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A J. GERRITSON Prop/lE4OF r i
_EI
A FORGOTTEN VALENTINE.
L THH MESSENGEE WHO Bo= ITS
And who never deliveied It. Perhaps,
it would have been too much to expect of
him that he should 'do so; too much to
expect that little packet, carelessly taken.
and thruSt away among others, would',
ever enter into his head again. At any
rate it did not. He was a young man :
still, though he bad been for some years a
widower; and he had fallen in' love, and!
was on the way to learn his fate.
It cannot be flattering to a young lady,'
if she knows it, that her suitor should be
capable of taking thou for any one be
side herself; but certainly Sir Hugh Rain-:
ham tried to believe that be was making,
his own happiness altogether the first
consideration. There was the well being
of his little girl to be thought of; and
what did he know about bringing up lit
tle girls ? He had heard sensible,people:
say, and he was ready enough now to ac- -
cept the dictum, that the wisest thing a:
man in his position could do would lie to,
marry again; wisest both for his own fu
ture and his child's. He said this to him
self as be stood in Evelyn Iskville's draw- .
ing room, hat in band, waiting., looking
out upon the bare branches which were .
soon to be green again, and wonde-ing,
in a desultory fashion, if this February
day would bring him another spring time
or only the desolate branches, the dead
leaves whirling about, and the cold sky
beyond. He bad not long to wait. When
she came into the room, and that thrill.
went through his heart which the presence
of one we love alone can bring, it rout
have left some mark upon, his face; for she
knew why he had come, and ina few argu
ments had decided her answer., He was
rich; but she did not care so much about
that, not knowing what it was - Io be any
thing else; he was Sir Hugh Itainhain;
hut she didn't care for that 'either, her
pri4 being of another sort; he was good',
generous and devoted—these things she.
did care for. He loved her; and he Carrie
a a day when that same pride of hers
was smarting under a sense of negfeCt.
In the few seconds allowed her before
he spoke, Evelyn made her decision. She
had thought that he knew, and was jeal
,us of her friendship with that cousin
Frank, whom she had fancied might one• !
day be nearer than a cousin. But that
eras over. The cousins had kept np a
ch 1 1 ,3 1 ,11 halk of exchanging valentines;
and to day there was nothing from him,
while her own had gone as usual. That
Ivaq the humiliating part of it. If she had
h:aken through the custom, it would have
ben we r; hut that he should be the first!
and when, too, he had given her cause to
.xpect that his would her no ordinary val..
eatine ! Here, within her reach, was the
means of punishing him; at any rate, of
letting him know that she did not care.
Evelyn listened to Sir Hugh with a forc
ed attention; but he knew nothing of that.
When he spoke of his little girl, faltering
ly, she roused up and saw the strong ear
nestness and anxiety in the man's thee;
and, strange to say, this touched her more'
just then than any passionate lover's plea. :
ding from his lips would have done. She
turned towards him suddenly, and put her :
hand into his, and said, speaking of the
small Cecilia,—
-She shall be very dear to me, and pre
cious; I will care fur her, as Much as you
could desire."
And when Sir Hugh had left her, she '
did not repent. It is true that there came
upon her a certain sense of beino bound ;
of having done what could not be undone
and that half rebellious desire to be free f
which is almost always inseparable,, froth:
an act that seals one's then'
the drawing room was rather lonely; . the
trees outside the window got a ghostly
look, and seemed•to wrap themselves up
tighter as the fog gathered round them;
and—altogether, she thought she would
just go and tell her brother, by way of
convincing herself that the thing was
finally settled.
When she told him, he lifted up Lis
eyebrows and stared at her.
"It is true ? You look as if it . were.
Rather sacred, and that sort of thing.
Not that - there is anything to be sacred
about; only I suppose it's proper. Hem!
I might have thought of Frank Neville;
but this is wiser."
She bit her lip, but never answered him.
She wished be had not Said that about
Frank, and she :didn't like the word " wi
ser." What bad wisdom to do with it ?
