THE DEATH OF NATHAN HALE 33 ham said he did not want the rebels to know they had a man who could die so bravely. And yet, while André rests in that grandest of mausoleums, where the proudest of nations garners the remains and perpetuates the memories of its most eminent and honored children, the name and deeds of Nathan Hale have passed into oblivion, and only a simple tomb in a village churchyard marks his restingplace. The dying declarations of André and Hale express the animating spirit of their several armies, and teach why, with all her power, England could not conquer America. "I call upon you to witness that I die like a brave man," said André, and he spoke from British and Hessian surroundings, seeking only glory and pay. "I regret I have but one life to lose for my country," said Hale; and with him and his comrades self was forgotten in that absorbing, passionate patriotism which pledges fortune, honor, and life to the sacred cause. THE DEATH OF NATHAN HALE From an address delivered at the unveiling of the statue of It is the deed and the memorable last words we think of when we think of Nathan Hale. For all the man's life, all his character, flowered and bloomed into immortal beauty in this one supreme moment of selfsacrifice, triumph, defiance. The ladder on which the 3 deserted boy stood amidst the enemies of his country, when he uttered those last words, which all human annals do not parallel in simple patriotism—the ladder, I am sure, ran up to heaven, and if angels were not seen ascending and descending it in that gray morning, there stood the embodiment of American courage, unconquerable; American faith, invincible; American love of country, unquenchable; a new democratic manhood in the world, visible there for all men to take note of, crowned already with the halo of victory, in the Revolutionary Dawn. Oh, my Lord Howe! it seemed a trifling incident to you and to your bloodhound, Provost-marshal Cunningham; but those winged last words were worth ten thousand men to the drooping patriot army. Oh, your Majesty, King George the Third here was a spirit, could you but have known it, that would cost you an empire; here was an ignominious death that would grow in the estimation of mankind, increasing in nobility above the fading pageantry of the exit of kings. It was on a lovely Sunday morning, September 22, before the break of day, that he was marched to the place of execution. While awaiting the necessary preparations, a courageous young officer permitted him to sit in his tent. He asked for the presence of a chaplain; his request was refused. He asked for a Bible; it was denied. But at the solicitation of the young officer he was furnished with writing materials, and wrote briefly to his mother, his sister, and his betrothed. When the infamous Cunningham, to whom Howe had delivered him, read what was written, he A REMINISCENCE OF LEXINGTON 35 was furious at the noble and dauntless spirit shown, and with foul oaths tore the letters into shreds, saying afterward that "the rebels should never know that they had a man who could die with such firmness." As Hale stood upon the fatal ladder, Cunningham taunted him, and scoffingly demanded "his last dying speech and confession." The hero did not heed the words of the brute, but looking calmly on the spectators, said in a clear voice: "I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country. A REMINISCENCE OF LEXINGTON THEODORE PARKER Theodore Parker was tried before the United States Circuit Court for the “misdemeanor" of making a speech in Faneuil Hall against the “kidnapping of Thomas Simms." At his trial he conducted his own defense. The following extract is the conclusion of this speech, delivered before the Circuit Court in Boston, April 3, 1855. One raw morning in spring-it will be eighty years the 19th day of this month-Hancock and Adams, the Moses and Aaron of that Great Deliverance, were both at Lexington; they also had "obstructed an officer" with brave words. British soldiers, a thousand strong, came to seize them and carry them over sea for trial, and so nip the bud of Freedom auspiciously opening in that early spring. The town militia came together before daylight, "for training." A great, tall man, with a large head and a high, wide brow, their captain,-one who had "seen service,"marshaled them into line, numbering but seventy, and bade "every man load his piece with powder and ball. I will order the first man shot that runs away," said he, when some faltered. "Don't fire unless fired upon, but if they want to have a war, let it begin here." Gentlemen, you know what followed; those farmers and mechanics "fired the shot heard round the world." A little monument covers the bones of such as before had pledged their fortune and their sacred honor to the Freedom of America, and that day gave it also their lives. I was born in that little town, and bred up amid the memories of that day. When a boy, my mother lifted me up, one Sunday, in her religious, patriotic arms, and held me while I read the first monumental line I ever saw-"Sacred to Liberty and the Rights of Mankind." Since then I have studied the memorial marbles of Greece and Rome, in many an ancient town; nay, on Egyptian obelisks, have read what was written before the Eternal roused up Moses to lead Israel out of Egypt; but no chiseled stone has ever stirred me to such emotions as those rustic names of men who fell "In the Sacred Cause of God and their Country." Gentlemen, the spirit of Liberty, the love of Justice, was early fanned into a flame in my boyish heart. That monument covers the bones of my own kinsfolk; it was their blood which reddened the long, green grass at Lexington. It was my own name which stands chiseled on that stone; the tall Captain who marshaled his fellow farmers into stern array and spoke such THE SURVIVORS OF BUNKER HILL 37 brave and dangerous words as opened the war of American Independence — the last to leave the field — was my father's father. I learned to read out of his Bible, and with a musket he that day captured from the foe, I learned also another religious lesson, that "Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God." I keep them both "Sacred to Liberty and the Rights of Mankind," to use them both "In the Sacred Cause of God and my Country." THE SURVIVORS OF BUNKER HILL DANIEL WEBSTER When the corner-stone of the Bunker Hill Monument was laid at Charlestown, Mass., June 17, 1825, Daniel Webster delivered the address, and took occasion to make the following speech to the survivors of the battle who were present. Venerable men! You have come down to us from a former generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you might behold this joyous day. You are now where you stood fifty years ago, this very hour, with your brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in the strife for your country. Behold, how altered! The same heavens are indeed over your heads; the same ocean rolls at your feet; but all else, how changed! You hear now no roar of hostile cannon; you see no mixed volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charlestown. The ground strewed with the dead and the dying; the |