THE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.

AN ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE LAYING OF THE CORNER-STONE OF THE BUNKER

HILL MONUMENT AT CHARLESTOWN, MASSACHUSETTS, ON THE 17TH OF JUNE, 1825.

[As early as 1776, some steps were taken toward the commemoration of the

battle of Bunker Hill and the fall of General Warren, who was buried

upon the hill the day after the action. The Massachusetts Lodge of

Masons, over which he presided, applied to the provisional government of

Massachusetts, for permission to take up his remains and to bury them

with the usual solemnities. The Council granted this request, on

condition that it should be carried into effect in such a manner that

the government of _the Colony_ might have an opportunity to erect a

monument to his memory. A funeral procession was had, and a Eulogy on

General Warren was delivered by Perez Morton, but no measures were taken

toward building a monument.

A resolution was adopted by the Congress of the United States on the 8th

of April, 1777, directing that monuments should be erected to the memory

of General Warren, in Boston, and of General Mercer, at Fredericksburg;

but this resolution has remained to the present time unexecuted.

On the 11th of November, 1794, a committee was appointed by King

Solomon's Lodge, at Charlestown,[1] to take measures for the erection of

a monument to the memory of General Joseph Warren at the expense of the

Lodge. This resolution was promptly carried into effect. The land for

this purpose was presented to the Lodge by the Hon. James Russell, of

Charlestown, and it was dedicated with appropriate ceremonies on the 2d

of December, 1794. It was a wooden pillar of the Tuscan order, eighteen

feet in height, raised on a pedestal eight feet square, and of an

elevation of ten feet from the ground. The pillar was surmounted by a

gilt urn. An appropriate inscription was placed on the south side of the

pedestal.

In February, 1818, a committee of the legislature of Massachusetts was

appointed to consider the expediency of building a monument of American

marble of the memory of General Warren, but this proposal was not

carried into effect.

As the half-century from the date of the battle drew toward a close, a

stronger feeling of the duty of commemorating it began to be awakened in

the community. Among those who from the first manifested the greatest

interest in the subject, was the late William Tudor, Esq. He expressed

the wish, in a letter still preserved, to see upon the battle-ground

"the noblest monument in the world," and he was so ardent and

persevering in urging the project, that it has been stated that he first

conceived the idea of it. The steps taken in execution of the project,

from the earliest private conferences among the gentlemen first engaged

in it to its final completion, are accurately sketched by Mr. Richard

Frothingham, Jr., in his valuable History of the Siege of Boston. All

the material facts contained in this note are derived from his chapter

on the Bunker Hill Monument. After giving an account of the organization

of the society, the measures adopted for the collection of funds, and

the deliberations on the form of the monument, Mr. Frothingham proceeds

as follows:--

"It was at this stage of the enterprise that the directors proposed

to lay the corner-stone of the monument, and ground was broken

(June 7th) for this purpose. As a mark of respect to the liberality

and patriotism of King Solomon's Lodge, they invited the Grand

Master of the Grand Lodge of Massachusetts to perform the ceremony.

They also invited General Lafayette to accompany the President of

the Association, Hon. Daniel Webster, and assist in it.

"This celebration was unequalled in magnificence by any thing of

the kind that had been seen in New England. The morning proved

propitious. The air was cool, the sky was clear, and timely showers

the previous day had brightened the vesture of nature into its

loveliest hue. Delighted thousands flocked into Boston to bear a

part in the proceedings, or to witness the spectacle. At about ten

o'clock a procession moved from the State House towards Bunker

Hill. The military, in their fine uniforms, formed the van. About

two hundred veterans of the Revolution, of whom forty were

survivors of the battle, rode in barouches next to the escort.

These venerable men, the relics of a past generation, with

emaciated frames, tottering limbs, and trembling voices,

constituted a touching spectacle. Some wore, as honorable

decorations, their old fighting equipments, and some bore the scars

of still more honorable wounds. Glistening eyes constituted their

answer to the enthusiastic cheers of the grateful multitudes who

lined their pathway and cheered their progress. To this patriot

band succeeded the Bunker Hill Monument Association. Then the

Masonic fraternity, in their splendid regalia, thousands in number.

Then Lafayette, continually welcomed by tokens of love and

gratitude, and the invited guests. Then a long array of societies,

with their various badges and banners. It was a splendid

procession, and of such length that the front nearly reached

Charlestown Bridge ere the rear had left Boston Common. It

proceeded to Breed's Hill, where the Grand Master of the

Freemasons, the President of the Monument Association, and General

Lafayette, performed the ceremony of laying the corner-stone, in

the presence of a vast concourse of people."

The procession then moved to a spacious amphitheatre on the northern

declivity of the hill, when the following address was delivered by Mr.

Webster, in the presence of as great a multitude as was ever perhaps

assembled within the sound of a human voice.]

This uncounted multitude before me and around me proves the feeling

which the occasion has excited. These thousands of human faces, glowing

with sympathy and joy, and from the impulses of a common gratitude

turned reverently to heaven in this spacious temple of the firmament,

proclaim that the day, the place, and the purpose of our assembling have

made a deep impression on our hearts.

