the objects of all men's veneration. I disre- gard the one as much as I dLsi'egard the other of these charges. " False honor charms, and lying slander scares, Whom, but the false and faulty 1 " * It has been the lot of all men, in all ages, who have aspired at tiie bonor of guiding, instructing, or mending mankind, to have their paths baset by every persecution from adversaries, by every misconstruction from friends ; no quarter from the one, — no charitable construction from the other ! To bo misconstrued, misrepresented, borne down, till it was in vain to bear down any longer, has been their fate. But truth will survive, and calumny has its day. I say that, if this be the fate of the reformer, — if he be the object of misrepresentation. — may not an inference be drawn favorable to myself? Taunted by the enemies ■)f reform as being too rash, by the over-zealous friends of reform ivi 6cing too slow or too cold, there is every reason for presmiiing that I hivc chosen the right course. A reformer must proceed steadily in his career ; not misled, on the one hand, by panegyric, nor discouraged by slander, on the other. He wants no praise. I would rather say — Woe to him v/hen all men speak well of him ! " I shall go on \M the course which I have laid down for myself; pursuing the footr * Falsus honor juvat et mendax infamia terret Quern, nisi mendosum et mendacem '^ 256 THE STAKDAKD SPEAKKR. Steps of those who have gone before us, who have left us their instruc tions and success, — their instructions to guide our walk, and their sue cess to cheer our spirits. 101. PARLIAMENTARY UEFO^M, 18Z1. —Lord Brougham. My Lords, I do not disguise the intense solicitude which I feel 'o' 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 at the rejection of this measure of Parliamentary Reform. But, grievous as may be the consequences of a temporary defeat, temporary it cac only be ; for its ultunate, and even speedy success, is certain. Noth- ing can now stop it. Do not suifer 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 you, without refoi-m But our successors would take up the task in circumstances far less auspicious. Under them, you would be fain to grant a bill, compared 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. She now appears at your gate, and offera you mildly the volumes — the precious volumes — of wisdom and peace. The price she asks is rea eonable ; to restore the franchise, which, without any bargain, you ought voluntarily to give. You refuse her terms — her moderate terms ; — she darkens the porch no longer. But soon — for you cannot do without her wares — you call her back. Again she comes, but with diminished treasui'es ; the leaves of the book are in part torn away by lawless hands, in part defaced with characters of blood. But the prophetic maid has risen in her demands ; — it is Parliaments by the Tear — it is Vote by the Ballot — it is suffrage by the million ! Prom this you turn away indignant; and, for the second time, she departs. Beware of her third coming ! for the treasure you must have ; and what price she may next demand, who shall tell ? It may even be the mace which rests upon that woolsack ! What may follow your course of obstinacy, if persisted in, I cannot take upon me to pre- dict, nor do I wish to conjecture. But this I know full well ; that, as sure aa man is mortal, and to err is human, justice deferred enhances the price at which you must purchase safety and peace ; — nor can you expect to gather in another crop than tliey did who went before you, if vou persevere in their utterly abominable husbandry, of sowing injuslir^ and reaping relDeilion. But. among the awful considerations that now bow down my mind, there is one that stands preeminent above the rest. You are the highest judicature in the realm ; you sit here as judges, and decide all causes, civil and criminal, without appeal. It is a judge's first duty never to pronounce a sentence, in the most trifling case, without hear- mg. Will you make this the exception ? Are you really prepared to determine, but not to hear, the mighty cause, upon which a Nation's hopes and fears hang ? You are ? Then bewai-o of your decision ! House not, I beseech you, a peace-loving but a resolute People ! alie.D 8ENAT0MAL. O'C INNELL. 25 ttc uoi from jour bod}- the affections of a whole Empire ' As you? friend, as tha friend of my order, as the friend of my country, as the faithful servant of my sovereign, I counsel you to assist, with your uttermost efforts, in preserving the peace, and uiAoldinsr and perpetu- ating the Constitution. Therefore, I pray and exhort you not to reject this measure. By all you hold most dear, by all the ties that bind every one of us to our connnon order and our common country, I -olemnly adjure you, I warn you, I implore you, — yea, on my bended knees. I supplicate you, — reject not this bill ! 102. UNIVERSAL RKLIGIOUS LIBERTY.— Daniel O'ConneU. Daniel O'Connell, the great Irish " agitator," or " liherator," as he was frequently called, was born in tlie county of Kerry, Ireland, in 1775. He died in 1847. " Ilis was tliat marvellous idmixture of inirth, pathos, drollery, earnestness, and dejection," says Charles Phillips, " which, well compouniled, form the true .Milesian. He could whine and wheedle, and wink with ono 2ye while he wept with the other. Uis fun was ine-xhaustible." O'Coimell was apt to be too violent and vituperative in his denunciations, and they consequently failed of their effect. The abuse that is palpably exaggerated is not much to be feared. Can anything be more absurd and untenable than the argument 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, justify the apprehensions of Protestants. The Catholics, he says, are alarmed for their Church ; why should not the Protestants be alarmed, also, for theirs ? The Catholic desires safety for his religion : why should not the Protxjstant require security for his ? Hence he concludes, that, merely because the Catholic desires to keep his relig'on free, the Protestant is thereby justified in seeking to enslave it. He says that our anxiety for the preservation of our Church vindicates those who deem the proposed ai-rangeraent necessary for the protection of theirs ; — a mode of reasoning perfectly true, and perfectly applica- ble, if we sought any interference with, or control over, tlie Protestant Church, — if we asked or required that a single Catholic should be consulted upon the management of the Protestant Church, or of its revenues or privileges. But the fact does not bear him out ; for we do not seek nor desire, rioi would we accept of any kind of interference with the Protestant Church. We disclaim ai.d disavow any kind of control over it. We sksk not, nor would we allow, any Catholic authority over the mode of s] pointment of their clergy. Nay, we are quite content to be excluded forever from even advising his Majesty with respect to any n matter nlating to or coneerning the Protestant Church, — its rights its prop- erties, 01 its privileges. I will, for my own part, go much further • 4nd I do declare, mcst 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 feci to an5 Protestant interference with ours. In opposing their interference with IS I content myself with the mere war of words. But, if tW case 17 858 ZUE STANDARD SPEAKER. ^ere reversed, — if the Catholic sought this control over the reiigiOB 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 reel for the Protestant, and speak for him, but I would fight for him, and cheerfully sacrifice my life in defence of the great principle for which 1 have ever con^ tended, — the principle of universal and complete religious liberty ! 103. ON THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL. —Daniel O'Conneil. I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this House ; — I do not rise tc iicate you to be 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 punj 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 reigns, 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- sonalities 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'ill me of its complete and early triumph. Do you think those yells will be forgotten ? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and insulted country ; that they will not be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty Mils ? 0, they will be heard thei'e ! — yes ; and they will not be for- gotten The youth of Ireland will bound with indignation , - - thev will say, •' We arc eight millions ; and you treat us thus, as though W€ were no more to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey ! ' I liave done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience and mj •sountry. I have opposed this measure throughout ; and I now pro test against it, as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, unjust ; — as estab lishing an infamous precedent, by retaliating crime against criaoe ; - »» ijr&imom, — cruelly and vindictively tyraniious ! SEXATORIAU BYRON. 258 MM THK Df ATIi ?LNALTY FOR NEW OFFENCES, lSV2. — Lora Byron. B. r.78 ; d.)834. Setting aside the pJpable injustice and the certain inefficiency of iLiS Bill, are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes 1 r.s there not blood enough upon j^our penal code, that more must be [Kiured forth, to ascend to Heaven and testily against you ? How will you carry this Bill into effect ? Can you commit a whole country ta their own prison ? Will you erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up men like scarecrows ? or will you proceed (as you must, to bring this measure into effect) by decimation ; place the country under martial law ; depopulate and lay waste all around you ; and restore Sherwofjd Forest as an acceptable gift to the Crown, 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 has braved your bayonets be appalled by your gibbets ? When death is a relief, and the only relief, it appears, that you will afford him, will he be dragooned into tranquillity ? Will that which could not be effected by your grenadiers be accomplished by your executioners ? If you proceed bv the forms of law, where is your evidence ? Those who have refused to impeach their accomplices when transportation only was the punishment, will hardly be tempted to witness against them v.'hen death is the penalty. With all deference to the noble Lords opposite, I think a little investigation — some previous inquiry — would induce iven them to change their purpose. That most favorite State measure, so marvellously efficacious in many and recent instances, — temporiz' mg, — would not be without its advantage in this. When a pro[)Osal is made to emancipate or relieve, you hesitate, you deliberate for years, — you temporize and tamper with the minds of men ; but a death-bill must be passed off hand, without a thought of the consequences. Sure I am, from what I have heard, and from what I have seen, that to pass the Bill, under all the existing circumstances, without inquiry, with- out deliberation, would only be to add injustice to irritation, and bar- barity to neglect. The framers of such a Bill must be content to inherit the honors of that Athenian lawgiver,* whose edicts were said to be written not in ink, but in blood. But suppose it passed, — suppose one of theso men, as I have seen them, meagre with famine, sullen with despair, careless of a life which your Lordships are, perhaps, about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame, — suppose this nnin surrounded by those children, for whom he is unable to procure bread at the hazard of his existence, about to be torn forever from a family which he lately supported in peaceful industry, and which it is not his fault that he can no longer so support ; — suppose this man, — and there are ten thousand such, from whom you may select your victima, —-dragged into Court, to be tried, for this new offence, by this new law, — still, there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him, imd these are, in my opinion, twelve butchers for a Jury, and a TeflVies J'jr a Judge ! • Dracon, the author of t,hp firot wi-itf.pn w>r!o nfiow*- *■',- ***>o7i,f 260 THE STANDARD SPKs_£EK. i06. ON CHARGES AGA.NST ROMAN CATHOLICS, 182?. — SAf!?, ilicnaril Lalor Sheil was born in Dublin, Ireland, August .6th, 1791, and died at floreocs Italy, wnpre he held the post of British Minister, May '25th, 1851. He was returned to tlM imperial Parliament in 1829, and for twenty years was a prominent meniter of the House o{ Commons. A contemporary says of him: "His great earnestness and apparent sincerity., his anrivalled felicity iif illustration, his extraordinary power of pushing the meaning of words t-\iii-essi^jn uiiicli L n'l Lvii'lhurst hail employeil, some time hefire, in tlie llnL-- ! i i . .inu.lin- t^ llie InM, a- - .aiens, in liloiid a'li.l reli-ion." DurinfjSheiPs sl)eecl^ l.i- I- ; :- - - -atiii- ui)il-i- I In- .'.;,i|. rv ; an.l it is recunle.UhiU SlieU shook his hea.l iiuli-namly :,i lim. ;i- \v si.uke. Tli.' :Ml.vt ai.un the House was very marked. Nearly ail tlie memliers turneil towaids J.nnl Ijyinlliursl ; anil the shouts of the Ministerialists, encountered by the vehement outcries of tlie Cnnsei-vaiives, continued for some minutes. The latter half of this speech demands jjreat rapidity of utterance in the delivery. I SHOULD be surprised, indeed, if, while you are doing us wrong, you did not profess your solicitude to do us jastice. From the day on which Strongbow set his foot upon the shore of Ireland, Englishmen were never wanting in protestations of their deep anxiety to do us justice ; — even Strafford, the deserter of the People's cause, — the renegade Wentworth, who gave evidence in Ireland of the spirit of instinctive tyranny which predominated in his character, — even Strafford, while he 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 5j(^here is, however, one man, of great abilities, — not a member of this House, but whose talents and whose boldness have placed him in the topmost place in his party, — who, disdaining all imposture, and thinking it the best course to appeal directly to the religious and national antipathies of the People of this country, — abandoning all reserve, and flinging off the slender veil by which his political associ- ates aft'ect to cover, although they cannot hide, their motives, — dis- tinctly and audaciously tells the Irish People that they are not entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen ; and pronounces them, in any particular which could enter his minute eiiumerutioii of the circumstances by which fellow-citizenship is created, in race, idennty and religion, to be aliens ; — to be aliens in race, to be aliens in country, to be aliens in religion ! Aliens ! n'ood God ! was Arthur. Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords, — ml did he not start, «p and exclaim, "Hold! I have seen the aliens do their duty!" The Duke of Wellington is not a man of an excitable temperament. His mind ls of a cast too martial to be easily moved ; but, notwith- standing his habitual inflexibility, I cannot help thinking that, when he Veard his iioinan Catholic countrymen (for we are his countrymen) d«signateu 'oy a pnrase as offensive as the alniiidaut vocabulary of his slocjuent confederate could supply, — I caimot help thinking thai h^ i62 THE STANDARD SPEA/CEK. aught to have recollected the many fields of fight m whic^ we hav« been contributors to his renown. " The battles, sieges, fi)rtunes thai he has passed," ought to have come back upon him. He ought to have remembered that, from the earliest achievement in which hi displayed that military genius which has placed hiui foremost in the annals of modern warfare, down to that last and surpassmg combat which has made his name imperishable, — from Assaye to Waterloo^ — ■ the Irish soldiers, with whom your armies are filled, were the inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with which his unparalleled successes have been crowned. Whose were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera through the phalanxes that "never reeled in the shock of war before ? What desperate valor climbed the steeps and filled the moats at Badajos ? * All his victories should have lushed and crowded back upon his memory, — Vimiera, Badajos, Sal- amanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and, last of all, the greatest . Tell nie, — for you were thei'e, — I appeal to the gallant soldier before me (Sir Henry Hardinge), from whose opinions I differ, 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 «cience, — 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 f>f 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, as 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. —/rf. 1 LaF down a very plain proposition, and it is this, — however harsi rhe truth, it must be told, — it is this : — Whatever may be youi inclination, you have not the ability to maintain the Irish establish- meot S iK.tween Ca(holic and Protestant — a miserable sectarian controversy It i& no such thing; it is the struggle lor complete political equalitj on the part of the overwhelming majority upon the one hand, and for political ascendency on the part of the minority on the ether. Oai that ascendency be maintained? Taught so long, but uninstructed still, wherefore, in 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 unnjrfcural, galling, exasperatiuj'' apriwid. ency sho?iId 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 3^eomanry 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, a)-e 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, morality 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 ac end. Let there be an end to national animosities, as well as to seeta^ 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 turlmlence upon ours ! xHE 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 in the same proportion ? Behold the famine, the wretchedness and pestilence, of the Irish hovel, and, if you have the heart to do so, mock at the calamities of the country, and proceed in your demon- strations of the prosperity of Ireland. The mass of the People are in a condition more wretched than that of any Nation in Europe; tliey are worse housed, worse covered, worse fed, than the basest boors in the provinces of Russia ; they dwell in habitati'' us to which your ."wine would not be committed ; they are covered with rags which your beggars would disdain to wear, and not only do they nevei taste the flesh of the animals which crowd into your markets, bu* iOA 'xHE STA^DARD SPEAKER. while tho sweui drops from their brows, they never touch the Wrtiad into which their harvests are converted. For yo^i they toiJ, fur yoti they delve ; they reclaim the bog, and drive the plough to tne mountain's top, for you. And where does all this misery exist ? It, a country teeming with fertility, and stamped with the beiieficeni 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 coKtentH 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 cence of a poor-house, gorged with misei'y 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 Whig& 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.^'Bmble ? Did they not pass resolu- tions against taxes ? Did they not threaten to march on London ? Did not two of the cabinet mini.'sters indite to them epistles of grati- tude and of admiration ? and do they now dare — have they the audacity — to speak of agitatiun ? Have we not as good a title tc demand the restitution of our Parliament, as the ministers to insist on the reform of this House J 109. ENGLAND'S MISRULE OF IRELAND — Id. Ttt in Ireland, a country that ought to teem with abundance, there prevails wretcnedness without example, — if millions of paupers are there without employment, and often without food or raiment. — where iS the fault ? Is it in the sky, which showers verdure ? — is it in tho '5oll, which is surprisingly fertile ? — or is it in the fatal course which you the arbiters of her destiny, have adopted ? She has for centurifs belonged to England. England has used her for centuries as she has pleased, ffow 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 institutes of unnatural ascendency — the Irish Church is a rem- lant, In Heaven's name, what useful purpose has jour gorgeouf Establishment ev ir promoted ? You cannot hope to pros/dytize m AEXATORl^L PALMERSTON. 265 tbxongh its ir.eans You have put the experiment to tne test of three •y^nturlcjj. You hive tried everything. If the truth he with you, it j"iy be great ; but in this instance it docs not sustain the aphorism - for it does not prevail. If, in a religious point of view, the EstaL Eshmcnt cannot conduce to the interests of religion, what purpose does it answer? It is said that it cements the Union — cements the (Jnion ! 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 Irelanil. Men 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 aftVonts, 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 sinecui'e, — I demand justice at your hands! "Justice to Ireland " is a phrase which has been, I am well aware, treated as a topic for derision ; but the time will come, — nor is it, perhaps, rcmoto, — 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 after 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 in her heart's blood ! 110 CIVIL WAR THE GREATEST NATIONAL EVlh,lS29.— Lord Palmerston. Then cox7ie we to the last remedy, — civil war. Some gentlemec gay that, sooner or later, we must fight for it, and the sword must decide. They tell us that, if l)lood wore but shed in Ireland, Catholic iHP.ancipation might be avoided. Sir, when honorable members shaD ♦ Lord Lyndhurst's father. .John Singleton Copley was born in Boston, JIassBr Ohusetts, 1738, and died in 1815. Many of hig best painting? are ui the UmM BtHtcs, and are much psteem • 1 266 THE STANDARD SPEAKER be a liUle deeper read in the history of Ireland, they will find that m Ireland blood has been shed, — that in Ireland leaders have been seized trials have been had, and punishments have been inflicted. They wil] find, indeed, almost every page of the history of Ireland darkened by bloodshed, by seizijres, by trials, and by punishments. But what hae been the efiect of these 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 — ot* jivil war ? Do they reflect what a countless multitude of ills thog'' three short syllables contain ? It is well, indeed, for the gentlemen ot England, who live secure under the protecting shadow of the law, t the time has arrived when a great concession must be made to the democracy of Enghind ; 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 as to mean anything ; that it may be interpreted in as many ways as a Delphic oracle, " The French Revolution," says one expositor, " was 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 believe that history, when we look at it in small fragments, proves aiaything 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 hundred 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 sufficient 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 Morocco. 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 Foui-teenth 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 in ■Pociety. There must be a corresponding change in the GoA^ernment. V"ou may make the change tedious ; you may make it violent : yt/u aiay — God, in his mercy, forbid ! — you may make it bloody ; but aver* It you cannot. Agitations of the public mind, so deep and so long con tinued as those which we have witnessed, do not end in nothing. 1b oeace, oi in convulsion, — by the law, or in spite of the law, — through the 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 neacb SENATORIAL. CROKER. 27t 1« REPLY TO THE FOREGOING, Dec. 16, 1831. - John If Json Crcker Has tiie learned gentleman, who has been so eloquent on the neces- liity of proceeding forward, — whc has told the IIou.se that argunient i* vain; that there is no resisting the niighty torrent that there is dire neee.ssity for the whole measure, — has he given the slightest intimation of what would be, even in his opinion, the end of tho career, the result of the experiment, the issue of the danger ? Haa he seanr;ed with the eye of a philo.sopher the probable progre.ss of future events ? Not at all. Anything more vague, anythizig more indefinite, 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 gatea of the fortress, 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 ad\'ice, 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 jM iiiistera 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 administi'ation, even those that Beemed 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 offend as little as possible, when they cannot altogether conciliate, the Political Unions, and similar illegal and anarchical associations. Ministere have raised a storm which it is beyond their power, beyond the scope of their minds, to allay. In conclusion, I can assure the House 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. \21. PERII3 OF PARLIAMENTARY REFORM, BiAROH 4, 1H31.— John Wilsan CrokfT. Sir what is to be gained by this change in the Representation ? Are we to throw away admitted and substantial benefits, in the pursuit Df an undefined, inexplicable, and, to my view, most perilous liuitasy' Sir, the learned l^ord, 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«f 276 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. fmntry, atiS the appalling consequences of rsfiising the conc.issioa^ which the esisting clamor demands. He told you, Sir, that the stonnj tides of popular commotion were rising rapidly around u^ ; that th6 Stygian waters were rapidly gaining upon us, and that it was time for us — and barely time — to endeavor to save ourselves from being swallowed up by the devouring waves. He told you that the deluge of public opinion was about to overwhelm you ; and he invited you tc enibark with him on this frail and crazy raft, constructed in the blim- dering haste of terror, as the only means of escaping from destraction, IN^o 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 sukside. What you hear is not only a fictitious, but a factitiou,s clamor, lie you calm, steady and bold ; and the People, under the influence of your v/isdom 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 njy 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 terra oi an author's property by his natural life, if he should survive so short a 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 shall be his interest in its fruits. When his works assume their place among the classics of his country, your law declares that those works shall become your property ; and you requite him by seizing the patri- mony oi' 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 os their own impulses." Surely this is an object worthy of tMe I^gisl* BKNiTORIAL. — TALFOURD, 277 are of a great People, especially in an age where restless activity wid increasing knowledge present temptations to the sligiit and the superficial which do not exist in a ruder age. Let those who ' to beguile the time look like the time " have their fair scope, — let cheap ».nd innocent publications be multiplied as much as you please, — still, the character of the age dcniands something impiessed with a noblei lalx)r, and directed to a higher aim. " The immortal mind craves objects tiiat endure." The printers need not fear. There will not ba too many candidates for "a bright reversion," which only falls in when the ear shall be deaf to human praise. I have been accused of asking you to legislate " on some sort of sentimental feeling." I deny the charge. The living truth is with us. The 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 talents, — if I were here appealing to your sympathy in behalf of crushed hopes and irregular aspirations, — the accusation would be just. I 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 as life, lays aside all frivolous pursuits for one virtuous purpose, that, when encouraged by the distant ho}>e of that " ALL-HAIL HEREAFTER " which shall welcome 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 through them for mankind ; — and I ask it with the confidence, in the expression of which your veteran petitioner, Wordsworth, closed Lis 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. — W. 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 learning, and leave it to be protected only by the principles of the common kw, and the remedies which the common law would supply. [ believe the relief would be welcome. It did not occur to our ancestors that the right of deriving solid benefits from that wiiioh springs solely from within us, — the right of property in that which the mind itself creates, and which, so far from exhausting the mate- rials common to all men, or limiting their resources, enriches and jxpands them, — a right of property which, by the happy peculiarity of its nature, can only be enjoyed by the proprietor in projxirtion as it blesses mankind, — should be exempted from the protection which w extended to the ancient appropriation of the soil, and the rewarda tff aommerci^l enterprise. 278 STANDAKD SPEAKER. " But," saj tLe opponents of this measure, " we tLiuK that, mm the moment an author puts his thoughts on paper, and delivers thom to the world, his property therein wholly ceases." ■ What ! has he invested no capita. ? embarked no fortune ? If human life is nothing ia your commercial tables, — if the sacrifice of profession, of health of grain . is nothing. — surely the mere outlay of him who has perilled his fortune to instruct mankind may claim some i-egard ! Or is the interest itself so refined, so ethereal, that you cannot regard it aa 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 as a man's most precious possession, and comi>ensate the party who 3uffrrs unjustly in that character by damages ? Has this possession any 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 affection 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 COPYEIGHT. — /d. In venturing to invite the attention of the House to the state of the law affecting the property of men of letters in the results of their genius and labors, I would advert to one other consideration as connected with this subject. I would urge the expediency and justice of acknowledging the rights of foreigiiers 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 thap 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 over the obstacles of nature, — if the woods, stretching beyond their tjonfines, shall be haunted with visions of beauty which our poeta have created, ^ let those who thus are softening the ruggedness of young society have some present interest about which affection may gather ; and, at least, let them be protected from those who would exhibit them, mangled or corrupted, to their transatlantic disciples. I do not, in truth, ask for literature fixvor; I do not ask for il charity. I do not even appeal to gratitude in its behaif. But I ask for it a portion, and but a portion, of that commor ''ustice which th« SENATORIAL. - PEt,^. ilM coarsest indufetry obtains for its natural reward ; justice, whico Qothiug but the very extent of its claims, and the nobleness of thu associations to which they are akin, have prevented it from receiving from our laws. 124. THE LEGISLATR'E UNION, 1834 — Sir Robert Ptet. Born , IISS ; dzed, liM. I WANT no array of figures, I want no official documents, I want nr 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 Euiope, and Ireland a savage 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 effai^e AVhen 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 tho first whisper in this House of a repeal of the Union, this was all tho answer he vouchsafed, — the eloquent and indignant answer, the tones of which are still familiar to my ear, — " Repeal the Union ? Restore the Heptarchy ! " Thirty-three years have now elapsed S'liice 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 dissatisfaction expressed with the Union, — the United Empire, that had been incorporated onlr three years before the commencement of the war, escaped the calami ties to wliich 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 exertod 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- ing 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 th'f ,J80 t^E STANDARD SPEAKER ttttjnimous assent and conlidence of a generous couuiry> the great anc glorious task of effecting the deliverance of the world. Who Is that Irishman, who, recollecting these things, has the spirit and the heart to propose that Ireland shall be defrauded for the future of her shai'e 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 limits of a small island ? Surely, Sir, we owe it to the memory of the illustrious 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 YESSELS, ISbO. — Richard Cobden. 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 line-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, yoii will be better prepared Ui the way that the United States is prepared, — by the enormous number of merchant ships of large tonnage constantly building ; in 'die 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 b« more than a match for any war navy that exists on the contiLeut of Europe I BKNM'JIUAL. — KENRy. '28i 127 iJSSISTANCE TO BRITISH AGGRESSION.- Patrick Henry, Pafrick Henry was born, May 29th, 1736, in Hanover county, Virginia. His f«(L:r was i .^tive of Aberileou, in Scotland. Patrick's education was scanty, and he entered ui'un the prac- tice cf tke law after only six weeks of prepiiration. liu' his powers of eloijuence were remark- «ble. Us was elected rei)ealeilly to the most important olBces in the gift of the l'eoi)'.i; of Vir- ginia. In 1788, he was a member of the Convention which met '.here to consider the Constitution 3f the United States, and e.\erted himself strenuouiily a^'ainst its adoption, lie died in 1799. The Virginia Convention naviog before them resolutions of a temporizing cliaracter towards Gruai Britain, March 'iSd, 1775, .Mr. Henry introiluced others, manly and decided in their ton" and providing that the Colony should be immediately put in a state of defence. These couiitei resolutions he supported in the following memorable speech, the result of which was their adop- tion. Of the effect of this speech, Mr. Wirt says, that, when Henry took his seat, at its close. " No murmur of ai)plHUse was heard. The effect was too deep. After 'lie trance of a momentj several members started from their seats. The cry to arms ! seemed to quiver on every lip, and gleam from every eye. They became impatient of sfo' .■*. Theur 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 6ong 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 ? Are 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 reconciled, 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 Grentlemen, Sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission ? Can Gentlemen a.ssign any other possible motive for it ? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of tho 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. I'hey 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 trying that, for the lest ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the object ? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of ffhich it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. Shall w« resort to entreaty and tumble supplication? What torma SiSti THE STANDARD SPEAKER. shall we find wLich have not already been exhausted Let us nf)i,, iteseech jou, Sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we hare done everj 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 irrest the tyrannical hands of the Ministry and Parlia. rnent. Our petitions have been slighted, our remonstrances have pro iuced 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 Slid reconciiiaticn. There ig no longer any room for hope. If wt 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 Sght ; I repeat it, Sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! 