it enforce the feelings of a firm heart.-In whose service has he grown grey? Was it difficult to hear him? We would have listened with double attention. Did we doubt whether he would speak with wisdom? Then we had lost our memories.
Did we doubt whether he would speak the truth ?Then we must have lost our senses. Had such a thing happened in the days of enlightened Greece, we should never have read it, without being told of the marked disapprobation, with which the good, the virtuous, and the free regarded it. Such, I am happy to say, did on this occasion, discover (some by looks, and some in words) this generous spirit. Our measures are not to be carried by noise and cabal; not by silencing and drowning the voices of those who oppose us. The well-informed advocates of a Theatre did not wish nor attempt it. Judicious arguments and eloquence were used on both sides; but several men as well as boys, did unite to silence an eminent patriot.
It remains that I make a proposal, which will terminate this affair to the honour of the town.
Let the inscription which I have quoted, be copied into the vacant niche, left in the hall door, and under it these words,
"Translated from the monument, to this place,
"In honour of Samuel Adams. The name needs
"No title, nor testimony of applause."
Long may Americans revere the Saviours of their country, and on the records let the occasion be noted with the marked disapprobation of the town. Thus shall future generations of Americans, taught by our example the virtues of 1791, be ashamed to move their tongues, or their feet, when future ADAMS's shall rise to speak.
"Echo unnotic'd lets no rumblings pass,
"From mighty Thunder to the Bull-frog's bass.”
WHERE Gath's proud Beacon lifts its awful form,
Climbs o'er the clouds, and smiles above the storm;
Where Mercy's Angel mounts her lovely bow,
Rides o'er the town, and wets the world below;
Where genius grows to great Goliah's frame,
And leans majestic on a weaver's beam ;
Where simple style its classic light displays,
Undeck'd with bombast's meretricious blaze;
Where wax-work Belles assail the wond'ring heart,
And Bowen's Indians make the Ladies start-
And mighty Achish, leader of the state,
By gouts untroubled, rules the still debate,
And Bel and Dragon lend their useful aid,
And John the Baptist shakes his bloody head,
While the Old Hermit* from the realms of light,
Spurs gaping boobies to behold the sight;
Where Nature's Gossips their strange orgies hold,
This story never, never must be told.
The Old Hermit. A gentleman fortunately rescued from oblivion by Mr. B- who published a faithful narrative of his life and extraordinary adventures, and has since consigned him to immortality, in ever-during wax. The Echo with pleasure mentions this publication, as it serves to establish this fact, incontrovertibly-that a simple story, unaccompanied with any thing marvellous, is the proper subject of history....this having been the first successful attempt of American genius in Biography.
† Mother Mob, and the other assistants at the birth of Liberty. See the preceeding Number.
On that sad morn, when Sol's astonish'd ray, Rose pale and languid from town-meeting day, On Beacon-Hill my footsteps chanc'd to go, And my thoughts wander'd o'er a world of woe. At length I sigh'd so loud it was a groan, While my eyes read the monumental stone— "Columbia's sons! while from this lofty height "Luxuriant objects crowd the raptur'd sight, "While blooming small-craft rises up to view, "And three-mast vessels lie in goodly shew, "Where social joy spreads out her gay abode, "And carts and coaches roll along the road;
Forget not those whose arm of mighty power "Scar'd British Regulars from this happy shore; "Who tarr'd and feather'd every Tory's frock, "And made a tea-pot of your spacious dock."
Say can you wonder that, in colours bright,
Rush'd on my mind the doings of that night
When Faneuil-Hall with wild amazement shook,
And fain like Balaam's ass had silence broke
To manifest its wrath-but ah! 'twas plain
No tongue had Faneuil-Hall to vent its pain.
Shall Europe hear, shall Gallia's king be told,
That Prince so spirited, so wise and bold,
Whose duteous subjects, anxious to improve
On common forms of loyalty and love,
Took from their sovereign's hands the reigns of state,
For fear his royal nerves could not support the weight;
And shall our worthy brethren of the South
Be told Sam. Adams could not ope his mouth?
That mouth whence streams of elocution flow'd,
Like tail of saw-mill, rapid, rough, and loud-
Sweet as the honey-dews that Maia pours
O'er her green forests and her tufts of flowers-
That potent mouth, whence issued words of force
To stun an ox, or terrify a horse.
Be told, that while those brats whose feeble sight
But just had op'd on Freedom's dawning light,
Born in the nick of time that bliss to know
Which to his great and mighty toils we owe,
Receiv'd applause from Sages, Fools, and Boys,
The mighty Samuel could not make a noise-
Be told, that silenc'd by their clam'rous din,
He vainly tried one word to dove-tail in ;
That though he strove to speak with might and main,
His voice and strivings equally were vain.
Thus when on bleak Norwegia's iron shore,
Mid rocky straits, where Ocean's billows roar,
If chance the unwieldy Kraken heedless stray
To make discoveries in the wat'ry way,
Though there the Nations of the deep resort,
And Whales at leisure play, and Grampi sport,
Yet wedg'd in rocks, or grounded on the sands,
For many a league his island bulk expands,
And while the Maelstrom wildly raves around,
And heaven re-echoes to the dreadful sound,
In vain with bellowing loud and fearful cries,
He lifts his voice in thunder to the skies,
Lost and confounded in the mightier roar;
But silent lies at length, and gives his efforts o'er.
Long may our souls the fond remembrance prove,
How, with a bosom crowded full of love,
To blast a wicked stage his voice he rear'd
And yet that thundering voice could not be heard.
With equal toil, half-burn'd with Etna's heat,
Thus strives Enceladus to find his feet,
While o'er his back, convuls'd with dreadful pain,
A fiery deluge floats along the plain;
Around th' affrighted boobies stand and stare,
And ask what dreadful creature tumbles there.
Was he in fault that he should wish t' impart
The smoaking feelings of his red-hot heart?
Perhaps Religion would have cloth'd the song,
And truth and bombast roll'd the strains along.
Thus when th' Old Dragon op'd his mighty mouth
Out burst a flood of overwhelming froth,
Down the soft tide three unclean spirits float,
Like frogs in semblance and like frogs in note.
Was he to blame when, struck by mighty death,
He wish'd, by puffing his expiring breath,
To raze the pillars of a vicious stage,
And scatter virtue in his holy rage ?
Thus Samson, when Dalilah cut his hair,
Mutter'd and clank'd his fetters in despair,
When Gaza's nobles fill'd the spacious court,
And laugh'd to see the blinded monster's sport,
When lo! the two-legg'd Mammoth rais'd his back,
And down they tumbled with prodigious crack,
Hard has he toil'd and richly earn'd his gains,
Ruin'd his fingers and spun out his brains,
To acquire the right to ope his ponderous jaws,
As the great champion of Sedition's cause.
Once his soft words, like streams of melted tar,
Stuck in our ears and led us on to war;
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