heeded, or heard only to be disregarded, until too late — 1 will
cry out obsta 'priiicipih. Yes, sir, in tliis case, as in many
others — the first step is all the difficulty — that taken, then
they may take for their motto — " there is no retreat." I tell
these gentlemen there is no retreat — it is cut off — there is no
retrfeat, even as tedious and painliil as that conducted by
Xeiioj)hon. There is no Anabasis ibr us — and if there was,
where is our XeiKipbon ? 1 do not feel lightly on tliis occa-
sion — far otherwise — but the heaviest heart oiten vents itself
in light expressions. There is a mirth of sadness, as well as
tears of joy. If I could talk lightly on this sad subject,
I would remind gentlemen of the reply given by a wiseacre,
who was sent to search the vaults of the Parliament House
at the time of the gunpowder plot, and who had searchfj
and reported that they had found fifty barrels of powder con-
cealed under the fagots and other fuel — that he had removi'd
tw?uty-five, and hoped that the other twenty-five would do
no harm. The step you are about to take is the match of
that powder — whether it be twenty-five or fifty barrels is
cpiile immaterial — it is enough to blow — not the first of the
Stuarts — but the last of anoLlier dynasty — sky-high — sky-
high.



XXIL— DEATH OF J. Q. ADAMS.

WILLIAM H. SEW.VRD.

The Thirtieth Congress assembles in this conjuncture, anil
the (h^hates are solemn, earnest and bewildering. Steam
and lightning, which have become docile messengers, make



38 THE BOOK OF KLOQUENCE.

tlie American people listeners to this hijjh debate, and anxiety
and interest, intense and nniver.sal, absorb them all. Sud-
di'nly the eonneil is dissolved. Silence is in the capitol. and
sorrow lias thrown its jkiII over the land. What new event
is this? Has some Cromwell closed the lei^islative chambers ?
or has some Caesar, retnrnmn: from his distant conf|iiests,
jiassed the Rubicon, ^eized the j)nrple, and I'allen in the
Senate beneath the swords of self-appoinled executioners of
his country's ventreance ? No! Nothinj): of all this. What
means, then, this abrupt and fearful silence? What un-
looked-for calamity has quelled thedeliates of the Senate, and
calmed the excitement of the people? An old man, whoise
lonsiue once indeed was eloquent, but now throufrh ape had
well nijrh lost its cunninjr, luis i'allen uitothe swoon of death.
He was not an ador in the drama of conquest — nor had his
feeble voice yet mingled in the lofty argument —

"A s^^a^' liaiicd .«ire, wlio-e e\e intent
Was on tliu visioned future buiit."

— In the very act of rising to debate he fell into the arms
of conscript fathers of the republic. A long lethargy super-
vened and oppressed his senses. Nature rallied the wasting
]»owers, on the verge of the grave, for a very brief space.
But it was long enough for him. There-kindled eyesliowed
that the re-collected mind was clear, calm and vigorous.
His weeping family, and his sorrowing compeers were there.
He surveyed the scene, and knew at once its fatal import.
He had left no duty unperformed ; he had no wish unsatis-
fied ; no ambition unaltained ; no regret, no sorrow, no fear,
no remorse. He could not shake off' the dews of death that
gathered on his brow. He could not pierce the thick shades
tliat rose up before him. But he knew that eternity lay
close by the shores of time. He knew that his Redeemer
lived. Eloquence, even in that hour, inspired him with his
ancient sublimity of utterance. " This," said the dying
man, " this is the end of eakth." He paused for a mo-
ment, and then added, " I am content." Angels might well
draw aside the curtains of the skies to look down on such a
scene — a scene that approximated even to that scene of un-
approachable sublimity, not to be recalled without reverence,
when in mortal agony, one who spake as never man spake,
Slid, " It is finishf.o "



DKATH OF NAPOLEON. 39

XXIII.— DEATH OF NAPOLEON.

WILLIAM H SEWAKn.