12S. THE WAR INEVITABLE, March, 1115. — Patrick Henry. They tell us. Sir, that we are weak, — unable to cope with so formi- Jable an adversary. I)ut 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 F,hall 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 oiir power. Three millions of People, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in •iuch 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 "ur 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 as. 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 clunking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The »"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 iiext gale that sweeps fi-om the North will bring lo our ears tho clask »f resounding arms! Our brethren are already in thefieli! Whj Ha..i(i we here idle ? What is it that Gentlemen wish ? V\ hat woul? SENATORIAL. — HEXUY. 288 they have ? Is lift so dear, or pear-e bo sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it. Almighty (jod! 1 kno\» not what course others may take; but as lor me, give me liberty, oi give me death ! lis. RETURN OF BRITISH FUGITU'ES, l'iS2. — Patrick Henry I VENTURE to prophesy, there are those now living who will see thU fevorcd 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. Yes. Sir, they will see her great in arts and in arms, — her golden harvests waving over fields of inmieasurable extent, her commercfi 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 timl^er, under which your lands are groaning, must be cleax-ed 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 timbei", 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 commercial 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 Governments 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 TOuntry 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, aiid 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 influ3nce. 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 Kast, and frou the Weat. Your wildernesses will be cleared and settled, youi desa-t* £84 THR STANDARD SPEAKER. Kill smile, oui ranks will be filled, and you will snun be ih a co'iditica 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, mistaKen 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, sKall we^ who have laid the proud British lion at our feet, now be afraid of his 130. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JAMES OTIS.*— Jtfrs. i. Jlf. Child. England may as well dam up the waters of the Nile with bulrushou as fetter the step of Freedom, more proud and firm in this youthful land 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 m\\ be, ready to yield unforced assistance ; but it must not, and it never can be, extorted. Some have sneeringly asked, " Are the Americans too poor to pay a few pounds on stamped paper ? " No ! America, thanks to God and herself, is rich. But 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 thfl shadow 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 < Why, truly, it is the same that the young lion owes to the dam, which bas brought it forth on the solitude of the mountain, or left it amid the winds and storms of the desert. V/e plunged into the wave, with the great charter of freedom iu out Horn, 1725 killed by a stroke of lightning, 1773. SEXATOUiA-L - L£E. 28& ieeili because the fagot and torch were behind ns. We have Avaked this new world from its savage lethargy ; forests have been prostrated in our path ; towns and cities have grown up suddenly as the flowera of the tropics, and the fires in our autunuial woods are scarcely more rapid than the increase wf our wealth and population. And do we owe all this to the kind succor of the mother country ? No ! we owe it to the tyranny that drove us from her, — to the pelting storms which inYigorated 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 all due reverence to his sacred majesty, he understands the real wants of his distant subjects as little as he does the language of the Chocta\vs ! Who is to judge concerning the freciuency of these demands? The l^linistry. Who is to judge whether the money is properly expended ? The Cabinet behind the Throne. In every ■ instance, 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 great 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- tice ! The flame of liberty is extinguished in Greece and Home ; but the light of its glowing embers is still bright and strong on the shores of America. Actuated by its sacred influence, we will resist unto death. But we will 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 England cannot extinguish it ! 131. FOR INDEPENDENCE, ITiS. — Richard Henry Lee. Born, 1732; died, 1794. 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 oui' population, the fertility of our soil, the extent of our territory, the industry of our countrymen, and the immensity of the ocean which separates the. two countries. And, if this be true, — as ii 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 arms in every hand ? And how long must we traverse three thousand miles of a stormy sea, to solicit of arrogant and insolent men either c'ounscls or commands to regulate our domestic affairs? Frcm what we have already achieved, it is easy to presume what we shall hereafter ac& w '.86 THE STANDARD SPEAKER pHsti. Expenence is the source of sage counsels, and liberty is the mother of great men. Have you not seen the enemy driven from Lexington by citizens armed and assembled in one day ? Already iheir most celebrated generals have yielded in Boston to the skill of ours. 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 ai'e 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 mem.ory has been, and will be, forever dear to Virtuous men and good citizens ! 132. THE FEDERAL CONSTITUTION, 1787.— Ben/amm Fm«A/m. Born, ItOS; died, 1700, The following is strongly marked by the leading traits of Franklin's character, — his liberality, ractical wisdom, and spirit of compromise. Sir, I agree to this Constitution, with all its faults, — if they are such, — because I think a general Grovernment necessary for us, and there is no form of Government but what may be a blessing to tho People, if well administered ; and I believe, farther, that this 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 incapable 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 al] their prejudices, their (;-assi'"cs, their errors of opinion, their local in* '-rests, and their selfiah SKNATOaiAL. — VR.VNKLIN 281 Views. l*'rom »uch an assembly can a perfect produc{;if.n be expected ' ft, therefore, astonislies me, Sir, to find this system approaching so noar to perfection as it does ; and I think it will astonish our enemies, trhc are waiting with confidence to hear that our counsels are con- tbunled, like tnose ol' the builders of Babel, and that our States are on the point of separation, only to meet hereafter for the purpose of cut- ting 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 1 have had of its errors I sacrifice to the jtublic good. I have nevei ivhispered a syllable of them abroad. Within these walls they were 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 effects 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 lieartily 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. — BeryoOTm Franklin, 1T87, 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 flivor. To that kind Providence we owe this happy opportu- nity of coasulting in peace on the means of establishing our future national felicity. And have we now forgotten that powerful Friend ? or do 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 iee of this truth, — that God governs in the affairs of men. And, if a sparrow cannot fiill to the groand without His notice, is it proba^ ble that an empire can rise without His aid ? We have been assured. Sir in the Sacred AVritings, that "except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it." I firmly believe this ; and I alse believe that, without His concurring aid, we shall saweed in this poJit- ZQQ IHE STANDAP-O SPLAKJSR. ical buililing no better than the builders of Babel , we shall be di>idei 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 unfor tunate instance, despair of establishing Government by human wisdom, and leave it to chance, war, and conquest ' 134. IN FAVOR OF A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. — Surpnsed Speech of John Adams, in the Continental Congress, July, T776. Th3 subjoined two extracts are from "A Discourse in commemoration of the Lives and Services 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 ii' which he said : " Yi^sterday the greatest question was decided that was ever debated in Amer- ica; and greater, perhajis, never was or will be decided by men. A resolution was jiassed, 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 epooha 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 deliverance, 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 transported with enthusiasm, but I am not. ] am well aware of the toil, and olood, and treasui-e, that it will cost to maintain this declaration. anil support and defend these States ; yet, through all tlie 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 triumph, although you and I may rue, — which, I hope, we shall not." By a felicitous coincidence, Adams and Jefferson died on the 4th of July, 1826, the anniver- 3Hry 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 < 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, he war ? Do we mean to submit to the measures of ] 'arliament, Boston port-bill v>cd all ? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall b.3 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- tioE ever enteicd into by men, — that plighting, berore God, of oui "sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to incur the dingers of war. as well as the political hazards of the times, we proui' SENATORIAL. -JOHN Al)AMj<. -i»ij ised tc adnorc tc hira, in every extremity, with our fortu'ies and onr lives ? X know there is not a man here who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, tlian one jot or tittle of that plighted faith fidl to the ground. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you that George Washington be appointed commander of the forces raised, cr to he 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 in the support I give him ' The war, then, must go on. We Aiust fight it through. And. if the war must go on, why put oif longer the Declaration of Independence ? That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. The Nations will then treat wnth us, whicli they never can do while we acknowledge ourselves subjects in arms against our sovereign. Nay, I maintain that p]ngland herself will sooner treat for peace with us on the footing of independtjnce, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct towards us 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. Why then. Sir, 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 oiir selves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the vie tory ? If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not faD 135. CONCLUSION OF THE PKECEDING. TuE cause will raise up armies ; — the cause will create naviisr ITie people, — the people, — if we are true to them, will carry tib and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I C83-! not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people o these colonies; and I know that resistance to British aggression is dsci and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Every colouj' indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the leaA Sir, the. Declaration will inspire the people with increased <;our2>t. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, \bi redie^s of grievances, for chartered inununities, held under a Br**iai* iing, set before them the glerious object of entire independence rmC it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Read this DLcLflffatioij at the head of the army ; — every sword will be drawn from ite 3Cab hard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the Pulpit ; — religion will approvs it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, resolved to stand with it, or i'nV, with it. Send it to tiie public halls; proclaiir it there; let them hear it who heard the first roar of the enemy's mn on, — iet 19 290 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. them see it who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the fiekl 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 affairs ; but I see clearlj through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. Wc 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 scaifold ! Be it so ! be it so ! If it be the pleasure of Heaven 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 have 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 noiv, and Independence forever ! 136. THE general GOVERNMENT AND THE iStKy-ES,. — Alexander Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton was boi-n in Nevis, one of the West India Islands, in 1757. After soms ■military exijerience, he entered upon the study of the law, and rose to great eminence in the councils of the Nation.- With Madison and .lay, he wrote the "Federalist," and labored strt,n- uously in liehalf of the Constitution, lie was the first Secretary of the Treasury of the United States. He was shot by Aaron Burr, in a duel, in 180-t. The two foUowinjr speeches were deliv- sred in the Convent'on of New Yorli, 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, (vc ought to dismiss the idea of a Republican Government, even foi the State of New York. But the position has been misapprehended, ■Its application relates only to democracies, where the body of the PeO' plo 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 severa] States. I insist that it never can be the interest or desire of the -aationaJ Legislature to destroy the State Governments. The blow SENATORi AL. HAMILTOJI. 29l timei at the members must give a fatal wound to the hesici , and the destruction of the States must be at once a political suicide. But imagine, for a moment, that a political frenzy should seize the Govero- mant ; suppose they should make the attempt. Certainly, Sir, it would be forever impracticable. This has l^een sufiBciently denicn- strated by reason and experience. It has been proved that the mem- bers of Republics have been, and ever will be, stronger than the haad. Let us attend to one general historical example. In the ancient feudal Governments of Europe, there were, in the first 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 independent. The histories of the feudal wars exhibit little more than a series of successful encroachments on the prerogatives of ]\Ion- archy. Here, Sir, is one great proof of the superiority which the memliers in limited Governments possess over their head. As long as the Barons enjoyed the confidence and attachment of the People, they liud the sti-ength 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 weight and consequence ; they grew tired of their oppressions ; united their strength with that of their Prince, and threw off 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 supposed 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- piness of their fellow-citizens, for the sole purpose of involving them- selves in ruin ? 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 sub joct of 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 j)0wers necessary V' answfir, in the most ample manner, the puri)Oses of Government. The great desiderata are a free Representation, and mutual checks. When Hiese are obtained, all our apprehensions of the extent of powers are •injust ind imaginai.y. What, then, is the structure of this Ooustitu- 292 THE STj^NDAKD speaker. sion ? (_>ne branch of the Legislature is to be eieoted by the Feoplt. — by the Sixme People wno choose your State Representatives. \U aicmbers ai 3 to hold their ofEce two years, and then return to thoii' £onstituents. Here, Sir, the People govern. Here they act by theif immediate Representatives. You have also a Senate, constituted bj your State Legislatures, — by men in whom you place the highest co!> 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 writers have ever conceived. What more can reasonable men desire ? Is ihere any one branch in which the whole Legislative and Executive poTs'ers are lodged ? No ! The Legislative authority is lodged in ihroe distinct branches, propei'ly balanced ; the Executive authority is divided between two branches ; and the Judicial is still reserved for ai^ independent body, who hold their office during good behavior. This organization is so complex, so skilfully contriveil, 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 connected 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. AmSTOOn.AGY,!'!^.— Robert R. Livingston. Born, 1748; died, 1813. The gentleman, who has so copiously declaimed against 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, integrity, and virtue, that we might at once hail him the first of the Nobles, the very Prince of the Senate I But whom, in the name of common sense, would the gentlemac ftave to represent us ^ Not the rich, for they are sheer Aristoi^rats SENATORIAL. KANDOLl'H. Vi99 rTot the learned, the wise, the virtuous ; for they are all Aristocrats V/hom then ? Why, those who are not virtuous ; those who are not mse ; those who are not learned ; — these are the men to whom alone ive can trust our liberties ! He says, further, we ought not to choose Aristocrats, becjiuse the People will not have confidence in them . rhat is to say, the People will not have confidence in those who host deserve and most possess their eontidcnee ! He would have his (}ov- ernment composed of other classes of men. Where will he find them * Why, he must go forth into the highways, and pick up the rogut 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 no* be virtuous ? who would not be above want ? The truth is, in these Repuiilican Governments, we know no such ideal distinctions. We are all equally Aristocrats. Offices, emoluments, honors, the roads to preferment and to wejilth, are alike open to all. 139. EXTENT OP COUNTRY NO BAR TO UNION. - Edmund Randolph. Died, 1813. In ihe 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 into 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, faction, turbulence, war and bloodshed, have continually produced in other countries. Without Union, we throw away all those blessings for 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 reiinimate you again. Let it not be recorded of Americans, that, after having performed the mcst gallant exploits, after having overcome the most astonishing diffi- culties, and after having gained the admiration of the world by their incomparable valor and policy, they lost their acquired repu- tation, lost their national consequence and happiness, by their »wn indiscretion. Let no future historian inform posterity that \mericans wanted wisdom and virtue to concur in any regular, effi- iient Government. Catch the present moment. Seize it with cvidity. It may be lost, never to be regained • an 1 if the Union be bst now, I fear it will remain so forever ^94 THE 2VANDARD SPEAKEK. m MRANCE ANT) THE UNITED STAT-ES.— George JVa,^hington. B. 113 d. A6S Eeply, as President of the United States, January 1st, 1796, to the addrets of the Ministedbam, Massacliusetts, 1758, and died July 4, 1808. He was a member of Congress during Jie eife'ht years of Washington's administration, of which he was the earnest and able champion. We are either to execute this treaty, or break our faith To expa- tiate on the value of public faith may pass with some men 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 that .ny* terious charm which attracts individuals to tho Nation; and to inspire in its stead, a repulsive sense of shame and disgust. i9Q THE STAMjaRD SPEAKEK. Waat IS [)atri nism ? Is it a nan-ow affection for the spot wKore t njan was b)rn V x\ro the very clods where we tread e ititied to tbig ardent preference, because they are greener? No, Sir; this is not the snaracter of the virtue. It soars higher for its object. It is an axiended 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, la their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the yenerable 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 woula 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 tjo wise, or too just, to disown and annul its obligation. 143. THE BRITISH TREATY.lldo. — Fisher Ames Are the posts of our frontier to remain forever in the possession of Grreat Britain ? Let those who reject them, when the treaty offers them to our hands, say, if they choose *iiey are of no importance. Will the tendency to Indian hostilities iDe contested by any one 1 Experience gives the answer. Am I reduced to the necessity of proving this point ? Certainly the very men who charged the Indian war cgi the detention of the po.sts 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 fixlse security ' Your cruel dangers, your more crue. ippr^hensr sns, are soon to oe renewed. The wounds, yet unhealed^ SENATCRiAL. JEFFERSOM. 29'} .re io he torn open ag-aln. In the day-time, your path through the roods wiU be ambushed. The darkness of midnight will glitter with the blaze of your dwellings. You are a* father, — the blood of youi fcons 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 measuiee? 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 raost 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 be roa.«tcd at the stake ; to our country, and, I do not deem it too serious to say, to conscience and to God, we are answerable ; and, if duty b« anything more than a word of imposture, if conscience be not a bugi'tear, we are prepaiing to make ourselves as wretched as our country. There is no mistake in this case. There can be none. Expen«u/ the billows should reach even this distant and pcai-otul shore, — that this should be more felt and feared by some, and le.>s by others, — kid should dividp. opinions as to measures of gafety. But everj JJ98 THE STANDARD SPE^JJER. difference of opinion is not a difference of principle We hare ^ Jled by different names brethren of the same principle. We are ali E« publicans : we are all Federalists. If there be any among us wht would wish to dissolve this Union, or to change its republican form, let them stand, undisturbed, as monuments of the safety with whiel 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 Government 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 thfc 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 carmot 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 Republican 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 fiiculties, 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» necessary to close the circle of our felicities. 145 JUDGES SHOULD BE FREE, 1802. Tames A. Bayard. Born, 1767 : d/ed, 18l» Let it be remembered that no power is so sen3ii)ly felt by society ts *-hat of the Judiciary. The life and property of every man ia SENATORIAL. M0KUI3. 298 .lable to be m Ihe hands of the Judges. Is it no; Mir grea ihtfiros^ lo place our Judges upon such high ground tliat no fear can intimi Aate, no hope seduce them ? The present measure humbles them in the dust It prostrates them at the feet of faction. It renders them the tool of ev(!ry dominant party. It is this effect which I deprecate. It is tliis consequence which I dee])ly deplore, ^\'hat 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 enjfty our freedom, we shall be, di\adcd into parties. The true question is. Shall the Judiciary be permanent, or fluctuate with the tide of public opinion ? I beg, I imploi-e 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 spii'it 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 faii'est countries in Europe. France had iier National Assembly, more numerous and. equally popular with our jwn. She had her tribunals of justice, and her juries. But the Legislature and her Courts were but the instruments of her destruc- tion. Acts of proscription, and sentences of banishment and death, were passed in the Cabinet of a tyrant. Prostrate your Judges at 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. — GouverneuT Morris. Gouverneur Morris, born at Morrisimiu, New York, .liiiiuary 31st, 1752, died November 6tb, 1818. He w;i.s a Delefrate to the Cmitiiu.Mitiil Con:_n-«?ss rn.m New York, and subseciueiitly re,> resented that State in tlie Senate of tlie L'liitrd Staf.s, tief .re uiiicli bmly the lollowins si)eeche3 were delivered, lie was, for some time, iniiiislir IVi'in tin- rnit'-d States to Finance, and doi'ing his residence in Euro])e formed tlie aei|iiaiiitHnce of many historical persf Februiiry, 1803, a debate arose in that body on certain resolutions authorizing tha President to talie irumediate possession of New Orleans, and empoweriii;; bira to call out thirty thousand militia to effect that object. The following is an e.xtract from Clinton's speech on the wcasion. If I were called upon to prescribe a course of policy most imjwrtant 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 some of the great powers of Europe ; but let that period be put ofiF as long as possible. It is our interest and our duty to cultivate peace, '•v»''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 we manifest an unwarrantable ambi- tion, and a rage for conquest, we unite all the great powers of Europe agaiast us. The security of all the European possessions in our vicin- ity will eternally depend, not upon their 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 flir as where the Pacific rolls its waves. Consider well the eventful consequences that would result, if we were possessed by a spirit of conquest. Con- sider 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 IS ation. with fire and sword, for the misconduct of a subordinate officer, will not our national character be greatly injured ? Will we not be classed with the robbers and destroyers of mankind ? Will not the Nationa of Europe perceive in this conduct the germ of a lofty spirit, and ar. enterprising ambition, which will level them to the earth, when age has matured our strength, and expanded our powers of annojance, tmless 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 aton;e into the ocean of European politics, where every wave that rolls and every wind that blows, will agitate our bark * Is thi^ a SOla THE STAND ARlJ SPEAKER. iesirable state of things ? Will the People of this country be seduoeo 'nto it by all the colorings of rhetoric, and ali the arts of sophistry ; by fehement app^^als to their pride, and artful addresses to their cupidity ? Cio, Sir ! Three-fourths of the American People — I assert it boldly; v^d without fear of contradiction — are opposed to this measure ' And (vould you take ap arms with a mill-stone hanging round youi neck ? How would you bear up, not only against the force of the anerny, but against the irresistible current of public opinion ? The ihing. Sir, is impossible ; the measure is woree than madness it is (kicked beyond the powers of description ! 149. AMERICAN INNOVATIONS. — James Madison. Born 1751 ; died, 1836 James Madison, who served two tei-ras as Pi-esident of the IJnited 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 P^evolution, 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, wliich 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 uf the Union, this was the most difficult to be executed ; this is the ,yorV 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. — /Fm. Gost opprsition to your notions w th offensive tpithets. Thft?e prove nothing but your anger or your weakness; and tliey are Bure to generate a spirit of moral resistance, not easily to be checked oi tamed, (jive to Presidential views Constitutional respect ; but suffer them not to supersede the exercise of independent infjuiry, ICncour- 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 acrimony, and render them harndess 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 tlie 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 befoi'e 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 pri.son and beating her heaa against the walls, is none of our offspring. We abjure the monster ! Its parentage is all inland. Is embargo independence ? Deceive not yourselves ! It is palpable submission ! Gentlemen exclaim, " Great Britain smites us on ona eherk ! " 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 ccmmerce^ and you yield it entirely ! At every corner of this great city we meet some gentWmen of the majority wringing their hands, and exclaiming 80-1 THE ST^.>fDARb SPEAKEK. Wliat shall we do ? Nothing but an embargo will save lus. Remove it and That shall we do ? " Sir, it is not for me, an humble and uninflu ential individual, at an awful distance from the predominant influences, to suggest plans of Government. But, to my eye, the path of our dutj 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 energ_) 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 shrinkinjj 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 t(X) studiously among us. Disgrace is worse ! Abandonment of essen- tial rights is worse ! 152. PREDICTIONS OF DISUNION, 1820. — IVm. 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 v/ill 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 Uke this, — although connected, as, contrary to all reasonable expec+. ition, it has been, with fearful and disorganizing theories, whic'c 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 gacred ark of the common sef^iy. It is not every trifling breeze, how- ever it may be made to sob and howl in imitation of the tempe,st, bj the auxiliary breath of the ambitious, the timid, or the discontented, that can drive this gallant vessel, freighted with everything that is iear to an American bosom, upon the rocks, or lay it a sheer hullj apon the ocean. I may, perhaps, mistake the flattering suggestions of hope (the great- ast 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 fr.om me. I will continue to cherish the belief, — ay. Sir, in defiance of the public patronage given to deadly speculations, which, invoking the name of Deity to aid their faculties for mischief, strike at aO ^tablishments, — I will continue to cherish the belief that the Union Df these States is formed to bear up against far greater shocks than, tlirough all vicissitudes, it is ever likely to encounter. I will continue to cherish the belief that, although, like all other human mstitution." «r may "br a season be disturbed, or suffer momentary eclipse by the SENaTOUIAL. — JOHN RANDOLPH. 30^ aransit across its disk of some malignant planet, it possesses a recu{)er ative force, a redeeming energy, in the hearts of the People, that will *)oa 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 hyjjo- 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 overwhelmhig reality shall render it no longer possible. 163. BRITISH INFLUENCE, 1811. — yoAn Randolph. Bom, 1773; died, 1833. John Randolph, an eccentric Statesman, but a man of marked talents, was a Virginian bj birth, and a descendant, in the seventh ^'eneration, from the celebrated Pocahontas, the ilau-^h- wr of I'owhatan, a great Imlian chief. Imputations of British influence have been uttered -against the opponents of this war. Against whom are these cha,rges brought? Against men who, in the war of the Revolution, were in the Councils 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 breaking out of the French troubles. The great autocrat of all the Russias receives the homage of our high consideration. Thfy 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 Turtle, — barbarians and savages of every clime and color, are welcome to our arms. With chiefs of banditti, negro or mulatto, we can treat and can trade. Name, however, but England, and all our antipathies are up in arms against her. Against whom ? Against those whose blood runs in our veins ; in common with whom we claim Shakspeare, and 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 I^rotest- ants, identified in blood, in language, in religion, with ourselves. In what school did the worthies of our land — the Washingtons, Henrys, Hancocks, Franklins, Rutledges, of xlmerica — 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 ^trinly cherished by these great men and their compatriots, — not more by Washington, Hancock and Henry, — than by Chatham, luid his illus- It'uws, as.sociates in the British Parliament. It ouglit to be remembered, too. that the heart of the English people was with us. It was a selfish and corrupt Ministry, and their servile tools, to whom ive were not more opposed than thei/ were. I trust that none such may ever exist among us ; for tods will ncvei" be wanting to subserve the purposes,, however ruinous or wicked, of kings and ministers of .state. I ao- knowledge the influence of a Shakspeare and a Milton apor my iir 20 306 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. aaination ; of a Jjocke, upon my understanding ; of a Sidney, upoB my political principles ; of a Chatham, upon qualities which would to God I pwsessed in common with that illustrious man ! of a Tillofcson a Sheriock, and a Porteus, upon my religion. This is a British iiiliueni,e which I can never shake oif. 154. ON THE GREEK QUESTION, 1824. ~ /a. 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 dangei to the best interests of the American People. Liberty and religion are objects as dear to my heart as to that of any gentleman in this or any other assembly. But, in the name of these holy words, by this powerftil 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 pleas'iire, see us take off her shoulders the labor of preserving the balance of power. We find her fighting now tor 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 liberties 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, gJorious 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 fromofiice, can say to the People who elected him, I leave you without a debt than if 'le had fought as many pitched battles as Cresar, or achieved as many naval victories as Nelson. And what, Sir, is debtl 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 as 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 af unavoidable misfortune. I speak of debt caused by mismanagement, f>} anwarrantablf generosity, by being generous befoi e being just J SENATGMAL. JOUX RANDOLPH. 307 mow \hx\i tliit) sentiment was ridiculed by Sheridan, whose lanienlabie end was tiie best commentary ujwn its truth. No, Sir : let us abandon these projects. Lot us say to these seven millions of Greelcs, " We ielended ourselves, when we were but three millions, against a power. in comparison to which the Tui-k is but as a lamb. Go, and d: thou likewise." l&^. ON ALTERINO THE VIRGINIA CONSTirUTION, 1829.— JoAr. Randuipi. Sir, I see no wisdom in making this provision for future changoa I .-u must give Goverimicnts time to operate on the People, and give the People time to become gi-adually assimilated to their institutions. Almost anything is better than this state of perpetual uncertainty. A People may have the best form of Government that the wit of mar. ever devised, and yet, from its uncertainty alone, may, in effect, live under the worst Government in the world. Sir, how often must 1 repeat, that change is not reform ? 1 am willing that this new Con- stitution shall stand Jis 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 mxtterial, — it is in the People of Virginia. To my knowledge, that People are changed from what they have been. The four hundred men who went out to David were in debt. The partisans of C;Bsar were ^'?