If, indeed, there be any thing in local association fit to affect the

mind of man, we need not strive to repress the emotions which agitate us

here. We are among the sepulchres of our fathers. We are on ground,

distinguished by their valor, their constancy, and the shedding of their

blood. We are here, not to fix an uncertain date in our annals, nor to

draw into notice an obscure and unknown spot. If our humble purpose had

never been conceived, if we ourselves had never been born, the 17th of

June, 1775, would have been a day on which all subsequent history would

have poured its light, and the eminence where we stand a point of

attraction to the eyes of successive generations. But we are Americans.

We live in what may be called the early age of this great continent; and

we know that our posterity, through all time, are here to enjoy and

suffer the allotments of humanity. We see before us a probable train of

great events; we know that our own fortunes have been happily cast; and

it is natural, therefore, that we should be moved by the contemplation

of occurrences which have guided our destiny before many of us were

born, and settled the condition in which we should pass that portion of

our existence which God allows to men on earth.

We do not read even of the discovery of this continent, without feeling

something of a personal interest in the event; without being reminded

how much it has affected our own fortunes and our own existence. It

would be still more unnatural for us, therefore, than for others, to

contemplate with unaffected minds that interesting, I may say that most

touching and pathetic scene, when the great discoverer of America stood

on the deck of his shattered bark, the shades of night falling on the

sea, yet no man sleeping; tossed on the billows of an unknown ocean, yet

the stronger billows of alternate hope and despair tossing his own

troubled thoughts; extending forward his harassed frame, straining

westward his anxious and eager eyes, till Heaven at last granted him a

moment of rapture and ecstasy, in blessing his vision with the sight of

the unknown world.

Nearer to our times, more closely connected with our fates, and

therefore still more interesting to our feelings and affections, is the

settlement of our own country by colonists from England. We cherish

every memorial of these worthy ancestors; we celebrate their patience

and fortitude; we admire their daring enterprise; we teach our children

to venerate their piety; and we are justly proud of being descended from

men who have set the world an example of founding civil institutions on

the great and united principles of human freedom and human knowledge. To

us, their children, the story of their labors and sufferings can never

be without its interest. We shall not stand unmoved on the shore of

Plymouth, while the sea continues to wash it; nor will our brethren in

another early and ancient Colony forget the place of its first

establishment, till their river shall cease to flow by it.[2] No vigor

of youth, no maturity of manhood, will lead the nation to forget the

spots where its infancy was cradled and defended.

But the great event in the history of the continent, which we are now

met here to commemorate, that prodigy of modern times, at once the

wonder and the blessing of the world, is the American Revolution. In a

day of extraordinary prosperity and happiness, of high national honor,

distinction, and power, we are brought together, in this place, by our

love of country, by our admiration of exalted character, by our

gratitude for signal services and patriotic devotion.

The Society whose organ I am[3] was formed for the purpose of rearing

some honorable and durable monument to the memory of the early friends

of American Independence. They have thought, that for this object no

time could be more propitious than the present prosperous and peaceful

period; that no place could claim preference over this memorable spot;

and that no day could be more auspicious to the undertaking, than the

anniversary of the battle which was here fought. The foundation of that

monument we have now laid. With solemnities suited to the occasion, with

prayers to Almighty God for his blessing, and in the midst of this cloud

of witnesses, we have begun the work. We trust it will be prosecuted,

and that, springing from a broad foundation, rising high in massive

solidity and unadorned grandeur, it may remain as long as Heaven permits

the works of man to last, a fit emblem, both of the events in memory of

which it is raised, and of the gratitude of those who have reared it.

We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actions is most safely

deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. We know, that if we

could cause this structure to ascend, not only till it reached the

skies, but till it pierced them, its broad surfaces could still contain

but part of that which, in an age of knowledge, hath already been spread

over the earth, and which history charges itself with making known to

all future times. We know that no inscription on entablatures less broad

than the earth itself can carry information of the events we commemorate

where it has not already gone; and that no structure, which shall not

outlive the duration of letters and knowledge among men, can prolong the

memorial. But our object is, by this edifice, to show our own deep sense

of the value and importance of the achievements of our ancestors; and,

by presenting this work of gratitude to the eye, to keep alive similar

sentiments, and to foster a constant regard for the principles of the

Revolution. Human beings are composed, not of reason only, but of

imagination also, and sentiment; and that is neither wasted nor

misapplied which is appropriated to the purpose of giving right

direction to sentiments, and opening proper springs of feeling in the

heart. Let it not be supposed that our object is to perpetuate national

hostility, or even to cherish a mere military spirit. It is higher,

purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the spirit of national

independence, and we wish that the light of peace may rest upon it for

ever. We rear a memorial of our conviction of that unmeasured benefit

which has been conferred on our own land, and of the happy influences

which have been produced, by the same events, on the general interests

of mankind. We come, as Americans, to mark a spot which must for ever be

dear to us and our posterity. We wish that whosoever, in all coming

time, shall turn his eye hither, may behold that the place is not

undistinguished where the first great battle of the Revolution was

fought. We wish that this structure may proclaim the magnitude and

importance of that event to every class and every age. We wish that

infancy may learn the purpose of its erection from maternal lips, and

that weary and withered age may behold it, and be solaced by the

recollections which it suggests. We wish that labor may look up here,

and be proud, in the midst of its toil. We wish that, in those days of

disaster, which, as they come upon all nations, must be expected to come

upon us also, desponding patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward, and be

