Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse!
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian :
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,
And say, To-morrow is Saint Crispian :

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say, These wounds I had on Crispian's day.

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,-
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son ;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers!
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;

And gentlemen now in England, now abed,

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispian's day.

XV. THREE PICTURES OF BOSTON.

EVERETT.

EDWARD EVERETT was born in Dorchester, Massachusetts, April 11, 1794; was graduated at Harvard College in 1811; and was settled over the church in Brattle Street, in Boston, as successor to Mr. Buckminster, in 1813. In 1815 he was appointed professor of Greek literature in Harvard College, and immediately proceeded to Europe, with a view of making an ample preparation for the duties of his new position. He remained in Europe about four and a half years, during which period he went through an extensive course both of travel and study. Upon his return he assumed the duties of his professorship, and also those of editor of the "North American Review," and continued in the discharge of both till his election to the House of Representatives, in 1824. He remained in Congress till 1835, in which year he was chosen governor of Massachusetts. To this office he was re-elected for three successive years. In 1841 he was appointed minister plenipotentiary to the Court of St. James, and he discharged the duties of that post till 1845. Upon his return to America he was chosen President of Harvard College, and held that office till 1849. He was Secretary of State for a short period, at the close of Mr. Fillmore's administration, and in 1853 was chosen to the Senate of the United States by the Legislature of Massachusetts, but resigned his place the next year, on account of ill-health, and has since resided as a private citizen in Boston, till his lamented death, January 15, 1865. The variety of Mr. Everett's life and employments is but a type of the versatility of his powers, and the wide range of his cultivation. He was one of the most finished men of his time. His works consist mainly of occasional discourses and speeches, and of contributions to the "North American Review," the last of which are very numerous, and deal with a great diversity of subjects, including Greek and German literature, the fine arts, politics, political economy, history, and American literature. His orations and speeches have been published in three large octavo volumes. His style is rich and glowing, but always under the control of sound judgment and good taste. His learning and scholarship are never needlessly obtruded; they are woven into the web of his discourse, and not embossed upon its surface. He wrote under the inspiration of a generous and comprehensive patriotism, and his speeches are eminently suited to create and sustain a just and high-toned national sentiment. Whatever he did, was done well; and his brilliant natural powers were through life trained and aided by those habits of vigorous industry which are falsely supposed by many to be found only in connection with dulness and mediocrity.

10 understand the character of the commerce of our

own city, we must not look merely at one point, but at the whole circuit of country, of which it is the business center. We must not contemplate it only at this present moment of time, but we must bring before our imaginations, as in the shifting scenes of a diorama, at least three successive historical and topographical pictures; and truly instructive I think it would be to see them delineated on canvas.

We must survey the first of them in the company of the venerable John Winthrop, the founder of the State. Let us go up with him, on the day of his landing, the seventeenth of June, sixteen hundred and thirty, to the heights of yonder peninsula, as yet without a name. Landward stretches a dismal forest; seaward, a waste of waters unspotted with a sail, except that of his own ship. At the foot of the hill you see the cabins of Walford and the Spragues, who the latter a year before, the former still earlier had adventured to this spot untenanted else by any child of civilization. On the other side of the river lies Mr. Blackstone's farm. It comprises three goodly hills, converted by a spring-tide into three wood-crowned islets; and it is mainly valued for a noble spring of fresh water which gushes from the northern slope of one of the hills, and which furnished, in the course of the summer, the motive for transferring the seat of the infant settlement. This shall be the first picture.

The second shall be contemplated from the same spot -the heights of Charlestown—on the same day, the eventful seventeenth of June, one hundred and forty-five years later; namely, in the year seventeen hundred and seventy-five. A terrific scene of war rages on the top

of the hill.

Wait for a favorable moment, when the volumes of fiery smoke roll away, and, over the masts of that sixtygun ship, whose batteries are blazing upon the hill, you behold Mr. Blackstone's farm changed into an ill-built town of about two thousand dwelling-houses, mostly of wood, with scarcely any public buildings, but eight or nine churches, the Old State House, and Faneuil Hall; Roxbury beyond, an insignificant village; a vacant marsh in all the space now occupied by Cambridgeport and East

Cambridge, by Chelsea and East Boston; and beneath your feet the town of Charlestown, consisting, in the morning, of a line of about three hundred houses, wrapped in a sheet of flames at noon, and reduced at eventide to a heap of ashes.

But those fires are kindled at the altar of Liberty. American independence is established. American commerce smiles on the spot; and now, from the top of one of the triple hills of Mr. Blackstone's farm, a stately edifice arises, which seems to invite us as to an observatory. As we look down from this lofty structure, we behold the third picture, a crowded, busy scene.

We see beneath us a city containing eighty or ninety thousand inhabitants, and mainly built of brick and granite. Vessels of every description are moored at the wharves. Long lines of commodious and even stately houses cover a space which, within the memory of man, was in a state of nature. Substantial blocks of warehouses and stores have forced their way to the channel.

Faneuil Hall itself, the consecrated and unchangeable, has swelled to twice its original dimensions. Athenæum, hospitals, asylums, and infirmaries adorn the streets. The schoolhouse rears its modest front in every quarter of the city, and sixty or seventy churches attest that the children are content to walk in the good old ways of their fathers.

Connected with the city by eight bridges, avenues, or ferries, you behold a range of towns,* most of them municipally distinct, but all of them in reality, forming, with Boston, one vast metropolis animated by one commercial life. Shading off from these, you see that most lovely background, a succession of happy settlements,

* Since this was written the towns of Dorchester, Roxbury, West Roxbury, Brighton, and Charlestown have been incorporated with Boston.

spotted with villas, farm-houses, and cottages, united to Boston by a constant intercourse, sustaining the capital from their fields and gardens, and prosperous in the reflux of the city's wealth.

Of the social life included within this circuit, and of all that in times past has adorned and ennobled it, commercial industry has been an active element, and has exalted itself by its intimate association with everything else we hold dear. Within this circle what memorials strike the eye! what recollections, what institutions, what patriotic treasures and names, that cannot die!

There lie the canonized precincts of Lexington and Concord; there rise the sacred heights of Dorchester and Charlestown; there is Harvard, the ancient and venerable, foster-child of public and private liberality in every part of the State; to whose existence Charlestown gave the first impulse, to whose growth and usefulness the opulence of Boston has at all times ministered with open hand.

Still farther on than the eye can reach, four lines of communication by railroad and steam have, within our own day, united with the capital, by bands of iron, a still broader circuit of towns and villages.* Hark to the voice of life and business which sounds along the line.

While we speak, one of them is shooting onward to the illimitable West, and all are uniting with the other kindred enterprises to form one harmonious and prosperous whole, in which town and country, agriculture and manufactures, labor and capital, art and nature, wrought and compacted into one grand system, are constantly gathering and diffusing, concentrating and radiating, the economical, the social, the moral blessings of a liberal and diffusive commerce.

* Eight lines of railroad now connect Boston with other parts of the country.