lordship expressed it, "the life and blood of the conspiracy." You do me honour overmuch-you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior; there are men engaged in this conspiracy, who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my lord-men, before the splendour of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who would think themselves dishonoured to be called your friends-who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand.-[Here he was interrupted.]

What, my lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to that scaffold, which that tyranny, of which you are only the intermediate executioner, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has been and will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor-shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it? I, who fear not to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole life-am I to be appalled and falsified by a mere remnant of mortality here-by you, too, who, if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your lordship might swim in it?

My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice-the blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim: it circulates warmly and unruffled through the channels which God created for noble purposes, but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous, that they cry to Heaven. Be yet patient! I have but a few more words to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave: my lamp of life is nearly extinguished: my race is run: the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world: it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives, dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written.-I HAVE DONE!

XVI.

The Three Black Crows.-BYROM.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other, briskly, by the hand;
"Hark ye," said he, "'tis an odd story this,
About the crows!"-"I don't know what it is,"
Replied his friend.-"No! I'm surprised at that;
Where I come from, it is the common chat:
But you shall hear: an odd affair indeed!
And that it happened, they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange-
A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows."
"Impossible!"-" Nay, but it's really true,

I had it from good hands, and so may you."
"From whose, I pray?" So having named the man,
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.
"Sir, did you tell"-relating the affair-
"Yes, sir, I did; and if it's worth your care,
Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me;

But, by the by, 't was two black crows, not three."
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Whip to the third, the virtuoso went.

"Sir," and so forth-" Why, yes; the thing is fact, Though in regard to number not exact;

It was not two black crows, 't was only one ;
The truth of that you may depend upon.

The gentleman himself told me the case."

"Where may I find him?" Why,-in such a place."
Away he goes, and having found him out,-
Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt."
Then to his last informant he referred,

"Not I!"

And begged to know if true what he had heard.
"Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?"
"Bless me! how people propagate a lie!

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one,
And here I find all comes at last to none!

Did you say nothing of a crow at all?"

Crow-crow-perhaps I might, now I recall

The matter over." "And pray, sir, what was 't?"
Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,

I did throw up, and told my neighbour so,
Something that was as black, sir, as a crow."

XVII.

The Frenchman and the Rats.-ANONYMOUS.

A FRENCHMAN once, who was a merry wight,
Passing to town from Dover, in the night,
Near the road side an alehouse chanced to spy;
And being rather tired, as well as dry,
Resolved to enter, but first took a peep,
In hopes a supper he might get, and cheap.
He enters: "Hallo! Garcon, if you please,
Bring me a leetel bit of bread and cheese.
And, hallo! Garcon, a pot of portar too!" he said,
"Vich I sall take, and den myself to bed."

His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left, Which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft, Into his pocket put; then slowly crept

To wished for bed; but not a wink he slept-
For, on the floor, some sacks of flour were laid,
To which the rats a nightly visit paid.

Our hero now undressed, popped out the light,
Put on his cap, and bade the world good-night;
But first, his breeches, which contained the fare,
Under his pillow, he had placed with care.

Sans ceremonie, soon the rats all ran, And on the flour-sacks greedily began;

At which they gorged themselves; then smelling round,

Under the pillow, soon the cheese they found;
And, while of this a merry feast they make,

Their happy jaws the Frenchman's slumbers break;

Who, half awake, cries out, "Hallo! hallo!

Vat is dat nibbel at my pillow so?

Ah! 'tis one big huge rat!

Vat the diable is it he nibbel, nibbel, at?"
In vain our little hero sought repose;
Sometimes the vermin galloped o'er his nose

them hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon; let them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord-and the very walls will cry out in its support.

Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time when this declaration shall be made good. We may die; die, colonists; die, slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be it so. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But, while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a free country.

But, whatever may be our fate, be assured that this declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honour it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return, they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off, as I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying sentiment:-Independence now; and INDE

PENDENCE FOR EVER!

XIII.

Public Faith.-AMES.

To expatiate on the value of public faith may pass with some men for declamation-to such men I have

nothing to say. To others I will urge-Can any circumstance mark upon a people more turpitude and debasement? Can any thing tend more to make men think themselves mean, or degrade to a lower point their estimation of virtue, and their standard of action?

It would not merely demoralize mankind, it tends to break all the ligaments of society, to dissolve that mysterious charm which attracts individuals to the nation, and to inspire in its stead a repulsive sense of shame and disgust.

What is patriotism? Is it narrow affection for the spot where a man was born? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this ardent preference because they are greener? No, sir, this is not the character of the virtue, and it soars higher for its object. It is an extended selflove, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart.

It is thus we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of virtue. In their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the venerable image of our country's honour. Every good citizen makes that honour his own, and cherishes it not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious that he gains protection while he gives it.

For, what rights of a citizen will be deemed inviolable, when a state renounces the principles that constitute their security? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be in a country odious in the eyes of strangers, and dishonoured in his own? Could he look with affection and veneration to such a country, as his parent? The sense of having one would die within him; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any, and justly, for it would be a vice. He would be a banished man in his native land.

I see no exception to the respect that is paid among nations to the law of good faith. If there are cases in this enlightened period, when it is violated, there are none when it is decried. It is the philosophy of politics, the religion of government. It is observed by barbarians-a whiff of tobacco smoke, or a string of beads, gives not merely binding force, but sanctity to treaties. Even in Algiers, a truce may be bought for money; but