assured that the foundations of our national power are still strong. We

wish that this column, rising towards heaven among the pointed spires of

so many temples dedicated to God, may contribute also to produce, in all

minds, a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally,

that the last object to the sight of him who leaves his native shore,

and the first to gladden his who revisits it, may be something which

shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it

rise! let it rise, till it meet the sun in his coming; let the earliest

light of the morning gild it, and parting day linger and play on its

summit.

We live in a most extraordinary age. Events so various and so important

that they might crowd and distinguish centuries are, in our times,

compressed within the compass of a single life. When has it happened

that history has had so much to record, in the same term of years, as

since the 17th of June, 1775? Our own Revolution, which, under other

circumstances, might itself have been expected to occasion a war of half

a century, has been achieved; twenty-four sovereign and independent

States erected; and a general government established over them, so safe,

so wise, so free, so practical, that we might well wonder its

establishment should have been accomplished so soon, were it not for the

greater wonder that it should have been established at all. Two or three

millions of people have been augmented to twelve, the great forests of

the West prostrated beneath the arm of successful industry, and the

dwellers on the banks of the Ohio and the Mississippi become the

fellow-citizens and neighbors of those who cultivate the hills of New

England.[4] We have a commerce, that leaves no sea unexplored; navies,

which take no law from superior force; revenues, adequate to all the

exigencies of government, almost without taxation; and peace with all

nations, founded on equal rights and mutual respect.

Europe, within the same period, has been agitated by a mighty

revolution, which, while it has been felt in the individual condition

and happiness of almost every man, has shaken to the centre her

political fabric, and dashed against one another thrones which had stood

tranquil for ages. On this, our continent, our own example has been

followed, and colonies have sprung up to be nations.[5] Unaccustomed

sounds of liberty and free government have reached us from beyond the

track of the sun; and at this moment the dominion of European power in

this continent, from the place where we stand to the south pole, is

annihilated for ever.

In the mean time, both in Europe and America, such has been the general

progress of knowledge, such the improvement in legislation, in commerce,

in the arts, in letters, and, above all, in liberal ideas and the

general spirit of the age, that the whole world seems changed.

Yet, notwithstanding that this is but a faint abstract of the things

which have happened since the day of the battle of Bunker Hill, we are

but fifty years removed from it; and we now stand here to enjoy all the

blessings of our own condition, and to look abroad on the brightened

prospects of the world, while we still have among us some of those who

were active agents in the scenes of 1775, and who are now here, from

every quarter of New England, to visit once more, and under

circumstances so affecting, I had almost said so overwhelming, this

renowned theatre of their courage and patriotism.

VENERABLE MEN! you have come down to us from a former generation. Heaven

has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you might behold this

joyous day. You are now where you stood fifty years ago, this very hour,

with your brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in the

strife for your country. Behold, how altered! The same heavens are

indeed over your heads; the same ocean rolls at your feet; but all else

how changed! You hear now no roar of hostile cannon, you see no mixed

volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charlestown. The ground

strewed with the dead and the dying; the impetuous charge; the steady

and successful repulse; the loud call to repeated assault; the summoning

of all that is manly to repeated resistance; a thousand bosoms freely

and fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror there may be in

war and death;--all these you have witnessed, but you witness them no

more. All is peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and

roofs, which you then saw filled with wives and children and countrymen

in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for the

issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight of its

whole happy population, come out to welcome and greet you with a

universal jubilee. Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of position

appropriately lying at the foot of this mount, and seeming fondly to

cling around it, are not means of annoyance to you, but your country's

own means of distinction and defence.[6] All is peace; and God has

granted you this sight of your country's happiness, ere you slumber in

the grave. He has allowed you to behold and to partake the reward of

your patriotic toils; and he has allowed us, your sons and countrymen,

to meet you here, and in the name of the present generation, in the name

of your country, in the name of liberty, to thank you!

But, alas! you are not all here! Time and the sword have thinned your

ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, Pomeroy, Bridge! our eyes

seek for you in vain amid this broken band. You are gathered to your

fathers, and live only to your country in her grateful remembrance and

your own bright example. But let us not too much grieve, that you have

met the common fate of men. You lived at least long enough to know that

your work had been nobly and successfully accomplished. You lived to see

your country's independence established, and to sheathe your swords from

war. On the light of Liberty you saw arise the light of Peace, like

"another morn,

Risen on mid-noon";

and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless.

