pend all its executive functions on that day? Why do they not require us to enact that our ships shall not sail-that our armies shall not march-that officers of justice shall not seize the suspected, or guard the convicted? They seem to forget that government is as necessary on Sunday as on any other day of the week. The spirit of evil does not rest on that day. It is the government, ever active in its functions, which enables us all, even the petitioners, to worship in our churches in peace. Our gov. ernment furnishes very few blessings like our mails. They bear, from the centre of our republic to its distant extremes, the acts of our legislative bodies, the decisions of the judiciary, and the orders of the executive. Were they suspended one day of the week, their absence must be often supplied by public expresses; and besides, while the mail bags might rest, the mail coaches would pursue their journey with the passengers.-The mails bear, from one extreme of the union to the other, the letters of relatives and friends, preserving a communion of heart between those far separated, and the indulgence of the most pure and refined pleasures of our existence of commercial men, stating the condition of the markets, preventing ruinous and gambling speculations, and promoting general as well as individual interests; they convey innumerable religious letters, newspapers, magazines and tracts, which reach almost every house throughout this wide republic. Is this a violation of the Sabbath?

But if it be sinful for the mail to carry letters on Sunday, it must be equally sinful for individuals to write, carry, receive or read them. It would seem to require that these acts should

I

be made penal, to complete the system. Travelling on business or recreation, except to and from church; all printing, carrying, receiving, and reading of newspapers; all conversations and social intercourse, except upon religious subjects, must necessarily be punished, to suppress the evil. Would it not also follow, as an inevitable consequence, that every man, woman and child should be compelled to attend meeting? and, as only one sect, in the opinion of some, can be deemed orthodox, must it not be determined, by law, which that is, and all be compelled to hear those teachers, and contribute to their support? If minor punishments would not restrain the Jew, or the Sabbatarian, or the infidel, who believes Saturday to be the Sabbath, or disbelieves the whole, would not the same system require that we should resort to imprisonment, banishment, the rack and the fagot, to force men to violate their own consciences, or compel them to listen to doctrines which they abhor? When these measures shall have been adopted, it will be time enough for congress to declare that the rattling of the mail coaches shall no longer break the silence of this despotism. It is the duty of this government to afford to all-to Jew or Gentile, Pagau or Christian, the protection and the advantages of our benignant institutions, on Sunday, as well as every day of the week.

The petitioners have not requested congress to suppress Sunday mails upon the ground of political expediency, but because they violate the sanctity of the first day of the week. This being the fact, and the petitioners having indignantly disclaimed even the wish to unite politics and religion, may not the committee

reasonably cherish the hope that they will feel reconciled to its decision in the case; especially, as it is also a fact, that counter-memorials, equally respectable, oppose the interference of congress, upon the ground that it would be legislating upon a religious subject, and therefore unconstitutional?

XXVIII.

Character and Fate of the American Indians.— STORY.

In the fate of the Aborigines of our countrythe American Indians-there is, my friends, much to awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb the sobriety of our judgment; much which may be urged to excuse their atrocities; much in their characters, which may betray us into an involuntary admiration. What can be more melancholy than their history? Two centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams, and the fires of their councils rose in every valley, from Hudson's Bay to the farthest Florida, from the ocean to the Mississippi and the Lakes. The shouts of victory and the war-dance rang through the mountains and the glades. The thick arrows and the deadly tomahawk whistled through the forests; and the hunter's trace, and the dark encampment startled the wild beasts in their lairs. The warriors stood forth in their glory. The young men listened to the songs of other days. The mothers played with their infants and gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the future. The aged sat down; but they wept not. They should soon be at rest in fairer regions, where the Great Spirit dwelt,

in a home prepared for the brave, beyond the western skies. Braver men never lived; truer men never drew the bow. They had courage, and fortitude, and sagacity, and perseverance, beyond most of the human race. They shrunk from no dangers, and they feared no hardships. If they had the vices of savage life, they had the virtues also. They were true to their country, their friends and their homes. If they forgave not injury, neither did they forget kindness. If their vengeance was terrible, their fidelity and generosity were unconquerable also. Their love, like their hate, stopped not on this side of the grave. But where are they? Where are the villages, and warriors, and youth? The sachems and the tribes? The hunters and their families? They have perished. They are consumed. The wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty work. No, nor famine, nor war. There has been a mightier power, a moral canker, which hath eaten into their heartcores a plague, which the touch of the white man communicated-a poison, which betrayed them into a lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic fan not a single region which they may now call their own. Already, the last feeble remnants of the race are preparing for their journey beyond the Mississippi. I see them leave their miserable homes, the aged, the helpless, the women and the warriors, "few and faint, yet fearless still." The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke no longer curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with a slow unsteady step. The white man is upon their heels, for terror or despatch; but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look of their deserted villages. They cast a

last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears; they utter no cries; they heave no groans. There is something in their hearts which passes speech. There is something in their looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard necessity, which stifles both; which chokes all utterance; which has no aim or method. It is courage, absorbed in despair. They linger but for a moment. Their look is onward. They have passed the fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them,— no, never. Yet there lies not between us and them an impassable gulf. They know and feel that there is for them still one remove further, not distant, nor unseen. It is to the general burial ground of their race.

XXIX.

Mr CLAY'S Speech on occasion of introducing his Public Lands Bill.*

ALTHOUGH I find myself borne down by the severest afflictiont with which Providence has ever been pleased to visit me, I have thought that my private griefs ought not longer to prevent me from attempting, ill as I feel qualified, to discharge my public duties. And I now rise, in pursuance of the notice, which has been given, to ask leave to introduce a bill to appro

* Delivered in the Senate of the United States, 29th December 1835.

†This was Mr Clay's first appearance in the senate after the death of his only daughter, a lady of great worth and accomplishments, and to whom he was more than ordinarily attached.