713. INDUSTRY AND ELOQUENCE. In the ancient republics of Greece and Rome, oratory-was a necessary branch of a finished education. A much smaller proportion of the citizens were educated, than among us; but of these a much larger number became orators. No man-could hope for distinction, or influence, and yet slight this art. The commanders of their armies-were orators, as well as soldiers, and ruled-as well by their rhetorical, as by their military skill. There was no trusting with them-as with us, to a natural facility, or the acquisition of an accidental fluency-by actual practice. But they served an apprenticeship to the art. They passed through a regular course of instruction in schools. They submitted to long, and laborious discipline. They exercised themselves frequently, both before equals, and in the presence of teachers, who criticised, reproved, rebuked, excited emulation, and left nothing undone, which art, and perseverance could accomplish. The greatest orators of antiquity, so far from being favored by natural tendencies, except indeed, in their high intellectual endowments, had to struggle against natural obstacles; and, instead of growing up, spontaneously, to their unrivalled eminence, they forced themselves forward by the most discouraging, artificial process.

714. THE FREEMAN.
He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves, besides. There's not a chain,
That hellish foes, confederate for his harm,
Can wind around him, but he casts it off,
With as much ease, as Samson, his green w thes.
He looks abroad into the varied field
Of nature, and, though poor, perhaps, compared
With those, whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His-are the mountains, and the valleys his,

And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy,
With a propriety, that none can feel,
But who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say- My Father made them all!»
Are they not his, by a peculiar right,
And, by an emphasis of interest, his,
Whose eye--they fill with tears of holy joy,
Whose heart, with praise, and whose exalted mind,
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love,
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds, a world,
So clothed in beauty-for rebellious man?
Yes: ye may fill your garners-ye that reap
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good,
In senseless riot; but ye will not find,
In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance,
A liberty like his, who, unimpeach'd
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong,
Appropriates nature, as his Father's work,
And has a richer use of yours than you.
He is, indeed, a freeman. Free, by birth,

Demosthenes-combatted an impediment
in speech, an ungainliness of gesture, which
at first-drove him from the forum in dis-
grace. Cicero-failed, at first, through weak-
ness of lungs, and an excessive vehemence of
manner, which wearied the hearers, and de-
feated his own purpose. These defects were
conquered by study, and discipline. He ex-
iled himself from home; and during nis ab-
sence, in various lands, passed not a day
without a rhetorical exercise, seeking the
masters who were most severe in criticism,
as the surest means of leading him to the per-So manifold in cares, whose every day
fection, at which he aimed.

Such, too, was the education of their other great men. They were all, according to their ability and station, orators; orators, not by nature or accident, but by education, formed in a strict process of rhetorical training; ad

Of no mean city; plann'd, or ere the hills
Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea,
With all his roaring multitude of waves.
His freedom-is the same in every state;
And no condition of this changeful life,

Brings its own evil with it, makes it less:
For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain,
Nor penury, can cripple or confine.
No nook so narrow, but he spreads them there,
With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds
His body bound; but knows not what a range
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chair;
And that, to bind him, is a vain attempt,
Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells.

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW.

mired and followed-even while Demosthenes and Cicero were living, and unknown now, only because it is not possible that any, but the first, should survive the ordeal of ages. The inference to be drawn from these observations is, that if so many of those, who received an accomplished education, became To-day man's dress'd in gold and silver bright, accomplished orators, because, to become so was one purpose of their study; then, it is in Wrapt in a shroud before to-morrow-night: the power of a much larger proportion among To-day he 's feeding on delicious food, us, to form themselves into creditable and ac-To-morrow dead, unable to do good! curate speakers. The inference should not be To-day he 's nice, and scorns to feed on crurabs, denied, until proved false by experiment. To-morrow he 's himself a dish for worms; Let this art be made an object of attention, To-day he 's honor'd, and in vast esteem, and young men train themselves to it, faith-To-morrow not a beggar values him; fully, and long; and if any of competent ta

lents and tolerable science be found, at last, To-day his house, tho' large, he thinks but small, incapable of expressing themselves in con-To-morrow no command, no house at all; tinued, and connected discourse, so as to an-To-day has forty servants at his gate, swer the ends of public speaking, then, and To-morrow scorn'd, not one of them will wait! not fill then, let it be said, that a peculiar To-day perfum'd, as sweet as any rose, talent, or natural aptitude-is requisite, the To-morrow stinks in everybody'? ose; want of which must render effort vain; then, and not till then, let us acquiesce in To-day he's grand, majestic, all delight, this indolent, and timorous notion, which Ghastful and pale before to-morrow night; contradicts the whole testimony of antiquity, True, as the Scripture says, “man's _..`-a eran:" and all the experience of the world.-- Wirt. The present moment is the life of man.

