Vermont Watchman And State Journal

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Northfield, July 6th, 1837.

E. P. Walton, Jr., Esq.

Dear Sir,—I am directed by the committee of arrangements for the celebration in this place, to request, for publication, a copy of the oration delivered by you on the 4th instant, as the sentiments are such as do honor to the heart, as well as the head, of the author, and deserve to be universally disseminated. Your compliance with this request will oblige

Your obedient servant,

CHARLES PAINE,

for Com. of Arrangements.

To the above, the writer might have replied in terms authorized both by the fashion of the day and the facts in the case. Aware of the little credit usually attached to excuses however true, or expressions of modesty howsoever sincere—he refuses to comply with the request of the committee, without further explanation.

E. P. W. Jr. [not Esq.]

ORATION.

Delivered at Northfield, Vt. July 4th, 1837,

BY E. P. WALTON, JR.

Sixty-one years ago, this day, in an American city, then humble, perhaps, in its pretensions to the grandeur, the busy hum, and the pressing crowds that constitute a city—bearing a name, bestowed in compliment to the pure and peaceful religious tenets that formed the creed of its citizens, and of its excellent founder—in “the city of brotherly love”—occurred one of the most momentous events the pen of the historian has ever been called to record.

Within the consecrated walls, now known as Independence Hall, were to be found a noble few—as free from the pomp and show of power and the gaudy display of courtiers, as they were distinguished by their brilliant exhibition of political wisdom, of the sublimest patriotism, and of the most daring courage. Shall we pass the threshold? The door is closed: nothing entered there but the free light of Heaven, and the spirit of Him, who heareth the cry of the oppressed and breaketh every yoke. But poetry and history have removed the veil of secrecy, and the genius of Trumbull has drawn for our contemplation the grand picture.

In the elevated strains of McFingal,—

Then met the fathers of this western clime;

Nor names more noble graced the rolls of fame,

When Spartan firmness braved the wrecks of time,

Or Rome's bold virtues fanned the heroic flame.

Not deeper thought the immortal sage inspired,

On Solon's lips when Grecian Senates hung;

Nor manlier eloquence the bosom fired,

When genius thunder'd from the Athenian tongue.

And in the less poetic, but certainly in not the less striking language of one of England's most eloquent orators, Lord Chatham:

“History, my lords, has been my favorite study, and in the celebrated writings of antiquity have I often admired the patriotism of Greece and Rome: but, my lords, I must declare and aver, that in the master tales of the world, I know not the people, or the Senate, who, in such a complication of difficult circumstances, can stand in preference to the delegates of America, assembled in General Congress at Philadelphia.”

First among them, and first because raised to the most conspicuous spot by the patriot band, was John Hancock. Before him stood Thomas Jefferson, holding in his hand the Sibylline leaves, ominous of an empire's fate—reported on his right by John Adams, Roger Sherman, and Robert R. Livingston, and on his left by Benjamin Franklin. Around them, were the venerable members of the Congress of '76. No smile was on the lips of one of all that number; high and firm resolve was there.

“No mortal paleness o'er their cheeks—no quaking fear had seized their limbs—yet, the transactions of that single hour might scatter their wealth to the winds, or bear it to the Exchequer of the King—bring the attaint of high treason on all of earth most dear to them as husbands and parents—and suspend their own bodies from the gallows, to become the objects of the heartless gaze and the jeering taunts of a brutal rabble.

But why all this? Previous to the period here spoken of, a most singular—probably, it may be said, an unparalleled—scene had been witnessed. The great mass of a nation had absolutely controlled their appetites—for a luxury, it is true; but a luxury which neither a prudent regard for health, nor parsimony itself, with all its quick-sightedness to meagre gains and greedy zeal for paltry pelf, required to be abandoned. In truth, and much to the chagrin, no doubt, of Tory ladies, who loved

To sit and sip, and freely chat

Of neighbor this and neighbor that—

tea-drinking had become extremely unfashionable. Total abstinence was a sine qua non for respectability, and even for patriotism itself; and was enforced, if possible, with more eloquence, with more ardent zeal, and with more unshrinking determination, than are now the necessity and duty of abstinence from intoxicating drinks. So strong was the abhorrence of this harmless article, that voluntary associations were everywhere formed to touch not and taste not; nor did opposition end with these: in the commercial towns measures were taken to prevent the landing of it—merchants were obligated not to deal in it—consignees were persuaded or forced to resign—and, in short, every measure which Yankee ingenuity could devise and Yankee courage dared undertake, was taken to defeat the designs of the British government.