^ debt. The fellow-laljorers of Catiline were in debt. And I defy you to show me a desperately indebted People, anywhere, who can bear a regular, sober Goverinnent. I throw the challenge to all who hear me. T say that the character of the good old Virginia planter — the man who owned from five to twenty slaves, or less, who lived by hard work, and who paid his debts — is passed fiway. A new order of things is come. The period has arrived of living 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 — giving great dinners, yending their children to the most expensive schools, giving grand parties, and just as well received as anybody in society ! I say that, in such a state of things, the old Constitution was tofj 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 thei.i, — { will not pander to their appetite for change. I will do nothing to {)rovide for change. I will not agree to any rule of future apjxtrtion • raeu'i, or to any provision for future changes, called amendments to thii Constitution. Those who love change — who delight m jDublic eon- Posion — who wish to feed the cauldron, and make it bubble — may vote, if they please, for future changes. But by what spell, by what formula, are you going to bind the Peoi)le lo all future time f The days of Lycurg'is are gone by, when we couM swear the Pfiople 30b THE STANDARD SI'EAKEK. aot to altei thft Constitution until he should return. ¥"0-2 may oiake wliat entries on parchment you please; — give me a Comtitution 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 ai e 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 tlieii faces — ay, and their shoulders, too — against it. 156. IN FAVOR OF A STATE LAW AGAINST DUELLING.- Compilation TfiE bill which has been read, Mr. Speaker, claims the serious attei. 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 calunmiator, 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 I To grant or receive reparation, one nmst 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 publid opinion ? The man with a proper self-respect is little sensitive to the 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-boing, is, in my eyes, an object of more horror than the brute beast who strivei to tea - 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 injurious public opinion. It accompanies the good man everywhere, — to thi field of danger, in his country's cause ; to the social circle, to lift hig 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- pan'.;> in the guilt of upholding a barbarous custom. Let us aflBx to U the bi-and of legislative rebuke and disqualification. Pass this till SENATCillAL. J. Q. ADAMS. 309 md you do you? part in arresting it. Pas.s this bill, an.I you place a shield between the man who refuses a challenge and the public opinion that would disgrace iiim. Pass this bill, and you nii.'^e a barrier in tho road to honor and preferment, at whicli the aniljitious man will paiLse and reflect, before engaging in a duel. As fathei-s, as brothers, as men, and as legislators, I c;dl on this House to suppress an evil fvhich strikes at you in all these relations. I call on you to raise youi hands against a crime, the disgrace of our land, and the scourge of our |)eace 157 THE DECLARATION Of INDEPENDENCE. — y. Q. u 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. They 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 " It will be acted o'er, fellow-citizens, but it can never be repeated. It stands, and must forever stand, alone; a beacon on the sunjmit of the TQOuntain, to which all the inhabitants of the earth may turn thek eyes, for a genial and saving light, till time shall be lost in eternity, (u:d 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 Ijo inhabited by human beings, so long as man shiU be of a sooia' Mature, so long as Government shall be necessiiry to the gr^jat nmral 310 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. purposes of society, so long as it shall be abused to the purposes of oppression, — so long shall this declaration hold out, to the &over«igi and to the subject, the extent and the boundaries of" their respcctivf rights and duties, founded in the laws of Nature and of Nature's God. 168 WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND FRANKLIN'S STAFF.— J. Q. Adams Jn He U $ House of RepreseiLlatives, on reception of these memoria/s by Congress. The sword of Washington ! The staff of Franklhi ! 0, Sir, what Sf-scciaiions are linked in adamant with these names ! Washington, whose sword was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and never sheathed v/hen wielded in his country's cause \ Franklin, the phiiosojjher 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 cliarm 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 afHictivo 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 to the mightiest monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the mercurial wand of conmtcree, and the amulet of protection and safety to the man 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 upc)D bis head, under the torture of an incurable disease, returning to \m native land, closing his days as the chief magistrate of his adopt vuntry is one great poem. Sir, it is so ; and if there be a man that Jan Ihink of what is doing, in all parts of this most blessed of all l..u;d.-: t embellish and advance it, — who can contemplate that living .iriss jf 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 suddenness of enchantment, into those of fruitfulness and beauty, crowned with flourishing cities, filled with the noblest of all popula- tions, — if there be a man, I say, that cai\ witness all this, passing iinder his very eyes, without feeling his heart beat high, &oi hia SENATORIAL. CLAF. 8]fi Iniagint tioii warmed and transported by it be sure. Sir, that the rapture? oCsorii exist not for him; he would listen in vain to Tasso oi Gamoens, telling a tale of the wars of knights and crusaders, or of tha discovery and xinquest of another hemisphere. 164. IN FAVOR OF PROSKCrriNO TlIK WAR, ISli. — mm y Clay. WuEN 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 ciuelly shocked, and all their sympathies lavished upon the harmless inhabitants of the adjoining Piovinces. 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 tei-ritoi-ics, property, and citizens of the other, — subject only to the rules of mitigated war, practised by civilized Nations. The Gentlemen woulfl 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 bo attacked, for the learned Gentlemen on the other side are quite familiar with tlie maxim that the King can do no wrong. Indeed, Sir, T know of no pei'son 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 oui- intrepid seamen by water, it is not because tlie American soldier is less brave. On the one element, oi'ganization, discipline, and a thorough knowledge of their duties, exist, on the i)art of the ofiicers and their men. On the other, almost everything is yet to be acfjuirod. We have, however, the consolation that our country abounds with the richest materials, and that in no instance, when engaged in action, have our arms been tarnished. An honorable peace is attainable only by an eflicient 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, atrike wherever we can reach the enemy, at sea or on land, and negoti- ate the terms of a peace at Quebec or at Halifiix. We ai-e 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 hei ; 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 Providence we must come out crowned with success ; but, if we fail, let us fail like men, — lash ourselves to our gallant tars, and expb-e together in outi commo.i stiugglc, fighting for free trace and seamen's rights' 3lb THE STANDARD SPEAl ilR. itf6. DEFENCE OF JEFFERSON, 1813. — Henry Clay. Next to the notice which the opiX)sition has found itself called ajxn to bestow upon the French emperor, a distinguished citizen of ^''irginisi, tbrmerly President of the United States, has never for a moment failed to recdive their kindest and most respectful attention. An honorable 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 countr}', — 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 niQuntain, 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 Jefferson will be hailed with gratitude, his memory honored and cherished as the second founder of the liberies 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, 1S19. — Henry Clay. We are fighting a great moral battle, for the benefit, not only of our TOuutry, 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 tha< by the downfall of liberty here, and all mankind are enshrouded in a l^all of universal darkness. To you, Mr. Chairman, belongs the high priviloffe of transmitting, unimpaired, to posterity, the fair character and ^iDcrty of our country. Do you expect to execute this high trust 6y trampling, or suffering to be trampled down, law, justice, the Con. Btitution, and the rights of the People? by exhibiting examples of jikimanity. and cruelty, and amliition ' When the minions ol desoot bENATOIUAL. — CLaI. SI? lem hoard, in Europe, of the seizure of Peneaf\/la, how did thej chuckle, and cliide the admirers of our institutions, tauntingly pointing CO the demonstration of a spirit of injustice and aggrandizement made oy our country, in the midst of an amicable negotiation ! Behold, said they, the conduct of those who are constantly reproaching Kings I Yon saw how those admirers were astounded and hung their heads. You 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 pi-aises bestowed upon our Government. Beware how you forfeit this exalted character I Beware how you give a fatal sanction, in this infant period of our republic, scarcely yet two-score years old, to military insubordination ! llemember that Greece had her Alexander, Rome her Cajsar, 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 ci^^l authority, a triumph over the powers of this House, 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 consequences, a triumph over the liberties of the People ! 167. THE NOBLEST PUBLIC VIRTUE, lUl. — Henry Clay. There is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do net posse.ss, — 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. T cannot interpose the power with which I may be invested — a power conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggrandi/^ement, but for my country's good — to check her onward march to greatness and glory. I have not courage enough. I am too cowardly tor that. I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a thi'eat, 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 B man may display in his private conduct and personal relations. Per- BOnal or private courage is totally distinct from that higher and noblei oC'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 sonicrnnes impel us tet rated it, go home to the People, and tell them what glorious honors you have achieved for our common country. Toll them that you have extinguished one of the brightest and purest lights thai 9ver "tiurnt at tlic altar of civil liberty. Tell them that you havs "iilcn-'i^/l on^ of the noblest batteries that ever thundered in diihvce of SENATORIAL. CLA\. 31ft tie Coii6ti(au;n, and that you have bravuly spiked the cannon, Toll chein that, honcefoiward, no matter what daring or outrageous act anv President may perform, you have forever hermetically sealed the mouth of the Senate. Tell them that he may fearlessly assume what [tower he pleiuses, — snatch from its lawful custody the Public Purse, com- mand a military detachment to enter the halls of the Capitol, overaive Congi-ess, 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 free men ! 169. ON RECOGNIZING THE INDEPENDENCE OF GREECE, 1824. — C/ay. Are we so low, so base, so despicable, that we may not express oui horror, articulate our detestation, of the most brutal and atrocious wai 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 ani? 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, tc 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 connnon country, that I hope to see tliis 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 •fhis make : — " In the itionth of January, in the year of our Lord and Saviour IB'ii, while all European Christendom beheld with cold, anfeeling apathy the unexampled wrongs and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was made in the Congress of the United States, — almost the sole, the last, the greatest repository of human hope and of human freedom, the representatives of a Nation rapable of bringing into the field a million of bayonets, — wliile the freemen of that Nation were spontaneously expressing its deeo-tone(i feeliag. !ts ferv = nt prayer for Grecian succesn ; while the whole Con 320 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. tinent was rising, by one simultaneous motion, solemnly and anxiousii Bupplicating and invoking the aid of Heaven to spare Greece, and U 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 alilce of Christian Greece and of us, — a proposition was offered in the American Congress, to send a messenger to Greece, to uiquire 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- tn tht strong foundations on which they have hitherto stood. There may have been military capacity in Congress ; but can any one deny that it is to the wisdom of sages, Washington being one, we are indebted for the signal blessings we enjoy ? 176 OPPOSITION TO MISGOVEKNMENT, ISli. — 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 sti-ain. 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 fiviled 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 could throw it upon those who had forewarned him of conse- quences, and who had opposed him, at every stage of his disastrous policy, with all the force of truth, reason and talent. It was not his own weakness, his own ambition, his own love of arbitrary power, that disaffected the Colonies. It was not the Tea Act, the Stamp Act, the Boston Port Bill, that severed the empire of Britain. 0, 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 chai'acter of wisdom to what they believed to be the extreme of folly. They would not pronounce those measures iust and honorable which their principles led then) to con- demn. They declared the minister's war to be wanton. They fore« saw its end, and point-ed it out plainly, both to the minister and to the country. He declared their opposition to be selfish and factious. Ha persisted ir, 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/ortam to maintain the rigtit of such discussion in its full and just extent. Sentiments lately sprung up, and now gi'owing popular, render it oecessary to be explicit on this point. It is the ancient and constitu« cional light of this people to canvass public measures, and the Uierit* SENATORIAL. WEDSTEK. 32? of public men. It is a home-bred right, a fireside f'^vilege. It hai ever been enjoyed in every house, cottage and cabin, in tlie Natioa It is not to be drawn into controversy. It is as undoubted as the right of breathing the aii* 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 tlwse whose representative I am shall find Die 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 to 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. — JVebsler. The time has been, Sir, indeed, when fleets, and armies, and sub sidles, 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 o\ kaowledge 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 rirfare. It is that impassable, uuextinguishable enemy of mere violence and arbitrary 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 national existence. There is an enemy that still exists, to check the glory of these triumphs. It follows the conqueror back to the very scene of his ovations ; it calls upon him to take notice that Europe, though silent, is yet indignant ; it shows hhn that the sceptre of his victory U a barren sceptre, — that it shall confer neither joy nor honor, nm shall moulder to dry a^hes in his grasp. In the midst of his exiu^A t^S raJi dTANDARD SPEAKER. iion, it pierce^ his ear with the cry of injured justice ; h denounoa against him the indignation of an enlightened and civilized age : it turns to bitterness the cup of his rejoicing, and wounds him with thf sting which belongs to the consciousness of having outraged tht opinions of mankind. 178. SYMPATHY Wmi SOUTH-AMERICAN REPUBLICANISM, 1826. — /reiitsc "We are told that the country is deluded and deceived by cabalistid 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 gi-eat American family of Nations, or of the political systems and forms of Government of this hemisphere, — then, indeed, it seems, we deal in senseless jargon, or imjxise 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 ibreign dominion, established independence, and insti- tuted, on our ver-y borders, republican Governments, essentially after Dur own example ? Sir, I do not ?/^ish 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 our fathers encountered. For these we ought to make large allow- mces. 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 inde- pendence. There is, doubtless, much more to be done in the first thae in the last case. But, on that account, the honor of the attempt is not less ; and, if all difficulties shall be, in time, surmounted, it will ht greater. The work may be more arduous, — it is not less noble — because there may be more of ignorance to enlighten, more of bigotry to Bubdue, more of prejudice to eradicate. If it be a weakness t/) feel i strong interest in the success of these great revolutions, I confess myself guilty of that weakness. If it be weak to feel that I am an .\aierioan, — to think that recent events have not only opened no* SENATORIAL. WEBSTER. 82S modes of intercourse but have created, also, new grounds of regard »nd .sympathy, between our.'sclves and our neighbors ; if it be weak to tcel that the South, in her present state, is somewhat more emjihati- cally a part of America than when she lay, obscure, oppressed, and unknown, 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. - »i' this be wrak, it is % weakness from which I claim no exemption. 179. HATRED OF THE POOR TO THE RICH, 1834. — IFebste/ 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 be 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 foith, as matter of boast and triumph, that one cause existed, ]X)werful 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 ca^Table 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 Ix: 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 causa ■of republican liberty, if tiiey are capable of being the victims of arti> flees 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 dangoj jf a moneyed aristocracy ! ' "A power as gr?at and dangerous as that »«sisted by the ilevolution ' "A call to a new Declaration ol Indev peadenoe ! ' S30 TIIE STANDARD SPEAKER. Sii, 1 adii.\>nish the People against the objects uf outci'ies like these 1 admonish every inaistrious .aoorer in the country to be on his> guard against such delusions. I tell him the attempt is to play off hi? pas- eions against his interests, and to prevail on him, ic the name of liV-erty to destroy all the fruits of liberty ; in the name of patriotism, to injurs and afflict his country ; and in the name of his own independence, to destroy that very independence, and make him a beggar and a slave S 180. ON SUDDEN POLITICAL CONVERSIONS, 1838. - IVebster. Mr. President, public men must certainly be allowed to cnango their opinions, and their associations, whenever 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 last session, 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- mentahti, — of a certain German sc4iool of literature. In this play, two strangers are brought together at an inn. While they are wai'm- 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 fritndship ! " This affectionate offer was instantly accepted, and tiie friendship duly sworn, unchangeable and eternal ! Now, Sir, how lor^g this eternal friendship lasted, or in what manner it ended, those who w'sh to kno\r may learn by referring to the play. But it seems to me, Sir, that th^ honorable member has carried his political sentimentality a tnod dea' higher than the flight of the German school ; for he appear^ >'o havi fallen suddenly in love, not with strangers, but with opponents. Her. we all had been. Sir, contending against the progress of Exceutiv power, and more particularly, and most strenuously, against the proj acts 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 the ^versiivy, and increasing our own. We were in this career cf succet-», ©arried strongly forward by the current of public opinion, and only aeeded to hear the cheering voice of the honorable member, — " Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ! " and we should have prostrated, forever, this anti-constitutional, antv sonimercial, anti-republiJIT)AKD SPEAKliK. eonsiderat.ir«n and o ir action ; let us raise our conceptions to tbe mag- nicude and the .'mportance of the duties that devolve upon us ; let oul eomprehension oe as broad as the country for which we act, our aspira« tions as high as its certain destiny ; let us not be pigmies 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 to 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 Grovernment popular in its form, representative in its character, founded apon 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 tio man's liberty, — it has crushed no State. Its daily respiration is liberty and patriotism ; its yet youthful veins are full of enterprise, eourage, and honoi-able 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 seeiued the waves to roll, And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the whole." 185. JUSTICE TO THE WHOLE COUNTRY, July 17, 1S50.— Webster 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 olDservers. It is not to be disputed or doubted, that the eyes of all Christendom are upon us. We have 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 the whole world beside, that this Union is their main hope and greatest benefit, and that their interests are entirely compatible ? Can they see, and will they feel, that thjir prci«perity, their resoectabilif y amopg Sl!:NATOKI\L. — ffKBSTER. 3Sb the Nal ons of tae 3arth, and their happiness at home, depe»"i>l upo the nia'.ntenance of thoir Union anil their Constitution ? That 13 the question. I agree that local divisions are apt to overturn the under- standings of men, and to excite a belligerent feeling between section and section. It is natural, in times of irritation, for one part of tbfl 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 x^mericanisni, 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 thp 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'&, 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 pei'sonal consequences ? What is the individual man, with all the good or evil that may betide him, in comparison with the good or exal which may beftiU a great country in a crisis like this, and in the midst of great transactions which concern that country's fate ? Let the 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, ISZO. — Webster. The followiriir passage, and otJiers by Mr. Webster which succeed it in this Department, are from his speeclies in reply to Mr. Hayne, of Suuth Carolina, m the Senate of the United States, January, 18:;0. This celebrated intellectual combat, between these distinguished men, grew out of a K'SiiluiiMii oilrrt'd by Mr. Foote, directing the committee on Public Lands to inquire into the (|u;ii]tiiy nf Uil- public lands remaining unsold, and other matters connected therewith. This i-csnluiiiiii :ilTMrdijd a text fora very irrelevant debate. Of the irrelevancy of Mr. Hayne's remarlis, .Mr. Webster said: "He has spoken of everything but the public lands. They have escaped his noiice. To that subject, in all his excursions, he has not even paid the cold respe'*' of a passing glauce." 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 beston'ed 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^ rtllow me to pass it over without notice. It was put as a question for me to answer, and so put as if it were difficult for me to answer, whether I deemed the member from Missouri an over-match for myself in debate hero. It seems to me, Sir, that this is extraordinary laii- Euage, and an extraordinary tone, for tho discussions of this body. .136 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Matches and o^■er-n^atcbes ! Those terms are more applicable Asa where than here, and fitter for other assemblies than this. Sir, ih« gentleman seems to forget where and what we are. This is a Senate , a Senate of equals ; of men of individual 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 , i>;i an arena for the exhibition of champions. I offer myself, Sir, a? a ?natch for no man ; I throw the challer ge of debate at no man's feet. B it, then. Sir, since the honorable member has put the question, in u m aimer that calls for an answer, I will give him an answer ; and 1 te 11 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, v.'ould have been its general acceptation. But, Sir, if it be imagined that, by this mutual quotation and commendation ; if it bs supjx)sed 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 anj 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 that he is dealing with one of whose temper and character he has yet much to learn. Sir, I shall not allow myself, on this occasion, — 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 state comparisons as significant, at least, as his own ; and that his impunity may, perhaps, demand of him whatevi"ir powers of taunt and sarcasm he may possess. I commend 1 im to a prudent husbandry of his resources. 187. SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS, 1S30 —Webster The euloglum pronounced on the character of the State of South Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her Revolutionary and othsi merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge tijat the hoDorable meml-er goes before me in regard for whatever of distin SENATORIAL. — \rFBSTEK. .S3"J fiishtfd talent or distinguished character Soutn Carolina has produced, eluii" part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. I clain; them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, the Rut^ 'edges, the Pinckneys, the Suiupters, 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 ^me narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and honored the country, and the whole country ; and their renown is of the trea.surcs 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 fii-st opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it is in his power to exhibit a Care- liha name so bright as to produce envy in my bo8om ? 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 1 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 Umits of my own State or neighborhood; when I refuse, for any such caase, 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 unconmion endowment of Reavon, — 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 I'tere 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 me recur to pleasing recollections ; let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of the past ; let me remind you that, in early times, no States cherished greater harmony, both of principle and feeling, than Slassachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again return ! Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Kevolution , hand in hand they stood round the administration of Washington, avd felt his own great arm lean on them for supjx)rt. Unkind feeling, if it exist, w — alienation and distrust, — are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. Tliey are weeds, the seeds of which ilvdt same great arm never scattered. Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; ah ! needs none. There she is, — behold her, and judge for yourselves. Tl.cre is her history, — the ' orld knows it by heart. The past at .c;ist, is secure. There is B .ston, and Concord, and J>exington, and Bunker Hill, — and there th y will remain forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great stru,,'gle 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 wjus nurtured and sustriinrd. thert 22 £538 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. t still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its origina spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it, — if parly strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it, — if folly and madness if luieasiness under salutary and necessary restraints, shall succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is mads sure, — 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 stiH retain, over the friends who gather round it ; and it will fall at last, n fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin ! 188. LIBERTY AND tlNION, 1830. — WehsteT. 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 influences, 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 precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this Government whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union should be [jest preserved, but how tolerable might be the conditirn of the People when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospect* jjiread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek act to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day, at least, that mrtain may not rise ! God grant that on my \'ision never may lie apened what lies behind ! When my e^ -is siiall be turned to behold, for the last time, the Sun in Heaven, may I not see him shining on '.he broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union ; os :>&tes severed, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil fcudi*,. ■? drenched. \\ may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeb'e vtxid SENATORIAL. — HAYXE. 339 5ng' -.rig glanct rather, behold the gorgeous Ensigu of the llopublic, 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, QO such miserable inteiTOgatory as — W/iat is all this worth''} — nor those other words of delusion and folly — Liberty 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 laml, and in every wind under the whole Heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart — Liberty and Union, DOW and foi'cver, one and inseparable ! 189. ON MR. WKBSTKR'S DEFENCE OF NEW ENGLAND, Jan. 21, 1830. - Hayne. Robert Y. Payne was born near Cliarleston, S. C, Nov. 10, 1791, and died Sept. 24, 1839 He attained jfreat distinction at the bar, and received tlie higliest honors in tlie t,'ift of his native State. He was fluent and graceful in speech, and was esteemed one of the most eloquent oien of liis time. The hrnorable gentleman from Massachusetts, after deliberating a whole nij'ht upon his course, comes into this chamber to vindicate New England ; ancl, 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 these 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 repi-esent. When I find a gentleman of mature age and experience, of acknowledged talents, and profound sagacity, pursuing a.course like this, declining the contest offered from the West, and making war upon the unoffending South, I rrmst believe — I am bound to believe — he has some olDJect in view which he has not ventured to disclose. Mr. President, why is this ? Has the gentle- uian 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 of the murdered Coalition come back, like the ghost of Banquo, to '' sear the eye-balls of the gentleman," and will it not "down at lis 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 lefcnce of my friend from ]Missouri. The South shall not he forced into a conflict not its own. The gentleman from Misscari is able to fight bis own battles The gallant West needs no aii from the South 340 THE STAND AKD SPEAKER. to repel any attack \\^hich may be made on them from any quartej L.et the gentleman from Massachusetts controvert the facts and argij. nients 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 his laurels. ISO. 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 tc the Union, that State is South Carolina. Sir, from the very com- 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 afl&xirs, — though deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded with difficulties, — the call of the country has been to her as the voice r^f 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 1 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, vo the sacred cause of freedom. Never was there exhibited, in the his- tory of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dreadful sufferinc- 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 lier People wai Ji vincible. SENATORIAL — IlArNfi. 54.) m. THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR OF 1812. — ffay»c 030 J COME now to the war of 1812, — a war which, I well remeiuber, was called, in derision (while its event was doubtlul), the Southern war, and sometimes the Carolina war; hut which i.s now universally acknowledged to have done more lor 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- aicn. 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 everything to lose, and nothing to gain. Bat, 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 i:uij(■ which is sufficient to lead it astray from lU duty and its interest." No, Sir ! no, Sir! We are above all this. Let the Highland clans- SfiViW, half naked, half civilized, half blinded by the peat-smoke of hia Kivern, 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 ; lot the North American Indian have his, and hand it down from father to son, by Heaven knows what symbols of alligators, and rattle- gnakes, and war-clubs smeared with vermilion and entwined witi scarlet ; let such a country as Poland, — cloven to the earth, th« mnied heel on the radiant forehead, her body dead, her s( ul incapablfl SENATORIAL. CASS. 34T xt die — hit her renioniber the " wrongs of days long pa^t " let the lost and wandcriiig tribes of Israel reuicniber theirs — the manllDesh and the sympathy of the world may allow or pardon this to them ; — bul shal) America, young, free, prosperous, just setting out on the higiiway 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 ? •V), Sir ! no. Sir! a thousand times, no! Why, I protest I thought nil 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 age 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 \vorld 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 GOVERNMUNT, ISbl. — Lewi\i 858 JHE STAN14RD SPEAKER. blood, Oii the scaffold and in the field, in defence of thai]- couiitrj) 'aoo of virtue, — thiri is my hope : I wish that my memory and name maj animate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfidious Government 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 man 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 barljarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows sshich it has made.* 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 em.anci- pation of my country from the suf^erinhuman 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 srill union and strength in Ireland to accomplifih 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- sion like this. Yes, my Lords ; a man who does not wish to have hij epitaph written until his country is liberated will not leave a weajwn 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 jonv Lordships, whose situation I commiserate rather than envy ; — my expressions were for my countrymen; if there is a true Irishman present, let my last words cheer him in the hour of his affliction — t 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 with 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 -vreak and wicked enthusiasts who feel a3 yoB &»el are unequal to the accomplishment of their wild designs.--' I He was tiere interrupted by Lord Norbury, who said : " You proceed to UDwar rantable lengths, in order to exasperate and delude the unwary, and circulat* opinions of the most dangerous tendency, for the purposes of mischief." X Lord Norbury here interrupted the speaker with, — " What you have hitbertf ■aia confirms and justifies the verdict of the jury." FORENSIC A>{D JUDICIAL. EMIIBTT. 3.'>b Dy which he vas actuated in the crime ot l^Jich fie had beei adjudged guilty. That a judge has thought it his duty fco to havo done, I have no doubt ; but where is the boasted freedom of your institutions, — where is the vaunted impartiality, clemency, and iniUU ness of your courts of justice, — if an unfortunate prisoner, whom your {K)licy, and not justice, is about to deliver into the hands of the executioner, is not sutfered to explain his motives sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the principles by which he was actuated ? My Lords, it may l)e 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 ray 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 Loi'd, 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 dui'ing 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 ehnuld ask the question ; the form also presumes the right of answer- ing ! This, no doubt, may be dispensed with ; and so might the whole ceremony of the trial, since sentence was already pronounced at the Oastle before your jury was impanelled. Your Lordships ai-e but th.