■3 rap ->- 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^Z> 
 
 32 
 
 5 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.* 
 
 rjjw |w»s« j|f«. 
 
 
 | UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. | 
 
 31^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 >^3S 
 
 HETTT^ 
 
 
 W !j= 5*>r:-3? 
 
 
 

 >3 
 
 > I 
 
 I 
 >> > > -- 
 
 X> » »J> '>» '? 
 
 
 > . v 2E>'jg> X3E3E2E&. :x»j» 12 
 ~> 3K>I3E> >0 ,-T:0 ^ > > 3 
 
 
 
 r> i> 
 
 
 
THE 
 
 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER; 
 
 A SELECTION 
 
 SPEECHES, DIALOGUES, AND POETRY: 
 
 FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS. 
 
 BY THOMAS HUGHS, 
 
 Compiler of the " Universal Class Book," and the " American Popular Reader.' 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 KEY & MIELKE, ]81 MARKET STREET. 
 
 8TEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON. 
 
 1831. 
 
-^ 
 
 
 HnterelT according to the 0ct of ©ottfltess in the year 1831, by 
 Key & Mielke, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern 
 District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 ? tr 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It has been usual, in books of this kind, to prefix to them 
 rules for reading and recitation ; though, in general, with 
 more zeal than judgment. But even at the risk of incurring 
 the same censure, and though conscious that he has nothing 
 original to suggest on the subject, the editor of this volume 
 will venture to offer a few remarks, which he hopes may- 
 prove serviceable to both student and teacher. 
 
 Good reading depends much upon the perfect develope- 
 ment of the higher faculties of the mind. It implies powers 
 of reflection highly cultivated ; acute penetration to discover 
 the nicest shade of meaning intended by the author ; and 
 taste, and feeling, to embody and express it. He, then, who 
 would be a good reader, must, in the first place, cultivate his 
 mind with assiduity, particularly those parts of it which are 
 connected with taste and refinement. Good reading is a 
 matter of pure taste ; consequently, no precise rules can apply 
 to it. We might as well think to form a poet by laying down 
 the great principles by which we know that mankind are 
 affected by poetical composition, — or to produce a fine eye 
 for colours by the precepts of art, as to expect to form a good 
 reader by the most exact rules that ever were, or can be 
 written. Voice, pronunciation, and gesture, are secondary, 
 though important qualities towards arriving at great perfec- 
 tion in the art of reading and recitation. We know that 
 Demosthenes was a stammerer, or at least had a defect in his 
 speech ; and one of the most powerful pulpit orators in our 
 day, Dr. Chalmers, has to contend with an unruly voice, and 
 a strong Scotch dialect : yet, in point of effect, he is far be- 
 fore any of his contemporaries. The late Mr. Canning, on 
 hearing this celebrated preacher, exclaimed to Mr. Wilber- 
 force, " The Tartan beats us." 
 
 3 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 Mind, properly directed, overcomes all difficulties ; it con- 
 trols and subdues the defects of bodily organs and accidental 
 circumstances, and creates for itself an atmosphere in the 
 minds of others, which vibrates at the slightest touch. 
 
 The great error on this subject has been, that reading has 
 been considered as purely mechanical, with scarcely any re- 
 ference to mind ,• and as many rules have been devised for 
 obtaining a correct and just style of reading, as there are for 
 perspective or any other mechanical operation. What can 
 be more ludicrous than the see-saw flourishes of the school- 
 boy, who has risen fresh from the study of some recondite 
 author, and has committed to memory all the attitudes and 
 tones and inflections he recommended. This has long been 
 a fertile subject for the caricaturist of the pencil, and the 
 stage ; and yet it prevails in our schools to this day. 
 
 To read well, it must be natural, easy, and graceful. The 
 reader supplies, by his manner, the best, and most beautiful 
 colouring to the author's thought ; he imparts to it that 
 which language, in its essential imperfection, is unable to 
 give. He has to give life to the inanimate statue, and to 
 breathe around the subject a fragrance. He has to " paint 
 the lily," and " throw a perfume on the violet." 
 
 But how is this to be attained ? First, trust to nature and 
 good sense, and throw aside as worthless and barbarous, all 
 the artificial systems which have been contrived. Let the 
 student observe the conversation of well educated people, 
 when under no constraint ; let him study the best speakers 
 in the pulpit, on the stage, and at the bar, and observe how 
 they produce effect. But let him beware of imitating even 
 the best, and to endeavour to form for himself a style which 
 will, like his cast of thought, and every day manner, hang 
 natural upon him ; if he do this, and at the same time study 
 to acquire a correct pronunciation, and a clear and distinct 
 utterance, he will have gained the object he has in view* 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Reverence for Law. — Hopkinson. - page 9 
 
 Colonel Hannay's Government. — Sheridan. 10 
 
 Scene from the West Indian. — Cumberland. - 12 
 The death of the younger of the Prisoners of Chillon. — Byron. 14 
 
 Scene from the Rivals. — Sheridan. - 15 
 
 The death of Crescentius. — Miss Landon. 17 
 
 Mary's Mount. — Pringle. 18 
 
 Mr. F. J. Robinson's Reply to the attack on him. 20 
 
 The Folly of Pride.— Sidney Smith. .... 22 
 
 Sir Walter Scott and Sir James Mackintosh. — Jeffrey. - 23 
 
 The Poet and the Glow-worm. — W. Jermin. - 25 
 
 Soliloquy from the Tragedy of Sertorius. — Brown. - - 26 
 
 Scene from Sertorius. — Brown. - - - - 27 
 
 Slavery of Greece. — Canning. - - 32 
 
 Scene from Richelieu. — Payne. ----- 35 
 
 The True Strength of Christianity.— Macauley. - - 36 
 
 The Great Charter of England. — Sir James Mackintosh. 37 
 
 Carolina and Massachusetts. — Webster. 39 
 
 Character of Burke. ---_--- 40 
 
 Scene from Richard the Second. — Shakspeare. 41 
 
 Filial Affection. — Sheridan. ------ 45 
 
 Lochiel's Warning. — Campbell. ----- 46 
 
 Attachment of the Indians to the Soil. — Everett. 49 
 
 Invective against Regulus. — Tacitus. - - - - 50 
 
 Scene from King John. — Shakspeare. - - - " - 51 
 
 Palm-tree in an English Garden. — Mrs. Hemans. - - 55 
 
 The Marquis of Lansdown on the Catholic Association. - 56 
 
 Captain Capperbar and Mr. Cheeks. — Marryat. - 58 
 
 Extract from the Speech on Portugal. — Canning. - - 59 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. ------ 61 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. ------ 63 
 
 Same Subject. — Concluded. 65 
 
 Importance of the Union.. — Webster. - 68 
 
 Living Poets of England. — Moore. - - - - 69 
 
 Horrors of War. — Chalmers. 70 
 
 Means of Abolishing War. — Chalmers. - - ' - -^72 
 Extract from Mr. Shiel's Speech, in Parliament, on Parliamen- 
 tary Reform. 73 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. ------ 74 
 
 Same Subject.— Concluded 75 
 
 Extract. — Moore. 77 
 
 The Sultan and Mr. Haswell.— Inchbald. 79 
 
 Extract from Mr. Denman's Speech in defence of the Queen. 81 
 
 Extract from Mr. Sheridan's Speech against Warren Hastings. 82 
 a2 5 
 
VI CONTENTS, 
 
 Attack on Lord Eldon. — Brougham. ----- 84 
 The State to which Switzerland was reduced by the Invasion 
 
 of the French. — Sydney Smith. - 86 
 
 Importance of Virtuous Principle. — Channing. - - - . 87 
 Manners of Students. — Mason. ----- 88 
 
 Power of Government. — Everett. 89 
 
 Public Faith. — Fisher Ames. ----- 90 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. ------ 91 
 
 Progress of Poesy ; a Pindaric Ode. — Gray. - - - 92 
 
 Hamlet's Soliloquy imitated. — Jago. - 96 
 
 Scene from the English Merchant. - 96 
 
 Rolla's Address to the Peruvians. — Sheridan. 98 
 
 The peroration of Mr. Governeur Morris's Speech on the Judi- 
 ciary Establishment. ------ 99 
 
 Conduct of the Opposition. — Clay. ----- 100 
 
 Ode to Memory. — Mason. 101 
 
 Gooseberry-pie. — A Pindaric Ode. — Southey. - 103 
 
 Scene from the Choleric Man. ----- 104 
 
 Insecurity of the World. — Chalmers. - 107 
 
 The Court of Proserpine. — Lucy Aiken. - - - 108 
 
 Power to be valued only as it confers benefits on mankind. — 
 
 Brougham. - - -113 
 
 Speech of Rienzi to the Romans. — Miss Mitford. - - 115 
 Scene from the Tragedy of Rienzi. — Miss Mitford. - - 116 
 Extracts from the Inaugural Address of Thomas Jefferson. 119 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. - 120 
 
 Just as you please, or the Incurious. — King. - 121 
 
 The Guerilla Leader's Vow. — Mrs. Hemans. - - 123 
 
 Tribute to the memory of Howard, the Philanthropist. — Darwin. 124 
 Extract from Mr. Calhoun's Speech on Internal Improvement. 125 
 Extract from the Speech of Alexander Hamilton, on the Ex- 
 pediency of adopting the Federal Constitution. - 126 
 Same Subject. — Continued. ------ 128 
 
 Ode to Remorse. — Barbauld. 129 
 
 Public Opinion more Irresistible than Military Power. — 
 
 Webster. - - - - - - - - 133 
 
 The Dead Beauty.— Morris. 134 
 
 British Influence. — Randolph. - - - - , - - 135 
 
 Natural Progress of Society. — Edinburgh Review. - 136 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. ------ 138 
 
 Scene from the Way to Keep Him. — Murphy. - - 140 
 
 The Morning Mist. — Southey. 141 
 
 Extract from Mr. Livingston's Speech on the Alien Bill. 142 
 
 Speech on Parliamentary Reform. — Sidney Smith. - - 144 
 Scene from 'the Man of the World.' - - - - 146 
 
 Extract from Mr. Sheridan's Speech, in answer to Mr. Burke's, 
 
 on the French Revolution. ----- 149 
 Extract from Mr. Harper's Speech on resisting the Aggressions 
 
 of France. 150 
 
 Mr. Curran's defence of Orr. - - - »".••» 152 
 
CONTENTS. VII 
 
 Scene from the School for Scandal. — Sheridan. - - 153 
 
 Modern Greece. — Byron. 156 
 
 The Nightingale.— Coleridge. 157 
 
 An Inscription. — Southey. 160 
 
 Extract from Patrick Henry's Speech on the Expediency of 
 
 adopting the Federal Constitution. - 160 
 
 The right of the Americans to take up arms. — Chatham. 162 
 
 The right of Britain to Tax America. — Burke. - - 164 
 
 Extract from Lord Byron's Speech on Catholic Emancipation. 165 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. - 166 
 
 Same Subject. — Concluded. ------ 168 
 
 Benefits ot Affliction. — Cowper. ----- 170 
 
 Wolsey. — Shakspeare. 171 
 
 Procrastination. — Young. ------ 172 
 
 The French Army in Russia. — Wordsworth. - - 173 
 
 Evils of Calumny and War. — Governeur Morris. - - 174 
 Extract from Mr. Webster's Speech, on the Greek Revolution. 176 
 
 On Capital Punishment. — Edinburgh Review. - - 178 
 
 What is the Character of the Present Age. — Everett. - 179 
 
 America and England. — Sir James Macintosh. - - 181 
 
 Same Subject. — Concluded. ------ 183 
 
 Poverty resisting the Temptations to Vice. — Bulwer. - 184 
 
 Virtue. — Bulwer. 185 
 
 The peroration of Mr. Wirt's Speech in behalf of the Cherokee 
 
 Nation. 186 
 
 Same Subject. — Concluded. ------ 187 
 
 Scene from Ivanhoe. — Scott. 188 
 
 Extract from the Speech of Demosthenes for the Crown. — 
 
 Edinburgh Review. - - - - - - 191 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. ------ 192 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. ------ 193 
 
 Same Subject. — Concluded. 194 
 
 Extract from the Oration of ^Eschines against Demosthenes. 196 
 
 Connecticut. — Halleck. ------- 198 
 
 Dirge of -Alaric, the Visigoth. — Everett. - - - - 200 
 
 Condition of Literary Men. — Edinburgh Review. - - 203 
 
 Moore and Byron compared. — Jeffrey. - - - - 204 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. ------ 206 
 
 Gratitude. — Grattan. ------- 208 
 
 Farewell to the Muse.— Scott. 208 
 
 The Unknown Grave. — Pringle. 209 
 
 Youth and Age. — Coleridge. - - - - - -211 
 
 Ireland.— Grattan. - - - - - - - 212 
 
 Scene from the Disowned. — Bulwer. - 214 
 
 Extract from a Speech of Mr. Hayne, on the Tariff. • - 216 
 
 Scene from the Critic. — Sheridan. ----- 218 
 
 Awakened Conscience. — Moore. ----- 223 
 
 Hymn to the North Star.— Bryant. 255 
 
 Scene from Hamlet. — Shakspeare. - - - - 226 
 
 Speech of Lord Chatham, in reply to Lord Suffolk. * -,' - 229 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 Speech of Mr. Curran. - - 230 
 
 Same Subject. — Continued. - 232 
 
 Pleasures of Imagination. — Akenside. - 234 
 
 Miseries of Fame. — Pope. - - - - - - 235 
 
 To Light— Milton. - - - - - - - 237 
 
 Prince Edward and his Keeper. — Miss Baillie. - - - 238 
 
 Hamlet and the Players. — Shakspeare. - - - 239 
 
 Conclusion of Lord Strafford's Defence. - 240 
 
 Character of Cromwell. — Crowley. - 242 
 
 Satiric Poet, and his Friend. — Pope. 243 
 
 Scene from Richard the Third. — Shakspeare. - - 246 
 
 Extract from the Speech of the Hon. John Adams. - - 247 
 
 Gil Bias and the Old Archbishop. — Le Sage. - - 249 
 
 Alexander the Great and the Robber. — Dr. Aikin. - - 251 
 
THE 
 
 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 REVERENCE FOR LAW. HopHnSOTl. 
 
 [From an Eulogiumon Hon. Bushrod Washington. — Trial of General 
 Bright, for obstructing the execution of a process of the court of the 
 United States.] 
 
 Now, I pray you, mark the conduct of the people of Penn- 
 sylvania, at this unprecedented, trying crisis. Can she 
 recede from her absolute assertion of right? Can she take 
 back her unqualified menaces' of resistance, and promises of 
 protection to her citizens ? — A Judge, in himself a weak and 
 helpless individual, supported by no power but the law, pro- 
 nounces a sentence of criminal condemnation upon the as- 
 sembled Representatives of that people — upon their supreme 
 executive authority ; upon themselves; and orders the minister 
 of their will, surrounded by a military force under his com- 
 mand, to a common gaol — And this is submitted to with a 
 reverential awe ; not a murmur from the prisoner ; not a 
 movement by the people to rescue him from a punishment 
 inflicted upon him for obeying their mandates ; for sustain- 
 ing their authority, and defending their interests. — And 
 why? — Because the law had spoken — it was the judgment of 
 the law. — The people were wise and virtuous ; they loved 
 their country above all things ; and to her they willingly 
 surrendered their strength ; their passions, their pride, and 
 their interest. A jury of Pennsylvania, instructed and con- 
 vinced that the supremacy of the law had been violated, 
 gave up the offenders — their fellow-citizens, respected, and 
 worthy of respect, to its penalties. — What a Judge ! how 
 fearless in his duty ! — What a people ! how magnanimous in 
 their submission ! How worthy of each other ! No proud 
 and passionate assertion of sovereignty ; no violent menaces 
 of insulted power ; no rebellious defiance of the federal au- 
 thority ; no inflammatory combinations to resist it ; and to 
 shatter, in their madness, the beautiful fabric of our Union :-~ - 
 
10 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 In short, no nullification — a new and portentous word — but 
 a calm and noble submission to the concentrated power of 
 all the States, in a government made and adopted by all ; 
 which all are bound, by their solemn and pledged faith, by 
 their hopes of peace, safety, and happiness, to maintain and 
 obey. It is only by such efforts of patriotism that this great 
 and growing Republic can be preserved. If, whenever the 
 pride of a state is offended, or her selfishness rebuked, she 
 may assume an attitude of defiance ; may pour her rash and 
 angry menaces on her confederated sisters ; may claim a 
 sovereignty altogether independent of them; and acknow- 
 ledge herself to be bound to the Union by no ties, but such 
 as she may dissolve at pleasure, we do indeed hold our politi- 
 cal existence by a most precarious tenure, and the future 
 destinies of our country are as dark and uncertain as the past 
 have been happy and glorious. 
 
 Happy is that country, and only that, where the laws are 
 not only just and equal, but supreme and irresistible ;- — 
 where selfish interests and disorderly passions are curbed by 
 an arm to which they must submit. — We look back with 
 horror and affright to the dark and troubled ages when a 
 cruel and gloomy superstition tyrannized over the people of 
 Europe ; dreaded alike by kings and people ; by govern- 
 ments and individuals ; before which the law had no force ; 
 justice no respect ; and mercy no influence. The sublime 
 precepts of morality, the kind and endearing charities ; the 
 true and rational reverence for a bountiful Creator, which 
 are the elements and the life of our religion, were trampled 
 upon in the reckless career of ambition, pride, and the lust 
 of power. Nor was it much better when the arm of the war- 
 rior, and the sharpness of his sword determined every ques- 
 tion of right ; and held the weak in bondage to the strong ; 
 and the revengeful feuds of the great involved, in one com- 
 mon ruin, themselves and their humblest vassals. — These 
 disastrous days are gone, never to return. There is no power 
 but the Law, which is the power of all, and those who ad- 
 minister it are the masters and the ministers of all. 
 
 colonel hannay's government. — Sheridan. 
 
 If we could suppose a person to have come suddenly into 
 tne country, unacquainted with any circumstances that had 
 passed since the days of Sujah ul Dowlah. he would naturally 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 11 
 
 *Bk — what cruel hand has wrought this wide desolation, what 
 uarbarian foe has invaded the country, has desolated its 
 fields, depopulated its villages? He would ask, what disputed 
 succession, civil rage, or frenzy of the inhabitants, had in- 
 duced them to act in hostility to the words of God, and the 
 beauteous works of man? He would ask what religious zeal 
 or frenzy had added to the mad despair and horrors of war ? — 
 The ruin is unlike any thing that appears recorded in any 
 age ; it looks like neither the barbarities of men, nor the 
 judgments of vindictive heaven. There is a waste of desola- 
 tion, as if caused by fell destroyers, never meaning to return 
 and making but a short period of their rapacity. It looks as 
 if some fabled monster had made its passage through the 
 country, whose pestiferous breath had blasted more than its 
 voracious appetite could devour. 
 
 If there had been any men in the country, who had not 
 their hearts and souls so subdued by fear, as to refuse to 
 speak the truth at all upon such a subject, they would have 
 told him, there had been no war since the time of Sujah ul 
 Dowlah, — tyrant, indeed, as he was, but then deeply regret- 
 ted by his subjects — that no hostile blow of any enemy had 
 been struck in that land — that there had been no disputed 
 succession — no civil war — no religious frenzy. But that 
 these were the tokens of British friendship, the marks left by 
 the embraces of British allies — more dreadful than the blows 
 of the bitterest enemy. They would tell him that these 
 allies had converted a prince into a slave, to make him the 
 principal in the extortion upon his subjects ; — that their ra- 
 pacity increased in proportion as the means of supplying 
 their avarice diminished ; that they made the sovereign pay 
 as if they had a right to an increased price, because the la- 
 bour of extortion and plunder increased. To such causes, 
 they would tell him, these calamities were owing. 
 
 Need I refer Your Lordships to the strong testimony*of 
 Major Naylor, when he rescued Colonel Hannay from their 
 hands — where you see that this people, born to submission 
 and bent to most abject subjection — that even they, in whose 
 meek hearts injury had never yet begot resentment, nor even 
 despair bred courage — that their hatred, their abhorrence of 
 Colonel Hannay was such that they clung round him by 
 thousands and thousands ; — that when Major Naylor rescued 
 him, they refused life from the hand that could rescue Han- 
 nay ; — that they nourished this desperate consolation, that 
 by their death they should at least thin the number of 
 
12 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 wretches who suffered by his devastation and extortion. He 
 says that, when he crossed the river, he found the poor 
 wretches quivering upon the parched banks of the polluted 
 river, encouraging their blood to flow, and consoling them- 
 selves with the thought, that it would not sink into the earth, 
 but rise to the common God of humanity, and cry aloud for 
 vengeance on their destroyers !- — This warm description — 
 which is no declamation of mine, but founded in actual fact, 
 and in fair, clear proof before Your Lordships — speaks pow- 
 erfully what the cause of these oppressions were, and the 
 perfect justness of those feelings that were occasioned by 
 them. And yet, my Lords, I am asked to prove why these 
 people arose in such concert: — 'there must have been ma- 
 chinations, forsooth, and the Begums' machinations, to pro- 
 duce all this !' — Why did they rise ! — Because they were 
 people in human shape ; because patience under the detest- 
 ed tyranny of man is rebellion to the sovereignty of God ; 
 because allegiance to that Power that gives us the forms of 
 men commands us to maintain the rights of men. And never 
 yet was this truth dismissed from the human heart — never 
 in any time, in any age — never in any clime, where rude 
 man ever had any social feeling, or where corrupt refinement 
 had subdued all feelings, — never was this one unextinguish- 
 able truth destroyed from the heart of man, placed, as it is, 
 in the core and centre of it by his Maker, that man was not 
 made the property of man ; that human power is a trust for 
 human benefit; and that when it is abused, revenge becomes 
 justice, if not the bounden duty of the injured. These, my 
 Lords, were the causes why these people rose. 
 
 scene from the west Indian. — Cumberland. 
 
 Belcour and Stockwell. 
 
 Stock. Mr. Belcour, I'm rejoiced to see you ; you're wel- 
 come to England. 
 
 Bel. I thank you heartily, good Mr. Stockwell ; you and 
 I have long conversed at a distance ; now we are met ; and 
 the pleasure this meeting gives me, amply compensates for 
 the perils I have run through in accomplishing it. 
 
 Stock. What perils, Mr. Belcour ? I could not have thought 
 you would have made a bad passage at this time o'year. 
 
 Bel. Nor did we : courier like, we came posting to your 
 shores, upon the pinions of the swiftest gales that ever blew ,* 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 13 
 
 "'tis upon English ground all my difficulties have arisen ; 'ti9 
 the passage from the river-side I complain of. 
 
 Stock. Ay, indeed ! What obstructions can you have met 
 between this and the river-side ? 
 
 Bel. Innumerable! Your town 's as full of defiles as the 
 Island of Corsica; and, I believe, they are as obstinately de- 
 fended : so much hurry, bustle, and confusion on your quays; 
 so many sugar-casks, porter-butts, and common council-men 
 in your streets, that, unless a man marched with artillery in 
 his front, 'tis more than the labour of a Hercules can effect, 
 to make any tolerable way through your town. 
 
 Stock, I am sorry you have been so incommoded. 
 
 Bel. Why, faith, 'twas all my own fault : accustomed to 
 a land of slaves, and out of patience with the whole tribe of 
 custom-house extortioners, boat-men, tide-waiters, and wa- 
 ter-bailiff's, that beset me on all sides, worse than a swarm of 
 musquetoes, I proceeded a little too roughly to brush them 
 away with my rattan ; the sturdy rogues took this in dudgeon, 
 and beginning to rebel, the mob chose different sides, and a 
 furious scuffle ensued; in the course of which, my person 
 and apparel suffered so much, that I was obliged to step into 
 the first tavern to refit, before I could make my approaches 
 in any decent trim. 
 
 Stock. All without is as I wish; dear Nature add the rest, 
 and I am happy (aside.) Well, Mr. Belcour, 'tis a rough sam- 
 ple you have had of my countrymen's spirit. ; but, I trust, 
 you'll not think the worse of them for it. 
 
 Bel. Not at all, not at all ; I like 'em the better ; was I 
 only a visitor, I might, perhaps, wish them a little more tract- 
 able ; but, as a fellow subject, and a sharer in their freedom, 
 I applaud their spirit, though I feel the effects of it in every 
 bone of my skin. 
 
 Stock. That's well ; I like that well. How gladly I could 
 fall upon his neck, and own myself his father ! ( Aside.) 
 
 Bel. Well, Mr. Stockwell, for the first time in my life, 
 here am I in England ; at the fountain-head of pleasure, in 
 the land of beauty, of arts, and elegancies. My happy stars 
 have given me a good estate, and the conspiring winds have 
 blown me hither, to spend it. 
 
 Stock. To use it, not to waste it, I should hope ; to treat 
 it, Mr. Belcour, not as a vassal, over whom you have a wan- 
 ton and a despotic power ; but as a subjectj which you are 
 bound to govern with a temperate and restrained authority. 
 
 Bel. True, Sir ; most truly said ; mine's a commission, not 
 B 
 
14 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 a right : I am the offspring of distress, and every child of 
 sorrow is my brother ; while I have hands to hold, therefore, 
 I will hold them open to mankind : but, Sir, my passions are 
 my masters ; they take me where they will ; and oftentimes 
 they leave to reason and to virtue nothing but my wishes 
 and my sighs. 
 
 Stock. Come, come, the man who can accuse corrects him- 
 self. 
 
 Bel. Ah ! that's an office I am weary of: I wish a friend 
 would take it up : I would to heaven you had leisure for the 
 employ ; but did you drive a trade to the four corners of the 
 world, you would not find the task so toilsome as to keep me 
 free from faults. 
 
 Stock. Well, I am not discouraged : this candour tells me I 
 should not have the fault of self-conceit to combat ; that, at 
 least, is not amongst the number. 
 
 Bel. No ; if I knew that man on earth who thought more 
 humbly of me than I do myself, I would take up his opinion, 
 and forego my own. 
 
 Stock. And, was I to choose a pupil, it should be one of 
 your complexion: so if you'll come along with me, we'll 
 agree upon your admission, and enter on a course of lectures 
 directly. 
 
 Bel. With all my heart. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE YOUNGER OP THE PRISONERS 
 
 of chillon. — Byron. 
 
 But he, the favourite and the flower, 
 Most cherished since his natal hour, 
 His mother's image in fair face, 
 The infant love of all his race, 
 His martyred father's dearest thought, 
 My latest care, for whom I sought 
 To hoard my life, that his might be 
 Less wretched now, and one day free ; 
 He, too, who yet had held untired 
 A spirit natural or inspired — 
 He, too, was struck, and day by day 
 Was withered on the stalk away. 
 Oh God ! it is a fearful thing 
 To see the human soul take wing 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 15 
 
 In any shape, in any mood : — 
 
 I've seen it rushing forth in blood, 
 
 I've seen it on the breaking ocean 
 
 Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, 
 
 I've seen the sick and ghastly bed 
 
 Of Sin, delirious with its dread : 
 
 But these were horrors. — This was woe 
 
 Unmixed with such — but sure and slow : 
 
 He faded, and so calm and meek, 
 
 So softly worn, so sweetly weak, 
 
 So tearless, yet so tender — kind, 
 
 And grieved for those he left behind ; 
 
 With, all the while, a cheek whose bloom 
 
 Was as a mockery of the tomb, 
 
 Whose tints as gently sunk away 
 
 As a departing rainbow's ray — 
 
 An eye of most transparent light, 
 
 That almost made the dungeon bright, 
 
 And not a word of murmur — not 
 
 A groan o'er his untimely lot : — 
 
 A little talk of better days, 
 
 A little hope my own to raise, 
 
 For I was sunk in silence — lost 
 
 In this last loss, of all the most ; 
 
 And then the sighs he would suppress 
 
 Of fainting nature's feebleness, 
 
 More slowly drawn, grew less and less : 
 
 I listened, but I could not hear — 
 
 I called, for I was wild with fear; 
 
 I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread 
 
 Would not be thus admonished ; 
 
 I called, and thought I heard a sound — 
 
 I burst my chain with one strong bound, 
 
 And rushed to him : — I found him not, 
 
 / only stirred in this black spot, 
 
 i" only lived — I only drew 
 
 The accursed breath of dungeon-dew 
 
 scene from the rivals. — Sheridan. 
 Sir Lucius and Acres. 
 Sir Luc. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you. 
 Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands. 
 
16 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so sud- 
 denly to Bath? 
 
 Acres. Faith ! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a-lantern, 
 and find myself in a quagmire at last. In short, I have 
 been very ill used, Sir Lucius. T don't choose to mention 
 names, but look on me as on a very ill-used gentleman. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray what is the case ? — I ask no names. 
 
 Acres. Mark me, Sir Lucius ; I fall as deep as need be 
 in love with a young lady — her friends take my part — I fol- 
 low her to Bath — send word of my arrival ; and receive an- 
 swer, that the lady is to be otherwise disposed of. — This, Sir 
 Lucius, I call being ill used. 
 
 Sir Luc. Very ill, upon my conscience. — Pray, can you 
 divine the cause of it ? 
 
 Acres. Why, there's the matter : she has another lover, 
 one Beverly, who, I am told, is now in Bath. — Odds slanders 
 and lies ! he must be at the bottom of it. 
 
 Sir Luc. A rival in the case, is there? — and you think he 
 has supplanted you unfairly ? , 
 
 Acres. Unfairly ! to be sure he has. — He never could 
 have done it fairly. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then sure you know what is to be done ! 
 
 Acres. Not I, upon my honour ! 
 
 Sir Luc. We wear no swords here, but you understand me 
 
 Acres. W T hat ! fight him ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Ay, to be sure : what can I mean else ? 
 
 Acres. But he has given me no provocation. , 
 
 Sir Luc. Now, I think he has given you the greatest pro- 
 vocation in the world.— Can a man commit a more heinous 
 offence against another than to fall in love with the same 
 woman ? O, it is the most unpardonable breach of friendship. 
 
 Acres. Breach of friendship ! Ay, ay ; but I have no ac- 
 quaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life. 
 
 Sir Luc. That's no argument at all — he has the less right 
 then to take such a liberty. 
 
 Acres. Why, that's true — I grow full of anger, Sir Lu- 
 cius ! — I fire apace ! Odds hilts and blades ! I find a man 
 may have a deal of valour in him, and not know it ! But 
 couldn't I contrive to have a little right of my side ? 
 
 Sir Luc. What signifies right, when your honour is con- 
 cerned? Do you think Achilles, or my little Alexander the 
 Great, ever inquired where the right lay ? No, they drew 
 their broad-swords, and left the lazy sons of peace to settle 
 the justice of it. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 17 
 
 Acres. Your words arc a grenadier's march to my heart ! 
 I believe courage must be catching ! — I certainly do feel a 
 
 kind of valour rising as it were a kind of courage, as I 
 
 mav ^ Odds flints, pans, and triggers ! I'll challenge 
 
 him directly. 
 
 Sir Luc. Ah, my little friend ! If I had Blunderbuss- Hal I 
 here, I could show you a range of ancestry, in the O'Trigger 
 line, that would furnish the new room; every one of whom 
 had killed his man ! — For though the mansion-house and 
 dirty acres have slipt through my fingers, I thank heaven 
 our honour and the family-pictures are as fresh as ever. 
 
 Acres. O, Sir Lucius ! I have had ancestors too ! — every 
 
 man of 'em colonel or captain in the militia ! Odds balls 
 
 and barrels ! say no more — I'm braced for it. The thun- 
 der of your words has soured the milk of human kindness in 
 
 my breast ! as the man in the play says, ' I could do such 
 
 deeds ' 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, come, there must be no passion at all in 
 the case — these things should always be done civilly. 
 
 Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius -I must be 
 
 in a rage. — Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you love 
 
 me. Come, here's pen and paper. — I would the ink were 
 
 red ! — Indite, I say indite ! — How shall I begin? Odds bul- 
 lets and blades ! I'll write a good bold hand, however. 
 
 THE DEATH OF CRESCENTIUS. MisS London. 
 
 I looked upon his brow, — no sign 
 
 Of guilt or fear was there ; 
 He stood as proud by that death-shrine, 
 
 As even o'er Despair 
 He had a power ; in his eye 
 There was a quenchless energy, 
 
 A spirit that could dare 
 The deadliest form that Death could take, 
 And dare it for the daring's sake. 
 
 He stood, the fetters on his hand, — 
 
 He raised them haughtily ; 
 And had that grasp been on the brand, 
 
 It could not wave on high 
 With freer pride than it waved now. 
 Around he looked with changeless brow 
 
 On many a torture nigh — 
 b2 
 
18 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 
 
 The rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel, 
 And, worst of all, his own red steel. 
 
 I saw him once before : he rode 
 
 Upon a coal-black steed, 
 And tens of thousands thronged the road, 
 
 And bade their warrior speed. 
 His helm, his breast-plate, were of gold, 
 And graved with many a dent, that told 
 
 Of many a soldier's deed ; 
 The sun shone on his sparkling mail, 
 And danced his snow-plume on the gale* 
 
 But now he stood, chain'd and alone, 
 
 The headsman by his side; 
 The plume, the helm, the charger gone ; 
 
 The sword that had defied 
 The mightiest, lay broken near, 
 And yet no sign or sound of fear 
 
 Came from that lip of pride ; 
 And never king or conqueror's brow 
 Wore higher look than his did now. 
 
 He bent beneath the headsman's stroke 
 
 With an uncovered eye ; 
 A wild shout from the numbers broke 
 
 Who thronged to see him die. 
 It was a people's loud acclaim, 
 The voice of anger and of shame, 
 
 A nation's funeral cry — 
 Rome's wail above her only son, 
 Her patriot — and her latest one* 
 
 mary's mount. — Pringle. 
 
 Who, standing on this rural spot, 
 
 With groves above, and fields around, 
 Would, pausing, e'er indulge the thought, 
 
 That armies throng'd the lower ground 
 Or image neighing steed, or fear 
 That trump or drum salute his ear ; 
 Or think this leafy screen enfolded 
 
 A being of as tragic fate, 
 
 As lovely, and unfortunate, 
 As Nature ever moulded ! 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 19 
 
 Traced like a map, the landscape lies 
 
 ' In cultured beauty stretching wide, 
 
 There Pentland's green acclivities ; 
 There Ocean, with its azure tide ; 
 
 There Arthur's Seat ; and, gleaming through 
 
 Thy southern wing, Dunedin blue ! 
 
 While, in the orient, Lammer's daughters, 
 A distant giant range, are seen, 
 North Berwick-Law, with cone of green, 
 
 And Bass amid the waters. 
 
 Wrapt in the mantle of her woe, 
 
 Here agonized Mary stood, 
 And saw contending hosts below, 
 
 Opposing, meet in deadly feud ; 
 With hilt to hilt, and hand to hand, 
 The children of one mother-land, 
 For battle come. The banners flaunted 
 
 Amid Carberry's beechen grove ; 
 
 And kinsmen, braving kinsmen, strove 
 Undaunting, and undaunted. 
 
 Silent the Queen in sorrow stood, 
 
 When Bothwell, starting forward, said, 
 
 " The cause is mine — a nation's blood, 
 
 Go, tell yon chiefs, should not be shed ; 
 
 Go, bid the bravest heart advance 
 
 In single fight, to measure lance 
 
 With me, who wait prepared to meet him !" 
 " Fly !— Bothwell, fly !— it shall not be"— 
 She wept — she sobb'd — on bended knee 
 
 Fair Mary did entreat him. 
 
 " I go," he sigh'd — " the war is mine, 
 
 A Nero could not injure thee ; — 
 My lot on earth is seal'd, but thine 
 
 Shall long, and bright, and happy be ! — 
 This last farewell — this struggle o'er, 
 We ne'er shall see each other more- — 
 Now, loose thy hold ! poor broken-hearted — " 
 
 She faints — she falls. — Upon his roan 
 
 The bridle-reins in haste are thrown — 
 The pilgrim hath departed. 
 
 Know ye the tenor of his fate ? 
 A fugitive among his own ,* 
 
20 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Disguised — deserted — desolate — 
 A weed on Niagara thrown ; 
 
 A Cain among the sons of men ; 
 
 A pirate on the ocean ; then, 
 
 A Scandinavian captive fettered, 
 To die amid the dungeon gloom ; 
 If earthly chance, or heavenly doom 
 
 Is dark — but so it mattered. 
 
 Daughter of Scotland ! beautiful 
 
 Beyond what falls to human lot, 
 Thy breathing features render'd dull 
 
 The visions of a poet's thought ; 
 Thy voice was music on the deep, 
 When winds are hushed, and waves asleep 
 In mould and mind by far excelling, 
 Or Cleopatra on the wave 
 Of Cydnus, vanquishing the brave, 
 Or Troy's resplendent Helen ? 
 
 Thy very sun in clouds arose, 
 
 Delightful flower of Holyrood ! 
 Thy span was tempest-fraught, thy woes 
 
 Should make thee pitied by the good. 
 Poor Mary ! an untimely tomb 
 Was thine, with prison-hours of gloom, 
 A crown, and rebel crowds beneath thee, 
 
 A lofty fate — a lowly fall ! 
 
 Thou wert a woman, and let all 
 Thy faults be buried with thee ! 
 
 FOR HAVING ABOLISHED THE BOAEDS OP CUSTOM AND EX- 
 CISE in Scotland.— British Parliament, March 13, 1826. 
 
 Nor, sir, let it be supposed that this was a very easy task. 
 We have had many strong prejudices, many powerful inter- 
 ests, many deep-rooted habits, to contend with. I think I 
 cannot give a better proof of the sort of feeling which we 
 have had to encounter, than by adverting to what has been 
 recently published to the world in the northern part of this 
 Island. It seems that in the extinction of the two indepen- 
 dent Boards of Customs and Excise in Scotland, and their 
 amalgamation with the central Boards in England, are to be 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 21 
 
 considered by every true Scotchman, as derogatory to his 
 national dignity, offensive to his national pride, and subver- 
 sive — Good God! of what? Subversive of his prescriptive 
 rights? When Anthony, in the beautiful speech which 
 Shakspeare puts into his mouth over the dead body of Caesar, 
 after an eloquent and pathetic description of the wounds un- 
 der which Caesar had fallen, exclaims, in a burst of pas- 
 sionate enthusiasm, — 
 
 " O what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 Then you, and I, and all of us, fell down, 
 And bloody treason flourished over us : 
 
 the appeal was not more vehement, the passions of his'audi- 
 feora were not more keenly excited, than the appeal which is 
 now made, and the fire which is now kindled, against the 
 unfortunate author of the woeful tragedy, which terminated 
 the existence of two insignificant fiscal departments. Sir, 
 I could not imagine, at first, what was meant by all this 
 indignation. I felt almost like " a guilty thing," oppress- 
 ed by the weight of some undefined offence. If I chanced 
 to meet my noble friend at the head of the Admiralty, or 
 any of my Hon. friends, who sit at the same board, I hardly 
 dared look them in the face. I felt confident that the 
 denunciation was for some dreadful crime ; but I knew not 
 what ; and I was left for some time in all the agony of doubt. 
 At last, I had the consolation of recollecting that I had Scotch 
 blood, and good old Scotch blood too, flowing in my veins ; 
 and was persuaded that I could never be insensible to the 
 honour and dignity of that ancient country. But, sir, I con- 
 fess that, when I have been passing in review all the signal 
 triumphs w r hich Scotland has achieved in all that adorns, 
 and ennobles, and benefits the human race ; when I have 
 been calling to mind the originality, the grace, and the 
 genius of her poets ; the eloquence, the accuracy, and the 
 research of her historians ; the elaborate lucubrations, and 
 the profound discoveries of her philosophers; when I havo 
 been watching their progress as they respectively, either tra- 
 versed the delightful regions of fancy, or penetrated the 
 depths and recesses of history, and of science, I never 
 thought of including among the worthies of Scotland, the mem- 
 bers of her independent Board of Excise. And when I have 
 been reading with grateful exultation of the heroic exploits 
 of an Abercrombie, a Moore, a Lynedoch, and a Hopetoun ; 
 when, two years ago, it fell to my lot to propose to this house 
 
22 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 to do an act of tardy justice, by proposing to vote a monti* 
 ment to the memory of Lord Duncan, I certainly never 
 dreamt that the honour of Scotland would be tarnished, if, in 
 the same year, I transferred the seat of the Board of Customs 
 from Edinburgh to London. I always thought that the honour 
 of Scotland rested on a more solid basis. I thought that the 
 glory of the great men who have adorned the annals of that 
 country, would have shone with perennial light, if the Excise 
 had never meddled with her whiskey, nor the Customs con- 
 trolled her commerce ; and I trust we may long continue to 
 contemplate their lustre with instruction and delight, al- 
 though her revenue boards have lost the affected importance 
 of their imaginary independence, and have been swallowed 
 up, O ! dreadful catastrophe ! in the all-devouring vortex of 
 English uniformity. When, too, I am told, that the abo- 
 lition of these and similar offices, is something disrespect- 
 ful to the, what is called (not however by me) the im- 
 poverished nobility of Scotland, I think that if I were a 
 real Scotchman, I should be too proud to admit that the 
 honour of the ancient lineage of that ancient kingdom would 
 be diminished, because the Government had less patronage 
 to offer, and her nobility less of emolument to covet. 
 These measures, dictated alone by the necessity of judicious 
 retrenchment, may indeed be represented as punishments 
 inflicted on an innocent and unoffending people, and the 
 wrath of Scotland may be denounced against their author ; 
 but, as long as I am armed with the consciousness of seeking 
 to diminish the burdens, and to increase the happiness of 
 the people, I can look without terror upon the flashing of 
 the Highland claymore, though evoked from its scabbard by 
 the incantations of the first magician of the age. 
 
 the folly of pride. — Sidney Smith. 
 
 After all, take some quiet, sober moment of life, and add 
 together the two ideas of pride, and of man; behold him, a 
 creature of a span high, stalking through infinite space, in 
 all the grandeur of littleness. Perched on a little speck of 
 the universe, every wind of heaven strikes into his blood the 
 coldness of death; his soul fleets from his body, like melody 
 from the string ; day and night, as dust on the wheel, he is 
 rolled along the heavens, through a labyrinth of worlds, and 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 23 
 
 all the systems, and creations of God are flaming above, and 
 beneath. Is this a creature to revel in his greatness? Is this 
 a creature to make to himself a crown of glory ; to deny his 
 own flesh and blood ; and to mock at his fellow, sprung from 
 that dust, to which they both will soon return ? Does the 
 proud man not err? Does he not suffer? Does he not die? 
 When he reasons, is he never stopped by difficulties? When 
 he acts, is he never tempted by pleasures ? When he lives, 
 is he free from pain ? When dies, can he escape from the 
 common grave ? Pride is not the heritage of man ; humility 
 should dwell with frailty, and atone for ignorance, error, 
 and imperfection. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT AND SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. Jeffrey* 
 
 [Speech, on the election of Sir James Mackintosh to the office of 
 Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow.] 
 
 Though I believe I have no longer any right to address 
 you in an official capacity, yet' I cannot take my final fare- 
 well of you without once more returning you my thanks for 
 the indulgence I have uniformly met with at your hands, and 
 offering you my congratulations on the choice you have made 
 of a Rector, who is destined, I am firmly persuaded, far and 
 lastingly to eclipse the undeserved popularity of his prede- 
 cessor. I think it right also to explain, in a few words, the 
 grounds upon which I, along with the great majority of those 
 who now hear me, have given him, on this occasion, the pre- 
 ference over his illustrious competitor. Between two such 
 candidates it might well have been thought difficult to choose ; 
 and if the result of our decisions had been supposed to de- 
 pend on any comparative estimate of their general merits, I 
 should certainly have felt the task of selection to be one of 
 infinitely greater difficulty and delicacy than that which we 
 have actually had to discharge. Sir Walter Scott, in point 
 of inventive genius, of discrimination of character, of reach 
 of fancy, of mastery over the passions and feelings of his 
 readers, is undoubtedly superior not only to his distinguished 
 competitor in this day's election, but probably to any other 
 name in the whole range of our recent or ancient literature ; 
 and to these great gifts and talents I know that he adds a 
 social and generous disposition, which endears him to all 
 who have access to his person, and has led him to make 
 
24 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 those splendid qualities subservient to the general diffusion 
 of kind and elevated sentiments. — By this happy use of these 
 rare endowments, he has deservedly attained to a height of 
 popularity, and an extent of fame, to which there is no paral- 
 lel in our remembrance, and to which, as individuals, we 
 must each of us contribute our share of willing and grateful 
 admiration. But what I wish to impress upon you is, that 
 those high qualities are rather titles to general glory than to 
 academic honours ; and being derived far more from " the 
 prodigality of nature" than the successful pursuits of study, 
 have their appropriate reward rather in popular renown, than 
 in the suffrages of societies dedicated and set apart for the 
 encouragement of learning and science. The world at large 
 is Sir Walter Scott's University — in which he studies, and 
 in which he teaches : and every individual who reads, is a 
 concurrent suffragan for the honours he has earned from the 
 public. We, however, are not met to-day merely as a por- 
 tion of that public, or to express as individuals what we owe 
 to its benefactors. We are met as members of a learned body, 
 a society consecrated to the cultivation of those severer 
 studies, in which the perseverance of the young should be 
 stimulated by the honours which they help to confer on those 
 who have made the greatest advances ; and, acting in this 
 capacity, and with a due sense of the ends of the Institution 
 in which we are united, we ought, it rather seems to me, on 
 an occasion like this, to take care that we are not too much 
 dazzled with the blaze of that broader and more extended 
 fame which fills the world beyond us. Now it appears to me 
 that, in all the attainments which are to be honoured in a 
 seat of learning, Sir James Mackintosh is as clearly superior 
 to his competitor as he is inferior, perhaps, in the qualities 
 that entitle him to popular renown. In profound and exact 
 scholarship — in learning, properly so called, in all its variety 
 and extent — in familiarity with all the branches of philoso* 
 phy — in historical research — in legislative skill, wisdom, and 
 caution — in senatorial eloquence, and in all the amenities 
 of private life and character, I know no man (taking all these 
 qualifications together) not merely to be preferred* but to be 
 compared with him whom we have this day agreed to honour 
 and invite among us. And considering him as a great ex- 
 ample of the utility and the beauty of these attainments, 
 which we are here incorporated to cultivate and exalt, I can- 
 not but feel that we have done right in giving him the pre- 
 ference upon this occasion, over that other distinguished per- 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 25 
 
 son to whom he has this day been opposed, and who would 
 undoubtedly have done honour to the situation for which he 
 was proposed. The great comfort in such a competition as 
 that in which we have been engaged, is, that it cannot ter- 
 minate in any choice that shall not be a subject of congratu- 
 lation; and it is only on looking to him who has not been 
 elected, that there can be any room for feelings of regret. I 
 have thus endeavoured to explain the motives which have 
 induced me to concur with the majority of my co-electors — 
 less for the sake of preventing misconstructions, for which I 
 care very little, and which I do not fear at all, than to gratify 
 myself by expressing a little of what I feel of the merits of 
 both the distinguished candidates, whom I have the honour 
 of ranking almost equally in the list of my friends. The 
 choice you have made I do conscientiously believe to be the 
 best calculated for promoting the interests of this University, 
 and the honour of the studies in which all its members are 
 engaged. I have only again to congratulate you upon that 
 choice — to thank you for the attention with which you have 
 favoured me — and, for the last time, to bid every one of you 
 affectionately farewell." 
 
 THE POET AND THE GLOW-WORM. W. Jermln, 
 
 A poet walking forth by night, 
 (For poets aye in shades delight) 
 In silence meditating, came 
 To where a Glow-worm's emerald flame, 
 Darting around its modest ray, 
 Faintly illumed the darkling way. 
 The bard, attracted, gazing stood, 
 Till wrought into the musing mood, 
 The thoughts revolving in his breast, 
 In words, aloud, he thus exprest. 
 
 " Poor insect ! impotent and vain, 
 Thou glowest in thy direst bane ; 
 Thy pale and ineffectual light, 
 Which guides the ravening pests of night — 
 The owl, and bat, and serpent brood, 
 All preying forth in quest of food, 
 Thy undefended life to seize, 
 And with thy frame their wants appease ; 
 C 
 
26 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 While from its beam no good I see, 
 Useless to all the world and thee." 
 
 " Cease, foolish man," the glow-worm cried, 
 Now first with human speech supplied, — 
 " Cease to contemn the talent Heaven 
 To me hath bountifully given, 
 Akin to that on which thou, blind, 
 Valuest thyself above thy kind. 
 In this is human weakness shown ; 
 Man sees all dangers but his own ; 
 Nature's wise work in me arraigns, 
 And of my helpless state complains; 
 While his own never-ceasing aim 
 Is only to attain the same, — 
 The same distinguished power to shine, 
 Though far more perilous than mine : 
 For brutes, though hunger may inspire, 
 Fear to assail my seeming fire, 
 And thus this light exposed to view 
 Is both my pride and safeguard too. 
 But what avails in modern days 
 The splendour of the Poet's blaze? 
 Say, shields it from the woes of life, 
 From envy, malice, slander, strife, 
 Insult, oppression, scorn, and hate, 
 The frowns of fortune and of fate ? 
 Or rather does it not expose 
 To other ills and add to those 1 
 Go, ask thy heart, and from it learn 
 Our different merits to discern ; 
 And own thy censure was unwise, 
 Nor, more, superior worth despise." 
 
 The bard, rebuked, in haste withdrew : 
 From sad experience well he knew, 
 The insect's picture was too true ! 
 
 SOLILOQUY FROM THE TRAGEDY OF SERTOBIUS.— BfOWn, 
 
 Sertorius. 
 
 Rhea, my mother ! — in that hallowed name, 
 How many hours of guileless happiness, 
 Of sportive and unchequered innocence, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 37 
 
 Roll back upon the ocean of past years, 
 
 And burst upon the view ! 
 
 — Death, the destroyer ! from thy potent spell, 
 
 Nor sex, nor age, nor strength, nor weakness 'scapes : 
 
 Time's hoary locks — the ringlets of gay youth — 
 
 The hero's laurel, and the poet's wreath — 
 
 Love, honour, health, and beauty, are thy spoil : — 
 
 The mitred, and the sceptred yield to thee, — 
 
 In deferential horror, all — all submit, 
 
 Save virtue, who in radiant smiles beholds 
 
 Thy dread approach, and, armed in Heaven's proof, 
 
 Contemns thee and thy retinue of ills, 
 
 Alike triumphant o'er the tomb and thee. 
 
 Thou canst not rob thy victim — thou mayst slay him, 
 
 Tear him from those deaF arms that cling around him, 
 
 And teach survivors to deplore thy power : — 
 
 But, for this temporal life — this life of sorrow — 
 
 This life of death — thou givest him life eternal, 
 
 Unfading joy, and everlasting love! 
 
 SCENE FROM SERTORIUS. BfOWU. 
 
 Sertorius, Perpenna, Aujidius, Ambassador, and Senators. 
 
 Sertorius. Pharos Demetrius, we decline your offer.* 
 *Tis true that Rome has proved a wayward mother, 
 Proud, cruel, and relentless. Does it follow 
 That we, her banished sons, to mend our fortunes, 
 Should clasp a stranger to our dear embrace j 
 Jointly to prey upon a parent's bosom, 
 And like the pelican, in ruthless famine, 
 Devour our source of life ? 
 
 Pharos, What binds, or what 
 
 Should bind Sertorius to such a parent ? 
 Have you not fought her battles, shed your blood 
 In her defence, devoted all your life 
 To the aggrandizement and power of Rome — 
 And, save those scars engraven on your front 
 To show how much you dared, and what you suffered, 
 Where's your reward? 
 
 Sertorius, [laying his hand on his heart.] 
 
 'Tis here, Demetrius — 
 
28 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 In that immortal casket — where all life's treasure dwells I 
 
 Think'st thou unjust requital mars our love ? 
 
 Or that devotion to our country's cause 
 
 Regards past offering whilst 't has aught to offer? 
 
 If I am outlawed, is not Rome abused — 
 
 Troubled, and tortured by intestine treason ? 
 
 The weapons of her hope, sheathed in her heart 
 
 By parricidal hands ! — why should she then, 
 
 Bleeding at every vein from inward faction, 
 
 Receive from me the final, fatal blow, 
 
 That terminates her glory and her grief? 
 
 Pharos. In striking her, dost thou not punish them — 
 Them, who have mounted on thy hopes to empire — 
 Them, who have exiled thee from friends and home, 
 And all that makes life dear, or death deplored ? 
 Has then revenge, that balm of injured minds, 
 No cure, no charms for thee? — then let ambition, 
 Pointing the way to fortune and renown, 
 Allure thee to those proud, supernal heights, 
 Which only Gods, and men like Gods attain. 
 
 Sertorius. By heaven ! Demetrius, I avow it proudly, 
 Here in the very centre of the realm — 
 — My friends, bear with me, nature will have way — 
 Borne as I am upon the people's love 
 To power and station, and what else beside 
 The noblest minds desire — still I confess, 
 Far rather would I be the meanest subject 
 Of mighty Rome, than the wide world's proud master. 
 
 Pharos. A subject ! — thou mayest be her Emperor, 
 The monarch of the mighty of the earth. 
 
 Sertorius. Not so, Demetrius I Rome expires with freedom ; 
 Were I her monarch, Rome would cease to be, 
 And leave my sceptre worthless. 
 
 Pharos. Grant it were so : — even thy humble prayer 
 To be a private citizen of Rome — it is denied thee ! 
 The intercession of thy mother Rhea — 
 The recollection of thy great exploits — 
 Thy hardships — filial love, and loyalty, 
 All plead for thee in vain.— That men should pause 
 Between proportioned, comparable objects, 
 Excites no wonder,— but that a man like thee* 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER- 29 
 
 Who scorns to halt when glory bids thee on, 
 Should hesitate, between conflicting views, 
 One placing thee upon the neck of Rome, 
 The other at her foot — the foot that spurns thee ! — 
 Ye Gods, 'tis past belief — thou dost but mock me ! 
 Think of great Marcius, and his Volscian bands, 
 Trampling triumphantly o'er prostrate Rome — 
 Let that inspire thee. — He sought for aid, while aid 
 Solicits thee, and monarchs are thy suitors. 
 
 Sertorius. Does the time-honoured page of Roman story 
 Supply no prouder models for Sertorius, 
 Than discontented and rebellious traitors? 
 Men who alike opposed, or served the state 
 To gratify ambition, or revenge ! — 
 What sayest thou to those stainless men of Rome, 
 Who rose superior to their private wrongs — 
 Who sacrificed revenge to public good, 
 And magnified their nature and the world ? 
 Can I lose sight of their illustrious virtues, 
 Their services, their sufferings and faith, 
 Banished and branded with the name of traitors, 
 Yet ever yielding to the hand that smote them ! 
 Where is the Roman that forgets such Romans, 
 Or scorns their bright example ! 
 Know then, Demetrius, that the patriot heart 
 Throbs first and last for country. What, shall a pillar, 
 However magnificent and richly wrought, 
 Degrade the temple that its strength sustains ? 
 Or shall they, as in sacred Grecian domes, 
 Unite in mutual grandeur, — and when time, 
 With his unsparing, fell, and ravening maw, 
 Disrobes them of the ornament of youth, 
 Dissolving and prostrating all their glory, 
 Sink in one common ruin, and become 
 More famed and cherished than in pristine pride 1 
 
 Pharos, The temple of thy faith, proud Rome, must fall ! 
 No pillar can sustain it : the crimsoned swords 
 Of factious Sylla and his lawless bands, 
 Hew down the massy fabric of her fame, 
 The boast and dread of full five hundred years, 
 Into its elements : — why then shouldst thou 
 Hang round, and perish with this falling ruin ? 
 c2 
 
30 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Sertorius. Now by the Gods, you turn my blood to flame, 
 And mar the traitor you would make of me ! 
 If there be aught more arduous to accomplish, 
 Than to dissever all my thoughts from Rome, 
 And change my doating duty into hatred, 
 'Twere to unite with such a curse as Sylla ; 
 The pampered minion of Nicopolis — ■ 
 Bloated, not sated with patrician blood — 
 The felon, that purloins his country's glory, 
 To prostitute it to his country's shame ! 
 Thou sayst Rome's fall will crush me ; I submit : 
 The brave man never should outlive his country : 
 As clings the infant to its mother's arms, 
 Blessing and blest — so cleaves the patriot's heart 
 To the embraces of his native soil, 
 At once deriving, and imparting life. 
 
 Perpenna, [to Aufidius, aside.] 
 Not now to speak, were to be dumb for ever : 
 The crisis has arrived, and on the instant 
 Hangs life, or death eternal. 
 
 Pharos. Three thousand talents— forty ships of war, 
 Great Mithridates offers now to Spain : 
 When were such offers made, or when rejected ? 
 
 Aufidius. What do we hazard for this vast reward 1 
 
 Sertorius. Talk not of hazard ! I dare hazard all 
 But that, without which all is penury ; 
 The cherished, priceless, peerless jewel — Honour. 
 When on the borders of the rapid Rhone, 
 Armed cap-a-pie in massy mail, I stood, 
 While the huge billows thundered for their prey, 
 I paused not to appreciate the peril, 
 But plunged, at once, like Curtius, in the gulf, 
 Haply to live or die. 'Twas for my country ! 
 But when you ask, that to destroy that country 
 I should shake hands with her inveterate foe, 
 And sell myself to shame — immortal shame, 
 I tremble, and profess myself a coward : 
 I cannot do it — shuddering nature dare not ! 
 
 Pharos. Yet, noble Quintus ! 
 
 Sertorius. Urge me no more — my resolution's deaf, 
 And cannot hear you. Come, your voices, friends. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 31 
 
 Perpenna. The Senate do concur with Mithridates. 
 Sertorius. Thou dost concur, Perpenna, not the Senate. 
 Senators. We ratify the league, and join 'gainst Rome. 
 
 Sertorius. Impossible ! — 
 
 A Roman Senate turn her arms 'gainst Rome! 
 We, who are bound to magnify her fame — 
 To stretch her empire to earth's utmost verge, 
 That glory, like the ever radiant sun, 
 May rise and set upon her vast horizon ! 
 Is this the voice of all — do none dissent? 
 
 Senators. We all unite with him. 
 
 Sertorius. Then all unite, to disunite this arm 
 From Lusitania's cause. Whate'er betides, 
 No change shall change my steadfastness of soul, 
 Or make a traitor of me. 
 
 Perpenna. Remember, Quintus, what we owe to Spain ; 
 Adopted, nurtured, cherished, honoured by her. — 
 
 Sertorius. I well remember all : but where's the pledge 
 Ye give to Spain — adopted as ye are 
 By her affection ; grafted on her state ; 
 How shall she trust, while ye recreants prove 
 To your first love, in wantonness of vice, 
 And found the very altar of your faith 
 On having been foresworn ? — 
 Let me beseech you, weigh this matter nearly; 
 Oppose your honour to the proffered treasure, 
 And all the gold of Pontus turns to dross. 
 — What ! are ye a hireling tribe, 
 To be bought out by him that bids the highest ? 
 If the design be noble, grasp it nobly ; 
 And do not, like a band o£ sordid slaves, 
 Embrace your bondage, for the golden fetters. 
 
 Aufidius, (to Perpenna.) 
 See how they quake and quail beneath his eye ! 
 A moment longer, and the cause is lost. 
 
 Senators. Rome's lost to us — then are we lost to Rome. 
 
 Sertorius. Then are you lost to me. These dignities, 
 The outward ensigns of inherent worth, 
 Were dearly purchased by the name of traitor, 
 And thus I cast them off for such as you are. 
 
82 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Perpenna. Quintus Sertorius, we are constituted, 
 By public suffrage, and the laws of Spain, 
 The guardians of the realm ; the conservators, 
 Not of the rights of Rome, but Lusitania. 
 How shall we answer to ourselves and others, 
 For the perversion of this sacred trust ? 
 
 Sertorius, Peace, peace, Perpenna ! I will answer it. 
 Who shares the glory, only, shares the peril : 
 I stand alone in both. If Mithridates 
 Demand Bithynia and Cappadocia, 
 Accustomed as they are to kingly rule, 
 And held by conquest only, by the Romans, 
 It meets with our accordance : but to encroach 
 Where every foot of ground supports a freeman, 
 None but a slave could urge it. 
 
 Senators. We do not urge it — we submit to this; 
 Restrain old Rome within her just domain, 
 Her ancient limits — and Spain rests content. 
 
 Perpenna, [aside.'] 
 Patience, ye Gods ! — and thou, great iEolus, 
 That with thy sovereign wand, curbest and directest 
 The ever changing and rebellious winds, 
 And gatherest them within thy stormy bosom, — 
 Teach man fidelity ! 
 
 Pharos. My mission is discharged — the terms promulged, 
 Which, and which only, Pontus can accord ; 
 And thus I take my leave. 
 
 Sertorius. I here dissolve the Council. 
 
 Farewell, Demetrius ! — to your king repair ; 
 If he approve the terms we now propose — 
 The only league that we can ratify, 
 He may command our service : but from myself, 
 And from Spain too, while she relies on me, 
 All other hopes are vain. And so, farewell. 
 
 slavery op Greece.— Canning* 
 
 Unrivalled Greece ! thou ever honoured name ! 
 Thou nurse of heroes dear to deathless fame ! 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 
 
 Though now to worth, to honour all unknown, 
 Thy lustre faded, and thy glories flown ; 
 Yet still shall memory, with reverted eye, 
 Trace thy past worth, and view thee with a sigh. 
 
 Thee Freedom cherished once with fostering hand, 
 And breathed undaunted valour through the land ; 
 Here, the stern spirit of the Spartan soil, 
 The child of poverty, inured to toil. 
 