The consequence of these measures was a sudden and immense diminution, both in the quantity used, and in the revenue of the King. In England, the ministry allowed the East India company a draw-back of the duties already paid to the crown on every pound of tea exported to the colonies, so that in fact, tea could absolutely be sold cheaper in Boston than before the new tax was imposed, and probably as cheap as in London. At home, and particularly in Massachusetts, the officers of the crown, being perfectly ignorant or entirely regardless of the depth of the popular feeling, determined upon landing the tea, at all events; and so well were their measures adapted to the end, that nothing but open resistance could prevent their consummation. But neither the direct appeal to the truth, ministry to the

less direct, but not the less real appeal, from armed ships in the harbors and armed men in the streets, addressed to the fears of the "Sons of Liberty,"—could deter them from their purpose. In this crisis, a few daring spirits retired to the back room of a Boston printing office, and there deliberated upon a question which involved, in its results, the Independence of America. The question was simple—the decision speedy. The question involved an admission or a denial of the right of the British parliament to tax America; the decision was to deny the right, in face of the officers and soldiers of the crown, and to deny it by force. It was the bloodless work of a few hours only, to make the cargoes of tea an offering to the "watery god," and enkindle a flame upon the altar of freedom, which was to expire, only when the last drop of American blood had been drunk by the American soil. Encouraged by this bold denial of the unfounded claim of parliament to the power of taxing America—a claim unfounded, because unwarranted by the British constitution—the ministry resolved upon the destruction of Boston. Immediately followed, in quick succession, the "Boston Port Bill," the "Quebec bill," and the "fishery bills"—all tending to this end. Congress remonstrated and petitioned—in vain. Outrage followed outrage—injuries were added to insults—and through the years of 1774 and '75, the utmost efforts of the British government, at home and abroad, were directed to crush the colonies, and extinguish the last hope of freedom—until the grand question was forced upon the American people, to live slaves, or run the fearful hazard of perishing in an attempt to be free.

At this crisis, the American Congress met, and the decision of this momentous question was the occasion of the interesting scene to which attention has been called. Richard Henry Lee, with the fervid patriotism and the glowing eloquence which distinguished him as one of the noblest of Virginia's sons—seconded by the equally eloquent, and in later years, the more distinguished statesman of the North, John Adams—had urged the immediate and bold declaration "that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states." "Why," said he, "why, then, do we longer delay—why still deliberate? Let this happy day give birth to the American republic. Let her arise, not to devastate and conquer, but to re-establish the reign of peace and of the laws. The eyes of Europe are fixed upon us: she demands of us a living example of freedom, that may contrast, by the felicity of the citizens, with the ever increasing tyranny which desolates her polluted shores." She invites us to prepare an asylum, where the unhappy may find solace, and the persecuted repose. She entreats us to cultivate a propitious soil, where that generous plant, which first sprang up and grew in England, but is now withered in the poisonous blasts of Scottish tyranny, may revive and flourish, sheltering under its salubrious and interminable shade all the unfortunate of the human race."

The genius of Jefferson had produced that state paper, which alone would have inscribed his name high in the list of benefactors of his race. The impassioned eloquence of John Adams had aroused the deepest indignation in view of the tyranny of the British ministry, in the violation of American rights, in the destruction of American commerce, and in the butchery of American citizens; and filled every patriot-heart with the most flattering hopes of future glory and greatness, by his glowing picture of the nation, free and independent, prosperous and happy. Fired with his own patriotism, and filled with his own invincible energy, heart beat to heart—voice echoed to voice—and the result was, "sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish," the unanimous declaration of American Independence!