IJk wns an emperor. But he saw around him a mother,
broUiers and sisters, not ennobled ; whose humble state re-
minded him and the workl, that lie was born a plebeian ; and
he lia<l no heir to wait for the imperial crown. He seour<:ed
the earth again, and again fortune smiled on him even in his
wild extravagance. He bestowed kingdoms and principali-
ties upon his kindred — put away the devoted wife of his
youthful days, and another, a daughter of Hapsburgh's impe-
rial house, joyfully accepted his proud alliance Ollspriug
gladdened his anxious sight ; a diadem Mas ]»laced on its
infant brow, and it received the homage of princes, even in
its cradle. Now he was indeed a monarch — a legitimate
monarch — a monarch by divine a|)poiutineut — the tirst of an
endless succession of monarclis. But there were other mon-
archs who held sway in the earth. He was not conJLeiit, he
would reign with his kindred alone. He gathered new and
greater armies, from his own land — from subjugated lands.
He called forth the young and brave — one from every hou.-e-
hold — from the Pyrenees to the Zuyder-Zee — from Jura to
the ocean. He marshalled them into long and majestic
coluunis, and went Ibrth to seize that universal dominion,
which seemed almost within his grasp. But ambition had
tempted fortune too far. The nations of the earth resisted,
repelled, pursued, surrounded him. The pageant was ended.
The crown feirfrom his presumptuous head. The wile who
had wedded him in his pride forsook him when the hour of
fear came upon him. His cliild was ravished from his sight.
His kinsmen were degraded to their first estate, and he was
no longer emperor, nor consul, nor general, nor even a citizen,
but an exile and a prisoner, on a lonely island, in the midst
of the wild Atlantic. Discontent attended him here. The
wayward man fretted out a few long years of his yet unbroken
manhood, looking off' at the earliest dawn and in evening's
latest twilight, toward that distant world that had only just
elmled his grasp. His heart corroded. ])eath came, not un-
louked for, though it came even then unwelcome. He was
stretched on his bed within the fort which con.'^tituled his
I)risoii. A lew last and faithful friends stood around, with the
guards who rejoiced that the hour of relief from long and



40 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.

wearisome watching:, was at hand. As his strength wasted
away, delirium stirred up the brain from its h)ng and inglori-
ous inactivity. The pageant of ambition returned. He was
again a lieutenant, a general, a consul, an emperor of France.
He filled again the throne of Charlemagne. His kindred
pressed around hitn, again invested with the pompous pa-
geantry of royalty. T!io dauirhter of the long line of kings
again stood proudly by his side, and the sunny face of liis
child shone out from beneath the diadem that encircled its
flowing locks. The marshals of Europe awaited his com-
mand. The legions of the old guard were in the field, their
scarred faces rejuvenated, and their ranks, thinned in many
battles, replenished. Russia, Prussia, Denmark and England,
gathered their mighty hosts to give him battle. Once more
he mounted his impatient charger, and rushed forth to con-
quest. He waved his sword aloft and cried " Tete d'armeic."
T!ie feverish vision broke — the mockery was ended. The
silver coi'd was loosened, and the warrior fell back upon his
bed a lifeless corpse. This was the end of earth. The

CORSICAN was not CONTENT.



XXIV.— WHO IS BLANNERHASSETT?

WILLIAM WIRT.

"Who is Blannerhassett ? A native of Ireland, a man of
letters, who fled from the storms of his own country to find
quiet in ours. His history shows that war is not the natural
element of his mind. If it had been, he never would have
exchanged Ireland for America. So far is an army from
furnishing the society natural and proper to Mr. Blannerhas-
sett's character, that on his arrival in Ameinca, he retired
even from the population of the Atlantic States, and sought,
quiet and solitude in the bosom of our western forests. But
he carried with him taste, and science, and wealth ; and lo,
the desert smiled ! Possessing himself of a beautiful island
in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with
every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery that
Shenstone might have envied, blooms around him. Music,
that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his.
An extensive library spreads its treasures belbre him. A



