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LXXVII.--THE INESTIMABLE VALUE OF THE UNION.

Extract from the same Speech.

Mr. President,-Ir the plain provisions of the Constitution of these United States shall now be disregarded, and the new doctrines (of State rights) interpolated in it, it will be come as feeble and helpless a being as its enemies, whether early or more recent, could possibly desire. It will exist in every State, but as a poor dependant on State permission. It must borrow leave to be, and will be, no longer than State pleasure, or State discretion, sees fit to grant the indulgence, and to prolong its poor existence.

But, sir, although there are fears, there are hopes also. The people have preserved this, their own chosen Constitution, for forty years, and have seen their happiness, prosperity, and renown, grow with its growth, and strengthen with its strength. They are now, generally, strongly attached to it. Overthrown by direct assault, it cannot be; evaded, under. mined, NULLIFIED, it will not be, if we, and those who shall succeed us here, as agents and representatives of the people, shall conscientiously and vigilantly discharge the two great branches of our public trust-faithfully to preserve, and wisely to administer it.

Mr. President, I have thus stated the reasons of my disseut to the doctrines which have been advanced and maintained. I am conscious of having detained you, and the Senate, much too long. I was drawn into the debate with no previous deliberation, such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and important a subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is full, and I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of its spontaneous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade myself to relinquish it, without expressing, once more, my deep conviction, that since it respects nothing less than the Union of the States, it is of most vital and essential importance to the public happiness. I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of

our country. That union we reached, only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection, or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness, I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below: nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this Government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union should be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us, and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant, that, in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise; God grant, that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured-bearing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as- -What is all this worth? Nor those other words of delusion and folly— Liberty first, and Union afterwards-but every where, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample

folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart-Liberty and Union, now and for ever, one and inseparable!

LXXVIII.--MARCO BOZZARIS. *

F. G. Halleck.

Ar midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power;

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams his song of triumph heard ;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring,—
Then press'd that monarch's throne,-a king:
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's garden bird.

An hour passed on-the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last;

He woke to hear his sentry's shriek,

"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!"
He woke to die midst flame and smoke,
And shout and groan, and sabre stroke,
And death-shots falling thick and fast,
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band;

"Strike-till the last armed foe expires,
Strike--for your altars and your fires,
Strike-for the green graves of your sires,
God-and your native land!"

*He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp, at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platea, August 20th, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were, "To die for liberty, is a pleasure and not a pain."

They fought-like brave men, long and well,
They piled that ground with Moslem slain,
They conquered-but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won;
Then saw in death his eyiids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.

Come to the bridal chamber, death!
Come to the mother when she feels
For the first time her first born's breath ;—
Come when the blessed seals

Which close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;-
Come when the heart beats high and warm,
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine,
And thou art terrible: the tear,

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony are thine.

But to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,

Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard

The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave

Greece nurtur'd in her glory's time,
Rest thee-there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
We tell thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's,
One of the few, the immortal names,

That were not born to die.

LXXIX.-HAMLET AND HORATIO.

Shakspeare. Hamlet, Act I, Scene II.

Horatio. HAIL to your lordship!
Hamlet. I am glad to see you well:

Horatio--or I do forget myself.

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you.

But what is your affair in Elsinore?

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. Ham. I pray thee do not mock me, fellow student; I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio; the funeral baked meats, Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! My father-methinks I see my father! Hor. Where, my lord?.

Ham. In mind's my

eye,

Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,

I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw! who?

Hor. My lord, the king, your father.

Ham. The king, my father!

Hor. Season your admiration for a while,

With an attent ear; till I may deliver

This marvel to you

Ham. For Heaven's love, let me hear.

Hor. Two nights together had those gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,

In the dead waist and middle of the night,

Been thus encountered, a figure like your father,
Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pié,

Appears before them, and with solemn march,
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walked

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