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and armies are marching, and commanders are winning their victories, and fleets are in motion on our coast,—tell me, if you can, tell me if any human being can tell, its duration? God alone knows where such a war will end. In what state will be left our institutions? In what state our liberties? I want no war: above all, no war at home.

Sir, I repeat, that I think South Carolina has been rash, intemperate, and greatly in the wrong; but I do not want to disgrace her, nor any other member of this Union. No; I do not desire to see the lustre of one single star dimmed of that glorious confederacy which constitutes our political sun; still less do I wish to see it blotted out, and its light obliterated forever. Has not the State of South Carolina been one of the members of this Union in days that tried men's souls?' Have not her ancestors fought by the side of our ancestors ? Have we not conjointly won many a glorious battle?

If we had to go into a civil war with such a State, how would it terminate? Whenever it should have terminated, what would be her condition? If she should ever return to the Union, what would be the condition of her feelings and affections,—what the state of the heart of her people? She has been with us before, when our ancestors mingled in the throng of battle; and, as I hope, our prosperity will mingle with hers for ages and centuries to come, in the united defence of liberty; and for the honour and glory of the Union, I do not wish to see her degraded, or defaced, as a member of this confederacy.

In conclusion, allow me to entreat and implore each individual member of this body to bring into the consideration of this measure, which I have had the honour of proposing, the same love of country which, if I know myself, has actuated me; and the same desire for restoring harmony to the Union, which has prompted this effort. If we can forget for a moment,—but that would be asking too much of human nature,--if we could suffer, for one moment, party feeling and party causes, and, as I stand here before my God, I declare I have looked beyond those considerations, and regarded only the vast interests of this united people, I should hope that, under such feelings and with such dispositions, we may advantageously proceed to the consideration of this bill, and heal, before they are yet bleeding, the wounds of our distracted country.


LIN.—John Quincy Adams. From Mr. Adams' speech on the reception, by Congress, of the bat

tle sword of Washington, and the staff of Franklin.

(See remarks on previous examples of eulogy.] In presenting the resolution which I am now to offer, it may, perhaps, be expected that I should accompany it with some suitable remarks; and yet, sir, I never arose to address this House under a deeper conviction of the want of words to express the emotions that I feel. It is precisely because occasions like this are adapted to produce universal sympathy, that little can be said by any one, but what, in the language of the heart, in tones not loud but deep, every one present has silently said to himself.

My respected friend from Virginia, by whom this offering of patriotic sentiment has been presented to the representative assembly of the nation, has, it seems to me, already said all that can be said suitable to this occasion. In parting from him, as, after a few short days, we must all do, it will, on my part, be sorrowing that, in all probability, I shall see his face, and hear his voice, no more.

But his words of this day are planted in my memory, and will there remain till the last pulsation of my heart.

The sword of Washington! The staff of Franklin! Oh! sir, what associations are linked in adamant with these names! Washington, whose sword, as my friend has said, was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and never sheathed when wielded in his country's cause! Franklin, the philosopher of the thunderbolt, the printing-press, and the plough-share !—What names are these in the scanty catalogue of the benefactors of human kind!

Washington and Franklin! What other two men, whose lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christendom, have left a deeper impression of themselves upon the age in which they lived, and upon all after time ?

Washington, the warrior and the legislator! In war, contending, by the wager of battle, for the independence of his country, and for the freedom of the human race; ever manifesting, amidst its horrors, by precept and by example, his reverence for the laws of peace, and for the tenderest sympathies of humanity; in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit of discord, among his own countrymen, into harmony and union; and giving to that very sword, now presented to

his country, a charm more potent than that attributed, in ancient times, to the lyre of Orpheus.