-; priests of the oracle, and I submit to the sacrifice ; but I insiai in the wholr of the forms.'*' • Here Lord Norbury exclaimed : " Listen, Sir, to the sentence of the law.'' t Here Mr. Eiumett paused, and the Court desired hi^ to proceed S60 THl ^ANDARD SPEAKJDlv. J AM charged with being an emissary of France An emissary of France ! — and for what end It is dleged that 1 wished to sell th< 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 ! 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 fi'om 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 was the wish of my heart to extiicate 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 a,uthorifcy incansisteat with the purest independence, it would be the signa,l 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. Wore the French to come as invaders or enemies, uninvited by the wishes of the People, I should oppose them to the u+most 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 were forced 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 ictrenchment of liberty should be my grave. What I could not do mjself, if I should fall, I would leave in charge 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 prove to France, and to the world, that Irishmen deserved to be assisted j that they were indignant at slavery, and ready to asseit th^ indfpenJ- Kice and liberty of their country ! I wished to procure tor my coup FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. JEMMETT. 361 try the gus runtee which Washington procured for America, — to pro- cure an aid which, by its example, would be as important as by ita valor, — allies disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science and csijeri- enoe ; who would preserve the good and polish the rough points 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. Thase were my views, and these only become Irishmen. It was foi these ends I sought aid from France, because France, even as an enemy, 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 scaiFold 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- ship might swim in it ! 1^ Let no man dare, when I am dead, to chaigt; me with dishonor. Lit no man attaint my memory by believing that I could have eng-;iged in any caus-a 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 Government 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 to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the lomestic tyrant. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upoD tue threshold of ray country, and its enemy should enter only by pas* ing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my country * Here he was interrupted by the Court. \ Here he was interru^jted by Lord Norl ary. ^ Hero the rodare int^'^ere^ S02 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. -- who have subjected myself to the dangers ox the jealous and watcA fiil oppiesyor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my oountrymeu 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 sufi'ering 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 are 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 goir,g 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 ite 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 igu-orance 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. When my coun- try takes her place among the nations of the earth, — then, and not till then, — let my epitaph be written \ I have done L. GREAT MINDS IN THEIR RELATIONS TO CHRISTIANITY. — £rsfane, jn tHe trial ofWiUia'nis,forpubUf:luns Paiiie\i "^^e of Reason.''' Thomas Erskine was born in Scotland, in 1750, ami 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- sic oratory, has never been surpassed. It lias been said of him, that no man that ever lived so elevated and honored his caUing. In running the mind along the long list of sincere and devout Christians, I cannot help lamenting that Newton had not lived to this 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 awi'ul for irony. I will speak plainly and directly. Newton was a Christian I — Newton, whose mind burst forth from the fetters cast by aature upon our finite conceptions ; — Newton, whose science waa truth, and the foundations of whose knowledge of it was philosophy not tho.se visionary and arrogant presumptions which too often usurp its name, but pliilosophy resting upon the basis of mathematics, whi 2b * Hero Lord Norbury told the prisoner that his principles were treasonanfe ano mbversive of government, and his language unbecoming a person in his situation, and that his father, the late Dr. Emmett, was a man who wonld m-i i are count* oanced such sentiments FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. ERSKINK. 3 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 raent 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 rjins ! Believing, then, as I do, that we are on the eve of a great atrugglo, — that this is only the first battle between reason and powei- — that you have now in your hands, committed to your trust, tho onls i66 THE STANDAKr tPEAKl-R. remains of tree discussion in Europe, now confined tc this kingdom , addressing you, therefore, as the guardians of the most important interests of mankind, — c^ivinced 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 cf free discussion against the most formidable enemy that it ever encountered ! 9. THE INSTIGATORS OF TREASON, 1807. — IVilliam Wirt. William Wirt, one of the brightest ornaments of the American bar, was born at Bladensbui-g, Maryland, November 8th, 1772. The most memorable case in which hia 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 e.xquisite description of the temptation of Blennerhrtssett by Burr is a, most graceful and masterly specimen of forensic art. In 181T Mr. Wirt was appointed Attorney General of the United States. He died February 18th, 1834. The inquiry is, whether presence at the overt act be necessary to make a man a traitor ? The Gentlemen say that it is necessary, — that be 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 isurper, have given peculiar importance and solemnity to the crime :f treason, by ingrafting a provision against it upon the Constitution. But tliey 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 he is innocent in law, while those he has deluded are to suffer the death of traitors I Who is the more guilty of this treason, the poor, weak, ieluded instruments, or the artful and ambitious man, who corrupted and misled tliem ? There is no comparison between his guilt and theii-s ; and yet yon lecure impunity to kirn., while they are to suffer 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 mover of +he whole mischief, and of the poor men on Blennor- hassett's Island, who called themselves " Burr's men." In the case }f murder, who is the more guilty, the ignorant, deluded perpetrator iv the abominable instigator ? Sir, give to the Constitution the con- ctruction contended for on the other aide, and you might ns vo.\i KOKENSIC AND JUDICIAL. ixpXiflge the crime of treason from your criminal code , nay, you had w^rter do it, for by this construction you hold out the lure of impunity to 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 tnore dango-ous and the more likely to commit it, the meie instni" ment, who applies the force, or the daring, aspiring, elevated geniaa, who devises the whole plot, but acts behind the scenes ^ 10. BUltK AND BLENNERIIASSETT. — W'iWam fFirt A. PLAIN man, who knew nothing of the curious transmutations whir h 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 uu 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, «vhc fled from the storms of his own country, to find quiet in om-s. 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- stone 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 offers to him all the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity and innocence, shod 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 con\Tince you. Sir, that this is but a fiint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this inno- ceneo, and this tranquillity, — this feast of the mind, this pure banquet Df the heart, — the destroyer comes. He comes to turn this paradise into a heil. Yet tne flowers do not wither at his approach, and no monitory snudclermg through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor varus mm of thu^ ruui that is coming upon him. A stranger presents 'iimsoli. Lt is \iron Burr. Introduced to their civilities by the lign ra.nK- vhicii ac tiad lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to thoiih<^arts, by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the dght and bet-utv of his conversation, and the seductive and faseinatina ■oower of his address. The conquest was not difficult. Innocence is »ver sinple a.nd credulous. Conscious of no designs itself, it suspects 368 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. none in othere. It wears no guards before its breast. Every dooi and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who choo96 it enter. Such was the state of Eden, when the serpent entered it« bowers ! The prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into tha open and unpractised heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart, and the objects of its affliction. 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 &tjrm, 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 enjo5^s 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 aiFects him; and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto touched his 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 mJngling 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 iu misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere accessory ! Is this reason Is it law ? Is it humanity ? Sir, neither the human heart nor thf human understandhig will bear a perversion so monstrous and absurd 80 shocking to the soul ; so revolting to reason ! 11 REPLY TO 5IR. WICKIIAM IN BURR'S TRIAL, 1807 — William WiH. In proceeding to answer the argument of the Gentleman, I will r,reat him with candor. If I misrepresent him, it ydW not be inteo- honally. I will not follow the example which he has set me, on i lory recent occasion. I will endeavor to meet *he Gentleman's prop I FOREXSIC AND JUDICIAL. — WEBSTER. 36S •eitions in tlieir full force, ind to answer them fairly. I will not, 4i\ I am advancing towards them, with my mind's eye n.e:isure the height, breadth, and power of the proposition ;• if I find it beyond my str.ngth, halve it; if still beyond ray strength, quarter it ; if stiil Qecossary, subdivide it into eighths ; and when, by this process, I have reduced it to the proper standard, take one of these sections and tosa it with an air of elephantine strength and superiority. If I find niyi^elf capable of conducting, by a fair course of reasoning, any one of liis 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 T know it is just as I had not said. I know that, by adopting these arts, T 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 pi'ocured 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 G-en- tleman's science and judgment as a lawyer. I hope I shall never be capable of such a wish ; and I h^d hoped that the Gentleman himself felt so strongly that proud, that high, aspiring, and ennobling magna- nimity, which I had been told conscious tcxlents rarely fail to inspire, that he would bav^c disdained a poor and fleeting triumph, gained by means like these. 12. QUILT CANNOT KEEP ITS OWN SKCRET. — Daniel Webster, on tke trial of J F. Knapp, lS30,/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 ^aven ! 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 i-etreats, retraces his stef»s *A) t'ne window, passes out through it as he came in, and eseap-es. He 'aa.s done the murder; — no eye has seen him, no ear has h^ard him. The secret is his own, — and it is safe ! Ah ! Gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can )e safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has* neither nook nor ■iomer where the guUty can bestow it. and say it is safe. Not t<^ 24 570 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds 3verything as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speak* ing that " murder will out." True it is, that Providence hath so. ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of Heaven, by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery mast 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 Becret. It is false to itself; or, rather, it leeh 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 beat- ing at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He 'jninks the whole'world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his cour- age, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions, from without, begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles, with still greater violence, to burst forth. It must be confessed ; — it will be confessed ; — there is no refuge from confes- sion but suicide — and suicide is confession ! 13. MORAL POWER THE MOS'^ FORMIDABLE. —^vrfs-e McLean, 1S38, 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 Gov- ernments ; that we shall not intermingle our national concerns with theirs ; jyid much 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 country, by trampling under foot its laws, compromising its honor and involving it in the most serious embarrassment with a foreign and friendly Nation. It is, indeed, lamentable to reflect, that such men, under such circumstances, may hazard the peace of the country. If they were to come out in array against their own Government, the con- sequence to it would be far less serious. In such an eflfort, they could QOt involve it in much bloodshed, or in a heavj expenditure, no; FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. HUGO. 37 i i^ould its c immerce and creneral business be materiully injureci "But a war with u powerful Nation, with whom we have tlie most extensive relations, commercial and social, would bring down upon our countrj 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 alFords to all its citizens, and the liljerty 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 Grovernments, 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 Government ; 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 by the exercise of an elevated patriotism. But, if we trample under our feet the laws of our countrj', — 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 ■ustly, too, as a Nation of pirates. 14. THE DEATH VYJ^kV^Y. — Original Translation from Victor Hugo. From Victor Hugo's si)eech at the trial of his son, Charles Hugo, in Paris, June lltli, 18&1, :hargecl with violating the respect due to the laws, in an article in the journal " L' Evone- ment," upon the execution of Montcliarmont, a sentenced criminal. Notwithstanding the Silher's eln(|ueiit appeal, Charles Hugo was found " guilty " by the Jury, and sentenced to six months' imprisonment, and a fine of tive hundred francs. Gentlemen of 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- edly, teaaoiously. Yes, this old and absurd lex talidnis — this law of blood for blood — I have combated all my life — all my life. Gen- tlemen of the Jury ! And, while I have breath, I will continue t<> combat it, by all my efforts as a writer, by all my words and aL oiy votes as a legislator ! I declare it before the cruv'ifix ; before that victim of the penalty of death, who sees and hears us ; before that gibbet, to which, two thousand years ago, for the eternyl iastruc tioE of the generations, the human law nailed the Divine ! 'il2 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, In all that- my soia 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 sentimenw ^yith which, from his infancy. I have inspired him. Gentlemen Jurors, the right to criticize a law, and to criticize it severely, — especially a penal law, — is placed beside the duty of amelioiation, like the torch beside the work under the artisan's hand. This right of the journalist (B as sacred, as necessary, as imprescriptible, as the right of the legis- lator. Wliat are the circumstances ? A man, a convict, a senteneeii wretch, is dragged, on a certain morning, to one of our public squares. There he finds the scaffold ! He shudders, he struggles, he refuses to die. He is young yet — only twenty-nine. Ah ! I know what you will say, — " He is a murderer ! " But hear me. Two officers seize him. His hands, his feet, are tied. He thi-ows 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- denmed man, — after this age of anguish. Gentlemen of the Jury, th ;y take back the poor wretch to his prison. The People breathe ag^m. The People, naturally merciful, hope that the man will be spared. But no, — the guillotint, 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 in the prospect of death, — they drag him forth to execution. He is hoisted 6n to the scaffold, and his head falls ! — And then through every con- Bcienco runs a shudder. Never had legal murder appeared with au aspect so indecent, so abominable. All feel jointly implicated in ihe deed. 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 cry of horror, — a cry of humanity. And this cry you would punish ! And, in face of the appalling facts which 1 have narrated, jou wouk' 'iay to the, guillotine, " Thou art right ! " and to Pity, saintly Pity ' Thou art wrong ! " Gentlemen of the Jury, it cannot be ! Gen >iprjen, I have finished. PART FIFTH. POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. 1. TlIE EXAMPLE OF AMERICA. — Francis Jeffrey. Born, 1113 ; died, IHbd IIow absurd are the sophisms and predictions by which the a \v<> ■ Bates 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 levci of an insecure, and ignoble, and bloody ecjuality ! 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 eondition 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 diffused, 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 Priesthood, an hereditary Nobility, or a permanent Executive, — with all that ie combustible, in short, and pregnant with danger, on the hypothesis of Tyranny, and without one of the cheeks or safeguards by whicb alone, they contend, the benefits or the very being of society cnn be maintained ! There is something at once audacious and ridiculous in raaintainmg • 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 prospering under them for forty years, and has exhibited a picture of uninterrupted, rapid, unprecedented advances in wealth, popuUtiDU, lutelligerce and concord; while all the arbitrary Ooveruments of th« d74 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Old World have been overrun with bankruptcies, eonspiraoies rwbel lions, and Revolutions ; and are at this moment trembling in the coD' Bciousness of their insecurity, and vainly endeavoring to repress irre- pressible discontents, by confederated violence and terror. ■ 2 FALSE NOTIONS OF GOVERNMEl'iT A'lGOB. — fie?;. Syd^itj-SmiA J CANNOT describe the horror and disgust -which I felt at hoarin| 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 shrieki and teai-s been the cheap and vulgar resources of the rulers of man- kind ; how difficult and how noble it is to gx)vern in kindness, and tc found an empire ujwn the everlasting basis of justice and affection I 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, in consulting their prejudices, in selecting proper persons to lead and manage them, in the laborious, watchful, and difficult task of increas- ing public happiness, by allaying each particular discontent. In this way only will Ireland ever be suMued. But this, in the eyes of i\li . 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 \igor Is this Government ? a REJECTION OF THE REFORM BILL, 1931. — Rev. Sydnej^ Smith. Mr. Chairman, I feel most deeply the rejection of the Reform Bill by the Lords, because, by putting the two Houses of Parliament in 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 Hush to see so many dignitaries of the Church arrayed against the wishes and happiness of the People. I feel it, more than all, because I believe it will sow the seeds of deadly hatrt^ between the aristocracy and the great mass of the People. The loss of the BiU I do not feel, and for the best of all possible reasons, — because I have Qot the slightest idea that it is lost. I have no more doubt, betbrf POUTICAL AND OCCASIONAL. MAZZIXl. 375 the expiration of the winter, that this Bill will pass, than I have that the iirnmal tax bills will pass ; and greiter certainty than this no nian «an luiAe, 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 progress of reibrm reminds me very fbrcibh' of the great storm of Bidmouth, 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, la 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 beat Mrs. Partington. 4. ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG MEN OF ITALY.— Joseph Mazzint. 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 Bandi^ra, and their fellow- martyrs, at I When I was commissioned by you, young men, to proffer in thia 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, uncertaia 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 froip wde to side ? Ah ! had we all arisen in the sanctity of the idea for which oui ttiartyrs died ; had the holy standard of their faith preceded our youtl S78 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. tc battle ; had we made of our every thought an action, and of c^ every action a thought ; had we learned from them that liberty anc 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 gladly 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 souis, ^'■Rejoice, for your spirit is incarnate in your brethren,, and they arc worthy of you." Could Attilio and Eniilio Bandiera, and thoii 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 yom 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 ia 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'^ger 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 Sght, 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 natui-es. From that high sphere spring the principles which ftlone can redeem the Peoples. Love enthusiasm, — the pure dreams of tit 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 eniai}« eipation of our soil, even with those who differ from you, yet ever beai erect yoiar own banner, and boldly promulgate your faith. Such words, young men, would the martyrs of Cosenza have spokep, had tliovbeea living amongsf you. And here, where, perhaps, invokea POLITICAL AND 0CCA3I0^AL. — KOSSUTH. 371 .>y our love, their holy spirits hover near ur,, J call upon you to gathej ihom up in your hearts, and to make of them a treasure amid tkme. God be witL you, and bless Italy ! {. APPEAL TO THE HUNGARIANS, 1849. — Louis Konsutk. 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 Russian 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 Russia ; that a Russian army of forty-six thousand men has broken into our country fi-om Gallicia, and is on the march ; that another 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 straggle 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 as 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 ! 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 V If not, defend yourselves ! Will you behold your villages in flames, and your har- vests destroyed ? Will you die of hunger on the land which your sweat has made fertile ? If not, defend yourselves ! We call upon ^he People, in the name of God and the Country, ttr 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 every pulpit and from every town-house of the country, and made known by the continual ringing of bells. One great effort, and the country is forever saved ! We have, indeed, an army which numbers some two hundred thousand determined men; but the struggle is nfl longer one between two hostile camps ; it is the struggle of tyranny against freedom, — cf barbarism against all free Nations Thereiow 878 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. toast all the People seize arms and support (he arrajj that, thw anited, the victory of fi-eedom for Europe may be won. Fly, then. united with the army, to arms, every citizen of the land, and thf victory is sure ! e. THE CONTENTMENT OF EUROPE. — A'ossMiA, iV^ot;. 12.. 1851. The question, the comprehensive question, is, whether Europe ghall 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 freedom 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 I If 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 nf 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, how could he prove the exist- ence of God ? " Why," answered he, " by opening my eyes. God 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 sncroaching despots ? Italy contented, with the King of Naples ? — or with the priestly Government of Rome, the worst of human inven- ti 111 ' Austria, Rome, Prussia, Dalmatia, contented with having been di ivon to butchery, 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 with slavery ? Vienna contented ? Lombardy, Pesth, Milan, Venice, Prasrue, contented ? — contented with having been ignominiouslj bra;»ded, burned, plundered, sacked, and its population butcberwl rOU-TCAL AND OCCASIONAL. — KOSSUTH. ^7^ Half of the European continent contented with the scaffold, with tht hangman, with the prison, with having no political rights at all, but huviDg to pay innumerable millions tor tlie hiirhly beneficial pur- pose of being kept in a state of s^erlUoni ? That is the condition of the continent, — and is it not ridiculous and absurd in men to prut€ about individuals disturbing the peace and tranquillity of Europe 1 Ah I Gentlemen, humanity has a nobler destiny than to be the foot- stool to tbe 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 PEOVLE. — Kossutk, 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 I The glory of battle is for the historic leaders. Theirs are the laurels of hnmortality. 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 calndy, singing their National anthems, till, rushing upon the batteries, whose cross-fire vomited upon them death ami destruction, they took them without fii-ing 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 whc have inspired me. 8. "IN A JUST CXVSE." — Kossuth, Dec. 11,1851. To prove that Washington never attached to his doctrine of new- trality more than the sense of temporary policy, I refer to one of his iettera, written to Lafayette, wherein he says : — " Let us only have 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 bj &U ihat is sacred and dear to man. since the history of mankind v ftSC THK STANDARD SPEAKER. recorded tnere has been i-o cause more just than the cause cf Huik gary ! rJever was there a People, without the slightest reason, more sacrilegiously, more treacherously, and by fouler means, attacked than Hungary ! Never have crime, cursed ambition, despotism and violence, in a more wicked manner, united to crush down freedom, and the rery life, than against Hungary ! Never was a country more mortally outraged than Hungary. AH 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 suiSciently just to insure the protection of God, and the support of good-willing m.en, 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 brethi'en 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 help me — / can do no otherwise ! " V/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 tliat your glorious Republic will prove to the world that Ptepublics are formed on virtue. It expects to see pu the guardians of the law of humanity ! 9. PEACE INCONSISTENT WPTE OPPRESSION. —jSro.wu> * An allusion to the victories in Mexico, the news of which had beer recezttlj woeived. POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. JIOCNTFORD. 385 tofore, to the call of suffering humanity. Nobly did you /espcnd to oppressed Greece and to struggling Pohind. Within Erin's borders is an enemy more cruel than the Turk, more tyrannical than the Rus sian. Bread is the only weapon that can conquer him. Let us, then, load ships with this glorious munition, and, in tlie name of our common humanity, wage war against this despot Famine. Let us, in God's 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. — William. Mountford. O, 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 str;^nge 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 into the sea, or when they are washed from the deck like insects. Think of what it is, day and night, without rest and without 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. Think of the diseases that come of hardships at sea. Think of what it is to be sick in a lazaretto, — to lie dying in a foreign hospital. Think 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. : 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 what 3f3nie 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 bemg shipwrecks from it on every coast, and deaths by drowning, — several every day, the year round. Ah! yes; to beg with me, to plead with me, for the widow and orphan of the mariner, there comes, fi-om many a place where seamen ha\ 8 died, a call, a prayer, a beseeching voice ; — a cry from the coas» 25 S86 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. of Guinea, where there is fever evermore ; a cry from Arctic «ma 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 ks 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 youi- 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. — Edward £uere«. 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 England ? What American does not feel proud that his fathers were the countrymen of Bacon, of Newton, and of Locke ? Who does not kndw, 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 Dvinciples struggled into existence liere, 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 prayers of the faithful British confessoi'S, in all the quarters of their disper- sion, went over with them, while thair aching eyes were strained till the star of hope should go up in the western skies ? And who will ever forget, that, in that eventful struggle which severed these youth- ful republics from the British crown, there was not heard, throughout our continent in arms, a voice which spoke louder for the rights of America than that of Burke, or of Chatham, within the walls of the British Parliament, and at the foot of the British throne ? No ; for myself, I can truly say, that, after my native land, I fcel a tenderness and a reverence for that of my fathers. Tho pride I take in my own coxmtry makes me respect that fi'om 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 sound of my native language, beyond the sea, is a music, to my ear, beyond the richest strains of Tuscan softness or Castilian majesty. I am not yet m a land of strangers, while surrounded by the manners, the habits, and the institutions, under which I have been brought up. I 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 suffering flithers. The pleasant land of their birth has a claim on my heart. It seems to me a classic, yea, a holy land ; rich in the memory of the great and good che champions and the martyrs of liberty, the exiled heralds of truth and richer, as the parent of this land of promise in the West. 1 am not — I need not say I am not — the panegyrist of England X am cot dazzlecj ]iy her riches, nor awed by her power. The sceotre rOLITlCAL AND OCCASIONAL. EVERETT. 387 '.he iflitre, and the coronet, — stars, garters, and blue ribbons, — seem oo me poor things for great men to contend ibr. Nor is my admiradcD nwakened by her armies, mastered for the battles of Europe; hei oavies, ovei-shadomng the ocean ; nor her empire, grasping the I'urthwt East, It is these, and the price of guilt and blood by which they are boo often maintained, which are the cause why no i'riend of liberty c-an salute her with undivided aftections. 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 haa passed ; the tombs of those who have reflected houor 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 ihould feai ashamed of an enthusiasm for Italy and Greece, did I not also feel it for a land like this. In an American, it would seem to me degenerate and ungrateful to hang with passion upon the traces of Homer and Virgil, and follow, without emotion, the nearer and plainer footsteps of Shakspeare and Milton. I should thiuk him cold in hia love for hJ9 native land who felt no melting in his heart for that other native country, which holds the ashes of his forefathers. I 16. DIPERISHABILITY OF GREAT EXAMPLES. — £di«ara Euereii. 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 traced 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 :t 1Mb 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. CIVILIZATION OF AFRICA, 1SZ2. — Edward Everett. It is said that it is impossible to civilize Africa. Why? Wny is it impossible to civilize man in one part of the earth more than in another ? Consult history, . Was Italy — was Greece — the cradle Bl" civilization ? No. As far back %b the lights of tradition reach, 388 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Africa was the cradle of science, while Syria, and Greece, ami Itaiy were yet covered with darkness. As far back as we can trace th« first 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 filled 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 l>een called the Athens of modern Europe, — the country of Hume, of Smith, of Robertson, of Blair, of Stewart, of Brown, of Jeffrey, of Chalmers, of Scott, of Brougham, — was a wilderness, infested ly 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 civilizing Africa, through the instrumentality of a colonial establishment, and that in a comparatively short time ? It is but about ten years since 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 Literia 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 encouraging 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 h already, in no small part, accomplished. . 18. WHAT GOOD WILL THE MONUMENT DO? nZZ. — Edward Everett I AM met with the great objection. What good will the Momimeni do? I beg leave, Sii", to exercise my birthright as a Yankee, and answei' 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 good will the monument do ? And I ask, what good does any- thing do ? What is good ? Does anything do any good ? The per- sons who suggest this objection, of course, think that there are some orojects and undertakings that do good ; and I should therefore like TO have the idea of good explained, and analyzed, and run ou^ to itf i^UTICAL AND OCCASIONAL. — WEBSTER. 388 e«emente. 'Hien this is done, if I do not demonstrate, in abov \ two Biinutes, that the monument does the same kind of good that an} thing else does, I shall consent that the huge blocks of granite, already laid, should be reduced to gravel, and carted ofl' 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 intercourse, opens markets, and increases the wealth of the country. But what is this good for ? ^\^hy, individuals prosper and get rich. And what good does that do ? Is mere wealth, as an ultimate end, — gold and silver, without an inquiry as to their use, — are these a good ? Certainly not. I should insult this audience by attempting to prove that a rich man, dS sucli, is neither better nor liappier than a poor one. Bui, 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 ? Where is the good in counting twelve millions, instead of six, of mere feeding, working, sleeping animals ? There is, then, no good in the mere animal life, except 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 (and 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 dowa practical good as filling up low grounds and building railroads. This is my demonstration. 19. TO THE EEVOLUTIONARY VETERANS.