But ah! Him! the first great martyr in this great cause! Him! the

premature victim of his own self-devoting heart! Him! the head of our

civil councils, and the destined leader of our military bands, whom

nothing brought hither but the unquenchable fire of his own spirit! Him!

cut off by Providence in the hour of overwhelming anxiety and thick

gloom; falling ere he saw the star of his country rise; pouring out his

generous blood like water, before he knew whether it would fertilize a

land of freedom or of bondage!--how shall I struggle with the emotions

that stifle the utterance of thy name![7] Our poor work may perish; but

thine shall endure! This monument may moulder away; the solid ground it

rests upon may sink down to a level with the sea; but thy memory shall

not fail! Wheresoever among men a heart shall be found that beats to the

transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspirations shall be to claim

kindred with thy spirit!

But the scene amidst which we stand does not permit us to confine our

thoughts or our sympathies to those fearless spirits who hazarded or

lost their lives on this consecrated spot. We have the happiness to

rejoice here in the presence of a most worthy representation of the

survivors of the whole Revolutionary army.

VETERANS! you are the remnant of many a well-fought field. You bring

with you marks of honor from Trenton and Monmouth, from Yorktown,

Camden, Bennington, and Saratoga. VETERANS OF HALF A CENTURY! when in

your youthful days you put every thing at hazard in your country's

cause, good as that cause was, and sanguine as youth is, still your

fondest hopes did not stretch onward to an hour like this! At a period

to which you could not reasonably have expected to arrive, at a moment

of national prosperity such as you could never have foreseen, you are

now met here to enjoy the fellowship of old soldiers, and to receive the

overflowings of a universal gratitude.

But your agitated countenances and your heaving breasts inform me that

even this is not an unmixed joy. I perceive that a tumult of contending

feelings rushes upon you. The images of the dead, as well as the persons

of the living, present themselves before you. The scene overwhelms you,

and I turn from it. May the Father of all mercies smile upon your

declining years, and bless them! And when you shall here have exchanged

your embraces, when you shall once more have pressed the hands which

have been so often extended to give succor in adversity, or grasped in

the exultation of victory, then look abroad upon this lovely land which

your young valor defended, and mark the happiness with which it is

filled; yea, look abroad upon the whole earth, and see what a name you

have contributed to give to your country, and what a praise you have

added to freedom, and then rejoice in the sympathy and gratitude which

beam upon your last days from the improved condition of mankind!

The occasion does not require of me any particular account of the battle

of the 17th of June, 1775, nor any detailed narrative of the events

which immediately preceded it. These are familiarly known to all. In the

progress of the great and interesting controversy, Massachusetts and the

town of Boston had become early and marked objects of the displeasure of

the British Parliament. This had been manifested in the act for altering

the government of the Province, and in that for shutting up the port of

Boston. Nothing sheds more honor on our early history, and nothing

better shows how little the feelings and sentiments of the Colonies were

known or regarded in England, than the impression which these measures

everywhere produced in America. It had been anticipated, that, while the

Colonies in general would be terrified by the severity of the punishment

inflicted on Massachusetts, the other sea-ports would be governed by a

mere spirit of gain; and that, as Boston was now cut off from all

commerce, the unexpected advantage which this blow on her was calculated

to confer on other towns would be greedily enjoyed. How miserably such

reasoners deceived themselves! How little they knew of the depth, and

the strength, and the intenseness of that feeling of resistance to

illegal acts of power, which possessed the whole American people!

Everywhere the unworthy boon was rejected with scorn. The fortunate

occasion was seized, everywhere, to show to the whole world that the

Colonies were swayed by no local interest, no partial interest, no

selfish interest. The temptation to profit by the punishment of Boston

was strongest to our neighbors of Salem. Yet Salem was precisely the

place where this miserable proffer was spurned, in a tone of the most

lofty self-respect and the most indignant patriotism. "We are deeply

affected," said its inhabitants, "with the sense of our public

calamities; but the miseries that are now rapidly hastening on our

brethren in the capital of the Province greatly excite our

commiseration. By shutting up the port of Boston, some imagine that the

course of trade might be turned hither and to our benefit; but we must

be dead to every idea of justice, lost to all feelings of humanity,

could we indulge a thought to seize on wealth and raise our fortunes on

the ruin of our suffering neighbors." These noble sentiments were not

confined to our immediate vicinity. In that day of general affection and

brotherhood, the blow given to Boston smote on every patriotic heart

from one end of the country to the other. Virginia and the Carolinas, as

well as Connecticut and New Hampshire, felt and proclaimed the cause to

be their own. The Continental Congress, then holding its first session

in Philadelphia, expressed its sympathy for the suffering inhabitants of

Boston, and addresses were received from all quarters, assuring them

that the cause was a common one, and should be met by common efforts and

common sacrifices. The Congress of Massachusetts responded to these

assurances; and in an address to the Congress at Philadelphia, bearing

the official signature, perhaps among the last, of the immortal Warren,

notwithstanding the severity of its suffering and the magnitude of the

dangers which threatened it, it was declared, that this Colony "is

ready, at all times, to spend and to be spent in the cause of America."

But the hour drew nigh which was to put professions to the proof, and to

determine whether the authors of these mutual pledges were ready to seal

them in blood. The tidings of Lexington and Concord had no sooner

spread, than it was universally felt that the time was at last come for

action. A spirit pervaded all ranks, not transient, not boisterous, but

deep, solemn, determined,

"totamque infusa per artus

Mens agitat molem, et magno se corpore miscet."

