Mi ■h'?6 THE AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER: DESIGNED FOR THE USE OP SCHOOLS, LYCEUMS, TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES, ETC., ETC. AUTHOR OF "a HISTORY OF THE PENNSYLVANIA RESERVE CORPS ;'^ "SCHOOL HISTORY OF PENNSYLVANIA;" ^'HISTORY OF NEW JERSEY," ETC., ETC. m PHILADELPHIA: PORTER & COATES, 822 Chestnut Street. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by J. R. SYPHER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. MBARS & DCSENBERY, STEREOTYPERS. SHERMAN k CO., PRINTERS, CONTENTS. Insteuctions, PAGE 9 PART I. SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. Address at Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln, Address to the Chamber of Peers, Trelat, .... Against Catiline, Cicero, .... Amendments to the Constitution, Patrick Henry, . America, Charles Phillips, American History, Gulian C. Yerplanck, American Influence, George S. Hilliard, American Petitions, Lord Chatham, , Appeal to Arms, John Dickinson, . Belief in God's Existence, Jonathan jMaxcy. Birthday of Washington, Rufus Choate, Brutus ou the Death of Caesar, Shakspeare, . . Capital Punishment, Edward Livingston, Catiline Denounced, Cicero, . . . Charter of Runnymede. The, Lord Chatham, Christian Responsibility, Eliphalet Nott, Classical Learning, Joseph Story, Common Things Important, Robert C. Winthrop, Congress of 1776, The, Williajvi Wirt, Constitution a Bill of Rights, Alexander Hamilton, Constitution of the United States, Alexander Hamilton, Culture the Result of Labor, . , William Wirt, Defence of America, Lord Chatham, Drinking Usages of Society, The, Alonzo Potter, Duelling, , Eliphalet Nott, 100 129 107 77 33 152 64 93 75 26 52 76 4^2 m 87 136 19 41 125 91 31 17 113 79 (iii) IV CONTENTS. PAGE Eloquence, Lewis Cass, 13 Emptiness of Earthly Glory, Francis Waylani>, .... 126 Eulogium on Franklin, Mirabeau, 61 Eulogy on Calhoun, Danjel Webster, .... 81 Eulogy on Franklin, Abbe Fauchet, 90 Eulogy on Hamilton, Eliphalet Nott, 72 Evils of the Liquor Traffic, Lyman Beecher, 149 Examples of Patriotism in our own History, . . . Edward Everett, .... 154 Famine in Ireland, The, Sargent S. Prentiss, ... 68 First Gun of Freedom, The, Edward Everett, .... 49 Formation of Character, 155 French Revolution, The, Sir James Mackintosh, . . 91 Fruits of Intemperance, Charles McIlvaine, ... 142 Future Glory of America, The, . David Ramsay, 80 Glorious New England, Sargent S. Prentiss, ... 101 Glory of Christianity, The, John McLaurin, 25 Gospel for the Poor, John M. Mason, 26 Guilty Conscience betrays itself, A, Daniel Webster, .... 27 Heavens proclaim the Deity, The, Ormsby McK. Mitchell, . . 106 Illustrious Trio of Statesmen, The, George S. Hilijard, ... 84 Important Truth, The, H. Melvill, 29 Impressment of American Sailors, Henry Clay, 55 Independence Monument, Kenneth Rayner, .... 42 Intemperance, Lord Chesterfield, .... 105 Intemperance and Abstinence, Robert South, 147 Intemperate Husband, The, W. B. Sprague, 103 International Sympathies, Francis Wayland, .... 141 Ireland, Daniel O'Connell, .... 30 John Locke and William Penn, George Bancroft, .... 94 Kepler's Discovery of a Third Law, Ormsby McK, Mitchell, . . 67 Knowledge without Religion, H. S. Pinckney, 23 Lafayette's Visit to America, Sargent S. Prentiss, ... 54 Landing of the Mayflower, The, Edward Everett, .... 138 Last Moments of Copernicus, Edward Everett, .... 123 Last Speech, Robespierre, 110 Liberty the meed of Intelligence, John C. Calhoun, .... 43 Life is an Education, Frederick W. Robertson, . 60 Liquor Dealers and the Traffic, . Christian Examiner, . 150 Man's Immortality, William Prout, 73 Marie Antoinette, . . , Edmund Burke, 128 Mind, the Glory of Man, D. Wise, 20 Modern Toleration, Thomas F. Marshall, . . . 8d CONTENTS. y PAGE . Natioual G-reatness, John Bright, 157 Xation's Sure Defence, The, 158 Obstacles to Christiauitv, The, Stephen Colwell, .... 53 Office of a Judge, Sydney SiniH, 95 On Being Convicted of Treason, Robert Emmett. 114 On Being Found Guilty of Treason, Thomas Francis Meagher, . 118 On his Retirement from the Senate, Hentiy Clay, ...... 86 On Recognising the Independence of Greece, . . . Henry Clay, 40 Orator's Art, The, . , John Quincy Ada^is, ... 14 Orator's Gift, The, Abbe Bautain, 15 Parliamentary Innovations, ......... M. Beaufoy, 127 Patriotism a Christian Virtue, T. D. Huntington, .... 102 Patriotism of the West, Henry Clay, 70 Paul's Defence before Agrippa, Bible 143 Penn's Motive, Alonzo Potter, 45 Peroration against Warren Hastings, Edmund Burke, 133 Perpetual Yigilance the Price of Liberty, .... John C. Calhoun, .... 65 Progress of Discovery, The, Edward Everett, .... 130 Progress of Total Abstinence, Charles P. McIlvaine, . . 140 Reign of Terror, The, Lord Brougham, .... 92 Religious Liberty, William Gaston, .... 35 Reply to ^schines, Demosthenes, 88 Reply to Sir Robert Walpole, William Pitt, 63 Republican Government, Joseph Story, 46 Republics, Hugh S. Legare, .... 59 Rienzi's Last Appeal to the Romans, Sir Edward Lytion Bulwer, 122 Righteousness exalteth a Nation, William Bacon Stevens, . . 47 Ruined Family, The, Washington Irving, . . . 104 Rule of American Conduct, George Washington, ... 73 Science and Religion, Edward Hitchcock, . . . ]32 Science and ReUgion, Mark Hopkins, 38 Second Inaugural Address, Abraham Lincoln, .... 96 Settlement of Pennsylvania, The, Hentiy D. Gelpin, .... 69 Slavery of Intemperance, . Dantel Kimball, 148 Sophistry of Infidels, The, Robert Hall, 58 Spartacus to the Gladiators, Elijah Kellogg, 120 Studies, Lord Bacon, 18 Switzerland an Example, Patrick Henry, 73 Teetotalism, Eliphalet Nott, 135 Tolerant Christianity the Law of the Land, . . . Daniel Webster, .... 56 True Secret of Oratory, The, Daniel Webster, .... 67 Truth, Lord Bacon, 32 VI CONTENTS. TTnited States and the Cherokees, The, William Wirt, . Unity of our Country Caleb Gushing, . Universal Empire of Death, The, D. S. Doggett, Use of Knowledge, Cardinal Wiseman, Value of Knowledge, H. L. Pinckney, . Value of a Navy, James A. Bayard, War and Peace, Charles Sumner, Washington, Charles Phillips, Washington, Henry Lee, . , Water, Thomas F. Marshall, What can be done ? Lyman Beecher, . Woman and Temperance, Moses Ballou, Wonders of the Dawn, Edward Everett, PAGE 109 160 99 78 22 85 37 50 62 151 145 137 16 PART 11. SELECTIONS IN POETRY. PAGE . 163 . 181 . 195 . 197 Address to the Ocean, Lord Byron Antony's Address to the Romans on the Death of) } William Shakspeare, . . Caesar, i Arnold Winkelried, James Montgomery, . . American Flag, The, J. Rodman Drake, . . . After the Battle, 224 "Am I my Brother's Keeper?" Edwards, 227 Barbara Erietchie, John G. Whittier, .... 172 Bells, The, Edgar A. Pge, 191 Baron's Last Banquet, The, Albert G. Greene, .... 202 Beautiful Snow, . John W. Watson, .... 207 Bright Side, The, 211 Bingen on the Rhine, • • • Mrs. Caroline Norton, . . 212 Burial of Moses, The, Cecil Frances Alexander, . 230 Bridge of Sighs, Thomas Hood, 233 Birth of Green Erin, The, • • • 241 Battle of Waterloo, The, Lord Byron, 261 Bugle Song, Alfred Tennyson, .... 299 Closing Year, The, George D. Prentice, ... 164 Cold Water, Lydia H. Sigourney, ... 180 Charge of the Light Brigade, Alfred Tennyson, .... 205 CONTENTS. vii PAGE Cato's Soliloquy on Immortality, Joseph Addison, 226 Charge at Waterloo, Walter Scott, 236 Catiline's Defiance, George Croly, 253 Children, The, Charles Dickinson, .... 292 Closing Scene, T. Buchanan Read, .... 310 Deacon's Masterpiece, The, Ouver W. Holmes, .... 280 E Pluribus Unum, G. W. Cutter, 176 Fountain, The, Jas. Russell Lowell, ... 167 Fireman, The, Robert T. Conrad, .... 269 Fisherman's Song, The, 274 Fall of Warsaw, 1794, Thomas Campbell, .... 300 Heart of the War, The, 184 Ivry, a Song of the Huguenots, T. B. Macaulay, 251 Icarus ; or the Peril of Borrowed Plumes, .... John G. Saxe, 277 Keep it Before the People, A. J. H. Duganne, .... 285 Lines on a Skeleton, 264 *' Look not upon the Wine when it is Red," . . . Nathaniel P, Willis, . . . 276 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, Felicia Hemans, 286 Labor is Worship, Frances S. Osgood, .... 288 Lochinvar, Walter Scott, 305 Monterey, Charles F. Hoffman, . . . 168 Maddening Bowl, 240 Maud Muller, . , John G. Whittier, .... 256 Marco Bozzaris, Fitz Greene Halleck, . . 302 New Year, The, Alfred Tennyson, .... 171 Not on the Battle-Field, John Pierpont, 188 No Sect in Heaven, E. H. J. Cleveland, . . . 265 Nothing but Leaves, 263 Night Before Christmas, The, Clement C. Moore, .... 307 Night After Christmas 308 Old Clock on the Stairs, The, Henry W. Longfellow, . . 169 Old Tubal Cain, Charles Mackay, .... 199 Psalm of Marriage, Ph(ebe Gary, 179 Pauper's Death-Bed, Caroline Bowles Southey, . 255 Removal, The, 194 Rienzi's Address, Mary Russell Mitford, . . 201 Response to "Beautiful Snow," A, Sarah J. Hancock, .... 209 Romance of Nick Van Stann, John G. Saxe, 222 Raven, The, Edgar A. Poe, 243 Revolutionary Rising, The, T. Buchanan Read, .... 272 Seminole's Reply, The, G. W. Patten, 175 Soldier's Dream, The, Thomas Campbell, .... 178 Viii CONTENTS. PAGE Sleeping Sentinel, The, Frances Haes Janvier, . . 218 Sheridan's Ride, T. Buchanan Read, .... 238 Shylock to Antonio, William Shakspeare, . . . 240 Song of the Huskers, John G. Whittier, .... 249 Stranger on the Sill, The, T. Buchanan Read, .... 260 Seven Ages of Man, The, William Shakspeare, . . . 263 Student, The, 289 Shamus O'Brien, J. Sheridan Le Fanu, . . . 294 To Sign— or Not, 210 Through Death to Life, Henry Harbaugh, .... 216 Village Schoolmaster, Oliver Goldsmith, .... 284 Wanted, a Minister's Wife, 214 Woman's Answer on being accused of being a Maniac on the Subject of Intemperance, 247 Ye may Drink, if ye list, Pease, 278 PART III. dialogues. PAGE All for Good Order, D. P. Page, 315 Bob Sawyer's Party, Charles Dickens, .... 381 Cardinal's Exculpation, The, Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer, 325 Conjugal Quarrels, Richard B. Sheridan, . . . 377 Country Squire, The, Dance, 345 Family Obstinacy, Richard B. Sheridan, . . . 842 Nothing in it, Charles Mathews, . . . . 328 Old Fickle and Tristram Fickle, J. T. Allingham, .... 330 Old Still-House— Closed for ever, J. R. Stpher, 359 Quarrel Adjusted, The, Richard B. Sheridan, . . . 374 Sam Weller's Account of an Election, Charles Dickens, .... 369 Sam Weller as a Witness, Charles Dickens, .... 371 Sold out and Bought in, J. R. Sypher, 361 Squeers at the Inn, Charles Dickens, .... 383 Trial Scene from " Merchant of Venice," William Shakspeare, ... 337 The Will, Anon., 334 PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS. I. Select an exercise in length, sentiment, and style of composi- tion adapted to the time and place where it is to be spoken, and in sympathy with your own feelings. The shortest pieces are best for all ordinary occasions. II. Study the selection carefully so as to master the spirit of the author. After that commit it to memory. Make the language, word for word, and the sentiment throughout wholly your own. III. Repeat the piece aloud, frequently, giving the proper sound of every letter, syllable, and word a clear and distinct utter- ance. Articulation, accent, emphasis, and inflection, as learned in the reading lessons, will be applied with ease and correctness after the language and spirit of the text have been mastered. ly. Walk upon the stage with ease and naturalness, as you would walk across your own private room. Bow to the audience as you would to an acquaintance on the street. Stand in an easy, graceful position. Avoid stiffness. y. Speak as if you wished to convince each person in the room that every word uttered was your own, and every sentiment true and of public importance. yi. Feel as you would wish to speak, for you will surely speak as you feel. (ix) X PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS. VII. Begin calmly and deliberately — avoid bombast. VIII. Consider yourself, as far as possible, in the place of the author of the piece you are speaking. For example : in the case of Cicero against Catiline, imagine the scene in the Roman Senate, when Cicero, as consul, had convened the senators in the most sacred chamber on Capitoline Hill to take counsel as to what should be done to defend the Eepublic against the conspirators. When Cicero rose to address the Senate, to his great astonishment, he saw Catiline, the chief conspirator, and many of his associates present. In place, therefore, of addressing the Senate, he turned upon the traitor senator, and with the full power of his wonderful eloquence denounced him, revealed the plans of his conspiracy to the Senate, and warned him of the dire punishment that would surely overtake him. The youth attempting to speak an extract from this oration, should study this scene and fire his soul with the patriotic indigna- tion that burned in the breast of the great Roman orator, and he will not fail to speak with effect. The spirit of any piece will be best understood by a careful study of the circumstances under which it was originally produced. PEOSE SELECTIONS. THE AMERICA! POPULAR SPEAKER. PROSE SELECTIONS. ELOQUENCE.— Qa^^, "What country ever offered a nobler theatre for the display of eloquence than our own ? From the primary assemblies of the people, where power is conferred, and may be retained, to the national legislature, where its highest attributes are depo- sited and exercised, all feel and acknowledge its influence. The master spirits of our father-land, they who guided the councils of England in her career of prosperity and glory, whose eloquence was the admiration of their contemporaries, as it will be of posterity, were deeply imbued with classical learn- ing. They drank at the fountain and not at the stream, and they led captive the public opinion of the empire, and asserted their dominion in the senate and the cabinet. Nor have we been wanting in contribution to the general stock of eloquence. In our legislative assemblies, at the bar, and in the pulpit, many examples are before us, not less cheer- ing in the rewards they offer than in the renown which follows them. And if our lamps are lighted at the altar of ancient and modern learning, we may hope that a sacred fire will be kept burning, to shed its influence upon our institutions, and the duration of the Republic. But after all, habits of mental and moral discipline are the first great objects in any system of instruction, public or private. 2 (13) 14 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. The value of education depends far less upon varied and exten- sive acquirements than upon the cultivation of just powers of thought, and the general regulation of the faculties of the understanding. That it is not the amount of knowledge, but the capacity to apply it, which promises success and usefulness in life, is a truth that cannot be too often inculcated by in- structors and recollected by pupils. If youth are taught how to think, they will soon learn what to think. Exercise is not more necessary to a healthful state of the body than is the employment of the various faculties of the mind to mental efficiency. The practical sciences are as barren of useful products as the speculative, where faces only are the objects of knowledge, unless the understanding is habituated to a continued process of examination and reflection. No precocity of intellect, no promise of genius, no extent of knowledge, can be weighed in the scale with those acquisitions. But he who has been the object of such sedulous attention, and the subject of such a course of instruction, may enter upon the great duties of life with every prospect of an honorable and a useful career. His armor is girded on for battle. However difficult the conjuncture in which he may be called on to act, he is prepared for whatever may betide him. THE ORATOR'S ART.— J. Q. Adams. The eloquence of the college is like the discipline of a review. The art of war, we are all sensible, does not consist in manoeuvres on a training-day; nor the steadfastness of the soldier in the hour of battle, in the drilliag of his orderly ser- geant. Yet the superior excellence of the veteran army is exemplified in nothing more forcibly than in the perfection of its discipline. It is in the heat of action, upon the field of blood, that the fortune of the day may be decided by the exactness of manual exercise ; and the art of displaying a column or directing a charge may turn the balance of victory, and change the history of the world. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 15 The application of these observations is as direct to the art of oratory as to that of war. The exercises to which you are here accustomed are not intended merely for the display of the talents you have acquired. They are instruments put into your hands for future use. Their object is not barely to prepare you for the composition and delivery of an oration to amuse an idle hour on some public anniversary. It is to give you a due for the labyrinth of legislation in the public councils ; a spear for the conflict of judicial war in the public tribunals; a sword for the field of religious and moral victory in the pulpit. THE ORATOR'S GIFT-^Abb^ Bautain. Art may develop and perfect the talent of a speaker, but cannot produce it. The exercises of grammar and of rhetoric will teach a person how to speak correctly and elegantly ; but nothing can teach him to be eloquent, or give that eloquence which comes from the heart and goes to the heart. All the precepts and artifices on earth can but form the appearances or semblance of it. Now this true and natural eloquence which moves, persuades, and transports, consists of a soul and a body, like man, whose image, glory, and word it is. The soul of eloquence is the centre of the human soul itself, which, enlightened by the rays of an idea, or warmed and stirred by an impression, flashes or bursts forth to manifest, by some sign or other, what it feels or sees. This it is which gives movement and life to a discourse; it is like a kindled torch, or a shuddering and vibrating nerve. The body of eloquence is the language which it requires in order to speak, and which must harmoniously clothe what it thinks or feels, as a fine shape harmonizes with the spirit which it contains. The material part of language is learnt instinctively, and practice makes us feel and seize its delicacies and shades. The understanding, then, which sees rightly and conceives clearly, and the heart which feels keenly, find na- 16 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. turally and without effort, the words and the arrangement of words most analogous to what is to be expressed. Hence the innate talent of eloquence, which results alike from certain intellectual and moral aptitudes, and from the physical consti- tution, especially from that of the senses and of the organs of the voice. TEE WONDERS OF TEE DA TFiV.— Everett. Much as we are indebted to our observatories for elevating our conceptions of the heavenly bodies, they present even to the unaided sight scenes of glory which words are too feeble to describe. I had occasion, a few weeks since, to take the early train from Providence to Boston ; and for this purpose rose at two o'clock in the morning. Everything around was wrapt in darkness and hushed in silence, broken only by what seemed at that hour the unearthly clank and rush of the train. It was a mild, serene, midsummer's night, — the sky was without a cloud, — the winds were whist. The moon, then in the last quarter, had just risen, and the stars shone with a spectral lustre but little affected by her presence. Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald of the day; the Pleiades just above the horizon shed their sweet influence in the east; Lyra sparkled near the zenith ; Andromeda veiled her newly-discovere^ glories from the naked eye in the south ; the steady Pointers, far be- neath the pole, looked meekly up from the depths of the north to their sovereign. Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more perceptible ; the intense blue of the sky began to soften ; the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister- beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bright constellations of the west and north remained unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels hidden from mortal eyes shifted the scenery of the heavens; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. The AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 17 blue sky now turned more softly gray ; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes ; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky ; the whole celes- tial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean of radiance ; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and urned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state. CULTURE THE RESULT OF LABOR.— SNirt. The education, gentlemen, moral and intellectual, of every individual must be chiefly his own work. How else could it happen that young men, who have had precisely the same opportunities, should be continually presenting us with such diff'erent results, and rushing to such opposite destinies ? Difl'er- ence of talent will not solve it, because that diff'erence is very often in favor of the disappointed candidate. You will see issuing from the walls of the same college — nay, sometimes from the bosom of the same family, two young men, of whom the one shall be admitted to be a genius of high order, the other scarcely above the point of mediocrity ] yet you shall see the genius sinking and perishing in poverty, obscurity, and wretchedness ; while, on the other hand, you shall observe t\vQ mediocre plodding his slow but sure way up the hill of life, gaining steadfast footing at every step, and mounting, at length, to eminence and distinction, an ornament to his family, a blessing to his country. Now, whose work is this? Manifestly their own. Men are the architects of their respective fortunes. It is the fiat of fate from which no power of genius can absolve you. Genius, uuexei-ted, is like the poor moth that flutters around a candle 18 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. till it scorches itself to death. If genius be desirable at all^ it is only of that great and magnanimous kind which, like the condor of South America, pitches from the summit of Chimbo- razo, above the clouds, and sustains itself at pleasure in that empyreal region, with an energy rather invigorated than weak- ened by the effort. It is this capacity for high and long-continued exertion, this vigorous power of profound and searching investigation, this careering and wide-spreading comprehension of mind, and those long reaches of thought, that '' Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom line could never touch the ground, And drag up drowned honor by the locks." This is the prowess, and these the hardy achievements, which are to enroll your names among the great men of the earth. STUDIES.— Lord Bacon. Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business; for expert men can execute and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies, is sloth ; to use them too much for ornament, is affecta- tion ; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar; they perfect nature, and are perfected by experience — for natural abilities are like natural plants that need pruning by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them, for they teach not their own use ; but that is a wisdom without them and above them, won by observation. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 19 Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and con- sider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested : that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are, like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man; and, therefore, if a man write little, he had need of a great memory ; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit ; and if he read little, he had need have much cunoing, to seem to know that he doth not. Histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtle; natural philosophy, deep; moral, grave; logic and rhetoric, able to contend. CLASSICAL LEARNING.— Story. The importance of classical learning to professional education is so obvious that the surprise is, that it could ever have become matter of disputation. I speak not of its power in refining the taste, in disciplining the judgment, in invigorating the understanding, or in warming the heart with elevated sentiments ; but of its power of direct, positive, necessary instruction. There is not a single nation from the north to the south of Europe, from the bleak shores of the Baltic to the bright plains of immortal Italy, whose literature is not embedded in the very elements of classical learning. The literature of England is, in an emphatic sense, the production of her scholars ; of men who have cultivated letters in her universi- ties, and colleges, and grammar-schools ; of men who thought any life too short, chiefly because it left some relic of antiquity 20 AMERICAN POPULAK SPEAKER. unmastered, and any other fame too humble, because it faded in the presence of Roman and Grecian genius. He who studies English literature without the lights of classical learning, loses half the charms of its sentiments and style, of its force and feelings, of its delicate touches, of its delightful allusions, of its illustrative associations. Who that reads the poetry of Gray, does not feel that it is the refinement of classical taste which gives such inexpressible vividness and transparency to his diction? Who that reads the concentrated sense and melodious versification of Dryden and Pope, does not perceive in them the disciples of the old school, whose genius was inflamed by the heroic verse, the terse satire, and the playful wit of antiquity ? Who that meditates over the strains of Milton, does not feel that he drank deep at '^ Siloa's brook, that flowed Fast by the oracle of God," — that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by coals from ancient altars ? It is no exaggeration to declare that he who proposes to abolish classical studies, proposes to render, in a great measure, inert and unedifying, the mass of English literature for three centuries ; to rob us of the glory of the past, and much of the instruction of future ages; to blind us to excellencies which few may hope to equal and none to surpass; to annihilate associations which are interwoven with our best sentiments, and give to distant times and countries a presence and reality, as if they were in fact his own. MIND THE GLORY OF MA K—Wis^. The mind is the glory of man. No possession is so pro- ductive of real influence as a highly cultivated intellect. Wealth, birth, and official station may and do secure to their possessors an external, superficial courtesy; but they never did, and they never can, command the reverence of the heart. It AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 21 is only to the man of large and noble soul, to him who blends a cultivated mind with an upright heart, that men yield the tribute of deep and genuine respect. But why do so few young men of early promise, whose hopes, purposes, and resolves were as radiant as the colors of the rain- bow, fail to distinguish themselves? The answer is obvious; they are not willing to devote themselves to that toilsome cul- ture which is the price of great success. Whatever aptitude for particular pursuits nature may donate to her favorite children, she conducts none but the laborious and the studious to distinction. Great men have ever been men of thought as well as men of action. As the magnificent river, rolling in the pride of its mighty waters, owes its greatness to the hidden springs of the mountain nook, so does the wide-sweeping influence of distin- guished men date its origin from hours of privacy, resolutely employed in efforts after self-development. The invisible spring of self-culture is the source of every great achievement. Away, then, young man, with all dreams of superiority, unless you are determined to dig after knowledge, as men search for concealed gold. Remember, that every man has in himself the seminal principle of great excellence, and he may develop it by cultivation if he will try. Perhaps you are what the word calls j9oor. What of that? Most of the men whose names are as household words were also the children of poverty. Captain Cook, the circumnavigator of the globe, was born in a mud hut, and started in life as a cabin-boy. Lord Eldon, who sat on the woolsack in the British parlia- ment for nearly half a century, was the son of a coal merchant. Franklin, the philosopher, diplomatist, and statesman, was but a poor printer's boy, whose highest luxury, at one time, was only a penny roll, eaten in the streets of Philadelphia. Fergu- son, the profound philosopher, was the son of a half-starved weaver. Johnson, Goldsmith, Coleridge, and multitudes of others of high distinction, knew the pressure of limited circum- stances, and have demonstrated that poverty even is no insu- perable obstacle to success. 22 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Up, then, young man, and gird yourself for the work of self- cultivation. Set a high price on your leisure moments. Thej are sands of precious gold. Properly expended, they will pro- cure for you a stock of great thoughts — thoughts that will fill, stir and invigorate, and expand the soul. Seize also on the unparalleled aids furnished by steam and type in this unequalled age. The great thoughts of great men are now to be procured at prices almost nominal. You can, therefore, easily collect a library of choice standard works. But above all, learn to reflect even more than you read. Without thought, books are the sepulchre of the soul, — they only immure it. Let thought and reading go hand in hand, and the intellect will rapidly increase in strength and gifts. Its possessor will rise in character, in power, and in positive influence. VALUE OF KNOWLEDGE.-R, L. Pinckney. What is it that unfolds the structure of the human frame, showing, indeed, how fearfully and wonderfully it is made, or has invested Surgery with the admirable precision and dexterity which it now exhibits, or that enables Medicine to conquer all the maladies to which mankind is subject, those plagues and pestilences alone excepted which seem destined by Providence to perform the office of special judgments, and to remain incura- ble scourges of the human race ? What is it that disarms the lightning of its power, elevates valleys and depresses hills, cleaves the ocean, and ascends the sky ? What is it that we behold in every elegant and useful art, in the diversified hues that attract the eye, in the dresses and decorations of our persons and our houses, in every implement of husbandry or war, in the subterraneous aqueduct, or the heaven-kissing monument, in the animated canvas, or speaking marble ? What are all these but the varied triumphs of the human mind ? And who can estimate their value ? To say nothing of that AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 23 absolute state of barbarism, '^ when wild in woods the noble savage ran/' w^ho can measure the difference between the splendid illumination of the nineteenth century and that glim- mering condition of society ; when astrology assumed to regu- late events, and alchymy to transmute all other metals into gold; when ignorance was affrighted by an ignis fatuus, and comets and meteors were regarded as the immediate precursors of the dissolution of the world ] when science was considered synonymous with magic, and punished as the evidence of atro- cious crimes; when superstition occupied the seat of justice, and guilt or innocence was established by the righteous deci- sions of fire or water, or the infallible ordeal of military prowess? Science is, indeed, to the moral, what the great orb of day is to the natural world ; and as the extinction of the latter would necessarily be followed by universal darkness and decay, so, were art and science lost, society would inevitably relapse into the savagism from which it is their proud boast to have elevated and redeemed it. KNOWLEDGE WITHOUT RELIGION.— II, L. Pincknet. But what is knowledge without religion ? Of what avail will it be that thou make the voyage of life with favoring currents and propitious gales, if it only bring you at last to an undone eternity ? Of what avail will be all the honors and enjoyments of this transitory scene, if they are destined to terminate in that unending misery which no eloquence can soothe, no learning alleviate, no applause divert? What then 1 Are you fond of roaming in the fair fields of literature, and can you not be persuaded to cultivate the sacred as well as the profane? Is there no flowery height but Helicon, no golden stream but Plermes ? Is there no virtue but in the dreams of Plato, no immortality but in the hopes of Socrates, no henven but P]lysium ? Have you no desire to explore the exquisite beauties of Lebanon or Carmel, or to drink of the pure water of 24 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. ^' Siloa's brook, that flows fast by the oracles of God" ? Is there nothing in the Bible that can enlarge your understand- ings, elevate your imaginations, or refine your tastes ? Has it no sublimity of conception, no richness of imagery, no power of description ? Has it nothing useful in ethics, or valuable in philosophy — nothing instructive as a history, or interesting as a system of religion — nothing elevated in its poetry, or affecting in its incidents, or important in its moral ? Have you determined to know no God, except he be found in the ancient mythology — no religion, unless it has been proved fabulous — no morality, unless it be notoriously defective as to the true springs of virtue and the true principjes of duty ? Are you only solicitous for the esteem of men, and utterly regardless of the opinion of your Maker, anxious to obtain earthly fame and wisdom, but caring nothing for ''that honor which cometh from on high," or for that knowledge which alone can " make you wise unto salvation'^ ? Can this be so ? Was it for this that you were educated here, and that you intend to prosecute the improvement of your minds ? Is it indeed the only object of your future lives, so to acquire everything useful and beau- tiful, except religion, that you may be decorated like victims for the sacrifice, and sink for ever, hke a richly-freighted bark, to the fathomless abyss of eternal woe ? Bear with me for a moment I Are you revelling in youthful vigor, and know you not that the domain of death is peopled with the young ? Do you anticipate a long career of activity and usefulness, and know you not that there is nothing more uncertain than the frail tenure of human existence ? Are you proud of your talents, glowing with the ardor of ambition, and longing for distinction in the race of life, and know you not that the most buoyant heart may soon be chilled by the icy touch of the destroyer, and the most eloquent tongue be hushed for ever iu ^ the silent tomb ? *' Begin — be bold, and venture to be wise; He who defers this work from day to day Does on a river's bank expecting stay, Till the whole stream that stopped him shall be gone, Which runs, and, as it runs, for ever shall run on." AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 25 THE GLORY OF CHRlSTIANITY.~lou^ xMcLaurin. Christianity communicates a glory to all other objects, accordiDg as they have any relation to it. It adorns the uni- verse; it gives a lustre to nature and to Providence; it is the greatest glory of this lower world, that its Creator was for awhile its inhabitant. A poor landlord thinks it a lasting honor to his cottage that he has once lodged a prince or emperor. With how much more reason may our poor cottage, this earth, be proud of it, that the Lord of glory was its tenant from His birth to His death ! yea, that he rejoiced in the habitable parts of it before it had a beginning, even from everlasting ! It is the glory of the world that He who formed it dwelt on it; of the air. that He breathed in it; of the sun, that it shone on Him : of the ground, that it bore him ; of the sea, that He walked on it ; of the elements, that they nourished Him ; of the waters, that they refreshed Him; of us men, that He lived and died among us, yea, that he lived and died for us ; that he assumed our flesh and blood, and carried it to the highest heavens, where it shines as the eternal ornament and wonder of the creation of Grod. It gives also a lustre to Providence It is the chief event that adorns the records of time, and enlivens the history of the universe. It is the glory of the various great lines of Providence, that they point at this as their centre ; that they prepared the way for its coming; that after its coming they are subservient to the ends of it, though in a way indeed to us at present mysterious and unsearchable. Thus we know that they either fulfil the promises of the crucified Jesus, or His threatenings ; and show either the happiness of receiving Him, or the misery of rejecting Him. BELIEF IN GOD'S EXISTENCE,— Jonathan Maxcy. *Never be tempted to disbelieve the existence of God, when everything around you proclaims it in a language too plain not 3 26 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. to be understood. Never cast your eyes on creation without having your souls expanded with this sentiment, " There is a God I^^ When you survey this globe of earth, with all its appendages — Avhen you behold it inhabited by numberless ranks of creatures, all moving in their proper spheres, all verging to their proper ends, all animated by the same great source of life, all supported at the same great bounteous table ; when you behold not only the earth, but the ocean and the air, swarming with living creatures, all happy in their situation — when you behold yonder sun darting a vast blaze of glory over the heavens, garnishing mighty worlds, and waking ten thousand songs of praise — when you behold unnumbered systems diffused through vast immensity, clothed in splendor, and rolling in majesty — when you behold these things, your affections will rise above all the vanities of time, your full souls will struggle with ecstasy, and your reason, passions, and feelings, all united, will rush up to the skies, with a devout acknowledgment of the wisdom, existence, power, and goodness of God. Let us behold Him, let us wonder, praise, adore. These things will make us happy. They will wean us from vice, and attach us to virtue. TEE GOSPEL FOR THE POOR.— John ^, Mason. From the remotest antiquity there have been, in all civilized nations, men who devoted themselves to the increase of know- ledge and happiness. Their speculations were subtile, their arguings acute, and many of their maxims respectable. But to whom were their instructions addressed ? To casual visitors, to selected friends, to admiring pupils, to privileged orders ! In some countries, and on certain occasions, when vanity was to be gratified by the acquisition of fame, their appearances were more public. For example, one read a poem, another a history, and a third a play, before the crowd assembled at the Olympic games. To be crowned there, was, in the proudest period of Greece, the summit of glory and ambition. But what did this, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 27 what did the mysteries of pagan worship, or what the lectures of pagan philosophy, avail the people? Sunk in ignorance, in poverty, in crime, the}? lay neglected. Age succeeded age, and school to school ; a thousand sects and systems rose, flourished, and fell ; but the degradation of the multitude remained. Not a beam of light found its way into their darkness, nor a drop of consolation into their cup. Indeed a plan of raising them to the dignity of rational enjoyment, and fortifying them against the disasters of life, was not to be expected : for as nothing can exceed the contempt in which they were held by the professors of wisdom ; so any human device, however captivating in theory, would have been worthless in fact. The most sagacious heathen could imagine no better means of improving them than the precepts of his philosophy. Now, supposing it to be ever so salutary, its benefits must have been confined to a very few; the notion that the bulk of mankind may become philosophers, being altogether extravagant. They ever have been, and, in the nature of things, ever must be, unlearned. Besides, the grovelling superstition and brutal manners of the heathen pre- sented insuperable obstacles. Had the plan of their cultivation been even suggested, especially if it comprehended the more abject of the species, it would have been universally derided, and would have merited derision, no less than the dreams of modern folly about the perfectibility of man. A GUILTY CONSCIENCE BETRAYS ITSELF,---Webster. An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own bouse, and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder for mere pay. The fatal blow is given, and the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death. It is the assassin^s purpose to make sure work. He explores the wrist for the pulse. He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer. It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He 28 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. has done the murder — no eye has seen him, nor ear has heard him. The secret is his own — and it is safe. Ah, gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake ! Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds everything as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that " murder will out '^ True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of Heaven, by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially in a case exciting so much attention as this, dis- covery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance connected with the time and place ; a thousand ears catch every whisper ] a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself 3 or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of con- science to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possesvsion, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sym- pathy or assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him ; and, like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 29 still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed — it will \}Q confessed — there is no refuge from confession but suicide — and suicide is confession ! THE IMPORTANT TRUTH— U. Melvill. If there be a cause of exultation, a motive for rejoicing, to a fallen creature, must it not be that he is still dear to his Maker, that notwithstanding all which he hath done to provoke Divine "^rath, and make condemnation inevitable, he is regarded witli unspeakable tenderness by the Almighty, watched over with a solicitude, and provided for at a cost which could not be ex- ceeded if he were the noblest and purest of the beings that throng the intelligent universe ? Teach me this, and you teach me everything. And this I learn from Christ crucified. I learn it indeed in a measure from the sun as he walks the firmament, and warms the earth into fertility. I learn it from the moon, as she gathers the stars into her train, and throws over creation her robe of soft light. I gather it from the various operations and provisions of nature, from the faculties of the mind, from the capacities of the soul. But if I am taught by these, the teaching after all is but imperfect and partial : they do indeed give testimony that man is not forgotten of God ; but the testimony would be equally given, were there the power of receiving it, to the brute creation, to the innume- rable animated tribes which are to perish at death. It is not a testimony, at least not a direct testimony, that we are cared for as immortal beings, and can be pardoned as sinful. It is not a testimony that He who is of purer eyes than to look upon iniquity, can receive into favor even the vilest of those who have thrown off allegiance, and manifest such an exuberance of loving-kindness towards the guilty, as will not leave the worst case without hope and without succor. Show us what will give such testimony as this, and sun, and moon, and the granaries of nature, and the workings of intellect will drop, in compari- son, their office of instructor. 3^ 30 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. IRELAND.— D. O'Connell. -^ I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this House. I do not rise to supplicate you to be merciful toward the nation to which I belong; toward a nation which, though subject to England^ yet is distinct from it. It is a distinct nation. It has been treated as such by this country, as may be proved by history, and by seven hundred years of tyranny. I call upon this House, as you value the liberty of England, not to allow the present nefarious bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties of England, the liberty of the press, and of every other insti- tution dear to Englishmen. Against the bill I protest, in the name of the Irish people, and in the face of Heaven. I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful assertions, that grievances are not to be complained of; that our redress is not to be. agitated; for, in such cases, remonstrances cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what tyranny the people suffer. The clause which does away with trial by jury ; what is it, if it is not the establishment of a revolutionary tribunal ? It drives the judge from his bench. It does away with that which is more sacred than the throne itself; that for which your king reigns, your lords deliberate, your commons assemble. If ever I doubted before of the success of our agitation for repeal, this bill, this infamous bill— the way in which it has been received by the House ; the manner in which its opponents have been treated ; the personalities to which they have been subjected; the yells with which one of them has this night been greeted — all these things dissipate my doubts,, and tell me of its complete and early triumph. Do you think those yells will be forgotten ? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and insulted country; that they will not be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty hills ? O, they will be heard there ! Yes; and they will not be forgotten. The youth of Ireland will bound with indignation ; they will say, " We are eight AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 31 millions ; and you treat us thus, as though we were no more to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey V^ I have done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience and my country. I have opposed this measure throughout. I now protest against it as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, unjust; as establishing an infamous precedent, by retailing crime against crime ; as tyrannous, cruelly and vindictively tyrannous ! CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES.— Uamilt on. After all our doubts, our suspicions, and speculations on the subject of government, we must return at last to this important truth — that, when we have formed a constitution upon free principles, when we have given a proper balance to the different branches of administration, and fixed representa- tion upon pure and equal principles we may with safety furnish it with all the powers necessary to answer, in the most anriple manner, the purposes of government. The great desiderata are a free representation and mutual checks. When these are obtained, all our apprehensions of the extent of powers are unjust and imaginary. What, then, is the structure of this constitution ? One branch of the legislature is to be elected by the people — by the same people who choose your state repre- sentatives. Its members are to hold their office two years, and then return to their constituents. Here, sir, the people govern. Here they act by their immediate representatives. You have also a Senate, constituted by your state legislatures — by men in whom you place the highest confidence, — and forming another representative branch. Then, again, you have an executive magistrate, created by a form of election which merits universal admirati-on. In the form of this government, and in the mode of legisla- tion, you find all the checks which the greatest politicians and the best writers have ever conceived. What more can reason- able men desire ? Is there any one branch in which the whole 32 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. legislative and executive powers are lodged ? No ! The legis- lative authority is lodged in three distinct branches^ properly balanced; the executive authority is divided between two branches ; and the judicial is still reserved for an independent body, who hold their office during good behavior. This organi- zation is so complex, so skilfully contrived, that it is next to impossible that an impolitic or wicked measure should pass the great scrutiny with success. Now, what do gentlemen mean by coming forward and declaiming against this government? Why do they say we ought to limit its powers, to disable it, and to destroy its capacity of blessing the people? Has philosophy suggested, has experience taught, that such a government ought not to be trusted with everything necessary for the good of society? Sir, when you have divided and nicely balanced the departments of government; when you have strongly connected the virtue of your rulers with their interests ; when, in short, you have rendered your system as perfect as human forms can be, — you must place confidence ; you must give power. TRUTH.— Loni) Bacon. The first creature of God, in the works of the days, was the light of the sense, the last was the light of reason, and his Sab- bath work, ever since, is the illumination of his Spirit. First he breathed light upon the face of the matter, or chaos, then he breathed light into the face of man ; and still he breatheth and inspireth light into the face of his chosen. The poet, that beautified the sect, that was otherwise inferior to the rest, saith yet excellently well, '' It is a pleasure to stand upon the shore, and to see ships tost upon the sea; sl pleasure to vStand in the window of a castle, and to see a battle, and the adventures thereof below ; but no pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the vantnge-ground of truth (a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is always clear and serene), and to see the errors, and wanderings, and mists, and tempests, in the vale AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 33 below ;'' so always that this prospect be with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Certainly it is heaven upon earth to have a man's mind move in charity, rest in Providence, and turn upon the poles of truth. To pass from theological and philosophical truth to the truth of civil business, it will be acknowledged, even by those that practise it not, that clear and round dealing is the honor of man's nature, and that mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin of gold or silver, which may make the metal work the better, but it embaseth it ; for these winding and crooked courses are the goings of the serpent, which goeth basely upon the belly, and not upon the feet. There is no vice that doth so cover a man with shame as to be found false and perfidious ; and therefore Montaigne saith prettily, when he inquired the reason why the word of the lie should be such a disgrace, and such an odious charge, "If it be well weighed, to say, that a man lieth, is as much as to say that he is brave towards God, and a coward towards man ; for a lie faces God, and shrinks from man." Surely the wickedness of falsehood and breach of faith cannot possibly be so highly expressed as in that it shall be the last peal to call the judgments of God upon the generations of men : it being foretold, that when '^ Christ cometh,'' he shall not '^ find faith upon earth." AMEEICA.—Veillips, Search creation round, where can you find a country that presents so sublime a view, so interesting an anticipation ? What noble institutions ! What a comprehensive policy ! What a wise equalization of every political advantage ! The oppressed of all countries, the martyrs of every creed, the innocent victim of despotic arrogance or superstitious frenzy, may there find refuge; his industry encouraged, his piety respected, his ambi- tion animated ; with no restraint but those laws which are the same to all, and no distinction but that which his merit may c 34 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. originate. Who can deny tliat the existence of such a country presents a subject for human congratulation ! AVho can deny that its gigantic advancement offers a field for the most rational conjecture ! At the end of the very next century, if she pro- ceeds as she seems to promise, what a wondrous spectacle may she not exhibit ! Who shall say for what purpose mysterious Providence may not have designed her I Who shall say that when in its follies or its crimes the old world may have buried all the pride of its power, and all the pomp of its civilization, human nature may not find its destined renovation in the new ! when its temples and its trophies shall have mouldered into dust, — when the glories of its name shall be but the legend of tradition, and the light of its achievements live only in song ; philosophy will revive again in the sky of her Franklin, and glory rekindle at the urn of her Washington. Is this the vision of romantic fancy ? Is it even improbable ? Is it half so improbable as the events, which, for the last twenty years, have rolled like succes- sive tides over the surface of the European world, each erasing the impressions that preceded it? Many I know there are, who will consider this supposition as wild and whimsical; but they have dwelt with little reflection upon the records of the past. They have but ill observed the never-ceasing progress of national rise and national ruin. They form their judgment on the deceit- ful stability of the present hour, never considering the innumer- able monarchies and republics, in former days, apparently as permanent, their very existence become now the subject of speculation — I had almost said of scepticism. I appeal to history ! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, can all the wealth of an universal commerce, can all the achievements of successful heroism, or all the establishments of this world's wisdom, secure to empire the permanency of its possessions ? Alas, Troy thought so once; yet the land of Priam lives only in song! Thebes thought so once; yet her hundred gates have crumbled, and her very tombs are but as the dust they were vainlj^ intended to commemorate! So thought Palmyra — where is she! So thought Persepolis, and now — AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 35 *' Yon waste, where roaming lions howl, Yon aisle, where moans the gray-eyed owl, Shows the proud Persian's great abode, Where sceptred once, an earthly god, His power-clad arm controlled each happier clime, Where sports the warbling muse, and fancy soars sublime." So thought the countries of Demosthenes and the Spartan ; yet Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted by the servile, mindless, and enervate Ottoman ! In his hurried march, Time has but looked at their imagined immortality, and all its vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps ! The days of their glory are as if they had never been ; and the island that was then a speck, rude and neglected in the barren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity of their commerce, the glory of their arms, the fame of their philosophy, the eloquence of their senate, and the inspiration of their bards ! Who shall say, then, contem- plating the past, that England, proud and potent as she appears, may not one day be what Athens is, and the young America yet soar to be what Athens was ! Who shall say, when the Euro- pean column shall have mouldered, and the night of barbarism obscured its very ruins, that that mighty continent may not emerge from the horizon, to rule, for its time, sovereign of the ascendant. Such, sir, is the natural progress of human operations, and such the unsubstantial mockery of human pride. RELIGIOUS LIBEETY.^Wm, Gaston, I AM opposed, out and out, to any interference of the state with the opinions of its citizens, and more especially with their opinions on religious subjects. Law is the proper judge of action, and reward or punishment its proper sanction. Reason is the proper umpire of opinion, and argument and discussion its only fit advocates. To denounce opinions by law is as silly, and 36 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. unfortunately mucli more tyrannical, as it would be to punish crime by logic. Law calls out the force of the community to compel obedience to its mandates. To operate on opinion by law, is to enslave the intellect and oppress the soul — to reverse the order of nature, and make reason subservient to force. But of all the attempts to arrogate unjust dominion, none is so per- nicious as the efforts of tyrannical men to rule over the human conscience. Keligion is exclusively an affair between man and his Grod. If there be any subject upon which the interference of human power is more forbidden than on all others, it is on religion. Born of Faith — nurtured by Hope — invigorated by Charity — looking for its rewards in a world beyond the grave — it is of Heaven, heavenly. The evidence upon which it is founded, and the sanctions by which it is upheld, are addressed solely to the understanding and the purified affections. Even He, from whom cometh every pure and perfect gift, and to whom religion is directed as its author, its end, and its exceedingly great reward, imposes no coercion on His children. They believe, or doubt, or reject, according to the impressions which the testimony of revealed truth makes upon their minds. He causes His sun to shine alike on the believer and the unbeliever, and His dews to fertilize equally the soil of the orthodox and the heretic. No earthly gains or temporal privations are to influence their judgment here, and it is reserved until the last day for the just Judge of all the earth to declare who have criminally refused to examine or to credit the evidences which were laid before them. But civil rulers thrust themselves in, and become God's avengers. Under a pretended zeal for the honor of His house, and the propagation of His Revelation, — Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod ; Rejudge His justice — are the God of God ; define faith by edicts, statutes, and constitutions; deal out lar- gesses to accelerate conviction, and refute unbelief and heresy by the unanswerable logic of pains and penalties. Let not religion be abused for this impious tyranny — religion has nothing to do with it. Nothing can be conceived more abhorrent from AM ERIC AX POPULAR SPEAKER. 37 the spirit of true religion tlian the hypocritical pretensions of kings, princes, rulers, and magistrates, to uphold her holy cause by their unholy violence. WAB AXD Pi:.-! Cr.