IX.

THE TRUE GRANDEUR OF

NATIONS.

BY CHARLES SUMNER.

[Delivered in Boston, July 4, 1845.]

[Charles Sumner, a distinguished statesman and orator, born Jan. 10, 1811, at Boston. Took no active part in politics until 1845, when he delivered before the municipal authorities of Boston his great oration, "The True Grandeur of Nations." Elected a U. S. Senator in 1851, he kept his seat until his death in 1874. His first important speech in the Senate was on the fugitive slave act, laying down the formula that Freedom is national, and slavery sectional." His speech on "The Crime against Kansas" led to his being brutally assaulted in the Senate by Preston S. Brooks. Another important address was on "The Barbarism of Slavery." During the Civil War he made many powerful speeches, among them being "Our Foreign Relations and "The Case of the Florida," also a eulogy on President Lincoln.]

46

HE true honor of a nation is to be

THE

found only in deeds of justice and beneficence, securing the happiness of its people, all of which are inconsistent with war. In the clear eye of Christian judgment vain are its victories; infamous are its spoils. He is the true benefactor, and alone worthy of honor, who brings comfort where before was wretchedness; who dries the tear of sorrow; who pours oil into the wounds of the unfortunate; who feeds the hungry and clothes the naked; who unlooses the fetter of the slave; who does justice; who enlightens the ignorant; who, by his virtuous genius, in art, in literature, in science, enlivens and exalts the hours of life; who, by words or actions, inspires a love for God and for man. This is the Christian hero, this is the man of honor in a Christian land. He is no benefactor, nor deserving of honor, whatever his worldly renown, whose life is passed in acts of brute force; who renounces the great law of Christian brotherhood; whose vocation is blood.

These views differ from opinions most popular with the world down to this day. The voice of man is yet given to the praise of military chieftains, and the honors of victory are chanted even by the lips of woman. The mother, while rocking her infant on her knees, stamps upon his tender mind, at that age more impressible than wax, the images of war; she nurses

his slumbers with its melodies; she pleases its waking hours with its stories; and selects for his playthings the plume and the sword. And when the youth becomes a man, his country invites his services in war, and holds before his bewildered imagination prizes of worldly honor. For him is the pen of the historian and the verse of the poet. His soul is taught to swell at the thought that he also is a soldier; that his name shall be entered on the list of those who have borne arms in the cause of their country; and perhaps he dreams that he too may sleep with a hundred trophies over his grave. It is not strange, then, that the Spirit of War still finds a home among us; nor that its honors continue to be regarded.

In unfolding the true grandeur of nations, we encounter a practice or custom, sanctioned by the law of nations, and constituting a part of that law, which exists in defiance of all those principles of morals and religion which regulate the conduct of individuals.

If it is wrong and inglorious

in individuals to consent and agree to determine their controversies by combat, it must be equally wrong and inglorious for nations to consent and agree to determine their vaster controversies by combat. Here is a positive, precise, and specific evil, of gigantic proportions, inconsistent with all that is truly honorable, making within the sphere of its influence all true grandeur impossible.

When we consider, firstly, the character of war, the resort to brute force, whereby each nation strives to overpower the other; and, secondly, the miseries it produces, severing all relations and commerce between the belligerent nations, and every individual thereof, impressing upon each citizen or subject the character of enemy and debasing man, the soldier; and, thirdly, its utter and shameful insufficiency, as a mode of determining justice, we may be able to decide strictly and logically whether it must not be ranked with crimes from which no true honor can spring, to individuals or nations, but rather condemnation and shame.

Viewed in the unclouded light of truth, what is war but organized murder; murder of malice aforethought; in cold blood; under the sanctions of an impious law; through the operation of an extensive machinery of crime; with innumerable hands; at incalculable cost of money; by subtle

contrivances of cunning and skill; or amidst the fiendish atrocities of the savage brutal assault?

Mankind, blind to the real character of war, while condemning the ordinary malefactor, may continue yet a little longer to crown its giant actors with glory. A generous posterity may pardon to unconscious barbarism the atrocities which they have waged; but the whole custom-and it is of this that I speak-though sanctioned by existing law, cannot escape the unerring judgment of reason and religion. The outrages, which it madly permits and invokes for professed purposes of justice, cannot be authorized by any human power; and they must rise in overwhelming judgment, not only against those who wield the weapons of battle, but against all who uphold its monstrous arbitrament.

