Part 18

4. We are strong then, gentlemen, first by the spirit of God which speaks in us, but also in the human mind which, when it comes coolly to examine our history, our dogmas, our morality, is obliged to agree that nothing is more firmly established.

5. Nevertheless, this was not enough. History only addresses itself to those who have studied it; ideas enlighten only those who can compare them, civilization is only appreciable to civilized men.

6. The Church needed a yet more human, that is to say, a more general source of persuasion. God gave to his Church charity. There was no heart into which the Church could not penetrate by charity; for misfortune is the monarch of this lower world, and sooner or later every heart is touched by his scepter. Men may resist grace and reason, but who shall resist charity? Why hate those who do good? why kill those who give their life? Henceforth the Church might advance with confidence to subdue the universe, for there are tears everywhere in the world, and they are so natural to us that, even if there were no cause for them, they would flow without cause, the simple charm of that indefinable sadness of which our soul is the deep and mysterious well.

7. Metaphysics[616] and history are the pillars of truth; but these pillars are hidden in the foundations of the temple, they are only sought for by the light of flambeaux[617] and by distinguished men.

8. A humble priest, a curé of a country village, never enters with the sciences into the cottage of the poor. He goes there with charity. He finds there a heart suffering, and consequently open: and the poor man seeing the priest coming to him full of respect for his misery, and of feeling for his trouble, easily recognizes truth in the garb of love.

[616] MET-A-PHYSˊ-ICS, a science which embraces all those inquiries which relate to other than physical objects.

[617] FLAMˊ-BEAUX, (flam-bo), lighted torches.

XCV.—UNION AND LIBERTY.

O. W. HOLMES.

1. Flag of the heroes who left us their glory, Borne through our battle-field’s thunder and flame, Blazoned in song and illumined in story, Wave o’er us all who inherit their fame! Up with our banner bright, Sprinkled with starry light, Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore; While through the sounding sky, Loud rings the nation’s cry,— Union and Liberty!—one evermore!

2. Light of our firmament, guide of our nation, Pride of her children, and honored afar, Let the wide beams of thy full constellation Scatter each cloud that would darken a star!

3. Empire unsceptered! what foe shall assail thee, Bearing the standard of Liberty’s van? Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee, Striving with men for the birthright of man!

4. Yet, if by madness and treachery blighted, Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must draw, Then, with the arms of thy millions united, Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law!

5. Lord of the universe! shield us and guide us, Trusting Thee always, through shadow and sun! Thou hast united us, who shall divide us? Keep us, oh keep us, the Many in One! Up with our banner bright, Sprinkled with starry light, Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore; While through the sounding sky, Loud rings the nation’s cry,— Union and Liberty!—one evermore!

XCVI.—GEORGE WASHINGTON.

DWIGHT.

1. To Americans the name of Washington will be ever dear; a savor of sweet incense, descending to every succeeding generation. The things which he has done are too great, too interesting, ever to be forgotten. Every object which we see, every employment in which we are engaged, every comfort which we enjoy, reminds us daily of his character. The general peace, liberty, religion, safety, and prosperity, strongly impress, in every place, what he has done, suffered, and achieved.

2. When a legislature assembles to enact laws; when courts meet to distribute justice; when congregations gather to worship God; they naturally and almost necessarily say, “To Washington it is owing, under God, that we are here.” The farmer pursuing his plow in peace, the mechanic following the business of his shop in safety, ascribes the privilege to Washington. The house which, uninvaded, shelters from the storm, the cheerful fireside surrounded by our little ones, the table spread in quiet with the bounties of Providence, the bed on which we repose in undisturbed security, utters, in silent but expressive language, the memory, and the praise, of Washington.

3. Every ship bears the fruits of his labors on its wings, and exultingly spreads its streamers to his honor. The student meets him in the still and peaceful walk; the traveler sees him in all the prosperous and smiling scenes of his journey; and our whole country, in her thrift, order, safety and morals, bears, inscribed in sunbeams, throughout her hills and her plains, the name and the glory of Washington.