WHO IS BLANNERHASSETT? 41

philosophical apparatus ofiers to him all the secret mysteries
of nature. Peace, tranquillity, and innocence shed their
mingled delights around him. And to crown the enchant-
ment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lov'ely even be-
yond her sex, and graced Avith every accomplishment that
can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love and
made him the father of several children. The evidence
would convince you that this is but a faint picture of tho
real life. In the midst of all this peace, this innocent sim-
plicity, and this tranquillity, this feast of mind, this pure ban-
quet of the heart, the destroyer comes ; he comes to change
this paradise into a hell. Yet the flowers do not wither at
his approach. No monitory shuddering through the bosom
of their unfortunate possessor warns him of the ruin that is
coming upon him. A stranger presents himself. Introduced
to their civilities by the high rank which he had lately held
in his country, he soon finds his way into their hearts by the
dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the light and beauty
of his conversation, and the seductive and fascinating power
of his address. The conquest was not difficult. Innocence
is ever simple and credulous. Conscious of no design itself,
it suspects none in others. It wears no guard before its
breast. Every door and portal and every avenue of the
heart is open, and all who choose it enter. Such was the
state of Eden when the serpent entered its bowers. The
prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into the
open and unpractised heart of the unfortunate Blannerhas
sett, found but little difficulty in changing the native char-
acter of that heart and the object of its afl'ections. By de-
grees he infuses into it the poison of his own ambition. He
breathes into it the fire of his own courage ; a daring and
desperate thirst for glory ; an ardor panting for great enter-
prises, for all the storm and bu.stle and hurricane of life. In
a short time the whole man is changed, ami every ol ject of
his former delight is relinquished. No more he enjoys the
tranquil scene ; it has become flat and insipid to his taste.
His books are abandoned. His retort and crucible are thrown
aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upori
the air in vain ; he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks th&
rich melody of music ; it longs for the trumpet's clangor and
the cannon's roar. Even the pr.ittle of his babes, once so
sweet, no lon;r(.r affects him ; and the angel smile of his
Wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with an ecstacy so



42 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.

unspeakable, is now unseen and unfelt. Greater objeots
have taken possession of his soul. His iraagination has been
dazzled by visions of diadems, of stars and garters, and titles
of nobility. He has been taught to burn with restless emu-
lation at the names of great heroes and conquerors. His en-
chanted island is de-tined soon to relapse into a wilderness ;
and in a few months we find the peaceful and tender i)ar1ner
of his bosom, whom he lately " permitted not the winds of"
summer "to visit too roughly," we find her shivering at mid-
night on the winter banks of the Ohio and mingling her tears
with the torrents that froze as they fell. Yet this unfortu-
nate man, thus deluded from his interest and his happiness,
thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace, thus
confounded in the toils that were deliberately spread for him,
and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of an-
other — this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to pl^y
a subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and trea.son,
this man is to be called the principal offender, while he by
whom he M'as thus plunged in misery is comparatively inno-
cent, a mere accessory ! Is this reason ? Is it law ? Is it
humanity ? Sir, neither the human understanding will bear
a perversion so monstrous and absurd I so shocking to the
soul ! so revolting to reason ! Let Aaron Burr, then, not
siiriidf from the high destination which he has courted, and
having already ruined Blannerhassett in fortune, character,
and happiness forever, let him not attempt to finish the
tragedy by thrusting that ill-fated man between himself and
punishment.



XXV.— DOOM OF THE INDIANS.

JOKEPH .STORY.

There is, in the fate of these unfortunate beings, much to
awaken our sympathy, ainl much to disturb the sobriety of
our judgment ; much which may be urged to excuse their
own atrocities ; much in their characters, which betrays us
into an involuntary admiration. Wliat can be more melan-
choly than their history? By a law of their nature, tliey
seem destined to a slow, but sure extinction. Everywhere,
at the approach of the white man, they fade away. We hear



DOOM OF THE INDIANS. 43

the rustling of their footsteps, like that of the withered leaves
of autumn, and they are gone forever. They pass mounifully
by us, and tliey return no more. Two centuries ago, tlie
sinoke of their wigwams and tlie fires of tlieir councils rose
in every valley, iVom Hudson's Bay to the farthest Florida,
from the ocean to the Mississippi and the lakes. The shouts
of viclory and the war dance rang through the mountains and
the glades. The thick arrows and the deadly tomahawk
wiiistled through the forests ; and the hunter's trace and dark
enc;iin|)uu'nt startled the wild beasts in their lairs. The war-
riors stood forth ill their glory. The young listened to the
songs of other days. The mothers played with their infants,
ami gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the future. The
aired sat down ; but they wept not. They should soon be at
rest in fiirer regions, where the Great Spirit dwelt, in a home
prepared iov the brave, beyond the western skies. Braver
TUi'ii never lived ; truer men never drew the bow. They had
coui-age, and fortitude, and sagacity, and perseverance, be-
yond most of the human race. They shrank from no dangers,
and they feared no hardships. If they had the vices of savage
life, they had the virtues also. They were true to their coun-
try, their friends, and their homes. If they forgave not inju-
ry, neither did they forget kindness. If their vengeance was
terrible, their fidelity and srenerosity were uncoiupierable also.
Tlieir love, like their hate, stopped not on this side of the
grave.