 Here, loved by Pallas and the sacred Nine, 
 Once did fair Athens' towering glories shine, 
 To bend the bow, or the bright falchion wield 
 To lift the bulwark of the brazen shield, 
 To toss the terror of the whizzing spear, 
 The conquering standard's glittering glories rear, 
 And join the rhad'ning battle's loud career. 
 
 How skilled the Greeks, confess what Persians slain 
 Were strewed on Marathon's ensanguined plain ; 
 When heaps on heaps the routed squadrons fell, 
 And with their gaudy myriads peopled hell. 
 What millions bold Leonidas withstood, 
 And sealed the Grecian freedom with his blood, 
 Witness Thermopylae ! how fierce he trod ! 
 How spoke a hero, and how moved a God ! 
 The rush of nations could alone sustain, 
 While half the ravaged globe was armed in vain. 
 Let Leuctra say, let Mantinea tell, 
 How great Epaminondas fought and fell ! 
 
 Nor war's vast art alone adorned thy fame, 
 " But mild philosophy endeared thy name." 
 Who knows not, sees not with admiring eye, 
 How Plato thought, how Socrates could die 1 
 
 To bend the arch, to bid the column rise, 
 And the tall pile, aspiring, pierce the skies ; 
 The awful scene magnificently great, 
 With pictured pomp to grace, and sculptured state, 
 This science taught; on Greece each science shone ; 
 Here the bold statue started from the stone ; 
 Here, warm with life, the swelling canvass glowed; 
 Here, big with life, the poet's raptures flowed 
 Here Homer's lip was touched with sacred fire, 
 And wanton Sappho tuned her amorous lyre ; 
 
84 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Here bold Tyrtaeus roused the enervate throng, 
 Awaked to glory by the inspiring song ; 
 Here Pindar soared a nobler, loftier way, 
 And brave Alcaeus scorned a tyrant's sway ; 
 Here gorgeous Tragedy, with great control, 
 Touched every feeling of the impassioned soul ; 
 While in soft measure tripping to the song, 
 Her comic sister lightly danced along. — 
 
 This was thy state ! But oh ! how changed thy fame, 
 And all thy glories fading into shame. 
 What ! that thy bold, thy freedom-breathing land, 
 Should crouch beneath a tyrant's stern command ; 
 That servitude should bind in galling chain, 
 Whom Asia's millions once opposed in vain : 
 Who could have thought ? Who sees Without a groan, 
 Thy cities mouldering, and thy walls o'erthrown ? 
 That where once towered the stately solemn fane, 
 Now moss-grown ruins strew the ravaged plain ; 
 And unobserved but by the traveller's eye 
 Proud vaulted domes in fretted fragments lie ; 
 And thy fallen column on the dusty ground, 
 Pale ivy throws its sluggish arms around. 
 
 Thy sons, sad change ! in abject bondage sigh ; 
 Unpitied toil, and unlamented die ; 
 Groan at the labours of the galling oar, 
 Or the dark caverns of the mine explore. 
 The glittering tyranny of Othman's sons, 
 The pomp of horror which surrounds their thrones 
 Has awed their servile spirits into fear ; 
 Spurned by the foot, they tremble and revere. 
 
 The day of labour, night's sad sleepless hour, 
 The inflictive scourge of arbitrary power, 
 The bloody terror of the pointed steel, 
 The murderous stake, the agonizing wheel, 
 And, dreadful choice ! the bow-string or the bowl, 
 Damps their faint vigour, and unmans the soul. 
 
 Disastrous fate ! still tears will fill the eye, 
 Still recollection prompt the mournful sigh, 
 When to the mind recurs thy former fame, 
 And all the horrors of thy present shame. 
 
 So some tall rock, whose bare broad bosom high, 
 Towers from the earth, and braves the inclement sky, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 35 
 
 On whose vast top the blackening deluge pours, 
 At whose wide base the thundering ocean roars ; 
 In conscious pride its huge gigantic form 
 Surveys imperious, and defies the storm. 
 Till worn by age and mouldering to decay, 
 The insidious waters wash its base away ; 
 It falls, and falling cleaves the trembling ground, 
 And spreads a tempest of destruction round. 
 
 scene prom richelieu. — Payne. 
 
 Richelieu and Dubois. — Field of Battle. 
 
 Rick. You really think I behaved well in the last battle, 
 do you ? 
 
 Dub. Most gallantly. The voice of the nation, too, is with 
 you, and that is generally honest fame. You fought in a 
 just cause, my lord. If there be any excuse for shedding 
 human blood, it is that, and that alone. 
 
 Rich. Hum. — Why, yes. — Yet, whatever the cause, there's 
 something in war that stirs the blood and rouses the nobler 
 qualities of our nature. A man lives years of common life 
 in one short, glorious campaign. Yet, we had hard fight- 
 ing of it, too. — Twenty thousand gallant hearts left cold upon 
 the field ! 
 
 Dub. Twenty thousand human beings ! And all for what? 
 War is a terrible evil ! 
 
 Rich. The most terrible part of it is the field of battle the 
 day after an action. One is cooled down, then. — To see so 
 many brave fellows lying stiff and motionless, who, but yes- 
 terday, were all life and animation ! What made the strong- 
 est impression on me was the havoc among the officers — to 
 see the most distinguished warriors — gentlemen of the very 
 first note, stretched on the bare earth, and confounded with 
 the commonest soldiery. 
 
 Dub. Indeed ! Is it that which struck you most? Truly 
 this death is a most insolent leveller ! It was exceedingly 
 uncivil in the enemy to make no distinction between gentle 
 and simple ! — All the great folks should have been killed 
 apart by themselves ! 
 
 Rich. A truce with cynic sneering ! You misunderstand 
 me, Dubois. I can feel for the loss of the commonest sol- 
 
36 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 dier ; for, with me, every brave man has his value. But what 
 is death to him 1 It hurries him from no pleasures ; it mars 
 no scheme of fortune or renown ; it only cuts short a life of 
 paltry cares and vulgar vices, — burthensome, perhaps, to the 
 possessor, — unimportant to society, — and daily risqued for a 
 trifle. But when the gallant cavalier is laid low, a chasm is 
 made in society, — a brilliant spirit is quenched, — a career 
 of glory is interrupted, — a thousand ties of friendship, of 
 love, of gallantry are rent asunder ! — Oh S don't tell me that 
 such a heart is to be trampled in the dust indifferently with 
 the hearts of vulgar men ! 
 
 Dub. * Think you not, my Lord, that the meanest soldier 
 that fell on that dreadful field had affections that bound him 
 as firmly to life as the proudest cavalier? — that the voice of 
 love and friendship sounded sweetly to his ear 1 — that his fire 
 burned brightly for him ? — that he loved his home and his 
 native hills, and cherished as pure a patriotism as the proud- 
 est Lord of the realm 1 — and when he fell, that a wail burst 
 from a beloved object, more heartfelt than that which mourns 
 a monarch 1 War, My Lord, is the heaviest curse — but you 
 are impatient. 
 
 THE TRUE STRENGTH OF CHRISTIANITY. MdCCLUley. 
 
 We will not be deterred by any fear of misrepresentation 
 from expressing our hearty approbation of the mild, wise, and 
 eminently Christian manner, in which the Church and the 
 Government have lately acted with respect to blasphemous 
 publications. We praise them for not having thought it ne- 
 cessary to encircle a religion pure, merciful, and philosophi- 
 cal, — a religion to the evidences of which the highest intel- 
 lects have yielded, — with the defences of a false and bloody 
 superstition. The ark of God was never taken till it was 
 surrounded hy the arms of earthly defenders. In captivity, 
 its sanctity was sufficient to vindicate it from insult, and to 
 lay the hostile fiend prostrate on the threshold of his own 
 temple. The real security of Christianity is to be found in 
 its benevolent morality, in its exquisite adaptation to the hu- 
 man heart, in the facility with which its scheme accommodates 
 itself to the capacity of every human intellect, in the conso- 
 lation which it bears to the house of mourning, in the light 
 
 * Mr. Payne is not accountable for this sentence. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 37 
 
 with which it brightens the great mystery of the grave. To 
 such a system it can bring no addition of dignity or of 
 strength, that it is part and parcel of the common law. It is 
 not now for the first time left to rely on the force of its own 
 evidences, and the attractions of its own beauty. Its sublime 
 theology confounded the Grecian schools in the fair conflict 
 of reason with reason. The bravest and wisest of the Ceesars 
 found their arms and their policy unavailing when opposed 
 to the weapons that were not carnal, and the kingdom that 
 was not of this world. The victory which Porphyry and 
 Diocletian failed to gain, is not, to all appearance, reserved 
 for any of those who have in this age directed their attacks 
 against the last restraint of the powerful, and the last hope 
 of the wretched. The whole history of the Christian Reli- 
 gion shows, that she is in far greater danger of being cor- 
 rupted by the alliance of power, than of being crushed by. 
 its opposition. Those who thrust temporal sovereignty upon 
 her, treat her as their prototypes treated her author. They 
 bow the knee, and spit upon her ; they cry Hail ! and smite 
 her on the cheek ; they put a sceptre into her hand, but it is 
 a fragile reed ; they crown her, but it is with thorns ; they 
 cover with purple the wounds which their own hands have in- 
 flicted on her ; and inscribe magnificent titles over the cross 
 on which they have fixed her to perish in ignominy and pain. 
 
 THE GREAT CHARTER OF ENGLAND. Sir Jam£8 Mackintosh. 
 
 It is observable that the language of the Great Charter is 
 simple, brief, general without being abstract, and expressed 
 in terms of authority, not of argument, yet commonly so 
 reasonable as to carry with it the intrinsic evidence of its 
 own fitness. It was understood by the simplest of the unlet- 
 tered age for whom it was intended. It was remembered by 
 them ; and though they did not perceive the extensive con- 
 sequences which might be derived from it, their feelings 
 were, however unconsciously, exalted by its generality and 
 grandeur. * -• 
 
 It was a peculiar advantage that the consequences of its 
 principles were, if we may so speak, only discovered gradually 
 and slowly. It gave out on each occasion only as much of 
 the spirit of liberty and reformation as the circumstances of 
 succeeding generations required, and as their character would 
 
 D 
 
38 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 safely bear. For almost five centuries it was appealed to as 
 the decisive authority on behalf of the people, though com- 
 monly so far only as the necessities of each case demanded. 
 Its effect in these contests was not altogether unlike the 
 grand process by which nature employs snows and frosts to 
 cover her delicate germs, and to hinder them from rising above 
 the earth till the atmosphere has acquired the mild and equal 
 temperature which insures them against blights. On the 
 English nation, undoubtedly, the Charter has contributed to 
 bestow the union of establishment with improvement. To all 
 mankind it set the first example of the progress of a great 
 people for centuries, in blending their tumultuary democracy 
 and haughty nobility with a fluctuating and vaguely limited 
 monarchy, so as at length to form from these discordant ma- 
 terials the only form of free government which experience 
 had shown to be reconcilable with widely extended dominions. 
 Whoever, in any future age or unborn nation, may admire the 
 felicity of the expedient which converted the power of taxa- 
 tion into the shield of liberty, by which discretionary and 
 secret imprisonment was rendered impracticable, and por- 
 tions of the people were trained to exercise a larger share of 
 judicial power than was ever allotted to them in any other 
 civilized state, in such a manner as to secure instead of en- 
 dangering public tranquillity ; — whoever exults at the spec- 
 tacle of enlightened and independent assemblies, who, under 
 the eye of a well-informed nation, discuss and determine the 
 laws and policy likely to make communities great and happy ; 
 —whoever is capable of comprehending all the effects of 
 such institutions, with all their possible improvements, upon 
 the mind and genius of a people, is sacredly bound to speak 
 with reverential gratitude of the authors of the Great Charter. 
 To have produced it, to have preserved it, to have matured 
 it, constitute the immortal claim of England on the esteem of 
 mankind. Her Bacons and Shakspeares, her Miltons and 
 Newtons, with all the truth which they have revealed, and 
 all the generous virtue which they have inspired, are of infe- 
 rior value when compared with the subjection of men and 
 their rulers to the principles of justice ; if, indeed, it be not 
 more true that these mighty spirits could not have been 
 formed except under equal laws, nor roused to full activity 
 without the influence of that spirit which the Great Charter 
 breathed over their forefathers. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 39 
 
 CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS. Webster. 
 
 The eulogium pronounced on the character of the State 
 of South Carolina, by the honourable gentleman, for her 
 Revolutionary and other merits, meets my hearty concur- 
 rence. — I shall not acknowledge that the honourable member 
 goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished 
 talent, or distinguished character, South Carolina has pro- 
 duced. I claim part of the honour, I partake in the pride, 
 of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and 
 all. The Laurenses, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the 
 Sumpters, the Marions — Americans, all — whose fame is no 
 more to be hemmed in by State lines, than their talents and 
 patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the 
 same narrow limits. In their day and generation, they 
 served and honoured the country, and the whole country. 
 Their renown is of the treasures of the whole country; and 
 Him, whose honoured name the gentleman himself bears — 
 does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriot- 
 ism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first 
 opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South 
 Carolina ? Sir, does he suppose it in his power to exhibit a 
 Carolina name, so bright as to produce envy in my bosom ? 
 No, sir, increased gratification and delight, rather. Sir, I 
 thank God, that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit which 
 is able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I 
 trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. 
 When I shall be found, sir, in my place here, in the Senate, 
 or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened 
 to spring up beyond the limits of my own State, or neigh- 
 bourhood; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any 
 cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated 
 patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty and the country; or, 
 if I see an uncommon endowment of heaven — if I see ex- 
 traordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South — 
 and if, moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by State jea- 
 lousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just 
 character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof 
 of my mouth ! 
 
 Sir, let 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 of feeling, than Massachusetts and South 
 
40 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Carolina. Would to God, that harmony might again return ! 
 Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution — 
 hand in hand they stood round the Administration of Wash- 
 ington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for support. 
 Unkind feeling, if it exist, alienation and distrust, are the 
 growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since 
 sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great 
 arm never scattered. 
 
 Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massa- 
 chusetts — she needs none. There she is — behold her, and 
 judge for yourselves. There is her history — the world knows 
 it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, 
 and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill — and there 
 they will remain for ever. The bones of her sons, fallen in 
 the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with 
 the soil of every State, from New England to Georgia ; and 
 there they will lie for ever. And, sir, where American liberty 
 raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and 
 sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, 
 and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall 
 wound it — if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at 
 and tear it — if folly and madness — if uneasiness under salu- 
 tary and necessary restraint — shall succeed to separate it 
 from that Union, by which alone its existence is made sure, 
 it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which 
 its infancy was rocked; it will stretch forth its arm, with 
 whatever of vigour it may still retain, over the friends who 
 gather round it ; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst 
 the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very 
 spot of its origin* 
 
 CHARACTER OF BURKE. 
 
 But Mr. Burke, assuredly, possessed an understanding 
 admirably fitted for the investigation of truth, — an under- 
 standing stronger than that of any statesman, active or specu- 
 lative, of the eighteenth century,— stronger than every thing, 
 except his own fierce and ungovernable sensibility. Hence, 
 he generally chose his side like a fanatic, and defended it 
 like a philosopher. His conduct, in the most important 
 events of his life, — at the time of the impeachment of Hast- 
 ings, for example, and at the time of the French Revolution, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 41 
 
 seems to have been prompted by those feelings and motives, 
 which Mr. Coleridge has so happily described: 
 
 4 Stormy pity, and the cherished lure 
 Of pomp, and -proud precipitance of soul.' 
 
 Hindostan, with its vast cities, its gorgeous pagodas, its 
 infinite swarms of dusky population, its long-descended dy- 
 nasties, its stately etiquette, excited in a mind so capacious, 
 so imaginative, and so susceptible, the most intense interest. 
 The peculiarities of the costume, of the manners, and of the 
 laws, the very mystery which hung over the language and 
 origin of the people, seized his imagination. To plead in 
 Westminstei Hall, in the name of the English people, at the 
 bar of the English nobles, for great nations and kings sepa- 
 rated from him by half the world, seemed to him the height 
 of human glory. Again, it is not difficult to perceive, that 
 his hostility to the French Revolution principally arose from 
 the vexation which he felt, at having all his old political as- 
 sociations disturbed, at seeing the well-known boundary- 
 marks of states obliterated, and the names and distinctions 
 with which the history of Europe had been filled for ages, 
 swept away. He felt like an antiquarian whose shield had been 
 scoured, or a connoisseur, who found his Titian retouched. 
 But however he came by an opinion, he had no sooner got it, 
 than he did his best to make out a legitimate title to it. His 
 reason, like a spirit in the service of an enchanter, though 
 spell-bound, was still mighty. It did whatever work his pas- 
 sions and his imagination might impose. But it did that 
 work, however arduous, with marvellous dexterity and vigour. 
 His course was not determined by argument ; but he could 
 defend the wildest course by arguments more plausible, than 
 those by which common men support opinions which they 
 have adopted, after the fullest deliberation. Reason has 
 scarcely ever displayed, even in those well-constituted minds 
 of which she occupies the throne, so much power and energy 
 as in the lowest offices of that imperial servitude. 
 
 scene from richard second. — Shahspeare. 
 
 York, with King Richard, BolingbroJce, officers, &c. 
 
 K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, 
 Before I have shook oft* the regal thoughts 
 Wherewith I reigned ? I hardly yet have learned 
 d2 
 
42 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 
 
 To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee : 
 
 Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me 
 
 To this submission. Yet I well remember 
 
 The favours of these men : Were they not mine 1 
 
 Did they not sometime cry, all hail ! to me? 
 
 So Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve, 
 
 Found truth in all, but one; I, in twelve thousand, none. 
 
 God save the king ! — Will no man say, amen ? 
 
 Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. 
 
 God save the king ! although I be not he ; 
 
 And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. — 
 
 To do what service am I sent for hither ? 
 
 York. To do that office, of thine own good will, 
 
 Which tired majesty did make thee offer, 
 
 The resignation of thy state and crown 
 To Henry Bolingbroke. 
 
 K. Rich. Give me the crown : — Here, cousin, seize the 
 crown ; 
 Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. 
 Now is this golden crown like a deep well, 
 That owes two buckets filling one another ; 
 The emptier ever dancing in the air, 
 The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
 That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, 
 Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 
 
 Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. 
 
 K. Rich. My crown, I am ; but still my griefs are mine : 
 You may my glories and my state depose, 
 But not my griefs; still am I king of those. 
 
 Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. 
 
 K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares down* 
 My care is — loss of care, by old care done ; 
 Your care is — gain of care, by new care won : 
 The cares I give, I have, though given away ; 
 They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. 
 
 Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown ? 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, no ; — no, ay ; — for I must nothing be ; 
 Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. 
 Now mark me, how I will undo myself; 
 I give this heavy weight from off my head, 
 And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, 
 The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; 
 With mine own tears I wash away my balm, 
 With mine own hands I give away my crown, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 43 
 
 With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, 
 With mine own breath release all duteous oaths ; 
 All pomp and majesty I do forswear ; 
 My manors, rents, revenues, I forego ; 
 My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny : 
 God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me ! 
 God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee ! 
 Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved; 
 And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved ! 
 Lonir may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit, 
 And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit ! 
 God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, 
 And send him many years of sunshine days ! — 
 What more remains 1 
 
 North, No more but that you read [Offering a paper. 
 These accusations, and these grievous crimes, 
 Committed by your person, and your followers, 
 Against the state and profit of this land ; 
 That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
 May deem that you are worthily deposed. 
 
 K. Rich. Must I do so ? and must I ravel out 
 My weaved-up follies ? Gentle Northumberland, 
 If thy offences were upon record, 
 Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop, 
 To read a lecture of them ? If thou would'st, 
 There should'st thou find one heinous article, — 
 Containing the deposing of a king, 
 And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, — 
 Marked with a blot, damned in the book of heaven : — 
 Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me, 
 Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, — 
 Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, 
 Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates 
 Have here delivered me to my sour cross, 
 And water cannot wash away your sin. 
 
 North. My lord, despatch ; read o'er these articles. 
 
 K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see ; 
 And yet salt water blinds them not so much, 
 But they can see a sort of traitors here. 
 Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
 I find myself a traitor with the rest : 
 For I have given here my soul's consent, 
 To undeck the pompous body of a king ; 
 
44 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Make glory base ; and sovereignty, a slave ; 
 Proud majesty, a subject ; state, a peasant. 
 
 North, My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insulting man. 
 Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title, — 
 No, not that name was given me at the font, — 
 But 'tis usurped : — Alack the heavy day, 
 That I have worn so many winters out, 
 And know not now what name to call myself! 
 O, that I were a mockery king of snow, 
 Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
 To melt myself away in water-drops ! — 
 Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly good,) 
 An if my word be sterling yet in England, 
 Let it command a mirror hither straight ; 
 That it may show me what a face I have, 
 Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 
 
 North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come. 
 
 K. Rich. Fiend ! thou torment'st me ere I come to hell. 
 
 Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. 
 
 North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 
 
 K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll read enough, 
 When I do see the very book indeed 
 Where all my sins are writ, and that's — myself. 
 Give me that glass, and therein will I read. — 
 No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck 
 So many blows upon this face of mine, 
 And made no deeper wounds ? — O, flattering glass, 
 Like to my followers in prosperity, 
 Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face, 
 That every day under his household roof 
 Did keep ten thousand men 1 Was this the face, 
 That, like the sun, did make beholders wink ? 
 Was this the face, that faced so many follies, 
 And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke ? 
 A brittle glory shineth in this face : 
 As brittle as the glory is the face ; 
 
 [Dashes the glass against the ground. 
 For there it is, cracked in a hundred shivers. — 
 Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, — 
 How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face. 
 
 Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed 
 The shadow of your face. 
 
 K. Rich* Say that again: 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 45 
 
 The shadow of my sorrow ? Ha ! let's see : — 
 Tis very true, my grief lies all within ; 
 And these external manners of lament 
 Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, 
 That swells with silence in the tortured soul ; 
 There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, 
 For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
 Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
 How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, 
 And then be gone, and trouble you no more. 
 Shall I obtain it ? 
 
 Boling. Name it, fair cousin. 
 
 K. Rich. Fair cousin ! Why, I am greater than a king : 
 For, when I was a king, my flatterers 
 ^ ere then but subjects ; being now a subject, 
 I have a king here to my flatterer. 
 Being so great, I have no need to beg. 
 
 Boling. Yet ask. 
 
 K. Rich. And shall I have? 
 
 Boling. You shall. 
 
 K. Rich. Then, give me leave to go. 
 
 Boling. Whither? 
 
 K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights* 
 
 Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower. 
 
 K. Rich. O, good ! Convey ? — Conveyers are you all, 
 That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 
 
 filial affection. — Sheridan. 
 
 And yet, my Lords, how can I support the claim of filial 
 love by argument — much less the affection of a son to a 
 mother — where love loses its awe, and veneration is mixed 
 with tenderness ? What can I say upon such a subject, what 
 can I do but repeat the ready truths which, with the quick 
 impulse of the mind, must spring to the lips of every man on 
 such a theme ? Filial love ! the morality of instinct, the 
 sacrament of nature and duty — or rather let me say it is mis- 
 called a duty, for it flows from the heart without effort, and 
 is its delight, its indulgence, its enjoyment. It is guided, 
 not by the slow dictates of reason ; it awaits not encourage- 
 ment from reflection or from thought ; it asks no aid of 
 memory ; it is an innate, but active, consciousness of having 
 been the object of a thousand tender solicitudes, a thousand 
 
46 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 waking watchful cares, of meek anxiety and patient sacrifices, 
 unremarked and unrequited by the object. It is a gratitude 
 founded upon a conviction of obligations, not remembered, 
 but the more binding because not remembered, — because 
 conferred before the tender reason could acknowledge, or 
 the infant memory record them — a gratitude and affection, 
 which no circumstances should subdue, and which few can 
 strengthen ; a gratitude, in which even injury from the ob- 
 ject, though it may blend regret, should never breed resent- 
 ment ; an affection which can be increased only by the decay 
 of those to whom we owe it, and which is then most fervent 
 when the tremulous voice of age, resistless in its feebleness, 
 inquires for the natural protector of its cold decline. 
 
 If these are the general sentiments of man, what must be 
 their depravity, what must be their degeneracy, who can blot 
 out and erase from the bosom the virtue that is deepest root- 
 ed in the human heart, and twined within the cords of life 
 itself — aliens from nature, apostates from humanity ! And 
 yet, if there is a crime more fell, more foul — if there is any 
 thing worse than a wilful persecutor of his mother — it is to 
 see a deliberate, reasoning instigator and abettor to the 
 deed : — this it is that shocks, disgusts, and appals the mind 
 more than the other — to view, not a wilful parricide, but a 
 parricide by compulsion, a miserable wretch, not actuated 
 by the stubborn evils of his own worthless heart, not driven 
 by the fury of his own distracted brain, but lending his 
 sacrilegious hand, without any malice of his own, to answer 
 the abandoned purposes of the human fiends that have sub- 
 dued his will ! — To condemn crimes like these, we need not 
 talk of laws or of human rules — their foulness, their deform- 
 ity does not depend upon local constitutions, upon human 
 institutes or religious creeds : — they are crimes — and the 
 persons who perpetuate them are monsters who violate the 
 primitive condition upon which the earth was given to man — 
 they are guilty by the general verdict of human kind. 
 
 lochiel's warning. — Campbell* 
 
 Wizard — Lochiel. 
 Wizard, Lochiel ! Lochiel, beware of the day 
 When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
 For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
 And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight : 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 47 
 
 They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; 
 Wo, wo 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, oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
 Like a love-lighted watchfire, 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 ! 
 Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : 
 For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
 Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 
 
 Loch id. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! 
 Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
 Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight! 
 This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 
 
 Wizard. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? 
 Proud bird of the mountain thy plume shall be torn ! 
 Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
 From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the north? 
 Lo ! the death-shot of foeman outspeeding, he rode 
 Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
 But down let him stoop from his havoc on high I 
 Ah ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. 
 Why flames the far summit ? W 7 hy shoot to the blast 
 Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 
 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin all dreadfully driven 
 From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
 Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
 Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 
 Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; 
 Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 
 For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
 And a wild mother screamed o'er her famishing brood. 
 
 Lochiel. False Wizard avaunt ! I have marshalled my 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 ; 
 Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock I 
 
48 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 But wo to his kindred, and wo to his cause, 
 When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
 When her bonnetted chieftains to victory crowd, 
 Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ; 
 All plaided and plumed in their tartan array 
 
 Wizard, Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day I 
 
 For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
 
 But man cannot cover what God would reveal : 
 
 Tis 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 : 
 
 Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 
 
 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors ; 
 
 Culloden is lost, and my country deplores ; 
 
 But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? Where ? 
 
 For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
 
 Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, 
 
 Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ? 
 
 Ah no ! for a darker departure is near ; 
 
 The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; 
 
 His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy, dispel 
 
 Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
 
 Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 
 
 And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 
 
 Accursed be the faggots, that blaze at his feet, 
 
 Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat, 
 
 With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale 
 
 Lochiel* Down soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale : 
 
 Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, 
 
 Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
 
 Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
 
 While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
 
 Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
 
 With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 
 
 And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
 
 Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 49 
 
 \rTACHME>-T OF THE INDIANS TO THE SOIL. Everett.* 
 
 Sir, the Indians are attached to the soil ; it is their own ; 
 and though, by your subtilties of state logic, you make it out 
 that it is not their own, they think it is; they love it as their 
 own. It is the seat of their council fires, not always illegal, as 
 your State laws now call them. The time has been, and that not 
 very distant, when, had the king of France, or of Spain, or of 
 England, talked of its being illegal for the Choctaws or Che- 
 rokecs to meet at their council fire, they would have answer- 
 ed, "Come and prevent us." It is the soil in which are 
 gathered the bones of their fathers. This idea, and the im- 
 portance attached to it by the Indians, have been held up to 
 derision by one of the officers of the government. He has 
 told the Indians that " the bones of their fathers cannot bene- 
 fit them, stay where they are as long as they may." I touch 
 with regret on that, upon which the gentleman from New 
 York has laid his heavy hand. I have no unkind feeling 
 towards the gentleman, who has unadvisedly made this sug- 
 gestion. But the truth is, this is the very point on which 
 the Indian race — sensitive on all points — is most peculiarly 
 alive. It is proverbial. Governors Cass and Clark, in their 
 official report the last winter, tell you, that " We will not sell 
 the spot which contains the bones of our fathers," is almost 
 always the first answer to a proposition for a sale. The mys- 
 terious mounds which are seen in different parts of the coun 
 try, the places of sepulture for tribes that have disappeared, 
 are objects of reverence to the remnants of such tribes as 
 long as any such remain. 
 
 Mr. Jefferson, in his Notes on Virginia, tells you of such 
 a case. Unknown Indians came through the country, by a 
 path known to themselves, through the woods, to visit a 
 mound in his neighbourhood. Who they were no one knew, 
 nor whence they came, nor what was the tribe to whose ashes 
 they had made their pilgrimage. It is well known that 
 there are tribes who celebrate the great feast of the dead — 
 an awful but affecting commemoration. They gather up 
 the bones of all who have died since the last return of the 
 festival, cleanse them from their impurities, collect them 
 in a new deposit, and cover them again with the sod. Shall 
 we, in the complacency of our superior light, look with- 
 out indulgence on the pious weakness of these children of 
 
 * House of Representatives, May 30, 1830. 
 E 
 
50 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 nature ? Shall we tell them that the bones of their fathers, 
 which they visit after the lapse of ages, which they cherish, 
 though clothed in corruption, can do them no good ? It is as 
 false in philosophy as in taste. The man who reverences the 
 ashes of his fathers — who hopes that posterity will reverence 
 his — is bound by one more tie to the discharge of social duty. 
 
 INVECTIVE AGAINST REGULUS. — TacitUS. 
 
 " This," he said, "was an act of barbarity not imputable to 
 Nero. Did that tyrant order it? or, did you, Regulus, ad- 
 vance your dignity by that atrocious deed 7 ? Did your per- 
 sonal safety require it ? Let us, if you will, admit, in some 
 cases, the plea of necessity : let those, who, to save them- 
 selves, accomplish the ruin of others, be allowed, by such 
 excuses, to extenuate their guilt. You, Regulus, have not 
 that apology : after the banishment of your father, and the 
 confiscation of his effects, you lived secure, beyond the reach 
 of danger. Excluded by your youth from public honours, 
 you had no possessions to tempt the avarice of Nero ; no 
 rising merit to alarm his jealousy. A rage for blood, early 
 ambition, and avarice panting for the wages of guilt, were 
 the motives that urged you on. Unknown at the bar, and 
 never so much as seen in the defence of any man, you came 
 upon mankind with talents for destruction. The first speci- 
 men of your genius was the murder of illustrious citizens. 
 The commonwealth was reduced to the last gasp, and that 
 was the crisis in which you plundered the remaining spoils 
 of your country. You seized the consular ornaments, and, 
 having amassed enormous riches, swelled your pride with, the 
 pontifical dignities. Innocent children, old men of the first 
 eminence, and women of illustrious rank, have been your 
 victims. It was from you that Nero learned a system of com- 
 pendious cruelty. The slow progress with which he carried 
 slaughter from house to house, did not satisfy your thirst for 
 blood. The emperor, according to your doctrine, fatigued 
 himself and his band of harpies by destroying single families 
 at a time, when it was in his power, by his bare word, to 
 sweep away the whole senate to destruction. Retain amongst 
 you, conscript fathers, if such be your pleasure, retain this 
 son of mischief, this man of despatch, that the age may have 
 its own distinctive character, and send down to posterity a 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 51 
 
 model for imitation. Marcellus and Crispus gave lessons of 
 villany to your fathers : let Regulus instruct the rising gen- 
 eration. We see, that daring iniquity, even when unsuccess- 
 ful, has its followers : when it thrives and flourishes, will it 
 want admirers I We have before us a man, no higher at pre- 
 sent than the rank of quaestor ; and if we are now afraid of 
 proceeding against him, what think you will be the case, 
 when we see him exalted to the prastorian and the consular 
 dignity 1 Do we flatter ourselves, that the race of tyrants 
 ended with Nero? The men who survived Tiberius, reason- 
 ed in that manner ; after the death of Caligula they said the 
 same ; but another master succeeded, more cruel, and more 
 detestable. From Vespasian we have nothing to fear. He is 
 at the time of life when the passions subside ; the virtues of 
 moderation and humanity are his : but virtue operates slowly, 
 while pernicious examples remain in force, and teach a sys- 
 tem of cruelty when the tyrant is no more. As to us, con- 
 script fathers, Ave have lost all our vigour : we are no longer 
 the senate that condemned Nero to death, and in the spirit 
 of ancient times called aloud for vengeance on the ministers 
 and advisers of that evil period. The day that succeeds the 
 downfal of a tyrant is always the best. 5 ' 
 
 scene from king john. — ShaJcspeare. 
 
 Hubert, Attendants, and Arthur. 
 
 Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and, look thou stand 
 Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
 Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : 
 And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
 Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 
 
 1 Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. 
 
 Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to't. — 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
 Enter Arthur. 
 
 Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Good morrow, little prince. , 
 
 Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
 To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad. 
 
 Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
 
 Arth. Mercy on me ! 
 
52 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 
 
 Methinks, no body should be sad but I : 
 
 Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
 
 Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
 
 Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
 
 So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
 
 I should be as merry as the day is long ; 
 
 And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
 
 My uncle practises more harm to me : 
 
 He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
 
 Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? 
 
 No, indeed, is't not ; And I would to heaven, 
 
 I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
 
 Hub, If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
 He will awake my mercy, which lies dead ; 
 Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside. 
 
 Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day i 
 In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
 That I might sit all night and watch with you : 
 I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 
 
 Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. — 
 Read here, young Arthur. [Shoiuing a paper.] How 
 now, foolish rheum ! 'Aside* 
 
 Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
 I must be brief; lest resolution drop 
 
 Out. at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 
 
 Can you not read it? is it not fair writ? 
 
 Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? 
 
 Hub. Young boy, I must. 
 
 Arth. And will you ? 
 
 Hub. And I will. 
 
 Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but ake, 
 I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
 (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
 And I did never ask it you again : 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
 Still and anon cheered up the heavy time ; 
 Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? 
 Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 
 Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
 And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
 But you at your sick service had a prince. 
 Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 53 
 
 And call it, cunning ; Do, an if you will : 
 
 If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, 
 
 Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes? 
 
 These eyes," that never did, nor never shall, 
 
 So much as frown on you ? 
 
 Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 
 And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
 
 Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it ! 
 The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
 And quench his fiery indignation, 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron ? 
 An if an angel should have come to me, 
 And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
 I would not have believed no tongue, but Hubert's. 
 
 Hub. Come forth. Do, as I bid you do. [Stamps. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, 6$c. 
 Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out, 
 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
 
 Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 
 
 Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous-rough ? 
 I will not struggle, I will stand stone still. 
 For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
 Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
 And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ,- 
 I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
 Nor look upon the iron angerly ; 
 Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 
 Whatever torment you do put me to. 
 
 Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 
 
 1 At. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. [Exe . 
 
 Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend ; 
 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart: — 
 Let him come back, that his compassion may 
 Give life to your's. 
 
 Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 
 
 Arth. Is there no remedy 1 
 
 Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote in yours, 
 A grain, adust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
 
 e 2 
 
54 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, 
 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 
 Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue ; 
 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes ; 
 Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 
 So I may keep mine eyes : O, spare mine eyes ; 
 Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
 Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
 And would not harm me. 
 
 Hub. I can heat it, boy. 
 
 Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, 
 Being create for comfort, to be used 
 In undeserved extremes : See else yourself; 
 There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
 And strewed repentant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
 
 Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
 And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert : 
 Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
 And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight, 
 Snatch at his master that doth tarre* him on. 
 All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
 Deny their office : only you do lack 
 That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, 
 Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 
 
 Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyes 
 For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
 Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
 With this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while 
 You were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu ; 
 Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
 I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
 Will not offend thee. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me : 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 * Tarre, — stimulate. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 55 
 
 PALM-TREE IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN.— Mrs. HemaJlS. 
 
 It waved not through an Eastern sky, 
 Beside a fount of Araby ; 
 It was not fanned by southern breeze 
 In some green isle of Indian seas, 
 Nor did its graceful shadow sleep 
 O'er stream of Afric, lone and deep. 
 
 But far the exiled Palm-tree grew 
 •Midst foliage of no kindred hue ; 
 Through the laburnum's dropping gold 
 Rose the light shaft of orient mould, 
 And Europe's violets, faintly sweet, 
 Purpled the moss-beds at its feet. 
 
 Strange looked it there! — the willow streamed 
 Where silvery waters near it gleamed, 
 The lime-bough lured the honey-bee 
 To murmur by the Desert's tree, 
 And showers of snowy roses made 
 A lustre in its fan-like shade. 
 
 There came an eve of festal hours — 
 Rich music filled that garden's bowers : 
 Lamps, that from flowering branches hung, 
 On sparks of dew soft colours flung, 
 And bright forms glanced— -a fairy show — 
 Under the blossoms to and fro. 
 
 But one, a lone one, 'midst the throng, 
 Seemed reckless all of dance or song: 
 He was a youth of dusky mien, 
 Whereon the Indian sun had been — 
 Of crested brow, and long black hair — 
 A stranger, like the Palm-tree, there. 
 
 And slowly, sadly moved his plumes, 
 Glittering athwart the leafy glooms : 
 He passed the pale green olives by, 
 Nor won the chesnut flowers his eye ; 
 But when to that sole Palm he came, 
 Then shot a rapture through his frame ! 
 
 To him, to him its rustling spoke, 
 The silence of his soul it broke ! 
 
56 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 It whispered of his own bright isle, 
 That lit the ocean with a smile ; 
 Aye, to his ear that native tone 
 Had something of the sea-wave's moan ! 
 
 His mother's cabin home, that lay 
 Where feathery cocoas fringed the bay ; 
 The dashing of his brethren's oar, 
 The conch-note heard along the shore ; — 
 All through his wakening bosom swept : 
 He clasped his country's Tree — and wept ! 
 
 Oh ! scorn him not ! — the strength, whereby 
 The patriot girds himself to die, 
 The unconquerable power, which fills 
 The freeman battling on his hills — 
 These have one fountain deep and clear, — 
 The same whence gushed that child-like tear ! 
 
 THE MAEaUIS OF LANSDOWN ON THE CATHOLIC ASSOCIATION. 
 
 Eveey body knew that whole nations and communities 
 might be held under an arbitrary domination; that the influ- 
 ence of power might wither and extinguish all the feelings 
 and desires which tended to exalt and improve human nature ; 
 that men might be held in a state of servitude, and even re- 
 conciled to the loss of all their civil rights and privileges. 
 This might be done — this had been done : but what arbi- 
 trary power could not do was, to keep a nation — and the 
 Catholics of Ireland might, with reference to their numbers, 
 be called a nation — in a state of deprivation of their natural 
 rights, while they were intermixed with another people who 
 were in the full enjoyment of civil liberty. All the ingenuity 
 of the most learned lawyers — all the penal statutes which 
 might be heaped upon the table of the house, could not shut 
 the door against the influence of such freedom, could not 
 intercept the feelings which must arise from the interchange 
 of sentiments, the communication of wealth between the na- 
 tion in thraldom and the nation whinh was free. If they 
 still resolved to withhold from the Catholics the light and 
 warmth of the sun of the constitution, they must not be sur- 
 prised that they should seek illumination from those wander- 
 ing lights^ which fitfully and partially irradiated the political 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 57 
 
 atmosphere, and glittered only to betray. Let their lord- 
 ships think to what manner of nation it was that they 
 were asked to apply this rigorous restriction. It was a 
 nation which he hardly felt himself able to describe, and 
 to which lie should therefore apply the words of a writer, 
 who was not less famed for the force and beauty of his prose 
 than for the inimitable excellence of his poetry. Milton, in 
 speaking of the English nation, and addressing its rulers, 
 said, "Lords and Commons of England! Consider what na- 
 tion it is whereof ye are the governors : a nation not slow 
 and dull, but of a quick, ingenious, and piercing spirit; acute 
 to invent, subtile and sinewy to discourse, not beneath the 
 reach of any point the highest that human capacity can soar 
 to." — Such a nation was Ireland. He besought the house to 
 remember, that over this nation was exerted that tremendous 
 engine of modern times — the press; a power which, like that 
 ectricity, roused the latent fire which existed in every 
 part of the national economy, and woke every sympathy of 
 human nature to the keen enjoyment of the advantages which 
 existed for the universal good of society. The people of 
 Ireland were invited to participate in the advantages of the 
 extensive commerce which was one of the chief distinctions 
 of England amongst the other nations of the world, and in all 
 the hopes of higher and more noble things to which that 
 commerce gave birth. They were invited to enter the army 
 and the navy, and they were taught to imbibe a love of 
 honour, and to seek for its reward. They were invited to be- 
 come the possessors of landed property — one day he should 
 take occasion to show the house to what extent they had 
 accepted this invitation — and, consequently, to encourage a 
 wish to cultivate those honourable relations, and to obtain 
 that distinction to which the possession of landed property 
 naturally led them to look, and which would alone enable 
 them to make to their country a fitting return for those 
 honours. After these feelings had been excited, after these 
 hopes had been encouraged, did their lordships think that 
 by penal acts of Parliament they could stifle the discontent 
 which disappointment had engendered, or cure the sickness 
 which was the consequence of those hopes delayed ? It was 
 not by making, but by repealing penal statutes, that they 
 could hope to effect such a purpose. Such instruments were 
 wholly unequal and unfitted for the purpose. 
 
 "The elements 
 
 Of which your swords are tempered, may as well 
 
53 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Wound the loud winds ; or, with be-mocked-at stabs, 
 Kill the still closing waters." 
 
 CAPTAIN CAPPERBAR AND MR. CHEEKS.- — Mdrrydt. 
 
 A Dialogue. 
 
 Well, Mr. Cheeks, what are the carpenters about? 
 
 Weston and Smallbridge are going on with the chairs — 
 the whole of them will be finished to-morrow. 
 
 Well? * 
 
 Smith is about the chest of drawers, to match the one in 
 my Lady Capperbar's bedroom. 
 
 Very good. And what is Hilton about? 
 
 He has finished the spare-leaf of the dining-table, sir ; he 
 is now about a little job for the second-lieutenant. 
 
 A job for the second-lieutenant, sir ! How often have I 
 told you, Mr. Cheeks, that the carpenters are not to be em- 
 ployed, except on ship's duty, without my special permission ; 
 
 His standing bed-place is broke, sir : he is only getting 
 out a chock or two. 
 
 Mr. Cheeks, you have disobeyed my most positive orders. 
 By the by, sir, I understand you were not sober, last night. 
 
 Please your honour, I wasn't drunk — I was only a little 
 fresh. 
 
 Take you care, Mr. Cheeks. — Well, now, what are the 
 rest of your crew about ? 
 
 Why, Thomsom and Waters are cutting out the pales for 
 the garden, out of the jibboom ; I've saved the heel to return. 
 
 Very well ; but there won't be enough, will there ? 
 
 No, Sir, it will take a hand-mast to finish the whole. 
 
 Then we must expend one when we go out again. We 
 can carry away a top-mast, and make a new one out of the 
 hand-mast, „at sea. In the meantime, if the sawyers have 
 nothing to do, they may as well cut the palings at once. 
 And now, let me see — oh ! the painters must go on shore, to 
 finish the attics. 
 
 Yes, sir; but my Lady Capperbar wishes the jealowsees to 
 be painted vermillion : she says it will look more rural. 
 
 Mrs. Capperbar ought to know enough about ship's stores, 
 by this time, to be aware that we are only allowed three 
 colours. She may choose or mix them as she pleases ; but 
 as for going to the expense of buying paint, I can't afford it» 
 What are the rest of the men about ? 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 59 
 
 Repairing the second cutter, and making a new mast for 
 the pinnace. 
 
 By the by — that puts me in mind of it — have you expended 
 any boats' masts? 
 
 Only the one carried away, sir. 
 
 Then vou must expend two more. Mrs. C has just 
 
 sent me off a list of a few things that she wishes made, while 
 we are at anchor, and I see two poles for clothes-lines. Saw 
 off the sheave-holes, and put two pegs through at right an- 
 gles — you know how I mean. 
 
 Yes, sir. What am I to do, sir, about the cucumber frame ? 
 My Lady Capperbar says that she must have it, and I havn't 
 glass enough — they grumbled at the yard last time." 
 
 Mrs. C must wait a. little. What are the armourers 
 
 about. 
 
 They have been so busy with your work, sir, that the arms 
 are in a very bad condition. The first-lieutenant said yes- 
 terday that they were a disgrace to the ship. 
 
 Who dares say that ? 
 
 The first lieutenant, sir. 
 
 Well, then, let them rub up the arms, and let me know 
 when they are done, and we'll get the forge up. 
 
 The armourer has made six rakes, and six hoes, and the 
 two little hoes for the children ; but he "says that he can't 
 make a spade. 
 
 Then I'll take his warrant away, by heavens, since he does 
 not know his duty. That will do, Mr. Cheeks. I shall over- 
 look your being in liquor, this time ; but take care. — Send 
 the boatswain to me. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM THE SrEECH ON PORTUGAL. Canning. 
 
 I set out by saying, that there were many reasons which 
 mduced me to think, that nothing short of a point of national 
 honour could make desirable any approximation to the dan- 
 ger of war ; but let me be distinctly understood as not mean- 
 ing that I dread war in a good cause, and I trust that in no 
 other will it ever be the lot of this country to engage ; that 
 I dread war from a distrust of our powers and of our resources 
 to meet it. No. I dread it upon far other grounds. I dread 
 it, because I am conscious of the tremendous power which 
 this country possesses, of pushing any war in which she may 
 
60 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 now be engaged, to consequences, at the bare contemplation 
 of which I shudder. It will be recollected, that when, some 
 years ago, I took the liberty of adverting to a topic of this 
 nature, when it was referred to in this house, with respect to 
 the position of this country at the present time, I then stated, 
 that our position was not merely one of neutrality between 
 contending nations, but between contending principles and 
 opinions; that it was a position of neutrality, which alone 
 preserved the balance of power, the maintenance of which I 
 believed necessary to the safety and welfare of Europe. 
 Nearly four years, or rather three years and a half, of expe- 
 rience, have confirmed, and not altered, the opinions then 
 declared ; and I still fear, that the next war in Europe, if it 
 should spread beyond the narrow compass of Portugal and 
 Spain, will be a war of the most tremendous nature — 
 because it will be a war of conflicting opinions; and I 
 know that, if the interests and the honour of this country 
 should oblige us to enter into it, although we might enter it, 
 as I trust we shall always do, with a firm desire to mitigate 
 rather than to exasperate — to contend with arms, and not 
 with opinions ; yet I know that this country could not avoid 
 seeing ranked under her banners all the restless, and all the 
 dissatisfied, whether with cause, or without cause, of every 
 nation with which she might be placed at variance. I say, 
 sir, the consciousness of this fact — the knowledge that there 
 is in the hands of this country such a tremendous power — 
 induces me to feel as I do feel. But it is one thing to 
 have ' a giant's strength,' and another thing to use it like 
 a giant.' The consciousness that we have this power keeps 
 us safe. Our business is not to seek out opportunities for 
 displaying it, but to keep it, so that it may be hereafter 
 shown that we knew its proper use, and to shrink from con- 
 verting the umpire into the oppressor. — - 
 
 Sir, the consequences of the letting loose of those passions 
 which are all chained up, may be such as would lead to a 
 scene of desolation, such as no one can, for a moment con- 
 template without horror, and such as I could never lie easy 
 upon my couch, if I had the consciousness of having by one 
 hour, precipitated. This, then, is the reason — a reason the 
 reverse of fear — a reason the contrary of disability — why I 
 dread the recurrence of a war. That this reason may be felt 
 by those who are acting on opposite principles, before the 
 time for using our power shall arrive, I would bear much, and 
 I would forbear long ; I would almost put up with any thing 
 
 1 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 61 
 
 that did not touch our national faith and national honour, 
 rather than let slip the furies of war, the lash of which is 
 in our hands, while we know not whom they may reach, and 
 doubt where the devastation may end. Such is the love of 
 peace which the British government acknowledges, and such 
 the duty of peace which the circumstances of the world in- 
 culcate. In obedience to this conviction, and with the hope 
 of avoiding extremities, I will push no further the topics of 
 this part of the address. Let us defend Portugal, whoever may 
 be the assailants, because it is a work of duty; and let us 
 end where that duty ends. We go to Portugal, not to rule, not 
 to dictate, not to prescribe laws ; we go but to plant there the 
 standard of England, that there foreign dominion shall not 
 come. 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 I do not intend to occupy the house with a reply; but 
 there have been two or three objections taken by honourable 
 gentlemen which I should be sorry to leave unanswered. I 
 admit I understated the case against Spain — I did so purpose- 
 ly — I did so designedly. I wished to show no more of her 
 conduct than was sufficient to establish the casus foederis, 
 but not to state so much as would make it impossible for 
 Spain to avoid war. The honourable gentleman who spoke 
 last wishes, in his great love foF peace, to do that which would 
 make war inevitable. He would not interfere now — he would 
 with to tell Spain, 'You have not done enough to rouse us — 
 you have given no cause of offence — I think nothing of your 
 hovering over my frontiers — I think nothing of your coming 
 in arms, of your ravaging my plains, and carrying destruction 
 into my cities — I think nothing of your collecting knots of 
 conspirators, and of your supplying them with food, clothing, 
 and arms — nothing of your training them, supplying them 
 with Spanish stores, and of your sending them into Portugal. 
 I will not stir for all these things ; but, in order to keep the 
 peace in Europe, which I so dearly love, I call on you to make 
 a declaration of war, and then I'll come and fight you.' That 
 is the effect of the hon. member's speech — that his contri- 
 vance to keep the peace. The more clumsy contrivance of 
 government has been, to warn the Spanish authorities that 
 they were known to meditate disturbances in Portugal. His 
 
 F 
 
62 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 majesty's ministers said to them — ' Beware of your proceed- 
 ings, for we are sure to avenge your deeds : it is with you to 
 determine if the present misunderstanding shall end in open 
 hostilities.' In the meantime the question is open to any 
 measures of reconcilement; and whether ministers or the 
 hon. gentleman are right — whether we ought to have endea- 
 voured to obtain the grand object of his chivalrous imagina- 
 tion, a trial of that question upon a tented field, and in a 
 listed battle — if it was really our duty, as we ourselves appre- 
 hend, to nip the disorder in the bud ; or if, according to the 
 hon. gentleman, we ought to let it grow up to maturity, in 
 order to mow it down with the more magnificent scythe of 
 war, — I leave the house to determine. It has been com- 
 plained that no papers have been laid before the house. The 
 facts which call for our interference might be made as noto- 
 rious as the noon-day sun. It should be remembered, that 
 if this course had been taken — if an act of unmistakeable 
 hostility on the part of Spain had been demonstrated by pa- 
 pers laid on the table of the house, Spain would have been 
 precluded from that locus penitentice which I was desirous to 
 leave to her. I did not wish to cut off all means of retreat — 
 to drive Spain into a corner from which she could have no 
 escape. I hope I have sufficiently explained the reasons why 
 I understate the case against Spain. With the knowledge 
 which my official situation necessarily gives me, I make a 
 statement to the house such as I judge will be sufficient to 
 answer my purpose. It is for the house in general to judge 
 whether I have succeeded. My hon. friend, if he ask at the 
 proper time, should that time arrive, will be convinced that 
 it is not from want of evidence that my statement is not so 
 full as he wished it to be. An amendment has been made 
 upon the original proposition, and it has been justified by a 
 reference to a declaration which I made some years ago, when 
 I stated that it would be exceedingly onerous for this country 
 to engage in war — which declaration has been supposed to 
 be inconsistent with the measure which I now propose. The 
 variation between the two cases upon which I ground the 
 difference of conduct is that, in the one instance, I main- 
 tained that war was to be avoided when we were not obliged 
 to engage in it ; whereas, in the present case, I say, that unless 
 it can be averted by seasonable demonstrations on the part 
 of this country, war cannot be avoided. I do not, therefore, 
 change my opinions as to the desirableness of peace ; nor do 
 I the less deprecate the necessity of war ; but I say that, in 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 63 
 
 the former instance, though, in the opinion of some respect- 
 able persons in and out of parliament, it might have been 
 politic to embark in war, my argument was, that we were not 
 bound by any engagement of good faith or honour to engage 
 in war — that our choice, in short, was free ; and, being free, 
 my choice was for peace. My argument, at the present day, 
 is, thai we have no choice — our faith is engaged ; our honour 
 is pledged ; and, with all the same predilections for peace 
 which I then professed, I maintain that no course is left to 
 us on the present occasion, but that which is dictated both 
 by honour and policy, to maintain the faith of the country, 
 and to fulfil the national engagements. It has been sugges- 
 ted, that the foreign enlistment act might be repealed on the 
 present occasion, and Mina and his associates be enabled to 
 rush to the contest, and by that means obviate the effect of 
 the aggression upon Portugal. 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 Believing, sir, as I do, that such a measure would entail 
 the heaviest calamities upon that country, I cannot consent 
 to give it my countenance. I am ready to admit, sir, in the 
 first place, that the foreign enlistment bill was passed princi- 
 pally at the instigation of Spain, and that that bill operated 
 more in her favour than in that of any other European power. 
 In the next place, I am ready to admit, that the whole con- 
 duct of Spain has been to do directly towards Portugal those 
 acts, which Spain earnestly implored Great Britain to take 
 away from British subjects the power of doing towards her. 
 If we do what is suggested, there would be some ground for 
 saying to this country, 'you recognised and acted upon a 
 principle in 1819, when you had no private interests to pro- 
 mote — you last year, acting upon that principle, refused to 
 withdraw the protection afforded to foreign powers by that 
 bill ; but you now withdraw it, and violate that principle 
 where you have a private interest to promote.' I admit, 
 there would be strong ground for saying to Spain : — ' Since 
 the year 1819, we have given you the benefit of a particularly 
 efficient measure, and you have thought proper, since last 
 year, to turn that very measure, conferred solely for your own 
 protection, against the pacific interests of our ally. Are we 
 not fairly entitled, then, to place you where you would have 
 
64 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 been, had that act never passed V This would, undoubtedly, 
 have justified the revocation of the bill from Spain : that 1 
 most clearly admit; but I do not equally well see how it would 
 apply to the other great objects involved in such a question 
 as this, and which I have rather adumbrated than overstated 
 in my opening speech. The great desire of this country 
 ought undoubtedly to be, to effect her purpose by the most 
 lenient means. If circumstances should lead to hostilities, 
 and that war must rage in Spain, the course now taken by 
 Great Britain would rather take from war that most tremen- 
 dous of all characters which could attach to such an event,, 
 were it once driven to assume the name of a war of opinion. 
 If we are to have war, let us — if we can take from it that 
 character which has been so ably and so eloquently described 
 by an honourable and learned gentleman (Mr. Brougham) — 
 that tremendous character which must attach to war, when 
 war is let loose in the shape of a war of opinion. I sir, for 
 one, should be extremely sorry to be driven, whatever acts 
 Spain might be guilty of, to have recourse to that most la- 
 mentable and disastrous mode of warfare. — Another point 
 has been touched upon by an honourable member, who, in 
 a speech with which, in no other respect, I find fault, has, in 
 the most handsome and able manner, stated his reasons for 
 approving of the line of conduct adopted, in this instance, by 
 his majesty's government. That honourable member has said, 
 1 Instead of repealing the foreign enlistment bill, call upon 
 France to withdraw her armies from Spain.' There are sir, 
 so many considerations connected with that subject, that they 
 would carry me beyond what it is necessary to state upon the 
 present occasion. It is enough now to state, that I do not 
 know how the French army can be employed to promote the 
 views of Spain. I believe the effect of the presence of the 
 French army in Spain, is the protection, rather than otherwise, 
 of that very party, to put down which, the aid of that army 
 •was called in ; and my firm belief is, that the first and im- 
 mediate consequence of the withdrawal of that army, at a 
 moment of excitement, would be the letting loose of that 
 party rage, of which the party least in numbers would be the 
 victims. But when it is stated, that the presence of the 
 French army in Spain has entirely altered the relative situa- 
 tions of France and Great Britain, and that France is thereby 
 raised, and Great Britain lowered, in the eyes of Europe, 
 I must beg leave, most humbly, to give my dissent to that 
 proposition. The house knows— the country knows— that 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 65 
 
 when the French army was on the point of entering Spain, 
 that I, in common with the other members of his majesty's 
 government, did all in my power to prevent it ; that we did 
 resist, and that we were most anxious to resist it, by every 
 means short of war. We did not think the entry of that 
 imj into Spain a sufficient ground for war on the part of 
 this country ; and that, sir, for various reasons, and, among 
 others for this, that whatever effects a war, commenced upon 
 the mere ground of the entry of a French army into Spain, 
 may have, the effect it would not have, would be this — to get 
 that army out of Spain. I again repeat, that a war, entered 
 into for the express purpose of getting the French army out 
 of Spain would defeat the object wished to be obtained. — 
 1 also think, sir, that the effects of the entry of the French 
 army into Spain have been exaggerated; and think that those 
 exaggenttiooi are to be attributed to these circumstances — 
 that the connexion between France and Spain is mixed up 
 with recollections of the most brilliant, the most glorious, 
 periods of English history. 
 
 same subject. — Concluded. 
 
 Now, however the withdrawal of the French army might 
 be in other respects and at other times desirable, I cannot 
 allow that it at all affects the present question. On the con- 
 trary, I most sincerely believe that the exertions of France 
 are directed to the preservation of existing treaties; and it is 
 my conviction, that if the army was withdrawn, the situation 
 of affairs would not be remedied ; while, in a moment of such 
 excitement, party rage would re-assume its desperate violence, 
 and that class, avowedly the least in numbers, would, beyond 
 question, become its victims. The most exaggerated im- 
 portance has always, in my opinion, been attached in this 
 country to the connexion between France and Spain. I 
 ask the house to look back to the time of Anne, when the 
 question of the association of France and Spain was agita- 
 ted. I ask the house to look back to the votes of parliament 
 at that period, where they will find, that the parliament 
 had voted that no peace could be made between the two 
 countries, while Spain remained in the power of France ; 
 or, rather, whilst a Bourbon sat upon the throne of Spain. 
 Look to the exaggerated apprehensions of those days, and 
 f2 
 
m NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 see how they have been realized; look back to the state of 
 Spain in those days — look at her when she was a most formi 
 dable power — when she was a power of such strength as to 
 threaten to blow up the whole world. Look at her in those 
 days, and you will see that England was then fixed in a nook 
 of that Spain — that our possession of the Rock of Gibraltar 
 was contemporary with those exaggerated apprehensions. I 
 do not believe, sir, the danger which could accrue from the 
 possession of Spain by France, to be so great as it is repre- 
 sented. Spain now is not what Spain was then. Where can 
 we now find that Spain, in the map of the world, which was 
 to have swallowed up the power of maritime England ? Do 
 we still remain in a nook of that same Spain — Gibraltar; 
 where we have settled at a period contemporaneous with those 
 fears, holding a firm and unshaken occupation up to this 
 hour? And where, now, is that nation which 'was to have 
 shaken us from our sphere V That Spain of old maps was, 
 be it remembered, the Spain within the limits of whose em- 
 pire the sun never set — it was Spain with the Indies; — 
 where will you find her now? When the French army 
 entered Spain, we might, if we chose, have resisted that 
 measure by a war ; but, sir, if we had resisted it by a war, 
 that war would not be a war entered into for the same object 
 for which the wars of other days were undertaken ; that war 
 would not have been a war for the restoration of the balance 
 of power. Other means should be resorted to for that pur* 
 pose, if necessary. The balance of power in Europe varied 
 as civilization advanced, and new nations sprung up in Eu- 
 rope. One hundred years ago, France, Spain, the Netherlands, 
 and perhaps Austria, constituted the balance of power. 
 Within the next thirty years, Russia started up. Within the 
 following thirty years, Prussia became a power of importance ; 
 and thus the balance of power, and the means of preserving 
 it, were enlarged. The means of preserving the balance 
 were enlarged, I may say, in proportion to the number of 
 states — in proportion to the number of weights which could 
 be put into the one scale or the other. To take a leaf, sir, 
 from the book of the policy of Europe in the times of William 
 and of Anne, for the purpose of regulating the balance of 
 power in Europe at the present day, is to be utterly regard- 
 less of the march of events, and to regulate our policy by a 
 confusion of facts. I admit, sir, that the entry of a French 
 army into Spain was a disparagement to Great Britain — was 
 a blow to the feelings of this country. 1 do not stand up 
 
 , 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 67 
 
 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. 
 The other was, to make the possession of that country harm- 
 less in rival hands — to make it worse than harmless, to make 
 it injurious to the possessor. The latter mode I have adopted. 
 Do you think, that, for the disparagement to England, we 
 have not been compensated ? Do you think, that, for the 
 blockade of Cadiz, England has not been fully compensated? 
 I looked, sir, at Spain by another name than Spain. I looked 
 upon that power as Spain and the Indies. I looked at the 
 Indies, and there I have called a new world into existence, 
 and thus redressed the balance of power. I redeemed the 
 movement of France, while I left her own act upon her, un- 
 mitigated and unredressed, so that I believe she would be 
 thankful to have relief from the responsibility of her assumed 
 undertaking, and to get rid of a burden which has become 
 too bitter to be borne without complaint. Thus, sir, I an- 
 swer the question of the occupation of Spain by the army of 
 France. That occupation is an unpaid and unredeemed bur- 
 then to France. I say that France would be glad to get rid 
 of the possession of Spain. I say, sir, that France would be 
 very glad if England were to assist her to get rid of that 
 possession. I say, that the only way to rivet France to the 
 possession of Spain is, to make that possession a point of 
 honour. I believe, sir, there is no other point upon which 
 it is necessary to trouble the house with any explanation. I 
 believe no other point has been adverted to by those honour- 
 able members who have so unequivocally and honourably 
 supported this motion, and I should be ungrateful for their 
 support if I were to detain the house with a single observa- 
 tion more than is absolutely necessary. The object of this 
 measure is not war. I repeat, sir, that the object of this 
 measure is not war. The object of this measure is to take 
 the last chance of peace. If England does not promptly go 
 to the aid of Portugal, Portugal will be trampled down, and 
 England will be disgraced, and then war will come, and 
 come, too, in the train of degradation. If we wait until 
 Spain have courage to ripen her secret machinations into 
 open hostility, we shall have war, we shall have the war of 
 the pacificators, and who can then say when that war will 
 end? 
 