4. From a subject so singular, and so edifying, it is not easy to fail of gaining useful practical instruction. Particularly, the inestimable benefits which we have derived from the efforts of this great man, cannot but prompt every ingenuous mind to remember, with unceasing gratitude, the goodness of God, in bestowing upon us such a blessing; God, who formed and furnished him for labors so useful, and for a life so glorious.

5. By him are our rulers, at the present and at every future period, taught how to rule. The same conduct will ever produce substantially the same effects, the same public well-being, the same glory, the same veneration. To be wise and good; to forget or restrain the dictates of passion, and obey those of duty; to seek singly the public welfare, and lose in it personal gratification; to resist calmly and firmly the passions, and pursue only the interests, of a nation, is the greatest secret of ruling well.

6. When these things are exhibited in the strong light of example, and crowned with success and honor, they are taught in a manner beyond measure more impressive than can be found in rules and arguments. Here they are already tried, and proved. Here they are seen surrounded by all their delightful attendants, and followed by all their happy consequences. The conviction produced is complete, the impression supreme. From this great example all rulers may learn wisdom, and our rulers more than others.

7. The youths, also, of our country, who wish to become great, useful and honorable, will here find the best directions, and the most powerful incitements. To be great, useful, and honorable, they must resemble him. The very actions which he performed, they may indeed not be called to perform; the sufferings which he underwent, they may not be obliged to undergo; but the attributes which he possessed and displayed, must, in a good degree, be possessed and displayed by them also.

8. Let them particularly remember, that greatness is not the result of mere chance or genius; that it is not the fact of brilliancy, nor the desperate sally of ambition; that it is, on the contrary, the combined result of strong mental endowments, vigorous cultivation, honorable design, and wise direction. It is not the glare of the meteor; glittering, dazzling, consuming, and vanishing; but the steady and exalted splendor of the sun; a splendor which, while it shines with prëeminent brightness, warms also, enlivens, adorns, improves, and perfects the objects on which it shines: glorious indeed by its lustre, but still more glorious in the useful effects produced by its power.

9. Of this great truth the transcendent example before us is a most dignified exhibition. Let them imitate, therefore, the incessant attention, the exact observation, the unwearied industry, the scrupulous regard to advice, the slowness of decision, the cautious prudence, the nice punctuality, the strict propriety, the independence of thought and feeling, the unwavering firmness, the unbiassed impartiality, the steady moderation, the exact justice, the unveering[618] truth, the universal humanity, and the high veneration for religion and for God, always manifested by this great man. Thus will future Washingtons arise to bless our happy country.

[618] UN-VEERˊ-ING, unchanging, fixed.

XCVII.—CONDUCT OF LA FAYETTE IN THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

J. Q. ADAMS.

1. The war of American Independence is closed. The people of the North American confederation are in union, sovereign and independent. La Fayette, at twenty-five years of age, had lived the life of a patriarch, and illustrated the career of a hero. Had his days upon earth been then numbered, and had he then slept with his fathers, illustrious as for centuries their names had been, his name, to the end of time, would have transcended them all.

2. Fortunate youth! fortunate beyond even the measure of his companions in arms with whom he had achieved the glorious consummation of American Independence. His fame was all his own; not cheaply earned; not ignobly won. His fellow-soldiers had been the champions and defenders of their country. They reaped for themselves, for their wives, their children, their posterity to the latest time, the rewards of their dangers and their toils. La Fayette had watched, and labored, and fought, and bled, not for himself, not for his family, not, in the first instance, even for his country.

3. In the legendary tales of chivalry we read of tournaments at which a foreign and unknown knight suddenly presents himself, armed in complete steel, and, with the visor down, enters the ring to contend with the assembled flowers of knighthood for the prize of honor, to be awarded by the hand of beauty; bears it in triumph away, and disappears from the astonished multitude of competitors and spectators of the feats of arms.

