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597. NATIONAL GLORY. We are asked, what have we gained by the war? I have shown, that we have lost nothing, either in rights, territory, or honor; nothing, for which we ought to have contended, according to the principles of the gentlemen on the other side, or according to our own. Have we gained nothing-by the war? Let any man--look at the degraded condition of this country--before the war, the scorn of the universe, the contempt of ourselves, and tell me if we have gained nothing by the war. What is our present situation? Respectability, and character, abroad, security, and confidence, at home. If we have not ob tained, in the opinion of some, the full measure of retribution, our character, and constitution, are placed on a solid basis, never to be shaken.

The glory acquired by our gallant tars, by our Jacksons, and our Browns on the land-is that nothing? True we had our vicissitudes: there are humiliating events, which the patriot cannot review, without deep regret--but the great account, when it comes to be balanced, will be found vastly in our favor. Is there a man, who would obliterate, from the proud pages of our history, the brilliant achievements of Jackson, Brown, and Scott, and the host of heroes on land, and sea, whom I cannot enumerate? Is there a man, who could not desire a participationin the national glory, acquired by the war?" Yes, national glory, which, however the expression may be condemned by some, must be cherished by every genuine patriot.

The morrow, and the morrow's meeds,-
No daunting thoughts-came o'er him;
He looked around him, and his eye-
Defiance flashed-to earth, and sky.
He looked on ocean,-its broad breast
Was covered--with his fleet;

On earth and saw, from east to west,
His bannered millions meet:

While rock, and glen, and cave, and coun
Shook-with the war-cry of that host,

The thunder--of their feet!
He heard--the imperial echoes ring,-
He heard, and felt himself-a king.
I saw him, next, alone: nor camp,
Nor chief, his steps attended;
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp,
With war-cries, proudly blended,
He, stood alone, whom fortune high,
So lately, seemed to deify;

He, who with heaven contended,
Fled, like a fugitive, and slave!
Behind, the foe; before,-the wave.
He stood; fleet, army, treasure,-gone-
Alone, and in dispair!

But wave, and wind-swept ruthless on,
For they were monarchs there;
And Xerxes, in a single bark,
Where late-his thousand ships were dark,
Must all their fury dare:
What a revenge-a trophy, this-
For thee, immortal Salamis !-Jewsbury.
599. OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE MOON.
Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! the si-

What do I mean by national glory? Glory such as Hull, Jackson, and Perry have acquired. And are gentlemen insensible to their deeds--to the value of them in anima-lence of thy face is pleasant! Thou comest ting the country in the hour of peril hereaf- forth in lovliness. The stars attend thy bluc ter? Did the battle of Thermopyla--pre-course in the east. The clouds rejoice in serve Greece but once? Whilst the Mississippi--continues to bear the tributes of the Iron Mountains, and the Alleghenies--to her Delta, and to the Gulf of Mexico, the eighth of January shall be remembered, and the glory of that day shall stimulate future patriots, and nerve the arms of unborn freemen, in driving the presumptuous invader from our country's soil.

Gentlemen may boast of their insensibility to feelings inspired by the contemplation of such events. But I would ask, does the re

collection of Bunker's Hill, Saratoga, and Yorktown, afford no pleasure? Evely act of noble sacrifice of the country, every instance of patriotic devotion to her cause, has its beneficial influence. A nation's character -is the sum of its splendid deeds; they constitute one common patrimony, the nation's inheritance. They awe foreign powers; they arouse and animate our own people. I love true glory. It is this sentiment which ought to be cherished; and, in spite of caviis, and sneers, and attempts to put it down, it will rise triumphant, and finally conduct this nation to that height-to which nature, and nature's God-have destined it.-Clay.

