Elson Grammer School Literature, Book Four.

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"Stranger, the land is mine! I understand not these paper rights. I gave
not my consent, when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were purchased,
for a few baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs; they
could sell no more. How could my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit
sent me into the world to live upon? They knew not what they did.

"The stranger came, a timid suppliant,--few and feeble, and asked to lie
down on the red man's bear-skin, and warm himself at the red man's fire,
and have a little piece of land to raise corn for his women and children;
and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads out his
parchments over the whole, and says, 'It is mine.'

"Stranger! there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us
to live together. There is poison in the white man's cup; the white man's
dog barks at the red man's heels. If I should leave the land of my fathers,
whither shall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the graves of
the Pequots? Shall I wander to the west, the fierce Mohawk,--the
man-eater,--is my foe. Shall I fly to the east, the great water is before
me. No, stranger; here I have lived, and here will I die; and if here thou
abidest, there is eternal war between, me and thee.

"Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction; for that alone I thank thee.
And now take heed to thy steps; the red man is thy foe. When thou goest
forth by day, my bullet shall whistle past thee; when thou liest down by
night, my knife is at thy throat. The noonday sun shall not discover thy
enemy, and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt
plant in terror, and I will reap in blood; thou shalt sow the earth with
corn, and I will strew it with ashes; thou shalt go forth with the sickle,
and I will follow after with the scalping-knife; thou shalt build, and I
will burn,--till the white man or the Indian perish from the land. Go thy
way for this time in safety,--but remember, stranger, _there is eternal
war between me and thee!_"

Biographical and Historical: Edward Everett was a celebrated American
orator and statesman. His career was varied, but he will be remembered
chiefly through his essays and orations. He was in turn clergyman,
professor of Greek at Harvard, representative in Congress, governor of
Massachusetts, minister to England, president of Harvard, and secretary of
state. He died at the close of the Civil War.

This extract is from an address delivered at Bloody Brook, South Deerfield,
Mass., September 30, 1835, in commemoration of the death of many colonists
in that spot during King Philip's War, September 18, 1675. King Philip, son
of Massasoit, was an Indian chief who resented the coming of the white man
and, gathering many Indian tribes about him, waged bitter war against the
colonists. He himself was killed at Mount Hope, Rhode Island.

* * * * *

THE CAPTURE OF QUEBEC (From "Montcalm and Wolfe.")

FRANCIS PARKMAN

The sun rose, and, from the ramparts of Quebec, the astonished people saw
the Plains of Abraham glittering with arms, and the dark-red lines of the
English forming in array of battle. Breathless messengers had borne the
evil tidings to Montcalm, and far and near his wide-extended camp resounded
with the rolling of alarm drums and the din of startled preparation.

He, too, had had his struggles and his sorrows. The civil power had
thwarted him; famine, discontent, and disaffection were rife among his
soldiers; and no small portion of the Canadian militia had dispersed from
sheer starvation. In spite of all, he had trusted to hold out till the
winter frosts should drive the invaders from before the town; when, on that
disastrous morning, the news of their successful temerity fell like a
cannon-shot upon his ear.

Still he assumed a tone of confidence. "They have got to the weak side of
us at last," he is reported to have said, "and we must crush them with our
numbers." With headlong haste, his troops were pouring over the bridge of
the St. Charles, and gathering in heavy masses under the western ramparts
of the town. Could numbers give assurance of success, their triumph would
have been secure; for five French battalions and the armed colonial
peasantry amounted in all to more than seven thousand five hundred men.

Full in sight before them stretched the long, thin lines of the British
forces, the half-wild Highlanders, the steady soldiery of England, and the
hardy levies of the provinces,--less than five thousand in number, but all
inured to battle, and strong in the full assurance of success.

Yet, could the chiefs of that gallant army have pierced the secrets of the
future, could they have foreseen that the victory which they burned to
achieve would have robbed England of her proudest boast, that the conquest
of Canada would pave the way for the independence of America, their swords
would have dropped from their hands, and the heroic fire have gone out
within their hearts.