True greatness consists in imitating the perfections of an infinite Creator; above all, in cultivating those highest perfections, justice and love; justice, which shall not swerve to the right hand or to the left; love, which shall regard all mankind of kin. The true greatness of nations is in those qualities which constitute the true greatness of the individual.

The true grandeur of humanity is in moral elevation, sustained, enlightened, and decorated by the intellect of man. The surest tokens of this grandeur, in a state, are that Christian beneficence, which diffuses the greatest happiness among the greatest number, and that passionless, Godlike justice, which controls the relations of the state to other states, and to all the people committed to its charge.

But war crushes with bloody heel all beneficence, all happiness, all justice, all that is God-like in man. It suspends every commandment of the Decalogue. It sets at naught every principle of the Gospel. It silences all law, human as well as divine, except only that blasphemous code of its own, the laws of war.

When, oh! when shall arise Christian people, who, in the spirit of true greatness, shall proclaim, that henceforward forever the trial by battle shall cease; that "these battles" shall be abolished throughout the commonwealth of civilization, and that a spectacle so degrading shall never be allowed again to take place; and that it is the duty of nations, involving of course the highest policy, to establish love between each other, and, in all respects, at

all times, with all persons, whether their own people or the people of other lands, to be governed by the sacred law of right, as between man and man. May God speed the coming of that day!

X.

THE MISSION OF JOAN OF ARC. BY ARCHBISHOP IRELAND.

[Delivered May 8, 1899, in the cathedral at Or leans, France, during the celebration in honor of Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans, born at Domremy, January 13, 1412.]

HERE are on the pages of humanity's

THE

story glories so sublime that all peoples see them; inspirations so potent that all peoples thrill from them. Such are the glories, Jeanne d'Arc, of thy deeds; such the inspirations of thy virtues. Thou belongest, first, indeed, to France; but thou belongest, also, to humanity; and wherever celebration is made in thy honor citizens of all countries may, without offense, be present and unite with the people of thy own land in offering to thee the tribute of reverence and of love.

There are in the great human family certain privileged nations whose providential destiny has been and still is to exercise far beyond their territorial frontiers precious and fecund influence in aid of the highest interests of religion and of civilization, and in this manner to link to themselves in closest ties other countries of the earth. Such has been thy destiny, France, and such still is thy destiny. Thou hast been and thou art a world nation, and when citizens of other countries, beneficiaries of thy favors, with hearts overflowing with gratitude and affection, come to thy shores, they will refuse to believe that they are unwelcomed by thee, and unbidden to take part in thy sweetest joys and most sacred festivities.

From afar, Jeanne d'Arc, from distant America, I come to speak thy praises, to speak the praises of thy France. Jeanne d'Arc, I salute thee; France, I salute thee. Most dear to me is the present moment. Prelate of Orleans, I thank you for the happiness which is mine.

I am to speak to France-to France so nobly represented in my audience by her clergy, her army, her national administration, her magistracy, her people.

This is an age of human action. It is action all around us, in things material, in

things social, in things intellectual. Yet, often where most sacred interests are concerned, as when country and church are at issue, there is profound inertia among those to whom such interests are intrusted. They are timid and indolent; at times, even, they dare cloak their timidity and indolence in the habiliments of confidence in God and of respect for His providence. There are men who make of their inertia a religious doctrine; so used to do nothing and to see nothing done around them, they fall into the belief that doing nothing is the normal condition willed by Almighty God, and that to censure those who display activity is to serve God.

The question was put to Jeanne by the theologians of Poitiers: "Jeanne, you ask that soldiers be given you, and you say at the same time that it is God's pleasure to drive the English from the kingdom of France. If such is God's pleasure, you do not need soldiers, for alone God can defeat the English and make them return to their country." Jeanne answered, "In God's name soldiers will do the fighting and God will give the victory."

Jeanne's maxim was: "Let us work and God will work." When victory was to be gained, this was her conduct: "I said to my soldiers, 'Go, braves, into the ranks of the English,' and I went myself."

Christians, be ours the maxim, the conduct of Jeanne. Work for country and for church, work energetically and perseveringly, work when others work with you, work when you are alone, work as God desires. Where there is no work, there is no life; where there is not life there is death. As each one works or does nothing, country and church to a degree prosper or suffer.

From Jeanne d'Arc we receive two most important lessons-love of country and love of church. In her whole life Jeanne was the embodiment of patriotism and of religion, of country and of church.