68 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 importance op the union. — Webster, 
 
 I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily 
 in view the prosperity and honour 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 that we are chiefly in- 
 debted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. 
 That Union we reached only by the discipline of our vir- 
 tues 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 immediately awoke, as from the dead, and 
 sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its du- 
 ration 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 farther and far- 
 ther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It 
 has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and 
 personal happiness. I have, not allowed myself, sir, to look 
 beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark 
 recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of 
 preserving liberty, 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 thought should be mainly bent on con- 
 sidering, not how the Union should be best preserved, but 
 how tolerable might be the condition of the People when it 
 shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, 
 we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out be- 
 fore us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not 
 to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day, at least, 
 that curtain may not rise. God grant that on my vision 
 never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall 
 be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in Heaven, 
 may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonoured 
 fragments of a once glorious Union ; on States dissevered, 
 discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or 
 drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble 
 and lingering glance, rather behold the gorgeous Ensign of 
 the Republic, now known and honoured throughout the earth, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 69 
 
 still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in 
 their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a 
 single star obscured — bearing for its motto, no such misera- 
 ble interrogatory as, What is all this worth? Nor those 
 Other wordfl oi delusion and folly, Liberty first, and Union 
 afterward* — but every where, spread all over in characters 
 of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float 
 over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the 
 whole Heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true 
 American heart — Liberty and Union, now and for ever, one 
 and inseparable ! 
 
 LIVING TOETS OF ENGLAND. Moore. 
 
 [This speech was delivered at a dinner given to the poet at Paris. The 
 pong alluded to was one composed for the occasion, and complimented 
 Mr. Moore, by placing him at the head of the living poets of England.] 
 
 Gentlemen, notwithstanding the witty song which you 
 have just heard, and the flattering elevation which the author 
 has assigned me, I cannot allow such a mark of respect to.be 
 paid to the illustrious names that adorn the literature of the 
 present day, without calling your attention awhile to the sin- 
 gular constellation of genius, and asking you to dwell a little 
 on the brightness of each particular star that forms it. Can 
 I name to you a Byron, without recalling to your hearts, re- 
 collections of all that his mighty genius has awakened there; 
 his energy, his burning words, his intense passions, that dis- 
 position of fine fancy to wander only among the ruins of the 
 heart, to dwell in places which the fire of feeling has deso- 
 lated, and, like the chesnut-tree, that grows best in volcanic 
 soil, to luxuriate most where the conflagration of passion has 
 left its mark ? Need I mention to you a Scott, that fertile and 
 fascinating writer, the vegetation of whose mind is as rapid 
 as that of a northern summer, and as rich as the most golden 
 harvest of the south ; whose beautiful creations succeed each 
 other like fruits in Armida's enchanted garden — ' one scarce 
 is gathered ere another grows !' Shall I recall to you a 
 liogers, (to me, endeared by friendship as well as genius,) 
 who has hung up his own name on the shrine of memory, 
 among the most imperishable tablets there? A Southey, not 
 the laureate, but the author of " Don Roderick," one of the 
 noblest and most eloquent poems in any language ? A Camp- 
 
70 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 bell, the polished and spirited Campbell, whose song of " In* 
 nisfal" is the very tears of our own Irish muse, crystallized 
 by the touch of genius, and made eternal? A Wordsworth, 
 a poet, even in his puerilities, whose capacious mind, like 
 the great pool of Norway, draws into its vortex not only the 
 mighty things of the deep, but its minute weeds and refuse ? 
 A Crabbe, who has shown what the more than galvanic power 
 of talent can effect, by giving not only motion, but life and 
 soul to subjects that seemed incapable of it ? I could enu- 
 merate, gentlemen, still more, and from thence would pass 
 with delight to dwell upon the living poets of our own land ; 
 — the dramatic powers of a Maturin and a Sheil, the former 
 consecrated by the applause of a Scott and a Byron, and the 
 latter by the tears of some of the brightest eyes in the em- 
 pire ; the rich imagination of a Phillips, who has courted 
 successfully more than one muse — the versatile genius of a 
 Morgan, who was the first that mated our sweet Irish strains 
 with poetry worthy of their pathos and their force. But I 
 feel I have already trespassed too long upon your patience 
 and your time. I do not regret, however, that you have 
 deigned to listen with patience to this humble tribute to the 
 living masters of the English lyre, which I, * the meanest of 
 the throng,' thus feebly, but heartily, have paid them. 
 
 horrors of war. — Chalmers, 
 
 The first great obstacle, then, to the extinction of war, is 
 the way in which the heart of man is carried off from its 
 barbarities and its horrors, by the splendour of its deceitful 
 accompaniments. There is a feeling of the sublime in con- 
 templating the shock of armies, just as there is in contem- 
 plating the devouring energy of a tempest, and this so elevates 
 and engrosses the whole man, that his eye is blind to the 
 tears of bereaved parents, and his ear is deaf to the piteous 
 moan of the dying, and the shriek of their desolated families. 
 There is a gracefulness in the picture of a youthful warrior 
 burning for distinction on the field, and lured by this gener- 
 ous aspiration to the deepest of the animated throng, where, 
 in the fell work of death, the opposing sons of valour strug- 
 gle for a remembrance and a name; and this side of the 
 picture is so much the exclusive object of our regard, as to 
 disguise from our view the mangled carcases of the fallen, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 71 
 
 and the writhing agonies of the hundreds and the hundreds 
 more who have been laid on the cold ground, where they 
 are left to languish and to die. There no eye pities them. 
 No sister is there to weep over them. There no gentle hand 
 is present to case the dying posture, or bind up the wounds, 
 which, in the maddening fury of the combat, have been 
 given and received by the children of one common father. 
 There death spreads its pale ensigns over every countenance, 
 and when night comes on, and darkness around them, how 
 many a despairing wretch must take up with the bloody field 
 a9 the un tended bed of his last sufferings, without one friend 
 to bear the message of tenderness to his distant home — with- 
 out one companion to close his eyes. 
 
 I avow it. On every side of me I see causes at work 
 which go to spread a most delusive colouring over war, and 
 to remove its shocking barbarities to the back ground of our 
 contemplations altogether. I see it in the history which tells 
 me of the superb appearance of the troops* and the brilliancy 
 of their successive charges. I see it in the poetry which 
 lends the magic of its numbers to the narrative of blood, and 
 transports its many admirers, as by its images, and its figures, 
 and its nodding plumes of chivalry, it throws its treacherous 
 embellishments over a scene of legalized slaughter. I see 
 it in the music which represents the progress of the battle ; 
 and where, after being inspired by the trumpet-notes of pre- 
 paration, 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 we are. Were it not so, war could 
 never have been seen in any other aspect than that of un- 
 minglcd hatefulness ; and I can look to nothing but to the 
 progress of christian sentiment upon earth, to arrest the 
 strong current of its popular and prevailing partiality for war. 
 Then only will an imperious sense of duty lay the check of 
 severe principle, on all the subordinate tastes and faculties of 
 our nature. Then will glory be reduced to its right esti- 
 mate, and the wakeful benevolence of the gospel, chasing 
 away every spell, will be turned by the treachery of no de- 
 lusion whatever, from its simple but sublime enterprises for 
 the good of the species. Then the reign of truth and quiet- 
 
72 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 ness will be ushered into the world, and war, cruel, atrocious, 
 unrelenting war, will be stript of its many and its bewilder- 
 ing fascinations. 
 
 means of abolishing war. — Chalmers, 
 
 Let one take up the question of war in its principle, and 
 make the full weight of his moral severity rest upon it, and 
 upon all its abominations. Let another take up the question 
 of war in its consequences, and bring his every power of 
 graphical description to the task of presenting an awakened 
 public with an impressive detail of its cruelties and its hor- 
 rors. Let another neutralize the poetry of war, and dis- 
 mantle it of all those bewitching splendours, which the hand 
 of misguided genius has thrown over it. Let another teach 
 the world a truer, and more magnanimous path to national 
 glory, than any country of the world has yet walked in. Let 
 another tell, with irresistible argument, how the christian 
 ethics of a nation is at one with the christian ethics of its 
 humblest individual. Let another bring all the resources of 
 his political science to unfold the vast energies of defensive 
 war, and show, that instead of that ceaseless jealousy and 
 disquietude, which are ever keeping alive the flame of hos- 
 tility among the nations, each may wait in prepared security, 
 till the first footstep of an invader shall be the signal for 
 mustering around the standard of its outraged rights, all the 
 steel, and spirit, and patriotism of the country. Let another 
 pour the light of modern speculation into the mysteries of 
 trade, and prove that not a single war has been undertaken 
 for any of its objects, where the millions and the millions 
 more which were lavished on the cause, have not all been 
 cheated away from us by the phantom of an imaginary inter- 
 est. This may look to many like the utopianism of a roman- 
 tic anticipation — but I shall never despair of the cause of 
 truth addressed to a christian public, when the clear light of 
 principle can be brought to every one of its positions, and 
 when its practical and conclusive establishment forms one of 
 the most distinct of Heaven's prophecies — " that men shall 
 beat their swords into plough-shares, and their spears into 
 pruning-hooks, and that nation shall not lift up sword 
 against nation, neither shall they learn the art of war any 
 more." 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 73 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MR. SIIIEL S SPEECH, IN PARLIAMENT, ON 
 PARLIAMENTARY REFORM. 
 
 It has been urged that the close boroughs have supplied 
 the means of admitting men of distinguished abilities, who 
 could not otherwise have obtained an access to this House. 
 They were represented as the postern gates by which talents, 
 which would have been excluded from the legitimate avenues, 
 contrived to get in. Was it not probable that if the doors 
 of this House had been thrown more widely open, genius and 
 knowledge would have found, through the more constitutional 
 entrance, an honourable way? But who were those that 
 pressed round the back doors of Parliament? How were the 
 crowd made up ? How few were the statesmen, the orators, 
 and political economists, compared with those by whom they 
 were surrounded ! He admitted that a splendid catalogue, 
 an emblazoned muster-roll of genius, had been produced by 
 the advocates of the Borough system. Mark, however, over 
 what a vast space they were dispersed ! In how black a fir- 
 mament they sparkled. But was it not very remarkable that 
 so many of these illustrious persons, who were cradled in 
 close boroughs, and who preserved their political soundness, 
 although they were nursed by corruption, were themselves 
 opposed to the very system to which it was alleged that they 
 owed their Parliamentary existence? What would be said of 
 Chatham, Dunning, Pitt, Fox, Sheridan, and so many others? 
 Try this case, not by the vote of the living, but by the votes 
 of the dead ; enter the sacred repository within whose echo 
 the house deliberated — count the graves of the illustrious 
 men who were opposed to Reform, and of those who were its 
 advocates, and on that division it would "be found that the 
 majority of sepulchres were in its favour. But even if he 
 were to admit that they were against it, and that this House 
 would lose the chances (for they are but contingencies) of 
 receiving men like them through the medium which is the 
 theme of so much panegyric; yet what would be the loss 
 compared with the certain deprivation of the public confi- 
 dence ? Place in one scale the antique genius of the elder 
 Pitt — the extraordinary abilities of his illustrious son — the 
 impassioned logic and inspired humanity of Fox — Sheridan's 
 wit — Grattan's integrity — the sagacity of Windham — Tier- 
 ney's eloquent common sense — and the multifarious endow- 
 ments of the accomplished Canning, — and crown the splendid 
 G 
 
74 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 accumulation with the surpassing name of Edmund Burke ; 
 and after you shall have hoarded and heaped up virtue, pa- 
 triotism, wisdom, and eloquence together, throw in the oppo- 
 site side, the confidence, the affection, the devoted allegiance, 
 the enthusiastic sympathy, the entire hearts of millions of 
 the people, and where was the man who would for a moment 
 hesitate in determining the preponderance ? 
 
 same subject. — Continued, 
 
 It was alleged that this measure destroyed the influence 
 of the aristocracy. How? There were fifty-five new county 
 members. From what class were they likely to be selected ? 
 Would they seek to build their fortunes out of the ruins of 
 their country ? Members were to be given to large towns. 
 Would their inhabitants show no regard to opulence, to here- 
 ditary dignity, to ancient neighbourhood; and instead of 
 looking for representatives amidst noble demesnes and ven- 
 erable halls, would they accept every wandering knight-er- 
 rant of sedition, and itinerant visionary in codification? 
 There was a singular variance between the logic of the non- 
 reformers and their sarcasms. They spoke of Tavistock with 
 emphatic signification. They meant that the influence of 
 the house of Bedford would continue. If so, why should not 
 the influence of other great families continue elsewhere? 
 Thus their syllogisms were overthrown by their satire, and 
 their argument evaporates in their vituperation. This bill 
 would not wrench their despotism from the oligarchy — it 
 would not touch the legitimate influence of property, and 
 birth, and station, and all the other circumstances which 
 create a title to respect. It would take power from indivi- 
 duals, and give it to a class. It would cut off the secret and 
 subterraneous conduit pipes, through which aristocratic in- 
 fluence is now conveyed to this House, and would make it 
 flow in a broad, open, constitutional, and national channel. 
 Away with the charge that it would weaken the Monarchy. 
 The throne would be built on the confidence of the people, 
 and find new pillars in the nobility ; and so far from the 
 crown being loosened on the head of the King, the diadem 
 would be fastened by another band on the Royal brow. But 
 ' it was said that this measure was not final ; not final— what 
 was there in Human affairs that was ? It had in it as deep a 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 75 
 
 principle of permanence as can be perhaps desired. The 
 people ought not to be without their proposed remedies. All 
 just grounds of complaint would be taken away ; and it was 
 reasonable to anticipate that the characteristic good feeling 
 and good sense of the British nation would take, upon this* 
 measure, a firm stand. The objection that this measure was 
 not final, embraced all change, and comprehended all reform. 
 1 1 was the favourite ritual of every idolator of every abuse. 
 Beware, they exclaimed, of innovation. "All this," said 
 Lord Bacon, "would be true if time stood still, which, how- 
 ever, moveth so round, that a froward retentation of custom 
 is as turbulent a thing as innovation." Were the dangers 
 all on one side ? He had observed that the opponents of 
 reform looked only at the possible dangers of concession, 
 without any regard to the evils of denying it. 
 
 same subject. — Concluded. 
 
 They should not forget the principles which they them- 
 selves applied to Catholic Emancipation. It was with a very 
 timid and cautious step that he ventured to approach that 
 great transaction, which appeared to him to furnish the prin- 
 ciples on which this House ought to decide on this equally 
 momentous question. He begged to deprecate the most 
 remote intention of availing himself of it (he was not so un- 
 grateful) in order to turn it against a man whom he consider- 
 ed as a benefactor of his country, and who, in his judgment, 
 had earned for himself a lasting renown. At that instant he 
 felt with a peculiar force the value of his services. He 
 trusted that he should not be considered to make undue or 
 thankless use of the event to which he had referred, when he 
 said that every argument which applied to the exigency of 
 Emancipation applied with still greater force to Parliament- 
 ary Reform. He was convinced that when it was conceded, 
 it was a lofty mitigation of any pain which might have ac- 
 companied its concession, that what was necessary was also 
 just; but that it was granted from a well-founded apprehen- 
 sion of the consequences which might have followed from the 
 adoption of an opposite course, was beyond all doubt. What 
 single circumstance that rendered it unavoidable, did not 
 meet the present case ? The Irish Roman Catholics were 
 strongly confederated ; millions were in league ; the popular 
 
76 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 passions were arrayed and marshalled. He passed over many 
 incidents, to which it might be painful to revert. This 
 dreadful agitation could not longer continue; at last the 
 Minister came down and said, " Much as it costs me, I sacri- 
 fice my feelings to my country ; and to the salvation of the 
 empire I make an immolation of myself." God forbid that 
 I should refer to this acknowledgment, for the purpose of 
 making any idle and thankless vaunt ! He sought for liberty 
 with a strenuousness proportioned to the nobleness of the 
 acquisition : and having won it, he flung every factious recol- 
 lection, as he would a viper, from his heart. It was, then, 
 in a fair and candid spirit that he ventured to ask whether, 
 if the pressure of the Catholic question was such as to bear 
 down all impediments before it, there be not as much accu- 
 mulation of political necessities — as deep a mass of impera- 
 tive urgency — in Parliamentary Reform? There were many 
 obstacles in the way of emancipation ; a large proportion of 
 the Irish Protestants, much of the property and intelligence 
 of that country, and the deep but honest and conscientious,, 
 and therefore the more formidable, prejudices of the Eng- 
 lish people. Compare these obstructions with those that 
 stand against reform. What were they ? Where were the 
 petitions against it? Who were its opponents? They 
 might be counted. Who are its advocates? Millions of 
 Britons, with their Sovereign at their head ! If they had 
 listened to the voice of Ireland, would they be deaf to the 
 English invocation ? If Ireland had force enough in her arm 
 when she struck at the door of the Cabinet to make the 
 mighty captain start, was the land of England so feeble and 
 so powerless that Ahey would not awaken at the thunder of 
 her knocking. If Ireland was now in a state of evil suscepti- 
 bility, the House should recollect that it was their own doing. 
 These were the results of years of agitation, produced by 
 the madness of delay. Let them beware how they put Eng- 
 land through a similar process of excitement. What ! would 
 they wait till all England should have been organized? 
 Would they tarry until a great confederacy should have 
 sprung up ? Would they abide until the rostra of agitation 
 should have been raised in every district? Would they pro- 
 crastinate until the popular passions should have been mad 
 dened by ferocious eloquence, and infuriated by revolution- 
 ary harangue? Then, indeed, they would have cause to 
 speak of the influence of the democracy ; — then they would 
 rind the demands of the nation swollen into perilous enormia 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 77 
 
 ty ; — then they would behold the power of the people dilated 
 beyond its just, and natural, and constitutional proportions, 
 and ascending into a gigantic magnitude. Concede ; and 
 that tliev might concede in safety, concede in time. 
 
 extract. — Moore. 
 
 [Reflections on reading De Cerceau's account of the conspiracy of Rienzi, 
 in 1347.— The meeting of the Conspirators on the night of the 19th of 
 May.— Their Procession in the morning to the Capitol. — Rienzi's speech] 
 
 'Twas a proud moment even to hear the words 
 
 Of Truth and Freedom 'mid these temples breathed, 
 And see, once more, the Forum shine with swords, 
 
 In the Republic's sacred name unsheathed — 
 That glimpse, that vision of a brighter day 
 
 For his dear Rome, must to a Roman be — 
 Short as it was — worth ages passed away 
 
 In the dull lapse of hopeless slavery. 
 
 'Twas on a night of May — beneath that moon 
 Which had, through many an age, seen time untune 
 The strings of this great empire, till it fell 
 From his rude hands, a broken, silent shell — 
 The sound of the church clock, near Adrian's Tomb, 
 Summoned the warriors, who had risen for Rome, 
 To meet unarmed, with nought to watch them there 
 But God's own eye, and pass the night in prayer. 
 Holy beginning of a holy cause, 
 When heroes, girt for freedom's combat, pause 
 Before high Heaven, and, humble in their might, 
 Call down its blessing on that awful fight. 
 
 At dawn, in arms, went forth the patriot band, 
 And, as the breeze, fresh from the Tiber, fanned 
 Their gilded gonfalons, all eyes could see 
 The palm-tree there, the sword, the keys of Heaven- 
 Types of the justice, peace, and liberty, 
 That were to bless them when their chains were river - 
 On to the Capitol the pageant moved, 
 
 While many a shade of other times, that still 
 Around that grave of grandeur sighing roved, 
 
 Hung o'er their footsteps up the sacred hilL 
 
 62, 
 
78 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER 
 
 And heard its mournful echoes, as the last 
 
 High-minded heirs of the republic passed. 
 
 Twas then that thou, their tribune (name which brought 
 
 Dreams of lost glory to each patriot's thought,} 
 
 Didst, from a spirit Rome in vain shall seek 
 
 To call up in her sons again, thus speak : — 
 
 u Romans ! look round you — on this sacred place 
 
 There once stood shrines, and gods, and godlike men—' 
 What see you now 1 what solitary trace 
 
 Is left of all that made Rome's glory then ? 
 The shrines are sunk, the sacred mount bereft 
 
 Even of its name — and nothing now remains 
 But the deep memory of that glory, left 
 
 To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains ! 
 But shall this be 1 our sun and sky the same, 
 
 Treading the very soil our fathers trod, 
 What withering curse hath fallen on soul and frame*, 
 
 What visitation hath there come from God, 
 To blast our strength and rot us into slaves, 
 Here, on our great forefathers' glorious graves 1 
 It cannot be — rise up, ye mighty dead, 
 
 If we, the living, are too weak to crush 
 These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire tread, 
 
 Till all but Romans at Rome's tameness blush f 
 
 Happy Palmyra ! in thy desert domes, 
 
 Where only date-trees sigh, and serpents hiss ; 
 And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes 
 
 For the stork's brood, superb Persepolis ! 
 Thrice happy both, that your extinguished race 
 Have left no embers — no half-living trace — 
 No slaves, to crawl around the once proud spot, 
 Till past renown in present shame's forgot ; 
 While Rome, the queen of all, whose very wrecks,. 
 
 If lone and lifeless through a desert hurled, 
 Would wear more true magnificence than decks 
 
 The assembled thrones of all the existing world- 
 Rome, Rome alone, is haunted, stained, and cursed, 
 
 Through every spot her princely Tiber laves, 
 By living human things — the deadliest, worst, 
 
 That earth engenders — tyrants and their slaves \ 
 And we — oh shame ! — we, who have pondered o'er 
 
 The patriot's lesson, and the poet's lay ; 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 79 
 
 Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore, 
 
 Tracking our country's glories all the way — 
 Even we bare t.umlv, basely kissed the ground, 
 
 Before that Papal' Power, that Ghost of Her, 
 The World's Imperial Mistress — sitting, crowned 
 
 And ghastly, on her mouldering sepulchre ! 
 But this is past — too long have lordly priests 
 
 And priestly lords led us, with all our pride 
 Withering about us — like devoted beasts, 
 
 Dragged to the shrine, with faded garlands tied. 
 'Tis o'er — the dawn of our deliverance breaks ! 
 Up from his sleep of centuries awakes ; 
 The Genius of the Old Republic, free 
 As first he stood, in chainless majesty, 
 And sends his voice through ages yet to come, 
 Pro^'aiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal Rome !" 
 
 THE SULTAN AND MR. HASWELL.* Inchbdld. 
 
 Suit. Englishman, you were invited hither to receive 
 public thanks for our troops restored to health by your pre- 
 scriptions. Ask a reward adequate to your services. 
 
 Hasw. Sultan, the reward I ask, is, leave to preserve more 
 of your people still. 
 
 Suit. How more? my subjects are in health; no conta- 
 gion visits them. 
 
 Hasw. The prisoner is your subject. There, misery, 
 more contagious than disease, preys on the lives of hundreds : 
 sentenced but to confinement, their doom is death. Immure<& 
 in damp and dreary vaults, they daily perish ; and who can 
 tell but that, among the many hapless sufferers, there may 
 be hearts bent down with penitence, to heaven and you, for 
 every slight offence — there may be some, among the wretched 
 multitude, even innocent victims. Let me seek them out— • 
 let me save them and you. 
 
 Suit. Amazement! retract your application: curb this 
 weak pity ; and accept our thanks. 
 
 * The character of Haswell in this beautified extract was intended 
 for Howard, the celebrated philanthropist, who died atCherson in Crim 
 Tartary, in 1790, of a malignant fever, caught by attending on a sick 
 person at that place. He travelled over a great part of Europe and Asia 
 in order to ascertain and mitigate the sufferings of prisoners. 
 
80 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 
 
 Haste. Restrain my pity! — and what can I receive 
 recompense for that soft bond which links me to the wretch- 
 ed ? and, while it soothes their sorrow, repays me more than 
 all the gifts an empire can bestow ! — But, if it be a virtue — 
 repugnant to your plan of government, I apply not in the 
 name of Pity, but of Justice. 
 
 Suit. Justice ! 
 
 Hasw. The justice that forbids all, but the worst of crimi- 
 nals, to be denied that wholesome air the very brute crea- 
 tion freely takes. 
 
 Suit. Consider for whom you plead — for men (if not 
 base culprits) so misled, so depraved, they are dangerous to 
 our state, and deserve none of its blessings. 
 
 Hasw. If not upon the undeserving — if not upon the 
 wretched wanderer from the paths of rectitude — where shall 
 the sun diffuse his light, or the clouds distil their dew? 
 Where shall spring breathe fragrance, or autumn pour its 
 plenty ? 
 
 Suit. Sir, your sentiments, still more your character, ex- 
 cite my curiosity. They tell me, that in our camps you 
 visited each sick man's bed ; administered yourself the healing 
 draught ; encouraged our savages with the hope of life, or 
 pointed out their better hope in death. — The widow speaks 
 your charities, the orphan lisps your bounties and the rough 
 Indian melts in tears to bless you. — I wish to ask why you 
 have done all this? — what is it that prompts you thus to be- 
 friend the miserable and forlorn? 
 
 Hasw. It is in vain to explain: — the time it would take 
 to reveal to you 
 
 Suit. Satisfy my curiosity in writing then. 
 
 Hasw. Nay, if you will read, I'll send a book in which 
 is already written why I act thus. 
 
 Suit. What book? what is it called? 
 
 Hasw. " The Christian Doctrine." There you will find 
 all I have done was but my duty. 
 
 Suit. Your words recal reflections that distract me ; nor 
 can I bear the pressure on my mind, without confessing — / 
 am a Christian ! 
 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 81 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MR. DEXMAN's SPEECH HI DEFENCE OP 
 THE QUEEN. 
 
 !The individual alluded to in this extract, is the Duke of Clarence, now 
 King of England.] 
 
 My Lords, we have heard — we daily hear — with alarm, 
 that there are persons, and those not of the lowest condition, 
 not confined to individuals connected with the public press, 
 not even excluded from your august assembly, who are in- 
 dustriously circulating atrocious calumnies against her Ma- 
 jesty. Can this be? Is it credible — is it possible? If a 
 juryman be found to possess any knowledge of the subject 
 under trial, the law tells us that we may call him as a witness 
 to the bar. This is our law in England, and our shield. 
 Come forward, we may say, and let us confirm you — let us 
 see if no explanation can be given of what you allege ; no 
 refutation effectually applied. But to any man, who could 
 even be suspected of so base a practice as imparting calum- 
 nies to judges, distilling leprous venom into their ears, the 
 Queen might well exclaim, " Stand forth, thou slanderer — 
 let me see thy face ; if thou wouldst equal the respectability 
 even of an Italian witness, stand forth before these noble 
 judges, and speak out what you know. As thou art, thou art 
 worse than an assassin ; for whilst I am meeting my accusers, 
 face to face, thou art stabbing me unseen, and converting 
 thy poisoned stiletto into the semblance of the sword of jus- 
 tice." I would fain say, my Lords, that it is utterly impos- 
 sible that this can be true ; but I cannot say it, because the 
 fact meets me every where. I read it even in the public 
 papers, and had I not known of its existence, for the dignity 
 of human nature, I would have held it to be impossible that 
 any one with the heart of a man, or with the honour of a peer, 
 should so debase his heart and degrade his honour. I would 
 impeach him as a judge ; and if it were possible for the blood 
 royal of England to stoop to such a course, I would fearlessly 
 assert, that it is far more just that it should deprive him of 
 his right of succession to the throne, than that all the allega- 
 tions against the Queen, taking them to be true to the last 
 letter, should warrant your Lordships in passing this bill of 
 degradation and divorce against her. 
 
82 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MR. SHERIDAN'S SPEECH AGAINST WARREN 
 HASTINGS. 
 
 I am perfectly convinced that there is one idea, which 
 must arise in your Lordships' minds as a subject of wonder, 
 — how a person of Mr. Hastings' reputed abilities can fur- 
 nish such matter of accusation against himself. For, it must 
 be admitted that never was there a person who seemed to go 
 so rashly to work, with such an arrogant appearance of con- 
 tempt for all conclusions that may be deduced from what 
 he advances upon the subject. When he seemed most earnest 
 and laborious to defend himself, it appears as if he had but 
 one idea uppermost in his mind — a determination not to care 
 what he says, provided he keeps clear of fact. He knows 
 that truth must convict him, and concludes, d converso, that 
 falsehood will acquit him; forgetting that there must be 
 some connection, some system, some co-operation, or other- 
 wise, his host of falsities fall without an enemy, self-discom- 
 iited and destroyed. But of this he never seems to have had 
 the slightest apprehension. He falls to work, an artificer of 
 fraud, against all the rules of architecture ; — he lays his or- 
 namental work first, and his massy foundation at the top of 
 it; and thus his whole building tumbles upon his head. 
 Other people look well to their ground, choose their position, 
 and watch whether they are likely to be surprised there ; 
 but he, as if in the ostentation of his heart, builds upon a 
 precipice, and encamps upon a mine, from choice. He seems 
 to have no one actuating principle, but a steady, persevering 
 resolution not to speak the truth or to tell the fact. 
 
 It is impossible almost to treat conduct of this kind with 
 perfect seriousness ; yet I am aware that it ought to be more 
 seriously accounted for — because I am sure it has been a 
 sort of paradox, which must have struck your Lordships, 
 how any person having so many motives to conceal — having 
 so many reasons to dread detection — should yet go to work 
 so clumsily upon the subject. It is possible, indeed, that it 
 may raise this doubt — whether such a person is of sound mind 
 enough to be a proper object of punishment ; or at least it 
 may give a kind of confused notion, that the guilt cannot be 
 of so deep and black a grain, over which such a thin veil 
 was thrown, and so little trouble taken to avoid detection. 
 I am aware that, to account for this seeming paradox, his- 
 torians, poets, and even philosophers— at least of ancient 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 83 
 
 times — have adopted the superstitious solution of the vulgar, 
 and said, that the gods deprive men of reason whom they de- 
 vote to destruction or to punishment. But to unassuming 
 or unprejudiced reason, there is no need to resort to any 
 ■opppflod supernatural interference; for the solution will be 
 found in the eternal rules that formed the mind of man, and 
 gave a quality and nature to every passion that inhabits in it. 
 An honourable friend* of mine, who is now, I believe, near 
 me, — a gentleman, to whom I never can on any occasion re- 
 fer without feelings of respect, and, on this subject, without 
 feelings of the most grateful homage; — a gentleman, whose 
 abilities upon this occasion, as upon some former ones, hap- 
 pily for the glory of the age in which we live, are not en- 
 trusted merely to the perishable eloquence of the day, but 
 will live to be the admiration of that hour when all of us are 
 mute, and most of us forgotten ; — that honourable gentleman 
 has told you that prudence, the first of virtues, never can be 
 used in the cause of vice. If, reluctant and diffident, I might 
 take such a liberty, I should express a doubt, whether expe- 
 rience, observation, or history, will warrant us in fully as- 
 senting to this observation. It is a noble and a lovely sen- 
 timent, my Lords, worthy the mind of him who uttered it, 
 worthy that proud disdain, that generous scorn of the means 
 and instruments of vice, which virtue and genius must ever 
 feel. But I should doubt whether we can read the history of 
 a Philip of Macedon, a Caesar, or a Cromwell, without con- 
 fessing, that there have been evil purposes, baneful to the 
 peace and to the rights of men, conducted — if I may not say, 
 with prudence or with wisdom — yet with awful craft and 
 most successful and commanding subtlety. If, however, I 
 might make a distinction, I should say that it is the proud 
 attempt to mix a variety of lordly crimes, that unsettles the 
 prudence of the mind, and breeds this distraction of the 
 brain. One master-passion, domineering in the breast, may 
 win the faculties of the understanding to advance its pur- 
 pose, and to direct to that object every thing that thought or 
 human knowledge can effect; but, to succeed, it must main- 
 tain a solitary despotism in the mind; — each rival profligacy 
 must stand aloof, or wait in abject vassalage upon its throne. 
 For, the power, that has not forbad the entrance of evil pas- 
 sions into men's minds, has, at least, forbad their union ; — 
 if they meet they defeat their object, and their conquest, or 
 
 *Mr. Burk. 
 
84 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 their attempt at it, is tumult. Turn to the Virtues — how 
 different the decree ! Formed to connect, to blend, to asso- 
 ciate, and to co-operate; bearing the same course, with kin- 
 dred energies and harmonious sympathy, each perfect in its 
 own lovely sphere, each moving in its wider or more con- 
 tracted orbit, with different, but concentering powers, guid- 
 ed by the same influence of reason, and endeavouring at the 
 same blessed end — the happiness of the individual, the har- 
 mony of the species, and the glory of the Creator. In the 
 Vices, on the other hand, it is the discord that insures the 
 defeat — each clamours to be heard in its own barbarous lan- 
 guage ; each claims the exclusive cunning of the brain ; 
 each thwarts and reproaches the other ; and even while their 
 fell rage assails with common hate the peace and virtue of 
 the world, the civil war among their own tumultuous legions 
 defeats the purpose of the foul conspiracy. These are the 
 Furies of the mind, my Lords, that unsettles the understand- 
 ing; these are the Furies, that destroy the virtue, Prudence, — 
 while the distracted brain and shivered intellect proclaim 
 the tumult that is within, and bear their testimonies, from 
 the mouth of God himself, to the foul condition of the heart." 
 
 ATTACK ON LORD ELD ON. Brougham. 
 
 British Parliament, February 3, 1825. 
 
 The Catholics first came to Parliament with a respectful 
 request, and were met by refusal, and contumely : the natural 
 result was, an insolent and unreasonable demand. Why 
 not then revoke this policy ? Why not redress grievances in 
 Ireland, and apply conciliation instead of coercion? They 
 could not answer for the result until they had made the trial. 
 But what was the ground of alarm when the experiment was 
 suggested? He knew that high, very high, in that cabinet 
 was to be found the greatest learning, with the most experi- 
 enced talents combined-^-were they afraid of losing the bene- 
 fit of these great acquirements by pressing an obnoxious 
 measure upon a particular individual ? What, did they think 
 the great seal would be in danger if they pressed this ques- 
 tion ? Did they think the venerable and learned person who 
 held it would quit his possession on that account ? Hea- 
 vens ! the very notion of such abandonment of office, was 
 the most chimerical of all the chimeras that ever distempered 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 85 
 
 the brain of a poet. Surprised indeed should he be, to find 
 any quittance of office in that quarter, before all sublunary 
 things were at an end. That fear of public loss never cross- 
 ed his apprehensive mind even in a dream. They greatly 
 undervalued the steadiness of mind and purpose of their 
 venerable colleague; there was nothing to equal the patient 
 assiduity with which he bore the toils of his high station, the 
 fortitude with which he endured to be thwarted: upon all 
 questions of foreign and domestic trade he had at length 
 consented to yield — ay, and so would he upon this Catholic 
 question if it were equally pressed upon his reluctant atten- 
 tion. His composure under such circumstances, was only 
 equalled by the fortitude with which he bore the prolonged 
 solicitations of the suitors in his own court. To suppose that 
 he would quit office on this account, was really to harbour 
 the vainest fear that ever crossed the most fantastical imagi- 
 nation ; his colleagues would see this, were they only to make 
 the attempt upon the prepossessions of his great mind ; they 
 would soon find the predominating prevalence of that patri- 
 otic feeling, that there was no principle so strong as the love 
 of saving one's country ; and that in no offices was it so forci- 
 bly felt as in those of the highest rank, in those possessing 
 the most extensive patronage and connexions ; and that so 
 much the more powerful and profitable were the office, so 
 much higher would be the ardour, and zeal, and self-devotion 
 which would not allow the venerable, the wise and good man, 
 at all hazard of personal opinions, to tear himself from the 
 service of his country. To damp such zeal for the public 
 service would be, he repeated, to possess a power superior to 
 that of Prince Hohenlohe. To remove this great personage 
 would be a real miracle ; the seals were his estate — his free- 
 hold ; he has secured the term, and his last breath would be 
 poured forth in the public service. The only question in 
 law upon the matter was — who was to appoint his successor? 
 He was not, for his unabated desire to do good to mankind, 
 to be restricted to a mere life interest ; the office must in 
 him be devisable, and for the uses of his will. Indeed, there 
 were indications which in a measure pointed to the successor, 
 although that successor would find himself disappointed, if 
 he hoped to get office during the natural life of the present 
 holder. 
 
 H 
 
86 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 THE STATE TO WHICH SWITZERLAND WAS REDUCED BY THE 
 
 invasion of the French — Sydney Smith. 
 
 The vengeance which the French took of the Swiss, for 
 their determined opposition to the invasion of their country, 
 was decisive, and terrible. The history of Europe can afford 
 no parallel of such cruelty. To dark ages, and the most bar- 
 barous nations of the east, we must turn for similar scenes of 
 horror, and perhaps must turn in vain. The soldiers, dispersed 
 over the country, carried fire, and sword, and robbery, into 
 the most tranquil, and hidden valleys of Switzerland : From 
 the depth of sweet retreats echoed the shrieks of murdered 
 men, stabbed in their humble dwellings, under the shadow 
 of the high mountains, in the midst of those scenes of nature, 
 which make solemn, and pure, the secret thoughts of man, 
 and appal him with the majesty of God. The flying peasants 
 saw, in the midst of the night, their cottages, their imple- 
 ments of husbandry, and the hopes of the future year, ex- 
 piring in one cruel conflagration. The men were shot upon 
 the slightest provocation: innumerable women, after being 
 exposed to the most atrocious indignities, were murdered, 
 and their bodies thrown into the woods. In some instances 
 this conduct was resented ; and for symptoms of such an 
 honourable spirit, the beautiful town of Altsdorf was burnt 
 to the ground, and a single house left to show where it had 
 stood. The town of Stantz, a town peculiarly dear to the 
 Swiss, as it gave birth to one of the founders of their liberty, 
 was reduced to a heap of cinders. In this town, in the four- 
 teenth century, a Swiss general surprised, and took prisoner, 
 the Austrian commander who had murdered his father ; he 
 forgave him, upon the simple condition of his not serving 
 any more against the Swiss Cantons. When the French got 
 possession of this place, they burnt it to ashes ; not in a bar- 
 barous age, but now, yesterday, in an age we call philosophi- 
 cal ; they burnt it because the inhabitants endeavoured to 
 preserve their liberty. The Swiss was a simple peasant ; 
 French are a mighty people, combined for the regeneration 
 of Europe. Oh, Europe, what dost thou owe to this mighty 
 people ? Dead bodies, ruinous heaps, broken hearts, waste 
 places, childless mothers, widows, orphans, tears, endless con- 
 fusion, and unutterable woe. For this mighty nation we have 
 suffered seven years of unexampled wretchedness, a long 
 period of discord, jealousy, privation, and horror, which every 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 87 
 
 reflecting man would almost wish blotted out from his exist- 
 ence. Jiy this mighty people the Swiss have lost their 
 country ; that country which they loved so well, that if they 
 heard but the simple song of their childhood, tears fell down 
 « m tv m ifilj face, and the hearts of intrepid soldiers sobbed 
 with grief* What, then, is all this done with impunity ? Are 
 the thunders of God dumb? Are there no lightnings in his 
 right hand ? Pause a little, before you decide on the ways 
 of Providence ; tarry, and see what will come to pass. There 
 is a solemn, and awful courage in the human heart, placed 
 there by God himself, to guard man against the tyranny of 
 his fellows, and while this lives, the world is safe. There 
 slumbers even now, perhaps, upon the mountains of Switzer- 
 land, some youthful peasant, unconscious of the soul he 
 bears, that shall lead down these bold people from their rocks, 
 to such deeds of courage as they have heard with their ears, 
 and their fathers have declared unto them ; to such as were 
 done in their days, and in the old time before them, by those 
 magnanimous rustics, who first taught foolish ambition to re- 
 spect the wisdom, and the spirit of simple men, righteously 
 and honestly striving for every human blessing. Let me go 
 on a little further in this dreadful enumeration. More than 
 thirty villages were sacked in the canton of Berne alone ; not 
 only was all the produce of the present year destroyed, but 
 all the cattle unfit for human food were slaughtered, and the 
 agricultural implements burnt ; the certainty of famine was 
 entailed upon them for the ensuing year ; at the end of all 
 this military execution, civil exactions, still more cruel, and 
 oppressive were begun ; and under the forms of government, 
 and law, the most unprincipled men gave loose to their ava- 
 rice, and rapacity, till Switzerland has sunk at last under the 
 complication of her misfortunes, reduced to the lowest ebb 
 of misery, and despair. 
 
 IMPORTANCE OF VIRTUOUS PRINCIPLE. Charming, 
 
 I feel, as I doubt not many feel, that the great distinction 
 of a nation, the only one worth possessing, and which brings 
 after it all other blessings, is the prevalence of pure princi- 
 ple among the citizens. I wish to belong to a state, in the 
 character and institutions of which I may find a spring of 
 improvement, which I can speak of with an honest pride, in 
 
88 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 whose records I may meet great and honoured names, and 
 which is making the world its debtor by its discoveries of 
 truth, and by an example of virtuous freedom. O save me 
 from a country which worships wealth, and cares not for true 
 glory; in which intrigue bears rule; in which patriotism 
 borrows its zeal from the prospect of office ; in which hungry 
 sycophants throng with supplication all the departments of 
 state ; in which public men bear the brand of private vice, 
 and the seat of government is a noisome sink of private 
 licentiousness and public corruption. Tell me not of the 
 honour of belonging to a free country. I ask, does our liberty 
 bear generous fruits ? Does it exalt us in manly spirit, in 
 public virtue, above countries trodden under foot by despot- 
 ism? Tell me not of the extent of our territory. I care 
 not how large it is, if it multiply degenerate men. Speak 
 not of our prosperity. Better be one of a poor people, plain 
 in manners, revering God and respecting themselves, than 
 belong to a rich country which knows no higher good than 
 riches. — Earnestly do I desire for this country, that, instead 
 of copying Europe with an undiscerning servility, it may 
 have a character of its own, corresponding to the 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 purity, by inward piety, by reverence 
 for human nature, by moral independence, by withstanding 
 that subjection to fashion and that debilitating sensuality, 
 which characterize the most civilized portions of the old 
 world. 
 
 MANNERS OF STUDENTS. MaSOU. 
 
 I hardly know how it has happened, that a " scholar," is 
 become a common term for every thing unpolished and un- 
 couth. Some men, indeed, by the greatness of their genius, 
 and the immensity of their erudition, have attained a sort of 
 privileged exemption from the common courtesies of society. 
 But the misery is that the same exemption is claimed by 
 those who have only rudeness, which they mistake for genius ; 
 and disregard of civility, which passes with them for erudi- 
 tion. Thus, if scholars are sometimes awkard and absent, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 89 
 
 every awkard, inattentive creature calls himself a scholar. 
 Just as, to use a comparison of the late Mr. Gouverneur 
 Morris, "because statesmen have been called knaves, every 
 knave should, of course, suppose himself a statesman." 
 Certain, however, it is, that no young men have enjoyed the 
 reputation of being ill-bred, unmannerly, and vulgar, more 
 than Students of Colleges. Howisthis? Is there any thing 
 in th»> retreats of the muses to cherish ferocity? Do men 
 necessarily become brutes, when the world gives them credit 
 for becoming philosophers ? Does the acquisition of science, 
 especially moral science, involve the destruction of decency? 
 So that after a young man has left College laden with all its 
 honours, he has again to be put to school, in practical life, 
 before he ran be fit for the company of gentlemen and ladies ? 
 I blush to think that the place, which of all others, is sup- 
 poeed to teach a young man manners, is the army ! That the 
 kindness, the courtesy, the chivalry of life, should be asso- 
 ciated with the trade of blood ! That the pistol and the 
 dagger, should be the measure of morals and of politeness, with 
 gentlemen: and that when they have trampled under their 
 feet every law of God and man — and all that is dear to human 
 happiness, and ought to be of high account in human society, 
 is made the sport of momentary passion — they should still be 
 allowed to pass for men of breeding and honour! — "There 
 is something rotten in the state of Denmark !" 
 
 POWER OF GOVERNMENT. Everett. 
 
 The greatest engine of moral power which human nature 
 knows, is an organized, prosperous state. All that man, in 
 his individual capacity, can do — all that he can effect by his 
 fraternities — by his ingenious discoveries and wonders of 
 art — or by his influence over others — is as nothing, com- 
 pared with the collective, perpetuated influence on hu- 
 man affairs and human happiness of a well constituted, 
 powerful commonwealth. It blesses generations with its 
 sweet influence ; — even the barren earth seems to pour out 
 its fruits under a system where property is secure, while her 
 fairest gardens are blighted by despotism ; — men, thinking, 
 reasoning men, abound beneath its benignant sway ; — nature 
 enters into a beautiful accord, a better, purer asiento with 
 man, and guides an industrious citizen to every rood of her 
 n2 
 
90 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 smiling wastes ; — and we see, at length, thai what has been 
 called a state of nature, has been most falsely, calumniously 
 so denominated ; that the nature of man is neither that of a 
 savage, a hermit, nor a slave ; but that of a member of a well 
 ordered family, that of a good neighbour, a free citizen, a 
 well informed, good man, acting with others like him. This 
 is the lesson which is taught in the charter of our inde- 
 pendence ; this is the lesson which our example is to teach 
 the world. 
 
 The epic poet of Rome — the faithful subject of an abso- 
 lute prince — in unfolding the duties and destines of his 
 countrymen, bids them look down with disdain on the polished 
 and intellectual arts of Greece, and deem their arts to be — 
 
 To rule the nations with imperial sway ; 
 
 To spare the tribes that yield ; fight down the proud; 
 
 And force the mood of peace upon the world. 
 
 A nobler counsel breathes from the charter of our inde- 
 pendence ; a happier province belongs to our free republic. 
 Peace we would extend, but by persuasion and example, — 
 the moral force, by which alone it can prevail among the 
 nations. Wars we may encounter, but it is in the sacred 
 character of the injured and the wronged ; to raise the tram- 
 pled rights of humanity from the dust; to rescue the mild 
 form of Liberty from her abode among the prisons and the 
 scaffolds of the elder world, and to seat her in the chair of 
 state among her adoring children ; — to give her beauty for 
 ashes ; a healthful action for her cruel agony ; to put at last 
 a period to her warfare on earth ; to tear her star-spangled 
 banner from the perilous ridges of battle, and plant it on the 
 rock of ages. There be it fixed for ever, — the power of a 
 free people slumbering in its folds, their peace reposing in 
 its shade ! 
 
 public faith. — Fisher Ames. 
 
 [Extract from a speech, delivered in the House of Representatives of 
 the United States, on the British Treaty, April 28, 1796.] 
 
 To expatiate on the value of public faith may pass with 
 some men for declamation — 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 any 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 91 
 
 thing tend more to make men think themselves mean, or 
 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 mysterious charm 
 which attracts individuals to the nation, and to inspire in its 
 Btead ■ repulsive sense of shame and disgust. 
 
 What is patriotism ? Is it a narrow affection for the spot 
 where a man was born? Are the very clods where we tread 
 entitled to this ardent preference because they are greener? 
 No, sir, this is not the character of the virtue, and it soars 
 higher for its object. It is an extended self-love, mingling 
 with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself with the 
 mrnutesl filaments of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws 
 of society, because they are the laws of virtue. In their 
 authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the 
 venerable image of our country's honour. Every good citi- 
 zen makes that honour his own, and cherishes it not only as 
 precious, but as sacred. Be 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 consti- 
 tute their security ? Or, if his life should not be invaded, 
 what would its enjoyments be in a country odious in the eyes 
 of strangers, and dishonoured in his own ? Could he look 
 with affection and veneration to such a country as his parent? 
 The sense of having one would die within him ; he would 
 blush for his patriotism, if he retained any, and justly, for it 
 would be a vice. He would be a banished man in his native 
 land. 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 I see no exception to the respect, that is paid among na- 
 tions to the law of good faith. If there are cases in this 
 enlightened period, when it is violated, there are none when 
 it is decried. It is the philosophy of politics, the religion 
 of government. It is observed by barbarians — a whiff of 
 tobacco smoke, or a string of beads, gives not merely binding 
 force, but sanctity to treaties. Even in Algiers, a truce may 
 be bought for money ; but when ratified, even Algiers is too 
 wise, or too just, to disown and annul its obligation. Thus 
 we see, neither the ignorance of savages, nor the principles 
 
92 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 
 
 of an association for piracy and rapine, permit a nation to 
 despise its engagements. If, sir, there could be a resurrec- 
 tion from the foot of the gallows, if the victims of justice 
 could live again, collect together and form a society, they 
 would, however loath, soon find themselves obliged to make 
 justice, that justice under which they fell, the fundamental 
 law of their state. They would perceive, it was their interest 
 to make others respect, and they would therefore soon pay 
 some respect themselves to the obligations of good faith. 
 
 It is painful, I hope it is superfluous, to make even the sup- 
 position, that America should furnish the occasion of this 
 opprobrium. No, let me not even imagine, that a republican 
 government, sprung, as our own is, from a people enlightened 
 and uncorrupted, a government whose origin is right, and 
 whose daily discipline is duty, can, upon solemn debate, 
 make its option to be faithless — can dare to act what despots 
 dare not avow, what our own example evinces, the states of 
 Barbary are unsuspected of. No, let me rather make the 
 supposition, that Great Britain refuses to execute the treaty, 
 after we have done every thing to carry it into effect. Is 
 there any language of reproach, pungent enough to express 
 your commentary on the fact? What would you say, or 
 rather what would you not say? Would you not tell them, 
 wherever an Englishman might travel, shame would stick 
 to him — he would disown his country? You would ex- 
 claim, England, proud of your wealth, and arrogant in the 
 possession of power — blush for these distinctions, which 
 become the vehicles of your dishonour. Such a nation might 
 truly say to corruption, thou art my father, and to the worm, 
 thou art my mother and my sister. We should say of such a 
 race of men, their name is a heavier burden than their debt. 
 
 PROGRESS OF POESY ,* A PINDARIC ODE. Gray. 
 
 1. 1. 
 
 Awake, iEolian lyre, awake, 
 And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. 
 From Helicon's harmonious springs 
 
 A thousand rills their mazy progress take : 
 The laughing flowers, that round them blow, 
 Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 
 Now the rich stream of music winds along, 
 Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign : 
 
 Now rolling down the steep amain, 
 
 Headlong, impetuous, see it pour ; 
 
 The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. 
 
 I. 2. 
 
 O ! sovereign of the willing soul, 
 Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 
 Enchanting shell ! the sullen cares, 
 
 And frantic passions, hear thy soft control. 
 On Thracia's hills the lord of war 
 Has curbed the fury of his car, 
 And drooped his thirsty lance at thy command,' 
 Perching on the sccptered hand 
 Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king, 
 With ruffled plume, and falling wing: 
 Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie 
 The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye. 
 
 I. 3. 
 
 Thee the voice, the dance, obey, 
 
 Tempered to thy warbled lay : 
 O'er Idalia's velvet green 
 The rosy-crowned loves are seen 
 
 On Cytherea's day ; 
 With antic sports, and blue-eyed pleasures, 
 Frisking light in frolic measures ; 
 Now pursuing, now retreating, 
 
 Now in circling troops they meet : 
 To brisk notes in cadence beating, 
 Glance their many twinkling feet. 
 
 Slow-melting strains their Queen's approach declare : 
 Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay. 
 
 With arts sublime, that float upon the air, 
 In gliding state she wins her easy way : 
 O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move 
 The bloom of young desire, and the purple light of love. 
 
 II. 1. 
 
 Man's feeble race, what ills await, 
 Labour, and penury, the racks of pain, 
 Disease, and sorrow's weeping train, 
 
 And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate ! 
 The fond complaint, my song, disprove, 
 And justify the laws of Jove. 
 
94 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Say, has he given in vain the heavenly muse? 
 Night, and all her sickly dews, 
 Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, 
 He gives to range the dreary sky ; 
 Till down the eastern cliffs afar, 
 
 Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. 
 II. 2. 
 
 In climes beyond the solar road, 
 Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 
 The muse has broke the twilight gloom, 
 
 To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. 
 And oft, beneath the odorous shade 
 Of Chili's boundless forests laid, 
 She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, 
 In loose numbers wildly sweet, 
 Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves, 
 Her track, where'er the goddess roves, 
 Glory pursues, and generous shame, 
 Th' unconquerable mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 
 
 II. 3. 
 Woods, that wave o'er Delphi steep, 
 Isles, that crown th' iEgean deep, 
 
 Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, 
 Or where Maeander's amber waves 
 
 In lingering labyrinths creep, 
 How do your tuneful echoes languish, 
 Mute, but to the voice of anguish ? 
 Where each old poetic mountain 
 
 Inspiration breathed around, 
 Every shade and hallowed fountain 
 
 Murmured deep a solemn sound : 
 Till the sad nine, irt Greece's evil hour, 
 
 Left their Parnassus, for the Latian plains. 
 Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant power, 
 
 And coward vice, that revels in their chains. 
 When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, 
 They sought, oh Albion ! next thy sea-encircled coast. 
 
 III. 1. 
 Far from the sun and summer gale, 
 
 In thy green lap was nature's* darling laid, 
 What time, where lucid Avon strayed : 
 To him the mighty mother did unveil 
 
 * Shakspeare. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 96 
 
 Her awful face; the dauntless child 
 Stretched forth his little arms and smiled. 
 This pencil take, she said, whose colours clear, 
 Richly paint the vernal year: 
 Thine too th< se golden keys, immortal boy! 
 This can unlock the gates of joy ; 
 Of horror that, and thrilling fears, 
 Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears. 
 III. 2. 
 
 Nor second he,* that rode sublime 
 Upon the seraph wings of ecstacy : 
 The secrets of the abyss to spy, 
 
 He passed the flaming bounds of place and time. 
 The 1 i v i r i u throne, the sapphire blaze, 
 Where ;h!L'< Is tremble while they gaze, 
 II« -aw ; but, blasted with excess of light 
 
 9 in endless night. 
 Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car, 
 Wide o'er the fields of glory bear, 
 Two coursers of ethereal race, 
 
 With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. 
 III. 3. 
 
 Hark ! his hands the Lyre explore ! 
 
 Bright-eyed fancy hovering o'er, 
 Scatters from her pictured urn 
 Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. 
 
 But ah ! 'tis heard no more. — 
 Oh ! lyre divine, what daring spirit 
 Wakes thee now ? though he inherit 
 Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, 
 
 That the Theban eagle bore, 
 Sailing with supreme dominion 
 
 Through the azure deep of air: 
 Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 
 
 Such forms, as glitters in the muse's ray 
 With orient hues, unborrowed of the sun: 
 
 Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
 Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, 
 Beneath the good how far ! but far above the great. 
 
 * Milton. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 hamlet's soliloquy imitated. — Jago. 
 
 To print, or not to print — that is the question. 
 
 Whether 'tis better in a trunk to bury 
 
 The quirks and crotchets of outrageous fancy, 
 
 Or send a well-wrote copy to the press, 
 
 And by disclosing, end them ? To print, to doubt 
 
 No more ; and by one act to say we end 
 
 The head-ache, and a thousand natural shocks 
 
 Of scribbling frenzy — 'tis a consummation 
 
 Devoutly to be wished. To print — to beam 
 
 From the same shelf with Pope, in calf well bound* 
 
 To sleep, perchance, with Quarles — Ay, there's the rub 
 
 For to what class a writer may be doomed, 
 
 When he hath shuffled off some paltry stuff 
 
 Must give us pause. — There's the respect that makes 
 
 The unwilling poet keep his piece nine years. 
 
 For who would bear the impatient thirst of fame, 
 
 The pride of conscious merit, and 'bove all 
 
 The tedious importunity of friends, 
 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 
 With a bare ink-horn ? Who would fardles bear ? 
 
 To groan and sweat under a load of wit? 
 
 But that the tread of steep Parnassus' hill, 
 
 That undiscovered country, with whose lays 
 
 Few travellers return, puzzles the will, 
 
 And makes us rather bear to live unknown 
 
 Than run the hazard to be known, and damned. 
 
 Thus critics do make cowards of us all ; 
 
 And thus the healthful face of many a poem 
 
 Is sicklied o'er with a pale manuscript ; 
 
 And enterprisers of great fire and spirit, 
 
 With this regard from Dodsley turn away, 
 
 And lose the name of authors. 
 
 SCENE FROM THE ENGLISH MERCHANT. 
 
 Sir William Douglas and Spatter. 
 
 Spatter, This must be a man of quality, by his ill man- 
 ners. I'll speak to him. — Will your Lordship give me 
 leave? 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 97 
 
 Sir William. Lordship ! I am no lord, sir, and must beg 
 not to be honoured with the name. 
 
 Spat. It is a kind of mistake, that cannot displease at 
 least. 
 
 Sir Will, i don't know that. None but a fool would be 
 vain of a title, if he had one ; and none but an impostor 
 would assume a title, to which he has no right. 
 
 Spat. Oh, you're of the house of commons, then; a mem- 
 ber of parliament, and are come up to town to attend the 
 sessions, I suppose, sir? 
 
 Sir Will. No matter what I am, sir. 
 
 Spat. Nay, no offence, I hope, sir. All I meant was to do 
 you honour. Being concerned in two evening posts, and one 
 morning paper, I was willing to know the proper manner of 
 announcing your arrival. 
 
 Sir Will. You have connexions with the press, then, it 
 
 seems, sir 
 
 Spat. Yes, sir ; I am an humble retainer to the Muses, 
 an author. I compose pamphlets on all subjects, compile 
 magazines, and do newspapers. 
 
 Sir Will. Do newspapers! What do you mean by that, 
 sir? 
 
 Spat. That is, sir, 1 collect the articles of news from the 
 other papers, and make new ones for the postscript ; translate 
 the mails, write occasional letters from Cato and Theatricus, 
 and give fictitious answers to supposed correspondents. 
 
 Sir Will. A very ingenious, as well as honourable em- 
 ployment, I must confess, sir. 
 
 Spat. Some little genius is requisite, to be sure. Now, 
 sir, if I can be of any use to you — if you have any friend to 
 be praised, or any enemy to be abused ; any author to cry up, 
 or minister to run down ; my pen and talents are entirely at 
 your service. 
 
 Sir Will. I am much obliged to you, sir ; but, at present, 
 I have not the least occasion for either. In return for your 
 genteel offers, give me leave to trouble you with one piece 
 of advice. When you deal in private scandal, have a care 
 of the cudgel; and when you meddle with public matters, 
 beware of the pillory. 
 
 Spat. How, sir? are you no friend to literature? Are 
 you an enemy to the liberty of the press? 
 
 Sir Will. I have the greatest respect for both ; but railing 
 is the disgrace of letters, and personal abuse the scandal of 
 freedom ; foul-mouthed critics are, in general, disappointed 
 
98 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 authors ; and they, who are the loudest against ministers, only 
 mean to be paid for their silence. 
 
 Spat. That may be, sometimes, sir ; but give me leave to 
 ask you 
 
 Sir Will. Do not ask me at present, sir ! I see a par- 
 ticular friend of mine coming this way, and I must beg you 
 to withdraw ! 
 
 Spat. Withdraw, sir ! first of all, allow me to 
 
 Sir. Will. Nay, no reply ! we must be in private. [Thrust- 
 ing out Spatter.] What a wretch! as contemptible as 
 mischievous. Our generous mastiffs fly at men from an in- 
 stinct of courage ; but this fellow's attacks proceed from an 
 instinct of baseness. 
 
 rolla's address to the Peruvians. — Sheridan. 
 
 My brave associates — partners of my toil, my feelings, and 
 my fame! — can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous 
 energies which inspire your hearts. No ! — you have judged 
 as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold 
 invaders would delude you. — Your generous spirit has com- 
 pared as mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can 
 animate their minds, and ours. They, by a strange frenzy 
 driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended rule : — 
 we for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow 
 an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they 
 hate : — we serve a monarch whom we love, a God whom we 
 adore. — Whene'er they move in anger, desolation tracks 
 their progress ! Where'er they pause in amity, affliction 
 mourns their friendship. They boast they come but to im- 
 prove our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the 
 yoke of error ! — Yes : — they will give enlightened freedom 
 to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, ava- 
 rice, and pride. They offer us their protection — yes, such 
 protection as vultures give to lambs — covering and devour- 
 ing 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 honour 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 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. «9 
 
 this, and tell them too, we seek no change ; and least of all, 
 such change as they would bring us. 
 
