THE FIGHTING RACE.
BY JOSEPH I.C. CLARKE.
"Read out the names!" and Burke sat back,
And Kelly dropped his head,
While Shea—they call him Scholar Jack—
Went down the list of dead.
Officers, seamen, gunners, marines,
The crews of the gig and yawl,
The bearded man and the lad in his 'teens,
Carpenters, coal-passers—all.
Then, knocking the ashes from out his pipe,
Said Burke in an offhand way:
"We're all in that dead man's list, by Cripe!
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's to the Maine, and I'm sorry for Spain,"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
"Wherever there's Kellys there's trouble," said Burke.
"Wherever fighting's the game,
Or a spice of danger in grown man's work,"
Said Kelly, "you'll find my name."
"And do we fall short," said Burke, getting mad.
"When it's touch and go for life?"
Said Shea, "It's thirty-odd years, bedad,
Since I charged, to drum and fife,
Up Marye's Heights, and my old canteen
Stopped a rebel ball on its way.
There were blossoms of blood on our sprigs of green—
Kelly and Burke and Shea—
And the dead didn't brag." "Well, here's to the flag!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
"I wish 'twas in Ireland, for there's the place,"
Said Burke, "that we'd die by right,
In the cradle of our soldier race,
After one good stand-up fight.
My grandfather fell on Vinegar Hill,
And fighting was not his trade;
But his rusty pike's in the cabin still.
With Hessian blood on the blade."
"Aye, aye," said Kelly, "the pikes were great
When the word was 'Clear the way!'
We were thick on the roll in Ninety-eight—
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's to the pike and the sword and the like!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
And Shea, the scholar, with rising joy.
Said, "We were at Ramillies,
We left our bones at Fontenoy
And up in the Pyrenees.
Before Dunkirk, on Landen's plain,
Cremona, Lille, and Ghent,
We're all over Austria, France, and Spain,
Wherever they pitched a tent.
We've died for England, from Waterloo
To Egypt and Dargai;
And still there's enough for a corps or a crew,
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's to good honest fighting blood!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
"Oh, the fighting races don't die out.
If they seldom die in bed.
For love is first in their hearts, no doubt,"
Said Burke; then Kelly said,
"When Michael, the Irish Archangel, stands,
The angel with the sword,
And the battle-dead from a hundred lands
Are ranged in one big horde,
Our line, that for Gabriel's trumpet waits,
Will stretch three deep that day.
From Jehosaphat to the Golden Gates—
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's thank God for the race and the sod!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
MARVELS OF PRECOCITY.
The "Most Remarkable Child in the World," Which Belongs to Your Friend, Has Had
Many Distinguished Predecessors—Mozart Played the Piano at Three,
and Grotius Was a Poet at Eight.
There are few men and women in the United States who do not at least once a year suddenly find themselves confronted by what fond fathers and doting mothers describe as the most remarkable child in the world.
But there have been others.
Several years ago the newspapers of Europe were heralding the marvelous achievements of a boy in Berlin, who, though only two years old, was said to read in a most surprising manner.
The "learned child of Lübeck" was another of these precocious infants, but he is credited with having such extraordinary talents that one can almost be forgiven for doubting the veracity of the chronicler.
Tasso was another smart child, for he spoke plainly, it is said, when only six months old. When seven years old he understood Latin and Greek, and even composed verses, and before he was twelve, when studying law, he had completed his course of rhetoric, poetry, logic, and ethics.
Lope de Vega was also fortunate when a boy. At five he could read Latin and Spanish fluently, and at twelve he was master of the Latin tongue and of rhetoric, while at fifteen he had written several pastorals and a comedy. He is stated to have produced about eighteen hundred comedies during his life, so perhaps it was necessary to begin when very young.
Grotius was another good poet at the age of eight; at fifteen, accomplished in philosophy, mathematics, and jurisprudence, and at twenty-four he was appointed advocate-general of Rotterdam.
Barrétier, at the age of nine, was master of five languages, while in his eleventh year he made a translation from the Hebrew to the French and added notes such as would be expected from a man of considerable erudition.