— Sumner. Whatever may be the judgment of poets, of moralists, of satirists, or even of soldiers, it is certain that the glory of arms still exercises no mean influence over the minds of men. The art of war, which has been happily termed by the French divine, the baleful art by which men learn to exterminate one another, is yet held, even among Christians, to be an honorable pursuit ; and the animal courage, which it stimulates and develops, is prized as a transcendent virtue. It will be for another age, and a higher civilization, to appreciate the more exalted character of the art of benevolence. — the art of extending happiness and all good influences, by word or deed, to the largest number of mankind, — which, in blessed contrast with the misery, the degra- dation, the wickedness of war, shall shine resplendent the true grandeur of peace. All then will be willing to juin with the early poet in saying at least : — " Though louder fame attend the martial rage, 'Tis greater glory to reform the age." Then shall the soul thrill with a nobler heroism than that of battle. Peaceful industry, with untold multitudes of cheerful and beneficent laborers, shall be its gladsome token. Litera- ture, full of sympathy and comfurt for the heart of man. shall appear in garments of purer glory than she has yet assumed. Science shall extend the bounds of knowledge and power, adding unimaginable strength to the hands of men, opening innumerable resources in the earth, and revealing new secrets and harmonies in the skies. Art. elevated and refined, shall lavish fresh streams of beauty and grace. Charity, in streams of milk and honey, shall difi'use itself among all the habitations 4 88 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. of the world. Does any one ask for tlie signs of this approaching era? The increasing beneficence and intelligence of our own day, the broad-spread sympathy with human sufi*ering, the widening thoughts of men, the longings of the heart for a higher condi- tion on earth, the unfulfilled promises of Christian Progress, are the auspicious auguries of this Happy Future. As early voy- agers over untried realms of waste, we have already observed the signs of land. The green twig and fresh red berry have floated by our bark ; the odors of the shore fan our faces ; nay, we may seem to descry the distant gleam of light, and hear from the more earnest observers, as Columbus heard, after midnight, from the mast-head of the Pinta, the joyful cry of Land ! Land ! and, lo ! a new world broke upon his early morn- ing gaze. SCIENCE AND RELIGION-M. Hopkins. That onward movement in the march of creation, how grand it is ! How mysterious in its origin ! How inscrutable, how utterly beyond the scope of science are its issues ! Only after the dethronement of chaos, and during the first epoch in which there were orderly arrangements and recurrent movements, was science possible. Then she might have pitched her tent, and polished her glasses, and built her laboratory, and have begun her observations and her records. She might have counted every scale on the placoids, and every spot on the lichens, and every ring on the graptolites, and have analyzed the fog from every standing pool; and so have gone on thousands of 3^ears, feeling all the time that her tent was a house with stable founda- tions, and her recurring movements an inheritance for ever. '• Do you suppose, '^ she might have said, " that this fixed order will be broken up ?" '^ Do you not see that since the fathers fell asleep all things continue as they were T^ But that epoch came to its close. The placoids, and lichens, and graptolites, and all the science connected with them, were AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 39 wlielmed beneath the surface, to be known no more except as they might leave their record there. Then, again, in the second period, science might have gone the same round, and fallen into the same infidelity. And, indeed, from her own stand-point alone, how could she do otherwise ? The circular movement cannot speak of that which is to end it. And so it has been through the epochs. According to its own records, the coming up of the creation out of the past eternity has been as the march of an army that should move on by separate stages with recruits of new races and orders at the opening of each encampment. During those long days of Grod there was scope for science, and for a new one in each. In each, science could pitch the tent, and forage, and perfect the arrangement for the encampment; but she could not tell when the tents were to be struck, or where the army would march next. And so the movement has been onward till our epoch has come, and we have been called in as recruits. And now again science is busy with her fixed arrangements and recurring movements; but knows just as little as before of the rectilinear movement — of the direction and termination of this mighty march. It is within this movement^ and not in the sphere of science^ that our great interest lies. Belonging to arrange- ments and movements in this world, science can do much for us in this world, but she cannot regenerate the world, she can- not secure the interests which lie only in the rectilinear line of movement, and which are '-^ the one thing needful. ^^ Of that movement we can know nothing except through faith. Through that we may know. We believe there is one who has marshalled the hosts of this moving army, and who has the ordering of them, and that he has told us so much of this onward move- ment as we need to know; and here it is that we find that sphere of faith which we say is distinct from science, but not opposed to it. 40 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. OJSr RECOGNISING THE INDEPENDENCE OF GREECE. H. Clay. Are we so low, so base, so despicable, that we may not express our horror, articulate our detestation of the most brutal and ferocious war that ever stained earth or shocked high Heaven with the atrocious deeds of a brutal soldiery, set on by the clergy and followers of a fanatical and inimical religion, rioting in excess of blood and butchery, at the mere details of which the heart sickens ? If the great mass of Christendom can look coolly and calmly on while all this is perpetrated on a Christian people in their own vicinity, in their very presence,, let us at least show that in this distant extremity there is still some sensibility and sympathy for Christian wrongs and suffer- ings — that there are still feelings which can kindle into indig- nation at the oppression of a people endeared to us by every ancient recollection and every modern tie. But, sir, it is not first and chiefly for Greece that I wish to see this measure adopted. It will give them but little aid — that aid purely of a moral kind. It is, indeed, soothing and solacing in distress to hear the accents of a friendly voice. We know this as a people. But, sir, it is principally and mainly for America herself, for the credit and character of our common country, that I hope to see this resolution pass ; it is for our own unsullied name that I feel. What appearance, sir, on the page of history would a record like this make ? — '' In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and Saviour 1824, while all European Christendom beheld with cold, unfeeling apathy the unexampled wrongs and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was made in the Congress of the United States — almost the sole, the last, the greatest repository of human hope and of liuman freedom ; the representatives of a nation capable of bringing into the field a million of bayonets — while the freemen of that nation were spontaneously expressing its deep-toned feeling, its fervent prayer for Grecian success ; while the whole continent was rising, by one simultaneous motion, solemnly and anxiously AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 41 supplicating and invoking the aid of Heaven to spare Greece and to invigorate her arms ; while temples and senate houses were all resounding with one burst of generous sympathy ; in the year of our Lord and Saviour — that Saviour alike of Christian Greece and of us — a proposition was offered in the American Congress to send a messenger to Greece to inquire into her state and condition^ with an expression of our good wishes and our sympathies, and it was rejected I" Go home, if you dare — go home, if you can — to your constituents, and tell them that you voted it down. Meet, if you dare, the appalling countenances of those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declaration of your own sentiments ; that you cannot tell how, but that some unknown dread, some inde- scribable apprehension, some indefinable danger affrighted you; that the spectres of cimeters, and crowns, and crescents gleamed before you and alarmed you ; and that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by national independence, and by humanity. I cannot bring myself to believe that such will be the feeling of a majority of this House. COMMON THINGS IMPORTANT,—^. C. Winthrop. Scholars must condescend to deal with common thoughts, with common words, with common topics ; — or rather, they must learn to consider nothing as common or unclean whicli may contribute to the welfare of man, the safety of the repub- lic, or the glory of God. It is theirs by their efforts in the pulpit or at the bar, in the lecture-room, or the legislative hall, at the meetings of select societies, or at the grander gatherings of popular masses, in the columns of daily papers, in the pages of periodical reviews or magazines, or through the scattered leaves of the occasional tract or pamphlet, to keep a strong, steady current of sound, rational, enlightened sentiment always in circulation through the community. Let them remember that false doctrines will not wait to be corrected by ponderous 4* 42 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. folios or cumbrous quartos. The thin pamphlet, the meagre tract, the occasional address, the weekly sermon, the daily leader, — these are the great instruments of shaping and mould- ing the destinies of our country. In them the scholarship of the country must manifest itself. In them the patriotism of the country must exhibit itself. In them the morality and religion of the country must assert itself. '' The word in season,'^ — that word of which Solomon understood the beauty and the value, when he likened it to apples of gold in pictures of silver, — it is that which is to arrest error, rebuke falsehood, confirm faith, kindle patriotism, commend morality and religion, purify public opinion, and preserve the state. INDEPENDENCE MONUMENT,— Ke^^etb. Rayneh. [On the bill to '^ aid in the erection of a monument commemorative of the declaration of American independence," in the Senate of North Carolina, January 20, 1855.] The erection of this monument in Independence Square will strengthen and confirm in the minds of our people the conse- cration of a spot already hallowed in the hearts and affections of every lover of liberty in this land. Every one of those moral and intellectual giants, who there presided over our nation's birth, is gone to the spirit land. But their names and their memories live, and as time rolls on, the mythic legends of a distant future will associate their self-sacrificing achievements, their intellectual efforts, and their crowning triumph, with the idea of inspiration and of aid from on high. The golden fruits of that bouDtiful harvest, the seeds of which were sown by their hands, we are now reaping. The extension of our coun- try's limits; the rapid progress of our civilization, our freedom, our religion, and our laws; the triumphs of our arms; the advancement of our commerce ; our wonderful improvements in literature, in arts, and in industrial enterprise; in fact, the teeming wealth, and luxury, and comfort of our boundless AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 43 resources, and the numberless blessings with which kind Heaven has favored us, — for the germ and development of all these revolutionary benefactors, who appealed to Heaven for the rec- titude of their intentions, uttered the declaration, " Let this nation be free," and lo ! it was free. Sir, can we, their poste- rity, feel gratitude warm enough to requite the boon they bequeathed us ? Can we speak in language glowing enough to duly sound their praise ? Can we build monuments high enough to tell the story of their deeds ? But what we can do, let us do. Let us, in conjunction with our sister states of the Old Thirteen, — whose classic soil was bedewed with the blood of the martyrs of freedom, and in whose soil now rest their hallowed remains, — let us erect this monument on the site of our political Bethlehem, from whence were first heralded the glad tidings of our national salvation, from whence first went forth the warning to tyrants, and the assurance to the oppressed of the nations, that liberty was man's right, and to assert it was his duty. There let it stand till time shall be no more. In its massive strength, let it be emblematic of the hardy vigor and unterrified determination of those whose names maj^ be inscribed on its shaft. Let its peerless beauty reflect the purity of their motives and the devotion of their hearts. Let its heavenward-pointed summit represent the lofty aspirations of their souls, and suggest to the beholder the place of their reward and final rest. LIBE&TY THE MEED OF IiYTELLIGENCE.—Calkomn. Society can no more exist without government, in one form or another, than man without society. It is the political, then, which includes the social, that is his natural state. It is the one for which his Creator formed him, into which he is impelled irresistibly, and in which only his race can exist, and all his faculties be fully developed. Such being the case, it follows that any, the worst form of government, is better than anarchy, and that individual liberty or freedom must be subordinate to 44 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. whatever power may be necessary to protect society against anarchy within or destruction from without ; for the safety and well-being of society are as paramount to individual liberty as the safety and well-being of the race are to that of individuals ; and, in the same proportion, the power necessary for the safety of society is paramount to individual liberty. On the contrary, government has no right to control individual liberty beyond what is necessary to the safety and well-being of society. Such is the boundary which separates the power of government and the liberty of the citizen or subject in the political state, which, as I have shown, is the natural state of man, the only one in which his race can exist, and the one in which he is born, lives, and dies. It follows from all this that the quantum of power on the part of the government, and of liberty on that of individuals, instead of being equal in all cases, must necessarily be very unequal among different people, according to their different conditions. For just in proportion as a people are ignorant, stupid, debased, corrupt, exposed to violence within and danger without, the power necessary for government to possess, in order to preserve society against anarchy and destruction, be- comes greater and greater, and individual liberty less and less, until the lowest condition is reached, when absolute and despotic power becomes necessary on the part of the government, and individual liberty extinct. So, on the contrary, just as a people rise in the scale of intelligence, virtue, and patriotism, and the more perfectly they become acquainted with the nature of gov- ernment, the ends for which it was ordered, and how it ought to be administered, and the less the tendency to violence and disorder within and danger from abroad, the power necessary for government becomes less and less, and individual liberty greater and greater. Instead, then, of all men having the same right to liberty and equality, as is claimed by those who hold that they are all born free and equal, liberty is the noblest and highest reward bestowed on mental and moral development, combined with favorable circumstances. Instead, then, of lib- erty and equality being born with man, — instead of all men, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 45 and all classes and descriptions, being equally entitled to them, — they are high prizes to be won ; and are, in their most per- fect state, not only the highest reward that can be bestowed on our race, but the most difficult to be won, and, when won, the most difl&cult to be preserved. PENN'S ITOriF^.— Alonzo Potter, D.D. That trust in God, that simple love of Jesus and of those for whom he died, which prompted William Penn to come out to this new land, that he might make what he calls '^ the lioly ex- periment.'^ setting ''an example to the nations of a just and righteous government,^' that spirit of true and universal brother- hood which drew from him, as he stood unarmed and undefended under the great elm at Shakamaxon, and saw, '' as far as his eyes could carry,'' the painted and plumed children of the forest gazing upon him as a new and strange ruler; that love to Grod and man, which then impelled his great heart to say to them, ^* I will not call you brothers or children, but you shall be to me and mine as half of the same body;'' which two years later, when he left for England, prompted him to send to this city of brotherly love, which he had founded, the message, ^' And thou, Philadelphia, virgin of the province, my soul prays for thee, that faithful to the God of thy mercies in the life of righteous- ness, thou mayest be preserved unto the end :" — And again, when he wrote replying to the charge, that he had manifested, while here, restless ambition and lust of gain, and made this memorable prediction : '' If Friends here (^. €., in Pennsylvania) keep to God^ and in the justice, mercy, equity, and fear of the Lord, their enemies will be their footstool ; if not, their heirs and my heirs too, will lose all." Brethren ! Has our course as a people, been thus loyal to God ? Has it been true to this, our beginning — faithful to justice, mercy, and the fear of the Lord? If not, we may plume ourselves upon our wealth and enterprise, upon our far-reaching domain, upon our achievements in arts or 46 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. in arms ; but we should tremble, when we remember with whom, as a nation, we are to reckon. We should tremble, when we consider that his retribution is unerring for nations as for individuals, and that, while in the case of individuals, just punishment may wait to another life, in the case of nations it must fall here. REPUBLICAN GOVERNMENT.— Stonr. When we reflect on what has been, and is now, is it possible not to feel a profound sense of the responsibleness of this Re- public to all future ages ? What vast motives press upon us for lofty efforts ! What brilliant prospects invite our enthusiasm ! What solemn warnings at once demand our vigilance, and moderate our confidence ! The old world has already revealed to us, in its unsealed books, the beginning and end of all its own marvellous struggles in the cause of liberty. Greece, lovely Greece, *' the land of scholars, and the nurse of arms/' where sister republics, in fair processions, chanted the praises of liberty and the gods, where, and what is she ? For two thousand years the oppressor has bound her to the earth. Her arts are no more. The last sad relics of her temples are but the barracks of a ruthless soldiery ; the fragments of her columns and her palaces are in the dust, yet beautiful in ruin. Where are the republics of modern times, which clustered around immortal Italy ? Venice and Genoa exist but in name. The Alps, indeed, look down upon the brave and peaceful Swiss, in their native fastnesses; but the guarantee of their freedom is in their weakness, and not in their strength. The mountains are not easily crossed, and the valleys are not easily retained. We stand, the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last, experi- ment of self-government by the people. We have begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 47 the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices or luxuries of the old world. Such as we are, we have been from the beginning, — simple, hardy, intel- ligent, accustomed to self-government and self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us and any formidable foe. Within our own territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and many means of independence. The government is mild. The press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of success could be pre- sented ? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end ? What more is necessary, than for the people to preserve what they themselves have created ? Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of both oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Europe, and warmed the sunny plains of France, and the lowlands of Hol- land. It has touched the philosophy of Germany and the north, and, moving onward to the south, has opened to Greece the lessons of her better days. Can it be, that America, under such circumstances, can betray herself? that she is to be added to the catalogue of republics, the inscription of whose ruin is, — ^' They were, but are not." Forbid it, my countrymen ! forbid it, Heaven ! RIGHTEOUSNESS EXALTETH A NATIOK^Steyens. Young men, God has given you a good land, and has laid upon you responsibilities in connection with this land at once vast and solemn. The future of this land will be what the young men of this land shall make it. The Psalmist, in one of his magnificent passages, calls upon the pious Israelite to '^ walk about Zion and go round about her, tell the towers thereof, mark ye well her bulwarks, consider her palaces, that ye may teil it to the generation following, for this 48 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Grod is our God for ever and ever,'^ So, young men, I call upon you to walk about our American Zion and go round about her, tell the towers of her strength, mark the bulwarks which sup- port her freedom, consider the palaces of her glory : and were I called upon, on this day of our nation's independence, to indicate the towers, the bulwarks, the palaces which give to our land strength, beauty, glory, I should not point to our public build- ings, magnificent as they are ; nor to our army and navy, gallant and covered with laurels as they are ; nor to our territorial vast- ness, embracing as it does almost a continent; nor to our com- merce, our manufactures, our railroads, marvellous as these are, — but I would point you to the open Bible, the open door of the church, the open door of the school-house, the sacred ministry, the ordinances of grace, the wonderful power of the religious press, the banded associations of religion and benevo- lence, the unfettered right of conscience, and the reverence which, as a people, we pay to the Christian Sabbath ; these are the towers, the bulwarks, the palaces which confer on us a strength, a glory, and an influence such as God has given to no other nation under the whole heaven. Would you preserve and exalt this nation, send abroad the Bible, build up the church of the living God, infuse the principles of divine truth into every school, academy, and university, sustain the institution of the ministry, scatter the products of your religious press as so many leaves from the tree of life, conduct with vigor the great schemes of associated benevolence, preserve intact the rights of con- science, and keep holy the Sabbath day. Do these things, and our nation will have a righteous government, a righteous system of education, a righteous judiciary, a righteous literature, a righteous commerce, and in the individual man, the family group, the social circle, the civic community, the state, and the nation, there will prevail truth, to the exclusion of falsehood and error; peace, to the exclusion of revenge, bloodshed, and war ; love, to the exclusion of personal and national animosities and strifes; holiness, to the exclusion of every sin; justice, to the exclusion of all oppression ; the Christian graces. Faith, Hope, and Charity, more beautiful than the fabled graces of AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 49 classic mythology; and the Christian virtues, more lovely than the muses of Grrecian song, would adorn each heart, beautify each face, beam out from each eye ; Paradise would almost be restored to earth, and God would again come down in the cool of the day to walk with redeemed and sanctified men. THE FIRST GUN OF FREEDOM.— Everett. On the 19th of April the all-important blow was struck — the blow which severed the fated chain whose every link was bolted by an act of parliament, whose every rivet was closed up by an order in council, which bound to the wake of Europe, the brave bark of our youthful fortune, destined henceforth and for ever to ride the waves alone — the blow which severed the fated chain was struck. The blow was struck which will be felt in its consequence to ourselves and the family of nations till the seventh seal is broken upon the apocalyptic volume of the history of empires. The consummation of four centuries was completed. The life-long hopes and heart-sick visions of Colum- bus, poorly fulfilled in the subjugation of the plumed tribes of a few tropical islands and the distant glimpse of a continent, cruelly mocked by the fetters placed upon his noble limbs by his own menial, and which he carried with him into his grave, are at length more than fulfilled, when the new world of his discovery put on the sovereign robes of her separate national existence, and joined the great Panathenaic procession of the nations. The wrongs of generations were redressed. The cup of humiliation drained to the dregs by the old Puritan confessors and non-conformist victims of oppression ; loathsome prisons; blasted fortune; lips forbidden to open in prayer; earth and water denied in their pleasant native land; the separations and sorrow of exile ; the sounding perils of the ocean; the scented hedgerows and vocal thickets of the "old countrie'^ exchanged for the pathless wilderness ringing with the war-whoop and gleaming with the scalpingknife ; the secular insolence of colonial rule, checked by no periodical 50 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER, recurrence to the public will ; governors appointed on the other side of the globe that knew not Joseph ; the patronizing disdain of undelegated power; the legal contumely of foreign law, wanting the first element of obligations, the consent of the governed expressed by his authorized representative; and at length the last unutterable and burning affront and shame, a mercenary soldiery encamped upon the fair eminences of our cities; ships of war with springs on their cables moored in front of our crowded quays ; artillery planted open-mouthed in our principal streets, at the doors of our Houses of Assembly, their morning and evening salvos proclaiming to the rising and setting sun that we are the subjects and they the lords, — all these phantoms of the long colonial night swept off by the first sharp volley on Lexington green. WASHINGTON.— Charles Phillips. It is the custom of your board, and a noble one it is, to deck the cup of the gay with the garland of the great; and surely, even in the eyes of its deity, his grape is not the less lovely when glowing beneath the foliage of the palm-tree and the myrtle. — Allow me to add one flower to the chaplet, which, though it sprang in America, is no exotic. Virtue planted it, and it is naturalized everywhere. I see you anticipate me — I see you concur with me, that it matters very little what imme- diate spot may be the birth-place of such a man as Washing- ton. No people can claim, no country can appropriate him ; the boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared ; how bright in the brow of the firma- ment was the planet which it revealed to us 1 In the produc- tion of Washington, it does really appear as if nature was AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 51 endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual instances no doubt there were ; splendid exempliiScations of some single qualification. Caesar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal ^vas patient ; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely chef d/ oeuvre of the Grecian artist, to exhibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by disci- pline the absence of experience ; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage ; and such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, that to the soldier and the statesman he almost added the character of the sage ! a con- queror, he was untainted with the crime of blood ; a revolu- tionist, he was free from any stain of treason ; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the com- mand. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it. If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to assign him, whether at the head of her citizens or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after having emancipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost said to have created ? *' How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage ; All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, Far less than all thou hast forborne to be !" Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of par- tiality in his estimate of America. Happy, proud America ! the lightnings of heaven yielded to your philosophy I The temptations of earth could not seduce your patriotism ! 52 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. TEE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON.— Croate. The birthday of the '' Father of his Country I" May it ever be freshly remembered by American hearts. May it ever re- awaken in them a filial veneration for his memory ; ever rekindle the fires of patriotic regard to the country which he loved so well ; to which he gave his youthful vigor and his youthful energy, during the perilous period of the early Indian warfare; to which he devoted his life, in the maturity of his powers, in the field; to which, again, he offered the counsels of his wis- dom and his experience, as president of the convention that framed our constitution ; which he guided and directed while in the chair of state, and for which the last prayer of his earthly supplication was offered up, when it came the moment for him so well, and so grandly, and so calmly to die. He was the first man of the time in which he grew. His memory is first and most sacred in our love ; and ever, hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall freeze in the last American heart, his name shall be a spell of power and might* Fes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity which no man can share with him. It was the daily beauty and towering and matchless glory of his life, which enabled him to create his country, and, at the same time, secure an undying love and regard from the whole American people. " The first in the hearts of his countrymen V Yes, first ! He has our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly there were brave, and wise, and good men before his day in every colony. But the American nation, as a nation, I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud ejaculation, and it will be the last gasp of her expiring life. Yes, others of our great men have been appreciated — many admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. About and around him we call up no dissentient, and discordant, and dissatisfied elements — no sectional prejudice nor bias — no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 53 Yes, when the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm, and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that Prome- thean fire, that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his words have commended, which his exam- ple has consecrated. '' Where may the wearied eye repose, When gazing on the great. Where neither guilty glory glows. Nor despicable state ? Yes — one— the first, the last, the best. The Cincinnatus of the west, Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeathed the name of Washington, To make man blush there was but one." THE OBSTACLES TO CHEISTIAJSriTT.—CoLWELL. We believe that the outward manifestations of Christianity do not keep up with the circumstances of the age in which we live, nor with its intelligence ; and, above all, they do not cor- respond to the opportunities and privileges of the land in which we live. In every age since the Christian era, and in every country, there have been circumstances, external or internal, in the condition of the people, which have prevented the free expansion and proper growth of Christianity. Sometimes it has been a defective ecclesiastical system, sometimes the repress- ive character of the temporal governments and the superstition or improper education of the people ; but now, at this day and in this country, the Christian — whether statesman, man of science, or philosopher — may look in what direction and pur- sue what line of inquiry, religious or social, he pleases, when he is considering how he can most promote the interests of Christianity and the temporal well-being of his fellow-men. 5^ 54 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. LAFAYETTE' S VISIT TO AMERICA.—^, S. Prentiss. In 1824, on Sunday, a single ship furled her snowy sails in the harbor of New York. Scarcely had her prow touched the shore^ when a murmur was heard among the multitude, which gradually deepened into a mighty shout, and that shout was a shout of joy. Again and again were the heavens rent with the inspiring sound. Nor did it cease; for the loud strain was car- ried from city to city, and from state to state, till not a tongue was silent throughout this wide republic, from the lisping infant to the tremulous old man. All were united in one wild shout of gratulation. The voices of more than ten millions of freemen gushed up towards the sky, and broke the stillness of its silent depths. But one note and but one tone went to form this accla- mation. Up in those pure regions clearly and sweetly did it sound — " Honor to Lafayette ! Welcome to the nation's guest !'' It was Lafayette, the war-worn veteran, whose arrival upon our shores had caused this wide-spread, this universal joy. He came among us to behold the independence and the freedom which his young arm had so well assisted in achieving; and never before did eye behold, or heart of man conceive, such homage paid to virtue. His whole stay amongst us was a continued triumph. Every day's march was an ovation. The United States became for months one great festive hall. People forgot the usual occupa- tions of life, and crowded to behold the benefactor of mankind. The iron-hearted, gray-haired veterans of the revolution thronged around him, to touch his hand, to behold his face, and to call down Heaven's benison upon their old companion in arms. Lisping infancy and garrulous age, beauty, talents, wealth, and power, all for awhile forsook their usual pursuits, and united to pay a willing tribute of gratitude and welcome to the nation's guest. The name of Lafayette was upon every lip, and wherever was his name, there too was an invocation for blessings on his head. What were the triumphs of the classic ages, compared with this unbought love and homage of a mighty people ? Take them in Rome's best days, when the invincible generals of the AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 55 Eternal City returned from their foreign conquests with captive kings bound to their chariot wheels, and the spoils of nations in their train — followed by their stern and bearded warriors, and surrounded by the interminable multitudes of the seven-hilled city shouting a fierce welcome home — what was such a triumph, compared with that of Lafayette ? Not a single city, but a whole nation rising as one man, and greeting him with an affectionate embrace. One single day of such spontaneous homage were worth whole years of courtly adulation j one hour might well reward a man for a whole life of danger and of toil. Then^ too, the joy with which he must have viewed the prosperity of the people for whom he had so heroically struggled — to behold the nation which he had left a little child now grown up in the full proportions of lusty manhood — to see the tender sapling, which he had left with hardly shade enough to cover its own roots, now waxing into the sturdy and unwedgeable oak, beneath whose grateful um- brage the oppressed of all nations find shelter and protection. That oak still grows on in its majestic strength, and wider and wider still extend its mighty branches. But the hand that watered and nourished it while yet a tender plant is now cold; the heart that watched with strong affection its early growth has ceased to beat. IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICAN SAILORS.— Clay. If Great Britain desires a mark, by which she can know her own subjects, let her give them an ear-mark. The colors that float from the mast-head should be the credentials of our seamen. There is no safety to us, and the gentlemen have shown it, but in the rule that all who sail under the flag (not being enemies), are protected by the flag. It is impossible that this country should ever abandon the gallant tars, who have won for us such splendid trophies. Let me suppose that the Grenius of Columbia should visit one of them in his oppressor's prison, and attempt to reconcile him to his forlorn and wretched condition. She 66 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. would say to hiDi, in the language of gentlemen on tlie other side: ''Great Britain intends you no harm; she did not mean to impress you, but one of her own subjects; having taken you by mistake, I will remonstrate, and try to prevail upon her, by peaceable means, to release you, but I cannot, my son, fight for you/" If he did not consider this mere mockery, the poor tar would address her judgment and say, " You owe me^ my country, protection ; I owe you, in return, obedience. I am no British subject, I am a native of old Massachusetts, where live my aged father, my wife, my children. I have faithfully discharged my duty. Will you refuse to do yours V^ Appealing to her pas- sions, he would continue : " !• lost this eye in fighting under Truxtun, with the Insurgente; I got this scar before Tripoli; I broke this leg on board the Constitution, when the Guerriere struck. ^^ If she remained still unmoved, he would break out, in the accents of mingled distress and despair : — '' Hard, hard is my fate ! once I freedom enjoyed, Was as happy as happy could be ! Oh ! how hard is my fate, how galling these chains !" I will not imagine the dreadful catastrophe to which he would be driven by an abandonment of him to his oppressor. It will not be, it cannot be, that his country will refuse him protection. TOLERANT CHISTIANITY THE LAW OF THE LAND. Webster. General principles and public policy are sometimes estab- lished by constitutional provisions, sometimes by legislative enactments, sometimes by judicial decisions, and sometimes by general consent. But how, or when it may be established, there is nothing that we look for with more certainty than this gene- ral principle, that Christianity is part of the law of the land. This was the case among the Puritans of England, the Episco- palians of the Southern States, the Pennsylvania Quakers, the Baptists, the mass of the followers of Whitfield and Wesley, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 57 and the Presbyterians — all — all brought and all adopted this great truth — and all have sustained it. And ^Yhere there is any religious sentiment amongst men at all, this sentiment incorporates itself with the law. Everything declares it! The massive Cathedral of the Catholic ] the Episcopalian Church, with its lofty spire pointing heavenward ] the plain temple of the Quaker; the log-church of the hardy pioneer of the wilder- ness; the mementos and memorials around and about us — the graveyards — their tombstones and epitaphs — their silent vaults — their mouldering contents — all attest it. The dead ]yrove it as well as the living I The generation that is gone before speak to it, and pronounce it from the tomb 1 Vv^e feel it 1 All, all proclaim that Christianity — general, tolerant Christianity — Christianity independent of sects and parties — that Christianity to which the sword and the faggot are unknown — general, tole- rant Christianity, is the law of the land ! THE TRUE SECRET OF ORATORY.— Webster, "When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occa- sions, when great interests are at stake and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech, further than it is con- nected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce convic- tion. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. ^Yords and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it, — they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and dis- 58 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. gust men when their own lives, aad the fate of their wives, their children, and their country hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then^ patriotism is eloquent; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object, — this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something greater and higher than all eloquence, — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action ! THE SOPHISTRY OF INFID ELS, -^Uai.l. The infidels of the present day are the first sophists who have presumed to innovate in the very substance of morals. The dis- putes on moral questions hitherto agitated among philosophers have respected the grounds of duty, not the nature of duty itself ; or they have been merely metaphysical, and related to the history of moral sentiments in the mind, the sources and principles from which they were most easily deduced; they never turned on the quality of those dispositions and actions which were to be denominated virtuous. In the firm persuasion that the love and fear of the Supreme Being, the sacred obser- vation of promises and oaths, reverence to magistrates, obedience to parents, gratitude to benefactors, conjugal fidelity, and parental tenderness were primary virtues, and the chief support of every commonwealth, they were unanimous. The curse denounced upon such as remove ancient landmarks, upon those who call good evil, and evil good, put light for darkness, and darkness for light, who employ their faculties to subvert the eternal dis- tinctions of right and wrong, and thus to poison the streams of virtue at their source, falls with accumulated weight on the advocates of modern infidelity, and on them alone. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 59 REPUBLIC S,-l.^GKR^, The name of republic is ioscribed upon the most imperish- able monuments of the species, and it is probable that it will continue to be associated, as it has been in all past ages, with whatever is heroic in character, and sublime in genius, and elegant and brilliant in the cultivation of arts and letters. It would not be difficult to prove that the base hirelings who have so industriously inculcated a contrary doctrine have been com- pelled to falsify history and abuse reason. It might be asked, triumpantly, what land has ever been visited with the influences of liberty, that has not flourished like the spring ? What people has ever worshipped at her altars without kindling with a loftier spirit, and putting forth more noble energies ? Where has she ever acted that her deeds have not been heroic ? Where has she ever spoken that her eloquence has not been triumphant and sublime? With respect to ourselves, would it not be enough to say that we live under a form of government and in a state of society to which the world has never yet exhibited a parallel ? Is is then nothing to be free ? How many nations in the whole annals of human kind have proved themselves worthy of being so ? Is it nothing that we are republicans ? Were all men as enlightened, as brave, as proud as they ought to be, would they sufi'er themselves to be insulted with any other title ? Is it nothing that so many independent sovereignties should be held together in such a confederacy as ours ? What does history teach us of the difficulty of instituting and maintaining such a polity, and of the glory that of consequence ought to be given to those who enjoy its advantages in so much perfection and on so grand a scale ? For can anything be more striking and sublime than the idea of an imperial republic, spreading over an extent of territory more immense than the empire of the Caesars, in the accumulated conquests of a thousand years — without prefects, or proconsuls, or publicans — founded in the maxims of common sense — employing within itself no arms but those of reason — and known to its subjects only by the blessings 60 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. it bestows or perpetuates, yet capable of directing agaiost a foreign foe all the energies of a military despotism — a republic in which men are completely insignificant, and principles and laws exercise, throughout its vast dominion, a peaceful and irresistible sway, blending in one divine harmony such various habits and conflicting opinions, and mingling in our institutions the light of philosophy with all that is dazzling in the associa- tions of heroic achievement and extended domination, and deep-seated and formidable power ! LIFE IS AN EDUCATION.— Robertson, Life is an education. The object for which you educate your son is to give him strength of purpose, self-command, discipline of mental energies ; but you do not reveal to your son this aim of his education; you tell him of his place in his class, of the prizes at the end of the year, of the honors to be given at college. These are not the true incentives to knowledge ; such incen- tives are not the highest — they are even mean, and partially injurious; yet these mean incentives stimulate and lead on, from day to day, and from year to year, by a process the principle of which the boy himself is not aware of. So does God lead on, through lifers unsatisfying and false reward, ever educating : Canaan first; then the hope of a E^edeemer; then the millennial glory. Now, what is remarkable in this is, that the delusion continued to the last; they all died in faith, not having received the promises ; all were hoping up to the very last, and all died in faith — not in realization; for thus God has constituted the human heart. It never will be believed that this world is unreal. God has mercifully so arranged it that the idea of delusion is incredible. You may tell the boy or girl, as you will, that life is a disappointment; yet, however you may per- suade them to adopt your tone, and catch the language of your sentiment, they are both looking forward to some bright distant hope — the rapture of the next vacation, or the unknown joys AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 61 of the next season — and throwing into it an energy of expecta- tion which a whole eternity is only worth. You may tell the man who has received the heart-shock, from which in this world he will not recover, that life has nothing left; yet the stubborn heart still hopes on, ever near the prize, — " wealthiest when most undone \'' he has reaped the whirlwind, but he will go on still, till life is over, sowing the wind. EULOGIUM ON FE A NKL IK— Mm aby.a\j. Franklin is dead ! Restored to the bosom of the Divinity is that genius which gave freedom to America, and rayed forth torrents of light upon Europe. The sage whom two worlds claim — the man whom the history of empires and the history of science alike contend for — occupied, it cannot be denied, a lofty rank among his species. Long enough have political cabinets signalized the death of those who were great in their funeral eulogies only. Long enough has the etiquette of courts prescribed hypocritical mournings. For their benefactors only, should nations assume the emblem of grief; and the representa- tives of nations should commend only the heroes of humanity to public veneration. In the fourteen states of the confederacy. Congress has ordained a mourning of two months for the death of Franklin; and America is at this moment acquitting herself of this tribute of honor to one of the fathers of her constitution. Would it not become us, gentlemen, to unite in this religious act; to participate in this homage, publicly rendered at once to the rights of man and to the philosopher who has contributed most largely to their vindication throughout the world ? Antiquity would have erected altars to this great and powerful genius, who, to promote the welfare of mankind, comprehending both the heavens and the earth in the range of his thought, could at once snatch the bolt from the cloud and the sceptre from tyrants. France, enlightened and free, owes at least the ac- 6 62 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. knowledgment of her remembrance and regret to one of the greatest intellects that ever served the united cause of philoso- phy and liberty. I propose that it be now decreed that the National Assembly wear mourning, during three days, for Benjamin Franklin. WASHINGTOK-^B., Lee. First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen, he was second to none in the humble and endearing scenes of private life. Pious, just, humane, temperate, and sin- cere ; uniform, dignified, and commanding, his example was as edifying to all around him as were the effects of that example lasting. To his equals he was condescending ; to his inferiors kind ; and to the dear object of his affections exemplarily tender. Correct throughout, vice shuddered in his presence, and virtue always felt his fostering hand ; the purity of his private char- acter gave effulgence to his public virtues. His last scene comported with the whole tenor of his life : although in extreme pain, not a sigh, not a groan escaped him ; and with undisturbed serenity he closed his well-spent life. Such was the man America has lost ! Such was the man for whom our nation mourns ! Methinks I see his august image, and hear, failing from his venerable lips, these deep-sinking words : ^' Cease, sons of America, lamenting our separation : go on, and confirm by your wisdom the fruits of our joint counsels, joint efforts, and common dangers. Reverence religion ; diffuse know- ledge throughout your land; patronize the arts and sciences; let liberty and order be inseparable companions ; control party spirit, the bane of free government ; observe good faith to, and cultivate peace with all nations ; shut up every avenue to foreign influence ; contract rather than extend national connection ; rely on yourselves only; be American in thought and deed. Thus will you give immortality to that Union, which was the constant AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 63 object of my terrestrial labors. Thus will you preserve, undis- turbed to the latest posterity, the felicity of a people to me most dear: and thus will you supply (if my happiness is now aught to you) the only vacancy in the round of pure bliss high Heaven bestows/^ REPLY TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.—Vitt. The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honor- able gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny; but content myself with hoping that I may be one of those whose follies cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience. Whether youth can be imputed to a man as a reproach I will not assume the province of determin- ing; but surely age may become justly contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have passed away without improve- ment, and vice appears to prevail when the passions have sub- sided. The wretch, who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object either of abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his gray hairs should secure him from insult. Much more is he to be abhorred, who, as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and become more wicked with less temptation ; who prostitutes him- self for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country. But youth is not my only crime ; I am accused of acting a theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some pecu- liarity of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and language of another man. In the first sense, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only to be mentioned that it may be despised. I am at liberty, like every other man, to use my own language; and though, perhaps, I may have some ambition to please this gentle- man, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor very soli- 64 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. citously copy his diction or his mien, however matured by age or modelled by experience. But, if any man shall, by charging m.e with theatrical beha- vior, imply that I utter any sentiments but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain ; nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment he deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench themselves, nor shall any- thing but age restrain my resentment; age, which always brings one privilege — that of being insolent and supercilious without punishment. But, with regard to those whom I have offended, I am of opi- nion that, if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided their censure ; the heat that offended them was the ardor of conviction, and that zeal for the service of my country which neither hope nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, whoever may protect him in his villanies, and whoever may partake of his plunder. AMERICAN INFLUENCE.—RiLLiARD. One of England's own writers has said, '^ The possible des- tiny of the United States of America, as a nation of one hun- dred milHons of freemen, stretching from the Atlantic to the' Pacific, living under the laws of Alfred, and speaking the language of Shakspeare and Milton, is an august coneeption.^^ It is an august conception, finely embodied; and I trust in God that it will, at no distant time, become a reality. I trust that the world will see, through all time, our people living, not only under the laws of Alfred, but that they will be heard to speak throughout our wide-spread borders the language of Shakspeare and Milton. Above all is it my prayer that, as AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 65 long as our posterity shall continue to inhabit these mountains and plains, and hills and valleys, they may be found living under the sacred institutions of Christianity. Put these things together, and what a picture do they present to the mental eye ! Civilization and intelligence started in the East; they have travelled, and are still travelling westward ; but when they shall have completed the circuit of the earth, and reached the extremest verge of the Pacific shores, then, unlike the fabled god of the ancients, who dipped his glowing axle in the western wave, they will take up their permanent abode. Then shall we enjoy the sublime destiny of returning these blessings to their ancient seat ; then will it be ours to give the priceless benefits of our free institutions, and the pure and healthful light of the Gospel, back to the dark family which has so long lost both truth and freedom ] then may Christianity plant herself there, and while with one hand she points to the Polynesian isles, rejoicing in the late-recovered treasure of revealed truth, with the other present the Bible to the Chinese. It is our duty to aid in this great work. I trust we shall esteem it as much our honor as our duty. Let us not, like some of the T3ritish missionaries, give them the Bible in one hand and opium in the other, but bless them only with the pure word of truth. PERPETUAL VIGILANCE THE PRICE OF LIBERTY. Calhoun. We make a great mistake in supposing all people capable of self-government. Acting under that impression, many are anxious to force free governments on all the people of this continent, and over the world, if they had the power. It has been lately urged, in a very respectable quarter, that it is the mission of this country to spread civil and religious liberty over all the globe, and especially over this continent, even by force, if necessary. It is a sad delusion. None but a people advanced to a high state of moral and intellectual excellence are capable, 6* E 66 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. in a civilized condition, of forming and maintaining free govern- ments ; and, among those who are so far advanced, very few indeed have had the good fortune to form constitutions capable of endurance. It is a remarkable fact in the political history of man, that there is scarcely an instance of a free constitu- tional government which has been the work exclusively of fore- sight and wisdom. They have all been the result of a fortunate combination of circumstances. It is a very difficult task to make a constitution worthy of being called so. This admirable Federal Constitution of ours is the result of such a combina- tion. It is superior to the wisdom of any or of all the men by whose agency it was made. The force of circumstances, and not foresight or wisdom, induced them to adopt many of its wisest provisions. But of the few nations who have been so fortunate as to adopt a wise constitution, still fewer have had the wisdom long to preserve one. It is harder to preserve than to obtain liberty. After years of prosperity, the tenure by which it is held is but too often forgotten 3 and I fear, senators, that such is the case with us. There is no solicitude now for liberty. Who talks of liberty when any great question comes up ? Here is a question ' of the first magnitude as to the conduct of this war ; do you hear anybody talk about its effects upon our liberties and our free institutions ? No, sir. That was not the case formerly. In the early stages of our government, the great anxiety was, how to preserve liberty. The great anxiety now is for the attain- ment of mere military glory. In the one we are forgetting the other. The maxim of former times was, that power is always stealing from the many to the few ; the price of liberty ivas per- petual vigilance. They were constantly looking out and watch- ing for danger. Not so now. Is it because there has been any decay of liberty among the people ? Not at all. I believe the love of liberty was never more ardent ; but they have forgotten the tenure of liberty, by which alone it is preserved. We think we may now indulge in everything with impunity, as if we held our charter by ^' right divine" — from Heaven itself. Under these impressions we plunge into war, we con- AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. • 67 tract heavy debts, we increase the patronage of the executive, and we talk of a crusade to force our institutions of liberty upon all people. There is no species of extravagance which our people imagine will endanger their liberty in any degree. Sir, the hour is approaching, the day of retribution will come. It will come as certainly as I am now addressing the Senate ; and when it doe& come, awful will be the reckoning, heavy the responsibility somewhere. KEPLER'S DISCOVERY OF THE THIRD ZJL F!— Mitchel. Guided by some kind angel or spirit whose sympathy had been touched by the unwearied zeal of the mortal, Kepler re- turned to his former computations, and, with a heaving breast and throbbing heart, he detects the numerical error in his work, and commences anew. The square of Jupiter's period is to the square of Saturn's period as the cube of Jupiter^s distance is to some fourth term, which Kepler hoped and prayed might prove to be the cube of Saturn's distance. With trembling hand, he sweeps through the maze of figures ] the fourth term is obtained ; he compares it with the cube of Saturn's distance. They are the same ! — He could scarcely believe his own senses. He feared some demon mocked him. He ran over the work again and again — he tried the proportion, the square of Jupiter's period to the square of Mars' period as the cube of Jupiter's distance to a fourth fcerm, which he found to be the cube of the distance of Mars— till finally full conviction burst upon his mind : he had won the goal, the struggle of seventeen long years was ended, God was vindicated, and the philosopher, in the wild excitement of his glorious triumph, exclaims : — ^' Nothing holds me. I will indulge my sacred fury ! If you forgive me, I rejoice; if you are angry, I can bear it. The die is cast. The book is written, to be read either now, or by pos- terity, I care not which. It may well wait a century for a reader, since God has waited six thousand years for an ob- server 1" 68 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. More than two hundred years have rolled away since Kepler announced his great discoveries. Science has marched forward with swift and resistless energy. The secrets of the universe have been yielded up under the inquisitorial investigations of godlike intellect. The domain of the mind has been extended wider and wider. One planet after another has been added to our system ; even the profound abyss which separates us from the fixed stars has been passed, and thousands of rolling suns have been descried swiftly flying or majestically sweeping through the thronged regions of space. But the laws of Kepler bind them all: — satellite and primary — planet and sun — sun and system, — all with one accord proclaim, in silent majesty, the triumph of the hero philosopher. TEE FAMINE IN IRELAND.—^, S. Prentiss. There lies upon the other side of the wide Atlantic a beauti- ful island, famous in story and in song. It has given to the world more than its share of genius and of greatness. It has been prolific in statesmen, warriors, and poets. Its brave and generous sons have fought successfully in all battles but its own. In wit and humor it has no equal ; while its harp, like its his- tory, moves to tears by its sweet but melancholy pathos. In this fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrible of all those fearful ministers who fulfil his inscrutable decrees. The earth has failed to give her increase ] the common mother has forgotten her offspring, and her breast no longer affords them their accus- tomed nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly famine, has seized a nation with its strangling grasp ; and unhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, forgets, for a moment, the gloomy history of the past. In battle, in the fulness of his pride and strength, little recks the soldier whether the hissing bullet sing his sudden requiem, or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel. But he who dies of hunger wrestles alone, day after day, with his grim and AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 69 unrelenting enemy. He has no friends to cheer him in the terrible conflict ; for if he had friends, how could he die of hunger ? He has not the hot blood of the soldier to maintain him; for his foe, vampire-like, has exhausted his veins. Who will hesitate to give his mite to avert such awful results ? Give, then, generously and freely. Kecollect that in so doing you are exercising one of the most godlike qualities of your nature, and at the same time enjoying one of the greatest luxu- ries of life. We ought, to thank our Maker that he has permitted us to exercise equally with himself that noblest of even the divine attributes — benevolence. Go home and look at your family, smiling in rosy health, and then think of the pale, famine-pinched cheeks of the poor children of Ireland, and you will give according to your store, even as a bountiful Providence has given to you — not grudgingly, but with an open hand ; for the quality of benevolence, like that of mercy, " Is not strained ; It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice bless'd : It blesses him that gives, and him that takes." THE SETTLEMENT OF PENNSYLVANIA.