his gallant little band at Enotochopco creek, when falling, desperately wounded, he called out: 'My brave fellows, some may fall, but save the cannon' -as a memento of all these things, I give and bequeath to him my case of pistols and sword worn by me throughout my military career, well satisfied that in his hands they will never be disgraced, that they will never be used or drawn without occasion, nor sheathed but with honour."

How beautiful the injunctions which accompany the bequests of the dying patriot! He had preserved his own sword pure and unsullied; he had guarded the stainless emblems of a nation's gratitude as a priceless treasure; and when he was approached by the great earthly conqueror of all mankind, he gracefully surrendered them into chosen hands, with a prayer and a command that they should never be dishonoured.

Nor was he thoughtless of her who had watched his bedside for years. In recognising and confirming a marriage gift to the wife of his adopted son, he said: "This gift and bequest is made as a token of my great affection for her, a memento of her uniform attention to me, and kindness on all occasions. When worn down with sickness, pain, and debility, she has been more than a daughter to me, and I hope that she will never be disturbed by any one in the enjoyment of this gift and bequest."

The exalted sphere of the ladies which his heart appreciated, his hand was ever ready to acknowledge. He successfully threatened the recreant soldier with the fear of their frown as a preventive of desertion-he was accustomed to speak of them as "last at the cross, first at the sepulchre, and foremost in the cause of justice and humanity"—their defence and protection was his watchword on the plains of Chalmette, and when, after the lapse of a quarter of a century, he revisited those scenes of his early struggles for the last time, the charming daughters of the sunny south, those whom he had protected from the ruthless invader in their infant cradles, received him on carpets of roses, and loaded his venerable brow with kisses of gratitude. Chivalrous to the last, he makes them the umpire before whom American valour shall become emulous upon the battle-field for the heir-looms of patriotism.

But as the last touches of the pencil give beauty and fidelity to the picture, so the closing scenes of the veteran's life become the most interesting portion of his history. As in earlier life he was the brave and dauntless soldier in defence of his country's rights, so he became the brave and dauntless soldier of the cross. From nis childhood he had revered Christianity, and often dwelt with grateful emotions on the tender and prayerful solicitude of his pious mother, during his boyhood, for his spiritual welfare. And even in the turbulent and boisterous periods of his career, when all his energies were concentrated in the conduct of sanguinary British

and Indian wars, although vehement and impetuous of spirit, the purest religious feelings animated his heart and shaped his inclinations. There is not in our language a more beautiful form of prayer and thanksgiving than is contained in a portion of his congratulatory and farewell address to his soldiers at New Orleans after the battle of the eighth-meekly giving all the glory of the victory to the God of battles, in whom he had put his trust. I have heard an old warrior against the Indians say, that on the eve of one of the most deadly conflicts in the Creek nation, when they were on watch for the enemy, whom they knew to be near, and when an order had been given that there should be no unnecessary noise in camp, one of the guard approached the general and complained that a soldier was praying unnecessarily loud. "God forbid," said he, "that praying should be considered an unnecessary noise in my camp."

These feelings ripened with age into a firmly settled conviction and conversion; and for the last eight years he who had led and directed his countrymen on so many well fought fields, who had humbled the proud British lion upon our south-western shore, and sent him howling home to his sea-girt den-who had wrung the unwilling acknowledgment of our country's rights from the crowned heads of Europe-might be seen upon the Sabbath, when his health would permit, bowing with his neighbourhood circle in deep humility and humble adoration before the little altar which he had caused to be planted a short distance from his house, devotedly and sincerely partaking of the sacred emblems of faith. I witnessed this-but I witnessed no richly embroidered carpets on which to walk-no silken and velvet cushions on which to kneel-no gorgeous purples in which to robe the chief-no pomp—no parade— no insignia of superiority or power, like those which glitter within the royal chapels of princes and potentates. All was plainness, simplicity, piety, Christian purity. He fostered that little church with a father's solicitude and protection; and one of his last wishes was that it might be sustained for ever.

In the full enjoyment of his mental faculties, he died as he had lived-undismayed, unterrified. Even, death, at whose approach mankind are prone to shudder, though he had long tortured the veteran's frame with the most excruciating pains, as if to apply the severest tests to his resigned spirit, could not shake his nerve or make his resolution tremble. He had spoken of the coming event for many months as one would naturally speak of a journey to a distant country not soon to return, and had taken great care in the adjustment of his temporal affairs, arranging all his papers, and leaving them where they would be accessible to the historian of his country.

We rarely see a happier combination of all the virtues which

belong to man than the character of Jackson exhibited; and when the faithful historic pen shall institute its comparisons between him and the celebrated heroes and statesmen of antiquity, who favoured the acquisition of territory by conquest and not by the influence of sound opinion upon the minds of the millions, whose object was to tyrannize over the world, and not to diffuse the blessings of free institutions amongst the governed, who were more ambitious of ephemeral popularity and power than of permanent welfare-the slaves of princely pride and passion, and not the faithful and accountable servants of their countrymen-who lived as reckless adventurers, and died by the hands of violence-when these lines of contrast shall be drawn, as they will be drawn, by the pen of the impartial annalist, we shall need no lofty pillar of Trajan, no sculptured arches, no massive column of Napoleon, to commemorate his deeds of glory, for they will be enshrined in our hearts, and transmitted to the latest generation of our posterity.