 HI PERORATION OF MR. GOVERNEUR MORRIS'S SPEECH 
 ON THE JUDICIARY ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 Some, indeed, natter themselves, that our destiny will be 
 like that of Rome. Such, indeed, it might be, if we had the 
 same wise, but vile aristocracy, under whose guidance they 
 became the masters of the world. But we have not that 
 strong aristocratic arm, which can seize a wretched citizen, 
 scourged almost to death by a remorseless creditor, turn him 
 into the ranks, and bid him, as a soldier, bear our eagle in 
 triumph round the globe ! I hope to God we shall never 
 have such an abominable institution. But what, I ask, will 
 be the situation of these states, (organized as they now are,) 
 if, by the dissolution of our national compact, they be left to 
 themselves? What is the probable result? We shall either 
 be the victims of foreign intrigue, and split into factions, fall 
 under the domination of a foreign power ; or else, after the 
 misery and torment of a civil war, become the subjects of an 
 usurping military despot. What but this compact, what but 
 this specific part of it, can save us from ruin? The judicial 
 power, that fortress of the constitution, is now to be over- 
 turned. Yes, with honest Ajax, I would not only throw a 
 shield before it, I would build around it a wall of brass. But 
 I am too weak to defend the rampart against the host of as- 
 sailants. I must call to my assistance their good sense, their 
 patriotism, and their virtue. Do not, gentlemen, suffer the 
 rage of passion to drive reason from her seat. If this law be 
 indeed bad, let us join to remedy the defects. Has it been 
 passed in a manner which wounded your pride, or roused 
 your resentment/ Have, I conjure you, the magnanimity 
 to pardon that offence. I intreat, I implore you, to sacrifice 
 those angry passions to the interests of our country. Pour 
 out this pride of opinion on the altar of patriotism. Let it 
 be an expiating libation for the weal of America. Do not, 
 for God's sake, do not suffer that pride to plunge us all into 
 the abyss of ruin. Indeed, indeed, it will be but of little, 
 very little avail, whether one opinion or the other be right 
 or wrong ; it will heal no wounds, it will pay no debts, it 
 will rebuild no ravaged towns. Do not rely on that popular 
 
100 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 will, which has brought us frail beings into political existence. 
 That opinion is but a changeable thing. It will soon change. 
 This very measure will change it. You will be deceived. 
 Do not, I beseech you, in a reliance on a foundation so frail, 
 commit the dignity, the harmony, the existence of our nation 
 to the wild wind. Trust not your treasure to the waves. 
 Throw not your compass and your charts into the ocean. Do 
 not believe that its billows will waft you into port. Indeed, 
 indeed, you will be deceived. Cast not away this only an- 
 chor of our safety. I have seen its progress. I know the 
 difficulties through which it was obtained : I stand in the 
 presence of Almighty God, and of the world ; and I declare 
 to you, that if you lose this charter, never ! no, never will you 
 get another ! We are now, perhaps, arrived at the parting 
 point. Here, even here, we stand on the brink of fate. 
 Pause — pause — for Heaven's sake, pause ! 
 
 CONDUCT OF THE OPPOSITION. 
 
 [Mr. Henry Clay's Speech on the new Army Bill.] 
 
 If gentlemen would only reserve for their own government 
 half the sensibility which is indulged for that of Great Bri- 
 tain, they would find much less to condemn. Restriction 
 after. restriction has been tried ; negotiation has been resorted 
 to, until further negotiation would have been disgraceful. 
 Whilst these peaceful experiments are undergoing a trial, 
 what is the conduct of the opposition ? They are the cham- 
 pions of war; the proud, the spirited, the sole repository of 
 the nation's honour, the men of exclusive vigour and energy. 
 The administration on the contrary is weak, feeble, and pu- 
 sillanimous, — " incapable of being kicked into a war." The 
 maxim, " not a cent for tribute, millions for defence," is 
 loudly proclaimed. Is the administration for negotiation? 
 The opposition is tired, sick, disgusted with negotiation. 
 They want to draw the sword and avenge the nation's wrongs. 
 When, however, foreign nations, perhaps emboldened by the 
 very opposition here made, refuse to listen to the amiable ap- 
 peals, which have been repeated and reiterated by the adminis- 
 tration to their justice and to their interests ; when, in fact, war 
 with one of them has become identified with our indepen- 
 dence and our sovereignty, and to abstain from it was no 
 longer possible; behold the opposition veering round and be. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 101 
 
 coming the friends of peace and commerce. They tell you 
 of the calamities of war, its tragical events, the squandering 
 away of your resources, the waste of the public treasure, and 
 the spilling of innocent blood. " Gorgons, hydras, and chim- 
 eras dire." They tell you that honour is an illusion ! Now 
 we sec them exhibiting the terrific forms of the roaring king 
 of the forest : now the meekness and humility of the lamb ! 
 They are for war and no restrictions, when the administra- 
 tion is for peace. They are for peace and restrictions, when 
 the administration is for war. You find them, sir, tacking 
 with every gale, displaying the colours of every party and of 
 all nations, steady only in one unalterable purpose — to steer, 
 if possible, into the haven of power. 
 
 ODE TO MEMORY. MaSOU, 
 
 Mother of wisdom ! thou, whose sway 
 The thronged ideal host obey ; 
 Who bid'st their ranks, now vanish, now appear, 
 Flame in the van, or darken in the rear ; 
 Accept this votive verse. Thy reign 
 Nor place can fix, nor power restrain. 
 All, all is thine. For thee the ear, and eye 
 Rove through the realms of grace, and harmony : 
 The senses thee spontaneous serve, 
 That wake, and thrill through every nerve. 
 Else vainly soft, loved Philomel ! would flow 
 The soothing sadness of thy warbled woe : 
 Else vainly sweet yon woodbine shade 
 With clouds of fragrance fill the glade : 
 Vainly, the cygnet spread her downy plume, 
 The vine gush nectar, and the virgin bloom. 
 But swift to thee, alive, and warm, 
 Devolves each tributary charm : 
 See modest Nature bring her simple stores, 
 Luxuriant Art exhaust her plastic powers; 
 While every flower in Fancy's clime, 
 Each gem of old heroic Time, 
 Culled by the hand of the industrious muse, 
 Around thy shrine their blended beams diffuse. 
 i2 
 

 102 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 II. 
 
 Hail, Memory ! hail. Behold, I lead 
 
 To that high shrine the sacred maid : 
 
 Thy daughter she, the empress of the lyre, 
 
 The first, the fairest, of Aonias quire. 
 
 She comes, and lo, thy realms expand ! 
 
 She takes her delegated stand 
 
 Full in the midst, and o'er thy numerous train* 
 
 Displays the awful wonders of her reign. 
 
 There throned supreme in native state, 
 
 If Sirius flame with fainting heat, 
 
 She calls; ideal groves their shade extend, 
 
 The cool gale breathes, the silent showers descend. 
 
 Or, if bleak winter, frowning round, 
 
 Disrobe the trees, and chill the ground, 
 
 She, mild magician, waves her potent wand, 
 
 And ready summers wake at her command. 
 
 See, visionary suns arise, 
 
 Through silver clouds, and azure skies ; 
 
 See, sportive zephyrs fan the crisped streams ; 
 
 Thro' shadowy brakes light glance the sparkling beams 
 
 While, near the secret moss-grown cave, 
 
 That stands beside the crystal wave, 
 
 Sweet echo, rising from her rocky bed, 
 
 Mimics the feathered chorus o'er her head. 
 
 III. 
 Rise, hallowed Milton ! rise, and say, 
 How, at thy gloomy close of day ; 
 How, "when deprest by age, beset with wrongs ;" 
 When " fallen on evil days and evil tongues ;" 
 When darkness, brooding on thy sight, 
 Exiled the sovereign lamp of light; 
 Say, what could then one cheering hope diffuse ? 
 What friends were thine, save memory and the muse? 
 Hence the rich spoils, thy studious youth 
 Caught from the stores of ancient truth ; 
 Hence, all thy classic wanderings could explore, 
 When rapture led thee to the Latian shore ; 
 
 Each scene that Tyber's bank supplied ; 
 
 Each grace, that played on Arno's side ; 
 The tepid gales, through Tuscan glades that fly ; 
 The blue serene, that spreads Hesperia's sky ; 
 Were still thine own : thy ample mind 
 Each charm received? retained, combined : 
 
 I 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 103 
 
 And thence " the nightly visitant," that came 
 
 To touch thy bosom with her sacred flame, 
 
 Recalled the long-lost beams of grace, 
 
 Tin; whilom shot from nature's face, 
 
 VV ben God, in Eden, o'er her youthful breast 
 
 Spread with his own right hand perfection's gorgeous vest. 
 
 GOOSEBERRY-PIE. A PINDARIC ODE. Southey. 
 
 Gooseberry-pie is best. 
 Full of the theme, O Muse, begin the song ! 
 
 What though the sunbeams of the west 
 
 Mature within the Turtle's breast, 
 Blood, glutinous and fat, of verdant hue? 
 What though the Deer bound sportively along 
 
 O'er springy turf, the park's elastic vest ? 
 Give them their honours due, — 
 
 But gooseberry-pie is best. 
 
 Behind his oxen slow 
 The patient Ploughman plods, 
 And as the Sower followed by the clods, 
 Earth's genial womb received the living seed. 
 
 The rains descend, the grains they grow; 
 
 Saw ye the vegetable ocean 
 Roll its green ripple to the April gale 1 
 
 The golden waves with multitudinous motion 
 Swell o'er the summer vale ? 
 
 It flows through alder banks along 
 Beneath the copse that hides the hill ; 
 
 The gentle stream you cannot see, 
 
 You only hear its melody, 
 The stream that turns the Mill. 
 Pass on a little way, pass on, 
 And you shall catch its gleam anon ; 
 And hark ! the loud and agonizing groan 
 That makes its anguish known, 
 Where tortured by the tyrant lord of meal 
 The brook is broken on the wheel ! 
 
 Blow fair, blow fair thou orient gale ! 
 On the white bosom of the sail 
 
104 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Ye winds, enamour'd, lingering lie ! 
 Ye waves of ocean spare the, bark, 
 
 Ye tempests of the sky ! 
 From distant realms she comes to bring 
 
 The sugar for my pie. 
 For this on Gambia's arid side 
 
 The vulture's feet are scaled with blood, 
 And Beelzebub beholds with pride, 
 
 His darling planter brood. 
 
 First in the spring thy leaves were seen, 
 Thou beauteous bush, so early green ! 
 Soon ceased thy blossom's little life of love. 
 
 O safer than Alcides-conquered tree 
 That grew the pride of that Hesperian grove,- 
 
 No Dragon does there need for thee 
 With quintessential sting to work alarms, 
 
 And guard thy fruit so fine, 
 
 Thou vegetable Porcupine ! 
 And didst thou scratch thy tender arms, 
 
 O Jane ! that I should dine ! 
 
 The flour, the sugar, and the fruit, 
 Commingled well, how well they suit ! 
 
 And they were well bestowed. 
 O Jane, with truth I praise your Pie, 
 And will not you in just reply * 
 
 Praise my Pindaric Ode 1 
 
 SCENE FROM THE CHOLERIC MAN. 
 
 Nightshade and Manlove. 
 
 Night, — Cumberload, I tell you, fellow, there's your fare. 
 I'll not give you a farthing over. A hard shilling, indeed ! — 
 a hard coach, if you please ! — Brother Manlove, your ser- 
 vant ! This town grows worse and worse ; no conscience, 
 no police — if I was not the most patient man alive, such 
 things would turn my brain. Brother Manlove, I say, your 
 servant ! 
 
 Man. — Brother Andrew, you are welcome. You seemed 
 a little ruffled, so that I waited for its subsiding, and now, 
 give me your hand : I am glad to see you in town, provided 
 the occasion be agreeable. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 105 
 
 Night. — I think the law has a proviso for every thing": 
 your compliment Bets off, like the preamble of a statute, and 
 your conclusion limps after, like the clause at the tail of it. 
 So you keep vonr old apartments, and as slovenly as ever — 
 Lincoln's-Inn and the law — so runs your life. A turn upon 
 the Terrier alter breakfast, a mutton chop for dinner at the 
 Rolls, and the evening paper at the Mount, wind up your 
 day. 
 
 Man* — A narrow scale, I own; but whether it be, that I 
 was made too small for happiness, I never could entertain 
 both guests together; so I took the humblest of the two, 
 and left the other for my betters. 
 
 Night, — Ay 'tis too late to alter; 'twould be a vain en- 
 iui to correct your temper at these years. — By the 
 way, brother, your stair-case is the dirtiest I ever set my foot 
 upon. 
 
 Man. — So long as we have clean dealings within, our cli- 
 ents will make no complaint. Yours, I warrant, was neater 
 at Rotterdam ? 
 
 Night. — Neater ! 'tis a matter of astonishment to me, 
 how you that have a plentiful estate, can make yourself a 
 slave to business, and drudge away your life in such a hole 
 as this ! 
 
 Man. — True, Andrew, 'twas unreasonable ; but, as I have 
 now made over the best part of my estate to your son, so I 
 think I have answered the best part of your objections. 
 
 Night.-. — You shall excuse me — all the world cries out 
 upon your folly ; you are apt to be a little hasty, else I should 
 be free to tell you, you have made yourself ridiculous; and 
 what is worse, brother Charles, I speak to you as a father, you 
 have undone my son. 
 
 Man. — How so ? have I confined him in his education ? 
 
 Night. — No, faith ; the scale on which you have finish- 
 ed him is wide enough to take in vice and folly at full 
 size ; his principles wont cramp their growth. At school he 
 was grounded in impudence, the university confirmed him in 
 ignorance, and the grand tour stocked him with infidelity 
 and bad pictures — such has been his education. 
 
 Man. — But you, in your wisdom, pursued a different course 
 with your younger son. 
 
 Night. — I bred him as a rational creature should be 
 bred, under the rod of discipline, under the lash of my own 
 arm; I gave him a sober, frugal, godly training; and mark 
 the difference between them. — Your fellow lives here in this 
 
106 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 great city, in a round of pleasures, in the front of the fashion 
 squandering and revelling: — Mine abides patiently in the 
 country, toiling and travailing, early at his duty, sparing 
 at his meals, patient of fatigue ; he hears no music as Charles 
 does, purchases no fine pictures, lolls in no fine chariot, be- 
 fools himself with no fine women : no, thank my stars, I've 
 rescued one of my boys; Jack, at least, walks in the steps of 
 his father. 
 
 Man. — I hope he will ; better principles I cannot wish 
 him : but, methinks, Andrew, a little more knowledge of the 
 world — 
 
 Night. — Knowledge of the world, brother Charles ! who 
 knows so much? Belike you never heard, then, I had 
 made three trips to Shetland in a herring-buss, before you 
 was born ! have been three times chartered to Statia for Mus- 
 covadoes ; twice to Zante for currants ; and made one voyage 
 to Bencoolen for pepper ? 
 
 Man. — Yes ; and that pepper- voyage runs in your blood 
 still. 
 
 Night. — So much the better ; it will preserve my wits ; 
 it will season my understanding from such fly-blown folly as 
 yours. Zooks ! you to talk of knowledge of the world ! 
 where should you come by it? upon Clapham- Common ? upon 
 Banstead -Downs ? Did you ever see the peak of TennerifFe, the 
 rock of Gibraltar, or even the bishop and his clerks ? I know 
 them all, your charts, and your coasting-pilots; I have been 
 two nights and a day upon a sand-bank in the Grecian 
 Islands ; and do you talk to me of knowledge of the world? 
 
 Man. — Let us change the subject then — you have not told 
 me what brings you out of the country ? 
 
 Night. — Because there's no abiding in it; what with 
 refractory tenants, poaching parsons, enclosing squires, navi- 
 gation schemes, and turnpike meetings, there's no keeping 
 peace about me ; no, though I've commenced fourteen suits 
 at law, besides by-battles at quarter-sessions, courts leet, 
 and courts baron, innumerable. 
 
 Man, — Indeed ! 
 
 Night. — No sooner do I put my head out of doors, but 
 instantly some fellow meets me with a fowling-piece on his 
 shoulder, or a fishing-rod in his hand, or a grey-hound at his 
 horses's heels, and all to disturb and destroy my property. 
 
 Man. — I say property ! let your game look after them- 
 selves. Do you call a creature property, that lights upon my 
 lands to-day, upon yours to-morrow, and the next perhaps 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 107 
 
 in Norway ? I reprobate all quarrels about guns and dogs, 
 and game ; for my part, I am pleased to see an Englishman 
 with arms, whether lie bears them for his own amusement, 
 or for my defence* 
 
 Night* — Tifl mighty well ! I am a fool to waste my 
 time with von ; I shall look after my own game, in my own 
 way ; you may watch yours, the sparrows here, in the garden, 
 or the old duck in the fountain in the square ; your conscience 
 goes no farther; so your servant. 
 
 insecurity of the world. — Chalmers. 
 
 The universe at large would suffer as little, in its splendour 
 and varietv, bv the destruction of our planet, as the verdure and 
 sublime magnitude of a forest would suffer by the fall of a sin- 
 gle leaf. The leaf qu i vers on the branch which supports it. Tt 
 lies at the mercy of the slightest accident. A breath of wind 
 tears it from its stem, and it lights on the stream of water 
 which passes underneath. In a moment of time, the life 
 which we know, by the microscope, it teems with, is extin- 
 guished ; and, an occurrence so insignificant in the eye of 
 man, and on the scale of his observation, carries in it, to the 
 myriads which people this little leaf, an event as terrible and 
 as decisive as the destruction of a world. Now, on the grand 
 scale of the universe, we, the occupiers of this ball, which 
 performs its little round among the suns and the systems 
 that astronomy has unfolded — we may feel the same littleness 
 and the same insecurity. We differ from the leaf only in 
 this circumstance, that it would require the operation of 
 greater elements to destroy us. But these elements exist. 
 The fire which rages within, may lift its devouring energy to 
 the surface of our planet, and transform it into one wide and 
 wasting volcano. The sudden formation of elastic matter in 
 the bowels of the earth — and it lies within the agency of 
 known substances to accomplish this — may explode it into 
 fragments. The exhalation of noxious air from below, may 
 impart a virulence to the air that is around us; it may affect 
 the delicate proportion of its ingredients ; and the whole of 
 animated nature may wither and die under the malignity of 
 a tainted atmosphere. A blazing comet may cross this fated 
 planet in its orbit, and realize all the terrors which supersti- 
 tion has conceived of it. We can not anticipate with pre- 
 
106 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 cision the consequences of an event which every astronomer 
 must know to lie within the limits of chance and probability. 
 It may hurry our globe towards the sun — or drag it to the 
 outer regions of the planetary system : or give it a new axis 
 of revolution — and the effect which I shall simply announce, 
 without explaining it, would be to change the place of the 
 ocean, and bring another mighty flood upon our islands and 
 continents. These are changes which may happen in a sin- 
 gle instant of time, and against which nothing known in 
 the present system of things provides us with any security. 
 They might not annihilate the earth, but they would unpeople 
 it; and we who tread its surface with such firm and assured 
 footsteps, are at the mercy of devouring elements, which, if 
 let loose upon us by the hand of the Almighty, would spread 
 solitude, and silence, and death, over the dominions of the 
 world. 
 
 the court of proserpine. — Lucy Aiken. 
 
 Proserpine. — Mercury. — Momus. 
 
 Proserpine. — Be silent, Momus ; I am, and shall be to all 
 eternity, in the spleen. Your jokes and stones have lost all 
 their zest with me, and I can laugh at them no longer ; I a 
 queen, a goddess — what a doom — what society ! The most 
 gloomy of all the deities for king and spouse. The fates for 
 ladies of the bed-chamber, the furies for maids of honour, half 
 a dozen grim old heroes for lords in waiting, and Cerbera 
 for a lap-dog. And this I am to call a court! Ah, vale of 
 Enna ! Ah Olympus ! 
 
 Momus. — Add, however, the all-accomplished Mercury for 
 lord Chamberlain, and Momus, the witty Momus, for court 
 fool. 
 
 Proserpine. — True, the only cheerers of my joyless immor- 
 tality. But O ! think of the delightful converse of my sis- 
 ter Goddesses ; think of the smiling graces, the sprightly 
 nymphs, and the muses above all — the heavenly muses — to 
 whose strains I was wont to listen with never tired attention ; 
 then say if I have not cause to mourn without ceasing, thus 
 banished from my whole beloved sex. 
 
 Momus. — Your beloved sex indeed ! How marvellously does 
 absence endear ! We hear nothing now of the poutings and 
 snubbings of stepdame Juno; the prosings of that spiteful prude 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 109 
 
 Minerva ; the conceited airs of the pretty mistress venus, and 
 her three mincing handmaids ; the scandalous flirtations of 
 hoyden nymphs, and the endless recitation of the nine petti- 
 coated pedants: these things are all forgotten. But come, if you 
 have such longing after female society, bid Mercury pick out 
 a dozen or two of lady ghosts, those mortal goddesses, muses, 
 nymphs, and graces, as they were called by their mortal flat- 
 terers, who did not know who they were talking about. But 
 indeed some of them are pretty company enough ; at least 
 Mercury and I may contrive to make some sport out of them 
 and their adventures. 
 
 Mercury. — Yes, I certainly know a few whose company is 
 better than none ; there is 
 
 Proserpine. — Ah I know the heroines : I used to see them 
 now and then, but I grew tired of that many ages ago. There 
 was Medea, and Hecuba, and Andromache, and Dido, all so 
 tragical, and stalking ; and then the partan dames, and Ro- 
 man matrons with their gravity and rusticity. 
 
 Mercury. — Those were the females of the old world, when 
 it was held as a maxim, that she was the best woman who 
 had been the least talked of; but as the mortals say, "nous 
 avons change tout cela." Since what is called the revival of 
 letters in Europe, a new career has been opened to the ladies ; 
 they read, they write, they are poets, critics, novelists, histo- 
 rians, politicians ; some of them even mathematicians, and 
 philosophers, like the other sex ; above all, they are capital 
 letter writers ; they seek the society of all celebrated men, 
 and mightily affect the patronage of the learned ; and some 
 of them are really very pleasant talkers. 
 
 Proserpine. — You raise my curiosity ; look back among the 
 ghosts of the last century or two, and bring me not a mob, 
 but a few for a sample. You will give me some hints of their 
 characters, and I will observe their looks in silence. 
 
 Momus. — Yes, yes ; Mercury will introduce each of them 
 with a rhetorical flourish in his manner, and I will add a 
 few strokes in mine. 
 
 Mercury. — I fly, my goddess, to fulfil your wishes. — [Exit, 
 and returns at the head of a troop of ladies, whom he conducts 
 in succession to the foot of Proserpine's throne.] 
 
 Mercury. — Great Queen of the shades, I here present to 
 you Madame de Maintenon, wife, though not queen, of Louis 
 XIV. of France, who ruled without seeming to rule ; for in 
 her apartment he transacted all his state affairs ; and she, 
 seated at her work-table, quietly swayed, by a hint, or a nod, 
 
 K 
 
110 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 the destinies of Europe. She was the friend of letters, the 
 patroness of Racine, and 
 
 Mo?nus. — The adviser of the devout follies and cruelties 
 which signalized the last years of that glorious reign : confess 
 it. Widow Scarron, to amuse a man no longer amuseable, 
 proved a heavy task. You paid for the ambition of marrying 
 a king ; and after so many years of prudery and successful 
 artifice, found cause enough to regret the days of that merry 
 old husband of yours, who collected around him the choice 
 spirits of Paris, and laughed out his time in spite of pain and 
 poverty. 
 
 Madame de Maintenon. — History will speak of me, and 
 the holy church will bless my memory. 
 
 Mercury. — Here is another royal lady. 
 
 Momus. — Gentleman, gentleman, good Hermes! you mis- 
 take, look, at the boots and the 
 
 Mercury. — The costume, I grant, is somewhat equivocal; 
 but Christina, queen in her own right of the brave Swedes, 
 and daughter of their hero Gustavus Adolphus, may perhaps 
 be allowed somewhat more than the usual portion of man in 
 her composition. This is the lady who deemed it more hon- 
 our to lay down her sceptre, and pass her life as a private 
 person, devoted to letters and philosophy, than to rule on the 
 throne of her ancestors. 
 
 Momus. — And who afterwards repented of that freak of 
 resignation. 
 
 Mercury. — This is the lady who, while yet a queen, and 
 in the bloom of youth, summoned around her the literati of 
 foreign nations 
 
 Momus. — And made them play with her at battledore and 
 shuttlecock. 
 
 Mercury. — Who afterwards travelled to Rome 
 
 Momus. — Where she turned Papist, and quarrelled with 
 the Pope. 
 
 Mercury. — Visited Paris 
 
 Momus. — Where she found no female worthy of her no- 
 tice, but the notorious Ninon, and committed a murder upon 
 her master of horse. 
 
 Christina. — He was a traitor, on whom I executed justice. 
 
 Momus. — Having created yourself judge in your cause. 
 But Radamanthus has talked with you on this head ; so I say 
 no more ; yet one should like to know what were the secrets 
 he betrayed : tender ones perhaps ? 
 
 Mercury. — Momus, you grow abusive. See ! the royal 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. Ill 
 
 Swede retires indignant — This fuir stranger is named Lucretia 
 Gonzaga, known throughout Italy, and even in foreign lands, 
 by her talents and accomplishments, and especially famed 
 for the indefatigable zeal with which she laboured for the 
 liberation of her husband, long detained in unjust captivity, 
 and for the pathetic and eloquent epistles, in his behalf, to 
 many princes and great personages. 
 
 Momus. — Which epistles we now know to have been com- 
 posed for her by a man of letters. 
 
 Lucretia. — Indeed some of the letters, printed as mine, 
 were genuine. 
 
 Momus. — Perhaps so ; one indeed I have no doubt of, the 
 most energetic of the whole. It is that, where, writing to 
 your house-keeper, respecting a certain little waiting-maid, 
 " if she again offends, say you, whip her till she is black and 
 blue, and the blood runs down to her heels :" but in lingua 
 Tuscana all sounds soft and musical. 
 
 Mercury. — Here is at least a lady, the undoubted author of 
 the works on which her fame is built. Mademoiselle Dacier, 
 the first of female scholars, the diligent and learned editor 
 of many Greek and Latin classics ; the stanch defender of 
 all belonging to antiquity, not even excepting the reputation 
 of my old acquaintance, Sappho of Lesbos, the despiser and 
 depredator of all modern learning and genius. 
 
 Momus. — Ah, Madame, I kiss your ghostly hands : you were 
 worthy to have lived among our Greek and Roman worship- 
 pers ; but in these evil days of general apostacy, an advocate 
 is doubly welcome. I wish indeed that you had deigned to 
 sacrifice a few grains of incense to the graces; but I give 
 you infinite credit for that celebrated experiment, in the 
 preparation of the genuine Spartan black broth, by which 
 you made yourself, and all your guests, so heartily and clas- 
 sically sick. 
 
 Mercury. — This is the charming Madame de Sevigne, once 
 the life and soul of the French court, whose delightful let- 
 ters will be read as long as the French tongue is spoken, 
 and serve as a perpetual monument of her graceful wit, her 
 happy talent of narration, and the exquisite tenderness of her 
 maternal feelings. 
 
 Momus. — I detect not a little fiction in some of those amus- 
 ing stories, and no small spice of affectation in those inces- 
 sant solicitudes for your daughter, and her precious beauty, 
 twisted into such a variety of prettily turned sentences. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne. — Ah, and for what was the gift of 
 
112 
 
 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 imagination bestowed upon us, but to embellish the dull in- 
 cidents of every day, and to mingle with our genuine senti- 
 ments the charm of fiction ? 
 
 Mercury. — I hope, Momus, you are answered. — Behold 
 a lady not more distinguished by her rank than her misfor- 
 tunes ; and memorable above all for the light and buoyant 
 spirit with which she sustained them ? Elizabeth, Queen of 
 Bohemia, and daughter of King James of England. She 
 enjoyed at once the homage of wits, the correspondence of 
 statesmen, and the prayers and benedictions of grave divines. 
 Even in poverty, and exile, she attracted around her a little 
 court of men of merit, and one chivalrous admirer devoted 
 himself, till the day of her death, to, shall I say, an unrequited 
 service. 
 
 Momus. — Ay, come, let us understand that matter. Did 
 your majesty steal a marriage in a corner with that Paladin of 
 yours — that errant knight Lord Craven? or did you pay him, 
 after the fashion of royal gratitude, with the base acceptance 
 of his fortune, and the services of his whole life ? 
 
 Queen of Bohemia. — Find that out as you can. 
 
 Momus. — What decked-out shepherdess of romance have 
 we here? Oh, I perceive that precious compound of all the 
 affectations of her age, and twenty more of her own invention 
 besides ! 
 
 Mercury. — I beg leave to announce the most noble Mar- 
 garet, Dutchess of Newcastle, the celebrated authoress of a 
 panegyrical life of her husband, inscribed to himself, and of 
 letters, plays, poems, orations, and philosophical discourses, 
 filling thirteen volumes folio. 
 
 Momus. — Which no mortal ever read. 
 
 Mercury. — Which were elaborately celebrated at the fa- 
 mous universities of Cambridge, and Oxford, as the strains of 
 a tenth muse. 
 
 Momus. — Yes, by glossing pedants, who might have been 
 ashamed of themselves. I think your grace had a troop of 
 ministering damsels to assist in the transcription of so many 
 mighty volumes? 
 
 Dutchess of Newcastle. — I had. 
 
 Momus. — And you were accustomed to rouse up the poor 
 girls at dead of night, to seize and commit to paper the bright 
 thoughts which came into your head between sleeping and 
 waking, lest any fragments so precious should be lost. And 
 what was your exquisite reason against revising your pro- 
 ductions ? 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 113 
 
 Dutchess. — I was unwilling to interrupt the flow of my 
 following conceptions. Late posterity will yet confirm the 
 praises and predictions of my learned contemporaries. 
 
 Momua. — At least, Madam, I give you joy of that soothing 
 conviction. 
 
 Mercury. — I here present Lady Mary Wortley Montague, 
 the English Sevigne, her equal in wit, grace, and style, and 
 if her inferior in sentiment, how much her superior in reason 
 and philosophy. Born in the highest rank of nobility, a 
 beauty and a wit, she devoted her youth to letters, her ma- 
 turity to travel and observation. 
 
 Momus. — To play and scandal. 
 
 Mercury. — Her age, to philosophical retirement. 
 
 Momus. — To involuntary exile in penance for past follies, 
 and if Pope is to be believed 
 
 Lady M. W. Montague. — Pope is not to be believed. 
 Venomous insect ! Spiteful — 
 
 Momus. — Gently, my good lady, gently; you were two 
 great wits, and two of a trade as we all know — but I hoped 
 that by this time you had made it up again, and that this 
 nether world might soon have been favoured with a joint 
 performance entitled, Elysian Eclogues ! I beg you will turn 
 it in your mind. — She frowns and will not speak. 
 
 Mercury. — -Indeed, Momus, your treatment of the fair sex 
 is intolerable. Silence him, Proserpine, or I call up no more 
 shades. 
 
 Proserpine. — No quarrels, deities. I thank you both ; you 
 have shown off the lady ghosts to some advantage ; and another 
 time we may talk further with them. 
 
 POWER TO BE VALUED ONLY AS IT CONFERS BENEFITS ON 
 
 mankind. — Brougham. 
 [British House of Commons.] 
 
 Whether I have the support of the ministers or not, to 
 the house I look, with confident expectation, that it will con- 
 trol them, and assist me. If I go too far, checking my pro- 
 gress ; if too fast, abating my speed ; but heartily and honestly 
 helping me in the best and the greatest work which the hands 
 of the lawgiver can undertake. The course is clear before 
 us ; the race is glorious to run. You have the power of send- 
 ing your name down through all times, illustrated by deeds 
 
 k2 
 
114 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 of higher fame and more useful import, than ever were done 
 within these walls. You saw the greatest warrior of the age— 
 the conqueror of Italy — the humbler of Germany — the terror 
 of the North — account all his matchless victories poor, com- 
 pared with the triumph you are now in a condition to win — 
 saw him contemn the fickleness of fortune, while, despite 
 of her, he could pronounce his memorable boast — ' I shall go 
 down to posterity with the code in my hand.' You have van- 
 quished him in the field; strive now to rival him in the sa- 
 cred arts of peace. Outstrip him as a lawgiver, whom in 
 arms you overcame ! The glories of the regency will be 
 eclipsed by the more solid and enduring splendour of the 
 reign. The praise, which fawning courtiers feigned for our 
 Edwards and Harrys, the Justinians of their day, will be the 
 just tribute of the wise and good, to that monarch under 
 whose sway so mighty a work shall be accomplished; Of a 
 truth, sceptres are most chiefly to be envied, for that they 
 bestow the power of thus conquering, and ruling thus. It 
 was the boast of Augustus — it formed part of the lustre in 
 which the perfidies of his earlier years were lost — that he 
 found Rome of brick, and left it of marble ; a praise not un- 
 worthy a great prince, and to which the present reign is not 
 without claims. But how much nobler will be our Sovereign's 
 boast, when he shall have it to say, that he found law dear, 
 and left it cheap — found it a sealed book, left it a living let- 
 ter — found it the patrimony of the rich, left it the inheritance 
 of the poor — found it the two-edged sword of craft and op- 
 pression, left it the staff of honesty, and the shield of inno- 
 cence. To me, much reflecting on these things, it has always 
 seemed a worthier honour to be the instrument of making 
 you bestir yourselves in this high matter, than to enjoy all 
 that office can bestow — office, of which the patronage would 
 be an irksome incumbrance, the emoluments superfluous to 
 one who had rather, with the rest of his industrious fellow- 
 citizens, make his own hands minister to his own wants ; and 
 as for the power supposed to follow it, I have lived half a 
 century, and I have seen that power and place may be sever- 
 ed. But one power I do prize, that of being the advocate 
 of my countrymen here, and their fellow-labourer elsewhere, 
 in those things which concern the best interests of mankind. 
 That power I know full well no government can give — no 
 change can take away. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 115 
 
 H OF RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. MlSS Mitford. 
 
 R.nzi. Friends, 
 
 1 come not liere to talk. Ye know too well 
 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 base, ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde 
 Of petty tyrants, feudal despots ; lords, 
 Rich in some dozen paltry villages — 
 Strong in some hundred spearmen — only great 
 In that strange spell — a name. Each hour, dark fraud, 
 Or open rapine, or protected murder, 
 Cry out against them. But this very day, 
 An honest man, my neighbour, there he stands — 
 Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 
 The badge of Ursini ; 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 sutler such dishonour? Men, and wash not 
 The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common. 
 I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye, 
 I had a brother once, a gracious boy, 
 Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope — 
 Of sweet and quiet joy — " there was the look 
 Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 
 To the beloved disciple." How I loved 
 That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 
 Brother at once and son ! " He left my side, 
 A summer bloom on his fair cheeks — a smile 
 Parting his innocent lips." In one short hour 
 The pretty harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
 The corse, the mangled corse, and when I cried 
 For vengeance ! — Rouse, ye Romans ! — Rouse, ye slaves! 
 Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl 
 To see them die. Have ye fair daughters ? Look 
 To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 
 Dishonoured, and, if ye dare call for justice, 
 Be answered by the lash. Yet, this is Rome, 
 
116 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 That sate on her seven hills, and from her throne 
 
 Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet, we are Romans. 
 
 Why, in 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 ! her sons 
 
 Shall walk with princes. Ere to-morrow's dawn, 
 
 The tyrants . 
 
 SCENE FROM THE TRAGEDY OF RIENZI. MisS Mitford. 
 
 Rienzi, Angelo Colonna, and People. 
 Time, Night— the CapitoL 
 
 Angelo. What be ye, 
 That thus in stern and watchful mystery 
 Cluster beneath the veil of night, and start 
 To hear a stranger's foot? 
 
 Rienzi. Romans. 
 
 Ang. And wherefore 
 Meet ye, my countrymen? 
 
 Rie. For freedom. 
 
 Ang. Surely, 
 Thou art Cola di Rienzi ? 
 
 Rie. Ay, the voice — 
 The traitor voice. 
 
 Ang. I knew thee by the words. 
 Who, save thyself, in this bad age, when man 
 Lies prostrate like yon temple, dared conjoin 
 The sounds of Rome and freedom? 
 
 Rie. I shall teach 
 The world to blend those words, as in the days 
 Before the Cassars. Thou shalt be the first 
 To hail the union. I have seen thee hang 
 On tales of the world's mistress, till thine eyes, 
 Flooded with strong emotion, have let fall 
 Big tear drops on thy cheeks, and thy young hand 
 Hath clenched thy maiden sword. Unsheath it now — 
 Now, at thy country's call ! What, dost thou pause? 
 Is the flame quenched ? Dost falter ? Hence with thee, 
 Pass on ! pass whilst thou may ! 
 
 Ang. Hear me, Rienzi. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 117 
 
 Even now my spirit leaps up at the thought 
 
 Of those brave storied days — a treasury 
 
 Of matchless visions, bright and glorified, 
 
 Paling the dim lights of this darkling world 
 
 With the golden blaze of heaven, but past and gone, 
 
 As clouds of yesterday, as last night's dream. 
 
 Rie . A dream ! Dost see yon phalanx, still and stern ? 
 A hundred leaders, each with such a band, 
 So armed, so resolute, so fixed in will, 
 Wait with suppressed impatience till they hear 
 The great bell of the Capitol, to spring 
 At once on their proud foes. Join them. 
 
 Ang. My father! 
 
 Rie. Already he hath quitted Rome. 
 
 Ang. My kinsmen ! 
 
 .Rie. We are too strong for contest. Thou shalt see 
 No other change within our peaceful streets 
 Than that of slaves to freemen. Such a change 
 As is the silent step from night to day, 
 From darkness into light. We talk too long. 
 
 Ang. Yet reason with them — warn them. 
 
 Rie. And their answer — 
 Will be the gaol, the gibbet, or the axe, 
 The keen retort of power. Why, I have reasoned ; 
 And, but that I am held, amongst your great ones, 
 Half madman and half fool, these bones of mine 
 Had whitened on yon wall. Warn them ! They met 
 At every step dark warnings. The pure air, 
 Where'er they passed, was heavy with the weight 
 Of sullen silence ; friend met friend, nor smiled, 
 Till the last footfall of the tyrant's steed 
 Had died upon the ear; and low and hoarse 
 Hatred came murmuring like the deep voice 
 Of the wind before the tempest. Sir, the boys — 
 The unfledged boys, march at their mother's hist, 
 Beside their grandsires ; even the girls of Rome — 
 The gentle and the delicate, array 
 Their lovers in this cause. I have one yonder, 
 Claudia Rienzi — thou hast seen the maid — 
 A silly trembler, a slight fragile toy, 
 x\s ever nursed a dove, or reared a flower — 
 Yet she, even she, is pledged — 
 
 Ang. To whom? to whom'/ 
 
 Rie. To liberty. Was never virgin vowed 
 
118 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 In the fair temple over right our house 
 
 To serve the goddess, Vesta, as my child 
 
 Is dedicate to freedom. A king's son 
 
 Might kneel in vain for Claudia. None shall wed her, 
 
 Save a true champion of the cause. 
 
 Ang. I'll join ye ; 
 How shall I swear? 
 
 Rie. [To the People.] Friends, comrades, country- 
 men! 
 I bring unhoped-for aid. Young Angelo, 
 The immediate heir of the Colonna, craves 
 To join your band. 
 
 Ang. Hear me swear 
 By Rome — by freedom — by Rienzi ! Comrades, 
 How have ye titled your deliverer? consul — 
 Dictator, emperor ? 
 
 Rie. No— 
 Those names have been so often steeped in blood, 
 So shamed by folly, so profaned by sin, 
 The sound seems ominous — I'll none of them. 
 Call me the tribune of the people; there 
 My honouring duty lies. 
 Hark— the bell, the bell ! 
 The knell of tyranny — the mighty voice, 
 That, to the city and the plain — to earth, 
 And listening heaven, proclaims the glorious tale 
 Of Rome re-born, and freedom. See, the clouds 
 Are swept away, and the moon's boat of light 
 Sails in the clear blue sky, and million stars *• 
 Look out on us, and smile. 
 Hark ! that great voice 
 
 Hath broke our bondage. Look, without a stroke 
 The Capitol is won — the gates unfold — 
 The keys are at our feet. Alberti, friend, 
 How shall I pay thy service ? Citizens ! 
 First to possess the palace citadel — 
 The famous strength of Rome ; then to sweep on, 
 Triumphant, through her streets. 
 Oh, glorious wreck 
 
 Of gods and Caesars! thou shalt reign again, 
 Queen of the world ; and I — come on, come on, 
 My people ! 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 119 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE INAUGURAL ADDRESS OF 
 THOMAS JEFFERSON. 
 
 Delivered March, 4th, 1801. 
 
 Diking the contest of opinion through which we have 
 passed, the animation of discussions and exertions, has some- 
 times worn an aspect which might impose on strangers unu- 
 sed to think freely, and to speak and to write what they think; 
 but this being now decided by the voice of the nation, an- 
 nounced according to the rules of the constitution, all will 
 of course arrange themselves under the will of the law, and 
 unite in common efforts for the common good. All too will 
 bear in mind this sacred principle, that though the will of 
 the majority is in all cases to prevail, that will, to be right- 
 ful, must be reasonable ; that the minority possess their equal 
 rights, which equal laws must protect, and to violate which 
 would be oppression. Let us then, fellow-citizens, unite 
 with one heart and one mind : let us restore to social inter- 
 course, that harmony and affection without which, liberty, 
 and even life itself, are but dreary things. And let us reflect, 
 that having banished from our land that religious intolerance 
 under which mankind so long bled and suffered, we have yet 
 gained little, if we countenance a political intolerance, as 
 despotic, as wicked, and capable of as bitter and bloody per- 
 secutions. During the throes and convulsions of the ancient 
 world, during the agonizing spasms of infuriated man, seek- 
 ing through blood and slaughter his long lost liberty, it was 
 not wonderful that the agitation of the billows should reach 
 even this distant and peaceful shore ; that this should be 
 more felt and feared by some, and less by others ; and should 
 divide opinions as to measures of safety ; but every difference 
 of opinion is not a difference of principle. We have called 
 by different names brethren of the same principle. We are 
 all republicans : we are all federalists. If there be any among 
 us who would wish to dissolve this Union, or to change its 
 republican form, let them stand, undisturbed, as monuments 
 of the safety with which error of opinion may be tolerated, 
 where reason is left free to combat it. I know, indeed, that 
 some honest men fear that a republican government cannot 
 be strong; that this government is not strong enough. But 
 would the honest patriot, in the full tide of successful experi- 
 ment, abandon a government which has so far kept us free 
 and firm, on the theoretic and visionary fear, that this gov- 
 
120 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 eminent, the world's best hope, may, by possibility, want 
 energy to preserve itself? I trust not: I beheve this, on the 
 contrary, the strongest government on earth. I believe it 
 the only one, where every man, at the call of law, would fly 
 to the standard of the law, and would meet invasions of the 
 public order as his own personal concern. Sometimes it is 
 said, that man cannot be trusted with the government of him- 
 self. 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. 
 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 Let us then, with courage and confidence, pursue our own 
 federal and republican principles ; our attachment to union 
 and representative government. Kindly separated by nature 
 and a wide ocean from the exterminating havoc of one quar- 
 ter 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 gener- 
 ation, entertaining a due sense of our equal right to the use 
 of our own faculties, to the acquisitions of our own indus- 
 try, to honour and confidence from our fellow-citizens, re- 
 sulting 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 it delights in the happi- 
 ness of man here, and his greater happiness hereafter ; 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 government, 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 labour the bread it has 
 earned. This is the sum of good government; and this is 
 necessary to close the circle of our felicities. 
 
 About to enter, fellow-citizens, on the exercise of duties 
 which comprehend every thing dear and valuable to you, it 
 is proper you should understand what I deem the essential 
 principles of our government, and consequently, those which 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 121 
 
 ought to shape its administration. I will compress them 
 within the narrowest compass they will bear, stating the gene- 
 ral principle, but not all its limitations. Equal and exact 
 justice to all men, of whatever state or persuasion, religious 
 or political : peace, commerce and honest friendship with all 
 nations, entangling alliances with none: the support of the 
 state governments in all their rights, as the most competent 
 administrations for our domestic concerns, and the surest 
 bulwarks against anti-republican tendencies : the preservation 
 of the general government in its whole constitutional vigour, 
 as the sheet anchor of our peace at home, and safety abroad : 
 a jealous care of the right of election by the people, a mild 
 and safe corrective of abuses which are lopped by the sword 
 of revolution, where peaceable remedies are unprovided : ab- 
 solute acquiescence in the decisions of the majority, the vital 
 principle of republics, from which there is no appeal but to 
 force, the vital principle and immediate parent of despotism: 
 a well disciplined militia, our best reliance in peace, and for 
 the first moments of war, till regulars may relieve them: the 
 supremacy of the civil over the military authority : economy 
 in the public expense, that labour may be lightly burdened : 
 the honest payment of our debts, and sacred preservation of 
 the public faith : encouragement of agriculture, and of com- 
 merce as its hand-maid : the diffusion of information, and ar- 
 raignment of all abuses at the bar of the public reason : free- 
 dom of religion ; freedom of the press ; and freedom of person, 
 under the protection of the habeas corpus: and trial by juries 
 impartially selected. These principles form the bright con- 
 stellation, which has gone before us, and guided our steps 
 through an age of revolution and reformation. The wisdom 
 of our sages, and blood of our heroes, have been devoted to 
 their attainment: they should be the creed of our political 
 faith, the text of civic instruction, the touchstone by which 
 to try the services of those we trust ; and should we wander 
 from them in moments of error or of alarm, let us hasten to 
 trace our steps, and to regain the road which alone leads to 
 peace, liberty and safety. 
 
 JUST AS YOU PLEASE, OR THE INCURIOUS. — King, 
 
 A Virtuoso had a mind to see 
 One that would never discontented be, 
 L 
 
132 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 But in a careless way to all agree. 
 
 He had a servant, much of ^Esop's kind, 
 
 Of personage uncouth, but sprightly mind ; 
 
 " Humpus," says he, " I order that you find 
 Out such a man, with such a character, 
 As in this paper now I give you here ; 
 Or I will lug your ears, or crack your pate, 
 Or rather you shall meet with a worse fate ; 
 For I will break your back, and set you straight. 
 Bring him to dinner." — Humpus soon withdrew, — 
 Was safe, as having such a one in view 
 At Covent Garden dial, whom he found 
 Sitting with thoughtless air, and look profound — 
 Who, solitary, gaping without care, 
 Seemed to say, "Who is't? wilt go any where?" 
 
 Says Humpus, " Sir, my master bade me pray 
 Your company to dine with him to-day." 
 
 He snuffs ; then follows ; up the stairs he goes, 
 Never pulls off his hat, nor cleans his shoes, 
 But, looking round him, saw a handsome room, 
 And did not much repent that he was come ; 
 Close to the fire he draws an elbow chair, 
 And, lolling easy, doth for sleep prepare. 
 In comes the family, but he sits still ; 
 Thinks, " Let them take the other chairs that will !" 
 
 The master thus accosts him, " Sir, you 're wet, 
 Pray have a cushion underneath your feet." 
 Thinks he, " If I do spoil it, need I care? 
 I see he has eleven more to spare." 
 
 Dinner 's brought up ; the wife is bid retreat, 
 And at the upper end must be his seat. 
 " This is not very usual," thinks the clown : 
 " But is not all the family his own ? 
 And why should I, for contradiction sake, 
 Lose a good dinner which he bids me take? 
 If from his table she discarded be, 
 What need I care ? there 's then the more for me." 
 
 After a while, the daughter 's bid to stand, 
 And bring whatsoever he'll command. 
 Thinks he, " The better from the fairer hand !" 
 
 Young master next must rise to fill him wine, 
 And starve himself, to see the booby dine. 
 He does. The father asks, " What have you there ? 
 How dare you give a stranger vinegar ?" 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 123 
 
 " Sir, 'twas champagne I gave him." — " Sir, indeed ! 
 Take him and scourge him till the rascal bleed; 
 Don't spare him for his tears or age : I'll try 
 If cat-o'-nine-tails can excuse a lie." 
 
 Thinks the clown, " That 'twas wine I do believe ; 
 But such young rogues are aptest to deceive; 
 He's none of mine, but his own flesh and blood, 
 And how know I but 't may be for his good." 
 
 When the dessert came on, and jellies brought, 
 Then was the dismal scene of finding fault : 
 They were such hideous, filthy, poisonous stuff, 
 Could not be railed at, nor revenged enough. 
 Humpus was asked- who made them. Trembling he 
 Said, " Sir, it was my lady gave them me." 
 " No more such poison shall she ever give, 
 I'll burn the witch ; t'ent fitting she should live : 
 Set faggots in the court. I'll make her fry ; 
 And pray, good sir, may't please you to be by ?" 
 Then smiling, says the clown, "Upon my life, 
 A pretty fancy this, to burn one's wife !" 
 " And since I find 'tis really your design, 
 Pray let me just step home, and fetch you mine." 
 
 the guerilla leader's vow. — Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 My battle vow ! — no minster walls 
 
 Gave back the burning word, 
 Nor cross nor shrine the low deep tone 
 
 Of smothered vengeance heard : 
 But the ashes of a ruined home 
 
 Thrilled, as it sternly rose, 
 With the mingling voice of blood, that shook 
 
 The midnight's dark repose. 
 
 I breathed it not o'er kingly tombs, 
 
 But where my children lay; 
 And the startled vulture, at my step, 
 
 Soared from their precious clay. 
 I stood amidst my dead alone — 
 
 I kissed their lips — I poured, 
 In the strong silence of that hour, 
 
 My spirit on my sword. 
 
124 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 The roof- tree fallen, the smouldering floor, 
 
 The blackened threshold-stone, 
 The bright hair torn, and soiled with blood, 
 
 "Whose fountain was my own ; 
 These, and the everlasting hills, 
 
 Bore witness that wild night ; 
 Before them rose th' avenger's soul, 
 
 In crushed affection's might. 
 
 The stars, the searching stars of heaven, 
 
 With keen looks would upbraid, 
 If from my heart the fiery vow, 
 
 Seared on it then, could fade. 
 They have no cause ! — Go, ask the streams 
 
 That by my paths have swept, 
 The red waves that unstained were born — 
 
 How hath my faith been kept ? 
 
 And other eyes are on my soul, 
 
 That never, never close, 
 The sad, sweet glances of the lost — 
 
 They leave me no repose. 
 Haunting my night-watch 'midst the rocks, 
 
 And by the torrent's foam, 
 Through the dark-rolling mists they shine, 
 
 Full, full of love and home ! 
 
 Alas ! the mountain eagle's heart, 
 
 When wronged, may yet find rest ; 
 Scorning the place made desolate, 
 
 He seeks another nest. 
 But I — your soft looks wake the thirst 
 
 That wins no quenching rain ; 
 Ye drive me back, my beautiful ! 
 
 To the stormy fight again ! 
 
 TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF HOWARD, THE 
 
 philanthropist. — Darwin. 
 
 And now, Philanthropy ! thy rays divine 
 Dart round the globe from Zembla to the Line ; 
 O'er each dark prison plays the cheering light, 
 Like northern lustres o'er the vault of night. — 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 125 
 
 From realm to realm, with cross or crescent crowned, 
 
 Where'er mankind and misery are found, 
 
 O'er burning sands, deep waves, or wilds of snow, 
 
 Thy Howard journeying seeks the house of woe. 
 
 Down many a winding step to dungeons dank, 
 
 Whore anguish wails aloud, and fetters clank ; 
 
 To caves bestrewed with many a mouldering bone, 
 
 And cells, whose echoes only learn to groan ; 
 
 Where no kind bars a whispering friend disclose, 
 
 No sunbeam enters, and no zephyr blows, 
 
 He treads, inemulous of fame or wealth, 
 
 Profuse of toil, and prodigal of health, 
 
 With soft assuasive eloquence expands, 
 
 Power's rigid heart, and opes his clenching hands; 
 
 Leads stern-eyed Justice to the dark domains, 
 
 If not to sever, to relax the chains; 
 
 Or guides awakened mercy through the gloom, 
 
 And shows the prison, sister to the tomb! — 
 
 Gives to her babes the self-devoted wife, 
 
 To her fond husband liberty and life ! 
 
 The spirits of the good, who bend from high, 
 Wide o'er these earthly scenes their partial eye, 
 When first arrayed in virtue's purest robe, 
 They saw her Howard traversing the globe ; 
 Saw round his brows her sun-like glory blaze, 
 In arrowy circles of unwearied rays ; 
 Mistook a mortal for an angel guest, 
 And asked what seraph foot the earth imprest. 
 Onward he moves ! — Disease and death retire, 
 And murmuring demons hate him, and admire. 
 
 IMPROVEMENT. 
 
 House of Representatives, Jan. 1819. 
 
 But on this subject of national power, what can be more 
 important than a perfect unity in every part, in feelings and 
 sentiments ? And what can tend more powerfully to produce 
 it, than overcoming the effects of distance? No country, 
 enjoying freedom, ever occupied any thing like as great an 
 extent of country as this republic. One hundred years ago, 
 the most profound philosophers did not believe it to be even 
 possible. Thev did not suppose it possible, that a pure re- 
 
 l2 
 
126 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 public could exist on as great a scale, even as the island of 
 Great Britain. What then was considered as chimerical, we 
 have now the felicity to enjoy ; and what is most remarkable, 
 such is the happy mould of our government, so well are the 
 state and general powers blended, that much of our political 
 happiness draws its origin from the extent of our republic. 
 It has exempted us from most of the causes which distracted 
 the small republics of antiquity. Let it not, however, be 
 forgotten, let it be for ever kept in mind, that it exposes us 
 to the greatest of all calamities, next to the loss of liberty, 
 and even to that in its consequences, disunion. We are 
 great, and rapidly, I was about to say fearfully, growing. 
 This is our pride and our danger, our weakness and our 
 strength. Little does he deserve to be intrusted with the 
 liberties of this people, who does not raise his mind to these 
 truths. We are under the most imperious obligation to coun- 
 teract every tendency to disunion. The strongest of all ce- 
 ments is, undoubtedly, the wisdom, justice, and, above all, 
 the moderation of this House; yet the greatest subject on 
 which we are now deliberating, in this respect, deserves the 
 most serious consideration. Whatever impedes the inter- 
 course of the extremes with this, the centre of the republic, 
 weakens the union. The more enlarged the sphere of com- 
 mercial circulation, the more extended that of social inter- 
 course ; the more strongly we are bound together, the more 
 inseparable are our destinies. Those who understand the hu- 
 man heart best, know how powerfully distance tends to break 
 the sympathies of our nature. Nothing, not even dissimi- 
 larity of language, tends more to estrange man from man. 
 Let us then bind the republic together, with a perfect system 
 of roads and canals. Let us conquer space. It is thus the 
 most distant part of the republic will be brought within a few 
 day's travel of the centre ; it is thus, that a citizen of the 
 west will read the news of Boston, still moist from the press. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM THE SPEECH OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON, 
 
 ON THE EXPEDIENCY OF ADOPTING THE 
 
 FEDERAL CONSTITUTOR 
 
 Delivered in the Convention of New York, June 27, 1788. 
 
 Mr. Chairman, it has been advanced as a principle, that 
 no government but a despotism, can exist in a very extensive 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 127 
 
 country. This is a melancholy consideration indeed. If it 
 were founded on truth, we ought to dismiss the idea of a re- 
 publican government, even for the state of New York. This 
 idea has been taken from a celebrated writer, who, by being 
 misunderstood, has been the occasion of frequent fallacies 
 in our reasoning on political subjects. But the position has 
 been misapprehended ; and its application is entirely false 
 and unwarrantable : it relates only to democracies where the 
 body of the people meet to transact business : and where re- 
 presentation is unknown. Such were a number of ancient, 
 and some modern independent cities. Men who read with- 
 out attention, have taken these maxims respecting the extent 
 of country ; and contrary to their proper meaning, have ap- 
 plied them to republics in general. This 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 do- 
 mestic concerns of the people are regulated by the laws of 
 the several states. This distinction being kept in view, all 
 the difficulty will vanish, and we may easily conceive, that 
 the people of a large country may be represented, as truly as 
 those of a small one. An assembly constituted for general 
 purposes, may be fully competent to every federal constitu- 
 tion, without being too numerous for deliberate conduct. If 
 the state governments were to be abolished, the question 
 would wear a different face : but this idea is inadmissible. 
 They are absolutely necessary to the system. Their exist- 
 ence must form a leading principle in the most perfect con- 
 stitution we could form. I insist, that it never can be the 
 interest or desire of the national legislature, to destroy the 
 state governments. It can derive no advantage from such 
 an event ; but, on the contrary, would lose an indispensable 
 support, a necessary aid in executing the laws, and conveying 
 the influence of government to the doors of the people. 
 The union is dependent on the will of the state govern- 
 ments for its chief magistrate, and for its senate. The blow 
 aimed at the members, must give a fatal wound to the head; 
 and the destruction of the states must be at once a political 
 suicide. Can the national government be guilty of this mad- 
 ness? What inducements, what temptations can they have? 
 Will they attach new honours to their station ; will they in- 
 crease the national strength ; will they multiply the national 
 resources ; will they make themselves more respectable in 
 the view of foreign nations, or of their fellow-citizens, by 
 
128 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 robbing the states of their constitutional privileges? But 
 imagine, for a moment, that a political frenzy should seize 
 the government ; suppose they should make the attempt — 
 certainly, sir, it would be for ever impracticable. 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 This has been sufficiently demonstrated by reason and 
 experience. It has been proved, that the members of re- 
 publics have been, and ever will be stronger than the head. 
 Let us attend to one general historical example. In the an- 
 cient feudal governments of Europe, there were, in the first 
 place, a monarch : subordinate to him, a body of nobles : and 
 subject to these, the vassal or the whole body of the people. 
 The authority of the kings was limited, and that of the ba- 
 rons considerably independent. A great part of the early 
 wars of Europe, were contests between the king and his no- 
 bility. In these contests, the latter possessed many advanta- 
 ges derived from their influence, and the immediate command 
 they had over the people ; and they generally prevailed. The 
 histories of the feudal wars, exhibit little more than a series 
 of successful encroachments on the prerogatives of monarchy. 
 Here, sir, is one great proof of the superiority which the 
 members in limited governments possess over their head. 
 As long as the barons enjoyed the confidence and attachment 
 of the people, they had the strength of the country on their 
 side, and were irresistible. I may be told in some instances 
 the barons were overcome : but how did this happen ? Sir, 
 they took advantage of the depression of the royal authority, 
 and the establishment of their own power, to oppress and 
 tyrannize over their vassals. As commerce enlarged, and 
 wealth and civilization increased, the people began to feel 
 their own weight and consequence : they grew tired of their 
 oppressions; united their strength with that of their prince, 
 and threw off the yoke of -aristocracy. These very instances 
 prove what I contend for. They prove that in whatever di- 
 rection the popular weight leans, the current of power will 
 ilow : whatever the popular attachments be, there will rest 
 the political superiority. Sir, can it be supposed that the 
 state governments will become the oppressors of the people 1 
 Will they forfeit their affections 1 Will they combine to de- 
 stroy the liberties and happiness of their fellow-citizens, for 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 129 
 
 the sole purpose of involving themselves in ruin? God for- 
 bid! The idea, sir, is shocking! It outrages every feeling 
 of humanity, and every dictate of common sense ! 
 
 ode to remorse. — Barbauld. 
 
 Dread offspring of the holy light within, 
 
 Offspring of conscience and of sin, 
 Stern as thine awful sire, and fraught with woe 
 From bitter springs thy mother taught to flow, — 
 
 Remorse ! To man alone 'tis given 
 
 Of all on earth, or all in heaven, 
 To wretched man thy bitter cup to drain, 
 Feel thy awakening stings, and taste thy wholesome pain. 
 
 Midst Eden's blissful bowers, 
 And amaranthine flowers, 
 Thy birth portentous dimmed the orient day, 
 What time our hapless sire, 
 O'ercome by fond desire, 
 The high command presumed to disobey ; 
 Then didst thou rear thy snaky crest, 
 And raise thy scorpion lash to tear the guilty breast ; 
 
 And never, since that fatal hour, 
 May man, of woman born, expect to escape thy power. 
 
 Thy goading stings the branded Cain 
 'Cross the untrodden desert drove, 
 Ere from his cradling home and native plain 
 Domestic man had learnt to rove. 
 By gloomy shade or lonely flood 
 Of vast primeval solitude, 
 Thy step his hurried steps pursued : 
 Thy voice awoke his conscious fears, 
 For ever sounding in his ears, 
 A father's curse, a brother's blood ; 
 Till life was misery too great to bear, 
 And torturing thought was lost in sullen, dumb despair. 
 
 The king who sat on Judah's throne, 
 By guilty love to murder wrought, 
 Was taught thy searching power to own, 
 When, sent of heaven, the seer his royal presence sought. 
 
180 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 As, wrapt in artful phrase, with sorrow feigned, 
 He told of helpless, meek distress, 
 And wrongs that sought from power redress, 
 
 The pity-moving tale his ear obtained, 
 And bade his better feelings wake : 
 Then, sudden as the trodden snake 
 On the scared traveller darts his fangs, 
 The prophet's bold rebuke aroused thy keenest pangs. 
 
 And O, that look, that soft upbraiding look ! 
 A thousand cutting, tender things it spoke : 
 The sword so lately drawn was not so keen, — 
 Which, as the injured Master turned him round, 
 
 In the strange solemn scene, 
 And the shrill clarion gave the appointed sound, 
 
 Pierced sudden through the veins, 
 
 Awakening all thy pains, 
 And drew a silent shower of bitter tears 
 Down Peter's blushing cheek, late pale with coward fears. 
 
 Cruel Remorse ! where Youth and Pleasure sport, 
 
 And thoughtless folly keeps her court, — 
 Crouching midst rosy bowers thou lurk'st unseen ; 
 
 Slumbering the festal hours away, 
 While Youth disports in that enchanting scene; 
 Till on some fated day 
 Thou with a tiger-spring dost leap upon thy prey, 
 And tear his helpless breast, o'erwhelmed with wild dismay. 
 
 Mark that poor wretch with clasped hands ! 
 
 Pale o'er his parent's grave he stands, — 
 The grave by his ingratitude prepared; 
 
 Ah then, where'er he rests his head, 
 On roses pillowed, or the softest down, 
 
 Though festal wreaths his temples crown, 
 He well might envy Guatimozin's bed, 
 
 With burning coals and sulphur spread, 
 And with less agony his torturing hour have shared. 
 
 For Thou art by to point the keen reproach ; 
 Thou draw'st the curtains of his nightly couch, 
 Bring'st back the reverend face with tears bedewed, 
 That o'er his follies yearned ; 
 The warnings oft in vain renewed, 
 
 I 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 131 
 
 The looks of anguish and of love, 
 His stubborn breast that failed to move, 
 When in the scorner's chair he sat, and wholesome counsel 
 spurned. 
 