— IL, D. Gilpin. If the foundation and settlement of Pennsylvania were planned and accomplished upon a system so benignant and just, alike to the red man and the emigrant, as to elicit the praise and wonder of the age, to what was it due but to his promises, made in advance and never swerved from, of just and gentle dealings towards the one, and, to the other, that they should " be governed by laws of their own making, so that they might be a free, and, if they would, a sober and industrious people,'^ possessing '^ all that good and free men could reasonably desire for the security and improvement of their own happiness'^ ? ^^ Let the Lord,^' he said, '^ guide me by His wisdom to honor His name, and to serve His truth and people, so that an example and a standard may be set up to the nations.^' 70 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. If the constitution of our state, now and always, has declared that no right of conscience, and no form or mode of religious worship, shall be controlled or interfered with, and requires, in offices of the highest trust, no religious qualification but a belief in the existence of the Supreme Being, and His power to punish or reward our actions, we proudly remember that this glorious principle is foremost in the earliest of our laws, voluntarily pro- claimed by Penn before he left the shores of England ; and that he, among all legislators, was the first to guarantee, by the enactments of his civil code, the full enjoyment of this Christian liberty to every one living in his province, '' who should confess and acknowledge one Almighty Grod to be the creator, upholder, and ruler of the world/^ THE PATRIOTISM OF THE WE ST—Cl ay. No portion of your population is more loyal to the Union than the hardy freemen of the West. Nothing can weaken or eradicate their ardent desire for its lasting preservation. None are more prompt to vindicate the interests and rights of the nation from all foreign aggression. Need I remind you of the glorious scenes in which they participated during the late war — a war in which they had no pecuHar or direct interest, waged for no commerce, no seamen of theirs ? But it was enough for them that it was a war demanded by the character and the honor of the nation. They did not stop to calculate its costs of blood or of treasure. They flew to arms ; they rushed down the valley of the Mis- sissippi with all the impetuosity of that noble river. They sought the enemy. They found him at the beach. They fought- they bled; they covered themselves and their country with immortal glory. They enthusiastically shared in all the transports occasioned by our victories, whether won on the ocean or on the land. They felt, with the keenest distress, whatever disaster befell us. No, sir, I repeat it, neglect, injury AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 71 itself cannot alienate the affections of the West from this gov- ernment. They cliog to it as to their best, their greatest, their last hope. You may impoverish them, reduce them to ruin, by the mistakes of your policy, but you cannot drive them from you. MAN'S IMMOETALITY.—Vrotjt. What is to become of man ? Is the being who, surveying nature, recognises to a certain extent the great scheme of the universe ; but who sees infinitely more which he does not com- prehend, and which he ardently desires to know; — is he to perish like a mere brute — all his knowledge useless; all his most earnest wishes ungratified ? How are we to reconcile such a fate with the wisdom — the goodness — the impartial justice — so strikingly displayed throughout the world by its Creator ? Is it consistent with any one of these attributes thus to raise hopes in a dependent being which are never to be realized — thus to lift, as it were, a corner of the veil — to show this being a glimpse of the splendor beyond — and after all to annihilate him ? With the character and attributes of the benevolent Author of the universe, as deduced from His works, such con- ceptions are absolutely incompatible. The question then recurs — What is to become of man ? That he is mortal, like his fellow-creatures, sad experience teaches him ; but does he, like them, die entirely ? Is there no part of him that, surviving the general wreck, is reserved for a higher destiny ? Can that, within man, which reasons like his immortal Creator — which sees and acknowledges His wisdom, and approves of His de- signs, be mortal like the rest ? Is it probable, nay, is it possible, that what can thus comprehend the operations of an immortal Agent, ^s not itself immortal? Thus has reasoned man in all ages ; and his desires and his feelings, his hopes and his fears, have all conspired with his reason to strengthen the conviction that there is something 72 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. within him which cannot die : that he is destined, in short, for a future state of existence, where his nature will be exalted and his knowledge perfected ; and where the great design of his Creator, commenced and left imperfect here below, will be COMPLETED. EULOGY ON HAMILTON.— ^OTT. He stood on an eminence, and glory covered him. From that eminence he has fallen — suddenly, for ever fallen. His inter- course with the living world is now ended ; and those who would hereafter find him must seek him in the grave. There, cold and lifeless, is the heart which just now was the seat of friendship. There, dim and sightless, is the eye whose radiant and enlivening orb beamed with intelligence; and there, closed for ever, are those lips on whose persuasive accents we have so often, and so lately, hung with transport. From the darkness which rests upon his tomb there proceeds, methinks, a light in which it is clearly seen that those gaudy objects which men pursue are only phantoms. In this light how dimly shines the splendor of victory ! how humble appears the majesty of grandeur! The bubble, which seemed to have so much solidity, has burst, and we again see that all below the sun is vanity. Approach, and behold, while I lift from his sepulchre its covering ! Ye admirers of his greatness, ye emulous of his talents and his fame, approach and behold him now. How pale ! How silent ! No martial bands admire the adroitness of his movements ; no fascinated throng weep, and melt, and tremble at his eloquence. Amazing change ! A shroud ! a coffin ! a narrow, subterraneous cabin ! This is all that now remains of Hamilton. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 73 THE RULE OF AMERICAN COiVZ>C^Cr.— Washington. The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign nations, is, in extending our commercial relations, to have with them as little political connection as possible. So far as we have already formed engagements, let them be fulfilled with perfect good faith. Here let us stop. Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have none, or a very remote relation. Hence she must be engaged in fre- quent controversies, the causes of which are essentially foreign to our concerns. Hence, therefore, it must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves, by artificial ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or the ordinary combinations and collisions of her friendships and enmities. Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us to pursue a different course. If we remain one people, under an efficient government, the period is not far off when we may defy material injury from external annoyance; when we may take such an attitude as will cause the neutrality we may at any time resolve upon, to be scrupulously respected ] when bellige- rent nations, under the impossibility of making acquisitions upon us, will not lightly hazard the giving us provocation; when we may choose peace or war, as our interest, guided by justice, shall counsel. SWITZERLAND, AN EXAMPLE,— IIe^hy. Switzerland consists of thirteen cantons expressly confede- rated for national defence They have stood the shock of four hundred years : that country has enjoyed internal tranquillity most of that long period. Their dissensions have been, com- paratively to those of other countries, very few. What has passed in the neighboring countries ? wars, dissensions, and intrigues — Grermany involved in the most deplorable civil war thirty years successively, continually convulsed with intestine 7 74 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. divisions, and harassed by foreign wars — France with her mighty monarchy perpetually at war. Compare the peasants of Swit- zerland with those of any other mighty nation ; you will find them far more happy : for one civil war among them, there have been five or six among other nations : their attachment to their country, and to freedom, their resolute intrepidity in their defence, the consequent security and happiness which they have enjoyed, and the respect and awe which these things produce in their bordering nations, have signalized those republicans. Their valor, sir, has been active ; everything that sets in motion the springs of the human heart, engaged them to the protection of their inestimable privileges. They have not only secured their own liberty, but have been the arbiters of the fate of other people. Here, sir, contemplate the triumph of republican governments over the pride of monarchy. I acknowledge, sir, that the necessity of national defence has prevailed in invigorat- ing their councils and arms, and has been, in a considerable degree, the means of keeping these honest people together. But, sir, they have had wisdom enough to keep together and render themselves formidable. Their heroism is proverbial. They would heroically fight for their government, and their laws. One of the illumined sons of these times would not fight for those objects. Those virtuous and simple people have not a mighty and splendid president, nor enormously expensive navies and armies to support. No, sir, those brave republicans have acquired their reputation no less by their undaunted intrepidity, than by the wisdom of their frugal and economical policy. Let us follow their example, and be equally happy. The honorable member advises us to adopt a measure which will destroy our bill of rights : for, after hearing his picture of nations, and his reasons for abandoning all the powers retained to the states by the confederation, I am more firmly persuaded of the impro- priety of adopting this new plan in its present shape. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 75 THE APPEAL TO ^i^J/^S'.— Dickinson. Our cause is just. Our uDion is perfect. Our internal re- sources are great, and, if necessary, foreign assistance is undoubt- edly attainable. AVe gratefully acknowledge, as signal instances of Divine favor towards us, that His providence would not permit us to be called into this severe controversy until we were grown up to our present strength, had been previously exercised in warlike operations, and possessed the means of defending our- selves. With hearts fortified by these animating reflections, we most solemnly, before God and the world, Declare that, exert- ing the utmost energy of those powers which our beneficent Creator has graciously bestowed upon us, the arms we have been compelled by our enemies to assume, we will, in defiance of every hazard, with unabating firmness and perseverance, employ for the preservation of our liberties; being with one mind resolved to die freemen rather than to live slaves. Lest this declaration should disquiet the minds of our friends and fellow-subjects in any part of the empire, we assure them that we mean not to dissolve that union which has so long and so happily subsisted between us, and which we sincerely wish to see restored. Necessity has not yet driven us into that desperate measure, or induced us to excite any other nation to war against them. We have not raised armies with ambitious designs of separating from Great Britain, and establishing independent states. We fight not for glory or for conquest. We exhibit to mankind the remarkable spectacle of a people attacked by unprovoked enemies, without any imputation or even suspicion of ofi*ence. They boast of their privileges and civilization, and yet profi'er no milder conditions than servitude or death. In our own native land, in defence of the freedom that is our birth-right, and which we ever enjoyed till the late violation of it — for the protection of our property, acquired solely by the honest industry of our forefathers and ourselves, against vio- lence actually oifered, we have taken up arms. We shall lay them down when hostilities shall cease on the part of the 76 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. aggressors, and all danger of their being renewed shall be removed, and not before. BRUTUS ON TEE DEATH OF (7J5J^^i?.— Shakspeare. Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause ; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor ; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly — any dear friend of Caesar's — to him I say, that Brutus' love to Csesar was not less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Csesar, this is my answer : Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Borne more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all freemen ? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was for- tunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him ) but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love ; joy, for his fortune; honor, for his valor; and death, for his ambition ! Who is here so base, that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Boman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. None y Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol : his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth : as which of you shall not ? With this I depart : That as I slew my best lover for the good of Bome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 77 AMENDMENTS TO THE CONSTITUTION— U^sry, 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, till it be amended ? Does it not insult your judgments to tell you — adopt first, and then amend ? Is your rage for novelty so great, that you are first to sign and seal, and then to retract ? Is it possible to conceive a greater solecism ? I am at a loss what to say. You agree to bind yourselves hand and foot — for 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 na- ture 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 descended, I beseech you; and although we are separated by everlasting, insuperable partitions, yet there are some virtuous 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 Eng- lishman, or who is acquainted with the English history, desire to prove these evils f 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 ihe faults too strong to be amended. Nothing but bloody war can alter them. See Ireland : that country groaning from century to century, without getting their government amended. Previous adoption 7* 78 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. was the fashion there. They sent for amendments from time to time, but never obtained them, though pres&ed by the severest oppression, 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 ob- tain 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 ? THE USE OE KNOWLEDGE.—CARm^AL -Wiseman, Whosoever shall try to cultivate a wider field, and follow^ from day to day, as humbly we have striven here to do, the constant progress of every science, careful ever to note the influence which it exercises on his more sacred knowledge, shall have therein such pure joy and such growing comfort as the disappointing eagerness of mere human learning may not sup- ply. Such a one I know not unto whom to liken, save to one who unites an enthusiastic love of Nature's charms to a sufficient acquaintance with her laws, and spends his days in a garden of the choicest bloom. And here he seeth one gorgeous flower, that has unclasped all its beauty to the glorious sun ; and there another is just about to disclose its modester blossom, not yet fully unfolded; and beside them, there is one only in the hand- stem, giving but slender promise of much display; and yet he waiteth patiently, well knowing that the law is fixed whereby it too shall pay, in due season, its tribute to the light and heat that feed it. Even so the other doth likewise behold one science after the other, when its appointed hour is come, and its ripening influences have prevailed, unclose some form which shall add to the varied harmony of universal truth, which shall recompense, to the full, the genial power that hath given it life, and, however barren it may have seemed at first, produce some- thing that may adorn the temple and altar of God's worship. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 79 And if he carefully register his own convictions, and add them to the collections already formed, of various, converging proofs, he assuredly will have accomplished the noblest end for which man may live and acquire learning — his own improve- ment and the benefit of his kind. For as an old and wise poet has written, after a wiser saint : — " The chief use then in man of that he knowes, Is his paines-taking for the good of all, Not fleshly weeping for our own made woes, Not laughing from a melancholy gall, Not hating from a soul that overflowes With bitterness breathed out from inward thrall ; But sweetly rather to ease, loose, or binde, As need requires, this frail, fallen human kinde." TEE DRINKING USAGES OF SOCIETY.— BisnoF Potter. The question, then, is not. What may have been proper in other days or other lands, in the time of Pliny or of Paul, but What is proper now and in our own land. The Apostle points us to a case in which to eat meat might cause one's brother to offend; and his own magnanimous resolution, under such cir- cumstances, he thus avows : ^' If meat make my brother to offend^ I will eat no meat while the world stands." Thus, what may at one time be but a lawful and innocent liberty, becomes at another a positive sin. The true question, then — the only prac- tical question for the Christian patriot and philanthropist, is this : " Intemperance abounds ! Ought not my personal influ- ence, whether by example or by precept, to be directed to its suppression ? Can it be suppressed while our present drinking usages continue ? In a country where distilled liquors are so cheap and so abundant, and where the practice of adulterating every species of fermented liquor abounds — in such a country, can any practical and important distinction be made between different kinds of intoxicating liquors ? If abstinence is to be practised at all as a prudential or a charitable act, can it have 80 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. tnucli practical value unless it be abstinence from all that can intoxicate ^'^ These questions are submitted, without fear, to the most deliberate and searching scrutiny. THE FUTURE GLORY OF AMERICA,— Rausay. When I anticipate in imagination the future glory of my country, and the illustrious figure it will soon make on the theatre of the world, my heart distends with generous pride for being an American. What a substratum for empire ! compared with which, the foundation of the Macedonian, the Roman, and the British sink into insignificance. Some of our large states have territory superior to the island of Great Britain, whilst the whole together are little inferior to Europe itself. Our inde- pendence will people this extent of country with freemen, and will stimulate the innumerable inhabitants thereof, by every motive, to perfect the acts of government, and to extend human happiness. I congratulate you on our glorious prospects. Having for three long years weathered the storms of adversity, we are at length arrived in view of the calm haven of peace and security. We have laid the foundations of a new empire, which promises to enlarge itself to vast dimensions, and to give happiness to a great continent. It is now our turn to figure on the face of the earth, and in the annals of the world. The arts and sciences are planted among us, and, fostered by the auspicious influence of equal governments, are growling up to maturity, while truth and freedom flourish by their sides. Liberty, both civil and religious, in her noontide blaze, shines forth with unclouded lustre on all ranks and denominations of men. Ever since the flood, true religion, literature, arts, empire, and riches have taken a slow and gradual course from east to west, and are now about fixing their long and favorite abode in this new western world. Our sun of political happiness is already risen, and hath lifted its head over the mountains, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 81 illuminating our hemisphere with liberty, light, and polished life. Our independence will redeem one quarter of the globe from tyranny and oppression, and consecrate it to the chosen seat of truth, justice, freedom, learning, and religion. We are laying the foundation of happiness for countless millions. Generations yet unborn will bless us for the blood-bought inheritance we are about to bequeath them. Oh ! happy times ! Oh I glorious days ! Oh ! kind, indulgent, bountiful Providence, that we live in this highly-favored period, and have the honor of helping forward these great events, and of suffering in a cause of such infinite importance ! EULOGY UPON JOHN C. CALHOUN— Webster. Sir, the eloquence of Mr. Calhoun, or the manner of his exhibition of his sentiments in public bodies, was part of his intellectual character. It grew out of the qualities of his mind. It was plain, strong, terse, condensed, concise ; sometimes impassioned, still always severe. Rejecting ornament, not often seeking far for illustration, his power consisted in the plainness of his propositions, in the closeness of his logic, and in the earnestness and energy of his manner. These are the qualities, as I think, which have enabled him through such a long course of years to speak often, and yet always command attention. His demeanor as a senator is known to us all — is appreciated, venerated by us all. No man was more respectful to others ; no man carried himself with greater decorum; no man with supe- rior dignity. I think there is not one of us but felt, when he last addressed us from his seat in the Senate, — his form still erect, with a voice by no means indicating such a degree of physical weakness as did in fact possess him, with clear tones, and an impressive, and, I may say, imposing manner, — who did not feel that he might imagine that he saw before us a senator of Rome, when Rome survived. Mr. President, he had the basis, the indispensable basis, of 82 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. all higli character, and that was, unspotted integrity, unim- peached honor and character. If he had aspirations, they were high, and honorable, and noble. There was nothing grovelling or low, or meanly selfish, that came near the head or the heart of Mr. Calhoun. Firm in his purpose, perfectly patriotic and honest, as I am sure he was, in the principles that he espoused, and in the measures that he defended, aside from that large regard for that species of distinction that conducted him to eminent stations for the benefit of the republic, I do not believe he had a selfish motive or selfish feeling. However, sir, he may have differed from others of us in his political opinions, or his political principles, those principles and those opinions will now descend to posterity under the sanction of a great name. He has lived long enough, he has done enough, and he has done it so well, so successfully, so honor- ably, as to connect himself for all time with the records of his country. He is now an historical character. Those of us who have known him here will find that he has left upon our minds and our hearts a strong and lasting impression of his person, his character, and his public performances, which, while We live, will never be obliterated. We shall hereafter, I am sure, indulge in it as a grateful recollection that we have lived in his age, that we have been his contemporaries, that we have seen him^ and heard him, and known him. We shall delight to speak of him to those who are rising up to fill our places. And when the time shall come when we ourselves shall go, one after another, in succession, to our graves, we shall carry with us a deep sense of his genius and character, his honor and integrity, his amiable deportment in private life, and the purity of his exalted patriotism. CAPITAL PUNISHMENT.— Et)W. Livingstox. History presents to us the magic glass on which, by looking at past, we may discern future events. It is folly not to read; it is perversity not to follow its lessons. If the hemlock had AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 83 not been brewed for feloDS in Athens, would the fatal cup have been drained by Socrates ? If the people had not been familiar- ized to scenes of judicial homicide, would France or England have been disgraced by the useless murder of Louis or of Charles ? If the punishment of death had not been sanctioned by the ordinary laws of those kingdoms, would the one have been deluged with the blood of innocence, of worth, of patriot- ism, and of science, in her revolution? Would the best and noblest lives of the other have been lost on the scaflFold in her civil broils ? Would her lovely and calumniated queen, the virtuous Malesherbes, the learned Condorcet — would religion, personified in the pious ministers of the altar, courage and honor, in the host of high-minded nobles, and science, in its worthy representative, Lavoisier — would the daily hecatomb of loyalty and worth — would all have been immolated by the stroke of the guillotine ; or Russell and Sidney, and the long succession of victims of party and tyranny by the axe ? The fires of Smithfield would not have blazed, nor, after the lapse of ages, should we yet shudder at the name of St. Bartholomew, if the ordinary ecclesiastical law had not usurped the attributes of divine vengeance, and by the sacrilegious and absurd doc- trine, that offences against the Deity were to be punished with death, given a pretext to these atrocities. Nor, in the awful and mysterious scene on Mount Calvary, would that agony have been inflicted, if by the daily sight of the cross, as an instru- ment of justice, the Jews had not been prepared to make it one of their sacrilegious rage. But there is no end of the examples which crowd upon the memory, to show the length to which the exercise of this power, by the law, has carried the dreadful abuse of it, under the semblance of justice. Every nation has wept over the graves of patriots, heroes, and martyrs, sacrificed by its own fury. Every age has had its annals of blood. 84 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER.' THE ILLUSTRIOUS TRIO OF STATESMEN.— Hilliard. As an orator, Mr. Clay stood unrivalled among the statesmen of our times ; and if the power of a statesman is to be measured by the control which he exerts over an audience, he will take rank among the most illustrious men who, in ancient or modern times, have decided great questions by resistless eloquence, Mr. Calhoun was the finest type of the pure G-reek intellect which this country has ever produced. His speeches resemble Grecian sculpture, with all the purity and hardness of marble, while they show that the chisel was guided by the hand of a master. Demosthenes transcribed the history of Thucydides eight times, that he might acquire the strength and majesty of his style, and Mr. Calhoun had evidently studied the orations of the great Athenian with equal fidelity. He had much of his force and ardor, and his bearing was so full of dignity that it was easy to fancy, when you heard him, that you were listening to an oration from the lips of a Roman senator who had formed his style in the severe schools of Greece. Mr. Webster's oratory reaches the highest pitch of grandeur. He combines the pure philosophical faculty of investigation, which characterized the Greek mind, with the athletic power and majesty which belonged to the Roman style. There is in his orations a blended strength and beauty surpassing anything to be found in ancient or modern productions. He stands like a statue of Hercules wrought out of gold. He has been some- times called the Demosthenes of this country; but the attributes which he displayed are not those which belonged to the Athenian orator. His speeches display the same power and beauty, and equal, if they do not surpass, in consummate ability, the noblest orations of Demosthenes ; but he wants the vehemence, the bold- ness, the impetuosity of the orator who wielded the fierce demo- cracy of Athens at his will, and who, in his impassioned harangues, *' shook the Arsenal, and fulmined over Greece.'^ Mr. Clay's oratory difi*ered from that of Mr. Webster and of Mr. Calhoun, and it was more efi'ective than that of either of his contemporaries. Less philosophical than the one^ and less AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 85 majestic than the other, he surpassed them both in the sway which he exerted over the assemblies which he addressed. Clear, convincing, impassioned, and powerful, he spoke the lan- guage of truth in its most commanding tones, and the deductions of reason uttered from his lips seemed to have caught the glow of inspiration. He realized Mr. Webster's#description of oratory : '^ The clear conception outrunning the deductions of logic; the high pur- pose; the firm resolve; the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye', informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward, to his object : this, this is eloquence ; or, rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence ; it is action — noble, sublime, godlike action.^' THE VALUE OF A NAVY.—^kykrd. God has decided that the people of this country should be a commercial people. You read that decree in the sea-coast of seventeen hundred miles which he has given you ; in the nume- rous navigable waters which penetrate the interior of the coun- try ; in the various ports and harbors scattered along your shores; in your fislieries; in the redundant productions of your soil; and more than all, in the enterprising and adventurous spirit of your people. It is no more a question whether the people of this country shall be allowed to plough the ocean, than it is whether they shall be permitted to plough the land. It is not in the power of this government, nor would it be if it were as strong as the most despotic upon the earth, to subdue the commercial spirit, or to destroy the commercial habits of the country. Young as we are, our tonnage and commerce surpass those of every nation upon the globe but one, and if not ^yasted by the deprivations to which they were exposed by their defenceless situation, and the more ruinous restrictions to which this govern- ment subjected them, it would require not many more years to have made the in the greatest in the world. Is this immense wealth always to be exposed as a prey to the rapacity of free- 86 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. booters ? Why will you protect your citizens and their property upon land, and leave them defenceless upon the ocean ? As your mercantile property increases, the prize becomes more tempting to the cupidity of foreign nations. In the course of things, the ruins and aggressions which you have experienced will multiply, nor will they be restrained while we have no appearance of a naval force. ^ You must and will have a navy ; but it is not to be created in a day, nor is it to be expected, that in its infancy, it will be able to cope foot to foot with the full-grown vigor of the navy of England. But we are even now capable of maintaining a naval force formidable enough to threaten the British commerce, and to render this nation an object of more respect and consideration. RETIREMENT FROM THE SENATE.— Clay. At the time of my entry into this body, which took place in December, 1806, I regarded it, and still regard it, as a body which may be compared, without disadvantage, to any of a similar character which has existed in ancient or modern times; whether we look at it in reference to its dignity, its powers, or the mode of its constitution ; and I will also add, whether it be regarded in reference to the amount of ability which I shall leave behind me when 1 retire from this chamber. In insti- tuting a comparison between the Senate of the United States and similar political institutions of other countries, of France and England for example, I am sure the comparison might be made without disadvantage to the American Senate. In respect to the constitution of these bodies : in England, with only the exception of the peers from Ireland and Scotland, and in France with no exception, the component parts, the members of these bodies, hold their places by virtue of no delegated authority, but derive their powers from the crown, either by ancient crea- tion of nobility transmitted by force of hereditary descent, or by new patents as occasion required an increase of their num- AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 87 bers. But here. Mr. President, we have the proud title of being the representatives of sovereign states or commonwealths. If we loo'k at the powers of these bodies in France and England, and the powers of this Senate, we shall find that the latter are far greater than the former. In both those countries thej have the legislative power, in both the judicial with some modifica- tions, and in both perhaps a more extensive judicial power than is possessed bj this Senate ; but then the vast and undefined and undefinable power, the treaty-making power, or at least a participation in the conclusion of treaties with foreign powers, is possessed by this Senate, and is possessed by neither of the others. Another power, too, and one of infinite magnitude, that of distributing the patronage of a great nation, which is shared by this Senate with the executive magistrate. In both these respects we stand upon ground difi'erent from that occu- pied by the Houses of Peers of England and of France. And, I repeat, that with respect to the dignity which ordinarily pre- vails in this body, and with respect to the ability of its members during the long period of my acquaintance with it, without arrogance or presumption, we may say, in proportion to its num- bers, the comparison would not be disadvantageous to us com- pared with any Senate either of ancient or modern times. THE CHARTER OF RVXXYMEDE.—Lort^ Chatham. My lords, I have better hopes of the constitution, and a firmer confidence in the wisdom and constitutional authority of this House. It is to j/our ancestors, my lords, it is to the English barons, that we are indebted for the laws and constitu- tion we possess. Their virtues were rude and uncultivated, but they were great and sincere. Their understandings were as little polished as their manners, but they had hearts to distin- guish right from wrong ; they had heads to distinguish truth from falsehood; they understood the rights of humanity, and they had spirit to maintain them. Mj lords, I think that history has not done justice to their 88 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. conduct, when tliey obtained from their sovereign that great acknowledgment of national rights contained in Magna Charta : they did not confine it to themselves alone, but delivered it as a common blessing to the whole people. They did not say, these are the rights of the great barons, or these are the rights of the great prelates : — No, my lords ] they said, in the simple Latin of the times, 7iuUus liher homo^ and provided as carefully for the meanest subject as for the greatest. These are uncouth words, and sound but poorly in the ears of scholars ; neither are they addressed to the criticism of scholars, but to the hearts of free men. These three words, nullus liber homo^ have a meaning which ioterests us all : they deserve to be remembered — they deserve to be inculcated in our minds — they are worth all the classics. Let us not, then, degenerate from the glorious exam- pie of our ancestors. Those iron barons (for so I may call them when compared with the silken barons of modern days) were the guardians of the people; yet their virtues, my lords, were never engaged in a question of such importance as the present. A breach has been made in the constitution — the battlements are dismantled — the citadel is open to the first invader — the walls totter — the constitution is not tenable. What remains, then, but for us to stand foremost in the breach to repair it^ or perish in it? REPLY TO THE CHARGE OF ^S CHINE S.—Bemostuehj^s, Had iEschines confined his charge to the subject of the pro- secution, I too would have proceeded at once to my justification of the decree. But since he has wasted no fewer words in the discussion of other matters, in most of them calumniating me, I deem it both necessary and just, men of Athens, to begin by shortly adverting to these points, that none of you may be induced by extraneous arguments to shut your ears against my defence to the indictment. To all his scandalous abuse of my private life, observe my plain and honest answer. If you know me to be such as he alleged — for I have lived nowhere else but . among you — let not AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 89 my voice be heard, however transcendent my statesmanship I Rise up this instant and condemn me 1 But if, in your opinion and judgment, I am far better and of better descent than my adversary ; if (to speak without offence) I am not inferior, I or mine, to any respectable citizen ) then give no credit to him for his other statements — it is plain they were all equally fic- tions — but to me let the same good-will, which you have uni- formly exhibited upon many former trials, be manifested now. With all your malice, iEschines, it was very simple to suppose that I should turn from the discussion of measures and policy to notice your scandal. I will do no such thing : I am not so crazed. Your lies and calumnies about my political life I will examine forthwith; for that loose ribaldry I shall have a word hereafter, if the jury desire to hear it. MODERX TOLERATIOX.—T. F. Marshall. Men have been known to fight for their religion and their franchises. John Huss was an obscure professor in a German university. The Emperor Sigismund, when he burnt him at Constance, little dreamed that from the ashes of the friendless martyr there would rise the flames of a war in Bohemia which would shake the Austrian power, and desolate Germany through long years of suffering and of blood. If the persecuting tem- per of the sixteenth century is to be renewed here, if American Protestantism so far forgets its genius and its mission, as to aid in rekindling the religious wars of that terrible period in quest of vengeance for the gone centuries of wrong, religion will suffer most. True Christianity will veil her face and seek the shade, till better times. 3Ien will be divided between a sullen and sordid fanaticism on the one side, and a scoffing infidelity on the other. Our national characteristics will be lost. Ame- rican civilization will have changed its character. Our Federal Union will have sacrificed its distinctive traits, and we shall have exhibited a failure in the principles with which our gov- ernment commenced its career, at which hell itself might exult in triumph. 8* 90 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. EULOGY ON FEANKLIK—Yavcbet. Franklin did not omit any of the means of being useful to men, or serviceable to society. He spoke to all conditions, to both sexes, to every age. This amiable moralist descended, in his writings, to the most artless details; to the most ingenuous familiarities ; to the first ideas of a rural, a commercial, and a civil life ; to the dialogues of old men and children ; full at once of all the verdure and all the maturity of wisdom. In short, the prudent lessons arising from the exposition of those obscure, happy, easy virtues, which form so many links in the chain of a good man's life, derived immense weight from that reputation for genius which he had acquired, by being one of the first naturalists and greatest philosophers in the universe. At one and the same time, he governed nature in the heavens and in the hearts of men. Amidst the tempests of the atmo- sphere, he directed the thunder ; amidst the storms of society, he directed the passions. Think, gejitlemen, with what attentive docility, with what religious respect, one must hear the voice of a simple man, who preached up human happiness, when it was recollected that it was the powerful voice of the same man who regulated the lightning. He electrified the consciences, in order to extract the de- structive fire of vice, exactly in the same manner as he electrified the heavens, in order peaceably to invite from them the terrible fire of the elements. Venerable old man ! august philosopher ! legislator of the felicity of thy country, prophet of the fraternity of the human race, what ecstatic happiness embellished the end of thy career ! From thy fortunate asylum, and in the midst of tliy brothers who enjoyed in tranquillity the fruit of thy virtues, and the success of thy genius, thou hast sung songs of deliverance. The last looks which thou didst cast around theo, beheld Ame- rica happy ; France, on the other side of the ocean, free, and a sure indication of the approaching freedom and happiness of the world. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 91 THE CONSTIWTION A BILL OF EIGHTS —UAmLTON, The constitution is itself, in every rational sense, and to every usefal purpose, A bill of rights. The several bills of rights in Great Britain, form its constitution, and conversely the con- stitution of each state is its bill of rights. In like manner the proposed constitution, if adopted, will be the bill of rights of the Union. Is it one object of a bill of rights to declare and specify the political privileges of the citizens in the structure and administration of the government ? This is done in the most ample and precise manner in the plan of the convention; comprehending various precautions for the public security, which are not to be found in any of the state constitutions. Is another object of a bill of rights to define certain immunities and modes of proceeding, which are relative to personal and private concerns ? This we have seen has also been attended to, in a variety of cases, in the same plan. Adverting therefore to the substantial meaning of a bill of rights, it is absurd to allege that it is not to be found in the work of the convention. It may be said that it does not go far enough, though it will not be easy to make this appear; but it can with no propriety be contended that there is no such thing. It certainly must be immaterial what mode is observed as to the order of declaring the rights of the citizens, if they are provided for in any part of the instrument which establishes the government : whence it must be apparent that much of what has been said on this subject rests merely on verbal and nominal distinctions, entirely foreign to the substance of the thino;. THE FRENCH E EVOLUTI ON.— Mackintosr. Te^I French Revolution began with great and fatal errors. These errors produced atrocious crimes. A mild and feeble monarchy was succeeded by bloody anarchy, which very shortly gave birth to military despotism. France, in a few years, described the whole circle of human society. 92 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. All this was in the order of nature. When every principle of authority and civil discipline, when every principle which enables some men to command and disposes others to obey, was extirpated from the mind by atrocious theories, and still more atrocious examples; when every old institution was trampled down with contumely, and every new institution covered in its cradle with blood; when the principle of property itself, the sheet-anchor of society, was annihilated; when in the persons of the new possessors, whom the poverty of language obliges us to call proprietors, it was contaminated in its source by robbery and murder, and it became separated from that education and those manners, from that general presumption of superior knowledge and more scrupulous probity which form its only liberal titles to respect ; when the people were taught to despise everything old, and compelled to detest everything new; there remained only one principle strong enough to hold society together, a principle utterly incompatible, indeed, with liberty, and unfriendly to civilization itself, a tyrannical and barbarous principle; but, in that miserable condition of human affairs, a refuge from still more intolerable evils. I mean the principle of military power, which gains strength from that confusion and bloodshed in which all the other elements of society are dissolved, and which, in these terrible extremities, is the cement that preserves it from total destruction. THE REIGN OF TE RE OE. —Lord Brougham. The Reign of Terror, under which no life was secure for a day ; the wholesale butcheries, both of the prisoners in Septem- ber, and by the daily executions that soon followed ; the violence of the conscription, which filled every family with orphd ^ and widows ; the profligate despotism and national disasters under the Directory; the military tyranny of Napoleon; the sacrifice of millions to slake his thirst of conquest; the invasion of France by foreign troops — Pandours, Hussars, Cossacks, twice revelling AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 93 in tlie spoils of Paris ; the humiliating occupation of the coun- try for five years by the allied armies, and her ransom by the payment of millions; — these were the consequences, more or less remote, of the Eeign of Terror, which so burnt into the memory of all Frenchmen the horrors of anarchy, as to make an aversion to change for a quarter of a century the prevailing characteristic of a people not the least fickle among the nations, and to render a continuance of any yoke bearable, compared with the perils of casting it off. All these evils were the price paid by the respectable classes of France, but especially of Paris, for their unworthy dread of resisting the clubs and the mob in 1792. AMERICAN PETITIONS.— Lo^D Chatham. When your lordships look at the papers transmitted us from America ] when you consider their decency, firmness, and wis- dom, you cannot but respect their cause and wish to make it your own. For myself, I must declare and avow, that in all my reading and observation — and it has been my favorite study — I have read Thucydides, and have studied and admired the master states of the world — that for solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complica- tion of difficult circumstances, no nation, or body of men. can stand in preference to the General Congress at Philadelphia. I trust it is obvious to your lordships, that all attempts to impose servitude upon such men, to establish despotism over such a mighty continental nation, must be vain, must be fatal. We shall be forced ultimately to retract; let us retract while we can, not when we must. I say we must necessarily undo these violent oppressive acts ; they must be repealed — you will repeal them ; I pledge myself for it, that you will in the end repeal them ] I stake my reputation on it — I will consent to be taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed. Avoid, then, this humiliating, disgraceful necessity. With a dignity becoming your exalted situation, make the first advances to 94 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. concord, to peace and happiness; for that is your true dignity, to act with prudence and justice. That you should first con- cede, is obvious, from sound and rational policy. Concession comes with better grace and more salutary effect from superior power. It reconciles superiority of power with the feelings of men, and establishes solid confidence on the foundations of affection and gratitude. 30EN LOCKE AND WILLIAM PiJiVW.— Bancroft. Penn, like Plato and Fenelon, maintained ihQ doctrine so terrible to despots, that Grod is to be loved for his own sake, and virtue practised for its intrinsic loveliness. Locke derives the idea of infinity from the senses, describes it as purely negative, and attributes it to nothing but space, duration, and number; Penn derived the idea from the soul, and ascribed it to truth, and virtue, and God. Locke declares immortality a matter with which reason has nothing to do, and that revealed truth must be sustained by outward signs and visible acts of power ; Penn saw truth by its own light, and summoned the soul to bear witness to its own glory. Locke believed '^ not so many men in wrong opinions as is commonly supposed^ because the greatest part have no opinions at all, and do not know what they contend for;" Penn likewise vindicated the many, but it was truth was the common inheritance of the race. Locke, in his love of tolerance, inveighed against the methods of persecution as '' Popish prac- tices 'y^ Penn censured no sect, but condemned bigotry of all sorts as inhuman. Locke, as an American lawgiver, dreaded a too numerous democracy, and reserved all power to wealth and the feudal proprietors ; Penn believed that God is in every con- science, his light in every soul ; and, therefore, stretching out his arms, he built — such are his own words — " a free colony for all mankind. ^^ This is the praise of William Penn, that, in an age which had seen a popular revolution shipwreck popular liberty among selfish factions; which had seen Hugh Peters and Henry Vane perish by the hangman's cord and the axe; in an AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 95 age when Sidney nourished the pride of patriotism rather than the sentiment of philanthropy, when Russell stood for the liberties of his order, and not for new enfranchisements, when Harrington, and Shaftesbury, and Locke, thought government should rest on property, — Penn did not despair of humanity, and, though all history and experience denied the sovereignty of the people, dared to cherish the noble idea of man's capacity for self-government. Conscious that there was no room for its exercise in England, the pure enthusiast, like Calvin and Descartes, a voluntary exile, was come to the banks of the Delaware to institute " the Holy Experiment.'' THE OFFICE OF A J CTIX?^.— Sydney Smith. He who takes the office of a judge, as it now exists in this country, takes in his hands a splendid gem, good and glorious, perfect and pure. Shall he give it up mutilated, shall he mar it, shall he darken it, shall it emit no light^ shall it be valued at no price, shall it excite no wonder ? Shall he find it a diamond, shall he leave it a stone ? What shall we say to the man who would wilfully destroy with fire the magnificent temple of God, in which I am now preaching ? Far worse is he who ruins the moral edifices of the world, which time and toil, and many prayers to God, and many sufi'erings of men, have reared; who puts out the light of the times in which he lives, and leaves us to wander amid the darkness of corruption and the desolation of sin. There may be, there probably is, in this church, some young man who may hereafter fill the office of judge, when the greater part of those who hear me are dead, and mingled with the dust of the grave. Let him remember my words, and let them form and fashion his spirit; he cannot tell in what dan- gerous and awful times he may be placed ; but as a mariner looks to his compass in the calm, and looks to his compass in the storm, and never keeps his eyes ofi" his compass, so, in every vicissitude of a judicial life, deciding for the people, deciding 96 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. against the people, protecting the just rights of kings, or restrain- ing their unlawful ambition, let him ever cling to that pure, exalted, and Christian independence which towers over the little motives of life ; which no hope of favor can influence, which no effort of power can control. LINCOLN'S SECOND INAUGURAL ADDRESS. Fellow-Countrymen : At this second appearing to take the oath of the presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. Then a statement somewhat in detail of a course to be pursued seemed very fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have constantly been called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself, and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago, all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it, all sought to avoid it. While the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seek- ing to destroy it without war, seeking to dissolve the Union and divide the effects by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war ] but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish ; and the war came. One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the Union, but located in the south- ern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 97 the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union by war, while Government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Neither party ex- pected the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God, and each invokes his aid against the other. It may seem strange that any man should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing his bread from the sweat of other men's faces. But let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayer of both should not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has his own purposes. '' Woe unto the world because of offences, for it must needs be that offences come ; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh." If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of these offences, which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, havitig continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both North and 'South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offence came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to him ? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said that the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. \Yith malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wound, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow 9 G 98 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. and his orphans, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. DUELLING.— lE^L. NoTT. Absurd as duelling is, were it absurd only, though we might smile at the weakness and pity the folly of its abettors, there would be no occasion for seriously attacking them. But, to what has been said, I add, that duelling is rash and presumptuous. Life is the gift of God, and it was never bestowed to be sported with. To each, the sovereign of the universe has marked out a sphere to move in, and assigned a part to act. This part respects ourselves not only, but others also. Each lives for the benefit of all. As in the system of nature the sun shines, not to dis- play its own brightness, and answer its own convenience, but to warm, enlighten, and bless the world; so in the system of ani- mated beings, there is a dependence, a correspondence and a relation through an infinitely extended, dying, and reviving uni- verse, in which no man liveth to himself, and no Tnan dieth to himself. Friend is related to friend ; the father to his family ; the individual to community. To every member of which, hav- ing fixed his station and assigned his duty, the God of nature says, " Keep this trust — defend this post.^^ For whom ? For thy friends — thy family — thy country. And having received such a charge, and for such a purpose, to desert it is rashness and temerity. Since the opinions of men are as they are, do you ask, how you shall avoid the imputation of cowardice, if you do not fight when you are injured ? Ask your family how you will avoid the imputation of cruelty — ask your conscience how you will avoid the imputation of guilt — ask God how you will avoid his male- diction if you do. These are previous questions. Let these first be answered, and it will be easy to reply to any which may follow them. If you only accept a challenge, when you believe in your conscience that duelling is wrong, you act the coward. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 99 The dastardly fear of the world governs you. Awed by its menaces, you conceal your sentiments, appear in disguise, and act in guilty conformity to principles not your own, and that, too, in the most solemn moment, and when engaged in an act which exposes you to death. But if it be rashness to accept, how passing rashness is it, in a sinner, - to ^ii;e a challenge? Does it become him, whose life is measured out by crimes, to be extreme to mark, and punc- tilious to resent, whatever is amiss in others ? Must the duellist, who now, disdaining to forgive, so imperiously demands satisfac- tion to the uttermost — must this man, himself trembling at the recollection of his offences, presently appear a suppliant before the mercy-seat of God ? Imagine this, and the case is not imaginary, and you cannot conceive an instance of greater incon- sistency or of more presumptuous arrogance. Wherefore, avenge not yourselves^ hut rather give "place unto wrath ; for vengeance is mine^ I will rejpay^ saith the LoRD. THE UNIVERSAL EMPIRE OF DEATH.— D. S. Doggett. Contemplate for a moment the nature of that event which puts the limit to human life, whether conditionally or otherwise. And, here, we cannot forbear a reflection, upon the universality of this awful curse. It has smitten with blasting and mildew every earthly object. The whole assemblage of living beings, originally designed to luxuriate in the vigor, and to sparkle in the glories of uninterrupted existence, is doomed to die. The glow-worm must extinguish his little spark in the night of death. The myriads of insects that crawl upon the earth, or float upon the atmospheric wave, must die. Quadrupeds, fishes, fowls, must die. Vegetation must die. And, last of all, man himself must die : and the world, instead of being a living temple, animated and adorned with harmonious orders of rejoicing creatures, must become their common vortex, one vast sepulchre, the tomb of all that hath life. Here, death reisrus in dark and dismal 100 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. dignity, from age to age, and from pole to pole. In all pro- bability, ours is the only spot over which his dread dominion extends. In other places, existence, beyond a doubt, yet glitters in primeval beauty. The angel of death has never visited their heathful abodes, to pour his vial on the air, to scatter over them the seeds of consumption, and to wake from their happy popula- tion the wail of lamentation and of woe. Here we breathe the infected atmosphere of a loathsome hospital, and while we wit- ness the havoc which appals us, we expire in our turn. ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG.— Lincoln. Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation — or any nation so conceived and so dedicated — can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We are met to dedicate a portion of it as the final resting-place of those who have given their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or to detract. The world will very little note, nor long remember, what we say here 3 but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work that they have thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us ; that from these honored dead we take increased devo- tion to that cause for which they here gave the last full measure of devotion ; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain } that the nation shall, under God, have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 101 GLORIOUS NEW ENGLAND.-^. S. Prentiss. Glorious New England ! thou art still true to thj ancient fame, and worthy of thy ancestral honors. We, thy children, have assembled in this far distant land to celebrate thy birth- day. A thousand fond associations throng upon us. roused by the spirit of the hour. On thy pleasant valleys rest, like sweet dews of morning, the gentle recollections of our early life ; around thy hills and mountains cling, like gathering mists, the mighty memories of the Revolution ; and far away in the horizon of thy past gleam, like thy own bright northern lights, the awful virtues of our pilgrim sires ! But while we devote this day to the remembrance of our native land, we forget not that in which our happy lot is cast. We exult in the reflection, that though we count by thousands the miles which separate us from our birth-place, still our country is the same. We are no exiles meeting upon the banks of a foreign river, to swell its waters with our home-sick tears. Here floats the same banner which rustled above our boyish heads, except that its mighty folds are wider, and its glittering stars increased in number. The sons of New England are found in every state of the broad republic ! In the East, the South, and the unbounded W^est, their blood mingles freely with every kindred current. We have but changed our chamber in the paternal mansion ; in all its rooms we are at home, and all who inhabit it are our brothers. To us the Union has but one domestic hearth ; its household gods are all the same. Upon us, then, peculiarly devolves the duty of feeding the fires upon that kindly hearth ; of guarding with pious care those sacred household gods We cannot do with less than the whole Union ; to us it admits of no division. In the veins of our children flows Northern and Southern blood ; how shall it be separated ? — who shall put asunder the best affections of the heart, the noblest instincts of our nature ? We love the land of our adoption : so do we that of our birth. Let us ever be true to both ] and always exert ourselves in maintaining the unity of our country, the integrity of the repubHc. 