She started from her sleep that night,
with a mist before her eyes and a great
throbbing at her heart, for Frank's voice
was in her ears. Would he care ?
But what use to ask, now that it was
too late ? And that it was too late no
one knew better than *self; for to, her,
having once decided publicly as it were,
change would have been impossible.
And on her wedding day she was ti?
Sir Hugh a radiant princess, far above
him, stooping to crown him with the
blessing of her love. Any one who bad
seen him that day might have doubte4
its being altogether, or even very Much
for his daughter's sake that he .took this
step.
" I have reason to be grateful," he said
to his new brother in law,, when , the.
speechifying was . over , and the bride was
going away ta chap ber dress.
Qeoite at her And nqd•
ded.
" She's'a gotnigirt enOughi'a little self
willed, , perhaps; but then she • always had
her own way.
" And will have it still, I hope," said sir
Hugh.- "If It don't make , her happy
shsil . deserve to be, a Miserable man all
my life." • • •'
In years to come he recallerthe speech,
and wondered whether some strange
mis
giving had moved him to ptter it.
Just, tlitin Frank 'Neville was saying to
Evelyn, " So you did not blink me worth
an ansWer
She was pas'aing through the, dense
throe g •towarL'a • the dobr, and she nev
er faltered or raised her head. No one
knew that the words fell;-upon her with a
sudden: chill, litie a .cold hand- grasping
her heart.— She' had . seen her cousin
amongst the guests, and knew.that he was
miserably ill,but she had beentoo much
occupied to think about that.
"What do you glean', Prank?".
.
"0, not much. ' Valentines don't re
quire answers in a general way; but I
think you might have .riven me a few
words last February. However, you'll
keep m* secret. No one knows it but
you, unless it is yofir husband. What's
the matter, .Evelyn.;? You look as if you
don't understand."
.
'.d0n1.."-
" You must have had it. I missed the
post over night, and gave it to Rainham,
there, as I kriew he - Ivciuld see you the
• •
next day."
'• Fes;
‘• Fr,..ink,"'slAe,, said, with a heavy hand
on . Liy Arm; 4iforget :all this Never speak
of it—for tnyDsatte2.,'_
He looked.at—her—witil-a-perplexed ex
pre - sign of. inquiry, but' he saw that she
was whit and flurried, anti gave op the
point. !
" Well, we litive always been friends;
have we not ? I would ask you yet for
yOur good wishes; as .you have mine; but
the doctors .say there's something amiss
here," touching ,his . chest; " and I may
not tive to—never Mind God bless you,
!"
11. ITS MUM .ON.TITE EEA:ES TO COME
Sir Hugh brought his wife home;.and
his Lair was : not gray, : neither • had any
premature wrinkles marked his face. To.
his servants there apeeared no change in
him, either fdr better or for worse. He
was just the same grave,silent, rather de
liberate.master they, remembered. They
did think, indeed, that beiwas dreadfully
polite to his lady; but perhaps that was
pi oper—before servants.
Sir Hugh, taking Evelyn in the draw
ing rooms, which he bad caused to be
and brightened for her, turned and
said to her, " Welcome home."
And as he said it, the memory of his
own dreams of that home stung him so
bitterly that he bait* put out his arms to
take into them the Evelyn he had once
known. But she never saw the move
ment; and would not have heeded it if
she had seen. She passed on into the
room, tlie of which s eeme d
to hurt sir Hugh's eves, for he put his
Landover them suddenlj; and fur a mo
ment/ he stood at the door, irresolute ;
then closed it gently, and went to see af
ter this little girl.
That was natural enough they
those gossips down stairs who were al
ways on the watch. But why didn't he
take his new wife with
.him?.• And why
did he stay ,with ;her hour after
hour, dill none ethe (*ening remained ?
