of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for

us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, 90 the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we

were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains

of Boston! The war is inevitable—and let it come! I repeat it, 95 sir, let it come!

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, peace !—but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring

to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are 100 already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that

gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death !

Biographical and Historical: Patrick Henry was an American patriot and orator whose eloquent speech was a powerful force in moulding public opinion at the time of the Revolution. This famous speech was made in the Virginia Convention, March 28, 1775, and is an appeal to place the colonies in a state of defence.


EDWARD EVERETT HALE I first came to understand anything about “the man without a country" one day when we over-hauled a dirty little schooner which had slaves on board. An officer was sent to take charge of her, and, after a few minutes, he sent back his boat to ask that 5 someone might be sent him who could talk Portuguese. But none of the officers did; and just as the captain was sending forward to ask if any of the people could, Nolan stepped out and said he should be glad to interpret, if the captain wished, as he under

stood the language. The captain thanked him, fitted out another 10 boat with him, and in this boat it was my luck to go.

There were not a great many of the negroes; most of them were out of the hold and swarming all round the dirty deck, with a central throng surrounding Vaughan. “Tell them they are free,

Volan," said Vaughan; "and tell them that I will take them 15 all to Cape Palmas.”

Cape Palmas was practically as far from the homes of most of them as New Orleans or Rio Janeiro was; that is, they would be eternally separated from home there. And their interpreters,

as we could understand, instantly said, "Ah, non Palmas.” The 20 drops stood on poor Nolan's white forehead, as he hushed the men down, and said:

“He says, Not Palmas.' He says, “Take us home, take us to our own country, take us to our own house, take us to our own

pickaninnies and our own women. He says he has an old father 25 and mother who will die if ther do not see him. And this one

says," choked out Yolan, “that he has not heard a word from his home in six months."

Even the negroes stopped howling, as they saw Nolan's agony, and Vaughan's almost equal agony of sympathy. As quick as he 30 could get words, Vaughan said:

“Tell them, yes, yes, yes; tell them they shall go to the Mountains of the Moon, if they will."

And after some fashion Yolan said so. And then they all fell to kissing him again. 35 But he could not stand it long; and getting Vaughan to say

he might go back, he beckoned me down into our boat. As we lay back in the stern-sheets and the men gave way, he said to me: "Youngster, let that show you what it is to be without a family,

without a home, and without a country. And if you are ever 40 tempted to say a word or to do a thing that shall put a bar between

you and your family, your home, and your country, pray God in his merey to take you that instant home to his own heaven. Think of your home, boy; write and read, and talk about it. Let it be

nearer and nearer to your thought, the farther you have to travel 45 from it; and rush back to it when you are free, as that poor black

slave is doing now. And for your country, boy," and the words rattled in his throat, "and for that flag," and he pointed to the ship, "never dream a dream but of serving her as she bids you,

though the service carry you through a thousand terrors. No 50 matter what happens to you, no matter who flatters you or who

abuses you, never look at another flag. Remember, that behind all these men you have to do with,—behind officers, and government, and people even—there is the Country Herself, your Country, and that you belong to Her as you belong to your own mother.”

Biographical and Historical: This is an extract from “The Man Without a Country,” a book written by Edward Everett Hale, a clergyman and author, who was born in 1822 and is a grand nephew of Nathan Hale, of Revolutionary fame.

"The Man without a Country” is the story of Philip Nolan, a young offieer of the United States army. On account of his intimacy with Aaron Burr, he was court-martialed and, having expressed the wish never to hear the name of his country again, was banished and sentenced to live upon a government boat, where no one was allowed to mention his country.

(From “The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” Canto VI.)

BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said :-
“This is my own, my native land !”
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand ?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,

The wretch concentered all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.



He is fallen! We may now pause before that splendid prodigy, which towered among us like some ancient ruin, whose frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted. Grand, gloomy, and

peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a sceptered hermit, wrapt in 5 the solitude of his own originality. A mind, bold, independent,

and decisive,—a will despotic in its dictates—an energy that distanced expedition, and a conscience pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordinary character—the most

extraordinary, perhaps, that, in the annals of this world, ever rose, 10 or reigned, or fell.

Flung into life in the midst of a revolution that quickened every energy of a people who acknowledge no superior, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity!

With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but his talents, he 15 rushed into the lists where rank and wealth and genius had arrayed

themselves, and competition' fled from him as from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive but interest—he acknowledged no criterion but success—he worshiped no God but ambition, and,

with an Eastern devotion, he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry. 20 Subsidiary to this, there was no creed that he did not profess,

there was no opinion that he did not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he upheld the Crescent; for the sake of a divorce, he bowed before the Cross; the orphan of St. Louis, he became the adopted child of the Republic; and, with a parricidal ingratitude, 25 on the ruins both of the throne and tribune, he reared the throne of his despotism.

A professed Catholic, he imprisoned the Pope; a pretended patriot, he impoverished the country; and, in the name of Brutus,

he grasped without remorse and wore without shame thé diadem 30 of the Cæsars. Through this pantomime of policy, fortune played

the clown to his caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theories took the color of his whim, and all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed

places with the rapidity of a drama. 35 Even apparent defeat assumed the appearance of victory,—his

flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny,—ruin itself only elevated him to empire. But, if his fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; decision flashed upon his counsels; and it was the

same to decide and to perform. To inferior intellects his combina40 tions appeared perfectly impossible, his plans perfectly imprac

ticable; but, in his hands, simplicity marked their development, and success vindicated their adoption. His person partook the character of his mind,-if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the

other never bent in the field. Nature had no obstacle that he 45 did not surmount-space no opposition that he did not spurn: and

whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or Polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity.

The whole continent trembled at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Skepticism bowed to 50 the prodigies of his performance; romance assumed the air of his

tory; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful for expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. All the visions

of antiquity became commonplace in his contemplation; kings were 55 his people—nations were his outposts; and he disposed of courts,

and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they were titular dignitaries of the chess-board. Amid all these changes, he stood immutable as adamant.

It mattered little whether in the field or in the drawing-room,

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