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.

Demosthenes-combatted an impediment in speech, an ungainliness of gesture, which at first-drove him from the forum in disgrace. Cicero failed, at first, through weakness of lungs, and an excessive vehemence of manner, which wearied the hearers, and defeated his own purpose. These defects were conquered by study, and discipline. He exiled himself from home; and during nis absence, 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 perfection, 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

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 accomplished orators, because, to become so was one purpose of their study; then, it is in the power of a much larger proportion among us, to form themselves into creditable and accurate speakers. The inference should not be denied, until proved false by experiment.

Let this art be made an object of attention, and young men train themselves to it, faithfully, and long; and if any of competent talents and tolerable science be found, at last, incapable of expressing themselves in continued. and connected discourse, so as to answer the ends of public speaking, then, and not till then, let it be said, that a peculiar talent, or natural aptitude-is requisite, the want of which - must render effort vain;

then, and not till then, let us acquiesce in this indolent, and timorous notion, which contradicts the whole testimony of antiquity, and all the experience of the world.--Wirt.

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 mund,
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,
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,
So manifold in cares, whose every day
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.

To-day man 's dress'd in gold and silver bright
Wrapt in a shroud before to-morrow-night:
To-day he 's feeding on delicious food,
To-morrow dead, unable to do good!
To-day he 's nice, and scorns to feed on crurabs,
To-morrow he's himself a dish for worms;

To-day he 's honor'd, and in vast esteem,
To-morrow not a beggar values him;

To-day his house, tho' large, he thinks but small,

To-morrow no command, no house at all;
To-day has forty servants at his gate,
'To-morrow scorn'd, not one of them will wait!
To-day perfumid, as sweet as any rose,
To-morrow stinks in everybody's pose;
To-day he's grand, majestic, all delight,
Ghastful and pale before to-morrow night;
True, as the Scripture says, "man's ... eran:"
The present moment is the life of man.

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, glooiny and peculiar, he sat upon the throne a sceptred herinit, wrapt-in the solitude of his own ori

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

ginality. A mind, bold, independent, and decis- of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of

ive-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 competition-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 devotion, he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry, Subsidiary to this, there was no creed, that he did not profess, there was no opinion, that he did not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he upheld the crescent; for the sake of a divorce, he bowed before the cross the orphan of St. Louis, he became the adopted child of the republic: and with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins both of the throne, and tribune, he reared the throne of his despotism. A professed catholic, he imprisoned the pope; a pretended patriot, he impoverished the country; and the name of Brutus, he grasped, without remorse, and wore, without shame, the diadem of the Cesars! Through this pantomime of policy, fortune played the clown to his caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theories took the color of his whim, and all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed places with the rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat-assumed the appearance of victoryhis flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny-ruin itself-only elevated him to empire. But if his fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; decision-flashed upon his councils; and it was the same to decide-and to perform. To inferior intellects-his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans perfectly impracticable; but, in his hands simplicity-marked their development, and success- vindicated their adoption. His person-partook of the character of his mind; if the one-never yielded in the cabinet, the other-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

In this wonderful combination, his affectations of literature must not be omitted. The jailerof the press, he affected the patronage of letters; the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosophy-the persecutor of authors, and the murderer 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

at the same time such an individual consistency, were never united in the same character. A royalist-a republican, and an eraperor-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, impatient, inflexible original-the same mysterious, incomprehensible self-the man-without a model, and without a shadow.-Phillips.

716. THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. Pause, for a while, ye travelers on the earth, to contemplate the universe, in which you dwell, and the glory of him, who created it. What a scene of wonders is here presented to your view! If beheld with a religious eye, what a temple for the worship of the Almighty! The earth is spread out before you, reposing amidst the desolation of winter, or clad in the verdure of spring-smiling in the beauty of summer, or loaded with autum nal fruit;--opening to an endless variety of beings-the treasures of their Maker's goodness, and ministering subsistence, and comfort to every creature that lives. The heavens, also, declare the glory of the Lord. The sun cometh forth from his chambers-to scatter the shades of night-inviting you to the renewal of your labors adorning the face of nature-and, as he advances to his meridian brightness, cherishing every herb, and every flower, that springeth from the bosom of the earth. Nor, when he retires again from your view, doth he leave the Creator without a witness. He only hides his own splendor, for a while, to disclose to you a more glorious scene-to show you the immensity of space, filled with worlds unnumbered, that your imaginations may wander, without a limit, in the vast creation of God.

ubiquity! The whole continent-trembled at miration-here is infinite goodness to call

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

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 adforth your gratitude, and love. The corres pondence 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

ancient capitals. All the visions of antiquity- There is so great a fever in goodness, that

became 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.

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

the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is 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 rid. dle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. --Shakspeare.

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.

799. 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 Learn to labor, and to wait.-Longfellow. of learning, that can open its portals to you, 724. DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE. In can do no more than to afford you the oppor- forming our notions of human nature, we are tunity of instruction: but it must depend, at very apt to make a comparison betwixt men, last, on yourselves, whether you will be in- and animals, which are the only creatures, structed or not, or to what point you will endowed with thought, that fall under our push your instruction. And of this be as- senses. Certainly, this comparison is very sured-I speak, from observation, a certain favorable to mankind! On the one hand, we truth: there is no excellence without great see a creature, whose thoughts are not limlabor. It is the fiat of fate, from which no ited, by the narrow bounds, either of place. power of genius can absolve you. Genius, or time, who carries his researches into the unexerted, is like the poor moth that flutters most distant regions of this globe, and beyond around a candle, till it scorches itself to death. this globe, to the planets, and heavenly boIf genius be desirable at all, it is only of that dies; looks backward to consider the first great and magnanimous kind, which, like the origin of the human race; casts his eyes forcondor of South America, pitches from the ward-to see the influence of his actions upsummit of Chimborazo, above the clouds, on posterity, and the judgments which will and sustains itself, at pleasure, in that em- be formed of his character-a thousand years pyreal region, with an energy-rather invig- hence: a creature, who traces causes and ef

orated, 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

*-Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon,
Or dive into bottom of the deep.
Where fathom line cou 1 never touch the ground,
And drag up drownedonor by the lock"

This is the prowess, and these the hardy
achievements, which are to enroll your names
mong the great men of the earth.-Wirt.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,

fects 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 this; limited in its observations and reason

ings to a few sensible objects which surround 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 betwixt 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