The first. evening , too.! -Above all, when
the-household, had retired, and all was
quiet, did .a tall, slight figure, which rus
tled a little'as it pasied,,go into the nur
sery and kneel down beside the sleeping
child and sob ?. • •
The nurse saw, for she was not asleep,
as my lady fancied; and she was not like- .
ly to keep, it .to -herself, either. These
land such thingsl were puzzling. At first
the ~formed A constant. source of whis
pertng,s and .shakings of Wise heads; but
gradually the gloss of newness wore away
from thew; the dull days swept on, and
something of the grittiness of the stone
beads that guarded the sweep of steps at
the hall door seemed to have crept into
the house. It was so still and silent ;so
monotonous. But for the small Cecilia,
it would have been unutterably dismal.
But she was a, child, and had childish
ways, Which remained unchecked. She
was quite young enough to take very
kindly to
an
new mamma,. wbowas so
beautiful and so good to tier.
" Not like nurse said - she would be,—
iigly and cross," she said to her favorite
playfellow," but good. I think she could
have brought the little princess to life
again, as well as the fairy did. You nev
er saw such eyes in your life asebe has
got; just like the pool under the Willows,
where we arenot to go,thaclie•yoi know;
down, as'if you couldn't ever see the bot
tom; ever so deep. And she kisses me,
too."
To wbiab the boy replied with decision,
that She couldn't be a fairy in that case
for fairiefr never kissed any body; it wasn't
)ncky, that was unless • they were wicked
fakes. 'it,`waaill very well now, but
when Cecil Married him, be shouldn't al
/Pw- 11 0Zi tQ/4 5
•-• 8,Y14#4 old;
,er sbe used to!). • weeder kin leer 'tise little
EWE
moNTßogu, PA., TUESDAY, 314.11c11,12; 1867.
head what spade her, father and mother,
when they were alone, talk.to each other
if they did talk, so like- " company."
That was her idea of it. •She jumped up
from the
_piano one day, and waltzed
kiiiti r difrilie footstool at "Lady ftairiliin's
feet, with a sudden thought that she
would fi nd out. .
" Well," said Evelyn, looking at the
pursed — up lips, which evidently had a
question'upbn them, " whpt's the matter?
Is your new music lesson too hard ?"
" My new music lesson- is—is a fidgety
crank," said Cecil, hesitating for an ex
pression strong enough; " but it's not
that. I was -Just wondering why you
and papa—"
Sir Hugh leviiis book
,f4ll with a sud
den noise, and went out of the room, pass
ing the child, but taking no notice of her.
-"Why you and papa," went on Cecil,
reflectively," are so odd, -iike grand visi
tors. --When there's any one here I know I
have to sit still, and not tumble myfrock,
nor-eross my -feet; but when there's no
()IA .different.'
"Your papa and I are not children,"
said Lady Rainbam. " Grown -up peope
must be steady, Sis."
Then I don't want to be grown up.
And' I'm sure, quite sure, that I'll never
be married, i
one is to do nothing but
sit—sit all day long, and have no fun."
Lady Rainham bent down to kiss the 1 1
resolute lips that uttered this bold de
cision,
and then her face grew sad. There
were times when even to her pride the
life she led seemed almost too hard to
bear,—times when she was...mad enough
to - think she would tell Sir Hugh that the
act which - stamped him in her eyes as
base and dishonored was no secret from
her, as he doubtless believed it to be.
Bat she could not do it. It seemed to her
as it' the consciousness that she knew
would only make him more contemptible
in his own eyes as well' as in hers', It
would be to widen the gulf, and make
what she was able to bear now utterly in
tolerable. For she never doubted that
the purport of the letter was known to
him, and he. had suppressed it for his own
ends. And the poor boy who wrote it
was dead. There was the great,mischief
ofit all. ' Ifhe had been living and well,
so tender a halo might not have rested
over the Past; and all in the past. connec
ted with him; so bitter a resentment
might not have .been nurseil iu silcoLc.
against the wrong whielv her husband
had done them both. But Frank Lad
lived brit a few months after her Wedding
and she never saw him again. He was
dead, and she had killed hint—no, not ehe
but sir Hugh.
She was thinking such thoughts one
day when something made her look up,
and she met sir Hugh's eyes fixed upon
her. There was so peculiar an expres
sion in them that she could not 'prevent
a certain proud, antagonistic inquiry cow
inginto her own. He went towards her
with his book open in Lis hand. He bent
down and put his finger on a line in the
page, drawing her attention to it. .