9* 102 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden cord of union ! thrice accursed the traitorous lips which shall propose its severance ! But no ! the Union cannot be dissolved ] its fortunes are too brilliant to be marred ; its destinies too powerful to be resisted. Here will be their greatest triumph, their most mighty de- velopment. And when, a century hence, this Crescent City shall have filled her golden horns; — when within her broad-armed port shall be gathered the products of the industry of a hundred millions of freemen ; — when galleries of art and halls of learning shall have made classic this mart of trade ] — then may the sons of the Pilgrims, still wandering from the bleak hills of the North, stand up on the banks of the Great River, and exclaim, with mingled pride and wonder, — Lo ! this is our country ] — when did the world ever behold so rich and magnificent a city — 60 great and glorious a republic ! PATRIOTISM A CHRISTIAN VIRTUE.—IIxjntington. Patriotism, that is, when it is a principle, and not a mere blind instinct of the blood, is an outgrowth and a part of the faith and honor of the Almighty. Analyze it, and you will see it so. For patriotism is only disinterested devotion to the jus- tice, the power, the protection, the right, embodied, after a cer- tain fashion and degree, in the state and its subjects. It is not attachment to the parchment of a constitution, to the letter of an instrument, to the visible insignia of authority, to a strip of painted cloth at a masthead, to a mass of legal precedents and traditions, nor always to the person of the sovereign. It is not a personal interest in the people of the nation, for the most of one's fellow-citizens are unknown, and the few that are met may awaken no special regard. Instituted ideas, — as justice, power, protection, — organized into a national government, and lifted up for the defence of the country, are what inspire an intelligent AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 103 loyalty, and the same ideas have their perfect embodiment in the person of God. On the other hand, religion, veneration for the Creator, involves a consistent regard for the welfare of great bodies of his family. By the laws of the human nature he has fashioned, this will mount to enthusiasm, as our relations to any one body grow intimate, or look back to an antiquity, or own a history of common sufferings. Less elevated elements may intermix. But whichever you take first, — the feeling for the state, or for the Grod of states, — the other clings to it, and comes logically with it. THE INTEMPERATE HUSBAND.— Sfragve, It is, my friends, in the degradation of a husband by intem- perance, where she who has ventured everything feels that all is lost. Who shall protect her when the husband of her choice insults and oppresses her ? What shall delight her, when she shrinks from the sight of his face and trembles at the sound of his voice ? The hearth is indeed dark that he has made deso- late. There, through the dull midnight hour, her griefs are whispered to herself 3 her bruised heart bleeds in secret. There, while the cruel author of her distress is drowned in distant revelry, she holds her solitary vigil, waiting yet dreading his return, that is only to wring from her by unkindness tears even more scalding than those she sheds over his transgression ^ To fling a deeper gloom across the present, memory turns back and broods upon the past. The joys of other days come over her, as if only to mock her grieved and weary spirit. She recalls the ardent lover, whose graces won her from the home of her infancy; the enraptured father, who bent with such delight over his new-born children ; and she asks if this can be the same — this sunken being, who has now nothing for her but the sot^s disgusting brutality ; nothing for those abashed and trembling children but the sot's disgusting example. Can we wonder that, amid these agonizing moments, the tender cords of violated affection should snap asunder ? that the 104 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. scorned and deserted wife should confess, " tliere is no killing like that which kills the heart'' ? that though it would have been hard to kiss for the last tirue the cold lips of a dead hus- band, and lay his body for ever in the dust, it is harder still to behold him so debasing life that even death would be greeted in mercy ? Had he died in the light of his goodness, bequeathing to his family the inheritance of an untarnished name and the example of virtues that should blossom for his sons and daughters from the tomb, though she would have wept bitterly indeed, the tears of grief would not have been also the tears of shame. She beholds him, fallen from the station he once adorned, degraded from eminence to ignominy ; at home turning his dwelling to darkness and its holy endearments to mockery; abroad, thrust from the companionship of the worthy^ a self-branded outlaw. THE RUINED FAMILY.— l^Ymo. . The depopulating pestilence that walketh at noonday — the carnage of cruel and devastating war — can scarcely exhibit their victims in a more terrible array than ex termi Dating drunk- enness. I have seen a promising family spring up from the parent trunk, and stretch abroad its populous limbs like a flowering tree covered with green and healthy foliage. I have seen the unnatural decay beginning upon the yet tender leaf, gnawing like a worm in an unopened bud, while they dropped off, one by one, and the ruined shaft stood alone until the winds and rains of many a sorrow laid that too in the dust. On one of those holy days, when the patriarch, rich in virtue as in years, gathered about him the great and the little ones of his fiock, his sons and his daughters, I too sat at the board, I pledged therein hospitable health, and expatiated with delight upon the eventful future, while the good old man, warmed in the genial glow of youthful enthusiasm, wiped a tear from his eye. He AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 105 was happy. I met them again when the rolling year brought the festive season round. But all were not there. The kind old man sighed as his suffused eye dwelt on the then unoccupied seat, but joy yet came to his relief, and he is happy. A parent's love knows no diminution — time, distance, poverty, shame, but give intensity and strength to that passion before which all others dissolve and melt away. The board was spread, but the guests came not. The man cried, '^ Where are my children ?'' and echo answered, " Where ?'^ His heart broke, for they were not. Could not Heaven have spared him this affliction ? Alas 1 the demon of drunkenness had been there. They had fallen victims to his spell ; and one short month sufficed to cast the veil of oblivion over the old man^s sorrow and the young one's shame. They are all dead. INTEMPERANCE.— "Lo^D Chesterfield. Luxury, my lords, is to be taxed, but vice prohibited, let the difficulty in the law be what it will. Vice is not properly to be taxed, but suppressed. The use of things which are simply hurtful in their own nature, and in every degree, is to be pro- hibited. None, my lords, ever heard, in any nation, of a tax upon theft or adultery, because a tax implies a license granted for the use of that which is taxed to all who are willing to pay for it. Drunkenness is universally, and in all circumstances, an evil^ and therefore ought not to be taxed, but punished. We are told that the trade of distilling is very extensive — that it employs great numbers — that a large capital is invested in it — and therefore it is not to be prohibited. But it appears to me, that since the spirit which distillers produce is allowed to en- feeble the limbs, vitiate the blood, pervert the heart, and obscure the intellect, that th^ number of distillers should be no argu- ment in their favor ] for I never heard that a law against theft was repealed or delayed because thieves were numerous. It appears to me, that if so formidable a body are confederated against the virtue and the lives of their fellow- citizens, it is 106 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. time to put an end to tlie havoc, and to interpose, while it is yet in our power, to stop the destruction. It is said distillers have arrived at exquisite skill in their business. But, in my judg- ment, it is no great use to mankind to prepare for them palatable poison ; nor shall I ever contribute my interest for the reprieve of a murderer, because he has, by long practice, obtained great dexterity in his trade. If their liquors are so delicious that the people are tempted to their own destruction, let us at length, my lords, secure them from their fatal draught, by bursting the vials that contain them. Let us crush at once these artists in human slaughter, who have reconciled their countrymen to sick- ness and ruin, and spread over the pitfalls of debauchery such bait as cannot be resisted. I am very far from thinking that there are, tJiis year, any peculiar reasons for tolerating murder ; nor can I conceive why this manufacture is to be held sacred now, if it is to be destroyed hereafter. THE HEAVENS PROCLAIM THE DEITY,— 0, M. Mitchel. Would you gather some idea of the eternity past of God's existence, go to the astronomer, and bid him lead you with him in one of his walks through space; and, as he sweeps outward from object to object, from universe to universe, remember that the light from those filmy stains on the deep pure blue of heaven, now falling on your eye, has been traversing space for a million of years. Would you gather some knowledge of the omnipotence of Grod, weigh the earth on which we dwell, then count the millions of its inhabitants that have come and gone for the last six thousand years. Unite their strength into one arm, and test its power in an efi"ort to move this earth. It could not stir it a single foot in a thousand years ; and yet under the omnipotent hand of God, not a minute passes that it does not fly for more than a thousand miles. But this is a mere atom ; — the most insignificant point among His innumerable worlds. At His bidding, every planet, and satellite, and comet, and the sun himself, fly onward in their appointed courses. His single arm AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 107 guides the millions of sweeping suns, and around His throne circles the great constellation of unnumbered universes. Would you comprehend the idea of the omniscience of God, remember that the highest pinnacle of knowledge reached by the whole human race, by the combined efforts of its brightest intellects, has enabled the astronomer to compute approximately the perturbations of the planetary worlds. He has predicted roughly the return of half a score of comets. But God has computed the mutual pei'turbations of millions of suns, and planets, and comets, and worlds, without number, through the ages that are passed, and throughout the ages which are yet to come, not approximately, but with perfect and absolute precision. The universe is in motion, — system rising above system, cluster above cluster, nebula above nebula, — all majes- tically sweeping around under the providence of God, who alone knows the end from the beginning, and before whose glory and power all intelligent beings, whether in heaven or on earth, should bow with humility and awe. Would you gain some idea of the ivisdom of God, look to the admirable adjustments of the magnificent retinue of planets and satellites which sweep around the sun. Every globe has been weighed and poised, every orbit has been measured and bent to its beautiful form. All is changing, but the laws fixed by the wisdom of God, though they permit the rocking to and fro of the system, never introduce disorder, or lead to destruc- tion. All is perfect and harmonious, and the music of the spheres that burn and roll around our sun is echoed by that of ten- millions of moving worlds, that sing and shine around the brierht suns that reiorn above. ORATION AGAINST CATILINE.— Cicero. How far, Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience ? How long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career? To what extreme wilt thou carry thy audacity r' Art thou nothing daunted by the nightly watch posted to secure the Palatium ? 108 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Nothing, by the city guards? Nothing, by the rally of all good citizens ? Nothing, by the assembling of the Senate in this fortified place ? Nothing, by the averted looks of all here pre- sent? Seest thou not that all thy plots are exposed ? — that thy wretched conspiracy is laid bare to every man^s knowledge here in the Senate ? — that we are well aware of thy proceedings of last night; of the night before; — the place of meeting, the com- pany convoked, the measures concerted ? Alas, the. times I Alas, the public morals ! The Senate understands all this. The consul sees it. Yet the traitor lives ! Lives ? Ay, truly, and confronts us here in council — takes part in our deliberations — and, with his measuring eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter ! And we, all this while, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our duty to the state, if we but shun this madman^s sword and fury ! Long since, Catiline, ought the consul to have ordered thee to execution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin thou hast been meditating against others ! There was that virtue once in E-ome, that a wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We have sl law still, Catiline, for thee. Think not that we are powerless because forbearing. We have a decree — though it rests among our archives like a sword in its scabbard — a decree by which thy life would be made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order thee to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt whether all good men would not think it done rather too late than any man too cruelly. But, for good reasons, I will yet defer the blow long since deserved. Then will I doom thee, when no man is found so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly dealt. W^hile there is one man that dares defend thee, live ! But thou shalt live so beset, so surrounded, so scrutinized by the vigilant guards that I have placed around thee, that thou shalt not stir a foot against the republic without my knowledge. There shall be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest wliisper, of which thou shalt not dream. The darkness of night shall not cover thy treason — the walls of privacy shall not stifle its voice. Baffled on all sides, thy most AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 109 secret counsels clear as noonday, what canst thou now have in view? Proceed, plot, conspire as thou wilt; there is nothing you can contrive, nothing you can propose, nothing you can attempt, which I shall not know, hear, and promptly under- stand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more active in providing for the preservation of the state than thou in plotting its destruction ! THE UNITED STATES AND THE CHEROKEE S.—\Yirt, It is with no ordinary feelings that I am about to take leave of this cause. The existence of the remnant of a once great and mighty nation is at stake, and it is for your honors to say whether they shall be blotted out from the creation, in utter disre- gard of all our treaties. Their cause is one that must come home to every honest and feeling heart. They have been true and faithful to us^ and have a right to expect a corresponding fidelity on our part. Our wish has been their law. We asked them to become civilized, and they became so. They have even adopted our resentments, and in our war with the Seminole tribes they voluntarily joined our arms, and gave effectual aid in driving back those barbarians from the very state that now oppresses them. They threw upon the field a body of men who proved, by their martial bearing, their descent from the noble race that were once the lords of these extensive forests. May it please your honors, this people have refused to us no gratification which it has been in their power to grant. They are here now in the last extremity, and with them must perish the honor of the American name for ever. We have pledged, for their protection and for the guarantee of the remainder of their lands, the faith and honor of our nation — a faith and honor never sullied, nor even drawn into question, until now. We promised them, and they trusted us. They trust us still. Shall they be deceived ? They would as soon expect to see their rivers run upward on their sources, or the sun roll back in his 10 110 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 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. With the existence of this people the faith of our nation, I re- peat it, is fatally linked. The blow which destroys them quenches for ever our own glory ; for what glory can there be, of which a patriot can be proud, after the good name of his country shall have departed ? We may gather laurels on the field, and trophies on the ocean, but they will never hide this foul and bloody blot upon our escutcheon. " Remember the Cherokee nation V will be answer enough to the proudest boast that we can ever make —answer enough to cover with confusion the face and the heart of every man among us, in whose bosom the last spark of grace has not been extinguished. I will hope for better things. There is a spirit that will yet save us. I trust that we shall find it here — here, in this sacred court; where no foul and malignant demon of party enters to darken the understanding, or to deaden the heart, but where all is clear, calm, pure, vital, and firm. I cannot believe that this honorable court, possessing the power of preservation, will stand by, and see these people stripped of their property, and extir- pated from the earth, while they are holding up to us their treaties, and claiming the fulfilment of our engagements. If truth, and faith, and honor, and justice, have fled from every other part of our country, we shall find them here. If not, our sun has gone down in treachery, blood, and crime, in the face of the world ; and, instead of being proud of our country, as heretofore, we may well call upon the rocks and mountains to hide our shame from earth and from heaven. ROBESPIERRE'S LAST SPEECK The enemies of the republic call me tyrant ! Were I such, they would grovel at my feet. I should gorge them with gold — I should grant them impunity for their crimes — and they would be grateful. Were I such, the kings we have vanquished, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. m far from denouncing Robespierre, would lend me their guilty support. There would be a covenant between them and me. Tyranny must have tools. But the enemies of tyranny — whither does their path tend ? To the tomb, and to immortality ! What tyrant is my protector ? To what faction do I belong ? Your- selves ! What faction, since the beginning of the Revolution, has crushed and annihilated so many detected traitors ? You — the people — our principles — are that faction ! A faction to which I am devoted, and against which all the scoundrelism of the day is banded ! The confirmation of the republic has been my object; and I know that the republic can be established only on the eternal basis of morality. Against me, and against those who hold kindred principles, the league is formed. My life ? oh ! my life, I abandon without a regret ! I have seen the past; and I foresee the future. What friend of his country would v/ish to survive the moment when he could no longer serve it — when he could no longer defend innocence against oppression ? Wherefore should I continue in an order of things where intrigue eternally triumphs over truth; where justice is mocked; where passions the most abject, or fears the most absurd, override the sacred interests of humanity? In witnessing the multitude of vices which the torrent of the Revolution has rolled in turbid com- munion with its civic virtues, I confess that I have sometimes feared that I should be sullied in the eyes of posterity, by the impure neighborhood of unprincipled men, who had thrust them- selves into association with the sincere friends of humanity; and I rejoice that these conspirators against my country have now, by their reckless rage, traced deep the line of demarcation between themselves and all true men. Question history, and learn how all the defenders of liberty, in all times, have been overwhelmed by calumny. But their traducers died also. The good and the bad disappear alike from the earth ; but in very different conditions. Frenchmen ! my countrymen I let not your enemies, with their desolating doctrines, degrade your souls, and enervate your virtues ! No, Chaumette, no ! Death is not '' an eternal sleep T' Citizens ! 112 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. efface from the tomb that motto, graven by sacrilegious hands, which spreads over all nature a funeral crape, takes from op- pressed innocence its support, and affronts the beneficent dis- pensation of death ! Inscribe rather thereon these words : '^ Death is the commencement of immortality !'^ I leave to the oppressors of the people a terrible testament, which I proclaim with the independence befitting one whose career is so nearly ended; it is the awful truth — '' Thou shalt die V^ CATILINE DENOUNCED.— Cicero. You see this day, Eomans, the republic, and all your lives, your goods, your fortunes, your wives and children, this home of most illustrious empire, this most fortunate and beautiful city, by the great love of the immortal gods for you, by my labors, and counsels, and dangers, snatched from fire and sword, and almost from the very jaws of fate, and preserved and re- stored to you. And if those days on which we are preserved are not less pleasant to us, or less illustrious, than those on w^hich we are born, because the joy of being saved is certain, the good for- tune of being born uncertain, and because we are born without feeling it, but we are preserved wdth great delight; ay, since we have, by our affection and by our good report, raised to the immortal gods that Romulus who built tlys city, he, too, who has preserved this city, built by him, and embellished as you see it, ought to be held in honor by you and your posterity; for we have extinguished flames which were almost laid under and placed around the temples and shrines, and houses and walls of the whole city; we have turned the edge of swords drawn against the republic, and have turned aside their points from your throats. And since all this has been displayed in the senate, and made manifest, and detected by me, I will now ex- plain it briefly, that you, citizens, that are as yet ignorant of it, and are in suspense, may be able to see how great the danger AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 113 was, how evident and by what means it was detected and arrested. First of all, since Catiline, a few days ago, burst out of the city, when he had left behind the companions of his wicked- ness, the active leaders of this infamous war, I have continually watched and taken care, Romans, of the means by which we might be safe amid such great and such carefully-concealed treachery. LORD CHATHAM' S SPEECH IN DEFENCE OF AMERICA, America, my lords, cannot be reconciled to this country — she ought not to be reconciled — till the troops of Britain are withdrawn. How can America trust you, with the bayonet at her breast? How can she suppose that you mean less than bondage or death ? I therefore move that an address be pre- * sented to his majesty, advising that immediate orders be de- spatched to General Gage, for removing his majesty's forces from the town of Boston. The way must be immediately opened for reconciliation. It will soon be too late. An hour now lost in allaying ferments in America may produce years of calamity. Never will I desert, for a moment, the conduct of this weighty business. Unless nailed to my bed by the extremity of sickness, I will pursue it to the end. I will knock at the door of this sleeping and confounded ministry, and will, if it be possible, rouse them to a sense of their danger. I contend not for indulgence, but for justice, to America. What is our right to persist in such cruel and vindictive acts against a loyal, respectable people ? They say you have no right to tax them without their consent. They say truly. Repre- sentation and taxation must go together ; they are inseparable. I therefore urge and conjure your lordships immediately to adopt this conciliating measure. If illegal violences have been, as it is said, committed in America, prepare the way — open the door of possibility — for acknowledgment and satisfaction; but proceed not to such coercion — such proscription : cease your indiscrimi- nate inflictions; amerce not thirty thousand; oppress not three 10* H 114 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. millions; irritate them not to unappeasable rancor, for the fault of forty or fifty. Such severity of injustice must for ever render incurable the wounds you have inflicted. What though you march from town to town, from province to province ? What though you enforce a temporary and local submission; — how shall you secure the obedience of the country you leave behind you in your progress ? — how grasp the dominion of eighteen hundred miles of continent, populous in numbers, strong in valor, liberty, and the means of resistance ? The spirit which now resists your taxation in America, is the same which formerly opposed loans, benevolences, and ship- money, in England ; — the same spirit which called all England on its legs, and, by the Bill of Rights, vindicated the English Constitution ; — the same spirit which established the great funda- mental essential maxim of your liberties, that no subject of Eng- land shall he taxed hut hy his own consent. This glorious Whig spirit animates three millions in America, who prefer poverty, with liberty, to gilded chains and sordid affluence; and who will die in defence of their rights as men, as freemen. What shall oppose this spirit, aided by the congenial flame glowing in the breast of every Whig in England ? " 'Tis liberty to liberty engaged,^^ that they will defend themselves, their families, aod their country. In this great cause they are immovably allied : it is the alliance of Grod and natui^e — immutable, eternal — fixed as the firmament of heaven. ON BEING CONVICTED OF HIGH TREASON--^mmett. What have I to say, why sentence of death should not be pronounced on me according to law ? I have nothing to say that can alter your predetermination, nor that will become me to say with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are here to pronounce, and which I musf abide by. But I have that to say which interests me more than life, and which AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 115 you have labored (as was necessarily your office to do in the present circumstances of this oppressed country) to destroy. I have much to say why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped upon it. I do not imagine, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity as to receive the least impression from what I am going to utter. I have no hopes that I can anchor my character in the breast of a court constituted and trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your lordships may suffer it to float down your memories, untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some more hos- pitable harbor to shelter it from the storms by which it is at present buffeted. Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur , but the sen- tence of the law, which delivers my body to the executioner, will, through the ministry of that law, labor, in its own vindica- tion, to consign my character to obloquy — for there must be guilt somewhere; whether in the sentence of the court or in the catastrophe, posterity must determine. My lord, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man's mind by humiliation to the purposed ignominy of the scaffold; but worse to me than the purposed shame, or the scaffold's terrors, would be the shame of such foul and un- founded imputations as have been laid against me in this court. You, my lord, are a judge ; I am the supposed culprit — I am a man ; you are a man also. By a revolution of power, we might change places, though we never could change characters. If I stand at the bar of this court, and dare not vindicate my charac- ter, what a farce is your justice ! If I stand at this bar, and dare not vindicate my character, how dare you calumniate it? Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts upon my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and my reputation to reproach ? Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence; but, while I exist, I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and motives from your aspersions; 116 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. and, as a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which is the only legacy I can leave to those I honor and love, and for whom I am proud to perish. As men, we must appear on the great day at one common tribunal ; and it will then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe who was engaged in the most virtuous actions, or actuated by the purest motives— my country^s oppressors, or myself. I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary of France ! And for what end ? It is alleged that I wished to sell the independence of my country ! And for what end ? Was this the object of my ambition ? And is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions? No; I am no emissary. My ambition was to hold a place among the deliverers of my country- — not in power, not in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. Sell my country's independ- ence to France! and for what? A change of masters? No; but for ambition. Oh ! my country ! had it been personal ambition that influ- enced me — had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my education and fortune, by the rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself amongst the proudest of your op- pressors ? My country was my idol. To it I sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment ; and for it I now offer up my life. No, my lord, I acted as an Irishman, determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelent- ing tyranny, and from the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, its joint partner and perpetrator in parricide, whose rewards are the ignominy of existing with an exterior of splendor, and a consciousness of depravity. It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this doubly riveted despotism. I wished to place her independence beyond the reach of any power on earth. I wished to exalt her to that proud station of the world which Providence has des- tined her to fill. I have been charged with so great importance, in the efforts AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 117 to emancipate my country, as to be considered the keystone of the combination of Irishmen, or, as your lordship expressed it, ^' the life and blood of the conspiracy.'^ You do me honor overmuch — you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my lord — men before the splendor of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and w^ho would think themselves dishonored to be called your friends — who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood- stained hand. — [Here he was interrupted by the judge.] What ! my lord ! shall you tell me on the passage to that scaflfold which that tyranny, of which you are only the inter- mediary executioner, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has been and will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor — shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it? — I, who fear not to approach the omnipotent Judge to answer for the conduct of my whole life — am I to be appalled and falsified by a mere remnant of mortality here ? — by you, too, who, if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your lordship might swim in it ! — [Here the judge again interfered.] Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis- honor : let no man attaint my memory by believing that I could engage in any cause but that of my country's liberty and inde- pendence; or that I could become the pliant minion of power in the oppression or the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the provisional government speaks my views; from which no inference can be tortured to countenance bar- barity or debasement at home, or subjection, or humiliation, or treachery from abroad. I would not have submitted to a foreign invader, for the same reason that I would resist the ^domestic oppressor. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my country, who have subjected myself to the 118 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent and repel it ? No ; God forbid ! My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim : it circulates warmly and unruffled through the channels which God created for noble purposes, but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous that they cry to Heaven. Be yet patient. I have but a few words more to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave ; my lamp of life is nearly extinguished ; my race is run ; the grave opens to receive me ; and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world : it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph ; for, as no man who knows my motives dares now vindicate them, let not prejudice nor ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. I have done. ON BEING FOUND GUILTY OF TEE AS ON— Meagher. A JURY of my countrymen have found me guilty of the crimes for which I stood indicted. For this I entertain not the slightest feeling of resentment toward them. Influenced, as they must have been, by the charge of the lord chief justice, they could have found no other verdict. What of that charge '/ Any strong observations on it I feel sincerely would ill befit the solemnity of this scene ; but I would earnestly beseech of you, my lord, — you, who preside on that bench, — when the passions and prejudices of this hour have passed away, to appeal to your own conscience, and to ask of it, was your charge as it ought to AM ERICA X POPULAR SPEAKER. 119 haye been, impartial and indifferent between the subject and the crown ? My lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in me, and perhaps it may seal my fate. But I am here to speak the truth, whatever it may cost; I am here to regret nothing I have ever done — to retract nothing I have ever said. I am here to crave, with no lying lip, the life I consecrate to the liberty of my country. Far from it, even here — here, where the thief, the libertine, the murderer, have left their footprints in the dust; here, on this spot, where the shadows of death surround me, and from which I see my early grave in an unanointed soil opened to receive me — even here, encircled by these terrors, the hope which has beckoned me to the perilous sea upon which I have been wrecked still consoles, animates, enraptures me. No, I do not despair of my poor country — her peace, her liberty, her glory. For that country, I can do no more than bid her hope. To lift this island up. — to make her a benefactor to humanity, instead of being the meanest beggar in the world, to restore to her her native powers and her ancient constitution, — this has been my ambition, and this ambition has been my crime. Judged by the law of England, I know this crime en- tails the penalty of death ; but the history of Ireland explains this crime, and justifies it. Judged by that history, I am no criminal, I deserve no punishment. Judged by that history, the treason of which I stand convicted loses all its guilt, is sanctioned as a duty, will be ennobled as a sacrifice. With these sentiments, my lord, I await the sentence of the court. Having done what I felt to be my duty — having spoken what I felt to be the truth, as I have done on every other occasion of my short career, — I now bid farewell to the country of my birth, my passion, and my death ; the country whose misfortunes have invoked my sympathies ', whose factions I have sought to still ; whose intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim ] whose freedom has been my fatal dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of the love I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought and spoke and struggled for her freedom, the life of a 3'oung heart, and with that life all the hopes, the honors, the endearments, 120 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. of a liappy and lionored home. Pronounce, then, my lords, the sentence which the laws direct, and I will be prepared to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its execution. I hope to be able, with a pure heart and perfect composure, to appear before a higher tribunal — a tribunal where a Judge of infinite goodness as well as of justice will preside, c^nd where, my lords many, many of the judgments of this world will be reversed. SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA,~-Bird. Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who for twelve long years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the- bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was not always thus — a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men. My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported; and when^ at noon, I gathered the sheep be- neath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grand- sire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra; and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war was ; but my cheeks burned, I know not why, and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, until my mother, part- ing the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. That very nighfc the Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 121 of the war-liorse — the bleeding body of my father flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwelling I To-day I killed a man in the arena; and, when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died ; — the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph ! I told the praetor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and brave; and 1 begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Yestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay ! And the praetor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said, "Let the carrion rot; there are no noblemen but Romans.'' And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay ! thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron, and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe ; — to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled. Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are. The strength of brass is in your toughened sinews, but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 'Tis three days since he has tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours — and a dainty meal for him ye shall be ! If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife ! If ye are men, follow me ! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and then do bloody work, 11 122 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. as did your sires at old Tliermopylae ! Is Sparta dead ? Is the old Grrecian spirit frozen in your veins, tliat you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash ? comrades I warriors ! Thracians ! if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves ! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our op- pressors I If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters^ in noble, honorable battle ! BIENZrS LAST APPEAL TO THE ROMANS.— ^\ji.w^^. Ye come, then, once again ! Come ye as slaves or freemen ? A handful of armed men are in your walls : will ye, who chased from your gates the haughtiest knights — the most practised battlemen of Rome, succumb now to one hundred and fifty hirelings and strangers ? — Will ye arm for your Tribune ? — you are silent ! — be it so ! Will you arm for your own liber- ties, — your own Rome ?— silent still ! By the saints that reign on the throne of the heathen gods, are ye thus fallen from your birthright ? Have you no arms for your own defence ? Romans, hear me ! Have I wronged you ? — if so, by your hands let me die : and then, with knives yet reeking with my blood, go forward against the robber who is but the herald of your slavery 3 and I die honored, grateful, and avenged. You weep ! Ay, and I could weep, too — that I should live to speak of liberty in vain to Romans. Weep ! — is this an hour for tears ? Weep now, and your tears shall ripen harvests of crime, and license, and despotism to come ! Romans, arm ] follow me, at once, to the Place of the Co- lonna : expel this ruffian Minorbino, expel your enemy, (no matter what afterward you do to me) : or I abandon you to your fate. What ! and is it ye who forsake me, for whose cause alone man dares to hurl against me the thunders of his God, in this act of excommunication ? Is it not for you that I am declared heretic and rebel ? What are my imputed crimes ? — that I have AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 123 made Kome, and asserted Italy to be free ! — that I have sub- dued the proud magnates, who were the scourge both of pope and people. And you, — you upbraid me with what I have dared and done for you ! Men, with you I would have fought, for you I would have perished. You forsake yourselves in forsaking me; and, since I no longer rule over brave men, I resign my power to the tyrants you prefer. Seven months I have ruled over you, prosperous in com- merce, — stainless in justice, — victorious in the field : I have shown you what Rome could be ; and since I abdicate the gov- ernment ye gave me, — when I am gone, strike for your own freedom I It matters nothing who is the chief of a brave and great people. Prove that Rome hath many a Rienzi, but of brighter fortunes. Heed me : I ride with these faithful few through the quarter of the Colonna, before the fortress of your foe. Three times before that fortress shall my trumpet sound ] if at the third blast ye come not, armed as befits you, — I say not ail, but three, but two, but one hundred of ye, — I break up my wand of office, and the world shall say one hundred and fifty robbers quelled the soul of Rome, and crusbed her magistrate and her laws ! LAST MOMENTS OF COPERNICUS.— ^y^^^t, Copernicus, after harboring in his bosom for long, long years that pernicious heresy, — the solar system, — died on the day of the appearance of his book from the press. The closing scene of his life, with a little help from the imagination, would furnish a noble subject for an artist. For thirty-five years he has re- volved and matured in his mind his system of the heavens. A natural mildness of disposition, bordering on timidity, a reluc- tance to encounter controversy, and a dread of persecution, have led him to withhold his work from the press, and to make known his system but to a few confidential friends and disciples. 124 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. At lengtli he draws near his end ; he is seventy-three years of age, and he yields his work on the " revolutions of the hea- venly orbs'^ to his friends for publication. The day at last has come on which it is to be ushered into the world. It is the 24th of May 1543. On that day, — the eflfect, no doubt, of the intense excitement of his mind operating upon an exhausted frame, — an effusion of blood brings him to the gates of the grave. His last hour is come ; he lies stretched upon the couch from which he will never rise, in his apartment at the Canonry at Frauen- berg, in East Prussia. The beams of the setting sun glance through the gothic windows of his chamber; near his bedside is the armillary sphere, which he has contrived to represent his theory of the heavens; his picture painted by himself, the amusement of his earlier years, hangs before him ; beneath it his astrolabe and other imperfect astronomical instruments ; and around him are gathered his sorrowing disciples. The door of the apartment opens ; the eye of the departing sage is turned to see who enters ; it is a friend who brings the first printed copy of his immortal treatise. He knows that in that book he con- tradicts all that had ever been distinctly taught by former phi- losophers ; he knows that he has rebelled against the sway of Ptolemy, which the scientific world had acknowledged for a thousand years ; he knows that the popular mind will be shocked by his innovations ; he knows that the attempt will be made to press even religion into the service against him ; but he knows that his book is true. He is dying, but he leaves a glorious truth, as his dying be- quest, to the world. He bids the friend who has brought it place himself between the window and his bedside, that the sun's rays may fall upon the precious volume, and he may be- hold it once before his eye grows dim. He looks upon it, takes it in his hands, presses it to his breast, and expires. But no, he is not wholly gone. A smile lights up his dying countenance; a beam of returning intelligence kindles in his eye ; his lips move ; and the friend who leans over him can hear him faintly murmur the beautiful sentiments which the Christian lyrist of a later age has so finely expressed in verse : — AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 125 * Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, with all your feeble light ! Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, pale empress of the night ! And thou, refulgent orb of day, in brighter flames arrayed. My soul, which springs beyond thy sphere, no more demands thy aid. Ye stars are but the shining dust of my divine abode, The pavement of those heavenly courts, where I shall reign with God." So died the great Columbus of the heavens. THE CONGRESS OF 1776.— \Yirt. What was the state of things under which the Congress of 1776 assembled, when Adams and JeiFerson again met? It* was, as yoii know, in this Congress, that the question of Ameri- can Independence came, for the first time, to be discussed; and never, certainly, has a more momentous question been discussed, in any age or in any country, for it was fraught, not only with the destinies of this wide-extended continent, but, as the event has shown, and is still showing, with the destinies of man all over the world. How fearful that question then was, no one can tell but those who, forgetting all that has since past, can transport themselves back to the time, and plant their feet on the ground which those patriots then occupied. " Shadows, clouds, and darkness'^ then covered all the future, and the present was full only of danger and terror. A. more unequal contest never was pro- posed. It was, indeed, as it was then said to be, the shepherd boy of Israel going forth to battle against the giant of Gath ; and there were yet among us, enough to tremble when they heard that giant say, '^ Come to me, and I will give thy flesh to the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the field.'' But there were those who never trembled — who knew that there was a God in Israel, and who were willing to commit their cause '' to His even-handed justice,'' and His almighty power. That their great trust was in Him, is manifest from the remarks that were continually breaking from the lips of the patriots. Thus, the 11* 126 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. patriot Hawley, when pressed upon tlie inequality of the contest, could only -answer, " We must put to sea — Providence will bring us into port;^^ and Patrick Henry, when urged upon the same topic, exclaimed, "True, true; but there is a God above, who rules and overrules the destinies of nations.'^ EMPTINESS OF EARTHLY GLOEY.—Wayland. The crumbling tombstone and the gorgeous mausoleum, the sculptured marble and the venerable cathedral, all bear witness to the instinctive desire within us to be remembered by coming generations. But how short-lived is the immortality which the works of our hands can confer ! The noblest monuments of art that the world has ever seen are covered with the soil of twenty centuries. The works of the age of Pericles lie at the foot of the Acropolis in indiscriminate ruin. The ploughshare turns up the marble which the hand of Phidias had chiselled into beauty, and the Mussulman has folded his flock beneath the falling columns of the temple of Minerva. But even the works of our hands too frequently survive the memory of those who have created them. And were it other- wise, could we thus carry down to distant ages the recollection of our existence, it were surely childish to waste the energies of an immortal spirit in the effort to make it known to other times, that a being whose name was written with certain letters of the alphabet once lived, and flourished, and died. Neither sculptured marble, nor stately column, can reveal to other ages the lineaments of the spirit; and these alone can embalm our memory in the hearts of a grateful posterity. As the stranger stands beneath the dome of St. Paul's, or treads, with religious awe, the silent aisles of Westminster Abbey, the sentiment which is breathed from every object around him is, the utter emptiness of sublunary glory. The tine arts, obedient to private afl'ection or public gratitude, have here embodied, in every form, the finest conceptions of which AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 127 their age was capable. Each one of these monuments has been watered by the tears of the widow, the orphan, or the patriot. But generations have passed away, and mourners and mourned have sunk together into forgetfulness. The aged crone, or the smooth-tongued beadle, as now he hurries you through aisles and chapel, utters, with measured cadence and unmeaning tone, for the thousandth time, the name and lineage of the once-honored dead ; and then gladly dismisses you, to repeat again his well-conned lesson to another group of idle passers-by. Such, in its most august form, is all the im- mortality that matter can confer. It is by what we ourselcts have done^ and not by what others have done for us, that we shall be remembered by after ages. It is by thought that has aroused my intellect from its slumbers, which has '' given lustre to virtue, and dignity to truth/^ or by those examples which have inflamed my soul with the love of goodness, and not by means of sculptured marble, that I hold communion with Shakspeare and Milton, with Johnson and Burke, with Howard and Wilber- force. ON PARLIAMENTARY INNOVATIONS,— Beajjyoy, To calumniate innovation, and to decry it, is preposterous. Have there never been any innovations on the Constitution ? Can it be forgotten, for one moment, that all the advantages, civil and political, which we enjoy at this hour, are in reality the immediate and fortunate effects of innovation ? It is by innovations that the English Constitution has grown and flourished. It is by innovations that the House of Commons has risen to importance. It was at different eras that the counties and towns were ejupow- ered to elect representatives. Even the office of Speaker was an innovation ; for it was not heard of till the time of Richard the Second. What was more, the freedom of speech, now so highly valued, was an innovation ; for there were times when no member dared to avow his sentiments, and when his head must have answered for the boldness of his tongue. To argue against innovations, is to argue against improvements of every kind. 128 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. When the followers of Wickliffe maintained the cause of hu- manity and reason against absurdity and superstition, " No inno- vation" was the cry; and the fires of persecution blazed over the kingdom. " Let there be no innovation/^ is ever the maxim of the ignorant, the interested, and the worthless. It is the favor- ite tenet of the servile advocate of tyranny. It is the motto which Bigotry has inscribed on her banners. It is the barrier that opposes every improvement, political, civil, and religious. To reprobate all innovations on the Constitution, is to suppose that it is perfect. But perfection was not its attribute either in the Saxon or Norman times. It is not its attribute at the pre- sent moment. Alterations are perpetually necessary in every Constitution ; for the government should be accommodated to the times, to the circumstances, to the wants of a people, which are ever changing. MARIE ANTOINETTE.— BvRKE, It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles ; and surely never lio:hted on this orb, which she hardlv seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in, — glittering like the morning star, full of life, and splendor, and joy. ! what a revolution ! and what a heart must I have, to contemplate without emotion that elevation and that fall ! Little did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her, in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honor, and of cavaliers ! I thought ten thou- sand swords must have leaped from their scabbards, to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone ; that of sophisters, econo- AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 129 mists, and calculators has succeeded ] and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever. Never, never more, shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted free- dom I The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honor, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness. ADDRESS TO THE CHAMBER OF PEERS.— Trelat. I HAVE long felt that it was necessary — that it was inevitable —we should meet face to face : we do so now. Gentlemen Peers, our mutual enmity is not the birth of yesterday. In 1814, in common with many, many others, I cursed the power which called you or your predecessors to help it in chaining down liberty. In 1815 I took up arms to oppose the return of your gracious master of that day. In 1830 I did my duty in promoting the successful issue of the event which then occurred ; and eight days after the Revolution, I again took up my musket, though but little in the habit of handling warlike instruments, and went to the post which General Lafayette had assigned us for the purpose of marching against you personally. Gentlemen Peers I It was in the presence of my friends and myself that one of your number was received ; and it is not impossible that we had some influence in occasioning the very limited success of his embassy. It was then he who appeared before i«s, implor- ing, beseeching, with tears in his eyes ; it is now our turn to appear before ^ou, — but we do so without imploring, or beseech- ing, or weeping, or bending the knee. We had utterly van- quished your Kings; and, they being gone, you had nothing 130 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. left. As for you^ you have not vanquished the People; and whether you hold us as hostages for it or not, our personal position troubles us very, very little ; — rely upon that. Your prisons open to receive within their dungeons all who retain a free heart in their bosoms. He who first placed the tri-colored flag on the palace of your old Kings — they who drove Charles the Tenth from France — are handed over to you as victims, on account of your new King. Your sergeant has touched with his black wand the courageous deputy who first, among you all, opened his door to the Revolution. The whole thing is summed up in these facts : It is the Revolution strug- gling with the counter-revolution; the Past with the Present, with the Future ; selfishness with fraternity ; tyranny with liberty. Tyranny has on her side bayonets, prisons, and your embroidered collars, Gentlemen Peers. Liberty has God on her side, — the Power which enlightens the reason of man, and impels him forward in the great work of human advancement. It will be seen with whom victory will abide. This will be seen, — not to-morrow, not the day after to-morrow, nor the day after that, — it may not be seen by us at all; — what matters that? It is the human race which engages our thoughts, and not our- selves. Everything manifests that the hour of deliverance is not far distant. It will then be seen whether God will permit the lie to be given Him with impunity. THE PROGRESS OF DISCOVERY.— ^veuett. We are confirmed in the conclusion that the popular diffusion of knowledge is favorable to the growth of science, when we reflect that, vast as the domain of learning is, and extraordinary as is the progress which has been made in almost every branch, we may assume as certain, I will not say that we are in its infancy, but that the discoveries which have been already made, wonderful as they are, bear but a small proportion to those that will hereafter be effected ; and that in everything that belongs AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 131 to the improvement of man, there is yet a field of investigation broad enough to satisfy the most eager thirst for knowledge, and diversified enough to suit every variety of taste, order of intellect, or degree of qualification. For the peaceful victories of the mind, that unknown and unconquered world, for which Alex- ander wept, is for ever near at hand; hidden indeed, as yet, behind the veil with which nature shrouds her undiscovered mysteries, but stretching all along the confines of the domain of knowledge, sometimes nearest when least suspected. The foot has not yet pressed, nor the eye beheld it; but the mind, in its deepest musings, in its wildest excursions, will sometimes catch a glimpse of the hidden realm — a gleam of light from the Hesperian island — a fresh and fragrant breeze from off the undis- covered land — *' Sabsean odors from the spicy shore," which happier voyagers^ in after times, shall approach, explore, and inhabit. Who has not felt, when, with his very soul con- centrated in his eyes, while the world around him is wrapped in sleep, he gazes into the holy depths of the midnight heavens, or wanders in contemplation .among the worlds and systems that sweep through the immensity of space — who has not felt as if their mystery must yet more fully yield to the ardent, unwearied, imploring research of patient science ? Who does not, in those choice and blessed moments, in which the world and its interests are forgotten, and the spirit retires into the inmost sanctuary of its own meditations, and there, unconscious of everything but itself and the infinite Perfection, of which it is the earthly type, and kindling the flame of thought on the altar of prayer — who does not feel, in moments like these, as if it must at last be given to man, to fathom the great secret of his own being — to solve the mighty problem " Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate" ? When I think in what slight elements the great discoveries that have changed the condition of the world have oftentimes originated ; on the entire revolution in political and social affairs 132 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. which has resulted from the use of the magnetic needle ; on the world of wonders, teeming with the most important scientific discoveries, which has been opened by the telescope ; on the all- controlling influence of so simple an invention as that of movable metallic types ; on the effects of the invention of gunpowder, no doubt the casual result of some idle experiment in alchemy ; on the consequences that have resulted and are likely to result, from the application of the vapor of boiling water to the manufactur- ing arts, to navigation, and transportation by land; on the results of a single sublime conception in the mind of Newton, on which he erected, as on a foundation, the glorious temple of the system of the heavens ; in fine, when I consider how, from the great master-principle of the philosophy of Bacon — the induction of Truth from the observation of Fact — has flowed, as from a living fountain, the fresh and still swelling stream of modern science, I am almost oppressed with the idea of the pro- bable connection of the truths already known, with great prin- ciples which remain undiscovered, — of the proximity in which we may unconsciously stand, to the most astonishing, though yet unrevealed, mysteries of the material and intellectual world. SCIENCE AND RELIGION— Ritcrcock. I AM far from maintaining that science is a sufficient guide in religion. On the other hand, if left to itself, as I fully admit, *^ It leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind." Nor do I maintain that scientific truth, even when properly appreciated, will compare at all, in its influence upon the human mind, with those peculiar and higher truths disclosed by Reve- lation. All I contend for is, that scientific truth, illustrating as it does the divine character, plans, and government, ought to fan and feed the flame of true piety in the hearts of its cultivators. He, therefore, who knows the most of science, ought most powerfully to feel this religious influence. He is not confined, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 133 like the great mass of men, to the outer court of Nature's mag- nificent temple ; but he is admitted to the interior, and allowed to trace its long halls, aisles, and galleries, and gaze upon its lofty domes and arches ; nay, as a priest he enters th.