SPEECH

DELIVERED IN FANEUIL HALL, 28TH MAY, 1833, ON THE SUBJECT OF THE BUNKER-HILL MONUMENT.*

MR PRESIDENt, and BretHREN OF THE MASSACHUSETTS CHARITABLE MECHANIC ASSOCIATION,

(FOR by your favor, I enjoy the privilege of being an honorary member of that institution,) when I consider the auspices under which this meeting is assembled, when I reflect upon the zeal evinced in this cause, by the Mechanic Association, and the moral power with which that body moves to the accomplishment of any object which it takes in hand, I feel a satisfaction which I want words to express. It was my fortune to be one of those who took an early interest in the erection of a monument upon Bunker-Hill. In the efforts made to bring forward and carry on this great work, I bore a very humble, but, I believe I may say, an assiduous and laborious part. I gave, sir, all I had to give, a large portion of my time and my best efforts, in union with my valued associates, to recommend this object to the public favor. I shared with the friends of the enterprise, the satisfaction with which they witnessed the first burst of enthusiasm with which the project was welcomed, and their regret and mortification, at finding that the popular excitement and interest which were to furnish the resources to carry on this expensive work did not hold out to its completion. If it

* This meeting was called by the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanic Association, to take measures for the completion of the monument.

afford satisfaction, or is deemed a duty, in any quarter, to indicate faults committed by the early boards of directors, to point out errors of judgment into which it is supposed they fell,—(errors of intention will not, I think, be imputed to them),-I, for one, will, with meekness, submit to the rebuke, from any individual, who has given more of his time, attention, labor, and money even, in proportion to their means,-than the members of these much censured boards of directors. Nay, sir, even from any one who has not done this, I will submit, for one, to any deserved rebuke, if he will, -now that the work is so far advanced that its completion is matter of calculation, and now that the state of the times admits and encourages a fresh appeal to the liberality of a prosperous community, step forward and exert himself zealously and effectually in the cause. I do not rise to vindicate former boards of directors, nor former measures, but to congratulate you, sir, and my fellow citizens, on the prospect which is now opening upon the work; and cheerfully, for one, to transfer to those who shall now take it up and complete it, the unshared and unqualified credit of the patriotic undertaking. The work, I am confident, will now be completed. It is taken in hand by those accustomed to finish what they undertake;—and whatever we have done before, I am sure, sir, we are now hammering upon the nail that will go.

Sir, I suppose there can be but one opinion on the question, when it is fairly stated. It is not whether the monument shall be built, but whether it shall be left incomplete ;-not whether it shall be begun, but whether it shall be finished. Nay, not even exactly this. The question is not whether it shall be finished at all, but, whether it shall be finished by us, or, after remaining unfinished another half century, a memorial,—not to the renown of the great men we commemorate, but to the discredit of this generation of their descendants,—the honor of completing it shall be reserved to other times, when a more enduring patriotic sentiment shall be awakened in its favor.

That it will be completed,-whether by us or not, is certain. What is already done is as substantial as the great pyramid of Egypt. The foundations have been laid with such depth and solidity, that nothing but an earthquake can shake them. The part already constructed will stand to the end of time; and the real

question which we have to settle is, will we leave it in its present state, an object unsightly to the eye, and painful to the mind; or will we, who assisted to lay the foundations, enjoy the satisfaction of beholding the noble shaft rising in simple majesty towards the heavens, where, in the language of that surpassing eloquence, which I would to heaven, Mr President, could rouse and animate us this afternoon, 'the earliest light of the morning shall gild it, and parting day linger and play on its summit.'

But, sir, I wrong myself, and I wrong my fellow citizens gathered around, in treating this subject, as if the strongest reason for completing the monument arose from mortification and regret, at leaving it in its present state. Far otherwise, I know, sir, do you view this question; far otherwise do I view it myself. Those great patriotic and moral inducements which originally prompted the enterprise, remain in unimpaired force, and must gather strength with each succeeding year. The idea which lay at the basis of this undertaking was, to redeem from all desecrating uses, and devote to the eternal remembrnce of the event of which it was the scene, the sacred summit of Bunker-Hill, and to erect upon its height a plain but majestic monumental structure, to identify the spot to the latest time. This idea was first conceived by an amiable and accomplished fellow citizen, now no more, (the late William Tudor), when the half century was near expiring, since the occurrence of the event. It was by him communicated to a circle of friends, and by them to the public, by whose favor the enter prise was so far advanced, that the corner stone was laid in the presence of such an assembly as was perhaps never before witnessed, on the jubilee anniversary of the battle,-the 17th of June, 1825. It was my misfortune, sir, not to be present on that auspicious day. I was absent on the public service, at a distance. But I know too well the feelings which animated the mighty multitude gathered together on that hallowed spot, in the presence of the nation's guest, returning from his triumphant progress through the Union, in the presence of the time-worn and revered remnants of the battle and of the war, and within the hearing of that all-eloquent voice, which poured forth its deepest and richest strains on the glorious occasion,—not to appeal fearlessly to all who heard it, -that they felt that it was good to be there. They felt that the

