building older than twenty-five years. As we stood under that balcony, which some of you may remember, he turned to me and said, “Is it actually true that the man who signed the Declaration of Independence
stood on this flagstone, and lifted that latch?”
I said, “Yes, sir; and above you, his body lay in state for some six or eight days.”
The man sat down on the flagstone, wholly unnerved, his face pale with emotion.
Said he, “You must excuse me; but I never felt as I feel to-day.”
That was Boston
revealing to an every-day life the patriotism and nobleness smothered by petty cares.
He came to our streets to wake that throb in his nature; he grew a better man and a more chivalrous citizen when that thrill answered to the memory of the first signer of the Declaration.
Gentlemen, these walls are the college for such training.
The saving of this landmark is the best monument you can erect to the men of the Revolution.
You spend forty thousand dollars here, and twenty thousand dollars there, to put up a statue of some old hero; you want your son to gaze on the nearest approach to the features of those
dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule
Our spirits from their urns.
But what is a statue of Cicero
compared to standing where your voice echoes from pillar and wall that actually heard his philippics!
How much better than a picture of John Brown
is the sight of that Blue Ridge
which filled his eye, when, riding to the scaffold, he said calmly to his jailer, “This is a beautiful country; I never noticed it before.”
Destroy every portrait of Luther, if you must, but save that terrible chamber where he fought with the Devil, and translated the Bible
Scholars have grown old and blind, striving to