uiting
army came round. I seized my gun, and manfully joined its ranks. But to
my dismay I was sent back; my wooden gun, and extreme youth, were
thought insufficient to meet the demands of a soldier's duty. I remember
well when the battle was fought on Bunker Hill. A great part of the town
was gathered upon a slight elevation, from which we could distinctly
hear the roaring of the cannons and the clashing of the artillery. It
was a terrible day! There was many a woman there who had a father or
husband in the battle; and, at each report which filled their ears, they
fancied they saw them falling before the foe, and trampled beneath the
feet of the conquerors.

Those were trying times. Children, I pray God you may never know such;
and you never can, for you will not struggle with poverty as we did.
When I look upon your happy faces, and see the satchel full of books on
your arm,--when I look in upon your happy homes, upon the career of
honor and usefulness before you in the future,--I am, by the strong
contrast, transported to those "trying times" when we lived in the cold
houses, and wore the coarse cloth; when we sacrificed the refinements of
knowledge, and the pleasures of luxury, to the bold struggle of liberty
against tyranny; when our hard-working mothers at home melted their
last pewter plate, that the guns should know no lack of bullets, and
sent all the little comforts of food and clothing they could find, to
bless the husbands and fathers toiling in the war; and when the fathers
fought with the fangs of thirst and hunger fast upon them, and leaving
behind them, upon the sharp ice, the traces of their footsteps, engraven
by their bleeding feet. Then, children, tears of joy and gratitude fill
my eyes; for we did not toil in vain. In you all do I behold the fruits
of our labor. We were ignorant, that you might be wise; poor, that you
might be rich; outlawed and disgraced, that you might build up a free
and generous nation. And, in reaping these privileges, do not forget the
old man, and the old woman, who, bowed and wrinkled with age, need your
kind hand. _We_ have given you these things gladly; and now, before we
go to our further toil in eternity, let us hear your blessed voices
speaking to us in kind tones of love; let us feel your young lips
pressed upon our old brows; let us clasp your little hands, and feel the
gladness with which your attentions come to us. And when you see an old
man, alone, with those of h