4. But where in the rolls of history, where in the fictions of romance, where, but in the life of La Fayette, has been seen the noble stranger, flying, with the tribute of his name, his rank, his affluence, his ease, his domestic bliss, his treasure, his blood, to the relief of a suffering and distant land, in the hour of her deepest calamity—baring his bosom to her foes; and not at the transient[619] pageantry[620] of a tournament,[621] but for a succession of five years sharing all the vicissitudes[622] of her fortunes; always eager to appear at the post of danger—tempering the glow of youthful ardor with the cold caution of a veteran commander; bold and daring in action; prompt in execution; rapid in pursuit; fertile in expedients; unattainable in retreat; often exposed, but never surprised, never disconcerted; eluding his enemy, when within his fancied grasp; bearing upon him with irresistible sway when of force to cope with him in the conflict of arms? And what is this but the diary of La Fayette, from the day of his rallying the scattered fugitives of the Brandywine, insensible of the blood flowing from his wound, to the storming of the redoubt[623] at Yorktown.

[619] TRANˊ-SIENT, passing, not permanent.

[620] PAGˊ-EANT-RY, pomp, show.

[621] TOURˊ-NA-MENT, a mock fight.

[622] VI-CISˊ-SI-TUDE, alteration, change.

[623] RE-DOUBTˊ, an outwork within another outwork in a fortified place.

XCVIII.—PAUL REVERE’S RIDE.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

1. Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five: Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year.

2. He said to his friend: “If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North-Church tower, as a signal-light,— One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country-folk to be up and to arm?”

3. Then he said good-night, and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay The Somerset, British man-of-war: A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge, black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide.

4. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches with eager ears, Till, in the silence around him, he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers Marching down to their boats on the shore.

5. Then he climbed to the tower of the church, Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the somber rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade,— Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen, and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all.

6. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead In their night encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, “All is well!” A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy substance far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay,— A line of black, that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

7. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse’s side, Now gazed on the landscape far and near, Then impetuous stamped the earth, And turned and tightened the saddle-girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry tower of the old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and somber and still.

8. And lo! as he looks on the belfry’s height, A glimmer, and then a gleam, of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns!

9. A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

10. It was twelve by the village clock, When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmers dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down.

11. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon.

12. It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball.

13. You know the rest. In the books you have read How the British regulars fired and fled,— How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load.

XCIX.—SIR THOMAS MOORE.

HENRY GILES.

Henry Giles, a distinguished author and lecturer, was born in Ireland.

1. A just man is always simple. He is a man of direct aims and purposes; there is no complexity in his motives, and, thence, there is no jarring or discordancy in his character. He wishes to do right, and in most cases he does it; he may err, but in most cases it is by mistake of judgment, and not by perversity of intention. The moment his judgment is enlighted, his action is corrected. Setting before himself always a clear and worthy end, he will never pursue it by any concealed or unworthy means.

2. We may carry our remarks, for illustration, both into private and into public life. Observe such a man in his home, there is a charm about him, which no artificial grace has ever had the power to bestow; there is a sweetness, I had almost said, a music, in his manners, which no sentimental refinement has ever given. His speech, ever fresh from purity and rectitude of thought, controls all that are within its hearing, with an unfelt, yet a resistless sway. Faithful to every domestic trust, as to his religion and his God, he would no more prove recreant to any loyalty of home, than he would blaspheme the Maker in whom he believes, or than he would forswear the heaven in which he hopes.

3. Fidelity and truth to those bound by love and nature to his heart, are to him most sacred principles; they throb in the last recesses of his moral being, they are embedded in the life of his life; and to violate them, or even think of violating them, would seem to him as a spiritual extermination, the suicide of his soul. Nor is such a man unrewarded, for the goodness he so largely gives is largely paid back to him again; and though the current of his life is transparent, it is not shallow; on the contrary, it is deep and strong. The river that fills its channel glides smoothly along in the power of its course; it is the stream which scarcely covers the ruggedness of its bed, that is turbulent and noisy.

