land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love?

Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the

implements of war and subjugation, the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this

quarter of the world to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies?

Sir, we have

No, sir, she has none; they are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet up those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose them? Shall we try argument? been trying that for the last ten years. thing new to offer upon the subject? have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable, but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted?

Have we any

Nothing. We

Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm that is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament.

Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliations. There is no longer any room for hope.

If we wish to be free; if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending; if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir: we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak -unable to cope with so formidable an adversary; but when shall we be strong? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?

Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of Nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us.

Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battle alone: there is a just God who presides over the destinies of

Nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle is not to the strong alone: it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave.

Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission or slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable, and let it come! I repeat it, sir: let it come!

It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry "Peace! peace!" but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle?

What is it that the gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but, as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

PATRICK HENRY.

Fair silver lines the cloud of sternest duty,
There is a glow on all our week-day deeds.

- MAURICE F. EGAN.

OBERAMMERGAU

Northeastward along the province of Bavaria, sending out their spurs into the province itself, stretch the Bavarian Alps. Through one of the many passes of the mountains flows a mountain stream, the Ammer. Across the Ammer, perched high upon the mountain, is the village of Oberammergau.

This little town, although so small that it is scarcely ever marked upon a map, has become famous throughout the Christian world.

In the early years of the Church, when many people were unable to read, and before printed books could be purchased, the ingenuity of the Fathers of the Church was taxed to find means by which to interest the people and at the same time instruct them.

Perhaps some of you have acted the parts of persons in history. For the time probably you forgot your real selves and became the heroes whose names you fancied you bore.

This desire to act or represent a scene that interests us is called the dramatic instinct. It belongs to the entire human race.

The Church Fathers were not slow in making use of this instinct. Very early in the history of the Church, scenes from the Bible and from the lives of the saints were represented publicly. Priests, monks, and some