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LESSON CXXXVII.

The same, concluded.

Ir was for Mr. Adams to reply to arguments like these. We know his opinions, and we know his character. He would commence with his accustomed directness and earnestness.

'Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote! It is true, indeed, that, in the beginning, we aimed not at independence. But there'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 persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the declaration? Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life, and his own honour? 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 submit to the measures of parliament, 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? I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered into by men, that plighting, before God, of our sacred honour to Washington, 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 extremity, 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 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 hand forget her cunning, and my

tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or was ver, 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 longer the declaration of independence? That mea sure 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, her self, will sooner treat for peace with us on the footing of independence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge, that her whole conduct towards us has been a course of injustice and oppression. Her pride will be less wounded by submitting to that course of things which now 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 then, why then, sir, do we not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to a national war? And, since we must fight it through, why not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the victory?

'If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create navies. The people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously, through this struggle. I care 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 honour. Publish it from the pulpit, religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let them hear it, who heard the first roar of the ene my's cannon; let them see it, who saw their brothers and

their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord,-and the very walls will cry out in its support.

'Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see, 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. 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, while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and

that a free country.

'But, whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured, that this declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compen'sate 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 honour 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 judgement approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off, as I begun, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying sentiment ;-independence now; and INDEPENDENCE FOREVER!'

And so that day shall be honoured, illustrious prophet and patriot! so that day shall be honoured; and, as often as it returns, thy renown shall come along with it; and the glory of thy life, like the day of thy death,* shall not fail from the remembrance of men.

*Both of the distinguished patriots, in commemoration of whose lives and services this Discourse was delivered, died on the same day, 4th July, 1826,fifty years from the day on which the Declaration of Independence, of which one was the author, and the other the strenuous and eloquent advocate, was adopted by the American Congress.

LESSON CXXXVIII.

The School-Boy.-THE AMULET.

THE SCHOOL-Boy had been rainbling all the day,-
A careless, thoughtless idler,-till the night
Came on, and warned him homeward :-then he left
The meadows, where the morning had been passed,
Chasing the butterfly, and took the road

To'ward the cottage where his mother dwelt.
He had her parting blessing, and she watched
Once more to breathe a welcome to her child,
Who sauntered lazily-ungrateful boy!—
Till deeper darkness came o'er sky and earth;
And then he ran, till, almost breathless grown,
He passed within the wicket-gate, which led
Into the village church-yard :-then he paused,
And earnestly looked round; for o'er his head
The gloomy cypress waved, and at his feet
Lay the last bed of many a villager.

But on again he pressed with quickened step
"Whistling aloud to keep his courage up."
The bat came flapping by; the ancient church
Threw its deep shadows o'er the path he trod,
And the boy trembled like the aspen leaf;
For now he fancied that all shapeless forms
Came flitting by him, each with bony hand,
And motion as if threatening; while a weight
U earthly pressed the satchel and the slate
He strove to keep within his grasp. The wind
Played with the feather that adorned his cap,
And seemed to whisper something horrible.
The clouds had gathered thickly round the moon;
But, now and then, her light shone gloriously
Upon the sculptured tombs and humble graves,
And, in a moment, all was dark again.

O'ercome with terror, the pale boy sank down,
And wildly gazed around him, till his eye
Fell on a stone, on which these warning words
Were carved :-

"TIME! thou art flying rapidly,
But whither art thou flying?'

་་

"To the grave-which yours will be—
I wait not for the dying.

In early youth you laughed at me,
And, laughing, passed life's morning;
But, in thine age, I laugh at thee—
Too late to give thee warning."

"DEATH! thy shadowy form I see,
The steps of Time pursuing:
Like him thou comest rapidly :
What deed must thou be doing?"
"Mortal! my message is for thee:
Thy chain to earth is rended:
I bear thee to eternity:

Prepare! thy course is ended!"

Attentively the fainting boy perused

The warning lines; then grew more terrified;
For, from the grave, there seemed to rise a voice
Repeating them, and telling him of time.
Misspent, of death approaching rapidly,
And of the dark eternity that followed.
His fears increased, till on the ground he lay
Almost bereft of feeling and of sense.

And there his mother found him:

From the damp church-yard sod she bore her child,
Frightened to feel his clammy hand, and hear
The sighs and sobs that from his bosom came.

'Twas strange, the influence which that fearful hour
Had o'er his future life; for, from that night,
He was a thoughtful, an industrious boy.
And still the memory of those warning words
Bids him REFLECT,-now that he is a man,
And writes these feeble lines that others

may.

LESSON CXXXIX.

Stanzas addressed to the Greeks.-ANONYMOUS.

ON, on, to the just and glorious strife!
With your swords your freedom shielding:

Nay, resign, if it must be so, even life;
But die at least, unyielding.

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