dictating peace on a raft to the czar of Russia e. he was still the same military despot! contemplating defeat--at the gallows of Leipsig

of literature must not be omitted. The jailerIn this wonderful combination, bis affectations of the press, he affected the patronage of letters; the proscriber of books, he encouraged philoso phy-the persecutor of authors, and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learning! the assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Stael, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the benefactor of De Lille, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England. Such a medley of contradictions, and were never united in the same character. A at the same time such an individual consistency, royalist-a republican, and an emperor-a Mohammedan-a catholic and a patron of the synagogue-a subaltern and a sovereign-a traitor and a tyrant-a christian and an infidel-he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, imincomprehensible self-the man-without a modpatient, inflexible original-the same mysterious, el, and without a shadow.-Phillips.

715. CHARACTER OF BONAPARTE. He is fallen! We may now pause--before that splendid prodigy, which towered amongst us, like some ancient ruin, whose frown-terrified the glance its magnificence attracted. Grand, gloomy and peculiar. he sat upon the throne a sceptred nermit, wrapt-in the solitude of his own originality. A mind, bold, independent, and decisive-a will, despotic in its dictates-an energy, that distanced expedition, and a conscience-pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordinary character-the most extraordinary, perhaps, that in the annals of this world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life, in the midst of a revolution. that quickened every energy of a people who acknowledge no superior, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity! With no friend, but his sword, and no fortune, but his talents, he rushed in the list-where rank, and wealth, and genius-had arrayed themselves, and competiLon-fled from him, as from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive, but interest-he acknowledged no criterion, but success+he wor shiped no God, but ambition, and, with an eastern 716. THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. Pause, devotion, he knelt-at the shrine of his idolatry. for a while, ye travelers on the earth, to conSubsidiary to this, there was no creed, that he template the universe, in which you dwell, did not profess, there was no opinion, that he did and the glory of him, who created it. What not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he up- a scene of wonders-is here presented to held the crescent; for the sake of a divorce, he your view! If beheld with a religious eye, bowed before the cross: the orphan of St. Louis, what a temple-for the worship of the Alhe became the adopted child of the republic: and mighty! The earth is spread out before you, with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins-both reposing amidst the desolation of winter, or of the throne, and tribune, he reared the throne clad in the verdure of spring-smiling in of his despotism. A professed catholic, he im- the beauty of suminer, or loaded with autum prisoned the pope; a pretended patriot, he impov nal fruit;--opening to an endless variety of erished the country; and in the name of Brutus, he grasped, without remorse, and wore, without beings-the treasures of their Maker's goodshame, the diadem of the Cesars! Through this ness, and ministering subsistence, and compantomime of policy, fortune played the clown to fort to every creature that lives. The heavhis caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beg- ens, also, declare the glory of the Lord. The gars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theo- sun cometh forth from his chambers-to scatries took the color of his whim, and all that was ter the shades of night-inviting you to the venerable, and all that was novel, changed pla- renewal of your labors-adorning the face ces with the rapidity of a drama. Even appa- of nature-and, as he advances to his merirent defeat-assumed the appearance of victory-dian brightness, cherishing every herb, and his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny-ruin every flower, that springeth from the bosom itself-only elevated him to empire. fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; from your view, doth he leave the Creator But if his of the earth. Nor, when he retires again decision-flashed upon his councils; and it was without a witness. He only hides his own the same to decide-and to perform. To inferior splendor, for a while, to disclose to you a intellects his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans perfectly impracticable; but, more glorious scene-to show you the imin his hands simplicity-marked their develop mensity of space, filled with worlds unnumment, and success- vindicated their adoption. bered, that your imaginations may wander, His person--partook of the character of his mind; without a limit, in the vast creation of God. if the one-never yielded in the cabinet, the oth er-never bent in the field. Nature-had no obstacle, that he did not surmount, space-no opposition, that he did not spurn; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or Polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity! The whole continent-trembled-at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Scepticism-bowed to the prodigies of his performance; romanceassumed the air of history; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful--for expectation, when the world-saw a subaltern of Corsica-waving his imperial flag-over her most ancient capitals. All the visions of antiquitybecaine cominonplaces in his contemplation; kings were his people-nations were his outposts; and he disposed of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they were titular dignitaries of the chess-board! Amid all these changes, he stood-iummutable

as adamant.