598. THE FLIGHT OF XERXES.

I saw him--on the battle-eve,
When, like a king, he bore him,-
Proud hosts, in glittering helm, and greave,
And prouder chiefs-before him:
The warrior, and the warrior's deeds-
BRONSON. 16

thy presence, O moon. They brighten their
dark-brown sides. Who is like thee, in heav-
en, light of the silent night! The stars, in
thy presence, turn away their sparkling eyes.
when the darkness of thy countenance grows!
Whither dost thou retire from thy course,
Hast thou thy hall, like Ossian? Dwellest
thou in the shadow of grief! Have thy sis-
ters fallen from heaven? Are they, who re-
joice with thee at night, no more?
they have fallen, fair light! and thou dost oft-
en retire to mourn. But thou thyself shalt

Yes!

fail, one night, and leave thy blue path in

heaven.

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Her sails were set, but the dying wind
Scarce wooed them, as they trembled on the yard
With an uncertain motion. She arose,
As a swan rises on her gilded wings,
When on a lake, at sunset, she uprears
Her form from out the waveless stream, and steer
Into the far blue ether-so, that ship
Seem'd lifted from the waters, and suspended,
Wing'd with her bright sails, in the silent air.,
For age, and want, serve-while you may;
No morning sun-lasts a whole day.

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592. A BATTLE-FIELD. We cannot see | an individual expire, though a stranger, or an enemy, without being sensibly moved, and prompted by compassion, to lend him every assistance in our power. Every trace of resentment-vanishes in a moment; every other emotion-gives way to pity and terror. In these last extremities, we remember nothing, but the respect and tenderness, due to our common nature. What a scene, then, must a field of battle present, where thousands are left, without assistance, and without pity, with their wounds exposed to the piercing air, while their blood, freezing as it flows, binds them to the earth, amid the trampling of horses, and the insuits of an enranged foe! Far from their native home, no tender assiduities of friendship, no wellknown voice, no wife, or mother, or sister, is near, to soothe their sorrows, relieve their thirst, or close their eyes in death. Unhappy man! and must you be swept into the grave, unnoticed, and unnumbered, and no friendly tear be shed for your suiterings, or mingled with your dust?

593.

BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Not a drum was heard | nor a funeral | note,
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried,
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot,
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him | darkly at dead of night,
1
The turf with our bay'nets | turning.
By the struggling noonbeam's I misty light,
And our lanterns | dimly burning.
Few and short I were the prayers | we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow, [dead,
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the
And we bitterly thought I on the morrow.
No useless coffin confined his breast,

Nor in sheet | nor in shroud we bound him,
But he lay like a warrior | taking his rest,
With his martial cloak i around him.

We thought as we heaped the narrow bed,
And smoothed down | his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger I would tread o'er
And we far away on the billow. [his head,
Lightly they'll talk | of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,

But nothing he'll reck if they let him sleep on,
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
But half our heavy task I was done,

When the clock I told the hour for retiring,
And we heard the distant and random gun,
That the foe I was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly | we laid him down,

From the field of his fame, fresh, and gory,
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But we left him | alone in his glory.

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594. CASSIUS AGAINST CÆSAR.
Honor-is the subject of my story;-
I cannot tell what you, and other men--
Think of this life; but for my single self,

I had as lief not be, as live to be

In awe of such a thing-as myself.

I was born free as Cæsar; so were you;
We have both fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For, once upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber, chafing with its shores,

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Cæsar says to me,-"Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me, into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point ?"-Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roared, and we did buffet it;
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside,
And stemming it, with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Cæsar cried," Help me, Cassius, or I sink."
I, as neas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves o
Did I-the tired Cæsar; and this man- [Tiber
Is now--become a god; and Cassius-is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæsar-carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their color fly;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the
Did lose its lustre; I did hear him groan, [world,
Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
"Alas!" it cried-"Give me some drink, Titinius."
As a sick girl.

Ye gods! it doth amaze me,

A man of such a feeble temper-should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world,
Like a Colossus, and we, petty men,
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about,
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men, at some time, are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. [Cæsar1
Brutus--and Cæsar! What should be in that
Why should that name be sounded more than
yours?

Write them together: yours is as fair a name ;
Sound them: it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them: it is as heavy; conjure with 'em :
Brutus-will start a spirit, as soon as Cæsar.