But where are they ? Where are the villagers, and war-
riors, and youth ; the Sachems and their tribes ; the hunters
and their families ? They have perished. They are con-
Bumed. The wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty
work. No, — nor famine, nor war. There has been a mighty
power, a moral canlfer, which has eaten into their heart-
core.s — a plague, which the touch of the white man corn-
rniinicated — a poison, which betrayed them into a lingering
ruin. The winds of tlie Atlantic fan not a single region,
which they may now call their own. Ah'eady the last
f(\'l)le remnants of the race are preparing lor their journey
b:.'yond the Mississippi. I see them leave their miserable
homes, the aged, the helpless, the women, and the warriors,
" few and faint, yet fearless still." The ashes are cold on
their native hearths. The smoke no longer ^urls round their
Jowly cabins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step.
The white man is upon their heels, H)r terror, or despatch ;



44 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.

but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look of their
deserted villafres. They east a last glance upon the graves
ot" their fathers. They shed no tears ; they utter no cries ;
they heave no groans. There is something in their hearts
which passes speech. There is something in their looks, not of
vengeance or submission ; but of hard necessity, which stifles
both ; which chokes all utterance ; which has no aim or
method. It is courage absorbed in despair. They linger but
for a moment. Their look is onward. They have passed the
fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them, — no, never.
Yet there lies not between us and them an impassable gulf
They know and feel that there is for them still one remove
further, not distant, nor unseen. It is to the general burial-
ground of their race.



XXVI.— VIRGINIA.

H. E-EDI.VGEIl.

I KNOW that it is customary with those who lack the taste
lo select or the ability to handle a more becoming theme, lo
discharge their tiny artillery at Southern character and Sou-
thern institutions ; and especially does Virginia come in for a
full share of the pointless arrows of these gentlemen, whose
efforts constantly remind me of those very ambitious persons
whose names are to be seen, inscribed by their own hands, on
every edifice or monument of art, and who hope, by thus dis-
figuring or defiling it, they may render their own paltry me-
moirs as lasting as the building itself

Now, whether Virginia has deteriorated or not, whether her
palmiest days have passed by, and her energies are in tlie
" sere and yellow leaf;" whether her present sons are dwarfs,
in comparison with her elder born ; whether the sceptre of
intellect has departed from her, and in the race of glory and
of greatness she is no longer first ; whether the plucking of
Northern cupidity has drained her of her wealth, or her own
unbounded and unwise liberality exhausted her resources, I
M'ill not at present attempt to determine ; but this I will
boldly assert, and that without the fear of contradiction, that
in her regard for law and order — in her love of justice, asid
her strict obedience to all its dictates — in the careful observ-



MASSACHUSETTS. 45

ance of the rights and privilefjfes of all, manifested by her
citizens, in piety, morality, and subriety — and in her sacred
observance of the plij;hted'\vord of her government, the mo-
ther of States need tear no comparison with any of her prog-
eny, or with any of her sisters.

Massachusetts is a great State, Sir, — a very great State, in-
deed, is Massachusetts. She could not well be anything else,
eir, for she has Boston, and Banker Hill, and the Rock of
Plymouth I Tliere the Mayflower landed the Pilgrims ; and
there witches and Indians and (Quakers and Catholics, and
otiier such heretics, were in the brave days of old, burned,
literally, by the cord ! She is unquestionably, sir, a great
fc>late, and some of her Representatives on this floor seem to
know it ; and in the plenitude of their merciful hearts, they
pour out a deal of compassion and surplus pity upon poor old
Virginia I They not unfrequently raise their sanctified eyes
to Heaven, and thank the Lord they are not like that poor
publican I



XXVIL— MASSACHUSETTS.

