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public, becomes a bravo, when pent up in a room, and environed by sixteen men; and one is obliged to bar the door while another swears him; which, after some resistance, is accordingly done, and poor Mr. O'Brien becomes a United Irishman, for no earthly purpose whatever, but merely to save his sweet life!

XXVII-CREMUTIUS CORDUS'S DEFENCE OF HIS ANNALS.

TACITUS.

THE charge, conscript fathers, is for words only; so irreproachable is my conduct. And what are my words? Do they affect the emperor or his mother, the only persons included in the law of majesty? It is, however, my crime that I have treated the names of Brutus and Cassius with respect; and have not others done the same? In the number of writers, who composed the lives of these eminent men, is there one who has not done honor to their memory? Titus Livius, that admirable historian, not more distinguished by his eloquence, than by his fidelity, was so lavish in praise of Pompey, that Augustus called him the Pompeian and yet the friendship of the emperor was unalterable. Scipio and Afranius, with this same Brutus and this very Cassius, are mentioned by that immortal author, not indeed as ruffians and parricides (the appellations now in vogue); but as virtuous, upright, and illustrious Romans. The verses of Bibaculus and Catullus, though keen lampoons on the family of the Cæsars, are in everybody's hands. Neither Julius Cæsar nor Augustus showed any resentment at these envenomed productions; on the contrary they left them to make their way in the world. Was this their moderation, or superior wisdom? Perhaps it was the latter. Neglected calumny soon expires: show that you are hurt, and you give it the appearance of truth.

Words

From Greece I draw no precedents. In that country, not only liberty, but even licentiousness was encouraged. He who felt the edge of satire, knew how to retaliate. were revenged by words. When public characters have passed away from the stage of life, and the applause of friendship, as well as the malice of enemies, is heard no

more; it has ever been the prerogative of history to rejudge their actions. Brutus and Cassius are not now at the head of their armies: they are not encamped on the plains of Philippi: can I assist their cause? Have I harangued the people, or incited them to take up arms? It is now more than sixty years since these two extraordinary men perished by the sword from that time they have been seen in their busts and statues : those remains the very conquerors spared, and history has been just to their memory. Posterity allows to every man his true value and proper honors. You may, if you will, by your judgment, affect my life; but Brutus and Cassius will still be remembered, and my name may attend the triumph.

XXVIII.-MONOPOLIES.

SIR JOHN CULPEPER.

MR. SPEAKER, I have but one grievance more to offer you, but this one compriseth many. It is a nest of wasps, or swarm of vermin which have overcrept the land. I mean the Monopolists and Pollers of the people: these, like the frogs of Egypt, have gotten possession of our dwellings, and we have scarce a room free from them. They sup in our cup. They dip in our dish. They sit by our fire. We find them in the dyepot, wash-bowl, and powdering tub. They share with the butler in his box. They have marked and sealed us from head to foot. Mr. Speaker, they will not bate us a pin. We may not buy our clothes without their brokage. These are the leeches that have sucked the commonwealth so hard, that it is almost become hectical. And, sir, some of them are ashamed of their right names. They have a vizard to hide the brand made by that good law in the last parliament of King James they shelter themselves under the name of corporation; they make bye-laws which serve their turn to squeeze us and fill their purses. Unface these, and they will prove as bad cards as any in the pack. These are not petty-chapmen, but wholesale men. Mr. Speaker, I have echoed to you the cries of the kingdom.

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XXIX. THE POET'S THEMES.

TALFOURD.

THE universe, in its majesty, and man in the plain dignity of his nature, are the poet's favorite themes. And is there no might, no glory, no sanctity in these? Earth has her own venerableness-her awful forests, which have darkened her hills for ages with tremendous gloom; her mysterious springs pouring out everlasting waters from unsearchable recesses; her wrecks of elemental contests; her jagged rocks, monumental of an earlier world. The lowliest of her beauties has an antiquity beyond that of the pyramids. The evening breeze has the old sweetness which it shed over the fields of Canaan, when Isaac went out to meditate. The Nile swells with its rich waters toward the bulrushes of Egypt, as when the infant Moses nestled among them, watched by the sisterly love of Miriam. Zion's hill has not passed away with its temple, nor lost its sanctity amidst the tumultuous changes around it, nor even by the accomplishment of that awful religion of types and symbols which once was enthroned on its steeps. The sun to which the poet turns his eye is the same which shone over Thermopyla; and the wind to which he listens swept over Salamis, and scattered the armaments of Xerxes. Is a poet utterly deprived of fitting themes, to whom ocean, earth, and sky are open-who has an eye for the most evanescent of nature's hues, and the most ethereal of her graces-who can "live in the rainbow and play in the plighted clouds," or send into our hearts the awful loveliness of regions "consecrate to eldest time?" Is there nothing in man, considered abstractedly from the distinctions of this world-nothing in a being who is in the infancy of an immortal life who is lackeyed by "a thousand liveried angels" —who is even "splendid in ashes and pompous in the grave" -to awaken ideas of permanence, solemnity and grandeur ? Are there no themes sufficiently exalted for poetry in the midst of death and life—in the desires and hopes which have their resting-place near the throne of the Eternal-in affections, strange and wondrous in their working, and unconquerable by time, or anguish, or destiny? Such subjects, though not arrayed in any adventitious pomp, have a real and innate grandeur.

