Elocution; Or, Mental and Vocal Philosophy

681. THE NATURE OF ELOQUENCE. 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 it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain.

Words and phrases may be marshaled 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 cannot reach it. It comes, if it come 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 the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision 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, selfdevotion is eloquent. The clear conception, out-running the deductions of logic, the high purpose, of 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-is eloquence.-Webster.

682. THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE.

I said to Sorrow's awful storm,
That beat against my breast,
"Rage on! thou may'st destroy this form,
And lay it low--at rest;

But still the spirit that now brooks

Thy tempest, raging high,

Undaunted, on its fury looks-

With steadfast eye."

I said to Penury's meagre train,
"Come on! your threats I brave;
My last, poor life-drop--you may drain,
And crush me-to the grave;
Yet still, the spirit, that endures,

Shall mark your force-the while,
And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours,
With bitter smile."

I said to cold Neglect, and Scorn,
"Pass on! I heed you not;

Ye may pursue me, till my form,

And being-are forgot;

Yet, still-the spirit, which you see
Undaunted by your wiles,
Draws from its own nobility

Its high-born smiles."

I said--to Friendship's menaced blow,
"Strike deep! my heart shall bear;
Thou canst but add-one bitter wo
To those already there;
Yet still-the spirit, that sustains

This last severe distress,

Shall smile-upon its keenest pains,
And scorn redress."

I said to Death's uplifted dart,
"Aim sure! oh, why delay?
Thou wilt not find a fearful heart,

A weak, reluctant prey;
For sull-the spirit, firm, and free,
Triumphant-in the last dismay,
Wrapt-in its own eternity,

Shall, smiling, pass away."
683. PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA.

'Mid the light spray, their snorting camels stood,
Nor bath'd a fetlock, in the nauseous flood:
He comes-their leader comes! the man of God,
o'er the wide waters, lifts his mighty rod,
And onward treads. The circling waves retreat,
In hoarse, deep murmurs, from his holy feet;
And the chas'd surges, inly roaring, show
The hard wet sand, and coral hills below.
With limbs, that falter, and with hearts, that swell,
Down, down they pass-a steep, and slippery dell.
Around them rise, in pristine chaos hurl'd,
The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world;
And flowers, that blush beneath the ocean green,
And caves, the sea-calves' low-roof'd haunts, are
Down,safelydown the narrow pass they tread;[seen

The beetling waters-storm above their head;
While far behind, retires the sinking day,
And fades on Edom's hills, its latest ray.
Yet not from Israei-fled the friendly light,
Or dark to them, or cheerless came the night;
Still, in their van, along that dreadful road, [God.
Blaz'd broad and fierce, the brandish'd torch of
Its meteor glare-a tenfold lustre gave,
On the long mirror-of the rosy wave:
While its blest beams-a sunlike heat supply,
Warm every cheek, and dance in every eye.
To them alone-for Misraim's wizard train
Invoke, for light, their monster-gods in vain :
Clouds heap'd on ck uds, their struggling sight con-
And tenfold darkness broods above their line. [fine,
Yet on they press, by reckless vengeance led,
And

range, unconscious, through the ocean's bed, Till midway now-that strange, and fiery form, Show'd his dread visage, lightning through the

storm;

With withering splendor, blasted all their might, And brake their chariot-wheels, and marred their

coursers' flight.

"Fly, Misraim, fly!" The ravenous floods they see, And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity.

"Fly, Misraim, fly!" From Edom's coral strand,
Again the prophet stretch'd his dreadful wand:
With one wild crash, the thundering waters sweep,
And all-is waves-a dark, and lonely deep:-
Yet, o'er these lonely waves, such murmurs past,
As mortal wailing swell'd the nightly blast:
And strange, and sad, the whispering breezes bore
The groans of Egypt-to Arabia's shore.-Heber.

CONCEALED LOVE.

