Another eminent writer, who had often felt the force of this, the kind of eloquence exhibited by the sages of the revolution, in describing that of the illustrious statesman just named, remarked; “It was bold, manly, and energetic, but such as the crisis required. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech farther than is connected with high intellectual endowments. Clearness, force and earnestness are qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labour and learning may toil for it, but they toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it, but they cannot reach it. It comes, if it comes at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in schools, the courtly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men when their own lives, and the lives of their wives and children, and their country, hang on the decisions of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself, then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then patriotism is eloquent, then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception outrunning the deductions of logic; the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward—right onward to his object—this, this is eloquence, or rather, it is something greater and higher than eloquence—it is action, noble, sublime, and god-like action.” This was the kind of eloquence that characterized the Continental Congress, and sounded an alarum that vibrated the souls of millions, and often drove back the purple current upon the aching heart. No long, no set, no written speeches were then crowded upon the audience to kill time and make a show. Governor M’Kean, who was constantly a member during the revolution, remarked, shortly before his death, “I do not recollect any formal speeches, such as are made in the British Parliament, and in our late Congresses, to have been made in the Revolutionary Congress. We had no time to hear such speeches, little for deliberation—action was the order of the day.”