What a field is here opened, for the exer cise of every pious emotion! and how irresistibly do such contemplations as these, awaken the sensibility of the soul! Here, is infinite power-to impress you with awehere is infinite wisdom-to fill you with admiration-here is infinite goodness-to call · forth your gratitude, and love. The correspondence between these great objects, and the affections of the human heart, is estab lished by nature itself; and they need only to be placed before us, that every religious feeling may be excited.-Moodie

the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is There is so great a fever in goodness, that only in request; and it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough to make fellowships accursed; much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every day's

It mattered little, whether in the field, or in the drawing-room-with the mob, or the levee — Wearine. cobin bonnet, or the iron crownausing a Braganza, o espousing a Hapsburg-news.--Shakspeare.

718. THUNDER STORM ON THE ALPS.

est, and the blush of her cheek fills with delight--but the charm of maternity, is more sublime than all these.

719. MATERNAL AFFECTION. Woman's It is the hush of night; and all between [clear, charms are certainly many and powerful. Thy margin, and the mountains, dusk, yet The expanding rose, just bursting into beauMellow'd, and mingling, yet distinctly seen, ty, has an irresistible bewitchingness; the blooming bride, led triumphantly to the hySave darkened Ju, whose capped heights ap-meneal altar, awakens admiration and interPrecipitously steep; and drawing near, [pear There breathes-a living fragrance from the shore, [ear, Of flowers-yet fresh with childhood; on the Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. [more. Dr chirps the grasshopper-one good-night carol He is an evening reveller, who makes His life-an infancy, and sings his fill!

Heaven has imprinted, in the mother's face, which claims kindred with the skies,--the something beyond this world, something angelic smile, the tender look, the waking. watchful eye, which keeps its fond vigil over her slumbering babe.

These are objects, which neither the pencil

At intervals, some bird-from out the brakes-nor the chisel, can touch, which poetry fails Starts into voice, a moment, then, is still. There seems a floating whisper, on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently, their tears of love instill, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse, Deep into Nature's breast, the spirit of her hues.

The sky is changed! and such a change! O
night,
[strong
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud:
But every mountain-now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
And this is in the night: Most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber! Let me be
A sharer in thy fierce, and far delight,
A portion of the tempest, and of thee!
How the lit lake shines! a phosphoric sea!
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
And now again-'tis black, and now, the glee
Of the loud hilis-shakes with its mountain-
mirth,

[birth.

As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's Now, where the swift Rhone-cleaves his way [parted

between

hearted!

Heights, which appear as lovers, who have
In hate, whose mining depths-so intervene,
That they can meet no more, though broken-
[thwarted,
Though in their souls, which thus each other
Love was the very root-of the fond rage,
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then,
departed!

Itself expired, but leaving them an age [wage!
Of years, all winters! war-within themselves to
Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft
his way,
[stand:
The mightiest of the storms hath taken his
For here, not one, but many, make their play,
And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand,
Flashing and cast around! of all the band,
The brightest through these parted hills hath
His lightnings, as if he did understand, [forked
That in such gaps as desolation worked,
There the hot shaft should blast whatever there-
in lurked.-Byron.

Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest,
And Heaven-beholds its image-in his breast.

to exalt, which the most eloquent tongue, in vain, would eulogize, and on which all description becomes ineffective. In the heart of man lies this lovely picture; it lives in his sympathies; it reigns in his affections; his eye looks around in vain for such another object

on earth.

Maternity, extatic sound! so twined round our hearts, that they must cease to throb, ere we forget it! 'tis our first love; 'tis part of our religion. Nature has set the mother upon such a pinnacle, that our infant eyes, and arms, are first uplifted to it; we cling to it in manhood; we almost worship it in old age. He, who can enter an apartment, and behold the tender babe, feeding on its mother's beauty--nourished by the tide of life, which flows through the generous veins, without a panting bosom and a grateful eye, is no mun, but a monster.

720. TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again, thou usher'st in the day,

My Mary, from my soul was torn.
O. Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest ?
Seest thou thy lover, lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans, that rend his breast }
That sacred hour-can I forget,

Can I forget the hallow'd grove.
Where, by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love!
Eternity-will not efface

Those records dear, of transports past;
Thy image, at our last embrace!

Ah! little thought we, 'twas our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods' thick'ning green;

The fragrant birch, and hawthorn boar,

Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene.
The flowers sprang-wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love-on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
Still o'er these scenes my mem`ry wakes,
And fondly broods, with miser care!