 Lives there a man whose labouring breast 
 Is with some dark and guilty secret prest, 
 Who hides within its inmost fold 
 Strange crimes to mortal ear untold? 
 In vain to sad Chartreuse he flies, 
 Midst savage rocks and cloisters dim and drear, 
 
 And there to shun thee tries : 
 In vain untold his crime to mortal ear, 
 Silence and whispered sounds but make thy voice more clear. 
 
 Lo, where the cowled monk with frantic rage 
 Lifts high the sounding scourge, his bleeding shoulders 
 smites ! 
 Penance and fasts his anxious thoughts engage, 
 Weary his days and joyless are his nights, 
 His naked feet the flinty pavement tears, 
 His knee at every shrine the marble wears ; — 
 Why does he lift the cruel scourge 7 
 The restless pilgrimage why urge 1 
 'Tis all to quell thy fiercer rage, 
 'Tis all to soothe thy deep despair, 
 He courts the body's pangs, for thine he cannot bear. 
 
 See, o'er the bleeding corse of her he loved, 
 The jealous murderer bends unmoved! 
 Trembling with rage, his livid lips express 
 His frantic passion's wild and rash excess. 
 O God, she's innocent ! — transfixt he stands, 
 Pierced thro' with shafts from thine avenging hands ; 
 Down his pale cheek no tear will flow, 
 
 Nor can he shun, nor can he bear, his woe. 
 
 'Twas phantoms, summoned by thy power 
 Round Richard's couch, at midnight hour, 
 
 That scared the tyrant from unblest repose ; 
 
 With frantic haste, " To horse ! to horse !" he cries, 
 
 While on his crowned brow cold sweat-drops rise, 
 And fancied spears his spear oppose ; 
 
 But not the swiftest steed can bear away 
 From thy firm grasp thine agonizing prey. 
 
132 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Thou wast the fiend, and thou alone, 
 That stood'st by Beaufort's mitred head, 
 With upright hair and visage ghastly pale : 
 Thy terrors shook his dying bed, 
 Past crimes and blood his sinking heart assail, 
 His hands are clasped, — hark to that hollow groan ! 
 See how his glazed, dim eye-balls wildly roll, 
 'Tis not dissolving Nature's pains; that pang is of the soul. 
 
 Where guilty souls are doomed to dwell, 
 'Tis thou that mak'st their fiercest hell, 
 The vulture thou that on their liver feeds, 
 As rise to view their past unhallowed deeds ; 
 With thee condemned to stay, 
 Till time has rolled away 
 Long aeras of uncounted years, 
 And every stain is washed in soft repentant tears* 
 
 Servant of God — but unbeloved — proceed, 
 
 For thou must live and ply thy scorpion scourge ; 
 
 Thy sharp upbraidings urge 
 
 Against the unrighteous deed, 
 Till thine accursed mother shall expire, 
 And a new world spring forth from renovating fire. 
 
 O ! when the glare of day is fled, 
 
 And calm, beneath the evening star, 
 
 Reflection leans her pensive head, 
 And calls the passions to her solemn bar ; 
 Reviews the censure rash, the hasty word, 
 
 The purposed act too long deferred, 
 
 Of time the wasted treasures lent, 
 And fair occasions lost and golden hours misspent : 
 
 When anxious Memory numbers o'er 
 
 Each offered prize we failed to seize ; 
 Or friends laid low, whom now no more 
 Our fondest love can serve or please, 
 And thou, dread power ! bring'st back in terrors drest, 
 The irrevocable past, to sting the careless breast ; — 
 O! in that hour be mine to know, 
 While fast the silent sorrows flow, 
 And wisdom cherishes the wholesome pain, 
 No heavier guilt, no deeper stain, 
 Than tears of meek contrition may atone, 
 Shed at the mercy -seat of Heaven's eternal throne. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 133 
 
 PUBLIC OPINION MORE IRRESISTIBLE THAN MILITARY 
 POWER. 
 
 Extract from Mr. Webster's speech on the Greek Question, House of 
 Representatives, Jan. 19, 1823. 
 
 Sir, — The time has been, indeed, when fleets, and armies, 
 and subsidies, were the principal reliances even in the best 
 cause. But, happily for mankind, there has come a great 
 change in this respect. Moral causes come into consideration, 
 in proportion as the progress of knowledge is advanced ; and 
 the public opinion of the civilized world is rapidly gaining 
 an ascendancy 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 con- 
 quered. It is elastic, irrepressible, and invulnerable to the 
 weapons of ordinary warfare. It is that impassable, unex- 
 tinguishable enemy of mere violence and arbitrary rule, 
 which, like Milton's angels, 
 
 " Vital in every part, 
 Cannot, but by annihilating, die." 
 
 Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is in vain for power 
 to talk 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 triumphs, 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 prostrate nation has fallen before them ; it is nothing that 
 arrests, and confiscation, and execution, sweep away the little 
 remnant of national resistance. There is an enemy that still 
 exists to check the glory of these triumphs. It follows the 
 conqueror back to the very scene of his ovations ; it calls 
 upon him to take notice that Europe, though silent, is yet 
 indignant ; it shows him that the sceptre of his victory is a 
 barren sceptre ; that it shall confer neither joy nor honour, 
 but shall moulder to dry ashes in his grasp. In the midst of 
 his exultation, it pierces his ear with the cry of injured jus- 
 tice ; it denounces against him the indignation of an enlight- 
 
 M 
 
134 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 ened and civilized age ; it turns to bitterness the cup of his 
 rejoicing, and wounds him with the sting which belongs to 
 the consciousness of having outraged the opinions of man- 
 kind. 
 
 THE DEAD BEAUTY. Morris. 
 
 Come to the house of death, ye young and proud, 
 
 The place where sorrow o'er the tomb bends weeping ; 
 
 And as ye raise with trembling hand the shroud 
 
 From her who here in death's cold arms lies sleeping, 
 
 Oh turn each thought one moment from the crowd, 
 
 And gaze where soon the earth worm shall be creeping. 
 
 See that closed eye on which the long lash droops 
 
 As if 'twere conscious life had thence departed, 
 And her who there in trembling horror stoops 
 
 To kiss the lip of beauty, broken hearted — 
 Oh ! mark that soul-wrung mother, as the thread 
 
 That binds her daughter's raven hair is riven, 
 And as in maniac grief she clasps the dead, 
 
 And glues her lips to those which bloom in heaven ! 
 
 Come hither, thou who wear'st the wreath of fame, 
 
 Whose soul is fraught with visions stern and high ; 
 What recks it for the phantom of a name ! 
 
 Come ponder here, for thou wert born to die ! 
 To die ! aye — as a spark quenched by the sea 
 
 Thy being shall go out, and thou wilt seem 
 A dim thing on the waste of memory — • 
 
 Scarcely a thought — the shadow of a dream ! 
 
 And thou, fair girl, come to the place of death, 
 
 Leave for awhile the boist'rous scenes of mirth ,• 
 Life is a flame quenched by a single breath, 
 
 And thou a fragile creature of the earth ! 
 Look at thy sister clay — the long dark hair 
 
 That streams a pall o'er beauty's lifeless bosom 
 Once floated gaily in the summer air 
 
 As thine does now, till death destroyed love's blossom ! 
 
 Beloved and loving, she has passed away 
 
 With the first frost that cold misfortune sent — 
 
 E'en as the snow in April's sunny day, 
 Thus melted out existence, and she went 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 135 
 
 Up to her God all artless as the dove 
 
 Whom fate's keen arrow pierces — she was given 
 
 To be for us a model — and the love 
 
 That blessed her here will sanctify in heaven ! 
 
 How beautiful she was! her full blue eye 
 
 Swam with expression — shone with tenderness — 
 And the long lash fell o'er it droopingly, 
 
 As if it were to shadow the excess 
 Of nature's beauty. Innocence was her's, 
 
 Such as the fawn's, all glad activity : 
 And many bowed as beauty's worshippers — 
 
 Oh God! that she should die through treachery ! 
 
 Aye ! she has died — the night winds soon shall bring 
 
 Above her grave a mournful requiem, 
 And wild flowers breathe there with the voice of spring ; 
 
 Oh would to Heaven that she might come with them ! 
 Come ! look your last and kiss that icy brow — 
 
 Aye — pour the soul in grief, for she was all 
 That woman may be in a sphere so low, 
 
 And now — oh ! God — throw back the sable pall ! 
 
 British influence. — Randolph, 
 
 Extract from his speech on the increase of the army.* House of 
 Representatives, Dec. 10, 1811. 
 
 Against whom are these charges 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 they made? By runaways chiefly from the British 
 dominions, since the breaking out of the French troubles. 
 It is insufferable. It can not be borne. It must and ought, 
 with severity, to be put down in this House ; and out of it to 
 meet the lie direct. We have no fellow-feeling for the suf- 
 fering and oppressed Spaniards ! Yet even them we do not 
 reprobate. Strange! that we should have no objection to any 
 other people or government, civilized or savage in the whole 
 world ! The great autocrat of all the Russias receives the 
 homage of our high consideration. The Dey of Algiers and 
 his divan of pirates, are very civil, good sort of people, with 
 whom we find no difficulty in maintaining the relations of 
 
 * la reply to the charge of being under British influence. 
 
136 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 peace and amity. " Turks, Jews, and Infidels," Melimelli 
 or the Little Turtle : barbarians and savages of every clime 
 and colour, are welcome to our arms. With chiefs of ban- 
 ditti, 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 Shak- 
 speare, and Newton, and Chatham for our countrymen : whose 
 form of government is the freest on earth, our own only ex- 
 cepted ; from whom every valuable principle of our own 
 institutions has been borrowed — representation — jury trial — 
 voting the supplies — writ of habeas corpus — our whole civil 
 and criminal jurisprudence — against our fellow protestants, 
 identified in blood, in language, in religion with ourselves. 
 In what school did the worthies of our land, the Washington's, 
 Henry's, Hancock's, Franklin's, Rutledge's of America, learn 
 those principles of civil liberty, which were so nobly asserted 
 by their wisdom and valour? American resistance to British 
 usurpation, has not been more warmly cherished by these 
 great men and their compatriots ; not more by Washington, 
 Hancock and Henry, than by Chatham and his illustrious asso- 
 ciates in the British parliament. It ought 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 we were not more opposed than they were. I trust 
 that none such may ever exist among us ; for tools will never 
 be wanting to subserve the purposes, however ruinous or 
 wicked, of kings and ministers of state. I acknowledge the 
 influence of a Shakspeare and a Milton upon my imagination, 
 of a Locke upon my understanding, of a Sidney upon my 
 political principles, of a Chatham upon qualities which, would 
 to God, I possessed in common with that illustrious man! of 
 a Tillotson, a Sherlock, and a Porteus, upon my religion. 
 This is a British influence which I can never shake off. 
 
 natural progress of societv. — Edinburgh Review, 
 
 We rely on the natural tendency of the human intellect to 
 truth, and on the natural tendency of society to improvement. 
 We know no well-authenticated instance of a people which 
 has decidedly retrograded in civilization and prosperity, ex- 
 cept from the influence of violent and terrible calamities, — - 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 137 
 
 such as those which laid the Roman Empire in ruins, or those 
 which, about the beginning of the sixteenth century, deso- 
 lated Italy. We know of no country which, at the end of 
 fifty years of peace and tolerably good government, has been 
 less prosperous than at the beginning of that period. The 
 political importance of a state may decline, as the balance 
 of power is disturbed by the introduction of new forces. Thus 
 the influence of Holland and of Spain is much diminished. 
 But are Holland and Spain poorer than formerly ? We doubt 
 it. Other countries have outrun them. But we suspect that 
 they have been positively, though not relatively, advancing. 
 We suspect that Holland is richer than when she sent 
 her navies up the Thames, — that Spain is richer than when 
 a French king was brought captive to the footstool of Charles 
 the Fifth. 
 
 History is full of the signs of this natural progress of so- 
 ciety. We see in almost every part of the annals of mankind 
 how the industry of individuals, struggling up against wars, 
 taxes, famines, conflagrations, mischievous prohibitions, and 
 more mischievous protections, creates faster than governments 
 can squander, and repairs whatever invaders can destroy. 
 We see the capital of nations increasing, and all the arts of 
 life approaching nearer and nearer to perfection, in spite of 
 the grossest corruption and the wildest profusion on the part 
 of rulers. 
 
 The present moment is one of great distress. But how 
 small will that distress appear when we think over the history 
 of the last forty years ; — a war, compared with which, all 
 other wars sink into insignificance ; — taxation, such as the 
 most heavily taxed people of former times could not have 
 conceived ; — a debt larger than all the public debts that ever 
 existed in the world added together; — the food of the people 
 studiously rendered dear; — the currency imprudently de- 
 based, and imprudently restored. Yet is the country poorer 
 than in 1790 1 We fully believe that, in spite of all the mis- 
 government of her rulers, she has been almost constantly 
 becoming richer and richer. Now and then there has been 
 a stoppage, now and then a short retrogression ; but as to the 
 general tendency there can be no doubt. A single breaker 
 may recede, but the tide is evidently coming in. 
 
 m2 
 
138 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 If we were to prophecy that in the year 1 930, a population 
 of fifty millions, better fed, clad, and lodged than the Eng- 
 lish of our time, will cover these islands, — that Sussex and 
 Huntingdonshire will be wealthier than the wealthiest parts 
 of the West-Riding of Yorkshire now are, — that cultivation, 
 rich as that of a flower-garden, will be carried up to the very 
 tops of Ben Nevis and Helvellyn, — that machines, construct- 
 ed on principles yet undiscovered, will be in every house, — 
 that there will be no high-ways but rail-roads, no travelling 
 but by steam, — that our debt, vast as it seems to us, will ap- 
 pear to our great-grand-children a trifling encumbrance, 
 which might easily be paid oft* in a year or two — many people 
 would think us insane. We prophecy nothing ; but this we 
 say — If any person had told the Parliament which met in 
 perplexity and terror after the crash in 1720, that in 1830 
 the wealth of England would surpass all their wildest 
 dreams — that the annual revenue would equal the principal 
 of that debt which they considered as an intolerable burden — 
 that for one man of £10,000 then living, there would be 
 five men of £50,000 ; that London would be twice as large 
 and twice as populous, and that nevertheless the mortality 
 would have diminished to one half what it then was — that 
 the post-office would bring more into the exchequer than the 
 excise and customs had brought in together under Charles 
 II. — that stage-coaches would run from London to York in 
 twenty-four hours — that men would sail without wind, and 
 would be beginning to ride without horses — our ancestors 
 would have given as much credit to the prediction as they 
 gave to Gulliver's Travels. Yet the prediction would have 
 been true; and they would have perceived that it was not 
 altogether absurd, if they had considered that the country 
 was then raising every year a sum which would have pur 
 chased the fee-simple of the revenue of the Plantagenets — 
 ten times what supported the government of Elizabeth — 
 three times what, in the time of Oliver Cromwell, had been 
 thought intolerably oppressive. To almost all men the state 
 of things under which they have been used to live, seems to 
 be the necessary state of things. We have heard it said, 
 that five per cent, is the natural interest of money, that twelve 
 is the natural number of a jury, that forty shillings is the 
 natural qualification of a county voter. Hence it is that 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 139 
 
 though, in every age, every body knows that up to his own 
 time progretfife improvement lias been taking place, nobody 
 seems to reckon on any improvement during the next genera- 
 tion. We cannot absolutely prove that those are in error 
 who tell us that society has reached a turning point — that we 
 have seen our best days. But so said all who came before 
 us, and with just as much apparent reason. 'A million a- 
 year will beggar us,' said the patriots of 1640. 'Two mil- 
 lions a-year will grind the country to powder,' was the cry 
 in 1660. 'Six millions a-year, and a debt of fifty millions!' 
 exclaimed Swift — ' the high allies have been the ruin of us.' 
 'A hundred and forty millions of debt!' said Junius — 'well 
 may we say that we owe Lord Chatham more than we shall 
 ever pay, if we owe him such a load as this.' ' Two hundred 
 and forty millions of debt !' cried all the statesmen of 1783 
 in chorus — 'what abilities, or what economy on the part of 
 a minister, can save a country so burdened V We know that 
 if, since 1783, no fresh debt has been incurred, the increased 
 resources of the country would have enabled us to defray 
 that burden, at which Pitt, Fox, and Burke stood aghast — to 
 defray it over and over again, and that with much lighter 
 taxation than what we have actually borne. On what prin- 
 ciple is it, that when we see nothing but improvement behind 
 us, we are to expect nothing but deterioration before us'? 
 
 It is not by the intermeddling of the omniscient and om- 
 nipotent state — but by the prudence and energy of the peo- 
 ple, that England has hitherto been carried forward in civili- 
 zation ; and it is to the same prudence and the same energy 
 that we now look with comfort and good hope. Our rulers 
 will best promote the improvement of the people by strictly 
 confining themselves to their own legitimate duties — by 
 leaving capital to find its most lucrative course, commodities 
 their fair price, industry and intelligence their natural reward, 
 idleness and folly their natural punishment — by maintaining 
 peace, by defending property, by diminishing the price of law, 
 and by observing strict economy in every department of the 
 state. Let the Government do this — the People will assur- 
 edly do the rest. 
 
140 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 SCENE FROM THE WAY TO KEEP HIM. Murphy. 
 
 Mrs. Bellmour, and Lovemore. 
 
 Love. — A vein of wit, like yours, that springs at once from 
 vivacity and sentiment, serves to exalt your beauty, and give 
 animation to every charm. 
 
 Mrs. Bell. — Upon my word, you have said it finely ! But 
 you are in the right, my lord. Your pensive melancholy 
 beauty is the most insipid thing in nature. And yet, we 
 often see features without a mind ; and the owner of them 
 sits in the room with you, like a mere vegetable, for an hour 
 together, till, at last, she is incited to the violent exertion of, 
 " Yes, sir — I fancy not, ma'am," and then a matter of fact 
 conversation ! " Miss Beverly is going to be married to Cap- 
 tain Shoulder-knot — My Lord Mortgage has had another 
 tumble at hazard — Sir Harry Wilding has lost his elec- 
 tion — They say short aprons are coming into fashion." 
 
 Love. — Oh ! a matter of fact conversation is insupportable. 
 
 Mrs. Bell. — But you meet with nothing else. All in great 
 spirits about nothing, and not an idea among them. Go to 
 Ranelagh, or to what public place you will, it is just the same. 
 A lady comes up to you ; — " How charmingly you look ! — 
 But, my dear ma'am, did you hear what happened to us the 
 other night ? We were going home from the Opera — you 
 know my aunt Roly Poly? it was her coach. There was she 
 and Lady Betty Fidget — what a sweet blonde! How do 
 you do, my dear ? My Lady Betty is quite recovered ; we 
 were all frightened about her; but doctor Snake-root was 
 called in ; no, not doctor Snake-root, doctor Bolus ; and so 
 he altered the course of the medicines, and so my lady Betty 
 is purely now. Well, there was she, and my aunt, and Sir 
 George Bragwell — a pretty man Sir George ! — finest teeth in 
 the world! — your ladyship's most obedient. We expected 
 you last night, but you did not come — He, he, he ! — and so 
 there was Sir George and the rest of us ; and so, turning the 
 corner of Bond-street, the brute of a coachman — I humbly 
 thank your grace — the brute of a coachman overturned us, 
 and so my aunt Roly Poly was frightened out of her wits ; 
 and lady Betty has had her nerves again. Only think ! such 
 accidents ! — I am glad to see you look so well ; al honneur, 
 he, he, he !" 
 
 Love. — Ho, ho ! you paint to the life. I see her moving 
 before me in all her airs. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 141 
 
 Mrs. Bell. — With this conversation their whole stock is 
 exhausted, and away they run to cards. Quadrille has mur- 
 dered wit ! 
 
 Love, — Ay, and beauty, too. Cards are the worst enemies 
 to a complexion : the small-pox is not so bad. The passions 
 throw themselves into every feature: 1 have seen the coun- 
 tenance of an angel changed, in a moment, to absolute de- 
 formity : the little loves and graces that sparkled in the eye, 
 bloomed in the cheek, and smiled about the mouth, all wing 
 their flight, and leave the face, which they before adorned, a 
 prey to grief, to anger, malice, and fury, and the whole train 
 of fretful passions. 
 
 Mrs. Bell. — And the language of the passions is some- 
 times heard on these occasions. 
 
 Love. — Very true, madam : and if, by chance, they do bri- 
 dle and hold in a little, the struggle they undergo is the most 
 ridiculous sight in nature. I have seen a huge oath quivering 
 on the pale lip of a reigning toast for half an hour together, 
 and an uplifted eye accusing the gods for the loss of an odd 
 trick. And then, at last, the whole room in a babel of 
 sounds. " My Lord you flung away the game. — Sir George, 
 why did not you rough the spade ? — Captain Hazard, why 
 did not you lead through the honors 1 — Madam, it was not 
 the play — pardon me, sir — but madam — but sir — I would not 
 play with you for straws ; don't you know what Hoyle says 1 — 
 If A and B are partners against C and D, and the game ' nine 
 all,' A and B have won three tricks, and C and D four tricks : 
 C leads his suit, D puts up the king, then returns the suit: 
 A passes, C puts up the queen, and B trumps it;" and so 
 A and B, and C and D are bandied about; they attack, they 
 defend, and all is jargon and confusion, wrangling, noise, and 
 nonsense ; and high life and polite conversation. — Ha ! ha! ha ! 
 Mrs. Bell. — Ha ! ha ! the pencil of Hogarth could not do 
 it better. And yet one is dragged to these places. One 
 must play sometimes. We must let our friends pick our 
 pockets now and then, or they drop our acquaintance. 
 
 THE MORNING MIST. Southey. 
 
 Look, William, how the morning mists 
 
 Have covered all the scene, 
 Nor house nor hill canst thou behold, 
 
 Grey wood, or meadow green. 
 
142 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 The distant spire across the vale 
 
 The floating vapours shroud, 
 Scarce are the neighbouring poplars seen, 
 
 Pale shadowed in the cloud. 
 
 But seest thou, William, where the mists 
 Sweep o'er the southern sky, 
 
 The dim effulgence of the sun 
 That lights them as they fly 1 
 
 Soon shall that glorious orb of day 
 
 In all his strength arise, 
 And roll along his azure way, 
 
 Through clear and cloudless skies. 
 
 Then shall we see across the vale 
 
 The village spire so white, 
 And the gay wood and meadow green 
 
 Shall live again in light. 
 
 So, William, from the moral world 
 
 The clouds shall pass away ; 
 The light that struggles through them now 
 
 Shall beam eternal day. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MR. LIVINGSTON^ SPEECH ON THE 
 ALIEN BILL. 
 
 House of Representatives , June 19, 1798. 
 
 But if, regardless of our duty as citizens, and our solemn 
 obligations as representatives ; regardless of the rights of our 
 constituents ; regardless of every sanction, human and divine, 
 we are ready to violate the constitution we have sworn to de- 
 fend — will the people submit to our unauthorised acts 1 will 
 the states sanction our usurped power? Sir, they ought not 
 to submit — they would deserve the chains which these meas- 
 ures are forging for them, if they did not resist. For let no 
 man vainly imagine, that the evil is to stop here ; that a few 
 unprotected aliens only are to be affected by this inquisitorial 
 power. The same arguments, which enforce those provisions 
 against aliens, apply with equal strength to enacting them in 
 the case of citizens. The citizen has no other protection for 
 his personal security, that I know, against laws like this, than 
 the humane provisions I have cited from the constitution. But 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 143 
 
 all these apply in common to the citizen and the stranger: all 
 crimes are to be tried by jury : no person shall be held to 
 answer unless on presentment: in all criminal prosecutions, 
 the accused is to have a public trial : the accused is to be 
 informed of the nature of the charge; to be confronted with 
 the witnesses against him ; may have process to enforce the 
 appearance of those in his favour, and is to be allowed coun- 
 sel in his defence. Unless, therefore, we can believe, that 
 treasonable machinations and the other offences, described in 
 the bill, are not crimes, that an alien is not a person, and that 
 one charged with treasonable practices is not accused — un- 
 less we can believe all this in contradiction to our under- 
 standing, to received opinions and the uniform practice of our 
 courts, we must allow, that all these provisions extend equally 
 to alien and native ; and that the citizen has no other security 
 for his personal safety, than is extended to the stranger, who 
 is within his gate. If, therefore, this security is violated in 
 one instance, what pledge have we that it will not be in the 
 other? The same plea of necessity will justify both. Either 
 the offences, described in the act, are crimes, or they are not. 
 If they are, then all the humane provisions of the constitution 
 forbid this mode of punishing, or preventing them, equally 
 as relates to aliens and citizens. If they are not crimes, the 
 citizen has no more safety by the constitution, than the alien ; 
 for all these provisions apply only to crimes. So that in 
 either event, the citizen has the same reason to expect a 
 similar law to the one now before you, which will subject his 
 person to the uncontrolled despotism of a single man. You 
 have already been told of plots and conspiracies; and all 
 the frightful images, that are necessary to keep up the pre- 
 sent system of terror and alarm, have been presented to you ; 
 but who are implicated by these dark hints — these mysterious 
 allusions ? They are our own citizens, sir, not aliens. If 
 there is any necessity for the system now proposed, it is more 
 necessary to be enforced against our own citizens, than 
 against strangers ; and I have no doubt, that either in this 
 or some other shape, this will be attempted. I now ask, 
 sir, whether the people of America are prepared for this ? 
 Whether they are willing to part with all the means which 
 the wisdom of their ancestors discovered ; and their own 
 caution so lately adopted to secure their own persons? 
 Whether they are willing to submit to imprisonment, or 
 exile, whenever suspicion, calumny, or vengeance, shall mark 
 them for ruin? Are they base enough to be prepared for 
 
144 
 
 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 this ? No, sir ; they will — I repeat it, they will resist this 
 tyrannical system ; the people will oppose, the states will not 
 submit to its operations ; they ought not to acquiesce, and I 
 pray to God they never may. 
 
 speech on parliamentary reform. — Sidney Smith. 
 
 Every year for this half century the question of reform 
 has been pressing upon us, till it has swelled up at last into 
 this great and awful combination, so that almost every city 
 * and every borough in England are at this moment assembled 
 for the same purpose, and are doing the same thing we are 
 doing. It damps the ostentation of argument and mitigates 
 the pain of doubt to believe, as I believe, that the measure 
 is inevitable; the consequences may be good or bad, but 
 done it must be. I defy the most determined enemy of popu- 
 lar influence, either now or a little time from now, to pre- 
 vent a reform in Parliament. Proud lips must swallow bitter 
 potions. The arguments and the practice (as I remember to 
 have heard Mr. Huskisson say,) which did very well twenty 
 years ago, will not do now. The people read too much, 
 think too much, see too many newspapers, hear too many 
 speeches, have their eyes too intensely fixed upon political 
 events ; but if it was possible to put off Parliamentary reform 
 a week ago, is it possible now ? When a Monarch (whose 
 amiable and popular manners have, I verily believe, saved 
 us from a revolution) approves the measure— when a minister 
 of exalted character plans and fashions it — when a cabinet 
 of such varied talent and disposition protect it — when such 
 a body of the aristocracy vote for it — when the hundred-horse 
 power of the press is labouring for it — who does not know 
 after this (whatever be the decision of the present Parlia- 
 ment) that the measure is virtually carried ; and that all the 
 struggle between such annunciation of such a plan, and its 
 completion, is tumult, disorder, disaffection — it may be po- 
 litical ruin ! They tell you, gentlemen, that you have grown 
 rich and powerful with these rotten boroughs, and that it 
 would be madness to part with them, or to alter a constitution 
 which had produced such happy effects. There happens, 
 gentlemen, to live near my parsonage a labouring man, of 
 very superior character and understanding to his fellow- 
 labourers, and who has made such good use of that supe- 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 145 
 
 riority, that he has saved what is, for his station in life, a 
 very considerable sum of money, and if his existence is ex- 
 tended to the common period, he will die rich. It happens, 
 however, that he is, and long has been, troubled with violent 
 stomach i>- pains, for which he has hitherto obtained no relief, 
 and which really arc the bane and torment of his life. Now, 
 if my excellent labourer were to send for a physician, and 
 to consult him respecting this malady, would it not be very 
 singular language if our doctor were to say to him, * My good 
 friend, you surely will not be so rash as to attempt to get rid of 
 these pains in your stomach ? Have you not grown rich with 
 these pains in your stomach? Have you not risen under 
 them from poverty to prosperity? Has not your situation, 
 since you were first attacked, been improving every year? 
 You surely will not be so foolish and so indiscreet as to part 
 with the pains in your stomach?' Why, what would be the 
 answer of the rustic to this nonsensical monition ? ' Mon- 
 ster of rhubarb,' he would say, ' I am not rich in consequence 
 of the pains in my stomach, but in spite of the pains in my 
 stomach ; and I should have been ten times richer, and fifty 
 times happier, if I had never had any pains in my stomach 
 at all.' Gentlemen, these rotten boroughs are your pains in 
 the stomach — and you would have been a much richer and 
 greater people if you had never had them at all. Your 
 wealth and your power have been owing, not to the debased 
 and corrupted parts of the House of Commons, but to the 
 many independent and honourable members whom it has 
 always contained within its walls. If it really were a great 
 political innovation, that cities of 100,000 men should have 
 no representatives, because those representives were wanted 
 for political ditches, political walls, and political parks — that 
 the people should be bought and sold like any other com- 
 modity — that a retired merchant should be able to go into 
 the market and buy ten shares in the government of twenty 
 millions of his fellow-subjects — yet can such asseverations 
 be made openly before the people? Wise men, conversant 
 with human affairs, may whisper such theories to each other 
 in retirement ; but can the people ever be taught that it is 
 right they should be bought and sold ? Can the vehemence 
 of eloquent democrats be met with such arguments and theo- 
 ries ? Can the doubts of honest and limited men be met by 
 such arguments and theories? The moment such a govern- 
 ment is looked at by all the people, it is lost. It is impossi- 
 ble to explain, defend, and recommend it to the mass of man- 
 
 N 
 
146 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 kind. The greater part of human improvements, I am sorry 
 to say, are made after war, tumult, bloodshed, and civil com- 
 motion ; mankind seem to object to every species of gratuitous 
 happiness, and to consider every advantage as too cheap which 
 is not purchased by some calamity. I shall esteem it as a 
 singular act of God's providence, if this great nation, guided 
 by these warnings of history, not waiting till tumult for re- 
 form, not trusting reform to the rude hands of the lowest of 
 the people, shall amend their decayed institutions, at a period 
 when they are ruled by a popular monarch, guided by an 
 upright minister, and blessed with profound peace. 
 
 SCENE FROM * THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 Sir Pertinax Macsycophant and Egerton. 
 
 Sir Per. — Come hither, Charles. 
 
 Eger. — Your pleasure, sir. 
 
 Sir Per. — About two hours since I told you, Charles, that 
 I received this letter express, complaining of your brother's 
 activity at an election in Scotland against a particular friend 
 of mine, which has given great offence; and, sir, you are 
 mentioned in this letter as well as he: to be plain ; I must 
 roundly tell you, that on this interview depends my happiness 
 as a father and as a man ; and my affection to you, sir, as a 
 son, the remainder of our days. 
 
 Eger. — I hope, sir, I shall never do any thing to forfeit 
 your affection, or disturb your happiness. 
 
 Sir Per. — I hope so too — but to the point. The fact is 
 this : there has been a motion made this very day to bring on 
 the grand affair — which is settled for Friday se'night ; now, 
 sir, as you are popular, have talents, and are well heard, it is 
 expected, and I insist upon it, that you endeavour to atone 
 for your late misconduct, by preparing, and taking a large 
 share in that question, and supporting it with all your power. 
 
 Eger. — Sir, I have always divided as you directed, except 
 on one occasion; never voted against your friends, only in 
 that affair. But, sir, I hope you will not so exert your influ- 
 ence as to insist upon my supporting a measure, by an obvi- 
 ous, prostituted sophistry, in direct opposition to my character 
 and my conscience. 
 
 Sir Per. — Conscience! why, you are mad! did you ever 
 hear any man talk of conscience in political matters ? con- 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 147 
 
 science, quotha? I have been in parliament these three and 
 thirty years, and never heard the term made use of before : 
 Sir, it is an unparliamentary word, and you will be laughed 
 at for it ; therefore, I desire you will not oiler to impose upon 
 me with such phantoms, but let me know your reasons for 
 thus Blighting my friends, and disobeying my commands. 
 Sir, giv< me an immediate and an explicit answer. 
 
 r. — Then, sir, I must frankly tell you, that you work 
 against my nature; you would connect me with men I de- 
 spise, and press me into measures I abhor; would make me 
 a devoted slave to selfish leaders, who have no friendship but 
 in faction — no merit but in corruption — nor interest in any 
 measures but their own ; and to such men I cannot submit! 
 For know, sir, that the malignant ferment which the venal 
 ambition of the times provokes in the heads and hearts of 
 other men, I detest. 
 
 Sir Per. — What are you about, sir? malignant ferment! 
 and venal ambition ! sir, every man should be ambitious to 
 serve his country, and every man should be rewarded for it : 
 and pray, sir, would not you wish to serve your country ? 
 answer me that ? I say, would not you wish to serve your 
 country? 
 
 Eger. — Only show me how I can serve my country, and 
 my life is hers. Were I qualified to lead her armies, to steer 
 her fleets, and deal her honest vengeance on her insulting 
 foes ; or, could my eloquence pull down a state Leviathan, 
 mighty by the plunder of his country — black with the trea- 
 sons of her disgrace, and send his infamy down to a free 
 posterity, as . a monumental terror to corrupt ambition, I 
 would be foremost in such service, and act it with the unre- 
 mitting ardour of a Roman spirit. 
 
 Sir Per. — Very well ! very well ! the fellow is beside him- 
 self. 
 
 Eger. — But to be a common barker at envied power — to 
 beat the drum of faction, and sound the trumpet of insidious 
 patriotism, only to displace a rival — or to be a servile voter 
 in proud corruption's filthy train — to market out my vice, my 
 reason, and my trust, to the party broker who best can 
 promise or pay for prostitution ; these, airfare services my 
 nature abhors — for they are such a malady to every kind of 
 virtue, as must in time destroy the fairest constitution that 
 ever wisdom framed, or virtuous liberty fought for. 
 
 Sir Per,— Why, are you mad, sir"? you have certainly 
 been bit by some mad whig or other : but no, sir, after all 
 
148 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 this foolmouthed frenzy, and patriotic vulgar intemperance, 
 suppose we were to ask you a plain question or two : pray, 
 what single instance can you, or any man, give of the politi- 
 cal vice or corruption of these days, that has not been 
 practised in the greatest estates, and in the most virtuous 
 times ? I challenge you to give me a single instance. 
 
 Eger. — Your pardon, sir — it is a subject I wish to decline : 
 you know, sir, we never can agree about it. 
 
 Sir Per. — Sir, I insist upon an answer. 
 
 Eger. — I beg you will excuse me, sir. 
 
 Sir Per. — I will not excuse you, sir. I insist. 
 
 Eger. — Then, sir, in obedience, and with your patience, 
 I will answer your question. 
 
 Sir Per. — Ay, ay, I will be patient, never fear : — come, 
 let us have it, let us have it. 
 
 Eger. — You shall ; and now, sir, let prejudice, the rage of 
 party, and the habitual insolence of successful vice — pause 
 but for one moment — and let religion, laws, power herself, 
 the policy of a nation's virtue, and Britain's guardian genius, 
 take a short, impartial retrospect but of one transaction, no- 
 torious in this land — then must they behold yeomen, freemen, 
 citizens, artizans, divines, courtiers, patriots, merchants, 
 soldiers, sailors, and the whole plebeian tribe, in septennial 
 procession, urged and seduced by the contending great ones 
 of the land, to the altar of perjury — with the bribe in one 
 hand and the evangelist in the other — impiously and auda- 
 ciously affront the majesty of heaven, by calling him to wit- 
 ness that they have not received, nor ever will receive, 
 reward or consideration for his suffrage. Is not this a fact ? 
 can it be denied? can it be believed by those who know not 
 Britain ? or can it be matched in the records of human policy ? 
 Who then, sir, that reflects one moment, as a Briton or a 
 christian, on this picture, would be conducive to a people's 
 infamy and a nation's ruin? 
 
 Sir Per. — Sir, I have heard your rhapsody with a great 
 deal of patience ! and great astonishment — and your are cer- 
 tainly beside yourself. What business have you to trouble 
 your head about the sins or the souls of other men ? you 
 should leave these matters to the clergy, who are paid for 
 looking after them; and let every man go his own way: 
 besides, it is not decent to find fault with what is winked at 
 by the whole nation — nay, and practised by all parties. 
 
 Eger. — That; sir, is the very shame and ruin I complain of. 
 
 Sir. Per* — Oh ! you are very young, very young in these 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 149 
 
 matters, but experience will convince you, sir, that every 
 man in public business has two consciences — a religious, 
 and a political conscience. Why, you see a merchant now, 
 or a Bhop-keeper, that knows the science of the world, always 
 looks upon an oath at a custom house, or behind a counter, 
 only as an oath in business; a thing of course — a mere thing 
 of course, that has nothing to do with religion : and just so 
 it is at an election : for instance, now, I am a candidate, pray 
 observe, and I go to a periwig maker, a hatter, or a hosier, 
 and I give ten, twenty, or thirty guineas for a periwig, a hat, 
 or a pair of hose ; and so on, through a majority of voters : 
 very well ; what is the consequence ? why, this commercial 
 intercourse, you see, begets a friendship betwixt us, a com- 
 mercial friendship — and, in a day or two these men go and 
 give me their suffrages: well, what is the inference? pray, 
 sir, can you, or any lawyer, divine, or casuist, call this a bribe ? 
 No, sir, in fair political reasoning, it is only generosity on the 
 one side and gratitude on the other. So, sir, let me have no 
 more of your religious or philosophical refinements; but pre- 
 pare, attend, and speak to the question, or you are no son of 
 mine. Sir, I insist upon it. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MR. SHERIDAN S SPEECH, IN ANSWER TO 
 MR. BURKE'S, ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 What were their laws? The arbitrary mandates of capri- 
 cious despotism. What their justice ? The partial adjudi- 
 cations of venal magistrates. What their revenue 1 National 
 bankruptcy. This he thought the fundamental error of the 
 right honourable gentleman's argument, that he accused the 
 national assembly of creating the evils, which they had found 
 existing in full deformity at the first hour of their meeting. 
 The public creditor had been defrauded ; the manufacturer 
 was without employ ; trade was languishing ; famine clung 
 upon the poor; despair on all. In this situation, the wisdom 
 and feelings of the nation were appealed to by the govern- 
 ment ; and was it to be wondered at by Englishmen, that a 
 people, so circumstanced, should ^earch for the cause and 
 source of all their calamities; or that they should find them 
 in the arbitrary constitution of their government, and in the 
 prodigal and corrupt administration of their revenues? For 
 such an evil, when proved, what remedy could be resorted 
 
 n2 
 
150 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 to, but a radical amendment of the frame and fabric of the 
 constitution itself. This change was not the object and 
 wish of the national assembly only ; it was the claim and cry 
 of all France, united as one man for one purpose. He joined 
 with Mr. Burke in abhorring the cruelties that had been 
 committed; but what was the striking lesson, the awful 
 moral that was to be gathered from the outrages of the peo- 
 ple ? What but a superior abhorrence of that accursed sys- 
 tem of despotic government, which had so deformed and 
 corrupted human nature, as to make its subjects capable of 
 such acts ; a government that sets at nought the property, the 
 liberty, the lives of the subjects; a government that deals in 
 extortions, dungeons, and tortures ; sets an example of de- 
 pravity to the slaves it rules over ? and if a day of power 
 comes to the wretched populace, it is not to be wondered at, 
 however it is to be regretted, that they act without those 
 feelings of justice and humanity, which the principles and 
 the practice of their governors have stripped them of. 
 
 EXTEACT PROM MR. HARPER^ SPEECH ON RESISTING THE 
 AGGRESSIONS OF FRANCE. 
 
 House of Representatives. 
 
 When France shall at length be convinced, that we are 
 firmly resolved to call forth all our resources, and exert all 
 our strength to resist her encroachments and aggressions, 
 she will soon desist from them. She need not be told what 
 these resources are ; she well knows their greatness and 
 extent; she well knows that this country, if driven into a 
 war, could soon become invulnerable to her attacks, and 
 could throw a most formidable and preponderating weight 
 into the scale of her adversary. She will not, therefore, 
 drive us to this extremity, but will desist as soon as she finds 
 us determined. I have already touched on our means of 
 injuring France, and of repelling her attacks ; and if those 
 means were less than they are, still they might be rendered 
 all-sufficient, by resolution and courage. It is in these that 
 the strength of nations t^msists, and not in fleets, nor armies, 
 nor population, nor money : in the " unconquerable will — the 
 courage never to submit or yield.' 1 These are the true 
 sources of national greatness; and to use the words of a 
 celebrated writer, — " when these means are not wanting, all 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 151 
 
 others will be found or created." It was by these means 
 that Holland, in the days of her glory, triumphed over the 
 mighty power of Spain. It is by these, that in latter times, 
 and in the course of the present war, the Swiss, a people 
 not half so numerous as we, and possessing few of our ad- 
 vantages, have honourably maintained their neutrality amid 
 the shock of surrounding states, and against the haughty 
 ;iL r L r n ssions of France herself. The Swiss have not been 
 without their trials. They had given refuge to many French 
 emigrants, whom their vengeful and implacable country had 
 driven and pursued from state to state, and whom it wished 
 to deprive of their last asylum in the mountains of Switzer- 
 land. The Swiss were required to drive them away, under 
 the pretence that to afford them a retreat was contrary to the 
 laws of neutrality. They at first temporized and evaded the 
 demand. France insisted ; and finding at length that evasion 
 was useless, they assumed a firm attitude, and declared that 
 having afforded an asylum to those unfortunate exiles, which 
 no law of neutrality forbade, they would protect them in it 
 at every hazard. France, finding them thus resolved, gave 
 up the attempt. This was effected by that determined 
 courage, which alone can make a nation great or respectable : 
 and this effect has invariably been produced by the same 
 cause, in every age and every clime. It was this that made 
 Rome the mistress of the world, and Athens the protectress 
 of Greece. When was it that Rome attracted most strongly 
 the admiration of mankind, and impressed the deepest senti- 
 ment of fear on the hearts of her enemies ? It was when 
 seventy thousand of her sons lay bleeding at Cannae, and 
 Hannibal, victorious over three Roman armies, and twenty 
 nations, was thundering at her gates. It was then that the 
 young and heroic Scipio, having sworn on his sword, in the 
 presence of the fathers of his country, not to despair of the 
 republic, marched forth at the head of a people firmly resolved 
 to conquer or die: and that resolution insured them the vic- 
 tory. When did Athens appear the greatest and the most 
 formidable? It was when giving up their houses and pos- 
 sessions to the flames of the enemy, and having transferred 
 their wives, their children, their aged parents, and the symbols 
 of their religion on board of their fleet, they resolved to con- 
 sider themselves as the republic, and their ships as their 
 country. It was then they struck that terrible blow, under 
 which the greatness of Persia sunk and expired. 
 
152 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Let me suppose that you had seen him (Orr) removed from 
 his industry, and confined in a gaol; that, through the slow 
 and lingering progress of twelve tedious months, you had seen 
 him, confined in a dungeon, shut out from the common air 
 and the use of his own limbs ; that, day after day, you had 
 marked the unhappy captive cheered by no sound but the 
 cries of his family, or the clinking of chains ; that you had 
 seen him at last brought to his trial ; that you had seen the vile 
 and perjured informer deposing against his life ; that you had 
 seen the drunken, and worn out, and terrified jury give in a 
 verdict of death ; that you had seen the same jury, when their 
 returning sobriety had brought back their consciences, pros- 
 trate themselves before the humanity of the Bench, and pray 
 that the mercy of the Crown might save their characters from 
 the reproach of an involuntary crime, their consciences from 
 the torture of eternal self-condemnation, and their souls from 
 the indelible stain of innocent blood. Let me suppose that 
 you had seen the respite given, and that contrite and honest 
 recommendation transmitted to that seat where mercy was 
 presumed to dwell ; that new, and before unheard of, crimes 
 are discovered against the informer; that the royal mercy 
 seems to relent, and that a new respite is sent to the prisoner ; 
 that time is taken, as the learned counsel for the crown has 
 expressed it, to see whether mercy could be extended or not ! 
 that after that period of lingering deliberation passed, a third 
 respite is transmitted; that the unhappy captive himself feels 
 the cheering hope of being restored to a family that he had 
 adored, to a character that he had never stained, and to a 
 country that he had ever loved ; that you had seen his wife 
 and children upon their knees, giving those tears to gratitude 
 which their locked and frozen hearts could not give to anguish 
 and despair, and imploring the blessings of eternal Provi- 
 dence upon his head, who had graciously spared the father, 
 and restored him to his children ; that you had seen the olive 
 branch sent into his little ark, but no sign that the waters had 
 subsided. — "Alas! nor wife nor children more shall he be- 
 hold, nor friends nor sacred home !" No seraph mercy unbars 
 his dungeon, and leads him forth to light and life ; but the 
 minister of death hurries him to the scene of suffering and 
 of shame, — rwhere, unmoved by the hostile array of artillery 
 and armed men collected together, to secure, or to insult, or 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 153 
 
 to disturb him, he dies with a solemn declaration of his inno- 
 cence, and utters his last breath in a prayer for the liberty 
 of his country. Let me now ask yon, if any of you had ad- 
 dressed the public ear upon so foul and monstrous a subject, 
 in what Language would you have conveyed the feelings of 
 horror and indignation? Would you have stooped to the 
 meanness of qualified complaint? Would you have been 
 mean enough? — But I entreat your forgiveness. I do not 
 think meanly of you : had I thought so meanly of you, I 
 could not have suffered my mind to commune with you as it 
 has done ; had I thought you that base and vile instrument, 
 attuned by hope and by fear into discord and falsehood, from 
 whose vulgar string no groan of suffering could vibrate, no 
 voice of integrity or honour could speak, — let me honestly 
 tell you, I should have scorned to fling my hand across it ; — 
 I should have left it to a fitter minstrel. 
 
 scene from the school for scandal. — Sheridan. 
 
 Charles Surface, Sir Oliver Surface, Moses, and Careless. 
 
 Charles S. — Walk in, gentlemen; pray walk in — here 
 they are, the family of the Surfaces, up to the conquest. 
 
 Sir O. — And, in my opinion, a goodly collection. 
 
 Charles S. — Ay, ay, these are done in the true spirit of 
 portrait-painting ; — no voloutier grace or expression. Not 
 like the works of your modern Raphaels, who give you the 
 strongest resemblance, yet contrive to make your portrait 
 independent of you ; so that you may sink the original, and 
 not hurt the picture. No, no; the merit of these is the in- 
 veterate likeness — all stiff and awkward as the originals, and 
 like nothing in human nature besides. 
 
 Sir O. — Ah! we shall never see such figures of men 
 again. 
 
 Charles S. — I hope not. — Well, you see, Master Premium, 
 what a domestic character I am: here I sit of an evening 
 surrounded by my family. — But, come, get to your pulpit, 
 Mr. Auctioneer ; here's an old gouty chair of my grandfather's 
 will answer the purpose. 
 
 Care. — Ay, ay, this will do. — But, Charles, I hav'n't a 
 hammer; and what's an auctioneer without his hammer? 
 
 Charles S. — That's true, [leaking pedigree dawn.'] — 
 What parchment have we here ? — O, our genealogy in full. 
 
154 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Here, Careless, — you shall have no common bit of mahogany ; 
 here's the family tree for you, you rogue, — this shall be your 
 hammer, and now you may knock down my ancestors with 
 their own pedigree. 
 
 Sir O. — What an unnatural rogue ! an ex post facto par- 
 ricide ! [Aside.] 
 
 Care. — Yes, yes, here's a list of your generation indeed ; 
 faith, Charles, this is the most convenient thing you could 
 have found for the business, for, 'twill not only serve as a 
 hammer, but a catalogue into the bargain. — Come, begin — 
 A-going, a-going, a-going ! 
 
 Charles S. — Bravo, Careless ! — Well, here's my great un- 
 cle, Sir Richard Raveline, a marvellous good general in his 
 day, I assure you. He served in all the Duke of Marlbo- 
 rough's wars, and got that cut over his eye at the battle of 
 Malplaquet. — What say you, Mr. Premium? — look at him — 
 there's a hero, not cut out of his feathers, as your modern 
 dipt captains are, but enveloped in wig and regimentals, as 
 a general should be. — What do you bid? 
 
 Sir O. — [Aside to Moses.] Bid him speak. 
 
 Moses. — Mr. Premium would have you speak. 
 
 Charles S. — W r hy, then, he shall have him for ten pounds, 
 and I'm sure that's not dear for a staff-officer. 
 
 Sir O. — Heaven deliver me ! his famous uncle Richard 
 for ten pounds! [Aside.] — Very well, sir, I take him at 
 that. 
 
 Charles S. — Careless, knock down my uncle Richard. — 
 Here, now, is a maiden sister of his, my great Aunt Deborah, 
 done by Kneller in his best manner, and esteemed a very 
 formidable likeness. — There she is, you see, a shepherdess 
 feeding her flock. — You shall have her for five pounds ten — 
 the sheep are worth the money. 
 
 Sir O. — Ah ! poor Deborah ! a woman who set such a value 
 on herself! [Aside.] Five pounds ten — she's mine. 
 
 Charles S. — Knock down my aunt Deborah, Careless ! — 
 This, now, is a grandfather of my mother's, a learned judge, 
 well known on the western circuit. — What do you rate him 
 at, Moses? 
 
 Moses.- — Four guineas. 
 
 Charles S. — Four guineas ! — you don't bid me the price of 
 his wig. — Mr. Premium, you have more respect for the 
 Woolsack ,• do let us knock his lordship down at fifteen. 
 
 Sir O. — By all means. 
 
 Care— Gone ! 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 155 
 
 Charles S. — And there are two brothers of his, William 
 and Walter Blunt, Esquires, both members of Parliament, and 
 noted speakers; and what's rery extraordinary , I believe this 
 is the first time they were ever bought or sold. 
 
 Sir (). — That is very extraordinary, indeed ! I'll take them 
 at your own price, for the honour of Parliament. 
 
 Gbte* — Well said, little Premium! — I'll knock them down 
 at forty. 
 
 Charles S. — Here's a jolly fellow — I don't know what 
 relation ; but he was mayor of Norwich : take him at eight 
 pounds. 
 
 Sir O. — No, no : six will do for the mayor. 
 
 Charles S. — Come, make it guineas, and I throw out the 
 two aldermen there into the bargain. 
 
 Sir O. — They're mine. 
 
 Charles S. — Careless, knock down the mayor and alder- 
 men. — But plague on't, we shall be all day retailing in this 
 manner; do let us deal wholesale : what say you, little Pre- 
 mium? Give me three hundred pounds, and take all that 
 remains on each side in a lump. 
 
 Care. — Ay, ay, that will be the best way. 
 
 Sir O. — Well, well, any thing to accommodate you : — 
 they are mine. But there is one portrait which you have 
 always passed over. 
 
 Care. — What, that ill-looking little fellow over the settee? 
 
 Sir O. — Yes, sir, I mean that ; though I don't think him 
 so ill-looking a little fellow, by any means. 
 
 Charles S. — What, that? — Oh! that's my uncle Oliver; 
 'twas done before he went to India. 
 
 Care. — Your uncle Oliver ! — Then you'll never be friends, 
 Charles. That, now, to me, is as stern a looking rogue as 
 ever I saw ; an unforgiving eye, and a very disinheriting 
 countenance ! an inveterate knave, depend o'nt. Don't you 
 think so, little Premium? 
 
 Sir O. — Upon my word, sir, I do not ; I think it as honest 
 a looking face as any in the room, dead or alive ; — but I sup- 
 pose uncle Oliver goes with the rest of the lumber? 
 
 Charles S. — No, hang it ; I'll not part with poor Noll. The 
 old fellow has been very good to me, and I'll keep his 
 picture while I've a room to put it in. 
 
 Sir O. — The rogue's my nephew after all ! [Aside.] — But, 
 sir, I have somehow taken a fancy to that picture. 
 
 Charles S. — I'm sorry for't, for you certainly will not have 
 it. — Oons, haven't you got enough of them? 
 
156 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Sir O. — I forgive him every thing! [Aside.] — But, sir, 
 when I take a whim in my head I don't value money. I'll 
 give you as much for that as for all the rest. 
 
 Charles S. — Don't tease me, master broker; I tell you I'll 
 not part with it, and there's an end of it. 
 
 Sir O. — How like his father the dog is ! [Aside."] — Well, 
 well, I have done. — I did not perceive it before, but I think 
 I never saw such a resemblance — [Aside.] — Here is a 
 draught for your sum. 
 
 Charles S. — Why, 'tis for eight hundred pounds ! 
 
 Sir O. — You will not let Sir Oliver go? 
 
 Charles S. — Zounds ! no ! — I tell you once more. 
 
 Sir O. — Then never mind the difference ; we'll balance 
 that another time — but give me your hand on the bargain ; 
 you are an honest fellow, Charles — I beg pardon, sir, for 
 being so free. — Come, Moses. 
 
 Charles S. — This is a whimsical old fellow ! But hark'ee, 
 Premium, you'll prepare lodgings for these gentlemen? 
 
 Sir O. — Yes, yes, I'll send for them in a day or two. 
 
 Charles S. — But hold : do now send a genteel conveyance 
 for them ; for I assure you, they were most of them used to 
 ride in their own carriages. 
 
 Sir O.—l will, I will— for all but Oliver. 
 
 Charles S. — Ay, all but the little nabob. 
 
 Sir O. — You're fixed on that ? 
 
 Charles S. — Peremptorily. 
 
 Sir O. — A dear extravagant rogue ! [Aside.] — Good-day ! 
 Come, Moses. — Let me hear now who dares call him pro- 
 fligate ! 
 
 MODERN GREECE. By T 071. 
 
 He who hath bent him o'er the dead 
 
 Ere the first day of death is fled, 
 
 The first dark day of nothingness, 
 
 The last of danger and distress, 
 
 (Before decay's effacing fingers 
 
 Have swept the line where beauty lingers,) 
 
 And marked the mild angelic air, 
 
 The rapture of repose that's there, 
 
 The fixed yet tender traits that streak 
 
 The languor of the placid cheek, 
 
NEW AxMERICAN SPEAKER. 157 
 
 And — but for that sad shrouded eye, 
 
 That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, 
 
 And but for that chill changeless brow, 
 
 Where cold Obstruction's apathy 
 
 Appals the gazing mourner's heart, 
 
 As if to him it would impart 
 
 The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; 
 
 Yes, but for these and these alone, 
 
 Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, 
 
 He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; 
 
 So fair, so calm, so softly sealed, 
 
 The first, last look by death revealed ! 
 
 Such is the aspect of this shore ; 
 
 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more ! 
 
 So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
 
 We start, for soul is wanting there. 
 
 Her's is the loveliness in death, 
 
 That parts not quite with parting breath 
 
 But beauty with that fearful bloom, 
 
 That line which haunts it to the tomb, 
 
 Expression's last receding ray, 
 
 A gilded halo hovering round decay, 
 
 The farewell beam of Feeling past away ! 
 Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, 
 Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth ! 
 
 the nightingale. — Coleridge. 
 
 No cloud, no relique of the sunken day 
 Distinguishes the West ; no long thin slip 
 Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. 
 Come, we will rest on this old, mossy bridge! 
 You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, 
 But hear no murmuring: it flows silently 
 O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still, 
 A balmy night! and though the stars be dim, 
 Yet let us think upon the vernal showers 
 That gladden the green earth, and we shall find 
 A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. 
 And hark ! the Nightingale begins its song, 
 " Most musical, most melancholy Bird ! 
 A melancholy Bird ? Oh ! idle thought ! 
 O 
 
158 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 In nature there is nothing melancholy. 
 
 But some night-wandering man, whose heart was pierced 
 
 With the resemblance of a grievous wrong, 
 
 Or slow distemper, or neglected love, 
 
 (And so, poor wretch ! filled all things with himself 
 
 And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 
 
 Of his own sorrow) he, and such as he, 
 
 First named these notes a melancholy strain : 
 
 And many a poet echoes the conceit ; 
 
 Poet who hath been building up the rhyme 
 
 When he had better far have stretched his limbs 
 
 Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell, 
 
 By sun or moon-light, to the influxes 
 
 Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements 
 
 Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song 
 
 And of his fame forgetful ! So his fame 
 
 Should share in Nature's immortality, 
 
 A venerable thing ! and so his song 
 
 Should make all nature lovelier, and itself 
 
 Be loved like Nature ! But 'twill not be so ; 
 
 And youths and maidens most poetical, 
 
 Who lose the deepening twilights of the spring 
 
 In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still 
 
 Full of meek sympathy must heave their sighs 
 
 O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains. 
 
 My Friend, and thou, our Sister ! we have learnt 
 
 A different lore : we may not thus profane 
 
 Nature's sweet voices, always full of love 
 
 And joyance ! 'Tis the merry Nightingale 
 
 That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates 
 
 With fast thick warble his delicious notes, 
 
 As he were fearful that an April night 
 
 Would be too short for him to utter forth 
 
 His love-chant, and disburden his full soul 
 
 Of all its music ! 
 
 And I know a grove 
 Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, 
 Which the great lord inhabits not ; and so 
 This grove is wild with tangling underwood, 
 And the trim walks are broken up, and grass, 
 Thin grass, and king-cups grow within the paths. 
 But never elsewhere in one place I knew 
 So many Nightingales; and far and near, 
 In wood and thicket, over the wide grove, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 159 
 
 t 
 They answer and provoke each other's songs, 
 With skirmish and capricious passagings, 
 And murmurs musical, and swift jug, jug; 
 And one, low piping, sounds more sweet than all, 
 Stirring the air with such an harmony, 
 That should you close your eyes, you might almost 
 Forget it was not day ! On moonlight bushes, 
 Whose dewy leafits are but half disclosed, 
 You may perchance behold them on the twigs, 
 Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full, 
 Glistening, while many a glow-worm in the shade 
 Lights up her love-torch. 
 
 A most gentle Maid, 
 Who dwelleth in her hospitable home 
 Hard by the castle, and at latest eve 
 (Even like a lady vowed and dedicate 
 To something more than Nature in the grove) 
 Glides through the pathways ; she knows all their notes, 
 That gentle Maid ! and oft a moment's space, 
 What time the Moon was lost behind a cloud, 
 Hath heard a pause of silence ; till the Moon 
 Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky 
 With one sensation, and these wakeful Birds 
 Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy, 
 As if one quick and sudden gale had swept 
 A hundred airy harps ! And she hath watched 
 Many a Nightingale perch, giddily, 
 On blos'my twig still swinging from the breeze, 
 And to that motion tune his wanton song, 
 Like tipsy joy that reels with tossing head. 
 
 Farewell, O Warbler 1 till to-morrow eve, 
 And you, my friends ! farewell, a short farewell ! 
 We have been loitering long and pleasantly ; 
 And now for our dear homes. — That strain again? 
 Full fain it would delay me 1 My dear babe, 
 Who, capable of no articulate sound, 
 Mars all things with his imitative lisp, 
 How he would place his hand beside his ear, 
 His little hand, the small forefinger up, 
 And bid us listen! And I deem it wise 
 To make him Nature's play-mate. He knows well 
 The evening-star ; and once, when he awoke 
 In most distressful mood, (some inward pain 
 
 

 160 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Had made up that strange thing", an infant's dream) 
 
 I hurried with him to our orchard -plot, 
 
 And he beheld the Moon, and, hushed at once, 
 
 Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently, 
 
 While his fair eyes, that swam with undropt tears, 
 
 Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam ! Well ! — 
 
 It is a father's tale : But if that Heaven 
 
 Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up 
 
 Familiar with these songs, that with the night 
 
 He may associate joy ! Once more farewell, 
 
 Sweet Nightingale ! Once more, my friends, farewell. 
 
 an inscription. — Soutkey. 
 
 Pizarro here was born ; a greater name 
 The list of glory boasts not. Toil and pain, 
 Famine, and hostile elements, and hosts 
 Embattled, failed to check him in his course; 
 Not to be wearied, not to be deterred, 
 Not to be overcome. A mighty realm 
 He overran, and with relentless arms 
 Slew or enslaved its unoffending sons, 
 And wealth, and power, and fame, were his rewards. 
 There is another world, beyond the grave, 
 According to their deeds where men are judged : 
 O Reader ! if thy daily bread be earned 
 By daily labour, — yea, however low, 
 However wretched be thy lot assigned, 
 Thank thou, with deepest gratitude, the God 
 Who made thee, that thou art not such as he. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM PATRICK HENRY S SPEECH ON THE EXPE- 
 DIENCY OF ADOPTING THE FEDERAL CONSTITUTION. 
 
 Virginia Convention, June 7, 1788. 
 