Fellow citizens: for thus drawing your attention to a few prominent events in the nation's history, an apology would hardly seem to be necessary. True, as it undoubtedly is, that these events, and multitudes of others of less importance, either antecedent to or growing out of them, are familiar as household words to the ears, even, perhaps, of the youngest of us; it is equally true that we cannot fail to dwell upon them with new delight, and to draw from them fresh incentives to admire and love the fathers of American liberty, so long as our hearts possess a single chord, which patriotism the most pure, and courage the most sublime, can touch—or a single aspiration for the honor and glory of the American name.—

The immediate purpose of these allusions has been, however, to bring to mind a single and most important maxim of political action; a principle, which is at once the foundation of our existence and glory as a nation, and the distinguishing mark which places us at an immeasurable distance above other empires of the earth. This maxim is, that the people are the source, and the greatest good of the people the end, of all right government. It was for this, that our fathers and mothers, with a signal example of self-denial, and with firmness which no human power could withstand, resisted the tax upon tea. As has been already remarked incidentally, the British ministry were so extremely anxious to obtain an admission of the right of parliament to tax the colonies, that the tax payable in Britain was refunded; so that in fact, the place of paying the tax was only changed, without requiring any new or increased exactions. Revenue was not, therefore, the immediate object of Great Britain: the great object was to assert the right of taxation—and the great motive for resistance by the colonies was, to maintain the doctrine that this power was to be used only with the consent and direction of the people. For the maintenance of this maxim, the people took up arms and resisted unto blood, on the plains of Lexington and at Bunker-hill. The course of Britain in sending an armed force was to drive the colonies to submit to her unwarrantable claims of power, and all the vindictive measures towards the city of Boston were equal violations of this fundamental principle—and hence, resistance, uncompromising and to the death, was a duty. Resistance, however, so far from convincing Britain of her wrong, was denounced as rebellion—and henceforth to nip the flower of freedom in the bud, and to crush the colonies, by legislative acts of unmixed, unmitigated tyranny, and by the sword, was all her aim. Britain, with its own parricidal hand, severed the last cord which bound us to the father land! Britain denied to us the rights of British citizens, and violated alike the British charter and the laws of nature and humanity. Britain disowned us as her sons, and henceforth, by the grace of God and the might of our own hands, we become the sons and daughters

For this principle, the Congress of '76 was called, and the eloquence of Lee and Adams, the wisdom of Franklin, the genius of Jefferson, and the patriotism of them all, conspired to produce the noblest defence of the rights of man, the declaration of Independence. "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just power from the consent of the governed." Here is the sentiment, which has been more briefly, but not more clearly, expressed, in the maxim we are considering. This too, was the foundation on which the state governments were built: this the rock, on which was raised by the illustrious Washington, and Madison, and Jay, and Hamilton, and contemporary men, that noble monument of the profoundest political wisdom and the most sagacious statesmanship, the Constitution of the United States. In the language of that document: "We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution of the United States of America."

In accordance with the spirit and intent of this great maxim, declared in the declaration of '76 and in the Constitution of '87, the several State constitutions contain, and the whole frame of government state and national, is based upon the provision, that every department, legislative, judicial and executive, must, directly or indirectly, spring from and be responsible to the people. This constitutes the great "experiment" of modern times in government—upon the success or failure of which, the civilized world has based its hopes of liberty.

Sixty-one years have rolled away—the experiment has not yet failed. Ingenious theorists have ridiculed the attempt of a great body of people to govern themselves—but the experience of sixty years has proved that virtue and intelligence are redeeming qualities for the frailties of poor human nature. Ill-omened prophets and far-seeing statesmen have predicted that the clash of conflicting interests and sectional differences, almost necessarily flowing from a population spread over a wide extent of territory, would burst the bubble and scatter the fragments to the winds of Heaven—but the history of the past has taught us, that patriotism and forbearance and a spirit of concession, can overcome the strongest assaults of self-interest. In our own land, the best, the purest, the firmest of the "Sons of Liberty," have warned us against the reckless spirit of party and the insidious wiles of unchastened ambition—but we are yet free—happy and independent.

We came out of the war of the revolution poor, in what constitutes the strength & wealth of nations: with a sparse population and with a heavy debt—without commerce, and almost without a government. Indeed, the whole work of building a mighty empire was on our hands: the corner-stone was laid by the Congress of '76 and cemented in the blood of the revolution: the completion of the task was committed to the people of this Union. This day, with joy and honest pride, we may look upon the work of their hands, in an empire spreading over thousands of miles—with a population doubled more than five times—a navy which has victoriously combatted with the "mistress of the seas"—and a commerce extending to all nations, which, under the fostering hand of a popular government, has already numbered the Union, in its existence comparatively of a day, among the mightiest nations of the earth. We can look upon our glorious National Flag; its stars are doubled, and the victorious eagle and the stripes are respected in every sea and upon every shore. We may behold our National Government: under the guidance of the representatives of the popular will, and aiming at the greatest good of the greatest number—it has redeemed us from commercial thraldom to foreign lands—rendered us anew and doubly independent of foreign manufacturers—broken the wand which exacted of us tribute to foreign genius and industry—and placed us upon a firm and immoveable basis for our existence—on our own resources, developed by the genius, the enterprise and the industry of American citizens. It has carried us safely through a second war with Great Britain—rewarded the noble patriots who periled all for liberty—redeemed the nation from an immense public debt, and yet its treasury has overflowed, and millions are returning to the people!

The great national misfortune under which the people are now suffering—its business, foreign and domestic, deranged, confidence impaired, and suspicion and alarm spread and felt with more or less intensity through the whole extent of the Union—can, perhaps, hardly be said to form an exception to this flattering picture of national prosperity. While the throes which convulse the nation, and the excitement and anxiety which pervade almost every class, most truly tell us of an extraordinary misfortune—the misfortune itself, however great, and the sufferings, however intense, are but new and palpable evidences of the blessings of a free government, yet more clearly to be proved and felt in restoring the nation once more to confidence and prosperity. By the extent of the injury the nation now suffers, may be measured and valued the good which has, until now, been enjoyed. From whatever sources the present calamity has flowed, from the people themselves or from their servants—or with whomsoever rests the fearful responsibility for producing it—the unanimous testimony of all men must be, that it has not sprung from a due observance of that maxim, which makes government good or bad, as it furthers or retards the interests of the people. With perfect confidence, then, let us hope, that as the fleeting cloud but for a moment shuts out the light and warmth of the summer's sun, this calamity will speedily pass away, and that the fostering hand of government, by prudent and wise counsels, guided and supported by an enlightened and healthy state of public opinion, will stay the course of ruin, and carry us on to still higher prosperity and a happier era. Let us remember what we have been, and then see what, under Providence and a faithful exercise of our privileges, we may be.

In all that constitutes a nation—productions of soil the most diversified and in profuse abundance—commerce immense in value and constantly increasing—the sources of intelligence and virtue liberally spread abroad over the empire—religious systems, unentangled and uncorrupted by state alliances, free to stand or fall by the unerring test of the word of God—in all these elements of a great and happy nation, we are highly distinguished. Indeed, we may search the records of history, ancient and modern, and ponder on the sublimest efforts of ancient poets in describing the rise and the glory of the republics of antiquity—and all in vain. Neither the sober truth of history, nor the fervid imagination of ancient poets, has produced a parallel. The course of this Union has been onward and upward—rapid, almost beyond belief—in the scale of national greatness. The influence of past success has carried trembling to the hearts of Kings;—under that influence, thrones have tottered—the old systems of tyranny have been crumbling to the dust—and the standard of liberal principles, which has carried America on to victory, has been planted in the soil of priest and king-trodden Europe, and given new hopes to the oppressed on every shore. The influence of future success may carry on the contest already begun, until it shall ultimately end in the establishment of correct principles and correct systems of free government, in all the civilized and enlightened nations of the earth!

Fellow citizens: these are some of the happy results—already felt, and to be felt—of government founded and conducted upon the maxim which has been brought to view. While, this day, with grateful hearts to the Giver of every good and perfect gift, we may bring to remembrance the blessings secured to us by His favor, and through the toils and perils of our fathers—we may, perhaps, with profit, turn our attention for a few moments to the considerations of sources from which danger is to be apprehended.

Often, and most earnestly, have we been invoked to maintain the integrity of the Union, as the very essence of nationality, and absolutely necessary to the prosperity and freedom of the people. The sentiment that "the Union must be preserved"—so eloquently and impressively urged by the immortal Washington, and more recently repeated by the late Chief Magistrate—cannot too frequently be borne in remembrance, nor too seriously be brought to bear upon the public mind.—Constantly are we reminded, by the conflicts in the Halls of Congress, that a spirit of concession and patriotism are demanded to calm conflicting interests and preserve the unity of the nation: and the existence of slavery in a large portion of the Union—the consequent existence of a deep, justly deep, and constantly increasing feeling on this delicate subject at the North, and of jealousy equally deep at the South—all warn us that prudence and extreme caution, as well as a spirit of concession and patriotism, are essential to the same end.

The dangers to which I would allude, do not, however, spring from this source: they are such as relate rather to the principle than to the form of government. The Union may be preserved—but it may be a Union of States and state governments, degenerated in their political principles and morals. The forms of republican government may be studiously maintained, only to conceal the spirit of despotism. Our glorious federal constitution may remain on the statute books, as pure as when it came from the hands of Washington, bearing his attested signature as President of the Convention of '87—but its principles may be forgotten, or its requirements unheeded.—The national Congress and the state legislatures may remain elective—but the representatives of the people may degenerate into the mere representatives of a faction, and finally abandon their whole representative character by becoming the base panders to the interests and the power of a single man; or even the Presidential office itself, when patriotism is asleep, and the spirit of liberty has given place to the spirit of gain—when unchastened ambition, like a frenzied madness, has seized upon public men, and luxury and indolence have corrupted the mass of the people—may become but another name to grace a dictatorship or a crown.

True, it undoubtedly is, that revolutions so extraordinary as these—embracing a total subversion of the republican principles of the revolution—cannot be the work of a day. It must be a gradual work,—a disease secretly and slowly stealing upon the body politic, until it has become firm, fixed and perhaps incurable, unless by the most forcible and dangerous means. To say that there are dangers of such a character, is merely to repeat the language of a Washington and a Jefferson. To say that the work of subversion has already been begun—unintentionally, perhaps, but yet really begun—might not be entirely without the range of truth. Happily, we have to apprehend little danger from abroad: the result of two wars with the most powerful nation on earth—begun each in weakness and with immense odds, and ending both in the triumph of the American arms—is sufficient security from foreign aggression, at least until degeneracy shall have commenced the work of destruction at home.—Within us are the seeds of disease, which may spring up, bearing the fruits of political disorder, and ultimate political death.

The first, and perhaps, the greatest source of danger, lies in overconfidence in the invincibility of our political institutions. We seem to forget the lessons of antiquity. Greece, in olden days, was as famed as ever were the sons and daughters of the pilgrims, for love of Liberty; and on the fields of Marathon, Thermopylæ, Salamis and Plataea, made as brilliant displays of courage and devotion for freedom's cause, as the history of the world records; yet civil discord, indolence and luxury, the results of long prosperity, prepared the way for the gold and the sword of Philip to complete her ruin. The last attempt for Grecian freedom, has, even in this day, placed a regal son of Austria, on a Grecian throne.—The history of Rome, too, is but a repetition of the glory of Grecian freedom and the disgrace of Grecian slavery. Raised by the oppression of tyrants—ruined by the folly of freemen! This is the brief epitaph inscribed upon the tomb of almost every system of free government, since the world began.

"The name of commonwealth is past and gone

O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe;

Venice is crushed, and Holland deigns to own

A sceptre, and endures the purple robe."

Our past success has excited a firm belief in the stability of our institutions. But we ought to remember that the administration of the governments, national and state, has been until now, more or less in the hands of men who fought their way to eminence, in the cabinet and in the field, through the perils and blood of the revolution: that our councils have been guided by that wisdom and prudence which a perfect and abiding sense of danger tended to produce; in a few words, that for the past career of success and prosperity, our gratitude is due to the men cradled in revolutionary days, and whose first lessons were lessons of patriotism and courage, of caution and jealousy of power. They have passed away from our public councils; most of them are buried in the silence of the grave, and to us nothing remains but the remembrance of their virtues and the lessons of their teaching. As they began the great experiment of modern republican government, with trembling fear and deep distrust—so it behoves us to mark every onward step with deliberation and care. As they felt—so must we deeply feel—the maxim that "power is stealing from the many to the few," as naturally, as unerringly, as the flowing rivers seek the sea, or the planets in the heavens tend to the central sun. As they were—it is for us to be—jealous of power.—Overconfidence is the reverse of jealousy:—it is the key which opens the temple of Liberty, and every unclean thing may enter to defile—to desecrate—to destroy.

It requires no argument to prove, that men, who fear no danger, will make no efforts to secure safety; nor does it demand the power of second sight to foresee, that a nation, unconscious of the inward ravages of a dangerous disease, will, at least, run the fearful hazard of perishing. While the mass of the people lose their jealousy of power—relax their watchfulness of the course of public men & public measures, involving in their results, it may be, the very principles of liberty; while luxuriating in present prosperity and the prospect of future success, they become intent on gain, and careless of the state—the door is opened for the entrance of abuses; power may be assumed without even the color of necessity or of law, and the sacred charters of our rights become no better than the paper upon which they are inscribed. The press, the main sentinels on the walls of freedom, when guided with an honest and honorable regard to the commonweal—will, in such a state of things, give but an uncertain sound, or, by the false cry of security, lull to still deeper sleep. The bribes or the frowns of power may tempt it to silence or to defend the wrong, and one after another of the pillars of our safety may be removed, until the fair fabric of freedom falls to the ground of its own weight.

Growing out of this source of danger is another, and the only one, to which your attention will be called: it is, the low value placed upon the rights and privileges of American citizenship.

The fundamental maxim has been brought to mind, that the people are the source, and the greatest good of the people the end, of all right government. In acknowledgment of this maxim and to secure its perpetuity, all political power is made to flow from the people: through the ballot boxes they are to confer power upon their servants—and through that medium they are to correct all abuses. The American citizen is himself the guardian of his own rights—the protector of his own liberty. However humble in wealth, or however undistinguished by talents—he may be one in a multitude, and look abroad over fifteen millions of human beings—but there are none with more rights and privileges—none with more political power than he possesses. He may go into the halls of legislation, composed of men most noted for wisdom—into the courts, and find judges renowned for legal lore—into the presence of the President himself—and yet these are all his servants. This is American citizenship. But alas! how little do we feel our relation to the nation and to the events of the time in which we live.—How faint is our conception of the heavy responsibility conferred by the constitution and confirmed by our own oath, before God, to be faithful to our trust!

Many years ago, one who loved as much, and feared as much for the Liberty of America, as any man who has lived or died on her shores—Thomas Jefferson—uttered a fearful prophecy. "The spirit of the times," said he, "may alter, will alter. Our rulers will become corrupt, our people careless. A single zealot may commence persecutor, and better men be his victims. It can never be too often repeated, that the time for fixing every essential right, is while our rulers are honest and ourselves united. From the conclusion of this war we shall be going down hill. It will not then be necessary to resort every moment to the people for support. They will be forgotten, therefore, and their rights disregarded. They will forget themselves, but in the sole faculty of money making, and will never think of uniting to effect a due respect for their rights."

"The people will forget themselves!" This was the prophecy—and too rapid has been the course of fulfilment. Reflection on this subject has led to the fear, that neither the reality nor the extent of danger from this source is properly appreciated. By reference to the census of our own state in 1830, we shall find that Vermont contained more than 60,000 persons, entitled to all the privileges of freemen—and yet seldom, if ever, in the severest political contests which the state has witnessed, have more than 40,000 votes been cast.—Here, then, is a fact, which ought to astound and alarm us, that ordinarily, more than one third of the freemen of Vermont have forgotten that they were freemen, or neglected to perform the imperative duties and exercise the high privileges of citizenship! We are not at liberty to say that the citizens of other states in the Union are less attached to our republican institutions. To them shall be accorded patriotism as much and as pure as we claim for ourselves: and yet we shall find the fearful fact that more than one third of the citizens of this nation—a fraction amounting to more than one million of freemen—have "forgotten themselves" and "their rights."—The great barrier against the inroads of innovation, and against the entrance of corruption and abuses, is the faithful exercise, by the people, of their privileges: but if one third of the people have already and habitually abandoned their trust—what, and how soon, shall the end be?

It is clear that the first and almost inevitable consequence of this state of things is, in every contested election, to throw the Governments, state and national, into the hands of a minority. Withdraw one third of the freemen from the contest, and you leave the battle to be fought by the remaining two thirds. you leave the victory to be won by a bare majority of the two thirds; and in nine cases out of ten, the victorious party will form but a small minority of the whole mass. The result is, that all the power is conferred upon the officers of the government—but it is not conferred by the people. This is, in itself subversive of the first principles of our political system, and opens the way for innumerable evils. By frequent, or even by occasional omissions of the exercise of his privileges, the citizen is made to withdraw his mind from the affairs of state. He does not, to use a common expression, keep up with the times. He does not scrutinize the conduct of his servants, nor is he familiar with the measures or the principles of legislation. In a word, he is unprepared to do the duty of a guardian of his own and the public weal. The privileges and the power of an American citizen may still remain to him, but when some misjudged policy of government, which has blighted his personal prosperity, or some act of oppression or violence has forced him to awake from his stupidity—he may rush to the ballot boxes, with thousands of his brother freemen, like himself, unprepared, and, by a mistaken or a misdirected exercise of his power, only serve to plunge the nation or the state into still deeper difficulties. This state of things naturally—we may say, inevitably—prepares the way for factions. It is recorded by the historian that one of the first and foremost Roman patriots was banished from the city, because he was so unfortunate as to be christened with a name which the tyrants bore! and another was obliged to pull down his house, whose stateliness and magnificence among the rest, seemed incompatible with the duties and the rank of a private citizen. In our own time we have occasionally seen or heard of men of the same narrow and illiberal views—views, by the way, as far removed from the proper spirit of jealousy, as is the meanest parsimony from honorable economy—who openly advocate, either the ostracism of the wealthy, or pretend to demonstrate that their robbery, (legally done to be sure!) would best advance the interests of the people. Others, in the true mobocratic spirit, but under the same popular plea, have assailed the right of discussion and the liberty of the press, and in the sacred name of justice, taken vengeance into their own hands, erected the gallows or piled up the faggots, and executed their victim without judge or jury—without even the forms of defence or trial! These and other vagaries of madmen—alike violations of personal rights and constitutional privileges—can only become extremely dangerous through the means of factions; factions which will arise and triumph, whenever the great body of the people are either ignorant of their duty and danger or forgetful of themselves.

"A single zealot," said Jefferson, "may commence persecutor, and better men be his victims." A single man.—through honest or mistaken views, perhaps, but more frequently to gratify his own ambition—may commence reform. He may paint and gild a fanciful hobby, and attract first the gaze, then the admiration, and finally, secure the applause and aid of a few around him. The aspiring demagogue, and the ignorant and unsuspecting citizen, may alike fly to his standard; until at last he dignifies the faction with a captivating name—assumes the port and air of an oracle of the people—finally seats himself upon the highest pinnacle of power, and forces better men to do him reverence. A Mahomet overthrew the altars and subdued the faith of half the world; a Bonaparte, in more modern times, overturned kingdoms, overrun Europe, and under the guise of the sacred name of republicanism, became an Emperor.

Human nature is the same everywhere, and under every form of government. Ambition will everywhere seize and feed upon the spirit of faction. Let the mass of the people forget themselves, or undervalue their birth right,—the foundation of right government will be undermined—the few will exercise the power of the many—and the greatest good of the whole will be forgotten in the bitter-strifes of factions contending for the mastery.

Fellow-citizens: the length to which these remarks have been drawn out, reminds me that I am trespassing upon your patience and your time. I should, however, be unmindful of my privilege, were I not to urge that the subjects of this day's contemplation, not only have a bearing upon the highest interests, but demand the action of us all. We have sought out the basis on which is placed our temporal all—the good we have, and the good for which in this life we hope; we have contemplated a few, yet prolific sources, from which imminent danger is to be apprehended. It is the part of prudence to foresee the danger—and of patriotism to prevent it. To you, who are in the vigor of manhood, I appeal—not in the spirit of party, nor by motives merely selfish. To whatever party we may be attached, or to whatever policy we may give our support—let us remember that these are but means, which, if rightly directed, will tend to the great end, the common good—or, if abused, will most surely lead to a fatal issue. Our duty is, to look to the end, and to guide our conduct by an high and honorable regard to the public welfare. To us—and to none more than to us—to all who bear the name of American citizens—is committed a sacred trust: it is nothing more, and nothing less, than to guard the Republic from danger. With jealousy, we are to watch against the inroads of power on the one hand, and the assaults of demagogues on the other—as both and alike subversive of public liberty. Above all, we are to watch ourselves,—that overconfidence, the love of ease, or the thirst for wealth, do not lead us to forget our high privileges and our rights. As we value, then, the institutions which our fathers have left us, let us make the dangers, to which these institutions are exposed, the subject of frequent contemplation, and determine that, as far as in us lies, by a continual and independent exercise of our power and influence as freemen guided by that intelligence of public men and public affairs which our means will give us—we will be faithful to the Republic.

Nor is it alone to the men of America that the cause of freedom must look for support: to the ladies of revolutionary times we owe no small debt of gratitude; and to the ladies of America now, is attached no light responsibility. Their influence—and to most men it is irresistible—must be on the side of Liberty.—Every step they take in the cause of virtue and intelligence, and for the improvement of society, is but a new and strong link to bind us in the glorious union of national liberty and domestic happiness.

I see before me a very few, whose whitened locks and looks of age, tell of olden days and other scenes. Fathers of the revolution! brought by the mercy of Heaven to behold another day of Freedom's jubilee—we turn to you. We come, with no lesson of warning—with no voice of exhortation. From your patriotism—from your perils—we learn the lesson of Liberty; by your faithfulness, we are exhorted to be true to its heedings. We come, with the offering of gratitude to God, that He has spared you thus long, to witness and to enjoy the happy fruits of the labors of your youth; we come to thank you, in the name of Freedom, for your sacrifices in her cause. He, whom above all others you revered, as your Chief, and the chosen one of the God of battles to lead you on to victory—the immortal Washington—has long since finished his glorious work and gone to his reward. That other—the noble son of a foreign soil, whose name, in your hearts and ours, is ever associated with that of the "father of his country"—the great, the good Lafayette—is no more. Of all who formed the Congress of '76, and whose fame will live as long as Liberty itself shall live—not one remains: and of those thousands, who with you, fought the good fight, "for liberty or death"—there are but few, and you among the few, who have survived the wrecks of time. Admonished by these melancholy truths, that soon you, too, must join the departed patriot host—we may not, in defiance of the fiat of the Almighty, ask for you the length of many more days, or the much longer continued enjoyment of temporal blessings. We ask for you a richer blessing—a more enduring reward: the happy end of the virtuous man—the everlasting reward of the faithful soldier of the Cross.