have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible.  Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities.  Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent.  The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object,—­this, this is eloquence; or rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence,—­it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action.

In July, 1776, the controversy had passed the stage of argument.  An appeal had been made to force, and opposing armies were in the field.  Congress, then, was to decide whether the tie which had so long bound us to the parent state was to be severed at once, and severed for ever.  All the Colonies had signified their resolution to abide by this decision, and the people looked for it with the most intense anxiety.  And surely, fellow-citizens, never, never were men called to a more important political deliberation.  If we contemplate it from the point where they then stood, no question could be more full of interest; if we look at it now, and judge of its importance by its effects, it appears of still greater magnitude.

Let us, then, bring before us the assembly, which was about to decide a question thus big with the fate of empire.  Let us open their doors and look in upon their deliberations.  Let us survey the anxious and careworn countenances, let us hear the firm-toned voices, of this band of patriots.

HANCOCK presides over the solemn sitting; and one of those not yet prepared to pronounce for absolute independence is on the floor, and is urging his reasons for dissenting from the Declaration.

“Let us pause!  This step, once taken, cannot be retraced.  This resolution, once passed, will cut off all hope of reconciliation.  If success attend the arms of England, we shall then be no longer Colonies, with charters and with privileges; these will all be forfeited by this act; and we shall be in the condition of other conquered people, at the mercy of the conquerors.  For ourselves, we may be ready to run the hazard; but are we ready to carry the country to that length?  Is success so probable as to justify it?  Where is the military, where the naval power, by which we are to resist the whole strength of the arm of England,—­for she will exert that strength to the utmost?  Can we rely on the constancy and perseverance of the people? or will they not act as the people of other countries have acted, and, wearied with a long war, submit, in the end, to a worse oppression?  While we stand on our old ground, and insist on redress of grievances, we know we are right, and are not answerable for consequences.  Nothing, then, can be imputed to us.  But if we now change our object, carry our pretensions farther,