The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1888-07-04
A GREAT GRAFTON.
Patrick Henry's Historical
Speech in Philadel-
phia
That Secured the Signatures to the Dec-
laration of American indie
pendence.

~G session sssa, It th ~s' P Pa e%is
Henry, the fiery ora
tor, made his immortal address, and
which carried his hearers along the
path of conviction until every one stood
ready to sacrifice all that the colonies
might be free from the hated yoke of
England. The Journal says of this
famous gathering:
1t is the old hall of Philadelphia, on
July 4, 1776. There is silence in this
hall; every face is stamped with deep
and awful responsibility
Why turns every glance to that door
Why is it so terribly still?
The committee of three who have
been out all night planning a parch-
ment are about to appear. That parch-
ment, with the signatures OF these
men, written with the pen lying on
yonder table, may either make the world
free, or stretch these necks on the glib
bet yonder in potter's field, or nail
these heads to the doorposts of these
halls. That was the time for solemn
faces and deep silence.
At last, bark The door opens, the
committee appears. Who are these men
who come walking on to John Hancock's
chair?
The tall man. with sharp features, the
bold brow and sand-hued hair, holding
the parchment, is the Virginia farmer,
Thomas Jefferson. The stout-built
man, with resolute look and sparkling
eye-that is a Boston man, one John
Adams. And the calm-faced man with
hair dropping in thick curls to his
shoulders, the one dressed in plain coat
and such odious homemade blue stock
ings-that is Philadelphia printer, one
Benjamin Franklin.
The three advance to the table. The
parchment is laid there. Shall it be
aligned or not?
Then eusues high debate; then all
the faint-hearted cringe in corners,
while Thomas Jefferson speaks out his
few bold words, and John Adams pours
out his whole soul.
The soft-toned voice of Charles Car
roll is heard undulating in syllables of
deep music.
But still there is doubt, and that
pale-faced man shrinking in one corner
speaks out something about axes,
scaifolds, and a-gibbet.
"Gibbetp echoed fierce bold tone,
that startled men from their seats-and
look yonder, tall, slender form rises,
dressed, although it is summer time, III
O faded red cloak. Look how his white
hand trembles, as it stretches slowly
out; how that dark eye burns, while
his words ring through the hall. 1t is
Virginia's fiery orator, Patrick Henry.
Gibbet! They may stretch our necks
on all the gibbets in the land; they may
turn every rock into scaffold, every
tree into gallows, every home into
grave, and yet the words of that parch-
ment can never die.
They may pour blood upon a thou
sand scaffolds, and yet from every drop
that dyes the AK, or drops on the saw
dust of the block, new martyr of free
dom will spring into birth
The British King may blot out the
stars of God from his sky, but he can
not blot out the words written on the
parchment there. The works of God
may perish; His word, never!
These words will go forth to the
world when our bones are dust. To
the slave in bondage they will speak
Nope; to the mechanic In his workshop,
freedom; to the coward kings these
words will speak, but not in tones of
'hattery. They will speak like the
flaming syllables on Belshazzars wall:
1.-THE days of pride and glory are num-
bered! The days of judgment draw
near!"
Yes, that parchment will speak to
kings In language sad and terrible as
the trumpet of the archangel You
have trampled on the rights of man
kind long enough. At last, the voice
of human woe has pierced the ear of
God, and called his Judgment down.
You have waded on the throne through
seas of blood; you have trampled on
the necks of millions; you have turned
the poor mans sweat and blood into
robes for your delicate forms; into
crowns for your anointed brows. Now,
kings! Now, purpled hangmen of the.
world For you comes the day of axes,
and gibbets and scaffolds; for you the
wrath of man; for you the Gghtnings
of God.
Look! How the light of your palaces
on fire flashes up into the midnight
.eir Now; purpled hangmen of the
world, turn and beg for mercy! Where
will you find it? Not from God, for
you have blasphemed His laws! Not
from the people, for you stand baptized
in their bloodl Here you turn, and
10! gibbet! There, and scaffold
sstares you in the facet All around you
.---death-but nowhere PITY Now, ex-
ecutioners OF the human race, kneel
down; yes, kneel down on the sawdust
of the scaffold; lay your purpled heads
upon the block bless the ak as it falls
the AK sharpened for the hangman's
neck.
Such is the message of the declara-
tion of the kings of the world. And
shall we falter now? And shall
We start back appalled, when our
free people press the very threshold of
freedom? Do you see quailing faces
around you when our wives have been
butchered; when the hearthstones Of
our land are red with the blood of lit
Gle children? What Are there
shrinking hearts or faltering voices
here, when the very dead of our hattie
fields arise and call upon us to sign
that parchment or be accursed?
Signl If the next moment the glib