now, as it did to them. Short sighted mortals, see not the numerous links of small and great events, which form the chain, on which the fate of kings and nations is suspended. Ease and prosperity, have often sunk a people into effeminacy and sloth. Hardships and dangers, have frequently called forth such virtues, as have commanded the applause and reverence of an admiring world. Our country loudly calls you to be circumspect, vigilant, active, and brave. Perhaps, the power of Britain, a nation great in war, may by some malignant influence, be employed to enslave you. But let not even this discourage you. Her arms, it is true, have filled the world with terror; her troops have reaped the laurels of the field; her fleets have rode triumphant on the sea. And when or where did you, my countrymen, depart inglorious from the field of fight? You too, can shew the trophies of your forefather's victories, and your own; can name the fortresses and battles you have won; and many of you, count the honourable scars of wounds received, whilst fighting for your king and country. Where justice is the standard, Heaven is the 'warriour's shield; but conscious guilt unnerves the arm, that lifts the sword against the innocent. Britain, united with these colonies, by commerce and affection-by interest and blood, may mock the threats of France and Spain; may be the seat of universal empire. But should America, either by force, or those more dangerous engines, luxury and corruption, ever be brought into a stage of vassalage, Britain must lose her freedom also. No longer shall she sit the empress of the sea; her ships no more shall waft her thunders over the wide ocean; the wreath shall wither on her temples; her weakened arm shall be unable to defend her coasts; and she at last must bow her venerable head to some proud foreigner's despotic rule. But if from past events, we may venture to form a judgment of the future, we may justly expect that the devices of our enemies will but increase the triumphs of our country. I must indulge a hope that Britain's liberty as well as ours, will eventually be preserved by the virtue of America. The attempt of the British parliament to raise a revenue from America, and our denial of their right to do it, have excited almost universal inquiry into the rights of mankind in general, and of British subjects in particular; the necessary result of which must be such a liberality of sentiments, and such a jealousy of those in power, as will better than an adamantine wall, secure us against the future approaches of despotism. The malice of the Boston Port Bill, has been defeated in a very considerable degree, by giving you an opportunity of deserving, and our brethren in this and our sister colonies an opportunity of bestowing those benefactions, which have delighted your friends and astonished your enemies, not only in America, but in Europe also. And what is more valuable still, the sympathetick feelings for a brother in distress, and the grateful emotions excited in the breast of him, who finds relief, must forever endear each to the other, and form those indissoluble bonds of friendship and affection, on which the preservation of our rights so evidently depend. The mutilation of our charter, has made every other colony jealous for its own, for this, if once submitted to by us, would set on float the property and government of every British settlement upon the continent. If charters are not deemed sacred, how miserably precarious is every thing founded upon them. Even the sending troops to put these acts in execution, is not without advantages to us. The exactness and beauty of their discipline, inspire our youth with ardour in the pursuit of military knowledge. Charles the Invincible, taught Peter the Great, the art of war. The battle of Pultowa convinced Charles of the proficiency Peter had made. Our country is in danger, but not to be despaired of. Our enemies are numerous and powerful-but we have many friends, determined to be free, and Heaven and earth will aid the resolution. On you depend the fortunes of America. You are to decide the important question, on which rest the happiness and liberty of millions yet unborn. Act worthy of yourselves. The faltering tongue of hoary age, calls on you to support your country. The lisping infant raises its suppliant hands, imploring defence against the monster Slavery. Your fathers look from their celestial seats, with smiling approbation, on their sons, who boldly stand forth in the cause of virtue; but sternly frown upon the inhuman miscreant, who, to secure the loaves and fishes to himself, would breed a serpent to destroy his children. LESSON XXVI. Speech of Patrick Henry before the Virginia Convention of Delegates, March, 1775. ཾ སྐ ཟ MR. PRESIDENT, It is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth-and listen to the song of that syren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is it the part of wise men engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things, which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, and to provide for it. I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future, but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know, what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes, with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the house. Is it that insidious smile, with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, Sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition, comports with those warlike preparations, which cover our waters and darken our land? Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in, to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, Sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation-the last arguments, to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, Sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other motive for it? Has Great Britain any other enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, Sir she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains, which the British ministers have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years, Have we any thing new to offer on the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find, which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, Sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done every thing, that could be done, to avert the storm, which is now coming on. We have petitioned we have remonstrated-we have supplicated-we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free-if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges, for which we have been so long contending-if we mean not basely to abandon 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 us! They tell us, Sir, that we are weak-unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? 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. sides, Sir, we shall not fight 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. Be The battle, Sir, 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 and 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 in 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 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, Heaven!-I know not what course others may take; but as for me-give me liberty, or give me death. LESSON XXVII. The Indian Hunter's Return.-BOSTON M. MAGAZINE. THE gentle shadows of an autumn night But the sweet tide of melody and song, Wake with each leaf that shivers in the blast. The foamy torrent, hurrying wildly by, |