 I am constrained to make a few remarks on the absurdity 
 of adopting this system, and relying on the chance of getting 
 it amended afterwards. When it is confessed to be replete 
 with defects, is it not offering to insult your understandings, 
 to attempt to reason you out of the propriety of rejecting it, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 161 
 
 lill it be amended? Does it not insult your judgments to tell 
 y 0U — adopt first, and then amend? Is your rage for novelty 
 so great, that you are first to sign and seal, and then to re- 
 tract ? Is it possible to conceive a greater solecism? I am at 
 a loss what to say. You agree to bind yourselves hand and 
 f 00 t — ibr the sake of what? Of being unbound. You go 
 into a dungeon — for what? To get out. Is there no danger 
 when you go in, that the bolts of federal authority shall shut 
 you in ? Human nature never will part from power. Look 
 for an example of a voluntary relinquishment of power, from 
 one end of the globe to another — you will find none. Nine 
 tenths of our fellow men have been, and are now depressed 
 by the most intolerable slavery, in the different parts of the 
 world, because the strong hand of power has bolted them 
 in the dungeon of despotism. Review the present situation 
 of the nations of Europe, which is pretended to be the freest 
 quarter of the globe. Cast your eyes on the countries called 
 free there. Look at the country from which we are de- 
 scended, I beseech you ; and although we are separated by 
 everlasting, insuperable partitions, yet there are some virtu- 
 ous people there, who are friends to human nature and 
 liberty. Look at Britain ; see there the bolts and bars of 
 power ; see bribery and corruption defiling the fairest fabric 
 that ever human nature reared. Can a gentleman, who is 
 an Englishman, or who is acquainted with the English his- 
 tory, desire to prove these evils? See the efforts of a man 
 descended from a friend of America; see the efforts of that 
 man, assisted even by the king, to make reforms. But you 
 find the faults too strong to be amended. Nothing but 
 bloody war can alter them. See Ireland: that country 
 groaned from century to century, without getting their 
 government amended. Previous adoption was the fashion 
 there. They sent for amendments from time to time, but 
 never obtained them, though pressed by the severest oppres- 
 sion, till eighty thousand volunteers demanded them sword 
 in hand — till the power of Britain was prostrate; when the 
 American resistance was crowned with success. Shall we 
 do so? If you judge by the experience of Ireland, you must 
 obtain the amendments as early as possible. But, I ask you 
 again, where is the example that a government was amended 
 by those who instituted it? Where is the instance of the 
 errors of a government rectified by those who adopted them? 
 
 o 2 
 
162 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 THE RIGHT OF THE AMERICANS TO TAKE UP ARMS. — Chatham* 
 
 My Lords, — I will not join in congratulation on misfor- 
 tune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and tre- 
 mendous moment : it is not a 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 envelope it ; and display, in 
 its full danger and genuine colours, the ruin which is 
 brought to our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect 
 support in their infatuation ? Can parliament be so dead to 
 its dignity and duty as to give their support to measures thus 
 obtruded and forced upon them? Measures, my lords, which 
 have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and con- 
 tempt. But yesterday, " and England might have stood 
 against the world — now, none so poor to do her reverence." 
 The people whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom 
 we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against you, 
 supplied with every military store, their interests consulted, 
 and their ambassadors entertained by your inveterate enemy ; 
 and our ministers do not, and dare not, interpose with dig- 
 nity or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad is in 
 part known. No man more highly esteems and honours the 
 English troops than I do : I know their virtues and their 
 valour : I know they can achieve any thing except impossi- 
 bilities ; and I know that the conquest of English America 
 is an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you cannot con- 
 quer America. What is your present situation there ? We 
 do not know the worst, but we know that in three campaigns 
 we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell 
 every expense, and strain every effort, accumulate every as- 
 sistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every 
 German despot ; your attempts for ever will be vain and impo- 
 tent ; doubly so indeed from this mercenary aid on which you 
 rely; for it irritates to an incurable resentment the minds of 
 your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of 
 rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to 
 the rapacity of hireling 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 ! Rut, my lords, who is the man that, in addition to 
 the disgraces and mischiefs of war, has dared to authorize 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 163 
 
 and associate to our arms, the tomahawk and scalping-knife 
 of the savage — to call into civilized alliance the wild and 
 inhuman inhabitant of the woods ? — to delegate to the mer- 
 ciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the 
 horrois of his barbarous war against our brethren? My 
 lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment. 
 Familiarized to the horrid scenes of savage cruelty, our army 
 can no longer boast of the noble and generous principles 
 which dignify a soldier. No longer are their feelings awake 
 to ■ the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war :' — 
 but the sense of honour is degraded into a vile spirit of plun- 
 der, and the systematic practice of murder. From the an- 
 cient connexion between Great Britain and her colonies, both 
 parties derived the most important advantage. While the 
 shield of our protection was extended over America, she was 
 the fountain of our wealth, the nerve of our strength, the 
 basis of our power. It is not, my lords, a wild and lawless 
 banditti whom we oppose ; the resistance of America is the 
 struggle of free and virtuous patriots. Let us then seize 
 with eagerness the present moment of reconciliation. America 
 has not yet finally given herself up to France : there yet re- 
 mains a possibility of escape from the fatal effect of our de- 
 lusions. In this complicated crisis of danger, weakness, 
 and calamity, terrified and insulted by the neighbouring 
 powers, unable to act in America, or acting only to be de- 
 stroyed, where is the man who will venture to flatter us with 
 the hope of success from perseverance in measures produc- 
 tive of these dire effects ? Who has the effrontery to attempt 
 it ? Where is that man ? Let him, if he dare, stand forward 
 and show his face. You cannot conciliate America by your 
 present measures : you cannot subdue her by your present or 
 any measures. What then can you do? You cannot con- 
 quer, you cannot gain ; but you can address : you can lull the 
 fears and anxieties of the moment into ignorance of the dan- 
 ger that should produce them. I did hope, instead of that 
 false and empty pride, engendering high conceits and pre- 
 sumptuous imaginations, that ministers would have humbled 
 themselves in their errors, would have confessed and retracted 
 them, and by an active, though a late repentance, have en- 
 deavoured to redeem them. But, my lords, since they have 
 neither sagacity to foresee, nor justice nor humanity to shun 
 those calamities — since not even bitter experience can make 
 them feel, nor the imminent ruin of their country awaken 
 them from their stupefaction, the guardian care of parliament 
 
164 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 must interpose. I shall therefore, my lords, propose to you 
 an amendment to the address to his majesty — To recommend 
 an immediate cessation of hostilities, and the commencement 
 of a treaty to restore peace and liberty to America, strength 
 and happiness to England, security and permanent prosperity 
 to both countries. This, my lords, is yet in our power; and 
 let not the wisdom and justice of your lordships neglect the 
 happy and perhaps the only opportunity. 
 
 THE EIGHT OF BBITAIN TO TAX AMEEICA. Burke. 
 
 " Oh ! inestimable right ! Oh ! wonderful, transcendent 
 right, the assertion of which has cost this country thirteen 
 provinces, six islands, one hundred thousand lives, and 
 seventy millions of money ! Oh ! invaluable right ! for the 
 sake of which we have sacrificed our rank among nations, 
 our importance abroad, and our happiness at home ! Oh 
 right ! more dear to us than our existence, which has already 
 cost us so much, and which seems likely to cost us our all. 
 Infatuated man !" fixing his eye on the minister, " miserable 
 and undone country ! not to know that the claim of right, 
 without enforcing it, is nugatory and idle. We have a right 
 to tax America, the noble lord tells us ; therefore we ought 
 to tax America. This is the profound logic which comprises 
 the whole chain of his reasoning. Not inferior to this. was 
 the wisdom of him who resolved to shear the wolf. What ! 
 shear a wolf! Have you considered the resistance, the dif- 
 ficulty, the danger of the attempt ? No, says the madman, I 
 have considered nothing but the right. Man has a right of 
 dominion over the beasts of the forest ; and therefore I will 
 shear the wolf. How wonderful that a nation could be thus 
 deluded. But the noble lord deals in cheats and delusions. 
 They are the daily traffic of his invention ; and he will con- 
 tinue to play off his cheats on this House, so long as he thinks 
 them necessary to his purpose, and so long as he has money 
 enough at command to bribe gentlemen to pretend that they 
 believe him. But a black and bitter day of reckoning will 
 surely come ; and whenever that day come, I trust I shall be 
 able, by a parliamentary impeachment, to bring upon the 
 heads of the authors of our calamities, the punishment they 
 deserve." 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 165 
 
 EXTRACT FROM LORD BYRON S SPEECH ON CATHOLIC 
 EMANCIPATION. 
 
 House of Lords. 
 
 But there are, who assert the catholics have already been 
 too much indulged: see what has been done ; we have given 
 them one entire college, we allow them food and raiment, 
 the full enjoyment of the elements, and leave to fight for us 
 as long as they have limbs, and lives to offer, and yet they 
 are never to be satisfied ! Generous and just declaimers ! to 
 this, and to this only, amount the whole of your arguments, 
 when stripped of their sophistry. Those personages remind 
 me of a story of a certain drummer, who being called upon 
 in the course of duty to administer punishment to a friend 
 tied to the halberts, was requested to flog high, he did — to 
 flog low, he did — to flog in the middle, he did — high, low, 
 down the middle, and up again ; but all in vain ; the patient 
 continued his complaints with the most provoking pertina- 
 city, until the drummer, exhausted and angry, flung down 
 his scourge, exclaiming, " the devil burn you, there's no 
 pleasing you, flog where one will !" Thus it is : you have 
 flogged the catholic high, low, here, there, and every where, 
 and then you wonder he is not pleased. It is true, that 
 time, experience, and that weariness which attends even the 
 exercise of barbarity, have taught you to flog a little more 
 gently, but still you continue to lay on the lash, and will so 
 continue, till perhaps the rod may be wrested from your 
 hands and applied to the backs of yourselves and your 
 posterity. 
 
 It was said by somebody in a former debate, (I forget by 
 whom, and am not very anxious to remember,) if the catho- 
 lics are emancipated, why not the Jews? If this sentiment 
 was dictated by compassion for the Jews, it might deserve 
 attention, but as a sneer against the catholic, what is it but 
 the language of Shylock, transferred from his daughter's 
 marriage to catholic emancipation — 
 
 'Would any of the tribe of Barabbas 
 Should have it rather than a christian !' 
 
 I presume a catholic is a christian, even in the opinion of 
 him whose taste only can be called in question for his pre- 
 ference of the Jews. 
 
 It is a remark often quoted of Dr. Johnson, (whom I take 
 
166 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 to be almost as good authority as the gentle apostle of in- 
 tolerance, Dr. Duigenan,) that he who could entertain seri- 
 ous apprehensions of danger to the church in these times, 
 would have "cried fire in the deluge." This is more than a 
 metaphor ; for a remnant of these antediluvians appear actu- 
 ally to have come down to us, with fire in their mouths and 
 water in their brains, to disturb and perplex mankind with 
 their whimsical outcries. And as it is an infallible symptom 
 of that distressing malady with which I conceive them to be 
 afflicted, (so any doctor will inform your lordships) for the 
 unhappy invalids to perceive a flame perpetually flashing 
 before their eyes, particularly when their eyes are shut, (as 
 those of the persons to whom I allude have long been,) it is 
 impossible to convince these poor creatures, that the fire 
 against which they are perpetually warning us and them- 
 selves, is nothing but an ignis fatuus of their own drivelling 
 imaginations. " What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative 
 drug can scour that fancy thence ?" — it is impossible ; they 
 are given over ; theirs is the true 
 
 • Caput insanabile tribus Anticyris.' 
 
 These are your true protestants. Like Bayle, who protested 
 against all sects whatsoever, so do they protest against cath- 
 olic petitions, protestant petitions, all redress, all that reason, 
 humanity, policy, justice, and common-sense, can urge 
 against the delusions of their absurd delirium. These are 
 the persons who reverse the fable of the mountain that 
 brought forth a mouse, they are the mice who conceive 
 themselves in labour with mountains. 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 To return to the catholics. Suppose the Irish were actu- 
 ally contented under their disabilities ; suppose them capable 
 of such a bull as not to desire deliverance, ought we not to 
 wish it for ourselves? Have we nothing to gain by their 
 emancipation? What resources have been wasted, what 
 talents have been lost, by the selfish system of exclusion ! 
 You already know the value of Irish aid ; at this moment the 
 defence of England is intrusted to the Irish militia ; at this 
 moment, while the starving people are rising in the fierce- 
 ness of despair, the Irish are faithful to their trust. But till 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 167 
 
 equal energy is imparted throughout by the extension of 
 freedom, you cannot enjoy the full benefit of the strength 
 which you arc glad to interpose between you and destruction. 
 Ireland lias done much, but will do more. At this moment, 
 the only triumph obtained through long years of continental 
 disaster has been achieved by an Irish general; it is true he 
 is not a catholic; had he been so we should have been de- 
 prived of his exertions; but I presume no one will assert that 
 his religion would have impaired his talents or diminished 
 his patriotism, though in that case he must have conquered 
 in the ranks, for he never could have commanded an army. 
 
 But he is fighting the battles of the catholics abroad; his 
 noble brother has this night advocated their cause, with an 
 eloquence which I shall not depreciate by the humble tribute 
 of my panegyric ; whilst a third of his kindred, as unlike as 
 unequal, has been combating against his catholic brethren 
 in Dublin, with circular letters, edicts, proclamations, arrests 
 and dispersions ; all the vexatious implements of petty war- 
 fare that could be wielded by the mercenary guerillas of 
 government, clad in the rusty armour of their obsolete 
 statutes. Your lordships will, doubtless, divide new honours 
 between the saviour of Portugal, and the disperser of dele- 
 gates. It is singular, indeed, to observe the difference be- 
 tween our foreign and domestic policy ; if catholic Spain, 
 faithful Portugal, or the no less catholic and faithful king of 
 the one Sicily (of which, by the bye, you have lately depriv- 
 ed him) stand in need of succour, away goes a fleet and an 
 army, an ambassador and a subsidy, sometimes to fight pretty 
 hardly, generally to negotiate very badly, and always to pay 
 very dearly for our popish allies. But let four millions of 
 fellow subjects pray for relief, who fight and pay and labour 
 in your behalf, they must be treated as aliens; and although 
 their " father's house has many mansions," there is no rest- 
 ing-place for them. Allow me to ask, are you not fighting 
 for the emancipation of Ferdinand the Seventh, who cer- 
 tainly is a fool, and consequently, in all probability, a bigot? 
 and have you more regard for a foreign sovereign than your 
 own fellow-subjects, who are not fools, for they know your 
 interest better than you know your own ; who are not bigots, 
 for they return you good for evil ; but who are in worse 
 durance than the prison of an usurper, inasmuch as the fet- 
 ters of the mind are more galling than those of the body? 
 
 Upon the consequences of your not acceding to the claims 
 of the petitioners, I shall not expatiate ; you know them, you 
 
168 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 will feel them, and your children's children when you are 
 passed away will feel them. Adieu to that union so called 
 an union, from never uniting, which in its first operation 
 gave a death blow to the independence of Ireland, and in its 
 last may be the cause of her eternal separation from this 
 country. If it must be called an union, it is the union of 
 the shark with his prey ; the spoiler swallows up his victim, 
 and thus they become one and indivisible. Thus has 
 Great Britain swallowed up the parliament, the constitution, 
 the independence of Ireland, and refuses to disgorge even a 
 single privilege, although for the relief of her swollen and 
 distempered body politic. 
 
 same subject. — Concluded, 
 
 And now, my lords, before I sit down, will his majesty's 
 ministers permit me to say a few words, not on their merits, 
 for that would be superfluous, but on the degree of estima- 
 tion in which they are held by the people of these realms ? 
 The esteem in which they are held has been boasted of in a 
 triumphant tone on a late occasion within these walls, and a 
 comparison instituted between their conduct, and that of 
 noble lords on this side of the House. 
 
 What portion of popularity may have fallen to the share of 
 my noble friends, (if such I may presume to call them,) I shall 
 not pretend to ascertain ; but that of his majesty's ministers 
 it were vain to deny. It is, to be sure, a little like the wind, 
 "no one knows whence it cometh or whither it goeth," but 
 they feel it, they enjoy it, they boast of it. Indeed, modest 
 and unostentatious as they are, to what part of the kingdom, 
 even the most remote, can they flee to avoid the triumph 
 which pursues them? If they plunge into the midland coun- 
 ties, there will they be greeted by the manufacturers, with 
 spurned petitions in their hands, and those halters round their 
 necks recently voted in their behalf, imploring blessings on 
 the heads of those who so simply, yet ingeniously, contrived 
 to remove them from their miseries in this to a better world. 
 If they journey on to Scotland, from Glasgow to Johnny 
 Groat's, every where will they receive similar marks of ap- 
 probation ! If they take a trip from Portpatrick to Donagha- 
 dee, there will they rush at once into the embraces of four 
 millions of catholics, to whom their vote of this night is about 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 169 
 
 to endear them for ever. When they return to the me- 
 tropolis, if they can pass under Temple Bar without un- 
 pleasant » osationa at the sight of the greedy niches over that 
 ominous gateway, they cannot escape the acclamations of 
 the livery, and the more tremulous, but not less sincere, ap- 
 plause, the blessings "not loud but deep," of bankrupt mer- 
 chants and doubting stockholders. If they look to the army, 
 what wreaths, not of laurel, but of night-shade, are preparing 
 for the heroes of Walcheren ! It is true, there are few living 
 deponents left to testify to their merits on that occasion ; 
 but a " cloud of witnesses" are gone above from that gallant 
 army which they so generously and piously despatched to 
 recruit the " noble army of martyrs." 
 
 What if, in the course of this triumphal career, (in which 
 they will gather as many pebbles as Caligula's army did on a 
 similar triumph, the prototype of their own) they do not per- 
 ceive any of those memorials which a grateful people erect 
 in honour of their benefactors ; what although not even a 
 sign-post will condescend to depose the Saracen's head in 
 favour of the likeness of the conquerors of Walcheren, they 
 will not want a picture who can always have a caricature ; or 
 regret the omission of a statue who will so often see themselves 
 exalted in effigy. But their popularity is not limited to the 
 narrow bounds of an island ; there are other countries where 
 their measures, and, above all, their conduct to the catholics, 
 must render them pre-eminently popular. If they are beloved 
 here, in France they must be adored. There is no measure 
 more repugnant to the designs and feelings of Buonaparte 
 than catholic emancipation ; no line of conduct more pro- 
 pitious to his projects than that which has been pursued, is 
 pursuing, and, I fear, will be pursued, towards Ireland. What 
 is England without Ireland, and what is Ireland without the 
 catholics? It is on the basis of your tyranny Napoleon hopes 
 to build his own. So grateful must oppression of the catho- 
 lics be to his mind, that doubtless (as he has lately permitted 
 some renewal of intercourse) the next cartel will convey to 
 this country, cargoes of Sevrechina, and blue ribands (things 
 in great request, and of equal value at this moment) blue 
 ribands of the legion of honour for Dr. Duigenan and his 
 ministerial disciples. Such is that well-earned popularity, 
 the result of those extraordinary expeditions, so expensive to 
 ourselves and so useless to our allies ; of those singular inqui- 
 ries, so exculpatory to the accused, and so dissatisfactory to 
 the people ,* of those paradoxical victories, so honourable, as 
 
 P 
 
170 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 we are told, to the British name, and so destructive to the 
 best interests of the British nation : above all, such is the 
 reward of the conduct pursued by ministers towards the 
 catholics. 
 
 BENEFITS OP AFFLICTION. CoiVper. 
 
 The path of sorrow, and that path alone 
 Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown ; 
 No traveller ever reached that blessed abode, 
 Who found not thorns and briars in his road. 
 The World may dance along the flowery plain, 
 Cheered, as they go, by many a sprightly strain 
 Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread, 
 With unshod feet they yet securely tread, 
 Admonished, scorn the caution and the friend, 
 Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end. 
 But he, who knew what human hearts would prove y 
 How slow to learn the dictates of his love, 
 That, hard by nature and of stubborn will, 
 A life of ease would make them harder still, 
 In pity to the souls his grace designed 
 To rescue from the ruin of mankind, 
 Called for a cloud to darken all their years, 
 And said, ' Go, spend them in the vale of tears.' 
 
 O balmy gales of soul-reviving air ! 
 O salutary streams that murmur there ! 
 These, flowing from the fount of grace above; 
 Those breathed from lips of everlasting love; 
 The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys, 
 Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys; 
 An envious world will interpose its frown, 
 To mar delights superior to its own, 
 And many a pang, experienced still within, 
 Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin; 
 But ills of every shape and name, 
 Transformed to blessings, miss their cruel aim; 
 And every moment's calm that soothes the breast, 
 Is given in earnest of eternal rest. 
 
 Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast 
 Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste ! 
 No shepherds' tents within thy view appear, 
 But the chief Shepherd even there is near ; 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 171 
 
 Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain 
 Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain; 
 Thy tears all issue from a source divine, 
 Ami < vi ry drop bespeaks a Saviour thine, — 
 So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, 
 And drought on all the drooping herbs around. 
 
 wolsey. — Shakspeare. 
 
 Nay then, farewell, 
 I have touched the hightest point of all my greatness ; 
 And from that full meridian of my glory, 
 f haste now to my setting: I shall fall 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 And no man see me more. 
 So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
 And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 His greatness was a ripening, — nips his root, 
 And then he falls, as I do. 1 have ventured, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 These many summers in a sea of glory ; 
 But far beyond my depth : my high blown pride 
 At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
 Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
 
 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; 
 I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched 
 Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours. 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
 The sweet aspect of princes, and our ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than war or women have ; 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again. 
 
 Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me 
 
172 
 
 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 
 
 Let 's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
 
 And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 
 Of me must more be heard — say, I taught thee, — 
 
 Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 
 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, 
 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. 
 
 Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me : 
 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; 
 
 By that sin fell the angels : how can man then, 
 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by it 1 
 
 Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee; 
 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : 
 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 
 Thy God's, and Truth's ; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 
 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; 
 
 There, take an inventory of all I have, 
 
 To the last penny ; 'tis the king's: my robe, 
 
 And my integrity to heaven, is all 
 
 I dare now call my own. O 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 to mine enemies. 
 
 PROCRASTINATION. 
 
 Be wise to-day ; 'tis madness to defer : 
 Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; 
 Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life ! 
 Procrastination is the thief of time ; 
 Year after year it steals, till all are fled, 
 And to the mercies of a moment leaves 
 The vast concerns of an eternal scene. 
 If not so frequent, would not this be strange? 
 That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger still. 
 Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears 
 The palm, " That all men are about to live*" 
 For ever on the brink of being born ; 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 173 
 
 All pay themselves the compliment to think 
 
 They one day shall not drivel, and their pride 
 
 On this reversion takes up ready praise; 
 
 At least thrir own ; their future selves applaud : 
 
 How excellent that life they ne'er will lead! 
 
 Time lodged in their own hands is Folly's vails; 
 
 That lodged in Fate's, to Wisdom they consign; 
 
 The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone. 
 
 'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool ; 
 
 And scarce in human wisdom to do more. 
 
 All promise is poor dilatory man, 
 
 And that through every stage. When young, indeed, 
 
 In full content we sometimes nobly rest, 
 
 Unanxious for ourselves; and only wish, 
 
 As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. 
 
 At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; 
 
 Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; 
 
 At fifty chides his infamous delay, 
 
 Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; 
 
 In all the magnanimity of thought 
 
 Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same. 
 
 And why ? because he thinks himself immortal. 
 All men think all men mortal but themselves ; 
 Themselves, when some alarming shock of Fate 
 Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread : 
 But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, 
 Soon close ; where, past the shaft, no trace is found. 
 As from the wing no scar the sky retains, 
 The parted wave no furrow from the keel, 
 So dies in human hearts the thought of death : 
 Even with the tender tear which nature sheds 
 O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave. 
 
 THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA. WordsWOTth. 
 
 Humanity, delighting to behold 
 A fond reflection of her own decay, 
 
 Hath painted Winter like a Traveller — old, 
 
 Propped on a staff* — and, through the sullen day, 
 
 In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain, 
 
 As though his weakness were disturbed by pain : 
 
 Or, if a juster fancy should allow 
 An undisputed symbol of command, 
 p2 
 
174 
 
 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 The chosen sceptre is a withered bough, 
 
 Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand. 
 These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn, 
 But mighty Winter the device shall scorn. 
 
 For he it was — dread Winter ! who beset — 
 Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net — 
 That host, — when from the regions of the Pole 
 They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal, 
 That Host, as huge and strong as e'er defied 
 Their God, and placed their trust in human pride. 
 As fathers persecute rebellious sons, 
 He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth ; 
 He called on Frost's inexorable tooth 
 Life to consurfte in manhood's firmest hold ; 
 Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs ; 
 For why, unless for liberty enrolled 
 And sacred home, ah ! why should hoary Age be bold ? 
 
 Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed, 
 But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind, 
 Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed, 
 And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind, 
 And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride, 
 
 And to the battle rideV 
 No pitying voice commands a halt, 
 No courage can repel the dire assault ; 
 Distracted, spiritless, benumbed, and blind, 
 Whole legions sink — and, in one instant, find 
 Burial and death : look for them — and descry, 
 When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky, 
 A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy ! 
 
 evils op calumny and war. — Governear Morris. 
 
 [From a Speech on the Navigation of the Mississippi, delivered in the 
 Senate of the United States, Feb. 25, 1803.] 
 
 Me. President, — I rise with reluctance on the present 
 occasion. The lateness of the hour forbids me to hope for 
 your patient attention. The subject is of great importance, 
 as it relates to other countries, and still greater to our own : 
 yet we must decide on grounds uncertain, because they de- 
 pend on circumstances not yet arrived. And when we 
 attempt to penetrate into futurity, after exerting the utmost 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 175 
 
 powers of reason, aided by all the lights which experience 
 could acquire, our clearest conceptions are involved in doubt. 
 A thousand things may happen, which it is impossible to 
 Conjecture, and which will influence the course of events. 
 The wise Governor of all things hath hidden the future from 
 the ken of our understanding. In committing ourselves, 
 therefore, to the examination of what may hereafter arrive, 
 we hazard reputation on contingencies we cannot command. 
 And, when events shall be past, we shall be judged by them, 
 and not by the reasons which we may now advance. 
 
 There are many subjects which it is not easy to understand, 
 but it is always easy to misrepresent; and when arguments 
 cannot be controverted, it is not difficult to calumniate mo- 
 tives. That which cannot be confuted may be misstated. 
 The purest intentions may be blackened by malice; this ca- 
 lumny is among the sore evils of our country. It began with 
 our earliest success in '78, and has gone on, with accelerated 
 velocity, and increasing force, to the present hour. It is no 
 longer to be checked, nor will it terminate but in that sweep 
 of general destruction, to which it tends with a step as sure 
 as time, and fatal as death. I know, that what I utter, will 
 be misunderstood, misrepresented, deformed and distorted ; 
 but we must do our duty. This, I believe, is the last scene 
 of my public life ; and it shall, like those which have pre- 
 ceded it, be performed with candor and truth. Yes, my 
 friends, [addressing himself to the federal senators near him,] 
 we shall soon part to meet no more. But, however separated, 
 and wherever dispersed, we know that we are united by just 
 principle and true sentiment — a sentiment, my country, ever 
 devoted to you, which will expire only with expiring life, and 
 beat in the last pulsation of our hearts ! 
 
 Mr. President, my object is peace ; I could assign many 
 reasons to show, that this declaration is sincere. But can it 
 be necessary to give this senate any other assurance than my 
 word 1 Notwithstanding the acerbity of temper which results 
 from party strife, gentlemen will believe me on my word. I 
 will not pretend, like my honourable colleague, [Mr. Clinton,] 
 to describe to you the waste, the ravages, and the horrors of 
 war. I have not the same harmonious periods, nor the same 
 musical tones; neither shall I boast of christian charity, nor 
 attempt to display that ingenuous glow of benevolence, so 
 decorous to the cheek of youth, which gave a vivid tint to 
 every sentence he uttered ; and was, if possible, as impres- 
 sive even as his eloquence. But though we possess not the 
 
176 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 same pomp of words, our hearts are not insensible to the 
 woes of humanity. We can feel for the misery of plundered 
 towns, the conflagration of defenceless villages, and the de- 
 vastation of cultured fields. Turning from these features of 
 general distress, we can enter the abodes of private affliction, 
 and behold the widow weeping, as she traces, in the pledges 
 of connubial affection, the resemblance of him whom she has 
 lost for ever. We see the aged matron bending over the ashes 
 of her son. He was her darling ; for he was generous and 
 brave, and therefore his spirit led him to the field in defence 
 of his country. We can observe another oppressed with 
 unutterable anguish ; condemned to conceal her affection ; 
 forced to hide that passion which is at once the torment and 
 delight of life : she learns that those eyes which beamed with 
 sentiment, are closed in death; and his lip, the ruby har- 
 binger of joy, lies parte and cold, the miserable appendage 
 of a mangled corpse. Hard, hard indeed, must be that heart, 
 which can be insensible to scenes like these ; and bold the 
 man, who dare present to the Almighty Father a conscience 
 crimsoned with the blood of his children ! 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MR. WEBSTER'S SPEECH, ON THE GREEK 
 REVOLUTION. 
 
 House of Representatives , January 19, 1823. 
 
 If it be true, that there is hereafter to be neither a Rus- 
 sian policy, nor a Prussian policy, nor an Austrian policy, 
 nor even, which yet I will not believe, an English policy, 
 there will be, I trust in God, an American policy. If the 
 authority of all these governments be hereafter to be mixed 
 and blended, and to flow, in one augmented current of pre- 
 rogative, over the face of Europe, sweeping away all resist- 
 ance in its course, it will yet remain for us to secure our own 
 happiness, by the preservation of our own principles, which 
 I hope we shall have the manliness to express on all proper 
 occasions, and the spirit to defend in every extremity. The 
 end and scope of this amalgamated policy is neither more nor 
 less than this : to interfere, by force, for any government, 
 against any people who may resist it. Be the state of the 
 people what it may, they shall not rise ; be the government 
 what it will, it shall not be opposed. The practical com- 
 mentary has corresponded with the plain language of the text. 
 
 .. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 177 
 
 Look at Spain, and at Greece. If men may not resist the 
 Spanish inquisition, and the Turkish Bcimetar, what is there 
 to which humanity must not submit? Stronger cases can 
 never arise. Is it not proper for us, at all times — is it not our 
 duty, at this time, to come forth, and deny and condemn these 
 monstrous principles. Where, but here, and in one other 
 place, arc they likely to be resisted? They are advanced 
 with equal coolness and boldness; and they are supported by 
 immense power. The timid will shrink and give way — and 
 many of the brave may be compelled to yield to force. Hu- 
 man liberty may yet, perhaps, be obliged to repose its prin- 
 cipal hopes on the intelligence and the vigour of the Saxon 
 race. As far as depends on us, at least, I trust those hopes 
 will not be disappointed ; and that, to the extent which may 
 consist with our own settled pacific policy, our opinions and 
 sentiments may be brought to act on the right side, and to 
 the right end, on an occasion which is, in truth, nothing less 
 than a momentous question between an intelligent age, full 
 of knowledge, thirsting for improvement, and quickened by 
 a thousand impulses, and the most arbitrary pretensions, sus- 
 tained by unprecedented power. 
 
 This asserted right of forcible intervention, in the affairs 
 of other nations, is an open violation of the public law of 
 the world. Who has authorized these learned doctors of 
 Troppau, to establish new articles in this code? Whence 
 are their diplomas? Is the whole world expected to acqui- 
 esce in principles, which entirely subvert the independence 
 of nations ? On the basis of this independence has been 
 reared the beautiful fabric of international law. On the 
 principle of this independence, Europe has seen a family of 
 nations, flourishing within its limits, the small among the 
 large, protected not always by power, but by a principle above 
 power, by a sense of propriety and justice. On this princi- 
 ple the great commonwealth of civilized states has been 
 hitherto upheld. There have been occasional departures, or 
 violations, and always disastrous, as in the case of Poland; 
 but, in general, the harmony of the system has been won- 
 derfully preserved. In the production and preservation of 
 this sense of justice, this predominating principle, the Chris- 
 tian religion has acted a main part. Christianity and civili- 
 zation have laboured together; it seems, indeed, to be a law 
 of our human condition, that they can live and flourish only 
 together. From their blended influence, has arisen that de- 
 lightful spectacle of the prevalence of reason and principle 
 
178 
 
 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 over power and interest, so well described by one who was 
 an honour to the age — 
 
 " And sovereign law, the world's collected will, 
 
 O'er thrones and globes elate, 
 Sits Empress — crowning good, repressing ill : 
 
 Smit by her sacred frown, 
 The fiend, Distraction, like a vapour sinks, 
 
 And e'en the all-dazzling crown, 
 Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks." 
 
 But this vision is past. While the teachers of Laybach 
 give the rule, there will be no law but the law of the strongest. 
 
 on capital punishment. — Edinburgh Review. 
 
 There is not only a determination in the human mind to 
 set untoward consequences at defiance, but (where they ap- 
 pear to be inevitable) even to court them. This is what is 
 understood by the power of fascination. Thieves are subject 
 to this power, like other men, as they are to that of gravita- 
 tion. Objects of terror often haunt the mind ; and, by their 
 influence in subduing the imagination, draw the will to them 
 as a fatality. Persons in excessive and intolerable appre- 
 hensions fling themselves into the very arms of what they 
 dread, and are impelled to rush upon their fate, and put an 
 end to their suspense and agitation. These are said to be 
 * the toys of desperation :' and, fantastical as they may appear, 
 legislators ought to pay more attention to this than they 
 have done; for the mind, in those extreme and violent tem- 
 peraments which they have to apply to, is not to be dealt with 
 like a mere machine. Gibbets, which have now become 
 very uncommon, may, we think, have produced equivocal 
 effects in this way. They belong to the class of what are 
 called interesting objects. They excite a feeling of horror, 
 not altogether without its attraction, in the ordinary specta- 
 tor, and startle while they rivet the eye. Who shall say how 
 often, in gloomy and sullen dispositions, this equivocal appeal 
 to the imagination may not have become an ingredient to 
 pamper murderous thoughts, and to give a superstitious bias 
 to the last act of the will? To see this ghastly appearance 
 rearing its spectral form in some solitary place at nightfall, 
 by a wood-side or barren-heath, — to note the wretched scare* 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 179 
 
 crow fio-iiro dangling upon it, black and wasted, parched in 
 the sun, drenched in all the dewa of heaven that fall cool 
 and silent on it, while this object of the dread and gaze of 
 men i'crl- ni.tiiinLr. knows nothing, fears nothing, and swings, 
 creaking in the gale, unconscious of all that it has suffered, 
 or that mi. i — there is something in all these circum- 
 
 stances that may had the mind to tempt the same fate, and 
 place its "It" beyond the reach of mortal consequences ! — Sim- 
 ple hanging, on the contrary, has nothing inviting in it. It 
 is a disagreeable contemplation in all respects. The broken 
 slumbers that precede it — the half-waking out of them to a 
 hideous sense of what is to eome — the dull head and heart- 
 ache — the feveri>h agony, or the more frightful deadness to all 
 feeling — the weight of eyes that overwhelm the criminal's — 
 the faint, useless hope of a mockery of sympathy — the hang- 
 man, like a spider, crawling near him — the short helpless 
 Struggle — the last sickly pang: — all combine to render this 
 punishment as disgusting as it is melancholy. A man must 
 be tired of his life, indeed, to be ever prompted by such a 
 spectacle to go out of the world in the same way : though, it 
 must be confessed, that it is enough to give one a contempt 
 for humanity, and for all that belongs to it. We think it is a 
 mode of punishment most desirable — to be avoided by every 
 one. It is, however, calculated, if any thing can be, to tame 
 the utmost violence and depravity of the human will, by 
 showing what a poor mean creature a man is or can be made : 
 but we surely are of opinion, it ought not to be inflicted for 
 any act which does not excite the dread and detestation of 
 the community, and cut the individual completely off from all 
 sympathy. We do not conceive that stealing to the value of 
 twelve-pence from the pocket, or of five shillings from a coun- 
 ter, does this ; and therefore we are glad that the capital part 
 of the punishment for these offences is abolished ; since, 
 though little else than a dead letter, it kept up a theory of 
 wrong, and showed a mean hankering after inhumanity and 
 injustice, which it is afraid to put in practice. 
 
 WHAT IS THE CHARACTER OF THE PRESENT AGE. Everett* 
 
 What, Mr. President, is the character of the present age? 
 We have read, sir, in history, of the ages of Pericles, of 
 Augustus, of Louis XIV. — in fiction of the ages of gold and 
 
180 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 silver, and brass, and iron ; — in something worse than mere 
 fiction, of the Age of Reason. — The present age may be 
 justly described as the Age of Revolutions. The whole ci- 
 vilized world is agitated with political convulsions, and seems 
 to be panting and struggling in agony after some unattained — 
 perhaps unattainable good. From the commencement of our 
 revolution up to the present day, we have witnessed in Europe 
 and America, an uninterrupted series of important changes. 
 The thrones of the old world have been shaken to their foun- 
 dations. On our own continent, empires, that bore the name 
 of colonies, have shaken or are sjiaki ng off the shackles of 
 dependence. And so far is this, the age of revolutions, 
 which has already lasted more than half a century, from 
 having reached its termination, that the very last year has 
 been more fruitful in the most tremendous convulsions than 
 any preceding one, and the present will probably be still 
 more agitated than the last. Every arrival from abroad brings 
 us intelligence of some new event of the highest moment: 
 some people rising in revolt against their sovereign: some 
 new constitution proclaimed in one country: some reform, 
 equivalent to a new constitution, projected in another : France 
 in the midst of a dangerous revolutionary crisis: Belgium, 
 Poland and Italy the scenes of actual hostilities : England 
 on the eve of commotion : the whole European common- 
 wealth apparently plunging again into the gulf of general 
 war. 
 
 What is the object of all these desperate struggles? — The 
 object of them is to obtain an extension of individual liberty. 
 Established institutions have lost their influence and au- 
 thority. Men have become weary of submitting to names 
 and forms which they once reverenced. It has been ascer- 
 tained, — to use the language of Napoleon, that a throne is 
 only four boards covered with velvet, — that a written consti- 
 tution is but a sheet of parchment. There is, in short, an 
 effort making throughout the world to reduce the action of 
 Government within the narrowest possible limits, and to give 
 the widest possible extent to individual liberty. 
 
 Our own country, Mr. President, though happily exempt, — 
 and God grant that it may long continue so — from the trou- 
 bles of Europe, is not exempt from the influence of the causes 
 that produce them. We too are inspired, and agitated, and 
 governed by the all-pervading, all-inspiring, all-agitating, all- 
 governing spirit of the age. What do I say? We were the 
 first to feel and act upon its influence. Our revolution was 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 181 
 
 the first of the long series that has since shaken every corner 
 of Europe and America. <>ur fathers led the van in the long 
 array i . martyrs and confessors who had fought and 
 
 fallen under the banner of liberty. The institutions they 
 bequeathed to us, and under winch we are living in peace 
 and happin founded on the principles which lie at 
 
 the bottom of the present agitation in Europe. We have 
 realized u hit our contemporaries are labouring to attain. — 
 Our tranquillity is the fruit of an entire acquiescence in the 
 spirit of the age. We have reduced the action of Govern- 
 ment within narrower limits, and given a wider scope to 
 individual liberty than any community that ever flourished 
 before. 
 
 We live, therefore, Mr. President, in an age and in a coun- 
 try where positive laws and institutions have comparatively 
 but little direct force. But human nature remains the same. 
 The passions are as wild, as ardent, as ungovernable in a re- 
 public as in a despotism. What then is to arrest their vio- 
 lence ? What principle is to take the place of the restraints 
 that were formerly imposed by time — honoured customs — 
 venerable names and forms — military and police establish- 
 ments, which once maintained the peace of society, but which 
 are fast losing their influence in Europe, and which have long 
 since lost it in this country? I answer, in one word, Reli- 
 gion. Where the direct influence of Power is hardly felt, 
 the indirect influence of Religion must be proportionably 
 increased, or society will be converted into a scene of wild 
 confusion. The citizen who is released in a great measure 
 from the control of positive authority, must possess within his 
 own mind, the strong curb of an enlightened conscience, a well 
 grounded, deeply felt, rational and practical Piety; or else he 
 will be given over, without redemption, to the sins that most 
 easily beset him, and by indulging in them will contribute, 
 so far as he has it in his power, to disturb the harmony of the 
 whole body politic. 
 
 America and England. — Sh' James Macintosh. 
 
 North America presents to our observation the extra- 
 ordinary spectacle of a Commonwealth advancing with gi- 
 gantic strides to imperial greatness, with institutions of 
 which some are hitherto untried among powerful states. By 
 
 Q 
 
182 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 a singular fortune, it has happened, that the same European 
 people have conquered the most ancient seats of civiliza- 
 tion in the East, and founded this new order of society in 
 the Western World. At the same moment we learn, that 
 the site of Meroe is ascertained, or the remains of Babylon 
 surveyed in one quarter of the globe ; while in another, popu- 
 lous and flourishing republics spring up in the wilderness, 
 and industry subdues the desert with a rapidity which ex- 
 ceeds the course of the most renowned warriors. In the 
 dominions, or among the descendants of the English nation 
 we discover the most venerable antiquity to which remem- 
 brance can stretch, and the utmost progress in the time to 
 come, from which the most sanguine hopes of enthusiasm 
 can anticipate improvement. This is a position of great 
 dignity, in which perhaps no people was ever placed before. 
 But there are many among us who seem disposed to reject 
 the better part of this high destiny. All who, from whatever 
 motive, either of narrow faction or of political jealousy, regard 
 America with unfriendly eyes, are strangely forgetful of the 
 honour which redounds to their country from that monument 
 of the genius and courage of Englishmen. It was not thus 
 that this great subject was viewed by the wisest men who 
 have gone before us. " We view the establishment of the 
 English colonies on principles of liberty," says Mr. Burke, 
 " as that which is to render this kingdom venerable to future 
 ages. In comparison of this, we regard all the victories and 
 conquests of our warlike ancestors, or of our own times, as 
 barbarous, vulgar distinctions, in which many nations, whom 
 we look upon with little respect or value, have equalled, if 
 not far exceeded us. This is the peculiar and appropriate 
 glory of England. Those who have and who hold to that 
 foundation of common liberty, whether on this or on your 
 side of the ocean, we consider as the true and the only true 
 Englishmen. Those who depart from it, whether there or 
 here, are attainted, corrupted in blood, and wholly fallen from 
 their original rank and vajue. They are the real rebels to 
 the fair constitution and just supremacy of England."* 
 These words were intended to be addressed to the people of 
 America in January 1777, a period of civil war, by a zealous 
 friend of the supremacy of England, after the declaration of 
 American independence. The two English States on both 
 sides of the Atlantic are now indeed liable to those vicissi- 
 
 * Burke's Address to the British Colonists in North America. 
 
 H 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 183 
 
 tildes of war and peace to which popular interests and pas- 
 sions expose all independent countries; but their friendly 
 intercourse is perhaps still more endangered by popular ani- 
 mosities; and its continuance depends, in some measure, on 
 their habitual temper and feelings towards each other. 
 
 same subject. — Concluded. 
 
 The glory of England is the establishment of Liberty in a 
 great empire. To her belong the great moral discoveries of 
 Habeas Corpus and Trial by Jury, of a Popular Representa- 
 tion and a Free Press. These institutions she sent forthwith 
 her colonists into the wilderness. By these institutions they 
 have grown into a mighty nation. The more they multiply 
 and spread, the more splendid will the name of that nation 
 become which has bestowed these inestimable blessings on 
 the world. 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, 
 arc the foundations on which the legislation of America is 
 founded. The authority of our jurisprudence may survive 
 the power of our government for as many ages, as the laws 
 of Rome commanded the reverence of Europe, after the sub- 
 version 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 multiplied. The fame of every 
 future Englishman of genius is more widely spread. It is 
 unreasonable, then, to hope that these ties of birth, of liberty, 
 of laws, of language and of literature, may in time prevail 
 over vulgar, ignoble, and ruinous prejudices? Their ances- 
 tors were as much the countrymen of Bacon and Newton, of 
 Hampden and Sidney, as ours. They are entitled to their 
 full share of that inheritance 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 these honours 
 are theirs if they choose to preserve them. The history of 
 England, till the adoption of counsels adverse to liberty, is 
 
184 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 their history. We may still preserve or revive kindred feel- 
 ings. They may claim noble ancestors, and we may look 
 forward to renowned descendants, — unless adverse prejudices 
 should dispose them to reject those honours which they have 
 lawfully inherited, and lead us to envy that greatness which 
 has arisen from our institutions, and will perpetuate our 
 fame. 
 
 POVERTV RESISTING THE TE3IPTATI0XS TO VICE. Bltlwer. 
 
 There is nothing to us so exalted, or so divine, as a great 
 and brave spirit working out its end through every earthly 
 obstacle and evil : watching through the utter darkness, and 
 steadily defying the phantoms which crowd around it ; wrest- 
 ling with the mighty allurements, and rejecting the fearful 
 voices of .that want which is the deadliest and surest of hu- 
 man tempers; nursing through all calamity the love of spe- 
 cies, and the warmer and closer affections of private ties ; 
 sacrificing no duty, resisting all sin; and amidst every horror 
 and every humiliation, feeding the still and bright light of 
 that genius which, like the lamp of the fabulist, though it 
 may waste itself for years amidst the depth of solitude, and 
 the silence of the tomb, shall live and burn immortal and 
 undimmed, when all around it is rottenness and decay. 
 
 And yet we confess that it is a painful and bitter task to 
 record the humiliations, the wearing, petty, stinging humilia- 
 tions of poverty; to count the drops as they slowly fall, one 
 by one, upon the fretted and indignant heart ; to particularize, 
 with the scrupulous and nice hand of indifference, the mi- 
 nutest segments, the fractional and divided moments in the 
 dial-plate of misery; to behold the delicacies of birth, the 
 masculine pride of blood, the dignities. of intellect, the wealth 
 of knowledge, the feminacies and graces of womanhood — 
 all that enoble and soften the stony mass of common places 
 which is our life, frittered into atoms, trampled into the dust 
 and mire of the meanest thoroughfares of distress; life and soul, 
 the energies and aims of man, ground into one prostrating 
 want, cramped into one levelling sympathy with the dregs 
 and refuse of his kind, blistered into a single galling and 
 festering sore : this is, we own, a painful and a bitter task; but 
 it hath its redemption : a pride even in debasement, a pleasure 
 even in wo: and it is therefore that while we have abridged, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 186 
 
 we have not shunned it. There are some whom the lightning 
 of fortune blasts, only to render holy. Amidst all that hum- 
 bles and scathes — amidst all that shatters from their life its 
 verdure, smites to the dust the pomp and summit of their 
 pride, and in the very heart of existence writeth a sudden 
 and M strange defeature," they stand erect, riven, not uprooted, 
 a monument less of pity than of awe. There are some who, 
 exalted by a spirit above all casualty and wo, seem to throw 
 over the most degrading circumstances the halo of an innate 
 and consecrating power; the very things which, seen alone, 
 arc despicable and vile, associated with them, become almost 
 venerable and divine; and some portion, however dim and 
 feeble, of that intense holiness which, in the Infant God, 
 shed majesty over the manger and the straw, not denied to 
 those who, in the depth of affliction, cherish the Angel Virtue 
 at their hearts, fling over the meanest localities of earth an 
 emanation from the glory of heaven. 
 
 virtue. — Bulwer. 
 
 But Virtue has resources buried in itself, which we know 
 not, till the invading hour calls them from their retreats. 
 Surrounded by hosts without, and when nature itself turned 
 traitor, is its most deadly enemy within ; it assumes a new 
 and a superhuman power, which is greater than nature itself. 
 Whatever be its creed — whatever be its sect — from whatever 
 segment of the globe its orisons arise, Virtue is God's em- 
 pire, and from his throne of thrones He will defend it. The 
 orbs of creation, the islands of light which float in myriads 
 on the ocean of the universe ; suns that have no number, 
 pouring life upon worlds that, untravelled by the wings of 
 seraphim, spread through the depths of space without end ; 
 these are, to the eye of God, but the creatures of a lesser 
 exertion of His power, born to blaze, to testify His glory, 
 and to perish ! But Virtue is more precious than all worlds — 
 an emanation, an essence of Himself — more ethereal than the 
 angels — more durable than the palaces of Heaven! — the 
 mightiest masterpiece of Him who set the stars upon their 
 courses, and filled chaos with an universe ! Though cast into 
 this distant earth, and struggling on the dim arena of a hu- 
 man heart, all things above are spectators of its conflict, or 
 enlisted in its cause. The angels have their charge over it ; 
 
 q2 
 
186 
 
 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 the banners of arch-angels are on its side ; and from sphere 
 to sphere, through the illimitable ether, and round the im- 
 penetrable darkness, at the feet of God, its triumph is hymned 
 by harps which are strung to the glories of its Creator! 
 
 THE PERORATION OF MR. WIRt's SPEECH IN BEHALF OF THE 
 CHEROKEE NATION. 
 
 Delivered in the Supreme Court of the United States, Jan. 1831. 
 
 It is with no ordinary feelings that 1 am about to take leave 
 of this cause. The existence of this remnant of a once 
 great and mighty nation is at stake, and it is for your honours 
 to say, whether they shall be blotted out from the creation, in 
 utter disregard of all our treaties. They are here in the last 
 extremity, and with them must perish for ever the honour of 
 the American name. The faith of our nation is fatally linked 
 with their existence, and the blow which destroys them 
 quenches for ever our own glory : for what glory can there 
 be of which a patriot can be proud, after the good name of 
 his country shall have departed? We may gather laurels on 
 the field and trophies on the ocean, but they will never hide 
 this foul and bloody blot upon our escutcheon. " Remember, 
 the Cherokee nation !" will be answer enough to the proudest 
 boast that we can ever make — answer enough to cover with 
 confusion the face and the heart of every man among us, in 
 whose bosom the last spark of grace has not been extin- 
 guished. Such, it is possible, there may be, who are willing 
 to glory in their own shame, and to triumph in the disgrace 
 which they are permitted to heap upon this nation. But, 
 thank Heaven, they are comparatively few. The great ma- 
 jority of the American people see this subject in its true 
 light. They have hearts of flesh in their bosoms, instead of 
 hearts of stone, and every rising and setting sun witnesses 
 the smoke of the incense from the thousands and tens of 
 thousands of domestic altars, ascending to the throne of 
 grace to invoke its guidance and blessing on your counsels. 
 The most undoubting confidence is reposed in this tribunal. 
 
 We know that whatever can be properly done for this un- 
 fortunate people, will be done by this honourable court. Their 
 cause is one that must come home to every honest and feeling 
 heart. They have been true and faithful to us, and have a 
 right to expect a corresponding fidelity on our part. Through 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 187 
 
 a long course of years they have followed our counsel with 
 the docility of children. Our wish has been their law. We 
 asked them to become civilized, and they became so. They 
 assumed our dress, copied our names, pursued our course of 
 education, adopted our form of government, embraced our 
 religion, and have been proud to imitate us to every thing in 
 their power. They have watched the progress of our pros- 
 perity with the strongest interest, and have marked the rising 
 grandeur of our nation with as much pride as if they had 
 belonged to us. They have even adopted our resentments, 
 and in our war with the Seminole tribes, they voluntarily 
 joined our arms, and gave effectual aid in driving back those 
 barbarians from the very state that now oppresses them. 
 They threw upon the field in that war, a body of men, who 
 proved by their martial bearing, their descent from the noble 
 race that were once the lords of these extensive forests — men 
 worthy to associate with the " lion," who, in their own lan- 
 guage, " walks upon the mountain tops." They fought side 
 by side with our present chief magistrate, and received his 
 repeated thanks for their gallantry and conduct. 
 
 same subject. — Concluded. 
 
 May it please your honours, they have refused to us no 
 gratification which it hc# been in their power to grant. We 
 asked them for a portion of their lands, and they ceded it. 
 We asked them again and again, and they continued to cede 
 until they have now reduced themselves within the narrowest 
 compass that their own subsistence will permit. What return 
 are we about to make to them for all this kindness ? We 
 have pledged, for their protection and for the guarantee of 
 the remainder of their lands, the faith and honour of our na- 
 tion; a faith and honour never sullied, nor even drawn into 
 question until now. We promised them, and they trusted 
 us. They have trusted us. Shall they be deceived ? They 
 would as soon expect to see their rivers run upwards on their 
 sources, or the sun roll back in his career, as that the United 
 States would prove false to them, and false to the word so 
 solemnly pledged by their Washington, and renewed and 
 perpetuated by his illustrious successors. 
 
 Is this the high mark to which the American nation has 
 been so strenuously and successfully pressing forward 1 Shall 
 
188 . NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 we sell the mighty meed of our high honours, at so worthless 
 a price, and in two short years, cancel all the glory which 
 we have been gaining before the world, for the last half cen- 
 tury ? Forbid it, Heaven ! 
 
 I will hope for better things. There is a spirit that will 
 yet save us. I trust that we shall find it here, in this sacred 
 court ; where no foul and malignant demon of party enters to 
 darken the understanding, or to deaden the heart, but where 
 all is clear, calm, pure, vital and firm. I cannot believe 
 that this honourable court, possessing the power of preserva- 
 tion, will stand by, and see these people stripped of their 
 property, and extirpated from the earth, while they are holding 
 up to us their treaties, and claiming the fulfilment of our en- 
 gagements. If truth, and faith, and honour, and justice have 
 fled from every other part of our country, we shall find them 
 here. If not, — our sun has gone down in treachery, blood 
 and crime, in the face of the world; and, instead of being 
 proud of our country, as heretofore, we may well call upon 
 the rocks and mountains to hide our shame from earth and 
 heaven. 
 
 SCENE FROM IVANHOE. Scott. 
 
 Cedric and Athelstane in a dungeon : Wamba enters, disguised as a 
 Priest. 
 
 Wamba. — The blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Dennis, St. 
 Duthoc, and all other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and 
 about ye. 
 
 Cedric. — With what intent art thou come hither? 
 
 Warn. — To bid you prepare yourself for death. 
 
 Ced. — It is impossible. Fearless and wicked as they are, 
 they dare not attempt such open and gratuitous cruelty. 
 
 Warn. — Alas ! to restrain them by their sense of humanity, 
 is the same as to stop a runaway horse with a bridle of silk 
 thread. Bethink thee, therefore, noble Cedric, and you also, 
 gallant Athelstane, what crimes you have committed in the 
 flesh ; for this very day will ye be called to answer at a higher 
 tribunal. 
 
 Ced. — Hearest thou this, Athelstane? we must rouse up 
 our hearts to this last action, since better it is we should die 
 like men than live like slaves. 
 
 Athel. — I am ready to stand the worst of their malice, and 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 189 
 
 shall walk to my death with as much composure as ever I did 
 to my dinner. 
 
 Ced. — Le| Ofl then unto our holy gear, father. 
 
 Warn. — Wail yet a moment, good uncle; better look long 
 before je leap in the dark. 
 
 Ced. — By my faith, 1 should know that voice. 
 
 Wam* — It is that of your trusty slave and jester. Had 
 you taken a fooPs advice formerly, you would not have been 
 here at all. Take a fool's advice now, and you will not be 
 here long. 
 
 Ced. — How mean'st thou knave ? , 
 
 Warn. — Even thus ; take thou this frock and cord, which 
 are all the orders I ever had, and march quietly out of the 
 castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle to take the long leap 
 in thy stead. 
 
 Ced. — Leave thee in my stead! why, they would hang 
 thee, my poor knave. 
 
 Warn. — E'en let them do as they are permitted. I trust — 
 no disparagement to your birth — that the son of Witless may 
 hang in a chain with as much gravity as the chain hung upon 
 his ancestor the alderman. 
 
 Ced. — Well, Wamba, for one thing will I grant the request ; 
 and that is, if thou wilt make the exchange of garments with 
 Lord Athelstane instead of me. 
 
 Warn. — No, by St. Dunstan, there were little reason in 
 that. Good right there is, that the son of Witless should 
 suffer to save the son of Hereward ; but little wisdom there 
 were in his dying for the benefit of one whose fathers were 
 strangers to his. 
 
 Ced.. — Villain, the fathers of Athelstane were monarchs 
 of England. 
 
 Warn. — They might be whomsoever they pleased; but my 
 neck stands too straight upon my shoulders to have it twisted 
 for their sake. Wherefore, good my master, either take my 
 proffer yourself, or suffer me to leave this dungeon as free as 
 I entered. 
 
 Ced. — Let the old tree wither, so the stately hope of the 
 forest be preserved. Save the noble Athelstane, my trusty 
 Wamba! it is the duty of each who has Saxon blood in his 
 veins. Thou and I will abide together the utmost rage of our 
 injurious oppressors, while he, free and safe, shall arouse the 
 awakened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us. 
 
 Athel. — Not so, father Cedric ; I would rather remain in 
 this hall a week without food, save the prisoner's stinted loaf, 
 
190 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 or drink, save the prisoner's measure of water, than embrace 
 the opportunity to escape, which this slave's untaught kind- 
 ness has purveyed for his master. 
 
 Warn. — You are called wise men, sirs, and I a crazed fool ; 
 but, uncle Cedric, and cousin Athelstane, the fool shall decide 
 this controversy for ye, and save ye the trouble of straining 
 courtesies any farther. I am like John-a-Duck's mare, that 
 will let no man mount her but John-a-Duck. I came to save 
 my master,' and if he will not consent — basta — I can but go 
 away home again. Kind service can not be chucked from 
 hand to hand like a shuttle-cock, or stool-ball. I'll hang for 
 no man but my own born master. 
 
 Athel. — Go, then, noble Cedric, neglect not this opportu- 
 nity. Your presence without may encourage friends to our 
 rescue — your remaining here would ruin us all. 
 
 Ced. — And is there any prospect then of rescue, from 
 without ? 
 
 Warn. — Prospect, indeed ! let me tell you, when you fill 
 my cloak, you are wrapt in a general's cassock. Five hun- 
 dred men are there without, and I was this morning one of 
 their chief leaders. My fool's-cap was a casque, and my 
 bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see what good they shall 
 make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I fear 
 they will lose in valour what they may gain in discretion. 
 And so farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his 
 dog Fangs ; and let my cockscomb hang in the hall at Roth- 
 wood, in memory that I flung away my life for my master, 
 like a faithful — fool.* 
 
 Ced. — Thy memory shall be preserved, while fidelity and 
 affection have honour upon earth. But that I trust I shall 
 find the means of saving Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, and 
 thee also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not overbear me 
 in this matter. — I know no language but my own, and a few 
 words of their mincing Norman. How shall I bear myself 
 like a reverend brother ? 
 
 Warn. — The spell lies in two words. Pax vobiscum will 
 answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless or 
 ban, Pax vobiscum carries you through it all. It is as useful 
 to a friar, as a broom-stick to a witch, or a wand to a conjuror. 
 Speak it but thus, in a deep grave tone, — Pax vobiscum ! — 
 it is irresistible. — Watch and ward, knight and squire, foot 
 and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I think, if they 
 
 * The last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jest 
 and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric's eyes. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 191 
 
 bring me out to-morrow to be hanged, as is much to be 
 doubted they may, 1 will try its weight upon the finisher of 
 the sentence. 
 
 ( l — [f such prove the case, my religious orders are soon 
 liken. — Pax robiscum. I trust 1 shall remember the pass- 
 word. Noble Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor 
 boy, whose heart might make amends for a weaker head — I 
 will save jrou, or return and die with you. The royal blood 
 of our Saxon kings shall not be spilt while mine beats in my 
 veins; nor shall one hair fall from the head of the kind knave 
 who risked himself for his master, if Cedric's peril can pre- 
 vent it. — Farewell. 
 
 Athd. — Farewell, noble Cedric; remember it is the true 
 part of a friar to accept refreshments, if you are offered any. 
 
 Warn. — Farewell, uncle, and remember Pax vobiscum. 
 
 EXTRACT FROjI THE SPEECH OF DEMOSTHENES FOR THE 
 
 crown.* — Edinburgh Review. 
 
 Such was the commencement and first restoration of our 
 affairs with respect to Thebes; the two countries having been 
 previously brought by these miscreants into a state of ani- 
 mosity and distrust. This decree caused the danger, which 
 then environed the city, to pass away like a cloud. Now, the 
 duty of a good citizen was to declare publickly at the time, 
 if he had any better measures to propose, and not now to 
 condemn them. For an honest adviser, and a false accuser, 
 resembling each other in no one thing, differ most of all in 
 this — that the one declares his opinion before the events hap- 
 pen, and renders himself responsible to those who adopt his 
 counsel, — to fortune, — to events, — to any person who may 
 call him to account; but the other, keeping silence when he 
 ought to speak out, makes a reverse of fortune, if any should 
 happen, the subject of unjust accusations. That, then, was 
 the season, as I have already said, for a man to come forward, 
 who had the good of his country at heart, with honest advice. 
 But I go farther, and to so extravagant a length, that if, at 
 this moment, any one can point out any thing better to have 
 been done, or if, upon the whole, any thing else was possible, 
 except what I adopted, I will admit that I did wrong. For 
 
 * In reference to the decree which had the effect of uniting the The- 
 bans and Athenians against Philip. 
 