Now, in the name of all the gods at once,
Upon what meats-doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he hath grown so great? Age, thou art
ashamed;

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods.
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was famed with more than with one man?
When could they say, till now, that talked or

Rome,

That her wide walls encompassed but one man!
Oh! you, and I-have heard ou fathers say,
There was a Brutus once, th't would have brooked
The infernal devil, to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king.

A warm heart-in this cold world-is like
A beacon-light-wasting feeble flame
Upon the wintry deep, that feels it not,
And, trembling with each pitiless gust th't blow
Till its faint fire—is spent.

Nature, in her productions slow, aspires,
By just degrees, to reach perfec ion's height.

604, AGAINST THE AMERICAN WAR. I cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on misfortune, and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous, and tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation: the smoothness of flattery-cannot save us, in this rugged, and awful crisis. It is now necessary, to instruct the throne, in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion, and darkness, which envelop it; and display, in its full danger, and genuine colors, the ruin, which is brought to our doors. Can ministers, still presume to expect support, in their infatuation? Can parliament, be so dead to its dignity, and duty, as to give their support to measures, thus obtruded, and forced upon them? Measures, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire-to scorn, and contempt! "But yesterday, and Britain might have stood against the world; now, none so poor, as to do her reverence. The people, whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against us, supplied with every military store, have their interest consulted, and their embassadors entertained by our inveterate enemy-and ministers do not, and DARE not, interpose, with dignity, or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad, is in part known. No man more highly esteems, and honors the British troops, than I do; I know their virtues, and their valor; I know they can achieve anything, but impossibilities; and I know that the conquest of British America is an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst; but we know, that in three campaigns, we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, and accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot: your attempts will be forever vain, and impotent-doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid, on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine, and plunder, devoting them, and their possessions, to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms; No-Never, never, never.-Chatham.

605. THE WHISKERS.

The kings, who rule mankind with haughty sway,
The prouder pope, whom even kings obey- [fall,
Love, at whose shrine both popes, and monarchs
And e'en self-interest, that controls them all-
Possess a petty power, when all combined,
Compared with fashion's influence on mankind;
For love itself will oft to fashion bow;
The following story will convince you how:
A petit maitre wooed a fair,

Of virtue, wealth, and graces rare;
But vainly had preferr'd his claim,
The maiden own'd no answering flame;
At length, by doubt and anguish torn,
Suspense, too painful to be borne,
Low at her feet he humbly kneel'd,
And thus his ardent flame reveal'd:
"Pity my grief, angelic fair,
Behold my anguish, and despair;
For you, this heart must ever burn-
O bless me, with a kind return;
My love, no language can express,
Reward it then, with happiness;

Nothing on earth, but you I prize,
All else is trifling in my eyes;
And cheerfully, would I resign
The wealth of worlds, to call you mine
But, if another gain your hand,
Far distant from my native land,
Far hence, from you, and hope, I'll fly,
And in some foreign region die."

The maiden heard, and thus replied:
"If my consent to be your bride,
Will make you happy, then be blest;
But grant me, first, one small request;
A sacrifice I must demand,
And, in return, will give my hand."

"A sacrifice! O speak its name, For you I'd forfeit wealth, and fame; Take my whole fortune-every cent➡" ""Twas something more than wealth I meant." "Must I the realms of Neptune trace? O speak the word-where'er the place, For you, the idol of my soul, I'd e'en explore the frozen pole; Arabia's sandy desert tread, Or trace the Tigris to its head." "O no, dear sir, I do not ask,

long a voyage, so hard a task; You must-but ah! the boon I want, I have no hope that you will grant."

"Shall I, like Bonaparte, aspire To be the world's imperial sire? Express the wish, and here I vow, To place a crown upon your brow."

"Sir, these are trifles"-she replied"But, if you wish me for your bride, You must-but still I fear to speakYou'll never grant the boon I seek."