^ penetralia , the holy of holies, where sacred fire is always burning upon the altars ; where hovers the glorious Schekinah ; and where, from a full orchestra, the anthem of praise is ever ascending. Petrified, indeed, must be his heart, if it catches none of the inspiration of such a spot. He ought to go forth from it, among his fellow- men, with radiant glory on his face, like Moses from the holy mount. He who sees most of God in His works ought to show the stamp of Divinity upon his character, and lead an eminently holy life. Yet it is only a few gifted and adventurous minds that are able, from some advanced mountain-top, to catch a glimpse of the entire stream of truth, formed by the harmonious union of ail principles, and flowing on majestically into the boundless ocean of all knowledge, the Infinite mind. But when the Christian philosopher shall be permitted to resume the study of science in a future world, with powers of investigation enlarged and clarified, and all obstacles removed, he will be able to trace onward the various ramifications of truth, till they unite into higher and higher principles, and become one in that centre of centres, the Divine Mind. That is the Ocean from which all truth originally sprang, and to which it ultimately returns. To trace out the shores of that shoreless Sea, to measure its mea- sureless extent, and to fathom its unfathomable depths, will be the noble and the joyous work of eternal ages. PERORATION AGAINST WARREN HASTINGS.— B\jrke. My Lords, at this awful close, in the name of the Commons, and surrounded by them, I attest the retiring, I attest the ad- vancing generations, between which, as a link in the great chain of eternal order, we stand. We call this nation, we call the world to witness, that the Commons have shrunk from no labor; 12 134 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. that we have been guilty of no prevarication ] that we have made no compromise with crime ; that we have not feared any odium whatsoever, in the long warfare which we have carried on with the crimes, with the vices, with the exorbitant wealth, with the enormous and overpowering influence of Eastern cor- ruption. My Lords, it has pleased Providence to place us in such a state that we appear every moment to be upon the verge of some great mutations. There is one thing, and one thing only, which defies all mutation : that which existed before the world, and will survive the fabric of the world itself, — I mean justice ; that justice which, emanating from the Divinity, has a place in the breast of every one of us, given us for our guide with regard to ourselves and with regard to others, and which will stand, after this globe is burned to ashes, our advocate or our accuser, before the great Judge, when He comes to call upon us for the tenor of a well-spent life. My Lords, the Commons will share in every fate with your Lordships ; there is nothing sinister which can happen to you, in whic-li we shall not all be involved ; and, if it should so hap- pen that we shall be subjected to some of those frightful changes which we have seen, — if it should happen that your Lordships, stripped of all the decorous distinctions of human society, should, by hands at once base and cruel, be led to those scaffolds and machines of murder upon which great kings and glorious queens have shed their blood, amidst the prelates, amidst the nobles, amidst the magistrates, who supported their thrones, — may you in those moments feel that consolation which I am persuaded they felt in the critical moments of their dreadful agony ! My Lords, if you must fall, may you so fall ! but if you stand, — and stand I trust you will, — together with the fortune of this an- cient monarchy, together with the ancient laws and liberties of this great and illustrious kingdom, may you stand as unimpeached in honor as in power; may you stand, not as a substitute for virtue, but as an ornament of virtue, as a security for ^artue; may you stand loDg, and long stand the terror of tyrants; may you stand the refuge of afflicted nations ; may you stand a sacred temple, for the perpetual residence of an inviolable justice! AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 135 TUETOTALISM.—^OTT, I AM aware that " teetotalism/^ as it is called, is smiled at by some as a weakness, ridiculed by others as a folly, and by others censured as a crime ; and I am also aware that there is nothing imposing or exclusive in the use of water, that common beverage furnished by God himself in such abundance for the convenience and comfort of man ; and that he who uses no other beverage, must remain a stranger to that transient and fitful joy, that alternates with a corresponding sorrow in the bosoms of those who indulge in the more fashionable use of intoxicating liquors. Still, in the view of that withered intellect, those blighted hopes, those unnatural crimes, and that undying misery, that the use ,of these liquors everywhere occasions, I put it to the candor of every ingenuous man who hears me, even among those who still indulge in that use, whether we who have abjured it, have not, under the existing state of things, a very intelligible and weighty reason for our conduct ? Will not the thought, as you return to your homes to-night and sit down amid a virtuous and beloved family, but a family familiarized to the use of intoxicating liquors in some of those forms which fashion sanctions — will not the thought that those same liquors, to the temperate use of which you are accustoming your household, must be to them the occasion of so much peril ; perhaps of so much suffering; suffering in which, though they escape, so many other human beings must participate ; — will not the thought of this mar the pleasure to be derived from that cup which is to be hereafter, as it has heretofore been to multi- tudes who drank of it, the cup of death ? Will not the thought of those uncounted thousands who have lived and died accursed on this planet, in consequence of intoxi- cating liquors; and those other and yet other thousands who will hereafter so live and die upon it, as long as the use of such liquors shall continue to be tolerated; and will not the thought of this wanton, gratuitous, and unmeasured misery abate some- what the displeasure you have felt, and soften the severity of the censures in which you have indulged against those who have 136 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. combined to banisli the use of those liquors as a beverage from the earth ? More than this, will it not induce you, after all, to co-operate with us in consummating so humane and benevo- lent an enterprise ? CHRISTIAN RESPONSIBILITY.— ^OTT. Christians, patriots^ men of humanity ! will you not come along with us to their rescue, who, misguided by the example and emboldened by the counsel of others, have ventured onward in a course which threatens to prove fatal alike to their health, their happiness, and their salvation ? Will you not, in place of casting additional impediments in the way of their return, contribute to remove those which already exist, and which, without such assistance, they will remain for ever alike unable to surmount or remove ? On your part the sacrifice will be small, on theirs the benefit conferred immense ; a sacrifice not indeed without requital ; for you shall share the joy of their rejoicing friends on earth, and their rejoicing friends in heaven, who, when celebrating their returns to Grod, shall say : ^' This, our son, our brother, our neighbor, was lost and is found, was dead and is alive again/' In view of the prevailing usages of society in which you live, and the obvious inroads drunkenness is making on that society ; in view of that frightful number of ministers at the altar and advocates at the bar, whom drunkenness, robbing the church and the world of their services, has demented and dishonored ; in view of those master spirits in the field and the Senate chamber, whom drunkenness has mastered; in view of those families made wretched, those youth corrupted, and those poor- houses, and prison-houses, and graveyards peopled — and peopled with beings made guilty and wretched by drunkenness; I put it to your conscience, Christians, whether at such a time and under such circumstances you would be at liberty, though sup- AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 137 plied witli wine made from the grapes of Eshcol, to use it as a beverage ? In conclusion, I ask Christians whether you are not bound, by the very circumstances in which God has placed you, to refrain from the use of intoxicating liquors, of every name and nature, as a beverage, and whether you can, without sin, refuse to give your influence, your whole influence, to the cause of total abstinence ? WOMAN AND TEMPEEANCK—Ballotj. Above all others living, females have the deepest personal interest in the subject of temperance. On none has the curse that follows strong drink fallen so heavily, and to no hearts does the genius of emancipation bring brighter hopes. The appro- priate sphere of female life is comparatively a narrow and restricted one. The little sanctuary of home, which they seem made to adorn and bless, comprises the field from which they must reap the harvest of most of their earthly enjoyment. Most of their happiness, that this world has power to give and take away, must here have its source; and how awful must be their conditition, then, when that sanctuary is profaned by the drunk- ard's revels ! It is not the drunken husband, father, son, or brother, that feels all the keen torments of such a home. No ; it is the wife, the mother, the sister, and the daughter. The intemperate man drinks the cup, but the dregs at the bottom are left for the woman. He can go out into the world for com- panionship and comfort; she must find hers in dreariness and destitution at home. The excitement furnished by the business community, public scenes, amusements and pleasures, are open to him ; but solitude and tears are left for her at her blighted and lonely hearthstone. He can provide himself with food and raiment ; she and her little ones may be hungry and cold. The accommodating landlord furnishes him with a comfortable seat by a good fire, where he may while away his time with his bottle companions, and heed not the cold that searches every nook in 12^ 138 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. his own hovel, or the destitution that rests like an incubus upon the hearts of his wife and children. No, I repeat it, it is not upon man that the curse of intemperance comes down in its most deadly power — but upon tried, suffering, and patient woman I TEE LANDING OF THE MAYFLOWER.— Everett. Do you think, sir, as we repose beneath this splendid pavilion, adorned by the hand of taste, blooming with festive garlands, wreathed with the stars and stripes of this great Republic, re- sounding with strains of heart-stirring music, that, merely be- cause it stands upon the soil of Barnstable, we form any idea of the spot as it appeared to Captain Miles Standish, and his companions, on the 15th or 16th of November, 1620? Oh, no, sir. Let us go up for a moment, in imagination, to yonder hill, which overlooks the village and the bay, and suppose ourselves standing there on some bleak, ungenial morning, in the middle of November of that year. The coast is fringed with ice. Dreary forests, interspersed with sandy tracts, fill the back- ground. Nothing of humanity quickens on the spot, save a few roaming savages, who, ill-provided with what even they deem the necessaries of life, are digging with their fingers a scanty repast out of the frozen sands. No friendly lighthouses had as yet hung up their cressets upon your headlands ; no brave pilot- boat was hovering like a sea-bird on the tops of the waves, be- yond the Cape, to guide the shattered bark to its harbor; no charts and soundings made the secret pathways of the deep as plain as a gravelled road through a lawn ; no comfortable dwell- ings along the line of the shore, and where are now your well- inhabited streets, spoke a welcome to the pilgrim ; no steeple poured the music of Sabbath morn into the ear of the fugitive for conscience^ sake. Primeval wildness and native desolation brood over sea and land ; and from the 9th of November, when, after a most calamitous voyage, the Mayflower first came to an- chor in Provincetown harbor, to the end of December, the AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 139 entire male portion of the company was occupied, for the greater part of every day, and often by night as well as by day, in ex- ploring the coast and seeking a place of rest, amidst perils from the sa^ages, from the unknown shore, and the elements, which it makes one's heart bleed to think upon. But this dreary waste, which we thus contemplate in imagin- ation, and which they traversed in sad reality, is a chosen land. It is a theatre upon which an all-glorious drama is to be enacted. On this frozen soil, — driven from the ivy-clad churches of their mother land,— escaped, at last, from loathsome prisons, — the meek fathers of a pure church will lay the spiritual base- ment of their temple. Here, on the everlasting rock of liberty, they will establish the foundation of a free state. Beneath its ungenial wintry sky, principles of social right, institutions of civil government, shall germinate, in which, what seemed the Utopian dreams of visionary sages, are to be more than realized. But let us contemplate, for a moment, the instruments selected by Providence, for this political and moral creation. However unpromising the field of action, the agents must correspond with the excellence of the work. The time is truly auspicious. Eng- land is well supplied with all the materials of a generous enter- prise. She is in the full affluence of her wealth of intellect and character. The age of Elizabeth has passed and garnered up its treasures. The age of the Commonwealth, silent and un- suspected, is ripening towards its harvest of great men. The Burleighs and Cecils have sounded the depths of statesmanship; the Drakes and Baleighs have run the whole round of chivalry and adventure ; the Cokes and Bacons are spreading the light of their master-minds through the entire universe of philosophy and law. Out of a generation of which men like these are the guides and lights, it cannot be difficult to select the leaders of any lofty undertaking; and, through their influence, to secure to it the protection of royalty. But, alas, for New England ! No, sir, happily for New England, ProvMence works not with "human instruments. Not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called. The stars of human greatness, that glitter in a court, are not destined to rise on the 140 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. lowering horizon of the despised colony. The feeble company of Pilgrims is not to be marshalled by gartered statesmen, or mitred prelates. Fleets will not be despatched to convoy the little band, nor armies to protect it. Had there been honors to be won, or pleasures to be enjoyed, or plunder to be grasped, hungry courtiers, mid-summer friends, godless adventurers would have eaten out the heart of the enterprise. Silken Bucking- hams and Somersets would have blasted it with their patronage. But, safe amidst their unenvied perils, strong in their inoffen- sive weakness, rich in their untempting poverty, the patient fugitives are permitted to pursue unmolested, the thorny paths of tribulation; and, landed at last on the unfriendly shore, the hosts of Grod, in the frozen mail of December, encamped around the dwellings of the just : — " Stern famine guards the solitary coast, And winter barricades the realms of frost." FROGEESS OF TOTAL AB STINUNCE.— MclLVAmE, It is too late to say that a general adoption of the great principle of total abstinence is too much to be hoped for. A few years ago, who would not have been considered almost de- ranged had he predicted what has already been accomplished in this cause ? Great things, wonderful things, have already been effected. The enemies of this reformation, whose pecuniary interests set them in opposition, are unable to deny this fact. It is felt from the distillery to the dram-shop. It is seen from Maine to the utmost South and West. Every traveller per- ceives it. Fvery vender knows it. The whole country wonders at the progress of this cause. It is rapidly and powerfully ad- vancing. One thing, and only one, can prevent its entire suc- cess. The frenzy of drunkenness cannot arrest its goings. The hundreds of thousands in the armies of intemperance cannot resist its march. But the temperate can. If backward to come up to the vital principle of this work, they tviU prevent its ac- AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 141 complisliment. But the banner of triumph will wave in peace over all the land, hailed by thousands of grateful captives from the gripe of death, in spite of all the warring of the ^' mighty to drink wine/^ if those who abhor intemperance, and think they would be willing to make a great sacrifice to save their children or friends from its blasting curse, will only come up to the little effort of entire abstinence. This is the surest and shortest way to drain off the river of fire now flowing through the land. It is the moderate use of the temperate that keeps open the smoking fountains from which that tide is poured. INTERNATIONAL SYMPATHIES,— ^yAYLA^'J>. In many respects, the Nations of Christendom collectively are becoming somewhat analogous to our own Federal republic. Antiquated distinctions are breaking away, and local animosities are subsiding. The common people of different countries are knowing each other better, esteeming each other more, and attaching themselves to each other, by various manifestations of reciprocal good will. It is true, every nation has still its sepa- rate boundaries and its individual interests; but the freedom of commercial intercourse is allowing those interests to adjust themselves to each other, and thus rendering the causes of collision of vastly less frequent occurrence. Local questions are becoming of less, and general questions of greater import- ance. Thanks be to God, men have at last begun to understand the rights and feel for the wrongs of each other I Mountains interposed do not so much make enemies of nations. Let the trumpet of alarm be sounded, and its notes are now heard by every nation, whether of "Europe or America. Let a voice borne on the feeblest breeze tell that the rights of man are in danger, and it floats over valley and mountain, across continent and ocean, until it has vibrated on the ear of the remotest dweller in Christendom. Let the arm of Oppression be raised to crush the feeblest nation on earth, and there will be heard every- where, if not the shout of defiance, at least the deep-toned 142 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. murmur of implacable displeasure. It is the cry of aggrieved, insulted, much-abused man. It is human nature waking in her might from the slumber of ages, shaking herself from the dust of antiquated institutions, girding herself for the combat, and going forth conquering and to conquer; and woe uato the man, woe unto the dynasty, woe, unto the party, and woe unto the policy, on whom shall fall the scathe of her blighting indig- nation 1 THE FEUITS OF INTEMPERANCE.— UclLYAmE, It cannot be denied that our country is most horribly scourged by intemperance. In the strong language of Scripture, " it groaneth and travaileth in pain, to be delivered from the bond- age of this corruption. Our country is free; "with a great price obtained we this freedom.'^ We feel as if all the force of Europe could not get it from our embrace. Our shores would shake into the depth of the sea the invader who should presume to seek it. One solitary citizen led away into captivity, scourged, chained by a foreign enemy, would rouse the oldest nerve in the land to indignant complaint, and league the whole nation in loud demand for redress. And yet it cannot be de- nied that our country is enslaved. Yes, we are groaning under a most desolating bondage. The land is trodden down under its polluting foot. Our families are continually dishonored, ravaged, and bereaved ; thousands annually slain, and hundreds of thou- sands carried away into a loathsome slavery, to be ground to powder under its burdens, or broken upon the wheel of its tortures. What are the statistics of this traffic ? Ask the records of madhouses, and they will answer, that one-third of all their wretched inmates were sent there by Intemperance. Ask the keepers of our prisons, and they will testify that, with scarcely an exception, their horrible population is from the schools of Intemperance. Ask the history of the two hundred thousand paupers now burdening the hands of public charity, and you AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. ]43 will find that two-thirds of them have been the victims, directly or indirectly, of Intemperance. Inquire at the gates of death, and you will learn that no less than thirty thousand souls are annually passed for the judgment-bar of God, driven there by Intemperance. How many slaves are at present among us ? We ask not of slaves to man, but to Intemperance, in compari- son with whose bondage the yoke of the tyrant is freedom. They are estimated at four hundred and eighty thousand ! And what does the nation pay for the honor and happiness of this whole system of ruin ? Five times as much, every year, as for the annual support of its whole system of government. These are truths, so often published, so widely sanctioned, so generally received, and so little doubted, that we need not detail the par- ticulars by which they are made out. What, then, is the whole amount of guilt and of woe which they exhibit? Ask Him " unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid.^' Ask Eternity ! PAUL'S DEFENCE BEFORE KING AGEIPPA.—Bible, I THINK myself happy, King Agrippa, because I shall answer for myself this day before thee, touching all the things whereof I am accused of the Jews; especially because I know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which are among the Jewsj wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently. My manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among mine own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews, which knew me from the beginning (if they would testify), that after the most straitest sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee. And now I stand and am judged, for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers ; unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come. For which hope's sake, King Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews. Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead ? I verily thought with myself, that I 144 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth ; which thing I also did in Jerusalem 3 and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief priests; and, when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme ; and, being ex- ceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto strange cities. Whereupon, as I went to Damascus with autho- rity and commission from the chief priests, at mid-day, king, I saw in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me, and them which journeyed with me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and saying in the Hebrew tongue, ^' Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks. ^^ And I said, ^' Who art thou. Lord ?" And he said, " I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. But rise, and stand upon thy feet, for I have appeared unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness both of these things which thou hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear unto thee ; delivering thee from the people, and from the Gentiles, unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes and to turn them, from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God; that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in me/' Whereupon, King Agrippa, I was not disobe- dient unto the heavenly vision ; but showed first unto them of Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent, and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these causes, the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me. Having therefore obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come, that Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first that should rise from the dead, and should show light unto the people, and to the Gentiles. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 145 WHAT CAX BE DOXi: .?— Beecher. TThat can be done? ten tliousancl voices reply. ••'Xothing; ob., nothing ; men always have drunk to excess, and they always will ; there is so much capital embarked in the business of im- portation and distillation, and so much supposed gain in vending ardent spirits, and such an insatiable demand for them, and such ability to pay for them by high-minded, wilful, independent free- men, that nothing can be done/' Then farewell, a long farewell, to all our greatness ! The pre- sent abuse of ardent spirits has grown out of what was the prudent use of it less than one hundred years ago ; then there was very little intemperance in the land ] most men who drank at all, drank temperately. But if the prudent use of ardent spirits one hundred years ago. has produced such results as now exist, what will the present intemperate use accomplish in a cen- tury to come ? Let no man turn off his eye from this subject, or refuse to reason, and infer ^ there is a moral certainty of a wide-extended ruin, without reformation. The seasons are not more sure to roll, the sun to shine, or the rivers to flow, than the present enormous consumption of ardent spirits is sure to pro- duce the most deadly consequences to the nation. And shall it come unresisted by prayer, and without a finger lifted to stay the desolation ? Why can nothing be done ? Because the intemperate will not stop drinking, shall the temperate keep on and become drunkards ? Because the intemperate cannot be reasoned with, shall the temperate become madmen ? And because force will not avail with men of independence and property, does it follow that reason, and conscience, and the fear of the Lord, will have no influence ? And because the public mind is now unenlightened, and un- awakened, and uncoucentrated, does it follow that it cannot be enlightened, and aroused, and concentrated in one simultaneous and successful effort ? Keformations as much resisted by popular feeling, and impeded by ignorance, interest, and depraved obstinacy, have been accomplished, through the medium of a 13 K 146 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. rectified public opinion ; and no nation ever possessed the oppor- tunities and tlie means that we possess, of correctly forming the public opinion ; nor was a nation ever called upon to attempt it by motives of such imperious necessity. Our all is at stake — we shall perish if we do not efi'ect it. There is nothing that ought to be done, which a free people cannot do. The science of self-government is the science of perfect government, which we have yet to learn and teach, or this nation and the world must be governed by force. But we have all the means, and none of the impediments, which hinder the experi- ment amid the dynasties and feudal despotisms of Europe. And what has been done justifies the expectation that all which yet remains to be done will be accomplished. The abolition of the slave-trade, an event now almost accomplished, was once regarded as a chimera of benevolent dreaming. But the band of Christian heroes, who consecrated their lives to the work, may some of them survive to behold it achieved. This greatest of evils upon earth, this stigma of human nature, wide-spread, deep-rooted, and intrenched by interest and state policy, is passing away before the unbending requisitions of enlightened public opinion. No great melioration of the human condition was ever achieved without the concurrent efi'ort of numbers, and no extended, well-directed application of moral influence was ever made in vain. Let the temperate part of the nation awake, and reform, and concentrate their influence in a course of systematic action, and success is not merely probable, but absolutely certain. And cannot this be accomplished ? Cannot the public attention be aroused, and set in array against the traffic in ardent spirits, and against their use? With just as much certainty can the public Sentiment be formed and put in motion, as the waves can be moved by the breath of heaven — or the massy rock, balanced on the precipice, can be pushed from its centre of motion ; — and when the public sentiment once begins to move, its march will be as resistless as the same rock thundering down the precipice. Let no man, then, look upon our condition as hopeless, or feel, or think, or say, that nothing can be done. The language of Heaven to our happy nation is, ''Be it unto thee even as thou AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 147 wilt;'' and there is no despondency more fatal, or more wicked, than that which refuses to hope, and to act, from the apprehen- sion that nothing can be done. INTEMPERANCE AND ABSTINENCE.— Sojjtr. Nothing is so great a friend to the mind of man as absti- nence. It strengthens the memory, clears the apprehension, and sharpens the judgment, and, in a word, gives reason its full scope of acting ; and when reason has that, it is always a dili- gent and faithful handmaid to conscience. And therefore, when men look no further than mere nature, which many do not, let no man expect to keep his gluttony and his powers, his drunken- ness and his wit, his revellings and his judgment^ much less his conscience, together. For neither nature nor grace will have it so; it is an utter contradiction to the methods of both ! " Who hath woe ? who hath sorrow ? who hath contention ? who hath babblings ? who hath wounds without cause ? who hath redness of eyes ?'' says Solomon : — which question he himself presently answers. '^ They who tarry long at the wine; they who seek after mixed wine.'' So say I. Who has a stupid intellect, a broken memory, and a blasted wit, and, which is worse than all, a blind and benighted conscience, but the intemperate and luxu- rious, the epicure and the smell-feast ? So impossible is it for a man to turn sot, without making himself a blockhead too. I know this is not always the present effect of these courses, but in the long run it will infallibly be so. Time and luxury together will as certainly change the inside, as it does the outside, of the best heads soever, and much more, of such heads as are strong for nothing but to bear drink; concerning which, it ever was, and is, and will be, a sure observation, that such as are ablest at the barrel are weakest at the book. 148 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. SLAVERY OF INTEMPERANCE.— Kiy.bkia.. Of all the vices tliat acquire a fearful dominion over the human heart, intemperance is the one whose concj nests are most varied, and whose slaves are most lowly. There is no rank in society that has not offered up victims to its wrath and paid tri- bute to its sovereignty. The refinement of education and the splendor of genius have fallen before its power. Truly, there is no enemy more dangerous than drunkenness, and no slavery more terrible than that of the drunkard. At one time, it encounters man under the form of custom^ habit, friendshl'p ! at another, under the deceitful garb of pleasure 1 But when it has once completely fastened on its victim, to what a pitiable state of moral degradation is he reduced ! Were our fair country to become a prey to the fierce followers of Maho- met — were we to be spurned beneath the slipper of the haughty Turk — were our sacred temples to be polluted by the banner of the crescent — were our people to be sold into slavery — in fine, were all the horrors that superstition and savage atrocity could prompt, wreaked upon the land, our condition would offer no comparison to the utter abasement, to the almost hopeless misery of the unfortunate drunkard ! It is true, an enemy may enslave the body, but as yet, tyranny has forged no chains that can fetter the freedom of man's mind ! The dull clay may bow beneath the iron hand of oppression, but the soul can never be enslaved ; it is immortal, it is free. If danger threatened the safety of those we love, under any form of violence, how should we use every possible exertion to dispel its power ! If the invader's fleet hovered around our coasts, or if the foeman's steel glittered on our fruitful fields, how soon would the blast of liberty's clarion awaken all the valor of our souls. The peasant would leave his plough, the pale student his dusty tome, the mechanic the implements of his craft ; and all would arm in defence of their country. They would go forth, strong in the determination to preserve her liberties, or die in the attempt. Man will, on great occasions, sacrifice every feeling for his country's good ; but equally ready AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 149 is he, too often, to barter his own liberty, liis honor, his char- acter, the peace, the very existence of his family — for what ? For mere brute gratification ! for senseless, stupid indulgence 1 He will surrender the pure feelings of his heart, the glorious faculties of his mind, and the godlike qualities of his soul, at the dark shrine of drunkenness! He will become a miserable wretch, whose heart is vitiated, whose mind is clouded, and whose soul is distracted by the pangs of remorse ! How few there are, who, having arrived at this stage of crime, fling off the galling chains of servitude, and trample under foot the badges of their slavery ! But, when the poor victim makes one determined struggle, he does, with the assistance of a merciful God, strike off the links that bound him captive, and stand once more in the full consciousness of his soul's freedom ! And oh ! how immeasurably greater is his glory than that of the con- queror, whose fame is dyed in the blood of thousands I He indeed has triumphed over the powers of darkness — he has crushed beneath his heel the serpent's head — his victory is bloodless — it is pure. Man ! while it is yet in your power, break through the moral prison in which vice has encased the generous feelings of your heart ! Assert the nobleness of your birthright ! Dash from you the chains with which passion has bound your soul 1 Call on your God to aid you. Forswear for ever the fascinat- ing BUT DEADLY CUP ! Be free ! Be free ! EVILS OF THE TRAFFIC— Beecker. Could all the forms of evil produced in the land by intem- perance, come upon us in one horrid array — it would appal the nation, and put an end to the trajffic in ardent spirits. If in every dwelling built by blood, the stone from the wall should utter all the cries which the bloody traffic extorts, and the beam out of the timber should echo them back — who would build such a house ? — and who would dwell in it ? What if in every part 13^ 150 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. of the dwelliDg, from the cellar upward, through all the halls and chambers — babblings, and contentions, and voices, and groans, and shrieks, and wailings, were heard, day and night ! What if the cold blood oozed out, and stood in drops upon the walls; and, by preternatural art, all the ghastly skulls and bones of the victims destroyed by intemperance should stand upon the walls, in horrid sculpture, within and without the building ! — who would rear such a building ? What if at eventide, and at midnight, the airy forms of men destroyed by intemperance were dimly seen haunting the distilleries and stores where they re- ceived their bane — following the track of the ship engaged in the commerce — walking upon the waves — flitting athwart the deck — sitting upon the rigging — and sending up, from the hold within, and from the waves without, groans, and loud laments, and wailings ? Who would attend such stores ? Who would labor in such distilleries ? Who would navigate such ships ? But these evils are as real, as if the stone did cry out of the wall, and the beam answered it — as real, as if, by day and night, wailings were heard in every part of the dwelling — and Tblood and skeletons were seen upon every wall. As real, as if the ghostly forms of departed victims flitted about the ship as she passed o'er the billows, and showed themselves nightly about stores and distilleries, and with unearthly voices screamed ia our ears their loud lament ! THE DEALERS AND THEIR TRAFFIC. Christian Examiner. The wretches who deal out to these deluded, friendless, help- less beings, the poison of body and soul, cannot be reached by the laws of an intelligent Christian people ? Preach it till you are weary. Let all the rulers and judges of the land declare it, — we will not believe it. While there is moral force in man, while there is civil government in the land, and a God ruling in the heavens, we will not helieve it. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 151 There is a cruel wrong somewhere, and it falls with peculiar weight upon those whom we are most bound to protect and relieve, — the poor, the young, and the tempted. There are inconsistencies thronging us on every side. Men talk of their liberty as above all price, and they are throwing it away and stripping others of it day by day. They groan about taxes, and they tax themselves and the whole community enormously year after year, or suffer dealers and drinkers to tax them, for the consumption of that which they allow they do not need, and which brings upon their revenue, their energies, and all their resources, a burden to which every other is light. We pay largely, and resign no little for our freedom, for the protection which government extends over our property and lives. But when we implore rulers or citizens to protect us and our child- ren from the decoys and pitfalls that are thick spread around us, or help us to snatch our brother from the merciless fangs of a monster in human shape, they tell us they cannot interfere with a man's business, they will not curtail his liberty, they must not hazard an election, they dare not enforce an unpopular law ; and so they dig another pitfall at our very door, and multiply the lures all along our streets, and extend over them that same defence which they refuse us and ours ! Oh, it is miserable mockery ! It is blank sophistry. It is dreadful inhumanity ! Where peculiarly the guilt lies, or what is the remedy, it is for others and all to consider. That there is guilt, every conscience that is alive feels. That there must be a remedy, every believer in God and Christianity knows. TT^MJi?.— Marshall. Oh, water ! water ! that man, of all created things, should turn from thee with loathing and disgust ! — man, to whom *it stands in ministering attendance in all its forms; — man, whom it blesses in blessing all things else; whether bearing aloft his ships upon the salt and buoyant wave in its ocean home, or 152 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. hanging in cloudy mantles above, to protect him and shade the earth from the too intense and scorching rays of heaven ; or descending in showers or in dews, to scatter fragrance and bloom, to charm his sense, and to nourish vegetation for his food; or rolling in rivers, bursting into fountains, or leaping in cascades ; congealing into ice, expanding into steam, extinguishing flames; the vehicle of commerce, feeder of plants and flowers, fertilizer of earth, temperer of the air, armor of cities, assuager of thirst, — friend, comforter, cleanser, ally, co-worker with man through life, and last luxury of sensation in death, to cool him for the grave. Oh, that he should have turned from Nature and thee in search of a substitute, and found, or invented and compounded rather, — for he did not find it, — a fluid distillation from hell itself, abhorrent to all the policy of Nature, and deranging her whole system of economy, and of power sufficient not only to kill the body, but to transform, change, transmute, dehumanize the mind I AMERICAN HISTORY.— Yerflatuck. What has this nation done to repay the world for the benefits we have received from others ? We have been repeatedly told, and sometimes, too, in a tone of afi*ected impartiality, that the highest praise which can fairly be given to the American mind, is that of possessing an enlightened selfishness; that if the philosophy and talents of this country, with all their eff'ects, were for ever swept into oblivion, the loss would be felt enly by ourselves ; and that if to the accuracy of this general charge, the labors of Franklin present an illustrious, it is still but a solitary, exception. The answer may be given, confidently and triumphantly. Without abandoning the fame of our eminent men, whom Europe has been slow and reluctant to honor, we would reply, that the intellectual power of this people has exerted itself in conformity to the general system of our institutions and man- ners ; and therefore, that, for the proof of its existence and the AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 153 measure of its force, we must look Dot so much to the works of prominent individuals, as to the great aggregate results ; and if Europe has hitherto been wilfully blind to the value of our example and the exploits of our sagacity, courage, invention, and freedom, the blame must rest with her, and not with America. Is it nothing for the universal good of mankind to have carried into successful operation a system of self-government, uniting personal liberty, freedom of opinion, and equality of rights, with national power and dignity ; such as had before existed only in the Utopian dreams of philosophers ? Is it nothing, in moral science, to have anticipated in sober reality, numerous plans of reform in civil and criminal jurisprudence, which are, but now, received as plausible theories by the politicians and economists of Europe? Is it nothing to have been able to call forth on every emergency, either in war or peace, a body of talents always equal to the difficulty ? Is it nothing to have, in less than a half century, exceedingly im- proved the science of political economy, of law, and of medicine, with all their auxiliary branches; to have enriched human knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of useful facts and observations, and to have augmented the power and the comforts of civilized man, by miracles of mechanical invention? Is it nothing to have given the world examples of disinterested patriotism, of political wisdom, of public virtue; of learning, eloquence, and valor, never exerted save for some praiseworthy end ? It is sufficient to have briefly suggested these considera- tions; every mind would anticipate me in filling up the details. No — Land of Liberty ! thy children have no cause to blush for thee. What though the arts have reared few monuments among us, and scarce a trace of the Muse's footstep is found in the paths of our forests, or along the banks of our rivers ; yet our soil has been consecrated by the blood of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of peace. Its wide extent has become one vast temple and hallowed asylum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the persecuted of every sect, and the wretched of all nations. 154 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Land of Refuge — Land of Benedictions ! Those prayers still arise, and they still are heard: " May peace be within thy walls, and plenteousness within thy palaces V ^' May there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and no complaining in thy streets V ^' May truth flourish out of the earthy and righteous- ness look down from Heaven/' EXAMPLES OF PATRIOTISM IN OUR OWN HISTORY. Everett. The national character, in some of its most important ele- ments, must be formed, elevated, and strengthened from the materials which history presents. Are we to be eternally ring- ing the changes upon Marathon and Thermopylae; and going back to find in obscure texts of Greek and Latin the great ex- emplars of patriotic virtue ? I rejoice that we can find them nearer home, in our own country, on our own soil ] — that strains of the noblest sentiment that ever swelled in the breast of man are breathing to us out of every page of our country's history, in the native eloquence of our mother tongue; — that the colo- nial and the provincial councils of America exhibit to us models of the spirit and character which gave Greece and Rome their name and their praise among the nations. Here we ought to go for our instruction; the lesson is plain, it is clear, it is appli- cable. When we go to ancient history, we are bewildered with the difference of manners and institutions. We are willing to pay our tribute of applause to the memory of Leonidas, who fell nobly for his country, in the face of the foe. But when we trace him to his home, we are confounded at the reflection, that the same Spartan heroism to which he sacrificed himself at Ther- mopylae, would have led him to tear his only child, if it hap- pened to be a sickly babe, — the very object for which all that is kind and good in man rises up to plead, — from the bosom of its mother, and carry it out to be eaten by the wolves of Tay- getus. We feel a glow of admiration at the heroism displayed AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 155 at Marathon by the ten thousand champions of invaded Greece ; but we cannot forget that the tenth part of the number were slaves, unchained from the workshops and door-posts of their masters, to go and fight the battles of freedom. I do not mean that these examples are to destroy the interest with which we read the history of ancient times ; they possibly increase that interest, by the singular contrast they exhibit. But they do warn us, if we need the warning, to seek our great practical lessons of patriotism at home ; out of the exploits and sacrifices of which our own country is the theatre ; out of the characters of our own fathers. Them we know, the high-souled, natural, unaffected, the citizen heroes. We know what happy firesides they left for the cheerless camp. We know with what pacific habits they dared the perils of the field. There is no mystery, no romance, no madness, under the name of chivalry, about them. It is all resolute, manly resistance — for conscience* and liberty^s sake — not merely of an overwhelming power, but of all the force of long- rooted habits, and the native love of order and peace. FORMATION OF CHARACTER.— ;5. Hawes. It is ever to be kept in mind that a good name is, in all cases, the fruit of personal exertion. It is not inherited from parents; it is not created by external advantages ; it is no necessary ap- pendage of birth, or wealth, or talents, or station ; but the result of one's own endeavors — the fruit and reward of good princi- ples, manifested in a course of virtuous and honorable action. This is the more important to be remarked, because it shows that the attainment of a good name, whatever be your external circumstances, is entirely within your power. No young man, however humble his birth, or obscure his con- dition, is excluded from the invaluable boon. He has only to fix his eye upon the prize, and press toward it, in a course of virtuous and useful conduct, and it is his. And it is interesting to notice how many of our worthiest and best citizens have risen 156 AMERICAN POPULAU SPEAKER. to honor and usefulness by dint of their own persevering exer- tions. They are to be found, in great numbers^ in each of the learned professions, and in every department of business; and they stand forth, bright and animating examples of what can be accomplished by resolution and effort. Indeed, my friends, in the formation of character, per- sonal exertion is the first, the second, and the third virtue. Nothing great or excellent can be acquired without it. A good name will not come without being sought. All the virtues of which it is composed are the result of untiring appHcation and industry. Nothing can be more fatal to the attainment of a good character than a treacherous confidence in external advan- tages. These, if not seconded by your endeavors, '' will drop you midway; or, perhaps you will not have started, when th^ diligent traveller will have won the race/' To the formation of a good character, it is of the highest im- portance that you have a commanding object in view, and that your aim in life be elevated. To this cause, perhaps more than to any other, is to be ascribed the great difference which appears in the characters of men. Some start in life with an object in view, and are determined to attain it; while others live with- out plan, and reach not for the prize set before them. The en- ergies of the one are called into vigorous action, and they rise to eminence ; while the others are left to slumber in ignoble ease, and sink into obscurity. It is an old proverb, that he who aims at the sun, to be sure will not reach it, but his arrow will fly higher than if he aimed at an object on a level with himself. Just so in the formation of character. Set your standard high ; and, though you may not reach it, you can hardly fail to rise higher than if you aimed at some inferior excellence. Young men are not, in general, conscious of what they are capable of doing. They do not task their faculties, or improve their powers, or attempt, as they ought, to rise to superior excellence. They have no high, commanding object at which to aim, but often seem to be passing away life without object and without aim. The consequence is, their efforts are few and feeble ; they are AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 157 not waked up to anything great or distinguished, and. therefore, fail to acquire a character of decided worth. My friends, you may be whatever you resolve to be. Reso- lution is omnipotent. Determine that you will be something in the world, and you shall be something. Aim at excellence, and excellence will be attained. This is the great secret of effort and eminence. I cannot do it, never accomplished anything ; I will try, has wrought wonders. A young man who sets out in life with a determination to excel, can hardly fail of his purpose. There is, in his case, a steadiness of aim, a concentration of feeling and effort, which bear him onward to his object with irresistible energy, and ren- der success, in whatever he undertakes, certain. NATIONAL GEEATNESS.—JoRN Bright. I BELIEVE there is no permanent greatness to a nation except it be based upon morality. I do not care for military greatness or military renown. I care for the condition of the people among whom I live. There is no man in England who is less likely to speak irreverently of the crown and monarchy of England than I am; but crowns, coronets, mitres, military display, the pomp of war, wide colonies, and a huge empire are, in my view, all trifles light as air, and not worth considering, unless with them you can have a fair share of comfort, content- ment, and happiness among the great body of the people. Palaces, baronial castles, great halls, stately mansions, do not make a nation. The nation, in every country, dwells in the cottage; and unless the light of your constitution can shine there, unless the beauty of your legislation and excellence of your statesmanship are impressed there in the feelings and condition of the people, rely upon it you have yet to learn the duties of government. 14 158 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. THE NATION'S SURE DEFENCE. * Intelligent free laborers are working out the great problem of civilizing this continent; intelligent fighting men are consoli- dating its government; and, underlying all, the public schools are silently forming a sound national character. Free as air, vital as electricity, and vivifying as the sunlight, they act on the organic forces of the nation, as these three physical agents build up the life of the globe out of inorganic matter. The insurrection will be put down by the sword and the bayo- net; treason will be rooted out by armed men; but even then the only strength of the Union will be in a public opinion based on an intelligent comprehension of national aifairs by the people of the whole nation. Unless the laws of the several states are administered by rulers chosen by electors whose ballots fall vitalized by intelligence, no standing armies, no constitutions, can hold them in harmonious spheres around the central sun of a representative government. They will shoot off in eccentric orbits into the unfathomable darkness of dissolution and chaos, never to return. It is a Prussian maxim, " Whatever you would have appear in the life of the nation you must put into the schools.'^ If the schools inculcate, with intellectual training, love of country, cor- dial submission to lawful authority, moral rectitude, some know- ledge of the theory and organic structure of our government, and a true spirit of patriotism, then shall our citizens be truly men, and our electors princes indeed. When I consider the power of the public schools, how they have disseminated intelligence in every village and hamlet and log house in the nation, how they are moulding the plastic ele- ments of the next generation into the symmetry of modern civilization, I cannot think that our country is to be included in the long list '' Of nations scattered like the chaff Blown from the threshing-floor of God.'' AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 159 I hold nothing in common with those faint-hearted patriots who are beginning to despair of the future of our country. The latent powers of the nation are just coming into healthful an€ energetic action, and, in spite of treason, are moving the republic onward and upward to a higher stand-point of liberty. What though it comes to us amid the storm of battle, and the shock of contending armies I '* Not as we hoped ! — but what are we I Above our feeble dreams and plans God lays, with wiser hand than man's, The corner-stones of liberty." The Anglo-Saxon race, even in its ruder years, always pos- sessed an inherent power of independence and self-government. Tell me not that now, when this stubborn vitality and surplus energy, expended so long in overrunning the world, are guided by intelligence and refined by Christianity, this same race is to be stricken with the palsy, because of a two years' war. The two millions of boys now in the public schools, constitute a great '' League,^^ electrified by intelligence, cemented by the ties of one blood, one language, one course of instruction — strong in its power to perpetuate the Union, is the nation's sure defence. Long before the completion of the Pacific Railroad, these new recruits, drilfed in the public schools, pushed their way across the continent, as the Saxons swarmed out from their northern hives, a vast army of occupation, cultivating the '^ National Homestead,^' and fortifying the whole line of communication by a cordon of school-houses that shall hold it for ever as the heritage of free labor, free men, and a free nation. So shall the nation's pioneer go joyful on his way, To wed Penobscot's waters to San Francisco's bay ; To make the rugged places smooth, to sow the vales with grain, And bear, with liberty and law, the Bible in his train ; The mighty West shall bless the East, and sea shall answer sea, And mountain unto mountain call, Praise God, for we are i^seb ! 160 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. VNITY OF OUR COUNTEY.—Cjjsm^G. * Our country, with all its sectional diversity of views and feel- ings, is one. It is one in the rich, manly, vigorous, expressive language we speak, which is become the vernacular tongue, as it were, of parliamentary eloquence, — the very oldest of constitu- tional freedom. It is one in the fame of our fathers, and in the historical reminiscences which belong to us as a nation. It is one in the political principles of republicanism ; one in the substan- tial basis of our manners ; one in the ties of friendship, affinity, and blood, binding us together, throughout the whole extent of the land, in the associations of trade, of emigration, and of marriage ; one in that glorious constitution, the best inheritance transmitted to us by our fathers, the monument of their wisdom and their virtue, under whose shelter we live and flourish as a people. To this great repubhc, union is peace, union is grandeur, union is power, union is honor, union is everything which a free-spirited and mighty nation should glory to possess. To us all, next to independence, next to liberty, next to honor, be we persuaded that a cordial and abiding confederacy of the American people is the greatest of earthly goods. Here, in the eyes of our countrymen and of the world, with the Muse of History before us to record our deeds and our words, let us, like Hannibal, at the altar of his gods, swear* eternal faith- fulness to our country, eternal hatred to its foes ! Show we, that we are wedded to the Union, for weal or for woe, as the fondest lover would hug to his heart the bride bound to him in the first bright ardor of young possession. We have not purposed to embark in this venture only to sail on the smooth surface of a summer sea, with hope and pleasure to waft us joyously along; but with resolved spirits, ready to meet, like true men, whatever of danger may descend upon our voyage, and to stand up gal- lantly for the treasure of honor and faith intrusted to our charge. Rally we, then, to the stripes and stars, as the symbol of glory to us, and the harbinger of liberty to all the nations of the world ! So long as a shred of that sacred standard remains to us, let us cling to it, with such undying devotion as the Christian pilgrims of the Middle Age cherished for the last fragment of the Cross. POETICAL SELECTIONS, 14* POETICAL SELECTIONS. ADDRESS TO TEE OCEAN.— ^yro^. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and uoknown. His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies. And send'st him, shivering, in thy playful spray, And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay. And dashest him again to earth : — there let him la}'. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals. The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake. They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. (163 i 164 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee ; — Assyria, Greece^ Rome, Carthage, what are they ? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou — Unchangeable — save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Grlasses itself in tempests ; in all time. Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime; The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. THE CLOSING TjEJ^ie.— Prentice. 'Tis midnight's holy hour, — and silence now Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er The still and pulseless world. Hark ! on the winds The bell's deep tones are swelling, — 'tis the knell Of the departed year. No funeral train Is sweeping past; yet, on the stream and wood, With melancholy light, the moon-beams rest Like a pale, spotless shroud ; the air is stirred As by a mourner's sigh ; and on yon cloud That floats so still and placidly through heaven, The spirits of the seasons seem to stand, — Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form, And Winter with its aged locks, — and breathe, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 165 In mournful cadences that come abroad Like the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail, A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year, Gone from the Earth for ever. 'Tis a time For memory and for tears. Within the deep, Still chambers of the heart, a spectre dim, Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold And solemn finger to the beautiful And holy visions that have passed away, And left no shadow of their loveliness On the dead waste of life. That spectre lifts The coffin-lid of Hope, and Joy, and Love, And, bending mournfully above the pale, Sweet forms, that slumber there, scatters dead flowers O'er what has passed to nothingness. • The year Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow. Its shadow in each heart. In its swift course. It waved its sceptre o'er the beautiful, — And they are not. It laid its pallid hand Upon the strong man, — and the haughty form Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged The bright and joyous, — and the tearful wail Of stricken ones, is heard where erst the song And reckless shout resounded. It passed o'er The battle-plain, where sword, and spear, and shield, Flashed in the light of mid-day, — and the strength Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass. Green from the soil of carnage, waves above The crushed aod moldering skeleton. It came, 166 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. And faded like a wreath of mist at eve; Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, It heralded its millions to their home In the dim land of dreams. Eemorseless Time! Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe ! — what power Can stay him in his silent course, or melt His iron heart to pity ? On, still on, He presses, and for ever. The proud bird, The condor of the Andes, that can soar Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave The fury of the northern hurricane, And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks down To rest upon his mountain crag, — but Time Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness. And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind His rushing pinions. Revolutions sweep O'er earthj like troubled visions o'er the breast Of dreaming sorrow, — cities rise and sink Like bubbles on the water, — fiery isles Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back To their mysterious caverns, — mountains rear To heaven their bald and blackened clifi*s, and bow Their tall heads to the plain, — new empires rise. Gathering the strength of hoary centuries. And rush down like the Alpine avalanche, Startling the nations, — and the very stars, Yon bright and burning blazonry of God, Glitter a while in their eternal depths. And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train. Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away To darkle in the trackless void, — Yet, Time, Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 167 Dark, stern, all pitiless, and pauses not Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his p^th To sit and muse, like other conquerors, Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. THE FOUNTAIN.— Lowell. Into the sunshine, Full of the light, Leaping and flashing From morn to night; Into the moonlight. Whiter than snow, Waving so flower-like, When the winds blow I Into the starlight Rushing in spray, Happy at midnight, Happy by day ! Ever in motion, Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward, Never aweary ; — Glad of all weathers, Still seeming best, Upward or downward. Motion thy rest ; — Full of a nature Nothing can tame, Changed every moment, Ever the same ; — 168 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Ceaseless aspiring, Ceaseless content, Darkness or sunstine ' Thy element; — Glorious Fountain Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant, Upward, like thee ! MONTE RE F.—HoFFM AN. We were not many — we who stood Before the iron sleet that day ; Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if he but could Have been with us at Monterey. Now here, now there, the shot it hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray, Yet not a single soldier quailed When wounded comrades round them wailed Their dying shout at Monterey. And on — still on our column kept Through walls of flame its withering way ; Where fell the dead, the living stepped, Still charging on the guns that swept The slippery streets of Monterey. The foe himself recoiled aghast. When, striking where the strongest lay. We swooped his flanking batteries past. And braving full their murderous blast, Stormed home the towers of Monterey. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 169 Our banners on those towers wave, And there our evening bugles play j Where orange boughs above their grave, Keep green the memory of the brave Who fought and fell at Monterey. We were not many — we who pressed Beside the brave who fell that day; But who of us has not confessed HeM rather share their warrior rest Than not have been at Monterey ? THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.— Longfellow. Somewhat back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. Across its antique portico Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw ; And from its station in the hall An ancient timepiece says to all, — " For ever— never ! Never — for ever V^ Half-way up the stairs it stands, And points and beckons with its hands, From its case of massive oak, Like a monk, who, under his cloak. Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — - " For ever — never ! Never — for ever V^ By day its voice is low and light; But in the silent dead of night, Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, It echoes along the vacant hall, 15 170 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Along tlie ceiling, along the floor, And seems to say^ at each chamber-door, — '' For ever — never ! Never — for ever V^ Through days of sorrow and of mirth, Through days of death and days of birth, Through every swift vicissitude Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, And as if, like God, it all things saw, It calmly repeats those words of awe,— " For ever — never ! Never — for ever V In that mansion used to be Free-hearted Hospitality; His great fires up the chimney soared ; The stranger feasted at his board ; But, like the skeleton at the feast, That warning timepiece never ceased, — " For ever — never ! Never — for ever V^ There groups of merry children played There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; precious hours ! golden prime, And affluence of love and time ! Even as a miser counts his gold. Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — " For ever — never ! Never — for ever V' From that chamber, clothed in white, The bride came forth on her wedding night; There, in that silent room below. The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 171 And in the hush that followed the prayer, Was heard the old clock on the stair, — ^' For ever — never ! Never — for ever V^ All are scattered now and fled, Some are married, some are dead ; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, ^' Ah ! when shall they all meet again V As in the days long since gone by. The ancient timepiece makes reply, — '' For ever — never ! Never — for ever !" Never here, for ever there, Where all parting, pain, and care, And death and time shall disappear, — For ever there, but never here ! The horologe of Eternity Sayeth this incessantly, — '' For ever — never ! Never — for ever V TEE NEW Z^/^i?.— Tennyson. King out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light; The year is dying in the night ; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. King out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow : The year is going, let him go ; Ring out the false, ring in the true. 172 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. King out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, King in redress to all mankind. King out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife ; King in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. King out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times; King out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. King out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite ; King in the love of truth and right. King in the common love of good. King out old shapes of foul disease. King out the narrowing lust of gold, King out the thousand wars of old. King in the thousand years of peace. King in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; King out the darkness of the land. King in the Christ that is to be. BARBARA FRIETCHIE,—\Y^iTTmR, Up from the meadows rich with corn. Clear in the cool September morn. The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 173 Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep, Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain-wall, Over the mountains, winding down, . Horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars. Flapped in the morning wind : the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then. Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; Bravest of all in Frederick town. She took up the flag the men hauled down : In her attic window the staff" she set. To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. Under his slouched hat left and right He glanced ; the old flag met his sight. " Halt V^ — the dust-brown ranks stood fast, '' Fire !" — out blazed the riflleblast. It shivered the window, pane and sash ; It rent the banner with seam and gash. Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff" Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf* She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will. 15^ 174 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. '^ Shoot, if you must, this gray old head, But spare your country^s flag/' she said. A shade of sadness^ a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came ; The nobler nature within him stirred To life that woman's deed and word : ^' Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog ! March on !" he said. All dsij long through Frederick Street Sounded the tread of marching feet : All day long that free flag tost Over the heads of the rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well ; And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to her ! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave. Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! Peace and order and beauty draw Bound thy symbol of light and law ; And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town ! AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 175 THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY.— Fatten, Blaze, with your serried columDs ! I will not bend the knee ! The shackles ne^er again shall bind The arm which now is free. I We mailed it with the thunder, When the tempest muttered low ; And where it falls, ye well may dread The lightning of its blow ! I We scared ye in the city, I \e scalped ye on the plain ; Go, count your chosen, where they fell Beneath my leaden rain ! I scorn your proffered treaty ! The pale-face I defy! Bevenge is stamped upon my spear, And blood my battle-cry ! Some strike for hope of booty, Some to defend their all — I battle for the joy I have To see the white man fall : I love, among the wounded, To hear his dying moan. And catch while chanting at his side, The music of his groan. Ye Ve trailed me through the forest. Ye \e tracked me o'er the stream ; And struggling through the everglade, Your bristling bayonets gleam ; But I stand as should the warrior. With his rifle and his spear; The scalp of vengeance still is red, And warns ye — Come not here ! 176 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. I loatte ye in my bosom, I scorn ye with mine eye, And I '11 taunt ye with my latest breath, And fight ye till I die ! I ne'er will ask ye quarter, And I ne'er will be your slave; But I '11 swim the sea of slaughter, Till I sink beneath its wave ! E PLURIBUS UJSrUM.— Cutter. Though many and bright are the stars that appear In that flag by our country unfurled, And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there Like a rainbow adorning the world — Their light is unsullied as those in the sky. By a deed that our fathers have done, And they 're linked in as true and as holy a tie, In their motto of " Many in One." From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung That banner of starlight abroad. Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung As they clung to the promise of God ; By the bayonet traced in the midnight of war. On the fields where our glory was won — Oh I perish the heart or the hand that would mar Our motto of " Many in One." ^Mid the smoke of the conflict, the cannon's deep roar How oft it has gathered renown ! While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore, Where the cross and the lion went down ; And though few were their lights in the gloom of that hour, Yet the hearts that were striking below AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 177 Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power. And they stopped not to number the foe. From where our green mountain-tops blend with the sky^ And the giant St. Lawrence is rolled, To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lie, Like the dream of some prophet of old, They conquered, and, dying, bequeathed to our care Not this boundless dominion alone, But that banner whose loveliness hallows the air, And their motto of " Many in One.^^ We are many in one, while there glitters a star In the blue of the heavens above, And tyrants shall quail, ^mid their dungeons afar. When they gaze on that motto of love. It shall gleam o'er the sea, 'mid the bolts of the storm — Over tempest, and battle, and wreck — And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm, ^Neath the blood on the slippery deck. The oppressed of the earth to that standard shall fly Wherever its folds shall be spread, And the exile shall feel 'tis his own native sky, Where its stars shall wave over his head ; And those stars shall increase till the fulness of time Its millions of cycles have run — Till the world shall have welcomed their mission sublime, And the nations of earth shall be one. Though the old x\llegheny may tower to heaven. And the Father of Waters divide, The links of our destiny cannot be riven While the truth of those words shall abide. Then, oh I let them glow on each helmet and brand. Though our blood like our rivers should run ; Divide as we may in our own native land, To the rest of the world we are one. M 178 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Then up witli our flag ! — let it stream on the air ; Though our fathers are cold in their graves, They had hands that could strike — they had souls that could dare — And their sons were not born to be slaves. Up, up with that banner ! — where'er it may call^ Our millions shall rally around, And a nation of freemen that moment shall fall, When its stars shall be trailed on the ground. THE SOLDIER'S D BE AM.— Camfbell. Our bugles sang truce — for the night-cloud had lowered. And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot t at guarded the slain } At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saiv, And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 'Twas Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young: I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft. And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er. And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 179 '^ Stay, stay with us, — rest, thou art weary and worn !'' And fain was their war-broken soldier to sta}^ ; — But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. PSALM OF MARBIAGK—ViKEBE Gary. Tell me not in idle jingle, " Marriage is an empty dream I" For the girl is dead that's single, And girls are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! Single blessedness a fib 1 ^' Man thou art, to man returnest V^ Has been spoken of the rib. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act that each to-morrow Finds us nearer marriage-day. Life is long, and youth is fleeting, And our hearts, though light and gay, Still like pleasant drums are beating Wedding marches all the way. In the world's broad field of battle. In the bivouac of life. Be not like dumb-driven cattle ! Be a heroine — a wife ! Trust no future, howe'er pleasant, Let the dead past bury its dead I Act — act to the living Present ! Heart within and hope ahead ! 180 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Lives of married folks remind us We can live our lives as well, And, departing, leave behind us Such examples as shall " tell/^ Such example that another, Wasting time in idle sport, A forlorn^ unmarried brother. Seeing, shall take heart and court. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart on triumph set^ Still contriving, still pursuing. And each one a husband get. COLD WATEE.—SiGOVRNBY. The thirsty flowerets droop. The parching grass Doth crisp beneath the foot, and the wan trees Perish for lack of moisture. By the side Of the dried rills, the herds despairing stand, With tongue protruded. Summer's fiery heat Exhaling, checks the thousand springs of life. Marked ye yon cloud glide forth on angel wing ? Heard ye the herald -drops, with gentle force Stir the broad heavens ? — And the protracted rain Waking the streams to run their tuneful way ? Saw ye the flocks rejoice, and did ye fail To thank the God of fountains ? See the hart Pant for the water-brooks. The fevered sun Of Asia glitters on his leafy lair. As, fearful of the lion's wrath, he hastes. With timid footsteps through the whispering reeds ; Quick leaping to the renovating stream, AMERICAN POP'ULAR SPEAKER. 181 The copious draught his bounding veins inspires With joyful vigor. Patient o'er the sands, The burden-bearer of the desert clime, The camel, toileth. Faint with deadly thirst, His writhing neck of bitter anguish speaks. Lo ! an oasis, and a tree-girt well, — And moved by powerful instinct, on he speeds. With ac^onizino; haste to drink or die. On his swift courser, o'er the burning wild The Arab cometh. From his eager eye Flashes desire. Seeks he the sparkling wine. Giving its golden color to the cup ? No I to the gushing spring he flies, and deep Buries his scorching lip and laves his brow, And blesses Alia. Christian pilgrim, come ! Thy brother of the Koran's broken creed Shall teach thee wisdom, — and, with courteous hand, Nature, thy mother, holds the crystal cup, And bids thee pledge her in the element Of temperance and health. Drink, and be whole, And purge the fever-poison from thy veins, And pass, in purity and peace, to taste The river flowing from the throne of Grod ! ANTONT S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS ON THE DEATH OE C^/S'^li?.— Shakspeare. Friends, Homans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them ] The good is oft interred with their bones; ' So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 16 182 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; And grievously hath Cassar answered it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, (For Brutus is an honorable man ; So are they all, all honorable men), Come I to speak in Cassar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me : But Brutus says he was ambitious. And Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Home, Whose ransoms did the general coiFers fill : Did this in Cassar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : Ambition should be made of sterner stuff : Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And, sure, he is an honorable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, — not without cause; — What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts. And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world : now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. O masters ! if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, AxMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 183 I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men. But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar — I found it in his closet, — 'tis his will. Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read), And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood } Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; ^Twas on a summer's evening in his tent — That day he overcame the Nervii. Look ! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through : See what a rent the envious Casca made : Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark, how the blood of Caesar followed it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : Judge, you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him -I This was the most unkindest cut of all ; . For when the noble Caesar saw him stab. Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heart ; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statua. Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 184 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 0, now you weep; and, I perceive you feel The dint of pity : — these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look ye here I Here is himself — marred, as you see, by traitors. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you. up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honorable; What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not That made them do it ; — they are wise and honorable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : I am no orator, as Brutus is; But as you know me all, a plain , blunt man, That love my friend ; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor — poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and piutiny. THE HEART OF THE WAR, Peace in the clover-scented air, And stars within the dome. And underneath, in dim repose, A plain New England home. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 185 Within, a murmur of low tones And sighs from hearts oppressed, Merging in prayer at last, that brings The balm of silent rest. 16* I Ve closed a hard day's work, Marty — The evening chores are done ; And you are weary with the house, • And with the little one. But he is sleeping sweetly now. With all our pretty brood ; So come and sit upon my knee, And it will do me good. Marty ! I must tell you all The trouble in my heart, And you must do the best you can To take and bear your part. You've seen the shadow on my face, You Ve felt it day and night; For it has filled our little home. And banished all its light. 1 did not mean it should be so. And yet I might have known That hearts that live as close as ours Can never keep their own. But we are fallen on evil times. And, do whatever I may, My heart grows sad about the war. And sadder every day. I think about it when I work. And when I try to rest, And never more than when your head Is pillowed on my breast; For then I see the camp-fires blaze, And sleeping men around, 186 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Who turn their faces towards their homes And dream upon the ground. I think about the dear, brave boys, My mates in other years, Who pine for home and those they love, Till I am choked with tears. With shouts and cheers they marched away On glory's shining track, But, ah ! how long, how long they stay ! How few of them come back ! One sleeps beside the Tennessee, And one beside the James, And one fought on a gallant ship. And perished in its flames. And some, struck down by fell disease, Are breathing out their life ; And others, maimed by cruel wounds, Have left the deadly strife. Ah, Marty ! Marty ! only think Of all the boys have done And suffered in this weary war ! Brave heroes, every one ! 0, often, often in the night, I hear their voices call : ^' Come on and help us ! Is it right That we should bear it all V And when I kneel and try to pray, My thoughts are never free. But cling to those who toil and fight And die for you and me. And when I pray for victory, It seems almost a sin To fold my hands and ask for what I will not help to win. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. IS'J 0, do not cling to me and cry, For it will break my heart ; I ^m sure you 'd rather have me die Than not to bear my part. You think that some should stay at home To care for those away ; But still I ^m helpless to decide If I should go or stay. For. Marty, all the soldiers love And all are loved again j And I am loved, and love perhaps No more than other men. I cannot tell — I do not know — Which way my duty lies, Or where the Lord would have me build My fire of sacrifice. I feel — I know — I am not mean ; And though I seem to boast, I ^m sure that I would give my life To those who need it most. Perhaps the Spirit will reveal That which is fair and right; So, Marty, let us humbly kneel And pray to Heaven for light Peace in the clover-scented air, And stars within the dome ; And, underneath, in dim repose, A plain New England home. Within, a widow in her weeds. From whom all joy is flown. Who kneels among her sleeping babes, And weeps and prays alone I 188 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. NOT ON TEE BATTLE-FIELD.— Fierto^t. *'To fall on the battle-field fighting for my dear country, that would not be hard." — The Neighbors. 0, NO, no — let me lie Not on a field of battle when I die ! Let not the iron tread Of the mad war-horse crush my helmed head ; jSTor let the reeking knife. That I have drawn against a brother's life, Be in my hand when death Thunders along, and tramples me beneath His heavy squadron's heels, Or gory felloes of his cannons' wheels. From such a dying bed. Though o'er it float the stripes of white and red^ And the bald eagle brings The clustered stars upon his wide-spread wings, To sparkle in my sight, 0, never let my spirit take her flight I I know that beauty's eye Is all the brighter where the gay pennants fly, And brazen helmets dance, And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance : I know that bards have sung. And people shouted till the welkin rung In honor of the brave Who on the battle-field have found a grave : I know that o'er their bones Have grateful hands piled monumental stones. Some of these piles I 've seen : The one at Lexington upon the green AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 189 Where the first blood was shed, And to my country's independence led ] And others, on our shore, The " Battle Monument' ' at Baltimore, And that on Bunker's Hill. Ay, and abroad, a few more famous still ; Thy " tomb/' Themistocles, That looks out yet upon the Grrecian seas. And which the waters kiss That issue from the Gulf of Salamis, And thine, too, have I seen, ' Thy mound of earth, Patroclus, robed in green, That, like a natural knoll. Sheep climb and nibble over as they stroll, Watched by some turbaned boy Upon the margin of the plain of Troy. Such honors grace the bed, I know, whereon the warrior lays his head, And hears, as life ebbs out, The conquered dying and the conqueror's shout. But as his eye grows dim, What is a column or a mound to him ? What to the parting soul, The mellow note of bugles ? What the roll Of drums ? No, let me die Where the blue heaven bends o'er me lovingly, And the soft summer air, As it goes by me, stirs my thin, white hair, And from my forehead dries The death damp as it gathers, and the skies Seem waiting to receive My soul to their clear depths I Or let me leave The world, when round my bed Wife, children, weeping friends are gathered, And the calm voice of prayer And holy hymning shall my soul prepare, 190 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. To go and be at rest With kindred spirits — spirits who have blessed The human brotherhood By labors, cares, and counsels for their good. . In my dying hour, When riches, fame, and honor have no power To bear the spirit up. Or from my lips to turn aside the cup That all must drink at last, 0, let me draw refreshment from the past ! Then let my soul run back, With peace and joy, along my earthly track, And see that all the seeds That I have scattered there, in virtuous deeds. Have sprung up, and have given Already, fruits of which to taste in heaven ! And though no grassy mound Or granite pile says 'tis heroic ground Where my remains repose. Still will I hope — vain hope perhaps — that those Whom I have striven to bless, The wanderer reclaimed, the fatherless, May stand around my grave. With the poor prisoner, and the poorest slave. And breathe an humble prayer, That they may die like him whose bones are mouldering there. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 191 THE BELLS.— VoE. Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells I What a world of merriment their melody foretells I How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night I While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells^ bells, Eells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells, Golden bells ! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight I From the molten-golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon I Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells I How it swells I How it dwells On the Future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells I 192 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Hear tlie loud alarum bells — Brazen bells ! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright ! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now — now to sit or never. By the side of the pale-faced inoon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair ! How they clang, and clash, and roar ! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air ! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging. How the danger ebbs and flows ; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, * And the wrano^lins;, How the danger sinks and swells. By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — Of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. Bells, bells, bells — In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells ! AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 193 What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone ! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people — They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman — They are neither brute nor human — They are Ghouls : And their king it is who tolls ; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Eolls, A paean from the bells I And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells ! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the psean of the bells — Of the bells : Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells — To the sobbing of the bells ; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells. In a happy Runic rhyme. To the rolling of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells— IT N 194 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells — Bells, bells, bells — To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. THE REMOVAL, A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade, By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made — Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town, Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy, and pull down. This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate; But, alas ! when he entered he found it too late ] For in each dwelt a smith ; — a more hard-working two Never doctored a patient or put on a shoe. At six in the morning, their anvils, at work. Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk. ^' These fellows,'^ he cried, '^such a clattering keep; That I never can get above eight hours of sleep." From morning till night they keep thumping away — No sound but the anvil the whole of the day; His afternoon's nap and his daughter's new song Were banished and spoiled by their hammers^ ding-dong. He offered each Yulcan to purchase his shop ; But, no! they were stubborn, determined to stop; At length (both his spirits and health to improve). He cried, " I'll give each fifty guineas to move.'' " Agreed !" said the pair; '^ that will make us amends.'^ " Then come to my house, and let us part friends ; You shall dine; and we'll drink on this joyful occasion, That each may live long in his new habitation." AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 195 He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale ; He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale ; So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest Would take from him noise^ and restore him to rest. " And now,^' said he, ^' tell me, where mean you to move ? I hope to some spot where your trade will improve.^^ " Why, sir/' replied one, with a grin on his phiz, " Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his V ARNOLD F7iYZ'J^Zi?I£'X>.— Montgomery. In the battle of Sempach, in the fourteenth century, this martyr- patriot, perceiving that there was no other means of breaking the heavy- armed lines of the Austrians than by gathering as many of their spears as he could grasp together, opened, by this means, a passage for his fellow-combatants, who, with hammers and hatchets, hewed down the mailed men-at-arms, and won the victory. " Make way for liberty V' he cried — Made way for liberty, and died ! In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, A living wall, a human wood; Im pregnable their front appears, All horrent with projected spears. Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their fatherland, Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke From manly necks the ignoble yoke; Marshalled once more at Freedom's call, They cama to conquer or to fall. And now the work of life and death Hung on the passing of a breath ; The fire of conflict burned within ; The battle trembled to begin ; 196 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, Point for assault was nowhere found ; Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, The unbroken line of lances blazed ^ That line ^t were suicide to meet, And perish at their tyrants' feet. How could they rest within their graves, To leave their homes the haunts of slaves ? Would they not feel their children tread, With clanking chains, above their head ? It must not be ; this day, this hour, Annihilates the invader's power ! All Switzerland is in the field — She will not fly; she cannot yield; She must not fall; her better fate Here gives her an immortal date. Few were the numbers she could boast, But every freeman was a host, And felt as ^t were a secret known That one should turn the scale alone, While each unto himself was he On whose sole arm hung victory. It did depend on one, indeed; Behold him — Arnold Winkelried ! There sounds not to the trump of Fame The echo of a nobler name. Unmarked, he stood amid the throng, In rumination deep and long. Till you might see, with sudden grace, The very thought come o'er his face ; And, by the motion of his form. Anticipate the bursting storm ; And, by the uplifting of his brow, Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. But 't was no sooner thought than done — The field was in a moment won ! AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 197 *' Make way for liberty V^ he cried, Then ran, with arms extended wide, As if his dearest friend to clasp ; Ten' spears he swept within his grasp. " Make way for liberty V he cried ; Their keen points crossed from side to side ; He bowed among them, like a tree, And thus made way for liberty. Swift to the breach his comrades fly — ^' Make way for liberty !'^ they cry. And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rushed the spears through Arnold's hearty While, instantaneous as his fall, E-out, ruin, panic seized them all. An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow. Thus Switzerland again was free — Thus death made way for liberty ! THE AMERICAN FLAG.— J)rak^. When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there ; She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle-bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. 17^ 198 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Majestic monarch of the cloud ! Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — Child of the sun ! to thee ^t is given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur-smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar. Like rainbows on the cloud of war, The harbingers of victory ! Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet-tone. And the long line comes gleaming on ; Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, Each soldier eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn ; And as his springing steps advance. Catch war and vengeance from the glance. And when the cannon-mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, And gory sabres rise and fall Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, Then shall thy meteor glances glow, And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below The lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave Thy stars shall glitter o^er the brave ; When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 199 And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside^s reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! By angel hands to valor given ; Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. For ever float that standard sheet ! Where breathes the foe but falls before us. With freedom^s soil beneath our feet, And freedom's banner streaminsr o'er us ? OLD TUBAL CAIK—U^ckay. Old Tubal Cain was a man of might In the days when the earth was young ; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright The strokes of his hammer rung; And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers As he fashioned the sword and spear : And he sang, ^' Hurrah for my handiwork ! Hurrah for the spear and sword ! Hurrah for the hand that wields them well, For he shall be king and lord V To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire ; And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, As the crown of his heart's desire. 200 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee, And gave him gifts of pearl and gold, And spoils of the forest-tree ; And they sang, " Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who has given us strength anew ! Hurrah for the smith, and hurrah for the fire, And hurrah for the metal true V But a sudden change came o^er his heart Ere the setting of the sun ; And Tubal Cain was filled with pain For the evil he had done. He saw that men, with rage and hate. Made war upon their kind — That the land was fed with the blood they shed, And their lust for carnage blind ; And he said, " Alas ! that ever I made, Or that skill of mine should plan. The spear and sword for man, whose joy Is to slay his fellow-man. ^^ And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe ; And his hand forbore to smite the ore. And his furnace smouldered low ; But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright, courageous eye, And he bared his strong arm for the work, While the quick flames mounted high ; And he said, '^ Hurrah for my handiwork V And the fire-sparks lit the air ; " Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made V And he fashioned the first ploughshare ! And men, taught wisdom from the past, ' In friendship joined their hands; AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 201 Hung the sword in the hall, and the spear on the wall, And ploughed the willing lands ; And sang, " Hurrah for Tubal Cain ! Our staunch good friend is he ; And for the ploughshare and the plough To him our prize shall be ! But when oppression lifts its hand, Or a tyrant would be lord, Though we may thank him for the plough, We '11 not foro-et the sword V^ BIENZrS ADDRESS,— MiTFORB. Friends : I come not here to talk. Ye know too well The story of our thraldom ; — we are slaves ! The bright sun rises to his course, and lights A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam Falls on a slave ! — not such as, swept along By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads To crimson glory, and undying fame ; But base, ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, Rich in some dozen paltry villages — Strong in some hundred spearsmen — only great In that strange spell — a name ! Each hour, dark fraud, Or open rapine, or protected murder. Cries out against them. But this very day, An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands — Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore The badge of 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 suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common. 202 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you — 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 I 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 then 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 daughters fair ? Look To see them live, torn from your arms, distained. Dishonored 1 and if ye dare call for justice, Be answered by the lash ! Yet this is Rome, That sat 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 ! THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET— Greene. O'er a low couch the setting sun Had thrown its latest ray. Where in his last strong agony A dying warrior lay. The stern, old Baron Rudiger, Whose fame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time and toil Its iron strength had spent. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 20^ " They come around me here, and say My days of life are o^er, That I shall mount my noble steed And lead my band no more ; They come, and to my beard they dare To tell me now, that I, Their own liege lord and master born, — That I — ha ! ha ! — must die. ^' And what is death ? I Ve dared him oft Before the Paynim spear, — Think ye he ^s entered at my gate, Has come to seek me here? I Ve met him, faced him, scorned him, When the fight was raging hot,— 1^1 try his might — 1^11 brave his power; Defy, and fear him not. ^' Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, — And fire the culverin, — Bid each retainer arm with speed, — Call every vassal in ; Up with my banner on the wall, — The banquet board prepare, — Throw wide the portal of my hall, And bring my armor there P^ A hundred hands were busy then, — The banquet forth was spread, — And rung the heavy oaken floor With many a martial tread. While from the rich, dark tracery Along the vaulted wall, Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, O'er the proud, old gothic hall. Fast hurrying through the outer gate. The mailed retainers poured, 204 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. / ^ On through the portal's frowning arch, And thronged around the board. While at its head, within his dark, Carved oaken chair of state, Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, With girded falchion, sate. '' Fill every beaker up, my men, Pour forth the cheering wine ; There's life and strength in every drop, — Thanksgiving to the vine ! Are ye all there, my vassals true ? — Mine eyes are waxing dim ; — Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, Each goblet to the brim. "Ye 're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword, — And let me hear your faithful steel Clash once around my board : I hear it faintly : — Louder yet ! — What clogs my heavy breath ? Up all, — and shout for Rudiger, ^ Defiance unto Death !' '' Bowl rang to bowl, — steel clanged to steel — And rose a deafening cry That made the torches flare around, And shook the flags on high : — " Ho ! cravens, do ye fear him ? — Slaves, traitors ! have ye flown ? Ho ! cowards, have ye left me To meet him here alone ? " But /defy him : — let him come V^ Down rang the massy cup. While from its sheath the ready blade Came flashing half-way up ; AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 205 And, with the black and heavy plumes Scarce trembling on his head, There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair. Old Rudio'er sat, dead. CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAYA. Texxtsox. Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Eode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade V' ^' Charge for the guns V' he said : Into the valley of Death Eode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade V Was there a man dismayed ? Not though the soldier knew Some one had blundered : Theirs not to make reply. Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die, Into the valley of Death Bode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered ] Stormed at with shot and shell. Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Bode the six hundred : IS 206 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed as they turned in air, Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered : Plunged in the battery-smoke, Kight through the line they broke ; Cossack and Eussian Keeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back, but not — Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them * Volleyed and thundered ; Stormed at with shot and shell. While horse and hero fell. They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them. Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade ? 0, the wild charge they made ! All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made 1 Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred ! AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 207 BEAUTIFUL /S.VO F".— AYatson. Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow, Fining the sky and the earth below ; Over the house-tops, over the street, Over the heads of the people you meet; Dancing, Flirting, Skimming along. Beautiful snow ! it can do nothing wrong. Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek ; Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak. Beautiful snow, from the heavens above Pure as an angel and fickle as love ! • Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow ! How the flakes gather and laugh as they go ! Whirling about in its maddening fun, It plays in its glee with every one. Chasing, Laughing, Hurrying by It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye 5 And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound. Snap at the crystals that eddy around. The town is alive, and its heart in a glow To welcome the coming of beautiful snow. How the wild crowd goes swaying along, Hailing each other with humor and song ! How the gay sledges like meteors flash by — Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye, Ringing, Swinging, Dashing they go Over the crest of the beautiful snow : 208 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by : To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street. Once I was pure as the snow — but I fell : Fell, like the snow-flakes, from heaven — to hell : Fell, to be tramped as the filth of the street: Fell, to be scofi*ed, to be spit on, and beat. Pleading, Cursing, Dreading to die, Selling my soul to whoever would buy, Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread, Hating the living and fearing the dead. Merciful God ! have I fallen so low ? And yet I was once like this beautiful snow ! Once T was fair as the beautiful snow, With an eye like its crystals, a heart like its glow ; Once I was loved for my innocent grace — Flattered and sought for the charm of my face. Father, Mother, Sisters all, God, and myself, I have lost by my fall. The veriest wretch" that goes shivering by Will take a wide sweep, lest I wander too nigh ; For all that is on or about me, I know There is nothing that 's pure but the beautiful snow. How strange it should be that this beautiful snow Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! How strange it would be, when the night comes again, If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain ! Fainting, Freezing, Dying alone ! AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 209 Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan To be heard in the crash of the crazy town, Gone mad in their joy at the snow's coming down ; To lie and to die in my terrible woe, With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow ! A EESPONSE TO '' BEAUTIFUL SNOW,''— Hancock, Cast by the bright wings of a seraph — the snow, From the uppermost heights to the earth below ; Gently enwrapping a star — begemmed spread O'er homes of the living and graves of the dead, Radiantly white as the genii of story ! Pure as the saints in their robings of glory ! Whose soft tears of sympathy froze in their fall For the sin and the curse that are over us all ; Fleecy and light from the olive-hued skies. As the trailing insignia of paradise ; The one fair perishing thing that is given, So worlds aglow with the splendor of heaven ! Proud spirit, who told of the height which you fell Adown ''like the snoiv -flakes fr (mi heaven to hell?^' God made you as fair as the beautiful snow ! He loves you, poor sinner, though you may not know How deep in that Infinite heart sank your cry For ^' shelter" and " rest" of the saint passing by, Who spurned you, and left you to die in the street. With a bed and a shroud of the snow and the sleet. The world. has cursed you, yet God has not said A soul shall he bartered for gold or for bread. He knows all your erring and horrible woe, The want and the crime that have maddened yoii so : All the dearer to him for the strife, and for stain, And purer to-day for repentance and pain ! 18* 210 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Made white by His blood, as tbe beantifal snow ^' That falls on a sinner with nowhere to go ;'^ And sweeter the pardon hard won by the cries That from magdalen lips went up to the skies. Oh ! beautiful snow, from the filth of the earth, Swift rises again in its cherubic mirth In crystalline dew-drops — all glistening bright As clear shining stars in a heaven of night. If contrite to the throne of God's mercy you go, He will make you as pure as the " beautiful snow V^ TO SIGN— OR NOT. To sign or not to sign, that^s the question; Whether ^tis nobler in the mind to suffer The flings and arrows of an outraged conscience, Or to take arms against Intoxication, And then, by signing, end it. To sign, to live — Live free — and, by the act, to say we end The heartache, and the thousand horrid pains The drunkard ^s heir to. ^T is a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To drink, to die ; To die, perchance, for ever ! Oh ! how dreadful ! For, in that death, what agony may come, When Rum has shuffled off this mortal coil. To sign is to be free : Who, who could bear the gibes and scorn of men, The drunkard's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of poverty and broken hopes; The insolence of those that drunkards make, That seize their all, then spurn them from their doors, When he might free himself, and live in peace, Would he but sign the pledge ! And who would bear To groan and sweat beneath a life made weary AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 211 By all the awful ills of drunkenness ? We scarcely know, — the fear we may not stand To our resolutions, true, — the crushing sense Of degradation that still weighs us down/ Doth make us bear the awful ills we have ; Yet will I sign, and signing, hope to live Henceforth in freedom and in joyous peace. THE BRIGHT SIDE. There is many a rest in the road of life, If we only would stop to take it, And many a tone from the better land, If the querulous heart would wake it ! To the sunny soul that is full of hope, And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, The grass is green and the flowers are bright, Though the wintry storm prevaileth. Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, And to keep the eyes still lifted ; For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through, When the ominous clouds are rifted ! There was never a night without a day. Or an evening without a morning ; And the darkest hour, as the proverb goes. Is the hour before the dawning. There is many a gem, in the path of life Which we pass in our idle pleasure. That is richer far than the jewelled crown, Or the miser's hoarded treasure : It may be the love of a little child, Or a mother's prayers to Heaven ; Or only a beggar's grateful thanks For a cup of water given. 212 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Better to weave in the web of life A bright and golden filliag, And to do God^s will with a ready heart And hands that are swift and willing, Than to snap the delicate, slender threads Of our curious lives asunder, And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends, And sit, and grieve, and wonder. BINGEN ON THE EHINE.—'Mrs. Norton. A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears ; But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand. And he said, ^' I never more shall see my own, my native land : Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, For I was born at Bingen — at Bingen on the Bhine ! ^' Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground. That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done. Full many a corpse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun. And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars. The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars : But some were young — and suddenly beheld life's morn decline; And one had come from Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine ! '^ Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage : For my father was a soldier, and even as a child My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild: AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 213 And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, I let them take whatever they would, but kept my father's sword ; And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, On the cottage-wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the Bhine ! '' Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gal- lant tread ; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die. And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; And to hang the old sword in its place (my father^s sword and mine) For the honor of old Bingen — dear Bingen on the Rhine ! ^' There ^s another — not a sister : in the happy days gone by, You ^d have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye; Too innocent for coquetry — too fond for idle scorning — Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning; Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen My body will be out of pain — my soul be out of prison), I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine On the vine-clad hills of Bingen — fair Bingen on the Bhine 1 '' I saw the blue Bhine sweep along — I heard, or seemed to hear, The Grerman songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill. The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly - talk Down many a path beloved of yore, aod well-remembered walk. And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine : But we ^11 meet no more at Binoren — loved Binoren on the Bhine V' 214 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. His voice grew faint and hoarser — his grasp was childish weak — His eyes put on a dying look — he sigh'd and ceased to speak : His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled — The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land — was dead ! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown ; Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Biu2:en — fair Bino^en on the Rhine ! WANTED, A MINISTERS WIFE, At length we have settled a pastor : I am sure I cannot tell why The people should grow so restless, Or candidates grow so shy ] But after a two years^ searching For the " smartest'^ man in the land. In a fit of desperation We took the nearest at hand. And really, he answers nicely To '' fill up the gap,'' you know; To " run the machine, '^ and " bring up arrears,*' And make things generally go; He has a few little failings. His sermons are common-place quite, But his manner is very charming. And his teeth are perfectly white. And so, of all the '' dear people,'' Not one in a hundred complains, For beauty and grace of manner Are so much better than brains. But the parish have all concluded He needs a partner for life, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 215 To shine a gem in the parlor : " Wanted, a minister's wife V' Wanted, a perfect lady, Delicate, gentle, refined, With every beauty of person, And every endowment of mind ; Fitted by early culture To move in fashionable life — Please notice our advertisement : '' Wanted, a minister's wife V^ Wanted, a thoroughbred worker. Who well to her household looks ; (Shall we see our money wasted By extravagant Irish cooks ?) Who cuts the daily expenses With economy sharp as a knife ; And washes and scrubs in the kitchen : " Wanted, a minister's wife V^ A very " domestic person,'^ To callers she must not be " out," It has such a bad appearance For her to be gadding about: Only to visit the parish Every year of her life, And attend the funerals and weddings : ^' Wanted, a minister's wife !" To conduct the ^^ ladies' meeting,'' The ^^ sewing circle" attend ; And when we work for the soldiers, Her ready assistance to lend. To clothe the destitute children Vv^hen sorrow and want are rife, And look up Sunday-school scholars : ^^ Wanted, a minister's wife !" 216 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Careful to entertain strangers, Travelling agents, and " such/^ Of this kind of angel visits, The deacons have had so much As to prove a perfect nuisance, And hope these plagues of their life Can soon be sent to the parson's : " Wanted, a minister's wife V^ A perfect pattern of prudence, Than all others spending less, But never disgracing the parish By looking shabby in dress ; Playing the organ on Sunday Would aid our laudable strife To save the society inoney : " Wanted, a minister's wife !'' And when we have found the person, We hope, by working the two. To lift our debt, and build a new church. Then we shall know what to do ; For they will be worn and weary, And we '11 advertise : " Wanted, A minister and his wife V* THROVGH DEATH TO LIFE.— Raubavgb. Have you heard the tale of the Aloe plant, Away in the sunny clime ? By humble growth of a hundred years It reaches its blooming time ; And then a wondrous bud at its crown Breaks into a thousand flowers : AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 217 This floral queen, in its blooming seen, Is the pride of the tropical bowers. But the plant to the flower is a sacrifice, For it blooms but once, and in blooming dies. Have you further heard of this Aloe plant That grows in the sunny clime, How every one of its thousand flowers, As they drop in the blooming time, Is an infant plant that fastens its roots In the place where it falls on the ground ; And, fast as they drop from the dying stem, Grow lively and lovely around ? By dying it liveth a thousandfold In the young that spring from the death of the old. Have you heard the tale of the Pelican, The Arab's G-imel el Bahr, That lives in the African solitudes. Where the birds that live lonely are ? Have you heard how it loves its tender young, And cares and toils for their good ? It brings them water from fountains afar. And fishes the seas for their food. In famine it feeds them — what love can devise ! — The blood of its bosom, and feeding them dies. Have you heard the tale they tell of the Swan, The snow-white bird of the lake ? It noiselessly floats on the silvery wave, It silently sits in the brake ; For it saves its song till the end of life. And then, in the soft, still even, 'Mid the golden light of the setting sun. It sings as it soars into heaven ! And the blessed notes fall back from the skies ; ^Tis its only song, for in singing it dies. 19 218 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. You have heard these tales ; shall I tell you one A greater and better than all ? Have you heard of Him whom the heavens adore, Before whom the hosts of them fall ? How He left the choirs and anthems above, For earth in its wailings and woes, To suffer the shame and pain of the cross, And die for the life of His foes? prince of the noble ! sufferer divine ! What sorrow and sacrifice equal to Thine I THE SLEEPING SENTINEL.— J anyier. 'TwAS in the sultry summer-time, as War's red records show, When patriot armies rose to meet a fratricidal foe — When, from the North and East and West, like the upheaving sea, Swept forth Columbia's sons, to make our country truly free. Within a prison's dismal w^alls, where shadows veiled decay — In fetters, on a heap of straw, a youthful soldier lay : Heart-broken, hopeless, and forlorn, with short and feverish breath, He waited but the appointed hour to die a culprit's death. Yet, but a few brief weeks before, untroubled with a care, He roamed at will, and freely drew his native mountain air — Where sparkling streams leap mossy rocks, from many a wood- land font, And waving elms, and grassy slopes, give beauty to Vermont ! Where, dwelling in an humble cot, a tiller of the soil, Encircled by a mother's love, he shared a father's toil — Till, borne upon the wailing winds, his suffering country's cry Fired his young heart with fervent zeal for her to live or die. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 219 Then left he all : — a few fond tears, by firmness half concealed, A blessing, and a parting prayer, and he was in the field — The field of strife, whose dews are blood, whose breezes War^s hot breathy Whose fruits are garnered in the grave^ whose husbandman is Death ! Without a murmur, he endured a service new and hard; But, wearied with a toilsome march, it chanced one night, on guard, He sank exhausted at his post, and the gray morning found His prostrate form — a sentinel, asleep, upon the ground ! So, in the silence of the night, aweary, on the sod Sank the disciples, watching near the suffering Son of God; — Yet, Jesus, with compassion moved, beheld their heavy eyes. And, though betrayed to ruthless foes, forgiving, bade them rise ! But God is love, — and finite minds can faintly comprehend How gentle Mercy, in His rule, may with stern Justice blend; And this poor soldier, seized and bound, found none to justify, While War's inexorable law decreed that he must die. 'Twas night. — In a secluded room, with measured tread, and slow, A statesman of commanding mien, paced gravely to and fro. Oppressed, he pondered on a land by civil discord rent ; On brothers armed in deadly strife : — it was the President ! The woes of thirty millions filled his burdened heart with grief; Embattled hosts, on land and sea, acknowledged him their chief; And yet, amid the din of war, he heard the plaintive cry Of that poor soldier, as he lay in prison, doomed to die ! 