"How much the wife is dearer than
the bride.' This struck me rather, that's
all," he said, and went away.
Evelyn sat on by the window, but the
book dropped from.her fingers, and she
covered her face. What did he mean ?
Jr he had only not gone away then !
" How could be do that one thing ?"
'sbe said to herself. "He meant the line
as a reproach to me. And I would have
loved him—is it possible that I. do love
him, in spite of it. And Iso weak and
false? I want so much to comfort him
sometimes that I half forget, and am
tempted. But I never will—l never must.
I used to be strong, I shall be strong
still."
t.M 7 vr-
And so'the same front of icy indiffer
ence met sir Hugh day by day and year
by yaar, and he knew none of her strug
gles. But he wrapped himself up more and
more in his books and his problems and
writings. New MSS. began to grow out
of old ones for he had always been given to
thorship, and the accumulation of papers
on various subjects. In these days a lit
tle fairy used to come in from time to time
with a pretense of arranging them for
him. She would open and shut the study
door with a great show of quietness, seat
herself on a big chest which was fulLof
old papers, and in which she mean 'to
have a glorious rummage some day; and
begin folding up neat little packages;
stikhing loose sheets together; reading a
t,
bit here and there, and looking up now
and then with a suggestive sigh till he
would lay aside his work, and declare that
she was the plague of his life.. This was
the signal always for the forced gravity
to disappear from Cecil's face; for her to
jump up, radiant and gleeful, and just
have one turn round the room—to shake
off the cobwebs„l4 she said.
‘fl!, , ut:yoillttaw you couldn't do with.
out me, and rcro help very much. What
do yon know about stitching papers to
getber 1 0 And you are a most ungrateful
man to say Lam a,plaguei only you don't
mean it. I wonder what you'll do when
I am married."
"Married !" echoed sir Hugh. "Go
and play with, your last new toys, and
don't talk nonsense."
But
,tl3oo47ikerrie4 tin3;and made
bini thpittiful, „Von Clang to oah~
siderit4 no,longerteraetlyre
child, though she wait as merry ass young
kitten. He did a little sum on-his fingers
in sheer absence of mind, and found out
that in a few weeks she would be eigh
teen.
It was twelve years since be went, that
February, day, to plead her cause and his
own with Evelyn Neville. He - used to
go now sometimes to the window and
look out, and remember the day when he
bad stood at the other window watching
bare branches and wondering about his
future. He knew it not. If only he could
find out why it was thus. What had
changed her all at once, on her wedding
day, from the very Moment, as it seemed
to him, that she became his wife.?
Sir Hugh pushed his hair away from
his forehead and sighed. He was getting
gray by this. time, but then he was past
forty, and Evelyn, his .wife, must be two
and thirty at least. It occurred to him
that he bad noticed no alteration in her.
She was as beautiful as ever, with the
beauty of a statue .that chills you when
you when you touch it. He thought he
would look at her that evening, and see
if he could trace no change, such as there
was in himself.
lie did look, when the room was brill
iant with soft light, and she sat, languid
ly turning over a belek of engravings with
Cecil. They formed a strange contrast;
the cold, proud, indifferent beauty of the
one face and the eager animation of the
other. The girl's one hand rested on
Lady Rainham's shoulder, caressingly,
for the tie between these two was more
like the passion of a first friendship than
the affection of mother and daughter.
Cecil suddenly pointed down the page
and said something in a whisper, and La
dy Rainham - turned and looked at her
with a smile.
As he saw that look, just such a thrill
went, through Sir Ilugh's heart as he had
felt when she came to him twelve years
ago to give him his answer. No, time,
had not done her so much Wrong as it
had to himself, and there was one hope in
Ns; ieh she had never disappointed nim—
her care fur his daughter.
"For her sake," he said that night
when Cecilia was gone, "I am always
grateful to you."
But he did not wait for any reply. He
never did. Perhaps he might not have
o.ot one if tie bad; or perhaps he thought
the a rm . hot sono by l o any cakans4 to
be possible.
