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the very air we breathe, while we perform these dutiful rights. Ye winds that wafted the Pilgrims to the land of promise, fan, in their children's hearts, the love of freedom! Blood which our fathers shed, cry from the ground; echoing arches of this renowned hall, whisper back the voices of other days; glorious Washington! beloved Lafayette! teach, oh teach us THE LOVE OF LIBERTY PROTECTED BY LAW! EDWARD EVERETT.

40. MAN MADE TO LABOR.

MAN is, by nature, an active being. He is made to labor. His whole organization, mental and physical, is that of a hardworking being. Of his mental powers we have no conception, but as certain capacities of intellectual action. His corporeal faculties are contrived for the same end, with astonishing variety of adaptation. Who can look only at the muscles of the hand, and doubt that man was made to work? who can be conscious of judgment, memory, and reflection, and doubt that man was made to act? He requires rest, but it is in order to invigorate him for new efforts: to recruit his exhausted powers; and, as if to show him, by the very nature of rest, that it is means, not end, that form of rest which is most essential and most grateful, sleep, is attended with the temporary suspension of the conscious and active powers,- —an image of death. Nature is so ordered, as both to require and encourage man to work. He is created with wants, which cannot be satisfied without labor. The plant springs up and grows on the spot where the seed was cast by accident. It is fed by the moisture which saturates the earth, or is held suspended in the air; and it brings with it a sufficient covering to protect its delicate internal structure. It toils not, neither doth it spin, for clothing or food. But man is so created, that let his wants be as simple as they will, he must labor to supply them. EDWARD EVERETT.

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BUT I am met with the objection, What good will the monument do? I beg leave, sir, to exercise my birthright as a Yankee, and answer this question by asking two or three more,—to

EDWARD EVERETT.

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which I believe it will be quite as difficult to furnish a satisfactory reply. I am asked, What good will the monument do? And I ask, What good does any thing do? What is good? Does any thing do any good? The persons who suggest this objection, of course, think that there are some projects and undertakings that do good; and I should therefore like to have the idea of good explained, and analyzed, and run out to its elements. When this is done, if I do not demonstrate, in about two minutes, that the monument does the same kind of good that any thing else does, I will consent that the huge blocks of granite, already laid, should be reduced to gravel, and carted off to fill up the mill-pond; for that I suppose is one of the good things. Does a railroad or a canal do good? Answer: Yes; and how? It facilitates intercourse, opens markets, and increases the wealth of the country. But what is this good for? Why, individuals prosper and get rich. And what good does that do? Is mere wealth, as an ultimate end; gold and silver, without an inquiry as to their use; are these a good? Certainly not. I should insult this audience by attempting to prove that a rich man, as such, is neither better nor happier than a poor one. But as men grow rich, they live better. Is there any good in this, stopping here? Is mere animal life, feeding, working, and sleeping like an ox, entitled to be called good? Certainly not. But these improvements increase the population. And what good does that do? Where is the good in counting twelve millions instead of six, of mere feeding, working, sleeping animals? There is then no good in the mere animal life, except that it is the physical basis of that higher moral existence which resides in the soul, the heart, the mind, the conscience; in good principles, good feelings, and the good actions (and the more disinterested, the more entitled to be called good), which flow from them. Now, sir, I say that generous and patriotic sentiments (sentiments which prepare us to serve our country, to live for our country, to die for our country), feelings like those which carried Prescott, and Warren, and Putnam to the battle-field, are good: good, humanly speaking, of the highest order. It is good to have them: good to encourage them: good to honor them: good to commemorate them; and whatever tends to cherish, animate, and strengthen such feelings, does as much right-down practical good as filling low grounds and building railroads.

EDWARD EVERETT.

42. ADAMS AND JEFFERSON.

No, fellow-citizens, we dismiss not Adams and Jefferson to the chambers of forgetfulness and death. What we admired, and prized, and venerated in them can never die, nor, dying, be forgotten. I had almost said that they are now beginning to live; to live that life of unimpaired influence, of unclouded fame, of unmingled happiness, for which their talents and services were destined. They were of the select few, the least portion of whose life dwells in their physical existence; whose hearts have watched while their senses slept; whose souls have grown up into a higher being; whose pleasure is to be useful; whose wealth is an unblemished reputation; who respire the breath of honorable fame; who have deliberately and consciously put what is called life to hazard, that they may live in the hearts of those who come after. Such men do not, cannot die. To be cold, and motionless, and breathless; to feel not and speak not; this is not the end of existence to the men who have breathed their spirits into the institutions of their country, who have stamped their characters on the pillars of the age, who have poured their hearts' blood into the channels of the public prosperity. Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon sacred height, is Warren dead? Can you not still see him, not pale and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honor, with the rose of heaven upon his cheek, and the fire of liberty in his eye? Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is Washington indeed shut up in that cold and narrow house? That which made these men, and men like these, cannot die. The hand that traced the charter of independence is indeed motionless, the eloquent lips that sustained it are hushed; but the lofty spirits that conceived, resolved, matured, maintained it, and which alone, to such men, "make it life to live," these cannot expire:

"These shall resist the empire of decay,

When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away :
Cold in the dust the perished heart may lie,

But that which warmed it once can never die."