'Twas mornino\ — On a tented field, and throu2:h the heated haze Flashed back, from lines of burnished arms, the sun's efi'ulgent blaze ; 220 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. While, from a sombre prison-house, seen slowly to emerge, A sad procession, o'er the sward, moved to a mufHed dirge. And in the midst, with faltering step, and pale and anxious face, In manacles, between two guards, a soldier had his place. A youth — led out to die ; — and yet, it was not death, but shame, That smote his gallant heart with dread, and shook his manly frame ! Still on, before the marshalled ranks, the train pursued its way Up to the designated spot, whereon a coffin lay — His coffin ! And, with reeling brain, despairing — desolate — He took his station by its side, abandoned to his fate ! Then came across his wavering sight strange pictures in the air; — He saw his distant mountain home ; he saw his parents there ; He saw them bowed with hopeless grief, through fast-declining years ; He saw a nameless grave; and then, the vision closed — in tears I Yet, once again. In double file, advancing, then, he saw Twelve comrades, sternly set apart to execute the law — But saw no more: — his senses swam — deep darkness settled round — And, shuddering, he awaited now the fatal volley's sound ! Then suddenly was heard the noise of steeds and wheels ap- proach — And, rolling through a cloud of dust, appeared a stately coach. On, past the guards, and through the field, its rapid course was bent. Till, halting, 'mid the lines was seen the nation's President ! He came to save that stricken soul, now waking from despair; And from a thousand voices rose a shout which rent the air ! The pardoned soldier understood the tones of jubilee. And, bounding from his fetters, blessed the hand that made him free ! AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 221 ^Twas spring. — Within a verdant vale, wliere Warwick's crystal tide Reflected, o'er its peaceful breast, fair fields on either side — Where birds and flowers combined to cheer a sylvan solitude — Two threatening armies, face to face, in fierce defiance stood ! Two threatening armies ! one invoked by injured Liberty — Which bore above its patriot ranks the Symbol of the Free ; And one, a rebel horde, beneath a flaunting flag of bars, A fragment, torn by traitorous hands, from Freedom's Stripes and Stars I A sudden burst of smoke and flame, from many a thundering gun, Proclaimed, along the echoing hills, the conflict had begun ; While shot and shell athwart the stream with fiendish fury sped. To strew among the living lines the dying and the dead ! Then, louder than the roaring storm, pealed forth the stern com- mand, " Charge ! soldiers, charge !'' and, at the word, with shouts, a fearless band, Two hundred heroes from Vermont, rushed onward, through the flood, And upward, o'er the rising ground, they marked their way in blood I The smitten foe before them fled, in terror, from his post — While, unsustained, two hundred stood, to battle with a host ! Then, turning, as the rallying ranks, with murderous fire, replied. They bore the fallen o'er the field, and through the purple tide ! The fallen ! And the first who fell in that unequal strife Was heVhom Mercy sped to save when Justice claimed his life— The pardoned soldier ! And, while yet the conflict raged around — While yet his life-blood ebbed away through every gaping wound — 19* 222 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. While yet liis voice grew tremulous, and death bedimmed his eye- He called his comrades to attest, he had not feared to die ! And, in his last expiring breath, a prayer to Heaven was sent — That Grod, with His unfailing grace, would bless our President ! THE ROMANCE OF NICK VAN STANN—Sax^. I CANNOT vouch my tale is true, Nor swear, indeed, ^tis wholly new ; But true or false, or new or old, I think you ^11 find it fairly told. A Frenchman, who had ne'er before Set foot upon a foreign shore. Weary of home, resolved to go And see what Holland had to show. He didn't know a word of Dutch, But that could hardly grieve him much ; He thought — as Frenchmen always do^- That all the world could ^^ parlei/-voo T' At length our eager tourist stands Within the famous Netherlands, And, strolling gaily here and there In search of something rich or rare, A lordly mansion greets his eyes ; ^' How beautiful!'^ the Frenchman cries, And, bowing to the man who sate In livery at the garden-gate, '^ Pray, Mr. Porter, if you please. Whose very charming grounds are these ? And — pardon me — be pleased to tell Who in this splendid house may dwell V^ To which, in Dutch, the puzzled man Replied what seemed like ^' NicJc Van StannJ^ ^ * Niet verstaan — I don't understand. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 223 " Thanks !'^ said the Gaul, '' the owner's taste Is equally superb and chaste; So fine a house, upon my word, Not even Paris can afford. With statues, too, in every niche, Of course, Monsieur Van Stann is rich, And lives, I warrant, like a king — Ah ! wealth must be a charming thing V^ In Amsterdam the Frenchman meets A thousand wonders in the streets, But most he marvels to behold A lady dressed in silk and gold. Gazing with rapture at the dame, He begs to know the lady's name, And hears — to raise his wonder more — The very words he heard before ! " Merct'e !'^ he cries, '^ well, on my life, Milord has got a charming wife ; ^Tis plain to see, this JVick Van Stann Must be a very happy man T' ' Next day, our tourist chanced to pop His head within a lottery-shop. And there he saw, with staring eyes, The drawing of the Mammoth Prize. '^ Ten Millions ! — ^Tis a pretty sum; I wish I had as much at home ! I M like to know, as I 'm a sinner, What lucky fellow is the winner ?^' Conceive our traveller's amaze To hear again the hackneyed phrase ! " What 1 No ? — not JVlck Van Statin ao-ain ? 5 Faith ! he's the luckiest of men ! You may be sure we don't advance So rapidly as that in France, A house, the finest in the land ; A lovely garden, nicely planned; 224 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. A perfect angel of a wife, And gold enougli to last a life — There never yet was mortal man So blest as Monsieur Nick Van Stann F' Next day the Frenchman chanced to meet A pompous funeral in the street. And asking one who stood near by What nobleman had pleased to die ? Was stunned to hear the old reply ! The Frenchman sighed and shook his head, ^' Mon Dieu ! poor Nich Van Stann is dead ! With such a house, and such a wife, It must be hard to part with life ; And then, to lose that Mammoth Prize. He wins, and — pop ! — the winner dies ! Ah ! well — his blessings came so fast, I greatly feared they couldn^t last ; And thus, we see, the sword of Fate Cuts down alike the small and great V' AFTER TEE BATTLE. The drums are all muffled, the bugles are still; There ^s a pause in the valley, a halt on the hill ; And bearers of standards swerve back with a thrill Where sheaves of the dead bar the way ] For a great field is reaped. Heaven's garners to fill. And stern Death holds his harvest to-day. There 's a voice in the wind lik^ a spirit's low cry ; ^T is the muster-roll sounding — and who shall reply For those whose wan faces glare white to the sky. With eyes fixed so steadfast and dimly, As they wait the last trump, which they may not defy ! Whose hands clutch the sword-hilt so grimly. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 225 The brave heads late lifted are solemnly bowed, As the riderless chargers stand quivering and cowed — As the burial requiem is chanted aloud. The groans of the death-stricken drowning, While Victory looks on like a queen pale and proud Who awaits till the morning her crowning. There is no mocking blazon, as clay sinks to clay; The vain pomps of peace-time are all swept away In the terrible face of the dread battle-day; Nor coffins nor shroudings are here ; Only relics that lay where thickest the fray — A rent casque and a headless spear. Far away, tramp on tramp, sounds the march of the foe, Like a storm-wave retreating, spent, fitful and slow ; With sound like their spirits that faint as they go By the red-glowing river, whose waters Shall darken with sorrow the land where they flow To the eyes of her desolate daughters. They are fled — they are gone ; but oh ! not as they came ; In the pride of those numbers they staked on the game. Never more shall they stand in the vanguard of fame. Never lift the stained sword which they drew ; Never more shall they boast of a glorious name, Never march with the leal and the true. Where the wreck of our legions lay stranded and torn, They stole on our ranks in the mist of the morn; Like the giant of Gaza, their strength it was shorn Ere those mists have rolled up to the sky ; From the flash of the steel a new day-break seemed born, As we sprang up to conquer or die. The tumult is silenced ; the death-lots are cast. And the heroes of battle are slumbering; their last : 226 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Do you dream of yon pale form that rode on the blast ? Would ye see it once more, oh ye brave ! Yes — the broad road to honor is red where ye passed, And of glory ye asked — but a grave ! CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON LYMO ETA LIT ¥.--- Addison . It must be so. — Plato, thou reasonest well ; Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality ? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'T is the divinity that stirs within us, ^T is Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity ! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ! But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there 's a Power above us — And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Through all her works — He must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy. But when ? or where ? This world was made for Ceesar. I'm weary of conjectures — this must end ^em. Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life. My bane and antidote, are both before me. This* in a moment brings me to my end 3 But this"j" informs me I shall never die. The soul, secure in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. * The dagger. f Plato's Treatise. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 227 The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amid the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. ''AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER P'—Ebwarbs. Long ago When first the human heart-strings felt the touch Of Death's cold fingers — when upon the earth Shroudless and coffinless Death's first born lay, Slain by the hand of violence, the wail Of human grief arose : — " My son, my son ! Awake thee from this strange and awful sleep ; A mother mourns thee, and her tears of grief Are falling on thy pale, unconscious brow : Awake, and bless her with thy wonted smile.'' In vain, in vain ! that sleeper never woke. His murderer fled, but on his brow was fixed A stain which baffled wear and washing. As he fled A voice pursued him to the wilderness : "' Where is thy brother, Cain ?'' '' Am I my brother's keeper ?" 0, black impiety that seeks to shun The dire responsibility of sin — That cries with the ever-warning voice : "Be still— away, the crime is not my own — My brother lived — is dead, when, where. Or how, it matters not, but he is dead. Why judge the living for the dead one's fall ?'' 228 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. ^' Am I my brother's keeper ?'^ Cain, Cain, Thou art thy brother's keeper, and his blood Cries up to heaven against thee : every stone Will find a tongue to curse thee, and the winds, Will ever wail this question in thy ear : ^' Where is thy brother ?" Every sight and sound Will mind thee of the lost. I saw a man Deal Death unto his brother. Drop by drop The poison was distilled for cursed gold ; And in the wine-cup's ruddy glow sat Death^ Invisible to that poor, trembling slave. He seized the cup, he drank the poison down Rushed forth into the streets — home had he none — Staggered and fell and miserably died. They buried him — ah ! little recks it where His bloated form was given to the worms. No stone marked that neglected, lonely spot; No mourner sorrowing at evening came. To pray by that unhallowed mound; no hand Planted sweet flowers above his place of rest. Years passed, and weeds and tangled briers grew Above that sunken grave, and men forgot Who slept there. Once had he friends, A happy home was his, and love was his. His Mary loved him, and around him played His smiling children. 0, a dream of joy Were those unclouded years, and, more than all. He had an interest in the world above. The big " Old Bible" lay upon the stand. And he was wont to read its sacred page And then to pray : '^ Our Father, bless the poor And save the tempted from the tempter's art; Save us from sin, and let us ever be AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 229 United in thy love, and may we meet, When life's last scenes are o'er, around the throne.'^ Thus prayed he — thus lived he — years passed, And o'er the sunshine of that happy home, • A cloud came from the pit ; the fatal bolt Fell from that cloud. The towering tree Was shivered by the lightning's vengeful stroke, And laid its coronal of glory low. A happy home was ruined ; want and woe Played with his children, and the joy of youth Left their sweet faces no more to return. His Mary's face grew pale and paler still, Her eyes were dimmed with weeping, and her soul Went out through those blue portals. Mary died, And yet he wept not. At the demon's call He drowned his sorrow in the maddening bowl, And when they buried her from sight, he sank In drunken stupor by her new-made grave ! His friend was gone — he never had another, And the world shrank from him, all save one, And he still plied the bowl Vv^ith deadly drugs. And bade him drink, forget his God, and die ! He died ! Cain ! Cain ! where is thy brother now 1 Lives he still — if dead, still where is he ? Where ? In heaven ? Go, read the sacred page : " No drunkard ever shall inherit there." Who sent him to the pit ? Who dragged him down ? Who bound him hand and foot ? Who smiled and smiled While yet the hellish work went on ? Who grasped His gold — his health — his life — his hope — his all ? Who saw his Mary fade and die ? Who saw His beggared children wandering in the streets ? Speak — coward — if thou hast a tongue. Tell why wdth hellish art you slew A man. 20 230 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. *' Where is thy brother ?'' " Am I ray brother's keeper ?'' Ah, man ! A deeper mark is on your brow Than that of Cain. Accursed was the name Of him who slew a righteous man, whose soul Was ripe for heaven ; thrice accursed he Whose art mali2:nant sinks a soul to hell. THE BURIAL OF JfO>^i7/S'.— Alexander. *^ And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor ; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." By Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave, In a vale in the land of Moab There lies a lonely grave. And no man knows that sepulchre, And no man saw it e'er, For the angels of God upturned the sod, And laid the dead man there. That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth ; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth — Noiselessly as the daylight Cornes back when night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun. Noiselessly as the spring-time Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves; AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 231 So without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown The great procession swept. Perchance the bald old eagle. On gray Beth-Peor's height, Out of his lonely eyrie Looked on the wondrous sight; Perchance the lion stalking, Still shuns that hallowed spot, For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not. But when the warrior dieth, His comrades in the war. With arms reversed and muffled drum, Follow his funeral car ; They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won. And after him lead his masterless steed, While peals the minute gun. Amid the noblest of the land We lay the sage to rest, And give the bard an honored place. With costly marble drest, In the great minster transept Where lights like glories fall, And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings Along the emblazoned wall. This was the truest warrior That ever buckled sword. This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word ; 232 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. And never earth's philosopher Traced, with his golden pen, On the deathless page, truths half so sage As he wrote down for men. And had he not high honor, — The hillside for a pall, To lie in state while angels wait With stars for tapers tail, And the dark rock-pines like tossing plumes, Over his bier to wave. And God's own hand, in that lonely land, To lay him in the grave ? In that strange grave without a name, Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again, wondrous thought ! Before the judgment day, And stand with glory wrapt around On the hills he never trod. And speak of the strife that won our life, With the Incarnate Son of God. lonely grave in Moab's land ! dark Beth-Peor's hill I Speak to these curious hearts of ours, And teach them to be still. God hath His mysteries of grace, Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep Of him He loved so well. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 233 BRIDGE OF SIGHS.— Hood. Drowned, drowned. — Hamlet. One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Easlily importunate, Gone to her death I Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care, — Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements ; WhiJst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. — Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Grently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and un dutiful : Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers. Oozing so clammily. 20* 234 . AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home ? Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet^ than all other ? Alas ! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! Oh ! it was pitiful ! Near a whole city full, Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed : Love, by harsh evidence. Thrown from its eminence; Even God's providence Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement. She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 235 The bleak winds of March Made her tremble and shiver : But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river; Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery, Swift to be hurled — Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, — Over the brink of it. Picture it — think of it, Dissolute man I Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly. Lift her with care ; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently, — kindly, — Smooth and compose them ; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly ! Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity. As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily. Spurred by contumely, 236 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into lier rest. — Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast ! Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour ! . THE CHARGE AT WATERL 00, —Scoit, On came the whirlwind — like the last But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast — On came the whirlwind — steel-gleams broke Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; The war was waked anew. Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud. And from their throats, with flash and cloud, Their showers of iron threw. Beneath their fire, in full career, Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier, The lancer, couched his ruthless spear, And hurrying as to Itavoc near. The cohorts' eagles flew. In one dark torrent, broad and strong. The advancing onset rolled along, Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim, That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, Pealed wildly the imperial name. But on the British heart w^ere lost The terrors of the charging host ^ AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 237 For not an eye the storm that viewed Changed its proud glance of fortitude, Nor was one forward footstep stayed, As dropped the dying and the dead. Fast as their ranks the thunder tare. Fast they renewed each serried square; And on the wounded and the slain Closed their diminished files again, Till from the lines scarce spears-lengths three, Emerging from the smoke they see Helmet, and plume, and panoply, — Then waked their fire at once ! Each musketeer's revolving knell, As fast as regularly fell, As when they practise to display Their discipline on festal day. Then down went helm and lance, Down went the eagle-banners sent, Down reeling steeps and riders went, Corselets were pierced, and pennons rent; And, to augment the fray, Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, The English horsemen's foaming ranks Forced their resistless way. Then to the musket-knell succeeds The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds — As plies the smith his clanging trade. Against the cuirass rang the blade : And while amid their close array The well-served cannon rent their way. And while amid their scattered band Eaged the fierce riders' bloody brand, Kecoiled in common rout and fear, Lancer and guard and cuirassier, Horsemen and foot, — a mingled host, Their leaders fallen, their standards lost. 238 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. SHERIDAN'S BIDE.— Read. Up from the south, at break of day. Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste to the chieftain^s door. The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar; And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold, As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, And Sheridan twenty miles away. But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down; And there, through the flush of the morning li^ht, A steed as black as the steeds of night Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, As if he knew the terrible need ; He stretched away with his utmost speed ; Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south, The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth ; Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster. Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 239 Under his spurniog feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind ; And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. But, lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire; He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away. The first that the Greneral saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ; What was done ? what to do ? a glance told him both. Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line, ^mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the master compelled it to pause With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play He seemed to the whole great army to say, " I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down, to save the day."*^ Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! And v\^hen their statues are placed on high, Under the dome of the Union sky. The American soldiers' Temple of Fame, There with the glorious Greneral's name Be it said, in letters both bold and bright : " Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester — twenty miles away !" 240 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. THE MADDENING BOWL, Oh ! take the maddening bowl away, Remove the poisonous cup 1 My soul is sick — its burning ray Hath drunk my spirit up : Take — take it from my loathing lip, Ere madness fires my brain ; Take — take it hence, nor let me sip Its liquid death again ! Oh ! dash it on the thirsty earth, For I will drink no more ; It cannot cheer the heart with mirth That grief hath wounded sore ^ For serpents wreathe its sparkling brim, And adders lurk below; It hath no soothing charm for him Who sinks oppressed with woe. Then, hence ! away, thou deadly foe, — I scorn thy base control. Away, awa?/ ! I fear thy blow, Thou palsy of the, soul ! Henceforth I drink no more of thee, Thou bane of Adam's race ; But to a heavenly fountain flee, And drink the dews of grace. SHYLOCK TO JLA^TOiYJO.— Shakspeare. SiGNiOR Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys, and my usances: Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, For sufferance is the badse of all our tribe : AMFRICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 241 You call me, — misbeliever, cut-throaty dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. And ail for use of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears, you need my help; Go, to, then : you come to me, and you say, Shylock^ we icould have moneys ; You say so; You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold; moneys is your suit. What should I say to you ? Should I not say, Hath a dog money ? is it possible A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With ^bated breath, and whispering humbleness, Say this ? Fair sir, you spat on me on Yiednesday last ; You spurned me such a day j another time You called me — dog ; and for these courtesies Pll lend you thus much moneys. THE BIRTH OF GREEN ERIN, With all condescinshin, IM turn your attinshin. To what I would minshin on Erin so green : And, without hisitayshin, IM show how that nayshin Became, in creayshin, the gim an^ the queen. It happined wan marnin' Without iny warn in', That Yaynus was born in the beautiful say ; An' by that same tokin, (An' shoor, 'twas provokin), Her pinions were soakin', and wouldn't give play. 21 Q 242 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. So Niptune, who knew her, Began to purshue her, In ordher to woo her, the wicked ould Jew I An' he very nigh caught her Atop iv the wather. Great Jupither's daughther, who cried •' Poo a-loo !" But Jove, the great jainyous, Looked down an' saw Yaynus, An' Niptune so haynious purshuin' her woild; So he roared out in thundher, He 'd tare him asundher, An* shoor 't was no wondher, for tazing his choild. So a sthar that was fly in' Around him, espyin'. He sazed without sighin', and hurled it below, Where it tumbled loike winkin', While Niptune was sinkin', And gave him, I'm thinkin', the hrath iv allow! An' that sthar was dhryland. Both lowland and highland, An' formed a swate island, the land iv my birth ! Thus plain is me shtory, 'Kase sint down from glor}^, That Erin so hoary 's a heaven upon earth ! Thin Yaynus jumped nately On Erin so shtately ; But faynted, 'kase lately so bothered and prissed; Which her much did bewiidher; But ere it had killed her, Her fayther dishtilled her a dhrop iv the bisht. An' ihnt glass so victorious, It made her feel glorious, A little uproarious, I fear it might prove : AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 243 Hince, how can yez blame us That Erin ^s so faymous For heauty^ and murther^ and walskei/^ and love I THE RA VEN.—Vo^. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary. Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore ! While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door, ^' ^Tis some visitor/' I muttered, '^ tapping at my chamber door; Only this — and nothing more/' Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had tried to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here forevermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating " 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is and nothing more/' Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no longer, " Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly y-'iir forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 244 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you/' — Here I opened wide the door; — Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, '' Lenore V' This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, *• Lenore T' Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before. "' Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my window lattice ; Let me see, then, what thereat is — and this mystery expjore — Let my heart be still a moment — and this mystery explore; — 'Tis the wind, and nothing more 1'^ Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter. In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he. But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber- door — Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber-door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, •^^ Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,'' I said, "art sure no craven, , AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 245 Gtastly, grim, and ancient Ptaven, wandering from the Nightly shore — Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore V' Quoth the Kaven, " Nevermore/^ Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore 3 For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber-door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber- door, With such name as " Nevermore/^ But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered 3 not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends have flown before — On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before/^ Then the bird said, ''Nevermore/^ Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "• Doubtless, ^^ said I, " what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his song one burden bore — Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore — Of ' Never^ — of ' Nevermore/ ^^ But the Eaven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling. Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust, and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — 21* 246 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. What this grim, uDgainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking " Nevermore/' This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core ; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er — She shall press, ah^ nevermore ! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose faint footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch,'' I cried, '^thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Le- nore !" Quoth the Eaven, " Nevermore." " Prophet !" said I^ '^ thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil ! — Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore. Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me, tell me, I im- plore !" Quoth the Raven, '' Nevermore." " Prophet !" said I, "' thing of evil, — prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore — AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 247 Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aiden, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Le- nore." Quoth the Eaven, ^^ Nevermore." " Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !'' I shrieked, upstarting — Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore ! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door ! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door !" Quoth the Eaven, ^' Nevermore." And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber-door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore ! A WOMAN' S ANSWER ON BEING ACCUSED OF BEING A MANIAC ON THE SUBJECT OF TEMPERANCE. Go, feel what I have felt ; G05 bear what I have borne — Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt, And the cold world's proud scorn Then suffer on from year to year — Thy sole relief the scorching tear. 248 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Go, kneel as I have knelt ; Implore, beseecli, and pray — Strive the besotted heart to melt^ The downward course to stay; Be dashed, with bitter curse, aside 5 Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied. Gro, weep as I have wept, O'er a loved father's fall — See every promised blessing swept, Youth's sweetness turned to gall ; Life's fading flowers strewed all the way, That brought me up to woman's day. GrO, see what I have seen, Behold the strong man bow, With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood. And cold and livid brow; Gro catch his withering glance, and see There mirrored his souFs misery. Go to thy mother's side. And her crushed bosom cheer ; Thy own deep anguish hide ; Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear; Mark her worn frame and withered brow, The gray that streaks her dark hair now; With fading frame and trembling limb, And trace the ruin back to him Whose plighted faith, in early youth, Promised eternal love and truth ; But who, forsworn, hath yielded up That promise to the cursed cup. And led her down through love and light. And all that made her promise bright. And chained her there, 'mid want and strife, That lowly thing— -a drunkard's wife ! AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 249 And stamped on cliildhood's brow so mild That withering blight, the drunkard's child. GrO; hear, and feel, and see, and know All that my soul hath felt and known, Then look upon the wine-cup's glow, See if its beauty can atone; Think if its flavor you will try, When all proclaim, '^^Tis drink, and die.'^ Tell me I hate the bowl — Hate is a feeble word : I loathe — abhor — my very soul With strong disgust is stirred, Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell Of the dark beverao-e of hell. SONG OF THE HUSKERS,--\Niliiti^r, Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard, Heap high the golden corn ! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn ! Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from the glossy green, The cluster from the vine. We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow. To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, Our ploughs their furrows made. While o'er the hills the sun and showers Of changeful April played. 250 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, Beneath the sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. All through -the long bright days of June, Its leaves grew strong and fair, And waved in hot midsummer's noon, Its soft and yellow hair. And now, with Autumn's moonlit eves, Its harvest time has come; We pluck away the frosted leaves. And bear the treasure home. There, richer than the fabled gifts Apollo showered of old, Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, And knead its meal of gold. Let vapid idlers loll in silk, Around their costly board ; Give us the bowl of samp and milk, By homespun beauty poured. Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth Sends up its smoky curls. Who will not thank the kindly earth. And bless the farmer girls ! Then shame on all the proud and vain, Whose folly laughs to scorn The blessings of our hardy grain. Our wealth of golden corn. And let the good old crop adorn The hills our fathers trod ; Still let us for His golden corn Send up our thanks to God I AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 251 IVRY.—A SONG OF THE HUGUENOTS.— Mac avlay. Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre ! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Eochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters; As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. Hurrah ! Hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war, Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day, We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest-led citizens^ and all its rebel peers. And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ; And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand : And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood. And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living' God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. The King is come to marshal us, all in his armor drest. And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, in deafening shout, '^ God save our Lord, the King." '^ And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may. For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, 252 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre/^ Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din, Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin. The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Gruelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies ! upon them with the lance ! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star. Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. Now, God be praised, the day is ours. Mayenne hath turned his rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, *' Remember St. Bartholomew,^'' was passed from man to man. But out spake gentle Henry, '' No Frenchman is my foe : Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.'' Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war. As our Sovereign Lord, I^ing Henry, the soldier of Navarre ? Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France to- day; And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey. But we of the religion have borne us best in fight ; And the good Lord of Bosny hath ta'en the cornet white. Oar own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en. The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 253 Up with it high; unfurl it wide ; that all the host may know How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought his church such woe. Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest point of war, Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for Henry of Navarre. Ho ! maidens of Vienna; ho ! matrons of Lucerne; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall re- turn. Ho ! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen^s souls. Ho I gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ; Ho I burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to- night. For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave. Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are ; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre. CATILINE'S DEFIANCE.— Croly, Conscript fathers I I do not rise to waste the night in words ; Let that plebeian talk ; ^tis not my trade ; But here I stand for right — let him show proofs — For Roman. right; though none, it seems, dare stand. To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there ! Cling to your master, judges, Eomans, slaves ! His charge is false ; — I dare him to his proofs. You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 22 254 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. But this I will avow, that I have scorned, And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ! Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword, Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts The gates of honor on me — turning out The Roman from his birthright; and, for what? \_Looking round him. To fling your offices to every slave! Yipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, And, having wound their loathsome track to the top Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome, Hang hissing at the nobler man below ! Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones ; ^To the Senate. Fling down your sceptres; take the rod and axe, And make the murder as you make the law I Banished from Rome ! What 's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe ? ^' Tried and convicted traitor !'^ Who says this ? Who ^11 prove it, at his peril, on my head ? Banished ! I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain ! I held some slack allegiance till this hour ; But now my sword 's my own. Smile on, my lords i I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up. To leave you in your lazy dignities. But here I stand and scoff you ! here, I fling Hatred and full defiance in your face ! Your consul 's merciful. For this, all thanks. > He dares not touch a hair of Catiline ! '' Traitor !'' I go ; but I return. This— trial ! Here I devote your Senate ! I 've had wrongs To stir a fever in the blood of a2:e. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 255 Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrow ! This hour's work Will breed proscriptions ! Look to your hearths, my lords 1 For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods, Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all sliames and crimes: Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup; Naked rebellion, with the torch and axe, Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones; Till anarchy comes down on you like night, And massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. I go; but not to leap the gulf alone. J go ; but, when I come, ^t will be the burst Of ocean in the earthquake — rolling back In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well ; You build my funeral pile; but your best blood Shall quench its flame I Back, slaves ! [7b the lictors. I will return. THE PAUPER' 'S DEATH-BED.— Ur^. Suuthey. Tread softly ! bow the head — In reverent silence bow 1 No passing bell doth toll ; Yet an immortal soul Is passing now. .Stranger, however great. With holy reverence bow ! There 's one in that poor shed- One by that paltry bed — Greater than thou. 256 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Beneath that beggar's roof, Lo ! Death doth keep his state : Enter! — no crowds attend; Enter ! — no guards defend This palace gate. That pavement damp and cold No smiling courtiers tread; One silent woman stands. Lifting with meagre hands A dying head. JSTo mingling voices sound — An infant wail alone ; A sob suppressed — again That short deep gasp — and then The parting groan I Oh, change ! — oh ! wondrous change ! Burst are the prison bars ! This moment, there, so low, So agonized, and now Beyond the stars I Oh, change I — stupendous change ! There lies the soulless clod ! The sun eternal breaks ; The new immortal wakes — Wakes with his God ! MAUD MULLEE.—WiiiTTiER. Maud Muller, on a summer's day, Baked the meadow sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 257 Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee The mock-bird echoed from his tree. But, when she glanced to the far-off town, White from its hill-slope looking down, The sweet song died, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast, — A wish, that she hardly dared to own, For something better than she had known. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees to greet the maid, And ask a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup, And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. " Thanks V' said the Judge ; '^ a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed. ^^ He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, And her graceful ankles bare and brown ; And listened, while a pleased surprise Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 22* R 258 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Maud Muller looked and sighed : " All me ! That I the Judge's bride might be ! ^' He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. ^' My father should wear a broadcloth coat My brother should sail a painted boat. ^^ I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, And the baby should have a new toy each day. "And IM feed the hungry and clothe the poor; And all should bless me who left our door.'' The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, And saw Maud Muller standing still. '' A form more fair, a face more sweet Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. " And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair. " Would she were mine, and I to-day, Like her, a harvester of hay : ''• No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs^ Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, " But low of cattle and song of birds. And health and quiet and loving words. ^' But he thought of his sisters proud and cold, And his mother vain of her rank and gold. So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on. And Maud was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, When he hummed in court an old love-tune ; And the young girl mused beside the well, Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 259 He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion, as he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow. He watched a picture come and go ; And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead; ' And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, " Ah, that I were free again ! '' Free as when I rode that day. Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay.^' She wedded a man unlearned and poor. And many children played round her door. But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, Left their traces on heart and brain. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, And she heard the little spring brook fall Over the roadside, through the wall, In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein. And, gazing down with timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls ; The weary wheel to a spinnet turned. The tallow candle an astral burned, 260 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw. And joy was duty and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only, " It might have been.^' Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge ! God pity them both ! and pity us all. Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen. The saddest are these : '^ It might have been V Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes ; And, in the hereafter, angels may Roll the stone from its grave away ! THE STRANGER ON THE SILL.— Eeah. Between the broad fields of wheat and corn Is the lovely home where I was born ; The peach-tree leans against the wall, And the woodbine wanders over all ; There is the shaded doorway still — But a stranger's foot has crossed the sill. There is the barn — and, as of yore, I can smell the hay from the open door, And see the busy swallows throng, And hear the pewee's mournful song; But the stranger comes — 0, painful proof! — His sheaves are piled to the heated roof. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 261 There is the orchard — the very trees That knew my childhood so well to please, Where I watched the shadowy moments run : The life imbibed more of shade than sun; The swing from the bough still sweeps the air, But the stranger's children are swinging there. It bubbles, the shady spring below. With its bulrush brook where the hazels grow; ^Twas there I found the calamus root, And watched the minnows poise and shoot. And heard the robin lave his wing — But the stranger's bucket is at the spring. 0, ye who daily cross the sill, Step lightly, for I love it still ; And when you crown the old barn eaves, Then think what countless harvest sheaves Have passed within that scented door, To gladden eyes that are no more. TEE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.— '^y^o^. There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium^s capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell. Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell ; But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! Did ye not hear it? — No ; ^t was but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 262 AMERICAN POPULAll SPEAKER. On with the dance ! let joy be un confined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet — But^ hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro. And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; , And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who shall guess If evermore should meet those mutual eyes. Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ? And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Boused up the soldier ere the morning star ; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb. Or whispering, with white lips — ^' The foe ! they come ! they come !'' And wild and high the ^' Cameron's gathering" rose ! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes : — How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills. Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring, which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears? AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 263 And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. The morn, the marshalling in arms, — the day, Battle's magnificently-stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay. Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Kider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! THE SEVEN AGES OF iLliV.— Shakspeare. All the world ^s a stage. And all the men and women merely players j They have their exits and their entrances. And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in his nurse's arms : And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning-face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, the soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard. Jealous in honor, sudden, and quick in quarrel. 264 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice. Turning again towards childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history. Is second childishness, and mere oblivion : Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. LINES ON A SKELETON The following poem appeared in The London Morning Chronicle, about fifty years since — anonymous. A reward of fifty guineas failed to dis- cover the author, and its authorship has never been ascertained. We believe the whole of it is comprised in the five stanzas. Behold this ruin ! ^Twas a skull Once of ethereal spirit full ; This narrow cell was life's retreat ; This space was thought's mysterious seat. What beauteous visions filled this spot; What dreams of pleasure long forgot ! Nor hope, nor love, nor joy, nor fear, Has left one trace of record here. Beneath this mouldering canopy Once shone the bright and busy eye. But start not at the dismal void, Nor sigh for greatness thus destroyed. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 265 If with no lawless fire it gleamed, But through the dews of kindness beamed^ That eye shall be for ever bright, When stars and suns are sunk in night. Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue. If falsehood's honey it disdained, And where it could not praise was chained; If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, Yet gentle concord never broke ; This silent tongue shall plead for thee When time unveils eternity. Say, did these fingers delve the mine, Or with its envied rubies shine ? To hew the rock or wear the gem, Can little now avail to them ; But if the page of truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourner brought. These hands a richer meed shall claim Than all that wait on wealth or fame. Avails it whether bare or shod These feet the paths of duty trod ? If from the bowers of ease they fled. To seek affliction's humble shed; If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, And home to virtue's cot returned ; These feet with angels' wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky. NO SECTS IN HEAVEN— Cleveland. Talking of sects till late one eve, Of the various doctrines the saints believe. That night I stood, in a troubled dream, By the side of a darkly flowing stream. 23 266 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. And a " Cliurchman'^ down to tlie river came; When I heard a strange voice call his name, " Good father, stop; when you cross this tide. You must leave your robes on the other side/' But the aged father did not mind ; And his long gown floated out behind, As down to the stream his way he took, His pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book. ^' I'm bound for Heaven ; and when I'm there, Shall want my Book of Common Prayer ; And, though I put on a starry crown, I should feel quite lost without my gown." Then he fixed his eyes on the shining track. But his gown was heavy and held him back. And the poor old father tried in vain, A single step in the flood to gain. I saw him again on the other side, But his silk gown floated on the tide ; And no one asked, in that blissful spot. Whether he belonged to the '^ Church" or not. , Then down to the river a Quaker strayed; His dress of a sober hue was made : " My coat and hat must all be gray — I cannot go any other way." Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin, And staidly, solemnly, waded in. And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight. Over his forehead so cold and white. But a strong wind carried away his hat ; , A moment he silently sighed over that ; And then, as he gazed to the further shore. The coat slipped off*, and was seen no more. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 267 As he entered Heaven his suit of gray Went quietly sailing, away, away ; And none of the angels questioned him About the width of his beaver's brim. Next came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of psalms Tied nicely up in his aged arms, And hymns as many, a very wise thing, That the people in Heaven, •• all round/^ might sing. But I thought that he heaved an anxious sigh, And he saw^that the river ran broad and high, And looked rather surprised, as one by one His psalms and hymns in the wave went down. And after him. with his MSS., Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness ; But he cried, •• Dear me I what shall I do ? The water has soaked them through and through/^ And there on the river far and wide. Away they went down the swollen tide ; And the saint, astonished, passed through alone, Without his manuscripts, up to the throne. Then, gravely walking, two saints by name Down to the stream together came ; But, as they stopped at the river's brink, I saw one saint from the other shrink. '•' Sprinkled or plunged ? may I ask you, friend, How you attained to life's great end V^ " Thiis^ with a few drops on my brow.^' ''But /have been dipped, as you ^11 see me now, " And I really think it will hardly do, As I^m ' close communion,^ to cross with you; You're bound, I know, to the realms of bliss, But you must go that way, and I'll go this.'" 268 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Then straightway phmging with all his might, Away to the left — his friend to the right, Apart they went from this world of sin. But at last together they entered in. And now, when the river was rolling on, A Presbyterian Church went down j Of women there seemed an innumerable throng. But the men I could count as they passed along. And concerning the road, they could never agree The old or the new way, which it could be* Nor ever a moment paused to think That both would lead to the river's brink. And a sound of murmuring, long and loud, Came ever up from the moving crowd ; ^' You 're in the old way, and I 'm in the new; That is the false, and this is the true" — Or, "I'm in the old way, and you're in the new; That is the false, and this is the true.'^ But the hrethren only seemed to speak : Modest the sisters walked and meek. And if ever one of them chanced to say What troubles she met with on the way, How she longed to pass to the other side. Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide, A voice arose from the brethren then, " Let no one speak but the ' holy men ;' For have ye not heard the words of Paul, * Oh, let the women keep silence all V '' I watched them long in my curious dream. Till they stood by the borders of the stream ; Then, just as I thought, the two ways met; But all the brethren were talking yet. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 269 And would talk on till the heaving tide Carried them over side by side — Side by side, for the way was one ; The toilsome journey of life was done; And all who in Christ the Saviour died, Came out alike on the other side. No forms or crosses or books had they; No gowns of silk or suits of gray; No creeds to guide them, or MSS. ; For all had put on Christ's righteousness. THE FIRUMAN.—CoNRAj). The city slumbers ; o'er its silent walls Night's dusky mantle soft and silent falls ; Sleep o'er the world slow waves its wand of lead, And ready torpors wrap each sinking head. Still is the stir of labor and of life, Hushed is the hum, and tranquillized the strife — Man is at rest/ with all his hopes and fears, The young forget their sport, the old their cares. The grave or careless, those who joy or weep, All rest contented on the arm of sleep. Sweet is the pillowed rest of beauty now, And slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow. Bright are her dreams — yes, bright as heaven's own blue, Pure as its joys, and gentle as its dew. They lead her forth along the moonlit tide. Her heart's own partner wandering by her side ; — 'T is summer's eve — the soft gales scarcely rouse The low-voiced ripple and the rustling boughs — And, faint and far, some melting minstrel's tone Breathes to her heart a music like its own — When, hark 1 — oh, horror ! — what a crash is there ! What shriek is that which fills the midnight air ? 23^ 270 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. ^Tis fire ! ^tis fire I She wakes to dream no more — The hot blast rushes through the blazing door ; The room is dimmed with smoke — and hark I that cry ! — . " Help I help ! — will no one aid ? I die — I die V She seeks the casement, shuddering at its height — She turns again — the fierce flames mock her flight. Along the crackling stairs they wildly play And roar, exulting, as they seize their prey. " Help ! — help I — will no one come V She can no more. But pale and breathless, sinks upon the floor. Will no one save thee ? Yes, there is yet one Remains to save when hope itself is gone; When all have fled — when all but he would fly, The Fireman comes to rescue, or to die ! He mounts the stair — it wavers ^neath his tread — He seeks the room, flames flashing round his head. He bursts the door — he lifts her prostrate frame, And turns a^-ain to brave the raoins: flame. The fire-blast smites him with its stifling breath, The falling timbers menace him with death. And sinking floors his hurried steps betray, And ruin crushes round his desperate way. Hot smoke obscures, ten thousand cinders rise, Yet still he staggers forward with his prize. He leaps from burning stair to stair — on, on ! Courage I — one efi"ort more, and all is won. The stair is passed — the blazing hall is braved ; Still on ! — yet on I — once more. Thank Heaven, she ^s saved ! The hardy seaman pants the storm to brave. For beckoning fortune wooes him from the wave ; The soldier battles ^neath the smoky cloud, For glory's bow is painted on the shroud ; The firemen also dare each shape of death, But not for fortune's gold, or glory's wreath ; AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKEK. 271 No selfish throbs within their breasts are known — No hope of praise or profit cheers them on ; They ask no meed, no fame, and only seek To shield the suffering and protect the weak. For this the howling midnight storm they woo — For this the raging flames rush fearless through — Mount the frail rafter, head the smoky hall, Or toil, unshrinking, ^neath the tottering wall ; Nobler than those who with fraternal blood Dye the dread field, or tinge the shuddering flood. O^er their firm ranks no crimson banners wave ', They dare, they suffer — not to slay, but save. At such a sight Hope smiles more heavenly bright — Pale, pensive Pity trembles with delight ; And soft-eyed Mercy, stooping from above, Drops a bright tear — a tear of joy and love. And should the fireman, generous, true, and brave, Fall as he toils the weak to shield and save ? Shall no kind friend, no ministering hand, be found To pour the balm of comfort in his wound ? Or, should he perish, shall his orphans say " He died for them — but what for us do they V Say, is it thus we should his toils requite ? Forbid it, justice, gratitude, and right! Forbid it, ye who dread what he endures ; Forbid it, ye whose slumbers he secures ! Forbid it, ye whose hoard he toils to save ! Forbid it, all ye generous, just, and brave ! And, above all, be you his friend, ye fair, For you were ever his especial care ; Grive to his cause your smiles, your gentle aid — The Fireman's wounds are healed — the orphan^s tears are stayed. 272 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING.— "Read. Out of the North the wild news came, Far flashing on its wings of flame, Swift as the boreal light which flies At midnight through the startled skies. And there was tumult in the air. The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, And through the wide land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet; While the first oath of Freedom^ s gun Came on the blast from Lexington ; And Concord roused, no longer tame, Forgot her old baptismal name, Made bare her patriot arm of power, And swelled the discord of the hour. Within its shade of elm and oak The church of Berkley Manor stood; There Sunday found the rural folk, And some esteemed of gentle blood. In vain their feet with loitering tread Passed mid the graves where rank is nought ; All could not read the lesson taught In that republic of the dead. How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk. The vale with peace and sunshine full. Where all the happy people walk, Decked in their homespun flax and wool. Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom ; And every maid, with simple art, Wears on her breast, like her own heart, A bud whose depths are all perfume ; While every garment's gentle stir Is breathing rose and lavender. The pastor came ; his snowy locks Hallowed his brow of thought and care; AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 273 And calm, as shepherds lead their flocks, He led into the house of prayer. Then soon he rose; the prayer was strong; The Psalm was warrior David's song; The text a few short words of misrht — " The Lord of hosts shall ar^ni the right F' He spoke of wrongs too long endured, Of sacred rights to be secured; Then from his patriot tongue of flame The startling words for Freedom came. The stirring sentences he spake Compelled the heart to glow or quake. And, rising on his theme's broad wing. And grasping in his nervous hand The imaginary battle-brand. In face of death he dared to fling Defiance to a tyrant king. Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed In eloquence of attitude, Eose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; Then swept his kindling glance of fire From startled pew to breathless choir ; When suddeuly his mantle wide His hands impatient flung aside. And, lo ! he met their wondering eyes Complete in all a warrior^s guise. A moment there was awful pause — When Berkley cried, '^ Cease, traitor! cease! God's temple is the house of peace T' The other shouted, ^' Nay, not so, When G-od is with our righteous cause; His holiest places then are ours. His temples are our forts and towers That frown upon the tyrant foe; In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, There is a time to fight and pray V^ s 274 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. And now before the open door — The warrior priest had ordered so — The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar Eang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, Its long reverberating blow, So loud and clear, it seemed the ear Of dusty death must wake and hear. And there the startling drum and fife Fired the living with fiercer life ; While overhead, with wild increase, Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, The great bell swung as ne'er before. It seemed as it would never cease ; And every word its ardor flung From ofi* its jubilant iron tongue Was, " War ! War ! WAR !" " Who dares ?" — this was the patriot's cry, As striding from the desk he came — ^' Come out with me, in Freedom's name, For her to live, for her to die ?" A hundred hands flung up reply, A hundred voices answered, " I V^ THE FISHERMAN'S SONG. [This spirited lyric appeared anonymously in an old Irish magazine.] Away — away o'er the feathery crest Of the beautiful blue are we : For our toil-lot lies on its boiling breast, And our wealth 's in the glorious sea : And we 've hymned in the grasp of the fiercest night, To the god of the sons of toil, As we cleft the wave by its own white light, And away with its scaly spoil. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 275 Then oh for the long and the strong oar-sweep We have given, and will again ; For when children's weal lies in the deep, Oh ! their fathers must be men. And we ^11 think, as the blast grows loud and long, That we hear our offspring's cries — And we '11 think, as the surge grows tall and strong, Of the tears in their mothers' eyes : And we '11 reel through the clutch of the shivering green, For the warm, warm clasp at home — For the soothing smile of each heart's own queen, And her arms, like the flying foam. Then oh for the long and strong oar-sweep We have given, and will again ; For when children's weal lies in the deep, Oh ! their fathers mws^ be men. Do we yearn for the land when tossed on this ? Let it ring to the proud one's tread : Far worse than the waters and winds may hiss Where the poor man gleans his bread. If the adder-tongue of the upstart knave Can bleed what it may not bend, 'T were better to battle the wildest wave. That the spirit of storms could send, Than be singing farewell to the bold oar-sweep We have given, and will again ; If our souls should bow to the savage deep, Oh ! they ^11 never to savage men. And if death, at times, through a foamy cloud. On the brown-browed boatman glares. He can pay him his glance with a soul as proud As the form of a mortal bears ; And oh 'twere glorious, sure, to die, In our toils for some on shore, 276 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. With a hopeful eye fixed calm on the sky. And a hand on the broken oar. Then oh, for a long, strong, steady sweep; Hold to it — hurrah — dash on : If our babes must fast till we rob the deep, 'Tis time that we had begun. ''LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE WHEN IT IS BED." Willis. Look not upon the wine when it Is red within the cup ; Stay not for pleasure when she fills Her tempting beaker up ; Though clear its depths, and rich its glow, A spell of madness lurks below. They say ^t is pleasant on the lip. And merry on the brain ; They say it stirs the sluggish blood, And dulls the tooth of pain : Ay, but within its gloomy deeps A stinging serpent unseen sleeps. Its rosy lights will turn to fire. Its coolness change to thirst; And by its mirth within the brim A sleepless worm is nursed. There ^s not a bubble at the brim That does not carry food to him. Then dash the burning cup aside And spill its purple wine ; Take not its madness to thy lips — Let not its curse be thine. 'Tis red and rich, but grief and woe Are hid those rosy depths below. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 277 ICARUS; OR, THE PERIL OF BORROWED PLUMES, Saxe. There lived and flourislied long ago, in famous Atlienstown, One Dsedalus^ a carpenter of genius and renown ; (^Twas he who with an auger taught mechanics how to tore — An art which the philosophers monopolized before.) His only son was Icarus^ a most precocious lad, — The pride of Mrs. Dsedalus, the image of his dad ; And while he yet was in his teens such progress he had made, He ^d got above his father's size^ and much above his trade. Now Dsedalus^ the carpenter, had made a pair of wings. Contrived of wood and feathers and a cunning set of springs, By means of which the wearer could ascend to any height. And sail about among the clouds as easy as a kite ! ^' Oh, father, ^^ said young Icarus^ '^ how I should like to fly ! And go like you where all is blue along the upper sky; How very charming it would be above the moon to climb, And scamper through the Zodiac, and have a high old time ! *' Oh, would n't it be jolly, though, — to stop at all the inns ; To take a luncheon at ' The Crab,' and tipple at ' The Twins / And, just for fun and fancy, while careering through the air, To kiss the Virgin^ tease the Rarriy and bait the biggest Bear? " Oh, father, please to let me go V^ was still the urchin's cry; ^•ni be extremely careful, sir^ and won't go very high; Oh, if this little pleasure-trip you only will allow, I promise to be back again in time to fetch the cow !'' '' You 're rather young," said Dsedalus, " to tempt the upper air; But take the wings, and mind your eye with very special care ; And keep at least a thousand miles below the nearest star — Young lads, when out upon a lark, are apt to go too far T^ 24 278 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. He took the wings — that foolish boy — without the least dismay, (His father stuck 'em on with wax), and so he soared away; Up — up he rises, like a bird, and not a moment stops Until he 's fairly out of sight, beyond the mountain-tops ! And still he flies — away — away ; it seems the merest fun ; No marvel he is getting bold, and aiming at the sun ; No marvel he forgets his sire ; it is n't very odd That one so far above the earth should think himself a god ! Already, in his silly pride, he ^s gone too far aloft; The heat begins to scorch his wings ; the wax is waxing soft ; Down — down he goes ! Alas ! next day poor Icarus was found Afloat upon the ^gean sea, extremely damp and drowned ! The moral of this mournful tale is plain enough to all : — Don't get above your proper sphere, or you may chance to fall; Remember, too, that borrowed plumes are most uncertain things; And never try to scale the sky with other people's wings ! YU MAY DRINK, IF YE LIST.^Fease. Ye may drink, if ye list, The red sparkling wine, From beakers that gleam With the gems of the vine ; Ye may quafi*, if ye will. When the foam bends the brim, From a flagon or goblet, Till your eye shall grow dim; But I 've sworn on the altar, And ray soul is now free. Nor beaker, nor flagon^ Nor goblet for me. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 279 Ye may light the avenger On ruin's wild path, Like a raging volcano, In the blaze of its wrath ; But your fire-crested waves, All gory with blood, Shall be hissing like serpents, And quenched in the flood j For I '\e sworn on the altar, And my soul i& now free, This hand shall ne'er falter In its warfare with thee. But Nature's pure nectar Is the draught that I sip, — What.Grod has appointed To moisten the lip ; And the gleam of its glory. Through the cycles of years, Shall dry the rivers of shame, And the fountains of t^ars; For I 've sworn on the altar, In youth's radiant glow, Not to lay down my arms Till I 've conquered the foe. Then eome to the altar, And come to the shrine, Dash down your red goblets, And your flagons of wine; Young heroes are thronging Where the battle 's begun, And the sheen of their banners Flashes bright in the sun. When the shock of the onset, As a rock meets the flood, Shall roll back the fountains And rivers of blood. 280 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. THE DEACON'S MASTEEPIECE.— Holmes. A LOGICAL STORY. Have yon heard of the wonderful ooe-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way, It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it Ah, but stay, I '11 tell you what happened without delay, Scaring the parson into fits, Frightening people out of their wits, Have you ever heard of that, I say ? Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. Georgius Secundus was then alive, — Snufiy old drone from the German hive. That was the year when Lisbontown Saw the earth open and gulp her down, And Braddock's army was done so brown, Left without a scalp to its crown. It was on the terrible Earthquake-day That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay- Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always someiuhere a weakest spot, — In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill. In panel, or cross-bar, or floor, or sill, In screw, bolt, thorough-brace, — lurking still Find it somewhere you must and will, — Above or below, or within or without, — And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out But the Deacon sicore (as Deacons do, With an "I dew vum," or an -^ I tell yeou^') He would build one shay to beat the taown ^N' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun' ) It should be so built that it couldnt break daown : AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 281 *' Fur/^ said the Deacon, " ^t's mighty plain Thut the weakes' place must stan' the strain ; ^N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, Is only jest T^ make that place uz strong uz the rest/' So the Deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, — That was for spokes and floor and sills ; He sent for lancewood to make the thills ; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees; The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese. But lasts like iron for things like these ; The hubs of logs from the " Setler's ellum^^, — • Last of its timber — they couldn't sell 'em. Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ; Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw. Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue ; Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit where the tanner died. That was the way he '^ put her through/' — '' There!" said the Deacon, " naow she'll dew." Do ! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less I Colts grew horses, beards turned gray^ Deacon and deaconess dropped away. Children and grandchildren — where were they? But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay, As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day ! Eighteen Hundred; — it came and found The Deacon's Masterpiece strong and sound. 24^ 282 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Eighteen hundred increased by ten ; '' Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then. Eighteen hundred and twenty came; — Running as usual; much the same. Thirty and forty at last arrive, And then came fifty, and Fifty-fiye. Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, there ^s nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth. (This is a moral that runs at large ; Take it. — You're welcome. — No extra charge.) First of November, — the Earthquake-day. — There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, A general flavor of mild decay, — But nothing local, as one may say. There couldn't be, — for the Deacon's art Had made it so like in every part That there wasn't a chance for one to start. For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, And the floor was just as strong as the sills. And the panels just as strong as the floor, And the whippletree neither less nor more. And the back crossbar as strong as the fore, And spring and axle and hub encore. And yet, as a whole^ it is past a doubt In another hour it will be worn out ! First of November, 'Fifty-five ! This morning the parson takes a drive. Now, small boys, get out of the way ! Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. ^^ Hud up I" said the parson. — Ofi" went they. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 283 The parson was working his Sunday text, — Had got to fifthly^ and stopped perplexed At what the — Moses — was coming next. All at once the horse stood still. Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. — First a shiver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill, — And the parson was sitting upon a rock, At half-past nine by the meet'n^-house clock, — Just the hour of the earthquake shock ! What do you think the parson found, When he got up and stared around ? The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground 1 You see, of course, if you ^re not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once, — All at once, and nothing first,— Just as bubbles do when they burst. — End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. Logic IS logic. That 's all I say. NOTHING BUT LEAVES, Nothing but leaves ; the spirit grieves Over a wasted life ; Sin committed while conscience slept. Promises made but never kept, , Hatred, battle, and strife; Nothing hut leaves ! Nothing but leaves ; no garnered sheaves Of live's fair, ripened grain ; Words, idle words, for earnest deeds ; We sow our seeds — lo ! tares and weeds; We reap with toil and pain Nothing hut leaves ! 284 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. NotliiDg but leaves ; memory weaves No veil to screen the past : As we retrace our weary way, Counting each lost and misspent day — We find, sadly, at last, Nothing hut leaves! And shall we meet the Master so, Bearing our withered leaves? The Saviour looks for perfect fruit, — We stand before him, humbled, mute; Waiting the words he breathes, — *^ Nothing hut leaves T^ "^ TEE TILLAGE SCEOOLMASTER.—(}oj.mnvm. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay. There, in his noisy mansion skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew : Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round. Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was his fault. The village all declared how much he knew; ^T was certain he could write and cipher too ; * He found nothing thereon but leaves. — Matt. chap. xxi. v. 19. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 285 Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en the story ran — that he could gauge : In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, For e'en though vanquished he could argue still ; While words of learned length, and thundering sound. Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. But past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. KEEP IT BEFORE THE PEOPLE,— Dug a^i^e. Keep it before the people ! That Earth was made for Man ! That flowers were strown, And fruits were grown. To bless, and never to ban — That sun and rain. And corn and o^rain, Are yours and mine, my brother ! Free gifts from heaven. And freely given To one as well as another ! Keep it before the people ! That man is the image of Grod ! His limbs or soul Ye may not control With shackle or shame or rod ! We may not be sold For silver or gold. Neither you nor I, my brother ! For Freedom was given By Grod, from heaven, To one as well as another ! 286 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Keep it before the people ! That famine and crime and woe For ever abide, Still side by side With luxury's dazzling show ! That Lazarus crawls From Dives' halls, And starves at his gate, my brother ! Yet life was given By Grod, from heaven, To one as well as another ! Keep it before the people ! That the poor man claims his meed — The right of soil, And the right of toil, From spur and bridle freed ! The right to bear, And the right to share, With you and me, my brother ! Whatever is given By God, from heaven. To one as well as another ! LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHER S.-^U^UKm. The breaking waves dashed high On the stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed ; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er. When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 28.7 Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, carae ; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame : Not as the flying come. In silence and in fear ; They shook the depth of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amid the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and. the sea; And the soundino^ aisles of the dim woods rang: To the anthem of the free. The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared : This was their welcome home. There were men with hoary hair Amid that pilgrim band. Why have they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land ? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; There was manhood's brow, serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus, afar ? Bright jewels of the mine ? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? They sought a faith's pure shrine ! Ay, call it holy ground. The soil where first they trod ! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God ! 288 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. LAB OB IS WORSHIP.— Osgood. Pause not to dream of the future before us ; Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us; Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus, Uniotermitting, goes up into heaven ! Never the ocean wave falters in flowing ; Never the little seed stops in its growing; More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing, Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. ^^ Labor is worship V^ — the robin is singing; " Labor is worship !'' — the wild bee is ringing : Listen ! that eloquent whisper upspringing Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart. From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower ; From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing flower ; From the small insect, the rich coral bower ; Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part. Labor is life ! 'T is the still water faileth ; Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ; Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth; Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. Labor is glory ! — the flying cloud lightens ; Only the waving wing changes and brightens ; Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ; Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune I Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us, Rest from all petty vexations that meet us, Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow ; Work — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow ; Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping-willow; Work with a stout heart and resolute will ! AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 289 Labor is health ! Lo ! the husbandman reaping, How through his veins goes the life current leaping, How his strong arm, in its stalwart pride sweeping, True as a sunbeam, the swift sickle guides ! Labor is wealth — in the sea the pearl groweth; Rich the queen^s robe from the frail cocoon floweth; From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth ; Temple and statue the marble block hides. Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are around thee ! Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee ! Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee ! Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod ! Work — for some good, be it ever so slowly ; Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ; Labor ! — all labor is noble and holy ^ Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God ! TEE STUDENT. " Poor fool V^ the base and soulless worldling cries, ^' To waste his strength for nought, — to blanch his cheek, And bring pale Death upon him in his prime. Why did he not to pleasure give his days, — His nights to rest, — and live while live he might ?" What is^t to live ? To breathe the vital air, Consume the fruits of earth, and doze away Existence? Never ! this is living death, — ^Tis brutish life, — base grovelling. E'en the brutes Of nobler nature, live not lives like this. Shall man, then, formed to be creation^s lord, Stamped with the impress of Divinity, and sealed With God^s own signet, sink below the brute ? Forbid it, Heaven ! it cannot, must not be ! 25 T r 290 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Oh ! wlien the mighty God from nothing brought This universe, — when at His word the light Burst forth, — the sun was set in heaven,— And earth was clothed in beauty ; when the last, The noble work of all, from dust He framed Our bodies in His image, — when he placed Within its temple-shrine of clay, the soul, — The immortal soul, — infused by His own truth, Did He not show, ^tis this which gives to man His high prerogative ? Why then declare That he who thinks less of his worthless frame, And lives a spirit, even in this world, Lives not as well, — lives not as long, as he Who drags out years of life, without one thought, — One hope, — one wish beyond the present hour ? How shall we measure life ? Not by the years, — The months, — the days, — the moments that we pass On earth. By him whose soul is raised above Base worldly things, — whose heart is fixed in heaven- His life is measured by that soul's advance, — Its cleansing from pollution and from sin, — The enlargement of its powers, — the expanded field Wherein it ranges, — till it glows and burns With holy joys, — with high and heavenly hopes. When in the silent night, all earth lies hushed In slumber, — when the glorious stars shine out, Each star a sun, — each sun a central light Of some fair system, ever wheeling on In one unbroken round, — -and that again Revolving round another sun, — while all Suns, stars, and systems, proudly roll along, In one majestic, ever-onward course, In space uncircumscribed and limitless, — Oh ! think you then the undebased soul Can calmly give itself to sleep, — to rest ? ^: AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 291 No I in tlie solemn stillness of the night, It soars from earth, — it dwells in angels' homes, — It hears the burning song, — the glowing chant, That fills the sky-girt vaults of heaven with joy ! It pants, it sighsj to wing its flight from earth, To join the heavenly choirs, and be with Grod. And it is joy to muse the written page, Whereon are stamped the gushings of the soul Of genius ; — where, in never-dying light. It glows and flashes as the lightning's glare; Or where it burns with ray more mild, — more sure. And wins the soul, that half would turn away From its more brilliant flashings. These are hours Of holy joy, — of bliss^ so pure, that earth May hardly claim it. Let his lamp grow dim, And flicker to extinction ; let his cheek Be pale as sculptured marble, — and his eye Lose its bright lustre, — till his shrouded frame Is laid in dust. Himself can never die ! His years, 'tis true, are few, — his life is long ; For he has gathered many a precious gem ; Enraptured, he has dwelt where master minds Have poured their own deep musings, — and his heart Has glowed with love to Him who framed us thus, — Who placed within this worthless tegument The spark of pure Divinity, which shines With light unceasing. Yes, his life is long, — Long to the dull and loathsome epicures, — Long to the slothful man's — the grovelling herds Who scarcely know they have a soul within^ — Long to all those who, creeping on to death. Meet in the grave, the earth-worm's banquet-haTl, — And leave behind no moniimants for ^ood. 292 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. THE CHILDREN, When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And the school for the day is dismissed, And the little ones gather around me, To bid me good night and be kissed : Oh, the little white arms that encircle My neck in a tender embrace ! Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding sunshine of love on my face ! And when they are gone I sit dreaming Of my childhood, too lovely to last : Of love that my heart will remember When it wakes to the pulse of the past, Ere the world and its wickedness made me A partner of sorrow and sin ; When the glory of God was about me, And the glory of gladness within. Oh ! my heart grows as weak as a woman's, And the fountains of feeling will flow. When I think of paths steep and stony. Where the feet of the dear ones must go ; Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, Of the tempest of fate blowing wild ; Oh ! there is nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child. They are idols of hearts and of households : They are angels of God in disguise ; His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, His glory still beams in their eyes. Oh ! those truants from home and from heaven, They have made me more manly and mild. And I know how Jesus could liken The kingdom of God to a child. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 293 I ask not a life for the dear ones, All radiant, as others have done, But that life may have just enough shadow To temper the glare of the sun : I would pray God to guard them from evil. But my prayer would bound back to myself; Ah ! a seraph may pray for a sinner. But a sinner must pray for himself The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod; I have taught them the goodness of knowledge, They have taught me the goodness of God; My heart is a dungeon of darkness. Where I shut them from breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction ; My love is the law of the school. I shall leave the old home in the autumn, To traverse its threshold no more ; Ah ! how shall I sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door ! I shall miss the '' good-nights^^ and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee, The group on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning to me. I shall miss them at morn and at eve, Their song in the school and the street ; I shall miss the low hum of their voices, And the tramp of their delicate feet. When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And death says, " The school is dismissed V May the little ones gather around me, To bid me good-night, and be kissed ! 25* 294 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. SHAMUS O'BRIEN.— Le Fanu. JiST afther the war, in the year ^98, As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate, 'Twas the custom, whenever a pisant was got, To hang them by thrial — barrin' sich as was shot. There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight, And the martial law hangin' the lavins by night. It 's them was hard times for an honest gossoon : If he missed in the judges^ he M meet a dragoon; An^ whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence. The divil a much time they allowed for repentance. An'* it 's many the fine boy was then on his keepin', Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or sleepin' ; An' because they loved Erin, and scorned to sell it, A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet — Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day. With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay; An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town iv Grlingall. His limbs were well set, an' his body was light, An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white ; But his face was as pale as the face of the dead, And his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red ; An' for all that he wasn't an ugly young b'y. For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his eye So droll an' so wicked, so dark and so bright. Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night ! An' he was the best mower that ever has been, An' the illegantest hurler that ever was seen, An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare, An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare ; An', by gorra, the whole world gev in to him there. An' it 's he was the boy that was hard to be caught, An' it 's often he run, an' it 's often he fought, An' it 's many the one can remember right well The quare things he done ; an' it 's often I heerd tell AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 295 How lie lathered the yeomen, himself agin four, An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore. But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest, An^ treachery prey on the blood iv the best; Afther many a brave act of power and pride, An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side, An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast. In the darkness of night he was taken at last. Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon. For the door of the prison must close on you soon, An' take your last look at her dim, lovely light, That falls on the mountain and valley this night; One look at the village, one look at the flood. An' one at the sheltering, far-distant wood ; Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill. An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still ; Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin', an' wake, And farewell to the girl who would die for your sake. An' twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough jail, An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin' all bail ; The fleet limbs wor chained, and the sthrong limbs wor bound, An' he laid down his length on the cowld prison-ground, An' the dreams of his childhood kem over him there As gentle an' soft as the sweet summer air; An' happy rem.embrances crowding on ever, As fast as the foam-flakes dhrift down on the river, Bringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by, Till the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye. But the tears did n't fall, for the pride of his heart Would not sufl'er one drop down his pale cheek to start; An' he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave. An' he swore with the fierceness that misery gave, By the hopes of the good, and the cause of the brave, That when he was mouldering in the cold grave, His enemies never should have it to boast His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost ; 296 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry, For undaunted he lived^ and undaunted he 'd die. Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone. The terrible day iv the thrial kem on : There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand, An' sodgers on guard, an' dhragoons sword in hand ; An' the court-house so full that the people were bothered, An' attorneys an' criers on the point iv bein' smothered ; An' counsellors almost gev over for dead, An' the jury sitting up in their box overhead; An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big, With his gown on his back, and an illegant new wig; An' silence was called, an' the minute 'twas said The court was as still as the heart of the dead, An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock. An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock. For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng, An' he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong, An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend, A chance to escape, nor a word to defend ; An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone, As calm and as cold as a statue of stone ; And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste, And Jim did n't understand it, nor mind it a taste, An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuif, and he says, ^' Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, av you plase r' An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread, And Shamus O'Brien made answer and said : " My lord, if you ask me, if in my lifetime I thought any treason, or did any crime That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here, The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear, Though I stood by the grave to receive my death-blow, Before God and the world I would answer you, No ! But if you would ask me, as I think it like, If in the rebellion I carried a pike, ) AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 297 An' fouglit for ould Ireland from the first to the close, An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes. I answer you, Yes ; and I tell you again, Though I stand here to perish, it 's my glory that then In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry, An' that now for her sake I am ready to die." Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright, And the judge was n't sorry the job was made light; By my sowl, it 's himself was the crabbed ould chap ! In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap. Then Shamus's mother, in the crowd standin' by, Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry : *^ Oh, judge ! darlin', don't, oh, don't say the word ! The crathur is young, have mercy, my lord ; He was foolish, he did n't know what he was doin' ; You don't know him, my lord — oh, don't give him to ruin ! He's the kindliest crathur, the tendherest-hearted; Don't part us for ever, we that 's so long parted. Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord, An' Grod will forgive you — oh, don't say the word !" That was the first minute that O'Brien was shaken, When he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother, The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther th' other ; An' two or three times he endeavored to spake. But the sthrong, manly voice 'twould falther and break; But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride, He conquered and masthered his grief's swelling tide, ^' An'/' says he, " mother, darlin', don't break your poor heart, For, sooner or later, the dearest must part ; And God knows it's betther than wandering in fear On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer, To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast From thought, labor, and sorrow, for ever shall rest. Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more, Don't make me seem broken, in this, my last hour; /, 298 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. For I wish, wben my head's lyin' under the raven, No thrue man can say that I died like a craven !'' Then toward the judge Shamus bent down his head. An' that minute the solemn death-sentince was said. The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high, An^ the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky; But why are the men standin' idle so late ? An^ why do the crowds gather fast in the street ? What come they to talk of? what come they to see? An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree ? Oh, Shamus O'Brien ! pray fervent and fast; May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last; Pray fast an' pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh, When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die. An' fasther an' fastlier the crowd gathered there — Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair; An' whiskey was sellin', and cussamuck too, An' ould men and young women enjoying the view. An' ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark There was n't sich a sight since the time of Noah's ark ; An' be gorry, 'twas thrue for him, for divil sich a scruge, Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge, For thousands were gathered there, if there was one, Waitin' till such time as the hangin' 'd come on. At last they threw open the big prison -gate. An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state. An' a cart in the middle, an' Shamus was in it, Not paler, but prouder than ever that minute. An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien, Wid prayin' and blessin', and all the girls cryin', A wild, wailin' sound kem on b}^ degrees, Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees. On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone, An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on ; An' at every side swellin' around of the cart, A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 299 Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand, An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand; An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes down on the ground, An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last look around. Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still. Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turned chill; An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare. For the gripe iv the life-strangling cord to prepare ; An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer. But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound. And with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground ; Bang ! bang ! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres ; He 's not down ! he 's alive still ! now stand to him, neighbors ! Through the smoke and the horses he 's into the crowd — By the heavens, he 's free ! — than thunder more loud, By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken — One shout that the dead of the world might awaken. The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that, An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat; To-night he '11 be sleepin' in Aherloe Griin, An' the divil 's in the dice if you catch him ag'in. Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang, But if you want hangin', it ^s yourself you must hang. He has mounted his horse, and soon he will be In America, darlint, the land of the free. BUGLE /SOA^G^.— Tennyson. The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story; The long light shakes across the lakes. And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying : BloW; bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. /■ 300 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. hark, hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, further going; sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying O love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hill or field or river : Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. FALL OF WARSAW, 1794.— Campbell. ! SACRED Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while, And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars ; Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn : Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! Warsaw's last champion from her heights surveyed Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid — Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! He said ; and on the rampart heights arrayed His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; Firm paced and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 801 Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, — *' Revenge, or death V — the watchword and reply : Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew ; — ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career, Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciusko fell ! righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave, Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? Where was thine arm, vengeance ! where thy rod, That smote the foes of Sion and of God ? Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone. And make her arm puissant as your own ! O ! once again to Freedom's cause return The patriot Tell, — the Bruce of Bannockburn ! Yes, thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see That man hath yet a soul, — and dare be free ! A little while, along thy saddening plains. The starless night of Desolation reigns ; Truth shall restore the light by Nature given. And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven ! Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled, Her name, her nature, withered from the world ! 26 / / 302 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. MARCO BOZZARIS.—Balleck. At midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, through camp and court he bore The trophies of a conqueror; In dreams, his song of triumph heard; Then wore his monarch's signet ring ; Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king: As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird. At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band. True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's thousands stood. There had the glad earth drunk their blood, On old Platsea's day; And now there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires who conquered there, With arm to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far, as they. An hour passed on : the Turk awoke. That bright dream was his last. He woke to hear his sentries shriek, *' To arms ! they come ! the Greek I the Greek !" He woke, to die 'midst flame and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain cloud, And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band : AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 303 ^' Strike ! — till the last armed foe expires ; Strike ! — for your altars and your fires ; Strike ! — for the green graves of your sires; God, and your native land !'^ They fought like brave men, long and well; They piled that ground with Moslem slain; They conquered ; — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their loud hurrah And the red field was won. Then saw in death his eyelids close, Calmly as to a night's repose, — Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! Come to the mother's, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath ; Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke ; Come in consumption's ghastly form. The earthquake shock, the ocean storm; Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet song, and dance, and wine; And thou art terrible : — the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear, Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Plas won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. / 304 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Come when his task of fame is wrought; Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought; Come in her crowning hour, — and then Thy sunken eye's unearthly light, To him is welcome as the sight Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; Thy grasp is welcome as the hand Of brother in a foreign land ; Thy summons welcome as the cry That told the Indian isles were nigh To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land-wind, from woods of palm, And orange-groves, and fields of balm, Blew o'er the Haytian seas. Bozzaris ! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee : there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the tomb ; But she remembers thee as one Long loved, and for a season gone ; For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, Her marble wrought, her music breathed; For thee she rings the birthday bells ; Of thee her babes' first lisping tells ; For thine her evening prayer is said. At palace couch and cottage bed ; Her soldier, closing with the foe. Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him, the joy of her young years. Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 305 And she, the mother of thy boys, Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys, — And even she who gave thee birth. Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom^s now, and Fame's : One of the few, the immortal names That were not born to die. L CEINVAB.^ScoTT. 0, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West, — Through all the wide Border his steel was the best ; And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, — He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, ^Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all, Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), ^^ 0, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?'^ 26* u 806 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. ^* I long wooed jour daughter, — my suit you denied; — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar/' The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — ^' Now tread we a measure V^ said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bridemaidens whispered, '' 'T were better by far, To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.'' One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near. So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They '11 have fleet steeds that follow,'^ quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 307 THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,— C, C. Moore. ^TwAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads ^ And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap. Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap — "When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash. Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a minature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came. And he whistled, and shouted, and called them oy name ; " Now, Dasher ! now, Dancer ! now, Prancer ! now. Vixen ! On, Comet ! on, Cupid I on, Donder and Blitzen ! — To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall ! Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all !'^ As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly. When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkhng I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof, As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot ; 308 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His eyes how they twinkled ! his dimples how merry ! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old elf; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spake not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle. And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, " Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night V TEE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS, 'TwAS the night after Christmas, when all through the house, Every soul was abed, and still as a mouse. The stockings so lately St. Nicholas^ care, Were emptied of all that was eatable there, The darlings had been duly tucked up in their beds — With very full stomachs and pains in their heads. I was dozing away in my new cotton cap, And Nancy was rather far gone in a nap, When out in the Nursery arose such a clatter, I sprang from my sleep, crying — " What is the matter V^ AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 309 I flew to each bedside, still half in a doze, Tore open the curtains and threw off the clothes, While the light of the taper served clearly to show The piteous plight of those objects below ; For what to the fond father's eyes should appear, But the little pale face of each sick little dear ; For each pet that had crammed itself full as a tick, I knew in a moment now felt like Old Nick. Their pulses were rapid, their breathings the same, What their stomachs rejected I ^11 mention by name — Now Turkey, now Stuffing, Plum Pudding of course, And Custards and Crullers, and Cranberry sauce, Before outraged nature all went to the wall ; Yes — Lollypops, Flapdoddle, Dinner and all. Like pellets, which urchins from pop-guns let fly, Went Figs, Nuts, and Raisins, Jams, Jelly, and Pie. 'Till each error of diet was brought to my view, To the shame of Mamma and Santa Claus too. I turned from the sight, to my bed-room stepped back. And brought out a phial marked "'Pulv. Ipecac," When my Nancy exclaimed — for their sufferings shocked her — Don^t you think you had better, love, run for the Doctor ?'' I ran^— and was scarcely back under my roof. When I heard the sharp clatter of old Jalap's hoof. I might say that I hardly had turned myself round. When the Doctor came into the room with a bound. He was covered with mud from his head to his foot. And the suit he had on was his very worst suit ; He had hardly had time to put that on his back, And he looked like a Falstaff, half fuddled with sack. His eyes how they twinkled ! Had the Doctor got merry ? His cheeks looked like Port and his breath smelt of Sherry^ He hadn't been shaved for a fortnight or so, And the beard on his chin wasn't white as the snow. But inspecting their tongues in despite of their teeth. And drawino; his watch from his waistcoat beneath — 310 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. He felt of each pulse, saying : — '' Each little belly Must get rid'^ — here he laughed — '' of the rest of that jelly. I gazed on each chubby, plump, sick little elf. And groaned when he said so, in spite of myself; But a wink of his eye when he physicked our Fred, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He didn't prescribe — but went straightway to work, And dosed all the rest — gave his trousers a jerk, And adding directions while blowing his nose, He buttoned his coat — from his chair he arose, Then jumped in his gig — gave old Jalap a whistle, And Jalap dashed off as if pricked by a thistle ; But the Doctor exclaimed, ere he drove out of sight, ^^ They '11 be well to-morrow — good-night ! Jones — good-night V^ THE CLOSING SCENE.— Read, Within this sober realm of leafless trees, The russet year inhaled the dreamy air, Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease, When all the fields are lying brown and bare. ^ The gray barns looking from their hazy hills O'er the dim waters widening in the vales, Sent down the air a greeting to the mills, On the dull thunder of alternate flails. All sights were mellowed and all sounds subdued, The hills seemed further and the streams sang low ; As in a dream the distant woodmnn hewed His winter log with many a muffled blow. The embattled forests, erewhile armed in gold, Their banners bright with every martial hue. Now stood, like some sad heated host of old, Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest hue. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 311 On vslumberous wings the vulture tried his flight The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's complaint; And, like a star slow drowning in the light, The village church-vane seemed to pale and faint. The sentinel cock upon the hill-side crew — Crew thrice, and all was stiller than before — Silent till some replying wanderer blew His alien horn, and then was heard no more. Where erst the jay within the elm's tall crest Made garrulous trouble round the unfledged young, And where the oriole hung her swaying nest By every light wind like a censer swung; Where sang the noisy masons of the eaves, The busy swallows circling ever near, Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes, An early harvest and a plenteous year ; Where every bird which charmed the vernal feast Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn, To warn the reapers of the rosy east — All now was songless, empty, and forlorn. Alone, from out the stubble piped the quail, And croaked the crow through all the dreary gloom ; Alone the pheasant, drumming in the vale, Made echo to the distant cottage loom. There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers ; The spiders wove their thin shrouds night by night ; The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowers, Sailed slowly by — passed noiseless out of sight. Amid all this, in this most cheerless air. And where the woodbine sheds upon the porch Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there Firing the floor with his inverted torch — 312 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Amid all this, the centre of the scene, The white-haired matron, with monotonous tread, Plied her swift wheel, and with her joyous mien Sat like a Fate, and watched the flying thread. She had known sorrow. He had walked with her, Oft supped, and broke with her the ashen crust; And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir Of his black mantle trailing in the dust. While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom, Her country summoned, and she gave her all; And twice War bowed to her his sable plume — E,e-gave the swords to rust upon her wall. Re-gave the swords — but not the hand that drew, And struck for liberty the dying blow; Nor him who, to his sire and country true, Fell 'mid the ranks of the invading foe. Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on, Like the low murmur of a hive at noon ; Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous tune. At last the thread was snapped — her head was bowed : Life drooped the distafiP through his hands serene ; And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud — While Death and Winter closed the autumn scene. DIALOGUES. DIALOGUES. ALL FOE GOOD ORDER.— D. P. Page. Characters. — Schoolmaster; Isaac, a schoolboy; Mr. Fosdick; Bill, his son; Mrs. O'Clary (Irish) ; Patrick, her son; Squire Snyder ; Jonas, his son ; Saunders, a drunken fellow ; Jabez, his son ; Some half-dozen schoolboj^s. Master. (^Setting copies alone?) Well, so here I am again, after aDotlier night's sleep. But, sleep or no sleep, I feel about as mucb. fatigued in tlie morning as I do at night. It is impos- sible to ^S^iV Peter. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I '11 not bear it ! Ladi/ Teazle. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in everything; and what 's more, I will, too. What ! though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married. 32* 378 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. Sir P. Very well, ma'am, very well — so a husband is to have no influence, no authority '/ Ladj/ T. Authority ! No, to be sure : — if you wanted au- thority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me : I am sure you were old enough. Sir P. Old enough ! — ay — there it is. Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I '11 not be ruined by your extravagance. Lady T. My extravagance I I 'm sure I ^m not more ex- travagant than a woman ought to be. Sir P. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife ! to spend as much to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon into a green-house, and give a fete champetre at Christmas. Lad}/ T. La ! Sir Peter, am I to blame, because flowers are dear in cold weather ? You should find fault with the climate, and not with me. For my part, I ^m sure, I wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet ! Sir P. Oons I — madam — if you had been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus ; but you forget what your situation was when I married you. Lady T. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you. Sir P. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler style — the daughter of a plain country squire. Recol- lect, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side; your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted of your own working. Lady T. yes ! I remember it very well, and a curious life I led. — My daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, — and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog Sir P. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. Lady T, And then, you know, my evening amusements I To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 379 up ; to play Pope Joan with the curate ; to read a novel to my aunt J or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase. Sir P. I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, these were the recreations I took you from ; but now you must have your coach — vis-d-vis — and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a docked coach-horse. LarJi/ T. No — I declare I never did that : I deny the butler and the coach-horse. Sir P. This, madam, was your situation ; and what have I done for you ? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank ; in short, I have made you my wife. Lady T, Well, then, — and there is but one thing more you can make me to add to the obligation, and that is Sir P. My widow, I suppose ? Lady T. Hem ! hem ! Sir P. I thank you, madam — but don^t flatter yourself; for though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you : however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint. Lady T. Then why will you endeavor to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense ? Sir P. ^Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me ? Lady T. Lud, Sir Peter I would you have me be out of the fashion ? Sir P. The fashion, indeed ! What had you to do with the fashion before you married me ? Lady T. For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste. Sir P. Ay — there again — taste — Zounds ! madam, you had no taste when you married me ! Lady T. That^s very true, indeed. Sir Peter; and after 380 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. having married you I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneer- welFs. Sir P. Ay, there ^s another precious circumstance — a charm- ing set of acquaintance you have made there. Lady T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation. Sir P. Yes, egad, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance : for they don^t choose anybody should have a cha- racter but themselves I — Such a crew ! Ah ! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation. Lady T. What ! would you restrain the freedom of speech ? Sir P. Ah ! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society. Lady T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace. Sir P. Grace, indeed ! Lady T, But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse. When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humor ; and I take it for granted, they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady SneerwelFs, too. Sir P. Well, well, I '11 call in just to look after my own character. Lady T. Then indeed you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So, good-bye to ye. {Exit Lady Teazle. Sir P. So — I have gained much by my intended expostu- lation : yet, with what a charming air she contradicts every- thing I say, and how pleasingly she shows her contempt for my authority ! Well, though I can't make her love me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her ; and I think she never appears to such advantage, as when she is doing everything in her power to plague me. AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 381 BOB SAWYER'S PARTY, Mr. Bob Sawyer ; Mr. Ben Allen ; Mrs. Raddle ; Betsey. Scene: Bob Sawyer's Apartment. — Table with cards upon it. Tray filled with glasses of all sorts and sizes stands by the door, Allen. Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turn sour, just on this occasion. She might at least have waited till to-morrow. Sawijer. That's her malevolence — that's her malevolence. She says that if I can afford to give a party, I ought to be able to afford to pay her confounded ^' little bill/' Al. How long has it been running ? Saw. Only a quarter, and a month or so. Al. (^Coughing.) It will be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her head to let out when those fellows are here — won't it ? Saw. Horrible, horrible. (^Tap at the door.) Come in ! Betsey, ( Thrusting in her head.) Please, Mr. Sawyer, Missis Raddle wants to speak to you, (^Disappears . Another tap at the door.) Saw. Come in ! Enter Mrs. K addle in a great rage, Mrs. Raddle. Now, Mr. Sawyer, if you'll have the kindness to settle that little bill of mine, I'll thank you; ^cause I've got my rent to pay this afternoon, and my landlord 's a waitin' below, now. Saw. I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Haddle, but — Mrs. R. 0, it isn't any inconvenience. I didn't want it par- tic'lar till to-day; leastways, as it has to go to my landlord directly — it was as well for you to keep it as me. You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and every gentleman as has ever lived here, has kept his word, sir, as of course anybody as calls himself a gentleman, does. Saw. I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle, but the fact is, I have been disappointed in the city to-day. 382 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 31rs. R. Well, Mr. Sawyer, and what 's that to me, sir ? Saw. I — I have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle, that before the middle of next week, we shall be able to set ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better system afterwards. Mrs. R. (^Elevating her voice.) Do you suppose, Mr. Saw- yer, do you suppose that I am going day after day to let a feller occupy my lodgings as never thinks of paying his rent, nor even the very money laid out for the fresh butter and lump-sugar that 's bought for his breakfast, and the very milk that ^s took in, at the street door ? Do you suppose a hard-working and industrious woman, as has lived in this street for twenty year (ten year over the way and nine year and three quarter in this very house), has nothing else to do but work herself to death, after a parcel of lazy, idle fellers that are always smoking, and drinking, and lounging, when they ought to be glad to turn their hands to anything that would help them to pay their bills ? Do you — Al. My good soul— Mrs. R. Have the goodness to keep your observations to yourself, sir, I beg. I am not aweer, sir, that you have any right to address your conversation to me, I don't think I let these apartments to you, sir* AL No ', you certainly did not. Mrs. R. Very good, sir; then p^raps, sir, you'll confine yourself to breaking the arms and legs of the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself to yourself, sir, or there may be some persons here as will make you, sir. Al. But you al*e such an unreasonable woman ! Mrs. R. I beg your parding, young man, but will you have the goodness just to call me that again, sir ? Al. I didn't make use of the word in any invidious sense, ma'am. Mrs. R. I beg your parding, young man, but who do you call a woman ? Did you make that remark to me, sir? Al. Why, bless my heart ! 3Irs. R. Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir ? (^Throwing the door wide open.) AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 383 AL "VThy. of course I did. JTrs. R. (^Baching