It was nine o'clock, and the adverse armies stood motionless, each gazing
on the other. The clouds hung low, and, at intervals, warm light showers
descended, besprinkling both alike. The coppice and cornfields in front of
the British troops were filled with French sharp-shooters, who kept up a
distant, spattering fire. Here and there a soldier fell in the ranks, and
the gap was filled in silence.

At a little before ten, the British could see that Montcalm was preparing
to advance, and, in a few moments, all his troops appeared in rapid motion.
They came on in three divisions, shouting after the manner of their nation,
and firing heavily as soon as they came within range.

In the British ranks, not a trigger was pulled, not a soldier stirred; and
their ominous composure seemed to damp the spirits of the assailants. It
was not till the French were within forty yards that the fatal word was
given, and the British muskets blazed forth at once in one crashing
explosion. Like a ship at full career, arrested with sudden ruin on a
sunken rock, the ranks of Montcalm staggered, shivered, and broke before
that wasting storm of lead.

The smoke, rolling along the field, for a moment shut out the view; but
when the white wreaths were scattered on the wind, a wretched spectacle was
disclosed; men and officers tumbled in heaps, battalions resolved into a
mob, order and obedience gone; and when the British muskets were leveled
for a second volley, the masses of the militia were seen to cower and
shrink with uncontrollable panic.

For a few minutes, the French regulars stood their ground, returning a
sharp and not ineffectual fire. But now, echoing cheer on cheer, redoubling
volley on volley, trampling the dying and the dead, and driving the
fugitives in crowds, the British troops advanced and swept the field before
them. The ardor of the men burst all restraint. They broke into a run, and
with unsparing slaughter chased the flying multitude to the gates of
Quebec. Foremost of all, the light-footed Highlanders dashed along in
furious pursuit, hewing down the Frenchmen with their broadswords, and
slaying many in the very ditch of the fortifications. Never was victory
more quick or more decisive.

Biographical and Historical: Francis Parkman is one of America's greatest
historians. He took for his theme the great conflict between the English,
the French, and the Indians on the frontiers of the northern new world. He
was not only a historian of genius, but was gifted with a delightful style.
His books are full of the fragrance of woods and streams and the fresh,
free air of the plains and the mountains.

* * * * *

ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES

EDMUND BURKE

England's hold of the colonies is in the close affection which grows from
common names, from kindred blood, from similar privileges, and equal
protection. These are ties which, though light as air, are as strong as
links of iron. Let the colonies always keep the idea of their civil rights
associated with your government; they will cling and grapple to you, and no
force under heaven will be of power to tear them from their allegiance. But
let it once be understood that your government may be one thing, and their
privileges another; that these two things may exist without any mutual
relation--the cement is gone; the cohesion is loosened; and everything
hastens to decay and dissolution. As long as you have the wisdom to keep
the sovereign authority of this country as the sanctuary of liberty, the
sacred temple consecrated to our common faith; wherever the chosen race and
sons of England worship freedom, they will turn their faces toward you. The
more they multiply, the more friends you will have; the more ardently they
love liberty, the more perfect will be their obedience. Slavery they can
have anywhere. It is a weed that grows in every soil. They may have it from
Spain; they may have it from Prussia; but, until you become lost to all
feelings of your true interest and your natural dignity, freedom they can
have from none but you. This is the commodity of price of which you have
the monopoly. This is the true Act of Navigation, which binds to you the
commerce of the colonies, and through them secures to you the wealth of the
world. Deny them this participation of freedom, and you break that sole
bond which originally made, and must still preserve, the unity of the
empire. Do not entertain so weak an imagination as that your registers and
your bonds, your affidavits and your sufferances, are what form the great
securities of your commerce. Do not dream that your letters of office, and
your instructions, and your suspending clauses, are the things that hold
together the great contexture of this mysterious whole. These things do not
make your government. Dead instruments, passive tools as they are, it is
the spirit of the English communion that gives all their life and efficacy
to them. It is the spirit of the English constitution, which, infused
through the mighty mass, pervades, feeds, unites, invigorates, vivifies
every part of the empire, even down to the minutest member. Is it not the
same virtue which does everything for us here in England?