Country and church! The one symbolizing the interests of earth; the other, the interests of heaven; country preparing the way for church, church blessing and ennobling country-both so beautiful and so sublime that a soul capable of loving one must needs love the other-both from God, country through the ordinary laws of nature, church through an immediate dispensation of divine mercy, both demanding

from us in the name of the Most High tender affection and loyal service.

Only in aggregations of fellow-beings do men grow into full moral and intellectual stature and reach out to the purposes of life. The aggregation of the family is too restricted; that of humanity too large and too undefined. The country is necessary. The Lord directs the formations of countries; geographical lines, historical weldings of populations, similarities of aspirations and of temper, reveal His designs. The country gathers into its entity all that is dearest and most valuable to men. Instincts compel love of country, religion commands and sanctifies it. After love of God is love of country, family and selfyielding before it their own claims. It was St. Louis of France who marked the measure of human affections: "God, France and Margaret."

For my part, purified and strengthened in my affection of country by the example of Jeanne d'Arc, I go back from Orleans to America more American than ever I have been, pledged, America, with all the intensity of my soul, to love and admire thee, my country-personification of liberty in authority and of authority in libertyto battle for thy noble institutions, to labor until death, as citizen and as bishop, for thy welfare and thy honor. Jeanne d'Arc, for the good thou hast done my American heart, I thank thee.

XI.

THE TRIUMPH OF BILL.
BY HENRY WATSON JAKEWAY.

IS baptismal appellation was Gustavus

name for a very small boy; so mamma and papa and Daisy called him Gussie.

Gussie chanced to be a gentleman's son. He wore great white collars, and was urgently counseled by mamma not to soil his hands, nor to "run wild with those horrid boys in the street." For these reasons he played only on the lawns, and Daisy was his sole companion.

Gussie's limbs were slender, and his face and hands were delicate, but he was a boy, nevertheless; and he often yearned for the companionship of boys, and wished he

was stronger and rougher. The means that boys learn in the streets and elsewhere of relieving themselves of various peculiar and undefined emotions were unknown to Gussie. He had never pelted draymen and fruit venders, nor been the terror of his neighbors, nor partaken of the exhilaration of "working" surprises of a more or less exciting nature on people generally These things were outside the garden walls. He secretly idealized the boy who came along occasionally and solemnly tipped him a wink through the palings and who viewed the world complacently with his hands in his trousers pockets. Gussie longed to feel knowing and sturdy, but he could not. Accordingly, there were times when he would suddenly fly into a passion, and declare bitterly that he was "just like a girl, and had a girl's name, too."

But one spring his great idol, Uncle Jack, came for a visit. Gussie was so delighted that he forgot his troubles, and even forgot Daisy for a day. At all times -even when sitting lazily in his chair— Uncle Jack gave the impression that somewhere behind those steady, smiling eyes and in those strong hands there was a power to inspire confidence in any need. He had become a greater hero than ever; he was a university athlete, and it made Gussie thrill with admiration and ambition to watch him at his exercises, and to hear his tales of college sports.

Above all, Uncle Jack-not only because he knew that the surest way to win the confidence of a boy, or a man either, is to understand his ideal and act accordingly, but from natural bigness of heart-treated the puny, sensitive boy just as if he had been the sturdy hero he longed to be. He rigged up a chest-weight machine to suit Gussie's strength, taught him how to develop different muscles, praised his readiness and activity, gave heed to his talk, and slapped him on the back, and called him "Bill."

So fairly born again, and newly christened, Bill went about walking on air, inflating his lungs, and feeling for his biceps and triceps. He expressed a strong desire to meet Uncle Jack's friend, Burns, the shot-putter, and spoke deprecatingly of the athletic efforts of the gardener and his friends in the stable yard. All of which naturally alarmed mamma. She said Uncle Jack was spoiling the boy. The disrepu

table name would cling to him all his life, she averred. She knew of plenty of such cases, and cited some. But papa and Uncle Jack laughed, and said they believed it would not do him any harm.

However, it became evident to Bill that no one gave him his new name as boisterously as Uncle Jack did as if it was a natural name for him. Daisy would say it in her pretty way, and papa, and even mamma, would sometimes call him Bill, caressingly; but it was always said play. fully. The gentle sarcasm hurt Bill. He felt that his adopted name was one worth having, and he longed to merit it. So he swaggered a little, and let fall dark hints about being a great deal stronger than he looked. But when he asked Daisy to feel his muscle, she, instead of being impressed, would innocently ask him to feel hers. And when he gave her to understand that when Uncle Jack was a boy he was no bigger than he; that after awhile he (Bill) was going to learn boxing, and would be able to thrash any boy of his age; and that he had a strong notion to go and punch some boy right then, Daisy would say: "The boys are rough and would hurt you, Gussie." Then he would quarrel with Daisy, and demand why she did not call him by his proper name when she was in earnest.

