I joy not in no earthly bliss; I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw: I fear not fortune's fatal law; I wander not to seek for more; In greatest storms I sit on shore, I feign not love where most I hate; Extremes are counted worst of all; Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; My wealth is health and perfect ease; I never seek by bribes to please, 23-CRIMINALITY OF DUELLING. ELIPHALET NOTT. Hamilton yielded to the force of an imperious custom; and yielding, he sacrificed a life in which all had an interest; and he is lost-lost to his country-lost to his family-lost to us. For this act, because he disclaimed it and was penitent, I for give him. But there are those whom I cannot forgive. I mean not his antagonist, over whose erring steps, if there be tears in heaven, a pious mother looks down and weeps. If he be capable of feeling, he suffers already all that humanity can suffer. Suffers, and wherever he may fly will suffer, with the poignant recollection of having taken the life of one who was too magnanimous in return to attempt his own. Had he known this, it must have paralyzed his arm while he pointed at so incorruptible a bosom the instrument of death. Does he know this now, his heart, if it be not adamant, must soften; if it be not ice, it must melt. But on this article I forbear. Stained with blood as he is, if he be penitent I forgive him; and if he be not, before these altars, where all of us appear as suppliants, I wish not to excite your vengeance, but rather, in behalf of an object rendered wretched and pitiable by crime, to wake your prayers. But I have said, and I repeat it, there are those whom I cannot forgive. I cannot forgive that minister at the altar, who has hitherto forborne to remonstrate on this subject. I cannot forgive that public prosecutor, who, entrusted with the duty of avenging his country's wrongs, has seen these wrongs and taken no measures to avenge them. I cannot forgive that judge upon the bench, or that governor in the chair of state, who has lightly passed over such offences. I cannot forgive the public, in whose opinion the duellist finds a sanctuary. I cannot forgive you, my brethren, who till this late hour have been silent, whilst successive murders were committed. No; I cannot forgive you, that you have not, in common with the freemen of this state, raised your voice to the powers that be, and loudly and explicitly demanded an execution of your laws; demanded this in a manner, which, if it did not reach the ear of government, would at least have reached the Heavens, and have pleaded your excuse before the God that filleth them: in whose presence, as I stand, I should not feel myself innocent of the blood which crieth against us had I been silent. But I have not been silent. Many of you who hear me are my witnessesthe walls of yonder temple, where I have heretofore addressed you, are my witnesses-how freely I have animadverted on this subject, in the presence both of those who have violated the laws, and of those whose indispensable duty it is to see the laws executed on those who violate them. I enjoy another opportunity; and would to God, I might be permitted to approach for once the last scene of death! Would to God, I could there assemble on the one side the disconsolate mother with her seven fatherless children, and on the other those who administer the justice of my country! Could I do this, I would point them to these sad objects. I would entreat them, by the agonies of bereaved fondness, to listen to the widow's heartfelt groans; to mark the orphans' sighs and tears; and having done this, I would uncover the breathless corpse of Hamilton-I would lift from his gaping wound his bloody mantle-I would hold it up to Heaven before them, and I would ask, in the name of God I would ask, whether at the sight of it they felt no compunction. Ye who have hearts of pity-ye who have experienced the anguish of dissolving friendship-who have wept, and still weep, over the mouldering ruins of departed kindred, ye can enter into this reflection. Oh, thou disconsolate widow! robbed, so cruelly robbed, and in so short a time, both of a husband and a son! what must be the plenitude of thy sufferings! Could we approach thee, gladly would we drop the tear of sympathy, and pour into thy bleeding bosom the balm of consolation. But how could we comfort her whom God hath not comforted! To His throne, let us lift up our voice and weep. O God! if Thou art still the widow's husband, and the father of the fatherless-if, in the fullness of Thy goodness, there be yet mercies in store for miserable mortals, pity, O pity this afflicted mother, and grant that her hapless orphans may find a friend, a benefactor, a father in Thee! 24.-ROLLA TO THE PERUVIANS. R. B. SHERIDAN. My brave associates,-partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame!-can Rolla's words add vigor to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts? No! You have judged, as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you. Your generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can animate their minds and ours. They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended rule: we, for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate: we serve a monarch whom we love-a God whom we adore. Where'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress! Whene'er they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error! Yes: they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride! They offer us their protection: yes, such protection as vultures give to lambs— covering and devouring them! They call on us to barter all of good we have enhanced and proved, for the desperate chance of something better which they promise. Be our plain answer this: The throne we honor is the people's choice; the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy; the faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind and die with hope of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your in vaders this; and tell them, too, we seek no change,—and, leas of all, such change as they would bring us! 25. THE FLOOD OF YEARS. A Mighty Hand, from an exhaustless urn, And pallid student with his written roll. A moment on the mounting billow seen The flood sweeps over them and they are gone. The felon's with cropped ear and branded cheek, Borne under. Hark to that shrill sudden shout- Swayed by some loud-tongued orator who wields The living mass as if he were its soul. Lo, next, a kneeling crowd and one who spreads A painter stands, and sunshine, at his touch, Murmurs his sounding lines. Awhile they ride Strikes them and flings them under while their tasks On her young babe that smiles to her again- Flings them apart; the youth goes down; the maid, Lo, wider grows the stream; a sea-like flood I pause and turn my eyes, and, looking back, Of waters weltering over graves, its shores Strewn with the wreck of fleets, where mast and hull Drop away piecemeal; battlemented walls Frown idly, green with moss, and temples stand Unroofed, forsaken by the worshipers. There lie memorial stones, whence time has gnawed Foundations of old cities and long streets |