tion, as known among European States, are inadequate modes of expression by which to denote the dominion of the Turks. A conquest, in the civilised world, is generally no more than an acquisition of a new dominion to the conquering country. It does not imply a never-ending bondage imposed upon the conquered, a perpetual mark, and opprobrious distinction between them and their masters; a bitter and unending persecution of their religion; an habitual violation of their rights of person and property, and the unrestrained indulgence towards them, of every passion which belongs to the character of a barbarous soldiery. Yet such is the state of Greece. The Ottoman power over them, obtained originally by the sword, is constantly preserved by the same means. Wherever it exists, it is a mere military power. The religious and civil code of the State, being both fixed in the Alcoran, and equally the object of an ignorant and furious faith, have been found equally incapable of change. "The Turk," it has been said, "has been encamped in Europe for four centuries." He has hardly any more participation in European manners, knowledge, and arts, than when he crossed the Bosphorus. But this is not the worst of it. The power of the empire is fallen into anarchy, and as the principle which belongs to the head belongs also to the parts, there are as many despots as there are pachas, beys, and visiers. Wars are almost perpetual between the sultan and some rebellious governor of a province; and in the conflict of these despotisms, the people are necessarily ground between the upper and the nether millstone. In short, the Christian subjects of the Sublime Porte, feel daily all the miseries which flow from despotism, from anarchy, from slavery, and from religious persecution. If anything yet remains to heighten such a picture, let it be added, that every office in the Government is not only actually, but professedly venal ;-the pachalics, the visierites, the cadiships, and whatsoever other denomination may denote the depositary of power. In the whole world, sir, there is no such oppression felt, as by the Christian Greeks.

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In various parts of India, to be sure, the government is bad enough; but then it is the government of barbarians over barbarians, and the feeling of oppression is, of course, not so keen. There the oppressed are perhaps not better than their oppressors; but in the case of Greece, there are millions of Christian men, not without knowledge, not without refinement, not without a strong thirst for all the pleasures of civilised life, trampled into the very earth, century after century, by a pillaging, savage, relentless soldiery. Sir, the case is unique. There exists, and has existed, nothing like it. The world has no such misery to show; there is no case in which Christian communities can be called upon, with such emphasis of appeal.'

Whoever reads the speech carefully, will find that it contains a full avowal of Mr. Webster's opinions on our duties as a great republic, in all those important questions which are now agitating the world. His leading maxims are,-Watch all the movements of nations; examine their conduct with impartiality and justice; speak of them with candor, but with freedom, and prepare to act with magnanimity and good faith.

From the halls of Congress, Mr. Webster passes with ease and dignity to any place or cause, when man is to be roused, enlightened, or directed and pleased. As our country increases in age and population, every circumstance of our history becomes more a matter of importance to us, and will be more regarded as we journey onward in the career of national distinction.

The battle of Bunker Hill was, from the day it was fought, a fond theme for our people to dwell upon. It was the first fair test of national bravery in the revolu

tionary contest; the first regular battle in which Britons and the sons of Britons met. It was strongly marked with true national characteristics, and was the most distinguished of our battles. A half century was now closing on the nation since that memorable period. The day could not pass unnoticed by those who valued their birth-rights. The people of New-England had, a short time before, formed a society, to be called The Bunker Hill Association, for the purpose of rearing some honorable and durable monument to the memory of the early friends of American Independence.' The close of the fiftieth year was fixed upon to lay the corner-stone of this monument. Mr. Webster was selected as the orator on this occasion by the directors of the Association; in fact, it was not their selection alone, for the eyes of the whole people were turned upon him as the man who was to speak to them of bygone times, long before the directors had met to name him. Great preparations were made for the purpose of commemorating the event, and of beginning the monument, and the whole community, far and wide, were invited to attend. The day previous, the metropolis of New-England was crowded to overflowing. The morning sun of the 17th of June, 1825, rose as lovely as on the day of his birth. The survivors of the battle of the 17th of June, 1775, were invited by the Legislature of Massachusetts, to attend the ceremonies at the expense of the Commonwealth. About fifty of them were found among the living, able to

come; these, with other revolutionary heroes, made part of the wonders of the day. The days of their deeds and their marchings had passed; and they were borne to the field in open carriages, as at an ovation in triumphal cars. These cars were driven not by professional whips, but by young gentlemen who volunteered their services for that honor. The effect was scenic. These hoary-headed warriors seemed glorified spectres from some field of battle, over which flowers had grown, and harvests had been reaped, until the memory of blood had been forgotten, and who had come up to say, 'We have been sufficiently avenged; let harmony and peace prevail among men.'

One mass of people filled the streets in regular procession for nearly two miles in extent. As they passed, the houses were crowded with spectators. Every resting-place, window, and battlement, were full of youth and beauty, looking on; delighted infancy inquired what it all meant; and the lack-lustre eye of age was lighted up with new fires for that hour's gaze. In this procession, which was made up of the valuable portion of the land,—the virtuous, the conspicuous, and the renowned, was Lafayette, then the nation's guest; he, too, had come to join in the patriotic commemoration,—in the jubilee of liberty. The cornerstone now laid, the people being seated in the amphitheatre which nature had prepared for them, and to which art had only added a few benches; after a slight bustling for seats, all was still; when a venerable

form arose to implore the blessings of Heaven on the day, the deed, and the orator. He, too, seemed to have come from the dead. He was a being of another age, at least. He had the snow of nearly fourscore winters upon his head; his voice, though changed, was not broken by age; he was heard and accompanied by thousands in his devotions. There is something indescribably venerable in a holy man, who has long officiated at the altar of the Most High. There was a divine glow in that age-stricken face that showed, that the moral as well as national grandeur of the scene was in his mind; and as he closed his prayer with all honor and glory to God, his countenance unequivocally spoke the language of Simeon of old, Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.'

The speaker next was seen; all eyes were turned upon him, and breathless attention was the signal for his first accent. History has no parallel for this

scene.

'In the open air, exposed to sun and winds, stood an orator ripe with the thoughts of manhood, before all the impressions and the glow of early days had gone; myriads of listeners were around him; heroes were clustering near him, among them the representatives of other hemispheres; holy men, who were just entering eternity, were ready to implore a blessing, and depart; the bones of friends and enemies were shaking in their graves beneath the feet of new and old generations, and passing time was announcing that half a century had

*The Rev. Joseph Thaxter, of Edgarton.