Their quarrels were soon "made up," however, although Daisy did not always know why Bill had been cross with her.

One day, after Uncle Jack had declared he was "fagged out romping," and had gone to write a letter, Daisy and Bill were playing near the greenhouse, in a favorite corner where they lived when they were "at home." Many flower-pots and boxes were heaped near the wall, and Daisy was arranging them to her satisfaction before calling Bill to inspect some new triumph of housekeeping. A large box of plants had been brought out and carelessly left on a ledge, and in some way that Daisy could never recall, one end of it slipped and pinned her arms to the pile of pots. She screamed wildly. Bill, hard by, gave a shout, and seized the box, setting his teeth in the wood in his excitement and passion, while fearful thoughts possessed him. Would Daisy die? What would Uncle Jack think if he did not save her? Would he be strong enough? . . . Yes; for a moment Bill experienced a happier thrill

than the hero of ten thousand tonguesand Daisy was free. But just then something snapped in his back, and his strength was all gone; the heavy box fell free, and struck the little athlete to the ground.

Uncle Jack, sitting in the library, heard Daisy's screams, and ran out. He threw the box aside, and carried Bill gently to his bed.

For a long time Bill lay, sometimes very quiet, and sometimes moaning as mamma had heard him moan in his sleep when he had gone to bed more than usually tired. At last he opened his eyes, and asked for Daisy. But when they brought her, he was lying without any sign of life, and did not speak when she looked at him

through her tears and said softly: "It's Daisy."

Papa told her to speak to him again. "Gussie," she said, "look at my arms. They're all better now; but they'd been broken if you hadn't been so strong. And you'll be better soon, won't you? Oh! I'm so sorry-Bill."

Then Bill, without opening his eyes, smiled a bright smile that made Daisy cry much more, without knowing why. She shrank away and hid her face; and so she did not see mamma bowed over the bed, and papa holding his head with both hands, and Uncle Jack dropping hot tears very fast on the counterpane; nor the doctor's subdued look, that told them her little comrade would never smile again.

[Twelfth Night (January 6), the time of feast and dance, of masque and revelry, springs, no less than Christmas and Easter, from a very early custom of celebrating the mystery of the changing seasons. The festival, which takes place twelve days after Christmas, and which is popularly known in England as Twelfth Night, and in the Church as Epiphany, is the anniversary of three different occasions whereon Christ manifested His glory: (1) In His adoration in the manger by the three Wise Men from the East; (2) in His baptism, when a voice from heaven proclaimed Him the Son of God; (3) in the marriage of Cana, when He began His miracles by changing water into wine.]

Send out invitations at least two weeks beforehand.

Form of Invitation.

Send we greetynge to brave laddies and fair lassies. Come ye to the house of ye Mistress Gaynyng, at ye early candle lytning to join ye merrie companie in ye pasttimes and customs of ye Twelfth Night. Costumes: Elizabethan.

Points for Hostess.

1. Decorate house in all sorts of places with mistletoe-chandeliers, doorways, banisters, picture-frames, curtains, etc. Deco

rate tables with holly, mistletoe and evergreen.

2. Prepare character cards for all the guests, each card to contain the word king, or queen, knight, lord, earl, lady-in-waiting, maid-of-honor, page, lady of royal chamber, etc.; also under the character write an appropriate verse. Fold all character cards the same way and size, and number each one on the outside, the women character cards 2, 4, 6, 8, etc., the men character cards 1, 3, 5, 7, etc. Be sure the king is No. 1 and the queen No. 2. Put woman character cards into a man's hat, and men character cards into a lady's reticule. Put these on a decorated table in drawing-room.

3. Place a large king's cake, baked in a round sheet like a pie, and containing a small china doll or piece of silver money, on centre of refreshment table, decorated with candles. Bake a Twelfth Night cake, containing wedding-ring, engagement-ring, dime, quill, small bag of flour, and three pieces of cloth, black, blue, and white.

4. Place slips of paper and pencils for all guests on small table in drawing-room.