Had he been faultless, he had been more than man. Do you remember that he had any imperfections? Where, on earth, may we look for perfection? Error is one of the first offspring of humanity-and if in his career you have discovered indiscretions, you will at least admit, that they were of that class which "sometimes serve us well when better judgment fails."

He is gone. "I bequeath," said he, in his last will and testament, "my body to the dust whence it came, and my soul to God who gave it, hoping for a happy immortality through the atoning merits of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world. My desire is, that my body be buried by the side of my dear departed wife, in the garden of the Hermitage, in the vault there prepared."

In the circle of an ever-watchful and devoted family, he expired on a summer's evening of our holy Sabbath. He had said it was probably the last he would be permitted to enjoy on earth, and had called his household to his bedside to tell them of the pleasant paths of righteousness, and to express a dying Christian's hope that he might meet them all again in Heaven.

The funeral orator at his burial, held up a small copy of the Bible which had been literally worn out by the veteran's own hand, who was accustomed to consult it freely, to listen to its teachings, to believe in its promises, and to regard it as the only anchor of his spiritual safety.

It was as he had desired. In the vault, which he had years before caused to be prepared for its reception, his body was buried by the side of his dear departed wife, in the garden of the Hermitage, amongst ample beds of variegated flowers in full bloom, cultivated and arranged with taste and elegance under the eye of his " than daughter"-a spot on which nature had been encouraged to lavish the brightest charms of Flora-in all its beauty, simplicity,

more

and sweetness, more acceptable for the remains of the plain republican patriot, than the marble sarcophagus of Septimus Severus, which in life he had rejected with a freeman's indignation-nay, than the proudest of the Egyptian pyramids.

By a few of his aged friends and compatriots in arms, his body was silently laid in its last consecrated spot-a select choir chanted his favourite psalm as a requiem, and the gallant military corps, which had long borne aloft his portrait on their banner, discharged their musketry over his resting place.

It was an hour of tears. Thousands were there to witness it. As the veteran soldier, with his whitened locks, lowered the remains of his old general into their last long home, the tear which trembled on his eye-lid and then trickled down his furrowed cheek, told the beholder that it was from the fountain of deep, deep grief.

As the throng pressed nearer the spot to witness the last solemnities over the hallowed relics of their country's benefactor, a keener sense of their loss was manifest, and few, indeed, were tearless in that assembly.

"To live with fame, the gods allow

To many. But to die with equal lustre,

Is a gift, which Heaven selects

From all the choicest boons of fate,

And with a sparing hand, on few bestows."

Like the Father of his country, he descended to the grave loaded with all the civil and military honours of his countrymen-like him, he welcomed the battle-field, welcomed the olive branch of peace, welcomed the public service, welcomed retirement, welcomed life, welcomed death, and abides in the grateful hearts of millions of freemen. Like him, his memory will bloom upon our altars for ages and ages with perennial freshness. The mother shall teach her infant to lisp their names in unison-the father shall teach him to emulate their sterling virtues. An admiring posterity shall make frequent pilgrimages to Mount Vernon in the East, and the Hermitage in the West, to linger around the mounds which contain the ashes of the illustrious dead, to commune with the spirits of the immortal WASHINGTON and JACKSON.

EULOGY

DELIVERED AT POTTSVILLE, PA., JULY 10, 1845,

BY

REV. D. D. LORE

WE are assembled, my countrymen, in vast numbers, to pay the tribute that true greatness demands of justice. And the honourable part that your partiality has assigned to me on this solemn and imposing occasion, is "to deliver a eulogy on the life and character of General Andrew Jackson."

Eulogies are the spontaneous emotions of the human heart, excited by the virtuous and brave deeds of our fellow men. Hence, they are coeval with the history of mankind. The bards of a country were the primitive eulogists of its heroes. They were employed to compose and rehearse verses in honour of the heroic achievements of princes and brave men. They accompanied the armies to battle, and took their stand in some conspicuous place, and when the warrior fell, covered with honourable wounds, he turned his dying eye to the poet, who made him immortal in song. The effect of these panegyrics on the national character was indescribable. They placed glory and renown before the warrior, and on the day of battle excited his courage to perfect enthusiasm.

History informs us that when Edward I. of England, invaded North Wales, he found it impossible to establish his authority, while the Welsh bards were permitted to live. For they, by rehearsing in their songs the glorious achievements of the ancient Britons, kept alive an heroic spirit of freedom and independence. He therefore cruelly ordered the minstrels to be massacred wherever they were found. And in the ancient republics of Greece and Rome, eulogy was one of the strongest influences in exercise, for the preservation of the spirit of patriotism. It is said of the latter in the time of Augustus, they had swelled into two thousand volumes.

Eulogies, indeed, are intimately connected with republican institutions. They are the tributes paid by a brave and free people,