"O say!" he cried-" dear angel sayWhat must I do, and I obey;

No longer rack me with suspense,
Speak your commands, and send me hence."
"Well, then, dear generous youth" she cries,
"If thus my heart you really prize,
And wish to link your fate with mine,
On one condition I am thine;
"Twill then become my pleasing duty,
To contemplate a husband's beauty;
And, gazing on his manly face,
His feelings, and his wishes trace;
To banish thence each mark of care,
And light a smile of pleasure there.
O let me then, 'tis all I ask,
Commence at once the pleasing task;
O let me, as becomes my place,
Cut those huge whiskers from your face."
She said-but O, what strange surprise-
Was pictured in her lover's eyes!
Like lightning, from the ground he sprung,
While wild amazement tied his tongue;
A statue, motionless, he gazed,
Astonish'd, horror-struck, amazed
So, look'd the gallant Perseus, when
Medusa's visage met his ken;

So, look'd Macbeth, whose guilty eye
Discern'd an air-drawn dagger" nigh;
And so, the prince of Denmark stared,
When first his father's ghost appeared.

At length, our hero, silence broke,
And thus, in wildest accents spoke:
"Cut off my whiskers! O ye gods'
I'd sooner lose my ears, by odds;
Madam, I'd not be so disgraced,
So lost to fashion, and to taste,
To win an empress to my arms;

Though blest with more than mortal charms,
My whiskers! Zounds!" He said no more,
But quick retreated through the door,
And sought a less obdurate fair,

To take the beau, with all his hair.-Woodwor

This path, you say, is hid in endless night;
"Tis self conceit, alone, obstructs your sight.

597. OSSIN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. O thou, that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty; the stars-hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou, thyself, movest alone: who can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains themselves decay with years: the ocean shrinks, and grows again; the moon, herself, is lost in the heavens; but thou-art forever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. When the world is dark with tempests, when thunders roll, and lightnings fly, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian-thou lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair-flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art, perhaps, like me, for a season: thy years will have an end. Thou wilt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning.

598. DOUGLAS'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF.
My name is Norval: on the Grampian hills
My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares, were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I longed
To follow to the field-some warlike lord;
And Heaven soon granted--what my sire denied.
This moon which rose last night, round as my shield,
Had not yet filled her horn, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rushed like a torrent-down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled
For safety, and for succor. I, alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hovered about the enemy, and marked
The road he took; then hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumbered foe. [drawn,
We fought, and conquered. Ere a sword was
An arrow from my bow-had pierced their chief,
Who wore, that day, the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdained

The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard
That our good king-had summoned his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps,-
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I passed these towers,
And, heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed, that gilds my humble name.

MORAL TRUTH INTELLIGIBLE TO ALL.

The shepherd lad, who, in the sunshine, carves
On the green turf a dial, to divide
The silent hours; and who, to that report,
Can portion out his pleasures, and adapt
His round of pastoral duties, is not left
With less intelligence, for moral things,
Of gravest import. Early, he perceives,
Within himself, a measure, and a rule,
Which, to the sun of truth, he can apply,
That shines for him, and shines for all mankind.

599. OF ELOCUTION. Eloct tion- ta art, or the act, of so delivering our own trots and feelings, or the thoughts and feelings of others, as not only to convey to those around us, with precision, force, and harmony, the full purport, and meaning of the words and sen tences, in which these thoughts are clothed; but also, to excite and to impress upon their minds the feelings, imaginations, and pas sions, by which those thoughts are dictated, or by which they should naturally be accompani ed. Elocution, therefore, in its more ample and liberal signification, is not confined to the mere exercise of the organs of speech. it embraces the whole theory and practice of the exterior demonstration of the inward workings of the mind. To concentrate what has been said by an allegorical recapitulation: Eloquence-may be considered as the soul, or animated principle of discourse; and is dependent on intellectual energy and intellectual attainments. Elocution is the embo dying form, or representative power; dependent on exterior accomplishments, and on the cultivation of the organs. Oratory-is the complicated and vital existence, resulting from the perfect harmony and combination of eloquence and elocution. The vital existence, however, in its full perfection, is one of the choicest rarities of nature. The high and splendid accomplishments of oratory, even in the most favored age and the most favored countries, have been attained by few; and many are the ages, and many are the countries, in which these accomplishments have never once appeared. Generations have succeeded to generations, and centuries have rolled after centuries, during which, the intellectual desert has not exhibited even one

