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yond the Mississippi. I see them leave their miserable homes,the aged, the helpless, the women, and the warriors, “ few and faint, yet fearless still.” The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke no longer curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step. The white man is upon their heels, for terror or dispatch ; but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look of their deserted villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears ; they utter no cries ; they heave no groans. There is something in their hearts which passes speech. There is something in their looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard necessity, which stifles both; which chokes all utterance ; which has no aim or method. It is courage absorbed in despair. They linger but for a moment. Their look is onward. They have passed the fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them, no, never.

Yet there lies not between us and them ani impassible gulf. They know and feel, that for them there is still one remove farther, not distant, nor unseen. It is the general burying-ground of their race.

J. Story.



HE importance of classical learning to professional educa-

tion is so obvious, that the surprise is, that it could ever have become matter of disputation. I speak not of its power in refining the taste, in disciplining the judgment, in invigorating the understanding, or in warming the heart with elevated sentiments ; but of its power of direct, positive, necessary instruction.

There is not a single nation from the north to the south of Europe, from the bleak shores of the Baltic to the bright plains of immortal Italy, whose literature is not embedded in the very ilements of classical learning. The literature of England is, in an emphatic sense, the production of her scholars ; of men who have cultivated letters in her universities, and colleges, and grammar-schools ; of men who thought any life too short, chiefly because it left some relic of antiquity unmastered, and any other fame too humble, because it faded in the presence of Roman and Grecian genius.

He who studies English literature without the lights of classical learning, loses half the charms of its sentiments and style, of its force and feelings, of its delicate touches, of its delightful allusions, of its illustrative associations. Who that reads the poetry of Gray, does not feel that it is the refinement of classical taste which gives such inexpressible vividness and transparency to his diction? Who that reads the concentrated sense and melodious versification of Dryden and Pope, does not perceive in them the disciples of the old school, whose genius was inflamed by the heroic verse, the terse satire, and the playful wit of antiquity? Who thai meditates over the strains of Milton does not feel that he drank deep at

“ Siloa's brook, that flowed

Fast by the oracle of God,that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by coals from ancient altars ?

It is no exaggeration to declare, that he who proposes to abolish classical studies, proposes to render, in a great measure, inert and unedifying, the mass of English literature for three centuries; to rob us of the glory of the past, and much of the instruction of future ages; to blind us to excellencies which few may hope to equal, and none to surpass ; to annihilate associations which are interwoven with our best sentiments, and give to distant times and countries a presence and reality, as if they were in fact his own.

J. Story.



CALL upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors, by

the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all you are, and all you hope to be ; resist every object of disunion, resist every encroachment upon your liberties, resist every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish your system of public instruction.

I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman,the love of your offspring,—teach them as they climb your knees, or lean on your bosoms, the blessings of liberty. Swear them at

the altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or forsake her.

I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are ; whose inheritance you possess.

Life can never be too short which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death never comes too soon, if necessary in defence of the liberties of your country. I call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your prayers, and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow to the grave, with the recollection that you

have lived in vain. May not your last sun sink in the west upon a nation of slaves.

No; — I read in the destiny of my country far better hopes, far brighter visions. We, who are now assembled here, must soon be gathered to the congregation of other days. The time of our departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon the theatre of life. May God speed them and theirs. May he, who at the distance of another century shall stand here to celebrate this day, still look round upon a free, happy, and virtuous people. May he have reason to exult as we do. May he, with all the enthusiasm of truth as well as poetry, exclaim that here is still his country.

J. Story.


OUR DUTIES TO THE REPUBLIC. THE Old World has already revealed to us, in its unsealed

books, the beginning and end of all its own marvellous struggles in the cause of liberty. Greece, lovely Greece,

6. The land of scholars and the nurse of arms,

where sister republics, in fair procession, chanted the praises of liberty and the gods, where and what is she?

For two thousand



oppressor has ground her to the earth. Her arts are no more. The last sad relics of her temples are but the barracks of a ruthless soldiery. The fragments of her columns and her palaces are in the dust, yet beautiful in ruinis. She fell not when the mighty were upon her.

Her sons were united at Thermopyla and Marathon ; and the tide of her triumph rolled back upon the Hellespont. She was conquered by

her own factions. She fell by the hands of her own people. The Man of Macedonia did not the work of destruction. It was already done by her own corruptions, banishments, and dissen

Rome, republican Rome, whose eagles glanced in the rising and setting sun,

where and what is she? The eternal city yet remains, proud even in her desolation, noble in her decline, venerable in the majesty of religion, and calm as in the composure of death.

The malaria has travelled in the paths worn by her destroyers. More than eighteen centuries have mourned over the loss of her empire.

A mortal disease was upon her vitals before Cæsar had crossed the Rubicon ; and Brutus did not restore her health by the deep probings of the senate-chamber. The Goths, and Vandals, and Huns, the swarms of the North, - completed only what was already begun at home. Romans betrayed Rome. The legions were bought and sold; but the people offered the tribute-money.

We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last experiment of self-government by the people. We have begun it under circumstanees of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices or luxuries of the Old World. Such as we are, we have been from the beginning, — simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government, and to self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us and any formidable foe. Within our own territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and many means of independence. The government is mild. The press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach

What fairer prospect of success could be presented ? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end? What more is necessary than for the people to preserve what they have themselves created ? Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of both oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Europe, and warmed the sunny plains of France and the lowlands of Holland. It has touched the philosophy of Germany and the North ; and, moving cnward to the South, has opened to Greece the lessons of her better

every home.

days. Can it be that America, under such circumstances, can betray herself? Can it be that she is to be added to the cata. logue of republics, the inscription upon whose ruins is : THEY WERE, BUT THEY ARE NOT ? Forbid it, my countrymen! For. bid it, Heaven!

J. Story.



T had been a day of triumph at Capua. Lentulus, returning

with victorious eagles, had amused the populace with the sports of the amphitheatre, to an extent hitherto unknown even in that luxurious city. The shouts of revelry had died away; the roar of the lion had ceased ; the last loiterer had retired from the banquet, and the lights in the palace of the victor were extinguished. The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drop on the corselet of the Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of Volturnus with wavy, tremulous light. It was a night of holy calm, when the zephyr sways the

young spring leaves, and whispers among the hollow reeds its dreamy music. No sound was heard but the last sob of some weary wave, telling its story to the smooth pebbles of the beach, and then all was still as the breast when the spirit has departed.

In the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a band of gladiators were crowded together, their muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, and the scowl of battle yet lingering upon their brows, - when Spartacus, nising in the midst of that grim assemblage, thus addressed them :

“ Ye call me chief, and ye do well to call him chief, who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast that the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and yet never has lowered his arm. And if there be one among you who can say that, ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him step forth and say it. If there be three in all your throng dare face me on the bloody sand, let hem come on!

“ Yet I was not always thus, a hired butcher, a savage chief of savage men. My father was a reverent man, who feared

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