4. With all this gentleness, there is exceeding force; with all this meekness, there is imperative command; but the force is the force of wisdom, and the command is the command of love. And, yet, the authority which rules so effectually, never gathers an angry or an irritable cloud over the brow of the ruler; and this sway, which admits of no resistance, does not oppress one honest impulse of nature, one movement of the soul’s high freedom, one bound of joy from the heart’s unbidden gladness, in the spirit of the governed.

5. Take this character into public life. Place him before the people as the candidate for their legislative suffrages; he is there for no selfish ambition, and, willing to be most loyal to his country, he will be no traitor to his conscience. Place him in the legislative assembly to which these willing suffrages send him, he maintains inviolate the trust given to him; with a brave eloquence he maintains the rights of the citizens: with a grave dignity he maintains the privileges of the senator. Place him in the council of the executive magistrate, and no favor can win him, and no danger appall; indifferent to office and fearless of power, he will assert the highest right, and he will stand by it, whatever be the cost.

6. Place him on the bench of justice, no prejudice can approach him, no passion can move him. Nothing can ruffle the august placidity of his soul, except it be the stirrings of a gracious pity. Unmoved he sits, while all around him heaves; he listens not to popular clamor, he cares not for the scowl of power; and, while he is guardian, no corruption shall sully the fountain of justice, and no obstruction shall impede its stream. Place him in the presence of a tyrant; call upon him for his opinion, let life or death hang on the result, he will not speak rashly, but he will not speak falsely.

7. Let the tyrant cajole and fondle, it avails not; let the tyrant rail and threaten, it is still as vain; let wife entreat, let children hang upon his neck, let friends beseech, let multitudes implore, he meets affection with affection; he weeps while others weep; but, fixed as the rock in the ocean, the tempest may crash about his head, and the waves strike against his breast, his foundation based unchangeably on the centre of eternal right, his head majestically erect, gloriously lifted up to heaven, bends not before the shock, and his breast receives the tempest only to shiver it.

8. Place him in the dungeon: shut him in from the fair earth and the open sky; wrench him from the delights of home; let him be loaded with years; let him be enfeebled by sickness; let him be wearied with confinement; let life hang by the finest thread that ever held a spirit from its God,—the unwavering faith of a true man upholds him, and his hope remains undimmed, and his peace remains unbroken.

9. Call him from the dungeon to his doom, he goes rejoicing to the scaffold; he looks cheerfully on the ax; he faces death almost with gayety; he forgives his enemies; he pities his destroyers; he wishes good to all men; he gives a moment to silent prayer; he meekly lays his head upon the block;—then, there is the echo of a blow that sends a soul to heaven. This character is not imaginary; it is real, it is practicable. The original is Sir Thomas Moore, of England.

C.—THE BATTLE FIELD.

BRYANT.

1. Once this soft turf, this rivulet’s sands, Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, And fiery hearts and arméd hands Encountered in the battle-cloud.

2. Ah, never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave,— Gushed, warm with hope and valor yet, Upon the soil they fought to save.

3. Now all is calm, and fresh, and still; Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talk of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine,[624] are heard.

4. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;[625] Men start not at the battle-cry;— O, be it never heard again!

5. Soon rested those who fought; but thou, Who minglest in the harder strife For truths which men receive not now,— Thy warfare only ends with life.

6. A friendless warfare! lingering long Through weary day and weary year; A wild and many-weaponed throng Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.

7. Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, And blench not at thy chosen lot! The timid good may stand aloof, The sage may frown—yet faint thou not!

8. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn, For with thy side shall dwell at last The victory of endurance born.

9. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshipers.

10. Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, When those who helped thee flee in fear,— Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here.

11. Another hand thy sword shall wield,[626] Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet’s mouth is pealed[627] The blast of triumph o’er thy grave!

[624] KINE, cows.

[625] WAIN, a wagon.

[626] WIELD, use with the hand; handle.

[627] PEALˊ-ED, rung; resounded; sounded loudly.

CI.—THE RELIGION OF CATHOLICS.