Time, but the impression deeper makes,

As streams-their channels deeper wear.
My Mary dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ↑
Il doers-are-thinkers.

To strut before a wanton, ambling nymph; [jesty, But, madam, you are not worth fighting about;

And talked about poison, in accents so wild,
So very like torture, you started-and smiled.
Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I
All natural nourishment did I not shun ?[ done?
My figure is wasted; my spirits are lost: [ghost.periment and research, touches a spring, till
And my eyes are deep sunk, like the eyes of a
Remember, remember--ay, madam, you must--
I once was exceedingly stout, and robust;
I rode by your pal rey, I came at your call,
And nightly, went with you, to banquet and ball.
Not have me! Not love me! Rejected! Refused!
Sure, never was lover so strangely ill-used!
Consider my presents-I don't mean to boast-
But, madam, consider the money they cost!

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches-to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero-in the strife!
Trust not future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead past-bury its dead'
Act!-act in the living present!

Heart-within, and God--o'er head.
Lives of great men-all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footsteps-on the sands of time;
Footsteps, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwreek'd brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,

729. No EXCELLENCE WITHOUT LABOR. The education, moral, and intellectual, of every individual, must be, chiefly, his own work. Rely upon it, that the ancients were right-Quisque suæ fortunæ faber—both in morals, and intellect, we give their final shape to our own characters, and thus become, emphatically, the architects of our own fortunes. How else could it happen, that young men, who have had precisely the same opportunities, should be continually presenting us, with such different results, and rushing to such opposite destinies? Difference of talent will not solve it, because that difference very often is in favor of the disappointed candidate. You shall see, issuing from the walls of the same college-nay, sometimes from the bosom of the same family two young men, of whom the one-shall be admitted to be a genius of high order, the other, scarcely above the point of mediocrity; yet you shall see the genius sinking and perishing in poverty, obscurity, and wretchedness: while, on the other hand, you shall observe the mediocre, plodding his slow, but sure way-up the hill of life, gaining steadfast footing at every step, and mounting, at length, to eminence and distinction, an ornament to his family, a blessing to his country. Now, whose work is this? Manifestly their own. They are the architects of their respective fortunes. The best seminary of learning, that can open its portals to you, can do no more than to afford you the opportunity of instruction: but it must depend, at last, on yourselves, whether you will be instructed or not, or to what point you will push your instruction. And of this be as-senses. Certainly, this comparison is very sured-I speak, from observation, a certain truth: there is no excellence without great labor. It is the fiat of fate, from which no power of genius can absolve you. Genius, unexerted, is like the poor moth that flutters around & candle, till it scorches itself to death. If genius be desirable at all, it is only of that great and magnanimous kind, which, like the condor of South America, pitches from the summit of Chimborazo, above the clouds, and sustains itself, at pleasure, in that empyreal region, with an energy-rather invigorated, than weakened, by the effort. It is this capacity for high and long-continued exertion-this vigorous power of profound and searching investigation-this careering and wide-spreading comprehension of mind, and those long reaches of thought, that

With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor, and to wait.-Longfellow. 724. DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE. in forming our notions of human nature, we are very apt to make a comparison betwixt men, and animals, which are the only creatures, endowed with thought, that fall under our

favorable to mankind! On the one hand, we see a creature, whose thoughts-are not limited, by the narrow bounds, either of place. or time, who carries his researches into the most distant regions of this globe, and beyond this globe, to the planets, and heavenly bo dies; looks backward-to consider the first origin of the human race; casts his eyes forward-to see the influence of his actions upon posterity, and the judgments which will be formed of his character-a thousand years hence: a creature, who traces causes and effects-to great lengths and intricacy; extracts general principles from particular appearances; improves upon his discoveries, corrects his mistakes, and makes his very errors profitable. On the other hand, we are presented with a creature--the very reverse of ings-to a few sensible objects which sur this; limited in its observations and reason. round it; without curiosity, without foresight, blindly conducted by instinct, and arriving, in a very short time, at its utmost perfection, beyond which it is never able to advance a single step. What a difference is there be

twixt these creatures! and how exalted a notion must we entertain of the former in comparison of the latter.-Hume.

SURE REWARDS FOR VIRTUE.

There is a morning to the tomb's long night,
A dawn of glory, a reward in heaven,
He shall not gain, who never merited.
If thou didst know the worth of one good deed

In life's last hour, thou wouldst not bid me lose
The power to benefit. If I but save

A drowning fly, I shall not live in vain.

I had rather see some women praised extraordi narily, than to see any of them suffer by detraction