She never told her love,

But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,

Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought,
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

684. GREEK LITERATURE. It is impos- And, lost each human trace, surrendering up sible-to contemplate the annals of Greek lit-Thine individual being, shalt thou go, erature, and art, without being struck with To mix forever with the elements, them, as by far the most extraordinary, and To be a brother-to th' insensible rock, brilliant phenomenon, in the history of the human mind. The very language, even in its And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain primitive simplicity, as it came down from the Turns with his share, and treads upon. rhapsodists, who celebrated the exploits of Hercules, and Theseus, was as great a wonder, as any it records.

All the other tongues, that civilized men have spoken, are poor, and feeble, and barbarous, in comparison of it. Its compass, and flexibility, its riches, and its powers, are altogether unlimited. It not only expresses, with precision, all that is thought, or known, at any given period, but it enlarges itself naturally, with the progress of science, and affords, as if without an effort, a new phrase, or a systematic nomenclature, whenever one is called for.

The oak

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.
Yet not, to thy eternal resting place,
Shalt thou retire, alone-nor could'st thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings,
The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All-in one-mighty sepulchre.

The hills,

[all,

Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales, Stretching in pensive quietness between; It is equally adapted to every variety of The venerable woods; rivers, that move style, and subject, to the most shadowy sub-In majesty, and the complaining brooks tlety of distinction, and the utmost exactness of definition, as well as to the energy, and the pathos of popular eloquence, to the majesty, the elevation, the variety of the Epic, and the boldest license of the Dithyrambic, no less than to the sweetness of the Elegy, the simplicity of the Pastoral, or the heedless gayety, and delicate characterization of Comedy.

Above all, what is an unspeakable charm, a sort of naivete is peculiar to it, and appears in all those various styles, and is quite as becoming, and agreeable, in an historian, or a philosopher, Xenophon for instance, as in the fight and jocund numbers of Anacreon.

Indeed, were there no other object, in learning Greek, but to see-to what perfection language is capable of being carried, not only as a medium of communication, but as an instrument of thought, we see not why the time of a young man would not be just as well bestowed, in acquiring a knowledge of it, for all the purposes, at least of a liberal, or elementary education, as in learning algebra, another specimen of a language, or arrangement of signs perfect in its kind.-Legare.

685. OUR EXIT: THANATOPSIS.
To him, who, in the love of nature, holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours,
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile,
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his dark musings, with a mild,
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.

When thoughts

Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;
Go forth into the open sky, and list
To na.e's teaching, while, from all around,
Comes a still voice-

"Yet a few days, and thee,
The all-beholding sun shall see no more,
In all his course; nor yet, in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;

That make the meadows green; and, poured round
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,
Are but the solemn decorations all-
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages.

All that tread

The globe, are but a handfull, to the tribes,
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or, lose thyself in the continuous woods,
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save its own dashings—yet—the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep: the dead-reign there—alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what, if thou shalt fall,
Unnoticed by the living; and no friend—
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh,
When thou art gone; the solemn brood of care
Plod on; and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom; yet, all these shall leave
Their mirth, and their enjoyments, and shall come,
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth, in life's green spring, and he, who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
The bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age, cut off,-
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,
By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes, to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber, in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, [ed,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained, and sooth-
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one, who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down-to pleasant dreams."
It is jealousy's-peculiar nature,

To swell small things-to great; nay, out of nought,
To conjure much, and then, lose its reason-
Amid the hideous phantoms,-it has formed.

686. BENEFITS OF AGRICULTURE. Agriculture-is the greatest among the arts; for it is first in supplying our necessities. It is the mother, and nurse-of all other arts. It favors and strengthens population; it creates and maintains manufactures; gives employment to navigation, and materials to commerce. It animates every species of industry, and opens-to nations the surest channels of opulence. It is also the strongest bond of well regulated society, the surest basis of internal peace, the natural association of good morals.

We ought to count, among the benefits of agriculture, the charm, which the practice of it communicates to a country life. That charm, which has made the country, in our view, the retreat of the hero, the asylum of the sage, and the temple of the historic muse. The strong desire, the longing after the country, with which we find the bulk of mankind to be penetrated, points to it as the chosen abode of sublunary bliss. The sweet occupations of culture, with her varied products and attendant enjoyments, are, at least, a relief from the stifling atmos phere of the city, the monotony of subdivided employments, the anxious uncertainty of commerce, the vexations of ambition so often disappointed, of self-love so often mortified, of factitious pleasures, and unsubstantial vanities.