192 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 if any man has now discovered what would have been of ad- 
 vantage had it been then resorted to, I avow that it ought not 
 to have escaped me. But if there neither is nor was, — and 
 no man, even at this hour, can suggest any such thing, what 
 ought a statesman to have done? Ought he not to have cho- 
 sen whatever was the best, under existing circumstances, and 
 out of the means within his reach? This is the very thing 
 I did, iEschines, when the public herald demanded — "Who 
 wishes to address the people? — not — " Who wishes to find 
 fault with past events?" — or, " Who wishes to pledge himself 
 for what is to happen?" Whilst you, at this crisis, sat silent 
 in the assembly, I came forward and spoke. But if you could 
 not then, — at least point out now, — let us hear what resource 
 which I ought to have discovered, or what opportunity which 
 I ought to have improved, was then omitted by me on behalf 
 of the country. What alliance 1 What single measure, that 
 I ought to have, or have actually persuaded the people to 
 pursue, in preference to what was actually adopted? 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 But, moreover, the past is always dismissed by all men 
 from deliberation, and no one ever proposes any counsel re- 
 specting that. The future, or the present, alone require the 
 skill of a statesman. At that time, then, undoubtedly some 
 dangers appeared to be approaching, and others actually were 
 at hand; with regard to both which, I again invite you to 
 examine the character of my public conduct, and do not un- 
 justly upbraid me with the event. For the termination of 
 all things must ever be at the disposal of Providence, and it 
 is only from the measures he proposes, that any judgment 
 can bejbrmed of the intelligence of a statesman. Never let 
 it be attributed to me then as an offence, if it did so fall out, 
 that Philip won the battle; for the issue of that was in the 
 hand of God, and not of me. But show, that I did not select 
 such measures as, according to human foresight, and what was 
 practicable, were the best, or that I did not faithfully and 
 honestly, and laboriously (even beyond my strength) execute 
 them ; or that the course proposed by me was not honourable 
 and worthy of the country, and necessary, — show me this, 
 and then accuse me. But if that tempest or thunder-clap 
 which came upon us was too powerful, not only for us, but 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 193 
 
 for all the rest of the Greeks to resist, what was to be done? 
 Just as if the master of a vessel, after having done every 
 thing possible for its security, and equipped it with every 
 thing for the purpose, and with the prospect of safety, were 
 to encounter a storm, and, upon his tackle being strained or 
 wholly given way, were to suffer shipwreck, and then some 
 one should blame him ; — why, I had not the control of the 
 vessel, he might reply ; — any more than I had the command 
 of the army, or was the master of Fortune, instead of her 
 being the mistress of every thing. But recollect and con- 
 sider this; if it was our evil destiny so to fail, when fighting 
 in conjunction with the Thebans, what might we not have 
 expected, if we had not had £hem for our allies, but they had 
 been united with Philip — an event for which this ^Eschines 
 was eternally lifting up his voice? And if when the battle 
 was fought, at the distance of three days' journey, such dan- 
 ger and consternation came upon the city, what ought we not 
 to suppose must have happened, if the calamity had taken 
 place within our own territory? Do you think we should 
 have been allowed now to exist, and assemble and breathe 
 again ? Three days, or two, or even one, contributed largely 
 to the salvation of the country. In the other event — but 1 
 need not pursue consequences, which the goodness of Provi- 
 dence, and the shield I placed before the city by this decree 
 (which you, ^Eschines, revile) would not allow us to expe- 
 rience. 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 But all these numerous topics are addressed to you, the 
 judges, and to the strangers who are present and listening to 
 the trial; forasmuch as against this contemptible wretch him- 
 self, a short and simple statement would suffice. For if fu- 
 turity was revealed to you alone of all mankind, iEschines, 
 when the state was in deliberation upon the measures to be 
 adopted — that was the time for you to have foretold the re- 
 sult ; — but if you did not foresee it, you are open to the impu- 
 tation of the same ignorance as others : — what greater right 
 then have you to accuse me upon this subject, than I to ac- 
 cuse you? In this, at least, I proved myself so much a bet 
 ter citizen than yourself upon these very measures (and I 
 am, at present, speaking of none other) in proportion as I 
 rendered myself responsible for what then seemed to be for 
 
 R 
 
194 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER, 
 
 the public interest, without any personal apprehension, or 
 underhand calculation about myself ;— whilst you neither of- 
 fered any better suggestions, (for if you had, the people would 
 not have acted upon mine,) nor made yourself useful in any 
 one particular, — but the very course, which might have been 
 expected from the worst-disposed person and the bitterest 
 enemy of the State, you are proved to have pursued upon the 
 events as they have arisen, — and, at the same moment, Aris- 
 tratus at Naxes, Aristolaus at Thassus, — in one word, the 
 enemies of the Athenians, all the world over, are dragging 
 their friends to the bar of justice, and at Athens, iEschines 
 is, of course, accusing Demosthenes ! Although that man, 
 for whom the misfortunes of the Greeks are reserved as a 
 source of glory, ought rather to suffer death himself, than 
 accuse another ; and he can not be well affected to his coun- 
 try, who has such an identity of interest with its enemies, as 
 that the same circumstances should be, at once, profitable to 
 both. By the habits of your life and private conduct; — by 
 what you do in public affairs, — and by what you decline do- 
 ing, you manifest what you are. Is there any thing going on, 
 from which there is a prospect of advantage to the country? 
 ^Eschines is dumb. Has there been any failure, or a result 
 different from what it ought? Forth comes ^Eschines! just 
 as old fractures and sprains rack us afresh, when the body is. 
 attacked by disease. 
 
 same subject. — Concluded, 
 
 Seeing, however, that he dwells so much upon past events, 
 I am willing to maintain what may appear paradoxical ; but 
 let no man, in the name of Jupiter and the gods I conjure 
 you, feel astonished at my boldness, but attend favourably to 
 what I am about to say. If, then, the events, which were 
 about to happen, had been manifest to all, and every man had 
 foreseen them, and you, ^Eschines, had predicted and pro- 
 tested, with shouts and vociferations, — you, who never opened 
 your mouth, — I say, that not even then should the city have 
 departed from its line of policy, if it had any concern for its 
 glory, its ancestors, or posterity. For, as it is, we but appear 
 to have failed in our undertakings, which is the common lot 
 of humanity, when it is God's pleasure ; but, in the other 
 case, we should have been subject to the imputation of hav- 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 195 
 
 lr\g affected to take the lead amongst the Greeks, and after- 
 wards, in abandoning that pretension, of having betrayed 
 them all into the hands of Philip. For if without a struggle 
 we had resigned this precedence, — in support of which there 
 is no danger, of whatever description, which our ancestors 
 have not endured, — who is there, who might not justly have 
 despised even you, iEschines, — to say nothing of the State, 
 or of mjselfl — Good God! — with what countenance could 
 we have borne to look in the faces of strangers who arrived 
 in the city, if affairs had proceeded to the present crisis, and 
 Philip had been chosen Captain-General and Ruler of Greece, 
 and others had commenced a struggle to prevent this hap- 
 pening, without our participation? — And that, too, when, in 
 no former time, this country has ever preferred inglorious 
 security to peril in pursuit of honour. For what Greek, or 
 what Barbarian does not know full well, that both by the 
 Thebans, and, earlier still, by the Lacedaemonians, wh^n they 
 were in power, and by the King of Persia himself, it would 
 have been most thankfully conceded to this city to retain its 
 own possessions, and to receive almost any acquisition, pro- 
 vided it would submit to a command, and allow another to 
 lord it over the Greeks ? But such things, it seems, were 
 not deemed, by the Athenians of those days, hereditary, or 
 bearable, or natural. — Nor has any man ever, during all time, 
 been enabled to persuade this city, by adhering to those who 
 had power, but were unwilling to act justly, to purchase se- 
 curity with slavery; — but, throughout its whole career, it has 
 persevered in a contest and hazardous struggle for supremacy 
 and honour, and glory. And these principles you deem to 
 be so congenial with your habits, that you praise those of your 
 ancestors the most, who have acted up to them the best. 
 And with good reason. For who can fail to admire the vir- 
 tue of those men, who%*dured to leave their territory and 
 their city, and embark on ship-board, that they might not 
 submit to a master, — having chosen for their general The- 
 mistocles, who gave them this counsel, and having stoned to 
 death Cyrsilus, who declared himself for listening to the 
 terms dictated, — and not merely so, but your very wives 
 having stoned to death his? For the Athenians of those days 
 did not look for an Orator or a General, by whose means they 
 might be prosperous and enslaved. They did not deign to 
 live, unless they were allowed to do so with freedom. For 
 every man amongst them conceived that he was born, not 
 merely for his father and his mother, but for his country. 
 
196 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 And what is the difference? Why, that the man, who sup- 
 poses that he is born for his parents only, awaits the sponta- 
 neous arrival and appointed time of death ; but he who believes 
 that he is born for his country also, will be willing to lay 
 down his life that he may not see it enslaved, and will regard 
 the contumelies and insults which he must endure in an en- 
 slaved country, as far more to be feared than death. 
 
 If now I affected to say that I induced you to adopt 
 opinions worthy of your ancestors, there is no man, who might 
 not justly reprehend me : but, as it is, I am showing, that, 
 before my time, the State entertained these sentiments, though 
 a share in the execution of every thing which has been done 
 I do affirm to be mine. But this iEschines, in condemning 
 the whole in a lump, and exhorting you to regard me with 
 aversion, as the cause of the terror and danger which befel 
 the country, is, indeed, desirous of depriving me of my tem- 
 porary glory ; but is, at the same time, robbing you of the 
 praises which are your due throughout all after ages. For, 
 if you should condemn Ctesiphon, upon the ground that my 
 public measures were not the best possible, you will appear 
 to have been in error, and not to have suffered that which has 
 happened through the blind caprice of fortune. But it can- 
 not be, — it cannot be that you have erred, O men of Athens, 
 in encountering danger for the common liberty and safety of 
 Greece. No ! — By those ancestors I swear, who, for this 
 cause, courted death at Marathon, and who stood in battle- 
 array at Plataese, and by those who fought the sea-fights at 
 Salamis and off Artemisium, and so many other brave men 
 who lie interred in the public sepulchres of the country; — 
 all of whom the State buried without distinction, yEschines, 
 deeming them worthy of equal honours, — and not those only 
 who were successful, or who won the victory. — And justly. 
 For the duty of brave men was don^>y them all ; but the for- 
 tune, which they met with, was such as Providence was 
 pleased to dispense to them. 
 
 
 EXTRACT FROM THE ORATION OP .ESCHINES AGAINST 
 DEMOSTHENES. 
 
 What? — Is the man whom you propose to be crowned, of 
 such a description, that he cannot be known by those who 
 have been benefited by him, unless there be somebody to, 
 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 197 
 
 speak for you ? Ask, then, the judges if they knew Chabrias, 
 and Iphicrates, and Timotheus; and inquire of them, where- 
 fore they gave them rewards and erected statues to their 
 honour ? They all, with one voice, will answer, that it was 
 to Chabrias, on account of the naval victory at Naxos, — to 
 [phicrates, because he cut in pieces the Lacedasmonian le- 
 gion, — to Timotheus, for the relief of Corcyra, — and toothers, 
 because many and honourable exploits had been performed 
 by them in war. And if any one should inquire of you, why 
 you will not give them to Demosthenes, your answer should 
 be, Because he has taken bribes, — because he is a coward, — 
 because he has deserted his post in the field ! And whether 
 (think you) will you honour him, or dishonour yourselves, and 
 those who have died for you in battle — whom imagine you 
 see bewailing — if this man shall be crowned? For it would 
 be monstrous, O Athenians ! if we remove out of our territory 
 stocks, and stones, and pieces of iron, — mute and senseless 
 objects, if, by falling upon persons, they have been the cause 
 of their death, and if any one shall commit suicide, we bury 
 the hand which did the deed, apart from the body, and you 
 shall honour Demosthenes, O Athenians ! — the man who pro- 
 posed the last of all your expeditions, and betrayed your 
 soldiers to the enemy ! Why then the dead are dishonoured, 
 and the living become dispirited, when they behold death the 
 appointed prize of valour, and the memory of the dead fading 
 away. 
 
 But, — what is the most important of all, if your youths 
 should inquire of you, upon what model they ought to form 
 their conduct, what will you answer? For you well know, 
 that it is not the Palsestras alone, nor the schools, nor musick, 
 which instruct your youth, but much more the public procla- 
 mations. Is any man, scandalous in his life, and odious for 
 his vices, proclaimed in the theatre as having been crowned 
 on account of his virtue, his general excellence and patri- 
 otism? — the youth who witnesses it is depraved. Does any 
 profligate and abandoned libertine, like Ctesiphon, suffer 
 punishment? — all other persons are instructed. Does a man, 
 who has given a vote against what is honourable and just, 
 upon his return home, attempt to teach his son? He, with 
 good reason, will not listen ; and that, which would otherwise 
 be instruction, is justly termed importunity. Do you, there- 
 fore, give your votes not merely as deciding the present cause, 
 but with a view to consequences — for your justification to 
 those citizens, who are not now present, but who will demaad 
 
 b2 
 
198 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 an account from you of the judgment which you have pro- 
 nounced. For you know full well, O Athenians ! that the 
 credit of the city will be such as is the character of the per- 
 son who is crowned ; and it is a disgrace for you to be likened, 
 not to your ancestors, but to the cowardice of Demosthenes. 
 
 I then, — I call you to witness, ye Earth, and Sun ! — and 
 Virtue, and Intellect, and Education, by which we distinguish 
 what is honourable from what is base, — have given my help 
 and have spoken. And if I have conducted the accusation 
 adequately, and in a manner worthy of the transgression of 
 the laws, I have spoken as I wished ; — if imperfectly, then 
 only as I have been able. But do you, both from what has 
 been said, and what has been omitted, of yourselves, decide 
 as is just and convenient on behalf of the country. 
 
 Connecticut. — Halleck* 
 
 And still her gray rocks tower above the sea 
 
 That murmurs at their feet, a conquered wave ; 
 'Tis a rough land of earth, and stone, and tree, 
 
 Where breathes no castled lord or cabined slave ; 
 Where thoughts, and tongues, and hands are bold and free, 
 
 And friends will find a welcome, foes a grave ; 
 And where none kneel, save when to Heaven they pray, 
 
 Nor even then, unless in their own way. 
 
 Their's is a pure republic, wild, yet strong, 
 A " fierce democracy," where all are true 
 
 To what themselves have voted — right or wrong — 
 And to their laws, denominated blue; 
 
 (If red, they might to Draco's code belong;) 
 A vestal state, which power could not subdue, 
 
 Nor promise win — like her own eagle's nest, 
 
 Sacred — the San Marino of the west. 
 
 A justice of the peace, for the time being, 
 
 They bow to, but may turn him out next year; 
 
 They reverence their priest, but disagreeing 
 In price or creed, dismiss him without fear ; 
 
 They have a natural talent for foreseeing 
 
 And knowing all things ; — and should Park appear 
 
 From his long tour in Africa, to show 
 
 The Niger's source, they'd meet him with — " we know." 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 199 
 
 They love their land, because it is their own, 
 And scorn to give aught other reason why; 
 
 Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, 
 And think it kindness to his majesty ; 
 
 A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none, 
 Such are they nurtured, such they live and die ; 
 
 All — but a few apostates, who are meddling 
 
 With merchandise, pounds, shillings, pence and peddling. 
 
 Or wandering through southern countries, teaching 
 The A, B, C, from Webster's spelling-book; 
 
 Gallant and godly, making love and preaching, 
 And gaining, by what they call " hook and crook," 
 
 And what the moralists call overreaching, 
 A decent living. The Virginians look 
 
 Upon them with as favourable eyes 
 
 As Gabriel on the devil in paradise. 
 
 But these are but their out-casts. View them near 
 At home, where all their worth and pride is placed ; 
 
 And there their hospitable fires burn clear, 
 
 And there the lowest farm-house hearth is graced 
 
 With manly hearts, in piety sincere, 
 
 Faithful in love, in honour stern and chaste, 
 
 In friendship warm and true, in danger brave, 
 
 Beloved in life, and sainted in the grave. 
 
 And minds have been there nurtured, whose control 
 
 Is felt even in their nation's destiny ; 
 Men who swayed senates with a statesman's soul, 
 
 And looked on armies with a leader's eye, 
 Names that adorn and dignify the scroll, 
 
 Whose leaves contain their country's history, 
 And tales of love and war — listen to one, 
 Of the Green-Mountaineer — the Stark of Bennington 
 
 When on that field, his band the Hessians fought, 
 Briefly he spoke before the fight began — 
 
 " Soldiers ! those German gentlemen are bought 
 For four pounds eight and seven pence per man, 
 
 By England's king — a bargain as is thought — 
 
 Are we worth more ? Let's prove it now we can— 
 
 For we must beat them boys, ere set of sun, 
 
 Or Mary Stark's a widow." — It was done. 
 
800 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Her's are not Tempe's nor Arcadia's spring, 
 Nor the long summer of Cathayan vales ; 
 
 The vines, the flowers, the air, the skies that fling 
 Such wild enchantment o'er Boccacio's tales 
 
 Of Florence and the Arno — yet the wing 
 Of life's best angel, health, is on her gales 
 
 Through sun and snow — and in the autumn time, 
 
 Earth has no purer and no lovelier clime. 
 
 Her clear, warm heaven at noon, — the mist that shrouds 
 Her twilight hills, — her cool and starry eves, 
 
 The glorious splendour of her sunset clouds, 
 The rainbow beauty of her forest leaves, 
 
 Come o'er the eye in solitude, and crowds, 
 Where'er his web of song her poet weaves; 
 
 And his mind's brightest vision but displays 
 
 The autumn scenery of his boyhood's days. 
 
 And when you dream of woman, and her love ; 
 
 Her truth, her tenderness, her gentle power, 
 The maiden, listening in the moonlight grove, 
 
 The mother smiling in her infant's bower; 
 Forms, features, worshipped while we breathe or move, 
 
 Be by some spirit of your dreaming hour, 
 Borne, like Loretto's chapel, through the air, 
 To the green land I sing; then wake, you'll find them there. 
 
 DIRGE OF ALARIC,* THE VISIGOTH. Everett. 
 
 When I am dead, no pageant train 
 
 Shall waste their sorrows at my bier, 
 Nor worthless pomp of homage vain, 
 
 Stain it with hypocritic tear; 
 For I will die as I did live, 
 Nor take the boon I cannot give. 
 
 Ye shall not raise a marble bust 
 
 Upon the spot where I repose ; 
 Ye shall not fawn before my dust, 
 
 In hollow circumstance of woes : 
 
 * Alaric stormed and spoiled the city of Rome, and was afterwards bu- 
 ried in the channel of the river Busentius, the water of which had beep 
 diverted from its course that the body might be interred. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 201 
 
 Nor sculptured clay, with lying breath, 
 Insult the clay that moulds beneath. 
 
 Ye shall not pile, with servile toil, 
 
 Your monuments upon my breast, 
 Nor yet within the common soil 
 
 Lay down the wreck of power to rest; 
 Where man can boast that he has trod 
 On him, that was " the scourge of God." 
 
 But ye the mountain stream shall turn, 
 
 And lay its secret channel bare, 
 And hollow, for your sovereign's urn, 
 
 A resting-place for ever there : 
 Then bid its everlasting springs 
 Flow back upon the King of Kings ; 
 And never be the secret said, 
 Until the deep give up his dead. 
 
 My gold and silver ye shall fling 
 
 Back to the clods, that gave them birth ; — 
 
 The captured crowns of many a king, 
 The ransom of a conquered earth : 
 
 For e'en though dead, will I control 
 
 The trophies of the capitol. 
 
 But when beneath the mountain tide, 
 
 Ye've laid your monarch down to rot, 
 Ye shall not rear upon its side 
 
 Pillar or mound to mark the spot; 
 For long enough the world has shook 
 Beneath the terrors of my look ; 
 And now that I have run my race, 
 The astonished realms shall rest a space. 
 
 My course was like a river deep, 
 
 And from the northern hills I burst, 
 Across the world in wrath to sweep, 
 
 And where I went the spot was cursed, 
 Nor blade of grass again was seen 
 Where Alaric and his hosts had been. 
 
 See how their haughty barriers fail 
 
 Beneath the terror of the Goth, 
 Their iron-breasted legions quail 
 
 Before my ruthless sabaoth f> 
 
202 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 And low the Queen of empires kneels, 
 And grovels at my chariot-wheels. 
 
 Not for myself did I ascend 
 
 In judgment my triumphal car ; 
 
 'Twas God alone on high did send 
 The avenging Scythian to the war, 
 
 To shake abroad, with iron hand, 
 
 The appointed scourge of his command. 
 
 With iron hand that scourge I reared 
 O'er guilty king and guilty realm; 
 Destruction was the ship I steered, 
 
 And vengeance sat upon the helm, 
 When, launched in fury on the flood, 
 I ploughed my way through seas of blood, 
 And in the stream their hearts had spilt 
 Washed out the long arrears of guilt. 
 
 Across the everlasting Alp 
 
 I' poured the torrent of my powers, 
 
 And feeble Caesars shrieked for help 
 
 In vain within their seven-hilled towers; 
 
 I quenched in blood the brightest gem 
 
 That glittered in their diadem, 
 
 And struck a darker, deeper die 
 
 In the purple of their majesty, 
 
 And bade my northern banners shine 
 
 Upon the conquered Palatine. 
 
 My course is run, my errand done : 
 I go to Him from whom I came : 
 
 But never yet shall set the sun 
 Of glory that adorns my name ; 
 
 And Roman hearts shall long be sick, 
 
 When men shall think of Alaric. 
 
 My course is run, my errand done — 
 
 But darker ministers of fate 
 Impatient, round the eternal throne, 
 
 And in the caves of vengeance, wait ; 
 And soon mankind shall blanch away 
 Before the name of At'tila. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 203 
 
 CONDITION OF LITERARY MEN. — Ed. Review. 
 
 The immortal minds which feed their fellow-creatures with 
 intellectual subsistence, have a right to the most substantial 
 protection for the least fragment of their interests. They 
 are melancholy words in which Dryden addressed the public 
 of his day. ' It will continue to be the ingratitude of man- 
 kind, that they who teach wisdom by the surest means, shall 
 generally live poor and unregarded, as if they were born 
 only for the public, and had no interest in their own well» 
 being, but were to be lighted up like tapers, and waste 
 themselves for the benefit of others.' And though, in that 
 public, succeeding authors have found a worthier patron than 
 it was their great master's fortune to obtain from among a 
 Court, which corrupted and debased the dignity of his ge- 
 nius, yet even the modern public too often appears as a mere 
 literary glutton, selfishly absorbed in the gratification of its 
 taste, with very small regard for the interests of those who 
 provide for its indulgence. The followers of literature seem 
 as it were to have taken up the cross, and engaged in a 
 service which, like that of virtue, was to be its own reward. 
 Scholar and beggar, as Adam Smith says, are synonymous 
 expressions. The realizer of a fortune is a prodigy in the 
 history of learning ; whilst the cellars and garrets of every 
 metropolis in Europe afford degrading shelter to the long line 
 of Otways and Chattertons who have perished in her cause. 
 Nor is this accounted for by the carelessness of poets. We 
 know the frugality of Johnson's habits, were not less remark- 
 able than the extent and usefulness of his works. The mighty 
 Moralist surely need not shrink, in any sense, from a com- 
 parison with Lord Thurlow, the great Lawyer of that day, 
 except in the shameful contrast between the respective re- 
 muneration of their labours — the one at the height of power 
 and riches, the other struggling with penury and honest pride 
 for the greater part of his life, and left dependent on an 
 eleemosynary pension for a competence in his latter days. — 
 While such seems to be the inevitable condition of literary 
 men, it is miserable to see the bread taken out of their 
 mouths, as it were, with a facility and a nonchalance on the 
 part even of the public, upon which we do not care to ex- 
 press our feelings. But cotton and sugar, we are told, are 
 none the worse for the misery which forms part of their pre- 
 paration, and nobody smells the brimstone in his honey.-** 
 
204 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Lord Camden, in his splendid peroration against literary pro- 
 perty, tells an author, « Glory is his reward, and posterity 
 will pay it.' In other words, he tells the public, 'Take ad- 
 vantage of the nobleness of his character : — urged on by 
 the instinct of genius, and by his love for fame, by his 
 sympathy with man and nature, he will not stop to raise a 
 question on his rights, or waste a thought on the money- 
 payment of his labours — therefore, it will be your own fault 
 if you don't drive a good bargain with so disinterested a 
 customer.' Injustice unfortunately is still injustice, though 
 clothed in sentimental language ; and only bows him out of 
 the room, instead of kicking him down stairs. We have al- 
 ways felt it as a clap-trap for a gallery of pirates, who, of 
 course, encore it, though with a vehemence short of what is 
 showered down on the less complimentary judgments of 
 Lord Eldon. But (for ourselves). we see no reason for con- 
 gratulating the friends of public honour or public morals, in 
 the fact that Hone or Benbbw is enriched with the spoils of 
 Moore or Byron. Fame is very good as garnish, but some- 
 thing more immediate is required. The literary thief knows 
 he cannot be indicted ; himself a pauper, he laughs at the 
 damages of an action ; and it must be an odd book indeed, 
 of a popular nature, from which a doubt, which some possi- 
 ble Chancellor may not think reasonable, cannot be extracted. 
 
 MOORE AND BYRON COMPARED. Jeffrey* 
 
 We conceive, though these two celebrated writers in some 
 measure divide the poetical public between them, that it is 
 not the same public whose favour they severally enjoy in the 
 highest degree. They are both read and admired, no doubt, 
 in the same extended circle of taste and fashion ; but each is 
 the favourite of a totally different set of readers. Thus a 
 lover may pay the same outward attention to two different 
 women ; but he only means to flirt with the one, while the 
 other is the mistress of his heart. The gay, the fair, the 
 witty, the happy, idolize Mr. Moore's delightful Muse, on 
 her pedestal of airy smiles or transient tears. Lord Byron's 
 severer verse is enshrined in the breasts of those whose 
 gaiety has been turned to gall, whose fair exterior has a can- 
 ker within, whose mirth has received a rebuke as if it were 
 folly, from whom happiness has fled like a dream ! If we 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 205 
 
 compute the odds upon the known chances of human life, 
 his Lordship will bid fair to have as numerous a class of 
 votaries as his more agreeable rival ! We are not going to 
 give a preference, but we beg leave to make a distinction on 
 the present occasion. The poetry of Moore is essentially 
 that of Fancy ; the poetry of Byron that of Passion. If 
 there is passion in the effusions of the one, the fancy by 
 which it is expressed predominates over it : if fancy is called 
 to the aid of the other, it is still subservient to the passion. 
 Lord Byron's jests are downright earnest ; Mr. Moore, when 
 he is most serious, seems half in jest. The latter plays and 
 trifles with his subject, caresses and grows enamoured of it : 
 the former grasps it eagerly to his bosom, breathes death 
 upon it, and turns from it with loathing or dismay ! The 
 fine aroma, that is exhaled from the flowers of poesy, every 
 where lends its perfume to the verse of the Bard of Erin. — 
 The noble bard (less fortunate in his Muse) tries to extract 
 poison from them. If Lord Byron flings his own views or 
 feelings upon outward objects, (jaundicing the sun,) Mr. 
 Moore seems to exist in the delights, the virgin fancies of 
 nature. He is free of the Rosicrucian society ; and enjoys 
 an ethereal existence among troops of sylphs and spirits, and 
 in a perpetual vision of wings, flowers, rainbows, smiles, 
 blushes, tears and kisses. Every page of his works is a 
 vignette, every line that he writes glows or sparkles ; and it 
 would seem (so some one said who knew him well and loved 
 him much) " as if his airy spirit, drawn from the sun, con- 
 tinually fluttered with fond aspirations, to regain that native 
 source of light and heat." The worst is, our author's mind 
 is too vivid, too active, to suffer a moment's repose. We 
 are cloyed with sweetness and dazzled' with splendour. — 
 Every image must " blush celestial rosy red, love's proper 
 hue," — every syllable must breathe a sigh. A sentiment is 
 lost in a simile — the simile is overloaded with an epithet. 
 It is "like morn risen on mid-noon." No eventful story, no 
 powerful contrast, no moral, none of the sordid details of 
 human life (all is ethereal,) none of its sharp calamities, or, 
 if they inevitably occur, his Muse throws a soft, glittering 
 veil over them, 
 
 " Like moonlight on a troubled sea, 
 
 Brightening the storm it cannot calm." 
 
 We do not believe Mr. Moore ever writes a line, that in 
 itself would not pass for poetry, that is not at least a vivid or 
 harmonious common-place. Lord Byron writes whole pages 
 
 S 
 
206 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 of sullen, crabbed prose, like a long dreary road that, how- 
 ever, leads to doleful shades or palaces of the blest. In 
 short, Mr. Moore's Parnassus is a blooming Eden ; Lord 
 Byron's is a rugged wilderness of shame and sorrow. On 
 the tree of knowledge of the first, you can see nothing but 
 perpetual flowers and verdure ; in the last, you see the naked 
 stem and rough bark ; but it heaves at intervals with inarticu- 
 late throes, and you hear the shrieks of a human voice within. 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 Critically speaking, Mr. Moore's poetry is chargeable 
 with two peculiarities. First, the pleasure or interest he 
 conveys to us is almost always derived from the first impres- 
 sions or physical properties of objects, not from their con- 
 nexion with passion or circumstances. His lights dazzle the 
 eye, his perfumes soothe the smell, his sounds ravish the ear : 
 but then they do so for and from themselves, and at all times 
 and places equally — for the heart has nothing to do with it. 
 Hence we observe a kind of fastidious extravagance in Mr. 
 Moore's serious poetry. Each thing must be fine, soft, ex- 
 quisite in itself, for it is never set off by reflection or con- 
 trast. It glitters to the sense through an atmosphere of in- 
 difference. Our indolent, luxurious bard does not whet the 
 appetite by setting us to hunt after the game of human pas- 
 sion, and is therefore obliged to pamper us with dainties, 
 seasoned with rich fancy and the smice piquante of poetic 
 diction. Poetry, in his hands, becomes a kind of cosmetic 
 art — it is the poetry of the toilette. His Muse must be as 
 fine as the Lady of Loretto. The naked Venus to some eyes 
 would seem a dowdy to her ! Now, this principle of com- 
 position leads not only to a defect of dramatic interest, but 
 also of imagination. For every thing in this world, the 
 meanest incident or object, may receive a light and an im- 
 portance from its association with other objects and with the 
 heart of man ; and the variety thus created is endless as it is 
 striking and profound. But if we begin and end in those 
 objects that are beautiful or dazzling in themselves and at 
 first blush, we shall soon be confined to a narrow round of 
 self-pleasing topics, and be both superficial, and wearisome. 
 It is the fault of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry, that he has per- 
 versely relied too much (or wholly) on this reaction of the 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 207 
 
 imagination on subjects that are petty and repulsive in them- 
 selves, and of Mr. Moore's, that he appeals too exclusively 
 to the flattering support of sense and fancy. Secondly, We 
 have remarked that Mr. Moore hardly ever describes entire 
 objects, but abstract qualities of objects. It is not a picture 
 that he gives us, but an inventory of beauty. He takes a 
 blush, or a smile, and runs on whole stanzas in extatic praise 
 of it, and then diverges to the sound of a voice, and ' dis- 
 courses eloquent music' on the subject ; but it might as well 
 be the light of Heaven that he is describing, or the voice of 
 Echo — we have no human figure before us, no palpable re- 
 ality, answering to any substantive form in nature. Hence 
 we think it may be explained why it is that this author has 
 so little picturesque effect — with such vividness of concep- 
 tion, such insatiable ambition after ornament, and such an 
 inexhaustible and delightful play of fancy. Mr. Moore is a 
 colourist in poetry, a musician also, and has a heart full of 
 tenderness and susceptibility for all that is delightful and 
 amiable in itself, and that does not require the ordeal of suf- 
 fering, of crime, or of deep thought to stamp it with a bold 
 character. In this, we conceive, consists the charm of his 
 poetry, which all the world feel, but which it is so difficult 
 for critics to explain scientifically, and in conformity to tran- 
 scendental rules. It has the charm of the softest and most 
 brilliant execution. There is no wrinkle, no deformity on 
 its smooth and shining surface. It has the charm which 
 arises from the continual desire to please, and from the spon- 
 taneous sense of pleasure in the author's mind. Without 
 being gross in the smallest degree, it is voluptuous in the 
 highest. It is a sort of sylph-like, spiritualized sensuality. 
 So far from being licentious in the present instance, Mr. 
 Moore has become moral and sentimental (indeed he was 
 always the last) — -and tantalizes his young and fair readers 
 with the glittering shadows and mystic adumbrations of 
 evanescent delights. He (in fine) in his courtship of the 
 Muses, resembles those lovers who always say the softest 
 things on all occasions ; who smile with irresistible good 
 humour at their own success ; who banish pain and truth 
 from their thoughts, and who impart the delight they feel in 
 themselves unconsciously to others ! Mr. Moore's poetry is 
 the thornless rose— its touch is velvet, its hue vermilion, and 
 its graceful form is cast in beauty's mould. Lord Byron's is 
 a prickly bramble, or sometimes a deadly Upas, of form un- 
 couth and uninviting, that has its root in the clefts of the 
 
203 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 rock, and its head mocking the skies, round which the loud 
 cataracts roar, and that wars with the thunder-cloud and 
 tempest. 
 
 gratitude. — Grattan. 
 
 I shall hear of ingratitude : I name the argument to de- 
 spise it, and the men who make use of it. I know the men 
 who use it are not grateful ; they are insatiate ; they are public 
 extortioners, who would stop the tide of public prosperity, 
 and turn it to the channel of their own emolument. I know 
 of no species of gratitude which should prevent m^ country 
 from being free — no gratitude which should oblige Ireland to 
 be the slave of England. In cases of robbery and usurpation, 
 nothing is an object of gratitude except the thing stolen, 
 the charter spoliated. A nation's liberty cannot, like her 
 treasure, be meted and parcelled out in gratitude. No man 
 can be grateful or liberal of his conscience, nor woman of 
 her honour, nor nation of her liberty. There are certain 
 unimpartable, inherent, invaluable properties, not to be alien- 
 ated from the person, whether body politic or body natural. 
 With the same contempt do I treat that charge which says, that 
 Ireland is insatiable; saying, that Ireland asks nothing but 
 that which Great Britain has robbed her of, her rights and 
 privileges. To say that Ireland will not be satisfied with 
 liberty, because she is not satisfied with slavery, is folly. I 
 laugh at that man who supposes that Ireland will not be con- 
 tent with a free trade, and a free constitution ; and would any 
 man advise her to be content with less? 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. Scott. 
 
 i 
 
 Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has decoyed me, 
 
 At the close of the evening through woodlands to roam, 
 Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me 
 
 Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. 
 Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers while speaking, 
 
 The language alternate of rapture and woe : 
 Oh ! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are breaking, 
 
 The pang that I feel at our parting can know. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 209 
 
 Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came sorrow, 
 
 Or pale disappointment, to darken my way, 
 What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow, 
 
 Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day ! 
 But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning, 
 
 The grief^ queen of numbers, thou canst not assuage : 
 Nor gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, 
 
 The languor of pain, and the dullness of age. 
 
 'Twas thou that once taught me in accents bewailing, 
 
 To sing how a warrior lay stretched on the plain, 
 And a maiden hung o'er with aid unavailing, 
 
 And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; 
 As vain those enchantments, O queen of wild numbers, 
 
 To a bard when the reign of his faney is o'er, 
 And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers — 
 
 Farewell then — enchantress ! — I meet thee no more. 
 
 THE UNKNOWN GRAVE. — Pringle* 
 
 Who sleeps below? who sleeps below? 
 
 It is a question idle all ! 
 Ask of the breezes as they blow, 
 
 Say, do they heed, or hear thy call ? 
 They murmur in the trees around, 
 And mock thy voice, an empty sound ! 
 
 A hundred summer suns have showered 
 
 Their fostering warmth, and radiance bright ; 
 
 A hundred winter storms have lowered 
 With piercing floods, and hues of night, 
 
 Since first this remnant of his race 
 
 Did tenant his lone dwelling-place. 
 
 Say did he come from east, from west, 
 From southern climes, or where the pole, 
 
 With frosty sceptre, doth arrest 
 The howling billows, as they roll ? 
 
 Within what realm of peace or strife, 
 
 Did he first draw the breath of life 1 
 
 Was he of high or low degree ? 
 Did grandeur smile upon his lot ? 
 s2 
 
210 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Or, born to dark obscurity, 
 
 Dwelt he within some lonely cot, 
 And from his youth to labour wed, 
 From toil-strung limbs wrung daily bread ? 
 
 Say, died he ripe, and full of years 
 Bowed down and bent by hoary eld, 
 
 When sound was silence to his ears, 
 And the dim eye-ball sight withheld ; 
 
 Like a ripe apple falling down, 
 
 Unshaken, mid the orchard brown? 
 
 When all the friends that blessed his prime, 
 Were vanished like a morning dream; 
 
 Plucked one by one by spareless time, 
 And scattered in oblivion's stream ; 
 
 Passing away all silently, 
 
 Like snow flakes melting in the sea? 
 
 Or, mid the summer of his years, 
 
 When round him thronged his children young, 
 When bright eyes gushed with burning tears, 
 
 And anguish dwelt on every tongue, 
 Was he cut off, and left behind 
 A widowed wife, scarce half resigned ? 
 
 Or, mid the sunshine of his spring 
 
 Came the swift bolt that dashed him down, 
 
 When she, his chosen, blossoming 
 In beauty, deemed him all her own, 
 
 And forward looked to happier years 
 
 Than ever blessed their vale of tears? 
 
 Perhaps he perished for the faith, — 
 
 One of that persecuted band, 
 Who suffered tortures, bonds, and death, 
 
 To free from mental thrall the land, 
 And, toiling for the martyr's fame, 
 Espoused his fate, nor found a name ! 
 
 Say, was he one to science blind, 
 A groper in earth's dungeon dark ! 
 
 Or one, whose bold aspiring mind 
 Did in the fair creation mark 
 
 The Maker's hand, and kept his soul 
 
 Free from this grovelling world's control t 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 211 
 
 Hush, wild surmise ! — 'tis vain — 'tis vain — 
 
 The summer flowers in beauty blow, 
 And sighs the wind, and floods the rain, 
 
 O'er some old bones that rot below ; 
 No other record can we trace 
 Of fame, or fortune, rank, or race ! 
 
 Then what is life, when thus we see 
 
 No trace remains of life's career? — ■ 
 Mortal ! whoe'er thou art, for thee 
 
 A moral lesson gloweth here ; 
 Put'st thou in aught of earth thy trust? 
 'Tis doomed that dust shall mix with dust. 
 
 What doth it matter then, if thus, 
 
 Without a stone, without a name, 
 To impotently herald us, 
 
 We float not on the breath of fame ; 
 But, like the dew-drop from the flower, 
 Pass, after glittering for an hour? 
 
 Since soul decays not ; freed from earth 
 
 And earthly coils, it bursts away ; 
 Receiving a celestial birth, 
 
 And spurning off its bonds of clay, 
 It soars, and seeks another sphere, 
 And blooms through heaven's eternal year! 
 
 Do good ; shun evil ; live not thou, 
 
 As if at death thy being died ; 
 Nor error's syren voice allow 
 
 To draw thy steps from truth aside ; 
 Look to thy journey's end — the grave ! 
 And trust in Him whose arm can save. 
 
 youth and age. — Coleridge, 
 
 Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying, 
 Where Hope clung feeding like a bee — 
 Both were mine ! Life went a Maying 
 With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 
 
 When I was young ! 
 
212 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. ! 
 
 When I was young ! Ah, woeful when ! 
 Ah for the change 'twixt now and then ! 
 This breathing house not built with hands, 
 This body, that does me grievous wrong, 
 O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands 
 How lightly then it flashed along ! 
 Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, 
 On winding lakes and rivers wide ; 
 That ask no aid of sail or oar, 
 That fear no spite of wind or tide ! 
 Nought cared this body for wind or weather, 
 When Youth and I lived in't together! 
 Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like, 
 Friendship is a sheltering tree, — 
 O the joys, that came down shower-like, 
 Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, 
 Ere I was old ! 
 
 Ere I was old ? Ah, mournful ere, 
 Which tells me, Youth's no longer here ! 
 
 Youth ! for years so many and sweet, 
 'Tis known that thou and I were one — 
 I'll think it but a fond conceit ; 
 
 It cannot be that thou are gone ! 
 Thy vesper bell hath not yet tolled, 
 And thou wert aye a masker bold. 
 What strange disguise hast now put on, 
 To make believe that thou art gone ? 
 
 1 see these locks in silvery slips, 
 This drooping gait, this altered size ; 
 But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips, 
 And tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! 
 Life is but Thought ! so think I will, 
 That Youth and I are house-mates still ! 
 
 Ireland. — (xrattan. 
 
 See her military ardour, expressed not only in 40,000 
 men, conducted by instinct, as they were raised by inspira- 
 tion, but manifested in the zeal and promptitude of every 
 young member of the growing community. Let corruption 
 tremble ; let the enemy, foreign or domestic, tremble ; but 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 213 
 
 let the friends of liberty rejoice at these means of safety, and 
 this hour of redemption. Yes ; there does exist an enlighten- 
 ed sense of rights, a young appetite for freedom, a solid 
 strength, and a rapid fire, which not only put a declaration 
 of right within your power, but put it out of your power to 
 decline one. Eighteen counties are at your bar ; they stand 
 there with the compact of Henry, with the character of John, 
 and with all the passions of the people. " Our lives are at 
 your service, but our liberties — we received them from God ; 
 we will not resign them to man." Speaking to you thus, if 
 you repulse these petitioners, you abdicate the privileges of 
 Parliament, forfeit the rights of the kingdom, repudiate the 
 instructions of your constituents, bilge the sense of your 
 country, palsy the enthusiasm of the people, and reject that 
 good which — not a minister, not a Lord North, not a Lord 
 Buckinghamshire, not a Lord Hillsborough, but a certain 
 providential conjuncture, or, rather, the hand of God, seems 
 to extend to you. Nor are we only prompted to this when 
 we consider our strength ; we are challenged to it, when we 
 look to Great Britain. The people of that country are now 
 waiting to hear the Parliament of Ireland speak on the sub- 
 ject of their liberty. It begins to be made a question in 
 England, whether the principal persons wish to be free. It 
 was the delicacy of former parliaments to be silent on the 
 subject of commercial restrictions, lest they should show a 
 knowledge of the fact, and not a sense of the violation. You 
 have spoken out, you have shown a knowledge of the fact, 
 and not a sense of the violation. On the contrary, you have 
 returned thanks for a partial repeal made on a principle of 
 power ; you have returned thanks as for a favour ; and your 
 exultation has brought your charters as well as your spirit 
 into question, and tends to shake to her foundation your 
 title to liberty. Thus, you do not leave your rights even 
 where you found them. You have done too much not to do 
 more ; you have gone too far not to go on ; you have brought 
 yourselves into that situation, in which you must silently 
 abdicate the rights of your country, or publicly restore them. 
 It is very true, you may feed your manufacturers, and landed 
 gentlemen may get their rents, and you may export woollen, 
 and may load a vessel with baize, serges, and kerseys j and 
 you may bring back again directly from the plantations, 
 sugar, indigo, speckle-wood, beetle-root, and panellas. But 
 liberty, the foundation of trade, the charters of the land, the 
 independency of Parliament, the securing, CFOwning, and 
 
214 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 the consummation of every thing, are yet to come. With- 
 out them the work is imperfect, the foundation is wanting, 
 the capital is wanting, trade is not free, Ireland is a colony 
 without the benefit of a charter, and you are a provincial 
 synod without the privileges of a parliament. * / 
 
 SCENE FROM THE DISOWNED. BulxCCr* 
 
 Glendower. — It is a fine night, Whence come you? 
 
 Wolfe. — From contemplating human misery and worse 
 than human degradation. 
 
 G. — Those words specify no place — they apply univer- 
 sally. 
 
 W. — Ay, Glendower, for misgovernment is universal. Oh ! 
 it maddens me to look upon the willingness with which men 
 hug their trappings of slavery, — bears, proud of the rags 
 which deck, and the monkeys which ride them. But it frets 
 me yet more when some lordling sweeps along, lifting his 
 dull eyes above the fools whose only crime and debasement 
 are — what? — their subjection to him! — You are poor, and 
 your spirit rises against your lot ; you are just, and your heart 
 swells against the general oppression you behold; can you 
 not dare to remedy your ills, and those of mankind ? 
 
 G. — I can dare, all things but crime. 
 
 W. — And which is crime ? the rising against, or the sub- 
 mission to, evil government? Which is crime, I ask you? 
 
 G. — That which is the most imprudent. We may sport 
 in ordinary cases with our own safeties ; but only in rare cases 
 with the safety of others. 
 
 W. — Come here, come, and look out. 
 
 G. — Why did you call me ? I see nothing. 
 
 W. — Nothing? look again — look on yon sordid and squa- 
 lid huts — look at yon court, that from this wretched street 
 leads to abodes to which these are as palaces : look at 
 yon victims of vice and famine plying beneath the midnight 
 skies their filthy and infectious trade. Wherever you turn 
 your eyes, what see you ? Misery, loathsomeness, sin ! Are 
 you a man, and call you these nothing ! And now lean forth 
 still more — see afar off by yonder lamp, the mansion of ill- 
 gotten and griping wealth. He who owns those buildings, 
 what did he jthat he should riot while we starve ? He wrung 
 from the negro's tears and bloody sweat, the luxuries of a 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 215 
 
 pampered and vitiated taste ; he pandered to the excesses of 
 the rich ; he heaped their tables with the product of a na- 
 tion's groans. Lo ! — his reward ! He is rich — prosperous — 
 honoured ! He sits in the legislative assembly ; he declaims 
 against immorality ; he contends for the safety of property, 
 and the equilibrium of ranks. Transport yourself from this 
 spot for an instant — imagine that you survey the gorgeous 
 homes of aristocracy and power — the palaces of the west. 
 What see you there — the few, sucking, draining, exhausting 
 the blood, the treasure, the very existence of the many ? Are 
 we, who are of the many, wise to suffer it ? 
 
 G. — Are we of the many ? 
 
 W. — We could be. 
 
 G. — I do»bt it. 
 
 W. — Listen, listen to me. There are in this country, 
 men, whose spirits not years of delayed hope, wearisome 
 persecution, and, bitterer than all, misrepresentation from 
 some, and contempt from others, have yet quelled and tamed. 
 We watch our opportunity ; the growing distress of the coun- 
 try, the increasing severity and misrule of the administration 
 will soon afford it us. Your talents, your benevolence, ren- 
 der you worthy to join us. Do so, and — 
 
 G.— Hush ! you know not what you say ; you weigh 
 not the folly, the madness of your design ! I am a man more 
 fallen, more sunken, more disappointed than you. I, too, 
 have had at my heart the burning and lonely hope, which, 
 through years of misfortune and want, has comforted me with 
 the thought of serving and enlightening mankind. I, too, 
 have devoted to the fulfilment of that hope, days and nights, 
 in which the brain grew dizzy, and the heart heavy and clog- 
 ged with the intensity of my pursuits. Were the dungeon 
 and the scaffold my reward, Heaven knows that I would not 
 flinch eye or hand, or abate a jot of heart and hope in the 
 thankless prosecution of my toils. Know me, then, as one 
 of fortunes more desperate than your own ; of an ambition 
 more unquenchable ; of a philanthropy no less ardent ,* and, 
 I will add, of a courage no less firm : and behold the utter 
 hopelessness of your projects with others, when to me they 
 only appear the visions of an enthusiast 1 
 
 W. — Is it even so 1 Are my hopes but delusions ? — Has 
 my life been but one idle though convulsive dream ? — Is the 
 goddess of our religion banished from this great and popu- 
 lous earth, to the seared and barren hearts of a few solitary 
 worshippers, whom all else despise as madmen, or persecute 
 
216 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 as idolaters ? — And if so, shall we adore her the less ? — No ! 
 though we perish in her cause, it is around her altar that our 
 corpses shall be found !" 
 
 G. — My friend, the night is yet early : we will trim 
 the lamp, and sit down to discuss our several doctrines calmly, 
 and in the spirit of truth and investigation. 
 
 W. — Away ! away ! I will not listen to you — I dread 
 your reasonings — I would not have a particle of my faith 
 shaken. If I err, I have erred from my birth : erred with 
 Brutus and Tell, Hampden and Milton, and all whom the 
 thousand tribes and parties of earth consecrate with their 
 common gratitude and eternal reverence. In that error J 
 will die ! If our party can struggle not with hosts, there may 
 yet arise some minister with the ambition of Caesar, if not 
 his genius — of whom a single dagger can rid the earth !" 
 
 G.— And if not 1 
 
 TV. — I have the same dagger for myself ! 
 
 EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF MR. HAYNE, ON THE TARIFF. 
 
 Delivered in the Senate of the United States, April, 1824. 
 
 The first objection, which I shall urge against this policy 
 is, that it assumes, that government is capable of regulating 
 industry better than individuals; a position which is wholly 
 untenable. From the nature of things, labour and capital 
 should be permitted to seek their own employment, under 
 the guidance, entirely, of individual prudence and sagacity. 
 Government, from the very elevation of its position, is ne- 
 cessarily incapable of taking that close view of the subject, 
 and obtaining that accurate knowledge of details, indispensa- 
 ble to a judicious determination, of the relative advantages of 
 different pursuits in any community. This depends so much 
 on local circumstances, that personal observation and indi- 
 vidual exertions are alone competent to the task. I deny, 
 that any government can enter into the private walks of life, 
 and wisely control the pursuits of its citizens; or judiciously 
 regulate the various branches of home industry. In the do- 
 mestic concerns of nations, as of individuals, it is sufficient 
 that men are prevented from trespassing on the property, or 
 invading the rights of their neighbours. Sir, it would afford 
 matter for curious speculation, if the various regulations, by 
 which men have been controlled in their pursuits, could be 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 217 
 
 presented in one view to our consideration. In England, we 
 find, that, in the reign of Henry IV. the crown was authorized 
 by an act of parliament, to order " one rood of flax or hemp 
 to be planted for every sixty acres cultivated in other grains," 
 and this was done for the purpose, (as it is quaintly expressed,) 
 " of making of nets and eschewing of idleness." It is, in 
 the east, however, that we find the system, advocated by the 
 gentlemen on the other side, carried to the greatest perfec- 
 tion : we know that, in some parts of that country, the people 
 are divided into casts, and every man is compelled to pursue 
 the trade of his father. Not only the occupation of the peo- 
 ple, but their food, their language, and even their names are 
 prescribed ; and we are told, that in China, "the power of the 
 emperor is exerted even on the dead, on whom he confers 
 titles of honour, or, according to their language, makes them 
 naked spirits." Without dwelling, however, on this topic I 
 will concede all the gentleman can ask ; I will admit, that 
 governments have every where, and in every age, presumed 
 to regulate man in all his pursuits. Every thing connected 
 with his existence, from the cradle to the grave, nay, beyond 
 the grave ; the language he shall speak — the name he shall 
 bear — the food he shall eat — the trade he shall follow — what 
 he shall sow, and what he shall reap — his hours of labour and 
 of rest — the place in which he shall dwell — the opinions he 
 shall cherish or express — the books he shall read, and the 
 God he shall worship ; every thing, in short, which belongs 
 to him as a created being, is the subject of arbitrary regula- 
 tion, and man is made a creature without heart, or soul, or 
 mind, a mere machine, obedient to the will of the human 
 artist, who puts it into operation. But, sir, we are taught to 
 believe, that the establishment of our government formed a 
 new era in the history of the world, and that the practical 
 operation of our constitution was destined to exhibit a splen- 
 did example of the perfection to which man would attain, 
 when freed from the shackles which had been imposed on 
 him in other countries. We were taught to expect that a 
 government, instituted by the people, and administered for 
 their benefit alone — where the human mind would be left 
 without restraint to pursue its own happiness, in its own way — 
 must, by its good fruits, recommend a free system to all na- 
 tions. I can well recollect, sir, that among the first lessons 
 instilled into my mind, that which made the deepest and most 
 lasting impression, was to consider the Republican Institu- 
 tions of my country, like the air which we breathe, as be- 
 
 T 
 
218 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 stowing life, and health, and happiness, without our being 
 conscious of the means by which these inestimable gifts are 
 conferred ; like the providence of God, unfelt and unseen, 
 yet dispensing the richest blessings to all the children of men. 
 But, these, we are told, are the illusions of the imagination. 
 Man cannot be safely left to mark out his own course to hap- 
 piness ; but here, as elsewhere, the various employments of 
 industry, and capital, must be so artificially arranged and 
 balanced, as to produce results to be prescribed by law. We 
 have been further told, sir, that our beloved country is in a 
 state of such unparalleled suffering, that desperate remedies 
 have become necessary to save the people, I presume, from 
 " their worst enemies, themselves." One honourable gen- 
 tleman, attributes our calamities to over importation — the 
 balance of trade — the drain of specie, and so forth — and told 
 us, " that in three years, every dollar in the country would 
 be exported, and in three more, the fee simple of our soil, 
 would be held by the agents of the British merchants." This 
 gloomy picture of our condition, would certainly excite the 
 most melancholy sensations, if its extravagance did not 
 provoke a smile. 
 
 scene from the critic. — Sheridan. 
 
 Dangle, Sneer, Sir Fretful, Plagiary, Mrs. Dangle. 
 
 Dan. Ah, my dear friend ! — we were just speaking of 
 your tragedy.— Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable ! 
 
 Sneer. You never did any thing beyond it, Sir Fretful— 
 never in your life. 
 
 Sir F. You make me extremely happy ; for without a 
 compliment, my dear Sneer, there isn't a man in the world 
 whose judgment I value as I do yours— and Mr. Dangle s. 
 
 Mrs. D. They are only laughing at you, Sir Fretful, for 
 it was but just now that — • 
 
 Dan. Mrs. Dangle ! Ah, Sir Fretful, you know Mrs. Dan- 
 gle.— My friend Sneer was rallying just now— He knows 
 how she admires you, and — , 
 
 Sir F. I am sure Mr. Sneer has more taste and sincerity 
 than to— [Aside.] A very double-faced fellow ! 
 
 Dan. Yes, yes,— Sneer will jest— but a better humour d— 
 
 Sir F. O, I know — 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 219 
 
 Dan. He has a ready turn for ridicule — his wit costs him 
 nothing. — 
 
 Sir F. No, — or I should wonder how he came by it. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Dan. But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to the 
 managers yet ?— or can I be of any service to you 1 
 
 Sir F. No, no, I thank you ; I sent it to the manager of 
 Covent Garden theatre this morning. 
 
 Sneer. I should have thought now, that it might have been 
 cast (as the actors call it) better at Drury Lane. 
 
 Sir F. O lud ! no — never send a play there while I live — 
 harkee ! [Whispers Sneer. 
 
 Sneer. « Writes himself /' I know he does — 
 
 Sir F. I say nothing — I take away from no man's merit — 
 am hurt at no man's good fortune — I say nothing — But this 
 I will say — through all my knowledge of life, I have obser- 
 ved — that there is not a passion so strongly rooted in the 
 human heart as envy ! 
 
 Sneer. I believe you have reason for what you say, indeed. 
 
 Sir F. Besides— I can tell you it is not always so safe to 
 leave a play in the hands of those who write themselves. 
 
 Sneer. What, they may steal from them, hey, my dear 
 Plagiary ? 
 
 Sir F. Steal! — to be sure they may; and, serve your 
 best thoughts as gypsies do stolen children, disfigure them 
 to make 'em pass for their own. 
 
 Sneer. But your present work is a sacrifice to Melpomene, 
 and he you know never — 
 
 Sir F. That's no security — A dextrous plagiarist may do 
 any thing — Why, sir, for ought I know, he might take out 
 some of the best things in my tragedy, and put them into his 
 own comedy. 
 
 Sneer. That might be done, I dare be sworn. 
 
 Sir F. And then, if such a person gives you the least hint 
 or assistance, he is devilish apt to take the merit of the 
 whole — > 
 
 Dan. If it succeeds. 
 
 Sir F. Aye, — but with regard to this piece, I think I can 
 hit that gentleman ; for I can safely swear he never read it. 
 
 Sneer. I'll tell you how you may hurt him more. 
 
 Sir F. How ? 
 
 Sneer. Swear he wrote it. 
 
 Sir F. Plague on't now, Sneer, I shall take it ill. I be- 
 lieve you want to take away my character as an author ! 
 
220 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Sneer. Then I am sure you ought to be very much obliged 
 to me. 
 
 Sir F. Hey ! — Sir ! 
 
 Dan. O you know he never means what he says. 
 
 Sir F. Sincerely then — you do like the piece ? 
 
 Sneer. Wonderfully ! 
 
 Sir F. But come now, there must be something that you 
 think might be mended, hey ? — Mr. Dangle, has nothing 
 struck you? 
 
 Dan. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing, for the 
 most part, to. — 
 
 Sir F. With most authors it is just so indeed ; they are in 
 general strangely tenacious ! — But, for my part, I am never 
 so well pleased as when a judicious critic points out any de- 
 fect to me ; for what is the purpose of showing a work to a 
 friend, if you don't mean to profit by his opinion? 
 
 Sneer. Very true. Why then, though I seriously admire 
 the piece upon the whole, yet there is one small objection ; 
 which, if you'll give me leave, I'll mention. 
 
 Sir F. Sir, you can't oblige me more. 
 
 Sneer. I think it wants incident. 
 
 Sir F. Heavens! — you surprise me ! — wants incident! 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; I own, I think the incidents are too few. 
 
 Sir F. Believe me, Mr. Sneer, there is no person for 
 whose judgment I have a more implicit deference. — But 
 I protest to you, Mr. Sneer, I am only apprehensive that 
 the incidents are too crowded. — My dear Dangle, how does 
 it strike you? 
 
 Dan. Really, I can't agree with my friend Sneer. — I think 
 the plot* quite sufficient; and the four first acts by many de- 
 grees the best I ever read or saw in my life. If I might 
 venture to suggest any thing, it is that the interest rather 
 falls off in the fifth. 
 
 Sir F. Rises, I believe, you mean, sir — 
 
 Dan. No ; I don't, upon my word. 
 
 Sir F. Yes, yes, you do, upon my word — it certainly don't 
 fall off, I assure you — No, no, it don't fall off. 
 
 Dan. Now, Mrs. Dangle, didn't you say it struck you in 
 the same light ? 
 
 Mrs. D. No, indeed, I did not — I did not see a fault in 
 any part of the play from the beginning to the end. 
 
 Sir F. Upon my honour, the women are the best judges 
 after all ! 
 
 Mrs. D. Or, if I made any objection, I am sure it was to 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 221 
 
 nothing in the piece ! but that I was afraid it was, on the 
 whole, a little too long. 
 
 Sir F. Pray, Madam, do you speak as to duration of time ? 
 or do you mean that the story is tediously spun out ? 
 
 Mrs. D. O lud ! no. — I speak only with reference to the 
 usual length of acting plays. 
 
 Sir F. Then I am very happy — -very happy indeed — be- 
 cause the play is a short play, a remarkably short play: I 
 should not venture to differ with a lady on a point of taste ; 
 but, on these occasions, the watch, you know, is the critic. 
 
 Mrs. D. Then, I suppose, it must have been Mr. Bangle's 
 drawling manner of reading it to me. 
 
 Sir F. O, if Mr. Dangle read it ! that's quite another af- 
 fair ! — But I assure you, Mrs. Dangle, the first evening you 
 can spare me three hours and a half, I'll undertake to read 
 you the whole from beginning to end, with the Prologue and 
 Epilogue, and allow time for the music between the acts. 
 
 Mrs. D. I hope to see it on the stage next. [Exit. 
 
 Dan. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get rid 
 as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you do of ours. 
 
 Sir F. The newspapers ! — Sir, they are the most villan- 
 ous — licentious — abominable — infernal — Not that I ever read 
 them ! No ! I make it a rule never to look into a news- 
 paper. 
 
 Dan. You are quite right — for it certainly must hurt an 
 author of delicate feelings to see the liberties they take. 
 
 Sir F. No 1 — quite the contrary ; — their abuse is, in fact, 
 the best panegyric — I like it of all things. An author's 
 reputation is only in danger from their support. 
 
 Sneer. Why, that's true — and that attack now on you the 
 other day — 
 
 Sir F. What? where? 
 
 Dan. Aye, you mean in a paper of Thursday ; it was com- 
 pletely ill-natur'd, to be sure. 
 
 Sir F. O, so much the better — Ha! ha ! ha !— I wouldn't 
 have it otherwise. 
 
 Dan. Certainly, it is only to be laughed at ; for — 
 
 Sir F. You don't happen to recollect what the fellow said, 
 do you ? 
 
 Sneer. Pray, Dangle— Sir Fretful seems a little anxious ! 
 
 Sir F. O lud, no ! — anxious, — not I, — not the least. I — 
 But one may as well hear, you know. 
 
 Dan. Sneer, do you recollect ? — Make out something. 
 
 [Aside. 
 t2 
 

 222 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Sneer. I will. [To Dangle.] Yes, yes, I remember per- 
 fectly. 
 
 Sir F. Well, and pray now — not that it signifies ; what 
 might the gentleman say ? 
 
 Sneer. Why, he roundly asserts that you have not the 
 slightest invention or original genius whatever : though you 
 are the greatest traducer of all other authors living. 
 
 Sir F. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Very good ! 
 
 Sneer. That, as to Comedy, you have not one idea of 
 your own, he believes, even in your common-place-book, 
 where stray jokes and pilfered witticisms are kept with as 
 much method as the ledger of the Lost and Stolen Office. 
 
 Sir F. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Very pleasant ! 
 
 Sneer. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have the 
 skill even to steal with taste : but that you glean from the 
 refuse of obscure volumes, where more judicious plagiarists 
 have been before you ; so that the body of your work is a 
 composition of dregs and sediments, like a bad tavern's 
 worst wine. 
 
 Sir F. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sneer. In your more serious efforts, he says, your bombast 
 would be less intolerable, if the thoughts were ever suited 
 to the expression ; but the homeliness of the sentiment stares 
 through the fantastic encumbrance of its fine language, like 
 a clown in one of the new uniforms ! 
 
 Sir F. Ha! ha! 
 
 Sneer. That your occasional tropes and flowers suit the 
 general coarseness of your style, as tambour sprigs would a 
 ground of linsey-wolsey ; while your imitations of Shakspeare 
 resemble the mimicry of FalstafFs Page, and about as near 
 the standard of the original. 
 
 Sir F. Ha ! 
 
 Sneer. In short, that even the finest passages you steal are 
 of no service to you ; for the poverty of your own language 
 prevents their assimilating ; so that they lie on the surface 
 like lumps of marl on a barren moor, encumbering what it 
 is not in their power to fertilize ! 
 
 Sir F. [After great agitation.] Now, another person 
 would be vex'd at this. 
 
