611. THE MURDERER: KNAPP'S TRIAL. Though I could well have wished to shun this occasion, I have not felt at liberty, to withhold my professional assistance, when it is supposed, that I might be, in some degree, useful-in investigating, and discovering the truth, respecting this most extraordinary murder. It has seemed to be a duty, incumbent on me, as on every other citizen, to do my best, and my utmost, to bring to light the perpetrators of this crime. Against the prisoner at the bar, as an individual, I cannot have the slightest prejudice. I would not do him the smallest injury or injustice. But I do not affect to be indifferent to the discovery, and the punishment, of this deep guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, how much soever it may be, which is cast on those, who feel, and manifest, an anxious concern, that all who had a part in planning, or a hand in executing, this deed of midnight assassination, may be brought to answer for their enormous crime, at the bar of public justice. Gentlemen, it is a most extraordinary case. In some respects, it has hardly a precedent anywhere; certainly none in our New England history. This bloody drama exhibited no suddenly excited, ungovernable rage. The actors in it were not surprised by any lion-like temptation, springing upon their virtue, and overcoming it, before resistance could begin. Nor did they do the deed to glut savage vengeance, or satiate long-settled, and deadly hate. It was a cool, calculating, money-making murder. It was all "hire and salary, not revenge." It was the weighing of money against life: the counting out of so many pieces of silver, against so many ounces of blood. An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder, for mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson for painters and poets. Whosoever shall hereafter draw the portrait of Murder, if he will show it as it has been exhibited in one example, where such example was last to have been looked for, in the very bosom of our New England society, let him not give the grim visage of Moloch, the brow, knitted by revenge, the face, black with settled hate, and the blood-shot eye, emitting livid fires of malice. Let him draw, rather, a decorous, smoothfaced, bloodless demon; a picture in repose, rather than in action; not so much an example of human nature, in its depravity, and in its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal nature, a fiend, in the ordinary display, and development of his character. The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. The circumstances, now clearly in evidence, spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof,-a healthful old man to whom sleep was sweet;-the first sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft but strong embrace. The assassin enters, through the window already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half-lighted by the moon; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this he moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges without noise; and he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. 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; and he yet plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the heart, and replaces it again over the wounds of the poinard! To finish the picture, 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 has done the murder,-no eye has seen him, no 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. mur True it is, generally speaking, that der 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, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. Å thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, everything, 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; or rather, it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, 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 or man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no assistance, or sympathy, 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 embarass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles, with still greater violence, to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed, there is no refuge from confession, but suicide, and suicide is confession. 612. ANTONY'S ORATION OVER CESAR. Friends, Romans, Countrymen! Lend me your I come to bury Cesar, not to praise him. [ears, The evil, that men do, lives after them; The good-is oft interred with their bones: So, let it be with Cesar! Noble Brutus Hath told you, Cesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault; And grievously-hath Cesar 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 Cesar's funeralHe 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 Rome, When that the poor have cried, Cesar hath wept; I speak not to disprove-what Brutus spoke, Unto their issue. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. For when the noble Cesar-saw him stab, They, that have done this deed, are honorable; But, as you know me all, a plain-blunt man, [mouths, And Brutus-Antony, there were an Antony- 613. THE INVALID ABROAD. It is a sad thing, to feel that we must die, away from our own home. Tell not the invalid, who is yearning after his distant country, that the atmosphere around him is soft, that the gales are filled with balm, and that the flowers are springing from the green earth; he knows, that the softest air to his heart, would be the air, which hangs over his native land; that, more gratefully than all the gales of the south, would breathe low whispers of anxious affection; that the very icicles, clinging to his own eaves, and snow, beating against his own windows, would be far more pleasant to his eyes, than the bloom and verdure, which only more forcibly remind him, how far he is from that one spot, which is dearer to him, than all the world beside. He may, indeed, find estimable friends, who will do all in their power to promote his comfort, and assuage his pains; but they cannot supply the place of the long known and long loved; they cannot read, as in a book, the mute language of his face; they have not learned to wait upon his habits, and anticipate his wants, and he has not learned to communicate, without hesitation, all his wishes, impressions, and thoughts to them. He feels that he is a stranger; and a more desolate feeling than that, could not visit his soul. How much is expressed, by that form of oriental benediction, "May you die among your kindred."-Greenwood. All, who joy would win, Must share it, happiness-was born a twin He is unhappy, who is never satisfied. 614. THE LIFE OF A DRUNKARD. If you would mark the misery, which drunkenness infuses into the cup of domestic happiness, go with me to one of those nurseries of crime, a common tippling shop, and there behold, collected till midnight, the fathers, the husbands, the sons, and the brothers of a neighborhood. Bear witness to the stench, and the filthiness around them. Hearken to the oaths, the obscenity, and the ferocity of their conversation. Observe their idiot laugh; record the vulgar jest, with which they are delighted, and tell me, what potent sorcery has so transformed these men, that, for this loathsome den, they should forego all the delights of an innocent, and lovely fireside. But let us follow some of them home, from the scene of their debauch. There is a young man, whose accent, and gait, and dress, bespeak the communion, which he once has held, with something better than all this. He is an only son. On him, the hopes of parents, and of sisters have centred. Every nerve of that family has been strained, to give to that intellect, of which they all were proud, every means of choicest cultivation. They have denied themselves, that nothing should be wanting, to enable him to enter his profession, under every advantage. They gloried in his talents, they exulted in the first buddings of his youthful promise, and they were looking forward to the time when every labor should be repaid, and every self-denial rewarded, by the joys of that hour, when he should stand forth in all the blaze of well-earned, and indisputable professional pre-eminence. Alas, these visions are less bright than once they were! Enter that family circle. Behold those aged 615. SERPENT OF THE STILL. son ? Y They tell me, that, in Italy, And dooms the victim dead. That crawl on Afric's shore, More fatal-than the whole, "Tis found almost o'er all the earth, Save Turkey's wide domains; 'Tis kept in mercy's chains. Its thousands--at its meals. And never fails to kill. Reader, dost thou desire the name? THE WORLD AT A DISTANCE. He travels, and expatiates; as the bee, countrymen, one and all-the Laurens, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Marions-Americans all-whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines, than their talents and patriotism, were capable of being circumscribed, within the same narrow limits. 