The American Union Speaker

by John D. Philbrick

NECESSITY OF A PURE NATIONAL MORALITY.

The crisis has come. By the people of this generation, by ourselves, probably the amazing question is to be decided, whether the inheritance of our fathers shall be preserved or thrown away; whether our Sabbaths shall be a delight or a loathing; whether the taverns, on that holy day shall be crowded with drunkards, or the sanctuary of God with humble worshippers; whether riot and profaneness shall fill our streets, and poverty our dwellings: and convicts our jails, and violence our land; or whether industry, and temperance, and righteousness, shall be the stability of our times; whether mild laws shall receive the cheerful submission of free men, or the iron rod of a tyrant compel the trembling homage of slaves. Be not deceived. The rocks and hills of New England will remain till the last conflagration. But let the Sabbath be profaned with impunity, to worship of God be abandoned, the government and religions instruction of children neglected, and the streams of intemperance be permitted to flow, and her glory will depart. The wall of fire will no longer surround her, and the munition of rocks will no longer be her defence. The hand that overturns our doors and temples, is the hand of Death unbarring the gate of pandemonium, and letting loose upon our land the crimes and miseries of hell. If the Most High should stand aloof and cast not a single ingredient into our cup of trembling, it would seem to be full of superlative woe. But He will not stand aloof. As we shall have begun an open controversy with Him, he will contend openly with us. And, never, since the earth stood, has it been so fearful a thing for nations to fall into the hands of the living God. The day of vengeance is at hand; the day of judgment has come; the great earthquakes which sinks Babylon is making the nations, and the waves of the mighty commotions are dashing upon every shore. Is this, then, a time to remove the foundations, when the earth itself is shaken? Is this a time to forfeit the protection of God, when the hearts of men are failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are to come upon the earth? Is this a time to run upon His neck and the thick bosses of His buckler, when the nations are drinking blood, and fainting, and passing away in His wrath? Is this the time to throw away the shield of faith, when His arrows are drunk with the blood of the slain?—to cut from the anchor of hope, when the clouds are collecting, and the sea and the waves are roaring and thunders are uttering their voices, and lightnings blazing in the heavens, and the great hail is falling from heaven upon men, and every mountain, sea, and island is fleeing in dismay from the face of an incensed God! L. Beecher.

XLIV.

ON THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL.

I do not rise to fawn or cringe to this House; I do not rise to supplicate you to be merciful towards the nation to which I belong,—toward a nation which though subject to England, is yet distinct from it. It is a distinct nation; it has been treated as such by this country, as may be proved by history, and by seven hundred years of tyranny. I call upon this House, as you value the liberty of England, not to allow this nefarious bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties of England, the liberty of the press, and. of every other institution dear to Englishmen. Against the bill I protest, in the name of the Irish people, and in the face of Heaven. I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful assertions, that grievances are not to be complained of,—that our redress is not to be agitated; for, in such cases, remonstrances cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what tyranny the people suffer.

The clause which does away with trial by jury,—what, in the name of Heaven is it, if it is not the establishment of a revolutionary tribunal? It drives the judge from his bench; it does away with that which is more sacred than the throne itself—that for which your king reigns, your lords deliberate, your commons assemble. If ever I doubted before of the success of our agitation for repeal, this bill,—this infamous bill,—the way in which it has been received by the House; the manner in which its opponents have been treated; the personalities to which they have been subjected; the yells with which one of them has this night been greeted,—all these things dissipate my doubts, and tell me of its complete and early triumph. Do you think those yells will be forgotten? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and insulted country; that they will not be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty hills? O, they will be heard there!—yes; and they will not be forgotten. The youth of Ireland will bound with indignation,—they will say "We are eight millions; and you treat us thus, as through we were no more to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey!"

I have done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience and my country. I have opposed this measure throughout; and I now protest against it as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, unjust;—as establishing an infamous precedent, by retaliating crime against crime;—as tyrannous,—cruelly and vindictively tyrannous! D. O'Connel.

XLV.

CÆSAR'S PAUSE UPON THE RUBICON.

An advocate of Cæsar's character, speaking of his benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon!" How came he to the brink of that river? How dared he cross it? Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river?—Oh! but he paused upon the brink! He should leave perished on the brink, ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed? Why does the very murderer,—his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking measure of the blow,—strike wide of the mortal part?—Because of conscience! 'T was that made Cæsar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. Compassion!—What compassion? The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder as his weapon begins to cut!