Lady Ritinhatu looked from the win
dow the next morning, and saw Cecil un
der a tall laurel, reading something. And
the sun had come out ; there was a twit
tering of birds in the shrubbery, and the
sky was all flecked with tiny white clouds.
It was Valentine's Day, and Lady Rain
ham knew that the girl was reading over
again the one which Sir Hugh had hand
ed her with such a troubled face at the
breakfast table. Wliat did that unquiet
expression mean ; and why did Cecil,
when she sa - .. it, luuk from
. him to her
self, Lainham, fold up her packet hurried
ly and put it away ?
It meant, on Sir lltigh's part, that he
knew what it was and didn't like it; that
he could not help thinking .of his life,
doubly lonely without the child. But this
noVer occurred to his wife. Presently
some one joined Cecil iri the laurel walk,
and though of course Lady Rainhatu
could not hear their words, she turned in-
stinctively away from the window.
Cecil Was saving just then, "No, I s
not likely. Who should send me valen
tines? They're old fashioned, vulgar,
out of date. Charlie, mind, I won't have
any more."
" Why not ?''
" Because Pm serious now—for some
reason or other they don't like my hav
ing them," said Cecil, motioning towards
the house. " And it's a shocking thing
to say, but I'm sure there's something be- ,
tween papa and Lady Rainham—some
misunderstanding, you know. I'm sure
that they are dreadfully fond of each oth
er, really ;
but it's all so strange ; I do so
want .to do something that would bring
it right, and—l shall have nothing to say
to you till it is right."
" Cecil !"
"I mean it. lam a sort of a go,be
tween ; no, not that exactly ;_ but they
both care for me so much. Thty don't
freeze up when I'm there. I cant fancy
them without me ; it would be terrible."
"But, Cecil, you promised—"
" No, I didn't. And if I had I should
not keep it, of course. That is, you would
not want rue of course; that is, you
wouldn't want rue to. %It would kill pa
pa to lose me, and as to Lady Itainham,
why I never cared for any one so much in
all my life. I didn't know it was in me
till the woke it up. You'remember what
I used to say about her eyes. They are
just like : that.; like a beautiful deep pool;
all dark, you know, until it draws you
close and makes you want to knoiv so
much of.what ia-underneath."
Here Lady Rainham came to the win
dow again, but the two figures had gone
out of the laurel walk; and she saw them
no more, ,
In the afternoon Cecil went as usual to
her father's study, but he was stooping
over a book and did not notice her. He
was, in fact, thinking the thought that
had troubled him in the morning, but Cc
ail finaibd . ' bit Avila ,Ebusrand)lookedrsound
to see what mischief she could do. It'
flashed upon her that•liere•was •a fine op =
portunity ! for the old chest,. and so she
seated herself on•.the carpet and began
the rummage. Presently Sir Hugh, hear
ing the rustle of papers, looked arottna:\
"I -should like to know who is to be
my fairy Order," he said," amongst all
that "mess." ,
" I will, papa; I shall give a tap with
my wand,. and you will see it all come
straight. Butilook here. Isn't this to
mamma ? It has never been opened, and
"it's like—a valentine." .
Sir Hugh looked at the large "Miss
Neville" on the envelope, and knitted his
brows in a vain effort to remember any
thing about it. He couldn't. It was ve
ry strange.: He.fancied.he knew the wri
ting, but yet could not tell whose it was.
—certainly not his own—nor recollect
anything about the packet. He cousid,,
ered a little and then said, "you had bet:
ter take it to her."
He took a pen and wrote on the cover,
" Cecil has just, found this amongst,-my
old papers. I have no idea how or when
it came Co my possession, neither can I
make out the hand, though it `doesn't
seem altogether strange. Perhaps yon
can solve the mystery."
