who seek for renown in military achievements, or the more humble mercenaries "whose business 'tis to die." It breaks in upon all the charities of domestic life, and interrupts all the pursuits of industry. The peasant quits his plough, and the mechanic is hurried from his shop, to commence without apprenticeship, the exercise of the trade of death. The irregularity of the resistance which is opposed to the invader, its occasional obstinacy, and occasional intermission, provoking every bad passion of his soldiery, is the excuse for plunder, lust, and cruelty. These atrocities exasperate the sufferers to revenge; and every weapon which anger can supply, and every device which ingenious hatred can conceive, is used to inflict vengeance on the detested foe.

But there is yet a more horrible war than this. As there is no anger so deadly as the anger of a friend, there is no war so ferocious as that which is waged between men of the same blood and formerly connected by the closest ties of affection. The pen of the historian confesses its inability to describe, the fervid fancy of the poet cannot realize, the horrors of a civil war. The invasion of Canada involves the miseries of both these species of war. You carry fire and sword among a people who are "united against you to a man ;" among a people who are happy in themselves, and satisfied with their condition; who view you not as coming to emancipate them from thraldom, but to reduce them to a foreign yoke. A people long and intimately connected with the bordering inhabitants of our country by commercial intercourse, by the ties of hospitality, and by the bonds of affinity and blood-a people, as to every social and individual relation, long identified with your own. It must be that such a war will rouse the spirit of sanguinary ferocity, that will overleap every holy barrier of nature and venerable usage of civilization. Already has "the bayonet of the brother been actually opposed to the breast of the brother." Merciful heaven! that those who have been rocked in the same cradle, by the same maternal hand-who have imbibed the first genial nourishment of infant existence from the same blessed source should be forced to contend in impious strife for the destruction of that being derived from their common parents. Every feel. ing of our nature cries aloud against it.

Before we enter, Mr. Chairman, upon this career of coldblooded massacre, it behooves us, by every obligation which we owe to God, to our fellow-men, and to ourselves, to be certain that the right is with us, or that the duty is imperative. Think for a moment, sir, on the consequences. True courage shuts not its eyes upon danger or its result. It views them

steadily and calmly. Already this Canadian war has a char acter sufficiently cruel. Your part of it may, perhaps, be ably sustained-your way through the Canadas may be traced afar off by the smoke of their burning villages-your path may be marked by the blood of their furious peasantry-you may render your course audible by the frantic shrieks of their women and children. But your own sacred soil will also be the scene of this drama of fiends. Your exposed and defenseless seaboard, the seaboard of the south, will invite a terrible vengeance. An intestine foe, too, may be roused to assassination and brutality. Yes, sir, a foe that will be found every where, in our fields, in our kitchens, and in our chambers; a foe, ignorant, degraded, by habits of servitude, uncurbed by moral restraints; a foe, whom no recollections of former kindness will soften, and whom the remembrance of severity will goad to frenzy; a foe, from whom nor age, nor infancy, nor beauty, will find reverence or pity. Yes, such a foe may be added to fill up the measure of our calamities.

Reflect, then, well, I conjure you, before reflection is too late; let not passion or prejudice dictate the decision; if erroneous, its reversal may be decreed by a nation's miseries, and by the world's abhorrence.

64.

THE UNITED STATES NAVY, FRANCE, AND GREAT BRITAIN.

-Lloyd.

If we are going to war with Great Britain, let it be a real, effectual, vigorous war. Give us a naval force; this is the sensitive chord you can touch, and which would have more effect on her than ten armies. Give us thirty swift sailing, wellappointed frigates-they are better than seventy-fours; two thirty-six gun frigates can be built and maintained for the same expense as one seventy-four, and for the purpose of annoyance, for which we want them, they are better than two seventyfours they are managed easier, ought to sail faster, and can be navigated in shoaler water-we do not want seventy-fours -courage being equal, in line of battle ships, skill and experience will always ensure success-we are not ripe for them— but butt-bolt the side of an American to that of a British frigate, and though we should lose sometimes, we should win as often as we should lose. The whole revolutionary war, when we met at sea on equal terms, would bear testimony in favor of this opinion. Give us, then, this little fleet well appointed

pitable, the infant state was born, unnoticed and unknown, like
the child in Revelations, that was hidden in the wilderness.
Many a wild torrent of Indian massacre swept over our child-
hood; and left behind it the desolate pathway of the whirl-
wind. Many a mountain-wave, from the battle-fields of Europe,
rushed across the Atlantic; and garments rolled in blood were
the portion of our youth. As the prime of life approached, the
children of the outcast and wanderer arose, and fought on their
own soil, by the side, and in the cause of the parent nation.
The prime of life came, and the principles of the reformation
taught them, that independence was a right and a duty, when
civil and political liberty was invaded. The gordian-knot of
colonial obedience was severed: a fierce struggle for the mas-
tery ensued and it pleased the Almighty, that the victory
should be ours. That victory was a consequence, however
remote-a triumph, however unlooked for, of the reformation.
The spirit of inquiry, first principles, thinking, reasoning,
were the very essence, the genius of the reformation, in the
age of Luther.
The same were the essence, the genius of the
revolution, under Washington. The protestant nations have
surpassed all the rest of the European family in the depth and
comprehensiveness, in the sublimity and beauty, in the richness
and variety of their literature and science. Britain, the guardian
angel of the liberty of Europe, the vanguard of civilization and
freedom in the old world,-

"She, in the soul of man, her better wealth,
The richest: Nature's noblest produce, she

The immortal mind in perfect height and strength,
Bears with a prodigal opulence."