FRANKLIN !—The mechanic of his own fortune ; teaching, in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to wealth, and, in the shade of obscurity, the path to greatness; in the maturity of manhood, disarming the thunder of its terrors, the lightning of its fatal blast; and wresting from the tyrant's hand the still more afflictive sceptre of oppression: while descending into the vale of years, traversing the Atlantic ocean, braving, in the dead of winter, the battle and the breeze, bearing in his hand the charter of Independence, which he had contributed to form, and tendering, from the self-created nation to the mightiest monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the mercurial wand of commerce, and the amulet of protection and safety to the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable cruelty and merciless rapacity of war. And, finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore win

his head, under the torture of an incurable disease, returning to his native land, closing his days as the chief magistrate of his adopted commonwealth, after contributing by his counsels, under the presidency of Washington, and recording his name, under the sanction of devout prayer, invoked by him to God, to that Constitution under the authority of which we are here assembled, as the representatives of the North American people, to receive, in their name and for them, these venerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good founders of our great confederated republic,—these sacred symbols of our golden age. May they be deposited among the archives of our government! and every American who shall hereafter behold them, ejaculate a mingled offering of praise to that Supreme Ruler of the Universe, by whose tender mercies our Union has been hitherto preserved, through all the vicissitudes and revolutions of this turbulent world, and of prayer for the continuance of these blessings, by the dispensations of Providence, to our beloved country, from age to age, till time shall be no more!

ters upon


Shakspeare. Scene from Henry IV. Part I.-Speakers,-King Henry, Prince

Henry, Worcester; other lords attending. Scene,--the king's

camp, near Shrewsbury. [See remarks introductory to previous examples of dramatic dia

K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon dusky hill! The day looks pale
At his distemperature.
P. Hen.

The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes,
And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves,
Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day.

K. Hen. Then, with the losers let it sympathize;
For nothing can seem foul to those that win.

[Enter Worcester.]
How now, my lord of Worcester ? 't is not well
That you and I should meet upon such terms
As now we meet. You have deceived our trust,
And made us doff our easy robes of peace,
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel.
That is not well, my lord : this is not well.
What say you to 't? Will you again unknit
This churlish knot of all abhorred war,
And move in that obedient orb, again,
Where you did give a fair and natural light;
And be no more an exhaled meteor,
A prodigy of fear, and a portent
Of broached mischief to the unborn times !

Wor. Hear me, my liege.
For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the lag-end of my

With quiet hours; for, I do protest,
I have not sought the day of this dislike.

K. Hen. You have not sought for it! How comes it, then?

Wor. It pleased your majesty, to turn your looks
Of favour from myself, and all our house ;
And yet, I must remember you, my lord,
We were the first and dearest of


For you, my staff of office did I break,
In Richard's time, and posted, day and night,
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,

When yet you were, in place and in account,
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
It was myself, my brother, and his son,
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare
The dangers of the time. You swore to us,-

did swear that oath at Doncaster,
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state,
Nor claim no farther than your new-fallen right,
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:
To this we swore our aid. But, in short space,
It rained down fortune, showering on your head ;
And such a flood of greatness fell on you,-
What with our help,—what with the absent king,
What with the injuries of a wanton time,
The seeming sufferances that you had borne,
And the contrarious winds that held the king
So long in his unlucky Irish wars,
That all in England did repute him dead,
And, from this swarm of fair advantages,
You took occasion to be quickly wooed
To gripe the general sway into your hand, -
Forgot your oath to us, at Doncaster;
And, being fed by us, you used us so
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,
Useth the sparrow,--did oppress our nest,
Grew, by our feeding to so great a bulk,
That even our love durst not come near your sigh:,
For fear of swallowing, but, with nimble wing
We were enforced, for safety's sake, to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present head;
Whereby we stand oppressed by such means
As you yourself have forged against yourself,
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,
And violation of all faith and troth,
Sworn to us, in your younger enterprise.

K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articulated,
Proclaimed at market crosses, read in churches,
To face the garment of rebellion
With some fine colour, that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents,

and rub the elbow, at the news of hurly-burly innovation ; And never yet did insurrection want Such water colours, to impaint his cause,

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