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do it; he dares not disobey; immediate death would be the sure consequence of the least grumbling: and if an officer were sent into the court of requests, accompanied by a body of musketeers with screwed bayonets, and with orders to tell us what we ought to do, and how we were to vote, I know what would be the duty of this house; I know it would be our duty to order the officer to be taken, and hanged up at the door of the lobby;-but I doubt much, if such a spirit could be found in the house, or in any house of commons that will ever be in England.

I talk not of imaginary things; I talk of what has happened to an English house of commons, and from an English army; not only from an English army, but an army that was raised by that very house of commons; an army that was paid by them, and an army that was commanded by generals appointed by them: therefore, do not let us vainly imagine that an army raised and maintained by authority of parliament will always be submissive to them. If any army be so numerous as to have it in their power to overawe the parliament, they will be submissive as long as the parliament does nothing to disoblige their favorite general; but when that case happens, I am afraid that, instead of the parliament's dismissing the army, the army will dismiss the parliament, as they have done heretofore. Nor does the legality or illegality of that parliament or of that army alter the case; for, with respect to that army, and according to their way of thinking, the parliament dismissed by them was a legal parliament; they were an army raised and maintained according to law; and at first they were raised, as they imagined, for the preservation of those liberties which they afterwards destroyed.

It has been urged, that whoever is for the Protestant succession must be for continuing the army. For that very reason I am against continuing the army. I know that neither the Protestant succession in his majesty's most illustrious house, nor any succession, can ever be safe, as long as there is a standing army in the country.

Armies have no regard to hereditary successions. The first two Cæsars at Rome did pretty well, and found means to keep their armies in tolerable subjection, because the generals and officers were all their own creatures; but how did it fare with their successors? Was not every one of them named by the army, without any regard to hereditary right, or to any right? A cobbler, a gardener, or any man who happened to raise himself in the army, and could gain their affections, was made emperor of the world. Was not every succeeding emperor raised to the throne, or tumbled headlong into the dust, according to the mere whim or mad frenzy of the soldiers?

We are told, "Oh! gentlemen, but this army is desired to be continued but for one year longer; it is not desired to be continued for any term of years." How absurd is this distinction! Is there any army in the world continued for any term of years? Does the most absolute monarch tell his army, that he is to continue them for any number of years, or any number of months? How long have we already continued our army from year to year? And if it thus continues, wherein will it differ from the standing armies of those countries which have already submitted their necks to the yoke? We are now come to the Rubicon; our army is now to be reduced, or it never will. From his majesty's own mouth we are assured of a profound tranquillity abroad—we know there is one at home. If this is not a proper time, if these circumstances do not afford us a safe opportunity for reducing at least a part of our regular forces, we never can expect to see any reduction; and this nation, already overloaded with debts and taxes, must be loaded with the heavy charge of perpetually supporting a numerous standing army, and remain for ever exposed to the danger of having its liberties and privileges trampled upon by any future king or ministry who shall take it in their heads to do so, and shall take a proper care to model the army for that purpose.


Song of the Stars.-BRYANT.

WHEN the radiant morn of creation broke,
And the world in the smile of God awoke,
And the empty realms of darkness and death

Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,
And orbs of beauty, and spheres of flame,
From the void abyss, by myriads came,

In the joy of youth, as they darted away
Through the widening wastes of space to play,
Their silver voice in chorus rung;

And this is the song the bright ones sung:

"Away, away! through the wide, wide sky,The fair blue fields that before us lie,—

Each sun, with the worlds that around him roll,
Each planet, poised on her turning pole,
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,
And her waters that lie like fluid light.

"For the Source of glory uncovers his face,
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space;
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides.
Lo! yonder the living splendors play:
Away, on our joyous path, away!

"Look, look! through our glittering ranks afar,

In the infinite azure, star after star,

How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass!

How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass!

And the path of the gentle winds is seen,

Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean.

"And see, where the brighter day-beams pour, How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower; And the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues, Shift o'er the bright planets, and shed their dews; And, 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, With her shadowy cone, the night goes round.

"Away, away!-in our blossoming bowers, In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours, In the seas and fountains that shine with morn, See, love is brooding, and life is born, And breathing myriads are breaking from night, To rejoice, like us, in motion and light.

"Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, To weave the dance that measures the years: Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent To the farthest wall of the firmament,The boundless visible smile of Him,

To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim."


Affection.-MRS. NORTON.

SMILE on, young mother! brightly smile,
And thank the Lord of heaven,
That to those dark and anxious eyes

The future is not given.

Smile on, and listen to the sweet

Low voices in thine ear,

And press the trembler to thy heart,

Whose laugh belies her fear.

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The day may come, when, dead alike
To human joy or pain,
Those crimson lips shall meet thy kiss,
Yet not caress again;

And thou shalt shroud the fairy limbs,

So perfect in thine eye,

And in the cold and quiet grave

Thy little one shall lie.

The day may come, when shame shall creep
That merry heart within,

And thou perforce must share the shame,
Who only wept the sin;

When, scorned, and crushed, and left alone
Without a name or home,

The broken heart shall breathe a prayer
For death, which will not come.

The day may come (oh! strange that such Should be a mother's fate!)

When those, so tenderly beloved,

Thy heart shall learn to hate; When, baffled in thy fondest dreams,

That heart, with slow decay,

Shall wither at its very core,

And eat itself away;

When, cold in feeling, cold in speech,

And brooding o'er thy wrongs, Thou shalt forget the days of old—

Forget thy cradle songs;

And they who nestled at thy breast,
And laughed upon thy knee,
More strange unto thy home and heart
Than strangers' selves shall be.

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