aulay's prophecy of the downfall of the Republic, unless we do it by the aid of the schoolmaster. Macaulay said that a government like ours must inevitably lead to anarchy; and I believe there is no answer to his prophecy unless the schoolmaster can give it. If we can fill the minds of all our children who are to be voters with intelligence which will fit them wisely to vote, and fill them with the spirit of liberty, then will we have averted the fatal prophecy. But if, on the other hand, we allow our youth to grow up in ignorance, this Republic will end in disastrous failure. All the encouragement that the National Government can give, every thing that States can do, all that good citizens every where can do, and most of all what the teacher himself can do, ought to be hailed as the deliverance of our country from the saddest distress.

X.

IN MEMORIAM.

S. F. B. Morse.

AN ADDRESS AT THE MORSE MEMORIAL MEETING, HELD IN THE HALL OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES,

APRIL 16, 1872.

X.

S. F. B. MORSE.

THE grave has just closed over the mortal

remains of one whose name will be forever

associated with a series of achievements in the domain of discovery and invention the most wonderful our race has ever known, — wonderful in the results accomplished, more wonderful still in the agencies employed, most wonderful in the scientific revelations which preceded and accompanied its development.

The electro-magnetic telegraph is the embodiment—I might say the incarnation of many centuries of thought, of many generations of effort to elicit from Nature one of her deepest mysteries.

No one man, no one century, could have achieved it. It is the child of the human race, "the heir of all the ages." How wonderful were the steps which led to its creation! The very name of this telegraphic instrument bears record

of its history," electric, magnetic!" The first named from the bit of yellow amber, whose qualities of attraction and repulsion were discovered by a Grecian philosopher twenty-four centuries ago; and the second from Magnesia, the village of Asia Minor, where first was found the loadstone whose touch turned the needle forever to the north. These were the earliest forms in which that subtle, all-pervading force revealed itself to men. In the childhood of the race, men stood dumb in the presence of its more terrible manifestations. When it gleamed in the purple aurora, or shot dusky-red from the clouds, it was the eye-flash of an angry God, before whom mortals quailed in helpless fear.

When the electric light burned blue on the spear-points of the Roman legions, it was to them and their leaders a portent from the gods, beckoning to victory. When the phosphorescent light, which the sailors still call St. Elmo's fire, hovered on the masts and spars of the Roman ship, it was Castor and Pollux, twin gods of the sea, guiding the mariner to port, or the beacon of an avenging god luring him to death.

When we consider the startling forms in which this element presents itself, it is not surprising