War, on their own soil and at their own doors, was, indeed, a strange

work to the yeomanry of New England; but their consciences were

convinced of its necessity, their country called them to it, and they

did not withhold themselves from the perilous trial. The ordinary

occupations of life were abandoned; the plough was staid in the

unfinished furrow; wives gave up their husbands, and mothers gave up

their sons, to the battles of a civil war. Death might come, in honor,

on the field; it might come, in disgrace, on the scaffold. For either

and for both they were prepared. The sentiment of Quincy was full in

their hearts. "Blandishments," said that distinguished son of genius and

patriotism, "will not fascinate us, nor will threats of a halter

intimidate; for, under God, we are determined that, wheresoever,

whensoever, or howsoever we shall be called to make our exit, we will

die free men."

The 17th of June saw the four New England Colonies standing here, side

by side, to triumph or to fall together; and there was with them from

that moment to the end of the war, what I hope will remain with them for

ever, one cause, one country, one heart.

The battle of Bunker Hill was attended with the most important effects

beyond its immediate results as a military engagement. It created at

once a state of open, public war. There could now be no longer a

question of proceeding against individuals, as guilty of treason or

rebellion. That fearful crisis was past. The appeal lay to the sword,

and the only question was, whether the spirit and the resources of the

people would hold out, till the object should be accomplished. Nor were

its general consequences confined to our own country. The previous

proceedings of the Colonies, their appeals, resolutions, and addresses,

had made their cause known to Europe. Without boasting, we may say, that

in no age or country has the public cause been maintained with more

force of argument, more power of illustration, or more of that

persuasion which excited feeling and elevated principle can alone

bestow, than the Revolutionary state papers exhibit. These papers will

for ever deserve to be studied, not only for the spirit which they

breathe, but for the ability with which they were written.

To this able vindication of their cause, the Colonies had now added a

practical and severe proof of their own true devotion to it, and given

evidence also of the power which they could bring to its support. All

now saw, that, if America fell, she would not fall without a struggle.

Men felt sympathy and regard, as well as surprise, when they beheld

these infant states, remote, unknown, unaided, encounter the power of

England, and, in the first considerable battle, leave more of their

enemies dead on the field, in proportion to the number of combatants,

than had been recently known to fall in the wars of Europe.

Information of these events, circulating throughout the world, at length

reached the ears of one who now hears me.[8] He has not forgotten the

emotion which the fame of Bunker Hill, and the name of Warren, excited

in his youthful breast.

SIR, we are assembled to commemorate the establishment of great public

principles of liberty, and to do honor to the distinguished dead. The

occasion is too severe for eulogy of the living. But, Sir, your

interesting relation to this country, the peculiar circumstances which

surround you and surround us, call on me to express the happiness which

we derive from your presence and aid in this solemn commemoration.

Fortunate, fortunate man! with what measure of devotion will you not

thank God for the circumstances of your extraordinary life! You are

connected with both hemispheres and with two generations. Heaven saw fit

to ordain, that the electric spark of liberty should be conducted,

through you, from the New World to the Old; and we, who are now here to

perform this duty of patriotism, have all of us long ago received it in

charge from our fathers to cherish your name and your virtues. You will

account it an instance of your good fortune, Sir, that you crossed the

seas to visit us at a time which enables you to be present at this

solemnity. You now behold the field, the renown of which reached you in

the heart of France, and caused a thrill in your ardent bosom. You see

the lines of the little redoubt thrown up by the incredible diligence of

Prescott; defended, to the last extremity, by his lion-hearted valor;

and within which the corner-stone of our monument has now taken its

position. You see where Warren fell, and where Parker, Gardner,

McCleary, Moore, and other early patriots, fell with him. Those who

survived that day, and whose lives have been prolonged to the present

hour, are now around you. Some of them you have known in the trying

scenes of the war. Behold! they now stretch forth their feeble arms to

embrace you. Behold! they raise their trembling voices to invoke the

blessing of God on you and yours for ever.

Sir, you have assisted us in laying the foundation of this structure.

You have heard us rehearse, with our feeble commendation, the names of

departed patriots. Monuments and eulogy belong to the dead. We give them

this day to Warren and his associates. On other occasions they have been

given to your more immediate companions in arms, to Washington, to

Greene, to Gates, to Sullivan, and to Lincoln. We have become reluctant

to grant these, our highest and last honors, further. We would gladly

hold them yet back from the little remnant of that immortal band. _Serus

in coelum redeas._ Illustrious as are your merits, yet far, O very far

distant be the day, when any inscription shall bear your name, or any

tongue pronounce its eulogy!

The leading reflection to which this occasion seems to invite us,

respects the great changes which have happened in the fifty years since

the battle of Bunker Hill was fought. And it peculiarly marks the

character of the present age, that, in looking at these changes, and in

estimating their effect on our condition, we are obliged to consider,

not what has been done in our own country only, but in others also. In

these interesting times, while nations are making separate and

individual advances in improvement, they make, too, a common progress;

like vessels on a common tide, propelled by the gales at different

rates, according to their several structure and management, but all

moved forward by one mighty current, strong enough to bear onward

whatever does not sink beneath it.

