tion, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing1 every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward, to his object, this, this is eloquence; or, rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence: it is action,noble, sublime, godlike action.

WEBSTER.

88. Mrs. Caudle's Views on Masonry.

Mrs. Margaret Caudle was the feigned author of a series of "Curtain Lectures," addressed to her husband through a period of many years. These humorous sketches were originally contributed to the London "Punch" by Douglas Jerrold.

Note that the author does not record the replies of Mr. Caudle, the character of these replies being clearly indicated by Mrs. Caudle's own remarks. The piece should be so read as to plainly express this fact.

Now, Mr. Caudle, Mr. Caudle, I say,-O, you can't be asleep already, I know. Now, what I mean to say is this: There's no use, none at all, in our having any disturbance about the matter; but at last my mind's made up, Mr. Caudle, — I shall leave you. Either I know all you've been doing to-night, or to-morrow morning I quit the house. No, no. There's an end of the married state, I think, an end of all confidence between man and wife, — if a husband's to have secrets, and keep 'em all to himself.

Pretty secrets they must be, when his own wife can't know 'em. Not fit for any decent person to know, I'm

1 informing, giving shape to, animating.

sure, if that's the case. Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel, there's a good soul. Tell me, what's it all about? A pack of nonsense, I dare say; still,— not that I care much about it,-still, I should like to know. There's a dear. Eh? 0, don't tell me there's nothing in it: I know better. I'm not a fool, Mr. Caudle: I know there's a good deal in it. Now, Caudle, just tell me a little bit of it. I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You know I would. Well?

And you're not going to let me know the secret, eh? You mean to say you're not? Now, Caudle, you know it's a hard matter to put me in a passion. Not that I care about the secret itself: no, I wouldn't give a button to know it; for it's all nonsense, I'm sure. It isn't the secret I care about: it's the slight, Mr. Caudle, it's the studied insult that a man pays to his wife when he thinks of going through the world keeping something to himself which he won't let her know.

Man and wife one, indeed! I should like to know how that can be when a man's a Mason, -when he keeps a secret that sets him and his wife apart? Ha! you men make the laws, and so you take good care to have all the best of them to yourselves: otherwise a woman ought to be allowed a divorce when a man becomes a Mason, when he's got a sort of corner cupboard in his heart, a secret place in his mind, that his poor wife isn't allowed to rummage.

Was there ever such a man? A man, indeed! A brute! yes, Mr. Caudle, an unfeeling, brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and you won't. I'm sure I don't object to your being a Mason: not at all, Caudle. I dare say it's

1 slight, intentional disregard.

a very good thing: I dare say it is. It's only your making a secret of it that vexes me. But you'll tell me, - you'll tell your own Margaret? You won't? You're a wretch, Mr. Caudle.

DOUGLAS JERROLD.

89.-Speech against the American War.

This speech was delivered in Parliament by Lord Chatham in November, 1777.

I can not, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation: the smoothness of flattery can not save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelop it, and display, in its full danger and genuine colors, the ruin which is brought to our doors.

Can ministers still presume to expect support in their infatuation? Can parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty, as to give their support to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them?-measures, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and contempt. But yesterday, and Britain might have stood against the world: now, none so poor to do her reverence.1

2

The people whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted1 against us, supplied with every military store, have their interests consulted, and their ambassadors entertained, by our inveterate enemy; and ministers do not, and dare not, interpose with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad is in part known. No man more highly esteems and honors the British troops than I do. I know their virtues and their valor. I know they can achieve any thing but impossibilities, and I know that the conquest of British America is an impossibility.

8

You can not, my lords, you can not conquer America. What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot: your attempts will be forever vain and impotent,— doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty.

6

1 abetted, aided and encouraged. | British government of hireling 2 inveterate enemy; i.e., France. 3 three campaigns, the campaigns in Massachusetts, New York, and New Jersey, during 1775, 1776, and 1777.

4 extend . . . despot. An allusion to the employment by the

soldiery - Hessians, Hanoverians, and others- to fight their battles in foreign lands, as they did in the Revolutionary War.

5 rapine (pron. răpʼin), pillage. 6 devoting, dooming, condemning, giving over.

If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms,

never, NEVER, NEVER!

LORD CHATHAM.

90.- An Appeal to Arms. - Part I.

This stirring "Appeal was addressed to the Convention held at Richmond, Va., in March, 1775, by Patrick Henry, one of the foremost orators of our Revolutionary period, in support of resolutions “that the militia be organized, and the colony (Virginia) be put in a state of defense," to resist British aggression. On the conclusion of Henry's address, the resolutions were passed without a dissenting voice.

Mr. President, it is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren1 till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty?

Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, to know the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years, to just

1 siren, a deceiver.