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are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies 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, 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, sir, let it come!

Gentlemen
The

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. may cry "Peace! peace!" but there is no peace. 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 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!

I am afraid of nothing on the earth or above the earth or under the earth, but to do wrong. The path of duty I shall endeavor to travel, fearing no evil and dreading no consequences. I would rather be defeated in a good cause than to triumph in a bad one. I would not give a fig for a man who would shrink from the discharge of duty for fear of defeat.-A. H. STEPHENS

THE RISING IN 1776

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ

Read was an American poet and painter. He was born in Pennsylvania in 1822 and died in 1872. "The Closing Scene" and others of his shorter poems have been very popular.

Out of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.

And there was tumult in the air,

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat,
And through the wide land everywhere
The answering tread of hurrying feet;
While the first oath of Freedom's gun
Came on the blast from Lexington;
And Concord roused, no longer tame,
Forgot her old baptismal name,
Made bare her patriot's arm of power,
And swelled the discord of the hour.

Within its shade of elm and oak

The church of Berkley Manor stood;
There Sunday found the rural folk,

And some esteemed of gentle blood.

In vain their feet, with loitering tread,

Passed 'mid the graves where rank is naught;

All could not read the lesson taught

In that republic of the dead.

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk,
The vale with peace and sunshine full,
Where all the happy people walk,

Decked in their homespun flax and wool! Where youths' gay hats with blossoms bloom, And every maid, with simple art,

Wears on her breast, like her own heart, A bud whose depths are all perfume ; While every garment's gentle stir Is breathing rose and lavender.

The pastor came: his snowy locks.

Hallowed his brow of thought and care ;
Calmly as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer.

Then soon he rose ; the prayer was strong;
The psalm was warrior David's song;

The text, a few short words of might;
"The Lord of Hosts shall arm the right!"
He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured ;
Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compelled the heart to glow or quake,
And, rising on his theme's broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand
The imaginary battle brand,
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed
In eloquence of attitude,

Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir;
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside,
And lo! he met their wondering eyes
Complete in all a warrior's guise.

A moment there was awful pause
When Berkley cried, “Cease, traitor! cease;
God's temple is the house of peace!"
The other shouted, "Nay! not so,
When God is with our righteous cause;

His holiest places then are ours,
His temples are our forts and towers
That frown upon the tyrant foe;
In this, the dawn of Freedom's day,
There is a time to fight and pray !

And now before the open door —

The warrior priest had ordered so-
The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o’er,
Its long reverberating blow,

So loud and clear, it seemed the ear
Of dusty death must wake and hear.
And there the startling drum and fife
Fired the living with fiercer life;

While overhead, with wild increase,
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace,

The great bell swung as ne'er before.
It seemed as it would never cease;
And every word its ardor flung

From off its jubilant iron tongue
Was "War! War! War!"

"Who dares" this was the patriot's cry,
As striding from the desk he came,-
"Come out with me, in Freedom's name,
For her to live, for her to die?"
A hundred hands went up reply,

A hundred voices answered "I!"

What is it to be a gentleman? It is to be honest, to be gentle, to be generous, to be brave, to be wise, and, possessing all these qualities, to exercise them in the most graceful outward manner. -THACKERAY

STOPPED PAYMENT

BY ELIZABETH C. GASKELL

Mrs. Gaskell was an English novelist. She was born in 1810 and died in 1865. This selection is from "Cranford," a charming tale of village life, which is a favorite with readers young and old.

I

We began to talk of Miss Matty's new silk gown. I discovered that it would be really the first time in her

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