Health, the first and best of all the blessings of life, is preserved and fortified by the practice of agriculture. That state of well-being, which we feel and cannot define; that selfsatisfied disposition, which depends, perhaps, on the perfect equilibrium, and easy play of vital forces, turns the slightest acts to pleasure, and makes every exertion of our faculties a source of enjoyment; this inestimable state of our bodily functions is most vigorous in the country, and if lost elsewhere, it is in the country we expect to recover it.

The very theatre of agricultural avocations, gives them a value that is peculiar; for who can contemplate, without emotion, the magnificent spectacle of nature, when, arrayed in vernal hues, she renews the scenery of the world! All things revive her powerful voice

-the meadow resumes its freshness and verdure; a living sap circulates through every budding tree; flowers spring to meet the warm caresses of Zephyr, and from their opening petals pour forth rich perfume. The songsters of the forest once more awake, and in tones of melody, again salute the coming dawn; and again they deliver to the evening echo their strains of tenderness and love. Can man-rational, sensitive man-can he remain unmoved by the surrounding presence! and where else, than in the country, can he behold, where else can he feel-this jubilee of nature, this universal joy!--MacNeven.

Let me lead you from this place of sorrow,
To one where young delights attend; and joys,
Yet new, unborn, and blooming in the bud,
Which want to be full-blown at your approach,
And spread like roses, to the morning sun;
Where ev'ry hour shall roll in circling joys,
And love shall wing the tedious-wasting day.
Life without love. is load; and time stands still;
What we refuse to him, to death we give ;
And then, then only, when we love, we live.

687. THE AMERICAN FLAG.
When Freedom-from her mountain height,
Unfuri'd her standard-to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory--there.
She mingled, with its gorgeous dyes,
The milky baldric-of the skies,
And striped its pure-celestial white,
With streakings of the morning light;
Then, from his mansion-in the sun
She called her eagle-bearer-down,
And gave-into his mighty hand,
The symbol of her chosen land.
Majestic monarch-of the cloud,

Who rear'st aloft-thy regal form,
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
And see the lightning lances driven,

When strive-the warriors of the storm, And rolls-the thunder-drum of heaven,Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given,

To guard the banner of the free, To hover-in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke, And bid its blendings-shine, afar, Like rainbows-on the cloud of war, The harbingers-of victory! Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope-and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line-comes gleaming on. Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet, Each soldier eye-shall brightly turn To where thy meteor glories burn; And, as his springing steps advance, Catch war, and vengeance-from the glance. And when the cannon-mouthings loud, Heave, in wild wreaths, the battle-shroud, And gory sabres rise, and fall, Like shoots of flame-on midnight's pall; There shall thy victor glances glow,

And cowering foes-shall fall beneath Each gallant arm, that strikes belowThat lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave, Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave: When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly-round the bellied sail, And frighted waves-rush wildly backBefore the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea, Shall look, at once, to heaven-and thee, And smile-to see thy splendors fly, In triumph-o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's only home! By angel hands-to valor given; Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues--were born in heaven. Forever float-that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe-but falls before us, With Freedom's soil--beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner-streaming o'er us! His being was in her alone, And he not being, she was none. They joy'd one joy, one grief they griev'd, One love they lov'd, one life they liv'd.