Do you imagine, then, that it is the land tax which raises your revenue?
That it is the annual vote in the committee of supply which gives you your
army? Or that it is the mutiny bill which inspires it with bravery and
discipline? No! surely no! It is the love of the people; it is their
attachment to their government, from the sense of the deep stake they have
in such a glorious institution, which gives you your army and your navy,
and infuses into both that liberal obedience without which your army would
be a base rabble and your navy nothing but rotten timber.

Biographical and Historical: Edmund Burke was a British statesman of Irish
birth, who lived at the time of the American Revolution. While William Pitt
opposed, in the House of Lords, the policy of the British government,
Edmund Burke delivered, in the House of Commons, his famous speech on the
Conciliation of the Colonies, March 22, 1775. This extract is taken from
the closing paragraphs of this celebrated speech.

* * * * *

THE WAY TO WEALTH

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

COURTEOUS READER: I have heard that nothing gives an author so great
pleasure as to find his works respectfully quoted by others. Judge, then,
how much I must have been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to
you.

I stopped my horse, lately, where a great number of people were collected
at an auction of merchants' goods. The hour of the sale not being come,
they were conversing on the badness of the times; and one of the company
called to a plain, clean old man, with white locks: "Pray, Father Abraham,
what think you of the times? Will not these heavy taxes quite ruin the
country? How shall we ever be able to pay them? What would you advise us to
do?"

Father Abraham stood up and replied: "If you would have my advice, I will
give it to you in short; for 'a word to the wise is enough,' as Poor
Richard says." They joined in desiring him to speak his mind, and,
gathering around him, he proceeded as follows: "Friends," said he, "the
taxes are indeed very heavy; and, if those laid on by the Government were
the only ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we
have many others, and much more grievous to some of us.

"We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as much by our
pride, and four times as much by our folly; and of these taxes the
commissioners can not ease or deliver us by allowing an abatement. However,
let us hearken to good advice, and something may be done for us. 'Heaven
helps them that help themselves,' as Poor Richard says.

"It would be thought a hard government that should tax its people one tenth
part of their time to be employed in its service; but idleness taxes many
of us much more; sloth, by bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens life.
'Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears; while the used key is
always bright,' as Poor Richard says. How much more than is necessary do we
spend in sleep! forgetting that 'the sleeping fox catches no poultry,' and
that there will be sleeping enough in the grave.

"'Lost time is never found again; and what we call time enough, always
proves little enough.' Let us, then, be up and doing, and doing to the
purpose; so by diligence shall we do more with less perplexity. 'Drive thy
business, and let not that drive thee'; and 'early to bed, and early to
rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,' as Poor Richard says.

"So, what signifies wishing and hoping for better times? We may make these
times better if we bestir ourselves. 'Industry need not wish, and he that
lives upon hopes will die fasting.' 'There are no gains without pains; then
help hands, for I have no lands.' 'He that hath a trade, hath an estate;
and he that hath a calling, hath an office of profit and honor'; but then
the trade must be worked at, and the calling well followed, or neither the
estate nor the office will enable us to pay our taxes. Work while it is
called to-day, for you know not how much you may be hindered to-morrow.
'One to-day is worth two to-morrows,' as Poor Richard says; and further,
'Never leave that till to-morrow which you can do to-day.'

"If you were a servant, would you not be ashamed that a good master should
catch you idle? Are you, then, your own master? Be ashamed to catch
yourself idle, when there is so much to be done for yourself, your family,
and your country. It is true, there is much to be done, and perhaps you are
weak-handed; but stick to it steadily, and you will see great effects; for
'constant dropping wears away stones,' and 'little strokes fell great
oaks.'

"But with our industry we must likewise be steady, settled, and careful,
and oversee our own affairs with our own eyes, and not trust too much to
others; for, as Poor Richard says, 'Three removes are as bad as a fire';
and again, 'Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee'; and again, 'If you
would have your business done, go; if not, send'; and again, 'The eye of
the master will do more work than both his hands'; and again, 'Want of care
does us more damage than want of knowledge.'

"So much for industry, my friends, and attention to one's own business; but
to these we must add frugality, if we would make our industry more
certainly successful. A man may, if he knows not how to save as he gets,
keep his nose to the grindstone all his life, and die not worth a groat at
last. 'If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of getting.'