J. G. PALFRKY.



When the gentleman, calling up affecting reminiscences
of the pa.st, appealed to us of Massachusetts to be faithful to
the obligations of patriotism, I rejieat, that 1 trust his lan-
guage li'll profitably as well as pleasantly on my ear. He has
reminiled us of our stern but constant ancestry. I hope wo
shall be true to tlieir great mission of Freedom and Right, and
all the more true lor having listened to his own impressive
exhortation. The gentleman remembers the declaration of
Hume, that " it was to the Puritans that the people of Eng-
liiiid owed its liberties." May their race never desert that
work, as long as any of it is left to do I Sir, as 1 come of a
morning 1o my duties here, I am apt to stop l)efore the picture
in your Rotundo, ol' the dej)arture irom Dellt Haven ot that
vef-sel, " freighted with the best hoj)es of the world," and re-
fresh myself by looking in the faces of four ancestors of n.y
own, dejiicted by the liimier in the grouj) on that dismal
deck — the brave and prudent leader of" the company, his head
and knee bowed in prayer; — his faithful partner, blending iij



46 THE BOOK OF ELOQUENCE.

her mild but care-worn countenance the expression of the
wife, the parent, the exile, and the saint ; — the younj; maiden
and the youth, going out to the wide sea and the wide world,
Lut already trained to masculine endurance and " perli^ct
peace" by the precious faith of Christ. Not more steadliist
than those forlorn wanderers wei'e the men, who in the tapes-
tried chambers of England's great sway, with stout sword
on thigh, and a stouter faith in the heart, and the ragged
flags of Cressy, and Agincourt, and the Armada above their
heads,

— " Sat with Bibles open, around the council board,
And answered a king's missive, with a stern
''I'hus saith the Lord.'"

Sir, the spirit of that stubborn race, if somewhat softened
by the change in manners and the lapse of time, is not yet
extinct in their children. The gentleman is welcome, for
me, to have very little respect for any who, in his language,
have " made capital" of one kind or another out of human
slavery. But I ask him, did the Roundhead ever flineh
when battle was to be done for freedom? Sir, I live in tlie
midst of his last bloody struggles for that cause. Humble as
I am I am honored to represent the men who till the
earliest battle- fields of American Independence. As I sit in my
door of a still summer evening, I hear the bells from Lexing-
ton Common. The shaft over the sacred ashes of Bunker
Hill rises within three miles of my windows ; I leave my
home, and in an hour I stand by the ruined abutments of
old Concord Bridge, and the green graves of the first two
British victims in the hecatombs of the Revolution. Repre-
senting, however feebly, such a people in lineage and in office
— warned by the lessons and the purest monuments of such a
history — is it for me to think of helping to extend the foul
cause of slavery over another foot of God's fair earth ? No,
â– ' here I stand, I can do no otherwise ; may God help me."
I boast no courage ; I fear I might turn out to be no better
than a fearful man ; but I do trust that every drop of thin
blood in these old veins of mine, would be freely given to stain
the scaflbld, or boil and bubble at the stake, before, by any
act of my doing, the slavery of my brother man should take
another Ibrward step on free American soil.



THE CONSTITUTION. 47

XXVIIL— THE CONSTITUTION.

DANIEL WEBSTER.

We can give up everything but our Constitution, "which is
the sun of our system. As tlie natural sun dispels logs, heats
the air, and vivifies and illumines the world, even so docs
the Constitution, in days ol" adversity and gloom, come out
lur our rescue and our enlightening. If the luminary which
now sheds its light upon us, and invigorates our sphere,
should sink forever in his ocean bed, clouds, cold, and perpet-
u.il death would environ us : and if we sufler our other sun,
llie Constitution, to be turned from us; if we neglect or disre-
gard its benefits ; if its beams disappear but once in the
West, anarchy and chaos will have come again, and we
shall grope out in darkness and despair the remainder of a
miserable existence. I confess that, when I think of the
Constitution, I feel a burning zeal which prompts me to pour
out my whole heart. What is the Constitution ? It is the
l)ond which binds together millions of brothers. What is its
history* who made it ? Monarchs, crowned heads, lords, or
emperors ? No, it was none of these. The Constitution of
tlie United States, the nearest approach of mortal to perfect
political wisdom, was the work of" men who purchased liberty
with their bloud, but who found that, without organization,
freedom was not a blessing. They formed it, and the people,
in their intelligence, adopted it. And what has been its his-
tory ? Has it trodden down any man's rights ? Has it cir-
cnmscribed the liberty of the press ? Has it stopped the
mouth of any man ? Has it held us up as objects of disgrace
abroad ? How much the reverse I It has given us charac-
It-r al)road ; and Avhen, with Washington at its head, it went
I'Tth to the world, this young country at once became the
TiKti^i interesting and imposing in the circle of civilized nation!?.
How is the Constitulionof the United States regarded abroad ?
Why, as the last hope of liberty among men I Wherevf'
you go, you find the United States held up as an example by