And we, the only offspring nation ever bore, worthy of such an ancestry, we must not, we cannot, we shall not rest satisfied, with inferiority to English fame, in science and literature. The spirit of inquiry, first principles, thought, reasoning, these are the causes, which, under circumstances singularly felicitous, have made her in power and glory, in wisdom and virtue, in wealth, happiness, freedom and knowledge, the greatest of European states, whether ancient or modern. And the same causes shall enable us, still more fortunate in situation, at our appointed day of meridian excellence, to ascend a loftier height of power and glory, of wisdom and virtue, of wealth, happiness, freedom and knowledge, than England has ever attained. She has accomplished all that an European people, subjects of a limited monarchy, can attain, under the transforming, regenerating influence of the reformation. She is the Rome

of the modern world, but has far exceled the imperial republic of antiquity. We shall accomplish still more, in effecting all that an American people, citizens of a confederacy of republics, can perform, under the combined influence of the reformation and of our revolution. We shall be the Greece of the modern world, unrivaled by the literature of three thousand years. All, indeed, that the system of the reformers can bring to pass, our country, the only holy land of religious liberty, the only promised land of political freedom, shall assuredly accomplish. Then shall our country be-emphatically, pre-eminently—the empire of mind, the republic of letters.

59. THE GOODNESS OF GOD.- -Worcester.

For what purpose did the infinite Creator give existence to this majestic monument of his almighty power? For what purpose did he create the earth and the heavens, with all their unnumbered hosts ? Was it not evidently, that he might communicate happiness; and does not this design appear conspicuous on the open face of nature? What is the plain and unequivocal indication of all those marks of infinite wisdom, and skilful contrivance, in the general dispositions, and in all parts of surrounding nature? Is it not, that the Creator of all things is infinitely good? Is there not a display of infinite goodness, in the regular and harmonious disposition of the heavenly orbs? Instead of this beautiful order, why was there not the most horrible confusion? Instead of this benignant harmony of the spheres, why was there not a perpetual jar, and the most disastrous concussion? Is there not a display of infinite goodness in the grandeur and beauty of the creation,-so favorably adapted to elevate, to inspire with admiration, and fill with the purest pleasure, the devout and contemplative mind? Why was not the whole creation so formed as only to excite amazement, terror, and despair? Is there not a display of infinite goodness in the beautiful scenery of our globe, so agreeably diversified with continents and seas, islands and lakes, mountains and plains, hills and valleys, adapted to various beneficial purposes, and abounding with productions, in endless variety, for the convenience, the support, and the happiness of its diversified inhabitants? Why was not the whole earth like the burning sands of Libya, or the rugged and frozen mountains of Zembla? Why was it not one wide and dreary waste, producing only briers and thorns, and poisonous or bitter fruits?

Is there not a display of infinite goodness in the grateful vicis situdes of the seasons, each bearing upon its bosom its peculiar delights?—the spring arrayed in the most beautiful verdure and decorated with flowers; the summer abounding with delightful prospects, and teeming with luxuriance; autuinn loaded with golden harvests, and the richest variety of fruits; and even winter supplying in social enjoyments, and the nobler pleasures of study and contemplation, what it lacks in external charms? Why was not the whole year one continued scene of dull uniformity, or so irregular in its changes as utterly to baffle all the calculations, and arrangements, and pursuits of life? Why was not every sight a spectacle of horror, every sound a shriek of distress, every sweet a most pungent bitter, every gale a blast of pestilence? Is it not because the Creator and Preserver of the world, is a being of infinite goodness? Is it not strange, that we do not constantly perceive the glory of God, which the heavens declare, and gratefully recognize his goodness, so richly spread abroad through all his works? Happy, happy were it for us, did nature constantly appear to us as it really is, animated and enlivened by its glorious Author! When the sun rises or sets in the heavens, when spring adorns the earth, when summer shines in its glory, when autumn pours forth its fruits, or when winter returns in its awful forms, happy were it for us, did we constantly view the great Creator and Preserver of all, continually manifesting himself in his various works! Happy, did we meet his presence in the smiling fields, feel his influence in the cheering beams, hear his voice even in the whispering breeze, and taste his goodness in every gift of nature and providence! Happy, did we feel ourselves every where surrounded with the glory of that universal Spirit, who fills, pervades and enlivens all; and did we live in the world, as in a great and august temple, where the presence of the Divinity who inhabits it, fills the mind with awe, and inspires the heart with devotion!

60. BURR AND BLANNERHASSET.-Wirt.

Who is Blannerhasset?

A native of Ireland, a man of letters, who fled from the storms of his own country to find quiet in ours. Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might have envied, blooms around him; music, which might have