those hundred years, and by the experience of every such nation, republican democracy, means permanency, not revolution; wise conservatism, not destruction; and that all other institutions are as unstable as water in comparison.

I believe that to-day this American "experiment" is the most ancient system in Christendom. Not a constitution in Europe but exists by grace of a revolution of far later date than the framing of our constitution, which stands now, immortal monument to the wisdom of its founders, almost unchanged from its pristine shape and substance. If the stable British monarchy seems to you an exception, reflect upon the silent revolution which in that time has annulled the power of the crown, and almost subverted its influence; remember the suppression of the Irish Parliament, the removal of the Catholic disabilities which for a century and a half had been a foundation stone of the constitution; remember the Reform Bill which prostrated the power of the aristocracy; the repeal of the Corn Laws, which reversed the economic policy of a thousand years; look at the audacious legislation which within two years has destroyed even the names of that judicial system which is identified with English monarchy at that which within a few weeks has dared to add a flimsy glitter to the immemorial title of the sovereign herself—and you may well be proud of the solidity and permanence of our institutions compared with the swift-dissolving forms of European systems.

We know, however, that institutions, even the best of them, cannot long exist without change. As in physical life, there must be either growth or decay; when growth has ceased, decay cannot long be postponed. How shall it be with those institutions which a noble ancestry has bequeathed to us, and in which we rejoice to-day? Let us not forget that the day is the beginning of a new century, as well, as the close of an old one. Not one of us is to see the close of the coming age, as none of us saw the opening of the last. And while it is given to none to discern the future, we know well that institutions, whether civil or social, cannot long continue better than the people who enjoy them. Be it ours, therefore, so far as lies in us, to perpetuate for our remote offspring the benefits which have come

down from our ancestors. Let us cultivate in ourselves-let us teach to our children-those virtues which alone make our free institutions possible or desirable. Thus, and only thus, shall we make this day not merely the commemoration of departed glories, but the portal to that Golden Age which has been the dream of poets and the promise of prophets, and toward which, as we dare to hope, the event which we now celebrate has so mightily impelled mankind. Our eyes shall not behold it; but woe to us if we cease to hope for it and to labor towards it It may be hard-it is hard-for us, surrounded by the green graves and the desolated homes which within a dozen years a ghastly civil war has made in this religious and enlightened nation,for us here, in the very presence of the tattered yet venerated symbols of that strife,* to believe that the day can ever shine upon the earth

When the war-dram throbs no longer, and the battle-flags are furled
In the parliament of man, the federation of the world:

When the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,

And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.

The reign of " Peace on Earth-Good Will towards Men”— the dominion of Reason and Justice over Force and Fraud—it may be far off, but it shall surely come.

Down the dark future, through long generations,
The sounds of strife grow fainter, and then cease;
And like a bell, in solemn, sweet vibrations,

I hear once more the voice of Christ say," Peace ?"
Peace! and no longer from its 'brazen portals,
The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies:
But, beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of Love arise.

The worn-out regimental colors of the 33d New York Volunteers, a regiment which went to the war from Wayne County, were carried in the procession and set up in front of the speaker's stand.

FOR UNION AND RECONCILIATION.

AN ORATION BY HON. EDWARD CANTWELL,

DELIVERED AT MOORE'S CREEK, NORTH CAROLINA, JULY 4TH, 1876.

As once, Simeon the Prophet, in the Temple at Jerusalem, with outstretched hands and streaming eyes beheld a Saviour's advent, and a light which should lighten the Gentiles and be the glory of his own people, so, standing here on the Fourth day of July, at the foot of this North Carolina monument, I see the gate of another Temple open; I behold another light streaming by in the thick darkness; and as the gladsome rays penetrate the gloom, the very sands beneath my feet, appear to awaken and reverberate with celestial harmonies, which fill the air and float on every breeze. This is the centennial year of the American Republic. We are to-day celebrating the first centennial in the centennial year of the national existence. No prouder glow of patriotic exaltation inspired the last Prophet of Juclea than now swells the breast of every North Carolinian. Jutting far out to sea, the eastern coasts of North Carolina are the first to greet the sun in his daily course of glory and of empire. Here, on the fourth day of July, 1584, Philip Amidas, and Arthur Barlowe arrived and established the first English colony in America, bequeathing to posterity the priceless legacy of Anglo-Saxon liberty, and therefore, appropriately here in North Carolina, begin the celebrations of the centennial anniversary. Here, where the grand and unfulfilled vow of a colossal continental America for a country; the refuge of liberty and the asylum of the oppressed, was first conceived and recorded. Here, where the peal of its signal gun first broke the stillness of the morning air; at Moore's Creek, where its first victory was won; where the first North Carolina blood was shed, and upon the spot where the bones of John Grady of Duplin, her first martyred offering to liberty, lie buried.

