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home for the homeless, for we all know that the sailor is the most homeless of all beings on earth. We all know that when he is in active service his only home is a bunk in the forecastle or a hammock between decks. How eminently fit and just, how richly deserved, how full of interest in every moral and religious, as well as in every patriotic view, that when maimed or crippled in the wars, or weary and worn out in battling with the elements, he should be provided with a real home, where he may be kindly cared for by those in whose service and in whose defence he has exhausted his energies and perilled his life! How fit, how just it is that we should not rely wholly, or leave him to rely wholly, upon that “sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,” to provide a good berth for poor Jack !

You have all heard, my friends, of the great Sailors' Hospital at Greenwich, in old England. Some of you have doubtless visited it. It stands on the site of a favorite palace of some of the old crowned heads of Great Britain, where at least one of the Henrys had his “ manor of pleasaunce,” and at least one of the Jameses his “ gardens of delight,”—— where Cromwell resided for a time in soberer state, and where Charles II., when the great rebellion of that age was ended, commenced the erection of a sumptuous edifice for his revels. It is pleasant to recall the fact, in this presence and in connection with this occasion, that it was a woman who first suggested that this palace of Greenwich should be turned into a home for the disabled mariners of England. A glorious woman she was, as Macaulay has described her to us,Mary, the wife of William of Orange, - of graceful manners, of majestic presence, of spotless purity, of earnest piety; and who, by the way, we are told by the lamented historian, had an ingenious way of putting down the censoriousness and scandal which she despised, by asking any one who dared to whisper any thing malicious in her presence, whether he had ever read her favorite sermon, “ Dr. Tillotson's Sermon on Evil Speaking."

It was immediately after the famous victory of the English and Dutch fleets at La Hogue, in 1692, when an invasion in the interests of her own father had just been triumphantly repelled, that Mary proposed that the palace at Greenwich, which had been commenced by the merry Monarch, should be completed as a home for the sailors. She did not live to witness the accomplishment of her noble design. Only two years afterwards she was cut off in the prime of life, and was laid to rest among kings and conquerors in one of the magnificent chapels of Westminster Abbey. But her illustrious husband would not permit the object which had been nearest to her heart to be longer delayed, and the institution was speedily established, as a memorial at once of the virtues of the good Queen, and of the gratitude of England for the courage and patriotism of her “ Hearts of Oak.”

And now it only remains for me to ask,- Shall not the hundreds and thousands of American women, who have interested themselves so earnestly in this undertaking, be enabled to accomplish for our Yankee sailors what that one woman accomplished for the British sailors more than a century and a half ago ? True, she was a Queen, and could command the resources of a mighty kingdom. But here, too, are the mothers and wives and daughters of the Sovereigns of our land. Nay, they are Sovereigns themselves, and have the magic “open sesame " for unlocking the purses and the hearts of all around them. They have abundantly proved during the last three years, that their voice is imperative — that their word is law-in regard to every thing which looks to the relief of those who have suffered in defence of their country. And need I say that the American sailor is not less worthy of such a provision than the British ? What could I add, what could any one add, to the story to which you have just listened with so much delight, of the naval glories of our country ? The Monitor, the Cumberland, the Kearsarge, the opening of the Mississippi, the glorious operations in Mobile Bay, the sinking of the Alabama, Farragut, Porter, Rogers, Du Pont, Worden, Winslow, - I dare hardly allude to these glorious deeds or mention these illustrious names while the air is still vocal and vibrating with the words last uttered, lest I should weaken the impression which has already been made upon your minds by one (Mr. Everett) who leaves no chance for gleaners in any field over which his brilliant and diamond-edged sickle has already passed. Then let me hasten to conclude, with the expression of an earnest hope that when our beloved country shall have finally come forth triumphant from this gigantic struggle, as God in his mercy grant she soon may! without a star missing from our flag or a tribe missing from our American Israel, the noble Institution, in whose behalf we are assembled, may be found established and organized, - a memorial at once of the patriotism and persevering efforts of our own American women, and a lasting monument of the gratitude of the whole country to our heroic and iron-hearted sailors !

THE DEATH OF EDWARD EVERETT.

A SPEECH MADE AT FANEUIL HALL, BOSTON, JANUARY 18, 1865.

I HARDLY know, fellow-citizens and friends, I hardly know either how to speak or how to be silent here to-day. I dare not trust myself to any off-hand, impulsive utterance on such a theme. And yet I cannot but feel how poor and how inadequate to the occasion is the best preparation which I am capable of making. I am sincerely and deeply sensible how unfitted I am, by emotions which I should in vain attempt to restrain, for meeting the expectations and the demands of such an hour, or for doing justice to an event which has hardly left a heart 'unmoved, or an eye unmoistened, in our whole community. Most gladly would I still be permitted to remain a listener only, and to indulge a silent but heartfelt sorrow for the loss of so illustrious a fellowcitizen and so dear a friend.

I have so often been privileged to follow him on these public occasions of every sort, that I feel almost at a loss how to proceed without the encouragement of his friendly countenance and the inspiration of his matchless tones. I seem to myself to be still waiting for his ever-welcome, ever-brilliant lead. I find it all but impossible to realize the fact, that we are assembled here in Faneuil Hall, at a meeting at which whatever is most eloquent, whatever is most impressive, whatever is most felicitous and most finished, ought justly to be heard, and that Edward Everett is not here with us to say the first, the best, the all-sufficient word. I feel myself impelled to exclaim, - and you will all unite with me in the exclamation,

“Oh for the sound of a voice that is still’d,

And the touch of a vanished hand !"

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Certainly, my friends, I can find no other words to begin with, than those which he himself employed, when rising to speak in this hall on the death of that great statesman, whose birthday, by a strange but touching coincidence, we are so sadly commemorating by this public tribute to his life-long friend and chosen biographer..“ There is but one voice," said Mr. Everett of Daniel Webster, and certainly I may repeat it of himself to-day, “ There is but one voice that ever fell upon my ear which could do justice to such an occasion. That voice, alas, we shall hear no more for ever."

Yes, fellow-citizens, as a celebrated Roman historian said of the consummate orator of his own land and age, that to praise him worthily required the eloquence of Cicero himself, so we cannot fail to feel that full justice to the career and character of our American Cicero could only be rendered by the best effort of his own unequalled powers. It is hardly an exaggeration to say of him, that he has left behind him no one sufficient to pronounce his eulogy as it should be pronounced; no one, certainly, who can do for him all that he has done for so many others who have gone before him.

But, indeed, my friends, the event which has called us together has occurred too suddenly, too unexpectedly, for any of us to be quite prepared either for attempting or for hearing any formal account of our departed friend's career, or any cold analysis of his public or private character. There must be time for us to recover from the first shock of so overwhelming a loss before his eulogy can be fitly undertaken or calmly listened to. His honored remains are still awaiting those funeral rites in which our whole community will so eagerly and so feelingly unite to-morrow. The very air we are breathing at this moment is still vocal and vibrating with his last public appeal. It seems but an instant since he was with us on this platform, pleading the cause of humanity and Christian benevolence in as noble strains as ever fell from human lips. And no one, I think, who had the privilege of hearing that appeal, can fail to remember a passage, which did not find its way into any of the printed reports, but which made a deep impression on my own heart, as I stood on yonder floor a delighted listener to one whom I could never hear too often. It was the passage in

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