EDWARD EVERETT.

WILLIAM WIRT.

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43. CIVIL WAR.

"Quæ regio in terris, nostri non plena laboris ?"

SIR, it was not in the moment of triumph, nor with the feelings of triumph, that Eneas uttered that exclamation. It was when, with his faithful Achates by his side, he was surveying the works of art with which the palace of Carthage was adorned, and his attention had been caught by a representation of the battles of Troy. There he saw the sons of Atreus, and Priam, and the fierce Achilles. The whole extent of his misfortunes, the loss and desolation of his friends, the fall of his beloved country, rushed upon his recollection.

"Constitit et lachrymans, quis jam locus, inquit, Achate,
Quæ regio in terris, nostri non plena laboris ?"

Sir, the passage may hereafter have a closer application to the cause than my eloquent and classical friend intended; for if the state of things which has already commenced is to go on; if the spirit of hostility which already exists in three of our states is to catch, by contagion, and spread among the rest, as, from the progress of the human passions, and the unavoidable conflict of interests, it will too surely do;-what are we to expect? Civil wars, arising from far inferior causes, have desolated some of the fairest provinces of the earth. History is full of the afflicting narratives of such wars; and it will continue to be her mournful office to record them, till "time shall be no longer." But, sir, if you do not interpose your friendly hand, and extirpate the seeds of anarchy which New York has sown, you will have civil war. The war of legislation which has already commenced will, according to its usual course, become a war of blows. Your country will be shaken with civil strife; your republican institutions will perish in the conflict; your constitution will fall: the last hope of nations will be gone. And what will be the effect upon the rest of the world? Look abroad at the scenes now passing on our globe, and judge of that effect. The friends of free government throughout the earth, who have been heretofore animated by our example, and have cheerfully cast their glance to it, as to their polar star, to guide them through the stormy seas of revolution, will witness our fall with dismay and despair. The arm that is everywhere lifted in the cause of liberty will drop unnerved by the warrior's side. Despotism will have its day of triumph, and will accomplish the purpose at which it too certainly aims. It will cover

the earth with the mantle of mourning. Then, sir, when New York shall look upon this scene of ruin, if she have the gener ous feelings which I believe her to have, it will not be with her head aloft, in the pride of conscious triumph, "her rapt soul sitting in her eyes.' No, sir; no! Dejected with shame and confusion, drooping under the weight of her sorrow, with a voice suffocated with despair, well may she then exclaim,—

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Quis jam locus,

Quæ regio in terris, nostri non plena laboris ?"

WILLIAM WIRT.

44. THE POOR INDIAN.

POOR INDIANS! Where are they now? Indeed, this is a truly afflicting consideration. The people here may say what they please, but, on the principles of eternal truth and justice, they have no right to this country. They say that they have bought it. Bought it? Yes:-of whom? Of the poor trembling natives, who knew that refusal would be vain; and who strove to make a merit of necessity, by seeming to yield with grace what they knew that they had not the power to retain. Poor wretches! No wonder that they are so implacably vindictive against the white people: no wonder that the rage of resentment is handed down from generation to generation: no wonder that they refuse to associate and mix permanently with their unjust and cruel invaders and exterminators: no wonder that, in the unabating spite and phrensy of conscious impotence, they wage an eternal war, as well as they are able; that they triumph in the rare opportunity of revenge; that they dance, sing, and rejoice, as the victim shrieks and faints amid the flames, when they imagine all the crimes of their oppressors collected on his head, and fancy the spirits of their injured forefathers hovering over the scene, smiling with ferocious delight at the grateful spectacle, and feasting on the precious odor as it arises from the burning blood of the white man.

Yet the people here affect to wonder that the Indians are so very unsusceptible of civilization; or, in other words, that they so obstinately refuse to adopt the manners of the white men. Go, Virginians, erase from the Indian nation the tradition of their wrongs: make them forget, if you can, that once this charming country was theirs; that over these fields and through these forests their beloved forefathers once, in careless

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