Gustavus Vasa was another boy of excellent brain-power, for at the age of twelve he was able to speak and write Latin, French, German, Italian, Dutch, and Swedish, and he also understood Polish and Russian.
Pascal, at twelve, had completely mastered Euclid's Elements without any assistance, and at sixteen he published a work on conic sections, which Descartes was reluctant to believe had been produced by a boy.
The "Great Condé" was a boy with brains, and he made good use of them. At eight he understood Latin, and at eleven he wrote a treatise on rhetoric. Three years later he was thoroughly conversant with all military exercises.
In the world of music, too, both in our own times and in the past, we find many instances of boys giving an early indication of a remarkable career.
Handel and Mozart each showed a liking for music when young in years, and soon made their mark.
Handel began composing a church service for voices and instruments when only nine years old, and before he was fifteen he had composed three operas.
Mozart began to play the piano when he was three years old, and at seven he had taught himself the violin. At nine years of age he visited England, and when departing gave a farewell concert at which all the symphonies were composed by himself.
Several years ago attention was drawn to a little Polish boy who at eight years of age could play from memory some of the most intricate compositions of such composers as Mozart, Bach, Chopin, Rubinstein, and others. This precocious youth, Ignace Jan Paderewski, is now the most famous of all living pianists.
Some remarkable preachers have also started very early.
The Abbé de Rancé, founder of the monastic order of the Trappists, was a splendid Greek scholar at twelve, and shortly afterward was appointed to an important benefice.
Bossuet preached before a brilliant Parisian assembly at the age of fifteen; and Fénelon, who afterward became an archbishop, also preached an extraordinary sermon at the same age.
Patrick Henry's Call to Arms.
The Famous Speech Which, Delivered by the American Hampden in the
Virginia Convention, Kindled the Fire of Revolution in
the Thirteen Colonies in 1775.
In the thick of national crises the ability to persuade others is the strongest power an individual can wield. Such a power was Patrick Henry's.
From the earlier disagreements with the mother country his influence was all for the assertion of colonial liberties. He was born May 9, 1736. In 1765, a young man not yet thirty, he became a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses. The Stamp Act had excited the people. Young Henry, with a presumption which angered many of his maturer colleagues, offered resolutions setting forth the rights of the colony. In the debate he suddenly uttered the words:
"Cæsar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the Third——"
A clamor arose, and cries of "Treason! Treason!"
With perfect coolness the orator continued:
——"may profit by their example." Then, firmly: "If this be treason, make the most of it!"
Thus began the public life of a man whose youth had been most unpromising in its slovenliness and laziness, who had failed at farming and at business, and who had succeeded at law only after a dubious beginning which was turned into triumph by a quite unlooked-for burst of eloquence. His services to his country continued until his voluntary retirement from public life in 1791, at the age of fifty-five. Subsequently Washington and Adams offered him high offices, but Henry declined successively to be United States Senator, Secretary of State, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, or minister to France. In 1799, urged by Washington, he consented to be elected to the Virginia Legislature, but died June 6, before taking his seat. We here print his great speech in the Virginia Conventon, 1775, as recorded by his first biographer.
Mr. President: It is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty?
Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the worst, and to provide for it.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House?
Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land.
Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation—the last arguments to which kings resort.
I ask, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us; they can be meant for no other.
They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain.
Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find, which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament.
Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope.
If we wish to be free; if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending; if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained—we must fight!—I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms, and to the God of hosts, is all that is left us.
They tell us, sir, that we are weak—unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house?
Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive fantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?
Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of Liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us.
Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God, who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest.
There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable—and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come! It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace! peace, but there is no peace. The war has actually begun.
The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that the gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God. I know not what course others may take, but, as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!
FROM THE LIPS OF ANANIAS.
Confidential Chats Which Show That if Nature Would Permit Things to Happen in
the Way Some Narrators Have Described Them, the World Would Be a
Much More Interesting Place in Which to Live.