WHO does not feel，what reflecting American does not acknowledge，the incalculable advantages derived to this land out of the deep fountains of civil，intellectual，and moral truth，from which we have drawn in England？What American does not feel proud that his fathers were the countrymen of Bacon，of Newton，and of Locke？Who does not know，that，while every pulse of civil liberty in the heart of the British empire beat warm and full in the bosom of ourancestors，the sobriety，the firmness，and the dignity，with which the cause of free principles struggled into existence here，constantly found encouragement and countenance from the friends of liberty there？Who does not remember，that，when the Pilgrims went over the sea，the prayers of the faithful British confessors，in all the quarters of their dispersion，went over with them，while their aching eyes were strained till the star of hope should go up in the western skies？And who will ever forget，that，in that eventful struggle which severed these youthful republics from the British crown，there was not heard，throughout our continent in arms，a voice which spoke louder for the rights of America than that of Burke，or of Chatham，within the walls of the British Parliament，and at the foot of the British throne ？No；for myself，I can truly say，that，after my native land，I feel a tenderness and a reverence for that of my fathers.The pride I take in my own country makes me respect that from which we are sprung.In touching the soil of England，I seem to return，like a descendant，to the old family seat，to come back to the abode of an aged and venerable parent.I acknowledge this great consanguinity of nations.The sound of my native language，beyond the sea，is a music，to my ear，beyond the richest strains of Tuscan softness or Castilian majesty.I am not yet in a land of strangers，while surrounded by the manners，the habits，and the institutions，under which I have been brought up.I wander delighted through a thousand scenes，which the historians and the poets have made familiar to us，of which the names are interwoven with our earliest associations.I tread with reverence the spots where I can retrace the footsteps of our suffering fathers.The pleasant land of their birth has a claim on my heart.It seems to me a classic，yea，a holy land ；rich in the memory of the great and good，the champions and the martyrs of liberty，the exiled heralds of truth，and richer，as the parent of this land of promise in the West.
I am notI need not say I am nothe panegyrist of England.I am not dazzled by her riches，nor awed by her power.The sceptre，the mitre，and the coronet，stars，garters，and blue ribbons，seem to me poor things for great men to contend for.Nor is my admirationawakened by her armies，mustered for the battles of Europe；her navies，overshadowing the ocean；nor her empire，grasping the furthest East.It is these，and the price of guilt and blood by which they are too often maintained，which are the cause why no friend of liberty can salute her with undivided affections.But it is the cradle and the refuge of free principles，though often persecuted；the school of religious liberty，the more precious for the struggles through which it has passed；the tombs of those who have reflected honor on all who speak the English tongue；it is the birthplace of our fathers，the home of the Pilgrims；it is these which I love and venerate in England.I should feel ashamed of an enthusiasm for Italy and Greece，did I not also feel it for a land like this.In an American，it would seem to me degenerate and ungrateful to hang with passion upon the traces of Homer and Virgil，and follow，without emotion，the nearer and plainer footsteps of Shakspeare and Milton.I should think him cold in his love for his native land who felt no melting in his heart for that other native country，which holds the ashes of his forefathers.
16.The Battle of Bunker Hill.When the revolutionary war broke out in 1775，the city of Boston，Massachusetts，was held by the British army.The Americans，after the battle of Lexington，gathered an army and laid siege to Boston.One night in June several hundred American soldiers were sent to seize a hill near Boston，from the top of which it would be easy for cannon to throw shot into the city and to sink the British warships in the harbor.The hill was reached quietly in the darkness and a breastwork was thrown up.When daylight came the British generals saw the Americans on the hill，and sent a large body of troops to drive them away.The British soldiers formed at the foot of the hill and marched up with colors flying and drums beating.The Americans waited until the enemy were very near，and then poured in so deadly a fire of bullets that the British ranks were broken and driven down the hill in confusion.Again the British closed up their ranks and charged up the hill，and the second time they were driven back.When they advanced a third time，however，the Americans had to retreat，as their powder was gone.So the British took the hill.
17.But the battle proved that the Americans could fighta fact which had been scornfully denied by British officers.Few battles in which the British regiments had been engaged were so bloody as this.They lost over a third of their number in killed and wounded.Bunker Hill battle was a British victory.But Americans will never forget the heroism of the men who on that day taught the soldiers of King George that the colonists were in earnest.
MOUNT VERNON
This was the home of Washington，on a lofty Virginia bluff overlooking a wide sweep of the Potomac.The old house，which was built in 1743，is carefully preserved，and is filled with relics of Washington and his family.In a tomb nearby sleeps the herohe who was “first in war，first in peace，and first in the hearts of his countrymen.”