— Can ie/ Webster, at the laying' of the ecr« ner-stone of t lie Bunker Hill Monuinent, June 17, 1825. We hold still among us some of those who were active agents in the scenes of 1775, and wb.o are now here, from every quarter of New England, to visit once more, and under circumstances so affecting, — [ had abnost 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, fitly years ago, this very hour, with your brothers, and your neighbors, ishoulder to shoulder, in the strife for your country. Behold, how altered. The same heavens are indeed over your heads ; the same DtKian rolls at your feet ; but all else how changed ! You hear now tto -oai of hostile camiou you see now no mixed volumes of sraoL* S90 THE STANDARD SPEAKPJl. and tame rising from burning Charlestown. The ground strewed with the dead and the dying ; the impetuous chaj-ge ; the steady and sue* eessful repulse ; the loud call to repeated assault ; the summonmg 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 Ib 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 then saw filled with wives and children and country- men in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for 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 Grod has granted you this sight of your country's happiness, ere you slumber in the grave forever. Bat, alas ! you are not all here. Time and the sword have thinned your ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Bead, Pomeroy, Briilge ! — 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 tlie light of Liberty, you saw arise the light of Peace, like " Another morn 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 I Him ! the premature victim of Ihs 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 I 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; )iit 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 bo to claim kindred with thy spirit ! Veterans ! you are the remnant of many a well-fought field. Yon bring with you marks of honor from Trenton and Monmouth, from Yorldown, Camden, Bennington, and Saratoga. Veteiaas of half a century ! when, in your youthful days, you put everything at hazard m 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 abrcad intt the whole e-arth, and see what a name you have contributed tt give U, POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. — WEBSTER. 391 four country, and what a praise you have adJeJ to freedom, and th«5n lejoice ia the sympathy and gratitude which beam upoa your last iays from the improved condition of mankind. 20. SANCTITY OF STATE OBLIGATIONS, liW.— JVebster. . We have the good fortune, under the blessing of a benign Provi* dsncc, to live in a country which we are proud of for many things, — for its independence, for its public liberty, for its free in&litutions, 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 3ral conduct of the country, since she took her place among the nation) of the world. But among the events which most threaten our char- acter and standing, and which so grossly attach on these moral princi- ples that have hitherto distinguished us, are certain sentiments which have been broached among as, and, I am sorry to say, have more sup- porters than they ought, because they strike at the very tbmidation 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 liijk of separation ? It changes hourly. The American community to-day i? 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 jg 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 difi'erence, — 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 aspiratioc to Heaven, that she may be immortal ! n. TRE FOURTH OF JVhY.— Daniel Webster, at jrashinrton, D C, July i,l'iSl, on laying the corner-stone of the new wing- of the Capitol. This is that day of the year which announced to mankind the greai &ct of American Independence ! This fresh and brilliant morning hlosscs our vision with another beholding of the birth-day c f our nation • 892 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. and we see that nation, of recent origin, now am^ng the most cousid 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, — 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, ic real importance, 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 behold 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 has 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 iniportant 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 cheers 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. Everyman's heart swells, within him, every man's port and bearing becomes somewhat more proud and lofty, as he remembers that seventy-five years have rolled away, and that the great inheritance of liberty is still his ; his, undiminished and unimpaired : his, in al^ its original glory ; his to enjoy, his to protect, and his to trao=iiit te future generatioxis. FOI XTICAlj AXD OCCASIONAL. WKUSTER. 39b ja APOSTROPHE 1 WASHINQTON. — On the Uut-xsmed aeeatimt FelIjOMt-citizexs : What contemplations are awakened in our minds as wo assemble here to reenact a scene like that performed bj Washington ! 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 jet 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. Miglity 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 ai-ound him as if the spot had been devoted to Druidical worship, and here he performs the appointed duty of the day. And now, fellow-citizens, if this vision were a reality, — if Wash- ington actually were now amongst us, — and if he could draw around Lim the shades of the great public men of his own days, patriots and ■warriors, orators and statesmen, and were to address us in their presence, would he not say to us : " Ye men of this generation, I rejoice and thank God for being able to see that our labors, and toils, and sacrifices, were not in vain. You are prosperous, you are happy, you 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 you 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 God, 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 ! " Groat father of your country ! we heed vour words ; we feel their force, as if you now uttered them with lips of flesh and blood. Your example teaches us, your affectionate addresses teach us your pub- lic life teaches us, your sense of the value of the blessings of t!ie Union. Those blessings our fathers have tasted, and we have tasted, and still taste. Nor do we inteml that those who come after us sha^ be denied- the same high fruition. Our honor, as well as our happi tiess, is concerned. We cannot, we dare not, we will not, betray our sacred trust. We will not filch from posterity tlie treasure placed in our hands to be traa^mitted to other generations. The bow that gilds 394 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Ihe cKiuds in the Heavens, the pillars that upi^ld the firmament, may disappear and fall away in the hour appointed by ttie will of God ; but, until that day comes, or so long as our lives may last, nc ruthless hand shall undermine that bright arch of Union and Liberty which spans the continent from Washington to California ! 23. THE POVTER OP PUBLIC OPINION, lS52. — fribster We are too much inclined to underrate the power of moral inflji' 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 liberty 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 to 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 thst 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 affect 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 of the earth. There is not a monarch on earth whose throne is not 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 betweeo these two rival powers — the autocratic power, maintained by arms and tbrce, afxd the popular power, maintained by opinion. — the former is eonstiintly decreasing, and, thank God, the latter is constantly increas- ing! Real humaji liberty and human rights are gaining the ascend- mt , and the part which we have to act. in a 1 this great drama, is t« tvLlTICAL AND OCCASIONAL.- KING. Bi*?! »how ourselves in favor of those rights, to uphold cur asccnaency, and w curry it on until we shall see it culminate in the highest Heaven over our heads. at THE FUTURE OF THE UNITED STATES. —President King 1 HAVE faith in the future, because I have confidence in the present. With our gi'owth 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 su^'h 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 political 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 State ; and these masses, though slow to move, are irresistibly when the time and the occasion for moving come. I have faith, therefore, in the Future ; and when, at the close of iihis half-century, which so comparatively few of us are to see, the account shall again be taken, and the question be asked. What has Ne\^ 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 hei' virtues, her benev- olent 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 TBE STANDARD SPEAKER. 25 IMPORTANCE OF THE AGRICULTURAL INTEREST.-- Ca/P I Cuskma These United States are, as a whole, and always have been, chiefij iependent, for their wealth and power, on the natural productions of the earth. It is the spontaneous products of our forests, our mineft. and our seas, and the cultivated products of our soil, which have ruad?., 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 m-ay 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 tactions rend the entrails of their common country ; temples, and basilica, and 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- ing, that inexhaustible, that adoi-able Nature ; and, as such, the steif ■ ardship of our nationality is in him. 26. EUROPEAN STRUGGLES FOR FREEDOM, 18i8.—Reverdy Johnson. Amidst the agitating throes of the Old World, — amidst the &11 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 bo 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 inev- 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 ; pei-fect 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- vng, and, sooner or later, ceiiain to obtain, the applause, admiration, w)d adoption of the world. Appai jntly sudden and unexpected as have been these great popu- iar struggles, with which we are sympathizing, they were as certain POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. CHOATE. 39^ to oocar as the revolution of the seasons. To be free, man needs onlj to know tlie value of freedom. To :-ast off the shackles of tyranny, !m; needs only to know his power. The result is inevitable. ]iut tho People of the Old World must also learn that liberty, unrestrained, i^ dangerous licentiousness. Of all conditions in which man may be placed, anarchy is the most direful. All history teaches that the tyranny of the many is mor3 fatid than the tyranny of the few. The liberty suited to man's na'-ure 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 ohould 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, fail 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. —iJu/us Ckoate. 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, m 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 v/as 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, Gentlemen, 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 countrVj and, at the same time, secure an undying love and regard from tho whole American people. " The fii-st in the hearts of his counti'y- 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 ; ?nd it wU! be the last gasp of her Bxpinng life; S98 THE STANDARD gPEAETSR. Yes! Others of our great men have been appreciated, — manj admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. Alxjut and around him we call up no dissentient and discordant and dissatisfied dementis, — no sectional prejudice nor bias, — no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. Yes. When the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm, and cheer eve}*y Amer- ican heart. It shall relume that Promethean fire, that 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, AVhom Envy dared not hate. Bequeathed the name of Washington, To make man blush, there was but one."* 28. THE PROSPECTS OF 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. Steam.ers dart along our rivers, and innu- merable vessels spread their white wings over our bays. Not Con- stantinople, upon which the wealth of imperial Eome was lavished, — not St. Petersburg, to found which the arbitrary Czar sacrificed thousands of his subjects, — would rival, in rapidity of growth, the fair city 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 eonfined within her own borders. Mexico, and the islands nestled in che embrace of the Pacific, have felt the quickening breath of her :interprise. With her golden wand, she has touched the prostrate corpse of South American industry, and it has sprung up in the fresh- i<=«s oi' life. She has caused the hxma of busy life to be heard in the * Lord Byron. I f .jLITTCAL and OCCASIOXAI*. WEDS1ER. 399 wildeiaess ^\hcrc■ rolls the Oregon,' and but recently beard no Fcnnd. "save his own dasbings." Even tbe -wall of Cbiiiese exclu- nivcncfts has teen broken down, and the Children of the Sun have come forth U) view the splemlor of her achievements. IJiit, fiattc-rinnf as has been the past, satisfactory as is the present, it is but a fo-etaste of the future. It is a trite saying, that we live in an age of great events. Nothing can be more true. But tlie greatest of all events of the present age is at hand. It needs not the gift of propli(!cy to predict, that t!ie course of the world's trade is destined soon to be changed. But a few years can elapse before the commerce of A-sia 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 Tehuaritepec, 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- utetl, 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 i\.meri- cans, and the expectations of the world. Let us not only be united uraongst ourselves, for our own local welfare, but let us strive to jement the common bonds of brotherhood of the whole Union. In Dur 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 STANDARD OF TILE CONSTITUTION, i^e&. 1852. — fTefeZer If classical history has been found to be, is now, and shall continue to be, the concomitarj*-. of free institutions, and of popular eloquence, what a field is opening to us for another Herodotus, another Thucyd" Ides (only may his theme not be a Peloponnesian war), and another liivy ! 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 w the fear of God, and shall respect His commandments, — if we and they shall maintain just moral sentiments and such conscien* cious convictions of duty as shall control the heart and life, — W9 may have the highest hopes of the future fortunes of our country. And, if we maintain those institutions of government, and that politi- Bal Union., — exceeding all praise as much as it eyceodf all fjrmtjj 40C THE STANDARD SPEAKER. examples 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. ]^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 hisfaory ! Let the horrible narrative never be written ; let its fate be like that of the lost books of liivy, 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. But, G-entlemen, I will not take mj leave of you in a tone of de- spondency. We may trust that Heaven will not forsake us, so lonof 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 milike in character, but they all have some fault to find. Some of them are enthusiasts, hot-headed, self-sufficient and headstrong. They 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. " TliU3 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 i; accession elsewhere. He who renounces the protection of the Stars and Stripes shelters himself under the shadow of anather flag, you may rest assured of that. Now, to counteract the efforts 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 evil report and good report. We will sustain it, and meet death itself, if it come ; we will ever encounter and defeat error, by day and by night, in light or in darkness — thick darl if it come, till " Danger's troubled night is o'er, And the star oi Peace return." i PART SIXTH NARRATIVE AND LYRICAl 1. THE CRUCIFIXION. —fieu George Crol¥ City of God ! Jerusalem, Why rashes out thy living stream ? The turbaned priest, the hoary seer, The Roman 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 furious nuiltitude, All maddening with the cry of blood. Tis glorious morn ; from height to heighft Shoot the keen arrows of the light ; And glorious, in their central shower. Palace of holiness 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 tliine ! Hide, hide thee in the Heavens, thou sun, Before the deed of blood is done ! Upon that temple's haughty steep Jerusalem'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 bloosS But. in the nmrderer'p furious van, Who totterh or. ' A weary umu 26 KJS THE STANDARD SPEAKER. A CI jss upon his shoulder bound, — ilis brow, his frame, one gushing wound. 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 cui'se. the taunt, the laugh of Bcoru, All that the dying hour can sting. Are rouna thee now, thou tboru-cro-waod king I Yet, cursed and tortured, taunted, spurned, Nq 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 ls 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 earthly throne i This was the earth's consummate hour ; For this hath blazed the prophet's power ; For this hath swept the conqueror's sword j Hath ravaged, raised, cast down, restored Persepolis, Rome, Babylon, For this ye sank, for this ye shone I Yet things to which earth's brightest beam Were darkness — earth itself a dream. Foreheads on which shall crowns be laid Sublime, when sun and star shall fade • Worldi) upon worlds, eternal things Hung on thy anguish. King of Kings ! Still from his lip no curse has come. His lofty eye has looked i.o doom ! No earthquake burst, no angel brand. Crushes the black, blaspheming band : What say those lips, by anguish riven ? " God, be my murderers forgiven ! " flARKATIVB AND LYRICAL.— JROLT. 103 a. THE SEVENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. —Rev. George Ci»tt T WAS morn, — the rising splendor rolled On marble towers and roof's of gold : Hall, court and gallery, below, Were crowded with a living flow ; Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there, The bearers of the br>w and spear , The hoary priest, the Chaklee sage, The slave, the gemmed and glittering page — •• Helm, turban and tiara, shone, A dazzling ring, round Pharaoh's Throne. There came a man, — the human tide Shrank backward from his stately stride : His cheek with storm and time was tanned ,* A shepherd's staff was in his hand. A shudder of instinctive fear Told the dark King what step was near ; On through the host the stranger came, It parted round his form like flame. He stooped not at the footstool stone. He clasped not sandal, kissed not Throne ; Erect he stood amid the ring, His only words, — " Be just, 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 spoK.« r. Haughty and high the words outbroke : " Is Israel weary of its lair, The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare ? Take back the answer to your band ; Go, reap the wind ; go, plough the sand Go, vilest of the living vile. To build the never-ending pile, Till, darkest of the nameless dead, The vulture on their flesh is fed ! What better asks the 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 ! — BehcW ' The prophet spoke, — the thunder rolled ! 404 THE STANDARD SFfiAKKB. Along the pathway of the suu 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 gi'ound. " Speak, King ! — the wrath is but begun, — Still dumb ? — Then, Heaven, thy will be doDi 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 r-oof and battlement ; Like webs the giant walls were rent j Red, broad, before his startled gaze, The Monarch saw his Egypt blaze. Still swelled the plague, — the flame grew paSi 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 gravs ! Down go the hope, the pride of years ; Down go the myriad marinei-s ; The riches of Eixrth's richest zone, Gone ! like a flash of lightning, gone I And, lo I that first fierce triumph o'er, Swells Ocean on the shrinking shore " HAEKATIVE AND LYRICAL. DELaVIWNB. 40o Stil] onward, onward, dark and wide, Engulfs the land the furious tide. Then bowed thy spirit, stublwrn King, Thou serpent, reft of fang -and stmg ; 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. TBDREE UAlji IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS. — Ori^wa/ adapCaltnn of a tioH from l)elavi!;ne. 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 dovvn through a fathomless sea. The pilot, in silence, leans mournfidly 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 sunlc from the skies. And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified eyes ; But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the night, Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light. " Columbus ! 't is day, and the darkness is o'er." — " Day ! and what dost thou see ? " — " Sky and ocean. No m'yt^ ' The second day 's pa^it, and Columbus is sleeping While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping : " Shall he perish ? " — " Ay ! death ! " is tire barbarous cry "He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must die* " 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 ou that shore which his patient eye craves * The corse of an Iw^mble adventurer, then ; One day later, — ^^o.umbus, the first among men ' 406 THE STANDARD SPEAEBS- But, hush I he is dreaming ! — A veil on the maiii. At the dislant horizon, is parted in twain, And now, on hl^ dreaming eye, — rapturous sight ! — Fresh bursts the New Wbrld from the darkness of nigfef 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 " Joy ! 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 teri'ible 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 I A People appear, Impatient of wrong, and unconscious of fear ! rhey level the forest, — they ransack the seas, — Each zone finds their canvas unfui'led to the breeze. " Hold I " 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 acclaim. 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 ; WTiom 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 blesseth his sight, — The land I O, dear spectacle ! transport ! delight ! 0, generous sobs, which he cannot i-estrain ! What will Ferdinand say ? and the Future ? and Spain ? SARRATIVK A^D LYRICAL. MILWS. IG' He will lay this fair land at the foot of the Throne, — His King will repay all the ills he has known, — In exchange for a world what are honors and gains ? Or a crown ? But ho^v is he rewarded ? — with chains ! 4. DESTKUCTION OV THE PHILISTINES. —i»/t7f on. II has been said of Ihe folloning passage, that "the pnet seems to exert no less force of |H ■ describing, than Saiuson ilocis strength of Ijody in exuuutiug." 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 should he 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 anseiit 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 mna, When to their sports they turned. Immediately Was Samson as a public sei'vant 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 dreadfid 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 piUaF * That is. men and horses in annor 40S "TJE aPAHDARD SPEAKER. That to the ar3hed roof gave main support. He, unsuspicious, 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 gi-eat 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 del'ight 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 winda and waters pent, When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars With horrible convulsion to and fro He tugged, he shoo'k, 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 Pudled down the same destruction on himself; The vulgar only 'scaped, who stood without. 6. SATAN'S ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH. — iV/i«o«. 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 andaunted 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 iront athwart my way To yonder gates ? Through them I mean to paai That be assured, without leave asked of thee : Retire, or taste thy tolly ; and learn by proof, Hellborn ! not to coniend with spirits of Heavea t To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied : - - I N-ir-IlATlVE AUT) LYKICAL. — UUGHES. 409 •* Art tliou that traitor angel, art thou he, Who first broke peace in Heaven, and faith, till thei Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms Drew ai'ter 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 rockon'st thou thyself with spirits of Heaveu. 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 Untei-rificd, 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; For never but once more was either like To meet so great a Foe : and now great deeds Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung. Had not the snaky sorceress that sat Fa,st by hell -gate, and kept the fatal key, Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between. I 6. EKLSHAZZAR'S VBAST. — T. S. Huirhes. AJaptation. Joy holds her court in great Belshazzar's haU, "VN'here his proud lords attend their monarch's call. The rarest dainties of the teeming East Provoke the revel and adorn the feast. And now the monarch rises, — " Pour," he ones " To the great gods, the Assyrian deities ! Pouj (brth libations of the rosy wiue 41 C 'fHE STANDAPD SPEAKER. To Nebo, Bel, and all the powers divine ! Those golden vessels crown, which erewhile stood Fast by the oracle of Judah's (ioa, Till that accursed race — " But why, king ! Why dost thou start, with livid cheek ? - - why fling The untasted goblet fi-om 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 eyebiiUs 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 uneftaced. 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 proelaim The mystery of that visionary flame." The holy Prophet came, and stood upright, With brow serene, before Belshazzar's sight. The monarch pointed ti'enibling to the wall : " Behold the portents that our heart appall ! Interpret them, 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 hast kicked the beaffi , 9ee to yon Western sun the lances gleam, Which, ere his Orient rays adorn the sky, Thy blood shall sully with a crimson dye.' NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — HKMANg 411 In the dire carnage of that night's dread hour, Crushed mid the ruins cf his crumbling power, Belyhazzar fell heneath an unknown blow — His kingdom wasted, and its pride laid low ! 7. BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. — jl/rs. Hemann rte celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, navm? made many inelfeotaal effort* k) procure the release of his father, the Cnunt Saldana, who had been iniprisoneii, by Kiuj Alphonso of Asturias, almost from the time of Uernanlo's l)iilh, at hist took up arms, in despair. The war •.vliich ht maintained proved so il.stnictive, that the men of the land >;athered round the kiuL', ami united in demanding S il ! ii '- : i ! i y Alpiiougo accnrdin^'Iy olTered Bernardo Immediate possession of his father's i : i uige for his castle of Carpio. Bernardo, without hesitation, pave up his str n 1 his captives; and, beinjj assured that his father was then on his way from pri> i: i 1 • i tliwith the kinj; to meet him. " And when he saw his fath-'r approaching, he e.xchuni'd," says the ancient chronicle, "' 0, God ! is the Count of Saldana indeed coming ? ' ' Look where he is,' rei)lied the cruel king, ' and now go and greet him, whom you have so long desired to see.'" The remainder of the story will be found related in the liallad. 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 ! — ! 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, dismounting, 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 ! He looked up to the face above, — tlie 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 gi-ound he sprang and gazed ; — but who cbuld paint thac 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 n /t of grief till thou hast seen the teare of warlik'j men ' iX2 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. fie thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renowu, - Ho flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. rhen covering 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 — O ! 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 wer< 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'g reia, Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ; And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, 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 are 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 : — Grive 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 Spain. 8. CASABIANCA. —Mrs. Hemans. Young Casablanca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile) after the ship had taicen fire, and all the guns had bee* abandoned : and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the pow- der. 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 , Tha* Father, faint in death below, his voice no longer heard. He called aloud : — " Say, Father, say, if yet my task is done * " He kjoe-? not that the chieftain lay, unwnscious of his son. NARRATIVE AXD LYRICAL.— lEMANS. 41 J Speak, Father ! " once again he cried, " if I may yet be ^ne ! Incl " but the booming shots replied, and fast the flames rollod OD L'pon his brow ho 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 sj^lendor wild, they caught tl e flag on high. And streamed above the gallant child, like banners in the sky. There came a burst oi" thunder sound, — the boy — ! where was be '' 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 young, faithful heart ! 9. KOCKS OF MY COV^TRY. —Mrs. Hemans. Rocks 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 : ! thus forever guard the land, the severed Land of Home ! 1 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 ; ! 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 dreaming Under young leaves that shook with melodies. My homo ! the spirit of its love is breathing Ixj every wind that plays across my trade * 114 THE STANDARD ^pEARifiU. 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 mathei 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 ij. There, in 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? A&-k 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 but, in its weary ro\ang, 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. —JV/rs. Hemans. Ansvter 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." ! 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 murnmred, in reply, " The blue deep I have crossed. A.nd 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, than, 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 ! Enough to know is given Gbuds, winds and stars, their part ftilfil, — thine is to trust in Heaven." r WAKRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — SCOTT. 41 S K. UOCniSYAR. — Sir rralter Scott. O. YOJNQ Lochinvar is come out of the West, — Througli nil 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 Loehinvar. He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the P]ske river where ford there was none ; But ere he alighted at Nctherby 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-raen, 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 neat 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 LochinvM rhere was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwioks. and Musgraves, they rode, and they rac i\Q THE STANDARD SPEAKER. There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Nether by ne 'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar' •A MARMION TAKING LEAVE OF DOUGLAS. — Sir Walter Scou The train from out the castle drew ; But IManniou 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 Tantallon's towers I stayed, — Part we in friendship from your land, And, no!)le 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 onp 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 limid of Douglas is his own ; And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marniion clasp ! " Burned JMarraion's swarthy cheek like fire And shook his very frame for ire, And — " This to me ! " he said ; *' An 't were not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spareG To cleave the Douglas' head ! And first 1 tell thee, haughty Peer, He who does 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 ''Nay, never look upon your Lord, ind lay your hands upon your sword !). I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! And if thou saidst I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! " On the Earl's cheek the flush of rag® O'ercame the ashen hue of age , NARRATIVE CfD LYRICAL. SCOTT. Fierce he broke forth : — " And darest thou, then. To })card the lion in his den, — The Douglas in his hall ? Ana hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! Up drawbridge, grooms ! — what, warder, ho ! Let the portcullis fall." Lord Marniion 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 ban(i, He halts, and turns with clenched hand, A shout of loud defiance pours. And shakes his gauntlet at the towers ! 14. THE DEATH OF MAR3II0N. — 5cof«. 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. EQs hand still strained the broken brand, His arms were smeared with blood and sand ; Dragged from 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 — " By Saint George, he 's gone ! The spcar-wound has our master sped : And ?ee the deep cut on his head ! Good-night to Marmion ! " " Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling ceajse ; He opes his eyes," said Eustace; " peace !" When, doiled his casque, he felt free air, Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare ; " Where 's Harry Blount ? Fitz Eustace, where I Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ? Redeem my pennon ! — charge again ! Cry, 'Marmion to the rescue ! ' — Vain ! 27 4Z? THE STANDARD SPEAKEB. Last of my race, on battle-plain That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly Leave Marmion here alone — to die.'' With fruitless labor Clara bound, And strove to stanch the gushing -wound. The war, that for a space did fail, Now, trebly thundering, swelled the gale, And " Stanley ! " was the cry ; A light on Marmion's visage spread. And fired his glazing eye ; With dying hand, above his head He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted, " Victory ! " " Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, oi Were the last words of Marmion. 15. THE DEATH OF BERTRAM. — Sir Walter BroSS 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 tread 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 arch there sproi^ 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. G-rimly determined was his look! His charger with the spurs he strook, — All scattered backward as he came. For all knew Bertram Risingham ! rhree bounds that noble courser gave ; rhe first has reached the central nave, The second cleared the chancel wide, The third he was at Wyclifie's side ' Pull levelled at the Baron's head, Rang the report, — the bullet sped, — » And to his long account, and last. Without a groan, dark Oswald j«st NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. SCOTT. 419 All was so quick, that it raiirht seem A flash of lightning, or a dream. While yet the smoke tue deed conecaiS, Bertram his ready charger wheels ; But floundered on the pavement floor The pteed, and down the rider bore, And Dursting 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 Wycliife'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 COUNTRY.— 5ir Walter Scott Breathes there a man with soxA so dead. Who never to himself hath said, " This is my own, my native land " ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him Dumed, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandtTing on a foreign strand ? 420 THE SXANDAKD SPEAKEK. If such there breathe, go, mark him woB For hhn ao minstrel raptures swell ! 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.— J/ierf G. Greene. 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 — ha ! ha ! — must die. "And what is death ? I 've dared him oft, before the Paynim spear Think ye he 's entered at my gate — has come to seek me here ? 