A chief distinction of the present day is a community of opinions and

knowledge amongst men in different nations, existing in a degree

heretofore unknown. Knowledge has, in our time, triumphed, and is

triumphing, over distance, over difference of languages, over diversity

of habits, over prejudice, and over bigotry. The civilized and Christian

world is fast learning the great lesson, that difference of nation does

not imply necessary hostility, and that all contact need not be war. The

whole world is becoming a common field for intellect to act in. Energy

of mind, genius, power, wheresoever it exists, may speak out in any

tongue, and the _world_ will hear it. A great chord of sentiment and

feeling runs through two continents, and vibrates over both. Every

breeze wafts intelligence from country to country; every wave rolls it;

all give it forth, and all in turn receive it. There is a vast commerce

of ideas; there are marts and exchanges for intellectual discoveries,

and a wonderful fellowship of those individual intelligences which make

up the mind and opinion of the age. Mind is the great lever of all

things; human thought is the process by which human ends are ultimately

answered; and the diffusion of knowledge, so astonishing in the last

half-century, has rendered innumerable minds, variously gifted by

nature, competent to be competitors or fellow-workers on the theatre of

intellectual operation.

From these causes important improvements have taken place in the

personal condition of individuals. Generally speaking, mankind are not

only better fed and better clothed, but they are able also to enjoy more

leisure; they possess more refinement and more self-respect. A superior

tone of education, manners, and habits prevails. This remark, most true

in its application to our own country, is also partly true when applied

elsewhere. It is proved by the vastly augmented consumption of those

articles of manufacture and of commerce which contribute to the comforts

and the decencies of life; an augmentation which has far outrun the

progress of population. And while the unexampled and almost incredible

use of machinery would seem to supply the place of labor, labor still

finds its occupation and its reward; so wisely has Providence adjusted

men's wants and desires to their condition and their capacity.

Any adequate survey, however, of the progress made during the last

half-century in the polite and the mechanic arts, in machinery and

manufactures, in commerce and agriculture, in letters and in science,

would require volumes. I must abstain wholly from these subjects, and

turn for a moment to the contemplation of what has been done on the

great question of politics and government. This is the master topic of

the age; and during the whole fifty years it has intensely occupied the

thoughts of men. The nature of civil government, its ends and uses, have

been canvassed and investigated; ancient opinions attacked and defended;

new ideas recommended and resisted, by whatever power the mind of man

could bring to the controversy. From the closet and the public halls the

debate has been transferred to the field; and the world has been shaken

by wars of unexampled magnitude, and the greatest variety of fortune. A

day of peace has at length succeeded; and now that the strife has

subsided, and the smoke cleared away, we may begin to see what has

actually been done, permanently changing the state and condition of

human society. And, without dwelling on particular circumstances, it is

most apparent, that, from the before-mentioned causes of augmented

knowledge and improved individual condition, a real, substantial, and

important change has taken place, and is taking place, highly favorable,

on the whole, to human liberty and human happiness.

The great wheel of political revolution began to move in America. Here

its rotation was guarded, regular, and safe. Transferred to the other

continent, from unfortunate but natural causes, it received an irregular

and violent impulse; it whirled along with a fearful celerity; till at

length, like the chariot-wheels in the races of antiquity, it took fire

from the rapidity of its own motion, and blazed onward, spreading

conflagration and terror around.

We learn from the result of this experiment, how fortunate was our own

condition, and how admirably the character of our people was calculated

for setting the great example of popular governments. The possession of

power did not turn the heads of the American people, for they had long

been in the habit of exercising a great degree of self-control. Although

the paramount authority of the parent state existed over them, yet a

large field of legislation had always been open to our Colonial

assemblies. They were accustomed to representative bodies and the forms

of free government; they understood the doctrine of the division of

power among different branches, and the necessity of checks on each. The

character of our countrymen, moreover, was sober, moral, and religious;

and there was little in the change to shock their feelings of justice

and humanity, or even to disturb an honest prejudice. We had no domestic

throne to overturn, no privileged orders to cast down, no violent

changes of property to encounter. In the American Revolution, no man

sought or wished for more than to defend and enjoy his own. None hoped

for plunder or for spoil. Rapacity was unknown to it; the axe was not

among the instruments of its accomplishment; and we all know that it

could not have lived a single day under any well-founded imputation of

possessing a tendency adverse to the Christian religion.

It need not surprise us, that, under circumstances less auspicious,

political revolutions elsewhere, even when well intended, have

terminated differently. It is, indeed, a great achievement, it is the

master-work of the world, to establish governments entirely popular on

lasting foundations; nor is it easy, indeed, to introduce the popular

principle at all into governments to which it has been altogether a

stranger. It cannot be doubted, however, that Europe has come out of the

contest, in which she has been so long engaged, with greatly superior

knowledge, and, in many respects, in a highly improved condition.