event deserved to be commemorated; that the spot ought, through all time, to be marked out and kept sacred; and that this generation owed it to that which preceded us, and bought for us, with its blood, this great heritage of blessings, to erect upon this spot a monumental structure, which should last as long as our freedom shall last as long as a happy posterity of Americans shall have cause to cherish, with pious gratitude, the memory of their fathers.

And do not these reasons still exist? Is the spot less precious, now that eight more seasons have wept their dews over the dear and sacred blood, that has remained for eight more years uncommemorated beneath the sod? Are the valor, the self-devotion of the heroes of that day, of Warren, and Prescott, and Putnam, and Stark, and their gallant associates, less deserving of celebration? Is this mighty and eventful scene in the opening drama of the revolution less worthy of celebration, now that eight more years, in the prosperous enjoyment of our liberties, contrasted as they have been with disastrous struggles in other countries, have given us fresh cause for gratitude to our fathers?

But I am met with the great objection, What good will the Monument do? I beg leave, sir, to exercise my birthright as a Yankee, and answer this question, by asking two or three more, to which I believe it will be quite as difficult to furnish a satisfactory reply. I am asked, What good will the Monument do? And, I ask, What good does any thing do? What is good? Does any thing do any good? The persons who suggest this objection, of course, think that there are some projects and undertakings, that do good; and I should therefore like to have the idea of good, explained, and analyzed, and run out to its elements. When this is done, if I do not demonstrate, in about two minutes, that the Monument does the same kind of good that any thing else does, I will consent that the huge blocks of granite, already laid, should be reduced to gravel, and carted off to fill up the mill-pond; for that I suppose is one of the good things. Does a rail-road or canal do good? Answer, Yes. And how? It facilitates intercourse,opens markets, and increases the wealth of the country. But what is this good for? Why, individuals prosper and get rich. And what good does that do? Is mere wealth, as an ultimate end,—gold and silver, without an inquiry as to their use,-are

these a good? Certainly not. I should insult this audience by attempting to prove, that a rich man, as such, is neither better nor happier, than a poor one? But as men grow rich, they live better. Is there any good in this, stopping here? Is mere animal life,— feeding, working, and sleeping like an ox,-entitled to be called good? Certainly not. But these improvements increase the population. And what good does that do? Where is the good in counting twelve millions instead of six of mere feeding, working, sleeping animals? There is then no good in the mere animal life, except that it is the physical basis of that higher moral existence, which resides in the soul, the heart, the mind, the conscience; in good principles, good feelings, and the good actions, (and the more disinterested, the more entitled to be called good), which flow from them. Now, sir, I say that generous and patriotic sentiments; sentiments, which prepare us to serve our country, to live for our country, to die for our country,-feelings like those, which carried Prescott, and Warren, and Putnam to the battle-field, are good,—— good, humanly speaking, of the highest order. It is good to have them, good to encourage them, good to honor them, good to commemorate them; and whatever tends to cherish, animate and strengthen such feelings, does as much right down practical good, as filling up low grounds and building rail-roads. This is my demonstration. I wish, sir, not to be misunderstood. I admit the connexion between enterprises, which promote the physical prosperity of the country, and its intellectual and moral improvement: but I maintain, that it is only this connexion that gives these enterprises all their value; and that the same connexion gives a like value to every thing else, which, through the channel of the senses, the taste, or the imagination, warms and elevates the heart.

But we are told that BOOKS will do all this; that HISTORY will record the exploits we would commemorate, and carry them, with the spot on which they were acted out, down to the latest posterity. Even my worthy friend, who has just addressed us, although I am sure he agrees with me in substance, and although I admit the superior efficacy of the art of printing over that of writing, in perpetuating the remembrance of the past,-yet seemed to me to give a little too much weight to this objection. I am inclined to doubt whether it be sound in any sense; I am confident it is not,