1 've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot; — I '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 ; Bid each retainer arm with speed ; call every vassal in. Up with my banner on the wall, — the banquet-board prepare, — Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there ! " An hundred hands were busy then : the banquet forth was spread, And rung the heavy oaken iioor 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 Grothie 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 ! Ihere 's life and strength in every drop, — thanksgiving to the vine ! Are ye all there, my vassals true ? — mine eyes are waxing dim . Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim NARllATIVE AND LYRICAL. — BROWNING. 4*11 ' Ye TC there, 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 Rudiger, ' Defiance u:to death ! ' " Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening cry, That made the torches flare around and shook tlie flags on high : " Ho ! cravens ! do ye fear him ? Slaves ! traitors ! have ye flown ? *lo ! cowards, have ye left me to racet him here alone ? " But I defy him ! — let him come ! " Down rang the massy cup, While from its sheath the ready blade cimie flashing half-way up j And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on hi/i head. There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Eudiger sat — dead ! "HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO ATX," 1« — 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 Duffekl, 'twas morning as plain as could be ; And from jMecheln church-steeple we heard the half-cl\ime,. 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 everyone. To stare through the mist at us galloping past, And I saw my stc'ut galloper Roland, at last, . With resolnte 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. — e\ier that glanco O'er its white edge at im\ his own master, askance 122 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. A-iid the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye anc| anoa His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; -and cried Joris, " Stay spur Four lloos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in her, We '11 remember at Aix " * — for one heard the quick wheeac 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, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff ; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. And " Gallop," 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 'twist my knees on the gi'ound. 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 Ghent 19 THE SOLDIER FROM BINGEN.— Mrs. iVor«on. A SOLDIEI of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, Tnere 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. The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, And hs said : "I never more shall see my own — my native land \ Take a message and a token to the distant friends of mine. For I was born at Bitjgen — at Bingen on the Rhine ! * Tlie X in this word is not sounde*!- «ARRAT1VE AND LYFUCAL. — NOIIT..N. 423 ' till my brothers and companions, when they meet anJ crowd around. To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and wi;en 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 ! IJut some were young, and suddenly beheld Life's morn decline, — And one had come from Eingen — 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 cage ; For my father was a soldier, and, even when a cliild. 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, — ! 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 pleasant river, and up the slanting hill. The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; And her glad blue eyes were on rae, as we passed, with friendly talk Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remembered walk ; And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly, in mine, — But we '11 mQvi no n\ore at Bingen — loved Bingen on the Rhine • " 124 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. His Irembljiig voice grew faint and hoarse, his gasp was childish weak His eyes put on a dying look, — he sighed, and r-eased 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 ! Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine . 20. THE TORCH OF LIBERTY. — Thongs 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 hand. The Clear, though struggling, glory bura. And, 0, their joy, as it came near, 'T was, in itself, a joy to see ; — While Fancy whispe-red 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'ixt, Spain, — so new was light to her, Leaped at the torch ; but, ere the spark NARRATIVE AND LfBICAL. DTMOUD._ 42fi 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 ! Who next received the flame ? Alas ! Unworthy Naples. — Shame of shames, That ever through such hands should pass That brightest of all earthly flumes ! 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 dinuned, 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.— Dimond. In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay, HLs 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 floweiB- And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. The jessfxmine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the waJl li All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, ! And th3 voi'^s of loved ones reply to his call \ 426 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, A father bends 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 holds d^r. The heart of the sleeper b'eats high in his breast, Joy quiclcens his jjulse — all liia hardships seem o'er And a murm-ur of happiness steals through his rest — " God ! thou hast blest me, — I ask for no more." Ah ! whence is 'that flame which now bursts on his eye! All ! 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 tumultuouslj swell ; In vain the lost wretch calls on mercj/ 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 ; — Whei-e now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss ? 0, saiior-boy ! sailor-boy ! never again Shall love, home or kindred, thy wishes repay ; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main Pull 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, Around thy white 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 pattei n for ever and aye — 0, sailor-boy ' sailor-boy ' peace to thy soul ! NAliEATlVE AND LYUICAL. SCHILI \Qi. til at CiMOM AUD i'YnilAS. — Adaptation of a translation from SohiUer, b) 8i> A Bulwer Lytlon. " 2^ow, Dioiiysius, — tyrunt, — die ! " Stern Damon with his poniard crept : The watchful guards upon hiui swept; The grim king niarlced his bearing high. " What wouldst thou with thy knite ? 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 lilo 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 sc^. 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. Tiie uridgc was swept the tides before ! And the tunudtuous waves, in thunder. Rushed o'er the shattered aroh and u.ider iJ^f* THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Frantic, dismayed, lie takes his 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 wisljed-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 Jove, 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 wUl see My friend's last anguish — slain for me ! " Fierce runs the stream ; — more broad it flc^ft; 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 ef 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 J 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 yieiv The cross looms dismal on the ground NARRATIVK AN'D LlRlCAL. SCHILLER. 423 The eager crowd gape murmuring round. IjO ! Pythias bound the cross unto ! — When, crowd — guards — all — bursts Damon t-vough '• Me, doonisman ! " shouts he, — " me, ■•- alone '. His life is rescued — lo ! mine own ! ' Ajnazement seized the circling rinsr. 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 my heart ! Truth is no dream I its power is strong 1 Give grace to him who owns his wrong ' 'T is mine yo^tr suppliant now to be, — Ah, let the bond of Love hold Three ! " U THE BATTLE. — Trans/a^erf/roOT Schiller, by Sir E. Bulwer L^Aon 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 command, And the warriors, silent, halt ! Proud in the blush of morning glowing, • Wliat on the hill-top shines in flowing ? " See you the foeman's banners waving ? " — "We see the foeman's banners waving! '' " God be with ye, children and wife ! " Hark to the music, — the trump and the fife, — How they ring through the ranks, which they rouse to the stnfil* Thrilling they sound, with their glorious tone, — Thrilling they go througli the marrow and bonf " Brothers, God grant, when this life is o^er, In the life to come t\at we meet once more. J 1:30 THE STANDAED SPEAKER. See tlie smoke how the lightning is cleaving asunder ! Hark ! the guns, peal on peal, how they boom ia their thuoder , From host to host, with kindling wund, The shouting signal circles round ; Ay, 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 kneel 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 gi'ound. God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight, Over the host falls a brooding night ! B7-others, God grant, when this life is o'er, In the life to come that we meet 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 ! " — " Give Charlotte my last farewell.** As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell, — " I '11 give — God ! are their guns so near ? Ho ! comrades ! — yon volley ! — look sharp to the rear' -«^ I '11 give thy Charlotte thy last farewell ; 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'e?, 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 foe Their tlmnder booms, in dying — Victory ! Terror has seized on the dastards all. And their colors fall ! Victory ' NARRAriTE AND IARICaL. — SCHILLEK. 431 Closed is the brunt of tlie glorious fight ; And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the nioht. Trumpet and fife swelling choral along, The triumph already sweeps marching in song Farewell, faUcn brothers; though this life be o'er, TJiere 's anotlier, in which xoe sJtall meet you once mon f 24. TUE GLOVE. — 5c/ii7/er. Born, 1759 ; died, 180S. 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 lioii 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 stcength, 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 :tlllness 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 nigh, And stood before the judgment seat, and held the knife on high. " 0, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain, By this dear blood I 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 lictors, — but they trembled and stood still. And as Virginius through the press his way in silence clftft, Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left. A cd ho hath passed in safety unto his wotul home, An! there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rcaii^. 26. HORATIUS AT THE BRlX>{iE. — Adapted from Macaulay. Tub Consul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech was loir. 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 may win the bridge, what h^pe to save the town?' 28 4S4 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 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 in play. In yon strait path a thougand may well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the brjdge with me ? " 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 Three. And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood, The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood. Bat meanwhile axe and lever have manfully 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 ruin 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 feces, and on the further shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once mora But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the 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 furious 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 ; Tlirice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind, " Down witl\ him ! " cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face •* Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena " now yield thee to our grace Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see ; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus naught spake be \ But he saw on Palatlnus the white porch of his home, And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rom<« NAKRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — ATTOUN.» 43^ Tiber ! father fiber ! to whom the Romans pray, ^Koman s life a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day ! * 3o he Bpake and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side. A.ad, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide'. N"o sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank ; An 1 l\ ilT ^T' "' ^""^"^ '^^■P"^^' ^^«°d gazing where he sank • And when atove the surges they saw his crest tippear, Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce foi-bear to cheer. And fT/^ K? '}" 'T"-' '^°"^" ^'S^ ^y ™«"ths of rain : And fast his blood was flowing ; and he was sore in pain. And nft I? '"i \^'r'^ ^"^'^^ «Pent with changing blows : And oft they thought him sinking, - but still a|ain he rose. Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, But'E bl!'r^^ T^ ' ''°^".° ^"°'^ ''^' '' ^^'^ landing-place : But his limbs were borne up bravely by the braveTeart witliin And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin. But'for thi^"T •' " '*"°'I^ ^'^''. ?^*^^ ' " ^"^ "«t the villain drown ? ' HeS^n I. 'l'''T>?- ' "['^7 ""' ^h^'^^^^ ^■'^' ^^^^ked the town ! " shore; "^ ^°''^""' "^^d bring him safe to For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." And now he feels the bottom ; - now on dry earth he stands • Now round him throng the Fathers to press Bs gory hands ' He enTers tC I^T p' ^"^^^^ ^"^ "^^^ «'--F"S ^-^> He enters through the River Gate, borne by the joyous crowd. 27. THE EXECUTION OF MOxXTROSE, 1645. - J.toun. There is no ingredient of fictioa in the hi'^tnrir-il ii,ri.h.,,f- ,■ i : • ., . The perfect serenity "f Montrns,- tl,^ ^U--n''t'\i. • .• - "-'""l"'' m the fnlloirin!,' ballad. tol death, _ tlie cnuri^e ar„I magnanimity wieh'he'di'nlv TT h'"V''/" '\"' ^"'"'' "^ '"*' l^n, .,th .Unirati„n, h, writers of eye,^ class. The Iwayil^^'Us ^^n ^il.j;;.^'^^::!'^ Come hither, Evan Cameron; come, stand beside my' knee _ t hear the river roaring down towaiTls the wintry sea. Old'f .cpflnof'"^ '" '^'" n.ountai,i-..iae, there 's war within the blast ; d faces look upon nie, - old forms go trooping past. i hear the pibroch wailing amidst the din of fio-hl And my dim spirit wakes again, upon the verg'e of night. Twas I that led the Highland host through wild LoclaLx^r's snow. PvellT:, V'^"'^^"' ' '"V^"*" '^''''' *° battle with Montrose ' [ ve told thee how the Soudirons fell beneath the broad claymoi^ V.t fold r T' ''" ^''"i^''^'" ^''^'" ''.y Inverlochy's shorT ' Hni^f u' 7 T? ?''■" ^'^'"^^'' ""'^' t^""*-^^^ *^be Lindsays' pride ' Hut never have I told thee yet how the Great Marquis died ^ 4-3G » THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. A traitor r.old him to his foes ; — 0, deed of deathless shame . I chai'ge 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 men, — Face him, as thou wouldst face the man who wronged thy ^sure'a renown ; Kcmember 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 high So noble was his manly front, so calm his steadfast eye. The rablile 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-crj. 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 nest 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 alway? striven. And ye raise it up for a witness still in the eye of earth and Heaven 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 the doom. There was glory on his forehead, there was lustre in his eye And he never walked to battle more proudly than to die ; Tliere was color in his visage, though the cheeks of all were wan, AJid they marvelled as they saw him pass, that great and goodly mas NiRRATIVE AND LYKICAL. — SUELLET, 437 riien radiant and serene he stood, and cast his cloak awaj 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 daretl 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 chmbud 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 ; tear was on every soul. There was another heavy sound, — a hush, and then a groan, And darkness swept across the sky, — the work of death was done 28. PEACE AND WAR. -Percy Bys.he Shelley. Born, 1T92 ; died, 1822. How beautiful 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, Eobed in a garment of untrodden snow ; Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend, So stainless that their white and glitterinir 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 y^ here musing solitude might love to lift Her soul above this sphere of earthliness ; Where silence undisturbed might watch alone, So cold, so bright, so still ; Ah ! whence yon glare That fires the arch of Heaven ? — that dark red smoke Llottmg the sdvcr moon ? The stars are quenched In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow Gleams faintly through the gloom tliat fathers round Hark to that roar, whose swilt and deafening pcala 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 shout. The eeaselcsp ckng^^r, and the rush of men 438 THE STANDARD 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 His 001*1 and bloody shroud I 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 pa 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 ! £9 AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN. — /rosAwir^ow ^//s 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 magnificently stern array ! NARRATIVE AND LTRICAL. — BYRON. 441 Tlie thunder-clouds close o'er it, vsliich "when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover — heaped and pent, Rider and horse, — friend, — foe, — iji one red bui'ial blent I 32. THE DYING GhADIATOVL — Lord Byron. I -SEE before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand, — his manly brow Consents to death but conquers agony. And his drooped head sinks gradually low, — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone. Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who woa He heard it, but he heeded not : his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, Tliere was their Dacian mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday, — AH this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire, And unavenged ? — Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire ■ 33. DEGENERACY OF GREECE. — iord Bi/rori The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, — Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal sununer 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 miglit still be free For, standing on the Persian's grave, I 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? sun set. where were they I 442 TI/E 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 aslave ? 'T is something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel, at least, a patriot's shame. Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; For \vhat is left the poet here ? For Greeks, a blush, — for Greece, a tear ! Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled Earth I render back from out thy breast A rem rant of our Spartan dead ! Of the throe hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae ! What ! silent still ? and silent all ? Ah ! no : — the voices of the dead SDund 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. —iord Byran 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 Sunmier is green, That host, with their banners, at sunset were seen ; Like the leaves of the forest when Autunui hath blown, That host, on the morrow, lay withered and strewn. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, A.nd breathed in the hice of the foe as he passed ; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still t NAKKATIVE AND LYRICAL. Li-QNS. 443 Ajid there lay the steed with his iiostriJ? all wide, But through them there rolled not the broiith of his pride And the loam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold jis 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 teats were all sUent, 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 J 36. THE TEMPEST STILLED. —Beu. J. GzVfcome Lyon« The strong winds burst on Judah's sea, Far pealed the raging billow, The fires of Heaven flashed wrathfully, When Jesus pressed his pillow ; The light frail bark was fiercely tossed, From surge to dark surge leaping, For sails were torn and oars were lost. Yet Jesus still lay sleeping. When o'er that bark the loud waves roared, And blasts went howling round her, Those Hebrews roused their wearied Lord.— " Lord I help us, or we founder I " 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 mournfiil accents, then, These words of righteous chiding: " 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 saene 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 ; BehoM ! He does but speak the word \Dd winds 'ind waves obey him ! " i44 THE STANDARD SPEAKBR, 86. -EXCELSIOR.— H. ir. Longfelloio. The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and loe 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 1 ' 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 i 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 air 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 i There, in the twilight cold and gray, lafeless, but beautiful, he lay ; NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. CAMPBELU 44.' And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, Excelsior ! 87. TO THE RAINROW. — Thomas Campbell Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud philosophy To teach me what thou art : — Still seem, as to my childliood'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, Save told why first thy robe of beama Was woven in the sky. (Vlien, o'er the gi-een, undeluged earth. Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers foitil To watch thy sacred sign ! And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet unti'od, . Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God, Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, The first-made anthem rang Oe earth delivered from the deep. And the first poet sang , Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Unraptured greet thy beam , Theme of primeval prophecy^ Be still the poet's theme ! ii^ XHE STANI/ARD SPEAICEB. The earth to thee her incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings, When, glittering in the freshened fields 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. OLE^AK/i.. — Thomas Campbell. ! HKAKD you yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, Where a band cometh slowly, with weeping and wall ? '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 looked 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 I 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 waa the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Loru NARRATIVE AND LYIUCAL. — EIIEA. i*' ■• I drcaned of m^ lady, T dreamed of her grief. I dreauiee that her lord was a barbarous chief; On the rock of the ocean lair Ellen did seem ; Glenara! Glenara! now read uie my dream I " In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert revealed where his lady wtus found : From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne ' Now joy to the House of fair Ellen of Lorn ' 39. THE O'KAVANAGII. —J. A. 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 night Seemed brighter by far than when lifted in fight. In came the O'Kavanagh, fair as the morn, WTien 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, proffered to all. " Come pledge us, lord chieftain ! come pledge us ! " they cried Unsuspectingly free to the pledge he replied ; And this was the peace-branch O'Kavanagh bore, — " The friendships to come, not the feuds that are o'er ! But, minstrel, why cometh a change o'er thy theme ? Why sing of red battle — what dream dost thoiL dream ? Ha ! " Treason ! " 's the cry, and " Revenge ! " is the call. 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-fiashing sword, and the death-darting eye. Like some comet commissioned with wrath from the akj 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 rii^ tale of that feast, and its blood v farewell 148 THE Sl^ANDAKD SPEAKliR. And now on the Saxons his clansmen advance, With a shout from each heart, and a soul in eaca lanofc He rushed, like a storm, o'er the night-covered heath. And swept through their ranks like the angel of deatii Then hurrah ! tor thy glory, young chieftain, hurrah S ' had v,'e such lightning-souled heroes tO-day, Again would our " sunburst " expand in the gak And Freedom exult o'er the green Innisfail 5 40. ODE ON THE PASSIONS — IViUiam Collint When jMusic, Heavenly maid, was young, 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 : Till once, 't is said, when all were fired, Filled with fury, rapt, inspired. From the supporting myrtles round They snatched her instruments of sound i 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 skUI 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 In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept, with hurried hands, the strmge. With woful measures, wan Despair — Low sullen sounds ! — his grief beguiled A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'T was sad, by fits, — by start's, i was Yrild But thou, 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. N'ARKATTVE AND L-JKTfAL. — CuLLINS. 449 She called on Echo still through all her song ; And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every 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, .^d Mew 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. Aid though, sometin)es, 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 basd 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, dashing soft, from rocks around. Bubbling ruanels joined the sound ; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole : Or o'er some haunted streatns, with fond delay — Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace and lonely musing — In hollow murmurs died away. But, ! how altered was its sprightly tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph oi' healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew Blew an inspiri'.ig air, that dale and tnickct rung. The iiunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed u'lOftt Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green ; Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; .\nd Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen anv^' . 29 tbC ma IWANDARD SPEAKER. Jjast 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. Thej A-ould have thought, who heard the strain They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maid^ 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. — ficu. George Cro/y. of a night attack, by Constantine PaUeologus, on a detached camii med II., during 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 June, Broad as a buckler glowed the mooU; 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 bufih ! 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 yell — ■ ■ On rolled the charge — a thunder peal NARIIAIIVE AND LYRICAL KNOX. 151 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, Eaged, 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 ! WUd 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 anci khan, And all was gone that once was man ! There 's wailing on the Eusine 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 Constantino ! 42. THE CURSE OF C AW. — Knox. 0, 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 domain, 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 sprung For cheering his heart, or for cooling his tongue. 452 THE S-IANDARD SPEAKEB, 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 When he thinks of the curse that hangs over his name. And the wife of his bosom — the faithful and fair — Can mis 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 ; 0, the wrath of the Lord is a terrible thmg ! AMERICA, nSO. -Bishop Berkeleij. Born, 1684 ; rfjed, 1763, 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 sena 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 IHE world for sale. Rev. Ralph Hoyt. T^E world for sale ! Hang out the sigD Call every traveller here to me ; Who '11 buy this brave estate of mine. And set this weary spirit free * NARhATIVE AND LVIIICAL. — HOTT. 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 dec:eived me sore ^* is 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 nmst sell ! Who bids ? who '11 buy the splendid tear * Here 's wealth, in glittering heaps of gold ; "VVTio 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 domam, 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 Love '' All over 's the enchanter's reign. Who '11 buy the plumeless, dying dove, — A breath of bliss, a storm of pain ? Aad, 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 I 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 stafi" 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 i-iimne? Hear how it thunders ! Would you stand On high Olympus, far renowned. Now purchuse, and a world command . — And be with a world's curses crowned Sweet star of Hope ! with ray to sKine In e^^ry sad foreboding breast 459 45* THE STANDARD SPEAKER. ^e this desponding one of mine, — Wlio bids tor man's last friend, and bes* ? 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 foreA^er novv' ; Grief, in an overwhelming tide, Has taught my haughty heart to bow. By Death, stern sheriff! all bereft, I weep7*yet humbly kiss the rod ; The best of all I still have left, — My Faith, my Bible, and my God ! ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL TAYLOR. —Rohert F. Cewaa Weep not for him ! The Thi-acians wisely gave Tears to the birth-coach, 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 15Sie 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^ car. Whether he met the dusk and prowling foe ^ By oceanic Mississippi's flow ; Or where the Southern swamps, with steamy br^sath,. Smite the worn warrior with no warrior's death ! Or where, like surges on the rolling main. Squadron on squadron sweep the prairie plain, — Dawn — and the field the haughty foe o'erspread Sunset — and Rio Grande's waves ran red! Or where, from rock-ribbed safety, iMonterey Frowns death, and dai'es him to the unecjual fray ; Till crashing walls and slippery streets bespeak How frail the fortress where the heart is weak • IIow vainly numbers menace, rocks defy, Men sternly knit, and firm to do or die ; — Or where on thousands thousands crowding rusk (Rome 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 ; — MAlvAATIVE AND LTRICAL. UHLANB 45£ In every scene of peril and of pain, Elia were tlit; toils, his country's was the gain. From field to field — and all were nobly won— He bore, with eagle flight, her standard on; New stars rose there — but never star grew dim Wtile in Ins patriot gra-sp. ^^'eep not for hira 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, flich in love's affluence, merciful and mild. His sterner traits, majestic and antique, Rivalled the stoic Roman 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 hira and Heaven ; Thus spake the patriot, in his latast sigh, — " My duty done — I do not feak to die ! ' ML THE passage. — Uhland. 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 silence 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 mo, Friends who closed their course before me. Yet what binds us, friend to friend But mat soui with soul can blend ? Soul-like were those hours of yore — Let us walk in soul once more ! Take, O boatman, twice thy fee ! — Take, — I give it willingly — For, invisibly to thee. Spirits twain have crossed with ma i8d6 XHE STAi-IDARJ) SPiSAKEK 47. CQVnAQE. — Ba^ry Cornwaa Courage ! — Nothing can withstaK"! 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 Heas'en and heavenly worth. 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 night, He may make himse'/f 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 thcein his fetucrs hide. And lay a tyrant by his side ? Courage ! — Hope, howe'er he fly For a time, can never die ! Courage, therefore, brother men ' Courage ! To ihe hght again ! IHK -ttOOR'S nSVENOE. — Original Paraphrase from the Polisli af Mitinevtoi. Beitore Grenada's fiited 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 hnnd is lading fast away like morning mist, A direr foe than ever yet '^.hey met on battle-plain Assaults life's inmost citadel, and heaps the ground with elain NARRATIVE AND LYKICal. 45'' One onset more of Spanish ranks, — and soon it will he made — And Alfhurira's towers must reel, and in the dust be laid. " And shall the haughty infidel pollute this sacred land ? " Almauzor 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 stiU remains ! And I will bind him close to me, — for better death than chains ! 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 nmch it would import to bpam the news he bore to heed. " Admit him ! " cry the revellers ; and in the pilgrim strode. And, throwing off his mantle loose, a Moorish habit showed ! " Almanzor ! King Almanzor ! " they cried, with one acclaim . "AlmanzDr!" said the Moslem cmef; ''Almanzor is my name. " To serve your prophet and your king, 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, Giaours ! * wscreants in race, and infidels in creed ! Look on this pale, ua Ported face, and tell me what ye read ! These limbs convulsed, these fiery pangs, these eyeballs hot and blear Ha ' know ye not what they porter:d ? The plague the ■ plague, is here ! 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 leech craft 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 hu breath ; But sank,, as if Revenge itself were striving hard with Death. * Pronounced Gowers — the ow as in power. kOb THE STANDARD SPEAKER. And througli 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 tht 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 the 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 Alphudra'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. CHAKADE 0.x THE NAME OF (UMPBELL, THE POET. — W. M. Praed. Born. 1807 ; 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 night. The wreath upon his head, the cross upon his breast. Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed, — so, take him to bi« 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 ' Go. 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 gra?e PART SEVEiNTIl SCRIPTURAL AND DEVOTIONAL 1. BALAAM'S PROPHECY IN BEHALF OF ISRAEL.— .Vumfteri. And Balaam lifted up his eyes, and he saw Israel abiding in hj tentd according to their tribes ; and the .spirit of God came upon bim. And he took up his parable, and said : Balaam, the son of Boor, huth said, and the man whose eyes are open, hath said ; — he hath said, which heard the words of God, which saw the vision of the Almighty, — falling into a trance, but having his eyes open : — How goodly are thy tents, Jacob, and thy tabernacles, Israel ! As the valleys are they spread forth, a><3 gardens by the river's side, as the trees of lign aloes which the Lord hath planted, and as cedar-trees beside the waters. His king shaU be higher than Agag, and his kingdom shall be exalted. God is not a man, that He should lie ; neithea* 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 received commaLdmeni, to bless ; and He hath blessed ; and I cannot reverse it. How shall I curse, whom God hath not cursed ? Or, how shall I defy, whom the Lord hath not defied ? He hath not beheld iniquity in Jacob, neither hath He seen perverseness in Israel : the Lord his God is with him, and the shout of a King is among them. God brought him forth out of Kgypt ; he hath as it were, the strength of an unicorn : he shall eat up the nations, hia enemies, and shall break their bones, and pierce them through w'th his arrows. Surely there ii no enchantment against Jacob, neither is there any divination against Israel • according to this time it shall be said of Jacob and of Israel. Wliat hath God wrought ! Behold, the People shall rise up as a great lion, and lift up himself as a young lion : he shall not lie down until he eat of the prey, and drink the blood of the slain. For, from the top of the rocks I see him ; and from the hills 1 liehold him : lo, the People shall dwell alone, and shall not be reck- oned among the nations. Who can count the dust of Jacob, nnd tha numl:)er of tlie fourth part of Israel ? L^et nre die ihc death of tiw rishteous, and let rev last eaa be like his .' 