ing cry,

690. QUEEN MAB.

688. TRIBUTE TO WASHINGTON. Hard, | Bowl-rang to bowl,-steel-clanged to steel, and rose a deafen. hard indeed, was the contest for freedom, and the struggle for independence. The golden That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high: sun of liberty-had nearly set, in the gloom"Ho! cravens, do ye fear him?-Slaves, traitors! have ye flown? of an eternal night, ere its radiant beams il- Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone! lumined our western horizon. Had not the But I defy him:-let him come!" Down rang the massy cup, tutelar saint of Columbia-hovered around While, from its sheath, the ready blade came flashing half-way up; the American camp, and presided over her And, with the black, and heavy plumes-scarce trembling on his head, destinies, freedom must have met with an untimely grave. Never, can we sufficiently ad- There—in his dark, carved, oaken chair, Old Rudiger sat, dead. mire the wisdom of those statesmen, and the skill, and bravery, of those unconquerable ve-O then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. terans, who, by their unwearied exertions in She is the fairy's midwife, and she comes the cabinet, and in the field, achieved for us In shape, no bigger than an agate-stone, the glorious revolution. Never, can we duly appreciate the merits of a Washington; who, with but a handfull of undisciplined yeomanry, triumphed over a royal army, and prostrated the lion of England at the feet of the Ameri can eagle. His name, so terrible to his foes, so welcome to his friends,--shall live forever upon the brightest page of the historian, and be remembered, with the warmest emotions of gratitude, and pleasure, by those, whom he had contributed to make happy, and by all mankind, when kings, and princes, and nobles, for ages, shall have sunk into their merited oblivion. Unlike them, he needs not the assistance of the sculptor, or the architect, to perpetuate his memory: he needs no princely dome, no monumental pile, no stately pyramid, whose towering height shall pierce the stormy clouds, and rear its lofty head to heaven, to tell posterity his fame. His deeds, his worthy deeds, alone have rendered him immortal! When oblivion shall have swept away thrones, kingdoms, and principalities--when human greatness, and grandeur, and glory, shall have mouldered into dust,--eternity itself shall catch the glowing theme, and dwell with increasing rapture on his name!--Gen. Harrison.

689. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.
O'er a low couch-the setting sun-had thrown its latest ray,
Where, in his last-strong agony-a dying warrior lay,
The stern-old Baron Rudiger, whose frame-had ne'er been bent
By wasting pain, till time, and toil-its iron strength had spent.
"They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er,
That I shall mount my noble steed, and lead my band no more;
They come, and to my beard-they dare to tell me now, that I,
Their own liege lord, and master born,-that I, ha! ha! must die.

And what is death? I've dared him oft-before the Paynim spear,
I've met him, faced him, scorn'd him, when the fight was raging

Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek me here?

hot,

I'll try his might-I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not.
Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower,-and fire the culverin,-
But each retainer-arm with speed,-call every vassal in,
Up with my banner on the wall,-the banquet board prepare,-
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!"

An hundred hands were busy then, the banquet forth was spread,

And rung-the heavy oaken floor, with many a martial tread;
While from the rich, dark tracery-along the vaulted wall,
Lights--gleamed on harness, plume and spear, o'er the proud old

Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate-the mailed retainers pour'd,
On thro' the portal's frowning arch, and throng'd around the board.
While, at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state,
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate.
"Fill every breaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering wine,
There's life, and strength-in every drop,-thanksgiving to the vine!
Are ye all there, my vassals true?-mine eyes are waxing dim;-
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim.
Ye're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword,
And let me hear your faithful steel clash, once around my board:
I hear it faintly:-Louder yet!-What clogs my heavy breath?
Up all, and shout for Rudiger, Defiance unto Death!""

On the forefinger of an alderman;
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses, as they lie asleep:
Her wagon spokes-made of long spinner's legs;
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces of the smallest spiders web;
The collars-of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip-of cricket's bone; her lash-of film;
Her wagoner-a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big-as a round-little worm,
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot-is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner-squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind, the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops, night by night,
Thro' lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:
On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies strait:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Sometimes, she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then, dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she, with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling the parson, as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he-of another benefice.
Sometimes, she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathoms deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he starts, and wakes;
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again.-Shakspeare.