111. ITS DIESS AG —AFTER BLAIsIT DAYS.
It was in verse, as Frank's valentines
always had been ; halting, and with queer
rhymes and changes of measure. It was
full of the half-humorods tenderness of
quiet friendship; and it ended with a
hope that she would make " old Hugh"
happier, than his tirst, wife did ; that was,
if she accepted him ; and with a demand
for her congratulations upon his own ap
proaching marriage ;
,since he was " the
happiest, fellow alive," and - couldn't keep
the news from her, though it was a se
cret from all beside.
And the evening grew old; the white
flecked sky turned colder, and the moon
came out. But Lady Rairihum sat with
this voice from the dead in her band, mo
tionless; full of humiliation and remorse.
And she was thinking of many years.of
bitterness, and sorroW;and pride; and of
a heavy sacrifice to a myth, for she bad
never loved him. And her husband—
wbotn she did_ loVe—whom she bad so
wronged—how was she to atone to him ?
- By and by the door opened and Cecil
stole in. And she saw Lady Rainham's
lice turned towards her with the moon
beams tighitog IL, and thought, ate bad
never seen anything so beautiful in her
life.
" Mamma," she said softly, " why don't
you come down ? We are waiting, pap'a
and I; and it's cold up here."
"I will come," said Lady Rainham ;
but her voice was strange. Cecil knelt
down beside the chair and _drew her
mother's arm around her neck.
How cold you are ! Dear mamma, is
anything the matter? Cannot I comfort
you ?"
Lady Rajah= bent down and held her
in a close embrace.
" My darling, you do always. I cannot
tell whether I want comfort now or not.
I am going down down to your father,
and Cecil, I must go alone—l. have-some=
thing to say. 7.
She went into the drawing room,
straight np to where her husband sat list
lessly in his chair at the window. He
started when he saw her, and said some
thing hurriedly about ringing for lights,
but she stopped him.
" It will be better thus, for what I have
to say. Hugh, I have-come to ask your
forgiveness.
Sir Hugh did not answer. The speech
took him by surprise, and she had never
called him Hugh before since their mar
riage. He had time enough to tell him
self that it, was only a moekery,and would
end in the old way.
But standing there with Frank's letter
in her band, she told him all, not sparing
herself, and then asked if he could ever
forgive her. She was not prepared for the great love which answered her;
which bad lived unchanged through all
her coldness and repulses; and which
drew her to him closer now perhaps than
it might have done if her pride bad nev
er suffered under thege years of wretch
edness.
Cecil never knew exactly what had
happened ; but when her father put his
arm aroun her and called her his bles
sing, she looked up at him with an odd
sort of consciousness that in some way or
other the old valentine found in her rum
mage amongst his papers . , had to do with
the change she saw. And it was her do
ing. So she made up her wilful mind
straightway to exult and triumph over
the fact to poor Charlie; and then, if he
wanted
,to send her another next year—
why, after a proper amount of teasing
and suspense, which was good for him
and kept him in order; she.wouldperhaps
say that he might. •
--~.~®
—A number of boot blacks were arrest
ed in New York for violating the Excise
law. They polished boots for 25 (its. and
gave drinks of whiskey to their custom
ers from small bottles which they bad
about them.
—An Irish girl at play on Sunday, was
, accosted by the,prihst, "Good morning
daughter oftlierdevii.'! • • -
,Shb , Meetly ": 4& 00014 Corilitig.
Adler." - e •
IiVOI 4 I.TiIi , XXIV, NUMBEIt.i.
Fur the Dtmocrat. ;
A History: of - : the Great Straggle 'in
America betteeen liberty •
and Despotism ,
•• - - •
After the: lapse of oneAlatidred Years.
precisely, as is found by enrolling the
scroll of history, the great.drama of the
revolution of 1770 is now -be;ng repeated
in America. The only variation in the
scenes, is the transferring. of the British;
Parliament
.of that era to the Capital of
the United -States in.the District of Co
lumbia. In 170 the parliament of Great.