XXX.-ON THE PROSPECT OF AN INVASION.

ROBERT HALL.

By a series of criminal enterprises, by the successes of guilty ambition, the liberties of Europe have been gradually extinguished the subjugation of Holland, Switzerland, and the free towns of Germany, has completed the catastrophe ; and we are the only people in the eastern hemisphere who are in possession of equal laws, and a free constitution. Freedom, driven from every spot on the continent, has sought an asylum in a country which she always chose for a favorite abode but she is pursued even here, and threatened with destruction. The inundation of lawless power, after covering the whole earth, threatens to follow us here; and we are most exactly, most critically placed in the only aperture where it can be successfully repelled, in the Thermopyla of the universe. As far as the interests of freedom are concerned, the most important by far of sublunary interests, you, my countrymen, stand in the capacity of the federal representatives of the human race; for with you it is to determine (under God) in what condition the latest posterity shall be born; their fortunes are entrusted to your care, and on your conduct at this moment depends the color and complexion of their destiny. If liberty, after being extinguished on the continent, is suffered to expire here, whence is it ever to emerge in the midst of that thick night that will invest it? It remains with you then to decide whether that freedom, at whose voice the kingdoms of Europe awoke from the sleep of ages, to run a career of virtuous emulation in everything great and good; the freedom which dispelled the mists of superstition, and invited the nations to behold their God; whose magic touch kindled the rays of genius, the enthusiasm of poetry, and the flame of eloquence; the freedom which poured into our lap opulence and arts, and embellished life with innumerable institutions and improvements, till it became a theatre of wonders; it is for you to decide whether this freedom shall yet survive, or be covered with a funeral pall, and wrapped in eternal gloom. It is not necessary to await your determination. In the solicitude you feel to prove yourselves worthy of such a trust, every thought of what is affecting your welfare, every apprehension of danger must vanish, and you are impatient to mingle in the battle of the civilized world. Go then, ye defenders of

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your country, accompanied with every auspicious omen; advance with alacrity into the field, where God himself musters the hosts of war. Religion is too much interested in your success, not to lend you her aid; she will shed over this enterprise her selectest influence. While you are engaged in the field, many will repair to the closet, many to the sanctuary; the faithful of every name will employ that prayer which has power with God; the feeble hands which are unequal to any other weapon, will grasp the sword of the spirit; and from myriads of humble, contrite hearts, the voice of intercession, supplication, and weeping, will mingle in its ascent to heaven with the shout of battle and the shock of arms.

XXXI.-UNIVERSALITY OF CONSCIENCE.

CHALMERS.

THIS theology of conscience has been greatly obscured, but never, in any country, or at any period in the history of the world, has it been wholly obliterated. We behold the vestiges of it in the simple theology of the desert; and, perhaps, more distinctly there, than in the complex superstitions of an artificial and civilized heathenism In confirmation of this, we might quote the invocations to the Great Spirit from the wilds of North America. But, indeed, in every quarter of the globe, where missionaries have held converse with savages, even with the rudest of nature's children-when speaking on the topics of sin and judgment, they did not speak to them in vocables unknown. And as this sense of a universal law and a Supreme Lawgiver never waned into total extinction among the tribes of ferocious and untamed wanderers so neither was it altogether stifled by the refined and intricate polytheism of more enlightened nations. When the guilty Emperors of Rome were tempest-driven by remorse and fear, it was not that they trembled before a spectre of their own imagination. When terror mixed, which it often did, with the rage and cruelty of Nero, it was the theology of conscience which haunted him. It was not the suggestion of a capricious fancy which gave him the disturbance-but a voice issuing from the deep recesses of a moral nature