460 THE STANDAR>. SPEAKEl., i PAUL'S DEfENCt KEt'OUE FESTUS ANE AGRIPFA, I THINK myself happj King xlgrippa, because I shall answer foi myself this day before thee, touching all the things whereof 1 am accused of the Jews , especially because I know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which are among the Jews ; wherefore ] beseech thee to hear me patiently. My manner ol' life from my youth, which was at the first among mine own Nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews ; which knew me fi'om the beginning, if they would testify, that after the most straitesr 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 Jesus 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, King ! I saw in the way a light from Heaven, above the brightness of the- sun, sliining round about me, and them whichi journeyed with me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and saying, in 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 ; Dut rise, and stand upon thy feet ; for I have appeared unto th.^.e for this purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness, both of these thmg« which thou hast seen, and of those things in the which I wUl 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 ' 1 was not disobedient unto the 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, f continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying Qone other things than those which the prophets and Mose? did say SCRIPTCUAx. AXD DETOTIONAL. 461 BbouIJ •v.Le — that Christ should suffer, and. that lie shou-d be the first th.a -houIJ rise from the dead, and should show light unto the Peor -tf -''id to the Gentiles. 3. OYNIPOTKNCE OF JiiUOWn. — Job, translatea by Rev. O. R. rToye* I'HtN spake Jehovah to Job out of the whirlwind, and said : vVho is this, that darkeneth my counsels by words without knowlc'ilgc' 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 fixed And who laid its corner-stone, When -the morning-stars sang together, And all the sons of God shouted for joy ? Hast thou ])enetrated 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 jjath for the glittering thunderbolt, To give rain to the land without an inhabitant, To the wilderness, where is no man ; To satisfy tlie desolate and waste ground. And cause the bud of the tender herb to spring forth ' Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiadea Or loosen the bands of Orion V 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 f Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, So that abundance of waters will cover thee ? Canst thou send forth lightnings, so that they will go, And say to thee, " Here we are " ? Who hath imparted understanding to thy reina, And given intelligence to thy mind ? Who numbereth the clouds in wisdom ? Hast thou given the horse strength ? Hast lliou clothed his neck with thunder ? Kast thou taught him U. bound like the locust ? id2 THE STANDAKD SPEAKER. How majestic his snorting ! how terrible ! He paweth in the valley ; he exulteth in hi3 streiigtk And rusheth into the midst of arms. He laugheth at feai , he trcmbleth not, And turneth not back from the sword. ■ Against him rattleth the quiver, The flaming spear, and the lance. With i:age and fury he devoureth the ground , He standeth not still when the trumpet souudeth. He saith among the trumpets, Aha ! aha ! And snuifeth the battle afar ofi"; The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout. 4. TRUE WISDOM. —yo6, translated by Rev. G. R. yoyes 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 fine gold. No mention shall be made of coral, or of crj'stal, For wisdom is more precious than pearls. The topaz of P]thiopia 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 Heavsa When He gave the winds their weight. And adjusted the waters by measure, — When He prescribed laws to the ram, And a path to the glittering thunderbolt, ' Th^.n did H« see it, and make it known ; SCRIPTUHAL ^ND DEVOTIONAL. 408 3e esuiblished 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. t A. NATION'S SrUENGTH. — Psalm 33, translated by Rev Q R Koftt. Hapi'Y the Nation whose God is Jehovah ; rhe People whom He hath chosen for His inheritance rhe Lord looketh down from Heaven ; Re 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 by 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 ] lis goodness ; To save them from the power of death, And keep thera alive in famine. The hope of our souls is in the Lord ; He is our help and our shield. Yea, in Him doth our heart rejoice ; Li His holy name we have confidence. May Thy goodness be upon us, Lord, According as we trust in Thee ! 6. EXHORTATION TO PRAISE QOT). — Psalms. Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens ; praisa him in 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 ba above the heavens. Let them praise the name of the Lord : for he commanded, and they were created. He hath also stablished them for rver and ever : he hath made a decree which shall not pass. Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all deeps : fire, and hail dnow, and vapors ; stormy wind fulfilling his word : mountains, and all hills ; fruitful trecis, and all cedars ; beasts, and all cattle ; creep- ing 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 "5 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 hius 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 MESSENGER. — haiah, translated by BUhop Lowth. How Deautiful 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 Jehovah returneth to Sion. Burst forth into joy, shout together, ye ruins of Jerusalem I For Jehovah hath comforted His people ; He hath redeemed Israel. Jehovah hath made bare His holy arm, in the sight of all the Nation? A.nd 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 vessek of Fehovah ! Verily not in haste shall ye go forth ; A.nd not by flight shall ye march along . For Jehovah shall march in your front ; A.nd the God of Israel shall bring up your rear. 8. HYMN OP OUR FFRST PARENTS. —JV/iVfon. 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 join, all ye creatures, to extol Him first. Him last, Him midst, and without enii. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn. Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling raon ECRIPTCRAL AND DEVOTIO^flL. — TUCM^iON. 405 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 [n thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, A.nd when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st Moon, that now meet'st the Orient sun, now fly'st With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies ; A.nd ye five other wandering fires, that move [n 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 jom ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise Prom 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 fixlling showers, Rising or falling, still advance His praise. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe 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 murmurs, warbling, tune His praise ; Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds. That singing up to heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes His praiae. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread or lowly creep, Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade. Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise. 9. THE UnrVjSRSAL HYMN OF NATURE. — TAomson. These, as they change. Almighty Father, thost Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy beauty walks, Thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; And every sense and every heart is joy. Then comes Thy glory in the Summer months, With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sun 30 Jt>^ , THB STANDARD SPEAKER. Shoots full perfection througli the swelling yearj And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks : And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gal^ 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, Ridihg 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 tlie 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 I 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 i 0, talk of Him in solitary glooms. Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely-waving pine Fills the brown shade with a I'eligious awe. And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, Who shake the astonished world, lift high to Heaver. 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 st'ipendous praise ; whose greatei voice Or bids 3/0U roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowem In mingled clouds to Him ; whose sun exalts. eCKIPTUKAL AND DEVOT.CNAL. — COLEUIDGE, 4G*i Whose breath perfumes you, and whose peucil paints Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him ; Breathe your still song into the 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 Fe .constellations, while your angels strike Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Great source of day ! best image here oelow Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round, On Nature write with every beam His praise. 10. CIIAMOUNY. — 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, sovereign Blanc • The Arve and Arveiron at thy base RavQ ceaselessly ; but thou, moBt awtm torm, Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines How silently ! Around thee and above. Deep is the air, and dark ; substantial blacfe, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But, when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shiine, Thy habitation from eternity. 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 thoiughk,- 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 ! ! 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 — iS8 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Companion of the morning star at dawu. Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald, wake ! wake ! and utter praise I 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 let the ice-plains echo, " God ! " God ! " sing, ye meadow-streams, with Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds I 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 peatM, 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 tears « Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, To rise before me — rise, ever rise ! Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth ! Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hilLs, BCRiPTURAL AND TEVOTIONAL. — BlIATTIE. 4t)9 Thou dread ambassador fi-om earth to Heaven, Great hierarcL, tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell you ri.sing suu, "Earth with hjr thousand voices, praises God. ' U THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS &OVL. — Alexander P<^ 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 ! Grave ! where is thy victory ? death ! where is thy sting ? IS. LIFE BEYOND THE TOMB, — /ames Beattie. Born, 1735 ; died, II 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. 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 clinm 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. CO THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 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 thi'ough the eternal year of Love's triumphant raga 13. FORGIVENESS. When on the fragi-ant 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 mui'derers, and died. Iti THE CHRISTIAN LIFE.— PAt7t;)Z)oddrids-e. Bor?i, 1702 ; died, ITtt? •' Live while you live / the epicure would say, And seize the pleasures of the present day; "Live while you live," the Christian preacher crie«, " And give to God each moment as it files " Lord ! in my view, let both united be ; — I live to pleasure, while I live to thee. PART EIGHTH RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 1. ROME AND CAKTUAGE. — Victor Hu^o. Original Translation. Rome and Cui'thage ! — behold them drawing near for the struggle that is to shake the world ! Carthage, the metropolis of Africa, if the mistress of oceans, of kingdoms, and of Nations ; a magnificent city, bm-thened with opulence, radiant with the strange arts ana trophies of the East. She is at the acme of her civilization. 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 conc[uest than to fill her own coffers. She is demi-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 theocraticj the other aristocratic. Rome and Carthage ! Rome with her army, Carthage with her fleet ; Carthage, old, rich and crafty, — Rome, young, poor, 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 East and the South on one side, the West and the North on the other ; in short, two worlds, — the civilization of Africa, and the civilization of Europe. They measure each other from head to foot. They gather all their forces. Gradually the war kindles. The world takes fire. These colossal powers are locked in deadly strife. Car thage has crossed the Alps ; Rome, the seas. The two Nations, per- Bcnified in two men, Hannibal and Scipio, close with each other tvrestle, and grow infuriate. The duel is desperate. It is a struggle i72 THli STANDARD SrEAKER. for life. Rome -wavers. She utters that cry of anguish — HannihtA »t the gates ! But she rallies, — collects all her strength for one lastj appalling effort, — throws herself upon Carthage, and sweeps her from the fafle of the earth ! 2. THE DKONES OF THE COMMUNITY. — Percj/ ByssAe SkeUep. 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 Joil and unvanquishable penury On those who build their palaces, and bring Their daily bread ? — Froiu vice, black, loathsome vice; From rapine, madness, treachery, and wrong ; From all that genders misery, and makes Of earth this thorny wilderness ; from lust, Revenge, and murder. — And, when Reason's voice- Loud as the voice of nature, shall have waked The Nations ; and mankind perceive that vice Is discord, war, and misery, — that virtue Is peace, and happiness, and harmony ; when man's maturer nature shall disdain The playthings of its childhood ; — kingly glare Will lose its power to dazzle ; its authority Will silently pass by ; the gorgeous throne Shall stand unnoticed in the regal hall. Fast falling to decay , whilst flilsehood's trade Shall be as hateful and unprofitable As that of trutli is now. Where is the fame Which the vain-glorious mighty of the earth Seek to eternize ? ! the faintest sound From time's light foot-fall, the minutest wave That swells the flood of ages, whelms in nothing The unsubstantial bubble. Ay to-day Stern is the tyrant's mandate, — red the gaze That scatters nuiltitudes. To-morrow comes ' RHETORICAL am: DKAMATIC. — SHERIDAN. 478 That mandate is a tauiider-i^eul 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 C^lAR'S PASSAGE OF THE RUBICON. —c/awie* Sheridan Knowlta A GENTLEMAN, Mr. Chan'man, speaking of Cassar's benevolent dis- position, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil w^ar, observes, " 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 country's rights ? How dared he cross that river ? ! but he paused upon the brink. He should have perished upon the brink era 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 hia glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part ? Because of conscience ! 'T was that made Caesar pause upon- the brink of the Rubicon. Compassion ! What compassion. ? The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins to cut ! Ci^sar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! What was the Rubicon ? The boundary of Ca3sar'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 generosity ! Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste ! Friendship was its inhabitant ! Love was its inhabitant ! Domestic affection was its inhabitant ! Liljerty was its inhabitant ! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon ! What was Caesar, that stood upon the bank of that stream ? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of 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. — 5Aerjrfan. My brave associates, — partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame ! — can RoUa's words add vigor to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts? No!' You have judged, as I have, the foul- aess of the crafty pba by which these boll invailers would delude you Your generous spirit has compared, us mine has the motives which, in a wa Rke thit), can animate their minds and ours. They 474 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. by a strange fi enzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and txtended rult! : 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 lov? — 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 free ua from the yoke of error ! Yes : they will give enlightened freedom t« our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride !' They oifer us their pi-otection : 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 teaches 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 wouL'l bring us ! 5. RICHELIEU AND FRANCE. —Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. My liege, your anger can recall your trust, Annul my oiSce, 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 Iiid 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, Supreraest 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 Hesperides, 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 ; — I am not ; — I am just I I found France rent asunder 'The rich men despots, and the poor banditti , Sloth in the mart, and schism within the templo RHETORICAL AXD 1>KAMATIC, BULWER. 47^ Brawls festering to rebellion ; and weak laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. I have re-crcatyd France; and, from the ashes Of tlie old leudal and decrepit carcass, Civilization, on her luminous wings, Soars, phocnix-like, to Jove ! wlat was my art ? Genius, some say ; — some, Fortune ; — Witchcraft, some. Not so ; — my art was Justice ! I CBOMWELL ON THE DEATll OF CHARLIES THE FIRST. -Original odoptrtws from Sir E. Bulwer Lylton. By what law fell King Charl-js? 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. Who sjiills man's blood, his shall by man be shed ! 'Tis Heaven's hnst law; to that law we had come, — None other left us. Who, then, caused the strife That crimsoned Naseby's field, 'and Marstoti's moor« It was the Stuart ; — so the Stuart fell ! A victim, in the pit himself had digged ! He died not, Sirs, as hated Kings hafve died, In secret and in shade, — no eye to trace 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 solenm 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 crape, Amazed and awed ! — but when that one man's victiiua, 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 ii'om your indifterent eyes ! He would have stretched his will O'er the unlimited empire of men's souls. Fettered the Eai-th's pure air, — for freedon: ia That air, to honest lips, — and here he lies. In dust most eloquent, to after time A never-silent oracle for Kings ! Was this the hand that strained within its grasp So haught a sceptre ? — this the shape that wore Majesty like a garment ? Spurn that clay, — 476 tHE STANDARD SPEAKEK. It can resent not ; speak of royal crimes, And it can frown not ; — schemeless lies the brain Whose thoughts were sources of such fearful deeds. What things are we, 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 deatli to come. Here stands that baliled 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 ftmeral urns ; So, walking di-eam-led in Life's sleep, our steps Move blindfold to the scaifold or the Throne ! ? PROCKEATrVE VIRTUE OF GREAT EXAMPLES. —LordBfron. 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 thoughts Which overpower all others, and conduct The world, at last, to freedom ? WTiat were we, If Brutus had not lived ? He died in giving Eome 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 RIIETOklCAL AXD DRAMATIC. BYRON. 177 Turns servile. He and his high friends were styied " The last of Romans ! '" Let us be the fii-st Of true Venetians, sprung from Roman sires ; J UAJIINO FALIERO TO THE VENETIAN C0NSPIRAT0K3 —Lori Syn 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 knowj 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, Already 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 fi-om public vices In this — I cannot call it commonwealth, Nor kingdom, which hath neither prince ncr Peopli, 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 fona A pastime for their children. You are met To overthrow this monster of a State, Chis mockery of a Government, this spectre, WTiich must be exorcised with blood, and then We will renew the times of truth and justice, Condensing, in a fair, free commonwealth. Not rasL equality, but equal rightsj, Proportioned like the colmnns to the temple, 47? THE STANDARD SPEAKER, Giving and taking strength 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. Eead 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, dizened 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 offef 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 60 ! 9. DYING SPEECH OF MARINO FALIERO. — Zrfird Byrjm. 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 bannw Ye winds I which fluttered o'er qs if you loved i\ flHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. — BTKOX. 479 Aud filled my swelling sails as they were wafted To many a triumph ! Thou, my native earth, Whlc-ti I have bled for ; and thou foreign earth, Which (h-auk this willing blood from many a wound Ye stones, in which my gore will not sink, but Reek up to Heaven ! Ye skies which will receive it Thou sun ! which shinest on these things ; and Thou, Who kiudlost 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 hei-s forever ! — Yes, the hours Are silently engendering of the day When she, who built 'gainst Attila a bulwark, Shall yield, and bloodlessly and basely yield. Unto a bastard Attila, 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 I 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 t'hou wilt not strive, and dar'st not marraur 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 thine office 480 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK Strike, a& I struck the foe ! Strike, as I would Elave struck these tyrants ! Strike deep as my curse S Strike, and but once ' 1© CATILINE TO HIS FRIENDS, AFTER FAILING IN HIS ELECTION TO TBM CONSULSHIP. — flei). 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 reahns of pestilence ! Ye wait to luiil me Consul ? ConsBl ! 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 him have them ! Patricians ! They have pushed me to the g'llf > I have worn down my heart, wasted my means, Humbled my birth, bartered my ancient name. For the rank favor of the senseless mass, That 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 black, Turned on their heel, just at the point of fate, licft me a mockery in the rabble's nudst. And followed their Plebeian Consul, Cicero ! This was the day to which I looked thi'ough life, And it has failed me — vanished from my grasp, Like air I Roman no more ! The rabble of the streets Have seen me humbled ; slaves may gibe at oae ' For all the ills That chance or nature lays upon our heads, In chance or nature there is found a cui-e ? Rut se//-abasement is beyond all cure ! BIIETOR .CAL AND DRAMATIC. CHOLY. ibl 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 ; Tlie act is the mind's suicide, for which There is no after-health, no hope, no pardon ! 11. CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. -iJej;. George Croly. Tht scene, in Croty's tragedy of " Catiline," from wliich the follo\ring is taken, reprisenia lie Roman Senate in session, I.ictors present, a Consul iu the chair, aud Cieero on the floor «» the prosecutor of Catiline and his fellow-conspirators. Catiline enters, anil takes his seat ■>u the SenAtorial bench, whereupon the Senators go over to the other side. Cicero repeats Ilio charges in Catiline's presence ; and the latter rises and replies, " Conscript Fathers, I do uot rise," &o. Cicero, in his rejoinder, produces proofs, and exclaims : — " Tried and convicted traitor ! Go from Rome ! " Catiline haughtily tells the Senate to make the murder as they make the law. Cicero directs an officer to give up the record of Catiline's banishment. Catiline then utters those words • - " Banished from Rome," &c. ; but when he tells the Consul, " He dares not touch a hair of Catiline," the Consul reads the decree of his banishment, and orders the Lietors to drive the " traitor " from the temple. Catiline, furious at being thus baflleil, catches at the word " traitor," and terminates tie Bcene with his audacious denunciation, — " Here I devote your Senate," &c It the closfi^ he rushes thi-ough the portal, as the Lietors and Senators crowd upon him. Conscript Fathers! I do not rise to waste the night in words ; Let that Plebeian talk ; 't is not my trade ; But here I stand for right, — let him show proofs, — For Roman right ; though none, it seems, dare stand To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there ! Cling to your mastex-, judges, Romans, slaves ! His charge is false ; — I dare him to his proofs. You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! But this I will avow, that I have scorned. And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ! Who brands me on the forehead, breals my sword, Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts The gates of honor on me, — turning out The Roman from his birthright ; and, for what ? [Looking round Mm To fling your ofiices to every slave ! Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, 4.nd, having wound their loathsome track to the top, Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome, Hang hissing at the nol:)ler man below ! Come, consecrated Lietors, from your thrones; [To the Senati Fling down your sceptres ; take the rod and axe, And make the mtirder as you make the law ! Banished from Rome ! What 's banished, but set fret* From daily contact of the things I loathe * 31 IS2 TMB mimAks.j) speakfs. *■ Tried and convicted traitor ! " Who says this 1 Who '11 prove it, at his peril, on my head ? Banished ! I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain T 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 ! — 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! [7^ the Lictort.] I will return . 12. PRIDE OF ANCESTRY. — Adaptation from Rev. George Crolp. 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 lu 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 stara of Heaven Were listening, be forgotten, — light aa dust ! RHETOUICaL and dramatic. — CAMPBELL 183 True, true, — 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 hones; I belt no broken and distempered shape With shrivelled parchments plucked from mouldy shelves ; Yet, if I stooped to talk of ancestry, I had an ancestor, as old and noble As all their quarterings reckon, — mine was Adam The man who gave me being, though no Lo^d Was nature's nobleman, — an honest mnn ! And prouder *>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. LOCIiaL'S WARNING. — TAomas Campbrll Lo.Riiel, a Highland chieftain, while on his march to join the PretenJer, is met by o-!?o of the Olghiind seers, or pro|)hft9, who -ania him to return, and not incur the cert-un inic 7hioh »wait3 tihe unfortunate prince and his followers, on the field of Culloden. Seer. Lochiel, Locliiel, beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array I For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of ( Culloden are scattered in fight: They rally, they bleed, for their 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 ? 'Tis thine, Glenullin ! whose bride shall await. Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair ' Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! ! ^$;,eep ! ' but thy tears cannot number the dead For a mei'ciless sword on Culloden shall wave — Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave ! Lochiel. Go preach to the coward, thou death-tellicg seer Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright I Seer. Ha ! .augh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to sooin * Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ' Sa'^; rushoi the bold eagle exultingly forth iS4 THE STANDAKD S££AKE1>. From Lis borne in the dark-rolling clouds of tlie North ? Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he roda Companiooless, bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ' Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the bltwfi 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 i*eturn ! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her fimiishing brood I Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled ray clan 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 ! I^et 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 plumbed 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 sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I 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 , Bise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! — 'T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moora 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 muifled, and black is the bier , His death-bell is tolling ; ! mercy, dispel Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! Life flutters, convulsed, m his quivering limbs ilHETOiaCAL AND DRAMATIC. - TAYLOE. USt And his blood-streamicg nostril in agony swims ! Accursed be the fagots that bhize 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 iiisulter ! I trust not the »al6 ' For never shall iVlbin a destiii}- 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-Ixjaten shore Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in daith 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 proudl}- to Heaven from the death-lxd of fame ' ■'HILIP VAN ARTEVELDE'S DEFENCE OF HIS KEBELLION. Henry Tmlg> 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 coinumnities, scarce known by name In these degenerate days, but once far-famed, Where liljerty and justice, hand in hand. Ordered the common weal ; where great men gr^w Up to their natural eminence, and none. Saving the wise, just, eloquent, were great. Whom may we now call free ? whom great ? whom wise ? Whom innocent ? — the free are only they Whom power makes free to execute all ills Their hearts im;igine ; they are only great Whose passions nurse their from their cradles up In luxury and lewdness, — whom to see Is to despise, who.se 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 ujwn 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 fram^ :)f things the right side up ' 486 THfi STANDARD SPEAKER. For this tke 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 Francs. 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 ase ! 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 God is just. ia DUT-i TO ONE'S COUNTRY. — ^a«wa/i 3Iore. Born, 1744; (bid i^ Our country is a whole, my Publius, Of which we all are parts ; nor should a citizen Hegard his interests as distinct from hers ; No hopes or fears should touch his patriot soul, liut 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 stat* As blessed as nature and the god^ 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 BHETOBICAL AND URAM-JBC. - - KN0WLE3. 487 And from the sacred laws which guard those blessings. Renounce the civilized abodes of man, With kindred brutes one common shelter seek 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 meaJ ; — Far from the sweet civilities of life, There let 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 FERRARDO. — ^amex Sheridan Knowles. 8t. Pierre, having possessed himself of Ferrardo's dagger, compels him to sign a acofessioK hHa hia 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, — In whase '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 sparo, Blessed him one night, ere he lay down to sleep, And, waking in the morning, found him gone ! \Ferrardo tries to r%M Move not, or I shall move ! You know me. 0, yes ! you trained me like a cavalier, — You did, indeed ! You gave me masters, Duke, And their instructions quickly I took up, As they did lay them down ! I 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 ! [Fcrrardr tstng, I charge you keep your seat ! — Ten thousand ducats ? What Duke ! Is such your offer ? Give me, Dukei- 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 coidd be its Duke at cost of these 4J^ THE STANDARD SPEAKEB 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 the 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 returned 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 ! 17 WILLIAM TELL ON SWrrZEHhAnj). — Adaptation from J. S Km* « Once Switzerland was free ! With what a pride I used to walk these hills, — look up to Heaven, And bless G od that it was so ! It was free From end to end, from cliff to lake 't was free ! Free 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 cliff, 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'ertaken there By the mountain blast, I 've laid me flat along And while gust followed gust more furiously, \s if to sweep me o'ei the horrid bruik. RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC, — BRnEYS. 4Si> And I have thought of other lands, whose storms Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just Have wished me there; — the thought that mine was free Has cheeked that wish, and I have raised my head. And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ! 15. WILLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. — /. 5. Knowlet 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. Mcthinks I hear A spirit in your echoes answer me. And bid your tenant welcome to his home Again ! — 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 inipress wear Of awe divine. Ye guards of liL-erty, I 'm witli you once again I — I call to you With all my voice ! — I hold my hands to you, To show they still are free. I x'ush 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 w;xs liberty ! — I turned my bow aside, And let him soar away ! 19. the fractious man. — Original Translation from Brueys, Monsieur Grichard. Blockhead ! "Would you keep me knocking two 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 did n't break your neck, booby Why did n't you l<^ave the door open ? 490 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. LoL Why, Sir, you scolded me, yesterday, because 1 did so Whec ft 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. 31. Ch'i. What to do, sirrah ? What to do, did you say ? Lol. 0, come now, master, how would you have it ? Do you srisii me to leave the door open ? M. Gri. No. Lol. Do you wish me to keep it shut ? M. Ch-i. No! Lol. But, Sir, it must be either open or — M. Gri. What, rascal, what ! Do you presume to argue th« point ? Lol. But does n't it hold to reason — M. Gi'i. Silence! Lol. I say, Sir, that a door must be either open or shut. Now, how will you have it ? M. Gi'i. I have told you, a thousand times, you scoundi* 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 handa on you, I '11 show you how I wish it ! Have you swept the stair- case ? Lol. Yes, Sir, from top to bottom. M. Gri. And the yard ? I-joI. 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, wlio 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\ bottles. M. Gri. And my letters? Did you take them to the Post Office ? Hah ? Lol. Did n't I, tliough ? 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— . . Lol This morning ? Don't you remember you smashed it all tti piecen tbr me, yesterlay ? 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 emce 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 bedst ted was digging another when you knocked. RHKTORICAL AND DRAMATIC. — TOWN. 4J)1 M. Gri. 0, I must get rid of tliia fellow ! Wjus there evex such a provoking scamp ? He will kill me with vexation. Away with 70U, Sir ! Out of my sight ! ao CAITHAZAR AND THE QUACK. -yo/m Toim. Born, 1V70 ; dierf, 1804. 