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low lands of Holland. It has touched the philosophy of Germany and the north, and, moving onward to the south, has opened to Greece the lessons of her better days.
Can it be that America, under such circumstances, can betray herself! that she is to be added to the catalogue of republics, the inscription upon whose ruins is, " They were, but they are not !” Forbid it, my countrymen! forbid it, Heaven !
I 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 project 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 elimb 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 of poetry, exclaim that here is still his country:
“Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;
Dr. Bowditch at Home.
Dr. BowDirch was a remarkably domestic man. His affections clustered around his own fireside, and found their most delightful exercise in his “ family of love," as he called it in almost his last moments. His attachment to home and to its calm and simple pleasures was, indeed, one of the most beautiful traits in his character, and one which his children and friends will look back upon with the greatest satisfaction. As Sir Thomas More says of himself, he devoted the little time which he could spare from his avocations abroad to his family, and spent it in little innocent and endearing conversations with his wife and children; which, though some might think them trifling amusements, he placed among the necessary duties and business of life ; it being incumbent on every one to make himself as agreeable as possible to those whom nature has made, or he himself has singled out, for his companions in life.
His time was divided between his office and his house; and that must have been a strong attraction, indeed, that could draw him into company. When at home, his time was spent in his library, which he loved to have considered as the family parlor. By very early rising, in winter two hours before the light, “ long ere the sound of any bell awoke men to labor or to devotion,” and “in summer,” like Milton, as oft with the bird that first rises, or not much tardier,” he was enabled to accomplish much before others were stirring. “ To these morning studies," he used to say, “I am indebted for all my mathematics.'' After taking his evening walk, he was again always to be found in the library, pursuing the same attractive studies, but ready and glad, at the entrance of any visitor, to throw aside his book, unbend his mind, and indulge in all the gayeties of a light-hearted conversation.
There was nothing that he seemed to enjoy more than this free interchange of thought on all subjects of common interest. At such times the mathematician, the astronomer, the man of science, disappeared, and he presented himself as the frank, easy, familiar friend. One could hardly believe that this agreeable, fascinating companion, who talked so affably and pleasantly on all the topics of the day, and joined so heartily in the quiet mirth and the loud laugh, could really be the great mathematician who had expounded the mechanism of the heavens, and taken his place with Newton, and Leibnitz, and La Place, among the great proficients in exact science.
To hear him talk, you would never have suspected that he knew any thing about science, or cared any thing about it. In this respect he resembled his great Scottish contemporary, who has delighted the whole world by his writings. You might have visited him in that library from one year's end to another, and yet, if you or some other visitor did not introduce the subject, I venture to say that not one word on mathematics would cross his lips. He had no pedantry of any kind. Never did I meet with a scientific or literary man so entirely devoid of all cant and pretension. In conversation, he had the simplicity, and playfulness, and unaffected manners, of a child. His own remarks seemed rather to
escape from his mind than to be produced by it. He laughed heartily, and rubbed his hands, and jumped up, when an observation was made that greatly pleased him, because it was natural for him so to do, and he had never been schooled into the conventional proprieties of artificial life, nor been accustomed to conceal or stifle any of the innocent impulses of his nature.
Who, that once enjoyed the privilege of visiting him in that library, can ever forget the scene? Methinks I see him
man, sitting there close by his old-fashioned blazing wood fire, bending over his favorite little desk, looking like one of the old philosophers, with his silvery hair, and noble forehead, and beaming eye, and benign countenance; whilst all around him are ranged the depositories of the wisdom and science of departed sages and philosophers, who seem to look down upon him benignantly from their quiet places, and spontaneously and silently to give forth to him their instructions. On entering this, the noblest repository of scientific works in the country, I almost fancy I hear him saying with Heinsius, the keeper of the library at Leyden, “I no sooner come into my library, than I bolt the door after me, excluding ambition, avarice, and all such vices; and, in the very lap of eternity, amidst so many divine souls, I take my seat with so lofty a spirit and such sweet content, that I pity all the great and rich who know not this happiness.”
Rienzi's Address to the Romans. Miss MITFORD.
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam
Each hour, dark fraud,
Be we men,
I, that speak to ye,
Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaves ! Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl