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LIN.—John Quincy Adams. From Mr. Adams' speech on the reception, by Congress, of the bat

tle sword of Washington, and the staff of Franklin.

[See remarks on previous examples of eulogy.] In presenting the resolution which I am now to offer, it may, perhaps, be expected that I should accompany it with some suitable remarks; and yet, sir, I never arose to address this House under a deeper conviction of the want of words to express the emotions that I feel. It is precisely because occasions like this are adapted to produce universal sympathy, that little can be said by any one, but what, in the language of the heart, in tones not loud but deep, every one present has silently said to himself.

My respected friend from Virginia, by whom this offering of patriotic sentiment has been presented to the representative assembly of the nation, has, it seems to me, already said all that can be said suitable to this occasion. In parting from him, as, after a few short days, we must all do, it will, on my part, be sorrowing that, in all probability, I shall see his face, and hear his voice, no more. But his words of this day are planted in my memory, and will there remain till the last pulsation of my heart.

The sword of Washington! The staff of Franklin! Oh! sir, what associations are linked in adamant with these names! Washington, whose sword, as my friend has said, was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and never sheathed when wielded in his country's cause! Franklin, the philosopher of the thunderbolt, the printing-press, and the plough-share !—What names are these in the scanty catalogue of the benefactors of human kind!

Washington and Franklin! What other two men, whose lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christendom, have left a deeper impression of themselves upon


in which they lived, and upon all after time?

Washington, the warrior and the legislator! In war, contending, by the wager of battle, for the independence of his country, and for the freedom of the human race; ever manifesting, amidst its horrors, by precept and by example, his reverence for the laws of peace, and for the tenderest sympathies of humanity; in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit of discord, among his own countrymen, into harmony and union; and giving to that very sword, now presented to

his country, a charm more potent than that attributed, in ancient times, to the lyre of Orpheus.

FRANKLIN !—The mechanic of his own fortune ; teaching, in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to wealth, and, in the shade of obscurity, the path to greatness; in the maturity of manhood, disarming the thunder of its terrors, the lightning of its fatal blast; and wresting from the tyrant's hand the still more afflictive sceptre of oppression: while descending into the vale of years, traversing the Atlantic ocean, braving, in the dead of winter, the battle and the breeze, bearing in his hand the charter of Independence, which he had contributed to form, and tendering, from the self-created nation to the mightiest monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the mercurial wand of commerce, and the amulet of protection and safety to the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable cruelty and merciless rapacity of war.

And, finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore winters upon his head, under the torture of an incurable disease, returning to his native land, closing his days as the chief magistrate of his adopted commonwealth, after contributing by his counsels, under the presidency of Washington, and recording his name, under the sanction of devout prayer, invoked by him to God, to that Constitution under the authority of which we are here assembled, as the representatives of the North American people, to receive, in their name and for them, these venerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good founders of our great confederated republic,—these sacred symbols of our golden age. May they be deposited among the archives of our government! and every American who shall hereafter behold them, ejaculate a mingled offering of praise to that Supreme Ruler of the Universe, by whose tender mercies our Union has been hitherto preserved, through all the vicissitudes and revolutions of this turbulent world, and of prayer for the continuance of these blessings, by the dispensations of Providence, to our beloved country, from age to age, till time shall be no more!

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Scene from Henry IV. Part I.-Speakers,-King Henry, Prince

Henry, Worcester; other lords attending. Scene,--the king's

camp, near Shrewsbury.
[See remarks introductory to previous examples of dramatic dia-

K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon dusky hill! The day looks pale
At his distemperature.
P. Hen.

The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes,
And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves,
Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day.

K. Hen. Then, with the losers let it sympathize;
For nothing can seem foul to those that win. -

[Enter Worcester.]
How now, my lord of Worcester ? 't is not well

you and I should meet upon such terms
As now we meet. You have deceived our trust,
And made us doff our easy robes of peace,
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel.
That is not well, my lord : this is not well.
What say you to 't? Will you again unknit
This churlish knot of all abhorred war,
And move in that obedient orb, again,
Where you did give a fair and natural light;
And be no more an exhaled meteor,
A prodigy of fear, and a portent
Of broached mischief to the unborn times ?

Wor. Hear me, my liege.
For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the lag-end of my

With quiet hours; for, I do protest,
I have not sought the day of this dislike.

K. Hen. You have not sought for it! How comes it, then?
Wor. It pleased your majesty, to turn your looks
Of favour from myself, and all our house ;
And yet, I must remember you, my lord,
We were the first and dearest of


For you, my staff of office did I break,
In Richard's time, and posted, day and night,
To meet you on the way,

and kiss

your hand,

When yet you were, in place and in account,
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
It was myself, my brother, and his son,
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare
The dangers of the time. You swore to us,-
And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,—
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state,
Nor claim no farther than your new-fallen right,
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:
To this we swore our aid. But, in short

It rained down fortune, showering on your head;
And such a flood of greatness fell on you,—,
What with our help,—what with the absent king,
What with the injuries of a wanton time,-
The seeming sufferances that you had borne,
And the contrarious winds that held the king
So long in his unlucky Irish wars,
That all in England did repute him dead,
And, from this swarm of fair advantages,
You took occasion to be quickly wooed
To gripe the general sway into your hand, -
Forgot your oath to us, at Doncaster;
And, being fed by us, you used us so
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,
Useth the


oppress our nest,
Grew, by our feeding to so great a bulk,
That even our love durst not come near your sigh:,
For fear of swallowing, but, with nimble wing
We were enforced, for safety's sake, to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present head;
Whereby we stand oppressed by such means
As you yourself have forged against yourself,
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,
And violation of all faith and troth,
Sworn to us, in your younger enterprise.

K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articulated,
Proclaimed at market crosses, read in churches,
To face the garment of rebellion
With some fine colour, that

may please the

eye Of fickle changelings, and poor disconten Which


and rub the elbow, at the news
Of hurly-burly innovation ;
And never yet did insurrection want
Such water colours, to impaint his cause,

Nor moody beggars, starving for a time
Of pellmell havock and confusion.

P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul


full dearly for this encounter,
If once they join in trial.--Tell your nephew,
The prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Henry Percy. By my hopes,-
This present enterprise set off his head, -
I do not think, a braver gentleman,
More active-valiant, or more valiant-young,
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
To grace this latter


with noble deeds.
For my part,—I may speak it to my shame,–
I have a truant been to chivalry;

so, I hear, he doth account me too : Yet this,

before my father's majesty,
I am content that he shall take the odds
Of his great name and estimation,
And will,—to save the blood on either side,
Try fortune with him in a single fight.

K. Hen. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee
Albeit, considerations, infinite
Do make against it.—No, good Worcester, no:
We love our people well,--even those we love,
That are misled upon your cousin's part ;
And, will they take the offer of our grace,-
Both he and they, and you, yea, every man,
Shall be my friend, again, and I be his:
So tell your cousin, and bring me word
What he will do.-But, if he will not yield,
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us;
And they shall do their office. So, begone:
We will not now be troubled with reply:
We offer fair,-take it advisedly.

[Exit Wor.] P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life: The Douglas and the Hotspur, both together, Are confident against the world in arms.

K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge ! For, on their answer, wi we set on them ;And God befriend us, as our cause is just!

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