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 ! — Quack. I do confess my leanness. I am spare, And therefore spare me ! Man, you know, must live' JBalt. Yes ; he must die, too. Quack. For my patients' sake ' Bah. 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. Bah. Why, then, I '11 rattle thee to pieces in a dice-box. Or grind thee in a coifec-iuill to powder : For thou rsust sup with Pluto ; — so, make ready ! Whilst I, wiih tliis good suiall-sword for a lancet. Let thy starved spirit out, — for blood thou hast none, - And nail thee to the wall, where thou shult look Like a dried beetle with a pin stuck through him. Quack. Coriijider my poor wife ! Bah. Thy wife ! Quark. My wife. Sir. Bah. Hast thou dared to think of matrimony, too ? No conscience, and take a wife! Quack. I have a wife, and three angelic bates, Who, by tho.se looks, are well-nigh fatherless ! Bah. Wall, well, your wife and children shall plead for jou Come, come, the pills ! where are the pills ? produce them Quack. Here is the box. Bah. Were it Pandora's, and each single pill Had ten diseases in it, you should take them. Quack. What, all ? Bah. Ay, all ; and quickly, too; — come, Sir, begm That 's well ; — another. Quack. One 's a dose ! Bah. Proceed, Sir. Quack. What will become of me ? I do beseech you let me have some drink, Some coolin^^ liquid Sir, to wash them do-wn ' 492 THE STANDARD SPEAKEi. Bait. 0, yes — produce the vial ! Quack. Mercy on me ' Bait. Come, Sir, your new invented patent draught Fou 've tried it on a dog ; so there 's no danger. Quack. If you have any mercy think of me ' 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 chilir Bait. No, Sir. Quack. Let me go home and set my shop to rightd, 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 ivere one ! for they can feed on air. Bali. Home, Sir, and be more honest ! [Exit.l Quack. If I am not, I '11 be more wise, at least ! [Bxit.] 21. BRUTUS AND TITVS.— Nathaniel Lee. There are some noble touches in the following dialogue, from Lee's tragedy of "Luciiu Junius Brutus," although from the pen of a poet vrho mingled the extravagance of a madman Bith the inspirations of genius. Lee was born in Hertfordshire, England, in 1651, and died in 1692. He was for some time confined in a mad-house, being for nearly four years a raTing aiajijac. 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, 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 so 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 ba happy Titus. Most certain, Sir; for in my grave I 'scape All those affronts which I, in life, must look for ; All those reproaches which the eyes, the fingers, And tongues of Rome, will daily cast upon me , 5'rom whom,, to a soul so sensible as mine. RHETORICAL AND DRA VIATIC - - LES^ lifi Each single scorn would be far worse than dying. Besides, I 'scape the stings of m}-^ own conscience, Which will forever rack me 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 revsolved. No, Sir ; to me It seems as natural as to be born. Groans 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, G roan 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 scrrow' 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 Titu3 ; 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 dreadfiil 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, lot not fancy dupe thee! So fixed thy death, that 't is not in the power \n gods or men to save thee from the axe. Titus. The axe! 0, Heaven ! must I, then, fall so basely' What ! Chall I perish by the common hangman ? t9;l THE STANDARD gPEAKEK. Brutus. If thou deny me this, thou giv'st me nothins. 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 sufier 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 bonduian ! Ha ! a beaten slave ' But I deserve it all ; yet, here I fail ; The image of this suffering quite unmans me. 0, Sir ! 0, Brutus ! must 1 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 unniarily tears, these earthquakes here ; These sighs, that twitch the very strings of life ; 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. 0, do not call it shamefiil 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 Ve scourged me till I foam and faU, KHCTailCAL AND DRAMjIIC. SUAKSl'EAR* For want of spirits, grovelling in the dust, Than, take my head, and give it to his juistice i ■ By all the gods, I greedily resign it ! 49i -ATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY. — Jrfi/ison. Bom, 167S . *'«<, ttlft It must be so. — Plato, thou reasonest well Else whence this pleasing hope, this foud desire, This longing after inimoi'tality ? Or whence tliis secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the sou] Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'T is the divinity that stirs within us, 'T is Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter. And intimates eternity to man. Eternity ! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes nmst we pass ! The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; But shadows, clouds and darkness, rest upon it. Here will I hold. If thei'e '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 whore ? This world was made for Cassar, 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 yeai-s. But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth. Unhurt ainid the war of elements. The wreck of matter, aud the crush of worlds. 23. QUARREL OF BRLTUS AND CASSIUS.—Shakspeare. Cassius. That you have wronged me, doth appear in thifl Yon have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; Wherein my letters (praying on his side, Because I knew the maii) were slighted off. Bruhts. You wronged yourself to write in sucn a case Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet That evtry nice offence should be?r its comment. • The dagger. f Plato's Treatise THE STANDARD SPKaKKR 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 Bi'utus that speak this. Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last ! Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption 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 villain 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. Br2i. I say you are not ! Cas. Urge me no more : I shall forget myself. Have mind upon your health; tempt me no further! 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 GrO, 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 waspish ! Cas. Is it come to this * RHETOKICAL AND DRAMATIC. — SHAKSPEAKE. 497 i»; u. You say you are a better ioldier : Let it appear so ; make your vaunt'ug true, And it shall please ine well. For niiiic own part, I shall he glad to learn of noble men. Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutna I said, an elder soldier, not a better. I»-d I say better ? Bru. If you did, I care not ! Cas. When"C;v3sar lived, he durst not thus have mijved me 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, Oassius. in your threats ; For I am armed so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I di'l send to you For certain sums of gold, vthich you denied me ; — For I can raise no money by vile means : Ey Heuven, I had rather coin my heart, x\nd drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants thfiir vile trash By any indirection ! I did send To you for gold to pay my legions. Which you denied me. Was that done like Casfiius ? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? When jMarcus 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. Br7i. You did. Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool That brought my answer back. — Brutus hatb rived my hear^ A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they arc, Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. Cas. You love me not. Br7i. I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Br7t. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear Ad huge as high Olympus. Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come! ItevengQ yourselves alone on Cassius, 498 THU STANDARD SPEAKER. For Cassius is aweary of the world • Hated bj one he loves ; braved by his brother , Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observtsi, 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 i If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 1, that denied thee gold, will give my heart Strike as thou didst at Ga3sar ; for I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him bettei Than ever thou lovedst Cassius I 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 Bnc. And my heart, too. Cas. Brutus ! — Bm. 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 ? B?-u. Yes, Caasius ; and from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He '11 think your mother chides, and leave you so. 24. REGRETS OP DRUNKENNESS. — SAoAs/Jeore. lagc What ! be you hurt, Lieutenant ? Ca^sio. Past all surgery ! lago. Marry, Heaven forbid ! Cassio. Reputation ! 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 reputiition ! lago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound : there is more offence in that than in reputation. Repu- tation is an idle and most false imposition ; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving. What, man ! There are ways to recover the General again. Sue to him, and he is yours. KHETOIlICiL AXD DllAMATIC. — SnAKSPEARB. 1J>S Cussio. I will rather suo tc be despised than to deceive so gCK)d a jommaiider with so light, so drunken, and so indiscree*- an officer Drunk ? and speak parrot ? and squabble ? swagger ? swear ? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? — 0, thou invisible spirii of wine ! if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee — Devil. Tago. What was he that you followed with j-our sword ? what had be done to you ? Cassio. I know not. lago. Is it possible ? Cassiu. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. 0, that men should put an enenjy in their mouths to steal away their brains ! that we should with joy pleasure, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! Tago. 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 befillen ; 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 ingredient 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 wife is now the General ; confess yourself freely to her : importune her ; she '11 help to put you in 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 lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. Cassio. You advise me well. l2go, 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 tor me. lago. You are in the right. Good-night, Lieu*-enant. I must t« watch. Cassio. Good-night, none,st lago 500 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 16. BFET.Cn OF CASSIUS, INSTIGATING BRUTUS TO JOIN J HE CONSIIBAOT 4GAINST CJESATA..— S/iakupeare. Well, honor is the subject of my story. I cannot teil 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 Ct^sar ; 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, Gaisar said to me, " Dar'st thou, Cassius, 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 buifet 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 I sink ! I, as ^neas, our gi"eat ancestor. Did, from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder, The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber, Did I the tired Caesar : 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 tong-ue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, Alas ! it cried. Give me some drink, Titinitis, 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 youra Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; **ound them, it doth become the mouth as well • KHETOEICAL ANt DRAMATIC. — SIIAKSPEARK. ^01 Weigh thein, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Ciesar. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what mciit doth this oui' Ca;sar feed That he is grown so groat ? Age, thou art shamed , Kouie, thou hast lost the breed of noVjlc bloods I When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than with one man ? When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome. That her wide walls encompr^ssed but one man ? ! you and I have hsard our fathers say There was a Brutus, once, that nould have brooked The eternal devii to 'o;p hid state in Rome, As easily as a kii « , lAADINAL WOLSEY, ON BEING CAST Oi'F BY KING HENRY \m -t 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 farewciU, 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 : ray 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 agas'n ! Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all mv misej-iea : but thou hast forced me fiOS THI STANDARD SfEAKER. Out of thy hones+ truth, to play the woman. liet '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. — Mark but niy 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 geiltle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not, Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the King ; And, Prithee, lead me in : There, take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny ; 't is the King's ; my robe, iVnd my integrity to Heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. 0, Cromwell, Cromwell ! Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my King^ He would not, in mine age. Have left me naked to mine enemies ! 27 HAMLET'S INSTRUCTION TO THE VLAY^US. — Shakspears. 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 playera cx>, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor, do not saw the £ir too much with your hand, ohus : 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 aive it smoothness. ! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, — to very rags, — to split the (ars of the groundlings; Avho, 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. Be not too tame, neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor, suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature ; for any- thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, — whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 't were, the mirror up w RHETORICAL A\D DR^VMATIC. — SHAKSI'EARE. 503 Nature ; to show virtue her own feature ; scorn, her own image; and the very age and body of the time, his forsn and pressure. Now, thia overdone, or come tardy oflf, though it make the unskihul laugh, can not but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. ! there be players that I have seen play, — and heard othei-s praise and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent cf Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, aud not made men icell, they imitated humanity so abom- inably ! 28. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HZklli. — Shakrpeare. To be — or not to be — that is the question ! Whether 't is nobler in the mind to sniffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, — Or, to take arms against a sea of troubles. And, by opposing, end them. — To die, — to sleep; — No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to ; — 't is a consummation Devoutly to be wished I To die ; — to sleep ; — To sleep ? perchance to dream ; — ay, there 's the rab For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, "When we have shuffled ofi" this mortal coil, Must give us pause ! There 's tlie 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 contumelj, 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 current^s turn awry, Aud lose the name of action. 504 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. a& NOT A3HA;«IED of his 0CCJJPAT101'{. — original adaptation /lom MoUoh. Jasper. Now, there 's a nice looking young man for a weddini party ! Siephe?i. Ah, dad ! How are you, dad ? Jos. Not dressed 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 you to do with daylight., such a day as this ^ l)on't you know that Lady Leiitherbridge, and her niece, Jjady 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 hia father before him ? Was n't his father, — bless the old face of him ! — was n't he a common spinner, too ? No, he was n't ; Jasper Plum 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 hia 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 ; / '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, one 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 difierent 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 m.arry, tried to get him to marry their daughters. Even the bead of the illustrioas house of Leatherbridge graciously condescended w accept his proposals for her niece, Lady Valeria Westendleigh. The whole affair was moved, debated and carried, in a week ; only it waa arranged that the wedding should take place here at Bristol during the family's visit to Clifton, to avoid what we call eclat ! eclat, Sirl \iignified.'\ Ste. Well, 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 hundi-ed thousand yellow-boys into Freddy's breeches-pocket. Jas. Yellow-boys ! breeches-pocket ! Stephen Plum, I hope you don't mean to discharg'i such fearful expressions in the hearing of La-ly Leatherbridge RHETOmCAL AND DRAMATIC. MORTON 005 Ste. Bless you, no ; before them female noV^s, my grammar '11 be IS right as a trivet. Jas. Female nobs ! right as a trivet ! Stephen, Stephen the sad truth is, you 've got no elevation of soul ! You '11 live and die in eotton ! Ste. I hope so ; I mean to stick to cotton as long as cotton sticks to me. Jas. [takmg cot f on off his coat]. (>otton sticks to you too much, Stephen Plum — Ste. I wish you 'd stick to cotton, dad, and get rid of all these &ne, 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 catchcd 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 ti-ansmogrified Jasper Plum ! Passed into the state of butterfly, out of the state of grub ! iS^e. 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 'era, has helped to make us rich. For my part, I can't lift a bit to ray 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 60 ? 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 I and I don't mind to tell you aJiother secret, — it 's with a woman ! Jas. In love with a woman ! Ste. Yes ; and, now you 're in for it, I 'II tell you a third secret, — I want to marry her ofi"-hand, directly. Jas. Tlio boy 's mad ! His brother's marriage has got into his head, and turned it I 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- Be.end to name the woman. Ste. Ah ! now comes the tug. I say, dad, you see that hook atop of the ceiling, — that 's just where you '11 jump to, when you hear who 't is. Well, then, the woman I love, and wanf. to marry, '\s th« 506 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. poor factory girl, iMartha Gibbs. Now, don't jamp ! [Holering Jaitpei down.] Jos. Martha Gibbs! Ha, ha, ha! Come, I like this. There's Bome 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 Bucb an alliance for a son of mine ? Never, never ! The voice of ali your ancestors exclaims, Never ! never ! Ste. Then I wish my ancestors would just speak when they 're spoke to. Jas 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. I ask for her parents ; I don't believe she ever had any. Ste. Never had a father and mother ? Then warn't she a clever girl to manage to do without ? Ho, ho, ho ! Jas. Reflect like a man, Sir, and don't laugh like a horse ! I '11 turn that intriguing hussy, Martha Gibbs, oy.t of the house, this very day! iS^e. 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 afterioards. Martha has given notice ; she means to quit tha factory to-morrow morning. Jas. A i^Jeasant 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 I go and leave — 0, Stephen ! Ste. Perhaps it 's best it should be so ; long 's the day I 've seen my 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 nnist 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 minates I '11 return for your yes or no. If it 's " No," I must pa(;k up my carpet-bag, 'cause I can't go into the wide world with- out 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! tk^t the house of Plum should come 'o this! \Fixit^ tHETOKICAL AND DRAMATIC. SIHEL. 501 <, THE UNION AND ITS GOVERNMENT. — /fm. GiVmore ^ iM.tM Government 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, Witliout one needless harrier on their prows. Our industry at liberty for venture. Neither abridged nor pampered ; and no calling P'cferred 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 mari-ied 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 our 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 KWQ. — 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 one, 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 lic^ Whose dimples seem a sort of honey-comb, Filled and o'crflowing with their suavity, — These soft, melodious flatterers, r j liege. Tliat flourish on the flexibility 508 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Of their soft countenances, — are the veimin That haunt a prhice'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. — vVho dares complain of you ? " AH dare complain 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, Ajid 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. ADI'KESS TO THE SVflSS. — Adaptation from Schiller's play of ITiMam Tolt Confederates, listen to the words which Giod 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 stand, The Mations round us bear a foreign yoke For they have yielded to the conqueror. Nay, e'en within our frontiers may be found Some that owe villein service to a lord, — RHLTOraCAL AND 'DRAMA TIC. — SniEU. {'■'^ A race of bonded serfs from sire to sou. 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 P^mperor Pronounced a judgment in the Abbey's favor Awarding lands beyond his jurisdiction ? WTiat was their answer ? This : — " The grant is ^o^ 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 ; we '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 as, 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 justiw 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 primeval 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. — ScitVfer Here through this deep defile he needs must pass There leads no other road to Kussnacht : — heie I '11 do it : — the opportunity is good. Yon alder -tree stands well for my concealment, — '10 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. riiex'e- my avenging shaft will surely reach him ; The straitness of the path forbids pursuit. Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven I Thou must away from earth — thy sand is run. I led a peaceful, inoffensive life ; — My bow was bent on farest game alone, And my pure soul was free from thoughts of murder, • But thou hast scared me from my 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 powar 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 [n every cruelty, with fiend-like joy : — There is a God to punish and avenge. Well, I am watching for a noole 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, A.nd climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which His limbs ar'e 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, A.nd 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 Within the whole circumference of the mountainA iinKTORICAL AND DUAMATIC. — SCUILLER. 511 Oome forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs, [Draws an arrow from his belt My precious jewel now, — luy chiefest treasure, — A mark i '11 set thee, which the cry of grief Could never penetrate, — but thou shalt pierce it ; — And thou, my trusty bow-string, that so oft Has served me faithfully in sjxjrtivc scenes, Desert me not in this most serious hour Only be true this once, my own good cord, That ha3t so often winged the biting shaft ; — For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand, I have no second to send aft'^r thee. 34. WILLIAM TELL DESCRIBES HIS ESCAPE. — ScA;Her. I LAY on deck, fast bound with cords, disarmed, in utter hopelessness. I did not think Again to see the gladsome light of day, Nor the dear faces of my wite and children. And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters. Then we put forth upon the lake, — the Viceroy "Rudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow And cjuiver 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. Thoii heard I one of the attendant train. Turning to Gessler, in this strain accost him : " YoM 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 bkiil. 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 frBC thee from thy bonds." I answered, " Yes, my lord, with God's assistanoO; I '11 see what can be done, and help us Heaveu ! " On this they loosed me from my bonds, and I Stood by the helm and fairly steered along , Yet wer eyed my shooting gear askance, \ad kept a "vatchful eye upon the shore. feia IBE STaAjARD SPEAKEK 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 poioj; 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 off, 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. U WALLENSTEIN'S SOLILOQUY. — ScAj.'/er. Coleridge's Translation Is it possible ? Is 't so ? I can no longer what I would ? No longer draw back at my liking ? I Must do the deed because I thouffkt 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 mc What is thy enterprise 1 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 HHiiTORTCAL AND DRAMATIC. —SCHILLER. 518 Power by a thousand tough and stringy roots Fixed to the people's pioiLS nursery-faith. Tliis, this will be no strife of strength with strength. That feared I not. I brave each combatant, WTiora 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, ^Vhich 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. O no ! it is the common, the quite common, The thing of an eternal yesterday. What ever was, and evermore returns, Sterling to-moi'row, for to-day t was sterling ! For of the wholly common is man made, And custom is his nurse I Woe, then, to them Who lay irreverent hands upon his old House fui'niture, the dear inheritance From his forefathers ! 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 ! 36. 'TIE BELIEF IN ASTliOhOQY. — S chi/Cer. Coleridge's Translation. O NEVER rudely will I blame his fliith 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 Love's world, his home, his birth-place Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans, And spirits ; and delightedly believes Divinities, being himself divine. The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion. The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or foi-est by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms, and watei-y depths, — all these have vaniKhad They live no longer in the faith of reason ' 3c 614 THE STANDARD SPEAKEE. 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 BI TB K GRIEF OF BEREAVEMENT. — Wallenstein's R^ections on hearing oj the ieeil 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. ! 't is well With Mm ! but who knows what the coming hour, Veiled 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 ! 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 38. PRIULI AND JAFFIER. - - Thomas Otivay. IPhomas Otway, from whuse tragedy of " Venice Preserved '' the following extract is tekea, was born in Sussex, England, in 1651, and died, in a state of almost incredible destitution and wretiihedness, in 1685. lie was the author of several plays, of which his " Venice Preserved" -S the most deservedly celebrated. PriulL No more ! I '11 hear no more ! Begone, and leave me ' Ja;ffier. Not hear me ! By my sufferings, but you shall i 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 oppressioE, will not hear m© » RHKTOIIICAI. AND DllAMATlC. — CTWAI 515 Pri. Have you not wron 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 charilij But 's happier than I ; for I have known The luscious sweets of plenty ; — every night Have slept with soft content about my head, KHBTOEICAL AND DRAMATIC.— MATHEWS. Ml And never waked but to a joyful morning ; Yet now mast fall, like a full ear of corn, WTiosc blossom 'scaped, yet 's withered in the ripening ' Pri. Home, and be humble I Study to retrench ; Discharge the lazy vermin in thy hall, Those pageants of thy folly ; Reduce the glittering trappings of thy wife To humble weeds, tit for thy little state ; Then to some suburb cottage both retire , Drudge to feed loathsome life ! Hence, hence, and starve Home, home, I say ! 39. NOTHING IN IT. — Charles Mathews. Jeeck. But you don't laugh, Coldstream 1 Come, man, be amused, for once in your life ! — you don't laugh. Sir Charles. 0, yes, I do. You mistuke ; I laughed twice, dis- tinctly, — only, the fact is, I am bored to death ! Leech Bored ? "SMiat ! 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. i\Iy 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 thii-ty-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 Frovence, in Paris. Sir C. I 'm dead with enTiui ! Leech. Ennui ! poof Croesus ! Sir C. Crojsus ! — no, I 'm no Croesus ! My father, — you 've seen his portrait, good old fellow I — he certainly did leave me a little mat- ter of twelve thousand pounds a year ; but, after all — Leech. O, 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 trj 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. Tieech. Nothing in all Europe ? Sir C. Nothing I — 0, dear, yes ! I remember, at one time, [ did, some.how. jro about a good d^al. 618 THE STANDARD SPEAK. ER. Leech. You should go to Switzerland. Sir C. I ha-se been. — Nothing there, — people say sc lauch aboti4 everything. There certainly were a few glaciers, some monks, and large dogs, and thick ankles, and bad wine, and Mont Blanc ; yes, and there was ice on the top, too ; but I prefer the ice at Gunter's, — less trouble, and more in it. Leech. Then, if Switzerland would n't do, I 'd try Italy. Sir C. My dear Leech, 1 've tried it over and over again, — ano «rhat 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- tol, — tolerable high; and St. Peter's, — marble, and mosaics, and foun- tains, — dome certainly 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 ! Leech. The Pyramids? Sir C. Humbugs ! — nothing in any of them ! You bore me. is it possible that you cannot invent something that would make my blood boil in my veins, — my hair stand on end, — my heart beat, — mj pulse rise ; — that would produce an excitement — an emotion — a seu' satioE — a palpitation — but, no ! — Leech. I 've an idea ! Sir a Yon ? What is it « Leech. Marry ' RnirroEiCAi. aud dram.ai'IC. - <-orNE. I& Sir C. Hum ! — well, not bad. There 's novelty about the notion it never diJ strike me to — 0, but, no : I should be bored with 'sh* exertion of choosing. If a wife, now, could be hud like a dinner — for jrderice. Leech. She can, by you. Take the first woman that comes : on mj life, she '11 not refuse twelve thousand pounds a year. Sir C. Come, I don't dislike the project ; I almost feel something Uke a sensation coming. I have n't felt so excited for some time ; it 'a a novel enjoyment — a surprise! I 'U try it. 40. MOSES AT THE FAIR. — J. 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 bo.x. Jenhinson. 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 postui'e, and now it has gone as clean, saving your presence, as — [picks his pocket] — that, Sir ! 0, a wonderful man ! I came here, at full length, in a cart ; but I shall ride back as upright as a gate-post, if I can but come by a horse. Moses [aside]. A customer for the colt; he seems a simple fellow. I have a horse to sell. Sir. Jen. ! 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 forgetting my wares. [Tctkes up his box. Moses. What have you there ? Jen. [mysteriously]. 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 ; lUu 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; [asidel — ^ugh perhaps not quite such a simjileton ! 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 tc nae and drive ? Moses. I 've driven him myself, and I am not one that driveth ftiri- wsly ; and you may believe he 's quiet to ride, when I tell you be 's carried my mc'her, an old lady, and never thrown her. [Aside.] It 's OiV THfi STAMiJAllU SPEAKER. true, she tumbled off once; but that was her fault, and not tb« 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 nauie your own price; Saside^ — and then nobody can say I chea+od him. Jen. What say you to nine guineas, and the odd half-guinea fw 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 pockets.^ Eh ? — 0, nay, 't is t' other pocket ; no, I I 'm a ruined man ! — I be robbed — thieves ! I be robbed — Moses. Robbed ? This comes of carrying money. " Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator," as Juvenal says. But I will lend thee enough to take thee home again. [Going to put his hand into his pocket. Jen. [pi-events 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. [leaking a pair out of case. 3foses. A gross of green spectacles. [Taking a pair. Jen. A dozen dozen. Moses. Let's see ; [aside, calcidates] — 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 tha colt ; — so, come I Moses. A gross of green spectacles i 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, Moses is a simpleton, is he ? Moses can't make a bargain, can't he ? [jExit. Jen. Of all the green spectacles I ever sold, I must say you 're th« greenest. ^ 41. VAN DEN BOSCH AND VAN AlVTEYEUyE. — Henry Tat/ lor. Artevelde. This is a mighty matter, Van den Bosch, Aiid much to be revolved ere it be answered. Van den ^osch. The people shall ele t thee with one voice SflETORICAL AND DKAMATIC. — lATWB. Ml i will insure the Wliito-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 glurioas rule Thy father bore, when Flanders, prosperous then, From end to end obeyed liim as one town. Art. They may remember it; and, Van den IJiKsch, May I not, too, bethink me of the end To which this People brought my noble father ' They gorged the fruits of his good husljandry Till, drunk with long prosperity, and blind With too much fatness, they tore up the root From which their common weal had sprung and flourished Yan 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 i 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 kille4 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. Y'ea. life for life, vile bankrupts as they are, — - €22 THE STANDARD SPEA.S_ER. Their worthless lives, for his of countless price, — £s their whole wherewithal to pay their debt. Yet, retribution is a goodly thing, And it were \^ 3II to wring the payment frooj them Ejven to the utmost drop of their heart's biood ! Van den B. Then will I call the People to the square, And speak for your election. Art. Not so fast. Your vessel, Van den Bosch, hath felt the storm ' She rolls dismasted in an ugly swell. And you would make a jury-mast of me. Whereon to spread the tatters of your canvas. And what am I ? Why, I am as the oak Which stood apart, far down the vale of life, G-rowing 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 Goenl 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 \Ford betimes of my conclusion. Van de7i B. Betimes it must be, for the White-IIood ckiefil Meet two hours hence ; and ere we separate 0"ir course must be determined. Art. In two hours, Lf I be for you, I will send this ring In token I ha\'e so resolved. Farewell ' Van den B. Philip Vac Artevelde, a greater man Than ever Ghent beheld, we '11 make of thee, [f thou be bold enough to try this venture, Grod give thee heart do so ! Fare thee well \Ezit Van den Bosch.] RHET(miCAL AND DRAMATIC. -ALLINGHAM. 02S Art. \afii>r a long pause]. Is it vain glory that thus wLi5;)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. 0, my father ! Thy life is eloquent, and more persuades Unto dominion than thy death deters ! 43 THE WEAPHERCOCK. — J. T. Allinsrham. 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. Tri. You are right. Sir. I have found out that philosophy is folly ; BO 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 dilferent 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 littlo steadiness. You have nevsr yet been constant to anything but extravagance. Tri. Yes, Sir, — one thing more. Old F. What is that. Sir ? Tri. Affection for you. However my head may have wandered, my heart has always been constantly attached to the kindest of parents ;