YOUTH AND AGE. When the summer day of youth-is slowly wasting away into the nightfall of age, and the shadows of past years grow deeper and deeper, as life wears to its close, it is pleasant to look back, through the vista of time, upon the sorrows and felicities of our earlier years. If we have a home to shelter, and hearts to rejoice with us, and friends have been gathered together around our firesides, then, the rough places of our wayfaring will have been worn and smoothed away, in the twilight of life, while the sunny spots we have passed through, will grow brighter and more beautiful. Happy, indeed, are they, whose interference with the world has not changed the tone of their holier feelings, or broken those musical chords of the heart, whose vibrations are so melodious, so tender and touching, in the evening of age. When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose. Each change of many-color'd life he drew; Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new: Existence-saw him spurn her bounded reign; And panting Time-toil'd after him in vain.

691. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. A gentleman, Mr. President, speaking of Cesar's benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance, with which he entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon?" How came he to the brink of that river! How dared he cross it! Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river! Oh! but he paused upon the brink! He should have perished upon the brink, ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed! Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye, taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of conscience! 'Twas that made Cesar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. Compassion! What compassion! The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins to cut! Cesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! What was the Rubicon? The boundary of Cesar's province. From what did it separate his province? From his country. Was that country a desert? No: it was cultivated and fertile; rich and populous! Its sons were men of genius, spirit, and generosity! Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste! Friendship was its inhabitant! Love was its inhabitant! Domestic affection was its inhabitant! Liberty Iwas its inhabitant! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon! What was Česar, that stood upon the bank of that stream? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country! No wonder that he paused-no wonder if, his imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood-instead of water; and heard groans, instead of murmurs! No wonder if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot! But, no!-he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged!-he crossed!and Rome was free no more!-Knowles.

692. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A chieftain-to the Highlands bound,
Cries. "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."
"Now, who be ye-would cross Loch-Gyle,
This dark-and stormy water?"
"O! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this-lord Ullin's daughter.
"And fast before her father's men,
Three days-we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,

My blood-would stain the heather.
"His horsemen-hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?"
Out spoke the hardy, Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief-I'm ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:
"And, by my word! the bonny bird
In danger, shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."
By this, the storm grew loud-apace,
The water-wraith-was shrieking;
And, in the scowl of heaven, each face
Grew dark-as they were speaking.

But still, as wilder grew the wind,

And as the night-grew drearer,
Adown the glen-rode armed men,

Their trampling-sounded nearer.
"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."
The boat-has left the stormy land,
A stormy sea-before her-
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest-gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed, amidst the roar
Of waters, fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin-reached that fatal shore,

His wrath-was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismayed, through storm, and shade,
His child-he did discover;

One lovely hand-she stretched for aid,
And one-was round her lover.
"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,
"Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief:
My daughter! oh, my daughter!"
"Twas vain: the loud waves-lashed the shore,
Return, or aid-preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left-lamenting.-Campbell. 693. PROGRESS OF GOVERNMENT. In government, as in science, it is useful, often to review its progress, and to revert, even to its simplest elements. It will be salutary, frequently to ascertain, how far society, and laws, in their present condition, accord with those, which we have been accustomed to consider, as their first and purest principles; how far, in the lapse of time, they may have deviated from their original form and structure. Even when we recur to inquiries, merely speculative, to imaginary" social contracts," to abstract rights, we may often gather instruction, and detect some concealed, or neglected truth, applicable to our own times, and to our own immediate condition.

But when a government is derived, not from fictitious assumptions, not from ancient or obscure sources, or traditions, but, from actual, and specific agreement; when many, and various interests have been combined and compromised, and a written covenant has assured to many parties, rights, and powers, and privileges, it becomes a duty to revise this compact frequently and strictly, that no one entitled to its protection may be deprived, through inadvertence on the one part, or encroachment on the other, of his vested rights; and that no changes may be introduced into the compact, but by the actual consent of those, who are parties to the covenant. -Every spirit, as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light, So it the fairer body doth procure

To habit in, and it more fairly dight With cheerful grace, and amiable sight; For of the soul, the body form doth take, For soul is form, and doth the body make. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires : Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

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Könyvek

Elocution; Or, Mental and Vocal Philosophy: Involving the Principles of ...