"Away with your expensive follies, and you will not then have so much cause
to complain of hard times, heavy taxes, and chargeable families; for 'what
maintains one vice would bring up two children.' Beware of little expenses.
'Many a little makes a mickle'; 'A small leak will sink a great ship.' Here
you are all got together at this sale of fineries and knickknacks. You call
them goods, but, if you do not take care, they will prove evils to some of
you.

"You expect they will be sold cheap, and perhaps they may be, for less than
cost; but, if you have no occasion for them, they must be dear to you.
Remember what Poor Richard says: 'Buy what thou hast no need of, and ere
long thou shalt sell thy necessaries.' 'Silks, satins, scarlet, and velvets
put out the kitchen fire.' These are not the necessaries of life; they can
scarcely be called the conveniences; and yet, only because they look
pretty, how many want to have them!

"By these and other extravagances, the greatest are reduced to poverty, and
forced to borrow of those whom they formerly despised, but who, through
industry and frugality, have maintained their standing. 'If you would know
the value of money, go and try to borrow some; for he that goes a-borrowing
goes a-sorrowing'; and, indeed, so does he that lends to such people, when
he goes to get it again.

"It is as truly folly for the poor to ape the rich, as for the frog to
swell in order to equal the ox. After all, this pride of appearance can not
promote health, nor ease pain; it makes no increase of merit in the person;
it creates envy; it hastens misfortunes.

"But what madness it must be to run in debt for superfluities! Think what
you do when you run in debt: you give to another power over your liberty.
If you can not pay at the time, you will be ashamed to see your creditor;
you will be in fear when you speak to him; you will make poor, pitiful,
sneaking excuses, and by degrees come to lose your veracity, and sink into
base, downright lying; for 'the second vice is lying, the first is running
in debt,' as Poor Richard says; and again, 'Lying rides upon debt's back.'

"This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wisdom; but industry, and
frugality, and prudence may all be blasted without the blessing of Heaven.
Therefore ask that blessing humbly, and be not uncharitable to those that
at present seem to want it, but comfort and help them."

The old gentleman ended his harangue. The people heard it, and approved the
doctrine, and immediately practiced the contrary, just as if it had been a
common sermon; for the auction opened, and they began to buy extravagantly.
I found the good man had thoroughly studied my almanac, and digested all I
had dropped on these topics during the course of twenty-five years. The
frequent mention he made of me must have tired any one else; but my vanity
was wonderfully delighted with it, though I was conscious that not a tenth
part of the wisdom was my own which he ascribed to me, but rather the
gleanings that I had made of the sense of all ages and nations.

However, I resolved to be the better for the echo of it; and, although I
had at first determined to buy stuff for a new coat, I went away resolved
to wear my old one a little longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy
profit will be as great as mine.--I am, as ever, thine to serve thee.

Biographical and Historical: These are paragraphs selected from Benjamin
Franklin's "Way to Wealth," about which he has the following to say in his
Autobiography: "In 1732, I first published my Almanac, under the name of
'Richard Saunders'; it was continued by me about twenty-five years, and
commonly called 'Poor Richard's Almanac.' I filled all the little spaces
that occurred between the remarkable days in the calendar with proverbial
sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and frugality as the means
of procuring wealth, and thereby securing virtue. These proverbs, which
contained the wisdom of many ages and nations, I assembled and formed into
a connected discourse, prefixed to the Almanac of 1757 as the harangue of a
wise old man to the people attending an auction. The bringing all these
scattered counsels thus into a focus enabled them to make greater
impression."

* * * * *

SPEECH ON A RESOLUTION TO PUT VIRGINIA INTO A STATE OF DEFENCE

BY PATRICK HENRY

MR. PRESIDENT,--No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as
well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the
House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights;
and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those
gentlemen, if, entertaining, as I do, opinions of a character very opposite
to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve.
This is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful
moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than
a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the
subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that
we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfil the great responsibility which
we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a
time, through fear of giving offence, I should consider myself as guilty of
treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty towards the Majesty
of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to 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
whole truth; 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, 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 abject 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 phantom
of hope until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?

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