 Sneer. Oh ! but I wouldn't have told you, only to divert 
 you. 
 
 Sir F. I know it—I am diverted.— Ha ! ha ! ha !— not the 
 least invention !— Ha ! ha ! ha ! very good ! very good ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes — no genius ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 223 
 
 Dan. A severe rogue ! ha ! ha ! But you are quite right, 
 Sir Fretful, never to read such nonsense. 
 
 Sir F. To be sure — for, if there is any thing to one's 
 praise, it is a foolish vanity to be gratified at it ; and if it is 
 abuse, — why one is always sure to hear of it from one 
 good-natured friend or another ! 
 
 AWAKENED CONSCIENCE. Moore* 
 
 Cheered by this hope she bends her thither ;- 
 Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, 
 Nor have the golden bowers of Even 
 In the rich West begun to wither, — 
 When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging 
 
 Slowly, she sees a child at play, 
 Among the rosy wild flowers singing, 
 
 As rosy and as wild as they ; 
 Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, 
 The beautiful blue damsel-flies, 
 That fluttered round the jasmine stems, 
 Like winged flowers or flying gems : — 
 And, near the boy, who, tired with play, 
 Now nestling mid the roses lay, 
 She saw a wearied man dismount, 
 
 From his hot steed, and on the brink 
 Of a small imaret's rustic fount 
 
 Impatient fling him down to drink. 
 Then swift his haggard brow he turned 
 To the fair child, who fearless. sat, 
 Though never yet hath day-beam burned 
 Upon a brow more fierce than that, — 
 Sullenly fierce, — a mixture dire, 
 Like thunder clouds of gloom and fire ! 
 In which the Peri's eye could read 
 Dark tales of many a ruthless deed ; 
 The ruined maid — the shrine profaned — 
 Oaths broken — and the threshold stained 
 With blood of guests ! there written all, 
 Black as the damning drops that fall 
 From the denouncing Angel's pen, 
 Ere Mercy weeps them out again ! 
 
224 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Yet tranquil now, that man of crime 
 (As if the balmy evening time 
 Softened his spirit) looked and lay, 
 Watching the rosy infant's play : — 
 Though still, whene'er his eye by chance 
 Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 
 Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, 
 As torches that have burnt all night, 
 Through some impure and godless rite, 
 Encounter morning's glorious rays. 
 
 But hark ! the vesper call to prayer, 
 
 As slow the orb of daylight sets, 
 Is rising sweetly on the air, 
 
 From Syria's thousand minarets ! 
 The boy has started from the bed 
 Of flowers, where he had laid his head, 
 And down upon the fragrant sod 
 Kneels, with his forehead to the south, 
 Lisping the eternal name of God 
 From Purity's own cherub mouth, 
 And looking, while his hands and eyes 
 Are lifted to the glowing skies, 
 Like a stray babe of Paradise, 
 Just lighted on that flowery plain, 
 And seeking for its home again ! 
 Oh 'twas a sight — that Heaven — that child-- 
 A scene, which might have well beguiled 
 Even haughty Eblis of a sigh, 
 For glories lost and peace gone by ! 
 
 And how felt he, the wretched Man, 
 Reclining there, — while memory ran 
 O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 
 Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, 
 Nor found one sunny resting place, 
 Nor brought him back one branch of grace ! 
 " There was a time," he said in mild 
 Heart-humbled tones, " thou blessed child, 
 " When young and haply pure as- thou, 
 . " I looked and prayed like thee — but now" — 
 He hung his head, — each nobler aim, 
 
 And hope, and feeling, which had slept, 
 From boyhood's hour, that instant came 
 
 Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 225 
 
 Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 
 
 In whose benign, redeeming flow 
 Is felt the first, the only sense 
 
 Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 
 
 HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR. Bryant. 
 
 The sad and solemn night 
 Has yet her multitude of cheerful fires; 
 
 The glorious hosts of light 
 Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires : 
 All through her silent watches, gliding slow, 
 Her constellations come, and round the heavens, and go, 
 
 Day, too, hath many a star 
 To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they : 
 
 Through the blue fields afar, 
 Unseen, they follow in his flaming way. 
 Many a bright lingerer, as the eye grows dim, 
 Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him. 
 
 And thou dost see them rise, 
 Star of the Pole ! and thou dost see them set. 
 
 Alone, in thy cold skies, 
 Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet, 
 Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train, 
 Nor dipp'st thy virgin orb in the blue western main. 
 
 There, at morn's rosy birth, 
 Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air, 
 
 And eve, that round the earth 
 Chases the day, beholds thee watching there ; 
 There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls 
 The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls. 
 
 Alike, beneath thine eye, 
 The deeds of darkness and of light are done ; 
 
 High toward the star-lit sky 
 Towns blaze — the smoke of battle blots the sun — 
 The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud — 
 And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud. 
 
 On thy unaltering blaze 
 The half-wreck'd mariner, his compass lost, 
 
226 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Fixes his steady gaze, 
 And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast ; 
 And they who stray in perilous waste, by night, 
 Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their foot-steps 
 
 right. 
 
 And, therefore, bards of old, 
 Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood, 
 
 Did in thy beams behold 
 A beauteous type of the unchanging good, 
 That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray 
 The voyager of time should shape his heedful way. 
 
 scene from hamlet. — Shakspeare. 
 
 Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. 
 
 Horatio. Hail to your lordship ! 
 
 Hamlet. I am glad to see you well ; 
 Horatio, or I do forget myself. 
 
 Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 
 
 Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that name with you. 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? — 
 Marcellus? 
 
 Mar. My good lord, 
 
 Ham. I am very glad to see you ; — good even, sir. — 
 But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? 
 
 Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so; 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 Against yourself: I know, you are no truant. 
 But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 
 We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 
 
 Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student; 
 I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. 
 
 Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon. 
 
 Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral bak'd meats 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage-tables. 
 'Would I had met my direst foe in heaven 
 Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! — 
 My father — Methinks, I see my father. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 227 
 
 Hor. Where, 
 My lord? 
 
 Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 
 
 Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I, think I saw him yesternight. 
 
 Ham. Saw! who? 
 
 Hor. My lord, the king your father. 
 
 Ham. The king my father ! 
 
 Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
 With an attent ear ; till I may deliver, 
 Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
 This marvel to you. 
 
 Ham. For God's love, let me hear. 
 
 Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
 Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, 
 In the dead waste and middle of the night, 
 Been thus encountered. A figure like your father, 
 Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pe, 
 Appears before them, and, with solemn march, 
 Goes "slow and stately by them : thrice he walked, 
 By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes, 
 Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, distilled. 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
 In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
 And I with them, the third night kept the watch : 
 Where, as they had delivered, both in time, 
 Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
 The apparition comes : I knew your father ; 
 These hands are not more like. 
 
 Ham. But where was this ? 
 
 Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watched. 
 
 Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 
 
 Hor. My lord, I did ; 
 But answer made it none ; yet once, methought, 
 It lifted up its head, and did address 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak : 
 But, even then, the morning cock crew loud ; 
 And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
 And vanished from our sight. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis very strange. 
 
 Hor. As I do live, my honoured lord, 'tis true; 
 
223 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty, 
 To let you know of it. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
 Hold you the watch to-night .' 
 
 All. We do, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Arm'd, say you? 
 
 .A//. ArnTd, my lord. 
 
 Ham. From top to toe ? 
 
 All. My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Ham. Then saw you not 
 His face? 
 
 Hor. O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 
 
 Ham. What, look'd he frowningly? 
 
 Hor. A countenance more 
 In soriow than in anger. 
 
 Ham. Pale, or red .' 
 
 Hor. Nay, very pule. 
 
 Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you? 
 
 Hor. Most constantly. 
 
 Ham. I would, 1 had been there. 
 
 Hor. It would have much amazed you. 
 
 Ham. Very like, 
 Very like : Staid it long? 
 
 Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hun- 
 dred. 
 
 Mar. Bcr.. Longer, lorn. 
 
 Hor. Not when I saw it. 
 
 Ham. His beard was grizzled? no? 
 
 Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
 A sable silvered. 
 
 Ham. I will watch to-night j 
 Perchance, 'twill walk again. 
 
 Hor. I warrant, it will. 
 
 Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
 I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 
 And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
 If you have hitherto concealed this sight, 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still; 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
 Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 
 I will requite your loves : So, fare you well : 
 Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
 I'll visit you. 
 
 All. Our duty to your honour. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 229 
 
 Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell. 
 My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
 I doubt some foul play : 'would the night were come ! 
 Till then sit still, my soul : Foul deeds will rise, 
 Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. 
 
 SPEECH OF LORD CHATHAM, IN REPLY TO LORD SUFFOLK. 
 On the employment of Indians in the American War. 
 
 Lord Suffolk, secretary of state, contended for the em- 
 ployment of Indians in the American war : " Besides its 
 policy and necessity," his lordship said " that the measure 
 was also allowable on principle ; for that it was perfectly jus- 
 tifiable to use all the means which God arid. nature had put 
 into our hands." Lord Chatham instantly replied. 
 
 "I am astonished, shocked to hear such principles confess- 
 ed, to hear them avowed in this House, or even in this coun- 
 try. My lords, 1 did not intend to have encroached again on 
 your attention, but 1 cannot repress my indignation. I feel 
 myself impelled to speak. My lords, we are called upon as 
 members of this House, as men, as christians, to protest 
 against such horrid barbarity — that God and nature put into 
 our hands ! What ideas of God and nature that noble lord may 
 entertain, I know not ; but I know that such detestable prin- 
 ciples are equally abhorrent to religion and humanity ! What, 
 to attribute the sacred sanction of God and nature to the 
 massacres of the Indian scalping-knife ! — to the cannibal 
 savage, torturing, murdering, devouring, drinking the blood 
 of his mangled victims ! Such notions shock every precept 
 of morality, every feeling of humanity, every sentiment of 
 honour. These abominable principles, and this more abomi- 
 nable avowal of them, demand the most decisive indignation. 
 I call upon that reverend and this most learned bench to vin- 
 dicate the religion of their God, to support the justice of 
 their country. I call upon the bishops to interpose the un- 
 sullied sanctity of their lawn ; upon the judges to interpose 
 the purity of their ermine, to save us from this pollution. I 
 call upon the honour of your lordships to reverence the dig- 
 nity of your ancestors, and to maintain your own. I call 
 upon the spirit and humani|y of my country to vindicate the 
 national character. 1 invoke the genius of the constitution, 
 
 U 
 
230 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal an- 
 cestor of this noble lord frowns with indignation at the dis- 
 grace of his country. In vain did he defend the liberty and 
 establish the religion of Britain against the tyranny of Rome, 
 if these worse than popish cruelties and inquisitorial practices 
 are endured among us. To send forth the merciless canni- 
 bal, thirsting for blood! against whom? Your protestant 
 brethren ! — to lay waste their country, to desolate their dwell- 
 ings, and extirpate their race and name, by the aid and in- 
 strumentality of these horrible hell-hounds of war! Spain 
 can no longer boast pre-eminence in barbarity. She armed 
 herself with blood-hounds to extirpate the wretched natives 
 of Mexico ; but we, more ruthless, loose the dogs of war 
 against our countrymen in America, endeared to us by every 
 tie that should sanctify humanity. My lords, I solemnly call 
 upon your lordships, and upon every order of men in the 
 state, to stamp upon this infamous procedure the indelible 
 stigma of the public abhorrence. More particularly I call 
 upon the holy prelates of our religion to do away this iniquity ; 
 let them perform a lustration to purify their country from this 
 deep and deadly sin. My lords, I am old and weak, and at 
 present unable to say more; but my feelings and indignation 
 were too strong to say less. I could not have slept this night 
 in my bed, nor reposed my head upon my pillow, without 
 giving this vent to my eternal abhorrence of such enormous 
 and preposterous principles." 
 
 SPEECH OF MR. CURRAN. 
 
 In the House of Commons, Dublin, 1790, on increased salaries to the 
 stamp-duty officers. 
 
 I rise with that deep concern and melancholy hesitation, 
 which a man must feel who does not know whether he is ad- 
 dressing an independent Parliament, the representatives of 
 the people of Ireland, or whether he is addressing the repre- 
 sentatives of corruption. I rise to make the experiment; 
 and I approach the question with all the awful feelings of a 
 man who finds a dear friend prostrate and wounded on the 
 ground, and who dreads lest the means he should use to re- 
 cover him may only serve to show that he is dead and gone 
 for ever. I rise to make an experiment upon the represen- 
 tatives of the people, whether they have abdicated their 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 231 
 
 trust, and have become the paltry representatives of Castle 
 influence ; it is to make an experiment on the feelings and 
 probity of gentlemen, as was done on a great personage, 
 when it was said, * Thou art the man.' It is not a question 
 respecting a paltry viceroy ; no ; it is a question between the 
 body of the country and the administration ; it is a charge 
 against the government for opening the batteries of corrup- 
 tion against the liberties of the people. The grand inquest 
 of the nation are called on to decide this charge ; they are 
 called on to declare whether they would appear as the prose- 
 cutors or the accomplices of corruption ; for though the ques- 
 tion relative to the division of the Boards of Stamps and 
 Accounts is in itself of little importance, yet will it develope 
 a system of corruption tending to the utter destruction of 
 Irish liberty, and to the separation of the connexion with 
 England. 
 
 Sir, I bring forward an act of the meanest administration 
 that ever disgraced this country. I bring it forward as one 
 of the threads by which, united with others of similar tex- 
 ture, the vermin of the meanest kind have been able to tie 
 down a body of strength and importance. Let me not be 
 supposed to rest here ; when the murderer left the mark of 
 his bloody hand upon the wall, it was not the trace of one 
 finger, but the whole impression which convicted him.* 
 
 The Board of Accounts was instituted in lord Town- 
 shend's administration : it came forward in a manner rather 
 inauspicious ; it was questioned in Parliament, and decided 
 by the majority of the five members who had received places 
 under it Born in corruption, it could only succeed by 
 venality. It continued an useless Board until the granting 
 of the stamp duties in lord Harcourt's time; the manage- 
 ment of the stamps was then committed to it, and a solemn 
 compact was made that the taxes should not be jobbed, but 
 that both departments should be executed by one Board. 
 So it continued till it was thought necessary to increase the 
 salaries of the commissioners in the marquis of Buckingham's 
 famous administration ; but then nothing was held sacred ; 
 the increase of the revenue Board, the increase of the ord- 
 
 * There is a popular little story, which relates, that a murderer, in- 
 tending to cover the whole mark of his blood-stained hand with dust, 
 left that of one finger unconcealed ; and that he continued firmly to 
 protest his innocence, until the removal of the dust convicted him, by 
 displaying ac impression corresponding exactly with the size of hit 
 
232 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 nance, thirteen thousand pounds a year added to the in- 
 famous pension list, these were not sufficient ; but a com- 
 pact, which should have been held sacred, was violated, in 
 order to make places for members of Parliament. How in- 
 decent ! two county members prying into stamps ! What 
 could have provoked this insult? I will tell you. You re- 
 member when the sceptre was trembling in the hand of an 
 almost expiring monarch ; when a factious and desperate 
 English minister attempted to grasp it, you stood up against 
 the profanation of the English, and the insult offered to the 
 Irish crown, and had you not done it, the union of the em- 
 pire would have been dissolved. You remember this; re- 
 member then yourselves, remember your triumph; it was 
 that triumph which exposed you to submit to the resentment 
 of the viceroy ; it was that triumph which exposed you to 
 disgrace and flagellation. In proportion as you rose by 
 union, your tyrant became appalled ; but when he divided, 
 he sunk you, and you became debased. How this has hap- 
 pened, no man could imagine ; no man could have suspected 
 that a minister without talents could have worked your ruin. 
 There is a pride in a great nation that fears not its destruc- 
 tion from a reptile ; yet is there more than fable in what we 
 are told of the Romans, — that they guarded the Palladium, 
 rather against the subtlety of a thief, than the force of an in- 
 vader. 
 
 same subject. — Continued. 
 
 I bring forward this motion, not as a question of finance, 
 not as a question of regulation, but as a penal inquiry; and 
 the people will now see whether they are to hope for help 
 within these walls, or, turning their eyes towards heaven, 
 they are to depend on God and their own virtue. I rise in 
 an assembly of three hundred persons, one hundred of whom 
 have places or pensions ; I rise in an assembly, one-third of 
 whom have their ears sealed against the complaints of the 
 people, and their eyes intently turned to their own interest : 
 I rise before the whisperers of the treasury, the bargainers 
 and runners of the castle ; I address an audience, before 
 whom was held forth the doctrine, that the crown ought to 
 use its influence on this House. It has been known, that a 
 master has been condemned by the confession of his slave, 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. &3S 
 
 drawn from him by torment ; but here the case is plain : this 
 confession was not made from constraint ; it came from a 
 country gentleman, deservedly high in the confidence of ad« 
 ministration, for he gave up other confidence to obtain theirs. 
 
 I know I am speaking too plain ; but which is the more 
 honest physician, he who lulls his patient into a fatal secu- 
 rity, or he who points out the danger and the remedy of the 
 disease 1 
 
 I should not be surprised if bad men of great talents 
 should endeavour to enslave a people ; but when I see folly 
 uniting with vice, corruption with imbecility, men without 
 talents attempting to overthrow our liberty, my indignation 
 rises at the presumption and audacity of the attempt. That 
 such men should creep into power, is a fatal symptom to the 
 constitution ; the political, like the material body, when near 
 its dissolution, often bursts out in swarms of vermin. 
 
 In this administration, a place may be found for every 
 bad man, whether it be to distribute the wealth of the trea- 
 sury, to vote in the House, to whisper and to bargain, to 
 stand at the door and note the exits and entrances of your 
 members, to mark whether they can earn their wages, 
 whether it be for the hireling who comes for his hire, or for 
 the drunken aid-de-camp who swaggers in a brothel ; nay, 
 some of them find their way to the treasury-bench, the politi- 
 cal musicians, or hurdy-gurdy-men, to pipe the praises of 
 the viceroy. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding the profusion of government, I ask 
 what defence have they made for the country in case it 
 should be invaded by a foreign foe 1 They have not a single 
 ship on the coast. Is it then the smug aide-de-camp, or the 
 banditti of the pension-list, or the infantine statesmen, who 
 play in the sunshine of the castle, that are to defend the 
 country ? No, it is the stigmatized citizens. We are now 
 sitting in a country of four millions of people, and our boast 
 is, that they are governed by laws to which themselves con- 
 sent ; but are not more than three millions of the people ex- 
 eluded from any participation in making those laws 1 In a 
 neighbouring country, twenty-four millions of people were 
 governed by laws to which their consent was never asked*? 
 but we have seen them struggle for freedom : in this strug- 
 gle they have burst their chains, and on the altar erected by 
 despotism to public slavery, they have enthroned the imagt 
 of public liberty. 
 
 But are our people merely excluded ? No, they are d@- 
 
234 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 nied redress. Next to the adoration which is due to God, 
 I bend in reverence to the institutions of that religion which 
 teaches me to know his divine goodness; but what advantage 
 does the peasant of the south receive from the institutions 
 of religion? Does he experience the blessing? No, he 
 never hears the voice of the shepherd, nor feels the pastoral 
 crook, but when it is entering his flesh, and goading his very 
 soul. 
 
 In this country, sir, our king is not a resident ; the beam 
 of royalty is often reflected through a medium, which sheds 
 but a kind of disastrous twilight, serving only to assist rob- 
 bers and plunderers. We have no security in the talents or 
 responsibility of an Irish ministry ; injuries which the 
 English constitution would easily repel may here be fatal. 
 I therefore call upon you to exert yourselves to heave off 
 the vile incumbrances that have been laid upon you. I call 
 you, not as to a measure of finance or regulation, but to a 
 criminal accusation which you may follow with punishment. 
 
 pleasures of imagination. — Akenside. 
 
 On ! blest of heaven, whom not the languid songs 
 Of luxury, the Syren ! not the bribes 
 Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 
 Of pageant honour can seduce to leave 
 Those ever blooming sweets, which from the store 
 Of nature fair imagination culls 
 To charm the enlivened soul ! What though not all 
 Of mortal offspring can attain the heights 
 Of envied life ; though only few possess 
 Patrician treasures or imperial state; 
 Yet nature's care, to all her children just, 
 With richer treasures and an ampler state, 
 Endows at large whatever happy man 
 Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, 
 The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns 
 The princely dome, the column, and the arch, 
 The breathing marble and the sculptured gold 
 Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, 
 His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the spring 
 Distils her dews, and from the silken gem 
 Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him, the hand 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 285 
 
 Of autumn tinges every fertile branch 
 
 With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn ; 
 
 Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings ; 
 
 And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, 
 
 And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze 
 
 Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes 
 
 The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain 
 
 From all the tenants of the warbling shade 
 
 Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 
 
 Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partakes 
 
 Fresh pleasure only ; for the attentive mind, 
 
 By this harmonious action on her powers, 
 
 Becomes herself harmonious : wont so oft 
 
 In outward things to meditate the charm 
 
 Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home 
 
 To find a kindred order, to exert 
 
 Within herself this elegance of love, 
 
 This fair inspired delight : her tempered powers 
 
 Refine at length, and every passion wears 
 
 A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. 
 
 MISERIES OF FAME. Pope. 
 
 Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. 
 
 " Shut, shut the door, good John," fatigued, I said ; 
 Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead ! 
 The dog-star rages ! nay, 'tis past a doubt, 
 All Bedlam or Parnassus is let out : 
 Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, 
 They rave, recite, and madden round the land. 
 What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide 1 
 They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide ; 
 By land, by water, they renew the charge, 
 They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. 
 No place is sacred, not the church is free, 
 Even Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me : 
 Then from the mint walks forth the man of rhymej 
 Happy to catch me just at dinner time. 
 Is there a parson much be-mused in beer, 
 A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, 
 A clerk, fore-doomed his father's soul to cross, 
 Who pens a stanza when he should engross 1 
 
236 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Is there who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls 
 With desperate charcoal round his darkened walla? 
 All fly to Tvvickenam, and in humble strain 
 Apply to me to keep them mad or vain. 
 Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws, 
 Imputes to me and my damned works the cause : 
 PoorCornus sees his frantic wife elope, 
 And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. 
 Friend to my life, which did not you prolong, 
 The world had wanted many an idle song, 
 What drop or nostrum can this plague remove? 
 Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love? 
 
 dire dilemma! either way I'm sped; 
 
 If foes, they write; if friends, they read me dead. 
 Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I? 
 Who can't be silent, and who will not lie. 
 To laugh were want of goodness and of grace, 
 And to hi' grave, exceeds all power of face. 
 
 1 sit with Bad civility, I read 
 
 With honest anguish and an aching head, 
 
 And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, 
 
 This saving counsel, " Keep your piece nine years." 
 
 "Nine years!" cried he, who, high in Drury Lane, 
 
 Lulled by soft zephyrs through the broken pane, 
 
 Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before term ends, 
 
 Obliged by hunger and request of friends : 
 
 "The piece you think is incorrect? why take it, 
 
 I'm all submission, what you'd have it, make it." 
 
 Three tilings another's modest wishes bound ; 
 
 " My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound." 
 
 Pitholeon sends to me; " You know his grace, 
 
 I want a patron ; ask him for a place." 
 
 Pitholeon libelled me. — "But here's a letter 
 
 Informs you, Sir, 'twas when he knew no better. 
 
 Dare you refuse him Curll invites to dine? 
 
 He'll write a journal, or he'll turn divine." 
 
 Bless me ! a packet. — " 'Tis a stranger sues, 
 
 A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse." 
 
 [f I dislike it, " Furies, death and rage ;" 
 
 If I approve, " Commend it to the stage." 
 
 There (thank my stars) my whole commission ends ; 
 
 The players and I are, luckily, no friends. 
 
 Fired that the house rejects him, 'Sdeath, I'll print it, 
 
 And shame the fools, — your interest, sir, with Lintot. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 237 
 
 Lintot, dull rogue, will think your price too much ; 
 
 " Not, Sir, if you revise it and retouch." 
 
 All my demurs but double his attacks ; 
 
 At last he whispers, "Do, and we go snacks." 
 
 Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door, 
 
 Sir, let me see your works and you no more ! 
 
 to light.- — Milton. 
 
 Hail, holy light, offspring of heaven first born, 
 Or of the eternal, co-eternal beam ! 
 May I express thee unblamed? Since God is light, 
 And never but in unapproached light 
 Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, 
 Bright effluence of bright essence uncreate ! 
 Or nearest thou, rather, pure ethereal stream, 
 Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun, 
 Before the Heavens thou wert ; and at the voice 
 Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 
 The rising world of waters, dark and deep, 
 Won from the void and formless infinite. 
 Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 
 Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained 
 In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight 
 Through utter and through middle darkness borne, 
 With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, 
 I sung of Chaos and eternal Night, 
 Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down 
 The dark descent, and up to reascend, 
 Though hard and rare : Thee I revisit safe, 
 And feel thy sovereign, vital lamp ; but thou 
 Revisitst not these eyes, that roll in vain 
 To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
 So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, 
 Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more 
 Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt, 
 Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
 Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief, 
 Thee, Zion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 
 That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 
 Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 
 Those other two, equalled with me in fate, 
 
238 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 So were I equalled with them in renown, 
 
 Blind Thamyris and blind Mceonides, 
 
 And Tiresias and Phineas, prophets old; 
 
 There feed on thoughts that voluntary move 
 
 Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird 
 
 Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid, 
 
 Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 
 
 Seasons return ; but not to me return 
 
 Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, 
 
 Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
 
 Or Hocks, or herds, or human face divine; 
 
 But cloud instead, and ever-during dark 
 
 Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
 
 CutofY, and for the book of knowledge fair, 
 
 Presented with a universal blank 
 
 Of Nature's works, to me expunged and rased, 
 
 And wisdom at one entrance, quite shut out. 
 
 So much the rather thou, celestial Light, 
 
 Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
 
 Irradiate; there plant eyes; all mist from thence 
 
 Purge and disperse; that I may see and tell 
 
 Of things invisible to mortal sight. 
 
 PRINCE EDWARD AND HIS KEEPER. MisS BailUe. 
 
 Edward. What brings thee now? it surely cannot be 
 The time of food : my prison hours are wont 
 To fly more heavily. 
 
 Kri per. It is not food : I bring wherewith, my lord, 
 To stop a rent in these old walls, that oft 
 Hath grieved me, when I've thought of you o' nights; 
 Through it the cold wind visits you. 
 
 Ed. And let it enter ! it shall not be stopped. 
 Who visits me besides the winds of heaven? 
 Who mourns with me but the sad-sighing wind? 
 Who bringeth to mine ear the mimicked tones 
 Of voices once beloved, and sounds long past, 
 But the light-winged and many voiced wind? 
 Who fans the prisoner's lean and fevered cheek 
 As kindly as the monarch's wreathed brows, 
 But the free piteous wind ? 
 I will not have it stopped. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 239 
 
 Keep, My lord, the winter now creeps on apace: 
 Hoar frost this morning on our sheltered fields 
 Lay thick, and glanced to the up-risen sun, 
 Which scarce had power to melt it. 
 
 Ed. Glanced to the up-risen sun ! Ay, such fair morns, 
 When every bush doth put its glory on, 
 Like a gemmed bride ! your rusticks now, 
 And early hinds, will set their clouted feet 
 Through silver webs, so bright and finely wrought 
 As royal dames ne'er fashioned, yet plod on 
 Their careless way, unheeding. 
 Alas, how many glorious things there be 
 To look upon ! Wear not the forests, now, 
 Their latest coat of richly varied dyes? 
 
 Keep. Yes, good my lord, the cold chill year advances ; 
 Therefore I pray you, let me close that wall. 
 
 Ed. I tell thee no, man ; if the north air bites, 
 Bring me a cloak. Where is thy dog to-day] 
 
 Keep. Indeed I wonder that he came not with me 
 As he is wont. 
 
 Ed. Bring him, I pray thee, when thou comest again : 
 He wags his tail and looks up to my face 
 With the assured kindness of one 
 Who has not injured me. 
 
 HAMLET AND THE PLAYERS. ShaJcSpearC 
 
 Hamlet. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced 
 it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as 
 many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke 
 my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, 
 thus ; but use all gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, 
 and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must ac- 
 quire and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness. 
 O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig- 
 pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split 
 the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, are ca- 
 pable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise : I 
 would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant ; 
 it out-herods Herod : Pray you, avoid it. 
 
 1 Player. I warrant your honour. 
 
 Ham. Be not too tame neither ; but let your own discre* 
 
240 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 tion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to 
 the action : with this special observance, that you o'crstep 
 not the modesty of nature : lor any thing BO overdone is from 
 the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, 
 was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to 
 show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the 
 very age and body of the time, his form and pr< Now 
 
 this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskil- 
 ful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure 
 of which one, must, in your allowance, o'erweigU a whole 
 theatre of other-. O, there be players, that 1 have seen 
 play, — and heard others praise, and that highly, — not to 
 speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of chris- 
 tians, nor the L r ait of christian, pagan, nor man, have so 
 strutted, and bellowed, thai 1 have thought some of nature's 
 journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they 
 imitated humanity so abominably. 
 
 1 Phui. [ hope, we have reformed that indifferently with us. 
 rm it altogether. And let those, that play 
 your clowns, speak no more than is set down for them : for 
 there be of them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some 
 quantity of barren spectators t«> laugh too; though, in the 
 mean time, some n question of the play be then to 
 
 be considered : that's \ illations ; and .-hows a mosl pitiful 
 ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. 
 
 Where ha.s this species of guilt lain so long concealed? 
 "Where has this fire been so long buried, during so many cen- 
 turies, that no smoke should appear, till it burst out at once 
 to consume me and my children ? Better it were to live un- 
 der no law at all, and, by the maxims of cautious prudence, 
 to conform ourselves, the best we can, to the arbitrary will 
 of a master ; than fancy we have a law on which we can rely, 
 and find, at last, that this law shall inflict a punishment pre- 
 cedent to the promulgation, and try us by maxims unheard 
 of till the very moment of the prosecution. If I sail on the 
 Thames, and split my vessel on an anchor ; in case there be 
 no buoy to give warning, the party shall pay me damages: 
 but, if "the anchor be marked out, then is the striking on it 
 at my own peril. Where is the mark set upon this crime? 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 241 
 
 Where the token by which I should discover it ? It has lain 
 concealed under water ; and no human prudence, no human 
 innocence, could save me from the destruction with which I 
 am at present threatened. 
 
 It is now full two hundred and forty years since treasons 
 were defined ; and so long has it been, since any man was 
 touched to this extent, upon this crime, before myself. We 
 have lived, my lords, happily to ourselves, at home : we have 
 lived gloriously abroad to the world : let us be content with 
 what our fathers have left us ; let not our ambition carry us 
 to be more learned than they were, in these killing and de- 
 structive arts. Great wisdom it will be in your lordships, 
 and just providence for yourselves, for your posterities, for 
 the whole kingdom, to cast from you, into the fire, these 
 bloody and mysterious volumes of arbitrary and constructive 
 treasons, as the primitive Christians did their books of curious 
 arts, and betake yourselves to the plain letter of the statute, 
 which tells you where the crime is, and points out to you the 
 path by which you may avoid it. 
 
 Let us not, to our own destruction, awake those sleeping 
 lions, by rattling up a company of old records, which have 
 lain for so many ages, by the wall, forgotten and neglected. 
 To all my afflictions, add not this, my lords, the most severe 
 of any ; that I, for my other sins, not for my treasons, be the 
 means of introducing a precedent so pernicious to the laws 
 and liberties of my native country. 
 
 However, these gentlemen at the bar say they speak for 
 the commonwealth; and they believe so: yet, under favour, 
 it is I who, in this particular, speak for the commonwealth. 
 Precedents, like those which are endeavoured to be estab- 
 lished against me, must draw along such inconveniences and 
 miseries, that, in a few years, the kingdom will be in a con- 
 dition expressed in a statute of Henry IV. and no man shall 
 know by what rule to govern his words and actions. 
 
 Impose not, my lords, difficulties insurmountable upon mi- 
 nisters of state, nor disable them from serving, with cheer- 
 fulness, their king and country. If you examine them, and 
 under such severe penalties, by every grain, by every little 
 weight, the scrutiny will be intolerable. The public affairs 
 of the kingdom must be left waste ; and no wise man, who 
 has any honour or fortune to lose, will ever engage himself in 
 such dreadful, such unknown perils. 
 
 My Lords, I have now troubled your lordships a great deal 
 longer than I should have done, were it not for the interest 
 
 X 
 
'2A2 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 of these pledges, which a saint in heaven left me. I should 
 be loth — (Here he pointed to his children, and his weeping 
 stopped him) — What I forfeit for myself, it is nothing : but I 
 confess that my indiscretion should forfeit for them, it wounds 
 me very deeply. You will be pleased to pardon my infir- 
 mity : something I should have said ; but I see I shall not be 
 able, and, therefore, I shall leave it. 
 
 And now, my lords, I thank God, I have been, by his 
 blessing, sufficiently instructed in the extreme vanity of all 
 temporary enjoyments, compared to the importance of our 
 eternal duration. And so, my lords, even so, with all hu- 
 mility, and with all tranquillity of mind, I submit, clearly 
 and freely, to your judgments : and whether that righteous 
 doom shall be to life or death, I shall repose myself, full of 
 gratitude and confidence, in the arms of the great Author of 
 my existence. 
 
 CHARACTER OF CROMWELL. CrOldey* 
 
 What can be more extraordinary, than that a person 
 of private birth and education, no fortune, no eminent quali- 
 ties of body, which have sometimes, nor shining talents of 
 mind, which have often raised men to the highest dignities, 
 should have the courage to attempt, and the abilities to exe- 
 cute, so great a design as the subverting one of the most 
 ancient and best established monarchies in the world ? That 
 he should have the power and boldness to put his prince and 
 master to an open and infamous death ? Should banish that 
 numerous and strongly allied family ? Cover all these 
 temerities under a seeming obedience to a parliament, in 
 whose service he pretended to be retained? Trample, too, 
 upon that parliament, in their turn, and scornfully expel 
 them, as soon as they gave him ground of dissatisfaction ? 
 Erect in their place the dominion of saints, and give reality 
 to the most visionary idea, which the heated imagination of 
 any fanatic was ever able to entertain? Suppress, again, that 
 monster, in its infancy, and openly set up himself, above all 
 things that ever were called sovereign in England? Over- 
 come, first, all his enemies, by arms, and all his friends, 
 afterwards, by artifice? Serve all parties patiently, for a 
 while, and command them, victoriously, at last? Overrun 
 each corner of the three nations, and subdue, with equal 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 243 
 
 facility, both the riches of the south, and the poverty of the 
 north? Be feared and courted, by all foreign princes, and 
 be adopted a brother' to the gods of the earth ? Call together 
 parliaments with a word of his pen, and scatter them again, 
 with the breath of his mouth ? Reduce to subjection, a war- 
 like and discontented nation, by means of a mutinous army ? 
 Command a mutinous army, by means of seditious and fac- 
 tious officers'? Be humbly and daily petitioned, that he 
 would be pleased, at the rate of millions a year, to be hired 
 as master of those, who had hired him before to be their 
 servant? Have the estates and lives of three nations as 
 much at his disposal, as was once the little inheritance of 
 his father, and be as noble and liberal in the spending of 
 them ? And, lastly, (for there is no end of enumerating 
 every particular of his glory,) with one word, bequeath all 
 this power and splendour to his posterity ? Die possessed 
 of peace at home, and triumph abroad ? Be buried among 
 kings, and with more than regal solemnity ; and leave a name 
 behind him, not to be extinguished, but with the whole 
 world ; which, as it was too little for his praise, so might it 
 have been for his conquests, if the short line of his mortal 
 life could have stretched out to the extent of his immortal 
 
 SATIRIC POET, AND HIS FRIEND. Pope. 
 
 Friend. 'Tis all a libel, Paxton, Sir, will say : — 
 
 Poet. Not yet my friend! to-morrow, faith, it may; 
 And for that very cause I print to-day. 
 How should I fret to mangle every line, 
 In reverence to the sins of thirty-nine ! 
 Vice, with such giant strides comes on amain, 
 Invention strives to be before in vain ; 
 Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong, 
 Some rising genius sins up to my song. 
 
 F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lash ; 
 Even Guthry saves half Newgate by a dash. 
 Spare then the person, and expose the vice. 
 
 P. How ! not condemn the sharper, but the dice ! 
 Come on then, Satire ! general, unconfined, 
 Spread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind. 
 Ye statesmen, priests, of one religion all ! 
 Ye tradesmen, vile, in army, court, or hall ! 
 
214 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 Ye reverend atheists ! — F. Scandal ! name them, — who? 
 
 P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do. 
 Who starved a sister, — who foreswore a debt 
 I never named ; the town's inquiring yet. 
 The poisoning dame — F. You mean — P. I don't — F. You do. 
 
 P. See, now, I keep the secret, and not you! 
 The bribing statesman — F. Hold ! too high you go. 
 
 P. The bribed elector — F. There you stoop too low. 
 
 P. 1 fain would please you if I knew with what; 
 Tell me, which knave is lawful game, which not? 
 Must great offenders, oiw escaped the crown, 
 Like royal harts, be never more run down? 
 Admit your law to spare the knight requires, 
 of nature may we hunt the squires? 
 Suppose I censure — you know what I mean — 
 e a bishop, may I name a d 
 
 F. A dean, Sir .' no ; his fortune is not made, 
 You hurt a man that's rising in the trade. 
 
 P. If not the tradesman who set up to-day, 
 Much less the 'prentice who to-morrow may. 
 Down, down, proud Satire! though a realm be spoiled, 
 Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild. 
 Or, if a court, or country's made a job, 
 Go, drench a pickpocket, and join the mob. 
 
 But, Sir, I beg you, (for the love of Vice !) 
 The matter's weighty, pray consider twice ; 
 Have you less pity for the needy cheat, 
 The poor and friendless villain, than the great? 
 Alas ! the small discredit of a bribe 
 Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe. 
 Then better, sure, it charity becomes 
 To tax directors, who (thank God) have plums; 
 Still better ministers ; or, if the thing 
 May pinch even there — why lay it on a king. 
 
 F. Stop ! Stop ! — P. Must Satire, then, nor rise, nor fall ? 
 Speak out, and bid me blame no rogues at all. 
 
 F. Yes, strike that Wild, I'll justify the blow. 
 
 P. Strike 1 — Why the man was hanged ten years ago. 
 Who now that obsolete example fears ? 
 Even Peter trembles only for his ears. 
 
 F. What, always Peter ? Peter thinks you mad : — 
 You make men desperate, if they once are bad. — 
 But why so few commended ? — P. Not so fierce, 
 You find the virtue, and I'll find the verse. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 245 
 
 But random praise— the task can ne'er be done ; 
 
 Each mother asks it for her booby son ; 
 
 Each widow asks it for the best of men, 
 
 For him she weeps, for him she weds again. 
 
 Praise cannot stoop, like Satire, to the ground ; 
 
 The number may be hanged, but not be crowned. 
 
 No power the Muse's friendship can command, 
 
 No power, when Virtue claims it, can withstand. 
 
 —What are you thinking? — F. Faith, the thought's no sin, 
 
 I think your friends are out, and would be in. 
 
 P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out, 
 The way they take is strangely round about. 
 
 F. They, too, may be corrupted, you'll allow! 
 
 P. I only call those knaves who are so now. 
 Is that too little? — Come, then, I'll comply — 
 Spirit of Arnal ! aid me while I lie. 
 Cobham's a coward, Pol warth is a slave, 
 And Lyttleton, a dark, designing knave. 
 St. John has ever been a mighty fool — 
 But, let me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull, 
 Has never made a friend in private life, 
 And was, besides, a tyrant to his wife. — 
 
 Ask you what provocation I have had ? — 
 The strong antipathy of good to bad. 
 When Truth or Virtue an affront endures, 
 The affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours : 
 Mine, as a foe professed to false pretence, 
 Who thinks a coxcomb's honour like his sense; 
 Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind ; 
 And mine as man who feel for all mankind. 
 
 F. You're strangely proud — P. So proud, I am no slave : 
 So impudent, I own myself no knave : 
 So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave. 
 Yes, I am proud : I must be proud, to see 
 Men not afraid of God, afraid of me : 
 Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne, 
 Yet touched, and shamed by ridicule alone. 
 O, sacred weapon ! left for Truth's defence, 
 Sole dread of folly, vice, and insolence ! 
 Reverent I touch thee ! but with honest zeal, 
 To rouse the watchmen of the public weal ; 
 To Virtue's work provoke the tardy hall, 
 And goad the prelate slumbering in his stall. 
 
 x2 
 
846 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 scene from Rii hard the tihrd. — Shakspeare. 
 
 Clarence and Brake nbury. 
 
 Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day! 
 
 Chir. O, I have past a miserable night, 
 So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
 That, as I am a christian faithful man, 
 I would not spend another such a night, 
 Though 'twefe to buy a world of happy days ; 
 So full of dismal terror was the time. 
 
 Brak. W .ur dream, my lord ? I pray you, tell me. 
 
 Chir. M' tfa night, that 1 had broken from the Tower, 
 And was embark'd I - i rose to Burgundy ; 
 And, in in. company, my brother Gloster: 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 Upon the batch* - ; thence we look'd toward England, 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
 During the v. its of York and Lancaster 
 That had b tll'n us. As we pae'd along 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatch 
 Methought, thai Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling, 
 Strmk mo, thai the igh( to Btay him, over-board, 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 O Lord ! methought, what pain it was to drown ! 
 What dreadful no iter in mine ears ! 
 
 What sights of Ugly (hath within mine eyes ! 
 Methonght, 1 saw a thousand fearful wrecks; 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon; 
 We dg Id, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 
 Inestimable Btones, unvalued jewels, 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
 Some lay in dead men's sculls ; and, in those holes 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 (As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, 
 That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 
 
 Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of deatfr, 
 To gaze upon these secrets of the deep? 
 
 Clar. Methought, I had ; and often did I strive 
 To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood 
 Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To 9eek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air ; 
 But smother'd it within my panting bulk, 
 Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 347 
 
 Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony 1 
 
 Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life ; 
 O, then began the tempest to my soul ! 
 I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, 
 With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul, 
 Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; 
 Who cry'd aloud, — What scourge for perjury 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? 
 And so he vanish'd : Then came wand'ring by 
 A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
 Dabbled in blood ! and he shriek'd out aloud, 
 Clarence is come,— false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, 
 -*-27iat stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbwy ; 
 Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments ! 
 With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
 Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
 Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, 
 I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, 
 Could not believe but that I was in hell ; 
 Such terrible impression made my dream. 
 
 Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you ; 
 I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. 
 
 Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things, — 
 That now give evidence against my soul, — 
 For Edward's sake ; and, see, how he requites me ! 
 O God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
 But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, 
 Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : 
 0, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children ! 
 
 I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 
 My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 
 
 Brak* I will, my lord ; God give -your grace good rest ! 
 
 EXTRACT FR03I THE SPEECH OF THE HON. JOHN ADAMS, 
 
 Delivered in the Hall of Independence, before the Congress of 1776, on 
 the passage of the Declaration. 
 
 Addressing John Hancock, the then President, he said—- 
 
 " Read this declaration at the head of the army ; every 
 
 sword will be drawn from its scabbard and the solemn vow 
 
 uttered to maintain it, or perish on the bed of honor. Pub 
 
848 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 lish it from the pulpit : religion will approve it, and the love 
 of religious liberty will cling around it, resolved to stand 
 with it or fall with it. Send it to the public halls, proclaim 
 it there, let them hear it who heard the first roar of the 
 enemy's cannon, hi them see it, who saw their sons and their 
 brothers fall on the held of Bunker Hill and in the streets of 
 Lexington and Concord, and tho very walls will cry out in 
 its support. 
 
 " Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see, 
 I see clearly through this day's business. You and I may 
 not live to the time when This declaration shall bo made 
 good ; we may die ; die colonists — die slaves — die, it may 
 be, ignominiously and on the scaffold: Be it so— be it so ; 
 if it be t!, hat my country shall require 
 
 the poor ofl . the victim Bhall he ready at the 
 
 appointed hour ot . come when that hour may; but 
 
 while I do liv . a country, or at least the hope 
 
 of a country, and that nfrtc country. But whatever may be 
 ovr fate, !>«• npourod, !><• assured that this declaration will 
 stand. It may cool 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 bob in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, 
 an immortal d we arc in our graves our children 
 
 will honor it : thy will celebrate it with thanksgiving, 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 consolation, of gra- 
 titude, and of joy. 
 
 " Sir, before God, I believe the hour has come ; my judg- 
 ment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. 
 All that I have, all that I am, and all that I hope in this life, 
 I am here ready to stake upon it ; and I leave off as I began, 
 that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the declaration. 
 It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it 
 shall be my dying sentiment — independence now, and inde- 
 pendence for ever." 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 249 
 
 GIL BLAS AND THE OLD ARCHBISHOP. — Le Sage. 
 
 Archbishop. Well, young man, what is your business with 
 me? 
 
 Gil Bias. I am the young man whom your nephew, Don 
 Fernando, was pleased to mention to you. 
 
 Arch. O ! you are the person then, of whom he spoke so 
 handsomely. I engage you in my service, and consider you 
 a valuable acquisition. From the specimens he showed me 
 of your powers, you must be pretty well acquainted with the 
 Greek and Latin authors. It is very evident your education 
 has not been neglected. I am satisfied with your hand-writ- 
 ing, and still more with your understanding. I thank my 
 nephew, Don Fernando, for having given me such an able 
 young man, whom I consider a rich acquisition. You trans- 
 cribe so well you must certainly understand grammar. Tell 
 me, ingenuously, my friend, did you find nothing that shocked 
 you in writing over the homily I sent you on trial ? some ne- 
 glect, perhaps, in style, or some improper term? 
 
 Gil B. O ! Sir, I am not learned enough to make critical 
 observations ; and if I was, I am persuaded the works of your 
 grace would escape my censure. 
 
 Arch. Young man, you are disposed to flatter ; but tell 
 me, which parts of it did you think most strikingly beautiful. 
 
 Gil B. If, where all was excellent, any parts were par- 
 ticularly so, I should say they were the personification of 
 hope, and the description of a good man's death. 
 
 Arch. I see you have a delicate knowledge of the truly 
 beautiful. This is what I call having taste and sentiment. 
 Gil Bias, henceforth give thyself no uneasiness about thy for- 
 tune, I will take care of that. I love thee, and as a proof of 
 my affection, I will make thee my confidant: yes, my child, 
 thou shalt be the repository of my most secret thoughts. 
 Listen with attention to what I am going to say. My chief 
 pleasure consists in preaching, and the Lord gives a blessing 
 to my homilies ; but I confess my weakness. The honour 
 of being thought a perfect orator has charmed my imagination , 
 my performances are thought equally nervous and delicate ; 
 but I would of all things avoid the fault of good authors, who 
 write too long. Wherefore, my dear Gil Bias, one thing thai 
 I exact of thy zeal, is, whenever thou shalt perceive my pen 
 smack of old age, and my genius flag, don't fail to advertise 
 me of it, for I don't trust to my own judgment, which may be 
 
250 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 seduced by self-love. That observation must proceed from a 
 disinterested understanding, and I make choice of thine, 
 whichl know is good, and am resolved to stand by thy decision. 
 
 BU B. Thank heaven, Sir, that time is far oil". B< 
 a genius like that of your grace, will preserve its vigour 
 much better than any other; or to speak more justly, will be 
 always the same. I look upon you as another Cardinal 
 
 Ximines, whose superior genius, instead of being weakened, 
 
 seemed to acquire new strength by ;\<jc. 
 
 Arch. No Battery, friend, I know I am liable to sink all at 
 once. People at my age begin to feel infirmities, and the 
 infirmities of the body often affect the understanding* I re- 
 peat it to thee again, Gil Bias, as soon as thou shall judge 
 mine in the least unpaired, be sure to L r ive me notice. And 
 be not afraid of speaking freely and sincerely, for I shall re- 
 ceive thy advice as a mark of thy affection. 
 
 Gil B. Your grace may always depend upon my fidelity. 
 
 Arch. I know thy sincerity, Gil Bias; and now tell me 
 plainly, hast thou not heard the people make some remarks 
 upon my late homilies / 
 
 (lil B. Your homilies have always been admired; but it 
 seems to me that the last did not appear to have had so pow- 
 erful an effect upon the audience as former ones. 
 
 Arch. How, Sir ; D8J it met with any Aristarchus?* 
 
 Gil B. No, Sir, by no means, such works as yours are not 
 to be criticised ; every body is charmed with them. Never- 
 theless, since you hive laid your injunctions upon me to be 
 free and sincere, I will take the liberty to tell you that your 
 last discourse, in my judgment, has not altogether the energy 
 of your other performances. Did you not think so, Sir, your- 
 self? 
 
 Arch, So, then, Mr. Gil Bias, this piece is not to your 
 taste? 
 
 Gil B. I don't say so, Sir ; I think it excellent, although a 
 little inferior to your other works. 
 
 Arch. I understand you; you think I flag, dont you? Come, 
 be plain ; you believe it is time for me to think of retiring. 
 
 Gil B. I should not have been so bold as to speak so 
 freely, if your grace had not commanded me ; I do no more, 
 therefore, than obey you ; and I most humbly beg that you 
 will not be offended at my freedom. 
 
 • Aristarchus was a celebrated grammarian of Samoa. He was fa- 
 mous for his critical powers ; and he revised the poems of Homer with 
 euch severity, that, ever after, all severe critics were called Aristarchi. 
 
NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 251 
 
 Arch. God forbid ! God forbid that I should find fault with 
 it. I don't at all take it ill that you should speak your sen- 
 timents, it is your sentiment itself, only, that I find bad. I 
 have been most egregiously deceived in your narrow under- 
 standing. 
 
 Gil B. Your grace will pardon me for obeying 
 
 Arch. Say no more, my child, you are yet too raw to make 
 proper distinctions. Be it known to you, I never composed 
 a better homily, than that which you disapprove ; for, my ge- 
 nius, thank heaven, hath, as yet, lost nothing of its vigour: 
 henceforth, I will make a better choice of a confidant. Go ! 
 go, Mr. Gil Bias, and tell my treasurer to give you a hundred 
 ducats, and may heaven conduct you with that sum. Adieu, 
 Mr. Gil Bias ! I wish you all manner of prosperity, with a 
 little more taste. 
 
 ALEXANDER THE GREAT AND THE ROBBER. Df, MMlU 
 
 Alex. What, art thou the Thracian robber, of whose ex. 
 ploits I have heard so much 1 
 
 Rob. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. 
 
 A. A soldier ! — a thief, a plunderer, an assassin ! the pest 
 of the country ! I could honour thy courage, but I must de- 
 test and punish thy crimes. 
 
 jR. What have I done, of which you can complain 1 
 
 A. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority, violated 
 the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons 
 and properties of thy fellow subjects 1 
 
 R. Alexander ! I am your captive — I must hear what you 
 please to say, and endure what you please to inflict. But 
 my soul is unconquered ; and if I reply at all to your re- 
 proaches, I will reply like a free man. 
 
 A. Speak freely. Far be it from me to take the advantage 
 of my power to silence those with whom I deign to converse ! 
 
 R. I must then answer your question by another. How 
 have you passed your life 1 
 
 A. Like a hero. Ask fame, and she will tell you. — > 
 Among the brave, I have been the bravest : among sove- 
 reigns, the noblest : among conquerors, the mightiest. 
 
 R. And does not fame speak of me, too ? Was there ever 
 a bolder captain of a more valiant band ? Was there ever— - 
 But I scorn to boast. You yourself know that I have not 
 been easily subdued. 
 
252 NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
 
 A. Still, what are you but a robber — a base, dishonest 
 robb> 
 
 R. And what is a conqueror ? Have not you, too, gone 
 about the earth like an evil genius, blasting the lair fruits of 
 peace and industry; — plundering, ravaging, killing without 
 law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable lust for 
 dominion I All that I have done to a single district with a 
 hundred followers, you have done to whole nations with a 
 hundred thousand. It' 1 have stripped individuals, you havo 
 ruined kings and princes. \( I have burned a few hamlets, 
 you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities 
 of the earth. What is then the difference, but that, as you 
 were born a king, and I a private man, you have been able 
 to become a mightier robber than 1 l 
 
 A. But if 1 have taken like a king, I have ^iven like a 
 king. If 1 have subverted empires, 1 have founded greater. 
 I have cherished arts, commerce, and philosophy. 
 
 R. I, too, have freely given to the poor, what I took from 
 the rich. I have established order and discipline among the 
 most ferocious of mankind ; and have stretched out my pro- 
 tecting arm over the oppressed. I know, indeed, little of 
 the philosophy you talk <>t"; but 1 believe neither you nor I 
 shall i the world the mischiefs we have done it. 
 
 A. Li ave me — Take off his chains, and use him well. 
 (Exit robber.) — Are we then so much alike 1 — Alexander to 
 a robber .' — Let me reflect. 
 
 THE END. 
 


 BE 
 
 £ 
 
 
 
 
 "V CC ( C, 
 
 «: cc * 
 ^ cc<€t 
 
 
 cV*Or 
 
 < < , 
 
 • c 
 
 < c i <ocr 
 
 / c. c .«l 
 c c 
 
 c^c 
 
 «ao:c 
 
 < (. 
 
 c 
 
 c < 
 
 ■ 
 
 C 
 
 c <c 
 
 ^K:-'. 
 
 <: 
 
 c< c 
 
 *£< 
 
 c 
 
 : «c cT 
 
 m< 
 
 c 
 
 C c 
 
 Cv 
 
 c: c c 
 
 Cc 
 
 < 
 
 - C ( 
 
 C« 
 
 ^ 
 
 C cc c 
 
 ■ <?: 
 
 c 
 
 £ 
 
 
 <T < r 
 
 ^Kl 
 
 4 
 
 c 
 
 *Kf 
 
 i 
 
 
 [g (<*a| 
 
 
 
 d 
 
 SFf- 
 
 « 
 
 ~ - 
 
 
 4 
 
 j 
 
 
 * 
 
 f~ ■ 
 
 ^^" 
 
 t 
 
 cc^ 
 
 
 ^i^ - 
 
crrc' 
 
 <di '< 
 
 "?, vxacZZjdl dL 
 
 C 
 
 ...C 
 
 ZZ<2 
 
 ; c ^c 
 
 - 
 
 \ 
 
 cr<c 
 
 c:c 
 
 1 <ct <r c 
 
 C€ 
 
 ^: ; 'C (C C 
 
 ^dcc: 
 
 c< 
 
 r 
 
 3EX 
 
 «£jc 
 
 pOTC 
 
 a 
 
 
 JC 
 
 d C€ 
 
 m 
 
 C 
 
 pel 
 
 p ^ 
 
 &seL'CL«C_ 
 
 .■■ c< 
 
 ^B&ic 
 
 ~^c 
 
 C cc 
 
 '■. 
 
 
 ddi- 
 
 c 
 
 d cSdCd^<c. ° 
 d C2dr ce;<C .- 
 
 €E^* 
 
 _djc^ 
 
 - . ' 
 
 :;, 
 
 El'CSf 
 
 ^1 ( C 
 
 r< 
 
 >d- € 
 
 ~:^--- 
 
 c 
 
 EOSS 
 
 < 
 
 XT 4 
 
 '<^ tfSiK; <»;4Bl<m 
 
 
 *CC ^ ( -C__ ^ 
 
 CljCI 
 
 ^ 
 
 ; ■ «. 
 
 i <ccc 
 
 e CI 
 
 <Ild_ : -C^^ 
 
 2z^ 
 
 <Cl <3CI 
 
 dd 
 
 
 C| C< 
 
 ; CO 
 
 1 <CC3 
 
 ecu 
 
 <§5 «I< 
 
 
 
 cue 
 
 r<5 
 
 c c 
 
 ^— ^. 
 
 ccioc 
 
 
 i;"< 
 
 dxs 
 
 x .<£; 
 
 «scr: «z& « 
 
 di 
 
 ifflCi 
 
 cid 
 
 
 C < 
 
 seres 
 
 ^ d'^Gc 
 
 d 
 
 ^..csaci 
 
 CJC 
 
 IC- 
 
 d 
 
 __ <2^Z^ 
 
 cCj 
 
 Cl 
 
 
 icid 
 id<z 
 
 i<c<drdd<lic 
 
 :< 
 : < 
 
 zz <cxz 
 
 cc;i 
 
 c 
 c 
 
 ^*: ; 
 
 89fi C^J^S 
 
 r^^Ki 
 
 HC; 
 
 ac<d5 cksksl .«d§ 
 
 L CI^K 
 
 _^di 
 
 < 
 
 ^—_ "" 
 
 ; tcccdiccc 
 
 -<czicc- .^r~ 
 
 ce 
 
 dici: 
 
 IKteSi 
 
 C-. ' 
 
 d 
 
 l.CLC"<£Z"'c<; 
 
 -dj@^I ^HZI 
 
 
 -^id^: 
 
 ■ c^_ 
 
 
 *G*C 
 
 LCdl 
 
 3C "T^L 
 
 ^ZITCC ^CZI 
 
 <c 
 
 d:cr 
 
 "^«i 
 
 
 aB 
 
 mmm 
 
 ~C C 
 
 «zMr<flS^ 
 
 C 
 
 ^zicd: 
 
 -«3 
 
 
 CCd 
 
 "' C 
 
 csc<zi « 
 
 x^ 
 
 ?^SC1 
 
 CC 
 
 «3 
 
 ;cc<i 
 
 7 c: 
 
 d2:c<zzr 
 
 <£L 
 
 
 CC 
 
 «: 
 
 2:c:<t: cc 
 
 CCC«IC1 
 
 cs 
 
 *^KIZCS 
 
 Z Ci-C^l 
 
 
 Eccdr 
 
 dCc <gv . 
 
 <2 
 
 ^2£ 
 
 C^^Z 
 
 « 
 
 Sec: 
 
 cc 
 
 dec dC_ 
 
 <S 
 
 Bg*^jwrg<i 
 
 ^'^Cj 
 
 <s 
 
 T<f^ 
 
 CC 
 
 d§r <lii 
 
 <^ 
 
 'i-.' 4 &^2 r 
 
 <^Bdci 
 
 <C 
 
 gci: 
 
 <xi 
 
 
 
 d 
 
 
 cc 
 
 d^tr^cz cc 
 
 «iK2<i«z:1 
 
 <d 
 
 S^ 7 
 
 cc 
 
 dd<CT~ ' CjC ' 
 
 *c^«~ 
 
 d^^C 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 SjCZT 
 
 cc 
 
 CSd" cc 
 
 ^CZ^T'Cs 
 
 
 «c 
 
 Xc" 
 
 cc 
 
 k3 dz cc 
 
 
 <IE^S 
 
 r m, 
 
 CI 
 
 £C£~? 
 
 c^ 
 
 ^ClI ;<3 
 
 ■^ 
 
 <I^i<« 
 
 ZZ~ «&:. 
 
 SIC 
 
 CT-- 
 
 cr 
 
 
 
 CEC 
 
 Z^dl 
 
 d 
 
 dl 
 
 CCI 
 
 CICZ ■ <3 
 
 
 ^2C*jCZ 
 
 cdl_ 
 
 mi 
 
 cr 
 
 cc 
 
 crcr <^d 
 
 <s^: 
 
 ^?.<C 
 
 «c 
 
 ^ 
 
 <cl 
 
 
 
 <oc 
 
 c<!C 
 
 ^ 
 
 cr 
 
 cc 
 
 dcr :<p 
 
 „ •' 
 
 coc: 
 
 (C 
 
 C7 
 
 d 
 
 CC 
 
 ex: «pc 
 
 etc 
 
 CC 
 
 d 
 
 rc~" 
 
 CC 
 
 cc C<gP 
 
 d 
 
 dd 
 
 *.•.*"■ <y< 
 
 S 
 
 <Z" 
 
 c<c 
 
 €d: CC_ 
 
 •c csci 
 
 c c 
 
 <C 
 
 <r v 
 
 <ed 
 
 dd djz. 
 
 <2^:; 
 
 CC 
 
 c 
 
 ■gsg 
 
 c c 
 
 CC dT 
 
 c__ 
 
 <^^T- 
 
 ■ . C<sc 
 
 < 
 
 C 
 
 cc 
 
 CICl 
 
 d d 
 
 CC d 
 
 
 <S^I 
 j. <^c: 
 
 ' ; : ' ccc 
 
 CC 
 
 I ^ 
 
 - . t 
 
 3t^' 
 
 d d 
 
 cd «£jc 
 
 ' -r^EScn 
 
 <cx: 
 
 A 
 
 : C ' ■■ 
 
 d ^ 
 
 x"Ci • SP 
 
 cz 
 
 «oc 
 
 -. CC 
 
 4 
 
 51 
 
 d <z 
 
 ^'<CC -C ( 
 
 en 
 
 ■CK: 
 
 <CmC 
 
 
 1« 
 
 d <z 
 
 d <z 
 
 ©d 
 
 C CI 
 
 i cc ■-.«:« 
 
 r cd jd_j 
 
 Z * CC S^ _ 
 <rc~ dL 
 
 CI 
 
 i 
 
 : : --.:Cd 
 ^ : ;~ "esc:: 
 l-'-cc:^ 
 CCI 
 I cc 
 
 ' c<c 
 c c 
 
 2 ^^ 
 
 c < 
 
 
 1 C cc< 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ : "<xr* 
 
 ^®3d 
 
 III^ 
 
 EL <«srd«: 
 
 __ oC dC -•' 
 
 ^^, 
 
 ^j CdL 
 
 ^^^^ac 
 
 __: <S 
 
 IT <<^ c<r 
 
 ?* ■' CC ^C * 
 
 ^f^s 
 
 ^_ CC 
 
 te^IICI 
 
 c. c 
 
 r nr? 
 
 *r 
 
 G liCCT _ '.d- : 4 
 
 ^C 
 
 __ .-.<Sji2-._j?ocx.«L: 
 
 C;C