Whatever benefit has been acquired is likely to be retained, for it

consists mainly in the acquisition of more enlightened ideas. And

although kingdoms and provinces may be wrested from the hands that hold

them, in the same manner they were obtained; although ordinary and

vulgar power may, in human affairs, be lost as it has been won; yet it

is the glorious prerogative of the empire of knowledge, that what it

gains it never loses. On the contrary, it increases by the multiple of

its own power; all its ends become means; all its attainments, helps to

new conquests. Its whole abundant harvest is but so much seed wheat, and

nothing has limited, and nothing can limit, the amount of ultimate

product.

Under the influence of this rapidly increasing knowledge, the people

have begun, in all forms of government, to think and to reason, on

affairs of state. Regarding government as an institution for the public

good, they demand a knowledge of its operations, and a participation in

its exercise. A call for the representative system, wherever it is not

enjoyed, and where there is already intelligence enough to estimate its

value, is perseveringly made. Where men may speak out, they demand it;

where the bayonet is at their throats, they pray for it.

When Louis the Fourteenth said, "I am the state," he expressed the

essence of the doctrine of unlimited power. By the rules of that system,

the people are disconnected from the state; they are its subjects; it is

their lord. These ideas, founded in the love of power, and long

supported by the excess and the abuse of it, are yielding, in our age,

to other opinions; and the civilized world seems at last to be

proceeding to the conviction of that fundamental and manifest truth,

that the powers of government are but a trust, and that they cannot be

lawfully exercised but for the good of the community. As knowledge is

more and more extended, this conviction becomes more and more general.

Knowledge, in truth, is the great sun in the firmament. Life and power

are scattered with all its beams. The prayer of the Grecian champion,

when enveloped in unnatural clouds and darkness, is the appropriate

political supplication for the people of every country not yet blessed

with free institutions:--

"Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore,

Give me TO SEE,--and Ajax asks no more."

We may hope that the growing influence of enlightened sentiment will

promote the permanent peace of the world. Wars to mantain family

alliances, to uphold or to cast down dynasties, and to regulate

successions to thrones, which have occupied so much room in the history

of modern times, if not less likely to happen at all, will be less

likely to become general and involve many nations, as the great

principle shall be more and more established, that the interest of the

world is peace, and its first great statute, that every nation possesses

the power of establishing a government for itself. But public opinion

has attained also an influence over governments which do not admit the

popular principle into their organization. A necessary respect for the

judgment of the world operates, in some measure, as a control over the

most unlimited forms of authority. It is owing, perhaps, to this truth,

that the interesting struggle of the Greeks has been suffered to go on

so long, without a direct interference, either to wrest that country

from its present masters, or to execute the system of pacification by

force, and, with united strength, lay the neck of Christian and

civilized Greek at the foot of the barbarian Turk. Let us thank God that

we live in an age when something has influence besides the bayonet, and

when the sternest authority does not venture to encounter the scorching

power of public reproach. Any attempt of the kind I have mentioned

should be met by one universal burst of indignation; the air of the

civilized world ought to be made too warm to be comfortably breathed by

any one who would hazard it.

It is, indeed, a touching reflection, that, while, in the fulness of our

country's happiness, we rear this monument to her honor, we look for

instruction in our undertaking to a country which is now in fearful

contest, not for works of art or memorials of glory, but for her own

existence. Let her be assured, that she is not forgotten in the world;

that her efforts are applauded, and that constant prayers ascend for her

success. And let us cherish a confident hope for her final triumph. If

the true spark of religious and civil liberty be kindled, it will burn.

Human agency cannot extinguish it. Like the earth's central fire, it

may be smothered for a time; the ocean may overwhelm it; mountains may

press it down; but its inherent and unconquerable force will heave both

the ocean and the land, and at some time or other, in some place or

other, the volcano will break out and flame up to heaven.

Among the great events of the half-century, we must reckon, certainly,

the revolution of South America; and we are not likely to overrate the

importance of that revolution, either to the people of the country

itself or to the rest of the world. The late Spanish colonies, now

independent states, under circumstances less favorable, doubtless, than

attended our own revolution, have yet successfully commenced their

national existence. They have accomplished the great object of

establishing their independence; they are known and acknowledged in the

world; and although in regard to their systems of government, their

sentiments on religious toleration, and their provisions for public

instruction, they may have yet much to learn, it must be admitted that

they have risen to the condition of settled and established states more

rapidly than could have been reasonably anticipated. They already

furnish an exhilarating example of the difference between free

governments and despotic misrule. Their commerce, at this moment,

creates a new activity in all the great marts of the world. They show

themselves able, by an exchange of commodities, to bear a useful part in

the intercourse of nations.

A new spirit of enterprise and industry begins to prevail; all the great

interests of society receive a salutary impulse; and the progress of

information not only testifies to an improved condition, but itself

constitutes the highest and most essential improvement.

When the battle of Bunker Hill was fought, the existence of South

America was scarcely felt in the civilized world. The thirteen little

Colonies of North America habitually called themselves the "Continent."