Far from you and me, my friends, this day, be any sentiment

which shall make us, cold or indifferent, or stand here serene, and unmoved. This glorious spot is our own soil. These associations belong to us and to it and to the hour. We are Americans, but we are also Carolinians. We are the countrymen of Adams, and of Hamilton, and Greene, and we are also the countrymen of Washington, of Caswell, of Harnett, and Jefferson, and we are proud of all these names. We glory in their achievements. We emulate their virtues; we inherit and control that whole America they loved and that same great Republic they founded, and we propose to-day with the blessing and by the favor of Almighty God, to transmit this vast territory, these boundless liberties; the birthright and inheritance of the whole American people; unshorn, undiminished and unimpaired to our remotest posterity.

Fellow-citizens, one hundred years ago on the brow of this same hill there was an entrenchment occupied on the night of the twenty-sixth of February, A. D. 1776, by Col. Alexander Lillington, of the sixth regiment New Hanover militia, with a battalion of minute men of that command. During the night Colonel Richard Caswell of Dobbs county arrived with one thousand militiamen from the counties of Craven, Duplin, Johnston and Wake. This constituted the American or patriot force. The tories, estimated at three thousand men, under Generals McDonald and McLeod, were encamped on the other side of the bridge.

They came this way going to old Brunswick to join Lord Campbell, the Royal Governor of South Carolina, and the third brother of the Duke Argyle, who, with Sir Henry Clinton and a British army and the Royal Governor of North Carolina, Martin, were coming up the Cape Fear river from Smithville, then called Fort Johnson, to meet them. Colonel James Moore of the Continental army with several hundred men, was approaching by forced marches from the Bladen side. Lillington and Caswell, as I have said, were here in their front.. Their situation was critical in the extreme. They could not wait a moment. They had to fight, and by daybreak of the morning of the 27th the action began. The tories led by McLeod himself, attempted to cross the bridge; but during the night the planks

had been removed and the heavy timbers greased. As they approached the American rifles opened a deadly fire, and their ranks were decimated by volleys of broken skillets and crockery, discharged into them from a small field-piece stationed about where I stand. General McLeod fell mortally wounded, Campbell and a number of others were killed outright, and thus the advance was thrown into confusion. In the meanwhile Captain Ezekiel Slocumb of Wayne, the husband of Mary, “bloody as a butcher and muddy as a ditcher" forded the creek and the swamp, and fell on their rear. The route was complete. Colonel Moore came up after the fight. Mrs. Slocumb, disturbed by a dream, and riding all night to see her husband, guided by the sound of the guns, got here soon after the fighting began. She remained on the field attending the wounded. That night she returned to her baby, spreading everywhere she went the glorious news. That day, in these western wilds history and liberty found a new Thermopyla. Another name was added to those that will never die. The American rebellion organized and concerted at Hilton near Wilmington, North Carolina, on the 17th March (Patrick's Day), 1773 between Josiah Quincy, Cornelius Harnett, and Robert Howe of Brunswick, thence forward became a Revolution.

We are here then face to face as it were, with one of those great events which make up what is called history. We stand at the shrine of a martyr. These sands at our feet were once soaked with gore. Here Grady fell and his was the only life lost on the patriot side. From his expiring heart liberty drew its last libation. He perished let us remember in a great national cause and in no private quarrel; for an idea and not for lucre or in the way of business; for the continent which gave him birth, as well as for North Carolina and "the cause of Boston;" for human rights and humanity's sake as swell as in obedience to his country's laws. He was more than a Spartan, for he died for the world--for eternity and not for time.-Young men of Duplin and Pender, this monument on which you gaze, whereon his name is inscribed rises from the death-bed of a plain North Carolina boy. It aspires to the skies near one of your own obscurest creeks. There were millions of such timbers