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the cant about the pharisaism of reform there is one short and final answer. The man who tells the truth is a holier man than the liar. The man

who does not steal is a better man than the thief.



NTO how many homes along this lovely valley


came the news of Lexington and Bunker Hill eighty years ago; and young men like us, studious, fond of leisure, young lovers, young husbands, young brothers, and sons, knew that they must forsake the wooded hillside, the river meadows golden with harvest, the twilight walk along the river, the summer Sunday in the old church, parents, wife, child, mistress, and go away to uncertain war. Putnam heard the call at his plough, and turned to go without waiting. Wooster heard it, and obeyed.

Not less lovely in those days was this peaceful valley, not less soft this summer air. Life was as dear and love as beautiful to those young men as to us who stand upon their graves. But because they were so dear and beautiful, those men went out bravely to fight for them all and fall. Through these very streets they marched, who

never returned. They fell and were buried; but they never can die. Not sweeter are the flowers that make your valley fair, nor greener are the pines that give your river its name, than the memory of the brave men who died for freedom. And yet no victim of those days, sleeping under the green sod of Connecticut, is more truly a martyr of Liberty than every murdered man whose bones lie bleaching in this summer sun upon the silent plains of Kansas.

Gentlemen, while we read history we make history. Because our fathers fought in this great cause, we must not hope to escape fighting. Because two thousand years ago Leonidas stood against Xerxes, we must not suppose that Xerxes was slain, nor, thank God! that Leonidas is not immortal. Every great crisis of human history is a pass of Thermopyla, and there is always a Leonidas and his three hundred to die in it, if they cannot conquer. And so long as Liberty has one martyr, so long as one drop of blood is poured out for her, so long from that single drop of bloody sweat of the agony of humanity shall spring hosts as countless as the forest leaves and mighty as the


Brothers! the call has come to us. I bring it to you in these calm retreats. I summon you to

the great fight of Freedom. I call upon you to say with your voices, whenever the occasion offers, and with your votes when the day comes, that upon these fertile fields of Kansas, in the very heart of the continent, the upas-tree of slavery, dripping death-dews upon national prosperity and upon free labor, shall never be planted. I call upon you to plant there the palm of peace, the wine and the olive of a Christian civilization. I call upon you to determine whether this great experiment of human freedom, which has been the scorn of despotism shall, by our failure, be also our sin and shame. I call upon you to defend the hope of the world.

The voice of our brothers who are bleeding, no less than our fathers who bled, summons us to this battle. Shall the children of unborn generations, clustering over that vast western empire, rise up and call us blessed or cursed? Here are our Marathon and Lexington; here are our heroic fields. The hearts of all good men beat with us. The fight is fierce the issue is with God. But God is

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James Topham Brady, born in New York, 1815, died 1869. He was a lawyer, educated by his father, who was also a lawyer and a judge. The son became eminent for eloquence, and for almost unbroken success in the cases undertaken by him. In New York he was popular, both as a lawyer and a citizen, and especially admired as an offhand speaker. He contributed largely to newspapers and magazines, but left no collected works.

HE advocate is of very little use in the days


of prosperity and peace, in the periods of repose, in protecting your property or aiding you to recover your rights of a civil nature. It is only when public opinion, or the strong power of government, the formidable array of influence, the force of a nation, or the fury of a multitude, is directed against you, that the advocate is of any


Many years ago, while we were yet colonies of Great Britain, there occurred on this island what is known as the famous negro insurrection the result of an idle story told by a worthless person, and yet leading to such an inflammation of the public mind that all the lawyers who then practised at the bar of New York (and it is the greatest stigma

on our profession of which the world can furnish an example) refused to defend the accused parties. One of them was a poor priest, of, I believe, foreign origin. The consequence was that numerous convictions took place, and a great many executions. And yet all mankind is perfectly satisfied that there never was a more unfounded rumor, never a more idle tale, and that judicial murders were never perpetrated on the face of the earth more intolerable, more inexcusable, more without palliation. How different was it in Boston, at the time of what was called the massacre of Massachusetts subjects by British forces! The soldiers on being indicted, sought for counsel, and they found two men of great eminence in the profession to act for them. One of them was Mr. Adams, and the other Mr. Quincy. The father of Mr. Quincy addressed a letter, imploring him, on his allegiance as a son, and from affection and duty toward him, not to undertake the defence of these men. The son wrote back a response, recognizing, as he truly felt, all the filial affection which he owed to that honored parent, but, at the same time, taking the high and appropriate ground that he must discharge his duty as an advocate, according to the rules of his profession and the obliga

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