solitary specimen of the stately growth and flourishing expansion of oratorical genius. The rarity of this occurrence is, undoubtedly, in part, to be accounted for, from the difficul ty of the attainment. The palm of oratori cal perfection is only to be grasped--it is, in reality, only to be desired, by aspiring souls, and intellects of unusual energy. It requires a persevering toil which few would be contented to encounter; a decisive intrepid ity of character, and an untamableness of mental ambition, which very, very few can be expected to possess. It requires, also, conspicuous opportunities for cultivation and display, to which few can have the fortune the hardihood to endeavor to create. to be born, and which fewer still will have

VIRTUE THE GUARDIAN OF YOUTH.

Down the smooth stream of life the striping darta,
Gay as the morn; bright glows the vernal sky,
Hoswells his sails, and Passion steers his course
So gudes his little bark along the shore,
Where virtue takes her stand: but if too far
He launches forth beyond discretion's mark,
Sudden the tempest scowls, the surges roar,
Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep.
-My boy, the unwelcome hour is come,
When thou, transplanted from thy genial home,
Must find a colder soil, and bleaker air,
And trust for safety-to a stranger's care "
Deceit is the false road to happiness;
And all the joys we travel to, through vice,
Like fairy banquets, vanish when we touch them
See all, but man, with unearn'd pleasure gay.

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a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, f we gain the victory?

If we fail, it can be no worse for us.-Bu! we shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create navies. The people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will carry

600. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS ON ADOPTING THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. It is true, indeed, that in the beginning, we aimed not at independence. But there's a Divinity, which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and, blinded to her own interest, for our good, she has obstinately persist-themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I care ed, till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the declaration? Is any man so weak, as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country, and its liberties, or safety to his own life, and his own honor?

Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair; is not he, our venerable colleague near you; are you not both, already, the proscribed, and predestined objects of punishment, and of vengeance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws? If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up the war? Do we mean to submi to the measures of parlianent, Boston port-bill and all? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust?

not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people of these colonies; and I know, that resistance to British aggression is deep and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Every colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the lead.

Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, set before them the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Read this declaration at the head of the army; every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling around it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let them I know we do not mean to submit. We never hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most cannon; let them see it, who saw their brothers solemn obligation, ever entered into by men, that and their sons fall on the field of Bunker-Hill, and plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to Wash-in the streets of Lexington and Concord,—and the ington, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every extremsty, with our fortunes, and our lives?

I know there is not a man here, who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted faith to fall to the ground. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be appointed commander of the forces, raised, or to be raised, for defence of American liberty, may my right nand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate, or waver in the support I give him.

The war, then, must go on. We must fight it through. And, if the war must go on, why put off onger, the declaration of independence? That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. The nations will then treat with us; which they never can do, while we acknowledge ourselves subjects, in arms against our sovereign. Nay, I maintain, that England herself will sooner treat for peace with us, on the footing of independence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct toward us, has been a course of injustice and oppression.

Her pride will be less wounded, by submitting to that course of things, which now predestinates our independence, than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebellious subjects. The former she would regard as the result of fortune; the latter she would feel as her own deep disgrace. Why hen, sir, do we not as soon as possible, change is from a civil to a national war? And, since we inust fight it through, why not put ourselves in

very walls will cry out in its support.

Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see clearly, through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time, when this declaration shall be made good. We may die; die, colonists; die, slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven, that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready, at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may.

But, whatever may be our fate, be assured that this declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return, they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I am, all that I have, and all that I hope for, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it: and I leave off, as I began; sink or swim; live or die; survive, or perish, I am for the declaration. it is my living sentiment; and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying sentiment-Independence now! and independence-FOREVER!-Webster.

Be not dismayed-fear-nurses up a dange:
And resoluti: n-kills it,-in the birth

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