the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir: we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left! They tell us, sir, that we are weak-unable to cope with so formidable an adversary; but when shall we be strong? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of Nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battle alone there is a just God who presides over the destinies of Nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle is not to the strong alone: it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission or slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable, and let it come! I repeat it, sir: let it come! It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry "Peace! peace!" but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that the gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but, as for me, give me liberty or give me death! That e'er the sun shone on, And dark blue is her e'e, And for bonnie Annie Laurie, Like dew on the gowan lying And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet, And she's a' the world to me, And for bonnie Annie Laurie, FRANCIS PARKMAN 1823-1893 AFTER Prescott, Francis Parkman is the most interesting American historical writer. He was born at Boston. His father was a minister and a member of an old colonial family. Parkman was prepared for college at the Chauncey Hall school, and graduated from Harvard in 1844. He distinguished himself in history while at college. His first work was "The Oregon Trail." It was followed by this long list of works treating of various phases of American history: "The Conspiracy of Pontiac," "The Pioneers of France in the New World," "The Jesuits in North America,” “ Discovery of the Great West," "Old Régime in Canada," "Frontenac and New France," ,” “Montcalm and Wolfe," and "A Half Century of Conflict." Forty-three years were devoted to this series of works, and they will ever be of interest and value to the student of American history. He made himself thoroughly familiar with the scenes described, so far as that was possible. As a preparation for his work, he spent some time with the Indians of Dakota, that he might know them and their habits at first hand. ities described in his works. In like manner he visited the local- other great American writer of history, Prescott, yet he was always in delicate health, and his eyesight for many years very feeble. Here we have two examples of great work done, the greatest of the kind done in this country, by men who had to contend with great obstacles. It is very suggestive. THE BATTLE OF THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM FRANCIS PARKMAN NOTE TO THE PUPIL. -It is hoped that you will be sufficiently interested in Parkman to read his works largely. It is much to be regretted that our American children are not more thoroughly informed in regard to the history of our own country. You are advised to read first "The Oregon Trail," then "Montcalm and Wolfe." The following selection is from the latter work. ONTCALM and his chief officers held a council of MONTCAL war. It is said that he and they alike were for immediate attack. His enemies declare that he was afraid lest Vaudreuil should arrive and take command; but the governor was not a man to assume responsibility at such a crisis. Others say that his impetuosity overcame his better judgment; and of this charge it is hard to acquit him. Bougainville was but a few miles distant, and some of his troops were much nearer; a messenger sent by way of Old Lorette could have reached him in an hour and a half at most, and a combined attack in front and rear might have been concerted with him. If, moreover, Montcalm could have come to an understanding with Vaudreuil, his own force might have been strengthened by two or three thousand additional men from the town and the camp of Beauport; but he felt that there was no time to lose, for he imagined that Wolfe would soon be reënforced, which was impossible ; and he believed that the English were fortifying themselves, which was no less an error. He has been blamed not only for fighting too soon, but for fighting at all. In this he could not choose. Fight he must, for Wolfe was now in a position to cut off all his supplies. His men were full of ardor, and he resolved to attack before their ardor cooled. He spoke a few words to them in his keen, vehement way. "I remember very well how he looked," one of the Canadians, then a boy of eighteen, used to say in his old age: "He rode a black or darkbay horse along the front of our lines, brandishing his sword, as if to excite us to do our duty. He wore a coat with wide sleeves, which fell back as he raised his arm, and showed the white linen of the wristband." The English waited the result with a composure which, if not quite real, was at least well feigned. The three field pieces sent by Ramesay plied them with canister shot, and fifteen hundred Canadians and Indians fusilladed them in front and flank. Over all the plain, from behind bushes and knolls and the edge of cornfields, puffs of smoke sprang incessantly from the guns of these hidden marksmen. Skirmishers were thrown out before the lines to hold them in check, and the soldiers were ordered to lie on the grass to avoid the shot. The firing was liveliest on the English left, where bands of sharpshooters got under the edge of the declivity, among thickets, and behind scattered houses, whence they killed and wounded a considerable number of Townshend's men. The light infantry were called up from the rear. The houses were taken and retaken, and one or more of them was burned. |