Britain proclaimed itself sovereign over
the colonies in cases whatsoever, and •
that " the Americans shall obey implicit
ly all laws made by the parliament, or
they shall enjoy no riglife,or privileges at
all. The peeple of Massachusetts were
declared soon after to be in a state of riot , .
and rebellion, and troops were ordered
there to aid in preserving the peace. The
answer of the Massachusetts assembly to
Lieut. Gov. ilutchinson's message:on a
riot at Gloucester, will exhibit the simi
larity of the scenes at these two periods
of time :
" May it please yonr Honor, when coin
plaints are tnade of riots and ttrinults, it'
is the wisdom of government to intfuire
into the real causes of them. If they ails()
from oppression, a thorough redress of
grievances will remove the cause. It;
cannot be expected that a people at s
torned to the freedom of the English Con
stitution,-will be patient while they are
under the despotic hand of tyranny dad .•
arbitrary:power ; they will discover their.
resentment in a manner which will ntha
rally displease their oppressors, and . 'in
such a case the severest law and most
vigorous execution will be to little pur
pose.
" A military force, if posted among the
people without their express consent, is
itself one of the greatest grievances, and
threatens the total subversion of a free
Constitution, much more, if designed to
execute a system of arbitrary power, to
exterminate the liberties of the country.
"The Bill of Rialits passed immediate
ly after the revolution, expressly declares
that the raising and keeping a standing
army within the kingdom-in tithe of peace,
without the consent of Parliament, 'is
against law,' and we take occasion to say
with freedom, that the raisin g and keep
mg a stanamg army Within ibis prbvineis
- time of peace without the consent of
the General Assembly, is -against 1a4.--L •
Such an army must be designed to subju
gate the people to arbitrary measures; it
is a most violent infraction of their nate
! ral and constitutional rights; it is anon
lawful assembly, of all others the most
dangerous arid alarming, and every in
stance of its actually restraining the lib
erty of any individual, is a crime which .
which infinitely exceeds what the lawl in- •
tends as a riot.
" Resolved, By.the people of Massachu
setts, that it is better to risk our lives
and fOrtunes in the defence of our rights
than to die by piecemeal in slavery.
" Resolved, That a standing •army in"
this colony in time of peace, without the C ,
consent of the sovereign the people of:'
the same, is an invasion of their naturarr
rights, as well as of those which 'they
claim as free-born Englishmen, confirmed"
by Magna Charta, the Bill of Rights as
settled at. the revolution [of 1688],: and by'
the cbaker of the province..
" Resolved, That a standing army is not ,
known as a part of the British Constitu;
tion in any of the king's dominions, and '
every attempt to establish it has been
deemed a dangerous innovation, manifest-.'
ly tending to enslave the people.
" Resolved, That whoever has represen
ted to his Majesty's ministers that the
people of this colony in general, or the
town of Boston in particular, were in such
a state of disobedience and disorder, as
to require an army to be sent here, is an
avowed enemy to this colony, and to the
nation in general, and has by such repro
resentation endeavored to destroy the
liberties of the people here, and that mu
tual harmony and union between Great
Britain and the colonies, so necessary to "
the welfare of both. And this house can
not but express their deep concern that
too many clearly avow the most rancorous
enmity against the free part of the Brit
ish Constitution, and are indefatigable in ,
their endeavors to render the monarchy
absolute ; and the administration arbitra
ry in every part of the British empire,"
"That the use of the military power to
enforce the creation of the hmvs, is in the
opinion of this house, inconsistent with the
spirit of a free constitution and the'very
nature of government. An independent``
military tends to the utter overthrow of
the civil Omer, and is the bane of all free
States, and in consequence thereof", the
ancient rights of the nation are invaded,
and the greatest part of the Most'precione
and established liberties of Englishmen
are uttte'rly_distroyed. . •
"That thedeprivingthe colonies of their.
constitutional
constitutional rights may be fitly compar ! -
ed to the dismembring the natutal body,
which will soon affect the heart,; , Uatßit
would be nothing unexpeot,ed, for,ns . to
hear that those very persop's hipie
lilen ;so aet r iveia-y,t 4 4 1 ,3,t0b1g tha t c4Pppietio,%i
their natatar slid' dolivael
At another meeting it was. Resolved-.--
If; ' r ?
C, ! -