Borne down by colonial subjugation, monopoly, and bigotry, these vast

regions of the South were hardly visible above the horizon. But in our

day there has been, as it were, a new creation. The southern hemisphere

emerges from the sea. Its lofty mountains begin to lift themselves into

the light of heaven; its broad and fertile plains stretch out, in

beauty, to the eye of civilized man, and at the mighty bidding of the

voice of political liberty the waters of darkness retire.

And, now, let us indulge an honest exultation in the conviction of the

benefit which the example of our country has produced, and is likely to

produce, on human freedom and human happiness. Let us endeavor to

comprehend in all its magnitude, and to feel in all its importance, the

part assigned to us in the great drama of human affairs. We are placed

at the head of the system of representative and popular governments.

Thus far our example shows that such governments are compatible, not

only with respectability and power, but with repose, with peace, with

security of personal rights, with good laws, and a just administration.

We are not propagandists. Wherever other systems are preferred, either

as being thought better in themselves, or as better suited to existing

condition, we leave the preference to be enjoyed. Our history hitherto

proves, however, that the popular form is practicable, and that with

wisdom and knowledge men may govern themselves; and the duty incumbent

on us is, to preserve the consistency of this cheering example, and take

care that nothing may weaken its authority with the world. If, in our

case, the representative system ultimately fail, popular governments

must be pronounced impossible. No combination of circumstances more

favorable to the experiment can ever be expected to occur. The last

hopes of mankind, therefore, rest with us; and if it should be

proclaimed, that our example had become an argument against the

experiment, the knell of popular liberty would be sounded throughout the

earth.

These are excitements to duty; but they are not suggestions of doubt.

Our history and our condition, all that is gone before us, and all that

surrounds us, authorize the belief, that popular governments, though

subject to occasional variations, in form perhaps not always for the

better, may yet, in their general character, be as durable and permanent

as other systems. We know, indeed, that in our country any other is

impossible. The _principle_ of free governments adheres to the American

soil. It is bedded in it, immovable as its mountains.

And let the sacred obligations which have devolved on this generation,

and on us, sink deep into our hearts. Those who established our liberty

and our government are daily dropping from among us. The great trust now

descends to new hands. Let us apply ourselves to that which is presented

to us, as our appropriate object. We can win no laurels in a war for

independence. Earlier and worthier hands have gathered them all. Nor are

there places for us by the side of Solon, and Alfred, and other founders

of states. Our fathers have filled them. But there remains to us a great

duty of defence and preservation; and there is opened to us, also, a

noble pursuit, to which the spirit of the times strongly invites us. Our

proper business is improvement. Let our age be the age of improvement.

In a day of peace, let us advance the arts of peace and the works of

peace. Let us develop the resources of our land, call forth its powers,

build up its institutions, promote all its great interests, and see

whether we also, in our day and generation, may not perform something

worthy to be remembered. Let us cultivate a true spirit of union and

harmony. In pursuing the great objects which our condition points out to

us, let us act under a settled conviction, and an habitual feeling, that

these twenty-four States are one country. Let our conceptions be

enlarged to the circle of our duties. Let us extend our ideas over the

whole of the vast field in which we are called to act. Let our object

be, OUR COUNTRY, OUR WHOLE COUNTRY, AND NOTHING BUT OUR COUNTRY. And, by

the blessing of God, may that country itself become a vast and splendid

monument, not of oppression and terror, but of Wisdom, of Peace, and of

Liberty, upon which the world may gaze with admiration for ever!

[Footnote 1: General Warren, at the time of his decease, was Grand

Master of the Masonic Lodges in America.]

[Footnote 2: An interesting account of the voyage of the early emigrants

to the Maryland Colony, and of its settlement, is given in the official

report of Father White, written probably within the first month after

the landing at St. Mary's. The original Latin manuscript is still

preserved among the archives of the Jesuits at Rome. The "Ark" and the

"Dove" are remembered with scarcely less interest by the descendants of

the sister colony, than is the "Mayflower" in New England, which

thirteen years earlier, at the same season of the year, bore thither the

Pilgrim Fathers.]

[Footnote 3: Mr. Webster was at this time President of the Bunker Hill

Monument Association, chosen on the decease of Governor John Brooks, the

first President.]

[Footnote 4: That which was spoken of figuratively in 1825 has, in the

lapse of a quarter of a century, by the introduction of railroads and

telegraphic lines, become a reality. It is an interesting circumstance,

that the first railroad on the Western Continent was constructed for the

purpose of accelerating the erection of this monument.]

[Footnote 5: See President Monroe's Message to Congress in 1823, and Mr.

Webster's speech on the Panama Mission, in 1826.]

[Footnote 6: It is necessary to inform those only who are unacquainted

with the localities, that the United States Navy Yard at Charlestown is

situated at the base of Bunker Hill.]

[Footnote 7: See the North American Review, Vol. XIII. p. 242.]

[Footnote 8: Among the earliest of the arrangements for the celebration

of the 17th of June, 1825, was the invitation to General Lafayette to

be present; and he had so timed his progress through the other States as

to return to Massachusetts in season for the great occasion.]