616. EULOGIUM ON THE SOUTH. If there be | the pride of her great names. I claim them for one state in the union, Mr. President, (and I say it not in a boastful spirit) that may challenge comparison with any other, for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the union, that state-is South Carolina. Sir, from the very commencement of the revolution, up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, however great, she has not cheerfully made; no service, she has ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you in your prosperity; but, in your adversity, she has clung to you, with more than filial affection. No matter what was the condition of her domestic affairs, though deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded by difficulties, the call of the country, has been to her, as the voice of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound, every man became at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all seen, crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altar of their com-spirit, which is said to be able to raise mortals to mon country. In their day, and generation, they served, and honored the country, and the whole country, and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him, whose honored name the gentleman himself bears-does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it in his power, to exhibit a Carolina name so bright, as to produce envy in my bosom? No, sir, increased gratification, and delight, rather. Sir, I thank God, that, if I am gifted with little of the the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that What, sir, was the conduct of the south during the revolution? Sir, I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But, great-let me indulge in refreshing remembrances of as is the praise, which belongs to her, I think at least, equal honor is due to the south. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren, with a generous zeal which did not suffer them to stop to calculate their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother country, possessed of neither ships, nor seamen, to create commercial rivalship, they might have found, in their situation, a guarantee, that their trade would be forever fostered, and protected by Great Britain. But, trampling on all considerations, either of interest, or safety, they rushed into the conflict, and, fighting for principle, perilled all in the sacred cause of freedom. Never-were there exhibited, in the history of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than by the whigs of Carolina, during the revolution. The whole state, from the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry-perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by the foe. "The plains of Carolina" drank up the most precious blood of her citizens! Black, and smoking ruins-marked the places which had been the habitations of her children! Driven from their homes, into the gloomy, and almost impenetrable swamps, even there-the spirit of liberty survived; and South Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sumpters, and Marions, proved, by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible.-Hayne. the past-let me remind you, that in early times, no states cherished greater harmony, both of principle, and of feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God, that harmony might again return. Shoulder to shoulder they went through the revolution-hand in hand, they stood round the administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exist, alienation and distrust, are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm never scattered. Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts-she needs none. There she is-behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill; and there they will remain, forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every state, from New England to Georgia; and there they will lie-forever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord, and disunion shall wound it—if party strife, and blind ambition shall hawk at, and tear it; if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed to separate it from that union by which alone, its existence is made sure, it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked; it will stretch forth its arm, with whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather around it: and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest 617. EULOGIUM ON THE NORTH. The eulogium pronounced on the character of the state of South Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her revolutionary, and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowl-monuments of its own glory, and on the very edge, that the honorable member is before me, in regard for whatever of distinguished talent, or distinguished character, South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor: I partake in spot of its origin.-Webster. The sweetest cordial-we receive at last, Seems like a canopy, which Love hath spread, 618. LIBERTY AND UNION. I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view, the prosperity, and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our federal union. It is to that union, we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that union, that we are chiefly indebted, for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That union we reached, only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin, in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility, and its blessings; and although our territory has stretched out, wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection, or its benefits. It has been to us all, a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds, that unite us together, shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom-the depth-of the abyss-below; nor could I regard him, as a safe counsellor in Ah! whence yon glare the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not That fires the arch of heaven? that dark red smoke, how the union should be preserved, but, how Blotting the silver moon? The stars are quenched tolerable might be the condition of the people, In darkness, and the pure spangling snow when it shall be broken up, and destroyed. Gleams, faintly, thro' the gloom, that gathers round! While the union lasts, we have high, excit-Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals, ing, gratifying prospects spread out before In countless echoes through the mountains ring, us, for us, and our children. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the vail. God grant, Startling pale Midnight, on her starry throne! that, in my day, at least, that curtain may not Now swells the intermingling din; the jar, rise. God grant, that on my vision, never Frequent, and frightful, of the bursting bomb.; may be opened what lies behind. When my The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout, eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him Inebriate with rage!-loud and more loud, shining on the broken, and dishonored frag- The discord grows; till pale Death shuts the scene, ments of a once glorious union; on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land, And, o'er the conqueror, and the conquered, draws rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, His cold, and bloody shroud. Of all the men, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there, lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous In proud, and vigorous health--of all the hearts, ensign of the republic, now known, and hon- That beat with anxious life, at sunset thereored, throughout the earth, still full high ad- How few survive, how few are beating now! vanced, its arms and trophies-streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased, or All is deep silence, like the fearful calm, polluted, nor a single star obscured-bearing That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause; for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory Save when the frantic wail of widowed love as-What is all this worth? Nor those other Comes, shuddering, on the blast, or the faint moan, words of delusion and folly-Liberty-first, With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay and union-afterwards but everywhere, Wrapped round its struggling powers. spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea, and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every-true-American heart-Liberty and union, now, and forever, one-and inseparable!-Webster. 619. MOONLIGHT, AND A BATTLE-FIELD. The gray morn [smoke, |